Ah, the United States of America. Land of the free. Home of the brave. Or so the bumper stickers tell us. But let’s peel back the red, white, and blue curtain for a moment, shall we? Beneath the patriotic bravado and the fireworks is a truth far less convenient: this land was never ours, and the norms we cling to were never real. They are illusions—smoke and mirrors to keep us...
Power. It’s an intoxicating elixir, isn’t it? The word alone drips with promises of control, influence, and dominion. Yet, here we are—peons in a field of chaff, sold the glittering fantasy of democracy while the elites carve up the pie. Politics, my friends, is nothing but a popularity contest for the unattractive souls who covet more than they deserve. And like moths to the...
This afternoon, I tuned in for what history might someday call Trump’s real inaugural address. Not the pomp and circumstance of the first one, but the raw, unvarnished spectacle of a man addressing the crowd he believes crowned him king. It wasn’t a speech. It was a sermon—a rambling, self-indulgent litany of grievances, each punctuated by applause from his faithful...
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” A beautiful sentiment, isn’t it? One that has inspired generations to believe that, eventually, justice will prevail, that the dream of equality and freedom will become reality. But as I sit in the shadow of this day’s political theater—the swearing-in of yet...
Let’s get something straight: if the Messiah is your weapon, you’re swinging it wrong. You’re parading Him around like a sideshow relic, hoping for applause and validation. But me? I don’t need the world’s approval to prove my faith. He’s my sword and shield too—but unlike you, I know how to wield Him with purpose. My faith doesn’t shout; it...
It should have been a yes. A simple yes. A nod of agreement. That’s all it would’ve taken to move on, unnoticed, unbothered. But no. I opened my mouth. I apologized. I explained. I said far more than anyone asked for, and then, because I can’t leave well enough alone, I apologized again.
“They’ll understand,” I told myself. It’s family. Family...
Let’s start with a question, shall we? A simple, cutting question that could unravel the whole thread of who I am. Is this me?
I ponder this as I sit here tonight, sipping on a can of soda—the kind packed with enough caffeine to keep me awake, sharp, and dangerous. It’s not often that I turn the scalpel inward, dissecting my own mind like some kind of self-imposed autopsy....
Let’s get one thing straight: the thing about Trump isn’t that he’s liked, loved, or even respected in the traditional sense. No, nobody truly likes Trump. Not in the way you like your neighbor who helps you shovel snow or the coworker who brings donuts to the office. He’s not warm, he’s not endearing, and he’s certainly not someone you invite to a family...
Self-awareness is a bitch. Well, I’m not self awareness's bitch so I've stumbled into a revelation that tastes as horrifying as day old soda—overcompensation. It’s woven into everything I do, every gesture, every word. Even here, on this page, it bleeds through like ink too heavy for the paper.
I’ve always believed that to get ahead, you need to lean in, push harder,...
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