Sunday, January 20, 2019


"The logic of power demand[s] that triggers be pulled. It has no room for humanistic concerns and for the reasons of the heart. And how shall one solve this problem? How see that the killing goes on, without inner resistance, without "negative emotional reactions," without a guilty conscience? How transform a painful experience into a pleasant or at least endurable one? How totally adjust the consciousness of man to the logic of power?"

"We dream of peace. This is something new, for in the past we have thought victories more important. What we really loved was the death of our enemies. This is  the secret hidden under the fanfare of military parades and marches. They are liturgies of death, and the fascination they have exercised over us is an indication of how committed we have been to the worship of death."

--Rubem Alves, Tomorrow's Child

"Dragged a black Sgt named Pitt from under flaming Jeep overturned on Hwy. 3. His hands burned off. Kept asking if Jesus would come. 'Will he? Will he?' Over and over, repeating. I told him, By and by."

From the journal of Major Milton Felder, USAF
April 9, 1969
My Lai, South Vietnam"

--Thomas S. Klise, The Last Western

“The greatest purveyor of violence in the world (today) is my own government.”
--Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Friday, January 18, 2019


I have written at length of Thérèse of Lisieux's famous Christmas Eve conversion.

This year I had a little one of my own! I write about it HERE.

Headed up to the Central Coast for the week--wishing you all peace, hope and joy.

Wednesday, January 16, 2019


 Here's how this week's arts and culture column begins:

I spend so much time alone, pondering and praying, that I sometimes forget much of the world holds very different views than I do.

The other day, for example, while talking to a secular friend, I (very unwisely) burst forth with an impassioned description of an essay I was working on.

“It’s about womanhood, and how really the heart of what is best and most glorious about women is their ability to bring new life into the world! You don’t have to be an actual mother, obviously, but the heart of a mother! I can’t get behind this cold-blooded, aggressive fury that seems to be the overriding emotion of today’s ‘feminists.’ ”

Silence. Then — “I can’t say I agree with you. I think it’s fantastic that so many women have been elected to office recently.”

“Well, yes, or rather maybe. Because if they come at their jobs with the same adversarial, power-driven tactics they purport to despise in men, we’re just going to have the formerly oppressed as the new oppressors.”

It devolved from there. My friend thought everything was going to be solved by the new class of warrior women, and I could not be moved from my view of the culture as on every level virulently anti-life.



Friday, January 11, 2019



Here's how this week's arts and culture column begins:

What with the recent Nativity of Christ, the feast of the Holy Family, and the solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, “The Notion of Family” at the California African American Museum (CAAM) seems especially timely.

The exhibit comprises artworks from the 19th through the 21st centuries and runs through March 3.

If you haven’t visited CAAM, you really should. (Its Jan. 21 Martin Luther King Jr. festivities would be a good place to start). CAAM is down in Exposition Park, a neighbor of the Museum of Natural History and the California Science Center.

The building is sharp-looking, expansive, and smart (as is its website). The exhibits, this one overseen by Vida L. Brown, visual arts curator and program manager, are beautifully designed to intrigue without overwhelming.

Though this is the smallest of those currently on view, to me it packs the most intense punch.

Paintings, prints, photographs, assemblages, and sculptures chart “a trajectory of African American family and togetherness over generations.” The impression is of a culture formed around steadfast endurance, community, storytelling, music, and food.

A palpable rootedness to heart and earth. A slow-burning ember of tears and of rage. The lash marks of generational trauma, and a majestic, near-explosive refusal to be overcome by it.


Thursday, January 10, 2019


From a piece by Andrew Sullivan from New York Magazine, dated December 7, 2018, entitled "America's New Religions":

"For many, especially the young, discovering a new meaning in the midst of the fallen world is thrilling. And social-justice ideology does everything a religion should. It offers an account of the whole: that human life and society and any kind of truth must be seen entirely as a function of social power structures, in which various groups have spent all of human existence oppressing other groups. And it provides a set of practices to resist and reverse this interlocking web of oppression — from regulating the workplace and policing the classroom to checking your own sin and even seeking to control language itself. I think of non-PC gaffes as the equivalent of old swear words. Like the puritans who were agape when someone said “goddamn,” the new faithful are scandalized when someone says something “problematic.” Another commonality of the zealot then and now: humorlessness."


"Knowing who we are, it would be really ridiculous
if we kept humour out of our loving.
We are all clowns though we don't always find it easy 
to laugh at our own clowning.

Lord, I love you more than general;
but in this brief particular minute I love this English cigarette
more...maybe even this Gauloise.

Lord, I give you my life, my whole life...
but not this small portion of my life, these three minutes...
when I'm not particularly keen on going to work. 

Lord, for you I would win over this city, 
France, the universe.
I would wear myself to a frazzle
working for your kingdom...
but I can't bear listening to this person 
telling me her petty irritations
for the hundredth time.

Yes, we are the heroes of this slapstick comic opera
and normally the audience that we are playing to
is ourselves.
But this is not the end of the story. 

When we have discovered this priceless comedian,
when we have left with a great roar of laughter
as we have told the funny story that is our life,
we may be tempted to throw ourselves
without more ado
into our careers as a clown, a career for which, after all,
it appears that we have considerable talent.

We would be tempted to think that this was not 
a matter of grave importance and that alongside
the high quality people, the strong and the saints
there would be room for a few clowns and fools
and that this would hardly upset God.
Admittedly this role is not a very exalted one
but nor is it a very demanding one
and this is in its favor.

It is at this point that we ought to recall
that God has not created us for human loving
but for that eternal awesome love
with which he loves everything
that he has ever created.

We should also accept his love
not as a large-hearted magnificent partner
but as the idiot beneficiary of it that we are,
devoid both of charm and basic loyalty. 

And in this adventure of Mercy
we are asked to give whatever we can
until we have nothing left.
We are even asked to laugh
when the gift that we make is defective
whether because of failure, filth or impurity. 

But we are asked also to be full of wonder
with tears of thanksgiving and joy
before this inexhaustible treasure
that flows into us from God's heart.

It is at this intersection 
of laughter and joy
that we find a peace 
beyond all confusion.

--Madeleine Delbrêl (1904-1964),  French Catholic author, poet, social activist and mystic,
from The Joy of Believing


Monday, January 7, 2019



"Woodseers are insects which I dare say you know very well whether it be the proper name I don't know this what we call them & that you know is sufficient for us--they lye in little white notts of spittle on the backs of leaves & flowers. How they come I don't know but they are always seen plentiful in moist weathe--& are one of the shepherds weather glasses. When the head of the insect is seen upward it is said to token fine weather when downward on the contrary wet may be expected."

--John Clare (1793-1864)

Friday, January 4, 2019



[A] certain German-speaking Trappist abbey in the last century was smothered with frescoes of the most alarming kind. Symbols of death and dissolution confronted the eye at every turn, and in the refectory the beckoning torso of a painted skeleton, equipped with an hour glass and a scythe, leant, with the terrifying archness of a forgotten guest, across the coping of a wall on which were inscribed the words: Tonight, maybe?

--Patrick Leigh Fermor, A Time to Keep Silence

And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said: ‘Surely the LORD is in this place; and I knew it not.’ And he was afraid, and said: ‘How full of awe is this place! this is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’

— Genesis 28:16-17

Wednesday, January 2, 2019


For the paperback, please go with amazon 
as the direct seller (you'll get PRIME free shipping), 
as that way the royalty goes to me. Or of course there's kindle. 

I have re-acquired the rights to my beloved cancer memoir, STRIPPED!

Here's a page with an audio excerpt and the opening chapter. 

This is a really I must say worthy book that I had originally self-published, and that was then bought by Loyola Press. Which was very kind of them, except that they changed the subtitle and interpolated a cover that I just could never get behind.

So now, at my request, they have declared their version out of print, the rights have reverted to me, and STRIPPED: Cancer, Culture and the Cloud of Unknowing with fab cover and interior design by Rowan Moore-Seifred of DoubleMRanch Design is up and running!

However, disentangling the two titles and the many formats in which the book is available on amazon was kind of nightmarish. I spent so much time talking to various folks in India, sending emails to Customer Care, and double-clicking arcane links to vile used booksellers whose "nearly new" stock amazon allows them to sell as new and thus undersell the author, that I have knocked seven dollars off the price and, left the whole thing to God.

The upshot of amazon's marketing model is that they get 70% or more of the royalties and I (and every other author who self-publishes with them), make about 2 bucks a paperback book as opposed to one buck with an outside publisher. So I was gratified to note that Jeff Bezos and his wife recently coughed up 15 million bucks to be divided among three Catholic charities. You're welcome!


Monday, December 31, 2018



Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

--Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850


Friday, December 28, 2018



The other day I watched a film called “Caught” (1949),by the great German-born director Max Ophüls. I’ve seen “The Earrings of Madame de” (1953) (originally at The Brattle in Harvard Square, circa 1979) and “Letter to an Unknown Woman” (1948) multiple times.

But “Caught” was new to me, and afterwards I thought to share with all ten of my readers some of the many movies I've enjoyed in 2018.

The Laemmle Playhouse 7 is right down the street from me, so I do see a certain number of first-run pictures.

But I'm also a sucker for black and white films from the 40s through 60s with evil femme fatales, sadistic husbands, conniving mistresses, deranged prison wardenesses, and demented DIY surgeons. I thrive on close-ups of faces, twisted with love, terror, and the anguish of betrayal especially, as was often the case in those pre-airbrushed days, when accompanied by bad teeth, clearly false facial hair, and (for the women) half-inch thick painted-on eyebrows.

The male lead in “Caught,” a pathologically money-hoarding multi-millionaire, was reportedly modeled on Howard Hughes. So of course I then had to brush up on Howard Hughes. At wiki I learned: “In 1958, Hughes told his aides that he wanted to screen some movies at a film studio near his home. He stayed in the studio's darkened screening room for more than four months, never leaving. He ate only chocolate bars and chicken and drank only milk, and was surrounded by dozens of Kleenex boxes that he continuously stacked and re-arranged.

He wrote detailed memos to his aides giving them explicit instructions neither to look at him nor speak to him unless spoken to. Throughout this period, Hughes sat fixated in his chair, often naked, continually watching movies. When he finally emerged in the summer of 1958, his hygiene was terrible.”

Substitute super-strong coffee for milk, black licorice Twizzlers for chocolate bars and chicken, and the edge of my hoodie sleeve for Kleenex (I do NOT watch movies naked!) and that person could have been me.

I mean doesn’t everyone spend around mid-November through mid-March holed up in his or her room catching up on all the films they missed during those pesky months filled with warmth and sun?

Somehow “Caught,” in which James Mason plays a doctor and the love interest of Barbara bel Geddes, led me to “The Seventh Veil”  (1945),which somehow led me to a couple of websites devoted exclusively to British cinema from the 60s “kitchen sink” era, which somehow led me to fandor, and all I can say now is God help me.

So far from that particular cache I’ve seen “Jungle Street” (1960), “Saturday Night Out” (1964), and the truly delicious “Blind Corner” (1963) (stellarly sinister wife of blind concert pianist plots with lover to kill him) and I am already thinking I should really limit myself to one or eight a week.

Here are a few other random films I’ve especially liked this past year:

Room at the Top (1959): (Laurence Harvey at his weaselly best)

Sweet Smell of Success (1957): (Burt Lancaster in iconic role of newspaper gossip columnist J.J. Hunsecker)

The Face of Another (1966): (creepy black and white Japanese existential drama; features skin-grafting)

Seconds (1966): (the gruesome dangers of man-made "rebirth," starring Rock Hudson)

Patterns (1956): (written by Rod Serling: the wages of corporate greed on soul)

Come Back, Little Sheba (1952): (Burt Lancaster as alcoholic husband, Shirley Booth as annoying but beloved wife)

Jet Storm (1959): (air travel in the days when people dressed up to fly, you could still smoke, and the TSA didn't pre-check passengers for bombs)

The Awful Dr. Orlof (1961): (former prison doctor, aided by blind henchman Morpho, abducts beautiful women from nightclubs and tries to use their skin (clearly a favorite theme) to repair his daughter's fire-scarred face)

The Browning Version (1951): (splendid British boarding school drama)

The Comedians (1967): (based on the Graham Greene novel, with Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, sizzling).

The Pumpkin-Eater (1964): (philandering college professor husband encourages wife and mother  to have an abortion with devastating results. With Anne Bancroft and Peter Finch)

Phaedra (1962): (Beyond! An absolute must-see. Melina Mercouri and Anthony Perkins)

Which reminds me--There’s a seminarian who helps out at morning Mass and who looks exactly like Tony P. in “Psycho.”

He wears a pristine white alb, neatly belted at the waist, and as I pass by him kneeling at his prie-dieu after the Eucharist, I always half-expect him to look up and say “…Mother?”