Writing has carried me through grief, heartbreak, rage, joy, pleasure, transformation, mystery, and magic. The empty page has always been there.

If the end of the world comes and there is no paper or ink, I’ll write in the dirt with a stick, or in the snow. I’ll inscribe onto bark, or spell things out with leaves, twigs, bones, rocks, and berries. I’ll carve words into my skin if I have to.

What follows is a mixture of personal explorations and thoughts on eros, embodiment, sexuality, and relationships. They are intended not to set me up as an expert, but to provoke your own thought, curiosity, and introspection.