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Spiral

Spiral' is dedicated to one person I know, but at the same time it stretches across the universe for all of us. With spirals at our back, what we hold in front becomes more precious. This art can be found at the Waxing Phoenix Virtual Gallery.

Truth is Layered and Messy

“There’s no dust in her Dustbuster!” He’s surrounded by surfaces scrubbed of authenticity, by people and environments obsessed with performance rather than truth.

Chapter 11 - Kismet

How Long Will We Swallow the Lie?

The myths we cling to now are manufactured in boardrooms and back rooms, polished for our consumption, meant to distract, to pacify, to give us something to hope for, or rage against, or buy.

7 Ways to Reclaim Direction from Inside the Machine

When you know you're being nudged, it’s harder to be moved. Name the nudges. Name the dopamine trap. Point it out out loud. Awareness spreads.

Engineering People At Scale

What if the game isn’t about control through fear, but through comfort? Through curated choices that never really felt like choices? Through tech that learns what we want—then slowly decides what we want?

Chapter 10 - Ring Around the Moon

Energy, yes—and it swept through Sara like a lightning bolt. She wanted to reach over and kiss him but instead placed her hand over his and ran a finger on his dark skin and up toward the end of his shirt.

They Called Him a Lover Part 2

Some didn’t see him. Not really. Not in the quiet way he touched his shoulder mid-sentence, or how his voice dropped when they were alone, like love had weight and he didn’t want to break it.

They Called Him a Lover-Part 1

Not the polished, pretty boy who sent flowers and said the right thing at the right time. No—he was the kind who stayed when he shouldn’t have. Who forgave the silence. Who kept showing up, hoping she'd eventually meet him halfway.

424. I Named The Site After a Number. Here’s Why.

The 424 became a small act of defiance against a world that demands constant explanation. A reminder that some of the most important choices we make don’t come from logic or plans, but from a quiet tug at the edge of awareness.

Rewritten

Sometimes, the year ends exactly where it needs to: not in grand finales or clean epilogues, but in the quiet return of something that once felt impossible.

Road Noise

For two years, I wandered the U.S. with no clue what I was doing. I took work calls from a hot spring, made friends with hippies named Moon and one dog who saw right through me. I also ate beans in six different states while crying—but that's advanced content we'll cover in Chapter 9.

New Era Begins

It was the season for packing, both literal and emotional. I was elbow-deep in boxes, carefully tucking away Christmas bulbs into their original packaging, because apparently, my coping mechanism for chaos is obsessive organization.

The Last Goodbye

We talked about the future—the life we weren’t going to have. And although we clung to the fantasy, the dread lingered in the background like a loaded gun on the table. There was no saving this bright thing.