journal entry
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and the sound of a drum. It’s March 1, 2026and somewhere in a desertan oil field away, we marchwith tiny dronesand lizards with legs that roll on steel wheels and trackslaid as they move.Rommel was a Fox.Bush was not a burning one.But this trumps them all—for now,until it doesn’t and we leavewith destruction behind.Say it…
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ramblings in a day in the life…from journals (if you’re into that sorta thing) February 24–26 It’s Tuesday, or Taco Tuesday in Sierra Madre, but I’m fasting so that may not happen today. Lent is the season where Jesus went into the desert and fasted for forty days. No eating. Dang, that’s a while —…
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The Olympics finally gave curling some airtime this year — more than I ever remember seeing. Women’s, men’s, the whole slow-motion shuffle. First time you watch, if you’ve never seen it, your brain short-circuits: This is a sport? Olympic worthy? Really? You hear the terms — stones, brooms, sweeping — and it sounds like someone’s…
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***** a smear of days. a smear of light on the wall. the clock eats its own tail. got a number. a bad number. a cancer full of ghosts. google said: dead man. maybe. i thought: fine. i’ll just leak out quiet. didn’t tell nobody. told everybody. my boy’s voice on the phone. a crack…
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a letter to the dead… Hey Dad, it’s Monday again.I’m writing from where the cold snap brokeat 39 degrees, the mountains holding their breathlike a man waiting for test results.I wonder what sky you’re under now,if heaven is a temperature,a feeling of warmth after a long chill. Mom is okay. She still watches the news,gets…
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Saturday. Thirty degrees.The cold makes staying in beda theological act.Winter remembers itself here, briefly, in the mountainslike a ghost that forgotto leave completely. The heater hums a midnight hymn.I lower the dial to fifty,a small rebellion against the dark.Still, I waketo its murmur—faithful,fighting a chill I cannot name. They promise warmth next week.Santa Anas will…
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Good morning, Thursday. The week is nearly over. January is already in full swing—by next week, we’ll be halfway through the month. I went to the eye doctor yesterday. Doctor M has been my optometrist for over twelve years now. It’s a comfort, walking in and not having to introduce yourself all over again. She…
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Fifty words hardly seems a story. At 57 I’m over by seven,trying to write an endingappropriate to the characters. This life made moviewhere happily ever afteris six feet below dirt— fodder for red roses to bloomwith thorns that cut deep enoughto match.
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…Texas. Miles came on smooth,took the wrinkle outof speakers too tinnyfor his magic. The skyline could have been Tokyo,Manhattan, Paris,but it wasn’t—it was Pasadena. I settled for a Pasadena somewhere in Texas,not even California,sandwiched at Jake’s Baron a Taco Tuesday,35 floors of heat abovea mixed-use zoning fiasco,where business sucks bad enoughthey serve two-dollar fish tacos.…
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It’s 3:40 in the morning, and I’ve been here before. More times now than I care to remember.I wake up maybe a little before, open my eyes, stare off into darkness and think I can make out shadows within the stark black. I bring my hands close to my face and check—I can’t see them.…
BB Grey--musings 