Latest posts
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From a Mountain of Solitude to a Lifetime of Yes: The Love Story I Didn’t See Coming
One year ago today, I stood on a mountain in Hawaiʻi with the wind in my face and the Pacific unrolling itself in that impossible blue. It was the kind of view that makes your chest go quiet—the kind that feels like an answer without words. I had come there alone. I was traveling alone.…
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Cash Me Outside the Constitution: How the Presidency Became Trump’s Most Profitable Side Hustle
The polite version says markets respond to policy. The honest version says markets respond to who writes the policy—and whether he’s already holding the bag you’re about to fill. On September 1–2, 2025, the Trump family’s crypto venture World Liberty Financial flicked its neon “OPEN” sign, listing the $WLFI token across major exchanges and conjuring…
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Texas Passes 835 New Laws in One Night The Midnight Mass of Statecraft
Texas loves a spectacle. Rodeos, Friday night lights, the eternal battle between Whataburger and In-N-Out. But nothing captures the state’s flair for drama like September 1, 2025, when 835 new laws took effect at the stroke of midnight. Not one or two. Not even a tidy fifty. Eight hundred and thirty-five. If democracy is usually…
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When the Dog Who Saved Me Needs Saving Too
There are few relationships as pure and transformative as the one between a person and their dog. Daisy isn’t just my pet. She isn’t just company. Daisy is the love of my life—the reason I kept breathing on nights when I didn’t think I could. She has been my anchor, my laughter, my comforter, my…
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Prestige TV, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Firehose
By 2025, prestige television no longer means anything. It’s like calling water wet, or calling Marvel “cinema” just to rile up Scorsese. Prestige used to be rarefied air—The Sopranos, The Wire, Mad Men. Now it’s practically background radiation, humming behind every streaming app. Prestige has metastasized. Every show arrives pre-packaged as “prestige,” the way cereal…
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The Soundtrack of Survival: Thirteen Artists Who Speak To Me
Growing up queer, biracial, abandoned, and too often invisible, I didn’t have a roadmap. What I had were songs—other people’s stories sung like confessions, shouted like rebellion, whispered like prayers. These artists didn’t just entertain me; they saved me. They gave me language for my own sadness, resilience for my own survival, and proof that…