This self has never really splintered off, nor has he had the spotlight as prime in this lifetime. A brief glimmer perhaps. My jewelry maker. I made a lot of things growing up. My brain buzzed non-stop and making with my hands was the only satisfying option I found to thrive through the noise. My …
my over-the-top pansy-poker
In a previous life, before surviving cancer and chemo forced "grown-up" choices that included company provided healthcare, I was an award-winning, top-notch, out-of-the-box floral designer. And, frankly, I miss it to fuck and back right about now. Both in Ohio and Arizona, I had the best times of my life poking pansies into vases and …
no splinter, just me: on the lump’s anniversary
Last week, on Christmas Eve, the cycle of my cancer story renewed. This will be the seventeenth play-through. Last month, the death of a brilliant and talented woman that I barely knew generated a round of survivor's guilt unlike I've experienced in some time. I started this post, intending to make it about losing the …
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my gender warrior
I'm not even certain that this is a lost splinter, fulfilling his duty-bound efforts to erase abitrary gender boundaries off in some now distant other-realm. He might still prove to be my future self. I occasionally catch glimpses of him, past and future, when I cast my gaze askew, watching the shadows rolling through the …
the death of my musician:
I used to sing, and boy-oh-boy it lifted my heart to do so, but I wasn't really any good. Not really. I was at best convenient. I didn't get any solos. Ever. Except two solo and ensemble contests, but Luther picked those solos for who he wanted me to be, not who I was. Who …
an unrelenting sadness
I am not okay today. I have no idea why, really, but it's been following me all weekend. Does anyone remember Avatar Depression Syndrome? All these people felt lost in our world because they longed for a better place, a better environment. And my only response was "Only just now?" We watched the series finale …
my loss of self, on national coming out day
Three years ago, I posted the following to social media: My sophomore year of college, in Cincinnati, I went to a party down the street from my apartment. I don't remember who invited me or how I knew about it, but I remember the young man. He was the first man to ever flirt with …
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never not broken
I write this blog with a specific goal, but without a clear path to get there; like those things I fully understand as long as I never look them square on... Lifetimes ago, I discovered a blog post that introduced me to the Hindu goddess Akhilandeshvari, she who is never not broken. A piece of …
an impending splinter
For the most part, I have used this blog to pine about versions of myself shedded off as I navigate my path through the world. This morning, I'm using it to long for a missing me that hasn't yet left: my man of leisure, my retired homebody. You see, this pandemic has brought a huge …
my old skin horse
My Old Skin Horse is not a quantum divergence like other selves I have mentioned in these posts. He is quite entangled with the bits of me holding to this core reality. For any that don't know the reference, the Skin Horse is the oldest and wisest toy from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. …
quantum man 