It can seem strange that I write about addiction and depression; as well as, writing and music and computers. The thing is that, to me, they’re all part of the same thing: My identity. This identity of mine is how… Continue Reading →
In the barrio where I grew up, we called ourselves, Chicanos. I always believed that was what I was: A Chicano kid. I had no idea growing up that there isn’t any real such thing as a Chicano. I came… Continue Reading →
When I was young, maybe nine or ten years old, I wore a purple t-shirt that had a muscle-bound guy wearing a “wife-beater” and blue bandana over his head. He had his fist raised to the sky and behind him… Continue Reading →
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