My intention here is to help make your navigation less overwhelming. Answer a few honest questions about where you actually are right now, and you'll be pointed to the few things (out of everything I've made in this ecosystem) that actually meet you there.
I'm not superhuman, and I'm not chemically enhanced. There's no secret access behind any of this. I was just keenly determined to take the crap that got thrown at me and use it as manure to grow a garden. Everything here grew out of that. You're not looking at a guru. You're looking at someone who kept building from inside the hard part and wrote down what he found.
They normalize the Black and queer experience, and anyone outside the margins within the margins of society. That normalization allows deeper structural truths to come to the surface. I aim to integrate the binary reading reflex one book at a time. I make the suspense about honesty rather than hidden secrets. Each story's end hands you a very real mirror rather than a verdict.
They are conversations I wish I could've had with another person. They name the mechanics and hand you the tools on how to locate a feeling in the body, name what you're avoiding, and show up differently. This also softens the need to "pick the right side." You are the "right side."
Four honest questions. How you think, where you are, what's pressing on you, and how you actually feel right now. At the end: a reflection of where you're standing, and the few things made to meet you there.
There's no wrong answer, just whichever feels most like how your mind naturally works. If you're more familiar with one but lean toward another, choose the familiar one.
Pick the one that sounds most like your current season, not where you've been or where you're headed. This right-now moment.
If a few apply, pick the one that's loudest right now.
As with the previous question, if a few apply, choose the one that's the loudest right now. Not what you think you should feel. What's actually here.
Wherever you are in this — between identities, between seasons, between the clarity you're holding and the life that hasn't caught up to it yet — there's a stretch of not-knowing you have to move through. Everything here is built to help you move through it cleanly.
Because how you bide your time is not neutral. Waiting in ways that harm you — collapsing into despair, or gripping too hard onto hope — generates its own kind of fog, and whatever shows up next tends to reflect that fog back. Waiting honestly does the opposite. It clears the air, a little, for you and for the people who can't quite see you yet.
You can't control what you can't see. What you can come back to, in any moment, is your own body. That return doesn't guarantee the moment will meet you. But it's the one steady thing that's actually yours — and it's where the real work in everything above begins.
Start with whichever one is already pulling at you. That one's yours first. The rest will still be here.
Your answers will change. That's not a flaw in you — it's how seasons work. When something shifts, or if what came up this time didn't quite land, run it again. You'll get a different read, and different things will surface.