In The Town, a Poem

I’m sick of the bustle and strife,
And the men and the women I meet—
This moving, breathing chaos of life
That surges along the street.
Silent and jealous and proud—
However much I may seek,
There’s not a person in all the crowd
To whom I may dare to speak.
No hand is extended to greet me,
No welcome wherever I come;
They’re silent and haughty who meet me—
For people and houses are dumb.

O I could shout to the hills,
And they’d echo and answer again,
And the loud huzza of a hundred rills
Would greet me from valley and glen.
The forests so stately and grand
Would play on their harps as of old,
Till an infinite melody rolled
And widened through all the land.
Even now to my listening heart
Their far-off murmurings come;
O when shall I leave the tumultuous mart
—Where people and houses are dumb?

Not for the Flesh: A 600-Year-Old Vegan Catholic Tradition of Animal Liberation

Being raised as an ethical vegetarian in the West meant being in the minority. It rarely caused tension, but when it did, people would sometimes push on my dietary choices by turning to the scriptures. “But God put animals on Earth for us!” I was told more than once over the years.

And so I grew up taking it for granted that my family’s choices were not just exotic, but alien to the dominant faith in North America and Europe. Seventh Day Adventists excepted, my ethical brethren when it came to vegetarianism belonged to the Eastern religions like Hinduism and Buddhism. Years passed. I became vegan in 2003, at which point I did not ever consider my ethical choices to be in communion with any major Christian denomination, and certainly not Catholicism.

A Bloody San Francisco Mayoral Race

The Story

SF Chronicle editor-in-chief accuses the racist labor mayoral candidate of adultery and his dad of sundry immoralities. Candidate fires back, “His mom ran a whorehouse.” Enraged editor shoots the candidate in the street, once in the chest, once as he ran away. Wounded candidate gets elected Mayor of SF. A few months later, the mayor’s son assassinates the editor in the Chronicle building.

All of this really happened, between August 1879 and April 1880.