The Blog

Let Me Help You

This has been a weird sort of two weeks for me.

Brexit‬ made me feel angry and powerless to help my friends of African and Indian origin who were facing unjust persecution in a land they loved, and then ‪Alton Sterling‬ and ‪‎Philando Castile‬ were murdered in the land of the free so I found a small release for my powerlessness – I could donate to their families, throw money at them and feel… less impotent.

Then I realized, wow, I’m a piece of shit; here’s this amazing device for intercontinental connection and voice, and all I’m using it for is as speedy means of deriving some sort of self-satisfaction from helping the needy, wow. There loomed above me this heavy rain of a question about myself that was hard to weather.

In the meantime, I ended up being front and center as Dallas PD labelled the wrong man as suspect for their shooting on their Twitter account, front and center as he was exonerated in less than 30 minutes by video footage and multiple eye witnesses, as their Public Information Officer gave no damns about retractions or of the consequences of leaving the wrong information up, and as the Twitter homepage news algorithm and multiple media outlets picked up said information and made it their headlines. Angry again I somehow found myself doing what I do best online and unearthed way-too-much information on Dallas PD. I did what I could and quietly made numbers and other means of communication more easily accessible to people who wanted to voice their anger the right way. Though my help was very minor amongst other key players it helped spark a fire which would have never happened had we kept to our daily selves.

I won’t lie – I was happy, and confused about it. Maybe it’s because although some justice was realized a horrible 17 hours later, at least all that effort amounted to something. See, I’ve been made a realist about the sum of my contributions to the world when it comes to these things, a grand total of “so hardly helping they by all means almost amount to nothing.” Amongst other things I’ve helped a reporter expose rape by police in Thailand and I’ve watched him “disappear” and upon reappearance he was deported and his report was never looked or acted upon, and I’ve tried countless times to expose the cruelty that’s put upon the animals of Thailand (mainly elephants and dogs) to anyone (anyone) and received laughter as my comeuppance. So yes, I was happy that “almost amounts to” wasn’t actually nothing in this case.

Without realizing it I’d stumbled right back onto that question that made me feel like crap, and I’d found a sort-of answer. I’ve been too logical about my end contribution to this whole thing and inadvertently I’ve become a dispirited product of my environments. So here’s my plea: If you’re fighting injustice in some way and are in need of someone who’s basically a magician at finding information via web, let me help you, pro bono. Short-term, long-term, it doesn’t matter, just contact me privately and let me help. In the larger scheme of things I’ll be so hardly helping I’m almost not, but almost isn’t nothing. Let me help you.

And let me leave you here. In the same breath that I’d found my answer, I’d also realized how important the question was. I won’t voice it for that will belittle it, but it’s the question that, for today, can be answered by paraphrasing Shaun King, “Whoever you are right now is an indication of who you would’ve been during the Civil Rights Movement.” With all due respect, I hope your inaction eats at you.

the cool

Our friendships are made of… the buzz. The cool, the mixed signals and covered moon. Genuine laughter. Dancing something with no name to it with you but would rather be doing anything else. Something like the middle finger, the smile, white teeth showing. Dimples, and beaches, and jungles, and weeds, and healthy foods, and tattoos, and something we think original. Pronounce that right, thank you. Whatever, go on, be happy. Topless models, breathtaking conversations, patios with great views, nights we’ll never remember and real love. Caramelized popcorn, back-to-back movies, and unforgettable sex – reel love? Hour-long somethings and chills. Under-exposed photos, the blurs. Designer shit. Good nights, bad mornings, gorgeous women with dark shades of lipsticks, tired eyes getting everything they want. Not you sweetheart, something like the movies; the noons, the mixed signals and ever coveted moons.

What are we selling? We’re on our third passport and we’re bored. Wouldn’t change a thing though.


A night full of talking that hurts; my worst held-back secrets, her worst held-back desires. Lord, our hearts can’t take this! But we keep on. Everything has to do with loving and not loving. Mystical conversation; often, the closest we come to surrender is orgasm but we’re past that… where are we? Closer. We move; milk, and honey, and warm chocolate, and a stirring of the spoon comparable to your waist around mine. Dancing something supple but we break.

This night will pass, but we had it. The night will pass, then we have work to do.

music to sleep two

Sometimes the night gives more than it takes and you bring all the stars home with you. And the rain, and the moon, and the whole damn storm. And she looks at you – says, “You make love to me like you’re going to lose me and there’s no convincing you I’m here to stay awhile. Such sadness.” And all she’ll remember is the morning you convinced her to stay awhile, the temperature. The afternoon you showed her how to carry a knife and still trust everyone, how she’s the thing at either end of the gun. Church.

Rhythm & Brown Sugar

hey glory child


Iron-made orphans, clipped our wings in the late night. Sometimes you hate to leave somebody, what’s happening to we? Gardens, flowers, I recall your soul had a taste like…




next afternoon