Sloan Hartly Periodt

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In: Commentary

Lights! Camera! Headlines! Parties! Woo!
Cut to dawn: the cats have unionized because the litter box is a felony, the fountain is empty, and the food bowl holds a dollar‑store insult.Continue Reading

Willow Camp Woodlands Across the Styx

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In: Fiction

Hurt is the only constant now. Staying put grinds him down; moving grinds him in a different, equally relentless way. Doing nothing would finish the job cleanly, but even that small mercy feels withheld. The very thing keeping him alive—the stubborn, indifferent machine that refuses to let him die—is theContinue Reading

The Way, the Truth, and the Life Everlasting Words from the Word

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In: Commentary

Y’all are wrong about Revelation — not the words themselves, but the rigid literalism that flattens its apocalyptic poetry into a black-and-white checklist. The world God made is technicolor. It boogles us. In the end, the boxes we build don’t survive the final crossing. What remains is whatever truly abides in the Vine. Die to live. Grace first.Continue Reading

Ribeye Dinner Damian is Dead

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In: Commentary

Damian wakes starving and barefoot, convinced Menu 7 is waiting for him — beef strips, sweet potato mash, the works. Instead, his entire pallet is gone. Shoes gone. Shelter sliced apart. In its place: a single ancient Vomelet and a bottle of water, like a joke the Badlands have told a thousand times.Continue Reading

In Yong Child

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In: Commentary

Sin is a Child of Yin. Yin exists as does Yang. It is a reflection of the dual nature of God’s creation. There are unified pairs throughout His creation. Yin and Yang are core attributes of the world we live in. Yin, the dark side, is an attribute of sin.Continue Reading

Blue Luna Butterfly She Not Right

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In: Commentary

That racist bitch. That bottle blond obscenity driving the murder weapon—she not right. Periodt. Blue Luna butterflies are vanishing, and her sooty diesel smoke is the killer. Kaylee said so. So it is fact.
In late-winter 2125 Vacaville, tule fog smothers the truth while Tate clings to his passion. But as the first iridescent wings emerge, facts begin their quiet rebellion.Continue Reading

Muteki Chihuahua Bit

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In: Fiction

Tate couldn’t let it go. One faded silver truck, one unflappable woman, and suddenly pupating butterflies were ‘dying’—or so he screamed. Spray can shaking, he scrawled ‘MURDERER!’ across Muteki’s side, certain this was justice.
Protip: don’t piss off the Hive. It remembers.Continue Reading