Tomorrow is the start of 2026. There are bunches of you out there who are thinking, Trevor , it’s the Fourth. 2026 started four days ago. I think for most fo us, it’s all starting tomorrow.

For starters, the First was on a Thursday. No sane year starts that late in the week. And thus, I can blame the invasion of Venezuela on 2025. 2026 is just a baby. Doesn’t have its teeth or pubes, for fucks sake. And for the love of the gods, let’s get that shit done with. Trump needs to be jailed, not Maduro.

Many people report feeling lost or spacey during the holidays. For most of us, the space between Xmas and New Years is a wash. Yes, people die, babies get born, and life goes on. But it feels like time has stood still. It’s like we’re all outside in the snow at night, and its coming down lightly all around us.

And for many of us, it’s necessary. I don’t trust anyone who says 2025 was a great year for them, unless it comes with caveats. Most of us have been run through the wringer, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

I think of my time this week, and most of the holidays, as a liminal space. As a reality between two realities, 2025 and 2026. And I’ve been wondering what to do with the time. And now the time has come to an end. And I still am unsure what I’m doing next.

But I know this. I’m going to try. I might not do everything I set out to do. I tend to freak out and try to launch everything at once. But I know what I have to prioritize, mentally and emotionally. Not telling you what those are either. Keeping my cards close. Got to know when to hold, and when to fold, like the man said.

I wish for you to start 2026 on a good note. It’s a Monday, so it’s going to be tough. Nobody likes coming back from holiday. If you’re looking forward to it, I’m sorry your holiday was bad. I hope you find some small moment of happiness, even if it’s a candy bar from the vending machine in the ER. Good night.

Happy New Year and a belated Merry Yule, Xmas, Kwanzaa and Hanukkah. I’ve got to say that 2025 will be one for the books. But which book, I wonder?

Will it be The Godfather? The Bible?The Book of SubGenius? I don’t think it’s any of those. I think it’s Dicken’s Tale of Two Cities. It was the best of times and the worst of times.

Let’s get to the worst of times. You could argue that for me, for sure. twenty year marriage down the tubes. I have no full time job, no car and if this had happened a year ago, I’d be suicidal. Because I’d have believed that I had nothing to give to this world but my labor and money. Because that’s all I was taught I was valued for. Turns out, there were people who thought that about me. If you think I’m talking about you, you’re probably wrong. But ask yourself why you think this.

But if this year has taught me anything, it’s that dwelling on the negative, wallowing in it doesn’t serve me. It imprisons me. It traps me in self doubt and self hatred. And it tris to drag me back in. My only way of dealing with it currently is to let it flow through me and out. Its easier said than done, but the more I do it, the more I allow myself to feel it, the less it has a hold on me.

And to those I have wronged: I am sorry. But my words will ring hollow until I act to repair them. I’m working on it, best as I can. That’s all I can do.

So what made it the best of times? I made new friends. I found out which of my friends were friends with me, and not just tolerating me because of my connections to others. Some people have left my life, and I deeply miss them. Some have left my life, and I wish I could be friends with them again. And some, I don’t care if they ever come back, because they were never what they said they were. And don’t come at me wondering and asking what group you might belong to, or how wrong I am. You want to come at me, come with positive intent and love, or at the very least, civil conversation.

So how can I say it’s the best of times? Because it’s giving us the chance to show how WE can be the best us we can be. When we fight for truth, love and those in need. When we choose love over hate and despair. When we’re in our darkest hour, those with light show themselves to us. That was certainly true in my case ,when people showed up in my darkest hours and showed me love , grace and light I couldn’t give myself.

And I’d like to thank all of those who have shown me grace and love. But I ‘d run out of space. I will say a special shout out to Jasmine. If you know who she is, you’re lucky. If you don’t, you’re missing out. Her and so many others (Hi Ryan!) have shown me better ways to be, and to deal with my trauma. She’s my girlfriend, partner, and a smile in human form, at least once she’s had her coffee. I love you, ma Cherie.

Speaking of trauma, my hero this year is my daughter Aubry. She has been given a ton of crap this year, which was piled on top of the crap she deals with every day. Yes, I know I’ve done some of the shoveling, and I wish I hadn’t I’ll never be able to undo some of the harm I’ve done, but I hope I can help her heal. She’s so amazing. She’s excelled while dealing with family drama, floods, and just the crap that comes with being a non-normal woman in her 20’s in Trump’s America. I love her more than words could ever say.

And to everyone reading this, here’s my hope for 2026: That something in your life gets better. I’d wish for everything to get better, but I know that’s not likely. I hope you find a better job. I hope your pain, physical or otherwise, decreases. I hope you find love,or if not love, then more people to be friends with. I hope your rights get back to where they belong. I hope things happen to make you feel safer. And I hope you find more joy, however small. Good night.

No song title this time, folks. Honestly writing this because it’s been so long since I posted, and I feel like if I don’t start up again, I never will. And like most of my posts, expect this one to be kind of all over the place.

I was expecting this holiday season to be rough. I’m in the middle of a divorce, and working two jobs. And I wanted to do so much, btu time kept slipping away. And then, things took a real header. I wrecked my car.

I’m not going to bore you with the details, but I was dumb and it cost me my car. The insurance company is dragging their heels about the little they want to pay out. Constant bus riding in the winter gets old very fast. So I was feeling pretty down.

And just like that, a couple things happened that made things better. My girlfriedn Jas got some money she was owed, finally. And I met an awesome woman who has real potential to be,well, someone special. Still figuring it out, and taking it slow. At least, in the catching feelings department.

Then the universe decided to kick my girlfriend’s joy away from her. She had a bunch of stuff stolen from her. It happened right before Yule, and it left both of us kind of, not feeling the best about the season.

When Yule morning rolled around, I was close to cancelling. Jas has taught me about being all ion for things, and I was nowhere near all in. But I didnt want to disappoint people, and I soldiered on, and bounced back, determined to not let the world get the best of me. And thanks to friends , loved ones and a complete stranger, things turned around, and fast.

Yule night, which I thought was going to be a complete disaster, turned out awesome. Some folks showed me nothing but love, and offered help when I hadn’t asked for it. A fact that still amazes me. And makes me feel loved.

So why the title? It’s “why not both” in Spanish. It’s used a lot in the poly, swinger and kink communities. It’s why choose when you can have both? And you’re asking, what does that have to do with my life currently?

Because you can have two things at once. You can have the worst and the best time, all at once. There is no real mysterious force, forcing you to choose. A lot of it is all mental. You can choose to think of a time as best and worst. But that’s either/or thinking. Been the root cause of so much garbage. What’s needed is to reframe the thinking. Don’t think of thing as just good and bad. Just think of them as just different facets of the same experience. Try to find satisfaction in sad and happy times. In the rain and the sunshine. No more false dichotomy of good and bad when honestly, a lot of the time, it’s just the same experience through different views. Take both the sweet and the savory, embrace the whole. Why not both? Good night.

There was an announcement today about a film being made of Sammy Davis Jr’s history with the Church of Satan. Havinga friend who sits on the ruling body, the Council of Nine, I considered myself mostly familiar with the history,politics and beliefs of the CoS. And then I read the Rolling Stone article it was based on.

After reading it, I felt , to be honest, sad. To me the article highlighted the fundemental flaws in CoS practice and theory. And why other organizations like the Satanic Temple are prospering while the CoS keeps shrinking.

What the CoS, Order of the Nine Angles, Temple of Set and others of their ilk fail to recognize is one of the greatest strengths of humanity: acts of service.

I’m not going to go out there and say go do great things. I’m saying to just think of others once in a while, and act accordingly . There’s a lot to be said for doing so. And really better if you do it at sometime other than right now. Everyone stops giving January 1st. I wish more people would start.

And the acts can be so small and have big ripples. My new boss is always trying to find new ways to help out, Does it make me want to be a better worker for her ? Damn skippy it does. Do I always become one? Not always. But nobody’s perfect. Except that one guy, and we killed him. Just kidding, people. If you don’t think the gods don’t have a sense of humor you haven’t seen a platypus or or swhat happens when an Irish wolfhound and a chihuahua mate.

That’s why it annoys me when people who claim to be of service spread hate. I don’t give to the Salvation Army because they’re trans and homo phobic. So many churches only donate for show, without really accomplishing anything.

Maybe that’s why I found the article so sad. Sammy died alone and in debt. Anton Lavey died pretty damn unhappy too. But it’s amazing how giving can feel. And it’s not just handing out bucks. Say something nice to a random stranger. Think about it first, especially you cis males. It can go from aw to horror in seconds flat. And none of this negging bullshit. Back handed compliments are the worst kind.

In the end, we all need each other, despite what the Libertarians say. Covid should have taught us that, but so many stupid people didn’t learn. And I feel sorry for those people, because they generally die alone, wondering why they ended up that way. Lots of good people do too, but maybe if we started looking on each other as important, and start from a place of love, and not hate, might make less people lonely and alone. Good night.

PS. Acts of service have nothing to do with your spiritual beliefs. Like Dalton said: be nice.

This has been a rough week for me on many levels. Last Tuesday, I crashed my car into a speed limit sign, It’s in an impound lot in West Allis, waiting for the insurance company to determine if its repairable or not. In a year of dumpster fires, this has been the dumpster fire icing on the cake.

What’s worse for me, rather than any physical damage, is the damage it did to my self esteem. If you ever get to know me, you know I suffer from low self-esteem, chronically. Being without a car in this area is crippling. I’m going to have a tough time getting to one job, let alone, two. And it’ going to negatively impact my ability to have a social life, and so much more.

And yes, it could be worse. I could have been injured, or hurt someone else when I crashed the car. But try telling that to a brain that already does its best to make you feel like less. I managed to put off having a meltdown about it, mostly until tonight, after Jasmine dropped me off at home, after celebrating her birthday this weekend. Then I let it out for a few minutes.

I say that like its not a big deal, but to me it is. In the past, this would have set me back for days. And yes, I wasn’t a 100 percent the last few days, but I didnt curl up in a ball. I began to move the mountain.

There’s a story about a white guy who went to visit the fabled Shaolin monks, He wandered around the monastery, hoping to see some of the amazing feats the monks could supposedly perform. After a week, he went down to the river, disgusted by how ordinary everything was.

As he sat there, an old monk came down and asked him what was wrong. The man ranted about how there wasn’t any magic anywhere around. The old monk smiled and asked if wanted to see some magic. The man said yes. The monk pointed to a hill across the creek.

“Would you like to see the hill moved from one side of the creek to the other?” The monk asked. The man nodded. The monk walked across the creek, picked up a big rock off the hill and walked over tot he other side of the creek, He kept doing this until the white man asked him what he was doing,

“I’m going ot come out here , every day, and move the rocks from the hill to the other side of the river. When I die, my son will keep doing the same And if the hill is not moved by him, his son will move rocks.”

The point of the story here, for me, is that sometimes we can’t see the magic. We see the game winning shot, not the years of practice before it. We dismiss the art drawn in ten minutes, not knowing the hundreds of drawings it took to get there.

My biggest failing is not seeing that magic. I can visualize the goals, but not the steps to take to get there. And I sometimes forget to appreciate the little steps it takes to move forward, every day. I could focus on the storm I let loose out of my brain today, or I can appreciate the small steps I’ve been taking to get to a point where the storm was just a microcell and not a tornado. Appreciate the small steps, folks. Somedays, it’s all you’ve got. Now if you excuse me, I have a bus schedule to consult. Good night.

PS. “Magic is the art of getting shit done.”-Phil Brucato

I’m known for being a fan of conspiracy theories. As a man whose first tv viewing was the Watergate hearings, and is on record for having seen UFO’s and ghosts, this should not surprise anyone.

Now this post is a rehash of a post from my previous blog, but I’ve been mad deep in the conspiracy trenches for decades. A fan of people like Art Bell and Peter Levenda. It was Robert Anton Wilson who really first tripped me into the rabbit hole of conspiracy theory. And he taught me a valuable lesson:keep an open mind, but also keep a sense of humor.

That sense of humor is missing from a lot of conspiracy theory. I generally find the less of a sense of joie de vivre, the worse the ideas are. And the less actual intelligence there is behind the idea, and more dogma than anything else.

So in an effort to regulate and not go too deep down the hole that has swallowed half this country, it seems, I developed a scale. And also, when I say half this country, I consider some of the things that the liberals have fallen for nuttier than squirrel poop too. Anyone else feel stupid thinking, even for a second, that Trump was just using the GOP? Hey, I drank that water for a second, too.

In order to deal with a lot of this, I developed a ten point scale, that I egotistically call the Trevor scale. On that scale, 1 is the lowest, ideas so dumb you have to have had a railroad spike shoved through your skull to believe it.

The other end, ten, is stuff that I believe to be true beyond a shadow of a doubt. I say I believe, because some of them I can’t explain to you why I do, and are a result of what my friend Miles calls UPG, or an Unverifiable Personal Gnosis. I know this to be true, and I can’t prove it to you.

So what’s a one on the scale? Anything Qanon, the Walmart of conspiracy theory. The guy who believed that who went and shot up a pizza parlor? Used to be a customer when I was a vendor. Not the brightest bulb in the sign. Also, anyone claiming the Earth is flat,that Elvis or Tupac is alive, and Satanic messages are backwards recorded on metal records.

A better question to ask is, what’s a ten, at least for me? First off, UAV’s are real, and the government has admitted this. Ghosts are real, I’m just not sure if the explanation is supernatural. And also, Jim Morrison faked his death. I’ll explain that one sometime, if you ever meet me in real life.

So, what about all the other crazy stuff? JFK? It’s a ten that the official story is bullshit, and a three that aliens had something to do with it. It’s a nine that the mafia were involved, and a two that Marilyn Monroe was killed becuase of what she knew about it. So everything is relative.

And maybe that’s the lesson in me having the scale. That we shoudl all look at what we believe in, and question it. Not just about conspiracy theories, but about what our ideals are, and what’s important to us. And not be afraid to adjust our ideas , based on new evidence, or changing our minds. And hopefully, use that reasoning and thinking to do better, be better, and love each other better. Good night.

People talk all the time about abuse. And there’s those who have had much worse abuse than mine. Horrific levels of it. But what they don’t talk about is how the worst scars aren’t physical, they’re mental.

I don’t talk about the abuse that left me with C-PTSD. All I want to do today is talk about one of the things it left me with: anxious attachment style.

I’m not going to give you a definition of it, that’s what Google is for. But it means I’m continually in fear of people leaving me. All the time. Because I never had any certainty most of my life, about anything. Couldn’t depend on love from my parents, the narcissist and the co-dependent. Social circumstances left me with very little in the way of friends, or being able to make new friends. I spent a lot , and I mean a LOT of time alone as a child. So what do you think happens when I try to forge new relationships? It usually goes badly.

Children mirror the behavior they see around them. My parents very rarely had friends over. I can count on one hand the times they did. And this has messed up my ideas of friendship and love. With disastrous consequences.

I don’t know how to be a friend, or at least it seemed that way, up until this year. I have to work hard at friendships and relationships. There’s a quote from a wresting documentary that has struck me for a good decade: “I’m not sure I’m his best friend, but he’s my best friend”.

That kind of imbalance in friendship is natural. You have friends come, they go, life goes on. But for me, I made some friends that I thought were gone forever. Most of what I thought were my friends were, vanished. I’m not blaming them. I can be forgetful at times. But if I keep trying, and you don’t bother, ever, are you really my friend?

Anxious attachment can be overwhelming. And it can lead you to smother people. Being alone a lot as a child has left me feeling like I’m a bother to people, much of the time. I think people are always going to be like that, even when they’re not. I’m in therapy for it.

But you can’t let it ruin your life. We all need lives away from other people, time on our own. You can’t pour from an empty cup. And you shouldn’t put all your emotional eggs in a one person basket. Humans work best in groups. I made myself alone in what I thought was my group, then blew it all up. Now, I’m slowly rebuilding that group, person by person. And it’s hard. Having to form new social networks at my age is tough. Not smothering loved ones is tough, because you drain them.

I’m not perfect, and I can be a pain to talk to about bad stuff. I catastrophize, and I have executive dysfunction like you wouldnt believe. But I’m getting better, and I’d like some more people to ride along with, here on this big rock we live on. Come along? Good night

Tonight’s post is not for everyone. On second thought, yeah, it is. Because we all,like it or not, need each other. Unless you’re living under a homemade shelter out in the woods. And even then, you wouldn’t be reading this, because you’d be using the net.

I’m having issues with growing old. One of the hardest things about getting older as a parent, is the realization that your children don’t need you anymore. That your children are self sufficient and fully functioning adults. It can be gradual, or it can hit you all at once.

That’s a frightening day when you realize that. Some parents don’t ever realize that, or are unfortunate that they or the children don’t get to live to see that day. I feel bad for those parents and children. Because it’s a transformative moment.

When you become a parent(or stepparent, or foster parent,all of which are valid), your life changes, right then and there. And it may take you years or seconds to realize that you are a parent. Some would say it was when their child was born. You’d think I would say it was when Aubry was born. you’d be wrong.

The first day I truly felt like a parent was 9-11. That was the first day where my first thought was, what about the girls? I tried all morning to get a hold of someone. It took a bunch of searching and missed calls before I found out their grandmother had gone and gotten them out of school. It was a relief, to know they were safe.

Many years later, the girls are all mothers now. And that wasn’t when I knew they didn’t need me as a parent anymore. No, for me it was when their grandfather Larry passed. My wife was busy handling her own grief and arrangements down in North Carolina. I was assisting with that, best as I could, Within a day,those girls had rolled in, pitched in and helped their mother through one of the worst days a human can go through. And all I could think was, they were the helpers, not the ones needing help.

Now, the girls and I aren’t getting along. Not going there, sorry. I still think all the girls are amazing women. I will steer people toward their store every chance I get. And I do it, knowing they need nothing from me at all.

So, all you parents, accept that one day those tiny hands will hold you , cradle you, probably, I see it every day at my job. Loving children caring for elderly parents, helping ones who are infirm and struggling. And I wonder, what will happen when I need?

I think the bottom line is not to discourage your children’s independence. Feeing themselves of you is the natural way of things. You may not like the path they choose, or wish you’d done more. But in the end, they’ll most likely go. But they do come back. And you get to love them as who they are, and as the little one you once held in your arms. Good night.

If I’m going to remember anything about this year, is that it’s the year of destruction and rebirth. Or at least that’s what I thought, in April of this year. I had goals, plans and ideas on how to move ahead, and get on with my life. The only problem was, I forgot who I’d have to get to do all this: myself.

I have a cavalcade of mental issues: C=PTSD, anxious attachment, anxiety, and depression. Add in a surfiet of trauma responses and possible ADHA and possibly being on the lower end of the autism spectrum, and I am a mess.

So I set out a bunch of goals. And I set dates to hit those goals. And you know what happened? Every single one of those goal dates came and went. I missed every single one. And on a lot of levels, I spiraled down.

The response of many of you, I’m sure, is that I can reset those goals. Move them down the timeline. Those people don’t live with my brain. They don’t live with a brain that constantly tells them that they’re a failure, and that they are not worthy of anything good or kind in this world. That better is impossible for them. I do.

But when I was down there, thinking dark thoughts, I had people come into my life. People who reminded me that every day is a gift. That every morning is a chance to start again. And yes, starting over is hard. It’s easy to give up, to surrender to ennui and darkness. Ive done it far too much. And I now fight against it, every day. Every day I get up, and get moving, is another day that the darkness hasn’t won. That the black dog is still at the gate, but he’s not won yet.

So if you’re thinking you should quit on your goals and dreams, please don’t. Know that by not giving up, you give hope to people like me. That every day is another roll of the dice, and it can’t roll a 1 every day. Good night.

There’s a lot to be said for modern life. As someone who’s had dysentery, I’m a big fan of modern plumbing and cleanliness. But how do I reconcile that with a nature based religious practice? I don’t.

I’m not prefect when it comes to being a modern primitive. I like AC and toilets. It’s cold as Dante’s last circle out there tonight, and I’m grateful for heat and insulation. So what makes me a pagan,you ask? If I’m a fan of modern technology and the ease it brings?

Because I’m not perfect. And nobody is. And if you feel that being outside running around naked works for you in terms of your church, then good on you. I live where a good portion of the year, running around naked is not fun and at times, life threatening.

So where is my worship? Where am I most vulnerable? At home. I’ve adjusted to being naked a lot more, thanks to my partner. I think I’m repeating myself about this, but so what? I t bears repeating. Get naked with your partners.

And I’m not talking about sex, either. I love feeling another persons skin on mine. And the number of people ,right now, I feel comfortable doing that with is exactly one. But I’m leaving the door open for more. Love is not a finite resource.

Skin to skin contact is something we crave from the moment we’re born. Society deems we have clothes on when we do it, but there’s something very comforting about bare skin on bare skin. And when you’re both naked, you can see all of them. All the things thy wish they could hide. The people I can talk to stripped naked is much smaller than the people I can have sex with. The conversation afterwards is far more intimate, and vulnerable.

So if you’re in a relationship, do yourselves a favor. Strip down sometime, not just to have sex, but to talk . Oh no, you might fart or queef in front of the person. You might laugh and not look perfect.But you also might actually talk to each other. And that;s where all the magic truly starts. Good night.