Published in Medium 2014
Blessings upon the soul who shot the stand-off between the local Mission District boys and the techies, then later fed it into the internet for all the world to see. The Chronicle ran a front page article immediately after the video went viral. It was cleverly headlined, “Turf War,” but was subtitled something like, “More evidence of the lack of soccer fields in the city.” Read the rest of this entry »
They made her look about 13. As if she had never been called upon by angels. Never visited by their King. Never delivered a child who two thousand years later still haunts the souls of millions.
That’s alright with me. It’s just nice to look at an innocent young thing in this age of premature sexuality, though this one’s made of stone. Read the rest of this entry »
I had to anchor my ancient cabin-cruiser near the San Rafael Bridge after the engine died. While I crawled around down below with a flashlight, I heard my woman friend on deck talking away. To whom, out there, I wondered? Ten minutes later I cautiously stuck my head out of a hatch and heard a splash.
“Aw, you’ve scared him away!” my friend complained. Read the rest of this entry »
Living in the heart of San Francisco as I do, I travel through many streets every day, by car, bus, or on foot, and I see and hear things that intrigue me or at least amuse me. I love recording them and I thought it might amuse you to read some of them. As I run into more interesting people, animals, birds, and things, I’ll jot them down and add them to these sketchy sketches.
I knew a woman forty years ago, long, long before I began writing things down, a native San Franciscan, tall, shapely, raven-haired. Her face was painfully sensitive. She was generous. She read Virginia Wolfe and Faulkner. And she was an accomplished flamenco dancer. That’s how we connected. I’ve played flamenco guitar since I was a kid, never very well, but well enough to hang around the edges of that world. We met at a party and discovered we shared something a bit out of the ordinary.
We spent some time together, Alicia and I, and she told me her story. Read the rest of this entry »
Cunning Crow Books 