Independent scholar & world traveller
The Great Question of Suicide
It was Albert Camus who first brilliantly framed for us perhaps the most monumental question man might ever decide. For hundreds upon hundreds of years the great thinkers had been arguing over how we came to know anything, where the concept of beauty came from, and how we ought to live; all these questions presupposing the most intimately personal decision of all, whether to go on living or to not.
I Like the Rain
I like the rain, and the wind, whipping, dragging, distorting. it feels like me. like I am the rain, and the wind, whipping,
That Morning on The Bathroom Floor
I’ll be the first to admit it — I was a real slut in high school. Heck, I was a slut after high school and continue to be a slut to this day. I’m damn proud of it too. I can give a blowjob that’ll have you gushing in mere minutes. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. Or rather, write about.
The Crossroads of Mental Illness and Philosophy
The Unalome—a Buddhist symbol for the path to enlightenment. At the time I got the tattoo, it meant, for me, the notion that everyone has their own intimately diverse path, but that each and every one is essentially leading to the very same place; enlightenment.
A Reason to Go On
Here’s another night I return to my bedroom, alone, with a face full of streaming tears. Another night of trying my very hardest to muffle my sobs so as to not let my family hear.
You Can't Run Away from Your Mental Illness
I left my job, my home, all my family and friends behind in the hopes that maybe I wouldn't want to kill myself so very much if I didn't have to constantly fit myself into some semblance of 'normalcy' for their watchful eyes. Seven states, two provinces, and more than 10,000 kilometres showed me just how wrong that sentiment was; almost fatally so.
Fuck Freud and His Penis Envy; What About Menstruation Envy?
In Simone de Beauvoir’s groundbreaking and controversial feminist masterpiece The Second Sex she posits that: “This is when she feels most acutely that her body is an alienated opaque thing; it is the prey of a stubborn and foreign life that makes an unmakes a crib in her every month… woman is her body as man is his, but her body is something other than her.”
The Sexuality of Shame as My Mother Taught Me
It feels shitty to think about even, much less write down and share with the whole Internet community. But alas here it is, my recognition of how my dear old mom managed to fuck me up more than society would have ever managed to.