April 23, 2025

"Not every static hum is interference — sometimes it's a signal that hasn’t found its voice yet."

— Scrawled in the margin of a thrifted tech manual

It’s one of those days that feels like a rerun with new subtitles. Familiar scenes, but the meaning hits different. A Wednesday, technically — but spiritually? Maybe a mixtape made of fog and coffee stains.

I’ve been thinking about how we archive the blur. Not the big moments — the tiny flickers. Half-saved files. Offline AIM statuses. Screenshots from games that don’t exist anymore. That’s where the gold is.

Today I wasn’t trying to do anything revolutionary. Just stayed present. Tuned in. Turned the volume up on the little frequencies that usually get drowned out — the hum of my laptop fan, the old song looping in my head, the dusty echo of a saved draft from 2013.

This site? It’s a relay. Not a mirror. Not a museum. A current. Something that picks up signal, amplifies the weird, and pushes it forward. You toss in your fragments, and I try to shape ‘em into a story that still breathes tomorrow.

If you’re here, you’re part of that circuit. Keep the signal strange. Keep the ghosts talking. We’re not done broadcasting.

April 21, 2025

"Some days you don’t rise from the ashes. You just stop fanning the smoke."

— Written in the margin of a bus transfer

Today had that weird in-between energy. Like the kind of day that forgets to announce itself. Not heavy, not light — just there. Background music in a scene you’re not sure is important yet.

I walked without checking the time. Smoked without rushing the drag. Let my phone die and didn’t panic. There’s a strange peace in realizing not every moment needs proof or purpose.

At work, the calls came in like usual, but I wasn’t swimming upstream today. I just floated. Said what I had to say, with just enough energy not to crumble, and just enough kindness not to disappear.

Later, I saw a moose again. Could’ve been Elliot. Could’ve been someone new. Didn’t matter. We shared a look like, “Yeah, we’re both still here.” And that felt like something worth jotting down.

Small survival. Quiet victories. That’s the theme, I guess.

April 17, 2025

"Healing isn’t loud. Sometimes, it just feels like remembering how to breathe again."

— A note scribbled on the back of a coffee receipt

Today felt like a Wednesday disguised as a reset button. Not dramatic, not groundbreaking — just quietly different. I cleaned my desk without making a big deal out of it. Replied to texts that had been collecting digital dust. Drank water. Looked out the window longer than necessary.

Maybe the goal isn't to bounce back, but to resurface slowly — like film developing in a darkroom. No rush. Just exposure, light, patience.

I found an old screenshot today — a snippet of a group chat from years ago. Inside jokes, messy typos, and heart emojis. It reminded me how much history we leave behind in scrolls and swipes. Memory, now with timestamps.

Anyway, no big update. Just wanted to mark the moment: today, I felt present. That’s enough for now.

April 16, 2025

"Sometimes you’ve gotta disappear for a bit to figure out what’s worth reappearing for."

— Unknown, but probably someone with WiFi burnout

It’s been a minute. Life happened — in the loud, unrelenting, algorithm-shuffling way it tends to. The kind of days that blur into weeks, where your only bookmarks are grocery store receipts, half-played YouTube videos, and quiet walks that almost meant something.

The gap between blog posts wasn’t just about forgetting to write. It was about needing the space to live through something before writing *about* it. Sometimes, the mind's just buffering. Sometimes, it's drafting in the background.

I’ve been walking more. Not for fitness, just for grounding. Thinking about the way we used to post everything. Now I’m more selective. More honest. This little vault? It’s not about constant output. It’s about occasional check-ins, breadcrumb trails, and archived feelings.

So here I am again. Not promising frequency, but promising presence — when it matters.

August 28, 2024

"Time is money, friend!"

— Goblin NPCs, World of Warcraft

Time is the one currency we all have, yet it's the only one we can never earn back. Every second that passes is a moment we can't reclaim, a decision we can't undo. Unlike money, which can be saved, invested, or squandered, time marches on regardless of how we spend it. The real value of time lies in how we choose to use it—whether we invest it in things that bring us joy, growth, and meaning, or let it slip away in pursuits that leave us empty.

July 9, 2024

If you ask yourself ‘What’s the best thing that happened today?’ it actually forces a certain kind of cheerful retrospection...

— Nicholson Baker

Just as you need a chart of future events, you also need a chart of past events. A logbook isn’t necessarily a diary or a journal...

July 5, 2024

Distance and difference are the secret tonic of creativity...

— Jonah Lehrer

To say that geography is no longer our master isn’t to say that place isn’t important...

July 4, 2024

Putting yourself out there

You don’t put yourself online only because you have something to say—you can put yourself online to find something to say...