If you travel along the minor roads of Andalusia, Spain, you’ll pass through a number of rural towns and villages. And if you happen to stop in one of these towns and wander the streets, you’ll find yourself being observed by the locals with a mixture of interest and suspicion. This scenario—the arrival of a stranger in unfamiliar territory—was the basic germ for “El Inglés.”

My creative momentum—whether writing fiction, essay, or poetry, or even working with musical practice or composition—evaporates when I figure out the draft too early.

Poets must apply a critical lens to fledgling poems. We must prod ourselves to see that the speakers of our poems can (and often should) divorce themselves from what Real Thing may have happened to the poet that was the genesis of the poem, and be open to what the poem itself needs to say.

Like many still drawn to the analog ways, I find the unforgiving roll of film to be a gentle constraint to play within. I slow down. I watch closer. I find something that matters to me. In this way, my practice of film photography is kindred to a contemplative practice, sharing a language of pure presence and devotion to Being.

To the sparrows who think they run the yard, please

consult the website All About Birds where we learn

house sparrows survive only in the immediate vicinity

of people.

For every place I have lived, I can point to a tree that inspired me.

I grew up as an urban jock outside of New York City, and I did not begin writing until I stopped playing basketball in college. Soon after I gave up playing competitive hoops, I began working as a lifeguard on the Jersey shore. It was there that I had a series of mystical experiences that totally recalibrated my life. 

As my sister likes to say, “We survived both 60s.” That is, the 1960s and our 60s.

Abraxas Review and videographer Paul Hinschberger spoke with contributing artist Angela Lojacono on all things nature, inspiration, curated spaces, and her intention to avoid being mass-produced. “The intent behind it,” she says, “is to be small.” Watch the full video below.

“I know this may seem contradictory or oxymoronic,” writes poet Kevin Clark, “but I hope that my reader senses a union of both spirit and idea in my words.”

I hope that in reading one of my stories, a reader connects to something special about themselves and values their own experiences. I want them to think, "That was a great story and it reminds me of the time..." I want them to have a deep smile. They may have tears in their eyes, but their heart is calm and content.