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Sometimes I wonder if people have noticed the lack of new updates on here. I wonder if anyone who noticed is disappointed by it. Dismayed by how the site has hung here, still technically live, but sitting stale & untouched for months. Like an abandoned house, filled with horny ghosts.

Please don’t think I live with the belief that I have an audience of clamoring fans eagerly awaiting my next blog post, I have no delusions about how many (few?) people read my little stories. However I can’t deny it garners a small viewership of sorts. That handful of people are the ones I think of when I wonder if anyone wonders where the fuck the author of this offense to literature went.

This update is for those people.

Hi. First and foremost, I suck. I haven’t totally stepped out of the confines of writer’s/slut’s block yet, but I’m getting there and writing this pitiful apology/update post is a shaky step in the right direction.

The last year has been enlightening to say the least. I’ve been trying to think of how I wanted to pull you all along with me for the ride. The topics I’ve embedded myself into are tricky to write about well without stepping on anyone’s dick along the way. It always has been, but add the club element into everything & it’s like a whole new world opens up. One that has very different rules, regulations, customs & traditions from how the rest of society does things, sluts or not.

You want to be honest, but you have to do it carefully because of how easily people on the outside looking in can and will twist your words to make their own point stick better.

While taking all that into consideration I made the decision many journalists & diarists have before me: the stories are just too damn good to go untold. So I’m diving back into it as much as I can.

Don’t be surprised if some older entries get re-writes* or if another flood of new drafts start to appear. The goal right now is to write every day even if I don’t make it public/publish it. Something is better than nothing & I’ve learned often times (at least with how my brain works) the thing you sit down to write, isn’t what ends up being your focus. But as long as you’re writing then you’re doing what you’re supposed to: furiously scratching the fuck out of that itch every creative person gets when they know they NEED to create. I’ve found it’s a similar feeling to craving a drug. That deep set physical longing to write or draw or make music or art. A similar deep set longing I think everyone who’s ever worn the title “addict” or proclaimed to be newly in love can also describe. Whether that’s for good or not isn’t something I could tell you yet, but it’s definitely been more productive than drug or human I’ve felt the same about.

So here’s to 2023, lets fuck this bitch right on up.

*feel free to keep a running log, nothing with be omitted/changed that’s already in there – I just think a lot of the older entries need cleaned up