Creative Deconstruction

We get ready for school The time gets closer and closer for us to leave I start rushing, then I tell myself to stop rushing, and repeat We drive to school Will they remember this? Which day on our way to school will they remember? The one where we are happy? The one where I was upset? They ask me how many days until they return We get out of the car and walk My little one gives me her hand to hold My eldest sees her friend, she rushes ahead with her book bag flopping on her back My little one and I continue our steady pace At the front steps I let her hand go, kiss her forehead and pat her back with a smile It’s the last time that I’ll see them I tell them that I love them They’re going to stay with their mom for a few days They walk into the hall and others start to block my view A child, a teacher  In a matter of moments they disappear into the crowd, and I walk away I try not to go through this every week, but I worry Well, at least my worry all comes out in those moments I send out

Happy Father's Day To all of you who break your back for your family Anguish, so real to you You shield it from your loved ones Like a duck, your feet flap furiously beneath the water Meanwhile above, your little ones only see a smooth ride Happy Father's Day to those of you who lost in court That sacrificed everything, who you are, the path that you were on Tolerating and enduring an awful relationship To make for your children, a more enjoyable life And all to often, only to come out the other end at a deficit In the eyes of the court, simply because you are a man Happy Father's Day to the fathers in history Whom either from ignorance or pride, went off to war to protect their family Especially to those who were drafted While others complained back home About anything that was back home They were taken, by force And were left no choice but to go up and over the trench Into an onslaught of gunfire, and at gunpoint behind If they came home, they came home from a place wh

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This is unedited. Return sometime later to see how my edited writing looks compared to the initial vomiting.     I’m not a cheapskate. I’ve splurged on meaningful things. I bought a nice set of congas, an expensive riqq drum, a hand made custon lefthanded flamenco guitar. For my kids I got a Burley bicycle trailer, an Osprey Poco child backpack carrier that looks like a fucking astronaut backpack with my kid in it.     This is all nice shit. So… What happened with my clothes? The nicest suit I have is my Mariachi outfit. But right now I’m wearing a tshirt that says Daytona on it, and it’s color is what I can only call neon peach. I don’t give a shit about Daytona (don’t have anything against it either). My ex mother in law gave it to me. I’m also wearing pair of shorts that she gave me.     A lot of my clothes I don’t even know how they got there. I remember buying some of them. Once at Khols and Dilards like 8 years ago. The rest is from Costco. Sometimes I go into Costco

    This isn’t a story about a man who was defeated by the daily challenges of life. This is a story about a man who fought with everything he had to maintain his family, and to give his children the best life that he could. This is a story about a man who ventured to use his critical thinking when making decisions, and despite any demoralizing opposition, maintained the courage to do what he (to the best of his ability) thought was right. This is also the story of a man who willingly accepted accountability and responsibility for any bad decisions, and was more than willing to rectify them.     This is a story of triumph despite the pain, and a story that – ultimately – ends like all others, except this one assuredly ends while walking an honorable path. Perhaps facing doubt, and not necessarily without fear, but most assuredly with courage.     This, I give you my word on. (And can only hope the same for you, to my little ones.)

    One of the greatest misconceptions that I’ve had, and continue to see others hold is that anything can scale. Take Communism for example, I like my household as communist as you can get. I think a communist household is a loving household and a pleasant, nurturing place to live. However to scale communism to include the nation seems a guaranteed disaster.      Now coming from the opposite trajectory. Capitalism may work in several ways when applied to a nation, but to scale down the same predatory ideology into a household? Well, living in a home where the dominant philosophy is a zero sum game doesn’t sound like a desirable place to live.      So people still think that because something works at one scale, that it could be applied everywhere, not realizing that merely scaling something, larger or smaller, changes what it is. This seems to be a law of physics. A fly can smack into a windowpane unharmed because of its density and mass, and its density and mass compared to the