Statement of Purpose

Creating writing and pictures


This blog is a compilation of my creative writing and some cool pictures I’ve taken. I figure both the writing and the pictures should do more than take up space on my hard drive. This is also an exercise in figuring out how to blog.


Leaving Oakland Airport, Sunset, June 2016



Awkward sauce.

Beware the full moon.

He glances at his watch impatiently.  It’s half past seven and his date was supposed to be here half an hour ago.

Brian grunts as the waiter refills his water glass.  ‘I’m an attractive man, and I don’t deserve this,’ he muses.  Impartially speaking, Brian could be considered moderately attractive.  Born and raised in New York, the dedicated blogger/barista of Puerto Rican descent has a pretty face, well-coifed curls, and to quote him directly, ‘I even jog twice a week!’  He considers his best feature to be his bright smile that shows off his dimples.

However, there is no smile on his face at the moment.  He’s currently alternating between scowling at his watch and at his phone.  What kind of asshole stands someone up like this?  No text message, no call, no smoke signals, nothing.  ‘Well,’ Brian thinks to himself, ‘I don’t think he actually has my number…’

Brian hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, which is the only reason he agreed to this blind date.  His co-worker Fátima had mentioned that her old roommate had just moved out to New York from San Francisco, was smart, funny, hot, and the most important part, available.  She definitely didn’t mention the distinct lack of punctuality––

“Excuse me, are you Brian?”

Brian looks up at the man talking to him and smiles brightly.  God yes, he was definitely worth waiting for.  Light brown hair tousled just so, slight scruff brushing his cheeks, amazing hazel eyes, and, if the way that sweater hugged his torso was anything to judge by, a body to die for.

“Yes!  I’m Brian!  And you must be…”

“I’m Oscar.  Fátima has told me so much about you,”  Oscar smiles as he sits down.

“Ah, I think she’s kept you more of a surprise from me,”  Brian jokes, setting down the menu and resting his chin on his hands.  “So, would you mind telling me a little about yourself?”

The bearded man blushes and starts: “Well, I just moved here from San Francisco, and I just got hired as a web designer at this company that designs button-ups for animals––”

“Wait, seriously?  Button-ups for animals?”  Brian chokes back a guffaw when he sees the serious look on Oscar’s face.  “I mean, I’m sure the animals appreciate the attention?”

“––and I do photography and play basketball in my spare time,“ Oscar continues, looking miffed at the ridicule.  “And you?  Fátima didn’t tell me everything about you.”

“Well, I’m a barista at this little coffee shop on the East Side, but what I’m really passionate about is my blogging.  I run a blog dedicated to men’s neckwear,” Brian grins as he picks up his water glass to take a sip.  “Hopefully I won’t be stuck working at the coffee shop too much longer.  I really hate coffee.”

Oscar wrinkles his nose and frowns, “I’m not really a fan of neckwear.  It seems kind of pointless nowadays.”

Brian coughs into his hand and starts fiddling with his silverware.  “Well, I gue––”

“Hi, my name is Adam and I’ll be your server this evening,” the waiter drones out.  Brian sighs and rolls his eyes.  Of course the waiter would decide to take their order now, just when the conversation is on a weird note.

 “I’ll have the vegan risotto, with a side of your fried egg-plant dumplings.  Oh!  And a glass of pinot grigio,”  Oscar orders with a smile, glancing at the menu before settling back in his chair.

Brian pretends to look through the menu again, although he had decided on his meal a good twenty minutes ago while he was waiting for Oscar, “I’ll have the duck confit––”

“Actually, would you mind not ordering duck?  It makes me very uncomfortable.”

Brian grits his teeth into a pained smile.  Of COURSE Oscar would be one of THOSE vegetarians.  He did just move out from San Francisco.  Ugh, the things he does for attractive men.

“Of course I don’t mind.”  He turns back to the waiter and hisses, “I’ll have a caesar salad.  Dressing on the side.  And a beer.  Bring me a beer.”

“I’m sorry for making you change your order, but I have a confession to make.”

Brian looks up blearily from his salad to fix his eyes on the attractive yet incredibly awkward man in front of him.  In his attempt to liven his evening up, he’s on his third beer, and unfortunately, only half-way through his salad.

“Well, what is it?”

Oscar fidgets nervously with his fork on his empty plate before continuing, “I–– I’m not exactly who I said I am.”

Brian rolls his eyes at the mysterious air that his date seemed to be affecting.  “Really?  Please, tell me more.”

“I’m––I’m not exactly… human.  I’m a lycanthrope.”

“OH MY GOD!  Are you a werewolf?” Suddenly, visions of a hot, sweaty, shirtless (and possibly fuzzy) Oscar dance around in his head, and he’s almost enamored with the man in front of him again.  The beer was definitely helping his perception of this rude, awkward, and apparently inhuman asshole.  Maybe this date wasn’t a complete bust––

“Close.  I’m a wereduck.”


“Is that even a thing?”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me ordering the duck.  You didn’t want me eating you.”

“Not that I’d mind putting you in my mouth.”

“Wow, that was an awkward train of thought.”

Oscar smiles at Brian’s wide-eyed slack-jawed stare and pats his hand, “I don’t put out on the first date.”

Brian manages to close his mouth before frowning at Oscar’s answer and asking, “Well, can I see you next week?”

“It’s a bad time… full moon, you see.”

Brian sets his elbow on the table and rubs his forehead.  If Oscar wasn’t as attractive as he is, he would have left the table as soon as he said ‘wereduck.‘  Or even before, because another thing that Fátima didn’t mention about Oscar was his distinct lack of manners or sense

With a sigh, Brian finally asks, “…fine, how about the week after.”

Oscar beams cheerfully and chirps, “Sure, I’d love to.”

Brian smiles so widely, his cheeks hurt.  ‘Why am I like this?’


Not duck confit but it was delicious duck. || Port Hueneme, CA || July 2016



the vicious chill strikes silently

Numbness resonates up my ankles with every step I take,
rending my soles like lightning,
striking behind my kneecaps;
as if ants have viciously nibbled my toes
who in turn,
were ready to wriggle off
in search of a warmer haven.

I should have listened to my grandma
and put some socks on.

Campfire at Trillium Lake, OR || June 2016



The girl who slept through the end of the world.

It was the smell that woke her.

It was the smell that woke her.

The first thing she noticed––after that awful smell––was the sunlight behind her eyelids.  Her eyes shot open––Goddamnit, I’m gonna be late for work––to land on the blank screen of her alarm clock.  She threw the covers off and scrambled to her feet, cursing whatever blown fuse that had killed her alarm clock and left her cell phone to apparently die as well.

After a deep yawn––Ugh. What the hell is that smell?  Rotten eggs?––she padded over to her dresser pulled on her work clothes, and tied her hair back.  No time for make-up.  No time for breakfast.  She adjusted her necklace under her shirt (a medallion of Saint Julitta of something or other, and a gift from her mother) as she groused to herself––Why do I even wear this shit, it never matches what I’m wearing.  And I’m so hungry.  Maybe I’ll grab an apple on the way out the door––

“Mom!  I’m late for work!  Can I borrow the ca––ow!” She scowled at her hand and then stared at the doorknob.  Did the doorknob just burn me?  What the fuck is going on?!  She grabbed a sock from the ground and wrapped it around the knob to open the door.



Air so cold it burned.

She exhaled a shaky breath as she stared at the empty sockets of the body slumped against the wall in front of her.  The air made her shiver, made her breath steam, made her flesh prickle, but she paid it no mind.  She couldn’t look away from the figure lying propped up, clearly eviscerated as evidenced by the frozen blood pooled on the floor and smeared on the walls.


Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow flit through the railing on the stairs.  She turned to look, but only saw the shattered bay window downstairs, along with the rest of the destroyed living room.  Her feet crunched first on the ice frozen over the steps of the staircase and then the broken glass littered liberally on the hardwood

She peered up at the sky.  There were no clouds, but… the sky still seemed dull, like a washed out, sickly blue.  Even the sun seemed strange–like it was… angry?  The sunlight reflected harshly off the windshield of the wrecked car in front of her, but all she felt was the cold.  It had gotten worse once she’d stepped outside.  The wind burned her eyes and nostrils with each inhale, the stench even stronger.

Another shadow danced around her vision to rest near the tree––scorched and leaf-less––planted in the yard across the street.  She felt a slight warmth on her chest as she tried to focus her eyes on the faint shadow.  She frowned and fiddled with the chain around her neck until she touched the medallion she had tucked under her shirt earlier.  It was warm… comfortingly warm.  As she pulled it free from the fabric, it glinted in the harsh sunlight.

The only warning she received was a sudden sense of absolute dread before she felt the puff of burning cold at the back of her neck and a voice began hissing into her ear.

“Ave filia mea.  How nice it is to have company in the end of days.”

“What?!”  She tried to turn and face the voice, but her limbs were sluggish, the cold piercing her flesh like pins and needles.

“Would you like an apple?” a shiny red fruit hovered at the edge of her vision, a saturated red that seemed to make everything even more washed out in comparison. She tightened her lips to keep her teeth from chattering and shook her head.

“It’s been twenty-one days since He gave me free reign over your world.  As you can see, I may have gotten a little carried away.” She could hear the pout in its voice and bit her lip to keep from laughing hysterically.

“That’s an understatement.”  She held the medallion in her hand and looked over the desolate neighborhood before closing her eyes and whispering, “Why am I here?”

“You should have been destroyed with the rest of the little mortals.  I thought I was very thorough.”  A pause. “Saint Julitta, patron saint of dying children and torture victims.  How fitting.”  She heard the voice chuckle before continuing ruefully, “These little things usually don’t work, but when they do, they work a little too well.”  The chill on her skin became unbearable as the voice got closer and whispered, “you’re alive.  But you’re the only one who is.”

She stood silent for a moment before falling to her knees with a choked sob––the stench of what she now recognized as sulfur tightening her throat.  The cold was nigh unbearable: she could only feel the burning past her skin, past her muscles, into her bones.

“I don’t see why you’re so special,” the voice sniffed at her distress.  “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here.”

“What good is being alive if I’m the only one!?”  She laughed bitterly, the tang of her own salty tears on her tongue.  One rogue tear froze mid-way down her chin.

“There are very few things that I do not know, and even fewer things I do not understand.  This is one of them: He gave me free reign over this world, yet he granted your mother’s prayer to keep you alive and safe.  You and I are the only beings in this corner of the universe.”

She clenched her eyes tight, trying to block out the voice’s words.  With the last of her strength, she broke the chain around her neck.  The silver links of the necklace gave away easily, brittle in the infernal chill.  She kissed the medallion before placing it on the ground before her.

“You’d refuse the protection your mother died to give you?” the voice asked, amused confusion coloring its tone.  “You’re not quite what I expected, little one.  You’re not crying nearly as much as I thought you would, and you’re not screaming for whatever higher power you believe will answer your pleas.”

“I’m not afraid of you.  I don’t know why I’m here.  I don’t know what’s going on––”  she felt the cold air constrict her lungs and the sulfurous stench burn her throat, but she soldiered on “––but I know I’m not afraid.”

She heard the smile in the voice’s response: “I’ll make you an offer.  Since you’re not afraid, and I assume you’re tired of not knowing things, I can tell you the answers to every question that has ever plagued mankind.  I can give you true enlightenment.  I can give you true knowledge.”

She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to the proffered claw waving in front of her face, before hesitantly taking it.  There was no way she could climb to her feet by herself.  As she steadied herself to keep from falling over, it took her hand and intertwined its claws with her fingers.


“HA.  You thought I was going to trick you and kill you?” it snorted.  “I’ve been bored for the last few weeks with no one to talk to.  Not that anyone ever wants to talk to me anyway.” 

She felt it shrug its shoulders before continuing nonchalantly, “Curiosity was always your kind’s greatest weakness… Or maybe that’s pride.” It laughed, “a medallion meant to protect ends up damning the wearer to an eternity at my side.  Irony was always one of my favorite mortal inventions.”

It gently tugged her arm as it took a step towards the horizon.  In another claw, it offered her a shiny red fruit.

“Do you still want that apple?”

She quietly nodded and reached for the apple.

The Union Buildings in Pretoria, South Africa || May 2016




Sometimes it’s grating
living your life in the sublime.

Sometimes it’s grating
living your life in the sublime.
It’s raw, being exposed like a nerve,
feeling everything so sharply.

Nothing is sugarcoated, nothing is watered down
the pain, the pleasure, everything hits you
like a wave,
cold, racing, unstoppable;
and all you can do is jump up,
keep your head above water,
and hope to God you remember
how to swim.

Usually, the waves are cold but brisk and bracing.
Each one is different.  Unique.
And each splash reminds you that you’re alive.

Sometimes, the waves all blend together and the cold becomes numbing
and you can’t feel your limbs, and it becomes harder to swim
and harder to care and before long all you want to do is
float and rest but the waves won’t stop crashing
over you and you find yourself going under
trying to hold your breath but getting
more tired and more numb
and then it’s too dark
to find the surface

It’s those people that have found themselves underwater, yet found the strength to swim,
to breach the surface and once again brave the cold waves crashing on the shore;
it’s them, those who understand the nature of the waves and of the numbness they bring; who truly grasp what it means to ‘seize the day,’ to live life in the sublime, and to embrace the pain and pleasure that rubs them


For each wave felt in the Sublime is one that does not bring numbness.
Every raw moment reminds us that we are alive, swimming, struggling,
and if that’s what it takes to keep us from going under, so be it.

Sometimes, though, we need a reprieve.
Not everyone can handle being raw, exposed, vulnerable for so long.
Some of us seek numbness on purpose to hide from the sublime.

A few gulps from a bottle, a few moments to catch my breath
from the burn in my throat, and the numbness is there, letting the waves crash over my frame: painless, guileless, careless.

Not everyone is strong enough to brave the waves,
but those who do; without vests or preservers,
but those who do alone,
understand the depth of feeling
the change
the true weight of being alive,
and the responsibility they have to

keep afloat.


San Diego, CA || August 2016


Price tag.

“Everything comes with a price.”

Hearing this, the hunched over woman breaks down sobbing into her hands.

The heart monitor next to her husband’s body beeps steadily.

A few minutes pass.

A breath. “How does it work? Do you just kill me and he wakes up?”

“No. To exchange your life for his, I literally tear out your throat.” A grimace. “It’ll be bloody and messy, but I can guarantee that you’ll live. That’s part of the deal.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That makes no sense. I’m exchanging my life for his, but I’m going to live?” She shakes her head and scoffs, “What kind of devil are you?”

“To live doesn’t mean you’re alive.”

A beat. He can see the color drain from her face as the realization hits her. Her hand flies to the charm at the end of her necklace.

“A little mermaid. How fitting.” He smiles. “Is your husband’s life worth never speaking above a whisper ever again? Is it worth never singing again?” His voice gets louder, faster. “And if you say no, will you ever be able to sing knowing you could have saved his life–?”

“STOP! Please, just take it.” She shudders. “Will it hurt?”

He pats her shoulder.

He sits alone in a pew of the hospital’s dim little chapel. The lights flicker.

“It’s done.” The man looks down at his bloodied hand, flexing his gnarled fingers that can never again hold a paintbrush, and thinks to the woman who after today will never again speak above a whisper, let alone sing.

“Don’t look so glum, my boy. You helped someone save a life today.”

He tenses as the disembodied voice floats out the shadowy corners of the room.

“And condemned yet another’s soul to an eternity in Hell!” He snaps, hands clenched tightly in his lap.

“So self-righteous. You’re the one that made her the offer to save her husband. She would have gotten over losing him and moved on eventually. But instead, you convinced her to sell her soul for the man she loves,” the voice snickers before continuing, “I’m sure this isn’t what they mean when they say ‘pay it forward’.”

“They still have a chance. They can still live happily together–”

“–And your only son could have gone to college after you gave up the tendons your hands in exchange for his cancer going into remission, but he abandoned you, his only family, and instead fell in love with heroin,” the voice hissed in a flash of irritation.

“You gave her my offer. And you did it with a smile because you knew that once she accepted it, your deal with me would be done. Just like those that came before you.”

Tears fall onto his still-clenched hands. “I couldn’t stop smiling because I knew she would take it. And I would finally be able to die.” A sob. “I just want this to end. I can’t live like this anymore.”

“I suppose I’ll hold up my end of the deal. Snip Snip!”

His hands unclench and he slumps over, head bowed as if in prayer. He looks asleep… except for his motionless chest.

“You mortals are so dramatic,” the voice muses to itself, amusement coloring its tone once again. “If only you idiots would remember that everything comes with a price.”


Dinner with Bae.

“Good evening, welcome to Ma Nonna’s. Can I get you started with a nice merlot?”

Just an hour and a half to close. Ninety minutes. That’s it. Deep breath.

“Good evening, welcome to Ma Nonna’s. Can I get you started with a nice merlot?”

She quickly evaluates her new table: very well-dressed couple, blonde woman has a fat diamond on her finger, man’s shiny, slicked-back hair matches his smarmy smile. Aw, fu-

–“Actually, we’d like two glasses of the Chianti, an order of the goat-cheese crostini, and the chef’s oyster special. Give me a second to look over the entrees.,” the woman rattled off without looking up from the menu. The waitress’ smile grew more strained.

-ck. “Excellent choice, and I’ll be right back to take your order.”

As she walks back, wine glasses balanced precariously on her tray, she notices the blonde’s well-dressed companion slowly sliding down in his chair, until his head disappeared under the tablecloth. The waitress leaned over to whisper to the woman who seemed deeply enthralled with the menu in her hands.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to disturb you, but you are aware that your husband is hiding under the table?”

–“No he’s not,” she sighs, turning the page of the menu before continuing, “my husband just walked in through the door.”


I never thought I’d have a use for this picture I took of my wine and crostinis, but here we are.  September 12, 2014