The Gift I Didn’t Ask For
Everyone tells me it must be a blessing that I don’t remember the accident. That it’s a gift not to carry those images, those moments, that trauma. But they’re wrong. What they don’t understand is that my brain didn’t just erase the crash, it erased an entire day, the ER, the ICU, the moments that defined the months that followed. And I’m left carrying rage, grief, and pain without context. That kind of absence isn’t mercy. It feels like theft.
When The Universe Says “Hold My Beer”
Sometimes the universe doesn’t wait for you to ask. It looks you in the eye, cracks a grin, and says, “Here, hold my beer.” Then it grabs the wheel. Today, instead of rage-writing about healthcare or bureaucracy, I wrote queer short stories. Two of them. And when the words come like that—unforced, urgent, necessary—you don’t argue. You get out of the way and let them land.
When The System Isn’t Coming
There’s a moment in long recoveries where patience stops being responsible and starts being dangerous. Where the system keeps saying “wait,” and your body keeps saying “no.” This is what it feels like when trust finally breaks.
The Logic Failure
We’ve stopped blaming decisions and started blaming objects. Guns. Cars. Motorcycles. Anything except the person who actually made the choice. That isn’t compassion, it’s intellectual laziness. And it’s getting people killed.
Stop Acting Like You’re Dead
Tragedy has a way of waking people up, briefly. But regret doesn’t come from what happens to us; it comes from how long we pretend we don’t have a choice. I don’t live that way anymore. And neither should you.
Noise, Torque, and the Awakening of Aurora Borealis
It wasn’t the ride that did it, it was the phone call. Missed at first, answered on the side of the road, and instantly changing everything. Parts were in. The schedule was real. And just like that, Aurora Borealis was one step closer to becoming the light-to-light monster she was always meant to be.
America Has a Freedom Problem (And We’re Yelling at the Wrong Things)
America has an anger problem. Not because we lack things to be angry about, but because we keep choosing the wrong ones.
Instead of confronting the slow erosion of individual liberty, we rage at abstractions: imaginary kings, trendy villains, and half-understood claims like “AI wastes water.” Meanwhile, the real machinery that limits freedom hums along quietly in the background, unchallenged and largely unnoticed.
This isn’t activism. It’s distraction.
You Don’t Get to Be More Afraid of My Recovery Than I Am
I survived injuries that kill people outright. Every minute since has been a fight, and I fought. Two months later, I got back on my bike, not because I forgot what happened, but because I refuse to let the person who hit me define the rest of my life. What surprised me wasn’t fear. It was the judgment for getting up.
Back In The Fucking Saddle
I took my bike out today for the first time in two months. It wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t razor sharp. I rode slower, gave cars more space, and listened to my body instead of my ego. But fuck it — I rode. And in doing so, something inside me snapped back into place. Healing didn’t just continue today. It shifted into overdrive.
This Time of Year
I used to love the holidays. I loved the simplicity, the togetherness, the quiet joy of people actually being decent to one another. Somewhere along the way, we traded that in for parking lot warfare, shopping cart rage, and a soul-sucking obsession with buying shit no one actually needs. Now the season doesn’t bring out goodwill, it brings out the truth. And honestly? That truth kind of fucking sucks.
Reclaiming My Body Is Not A Group Decision
I walked into a pool hall wearing sneakers and immediately learned something important: people are real comfortable giving advice about recoveries they’ve never lived. Here’s the thing: reclaiming my body, my life, and my autonomy is not a fucking group decision.
The Medical Industrial Complex Is Broken, and We’re All Just Supposed to Accept It
The medical industrial complex has gotten completely out of fucking control, and what blows my mind is where the hell are the protests for this? When you’re in pain, when you know something is wrong with your body, the system doesn’t move toward care, it moves you through a maze. Wrong doctors. Endless referrals. Bureaucratic gatekeeping. All while you’re paying for insurance that promises access but delivers obstruction. This isn’t medicine anymore. It’s compliance theater.
When Empathy Has An Asterisk
People will feel sorry for you after an accident, right up until they find out you were on a motorcycle. Then something shifts. The empathy softens. The judgment creeps in. As if choosing to ride means you consented to being hit. As if freedom comes with a moral penalty.
Fifty Days In
Fifty days in, and I’m not where I was, but I’m not where I was told I’d be either. I can stand. I can move. I can lift, even if it’s light and ugly and slow. My body is battered, stitched, numb, leaking, and missing pieces, but my mind? My mind is on fire. Somewhere between broken bones and stubborn refusal, I finished the work. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.
A Good Day
Recovery isn’t linear. Some days you live too far inside your own head, spiraling through thoughts that don’t always land somewhere warm. And then—sometimes—the universe throws you a bone. A good day. A real one. A day where the words flow, where purpose snaps back into focus, where unexpected kindness reminds you that life is still happening. Yesterday was one of those days. And those days matter more than people realize.
When The Universe Takes Over
I don’t write on command. I write to stay ready. Because when inspiration shows up, it doesn’t ask what you planned to work on that day, it takes the wheel. Yesterday, it dragged me out of one project and dropped a whole new book in my lap. All I could do was let the words fall out.
Background Noise Is a Lie
I turned on the news because I wanted background noise. What I got instead was a full-volume assault on my nervous system: manufactured urgency, flashing lights, and the same tired voices insisting that everything was on fire. Ten minutes in, even muted, it was unbearable. Silence felt like rebellion again.
Feeding The Muscle
I ditched the wheelchair because I was done waiting.
The boot stayed longer than it should have, and it stole more muscle than I realized. Turns out the pain wasn’t injury, it was absence. Muscle that hadn’t been fed because the system decided stillness was safer than strength. I decided otherwise.
Reentry Isn’t Quiet
Lilith is gone. That part still hurts.
But the garage isn’t empty, and the urge to ride didn’t die with her.
Reentry was never going to be polite or quiet. It was always going to be loud, mechanical, and a little bit defiant. This is what leaning forward looks like when the system says “wait.”
Nothing’s Wrong, Says the System
They told me nothing was wrong.
They told me my body would absorb it.
They told me to wait.
Meanwhile, fluid sloshed around my knee like a reminder that I exist outside their flowcharts. I didn’t come to the ER because I wanted to—I came because bureaucracy left me no other option. This is what happens when medicine stops listening to bodies and starts worshiping process.