I’ve had a couple of blogs through the years, and trying to figure out a way to save all the writing — easier said than done — but I found a few poems and posts I thought I’d copy here, just to have in this space.

#1

I never know what it means to work on a poem, and usually it’s just a jumble of words that come to me, and I feel better when I write them down. I suppose what you do is shave them, but in the meantime, this works as a repository.

Kicked off zig zag…


The Rite of Spring (Joffrey Ballet)

I didn’t blink the first time I watched the Joffrey Ballet reconstruction of the Rite of Spring. I was so struck I remember what the room looked like, it was a small room where we held seminars in college — the blue upholstered university chairs, the cart with the television and VHS (this was 1991 or ‘92). I was fascinated by the ballet, by the reconstruction of it, and in my memory I didn’t blink for the entirety of the piece. It felt like being slapped. It remains one of my favorites.

I saw a production a few years ago…


Edvard Munch — The Shriek

The pandemic has stretched all of us in unexpected ways. We’ve broken old habits, realized it was time to get out of a relationship, or perhaps time to get in one, gained a good twenty pounds. I started watching horror movies.

I’m a lifelong, avowed scaredy-cat. I’m fine with it. I’ve watched very few horror movies in my life, scared enough by the trailers to know to avoid them. I had to leave the room when the Magic trailer commercial came on as child (we couldn’t fast forward then). After seeing Poltergeist in eighth grade, my mother and newly minted…


I’ve been thinking a lot about paradox lately, particularly the paradox of fear. How it works is this: I fear something, and my actions to avoid it bring about the particular thing I’m fearful of. I drink, I think I am avoiding loneliness and depression, only to realize the substance itself is causing the exact feelings I’m trying to dodge. I fear losing people, so in my anxiety I am needy and push away the exact people I hope to be close to. The list goes on. …


I’m flummoxed by poetry in some ways, but lines appear every once in a while. I texted a poet friend who said, “Why do these lines come to us?!”

It’s probably like a song, but a fragment of something you’ve never heard before. They’re usually pure emotion or feeling, sentiment. I don’t know a lot about craft of them. I’m learning, though to write them down instead of ignoring them. They’re usually about some kind of grief.

This one has some geographic feel, and I could go deeper with the stone part of it, but we talked about poetry being…


An abridged version of this essay appeared in Salon. https://www.salon.com/2019/12/24/handsy-moms-porsche-demanding-kids-a-santa-for-hires-christmas-in-los-angeles/

You may think Santa doesn’t exist, but he does. I know, because I played him. A couple of years ago, in a moment of panic, I agreed to work as Santa. This was a little over a year after I’d been laid off as a marketing manager as a large studio. I had decided to take the leap and follow my original career path of acting, which turned out to be not so much of a leap and a path as a jump and a steep drop into a cave…


Rootlessness

Friends of mine posted a link to a New Yorker article about Breaking Bad recently. I met my dearest lifelong friends, who are family now, whom I can’t imagine not in my life, in Albuquerque in high school. (I have to take a moment here to plug Tanya Ward Goodman’s beautiful, aching memoir “Leaving Tinkertown” here, and not only because she is a friend mentioned above, but because it’s a heartwrenching story beautifully written.)

I moved to New Mexico when I was in eighth grade to go live with my mother and step-father, desperate to escape my ill, difficult…


I wrote this in 2017, and didn’t realize I hadn’t shared it, but not much has changed..

I bought some cherries at the farmer’s market on Sunday. I looked around, since the ones I saw were expensive: $8 for a large pint. It seemed that they cost less last year. I went to the youngish guy with the tattoos who has fruit that seems organic — bug spots, smaller, riper. He usually has deals, and if the scale is on your side he’ll throw a couple of extra plums in to even out the bunch.

“Sorry, season’s over,” he said…


“I never date actors.”

That sentence is a summation of dating in Los Angeles. Assumptions of personality based on occupation and a set of rules. I’ve been on the receiving end, and also felt it more than a few times. What the speaker usually means is they don’t date actors who aren’t on a series or otherwise very gainfully employed. I’m sure if an Oscar winner asked you out, your response would not be “I don’t date actors.” It would be, “Have you been to Mozza?”

Most people would couch that idea in the notion that actors are self –centered…


Right after New Year I went to visit my friend Randy about an hour north of San Francisco, where he lives in a remote cabin. He’s somewhat of a nature boy, and though I pretend to that, I’m much more comfortable in a city with access to nature. A friend of his was hosting a cocktail party with a group of gay men about our age — early to mid fifties. The friend was an artist, with a beautifully decorated home, full of his own and others’ art. He had recently ended a long-term relationship, but was also newly in…

Brad Griffith

Writer/Actor living in Los Angeles imdb.me/bradgriffith

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