Why I write

I don’t just love words. I also hate them. I am not driven by lyrical realizations that I feel I need to share with the world. My epiphanies resemble a sewer system more so than the paradise lost inhabited by muses dressed in white silk. I write out of frustration. I write because it is the only thing I have left not to let the sewer inhabit me. Instead, I take it out to fester in the open air.

And I read the hatred and the ignorance and the bigotry in the same way I would deal with poison. I do not get mad at it. It is a reality, it carries the same weight than my own words. It would be both arrogant and short sighted to believe that somehow my ideas are better. They might not be. However, I do not actively seek to hurt or alienate anyone through them. So, like one would deal with poison, knowing all too well it exists, I actively seek not to ingest it. Not to let it come into contact with me. The only antidote I know of is words. And so I write them. My writing is not some tapestry woven together to dazzle with beauty. It is the festering wound I put out for everyone to see. Privilege, racism, homophobia, sexism, transphobia, mysogyny: all these words have a deep and personal meaning for someone (some for me personally as well). And I treat them accordingly. I treat them with the same resolution I would take against poison. Again, not because I want to be seen as some holly advocate but because words are all I have left. And because I’ll be damned if I ever shut up.

For the past decade and a half I have been making all my content available for free (and never behind a paywall) as an ongoing practice of ephemeral publishing. This site is no exception. If you wish to help offset my labor costs, you can donate on Paypal or you can subscribe to Patreon where I will not be putting my posts behind a lock but you'd be helping me continue making this work available for everyone. Thank you.  Follow me on Twitter for new post updates.

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