The Drowned Rat Gospel
Let’s talk in one of the frustrated ramblings below
On the Dissonance of Being a Field and House Nigger at the Same Time
Preface: Race isn’t a real thing. The system and larger cultural zeitgeist don’t actually care about your ancestry, the .1% of genetics that distinguish you (and the smaller portion of that we identify as race), or personal peculiarities caused by your biology. The culture and system do, however, pretend to, and, in some cases, even…
Wherein I challenge Ben Gibbard and Sarah to an Honor Duel
For the last few weeks, I’ve tried to return to poetry, to capture artfully the January I spent in frozen British Columbia watching Dorothy Unger die. Art for that January is proving elusive, and I feel some shame for that; her family has turned to books of Orr, or Cockburn lyrics, or taken to writing…
On Death – Part 2
For Mama Unger, who I’m not looking forward to missing, and all my new nieces and nephews, as I work to support their phase changes And to Critter, for eating spring rolls with me while we chat and laugh about death I do not fear my death because I do not fear spring rolls. As…
On Death – Part 1
It strikes me that we rarely speak of death. Most of our conversations on the subject of death, rightly so, seem to be about what it is to live – to lose, to survive, to miss, to reconcile, to depart. We want to know what it is we will feel when that which we love…
Independents’ Day
I’ve been rehashing a debate I had with someone on the street for several weeks, trying to figure out what about the whole thing bothered me so much. I ran into this person in front of a local farmers market. They were asking for signatures in support of rent control and a local politician who…
Sometimes the Only Adult in the Room Kills All Their Kids
When Hurricane Katrina hit, I was 21 years old. I remember having two feelings about it through the drunken haze of being 21, neither of them good: Fear – aren’t most of the people down there poor and/or black? This is going to be nightmarish; no one cares about them. Confusion – I get that…
That Face is Timeless, a manifesto
There was a drive-by shooting in front of my home a couple of nights ago. I was having difficulty sleeping, as, given my PTSD, I sometimes do, so I migrated to my living room and balcony to read and relax before another attempt. Just as I began to try to settle in, shots rang out.…
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The Drowned Rat Gospel Choir 