The Brass Peacock

08/03/2026

07/10/2026

I'm not listening to Bruce Springsteen. Who's with me? ✋

07/10/2026

Can we finally tell the truth? 🇺🇸

White people didn’t invent slavery.

But America helped lead the fight to end it.

It’s time to stop dividing people by skin color and start uniting around courage, truth, and freedom. 🇺🇸🔥

06/02/2026

I spent months holding my breath at the bottom of that page.

I thought if I just refused to read the next line, if I kept my fingers pressed firmly against the paper, I could freeze time. I could keep us right there, in the middle of the sentence, where the air was still warm, and the worst hadn't happened yet.

I treated the margins like a fortress, terrified of what the white space at the end of the paragraph was trying to tell me.

I do this because some chapters held more than moments. They held versions of us. Versions that only existed because that person was there. And when they leave, part of you wonders who you are on the next page without them.

But you cannot live a life in suspension. You cannot pause your life because someone left.

It feels like a betrayal, I know. Leaving them behind in the print.

You worry that by moving your eyes down to the next paragraph, you are somehow agreeing to their absence. You feel this tearing guilt in your chest because your life must carry on down a road they chose to walk away from. You want to scream at the author of this ridiculous universe that the narrative makes absolutely no sense without them.

But the paper is turning anyway.

You can miss someone deeply and still let morning come. The endings can break us open and still leave room for another page.

The next chapter isn't going to be easy. It’s going to feel empty. You will reach for them in the dialogue and find only silence. You will look for their reflection in the descriptions and find a completely unfamiliar landscape.

But you have to see what happens next.
So let your hands shake. Let the tears blur the first few sentences of the new page.

The story goes on. And they are in it still in who you are because of who they were.

Rest.
Breathe out.
Turn the page.
You deserve that much.

05/30/2026

Let's take a moment to remember and honor the past. Never forget the lessons we've learned and the experiences that have shaped us. Reflecting on what came before helps us appreciate the present and strive for a better future.

05/30/2026

Lamorial: the leather-bound end-of-life planner mapping every password, account, and access step your family will need. Built for 2026. Made to outlast it.

04/22/2026