Green On The Go

I’m always moving. Even in my sleep. This funky lil’ green through summer I shall keep. Love my life!

whole frickin’ apple 

huge handful of spinach

killer cukes

frozen pineapple

went with ginger today instead of turmeric 


Weight Loss and Gain

A few months of ridding myself of all routine has allowed me to peer closer at myself. Still not sure what it is that I see. Or long for. It changes daily. What I do know is that weight loss and gain has absolutely nothing to do with the physical. It is the result of the emotional baggage we refuse to let go of that curves our spine, expands the waist and protrudes the belly. If you are not giving birth let it go.


Sunday ConversationsĀ 

Sleep. Wake. Head. Ache. Green tea vibes. Oatmeal ties. Knees creak. Cold floors. Everett shit. Mind lit. No ghosts. Of Christmas past. He and mater didn’t last. Shower. Warm. Air. Cold. Door. Slam. Board. Jam. Cafe talk. No one’s listening. Almond tonic. Loosens the tongue. No one’s listening. Food. Good. Water. Downed. Sweet on a potato. Board. Jam. Skate away. Scene. Me done seen. Eyes on blue. Trees. Chase you. Bike  lanes too. Drop in. Waves down. Ohio’s. Prince. New crown. Alarm.



While America Sleeps

Please don’t scrutinize the picture with your judgement of what you think homelessness should look like. I don’t care that his socks are clean and he has iPhone earphones in his ear. Or that he’s surrounded by books that look hardly worn from moving around. He could have just lost his place. Been kicked out from somewhere. Not unusual this time of year. I don’t know his story. Nor do I know the stories of the countless others I pass on the street and ride the bus with on a daily.

If it makes you feel better, yes most of them are usually filthy and smell bad. But it doesn’t suggest that their situation is one of more hardship than the man pictured here sleeping on a side street in Hollywood. Like I said before I don’t know his story. As I leaned in to slip a bill into his cup I didn’t hear any music coming from the earphones. Nor did he stir. Happy Holidaze.

4:26 in the a.m.

Fell asleep a few hours ago with the lights on again. Holiday hours in the land of retail have kicked in. Rearranging my fit schedule. Disrupting all things balanced. I’m usually annoyed and pissed while slipping in and out of my cranky pants on a daily. Don’t get me wrong. Love Christmas. The lights. The tree decorating. The music. The Baileys. All of it.

I don’t have to necessarily get anything. I just dig that people seem to be a little bit nicer this time of year. Of course when they’re not trampling each other during these ridiculous sales that seem never ending. 

As I lay here contemplating it all. Those things said. That which is not left to restless spirits. I know that this is not it. There is so much more of the world to see. People to meet. Tea to drink underneath a different colored sky. I am a child of the moon. I propose no new changes. It is already happening. Perhaps that is why I’m so unbothered by schedules, numbers, corporate jargon and the angst ridden ramblings of my fellow employees. My spirit is calm. My nature resilient. The shift has begun.


I Don’t Feel Like Blogging

There are days when I just don’t feel like blogging. Oftentimes it feels pointless to genuinely pen a moment only to have it largely ignored. Possibly glimpsed by three people four days later. Just sayin’.

Also, if anyone can figure out the enigma that is Twitter and the Bieber-Kardashian controlled Instagram fill a sista in. I’ll be in the bat cave. No, not that one. Plastic fruit?


A Zany Writer’s Green

Midday vibes. Late. Woke with tremendous head pain. Left side. No appetite. Raw cashews and warm lemon water. That’s about it.

Hours later. Short nap. One documentary in. Another journal entry out. Decided my body needed spiritual peace. Drinking this now. As we speak. A groovy balance of thought. Dig on it.



half frozen banana
frozen cherries
chia seed
hemp seed
cacao nibs
Blueberry Muesli
coconut milk


A Sunday Poem


Living in Los Angeles is hard. Sometimes. All the time. Most days. It can be a very soul less city with everyone clamoring for the attention of cameras not there. No conversation is fruitful. Most engagements are hardly engaging. I find myself searching for life’s depth while needing to fulfill a childhood dream of writing for television before escaping to a much more northern existence. Feel free to insert the word normal. Your choosing. Sorta like that Jif commercial.