Rebel heart, restless feet, ink-stained fingers.

I’m Duane. Writer, wanderer, cancer-thriver. Stage 4 is my battleground, but this isn’t a pity party—it’s a rebellion. I trade comfort for freedom, rage for art, and hell for fuel.

I’ve lived through addiction, pain, and the wreckage of bad choices. Slayed some demons, kept a few scars. I’m 58, a father, usually stoned, a little weird, and allergic to bullshit.

I don’t believe in survival. I believe in defiance. In turning collapse into poetry. In fighting systems that profit off our suffering. In outliving the ending everyone expects.

These pages are raw dispatches from the fight—against cancer, against conformity, against the machine. Gratitude shows up here too, but it doesn’t wear makeup. It comes as a fist, unclenched.

If you’re here, welcome. Pour a drink, light a smoke, and stay awhile.