I was raised on little light

A letter from the place where the wild things are

I’ve got seven; how many did you get?

What do you mean, that’s not a rabbit?

This one’s for you.

Boundaries are investments in our relationships.

A poem about the things we left at sea.

A sonnet about the people we cast to play our demons.

One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness.

A poem for my moth

I’ve got seven; how many did you get?

What do you mean, that’s not a rabbit?

Looking for a way out?

This one’s for you.

Some advice on configuring your neural uplink for a glitch-free soul transfer.

What’s that thing revolving vaguely in that big swirling pot of gender?

The Lions wrote their gospel in stone and skin.

A sonnet about my profound lack of coolty with No Man’s Sky’s ocean planets.

What does it mean to be deadnamed?

Recovery isn’t a straight line.

I’m unhealthy but it’s not like I’m a terrible person. Do I have to spend the rest of my life alone?

Pictures of my winter vacation on Molovempt Alpha.

A sonnet about my profound lack of coolty with No Man’s Sky’s ocean planets.

Yup, the lack of choice is a feature.

Art dump!

Two months of printing and painting later, our Hades project is complete!

Part Two: Art meets capitalism, and the usual thing happens.

Part One: What is interactivity, actually?

I’d love you so much more if you were edible.

You’ve never even seen the real world.

Today's offering is a rage-induced eulogy for my Duplicants.