Hello dorks. I have no esoteric existentialism for you today. No pleading for you to shed your skin and play with me. You may all sleep peacefully. No rants. No fury. Nothing but sweetness. But probably don’t believe that at all. If I know me, I’m going to divulge straight into all that, but maybe I’ll save the esoteric existentialism for last.

I know many of you were not happy with my choice to leave social media, but I felt little choice in the matter given certain situations in my private life that caused no shortage of pain, betrayal, and danger for my, now, very limited family circle. I won’t go in to detail, but since Brian’s death, I have been continuously reminded of the limitations of compassion, empathy, and basic decency in this world, especially, and disappointingly, within my own family and those I considered such. I’ve spent most of the last few years traveling, dealing with greedy, miserable souls who have yet to realize the face of their true struggle.

I would like to pause a moment here to thank members of law enforcement who were there for myself and my daughter earlier this year. I especially want to thank these three men for their kindness and willingness to serve and protect with appropriate judgment and effective use of skill in wielding compassion and firmness in the way their duty justly demanded. It was a breath of fresh air given the tensions between LE and citizens to be able to, for the first time in my life, hear an officer speak from a place of empathy and compassion rather than a need to control. I want that said as it’s important now, more than ever, that we all realize how much love is needed in our communities, homes, and nations. Then, when we figure out how much love is needed, I want us to multiply that by 7. And then keep doing that. Because it will never be enough. It’s like garlic. Always more. Never less.

America. I have to say this, America, what in the actual fuck are you doing? Why? I’m fighting the urge to open letter my nation of physical birth, but I say this with sincere love and respect when I say that some of you need to check your righteous bullshit and understand that your lust for the blood of your brothers and sisters will BE YOUR UNDOING AND FINAL END. You were warned from the beginning that if you ate your mother, you would starve. In your ignorance, you chant for the blood of others, and in the astral plane, your lust is met. You will get what you asked for, but will it be what you wanted? You will know soon enough. I shake with the cries of innocents. Who made you God? Your leaders have bathed in blood and washed this earth of souls whose time was cut short so greedy men might grow fat on their deaths. We have been judged by a higher law than that perverted by your vengeful hate masked as religion. You make me sick. You know not love. Until you can love yourself and see yourself in those you hate, you will never know love. Really. That’s the first thing we all learned as children in Humanity 101. Literally the first day of class, people. We’re all human and have basic survival needs, food, clothing, healthcare, shelter, education, and yet, somehow, some of you decided you were given the right to deny these necessities of life to others. Who made you Gods? I don’t really have anything nice to say about the state of things in the US right now, so I’ll leave it at, get your fucking shit together and start trying to see yourself in others. Stop being assholes to each other. We’re all hurting. Can you at least vibe in that oneness? Seriously, if you need to believe you’re superior, to even the smallest among us, you are not gonna make it far. Some of you are stuck on male and white privilege, and you should have already understood that that’s not even the fucking issue in the bigger picture (and let me be clear, this sentence is only for racists, and I’m not saying this sentence to even one brown/black/marginalized group). It is human privilege that is the bigger picture. The rest of us are waiting for some of you to get over your precious skin color and bigotry so we can talk about saving the world. Kind of like when the 7 kingdoms or however many, realized it was time to stop fighting over the most uncomfortable, most offensive chair ever not made for sitting at all, an affront to its nature, poor chair, to be restricted in its function because of aesthetics, and just because they can, (and women everywhere yelled louder for pockets and the right for you to be out of them if they’re not yours), but anyway I run my sentence in digression, this offensive chair they stopped fighting over, to band together, I repeat, together, for the good of every person alive and the future of the world. It was important. Art is inspired of experience. It’s almost like Hollywood keeps giving you the same plot over and over again, because LIKE I SAID, if a problem is solved, IT DOES NOT KEEP COMING BACK! You were sending the wrong message because you were deceived. But that’s okay. We summoned more than Greta. I have nothing good to say about any of this. Nothing good at all. We knew better.

Let’s move on to the point so we can get to the beginning of the middle but somewhat close to the end of the start. Hard to tell. I’m not sure where I end and it begins.

After three years of settling, I’ve traveled in seven directions. I’m sick of suitcases, hotels, airports, hand sanitizer, and all the things of travel. Both Amsterdam and Sweden will confirm as I’ve straight up assualted my luggage repeatedly in both countries, and it is utterly adorable how they smile as I hiss. They are unfazed, and I’m starting to acclimate to this very unamerican lack of anxiety, a state of mind, (while safely tucked away on a cloud with no people to bother me, and only one shady mink living under my deck of whom to be wary, and only because its superpower is anal juice projection). All my business of the last few years conducted, I’m back at my desk, and trust me, you want me here, not on social media wasting my time listening to all the hate. Sick of that song. If you’re smart and reading this post, then you’ll know the mortal importance of seeing yourself in others, and you’re likely well on your way to achieving what so very few among us will.

Now enough darkness. Time for the fun stuff. I know you guys have been curiously scratching your heads about my approach with this site and my work. Why no marketing? Why no book tours? Why no follow-up to Bronze City? I told you the words were simmering. I had a lot to write and did it my way, in my time, and in exactly the way it was meant to be done. You see, you’ve all been unwittingly deceived by my purpose with you and my intentions with my work. I don’t want your money. I get Amazon needs it and distributors need it. Can’t just print a pretty book for free, can we? No. We must monetize all the beautiful things so as to limit who has access. Money was never my goal. I never have cared about money, and no, I’m not rich. Spent most of my life with nothing and I’m quite content that in that, I have everything. Nor was a NYTimes bestseller my goal. I’ll be honest, I don’t actually read the NYTimes. Validation was never my need. I prefer not to deal with people at all. Empathy and intuition go far in helping me not seek validation from others. Some of you guys feel horrid, and I know better than to seek the deceived for truth. Speaking of truth, I’m an introvert who spends most of my waking moments in the introspective, and being drawn from that plane to the rational world can anger my mood. I prefer isolation and solitude. In aloneness, there is peace, and there is great wisdom in loving yourself, your own company, and being your own fulfillment.

Now this, quickly, because I’m tired of business:

If you’re a reporter contacting this website for source information, I think you know better. What are we without integrity? If we don’t protect those to whom our pen gives a voice then who does our pen truly serve? Say what you came for and be direct. I’m tired of some of you contacting this website delaying me with your veiled intents, especially you far right types, mainly you far right types, specifically, you far right types. You have no love in your heart and you need medicine.

Confession time. I’ve told you I write two different stories. There’s the one you read with your rational, logical mind that drives you insane wanting interpretation, makes you report me to the social media gods for suicide watch (seriously…that made me laugh…all the times), and makes you think me some mad woman. Ahh. Perhaps now you are certain. So many times, beating my head on the desk, wondering when one of you would figure it out, but it seems too many of you are asleep to listen, and I fear I’m too late. I never stopped writing the first game. Been singing the same story since I was 3. My cousin thinks me a mystery, and Monica is half right. She is the other half. To be sure, there is a mystery here. I am haunted. My killer walks with me. She has killed again and again. If you figure it out, I’d love to know.

I told you the words were simmering. It took years to set it in motion, but I’ve been so patient with you. Rolling you like stress balls in my palm, waiting for divine timing, waiting for the moment when you would beg to be dropped from the cosmos, down to your core. So long did I dance with the devil, so long did I tarry only with my mistress, courting that smell, fearing it but craving it and knowing sin in neither, so long did I savior solitude that shamans from the North and South wondered if I would make that leap, perhaps not realizing I had one foot on and one foot off. This was no mere dance to music. This was a careful seduction. A fish weaving in and out of current in exactly the right moments doing exactly the right things.

Every word. Every perceived error. Ok, most perceived errors. Editing is boring and pedantics even more so. There was a message even there though, and you missed that too, fearing me a facile fool, and needing to sacrifice me for your perfection. Every seemingly random post. You thought none of them worked together. It seemed chaotic. You wanted a follow-up to Bronze not realizing I only ever wrote a single story. Even in perceived stagnation, a seed had already been planted, and I nurtured it and tended it, waiting for that flower to bloom. I warned you from the start of my intention. You knew me as a trickster. A mischief. But would you know me if I peered over your shoulder? Reading this with you? Doubtful. I’ve been there. Watching you all This whole time. And yet, you are still unaware of my presence. So masked by your own deception, you never saw what was right in front of your face. I am right in front of your face.

Oh, but some are on to me. Austin, yes, you were right. I am Native. I am a reader. And I am close to doing what you all said I was keeping so quiet even I didn’t appear to know what I was about to accomplish. That was fun though. And yes, I’m aware. So many times I almost said something. Too Soon. But she stopped me. She covered my hand to steal my tongue.

There is a creature who walks among you. A shape shifter. You know it to be true. It calls you. It lures you. It baits you. It wants something from you. It seeks to consume you. To tear you apart from the inside out. For some of you, Time has come. For the rest of you, your creature stalks, ever ready to pounce. Standing behind you. Sniffing your neck. That’s the creature you feel in those moments when the wind feels off and you get a chill. Your arms prick with gooseflesh. You feel it when you’re alone at night with your silly, irrational fear. It’s what every person fears most. And it comes for you all. It wants to play with you. To paw at you. To lick you. Then, when it has ripped you open, it will drink you dry. For you will be unable to ignore its careful dance in your dreams much longer, and it will sing to you a lullabye of terror. Few can withstand its gaze. Fewer still who have beheld its likeness without trembling, without fear, and without judgment. It knows what you know. It feels what you feel. It wants you to be it.

You have each been possessed and possessor. Rebel and liberator. Tortured and torturing. A visitor will come to you soon. You will be awakened. You will have a choice to make.

I have been patient long enough. Soon your long night of slumber will end. I told you I was coming back to Monte Cristo this island. I told you I was building an empire. I lurk no longer. I told you, opposite sides of the same opposing coin. Literally, the truth is in your face.

There’s a reason my activisim was mixed with my writing, there was a reason for EVERY THING I gave you. It was all connected. And it was for you. A gift for you. But you have to find it.


You will see the truth.

Everything is backwards.

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