Carlsbad Flower Field, California. Photo by author.

Photo by Jairo Alzate on Unsplash

I got some egg-splainin’ to do.
It’s not what the Watusi is.
I had to Google that, too.

I thought the doctor
spent most of his time in the ER
Why I guess
he is one of those geriatric types, too.


I cannot let you partake in the blame for what I did.
How could I do that?
You have always been a gracious host
Why even for some of my weirdest stuff.

Yo le quiero pedir a babalú.

A place for all things bite-sized but they always carry quite a big bite. Why in your…

The cow-lander cow deviating from the norm in Petaluma, California. Photo by author.

People always tell me, “stay in your cow-lane,” “think inside the cow-box,” “don’t rock the cow-boat,” “go with the cow-flow,” and “hey, whose hand is down there?!”

And what do I say?


That’s not how progress happens. So what? I risk a few lacerations around my neck. You know how many cows are salivating at the sight of eating these sweet weeds. I don’t know. I’m asking you. My head is stuck. I imagine many.

Also, they are constantly salivating, so you might not tell if they are doing it because I’m eating these weeds. So there’s that.



Photo by Vanessa Bucceri on Unsplash

After a few more hours of Jedi-mind tricks of the rich, the students were finally given a break. Their brains needed it.

Everybody started making their way out of the room. Lilac leaned over and whispered into Steve’s ear, “take me somewhere for an early dinner.”

Steve wondered if Lilac wanted to have sex again because no one has to whisper about getting lunch. He decided to play it safe since they’ve already done it this morning, and he could use the grub. …

Somewhere in Paris. I think. Photo by author’s wife. Because of California’s Common Law, Photo by Author.

I love the freedom that comes from writing in whatever format I feel like. I don’t restrain myself to think, “I’m only a writer who writes x and that’s it”.

That is such a weird concept. I heard it all the time in writing conferences. Other writers and agents would tell me, “you don’t want to confuse your audience. If they expect you to always do x, then always do x.”

What would my community be confused by? By who I am? A person who enjoys writing a poem as much as a personal essay. …

A concerned cow advocating for equitable carbon restrictions. Cotati, California. Photo by author.

Would you stop farting for climate change?

You hear it all over the news. Humans are worried about climate change. They are especially fixated with our farts and how supposedly our farts contain a lot of methane.

The English language depicts us cows as being completely devoid of emotions with phrases such as “standing like a cow in the rain.” Now, they blame us for the imminent demise of the world and human race.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

On the former insult, I have to say why wouldn’t we stand under the rain? There is nowhere to go…

Flower in Petaluma, California. Photo by author.

I offer for your appreciation a picture of a beautiful electricity meter.

Notice the structure of its stark and aggressive lines. Observe how valiantly it stands in a world of color with its drab gray palette. How indifferent it is to the approval her neighbor, the flower, gets.

The electricity meter doesn’t care about approval. It only cares about accurately measuring how much electricity you are using. It will let you know which tier you belong to. It will calculate your bill like no one else can calculate your bill.

It is the true and gentle invader of your privacy…

Photo by Loverna Journey on Unsplash

Excuse me, mister, don’t slap me in the face
with your white glove and your silly hat.
I haven’t had breakfast and you
getting in my face makes me want to gag.

It is not hard either with your glove with smells of Florida.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean it like a swamp or someone who is old.
I just meant it like bitter citrus.
Is that you who smells like bergamot?

I didn’t know you were an English Lord. Are you always such a fraud? I will call you by your first name. Understand, I’m American; we…

An Old Car’s Reflection — Petaluma, California. Photo by author.

I thought I hated people.

When I was living in the city I couldn’t wait to retire. I knew I was going to move to the suburbs. I was really going to live life to the max away from the urban noises. I would leave the hustle and bustle behind me. The grind of city life. The grime of the city streets.

I knew I would find fulfillment out here in the middle of brown and green fields.

I had visited Petaluma a few times before making my move. Once a year, old cars — I mean distinguished cars —…

Carlos Garbiras

Of course it’s funny. Are you not paying attention? || Founder of DarkRoom on Medium. ||

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