Imagine stepping outside your own mind—only to realize the map you’ve been following was never the real terrain. I’ve watched someone I love unravel, and with them, my own illusions. The lies aren’t just around us—they’re in us. My work has always danced on the edge of eerie and enlightening, but that edge is no longer enough. Now, I am building something that won’t let us look away. A book. A secret, for now. But first, a taste—The Galoshes of Insight, a short story based on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Galoshes of Fortune, where fantasy does not comfort; it dismantles. The door is open. Come see what’s changed.
What if Death was never truly unexpected—but simply ignored? In Death’s Messengers, a Brothers Grimm tale, the warnings are always there, yet we refuse to see them. Confronting the slow farewell of someone I love, I reimagined this story through three distinct lenses: Neil Gaiman’s poignant Death (Once Upon A Death), Christopher Moore’s irreverently bureaucratic Death (Once Upon A Technicality), and a Death entirely my own—one that, once spoken into being, could not be unspoken (Once Upon An Ever). Each tale offers a different way of seeing, knowing, and meeting Death. Read them. Sit with them. See what they reveal.
Many of you have been asking how I developed my distinctive author’s voice. To answer, I’ve shared The Infinite Carousel, a fantastical short story written, rewritten, and shaped through the styles of Ray Bradbury, Roald Dahl, A.E. Waite, Aleister Crowley, Ernest Hemingway, Immanuel Kant, H.P. Lovecraft, George Orwell, T.S. Eliot, C.S. Lewis, and Jonathan Stroud. Finding your voice sometimes means borrowing a few first—read on to see the final result.
We’ve perfected the art of saying nothing—our books gleam, our arguments cut sharp, yet beneath the polished words, what remains? At a writer’s conference, the talk was all about market positioning and algorithms, but no one asked the real question: Why are we writing at all? Seeking answers, I turned to tarot and Frame This Oracle, revealing a stark truth—illusion mistaken for wisdom, intellect wielded without purpose, and the need to stop chasing what no longer serves us. If you’ve felt it too—that creeping hollowness—read on, because meaning is slipping through our fingers, and it’s time to choose real over empty.
Each morning, before the world stirs, I write—pouring out thoughts on division, upheaval, and the quiet hope that something better is still possible. From these pages came The Singer Awakens—not a solution, but a kind of spell, a whisper to the future, a call toward unity in a world pulling itself apart. Words have power, and this piece was crafted with care—to stir, to shift, to awaken. Read it here—because if we want the world to change, we must begin with ourselves.
Winter fades, but curiosity never sleeps. Amid stormy nights and deep dives into the Akashic Records, I unearthed four strange and enthralling glimpses of a possible future—Hamlet’s Lost Soliloquy, Shakespeare’s Untold Iago, Explore the Edge of Doom, and Navigate AI’s Evolution. Shaped by my recent explorations into AI and the unknown, these literary artifacts challenge, provoke, and illuminate. Let them lead you to question, wonder, and glimpse what might be.
Is your favorite novel a mirror or a window? Books either reflect our own experiences back to us or open new perspectives beyond our comfort zone—but what if the way we read fiction also shapes how we approach divination? Do you use your cards as a reflection of yourself or as a gateway to something beyond? I’ve put together a thought experiment (with a few daring card pulls) to explore this connection. Ready to see what it reveals?
