• Tantrums

    1.11.24.111

    January 21, 2024 /

    I just glanced up at the top right corner of my screen – it’s January 11, 2024, 1:11 pm as I write this. That number always seems to crop up whenever I’m doing something seemingly important – 111. Call me crazy, but the last few years of my life have convinced me to let go of societal norms, and take whatever signs and signals I can get in this world, even if they arrive from sources which my peers might define as “woo-woo.” Numerology, astrology, gut instincts and intuition – I’ll warmly embrace anything that offers a sliver of hope in an increasingly cold and mechanical world. “Trust the science,”…

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  • Tantrums

    My Current Life in 360º

    January 22, 2024 /

    As it stands today, my home is a carcinogenic mass of trash and filth. So I figured that it’d be a wonderful idea to show it to you in 360º detail. Cause we’re at the end our rope, and brutal honesty is my catharsis. And, if I ever do get this horrible box looking more like a home, then it may serve as a neat before/after post. Side note: Since I began building the tiny house (over six years ago) I’ve fantasized about re-activating my Facebook account and making one final string of posts. In this post, I would detail the beautiful life that I’ve worked so hard to craft.…

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  • First Draft

    Page 1

    January 28, 2024 /

    The stillness of the moment would have taken a conscious soul aback, had any conscious soul been present to witness it. The curtains stood still, like fluted, stone columns bordering the open window. There were no crickets or cicadas outside, nor cars nor raccoons. This was the witching hour, and the world was bewitched. The only suggestion that the scene on display wasn’t a photograph was the slow meandering of the crystal moonlight across the wall opposite the window. And, perhaps, the ever-so-subtle twitching of Benjamin’s foot – paired at times with a faint cooing sound from behind his closed lips. The blissful peace of the moment was truly wasted…

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  • Tantrums

    Real Work

    January 31, 2024 /

    I want to work. I want to fucking work. I want to work. I really want to work. I don’t want to drink alcohol, I don’t want to eat sugar, I don’t wanna waste my time on movies, games, or the internet. I want to work. I want my life to mean something – I want to undergo the alchemical process, transforming this shattered self into the most-idealized version of myself (lead to gold). That takes work. I want to work. I want to study and to strive. I want to work. I want to learn. I want to plant my own crops, raise my own meat and eggs. I…

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