#kbridge00 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steampoweredstarsketch · 2 years

Text

OKAY CAN WE TALK ABOUT RETURN TO OZ FOR A SECOND!?

So I just watched Return To Oz all the way through for the first time, and, as someone who has read almost all of the Wizard of Oz books in the series, can I just say….

What a marvelously accurate representation!?

So Return To Oz is based off the two books in the series following The Wizard of Oz, (The First One). The Marvelous Land of Oz, and Ozma Of Oz. And while it is a far cry from a shot for shot visual recreation of the books, it is a damn respectable representation as far as the parts it did adapt goes. In fact, most of the characters, tasks, and elements are ripped straight from the book, they’re just rearranged in a hodgepodge sort of way that still somehow maintains the sentiment each of them had in the book so authentically I might just give it a medal for most loyal book adaptation were it more linear!!

Pretty much all of the character designs were ripped straight from the original John R Neil illustrations like Jim Henson and Will Vinton brought them to life!! All the main characters, the wheelers, her returning to Oz with Billina by getting lost at sea and showing up on a shore with lunchbox trees and encountering a terrifying princess with an interchangeable head, facing off against the gnome king with her friends getting turned into ornaments one by one, the gnome king coming off as nice at first but then showing his true colors, Ozma, Tik Tok, even down to how jack pumpkin head came to be and the magic words to say that brings the Gump to life with the Alive Powder and getting it from a wizard! So much of it is so on point, even the celebration at the end!!

Of course, there are some striking differences between the two that I think they did either to save the run time, by technical limitations, or to consolidate aspects of the book together for simplicities sake. And you would think that might ruin it for a lover of the book, but I’m telling you this movie was MADE for people who loved the books!!!

Like holyfuck!! Return to Oz was made with so much love and time and effort and attention to detail I could cry!!! Even right down to jack Pumpkinheads outfit!!! They mixed up or left out some important aspects and context, and I have no fucking clue what the whole insane asylum thing at the beginning was supposed to be about, that is probably the most made up and out of place thing in the whole movie to be frank. …… L. Frank…. That is….. 😏 Okay I’ll shut up.

Also can we talk about the whole insane asylum electroshock therapy thing??? Like wtf guys??? I’d chalk up everybody’s childhood fears to the 80’s effects if it wasn’t for that weirdness at the beginning! Also, why does the doctor die in the fire and why is the nurse being carted off to jail?? I feel like I missed something there. Like, I got the feeling we weren’t supposed to like them because Dorothy was afraid of them, and we have hindsight bias about the effects of electroshock therapy, but like, they didn’t do anything wrong or evil or even particularly mean!! Like we know electroshock therapy can scramble your eggs now, (although a modified version has been proven safe and effective and is still used today for some specific circumstances) back then electroshock therapy was just another treatment, they genuinely were under the belief that they were helping their patients! The doctor tried to be friendly and make the experience less scary for Dorothy, and the nurse just came off as a little cold and not good with kids, and sort of firmly told her to lie down on the gurney, but she was never in anyway cruel to anybody, and even risks her life to save the two girls from the river in the thunderstorm in the beginning!!

And in the end they say the asylum burned down, and everyone was rescued except the doctor who went back in for his machines, and they just don’t explain why the nurse is being carted away!! I think it’s implied that it was for having people locked up there and we can hear their screams in the beginning, but once again, that was standard practice by then! And since everyone made it out okay, that specifically implies that both nurse and doctor did their jobs and ensured the safety of all the patients in their care! And once that had been done, the doctor went back in to try to safe this equipment he thought he was using to help so many people, and he fucking dies in there!! WTF!?!?

That aside, I can’t gush enough about the effects, Will Vinton is a god of his craft, and just how unbelievably smooth and creative and expressive the stone gnomes are is just eye candy, and same to Jim Henson with how he brought all the other characters to life so accurately!!!

Also, fun fact, “Princess Mombi”, from Return to Oz, is actually a mashup of two different characters from the books, The Old Witch Mombi, a recurring antagonist who debuted in book 2, The Marvelous Land of Oz, who for years imprisoned Princess Ozma as her indentured ward, except Mombi turned her into a boy named Tippertarius, Or Tipp, for short. And in the fucking end of that book?? THERES A GODDAMN TRANSGENDER MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION!!! This book was published in 1904 mind you!! No wonder why this series was claimed by the gays so fast. (Unrelated note, The Scarecrow X Tin Woodsman OTP forever, they’re so wholesome,) And by the way, this was the bit where Jack Pumpkinhead comes from. Ever wonder why he keeps calling Dorothy “Mom”?? Well Ozma created Jack Pumpkinhead while she was Tipp to scare Mombi, and then Mombi used the magic alive powder on Jack to use him as a handyman so she could turn TIpp to stone for all the trouble. Tipp turns into Ozma at the end of the book, and I believe Jack refers to Tipp as his father, and so when Tipp turns into Ozma I suppose she then became his Mother. And Ozma and Dorothy are tighter than a pickle jar and Ozma dubs her an honorary Princess of Oz, and are supper affectionate toward one another, giving off some major lesbian vibes, so in that case, as two in love co-rulers, I think they’re trying to say Jack Pumpkinhead has two moms and I’m super here for it.

So if Mombi is a witch, then what’s with the princess shtick with all the heads about?? Well that’s where the book “Ozma of Oz” comes in, which ironically is more Dorothy centric. So Dorothy gets lost at sea while sailing on a ship to Australia for a vacation with Uncle Henry, when she’s looking in the ship chicken coop on the deck, she finds a chicken named bill, they get swept out to sea in a storm, and wash up on the shore of, Not Oz! But the Country of Ev!! They dust themselves off, Bill the chicken corrects Dorothy’s pronouns and renames herself Billina, and they see big letters written in the sand saying “BEWARE THE WHEELERS” And lemme tell you, the movie was spot on with them fuckers. The designs, and the fact they talk big but are generally benign and try to scare people away from the lunchbox trees so they can have them all to themselves. BTW the lunchbox trees are also in the book and I wanna eat them so friggin bad!!!

Princess Mombi/ Princess Langwidere /

Witch Mombi

Anyway! The Country of Ev has a Princess, Princess Lanwidere, who has over 50 interchangeable heads she came across much like Princess Mombi from the movie! Also kept in glass cases, and she also expresses the desire to lock Dorothy away so she can take her head when she’s older. (Side note, Langwidere is the Niece of the Late tragic Kine Evoldo who has a really tragic story and demise of walking into the sea to drown himself!) Princess Langwidere is also narcissistic and not a very good ruler, but aside from her one run in with Dorothy she’s generally a one off antagonist in the story. But her whole deal is so interesting and memorable I see why they chose to combine both the characters together to make a really memorable knock your socks off villainess!

And lastly the Nome King, while still being made of stone with pebbles for the beard, he’s described as looking like a very jovial short Santa Claus, (L Frank Baum REALLY loved Santa Claus, and references him often in the Oz series, and even writes the life and adventures of Santa Claus) And he has a magical emerald belt. There were no ruby slippers in the books, only silver shoes, which magically disappeared when she wished herself home in the last book, but they were lost forever and never recovered.

They also got Ozma’s magical mirror correct, and she looks into it at a certain time every single day to see if Dorothy ever wants to return to oz and she will make it so.

This was such a tender an loving adaptation I demand it be given more love and more credit for all time!!

I! HAVE! SPOKEN!!!

#wizard of oz #return to oz #kbridge film reviews #wizard of oz books #oz books #kbridge00

54 notes · View notes

steampoweredstarsketch · 5 months

Text

The Story, Of Old Hollering Joe

By @kbridge00

I’d like to begin by saying, I’m a simple old man. Never been too superstitious. I’ve lived on this mountain as long as I can remember, just like my Pa and Grandpappy alike. I’ve never really believed in ghosts.

Recently though, I had the inclination to draft up this old story my Grandpappy used to tell, sitting in his old hand carved rocking chair, hands casting shadows by the light of the fire as he spoke. Just an old ghost story plain and simple.

Still, night’s have been awful quiet lately. All the birds stop singing at odd times. Not even a hoot owl or nothin after dark. I come back home from a long day and it feels like things have been moved around. Even after locking the place up tight. Prolly just the paranoia of a senile old man, who knows. Either way, things have been a mite uneasy ‘round here lately. I don’t like it. All this strangeness around the mountain, been conjuring up memories of that old yarn Grandpappy used to spin about the mine just up the ridge from this here cabin. I can recall my grandfather’s voice, imitating that old Miner’s cackle.

The cackle, of Ol’ Hollerin' Joe.

The story goes that there was an enterprising old prospector, with a long shaggy beard, a beat up flop hat, and trampy moth eaten clothes lookin’ ripe off the boxcar, missing a couple teeth, who walked with a bow legged spring in his step.

Folks called him Hollerin’ Joe, on account of his tendency to holler out songs as he went about his way. All in all, he was a jolly fellow with a wink in his eye, and he was always one with a song in his yapper and a mighty bellow in his lungs. The unfortunate kicker was, Joe could carry a tune about as far as he could throw a boulder.

Most folks paid him no mind though, as he was good natured as any man for the most part. They humored his terrible verses, as they were still far more preferable than the other interest he liked to indulge. That my friends, was a good amount of mischief!

Always, Ol’ Hollerin’ Joe would be pulling his hijinks around the mine. Once he’d fixed up an old argyle stocking full of sawdust and tied up the end of it, and nearly made you jump right outta your britches when he started wiggling the end of it from around a corner in the dim dark of the mine, and started faking a rattle!

Other times he’d hide and watch you set down your canteen, then move it around when you weren’t looking, always staying just out of sight, making you think you were losing your marbles. He was a loud old coot to be sure, but when he wanted, he could be as spry and feather footed as a jackrabbit! With the sense of humor of a meanspirited schoolboy to boot!

His favorite of all his shenanigans, was sneaking up an unsuspecting feller that wandered off alone in the mine, something even the most inexperienced green eared charlie knew never to do, or risk getting lost miles underground. So if he caught you wandering off, he would scare you right outta your cowskins and send you running out the way you came, fast as a bat outta hell!

He’d do this by creepin up all slowly like, tiptoe, breath hushed, arms poised at the ready, closer, and closer still, sneaking silently inching towards you there all alone in the dim dark, until he’s right up behind ya, he leans in close, so close, leaning right over your shoulder, you shiver at what you might have thought was a mere foul smelling draft through the mine breezing across the nape of your neck past your cheek.

Then, when you feel your heart drop into your stomach as the unsuspecting dread just begins dawning upon your senses,you feel a sudden powerful grip clamp down on your shoulders out of nowhere! You hear a raspy eardrum bursting holler come right from behind you, exclaiming:

“A mislaid man has gone astray! Wander too far and you’ll find your… GRAVE!!!”

This would be the moment that Grandpappy would sneak a hand behind the shoulder of a captivated listener, and give them a startling jolt from behind! They’d jump ten feet in the air, all would have a laugh about it, and that would be the end of the story.

However there was one night, when I was just a boy, I got a bit too curious about Ol’ Hollerin’ Joe’s Mine.

It was a night much like this one, where the woods and the mountain were eerily quiet. Where the winds carried an unsettled cacophony through the air. I woke up in the wee hours unable to sleep, unable to resist something out there, calling me to that old ramshackled mine entrance just over the ridge. Was it a cackle? Was it simply the wind? I snuck quietly towards the door of the cabin, but just as I was about to open the door, I heard a creak from behind me that nearly made my heart leap outta my throat.

“You hear it too, don’t you boy?”

I turned around to see the silhouette of my grandfather in his rocking chair. I nodded timidly, as he sighed and beckoned me over.

I sat down on the floor, looking up at him. Time had etched lines into his skin like water turns a creek into a valley. It was strange to see him there in the dark, without the warm firelight to illuminate his face and brighten his friendly eyes.

“There’s something about that mine up there I hoped I’d never have to tell you,” His old gravelly voice mumbled. “I ‘spose Ol’ Joe will have it his way if I don’t,” He said regretfully.

In that moment, a shiver ran down my spine, as I heard him tell a very different version of the tale that he had never told anyone before, and I will never, in all my years, forget.

He began by saying, there’s a reason our family doesn’t go near that old mine.

You see, they’d been diggin deeper for years. Year on year, the earth, she started drying up. Fewer veins of precious ore to be found. The mine was slowly neglected by the mining company. Hollerin’ Joe became more reclusive, but still on occasion his voice could still be heard, distant, but loud as ever, singing his song or his eerie cackle echoing out from parts unknown.

Now my Grandpappy picked up the pickaxe at the ripe old age of 10, towards the end of the rush. He was known to be a precocious young lad with an affinity for exploring. When he was sent to go run supplies between mining stations, he liked to sneak off and explore the older empty parts of the mine all on his lonesome, daydreaming he might find a great big overlooked nugget of gold for himself, or so he said.

One day he did this and took a seat on a rock in a little traveled shaft of the mine, and laid down the canteen and the heavy pickaxe he struggled to carry, that he was supposed to deliver to some workers on the other side of the mine. He decided to have a drink of the water instead. Except when he reached for it, the canteen was a few feet down the mine, in the middle of the path! As he was scratching his head about this, and went to retrieve it, then came back to sit upon his rock beside the pickaxe, he noticed that the ax too, was gone!

He was deep inside the mine, where not a drop of sunlight had ever ventured. An inky black so deep it makes your eyes tingle as they search for the tiniest bit of light to orient you by. In places that dark, you can’t tell up from down ‘sept from your feet on the ground and your hand braced against the wall. When you can’t see, your ears get real sharp, too. They’ll perk up at the drop of a pin, especially when you’re alone. You could hear a mouse’s echo within at least a hundred yards down there.

He had just his carbide headlamp separating him from the pitchest black anyone could ever see. Though, even that was dim, and the distance of the beam was short and narrow. A beam of pale burning white that often became clouded by each cold breath, rising and swirling around in the freezing damp, down there in the underground.

All the more reason you never go alone into a mine, even an active one. Get lost, and they might never find ya. But my Grandpappy was young and foolish. He figured he knew these tunnels like the back of his hand. Still, this pickaxe business had him rattled.

He looked around by the dim light, eyes squinting to see further than a yard or two in the inky blackness. As he stared, he just barely caught a glimpse of the light catching the silent movement of the wooden ax handle, disappearing around the corner.

His heart nearly stopped as he froze his lamplight on the corner, as he got a tingle from the hairs on his neck and a pit in his stomach as his feeling of assumed safety vanished in an instant.

He slowly, cautiously, approached the bend in the path a yard or two in front of him. Unsure what propelled his feet to step forward, except the need to procure the ax and hurry along his way.

He’d heard plenty of stories of Ol’ Hollerin’ Joe from unfortunate victims of his tomfoolery. He always thought they were tall tales. He figured if he just steeled himself and faced him, there would be no way for Joe to sneak up and spook him, and it might take the fun outta his game. Well Grandpappy wasn’t going to let this old hermit make a fool outta him!

So there, in the dark of the mine, right before he was to round the corner he saw the ax disappear behind, the young boy declared bravely,

“I-I know it's you Joe!! I ain’t scared of you none!! Not a lick! No s-sir!” He stammered. “Just gimme the ax back and we’ll call it square…!”

There was an eerie silence. It was like the normal sounds of the echoey cave, full of drips and skitters, were gone. Like the dark ate up all his words as soon as they were spoken. As if outside the narrow reach of the lamplight, there was nothing but a sable, hungry void, swallowing up his defiance.

Ignoring every incite to caution, my young Grandpappy swallowed his fear and quickly jumped round the bend, and he was met by relief when his headlamp eventually cast dimly upon the wooden handle of the ax he was meant to deliver, leaning against the wall of the shaft. His body relaxed as he focused his gaze, and with it the narrow beam of light, on the handle just a few feet within reach.

Glad to find it, he wanted to grab it and get a move on, quick as he could. He reached for it, then stopped suddenly.

The glint of his lamp unintentionally fell upon the head of the ax right beside a rock as he was reaching for it. He paused when he noted something queer. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he realized the ax head… it wasn’t touching the ground. What lay beside it? No, it wasn’t a rock at all. His eyes focused on it and his little heart sank to the pit of his gut as he froze in a sudden cold sweat.

It was a beat up, leather boot.

At first he didn’t notice just the slightest, most insignificant movement of the handle weighed down by the heavy iron head. As if it was being held by someone who shifted their weight one foot to the other, just barely suspending the heavy iron pickaxe an inch off the ground.

Trembling he slowly lifted his gaze along with his headlamp as it’s narrow beam, clouded by his shallow misty breath, illuminated what looked like a pair of beat up old trousers caked in dirt, held up by worn old buttons connected to suspenders, leading upward to a moth eaten shirt, the color of which was lost to the dust and soil that clung to it, leading up to the scraggly matted locks of a frizzly tangled beard.

My grandfather froze, blood gone cold as the dead. Petrified as his shaking headlamp’s light slowly, cautiously traveled upwards and finally cast upon the absolutely still, wrinkled, gaunt cheeks, coated in sweat and dust, towering over the boy. He somehow recognized that knobbly nose, and what were supposedly friendly playful eyes, were now glazed over with a sickly white film, open wide, vacant and haunting.

The boy watched with horror, unable to release his grip on the handle as he was paralyzed with fear. He witnessed the ghastly man, inches away from him, instantly flash those milky white eyes to glare down at him, as the figure began stretching his mouth as wide open as it could go. He could see clearly only a few crooked, tobacco stained teeth left embedded in those gray dripping gums. As he did, the boy noticed that there was something falling out of his mouth… dirt and rocks! Soil tumbling off the man’s clothes at the slightest motion!

My grandfather stood there still as a statue, and he swore till the day he died, this is what happened next.

With just the remaining flicker of his dwindling light the illuminated haunting face stared at him with a lurid grin. Gravel spilling out of his gnarly maw as the old hermit mouthed something but no sound came out, only more gravel. The cave was completely void of all sound. As if the child had lost the capacity to hear anything at all.

The next moment, as if the old man’s blistered decrepit lips that held that toothless smile and hot wet breath were right up to his ear, let out a harsh disembodied whisper, clear as day. The voice, the only sound to break the deafening silence, slowly uttered these words:

“A mislaid lad has gone astray…

Wander too far…

and you’ll find your…

GRAVE!!!!”

It shouted with immense force! All at once the sound returned to him as that last word blasted into his eardrum and reverberated out like a cannon! He heard something vital in his headlamp shatter and immediately he was showered in darkness!! Nearly jumping out of his skin, the pickaxe clanged to the stone ground, the metallic clangor joining the chaotic cacophony. He bolted back the way he came, guided by only touch and memory.

The skin of his hands scraped off as he held them to the side of the shaft to guide his way! He ran as fast as his legs would take him! All the while he could hear the directionless reverberation of that hideous, wicked, black lunged cackle that followed him the whole way out, causing the mine to rumble like the whole place was gonna come down on top of him! He ran and ran and ran until he finally saw daylight and dove for the grass outside!!

He never went into that mine again.

Grandpappy had come to hear a while later, that Ol’ Hollerin’ Joe’s flop hat and pickaxe had been found just outside a long forgotten shaft that had collapsed a long time ago. It seemed he had played one of his jokes on somebody, scaring them off, but shortly after, his raucous guffaw caused the entire shaft to collapse. Suffocating him in hundreds of pounds of loose grit and gravel. His hat and pickaxe, leaning up against the wall, were the only things left, of Ol’ Hollerin’ Joe.

The mine closed shortly after.

My Grandfather claimed that for years after, there would come times where things start getting displaced. The birds stop singing. At night the mountain will fall unnaturally quiet. There’s nothing you can hear but the soft wail on the wind, and if you listen closely, and look up towards the old mine, you can still hear the despicable cackle of that infamous tommyknocker… Ol’ Hollerin’ Joe.

#folklore #short stories #spooky #urban legends #scary stories #kbridge00

0 notes

steampoweredstarsketch · 2 years

Text

Narratives

A Poem By Kellie Bridges

(kbridge00)

I wrote this awhile ago and got a college award for it. I decided to post it for Pride 2022, just in case anybody else is struggling with keeping it together, trying to combat depression, anxiety, or self doubt. Or just trying to accept yourself as you are, and forgive yourself for things that happened you can't change. I hope this can help someone out there.

_________________

Between the inequities of me

And the visage that they see

Is an ocean of words and voices

Screaming and talking over one another

Saying truth and lies

As long as it is hurtful

Tearing into me this great divide.

Until I cannot tell the difference

Between what is truth

And what is fiction,

The water stirring to

Swallow me whole,

Centrifugal forces pulling hope

Away from me in a whirlwind

Spinning in an attempt to

Tear me apart.

I look up and nod

Smile at my boss

As she berates me

For all I have and

Haven’t done wrong.

I smile and nod

As I am asked

“How is your day?”

And I reply “It’s going fine!”

As I swallow back my tears

And try not to cry

So that no one will see

That it hurts me.

I smile as the society I’m in

Instructs me to

“Fake it till I make it,”

And then asks me

Why I can’t keep up.

Fueling and fueling the

Greasefire, giving

Ammunition to the voices

That cut and criticize, and say

I’ll never be enough.

Exhausted to the point a

Once energetic & opinionated

Person keeps her head down

And says nothing

In an attempt to rob that

Ocean of its ammunition,

And in turn that ocean robs

Me of my strength, joy, and

Ambition.

Shaking, backed into a corner

Trapped in fear like a

Battered wife, living with an

Abuser she cannot divorce

Because he lives in her.

So I say nothing, because

My feelings are a burden

Causing worry or misunderstandings

That hurt worse than the silence,

I say nothing, refusing to whine

About my “petty problems.”

But If I could speak.

If I could speak.

I would tell my younger self

And so many others like me

I would grab them and tell them

“Your feelings matter & your

Problems aren’t petty!”

That that is the truth.

Make that truth the raft

You cling to when reality is

Gaslighted away.

The truth, the truth that

The struggles you face

Are so important, no matter

How small, even when the voices

Say that they aren’t,

I know you’re so scared and alone

Right now, but the reality is

That you’re not.

The silence you keep

Is your only prison &

You have control of

The key.

The key is talking about it

The key is asking for help

The key is the courage to admit

To yourself you are drowning

But being strong enough to say

I am going to pull myself out,

Even if I don’t know how.

In a world where you would

Rather die than cry in public &

Cause discomfort to another

And humiliate yourself.

Bear your tears proudly and say

This time I do not apologise

I don’t care

I’m having a hard time right now

That’s not your fault

But I refuse to silence my pain

For the convenience of another

Any longer because,

That’s not fair.

The face you see that smiles

The jokes I make to direct

Your attention away from

The pain that I face,

Raise your voice and say

I am not okay.

I’m being rent asunder.

Because I cannot bear to

Look in the eyes of my

Brother, Father, Sibling, my Mother

When there is a lapse in my

Facade and they ask me,

“Who is hurting you?”

“Who is to blame?”

“Who can we punish to

Take away your shame?!”

And then I see the pain &

Helplessness in their eyes when

I say my own name…

It’s so hard to try,

It hurts so badly to fail…

But when you face the

Times you’re lost and alone

Please god take off the mask

And empty your chest you carry

So full to bursting

With piercing lies & helpless truths

You tell yourself to hurt you.

You deserve to lighten that load &

To never have to bear it alone.

So the next time my

Boss tells me I’m not enough,

That I am too sensitive,

Too soft to do this job,

I will say maybe it’s you

That needs to be made of

Some stronger stuff.

Because hurricane

After hurricane

I come everyday

Against a tidal wave of

Conflicting thoughts & odds

I face the barrage and say

“I am strong enough

To make it through today.”

----

On the stage we smile &

Act out the part

We’re trained to play

Whilst behind the curtains

Monsters rage.

Have the strength to

Part the velvet

Step away from the pedestal

And scream out that

You are chained.

Scream!

That this figure

You see is not me,

Or the person I want to be,

These are merely the traits

I am allowed,

By this creature

To which I’m bound.

Ours is a secret narrative,

The kind of scar

You don’t see on an arm

Or get from a bully after school.

But don’t get me wrong,

Just because the harassment

Is in my head, doesn’t

Change the fact that it’s

Self-harm.

My dominant narrative is

The face that blurts out

Stupid things far too loud

Then gets misunderstood

And I can’t retrieve them.

Mine is the face

Petrified, tears in my eyes

Overwhelmed over

Conflict and intimidation.

Gagged by my tears,

I falter, in the face

Of my fears

Unable to speak out

Due to the hands

Covering my mouth-

As the monsters in my head

Tear me apart for my doubt.

The narrative seen on the surface-

A useless child with no purpose

Blank faced, & hollow headed

Incompetent, & absent minded.

Born with a thin skin, &

No common sense.

A child, over-zealous & impulsive

With no motivation or organization

An annoyance, whose imperfections

Chase away anyone who might

Want to get close.

The narrative they don’t see,

Is the painter & the poet,

The musician with a vision

So beautiful, they don’t know,

Is the person that I want to be

The kind that lifts others up &

Tells them, you are beautiful,

That you are so important

That you can be whatever you

Want to be,

And most of all, that

You deserve to know peace.

-----

Today instead I decide

To be braver than my divide

Gathering the strength to

Hit send on this message &

Even stronger not to

Run away after.

In the hopes that my words could

Empower others to reach

For the keys to their shackles &

Fight back oceans of their own.

Today I say I’m not crazy

That this chaos I’m

Experiencing isn’t just delusion.

That my thoughts & feelings

Have meaning, that I will

Never again mistake this

Leviathan as just confusion.

Today I say the narrative that

I’m struggling but I’m not crazy

I am self-depreciative but

I’m amazing.

That I may be my greatest enemy

But I am not alone.

I am slow but I’m not stupid

I can be clueless but not useless

I can hesitate or be impulsive

But I am worthy of being loved.

----

So I say to those who stand

In my stead,

Hear those voices in your head,

Believe fervently in mind and

Heart,

Know, you contradict them.

On your weakest days

When they weigh you down

Know, they only exist to hurt you,

They do not always correlate to

Actual facts, faults, or virtues.

You are not broken, a mistake

Nor stain, you are a

Human being with a heart

Mind and brains, with

Strengths and weaknesses

All your own,

So please, god, believe me

When I say that,

You are not alone.

Believe that you are

In control

You have the keys to your

Prison and when the

Tidal wave calls out & says

That it isn’t-

True, call them out

Because you know that

They are wrong.

Know truly, there is

Strength in numbers

And if we stand together

We can shout so much

Louder than the voices

That surround us

Together we can remember

That we matter, that we’re real,

That we have the power, and we

Deserve to feel good.

To love ourselves just like

Any other, without

Fear, apology, or sarcasm.

Know it’s okay to hit

Rock bottom

To lose one day but

Win another

Because you are walking

Against a tempest gale

Whose winds can

Knock you down.

Just, do not surrender.

That alone makes you stronger

Than you could possibly imagine

Despite the fact they make you feel

Like it’s not.

That pain you feel

Is real and just like

A cut or broken arm

You need help & tools

To heal.

We are worth effort

We are made strong to

Endure & even though

There’s no certainty or

Cure, we are the

Captains steering our

Ships, with the ability

To navigate toward clearer

Waters.

We deserve to not

Live in fear, any longer.

#pride 2022 #slam poem #poetry #lgbtq #personal growth #kbridgeart #my poems #kbridge00 #in myself i am found #in myself i am free

1 note · View note

steampoweredstarsketch · 2 years

Text

Raya And The Unearned Character Growth!!!!

I just watched Disney’s “Raya And The Last Dragon,” and I was shocked at how bad it was! Just a real flop! And I’d been waiting for this to come out and I was really excited to see it! But somehow just none of it landed for me. And there are some glaring plot holes and down right terrible, if not dangerous messaging!! The thing they messed up the worst has to be all the unearned character growth! Which is saying something because I was desperately searching to find some kind of redeeming quality in the writing and it just wasn’t there my guys. I don’t really post film reviews on here but I just have a lot to say about it so here I go.

The whole thing feels so rushed somehow, we never really get a moment to find something endearing about most of the characters, even Raya comes off as somehow bland and generic as far as Disney princesses go. The only character I really liked and had time to enjoy was Sisu, and she cuts out 20 minutes to the end of this 1 hour and 30 minute movie.

The largest problem is that, the whole movie’s moral theme is about trust, and learning how to trust again, and how everyone is terrible and selfish and only out to think of themselves, and are willing to hurt anyone to just make sure that they and their village stay safe. BUT WE NEVER SEE ANYBODY DO ANYTHING WORTHY OF TRUSTING THEM AGAIN!!! At the beginning the dad is all like, “Let’s invite everyone to a banquet and unite the people!” And everyone comes, and Raya befriends the princess of the Fang tribe, and so she shows her the special magic dragon gem everyone wants and then fang princess backstabs her, tries to steal it, causes chaos where all the tribes try to steal the gem, break it, and unleash evil spirits that turn people to stone! And Rayas dad gets turned to stone!

Sp flash forward, Raya is an adult and finds the last dragon Sisu to help her bring her dad back, and they go on this adventure collecting a colorful cast of members of each tribe trying to get all the gem pieces back together. One is an orphan boy with a boat, one is a big tough scary old warrior man, and one is A LITERAL ACTUAL NONVERBAL BABY INFANT RAISED BY MONKEYS THAT APPARENTLY SWINDLES PEOPLE??? And the whole time Sisu keeps saying “you just need to give people a gift and blindly trust them again!!!” And then they do that in every village and to the Fang princess, and EVERY TIME THEY JUST CONTINUE TO BE TERRIBLE AND TRY TO GET THE GEM PEICES FOR THEMSELVES!!!

And then the big finale was that Raya just has to blindly trust fang princess girl again and everything will magically be fixed!! AND IT JUST DOES!!!

And apparently the fang village leader, princesses mom, might have had some evil side plot to just take the gem peices and sisu that had nothing to do with the princess, but then later fang princess just showed up to take sisu and the gem peices which just makes no narrative sense, in fact, it literally contradicts everything the mom had just said!

And it’s this way throughout the entire film! At no point do we see what these people we are supposed to trust care about, or see them vulnerable, or why they’re terrible, we’re just supposed to blindly trust people with a history of being terrible and backstabbing and untrustworthy, and keep coming back with gifts and offering trust again without any effort on their part, with no growth or admitting guilt, or accepting blame, or any consequences whatsoever for being cruel and terrible!! We are just supposed to literally trust them again and again!!!

It just feels so incredibly rushed, and it feels like its just trying to quickly hit all of the story beats without actually processing what’s going on, why we should trust them, what has even changed, its just all supposed to be hunky dory due to dragon magic I guess, and suddenly all of the thieving selfish backstabbing people are just forgiven and united.

But despite all its plot holes, nonsensical narrative, and unearned story beats, the message is downright dangerous!! It’s telling young children, just trust people indiscriminately without them earning it. And if they hurt you?? Give ‘em a gift and trust them again!! And just keep trusting them and give them an opportunity to hurt you again and again and just keep trying and maybe one day they’ll just stop! You don’t have to make them earn it, or to actually realize the folly of their ways and grow and change, just trust them again! And if you are suspicious after them betraying you so many times, it’s equally your fault that it doesn’t work out between you! And you’re wrong for being suspicious of them!!

It’s like this story about trust was written by someone that doesn’t know how trust works or what it means. Super rushed, super reckless, pretty frustrating!! I will say the imagery was fantastic, it was beautifully made, and I wanted to learn more about these cultures and the dragons, but I was too distracted by the horrible writing to really appreciate them and that was sad! I was really looking forward to it, and it looked like it had the bones of a good movie, but it just got lost in just not caring.

I’m sorry Sisu, but Raya! I give you no stars!!!!

#raya and the last dragon #Raya #Disney #animated movies #movie critics #movie critique #film review #movie review #my film reviews #kbridge00 #kbridge film reviews #raya and the last dragon SUCKED

4 notes · View notes

steampoweredstarsketch · 2 years

Text

My Narratives

A Counter-narrative poem,

By Kellie Bridges (kbridge00)

Between the inequities of me

And the visage that they see

Is an ocean of words and voices

Screaming and talking over one another

Saying truth and lies

As long as it is hurtful

Tearing into me this great divide.

Until I cannot tell the difference

Between what is truth

And what is fiction,

The water stirring to

Swallow me whole,

Centrifugal forces pulling hope

Away from me in a whirlwind

Spinning in an attempt to

Tear me apart.

I look up and nod

Smile at my boss

As she berates me

For all I have and

Haven’t done wrong.

I smile and nod

As I am asked

“How is your day?”

And I reply “It’s going fine!”

As I swallow back my tears

And try not to cry

So that no one will see

That it hurts me.

I smile as the society I’m in

Instructs me to

“Fake it till I make it,”

And then asks me

Why I can’t keep up.

Fueling and fueling the

Greasefire, giving

Ammunition to the voices

That cut and criticize, and say

I’ll never be enough.

Exhausted to the point a

Once energetic & opinionated

Person keeps her head down

And says nothing

In an attempt to rob that

Ocean of its ammunition,

And in turn that ocean robs

Me of my strength, joy, and

Ambition.

Shaking, backed into a corner

Trapped in fear like a

Battered wife, living with an

Abuser she cannot divorce

Because he lives in her.

So I say nothing, because

My feelings are a burden

Causing worry or misunderstandings

That hurt worse than the silence,

I say nothing, refusing to whine

About my “petty problems.”

But If I could speak.

If I could speak.

I would tell my younger self

And so many others like me

I would grab them and tell them

“Your feelings matter & your

Problems aren’t petty!”

That that is the truth.

Make that truth the raft

You cling to when reality is

Gaslighted away.

The truth, the truth that

The struggles you face

Are so important, no matter

How small, even when the voices

Say that they aren’t,

I know you’re so scared and alone

Right now, but the reality is

That you’re not.

The silence you keep

Is your only prison &

You have control of

The key.

The key is talking about it

The key is asking for help

The key is the courage to admit

To yourself you are drowning

But being strong enough to say

I am going to pull myself out,

Even if I don’t know how.

In a world where you would

Rather die than cry in public &

Cause discomfort to another

And humiliate yourself.

Bear your tears proudly and say

This time I do not apologise

I don’t care

I’m having a hard time right now

That’s not your fault

But I refuse to silence my pain

For the convenience of another

Any longer because,

That’s not fair.

The face you see that smiles

The jokes I make to direct

Your attention away from

The pain that I face,

Raise your voice and say

I am not okay.

I’m being rent asunder.

Because I cannot bear to

Look in the eyes of my

Brother, Father, Sibling, my Mother

When there is a lapse in my

Facade and they ask me,

“Who is hurting you?”

“Who is to blame?”

“Who can we punish to

Take away your shame?!”

And then I see the pain &

Helplessness in their eyes when

I say my own name…

It’s so hard to try,

It hurts so badly to fail…

But when you face the

Times you’re lost and alone

Please god take off the mask

And empty your chest you carry

So full to bursting

With piercing lies & helpless truths

You tell yourself to hurt you.

You deserve to lighten that load &

To never have to bear it alone.

So the next time my

Boss tells me I’m not enough,

That I am too sensitive,

Too soft to do this job,

I will say maybe it’s you

That needs to be made of

Some stronger stuff.

Because hurricane

After hurricane

I come everyday

Against a tidal wave of

Conflicting thoughts & odds

I face the barrage and say

“I am strong enough

To make it through today.”

----

On the stage we smile &

Act out the part

We’re trained to play

Whilst behind the curtains

Monsters rage.

Have the strength to

Part the velvet

Step away from the pedestal

And scream out that

You are chained.

Scream!

That this figure

You see is not me,

Or the person I want to be,

These are merely the traits

I am allowed,

By this creature

To which I’m bound.

Ours is a secret narrative,

The kind of scar

You don’t see on an arm

Or get from a bully after school.

But don’t get me wrong,

Just because the harassment

Is in my head, doesn’t

Change the fact that it’s

Self-harm.

My dominant narrative is

The face that blurts out

Stupid things far too loud

Then gets misunderstood

And I can’t retrieve them.

Mine is the face

Petrified, tears in my eyes

Overwhelmed over

Conflict and intimidation.

Gagged by my tears,

I falter, in the face

Of my fears

Unable to speak out

Due to the hands

Covering my mouth-

As the monsters in my head

Tear me apart for my doubt.

The narrative seen on the surface-

A useless child with no purpose

Blank faced, & hollow headed

Incompetent, & absent minded.

Born with a thin skin, &

No common sense.

A child, over-zealous & impulsive

With no motivation or organization

An annoyance, whose imperfections

Chase away anyone who might

Want to get close.

The narrative they don’t see,

Is the painter & the poet,

The musician with a vision

So beautiful, they don’t know,

Is the person that I want to be

The kind that lifts others up &

Tells them, you are beautiful,

That you are so important

That you can be whatever you

Want to be,

And most of all, that

You deserve to know peace.

-----

Today instead I decide

To be braver than my divide

Gathering the strength to

Hit send on this message &

Even stronger not to

Run away after.

In the hopes that my words could

Empower others to reach

For the keys to their shackles &

Fight back oceans of their own.

Today I say I’m not crazy

That this chaos I’m

Experiencing isn’t just delusion.

That my thoughts & feelings

Have meaning, that I will

Never again mistake this

Leviathan as just confusion.

Today I say the narrative that

I’m struggling but I’m not crazy

I am self-depreciative but

I’m amazing.

That I may be my greatest enemy

But I am not alone.

I am slow but I’m not stupid

I can be clueless but not useless

I can hesitate or be impulsive

But I am worthy of being loved.

----

So I say to those who stand

In my stead,

Hear those voices in your head,

Believe fervently in mind and

Heart,

Know, you contradict them.

On your weakest days

When they weigh you down

Know, they only exist to hurt you,

They do not always correlate to

Actual facts, faults, or virtues.

You are not broken, a mistake

Nor stain, you are a

Human being with a heart

Mind and brains, with

Strengths and weaknesses

All your own,

So please, god, believe me

When I say that,

You are not alone.

Believe that you are

In control

You have the keys to your

Prison and when the

Tidal wave calls out & says

That it isn’t-

True, call them out

Because you know that

They are wrong.

Know truly, there is

Strength in numbers

And if we stand together

We can shout so much

Louder than the voices

That surround us

Together we can remember

That we matter, that we’re real,

That we have the power, and we

Deserve to feel good.

To love ourselves just like

Any other, without

Fear, apology, or sarcasm.

Know it’s okay to hit

Rock bottom

To lose one day but

Win another

Because you are walking

Against a tempest gale

Whose winds can

Knock you down.

Just, do not surrender.

That alone makes you stronger

Than you could possibly imagine

Despite the fact they make you feel

Like it’s not.

That pain you feel

Is real and just like

A cut or broken arm

You need help & tools

To heal.

We are worth effort

We are made strong to

Endure & even though

There’s no certainty or

Cure, we are the

Captains steering our

Ships, with the ability

To navigate toward clearer

Waters.

We deserve to not

Live in fear, any longer.

#kbridgeart #poetry #slam poem #mental health #modern poetry #empowerment #my art #my poems #award winning #kbridge00 #anxiety

0 notes

steampoweredstarsketch · 2 years

Text

Hana Levonne, Storm Chaser

A poem, by kbridge00, (@steampoweredstarsketch)

I am lightning.

I am water.

I am the tirade of hooves pounding against acres and acres of dried packed dirt and brush stretching into an endless desert, kicking up clouds of dust behind me.

Against the downpour and exhilarating gale,

I ride on in defiance,

As the bolts crackle across the sky with great thunderous force!

The nasty beast nipping at my heels,

I keep my eyes forward towards the homesteads,

Ready to bang the warning gong.

I am fire

I am honor

I am the scorched earth et up by exploding crimson light that threatens to consume the whole damn horizon.

Transforming it into great choking billowing nimbuses of darkened inky black, bleeding up into the air.

Soot that will come and rain back down on the plains, turning it all into endless grey and suffocating black, that will coat and blind and kill what crops do grow.

I am the quickdraw to the bandit.

The executor of the law.

A sure shot against invaders.

As sure as the rooster’s caw.

Mediator of the folk.

Protector of my town.

I am prepared to bear the yolk.

I am she who doubles down.

I am the lover of the flower,

She, the singer of the song,

The keeper of her people,

The hair that’s silky black and long.

That rains down onto her shoulders,

Two onyx waterfalls.

The hands that play the shamisen.

The cheeks beaming under smiling eyes.

She, the one who dares to wonder,

She who stares up to the sky.

I am the rains that don't never come.

I am the rains that do, and don't stop for days,

I am all the drops that drown,

I am those that wash away.

I am the sun that blinds and scorches,

And the same that warms with abundant rays.

I am the campfire in the darkness.

I am the empty open space.

I am the banshee bounding towards the tempest.

Toward black locks swirling far on through the gust.

I am the spurs that dig harder as I ride

Toward the unrelenting vortex of dust

I am the arms outstretched and reaching

The flower’s screams, a whisper through the rage

I am the last of the storm chasers.

And I just got there too late.

I am the joy from when she smiled

I am the tears in the void she left

I was the pallbearer of the shovel.

Though we both had vowed, till death.

She became the soil.

My tears, the water's breath.

What little she gave, the fertile,

Where someday things might grow again.

I am the dust that swirls and covers.

That blinds to what's in front.

That coats inside your nose and mouth and eyes

What makes you cough up blood.

I am the ground that shakes.

I am all the hate inside.

I am the sickly green that saturates,

That dims and clouds the azure wide.

I am the thunder of the footsteps.

I am erosion over time.

I am hail, absent of rainfall

I am she who will not abide.

I am the coyote that howls in mourning,

I taunt the rage filled wailings from the sky.

I am the harbinger of the warning.

I am the bereaved ones, asking why.

Against the assault of nature I declare,

“I am Protector of what is mine!”

I am the bobcat bearing teeth,

I am the Bicen born again,

I am the twister to destroy,

I am the lover of the friend.

I am the raging cyclone’s howl.

I am the roots that stretch beneath.

I am defender of the people.

I am victim of the grief.

I am hands that birth new foals and calves in spring,

Mine is also the finger on the gun.

I do all that I am able.

My regret is that, I am only one.

1 note · View note