A meditation on exile, drones, and delayed mercy—linking ancient scripture to modern survival, displacement, and the cost of waiting.

In moments of war, outrage, and nonstop headlines, it’s worth returning to first principles. A functioning democracy depends on the well-being of its people: food, shelter, healthcare, and learning. Anything that pulls us away from securing those basics for everyone is a distraction.

In a time of resurgent plagues and collective amnesia, Chapter 10 of Remembered by Dust examines contagion, power, and the cost of hardened hearts.

or: Gratitude, Grit, and a Self-Serious Cornish Man Winter break has almost passed, and like most pauses in the year, it’s revealed what actually holds my attention. I've spent these days of leisure and cheer on three things: Being thankful  — with and for my family, in that quiet, non-Instagram way where gratitude looks like shared meals, tolerance, and laughing at our imperfections. Looking for more income  — pragmatically, persistently, and without pretending it’s fun. Bin

I often work in collaboration with AI, using it to sort ideas, request feedback, and clarify my thinking. As a neurodivergent writer and educator, I’ve found this to be a practical way to amplify my strengths rather than fight my process. That idea of amplification matters. Because while AI makes it easy to generate words, it also makes it easy to produce what I think of as empty calories : fluent language without substance. As large language models become part of everyday wo

A prince steps into the heat of forced labor, asking why bodies limp and bleed. Dust watches him with a worker’s clarity: he can leave the furnace; they cannot. Heat reveals the cost of asking questions in a world built to silence them.

Chapter 8, “Salt and Spin,” returns to a story we think we know and looks closer. Dust steps into the moment where a mother’s courage was misread as disobedience, revealing the truth hidden beneath the old narrative. This chapter reframes what really happened—and why it matters.

In “Brushfire,” something sparks at the edge of Dust’s vision and refuses to fade. A voice flickers low in the brambles, calling Dust forward before she’s ready. Deliverance bends, burns, and asks questions no map can answer. One step, then another—the fire is speaking.

In this Pantry Power post, I’m sharing two simple meals that turn canned chicken into something genuinely delicious. If you’ve ever opened a can of shelf-stable chicken and wondered how to make it edible, these recipes are for you. With a few spices, a splash of acid, and some creative kitchen magic, pantry staples can become real comfort food.

“Broken Levees” threads together Sumerian floods, New Orleans trauma, and the quiet disasters we inherit. Dust witnesses who gets the boat and who gets the blame, how levees crumble long before they break, and why resilience is never as simple as staying afloat.

We’ve been fed lies about poverty—lazy, immoral, undeserving. These myths punch down and they prop up a system that flatters the middle class while keeping everyone divided. The truth? Most poor people work hard. And no amount of budgeting fixes a rigged game. If you're slipping or waking up to the scaffolding, you're not alone. Let’s unlearn the lies together.

In The Tower, Dust begins to take human form and steps into the story she’s been watching unfold. As humanity reaches upward, building monuments to its own ambition, the foundations begin to crack. This chapter marks the moment when creation forgets its source—and Dust learns what it means to be both matter and memory.

When we talk about Intersectional Neurodiversity, we’re talking about more than diagnosis—we’re talking about how race, gender, class, and trauma shape the way we’re seen and supported. No two neurodivergent journeys are the same. There’s no right way to survive—only the next breath, the next day, the next small grace.

I’ve always rocked—literally. It’s how I think, focus, and feel calm. For years, people told me to stop. But I’ve learned you can rock the boat just by being yourself.

In Remembered by Dust: Blood Offering, love, faith, and fear blur together on the mountain. Through Dust’s eyes, we revisit the story of sacrifice and obedience—and begin to ask what it means to lay the knife down and choose love instead.

When SNAP Disappears, millions of working families will feel it first at the dinner table. I’m one of them. I’m a mom, a teacher, and a pantry scavenger who’s learned to make soup out of onions and hope. No time to cry, I'm starting my survival guide right now. Here’s how I’m feeding my family, holding onto dignity, and proving that hope still has flavor.

When white denial slips, the truth burns through. This essay is a reflection on racism, silence, and the cost of looking away. The veil has fallen. What once softened the truth now lies in the dirt. When I became an educator, I caught my first glimpses behind the veil that white America has long employed to pretend we were living in a post-racist world. Until then, I could, if I chose, dismiss echoes of hate as jokes, misunderstandings, or euphemisms. Racial violence didn’t h

Hard work matters, but it’s not the whole story. Some fields flood, some forests burn—and still we judge the ones left in shadow. #We Can Thrive challenges the myth of moral merit and asks: what if thriving was something we protected for everyone?

I’ve been creating all my life, but rarely with true collaboration. I tick on the tock—sometimes too much, sometimes not enough—and I’m done apologizing for it. I’m a Creative Weirdo, built for curiosity, connection, and alchemy. If you create for joy and meaning, maybe we’re part of the same tribe.

From Cain and Abel to every child who’s ever felt unseen, Ghost Siblings explores the ache of being second—the shadow of comparison that lingers across generations. Through Dust’s eyes, this chapter becomes a tender reckoning with jealousy, worth, and the longing to matter.