Steven LaChance
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Alexander Leon once said, “Queer people don’t grow up as ourselves; we grow up playing a version of ourselves that sacrifices authenticity to minimize humiliation and prejudice.” Those words have always resonated with me, capturing the challenges I faced growing up queer. Early on, I learned to conceal parts of my true self—my interests, my
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“So this is hell. I’d never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture chambers, the fire and brimstone, the ‘burning marl.’ Old wives’ tales! There’s no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is—other people!” No Exit, Jean-Paul Sartre Sartre’s famous line really makes you think. It challenges the old-school images of
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My father was a loving and accepting man. I watched him grow and evolve over the years—his beliefs shifting as he learned, as he listened, as life opened his eyes in new ways. He never clung to an idea simply because it was familiar. Instead, he allowed himself to question, to reconsider, to change. When
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If you’ve ever found yourself drawn into the orbit of a narcissist, you know the dizzying contradiction they embody: one minute, they’re warm, attentive, and seemingly all in; the next, they’re cold, cruel, and impossibly detached. It’s as if you’re dealing with two distinct people—a light and a dark—when in reality, it’s the same person,
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Who would be the Antichrist? The idea has fueled centuries of speculation—from theological debates to conspiracy theories to vicious political accusations. Rooted in Christian eschatology, the Antichrist is often imagined as a charismatic deceiver, a figure who rises to power, opposes Christ, and ushers in an era of unspeakable chaos. Yet in a world that
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A few years back, I found myself wandering through Rome’s enchanting Piazza Navona, completely captivated by its timeless beauty. I paused in front of Bernini’s famed fountain—one of those mesmerizing spots that just pulls you in. That’s when I first heard the local lore: couples who fail to circle the piazza in a strict clockwise
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Losing your eyesight as you age is terrifying. I don’t talk about it much, but every year, my vision gets worse. And with that comes a quiet panic—one that sneaks up on me in unexpected moments. Like when I struggle to read something I know I could see just fine a few months ago, or
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I saw this quote by Charles Bukowski, and it hit me like a brick to the skull: “I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead; men without eyes, men without voices; men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions; men with
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I woke in the night, taking a moment to adjust my eyes to the darkness of the room. A faint light filtered through the windows, casting fleeting shadows whenever a car passed on the street below. Hearing movement, I sat up in bed and glanced around, but there was nothing to see. I lay back down,
Steven LaChance Blog 