Sorry for the long pause of posts. My daughter, Kantra was out of school and I’m working on some things that always get buried under writing assignments. Last month Huffpost published my personal article, “I’m Raising A Biracial Daughter In Japan, Where She’s Surrounded By Blackface.” I know I should’ve written a reaction to its reaction(s), but I had to counter the vertigo of retweets and likes. The world’s response was head-spinning. I had a TV reporter contact me about doing …
Category: Florida
Just wrote an article about raising my daughter, Kantra in Japan. It’s up here. Watching her has inspired me and its forced me and my wife to grow in unforeseeable ways. Nothing humbles you like a determined child who doesn’t give a single solitary fuck about what you doing, what you need to do, or what you was about to do. “Daddy, play with me.” Got an essay that’s getting published. Hopefully it’ll drop soon. Won’t say who yet, but …
Last year my daughter, Kantra forced me to pick up my crown. For many nights, on my knees, helping my four-year-old get dressed for bed, at eye level she’d tell me, “I’m a Princess. Mommie is Mommie Queeen and you’re Daddy King.” We could be in a grocery store aisle and out of her pocket she pulls rocks, rose pedals, acorns, and handfuls of sand. She got a bike for Christmas and a remote control car. In the last few …
In 2012, the inception of The Microscopic Giant was supposed to be a bloodletting of sorts. I always wanted to tell stories that reflected my experience and the opposite. Posting about music, art, film, and culture was a pivot from my original intention. I got shook. I suck. My work wasn’t finished. It wasn’t the right time. All I have is time. If I considered my writing to be an invite for the world to fuck with me, perhaps that’s …
He pegged me a tourist taking flicks.“What’s it like?”It’s like crouching under the atmosphere to keep from scorching your head. Earth’s glowing curvature is a celestial levee, a barrier to the darkness. The stars are neon streets and heavenly islands of light. They are as real as phantom pain firing from a severed limb. You stand still, afraid of stepping on the people below. You’re always in the way. Sometimes all you see is the white of clouds. Up there is …
Socials