Gaithersburg, MD

the other day i was shopping and the diary guy asked about my dad. they were friendly, always stopped to chat. i had to tell him he died. and i wanted to stand there and tell him everything about my dad. i wanted to talk about him for hours. but the world doesn't allow for it.

i heard his voice almost every day for 41 years and now i will never hear it again. it's not fair.

and i am looking. god, i am still looking for him. i don't think i will ever stop expecting his voice from the next room, his footsteps on the stairs, his face to appear in the doorway to ask about dinner or if i want to watch a movie.

he was 74 years old when he passed. i am/was 41. but in that moment and every moment since i have felt like a child. that sinking, awful feeling where you lose site of your parent for a few minutes and think you're lost and alone - only this time he is not around the corner waiting for me to see him

I loved his generosity. He took in a homeless family once, donated to at least 5 charities regularly, always dropped money is someone's cup. He knew what it was like to be homeless, to be a foster kid, to have nothing and to just need some kindness and help.

"people hate it so it must be counter culture!" no, bro. it just sucks is bad for people and the environment. it's not punk rock to just be a contrarian for the sake of it

it better be silty loam

i have to suffer on hell world because crusty white men decided money was worth losing their humanity. i was raised to give a fuck and have empathy and all it gets me is pain. world leaders making social media posts about feeding people to alligators. that's where i live. in hell. in fucking hell.