Posts

What I Have Come to Believe

By
  What I Have Come to Believe There’s a lot I don’t know. Maybe that’s where I need to start — not with what I believe , but with what I’ve learned to admit . Because belief, for me, isn’t a firm wall I lean on. It’s a cracked window I keep open. It shifts with the light, moves with the wind, and lets the stars in when I need them most. I’ve walked with ghosts. I’ve touched fear that spoke without a face. I’ve felt the quiet hand of the cosmos press against my chest — sometimes to push me forward, sometimes to knock me flat. I’ve prayed to gods I wasn’t sure were listening. And I’ve cursed the heavens for staying quiet when I begged for sound. I’ve survived things that should have broken me. And I’ve come out the other side, not divine, not enlightened — but aware. So here’s what I’ve come to believe. I believe that none of us have all the answers. That anyone who claims certainty about the infinite is either lying to you or to themselves. But I also believe that every belie...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Man We Crucified Twice

By
  The Man We Crucified Twice —a cracked reflection on the myth, the man, and the mess we made— We nailed him to a cross. Then we buried his humanity beneath centuries of gold leaf and guilt. He spoke in parables, not proclamations. He touched the untouchables, walked with the outcasts, and dared to whisper love where law had choked it out. Jesus, the rebel. Jesus, the heretic. Jesus, the man. But that was not enough for us. We needed more than a mirror. We needed a god to excuse our inaction. So we raised him too high to follow. We carved him into stained glass and stopped listening to what he actually said. And in doing so— We crucified him a second time. Not with nails, but with dogma. Not with whips, but with worship twisted into control. We crowned the myth and silenced the man. But he never asked to be worshipped. He asked us to wake up . To feed the hungry. To heal the sick. To love the ones we call “other.” Not to build cathedrals in his name, ...
Post a Comment
Read more

UFOs, UAPs, and the Questions That Won’t Stay Quiet

By
  Title: UFOs, UAPs, and the Questions That Won’t Stay Quiet I’ve never seen a UFO with my own eyes — not one I could say with certainty was the real thing. But I believe. Maybe not in little green men, maybe not in every blinking light in the sky. But in something . Something beyond us. Something unexplained. And maybe something waiting. I’m not here to push theories or wear a tinfoil hat. I’m here to ask questions, to share thoughts, and to listen. Maybe you’ve seen something strange. Maybe you haven’t. Maybe, like me, you’ve just got that itch in the back of your mind — the kind that wonders, what if? This space is open. Judgment-free. Whether your story is cosmic or curious, simple or strange — I’d love to hear it. Let’s talk sightings, possibilities, coverups, ancient mysteries, government footage, and the kind of wonder that keeps you looking up. Welcome to my cracked house — where belief and doubt sit side by side, and wonder still has a place to live.
Post a Comment
Read more

🎲 In the Beginning, There Were Dice

By
  🎲 In the Beginning, There Were Dice I don’t remember the first time I held a D20, but I remember the feeling. Like fate had been broken into numbers — and for once, I had a say in how the story went. Dungeons & Dragons wasn’t just a game. It was a portal. A lifeline. A chance to escape, explore, and — strange as it sounds — become more me than I ever could in the real world. In the game, I could hunt in silence, speak with beasts, walk the wilds, or hold the line between light and shadow. Ranger, rogue, bard — I’ve played them all. But always, at the core, I was searching. For something honest. Something cracked. Something real beneath all the fantasy. People once told me D&D was evil. Witchcraft. Corruption. But I knew better. I grew up around real darkness. The kind that doesn’t hide in monsters or magic, but in people. In silence. In trauma. And D&D wasn’t darkness — it was a light . A healing place. I came back to the game later in life, older, maybe wiser,...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Hayloft Gate or The Barn at the Edge of the Veil

By
  What My Friend Saw Still Haunts Me The Barn That Shouldn’t Be I was maybe eighteen, maybe a little older. Late one night, my friend and I were walking back from visiting a couple of girls in the countryside. We had no car, just our feet and the fading warmth of the evening. Around midnight, the rain started — soft at first, then relentless. The girls had darted back inside. We were alone, soaked, and too far from home to make the walk bearable. That’s when we saw it: a barn. Rough, weathered, silent. It looked about 300 feet from the road. We didn’t think twice. Shelter is shelter. We climbed into the hayloft, laid back in the straw, and tried to let the sound of rain settle us. I did what I often did back then — meditated. Slipped into that quiet space where mind and body start to separate. I’d done it a hundred times. But this time... was different. I felt like I was sinking — or like something was pulling me. Not sleep. Not peace. Something... other. Then I saw it: a w...
2 comments
Read more

Disclaimer

By
 This website contains personal stories and opinions. I am not a licensed therapist, lawyer, financial advisor, or medical professional. Any advice or reflections shared here are based on my lived experience and are not meant to replace professional consultation. This blog may contain sensitive content, emotional topics, or adult language. I write honestly, and sometimes rawly. If you're affected by trauma, addiction, or grief, please take care of yourself while reading. Any references to people or events are from my personal memory and perception, and I respect the privacy of others involved.
Post a Comment
Read more

My Obit

By
  Kenneth “CrackedSapien” M___ January 18, 1965 – ??? Kenneth M___, known by his chosen name CrackedSapien , lived a life cracked wide open by experience — and in those cracks, he found light, insight, and unrelenting truth. Born in St. Louis, Missouri, in the quiet hours of night, he was shaped by hardship early, but never gave in to defeat. He faced trauma not by hiding from it, but by confronting it head-on, questioning everything, and daring to keep feeling — even when feelings ran dry. A father, a thinker, a Dungeon Master, and a storyteller, CrackedSapien believed people could change — and that some do awaken, even if others stay blind. He spent much of his life holding space for those too scared to speak and daring to speak what others wouldn’t. His honesty was his pride, his blog his cracked house, and his mind a labyrinth of intellect, resilience, and sharp-edged compassion. He was no stranger to pain — but he didn’t let it define him. He sought connection through intr...
Post a Comment
Read more