Jose Padua: On the Slow Decline of the Ugly
We called them ugly stickers. Like baseball cards or football cards, they came in packs of bubblegum except for me they were a lot more interesting— no batting averages for … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Self-Portrait in the Form of a Chalk Outline on the Concrete Belly of America
Jose Padua is a dish best served cold with onions, mushrooms and tomatoes in a light broth and accompanied by a rich lager with subtle aftertones of lemon. Jose Padua … Continue reading
Jose Padua: One for the Morning and the Uninterrupted Dancing in my Head
This morning I’m looking for my copy of Reinbert de Leeuw’s super slow performances of the compositions of Erik Satie to play while I do the work I get paid … Continue reading
Jose Padua: And the Green Card Moon Shines Brightly Over the Beautiful Black Ocean
That weekend started off with another encounter with the woman who always tailgates me when I’m trying to stay somewhat close to the school zone speed limit. I’d just dropped … Continue reading
Jose Padua: How Does It Feel to Be Loved and All the Other Questions I’ve Ever Wanted to Ask the Armed Cheerleaders of the Corporate State as an Act of Defiance
That night one year ago, after dinner, I was in the dining room talking to my wife Heather when our thirteen-year-old daughter Maggie came in to ask me for help … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Great Expectations
When the weather woman says there’s still wiggle room in this week’s forecast for snow, I think about it for a period of time that’s longer than a moment but … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Self-Portrait as a Being of Sound and Motion on the Northern Edge of the Southern States
Driving to Winchester the other day Stravinsky’s Symphonies of Wind Instruments comes on the stereo as we head west into the sunset on 66 ready for the curve at the … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Half-Life
This is my autobiography at mid-life, assuming that at 51 years of age I will live another 51 years and die at 102. That’s not very likely, but I wasn’t … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Days and Nights in the City Where I First Opened My Eyes
My mother worked nights at home, daytime too, in the house, at the sewing machine, making dresses for women who could afford to have dresses made for them. We bought … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Party Invitation for the Age of Unnatural Disasters
If life were like a perfume commercial I’d be spending even more time than I already do gazing pensively into the distance the top buttons of my shirt undone my … Continue reading
Jose Padua: For the City and These Long Decades Spent Wandering
After dinner one evening my six year old son declares “Trump is a barbarian” from out of nowhere or anywhere I can immediately recall not that speaking the truth ever … Continue reading
Jose Padua: To the Trump Supporter Who Called Me and My Kids Dirtbags
Because I try to respond to racism and ignorance with something positive, intelligent, and sophisticated, and because I always try to set a good example for my children, but mostly … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Because Even in the Darkest of Days Revolution Is a Movement Towards the Light
On the same day in August 1967 when American Nazi Party leader George Lincoln Rockwell was killed, my younger brother was born: one bad guy down, one good guy up … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Marquee Moon
This is a poem for all the nobodies who got fucked over by someone with a name and became ghosts, who once held blueberries and radishes and tiny animals in … Continue reading
