[#2025dec the 19th, #wander]

—and here! found! something glimmers a crack in the chest

would that the ink and rosewater (a flavour beyond despair) soak seeds without potential instead, invite

how then? the ripeness and depth? not clutched but brushed —

an open passage, sailed (they are starlings and robins) while fibre and bark mix threads to warm the hidden cover

[#2025dec the 18th, #wander]

yet

rings will spin and splinter dark the spear haft cleanly through three times three times three more eons the elder you, a kind of current rivers do —

again.

panic i will not, then to see another wound and trust a misted trail rumbling against the orbit:

(again)

[#2025dec the 12th, #wander]

for your orientation: as i snake my way through this pixel universe, it is helpful for you, curious reader, to know a few things. my stories are abundantly queer, neurodivergent, and animist, and wrestle with the overculture of the so-called american west that forces a central perspective of its own importance on the rest of the world. as a human person, i endeavour to extract myself from views and legacies within the genocidal capitalist structures of empire, acknowledging their influence like invasive, strangling weeds, so as not to fall tangled, but focus instead on the light in the trees, the breeze pushing clouds, the wax and wane of moon and tides, the grit of sand and loam of soil, the joy of mushrooms and birdsong. what i mean is: my fiction is speculative, imaginative, food for worlds co-created and carried forth by long legacies of humans in diverse cultures who have thrived, partied, sorrowed, and loved long before capitalism, the state, genocide, fascism, or the individual mythologised, and will exist long after these weeds have been pulled up by the roots and burnt. i'm sure if these perspectives and tools of mine are upsetting or unappealing to you, there is a vine somewhere already swallowing your heart. be content and compost, then, and leave those of us with weather-stained hands to our delights.

this is the barest of beginnings, and some things here will likely grow and burrow, as creative processes do. this post will likely serve as a small #map and be updated when it seems necessary. know my rootedness in queer joy, disabled joy, the liberation of all lands and peoples from genocide, and the downfall of all empires is steadfast and linked with ancestors, peers, and descendants who root the same. may we wield hammers to build, plows to sow, and hands to care in the worlds that have, are, and will create through it all.

on the wing, mage, #2025dec the 7th