writer

Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, and all the tricks my body knows ― the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps, and the mind clicking and clicking — don’t seem enough to carry me through this world and I think:

how I would like to have wings — blue ones — ribbons of flame. How I would like to open them, and rise.

To My Late Hero, The Original Rockstar

“I would literally cut off my arm to have dinner with him.” “Seriously? That’s intense.”“Okay maybe not the whole arm, but definitely a finger or two.” I try not to be parasocial about celebrities, I really do. And for the most part I think I’ve been successful in that effort. However, there is one person in…

January 8, 2026

Her Candid Altar

ALL WRITING, STREAMS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

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To My Late Hero, The Original Rockstar