I’ve got this huge upcoming vacation, and I’ve realized that it’s kind of accidentally put my musing on my faith on hold.

It’s not so much that I’ve stopped thinking about them, but with to do lists, redecorating and trying to get all the important bits together I just haven’t had the time to sit down and really dig into my thoughts.


That said though, I’m SUPER excited about this vacation. First road trip of my life and it’s 7k+ miles and 16 days. I don’t even know what to do with myself =D

On the plus side, all the driving will give me plenty of time to muse on my thoughts, even if I don’t have immediate access to a computer to post them here.



I never thought I would have the conversation I had earlier tonight. I never thought I would spend days and weeks pondering a portion of my life – a sliver of my identity.

A big sliver though. I grew up in an open an accepting family. I grew up being told it was okay to be who I was. But then my father’s second wife planted a small seed.

I was 12 – and damn if this isn’t a difficult thing to write on – I was 12 and my father’s second wife was frustrated with me. She yelled that I’d grow to be a “worthless homosexual failure” – just like that. And it was the first spike.

When I was 13 my Grandfather said he was concerned I would be “influenced” by a family member’s lifestyle. He said it only once, and never spoke of it again.

I went through my life, and I wondered. I wondered at how everyone else had a “type” and I didn’t. I felt shame when I admired someone who wasn’t a guy. I struggled with my identity – and when I was 23 the first chance to test that identity came. And I didn’t take it.

I remember speaking to my mom about it. She’d made my heart rush, I hadn’t felt anything like it since puppy love in high school. I wasn’t sure what to do about it – I was scared, and worried everyone would blame – well – the “influential family member.”

Some years later I met a fantastic person who really helped bring to my brain a lot of other gender options. Through her and from her I realized just how much bigger the world was than I had assumed. I also learned that I had a, well, not unique point of view, but not an overly common one.

I may still be on a path to try and put words to my personal beliefs, but I do have words to put my sexuality to rest – to set my identity a step closer to resolution. I also have a supportive and decidedly wonderful life partner who has provided more strength to me as I solidify this definition.

My name is Quin, and I’m pansexual, it’s a pleasure to meet you.


So I’ve begun my study of the Elder Furthark. I’ve got a book, I believe that was recommended (My memory can be hazy at best, and flawless at worst) called Nordic Runes, by Paul Rhys Mountfort.

I’ve been digesting it slowly, trying to take each word into consideration and really commit portions to heart. I’m barely even 32 pages in, truth be told, and I’m already satisfied with the purchase. I picked it up specifically because it includes some very in-depth information into each rune. It discusses all the rune poems, and looks at a myriad of meanings.

Options, to me, are always the best bet. I like not feeling beholden to a specific set of words, and with this book I’ll know at least three rune poems, which I think will give me a better understanding of the runes themselves.

Speaking of, the runes have been delivered and in flawless condition. (The is a really solid vendor, highly recommend.)

24 Elder Runes burned into maple. Real honest-to-goodness maple, and its wonderful. The smell of the runes takes me back home, into the heart of forests and safe spaces, and I don’t care how creepy it might be, but I could just breath those runes in all day. There’s also a comfort in their feeling as well – not glass-smooth, but not bark-rough, there’s already an understanding that my own oils are going to alter the runes. That for every use I have of them I’ll be giving some of myself into them as well.

Essence is probably a more rune-appropriate phrase, and I can get behind that, even from a logical mind. I am my body, my body produces the oils as a way of protecting and maintaining itself. That oil is me, as much as anything else is, and even with my personal belief that we are all one in the same, there is much more immediacy with a connection to my current self.

Though, it would be inline with my beliefs to have the runes handled by as many people as are comfortable with it. I know from things I’ve read in the past that that’s kind of a big no-no, but I think for me it is not. And I think the most important part of this journey is to make sure I’m doing it in a way that is most right for Me.


Edit: My coming out as pansexual has certainly altered the views I shared in this. I may very well become hated, and I may very well be denied things, but I will still stand in defense for those who need it. Myself included.

I’m not going to write overmuch on the current events. These are not my experiences. Those are not who I am.

I am a friend to people who were affected. I love them, I mourn the collective loss they feel, and I have rage at the fact that event happened.

But it is not my suffering.

I have never been hated.

I’ve never been hated just for being me, as far as I know. I’m sure someone does, somewhere, loathe my nameless existence for whatever reason. Maybe simply because of my genitalia, maybe because of my inclination toward bdsm, maybe because of my love of video games.

But there isn’t a collective group of people who pass laws and legislation specifically to deny me. There isn’t a collective group of people who scream hatred and vitriol at me for no other reason than my simple existence.

My belief is that we are connected, and that we are likely one in the very same – all lives, all planes, all gods. That we exist in this small Universe to mature and grow and become something more – something better. Because of that I try very hard to erase the borders I see in my day to day. I can’t believe what I believe and then feel that everyone is disconnected.

That being said, this wasn’t an attack on “All of us”. It was a pointed and horrific attack against a specific group of us. A group we have historically shunned and othered since the beginning of this country.

I still hold hope that we will be better. I see hundreds of people donating money, time, Blood – to their brothers and sisters and I have hope. It’s a long road, but I will walk it, shield in hand, and do as I can to defend those who have been denied the capacity to defend themselves.


You ever have a moment where you know you did something incorrect, and that you’ve been doing it incorrectly for a LONG time. Like 14 years or so long time?

Yeah, that’s me. Me and water. I love water. Water is calming, water is life, water is something that feels like it connects me to everything else that there is. I connect with water and water-based ideologies (real and fantasy wise). It is life.

And for 14 years I barely drank any water at all. Soda? Check. Coffee? Check. Juice? Occasionally. Water – straight undiluted water? Um.


Maybe 10 oz. a … week?

Turns out your body needs water. Like ACTUAL FUCKING WATER.

So here I am, day 1 of the new me, 64oz of water later, one coffee and one soda. I can’t say I’m hearing angels or anything, but I feel fine. I don’t have a withdraw headache, and that coffee lasted me ALL day at work. That’s unheard of. At least for me.

The plan is to get down to zero caffeine – not because I’ve been told I have to, but because it would be nice to view soda as a treat, and not a routine need.

Maybe if I have the capacity to do this, and maintain it. Focus on water intake and mind my portions, I’ll feel like I’m capable of considering more organized structure for my journey.

But right now I just feel like I’d be wasting people’s time.


I think the thing that usually kicks me in the ass when it comes to maintaining a blog is that I always feel like every post I make has to be important.

I run into this with my artwork too. I constantly feel like the only work I should post is the stuff that’s the best I could do at the time that I did it – and as such my posts of art are far and few between.

It’s really hard to continue to tell myself that I am doing this for me, and whoever else stumbles along for the ride then by all means you’re welcome here. But I’m not doing this to draw views, or clicks or traffic. This is a journey, one I did decide to have on what is essentially a public forum, but not one I overtly mean to share with the world.

Speaking of art, however, I mean to only post pieces here that are part of my journey, or part of someone else’s journey that’s helped me on mine. (I get inspired at random times). So don’t be surprised if the art I do post here is even more sparse than what I post anywhere else ( and seriously, I linked my stuff to this blog, you can like, go forth and visit those other places if you want XD )

Thoughts: The Egg

I think the most comforting thing about Andy Weir’s short story The Egg, is that it really puts into perspective the absurdity of gender, age, race, religion, income, etc. To be every life is to finish your journey understanding how the victim feels, how the perfect criminal feels, how the officer feels – the burden of the judge, the fractured mind of the grieving parents, the perfect calm of the enlightened mind.

By the time your journey was done you’d know the reasoning behind every decision, every choice. You’d understand regret, and pride, and shame, and love – You’d know them from ┬áthe eyes of a child, teenager, woman, man, disabled, sick, mental, successful, downtrodden life to ever live. You’d know the world from nobility – from assigned love, to finding and connecting with someone within seconds. You’d know the world from poverty.

You’d experience starvation, opulence, death while in the womb, and life after the turn of two centuries. You’d know the pleasure of advanced technology and knowledge, and the pleasures of living slower in solitude barely aware of the existence of others.

You’d be connected, and spurned. Filled with rage, and spilling over with love.

But as essentially the same person – the same soul – then you’d never be apart from the ones you love and care for. You would hug and comfort every part of yourself and support you as you grew.


But I think, best of all, you’d live – once born – without fear. You would have faced every fear, every concern, every possibility. Nothing would be extreme as you would’ve been the extremist on both sides of all the debates. There’s a comfort in that, that is to me almost more comfortable than the idea that we’re connected molecularly – that the only person you’ve harmed is yourself.

Which, in that thought, wouldn’t you stop?