HOH Magazine: New Year 2022 Issue

Same year, new me! It's been two years to the Day (St. Patrick's that is) that I started officially quarantining. That's much, much more than eight weeks guys, come on, what's up?

So it's still 2020, and still 2016 as well. I don't make the rules of arrested development, I just serve my time. A lazy, knee-jerk inclination to alter that opening quip to say "same me" was escorted quickly out of my head, because I am still pushing against the ceilings of evermore chrysalis-tine chapels within me, trying slowly but surely to grow and change. Even if the world emphatically doesn't want me to. You will get your David's worth even if you have to choke on it.

HOH Magazine: January 2021 Issue

Welcome back, bitches!

New Year, New Issue!

Welcome back! I'm your new Oprah, yet again! Snatching the mantle for smithing my opinions and thoughts into self-help (or just media recommendations) once more! Read on for the new and renewed HOH Magazine!!

What Kind of Butterfly (Final Correspondence From The Cocoon)

Here I am, on the precipice of my chrysalis. Pressing against the dried, transparent walls of my cocoon. Can you see my coloration? I don't worry about what shape or decoration I will take when I emerge but the shape of the world I'm emerging into. But then again, just as all acting is reacting, I don't actually give a fuck about what shape your petty, fetid world is in. It is not mine to control, so what matter should I give to my mind over its form? I guess the tables turned, the facade is down: I do truly, actually worry what shape I will become. How I will be pressed and molded as I molt and shed, poked and bled by this greedy machine of consumption. I'd hope it's "as an avenging angel doing the work of God." But how do I guide that hope – that intention – into practice? Such notions make wrestling matches in my mind, the spectacle of thought.

If I haven't stated it so clearly before, then here: This world was not made for me but I belong in it.