my 365 experiment

108/365 - David

2010-01-14T21:10:00.000-08:00

David held our building together before it all went to shits, rust water spilling over us; David with his glittery things, objects d' manufactured art set just so, snow leopard robe, manicured shrubs. When he hit the road for Palm Springs, fluff doggy in lap, bad people moved in and the walls began to crumble.

107/365 - Audrey

2010-01-13T15:53:00.000-08:00

She lives from her hips, the spaces she inhabits fill from there--gumption, zest, and a way of being that soothes like a petal bath. Half lush island, half dense city, she circles them both, coaxing onlookers into flight.

106/365 - Reiko

2010-01-12T00:38:00.000-08:00

Reiko aimed with precision, half urban cowgirl, half Zen archer, each move preconcieved without regret. Her fuel burned with the notion of being one woman among many men, one wax lily among sharp branches with thorns.

105/365 - Charles

2010-01-11T22:04:00.000-08:00

Charles--gray shirt and slacks and ashen hair--sat, for three days, three-thousand miles, back like a board, memorizing the landscape ahead. Forty years my senior, he wrote me shaky letters, enclosing trinkets like bracelets and keychains.

104/365 - María II

2010-01-10T21:28:00.000-08:00

This little willow tree of a woman with the voice of a thousand-year-old witch knows magic. It rests behind her smiling teeth. When she sings, an ancient spring bubbles forth like a mother's aching. Wherever she goes, every living thing stirs.

103/365 - María

2010-01-09T20:00:00.000-08:00

She is busy-ness, nostalgia, fire under water, psicología. María, la que toca, la que sabe--she who plays, she who knows. María, the muse. María whose sentences begin with words, end in gestures.

102/365 - Tomáš

2010-01-08T00:06:00.000-08:00

You punched out the boy who wrote me love letters on toilet paper, your gift for me a bag of green candy on moving day. And there you were a summer later at the sea a thousand miles away, facing me, a stranger.

101/365 - Jana

2010-01-07T22:22:00.000-08:00

From my hands to hers daily I passed my boy--an exercise in trust. She was wispy like a feather, devoted like a nun. And with each time the door closed, more freedom escaped my way.

100/365 - paní Kuncová

2010-01-06T00:49:00.000-08:00

Above the jasmine, apple trees and hazelnuts, the dreaded window. Play, build, jump, hide, throw, do not look up! The widow is all venom, wrinkles and dark lips behind the windowpane that eats light.

99/365 - Lisa

2010-01-05T00:05:00.000-08:00

Sorrow is your fertile ground. You feel it under your feet—soft dark mud the smell of pre-birth. It fills you, a winged bird shackled to the earth, like the tide that always returns. You built your house from it: sorrow rich enough to feed the world.

98/365 - Klára

2010-01-04T01:12:00.000-08:00

You were the softest of the three, the middle daughter with the sensual lips, breath the weight of a hesitation. I wanted to unlock you, see the forbidden upstairs, your room through the curtains.

97/365 - Steve C.

2010-01-03T00:22:00.000-08:00

Collector extraordinaire. A man from another place, another time trapped in the here and now. Dark, narrow shelves lining the walls--a thousand miniature stories, each a world. Who do you share all that you know with?

96/365 - R

2010-01-02T00:04:00.000-08:00

He finds me many years and miles down the road. Those eyes that seared are now faraway, but his words stir me. They are a key. I look. No guard dog here. I am free.

95/365 - babička Fuchsová

2010-01-01T00:30:00.000-08:00

A switch flipped in me from naughty to nice when suffering took on the shape of a well, her daughter dying. At five I'd resolved to soften all impact on her wrinkled velvety skin, toothless chewing, thin grey bun, selfless heart.

94/365 - Lukáš

2009-12-31T00:30:00.000-08:00

Protege poet child, mother said. Eyes like saucers. Summer life in the valley where magic happened: theater in the attic, goats in the pasture, milking in the barn, proposals on hey, first taste of liquor.

93/365 - Jose

2009-12-30T00:04:00.000-08:00

We get lost on the dusty road between tall reeds, trying to reach the sea, so we return to the village where dogs bark at the moon, laundry hangs behind the tavern, eagles hide on skin under shirts.

92/365 - Mario

2009-12-29T00:56:00.000-08:00

Mario of the rock, the lake, the sea, and boat. We meet climbing barefoot above a waterfall where donkeys carry gringos up narrow paths over turquoise depths, agave, sage and aloe. We walk in the waves, make love in candlelight.

91/365 - Alun

2009-12-28T00:51:00.000-08:00

Toothpick body, empty eyes—the youngest soul from the "old continent." He speaks with his sailor molasses voice and the ladies go wild. He dances, but not with me. A pirate and school teacher—a combo made in hell.

90/365 - Mrs. Kučerová

2009-12-27T00:49:00.000-08:00

She wandered the halls--mismatched socks, broken sandals, coat over nightgown-- relating visions of relatives long-lost. And keys, always the saga of missing keys. She offered us her open milk carton when the institution called.

89/365 - O

2009-12-26T00:28:00.000-08:00

We go way back to the slanted roof and Miles under the night sky; to his fling with roadside ribs; and his curses at buckets, brooms and water at dawn. We've traded turfs: palm-lined boulevards for dark medieval alleys——magnets, oil and water.

88/365 - Lada

2009-12-25T00:08:00.000-08:00

You were my anchor; a soft place. But in front of boys, you punched below the belt--dull pain that builds armor. I love you like a sister, our genes almost intertwined, our roots touching across the hemispheres.

87/365 - E

2009-12-24T00:47:00.000-08:00

Underneath the fear lies a vast ocean, a calm blanket over smoldering magma. Her hands make magic in the kitchen and arms revive the dying. But she's unaware of her own powers. The world awaits her awakening.

86/365 - Amalia

2009-12-23T00:02:00.000-08:00

I still have the battle scars as proof you existed. And three photos. The size of your palm imprinted in mine, the feel of your ashes in my hand—ivory and turquoise—falling in to the gurgling river rushing on.

85/365 - Z

2009-12-22T00:48:00.000-08:00

I found my freedom with you in these: the meat and drinks in the house by the cemetery, backpacking across the "old continent," your crazed-boy love letters about getting kicked out of school. The tears really came when you sang for me.

84/365 - M

2009-12-21T00:21:00.000-08:00

I used to worry about you getting snatched up by the circus men; those who holler and spit and charm. But you, sister, are a flower made of iron, spun gently and sharp, planted in the same earth as I.

83/365 - Zdenka

2009-12-20T00:42:00.000-08:00

You set my hair on fire, wring out the last crowns from my fist, and I still return. You know more than I expect and, over tea, take me to Africa and into your heart.

82/365 - S

2009-12-19T13:10:00.000-08:00

A thousand and one words from you to me and back, each one a bridge. But what I wanted was your scent, your breath, your flesh, your core—a flame that still burns.

81/365 - Laurel

2009-12-18T00:09:00.000-08:00

You'd get tangled up over nothing. Red-faced, spinning every which way. But you had good ideas and a heart. Did they not see? Whispering, they took the trembling you on a long walk down the springboard. And then they made you jump.

80/365 - H

2009-12-17T00:06:00.000-08:00

You split yourself to pieces for the kids, a raucous, and yes, blissful undertaking. But I fear it rubs raw the part of you that you should own. Will your small flame still be there, lit, ready to shine through when they're grown?

79/365 - Talya

2009-12-16T00:52:00.000-08:00

Talya. God's Dew. Maybe a muse in disguise. She saw into the future. Had a way of gliding through life, the way a celestial being would. Everything she touched turned to poetry, and, like an apple, I craved her.

78/365 - Katya

2009-12-15T00:20:00.000-08:00

She was the Western wind, bringing American r's to our house behind the Iron Curtain. Then after we crossed the ocean to America, she took us to where we planted roots - West to begin again.

77/365 - Oly

2009-12-14T00:03:00.000-08:00

You bastard, I loved you. You asked my boss to push the broom so you could have me first. Pine oil and poetry, fried fish, records in your cave, your New York stories. I wanted your baby.

76/365 - Adrian

2009-12-13T19:51:00.000-08:00

His house was windows and blackberry bushes, his art black and white faces in crowns of trees. We drummed, never exchanging many words. Last time, I saw him with an entourage of women; a flock of wives wearing white turbans.

75/365 - Marcos

2009-12-12T00:02:00.000-08:00

We meet at a jazz bar, then for two weeks hold hands, even when someone in a crowd tries to stone me, a mysterious moment we run away from together. He sends me perfumed letters and music. We dream of crossing borders to be together.

74/365 - Bob

2009-12-11T23:32:00.000-08:00

Not many eat the grapes in Bob's symmetrical yard, tended by the hired man with the canister of poison. They rot and fall. Bob walks to the park, counts the dogs, then returns to check on wife Rose and his manicured shrubs.

73/365 - Ms. Y

2009-12-10T16:33:00.000-08:00

We sit, listening to "romanchick" music: a raspy sailor pining for luscious hips and thighs. Her car's an oasis—smell of cinnamon and spice, orthodox icons to guide us. I want her to hear: you're beautiful.

72/365 - Jordan

2008-03-21T13:59:00.000-07:00

He was a dark-haired boy; handsome, but with empty eyes. He was liked, in the in-crowd. And then one night, as the story went, he morphed into a monster that made the girls avert their gaze.

71/365 - Laurel B

2008-03-20T21:22:00.000-07:00

The woman of a hundred blazers, each a different color to match her mood. A jovial lady, sometimes hectic and confused, she'd become a hawk, ice-blue eyes zeroing in on what mattered most-kids speaking their minds.

70/365 - Bogdanka

2008-03-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

Bogdanka chain smokes, legs crossed, eyes narrowed, chin up in the air. A woman in black. A movie star. Torch singer, trapped in office desk land. She lights up another. Memories of the Old Country come flooding in.

69/365 - Admir

2008-03-18T19:40:00.000-07:00

On Smack Down nights he beamed, eager to shout at the TV along with his three-year-old. "Keep up!" he'd say, broom in hand. Admir ran away from war and here was homesick to tears. Family was everything.

68/365 - Liliya

2008-03-17T22:15:00.000-07:00

Those miniskirts made the boys blush, didn't she see? Too busy severing her ties with the thin-scarf village ladies from back home. Talking, her eyes would make contact, then swoop down to the ground, for fear of being found out.

67/365 - William

2008-03-16T22:38:00.000-07:00

William wears his heart on his sleeve, sweaty from trabajo few appreciate. When he says sorry, his eyes water, he sprints out the door. His hometown is jungles, limestone caves, turquoise waters, and resorts spreading like a disease.

66/365 - Larry

2008-03-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

Larryman always had a scheme: strike it big, rake in the dough, live like a blue collar king. A house and some money for poker. He wasn't one for much ass-kissing: one day at work, the next day gone.

65/365 - Dan

2008-03-14T14:12:00.000-07:00

Dan was beer, books and buffoonery. A brilliant writer, or so his friends said. His agoraphobic wife became his best excuse, but more likely he made himself scarce when a girl he secretly liked broke his heart.

64/365 - Mindy

2008-03-13T23:28:00.000-07:00

Mindy, the perky girl with a boring boyfriend, wasn't scared of a uniform. At Applebee's she jumped right into a manager seat. Sold phone plans on the side, which worked amazingly like a repellent.

63/365 - Bobby

2008-03-12T23:23:00.000-07:00

Robert was Bobby. Or Owl. Or a walk in the woods. Eyes always smiling, breath withheld as if waiting for something: a better place, enlightenment... Tender, then gone. How did we drift so far apart?

62/365 - Pancho

2008-03-11T14:59:00.000-07:00

The owner downs one Corona after another, watching the white-fleshed girls twirl, heaping plates in hand. Meanwhile Pancho churns out fancy gringo grub, each burrito a quarter closer to the new house for the familia, a school uniform for the hermana, a bus ticket home.

61/365 - Teresa

2008-03-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

Teresa, madre de la comunidad. Her voice a hand, a song for: the girl whose mother was taken away; a grandmother, apron hiding her aching breast and tired thighs; a blinding farmer with family behind a fence guarded by guns.

60/365 - Noah

2008-03-09T22:38:00.000-07:00

He was our kind of a boy, or so I thought. But when we, the sisters, unveiled the tall tales from which we all would build our house, Noah went looking for bigger fish to fry.

59/365 - Aram

2008-03-08T21:28:00.000-08:00

Aram: a name that sends you sailing on a turquoise sea somewhere far. Behind his pretty face was a wafer-thin soul. His chess game went fast. One move and check, he had you by the throat. No-chin girl? Not a funny joke.

58/365 - Courtney

2008-03-07T09:10:00.000-08:00

Gone for seventeen years and back again, Counterculture Courtney minces no words. She opens her door, serves soup and bread, laughs big. I know I can melt in her arms and cry.

57/365 - Erika

2008-03-06T13:51:00.000-08:00

Erika lived around the corner, her yellow house warm and inviting. She only had her dad. Tragic, I thought. She should have talked some sense into her friend, my boyfriend's other girl.

56/365 - Bishop

2008-03-05T22:14:00.000-08:00

The piano and this jazz cat from another era were a match made in heaven. With a raspy voice and a blink of his one good eye he would greet me. We never spoke at length. He was too much of a man.

55/365 - Sanna

2008-03-04T20:54:00.000-08:00

Like waterfalls, her people's sentences flow and drop from voiced to breathy, the last words inhaled. Her people rub their skin raw in the heat of the sauna. Their houses are made of pine. Around each corner is a lake, waiting.

54/365 - Faith

2008-03-03T17:19:00.000-08:00

For three nights I, Iphigenia, called her mother. But she, in her red velvet dress, always kept her distance. Never having had a child, she could not fathom what it would feel like to lose a daughter to the gods.

53/365 - Bernhard

2008-03-02T15:19:00.000-08:00

The jolly robot speaks to me again of caulk and his love of machines. Rent is due, he says. I dread the pipe surgery he's clamoring to perform. When he turns away I pull the curtains closed: "Bye bye, landlord. Go away."

52/365 - Charles

2008-03-01T14:58:00.000-08:00

Charles with eyes of a heroin junkie, collected rent checks by day and preached to lost souls by night. In the basement room with no windows he kept a genie who'd leap out to greet me at laundry time.

51/365 - Stephen

2008-02-29T22:15:00.000-08:00

I didn't know what to make of his icy blue eyes and soap actor face. Most of the time we drove across the country in silence, gliding eerily over the plains, all other passengers women or girls, he the only rooster in the coop.

50/365 - Alan

2008-02-28T14:14:00.000-08:00

It is not polite to laugh at a small, graying, wild-haired gringo in cop sunglasses, frozen in fear high up on the steps of the Pyramid of the Moon. Instead, softly beckon him until the fear melts away and the man descends.

49/365 - Angelina

2008-02-27T14:16:00.000-08:00

After two years of living across from her, I meet Angelina of the humble pink house, owner of a maniac sausage dog, wife of a taxi driver who always shouts. It's true; someone else on her block knows Russian.

48/365 - Tom

2008-02-26T23:27:00.000-08:00

Tom barely says hi, so I barely remember his name. His wife is the neighborly one. He drives a silver car, likes to watch sports on TV and has two kids in California.

47/365 - Derrick

2008-02-25T21:58:00.000-08:00

He used to say he believes in nothing, but his heart has softened. Derrick, a man of more than seven lives: from an island, from the motherland, the seas, the weapon-filled jungle, and finally the metropolis with cameras for eyes.

46/365 - Suzanne

2008-02-24T11:46:00.000-08:00

We'd meet in her attic room devoted to poetry, fire in the gas stove burning, her breathy voice reading poems, so light and easy. I shared mine too, wondering how much longer till I run out of not want, but need.

45/365 - Louise

2008-02-23T20:42:00.000-08:00

Louise, aka Lion Lady, looked like a secret agent and acted like a warden self-promoted to boss. She wanted people to be afraid of her, and most were. Her only weaknesses: her daughter and food.

44/365 - Sanela

2008-02-22T19:54:00.000-08:00

She shared her secret: afraid of dying at fourteen, she thought herself crazy. I too was afraid of death at her age, but not because of war. Telling someone shattered the fear, lifted her so she could soar.

43/365 - Vašek

2008-02-21T19:19:00.000-08:00

I recognized him in disguise as the devil when I was five. He appeared at our house in his pinkish tights the way devils do with angels and St. Nicholas each December. The fairytale gone, I raged at the adults for their lies.

42/365 - Elaine

2008-02-20T21:14:00.000-08:00

Elaine, the icy piano woman, cringed instead of speaking. When she took over the warm-up for the director, her hands shook. Each eye looked in a different direction. She kept herself walled off from all of us.

41/365 - Dr. Wright

2008-02-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

When everything around was quicksand, Dr. Wright was my lone island of solid ground. He'd yell till his face turned crimson, but he had demands, vision, expectations. He steered us in making music like nothing else mattered.

40/365 - Patrice

2008-02-18T14:27:00.000-08:00

I watched her channel a spirit. She sounded half-asleep and parched. I was a king soul, she said; a poet in my last life. Her belief in soul ages struck a chord with me.

39/365 - Rebecca

2008-02-17T19:28:00.000-08:00

What a good neighbor she is: always pruning, weeding, bringing over plates of fresh pastries and flowers. When the paramedics came, she hustled over offering help. And we? Ungrateful, reclusive slobs with a toddler who yells and pees on shrubs.

38/365 - Dagmar

2008-02-16T23:02:00.000-08:00

She, my first grade teacher, understood our fragility. When the learning was enough, she let us rest our heads on our desks and told stories like the one in which she went sailing down a river.

37/365 - Mr. Holub

2008-02-15T21:00:00.000-08:00

In translation, his name meant pigeon. For the school picture he wore orange and green polyester. The only male teacher in my grade school, he taught gardening. But all I remember was our weekly walk to the plot and others doing the digging.

36/365 - Carmen

2008-02-14T20:54:00.000-08:00

I liked how tough she was - that silent butch look and attitude. I liked her name and how its flamboyance cut through her veneer. The other day, years later, she recognized me and asked: "Are you prego?" "My baby's dead," I could not answer.

35/365 - Filip

2008-02-13T20:43:00.000-08:00

Fatherhood transformed this mafioso man-child into a tender young man. No one expected this when only months ago his macho talk shut his woman in the kitchen, his hand on the cash box and ass in shiny leather pants on his supersonic motorbike.

34/365 - Robert

2008-02-12T17:57:00.000-08:00

This old man poet, each poem an ode to self, had a thing for young girls. His hope to dazzle me in his dark house with beef stew and the idea of touch theater sent insects crawling up my spine.

33/365 - Skip

2008-02-11T17:38:00.000-08:00

Skip's face was like Bill's: puffy and red with narrow eyes aimed down and sideways. That and too much cologne meant he was not to be trusted. After I left, the ceiling caved in and burying the dusty plaques covering his office walls.

32/365 - Ahadi

2008-02-10T12:57:00.000-08:00

They said she was "so ghetto" and shuddered at the mention of her name. For me, she wrote about her neighborhood: the trash, the gunshots and murders in her building. I said she was talented and watched her hard shell melt away.

31/365 - George

2008-02-09T12:42:00.000-08:00

George, the zombie teacher's right hand boy, was among the walking dead. Vampire-like, he only wore black and kept his nails long and sharp. When grading papers, he would go wild with the red pen, flexing his intellect, elevating himself above his schoolmates.

30/365 - Justin

2008-02-08T21:38:00.000-08:00

I was new to the country and scared. Justin lent an ear as an older brother might, squelching the fear in me while we canoed from island to island, sleeping under the stars, eating granola, learning songs.

29/365 - Randy

2008-02-07T21:23:00.000-08:00

Randy, the cheerful school bus driver, handed tootsie rolls out to us immigrant kids. My universe was so small then: school, home, and the strange, dreamy time in between with Randy's smile, small talk with the Brazilian brothers, hot freeway air through the windows.

28/365 - Bernice

2008-02-06T14:44:00.000-08:00

Bernice was everyone's mother. Her voice full of breath soothed and caressed, her hands always helping or fixing things. Wherever she was I pictured her childhood farm surrounding her: the smell of freshly turned soil and bread, starched laundry and dish soap.

27/365 - Bill

2008-02-05T14:24:00.000-08:00

He reveled in being the gatekeeper. His ancient, puffy, beat-colored face and blood-tinged eyes screamed: "Drunk!" With a perpetual shit stain on the back of his pants, he chain-smoked in class and slurred his words. He was a creep, his boyfriend a son-of-a-bitch.

26/365 - Daniel K.

2008-02-04T14:16:00.000-08:00

A bastard of a friend who rented out his mouse-ridden Manhattan warehouse pad to us and still came over to bathe. Asked if I was a Jew. With only one foot in his world I made the cut. It irked him that I was already taken.

25/365 - Stu

2008-02-03T21:58:00.000-08:00

Stu was the preoccupied, sensitive one like a teacher in training. He would demo tunes, his hollow voice echoing in the chamber of his balding head. He led: a dark room full of girls massaging each other's toes - a brilliant idea.

24/365 - Jennifer

2008-02-02T21:26:00.000-08:00

A head rush when she lectured and possibilities opening. Excitement in the air. We read Foucault, Freud, Frankenstein... I didn't want the class to end. She was my best professor ever.

23/365 - Dee

2008-02-01T00:41:00.000-08:00

A tragic figure. A painter. Really a fantastic artist. Glamorous with a lily behind her ear. Always in pain. Living in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wonder if her work will ever be recognized.

22/365 - Bobbi

2008-01-31T10:29:00.000-08:00

Bobbi, my high school Russian and drama teacher, should not have told me about giving birth to her children at home on all fours. I could think of nothing else when I saw her.

21/365 - Clara

2008-01-30T00:45:00.000-08:00

A delightful, absent-minded professor with a passion for opera, married to Robbie who wanted to be Bob. Her signature: a 7 AM serenade on an out-of-tune piano. Years after splitting up with their son, they are family still.

20/365 - Martin

2008-01-29T00:41:00.000-08:00

Martin, the janitor, was one of three men whose admiration of Hitler I had become privy to in my life. Martin was Mexican with a mullet and mustache. The others were Jews; no mullets or mustaches.

19/365 - Raul

2008-01-28T00:11:00.000-08:00

Dinners at Raul's house: a huge homemade spread, tall tales and jokes, kids and friends home for dinner. The kind of atmosphere I always wished for. By the time decaf was served, Raul was asleep in his chair, snoring, content.

18/365 - Lukas

2008-01-27T00:42:00.000-08:00

Lukas heard us speaking his language. That's how we met. He chastised us because "Fakt?"or "Really?" in Czech sounds to good American Christians like "fucked." He showed us Jesus slide shows, hoping to convert us to no avail.

17/365 - Dumpster Dave

2008-01-26T00:23:00.000-08:00

A strange character of few words and many dreads who knew the closing time of shops; the magic hour when trash transformed into treasures. For fun, Dumpster D and crew would "jump Dravis," the steepest Seattle street, in a packed car.

16/365 - Lilah

2008-01-25T00:09:00.000-08:00

She was like a river at night - daunting and alive, always moving and stirring. I didn't know then, when my love poem for her made her cry, that in Hebrew her name meant night.

15/365 - Benji

2008-01-24T00:39:00.000-08:00

He offered me gum before our first kiss freshman year. Was it my breath or a commercial he saw? At home he saw my Barbies, met my family, taught me some Tagalog. After that, he never asked me out again.

14/365 - Gregg

2008-01-23T00:32:00.000-08:00

He kayaked to work across the Bay, dodging ferries and cargo ships. From his history class I remember nothing, but in woodworking I made a paddle for our trip to the Islands. Twelve teens in tents and canoes... and Gregg. Unforgettable!

13/365 - Sterling

2008-01-22T00:14:00.000-08:00

Close high school friends, we wandered around the city: ping pong, pool, parks, Pike Place Market, hacky sack, classic rock, science, philosophy, gossip. The crisp smell of his leather jacket and his aloof ways sat funny in the pit of my stomach.

12/365 - Helenka

2008-01-21T00:35:00.000-08:00

Helenka, the village girl, shared a room with her parents and had a mutt smart as a whip. Grandma wore a scarf and raised chickens, dad drove a garbage truck. We were: festival organizers, store owners, farmers, dj's at eight-, ten-years-old.

11/365 - Alex

2008-01-20T14:01:00.000-08:00

Why Alex and his father decided to come over and mow our lawn once remains a mystery. In return, I helped them paint a room for a Russian exchange student, joking: "As long as it's not pink." And pink it was.

10/365 - Eva

2008-01-19T00:46:00.000-08:00

Bucktoothed and long-toed, she walked with me to school every day. In the afternoons we did homework together. Lucky girl lived in a quiet, neat flat and had her own room where a fish tank hummed softly.

9/365 - Bani

2008-01-18T12:01:00.000-08:00

He loved to watch us die for him - expire in front of the class, theater-style, always searching for the sort of genius that was his own. Larger than life, he enlightened or stung like a black widow.