"There's such a thing as being a nice guy and being an idiot" - mother.


The Arcade Fire "In the Back Seat"

pops and i. cuba. 2001.


we spit questions over telephone wires hanging above the I-5, keeping us apart. except now, my mouth is pried open with hands tired of being tucked away in the awkward back pockets of my childhood, ready to speak and share something other than token "i love you's" routinely uttered at the end of dead-air conversations.

we talk about him dating my mother in the 70's, and how he was utterly unromantic. i laugh and realize why i always stare at the ground when i tell a girl, "i like you." he describes his shyness, his errors, his life. i finally realize the thing i've always denied - we are the same.

it's taken 20 years to realize what love is. i learned it not in a classroom, but in two kaiser hospital rooms and the patience of a record player.

and a father.

Meraj, demonstrating how thrift store shopping and blasting the new Gwen Stefani go hand-in-hand. day after thanksgiving, 2004. La Verne. 

cuba 2001

cuba 2001

never try to hang a prince poster over the thong when drunk. 9/04

saturday, december 5, 2004 -- san quintin prison.

when you enter, the cell rooms above the main building comprise the first wing of death row. further down are all the churches (a mosque and synogogue right next to each other), then the old library, make a left - and then the infamous yard. a sea of blue denim and dark faces. whoever feels that racism doesn't exist anymore should just go to prison - nothing but black and brown faces. my count of white and asian prisoners combined barely exceeded two hands. to call the feeling of entering the yard intense would be an understatement. we entered a classroom full of prisoners eager to read/hear/perform/write poetry. they laughed, they gave hugs, they performed from their hearts - one of the few times they could truely express themselves, and i was blessed to witness it. the sight of cholo convicts studying calculus II for their AA degrees was inspiring as a contrast to the overall student apathy of ucb. a particular inmate, who used to be one of the highest ranking crips in california, read some of the most profound poetry i've heard in years.

all life stops in prison. your life is literally taken from you without remorse. the outside world is the sight of the surrounding Marin mountains, and the two story houses littering the hillside. if you don't have families on the streeet to financially support you in prison, an inmate must work for the prison industrial complex, making the chairs and desks college kids write "fuck standfurd" on daily, all for 30 cents a day - slave wages.

the images of latina women waiting outside the gate for visiting hours, holding pictures of the children who's fathers know them only through Polaroids. the racist security guard who said, "this is a prison metal detector. this ain't no airport security - we speak english here." the guardtowers wrapped in barbwire and extra rolls of ammunition. the plaque at the bottom of the american flag, listing the names of guards killed in the line of duty.

i hope to go back in april.

theatre rice was dope. latino groups on campus need to taek note and laugh more often. we're too damn sad.

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