By Morgan Miller Introduction Shadow work, as popularized through Carl Jung, encourages individuals to confront the hidden parts of themselves — the fears, insecurities, resentments, and unacknowledged motives that shape our behavior. At its best, it fosters personal insight and growth. It can help someone notice the difference between what is happening now and what a past wound is trying  to make them believe is happening. It can interrupt cycles of defensiveness and project

AI didn’t make me an artist. I was already an artist from childhood. It helped me stay alive long enough to remain one. I need to say something about AI and art, and I need to say it in a way that doesn’t pretend this is simple. Because it isn’t. And because I’m tired—so tired—of watching people treat every complex situation like it’s a courtroom drama with a clear-cut monster, a clear-cut hero, and a clean little ending where everyone claps and justice magically happens in

I keep saying I’m done with Christmas. And then December hits, and my brain does the same thing it always does:it remembers the lights. Not the ads, not the chaos, not the “perfect family” photos with matching pajamas and a mortgage. The lights . The quiet glow in a dark room. The way a single candle still feels like defiance when everything else is burning. Christmas in a Broken World  is my attempt to make music for that  feeling—for the people who still love the season, bu

I can feel it dying in me. Not in the cinematic way people imagine when they hear a sentence like that. Not a single dramatic crack, not a clean “before and after,” not a tidy storyline where the pain arrives, does its speech, and exits stage left. It’s quieter. Meaner. It’s a slow dimming—like a lamp that used to fill the whole room with warmth, now flickering because the power keeps cutting out, and nobody wants to admit the wiring has been sabotaged. Used. Lied to. Abuse

🎪 About Madness, Survival, and Refusing to Go Numb There’s a question that’s been haunting me for years: If the things that nearly killed you also kept you alive… what do you do with that? The Final Circus is my attempt to answer that without lying to myself. It’s a dark-carnival cabaret concept album about surviving psychiatry, misdiagnosis, psych wards, shared delusions, social-media witch hunts, alcoholism, and the quiet kind of hope that still crawls out of the wreckage

I need to share something difficult — not for advice, not for comfort, but because sometimes grief needs a shape outside the body, and if I don’t give it one it will keep living in my ribs like a trapped animal. For those who’ve known me a long time, you know who this is about without me saying it. The old story. The one that became a quiet landmark in the geography of my life. The relationship that ended and never really ended, because the ending didn’t come with an explanat

There’s a kind of loneliness that has nothing to do with being single. It’s not about not being loved. It’s not even about not being chosen. It’s about not being matched. I’ve been loved—many times, by many people. But I have yet to meet someone who loves like I do, who shows love the way I do. And that is a different kind of grief. Because what do you do when the thing that defines you, the thing you offer most freely, the fire that burns in your chest like purpose, is a lan

A Field Guide to Future-Faking, Overwhelm, Polyamorous Grief, and the Quiet Ruptures We Don’t Notice Until They Break Us There are heartbreaks that scream, and then there are heartbreaks that simply… vanish. Not with a dramatic ending. Not with a fight. Just a sudden absence — a door closing mid-sentence while the ink is still wet. This is a post about that second kind. Not as a callout. Not as a revenge letter. Not as a “here’s what you did to me.” This is a map. A prot

Preface (For the One Who Might Someday Read This) If you ever read this, I want you to know I do not hate you. What happened hurt me deeply— and it hurt my wife too— but the hurt is grief, not anger. I understand, even in the parts you didn’t say aloud, why you pulled away: the fear, the overwhelm, the suddenness of intimacy that your nervous system couldn’t hold. That doesn’t mean I believe the way it ended was right; there were gentler, clearer ways this could have unfolded