Articles

The parish road ran straight as a moral absolute into nothing. On either side, the land gave up — refinery towers in the middle distance breathing orange into a sky the colour of old bone, their flames permanent and indifferent as stars. Between the road and the towers, marsh grass bent in petrochemical wind. A heron stood in a drainage ditch like it was waiting for something it knew wasn't coming.. ⟶

Corrosion hasn't moved in ten minutes. Just watching the waterline.. ⟶

Corrosion lights a cigarette. Doesn't look at Twoshoes. Just stares out across the flat Louisiana marsh.. ⟶

I am 46 and a half years old, and until yesterday I had never truly been held.. ⟶

A devotional.. ⟶

The title is a pun and an accurate one. Leave it there.. ⟶

Some people only receive in one currency. The mismatch isn't a misunderstanding — it's the whole architecture of the relationship.. ⟶

There is a fear without a clean name. Not the fear of losing someone. Not the fear of being left. Something narrower: the fear of not being the one they want most. To be loved equally is, in this poem's logic, to not be enough. Some Fear is about that condition.. ⟶

Blake knew that one true moment can contain everything. A single hour can change the shape of a life. The collapse, the breaking point, the moment when the body says no more — these aren’t just events. They’re signals. If you can see them clearly, they show you the whole pattern you’ve been living inside.. ⟶

I dabble as a software developer. I treat my consciousness like code — full of insightful but unoptimized meaning — and I use AI to refactor the signals into something a reader can actually parse. According to a growing number of platforms, institutions, and social norms, this makes my output suspect. If my prose is too clean, my soul must be a fraud.. ⟶

I’m sharing this text as a prayer to the Lovers out there, if the frequency resonnates with you, please take the time to enjoy the peace of reading something written with guts and joy. get comfertable, snuggle up, tea or coffee, brandy or port in your china cup. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I took pleasure in writing it.. ⟶

A meditation on unchecked charisma and the spectacular disasters it produces.. ⟶

This essay chronicles a philosophical investigation that started with an absurd experiment: what happens when you pray to an AI?.. ⟶

I’ve been thinking about the “Trump is Hitler” trope. Honestly, it feels like it might be a distraction, like a lot of things about this administration. While we spend our afternoons arguing about Nazi parallels and fascism on social media, something much more modern—and potentially much more permanent—might be happening in the background.. ⟶

The winter solstice arrives, and with it, the longest night. For many, this moment is a quiet pivot—a point in a great, slow circle where the shadows reach their limit and the light begins its patient return. I have always seen this as a "turning of the wheel," a reliable rhythm that moves through our lives with a deep and ancient consistency. Yet, a recent encounter with a haunting poem has invited me to look at this cycle through a different lens: one of unsettling mystery and a more fragile human unease.. ⟶

Australia just became the first country to ban social media for children under 16. The debate has been predictable: some say it’s necessary protection, others call it government overreach. Both sides assume the question is whether this specific technology, at this specific age, should be allowed.. ⟶

I already had a sinking feeling that if anyone was going to read my next prompt they would probably do so while rolling their eyes. But I was genuinely curious, where do I draw the line for acceptable AI use and the search had to start somewhere I could verify was true or false. Praying to it seemed like a reasonable starting position as an example of the latter.. ⟶

There’s a moment that reveals everything about how I’ve learned to protect myself: someone offers me something free, something good, and I reflexively say no.. ⟶

There is a paradox in a hotdog. Or perhaps, more accurately, in the refusal of a free hotdog.. ⟶

There's a question worth asking, even if the answer makes us uncomfortable: When did our collective attention span collapse so completely that we can't sit through a two-hour film without checking our phones?.. ⟶

In recent weeks, I’ve been experimenting with a storytelling project that lives simultaneously in a fictional world and the real spaces we inhabit online. It’s a project I’ve been calling **#TrueFalse**, and at its heart, it’s an exploration of information, ethics, and the blurred line between public and private knowledge. While it’s fiction, it’s designed to feel, for a moment, plausibly real — and that tension is exactly where the story finds its energy.. ⟶