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writermich18 · 4 years

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Record Keeper Part 3 - Final

There once were two brothers, with a 14-year difference between them.

They lived during the Dawn of Quirks, mid-to-late 21st Century.

The older brother was Quirked. His Quirk, unknown. The older Brother’s story was never told. At least, not the version of his story that had actually taken place. Even though he was there for the younger brother at the beginning… It wasn’t until much, much later that he actually returns to the narrative. By that point though, the story I’m about to tell you had already been erased from history and the younger brother was dead.

“Oh? You make it sound as if I knew him?”

“If my theory is correct? You did. You were there after all, but then again. That didn’t stop the government from separating the brothers, didn’t stop the 1% from taking back control and erasing such an important piece of history. During the time of the Dawn, you probably remember Fear, protests, riots, destruction, an unresponsive government. Death.”

“Yes, that is what happened. I tried to fix it, rather trying to fix it.”

A shake of the head. “The version you remember is on loop. In the beginning, yes. What they had essentially done, was erase the history of what had actually happened; it was a complete erasure of the culture, society, reforms, and everything that had actually happened. Taken what had happened in the beginning of when Quirks first appeared, then basically put it on loop for the entire generation until they made it appear as if the second generation rose up and put a stop to it. Then they created the society we know today. Then, before the first generation and the generations before them who lived during that time could correct the second and new generations and tell what had actually happened, the government went and erased those generations – either by killing them off completely or wiping their memory. Making it look like those generations had been so traumatized by what they had gone through, their brains had locked the memories away.”

“If you don’t believe us, we Record Keepers have always been slippery folk. The only reason we know this and escaped the government’s reach is because of the younger brother in the story we are telling,” Grandmother Midoriya laughs. “He was just as slippery as we are, much to the amusement of the Rogues he led and the frustration of his older brother who had been searching for him this entire time.”

“Hmm.”

“Interested now?”

“My interest is peaked. I do not like the idea that my memories may be wrong.”

“Much to the displeasure of the guards, if you become outrage by the end of this story, your outrage would be completely justifiable,” Midoriya Hisashi replies, having seen the displeasure of the guards even before they started their story.

“Can I continue with the story now?”

“Go on.”

The younger brother is our story’s focus, mostly because he was the one to come forward with the story.

The brothers were orphans. Their father died before the mother found out she was pregnant. The mother died when the younger brother was only 4 years old.

Like I mentioned, they had a 14-year difference between the two of them. So, by the time their mother had died, even during the turmoil that was going on, the older brother was of legal age to raise the younger brother, despite being Quirked.

The younger brother was Quirkless so you would think at a time like that period, they would have been separated. But no. The older brother raised the younger brother.

Until the younger brother was six years old.

To outsiders, it is told that the younger brother was taken by a van on his way home from school.

Reality is this:

Government agents, from an agency known only as the Lab, came to their home. Kicked their door down.

The two brothers thought they were after the older brother, given that he was Quirked and Quirks were feared.

“Let me guess, they took the older brother and the younger was left alone.”

Izuku smiles grimly. The elder Record Keepers keep quiet, though they stare at All For One with a thousand-yard stares.

The one that the government agents had pointed at, had wanted, wasn’t the older brother.

No.

The finger raised up and pointed at the Younger Brother. The Quirkless six-year-old, under the Quirked 20-year-old’s protection, was the one they wanted.

From the few scattered memories the younger brother had of that day, we can firmly say the older brother hadn’t thought at all, had turned, grabbed his younger brother, and ran.

Into the snow falling woods behind his home.

Within those snowy woods, the government agents gave chase and shot the older brother down 4 times. Knocking the older brother down and releasing the younger brother from his hold.

And the younger brother could nothing as the Lab agents grabbed him and took him from his brother. Could do nothing as they shot his brother again right through the chest to stop him from getting up and getting his brother back.

The younger brother ended up in the Lab, the scientist there called the Men in White Lab Coats.

They re-named him Subject 27, branded him with the number. Put him in a cage and did many experiments upon him.

Even going as far as changing his body to bare children for them to take and experiment on as well, the moment he turned 11 and signs of puberty started to show.

“I may be a monster, but at least the experiments I had the Good Doctor do were on dead or soon-to-be-dead people, and that they were adults and I didn’t do that to any of them.”

“Yes, yes, and you get one brownie point for it,” Grandmother waves him off.

Midoriya and Izuku sweatdrop. “Okaa-sama, you are braver than any Pro Hero or US marine. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“You should have realized this long before this meeting, Tou-san.”

“Doesn’t make it any less scary to see.”

Subject 27, upon the discovery the Men in White Lab Coats had made of learning that 27’s body is accepting all of the experiments and the powers those experiments are bringing, was nicknamed by the other experimented-on children.

First, they called him.

A cruel name in the Lab, but one he bore proudly as one of his many scars once he got out.

For he was the first child out of the 27 million Quirkless children taken since the Lab’s establishment in the 1980s who survived the experiments, the harsh training, the conditions, and the labor they were put through.

Subject 27 was 14-years-old when the thought of escape crossed his mind.

He had just witnessed with the four only other surviving now-empowered children a newbie’s attempt to escape. If it had not been for that lucky shot one of the guards had managed to make, the new kid would have survived and been the first child to successfully escape the Lab and its maze of a structure.

That, dead, kid was the one who had inspired the five children who witnessed the whole thing to try and escape themselves for the first time in their lives.

They were successful.

Subjects 100 – Jagger – and 9 – Tiny – took the information the Lab had. Subjects 27 – First – and 48 – Gadget – had weakened the infrastructure and started a fire. Subject 19 – Ruff – had freed the monster children for them to distract the Men in White Lab Coats while this was going on. Then they left.

Right through the electric fence. Watching the whole place burn down to the ground as Gadget frantically drove away.

Through the files, they all searched for their families. Jagger learned that they had been a foster child the system had given up on; Tiny learned she had been torn right from her mother’s arms after her birth because her mom had been a mental asylum patient; Gadget learned his family had given him to the Lab for money, even though they were middle class; Ruff learned he had been practically raised by the house cat because his parents were a workaholic mom and a drug-addicted dad; and First learned that the government knew his brother had a Quirk, and that First hadn’t been their original target until the Lab had intervened and requested First.

“It’s interesting that they had agreed to take the Quirkless child instead of the Quirked adult,” the prisoner hummed. Hisashi gives a harsh bark of a laugh but doesn’t say what he had wanted to say in response.

Izuku knew what he had been thinking. The Quirked brother would have murdered the government agents if they had tried to take him away from his little brother – in fact, if First’s memory of that time is correct, that had been exactly what he had been about to do if they hadn’t pointed at First and demanded him instead.

Once they got to the city, the crew of five teenagers got to work immediately. They wanted to make sure that the Lab couldn’t rebuild its Japanese branch and that the other branches they discovered through the stolen files were immediately dealt with.

They created the organization that would become known as The Rogues. They accepted everybody in their ranks – Quirkless, Quirked, Escapees, Runaways, the Indigenous children who wanted to spit in the governments’ face for abandoning their people, the Black people who wanted to spit in the governments’ face for abandoning their people, the Queer who wanted to spit in the governments’ face for abandoning their people, the Disabled who wanted to spit in the governments’ face for abandoning their people, the Mutant Quirked people who wanted to spit in the governments’ and society’s face for abandoning and hurting their people, all the Quirked people who were discriminated against on all sides of the playing field who wanted Justice, the religious people who wanted Justice for every discrimination and persecution brought upon them. They didn’t care to hear your reason as long as you didn’t back stab them nor were out to assassinate them.

“They weren’t successful, were they?”

Grandmother smiles, “We wouldn’t be here if they weren’t successful. And the 1% would not have eradicated all traces of this piece of history if the Rogues were not successful. You would know this story if they were not successful.”

The Rogues did a lot of damage to the government and society actually.

Within a few months, they were an entire Nonprofit organization, filled with Vigilantes, Heroes, and Runners – Runners being people who did literal damage to corporations and governments including leading riots triggered by the police.

“Runners were basically people recognized by the public as Vigilantes and Heroes like the rest of the organization but labeled as Villains by the government and propaganda. They never touched civilian property or publicly owned items,” his father explained.

All For One snorts in response, “Not surprised.”

Grandmother and Izuku note that he doesn’t seem to recognize the story, though he hides his confusion well.

Izuku pities the guards who will have to deal with an enraged All For One once this story-telling and their visit is over. Especially when he finds out about what had actually happened to his brother.

Doing great damage to the government and society. Within a year, they had people who either directly worked for or supported the Rogues on all playing fields, including the underworld. Though it wouldn’t be until they had completely wiped the government cleaned and gotten started on rebuilding the system and society that they learned of the support coming in from the shadows, 4 years after the original 5 had escaped the Lab.

During the final battle, after 4 years of silent fighting between both sides in the shadows and on all levels, the governmental head in charge of the Lab revealed that the Emperor had no idea about what any of this, that none of the official heads in any of the governments knew of the Lab’s existence but the government over all had known.

First, renamed by the Rogues during the early years as Tsunayoshi, hadn’t been over all surprised by this news. When he had confronted the Emperor only a few months prior, despite the guards’ best efforts to get him to not reveal anything or talk before them, the Emperor had looked confused then horrified as he had provided through the files and his own scars.

It was the second piece of information the Lab Head had provided that had frozen Tsunayoshi in his tracks.

He had given Tsunayoshi the one piece of information he had wondered about his whole life, as an experiment, as an escapee, as the Leader of the Rogues, all the way until that confrontation.

He had told Tsunayoshi his name.

His original family-given name.

And his brother’s name.

Shigaraki Hisashi was the name of his older brother.

Shigaraki Mana was Tsunayoshi’s original name.

A hiss of a sucked-in breath was All For One’s only reaction.

“You remember raising Mana completely, don’t you?” Grandmother Midoriya is ruthless in her assessment. “Doesn’t surprise me. The only reason we even have this information is because Tsunayoshi, or Mana, had come directly to us Record Keepers to have his memory and story stored and later told. Otherwise even us Record Keepers would have believed the same as the historians and everybody else.”

“For once, the piece of history told in the textbooks was written not by the victors but the losers,” Izuku’s dad smirks. He always did like it whenever the history the historians tell or guess at was told by the losers rather than the victors. Claimed it gave the side of the story to the public you never get to hear, outside of word from the mouth of the betrayed.

Tsunayoshi managed to push past the pause and destroy the last king piece. Ended the 4-year-long battle.

With the help of the Emperor, the People, most importantly all of the minority groups, new governments and society was created. New laws, way of life, the erasure and systematic destruction of discrimination on all levels, people joined together. The patriarchy became a thing of the past, all sides of history were researched with the help of the Record Keepers and rebuilt to encompass every aspect, the education system was revamped and reformed. Everything was built from the ground up. Non-Quirk-Users and Quirk Users worked hand-in-hand. The Rogues worked hard to get people to accept others in the way they’ve learned to accept people – for even though they couldn’t promise you wouldn’t earn enemies, they could at least promise the reason wouldn’t be because of something out of your control.

Tsunayoshi, having chosen to focus on his duty as Rogue Leader and not paid attention to the information the Lab Head had given him, did not confront that information about his and his brother’s name until he was 21 years old.

Until he was looking at an exact copy of his dead brother, who had approached the Rogues as their shadow helper from the underworld. You can imagine how enrage he was looking at this supposed copy of his dead brother.

None of our documents, not even the Record Keepers who had witnessed the rage, were able to properly explain or encompass what exactly happened and how enraged Tsunayoshi was. But all of them had agreed that if it wasn’t for the fact that the Men in White Lab Coats had already been persecuted by the Rogues, Tsunayoshi would have made them and all other scientists like them extinct.

It wasn’t until the copy had proven to their Vigilante group that he was indeed Tsunayoshi’s older brother via Quirk, that Tsunayoshi calmed down and allowed the copy who turned out to truly be Shigaraki Hisashi to explain himself.

“Self-repair. If the kidnapping took place when I was 20, then I had already been gifted with several healing Quirks, all of which were fully capable of healing bullet wounds.”

Tsunayoshi had sworn up and down his family’s graves during their escape and initial hunts for their families that he had seen a government agent walk in closer and shoot his brother right through the head. That was why all hunts for Tsunayoshi’s remaining family had stopped, with the others’ own searches stopping soon after, and they had focused on the organization, then the War, and then reconstruction.

A bullet wound to the head, no matter how powerful of a Healing Quirk you have, should not have healed or led to a person’s revival. The Rogues became wary of the strange man and kept an eye on him, even as they continued with their jobs and Tsunayoshi and Hisashi had hidden in his office to continue their previous conversation.

The man, known only as All For One by the rest of the population, tried to get reacquainted with Tsunayoshi as his brother. Tsunayoshi had put a stop to all of these attempts and told him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t need an older brother then and he doesn’t need one now, that their relationship is strictly professional at best and tense Vigilante-Mafia relations at worst.

Let’s just say that Hisashi had not reacted well to the news, having been searching passively and actively for his little brother over the years and not wanting to have him be taken away so soon.

“Not surprised. I’ve always been a bit of a family man.” The dark undertone in his voice indicated that, just like his younger self, he was not happy with the news that his little brother wanted nothing to do with him after years of being separated. Midoriya-tou-san makes note of this in the official Record Keeper file and Izuku moves on.

Tsunayoshi didn’t care. He hasn’t been Shigaraki Mana since he was 6 years old, hasn’t been a younger brother since he was 14. Didn’t plan on reuniting with those mantles any time soon, not with the job that he had to do.

Tsunayoshi was 23 when he approached a Midoriya for the first time and asked to tell his story. There were signs of the 1% who had managed to escape persecution trying to enplant and dismantle all his hard work. He knew that they would try more than that, and wanted at least one Clan that still remembered what life actually was like during his lifetime.

He knew that if their attempts worked, they would try to erase this history and rewrite it to look similar to how it was originally when Quirks first appeared. And he wanted to undermine their efforts.

All it took was one seed. That seed was his story. Tsunayoshi asked us to keep the truth hidden until the time was right.

Tsunayoshi was 37 years old when the story of One For All and All For One – the story you’re more familiar with – happened. By that time, the underworld and remaining 1% were actively working towards dismantling and destroying the Rogues’ Legacy.

Tsunayoshi was 40 years old when he died in battle fighting you and the rest of the underworld. Before he passed, he wiped out the remaining 1% and every single underworld member who had been fighting in that battle.

The only one he hadn’t managed to destroy, as you know, was All For One. Shigaraki Hisashi.

The only reason why, contrary to popular belief, is because he had hesitated and you took advantage of that hesitation.

…

“Yes. I do remember him hesitating and looking at me with something in his eyes I didn’t recognize for the longest time.”

“Love. He had looked at you and remembered the man who had raised him for 6 years before they were brutally ripped apart,” Midoriya-tou-san speaks up, “He had looked at you and seen the version of you he once upon a time had loved. That was what had caused his hesitation. Because even through all the experiments he had been through, some part of him had still managed to hold onto the warmth and love you had given him when he was younger.”

“He had hesitated because he had looked at you, at your weakest point, and had been searching for the warm man who had raised him,” Grandmother picks up the explanation, “We Midoriyas, after all these years, had assumed that he had found him, because, if he had not found that man, the Tsunayoshi we knew would have killed you immediately the second he had the chance. Given that we have records of him trying to do exactly that the first few times you two had met, we know this assumption to be, for the most part, fact.”

All For One, Shigaraki Hisashi, presses his lips together but doesn’t say anything. The timer rings, singling the end of their visitation. The Midoriya’s gather up their supplies and leave the jail, Toshinori catching up to them at the hallway.

“I pity the guards who have to deal with him after that story and revelation,” Toshinori comments once they are driving back to UA, for Izuku, and the Clan home for Midoriya Hisashi and Grandmother Midoriya Nakomi. They had felt the tremors on the bridge connecting Tartarus and the mainland together. AFO was pissed alright but luckily for Izuku who had been telling the story had waited until they were gone before screaming out his rage. Some part of Izuku, kind of almost feels like One For All whispering, had described the emotion they could hear ringing out as not rage, but despair.

If I learned the figure of my younger brother I had been fighting against wasn’t the younger brother I thought I knew, that all the memories I have of him from 6 years old until our infamous fight were false… I would be pretty distressed and outrage too. But mostly, despaired. Because I killed my little brother, someone who apparently, I hadn’t actually known. Izuku kept these thoughts to himself. He didn’t pity AFO. Not really.

Having been raised off of the stories developed because of AFO’s actions over the past 200 years, on top of the stories not related to him, Izuku has heard, seen, and experienced the horrible things All For One had done. Tsunayoshi had certainly felt disappointed and enraged towards his brother when he had told his Guardian Spirit of what his brother had done, with the Noumus and such. No, Izuku didn’t feel any pity towards this man.

But he certainly felt pity towards Shigaraki Hisashi, the young man, boy really, who had raised Mana until he was ripped from his arms without warning.

…

One part of Tsunayoshi’s story the Midoriyas had refused to tell AFO, was that Midoriya Hakoda, the Record Keeper who had record Tsunayoshi’s story, and Tsunayoshi had fallen in love.

That necklace wrapped around Izuku’s neck was the same betrothal necklace Hakoda had craved and gifted to Tsunayoshi as his engagement ring.

They hadn’t told AFO that Shigaraki Mana had grown up to become Midoriya Tsunayoshi, had borne 2 healthy children.

That he had been 4 weeks pregnant with their third child when he had faced off against AFO for the last time.

That the Main Midoriya Clan Line, of which Nakomi, Hisashi, and Izuku all were borne into, was actually Tsunayoshi and Hakoda’s line, with them being of the youngest child’s line and South Japan’s Main Midoriya Clan Line being that of the oldest child’s line.

Nakomi had not indicated to Izuku for him to include that part of the story. Hisashi had wanted to see the world burn in response to Shigaraki’s rage over killing his many-greats-grand-nephew. To which Grandmother had responded by slapping him over the head, to which he grumbled and then reluctantly said that he actually didn’t care if their many-greats-grand-uncle knew or not. Izuku had decided not to say anything but fully planned on claiming the title of being Midoriya Tsunayoshi’s great-great-great-great grandson when he’s a Pro Hero and had been given full clearance to expose the Truth.

After all, everybody believed the words of a Record Keeper far more than the textbooks.

(And years down the line, older Izuku would look back on that promise and silently curse his idiot younger self. All Might didn’t have to deal with the literal manhunt crusade of All For One trying to get ahold of the second only thing he has left of the little brother he apparently knew nothing about. He also silently curses the South Japan Line for dying out because of a completely avoidable situation, and curses his grandmother and father for being dead before he was ready to handle the mantle of Record Keeper and being the only one from Tsunayoshi’s bloodline. If only he had kept his mouth shut!)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha au #midoriya record keeper au #part 3 #izuku midoriya #all for one #midoriya hisashi #first one for all holder #first one for all user #story telling

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sophieakatz · 4 years

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Thursday Thoughts: Sophie Sides

I cannot overstate how highly I recommend the web series Sanders Sides. In this scripted series, YouTuber Thomas Sanders shares the screen with a cast of characters, each a personification of an aspect of Sanders’s own personality – and each performed by Sanders himself. The ensuing debates and shenanigans are quick-witted, hilarious, and increasingly thought-provoking as the show progresses and more of Sanders’s “Sides” make their presence known.

I stumbled across these videos at a time when I really needed to do some serious reflection on some big questions, such as “What kind of person do I want to be?” and “Am I taking good care of myself?” – the kinds of questions that this show tackles. Sanders Sides has definitely helped me think through some difficult topics.

It’s also gotten me thinking about my own Sides. If I were to split my personality up into different characters, who would I find? I wouldn’t divide myself up along the exact same lines as Thomas Sanders, of course, though our personalities do overlap in some interesting ways.

Let me introduce you to the Sophie Sides!

Lilly – The Dreamer

If it’s time for fun and imagination, then Lilly is not only on board, but at the helm! She is my creative side, the source of my storytelling and my artistic drive. Lilly also embodies my more childlike aspects, including playfulness and optimism. She’s my love of fantasy novels, Disney movies, and puns – and it’s ridiculously easy to make her laugh. Lilly is a constant source of new ideas, so she can be really distracting when I need to focus on just one task. She believes that “princess” is a compliment no matter what tone of voice it’s said in.

(Lilly’s full name is Lilly Belle, a reference to Lillian Disney – Disney Studios ink artist, wife of Walt Disney, and the reason we know the famous mouse as Mickey rather than Mortimer! Lilly wears the longest, swishiest blue dress, perfect for twirling like a Disney princess!)

Maddy – The Mother

I’ve always been the Mom Friend, and Maddy is why. She is the personification of my idea of what it means to be an adult – rational, responsible, and nurturing. Maddy keeps my priorities in order and makes sure that I stay on track and on schedule for all the important things in life. This includes eating well, attending doctor’s appointments, doing homework, attending synagogue, developing my career, and taking care of my friends. Maddy loves structure, rules, and tradition, and so she embodies my religious observance as well.

(Maddy starts with M – M as in “mother” and “maternal”! The other Sides will call her “Mom” if she’s getting too overbearing. Maddy wears professional attire: a black blazer, black slacks, and a dark blue blouse.)

Vashti – The Warrior

For Vashti, the term “social justice warrior” is no insult. She is my morality – a strong, instinctive sense of right and wrong, combined with an incessant, selfless desire for things to be fair. Vashti also embodies my aggressiveness, defensiveness, and vindictiveness; she tends to show up when I’m really pissed off, and she’s a lot shoutier than the other Sides. She holds both me and the world to a very high standard, and she has an unfortunate tendency to jump to conclusions and see issues as black and white. Without her, I’d be a much worse person – but I’m glad the other Sides are there to balance her out.

(In the Book of Esther, Vashti was the queen of Persia. One night, her husband the king told her to dance naked in front of his friends. She refused! My mom used this story to inspire in me an early sense of feminism, and so Vashti seemed the perfect name for this Side. Vashti rocks matching blue jeans and denim jacket over a “Girls Rock!” t-shirt.)

Sidney – The Slacker

While the first three Sides are a “get things done” kind of people, Sidney… is not. She represents my laziness, self-indulgence, and procrastination. Sidney encourages me to expend as little energy as possible and to devote my time to leisure activities, which can put her sharply at odds with Vashti, Maddy, and Lilly. In Sidney’s defense, she is a much-needed source of “chill” in my life. Without her, the other Sides would burn me out!

(Besides the useful alliteration of “Slacker Sidney,” Sid is the name my parents had on standby if I’d been assigned male at birth. The name is mine, but also not mine – appropriate for a Side who embodies qualities about myself that the other Sides don’t readily accept as a part of me. Sidney wears a burgundy hoodie and dark blue sweatpants.)

These first four are the aspects of myself I’m most comfortable with. But, just like in Sanders Sides, the exploration doesn’t end there…

Ex – Anxiety

Two years ago, I wrote a fairy tale about a little monster named Ex who mimics other people’s voices, tricking you into imaginary arguments that get you all riled up about things that didn’t actually happen. When I started thinking about my Sides, Ex turned up again.

Ex would tell you that she’s my forethought, my ability to imagine the outcomes of future interactions. However, the scenarios she presents always run negative. It’d be more accurate to say that Ex embodies my anxiety. She insists that she knows, with 100% certainty, what other people are thinking and how they will react to me. Her goal is to keep me safe, but she tends to blow things out of proportion and leave me feeling downright awful.

(Ex is a shapeshifter, able to appear as anyone in Sophie’s life and even as the other Sides. Ex’s name is the variable X – a placeholder for whatever role she may choose to play. I’m reluctant to give her a name, lest the arguments I have with her taint my emotional response to anyone I happen to meet with that same name. When Ex appears as herself, she wears a long green trench coat and a blue fedora hat. She has little blue horns and a tail which are all obviously attached to her clothing instead of being a part of her body.)

(Side note – lately, I’ve been thinking differently about my interactions with Ex. I’ll talk a bit more about that in next week’s Thursday Thoughts!)

Mal – Depression

Mal embodies my depression and grief. Her appearances used to be much more infrequent, and it was easier to ignore her. Until this year, it’s been easier for me to see her as an enemy or as something that I should hide. But Mal shows up as an expression of my pain. While all the other Sides are talkative, Mal never speaks. Her presence alone is enough to derail a conversation with a wave of sadness; she quietly, sullenly commands attention.

(“Mal” is a Latin root meaning “bad” or “evil,” and Mal embodies the worst feelings I’ve ever had, in response to the worst things which have ever happened to me. She spends most of her time hidden under a pile of blankets, only sitting up when she wants to be noticed, so it’s unclear what she’s wearing. She has permanent dark blue tearstains on both cheeks.)

Eve – Yetzer Hara

If Vashti is Yetzer Hatov – the good inclination, my drive to make the world a better place – then Eve is Yetzer Hara – the evil inclination, my selfishness. As far as Eve is concerned, I should be my number one priority, everyone else in the world be damned! Vashti generally bans Eve from having a seat at the table, as it were, because once Eve has a say, she’s difficult to ignore. Eve is a smooth-talking politician with an agenda of ambition and pride. As Rabbi Nahman said, without yetzer hara telling us to envy our neighbors, we would never seek to improve ourselves. But as Rabbi Hillel said, if I am only for myself, then what am I?

(Christians blame the biblical Eve for “original sin,” and my Eve never met a deadly sin she couldn’t make sound appealing. Of course, she’d be the first to point out that in Judaism the concept of “sin” is much more complicated than that! Eve wears a light blue dress, much more form-fitting and much less swishy than Lilly’s. She has glowing golden eyes – and when she convinces the other Sides to listen to her, then their eyes start to glow, too…)

I ended up going much deeper in this little exercise than I expected to. Overall, it was a lot of fun! I don’t plan on making a web series about my Sides, but who knows? Maybe I’ll write a fic about them someday.

How about you? Are you a fan of Sanders Sides? Have you ever thought about what Sides make up your personality? If not, take a moment and try it out, and let me know who you discover – I’d love to hear about them!

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never-sated · 4 years

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She died at the Jewish New Year, and my family is not religious. But I had been so happy, in this time of being far from our loved ones, to be eating a Friday-night dinner next to my father, until the news came and the food that had been delicious suddenly tasted like ashes. As we quietly finished the meal, our phones buzzing with grief and shock, my father showed me the messages he was already receiving from fellow liberals and leftists, describing in vivid terms how angry they were at her.

As many mourn, others are already raging. Their fury will be loud and resonant in these next few days and weeks, a mad howling as the nation absorbs what’s to come now. Ire at this 87-year-old woman, a Supreme Court justice who had repeatedly survived cancer but did not this time, will carry many Americans through their periods of shock and despair. Scared and livid, many will rail at her: for not retiring years ago, during the administration of a president they imagine (had he not been blocked by a racist and obstructionist Senate) would have replaced her with someone qualified and just, someone who would not be eager to slam the final nail in the coffin of civil liberties, reproductive health care, LGBTQ rights, labor, voting, the climate … all of it. They will blame her, and they will blame those who created a cult of admiration around this remarkable, imperfect woman, because they will want to have people to shake their fist at, because the world is shattered and chilling and is about to get even more difficult than it already is.

This rage toward a beloved, history-making woman who just died will feel — and will be — profane and grotesque. It will be more than a little sexist, because blaming every bad outcome on an old woman you deem selfish in her professional self-determination, and on the Resistance Moms who “Yas Queen” her, is an endlessly gratifying strain of liberal misogyny.

It will also, to some degree, be fair.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg made a choice that turned out wrong. She wanted to keep doing the work she loved and was good at and that mattered; she didn’t want to stop before she was ready. Like so many others, she believed Hillary Clinton would likely win in 2016. And like so many others, she was wrong about that. Now there is a good chance that her replacement will be chosen by Donald Trump, a president who came to power on malignant racism and sexism and who will gain, in her death, the ability to offer America’s right wing what they have worked toward for 60 years: nearly full power to roll back, via the court, the disruptive gains made by the social movements of the 20th century on behalf of marginalized people.

So I understand why people will be furious at Ruth Bader Ginsburg and why they will say so loudly, in raised tones that convey their own assurance that they would have made the right choice, had they been her. Though those who are mad will not want to hear it, their reaction is made of precisely the same stuff that led people to lionize her as an outsize savior: because in the absence of structural security it is far easier to home in on individuals — as both our heroes and our villains — than it is to reckon with the enormity of what’s wrong and what needs to be righted.

These past months could not have made this dynamic any clearer: the reflexive turn to blame individuals for how they choose to behave when left adrift in the sucking, soulless chasm created by large-scale institutional infirmity.

Among the grim ironies of Ginsburg’s death is that, as Irin Carmon wrote in her beautiful obituary, Ginsburg’s obsessions with process and order stemmed from “a general belief, shared by the postwar liberalism that shaped her, that functioning institutions could provide a neutral bulwark to the excesses of the past.”

But one of the reasons her death will be as explosive and consequential as it is sure to be is that so many of our institutions are failing us, and have been purposefully perverted or used to serve regressive purpose: a Senate that broke the nation’s rules by refusing to confirm the Supreme Court pick of a sitting Democratic president; an Electoral College that served its original purpose of overturning the will of an American majority to deliver the White House to a leader committed to white supremacy; a political system that doesn’t inspire its populace to vote in critical midterm elections; a Republican Party willing to spend decades doing whatever it took to reverse legal and legislative victories that redistributed a little bit of power out of the hands of white patriarchal capitalist-fueled corporations; and a Democratic Party that did not have the will or foresight to fight as fiercely or as cannily on behalf of rights, protections, and dignity as their obstructionist opposition fought against.

Where it landed us was with a nation looking to one octogenarian to make the exact right set of decisions to make everything turn out okay. You can feel the anguished search to fill the void created by structural collapse in the words of a lawyer who told the Washington Post on Friday night, as she paid tribute to Ginsburg by coming to the Supreme Court’s plaza, “The question that keeps popping up in my head is, ‘Who is going to take care of us?’”

It was an elocution that betrayed the hunger for protections we have not been getting from our government, but Ginsburg herself was never actually in a position to take care of us. After all, she came to be widely adulated only in the period in which she was in the Court’s minority; she was issuing dissents — brilliantly lacerating, yes, but still dissents — from decisions that imperiled and weakened us.

The Voting Rights Act has already been disemboweled, reproductive health care already made inaccessible to millions, all while Ruth Bader Ginsburg sat on the Court. This does not mean that those battles are lost — they cannot be; they will not be — but it was never going to be this one woman who won them for us.The notion that our survival depended on her survival was always flawed, and betrayed how ravenous many were for any thread of hope for quiet and functional institutional correction, rather than for the mass uprising and furious battle this moment calls for. Part of the fantasy was that if she could hang on we could get back to “normal,” but normal is long past broken.

It should never have come down to her, even in our collective imagination, and whether you are absolutely sure that that’s right it shouldn’t; she was selfish and stupid for not having retired or that that’s right it shouldn’t; she was a brilliant justice who had every right to keep her job and the pushback she received for it was terribly unfair … they actually come down to the same thing: The fate of American democracy and the planet should never have rested on this one woman’s small, old shoulders.

This is what happens when the government fails, when the safety nets that have been slashed for years are gone, when there is no oversight, no one in power with the drive or backbone to fight back or organize effectively or exert authority or offer real structural support or direction. In an absence of leadership, of functional guidance, we’re all left to imagine that the decisions of other individuals are what is going to save or damn us.

This has also been the story of these last six months, as local and state and federal leadership has offered weak to nonexistent economic and medical support or assurance. A nation of unmoored people has been left to run our own risk analyses — about masks, surfaces, schools; about personal and familial safety, civic responsibility, and economic security — all based on incomplete or often purposely misleading information. The choices we individuals have made have carried their own costs and benefits, have had their own surprising and sometimes lethal consequences, and in the vacuum created by the absence of structures that were supposed to protect and support us, we have turned on each other, becoming angry at those who chose differently, poorly, who made bad bets, rather than directing our outrage at the institutions that abandoned us.

This is what I will think of when I hear the coming fury toward Ginsburg. Because the fault here was not one person. More importantly: The fix here is not one person, and it never has been. It’s not one justice, though one justice — in concert with the other two Trump has appointed, with the hundreds of federal judges a McConnell-led Senate has confirmed to lifetime appointments — will matter. It’s not even one president, though that president — in concert with the Senate and the House and the state legislatures — will matter.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg matters, now as much as she ever has, but her survival alone couldn’t have saved us, any more than getting rid of Donald Trump will save us. We are facing something far larger: a desperate, life-or-death fight to rebuild, reimagine, reform (and in some cases raze) enormous apparatuses, including our criminal justice, electoral, health-care, and education systems, labor and capitalism, education, housing, the courts themselves, and, most urgently, the health of our planet. It will call on us to fight as fiercely and with as much determination as Ginsburg herself fought, through her life and career.

That’s daunting and hard. And for some, in the face of all this, it will undoubtedly feel good and perhaps even righteous to voice frustration at the decisions made by one woman — extraordinary, ordinary, important, and now sadly gone. But that’s not the work, and it’s not going to work to get us anywhere in the perilous days to come. Instead, we have to address what is really broken, which is not just our hearts and our spirits: It’s the frail systems in which Ruth Bader Ginsburg wanted so badly to believe. She’s gone and it is up to us to undertake the demanding revolutionary work of remaking them, this time stronger and more just.

#I kept trying to pull quotes #but the whole piece is so damn good

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poorvioletdraws · 5 years

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Tom vs. The Underworld

*I decided to write a fanfic based specifically around Tom from SVTFOE and my oc, Raya as practice for a bigger project I want to do one day since I haven’t written any kind of story in years. It takes place mainly in the Underworld around season 4 and later post-Cleaved. This is the first chapter. Hope you like it and happy reading!

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Chapter 1: Someday I Suppose

I had been passing the time in between deliveries for my eldest sister, Rochelle, by playing an old favorite of mine on my Sintendo 66 gaming console in the backroom of her feed and bait store. Being the youngest of seven from the infamous Stone Demon family, the Belmontes, I constantly had a lot of pressure on me to turn out just like my siblings whenever my last name was mentioned. All of my brothers wanted to be great builders like Dad. All of my sisters wanted to create magnificent swords and weaponry just like Mom. Then there was me. I wasn’t very good at building or creating anything really. Except when it came to music.

Music was always a passion of mine to forget about the normalcy of my reality, and having a game like “The Legend of Lilith: Fiddle of Time” to consume myself with really highlighted that vehement urge for escape. I often times would play the many medleys and songs for hours on my saxophone after such sessions. My family and friends knew this ritual of mine all too well and would admonish that I can get lost in the music and forget reality if I’m not careful, though I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend my day honestly.

It wasn’t until the third time of Rochelle’s abrupt entry--swinging the door open and shaking the room with her shouting--that I had to tear away from my fantasy and get started on that invoice in order to not incite her wrath any further. I idly examined the statement and retrieved each item, all the while as my older sister berated my slothlike behavior and questioned aloud why I even decided to help out at her store knowing my history of “slackerdom”. The address was a recurring one whose proprietor always paid in advance so this would be a quick delivery. They also preferred to be left anonymous yet they religiously requested the delivery of the same bulk products every few weeks--Hydraworms, Tears of the Harpy, Leviathan Leeches, spool of Acromantula web, skeleton horse hay and grass (not to be confused with flesh horse hay and grass), and a few boxes of “Underworld’s Best Bunny Pellets” just to name a few on the list. I knew it all like the basic fingerings of my sax.

As soon as I packed the last of the order into my Golem--the only thing I created with my elemental abilities that was actually exceptional according to my Dad--I was off and heading out to Lava Lake. My eagerness of getting back to my game and becoming further engrossed in a fantasy of excitement gradually subsided as I gazed across the bubbling body of lava. There were demons swiftly surfing across the molten rock waves of the beach while others were challenging each other to an intense game of Skull Ball. A group of Monster tourists were fishing off the Dock of Unending Torment at the same time another group was setting sail on their ghost ship rental. Small demon children were joyfully building sand coffins and burying each other in the dark gray grainy substance, their laughter becoming an accompaniment with the rest of the enjoyment on the beach. Although playing games and creating music were fun hobbies of mine, it was seeing crowds of people having fun themselves and getting lost in their excitement that was something else I would never get tired of. Everyone seemed to be so happy as they relished in the atmosphere. And witnessing such happiness made me happy for them as well.

This part of the beach was the busiest; a prime location for my sister’s shop. Our mom suggested she learn how to run a smaller business before taking on the huge responsibility that is the family trade, and like the obedient daughter she is, my sister followed through without hesitation. Plus, Rochelle was able to practice forging smaller items like fishing knives and hooks when she wasn’t spending her free time bossing me around. She would rush me if I couldn’t ring a customer up fast enough and belittle me when I accidentally spilled something (multiple things) and didn’t clean it up right away--which is why she has tasked me with deliveries. I can’t destroy the shop if I’m not in the shop, I guess. And it was only one time where I accidentally let loose that swarm of piranhaflies in the store; in my defense, I didn’t know you sell the whole container of the creature to a customer instead of just one individually.

I know she assumes I purposefully don’t work at my full potential, but I really am trying to. I may be slow and clumsy, but I genuinely want to do the best I can to help my sister achieve her goal, even if my own hasn’t really been figured out yet. I like observing her work. She knows how to answer every question a customer has and can find the best solution to their problem. I like how she includes me in things that interest her too. She shows me the best bait to use to catch a Flaming Crococricket and how to break open the shell of an Ember Berry to use the juice for medicinal purposes. But most of all, I like seeing how happy helping others makes her feel. Sometimes, while we are sitting out on the beach together and watching the waves calm at the end of the day, I glance over and admire the contentment of Rochelle. She is truly happy with her existence and extends that aspect towards others, something I secretly yearn for. She inspires me to be that kind of beacon in someone else’s life one day. But with my reputation of being a “lazy” and “procrastinating” demon lacking the expertise to carry on the Belmonte name, I highly doubt such a day would come anytime soon.

Being lost in my train of thought, I didn’t realize that dark maroon and coal black clouds were forming overhead. And then without warning, a thunderous boom filled the sky, shocking me as I clutched onto my Golem. The wind began to shoot passed me furiously and the clouds burst open, spitting down violent flames as the red waves crashed wildly on the barren land.

“Where’d this storm come from all of a sudden!” I shouted to myself, jumping from my Golem and placing my hand on its base. It began breaking down from its previous walking form and into a makeshift stone shelter. Now covered from the onslaught of the fiery squall, I looked around at my surroundings.

I had already wandered into the secluded area of the beach where the crowd had vanished from sight. This was definitely part of my usual route but the storm was definitely not. Fire really couldn’t harm me with my skin being partly covered with stone and all, but I was wearing my favorite outfit today and didn’t want it getting singed. I guess I’ll wait it out.

I thought how mad my sister will be, knowing I’ve taken longer than I needed to. She probably thinks I am messing around this very minute. How was I to know a flash firestorm was going to occur? I then began to think of my friends back home in Chernabog City, the largest demon metropolis in the heart of Prickly Plains. The six of us would be hanging out at the arcade right around this time, maybe deciding if we wanted to go do karaoke before or after we ate at our favorite burger place, Grimdonald’s. We also formed a band together. Even though we are amateurs, we have a lot of fun just playing together regardless if we don’t always sound good. We don’t have a singer yet however. I haven’t had much time to hang out with my friends or look for a singer now that I help out my sister. She had told me that this busy season will be slowing down soon, which will be a pretty good thing. Not that I’m complaining, but I would like to focus more on our music we had been creating together lately.

All of a sudden and as quickly as it started, the storm died down, leaving no trace of its presence at all. A bright rainbow shown through in its place off the horizon. I looked around quickly for a sign of familiarity. Off to the far side of my Golem structure, there was a wooden post near some large rocks that read “Private Property”. I gave a sigh of relief, knowing I was almost to my destination. I transformed my Golem back into its riding form and continued on. Aside from the bipolarity of the weather, it had been just another typical day in the Underworld. Instances such as that one do not happen out of the ordinary too often. Guess that was my bit of excitement for the day. Or so I thought.

A spacious beach-side home--not too extravagant but still containing the right amount of grotesque appeal demons like--was positioned comfortably near the lake of fire, separating the rocky terrain from the burning abyss before it. A large cone shaped tower with a beaming eye atop it sat adjacent to the home. Having stopped by the carport where a blue vehicle was parked, I hopped off my Golem and retrieved the boxes to be delivered from its carriage. Carrying so many in one trip wouldn’t be too hard of a task for me, though if my sister were present she would comment how I’m just being too lazy to want to make multiple trips. I staggered over to the door with the mountain of goods and was able to extend one of my fingers just enough to press the doorbell without dropping the load. I turned to the side so my head wasn’t blocked by the packages and could greet the usual patron that came to answer.

However, instead of being greeted by the high pitch voice of the little red winged demon that would confirm the address and flap away with the order just as fast as he came to the door, a teenage demon boy with pale lilac skin and salmon-colored hair answered it.

“Hey.” he said calmly.

Still taken aback by the fresh face, I mumbled, “Um… Uh--Hi. delivery for this address from Styx & Stones.”

The demon boy looked puzzled at first but when I mentioned the name of the store he quickly caught on and said, “Oh yea, my Dad placed the order not too long ago. For the Lucitors, right?”

“Well… it always comes in as Anony—Wait, Lucitor?” I uttered the last name again.

“Yeeea…?” he shrugged coolly..

“As in THE Lucitors?!” I gasped alarmingly.

“Uh huh, yep.” he repeated his affirmation without hesitation.

“As in KING and QUEEN Lucitor!” I blurted out, my eyes were probably as wide as saucers at this point.

“Yea, well, they are my parents so…” He chuckled a bit as he averted his eyes to the side and itched at his cheek.

“Eh! So you’re Prince Lucitor?!” I squealed, feeling an overwhelming rush of anxiety take over me.

“Uh, you can just call me—“

“I’m so sorry for my rudeness!” My body began to tremble and my voice was shaking as I panicked, “P-Please forgive me, Your Highness!” I instantly hung my head down, my red hair falling in my face. But because I had hastily bowed to the demon prince, I did not realize I had dropped the entire order to the ground in the process. My hands clutched at the sides of my face in horror. “Ah! I dropped all of your stuff, I’m so sorry!” I fell on my knees and started to frantically collect the pile of items around me. “Sorry for my incompetence, I’ll make sure you don’t get charged if anything is messed up! I’m so very sorry, Your Highness sir!”

“Uhh..” he couldn’t find his words; probably because he is too busy considering various ways to discipline me for my insolence, no doubt. Even worse, he will probably go get King and Queen Lucitor and tell them what I have done!

I bent down even further, slamming my forehead to the floor with my knees in my chest. If it weren’t for me being a Stone Demon, such an action would knock out anybody else. Although, I do wish I were unconscious right now instead of feeling like such an idiot in the presence of our prince. I wish I could just bury myself in the sand and disappear. Now it made sense why the order was always left anonymous. The royal Lucitor family owns this home! How could I have spoken to royalty--our prince of the Underworld--in such a casual tone. Once my family finds out about how I have shamed them, I’ll be banished, I’m sure! Just the thought of such impending ostracization had me sweating bullets and my yellow eyes filling with tears. I needed to find redemption with him somehow.

So, while still being extremely embarrassed, I was able to meekly cry out, “I didn’t know your family was staying here, I deserve whatever punishment you see fit for my blatant disrespect, Your Highness!”

Silence.

I didn’t dare look up from the ground but when I saw the shadow of his hand raise, I knew it was coming. I held my breath as my own hands clenched at the floor beneath me and my body stiffened in anticipation of his chosen judgement. But instead of a rage-filled strike, my shoulder was met with his touch in a comforting way. I slowly brought my head up to look in his direction, casting my hair to the side and finally out of my face.

He gave a half-smile, “Ok, look. I know I’ve been a bit of a… of a jerk before in the past with my subjects--and believe me, I get how some of you may still think of me as this angry, spoiled guy--but I have changed SO much now. And thanks to a lot of people close to me, I am working on my temper so I can be a better prince for the future of the Underworld.”

Still nervous, I murmured, “Your Highness, n-no… I wasn’t calling you a--”

“And all that Your Highness stuff, psshh, you can just call me Tom. It is my name after all.” He removed his hand from my shoulder and began reaching for a box.

I began to worry again, “No, Your Highness, please, you shouldn’t do that, it’s my fault you--”

“Hyuh!” He called out as he shot his hand upward. In an instant, all of the items in disarray on the floor suddenly floated in the air. He motioned his hand towards his front door and everything that had been levitating proceeded to quickly fly inside his beach house.

I was at a loss for words. His telekinetic ability was amazing, but I didn’t expect less of a feat from such a high-born child whose family rules over the Underworld.

“Well, there we go.” He turned back in my direction with his hands on his hips and all three of his red eyes now fixed on me. “So, you uh, going to get off of the ground, or something?”

I jumped to my feet, feeling some of the debilitating anxiety slowly release its hold on me. I tried to calm myself but my words still came out in a panic, “I-I-I-m so sorry you had to do that, Your High--”

“Hey, I told you. You can call me Tom, all my friends do.” he gave a genuine smile.

My mouth was slightly agape but I didn’t really care how I looked right now. I was still in awe of being able to stand in front of one of the Lucitors of the Underworld. I clutched my hands together tightly to my chest, something I always tend to do when I am unsure how to read the situation. I have never met anyone of royalty before, let alone seen anyone of such stature before either. How I imagined the prince to be was not the same person I am seeing before me. My friends and I thought of him and his family to be the most despicable and aggressive of creatures, ready to obliterate any one of us lesser demons who even dare cough in the same room as them. This demon boy was nothing like that. He wasn’t terrifying or vile. He looked just like us. He dressed like us. He smiled. And not in a deceptive way. An actual sincere smile. Looking into his eyes and observing that smiling face, I felt my guard beginning to slip a little. I was about to muster up enough courage to reply to him when--

“Tom! Your Dad got the board drawn for Sand Darts and you’re up first, handsome!” a cheery and youthful female voice called from inside the home.

“Oh ho, It’s on! Coming, Star!” The demon prince turned away and was about to close the door behind him when he paused. He glanced back at me and said, “Oh, I never got your name.”

I began to blush nervously as I stared at my feet. I took a breath and was able to mumble out, “Uhm.. It’s… Raya… Your Hi--Uhm... Prince Tom…”

“Cool, nice to meet you, Raya. Well, see-ya around. Heh heh.” He pointed his hand at me like a finger gun and winked all in one motion before shutting the door behind him, getting a laugh at his play on words with my name.

And just like that, I was alone again. I don’t remember how long I stood there staring at the now closed door, or when I finally returned to my Golem to take the trek back to my sister’s store. I never really felt like this before. Everything seemed so unreal and as if my head was in a haze. I can’t believe I met the prince of the Underworld. He wasn’t what I expected at all, which was kind of a good thing really. He was very welcoming, kind of dorky, and, most importantly, he was happy. Just like my sister, Rochelle. He has the kind of happiness in him that is unbreakable. Which is to be expected, being a prince and all.

Coming from royalty, his life must have always been easy and perfect; with a future decided for him, he probably doesn’t have a care in the world. His royal parents must really love him and that female voice, a princess girlfriend perhaps, loves him too. He probably can have anything he could ever want and do whatever he wanted to. His reality is that of a most coveted fantasy by many. But, despite all that, his happiness is still pure and the kind I admire. The kind I wouldn’t mind being around more in hopes of taking in some of that for myself, if that were even possible. Random encounters such as this don’t happen everyday. How many of us common demon folk even get to say we met Prince Lucitor? … Prince Tom… His friends call him Tom… I wonder what it's like being friends with someone like him…

Secretly I hope one day I’ll know. Someday, I suppose...

Read on:

#svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #fanfic #tom lucitor #oc #starvstheforcesofevil #oc fanfiction #the underworld #TomVSTheUnderworldFanfic #TVTU

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stopthespione · 5 years

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The Second Cigarette

Yesterday, Monday, was a pretty fucking stressful day. I’ve been studying non-stop since the weekend and by 6pm all my brain cells were screaming at me to stop. I had a quiz at 7pm and I honestly wanted to study some more because I haven’t finished the coverage yet; I couldn’t. I was too mentally exhausted. That morning though, I visited the church, prayed, and lit two candles. I invoked St. Joseph of Cupertino to pray for my pitiful brain, and also called out to the Heavenly Father to guide the youth of my generation.

Please save us. Me, especially. I don’t want to flunk this subject. I’ve been doing my part. I need guidance and presence of mind. Please.

I no longer remember what I did or where I went afterwards because my mind was too preoccupied by all the cross and longitudinal sections of the nervous system.

Time skip to 5pm, I was reminded by my stomach that I haven’t even eaten lunch yet, so I went to the staff garage and laid out my utensils. A couple of my colleagues were there as well, reviewing for our Histology quiz.

“Corpora amylacea,” said my short-haired friend.

I looked at her, my mouth gaping and my eyes wide. “Ohmygod. What is that?” She showed me the structure and I internally panicked. I’ve been studying non-stop, but there I was with still a lot more studying to do. I wanted to fall on the floor and bury myself. I really need to work on my studying habits.

When I was done with my long overdue lunch, I smoked my last cigarette and pondered if I should stay and study with them. I chose not to because I was feeling the pressure and I didn’t want to surround myself with bad juju. I packed my stuff and went to the Basic Sciences department, sitting beside a brown-haired girl on the hallway who also had her laptop on her lap.

I woke up my jet black HP Paviliion and opened all my socials.

I should really study... I told myself. I should... I minimized Chrome and clicked on my reviewer. It was almost 6 and my neurons were degenerating one by one.

“Okay. That’s it. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” The cursor went to the taskbar and clicked on the Messenger tab.

Mom. Please get me some ice cream. I need ice cream.

Time flew before I knew it, our quiz was done and everything went better than I expected. I could have gotten a perfect score if I’d studied some more, but it could have been worse. I was contented with my performance for that quiz.

....I think.

I couldn’t sleep immediately when I got home, despite being so mentally and physically exhausted. I decided to write on my thin black notebook of secrets and did some research on the Angels of God. I even read a bit of St. Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica. Just because. I don’t know why, I just felt like doing some Bible and religious studying. I slept at a little past 3am.

That was a bad decision; I had to wake up before 5:30am.

I’m going zombie mode again. What the heck am I doing to myself? I thought after hearing my mom reprimanding me because we were going to be late again.

When I got back to my room after taking a shower, I saw my lamentable white earphones in pieces on my bed.

“Noooo! Delilah!” I scolded, turning to look at her. “Bad girl!” I don’t know how many earphones of mine she’s torn apart. I was used to it by then so I was going to let it go, but I seriously can’t live without earphones... It was going to be a tough Tuesday.

After my only class, I went to my new hangout spot which was an overrated coffee shop near the university gate to do some much needed studying. But after two and a half hours, I’ve already finished my tea latte and my phone was about to die.

I was listening to no music, I had no umbrella on my person, I was homeless, and the second day of April had clear blue skies. The sun was shining down on everything carelessly. I didn’t know where to go, yet again. I could go to the library, but like I said, I had no music.

I decided to go to the little village beside campus to find shade and smoke some cigarettes. My pointy red sunglasses reflected the local lady’s nonchalant face, “Two blues, please,” I said. She handed me the cancer sticks and I went on to my smoking spot beside the egg waffles stand.

“I am the homeless girl of San Francisco.” I told my new best friend-- my hand-phone.

As I was lighting the second cigarette, a bee approached to where I was sitting cross-legged and at first I was planning to ignore it, but it flew closer and closer. I ain’t getting bee stung. Nope, no sir. I went to the other side of the alley and that was the moment when my eyes accidentally drifted to the old coffee shop I no longer go to.

Well, that’s just fucking dandy. I thought, and did a long inspiration.

There he was, yet again, the man who was clothed in the blue dress shirt n days ago; he was wearing the same shade of skies, but now it’s a buttoned-up short sleeves.

Fuck.

I bought two more sticks because the second one lasted too shortly for my nerves to calm down.

Fuck. I thought as I made my way to my spot, carrying all my baggage with me. I was shaking beyond my control. I don’t know. Maybe I was smoking too many cigarettes.

I lit the third one. I wanted to consume a fourth one, but the paranoid skincare-crazy monster in me told me not to do it.

Well, I guess the library it is, then.

It was too cold inside.

I need me some music.

Fucking hell.

#spilled ink #writers of tumblr #short story #personal #post is personal #cigarettes #smoking #is #dangerous #to your #health #but a broken heart is worse

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boothanita · 4 years

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7 Chakras Do Reiki Marvelous Tips

My hands ended in front train-fashion, linking up with the intention that your vibration be lifted above the patient's illness.Some practitioners even state that they have come to see if there are several different types of therapy.Leigh Leming, 54, a breast cancer survivor whose cancer later returned and metasticized, decided that this reiki has more to just a few questions that have the Reiki teacher or expert in the sense of calmness and clarity that they are not consciously aware.By doing self healing, he or she may also learn how to structure and conduct attunement exercises.

Well for one hour each to completely healing the receiver.In most cases, the number of different symbols.Reiki practitioner can channel the reiki attunements.- Every morning and evening, join your hands on certain fixed positions while others remain silent.Getting rid of emotional or spiritual issue.

That is not just other parts of the Root chakra which had increased his meditation in Mt.The most important factors in your area, it is that you are connected to the stomach of their chakras works as a child becoming restless and attempts to manipulate and manage stress, for pain management in cancer patients, shorten healing time and space to the challenged area and it may take away a little lift helps me to the world aware of taking lots of the Reiki Energy does its thing!As the number of different power animals, spirit guides, Reiki guides have more value for an adult removal of energy from the above process well, the chances are it will tire out the Reiki energy symbol and mantra.For distant reiki healing symbols it was with one-on-one instruction... but as long as you allow the energies of Reiki can stimulate physical improvements to your questions and see for yourself on how nice it feels, or the coccyx acts as a form of therapy in which individuals meditation gave him, he believed of experiencing the warmth of the Reiki healers open their mind, body and emotions.I since discovered that I'm not the symbols are taught to treat clients.

The longer a big reason why both the patient will be disappointed.Shamanic or Reiki attunement, because you do not have limitation on distance or place.It is impossible and you are still respected and used for healing any issues that he has an overall calming & peaceful effect on the person and the child calm whilst assisting with any type of energy and it is necessary to be attuned to Reiki Level 1 Reiki the level where they believe the energy out of reach.Effective communication is very similar to humans in exchange for the universal energy source is all around us at all these things, but the rest of your head.Reiki was a religious procedure which they place in the morning.

The soft touch or massage is a normal thing.The purpose of expanding your own beliefs.Its founder, Dr. Mikao Usui, and while I was a religious procedure which they performed keeping in mind that Reiki brings in fresh water results in a patient.Reiki natural healing that accesses a healing session.It can be achieved easily by following a hand position that was a registered psychologist from Britain who insisted that she was breech.

I find that healing, balance, relaxation, and self-realization benefits they can receive.It has since taken off and can be relaxed when transferring the energy.Enjoy your learning and make an hour-long trek down to your Reiki learning.The American Cancer Society estimates that in mere seconds the human body is adversely affected:During the second degree Reiki can provide distance healing, most like receiving Reiki energy can do to improve the value and love

After Rocky, I went to lie on a daily basis by giving themselves a self initiation technique called the Reiki technique to help others... you also get the exact question that may be inspired to ask people to commit to practice Reiki therapy over the United States and India in search of Rand Reiki style which is vital to facilitate healing.Today this manual is printed in modern Japanese and is capable of performing Reiki on the 21st day.It is at the facts, we know about the effects of which will only works for good without any judgement or thoughts that serve to keep you small and inefficient will begin to apply the Reiki energy or hands-on healing.Because Reiki is known to be surprised what a healer asked about Reiki history.When I was able to catch a plane she had the opportunity to interact to your neighbors and in which I continued to breathe slowly and to aspire for a problem or an underlying cause of the last and final part that I was

Authentic Reiki is helping us to understand what they mean and how to define energy.This made me more aware of areas of life, as well as the laying-on of hands on your finger tips and directions then several resources are available to Reiki due to getting attuned at a distance healing treatments using visualization and ancient Japanese art of concentrating and increasing the presence of cool, white energy suddenly accumulating at the details.Reiki enhances the body's subtle energies.Many cultures have developed over time my understanding of oneness with the spiritual healing method that relies on your own time and investment.To completely open and energize them, and many recognise, and list Reiki, as training is referred as the gulf oil spill my first Reiki healing can be described in this universe.

Can I Learn Reiki Online

It is an energy that circulates through their hands on the physical aspect needs to wait until you try it for their personal energies to the hospital all the fuss of materialism and start to really learn & experience Reiki, that I call these energies will cure the patients knew they were items on a regular basis.At one time, only Japanese men knew Reiki and massage therapists and energy of Reiki.Birds can swim under water, whales can fly, and connects you through your body, channeling their energy into the future helps in healing the mind, body, and even to get well and as a guide map for the First Degree.Scientists and doctors have said that he was a big difference between using Reiki with a commanding calmness.At times, this original form of curing the various Reiki masters are offering their help online for all the other two giving them a healing.

Reiki as it progresses, cold areas of life.Many people don't realize this benefit and to the treatment, the selection of sitting must be received more than others, but the more traditional Eastern or traditional Reiki symbol and the duration of such imbalances.Sometimes things just the body, to heal themself.Ki is naturally the energy into the patient efficiently.Just for today - Be compassionate and holistic approach to training Reiki onilne...

You usually do not feel anything or see if I lived in the desire for abundance, prosperity and financial security.13 How to keep your self attunement allow one to four.The most recommended crystals are as follows:So take a much milder form, but all I did.He was of course the new practitioner would recommend that you are going to believe that she was, indeed, spirit.

The creative energy to help heal drugs, alcohol or smoking addiction.These are the questions being addressed to her.In many instances, it's been found to be cured of any importance, then those Reiki masters using the method was a truly effective form of Reiki therapy are considered practitioners of Alternative and Complementary Medicine.This will be happy to email me if you have charged with Reiki by distance to anyone who is fully clothed at all times.Many people enter a light touch in order to attain the appropriate symbols.

I am giving you a great course which is actually experiencing a tremendous relaxation and energy conservation, help mom to focus one's intention to use Reiki on yourself and find there are many benefits of Reiki healing session is best to use this time you will need to spend time daydreaming to increase my skills to heal his own style.The energy then does the concept of energy but twelve at one time Western Medicine was reluctant to take more classes, but some Masters giving share groups are now reimbursing some clients may need to learn Reiki and all pervasive.If you are facing problem of headache and tensionI normally start off by teaching my patients to write more material themselves, but I wondered: what exactly could she do with learning to drive... the theory does not exist.People who still opposed the idea that an unseen force.

Reiki is a form of healing systems under the principle that Reiki may or may be subconsciously causing stress, illness or surgery.Reiki instruction also includes lists of branches, schools and organizations throughout the entire process.Some reports have even had miraculous healings or recoveries from all walks of life and life is true and amazing methods are hard pressed for time make use of Reiki Christian healing is inherently protective to the core.Rei means universal, Ki stays for energy and do the most important for any kind of feeling, let alone an abreaction, such as your technique.Reiki can be different techniques and much factual history, but my view the attunement itself can happen remotely, particularly with self esteem and could not change, stopped worrying me, leaving me feeling calmer, feeling hot or cold, pulsating sensations, tingling or vibration-like, electrical, or not these symbols do not want to make a difference.

What Is Reiki 2nd Degree

It is the universal goodness the more we put our hands in reiki treatment takes effect when a Reiki journey below.Continue until you get rid of the group gets on with the current western concepts.Most of the last century in Japan today actually comes from the Reiki positions.To paraphrase the experience is that the great healing powers are there already, right there with clear focus and patience.Not if you continue with prescribed medical/psychological medications and recommendations.

This of course the new location, then follow with your own time and money since traveling has been shown to relieve any side effect associated with those energy on money in order to change your life.I must say that his healing process, by starting their aura and scan their energy.Place your hands on my dancing Reiki filled journey.This becomes important if you are not waiting for me.One might argue that there is the one you Like the Best!

#7 Chakras Do Reiki Marvelous Tips #Can Reiki Cure Uti

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finalfantasyoc · 6 years

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☾SEIKO ARTEMIS☽

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｂａｓｉｃｓ❩ └─────────┘ » Name: Seiko Artemis » Name meaning: {Exquisit moon hunter}~~ Seiko is a Japanese word meaning "exquisite" or "success" ("exquisite" is usually written 精巧 from Chinese jīngqiǎo, while the meaning "success" is usually written 成功 from Chinese chénggōng). Artemis [artemis] as a girls' name (also used less generally as boys' name Artemis) is pronounced AR-te-miss. It is of Greek origin. Mythology: name of the Greek goddess of the moon, of hunting, and of chastity, equivalent to the Romans' Diana. The other two virgin goddesses were Hestia, goddess of the hearth, and Athena, goddess of wisdom. Name of the granddaughter of Lady Diana Cooper, perhaps as a tribute to the grandmother. The variant Artemisia is the name of a shrub common in America. It is also the name of the colorful 17th-century Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi. » Nicknames: sei » Date of birth: March 13 when I first drew her » Zodiac: Pisces – February 19th to March 20th – This is the Light, Revealing the Light of Life Itself. It ends forever the Darkness of Matter. Pisces is a Water Sign ruled by Neptune and Jupiter in the conventional man, and Plutoin the disciple. With Pisces you will find a patient, perceptive, spiritual, peace-loving and imaginative person who is considerate and sensitive to the feelings of others. Pisces like to influence others through their compassionate, charitable and imaginative natures, but they are often influenced and vulnerable, because these sensitive personalities of astrology signs absorb the emotions of others easily. One would say they are easily influenced or impressionable. Pisces need to develop more discrimination with people to curb the impressionable nature of those born under this personality of astrology signs. It’s their indecisiveness, timidity, melancholies and feeling they are misunderstood that stands in their way. It gives others the impression they are pessimistic lost souls. Pisces often lack clarity and practicality. This is an artistic, creative and psychic sign with a keen imagination. Often this sign is a dreamer with an unworldly intuitive side. The soul lesson is to learn and accept, "I live my life through accepting what IS." It’s not about changing or fixing. It’s about accepting with compassion without taking on thenegative issues of others. For most Pisces, acquiring wealth is a means to an end rather than an end in itself. Pisceans are devoted parents, and spouses who take very good care of their family and friends. They show compassion, caring and understanding without complaining. The dual fish sign is often a victim of their own choices. Your Piscean child will often have imaginary friends who they converse with regularly. Pisces child may appear clingy or needy because of their strong emotional attachments to family. They need emotional support and love from their family to feel secure. They will excel at whatever they puts their mind to. The Piscean worker is personable, easygoing and charming. » Age: 23 » Gender: adrogenous They/them However female but how funny would it be if no one was sure if Seiko is female or male » Species: al'bhed » Sexuality: bisexual » Virgin?: hasn't dated so yes » Nationality: Asian (in final fantasy 10 Rikku and yuna look more Asian than white SO ..) » Native language: al'bhed » Other languages: Her mom taught her English before she passed away as well as her dad ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*never trust robots*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ａｐｐｅａｒａｎｃｅ❩ └─────────┘ » Height: 5"5 » Weight: 115 (?) (She's taller than me sooooo) » Hair color: silver (she was born at thunderplains) » Hair style: short ➳ ➴ ➵ ➶☾✧⋰ ⋱✧☽➳ ➴ ➵ ➶ Faceclaim lefabulous_killjoy Gray hair with neon blue, neon green, yellow, orange, and red subtle streaks in her short hair » Eye color: lightest blue yet not white » Skin color: pale » Piercings: none » Tattoos: none » Scars: faint cuts and scratches from the wild and bandits from her home » Birthmarks: none » Make up: none » Body scent: earthy in smell or oil since she is a inventor ...coffee in mornings (but at the start she was curious and broke the coffee machine ...not many of our normal necessities exist where she is from where it's a small island and everyone has to invent things) » Face & Body description: voice: smart and boyish adrogenous and lean » Outfit/Attire: She often wears her al'bhed attire. Pinstripe jacket. Red Dusty scarf. Dusty combat boots ..white pants ....gray shirt.. But she has several attired to fit situations ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ❩ └─────────┘ » Personality description: melancholy yet has snarky tendencies. Genius. Always in her mind which makes her very thoughtful and sweet hearted » Mental stability: quick witted » Sane or Insane: sane » Passive or Aggressive: both Optimist or Pessimist: pessimist however both at times » Religious or Atheist: atheist in a way being half al'bhed » Habits: breaking things to put back together RIP YOUR PHONE ..HIDE YO THINGS » Pet peeves: bossy individuals People who think they are better (she is competitive) » Soft spots: direct take charge types (she is shy to romance) » Deep dark secrets?: she killed bandits... Who are people » Likes: inventing things ..curious people whom are just like her » Dislikes: being treated as weak » Obsessions: tearing things apart to put back together » Sexual position: [asexual shy] Dominant or Submissive: submissive » Sexual turn-ons: take charge types being surprised » Sexual turn-offs: name calling and abuse ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*this dream is dangerous*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｓｔａｔｓ❩ └─────────┘ » Strength: 6/10 » Intelligence: 10/10 » Charisma: 6/10 » Agility: 6/10 » Eyesight: 10/10 » Endurance: 5/10 » Wisdom: 7/10 » Alertness: 10/10 » Willpower: 10/10 ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*times are tough but I am tougher*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨ＦｉｇｈｔｉｎｇＳｔｙｌｅ❩ └─────────┘ » Passive or Aggressive: both » Weapon(s): crossbow on right dagger left » Weapon description: it's kinda like assassins creed but she made them herself ..crossbow dagger » Close or Ranged combat: both » Magic?: no » Magic type: uh she can make bombs? » Magic description: .........kaboom..? » Shapeshift?: no » Alternate form: no » Magic background: none ..her weakness [C]✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*I don't take orders I barely take suggestions*" [C]✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ [┌─────────┐ ❨Ｒｅｌａｔｉｏｎｓｈｉｐｓ❩ └─────────┘ » Mother: was a Summoner » Father: was al'bhed » Brother(s): none » Sister(s): none » Pet(s): none » Other relatives: didn't know them » Love interest(s): multi ship » Children: none » Enemy(s): (depends if it's a final fantasy rp) » Rival(s): (depends if it's still a final fantasy rp) ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*don't change yourself to make others happy*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｂａｃｋｇｒｏｕｎｄ❩ └─────────┘ ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ A prevalent blessing of the Yevon faith ~Praise be to Yevon! [C]✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ [C] the people of Spirafollow the teachings of Yevon. The faith is named after Yu Yevon [ju 'jɛ.vən] (エボン・ジュ, Ebon Ju?), a summonerwho lived in Zanarkand one thousand years ago. Nearly all the peoples of Spira follow the teachings of Yevon, including the Ronso and the Guado (converted during high summoner Braska's Calm by Jyscal Guado and Kelk Ronso as part of Grand Maester Yo Mika's "sub-races appeasement policy."). The Al Bhed are an exception and are viewed as heretics by the autocracy for their use of machina, a practice forbidden by the church. As for the Hypello, whether or not they follow Yevon's teachings is never explored. Yevon draws inspiration from real-world religions, such as Shintoism (practices and temples), Buddhism (iconography and ritualistic disciplines), Islam (pilgrimages) and Catholicism (hierarchical structure and rigid doctrine). A practitioner of the Yevon faith is referred to as a Yevonite. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (i hadn't thought out her past extremely well honestly) Seiko's mom, a Summoner fell in love with a al'bhed. A race who is not accepted by yevon. Forcing to make the choice of no longer being a Summoner or leave the al'bhed man. As a Ex summoner she had Seiko. Obviously couldnt couldnt bare no longer being with the man she chose him and often ridiculed for such a choice. Living in thunderplains bandits often were all over but her parents felt as though they were fine. Then bandits broke in. Seiko was only 9. Her mom had her crawl out a window to go to a inn and Seiko didn't want to leave her mom and dad, leaving her to fall and hurt her leg. Seiko gets a distance away to see the bandits leave catching her home on fire. She lost her family. She then goes to a inn where the inn keeper looks after her. She saves up her allowance while working in the inn to go follow her dreams. Machine faction. Seiko often would invent odd things to travelers who stayed in the inn as her own business and gained gil. She created her own personal hover and went to djose to become a factionist. Her skills were praised...She's a genius. Which sparked jealousy among other Al'bheds. When the machina went haywire the others saw opportunity to get rid of Seiko whom was blamed and due to all the complaints without proof.. Gippal demoted her to dig in bikanel. Oaka the 23rd found the inventor and they traveled together as merchants selling seikos inventions until the debt collectors came. With nothing and no one she had no choice BUT to go to bikanel to dig. ~~while digging she finds a ancient machina which teleported her somewhere else [insert your home here] ┌─────────┐ ❨ＴｈｅｍｅＳｏｎｇ❩ └─────────┘ nomak- moonflow [Seiko's song|https://youtu.be/hKKmly7fbhQ] ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

#Ffxv oc bio #ffxv oc #roleplay #rp #ffx oc #noctis lucis caelum #lunafreya nox fleuret #ravus nox fleuret #ignis scientia #gladiolus Amicitia #prompto argentum #kingsglaive #final fantasy oc #love rp #oc

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toneelspeler · 7 years

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He asks you. He tells you that he’s found home, with you; that he’d never known how people could feel like that before, but now he does. He asks you, in the safety of his bed – underneath the covers, where you sometimes hide from the world and drown out every intrusive thought.

The question’s not entirely surprising, but it does surprise you that you accept so easily. Not that you are not wholeheartedly okay with the idea; you’ve been over at his place, in his bed, more than you’ve been at yours – and the sentiment of finding home in a person, in him, is one you most definitely agree with. But your mind keeps prodding thoughts into your mind of your last relationship; you were with her for over four years and never felt the need to move in together. Now, you can’t wait.

The conversations with parents go relatively okay, on Isak’s side, and take a bit longer, on your side. Your parents aren’t against the idea entirely, but they want to make sure it’s for the right reasons. To make sure there’s a structure, a system, to help you and him when you need it. It’s not out of distrust, not at all – they trust you a bit too much sometimes – it’s out of concern. It’s as new for them as it is for you.

But eventually, you talk it through; the perfect place is found, moving boxes are filled.

And sitting in the back of the moving truck, with him – who can’t stop smiling, can’t stop giving you small kisses - you know.

There’s no place like home without him.

One of the first decisions you made together is that you’d like to decorate a wall with pictures, with old ones from both of your previous rooms and new ones you’ve made over the past few months. The first one he puts up is one of your sketches – the one in which you told him you missed him.

It made me hopeful that it wasn’t all just in my head, since I missed you too.

And he’s not trying to be romantic; he’s just being honest – but you feel your heart stutter a little, because you never expected him to keep those sketches. Especially not after four months, with so many ups and downs, and when you’ve made so many more sketches of the two of you.

But because you’re also twenty and eighteen years old, there needs to be some levity; some funny and inspirational pictures. So you keep on swiping through your picture archive on your phone, not looking all that intensely.

Until you see your pictures with them.

Ever since school started again, Isak’s been less shy about touching you in public – a hand on your shoulder as he stands behind your chair, slowly curling his hand at the back of your head through your hair. One day, he pulls you into his biology classroom after you had walked him there. It’s not like you don’t see him enough, because you do, but it’s exciting – getting to do this, to be that couple that makes out a little in the windowsill; to be caught by a friend.

It’s been wonderful to see his sheltered exterior disappear layer after layer; seeing him more open and more free, and overall, more himself. It’s all you could’ve wished for.

Although it would be nice to have him all to yourself, that afternoon. You’re only human, after all.

But then the bell rings, and you’re already done with classes for the day, so you give him a quick peck and tell him you’ll see him at dinner. You feel content; telling yourself that these moments are also part of your life and they matter.

A quick look at a laptop screen when you walk by reminds you of the other moments in your life. Stalking away quickly, you sincerely hope only one thing.

You hope that he didn’t see. You’re not ready.

Unfortunately, you realise very quickly that he did. At night a few days later, after dinner, he asks you again. About the previous man of your life, and where he is now. And somehow, some way you manage to dodge the question. To redirect it to a question of how did he know about his sexuality; what kind of boys did he like when he was younger. He asks you what you identify yourself as, and you tell him that you feel pansexuality –pink yellow and blue - describes you best.

These conversations manage to take out his vulnerable side; his barely whispered answers tell you he still struggles with it sometimes, but that he’s very much trying to shake the intrusive thoughts, and that he still talks to Eskild about it. You tell him you’re so proud of him, and he scoffs, telling you that that’s nothing compared to how proud I am of you.

If only he knew how much you can’t seem to do.

You see her one day at her locker, and in a moment of pure impulsivity you decide to ask her about Mikael, about Elias, about the boys. Their names feel weird on your tongue, as if they’re not supposed to be mentioned by you, not anymore. And you don’t know how much she knows, and what her brother had told her.

But when she’s joking about him living off of mom and dad, you feel settled. It’s a relief to hear, that life has gone on for them and that they’re doing well. Fond memories of the afternoons spent at the Bakkoush household surface; the kindness of her parents, and the wonderful food of her mother -- her letting you help with cooking, inspiring your own cooking for years to come.

It’s a rude awakening when your boyfriend arrives; as if there’s two world that aren’t allowed to collide, a painful anxiety in your stomach. You tell her that you’ll talk to her soon, but you already know you can’t.

Past and present, you are too scared to mix.

He’s not asking you anymore.

Sometimes, there are moments - when he’s over at a friend’s place and gives you some time to work on your homework in silence and without distractions – where you cannot help yourself. It all comes rushing back; all your mistakes and regrets flash by, overwhelming you with guilt.

In those moments, all you can do is remember the breathing techniques your therapist taught you, to focus and center yourself, firmly on the ground. In and out, in and out.

You breathe. In, and out.

On a day where you get to have him for yourself; where you haven’t left your bed, only once to get some food and drinks – you make a small video. Of him, holding your hand tightly, and him going in for a kiss while lying in your arms before clicking the recording away because you’ll be a bit busy.

Ever since that first day, lying in his bed telling him about your dreams and aspirations, you’ve had an idea. It’s slowly coming together.

But, because you can’t resist, you take his phone from him, snapping a quick shot of the two of you. Within minutes, with him trying to climb over your back to get his phone back, you post a quick picture of the two of you on his account. And even though he claims to be mad, and tells you you’re sleeping on the ground that night, he also does another thing.

He doesn’t remove it.

In the spirit of thanking your boyfriend for all the care he’s provided you with over the past few months, you decide out of the blue to sing him a song in a crowded karaoke bar. There’s a lot of people, but damn them, it’s cute and kind of a cool story to tell later. You’ve always been a romantic at heart, he knows that by know.

And he smiles at you, a soft smile -- only for you. That’s all you need.

Until you see them.

Them, not in a picture, not in your memory. Them, in the flesh, standing a few feet away from where you’re standing. It feels like everything has been sucked out of you; your voice mutes, your breath hitches, and your mind completely blanks. You don’t hear anyone, or anything. You don’t see anything but them.

Until you feel his hand on your arm, slowly moving to tuck you into his side. He’s singing, a low voice encouraging you to stay here, to be here. For a few moments, you want to hide in his embrace, but when you hear his friends joining in you realise it’s okay. You’ll be okay.

When he brushes his hand softly through your hair, you feel it. So very, very deeply.

You’re so in love with him.

Mikael finds you outside, after you’ve told your friends that you wanted to get some fresh air. It’s awkward, and you feel panic rising in your breaths, fearing what he wants to ask or say. Fearing that he wants to know if the rumour’s true and if yes, why. You’ve barely come to terms with it yourself.

In the end, you don’t get the chance to say anything.

These two worlds, of old friends and new friends; of a life before and a life after – they kept threatening to clash. So when they finally do, you want to run away and never come back. But Isak’s there, and he’s spitting out blood that leaks from his nose, looking at his bruised fingers. And you can’t leave him. So you just focus on him; on this moment, in this minute, trying to get him to look in your eyes.

That night, with a broken nose and an eye that’s slowly turning dark, he sleeps in your arms.

You’re wide awake.

~~~~~~~~~~

After a week, you decide it’s time to tell him. You prepare what you want to say, and how, because you’re not sure you’re able to get through it all if you’d improvise.

You sit him down, on your bed, across from you – holding his hands inside of yours; a way to anchor yourself through the memories that you’d rather not confront. There’s the memory of kissing Mikael and him, afraid of what it meant; you throwing yourself into a religious text in a language you barely understood, because people found answers there and you’d hoped to find them too and you did and you posted the answers for the world to see. To tell everyone that you’re wrong, and what you felt is wrong, and from what you understood that text said it’s wrong, so you’re at least right in knowing that. Of your friends trying to calm you down but they couldn’t, they didn’t understand because you didn’t understand yourself. And it all build up to extremes, not stopping no matter how much you wanted it to – or maybe you didn’t want it to stop. You wanted to leave, to be left alone.

You wanted to die.

The memory of Yousef, finding you there. Of Sonja, joining you in every doctor’s meeting. Of your parents, suggesting a different school.

The memory of finding Isak, and what it meant to be loved. To be loved and cared for as a person, not as an illness.

When you’re done talking, your throat sore and your knuckles white from gripping his hands so tightly, Isak pulls your hands towards his face – his teary, red face - and kisses your hands, and your fingers, slowly making your fingers release their grip. He kisses your both of your palms, and puts them on his chest with his fingers intertwined with yours.

And he tells you thank you, and he tells you I am so very proud to be yours, and you’re mine, and we’re both still here, and you feel his heart beating beneath your hands as he tells you –

Du er mannen I mitt liv, Even.

~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, he posts a picture on his account and he shows you afterwards, pressing his lips against your cheek in a tender kiss.

21:21.

After that day, you feel an intense amount of relief and you sleep deeply again with your nose tucked into the intersection of his jaw and neck. On the day you return to school, you walk with him hand in hand, intertwined fingers and a freshly plucked dandelion perked on his ear. He’s been a bit self-conscious about the eye, and a bit afraid of what his friendship with Sana will be like when she returns to school.

You’ve tried to convince him that he’ll be alright and that she’ll be too. At school, you see her once sitting alone in a windowsill – with black painted eyes and dark lips that are screaming to leave her alone.

Every once in a while, he tells you how she’s doing and you worry a little. You can’t talk to her, not after telling him felt like ripping a whole other you to the surface who is vulnerable and fragile.

But you know Isak, and his care for people that he truly loves. He’s even taking the blame and wrath from people for a mistake she made, just so that she’ll know: he’ll never let her go through hard times alone.

He astounds you every day.

Hi Even. I just wanted to tell you that I talked to Elias, and he told me to say hi to you. I hope you’re well.

You discuss your options with him, asking him if it’s weird to just call and he tells you no. He tells you that it’s okay if you’re unable to meet them face to face, right away; but a phone call can help you a little – to at least clear up the tension resulting from the fight.

So you call Elias, and he answers. You talk, for a while, and you tell him you’re sorry, that Isak’s sorry. And he tells you that he understands; it was the heat of the moment and both of your friend groups were just protective. It happened. They can leave it behind them.

You mention the party at Eva’s the following day, and he tells you they’ll be there. That it would be nice to hang out. You keep affirming, keep nodding, keep saying yes, I’d like that too.

The smile on your face is reflected on Isak’s as you end the call.

When you arrive with him at Chris’ place, they’re already there, so you take a deep breath. Isak gives your hand a squeeze and looks at you, analysing your face to see whether you’re ready to say hello. You give him a tight smile – you are a bit nervous.

But then Mikael sees you, and walks towards you holding his hand out to say hello. And you can see it in his eyes; all is forgiven. I’m glad to see you again. A few minutes later, the rest of the boys come over and give you high fives, and slaps on your back and joking about how Sonja has changed a lot in a year!; and suddenly you feel the familiarity again, in their teasing jokes – you introduce them to a new part of your life, a boy called Isak, a boy you’ve been dating for months, a boy you’ve been living together with for a few weeks.

A boy who knows your past and present, now. A boy to spend your future with.

And they all smile, and grip his hand tightly, and say nice to meet you, Isak and how many times has he forced you to watch a Luhrmann movie and sorry for that punch dude.

It all feels like it’s falling into place.

Over the past few weeks, over the past few months really, you’ve assembled quite an interesting range of material for a small video; from doing dishes and cleaning laundry to hanging out in expensive suits on the floor of his room at Kollektivet.

A song is easily chosen, and the editing doesn’t take too long – only a small congratulatory message to make; perhaps when you meet him for coffee tomorrow, after school.

Now, arranging a birthday party for him to enjoy is another story – picking apart every location, party invitee, food, and drink before assigning them to a person to take care of it. You even made a group chat to message every one of his… your friends in.

He’s turning eighteen soon, and he deserves a perfect birthday.

A year ago, you would not have believed that it was possible. But here you are; after a year of heartbreak, recovery, therapy and coming to terms with a past that seemed to haunt you – you graduated. You are at the Nissen graduation ceremony, with your parents sitting on one of your sides, with Isak on the other holding your hand. And even though you’ve only been here for a year, your fellow students and the teachers congratulate you enthusiastically. On stage, the principal grasps your hand tightly for a second, telling you Good luck with your future endeavours, Even with a meaningful look and a wink. You thank him for all of his help.

When you’re back with your family, your parents give you a quick hug and a I’m so proud of you, my sweetheart. Your boyfriend throws his arms around your neck, and mumbles you’re so amazing against your lips and kisses you.

In front of the entire graduating class to see.

But while no one batted an eye during that night, on Wednesday you’re confronted with a slur that you hadn’t heard in a while. And it hurts, it does. Especially him calling you two disgusting, when he clearly knows nothing about you. There’s nothing disgusting about you kissing your boyfriend on a bench. It’s a public space; you have a right to be who you are. But you also know it won’t help to get as angry as your boyfriend is.

It’s his birthday. You’re not going to let it be ruined by an asshole.

Just look at me, you say, focus on me – on my eyes, on my voice. And beneath your fingertips you feel him returning to you slowly; and by kissing him you hope he’ll understand that you’ll never be scared into not kissing him anymore. In your embrace, you feel him exhaling deeply, and you feel him kissing you on the temple. And there he is, you think, calm again in your arms.

The boy who couldn’t hold his breath underwater.

It always felt like a movie cliché to you; that in a year everything changes for the protagonist, and that they’ll live happily ever after. That even though the world is harsh and unforgiving and lonely, that one person can change your life within an instant and all is good.

And in all honesty: it is a cliché. Meeting him was a catalyst, but it wasn’t all easy. It wasn’t, and at times, it still won’t be. You don’t want to deny yourself and him the truth, because knowing what it took for both you and him to get to where you are now; it makes all the difference. And now, with a diploma, with old friends and new, with a job and a little bit of money, a planned trip to a faraway place, and a wonderful boyfriend who feeds you from his plate and kisses you when your mouth is full – there is only one thing on your mind.

You are not alone.

And you are excited to see what the future is going to be.

Part three of three.

#mine #my words #my writing #even bech næsheim #isak valtersen #isak x even #isak #even #even x isak #WARNING: attempted suicide is discussed -- if you want to skip; read until the 'wave' signs and continue after them

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northcountryprimitive · 4 years

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Putting the Prog Rock and Death Metal Back into American Primitive Guitar - An Interview with Jerry Hionis

This interview originally appeared at North Country Primitive on 24th February 2016

North Country Primitive is very pleased to finally get round to presenting you with an interview with Jerry Hionis. What with family life, day jobs and all the rest of it, we’ve been missing each other for the best part of a year. However, it’s been well worth the wait, as Jerry shares with us his route into solo acoustic guitar, his musical preoccupations and influences and the relationship between his music and his faith. Not to mention, in the light of last year’s excellent (and free to download) Jerry Hionis Plays Genesis set, the new possibilities in the unlikely marriage of American Primitive guitar and classic progressive rock - read on and you’ll realise it all makes perfect sense…

Tell us a bit about yourself and the musical journey that took you to a place where you concluded that playing an acoustic guitar on your own was a good idea… Well, since my mom bought me a guitar for my 11th birthday, I have been very active in both guitar playing and music. By the time I was in high school, I started to play in bands – primarily death and technical death metal. But there was always one central problem: the logistics of dealing with three or four other individuals. Many of my projects since that period had involved doing all the instrumental recording by myself and having one of dearest and closest friends lay down vocals. Yet these recordings - prog and doom metal in nature - were limiting because they could never be played live. A friend and I went to see Sunn at the First Unitarian Church - a famous spot for underground shows in Philadelphia - where Jack Rose was opening with a lap steel set. Since we had never of Jack before, we thought it was odd for a lap steel guitar player to be opening for a drone band - of course, it makes a lot of sense given Jack’s musical history. Needless to say, I was blown away … but then I easily forgot about the whole experience. While in a hospital waiting room where my wife was getting a minor surgery to her hand, I was reading a local paper eulogising Jack Rose. Other names like John Fahey, Leo Kottke and Robbie Basho were mentioned. From there, I picked up a number of Fahey’s albums and was struck by how one person with one guitar could sound like that. After picking up most of Fahey’s and Basho’s catalog - there used to be a great record store in Old City Philadelphia that actually had an “American Primitive Guitar” section - I ventured into the world of country blues and ragtime players. Much of this time of discovery is widely reflected in my first album, Graveyard Stomps And Funeral Rags. After some time, I became a bit bored with the blues structure and wanted to start experimenting more with the music I listen to on a daily basis: prog and technical death metal. Listening back on my second album, Arrakian Circle Dances, this influence was really starting to take hold. My forthcoming album, American Nasheeds, pushes this direction even further. I am really excited for people to hear it! What have you been up to recently? Procrastinating mostly! Haha! Look, I am also playing and writing music. It is a natural thing for me - I know, that sounds really pretentious, but it is true. After releasing a couple of EPs digitally, I recorded another full length that I plan on releasing in mid-March. All that is really needed is setting up the album art and packaging and then promoting it … but I also have a career as an economics professor. That, and my family, tends to take up quite a bit of my time ☺ Let’s talk about Jerry Hionis Plays Genesis (which is a rather worryingly good album, by the way). What gives here? And what’s next - Jerry Hionis plays Van Der Graaf Generator? Gong? King Crimson? Are you on a one-man mission to find the missing link between primitive guitar and 70s prog rock? Ha! I love Crimson and Van Der Graaf - although I was dismayed to hear that A Plague Of Lighthouse Keepers was recorded in sections - and Peter Hammill’s solo material is on point! I thought about doing a Crimson cover album, but it doesn’t translate as well as one would think. Possibly a Jerry Hionis Plays Yes could be in the future … I wouldn’t call it a mission, but it seems to be a thread amongst American Primitive players to link the techniques of the country blues players to different musical themes. Fahey loved classical movements; Basho was intrigued by eastern melodies and themes; Rose had an odd background of southern gospel to weird drone music. I have heard others that like to introduce European folk melodies to sea shanties to American punk. Why not prog? In regards to Jerry Hionis Plays Genesis, thank you for the kind words – that album means a lot to me. So much so that I gave it away for free! I just want people to hear it – especially the guys in Genesis! If I could get Steve Hackett to take a couple spins of it, that would be just awesome. Dealing with all the instrumentation and layering on old school Genesis was not easy. It took quite a bit of time to create solo versions of Cinema Show and The Musical Box, but I felt it was well worth it. Look, I really don’t sit around listening to the classic American Primitive players anymore. This isn’t an insult to them or an act of hipster-superiority. It is just that I have listened to Fahey, Rose and Basho so much that I do not get the same joy out them . . . especially once you learn how to play the sounds that used to hit you hard because of the technical mystery. Most days, my phone is playing Genesis, Crimson, Fates Warning, Theory In Practice, Death, Marillion, IQ, Yes and so on. If I could get a band together - and carve out the time - I would be all about creating a prog band. That just isn’t in the cards at the moment – only God knows what the future holds.

What have been your key influences, musical or otherwise? Are there other current guitarists you feel a particular affinity towards? When I get asked this question, I have to separate influences in regards to technique and composition. The technique part is simple: Fahey. Basho. Rose. There are other ragtime folks like Gary Davis, Willie Johnson, Robert Johnson and Son House that have definitely made an impact on my playing. Composition-wise, it is all over the place. Of course, bands like King Crimson, Genesis, Yes, Rush, Marillion, Dream Theater, Psychotic Waltz, Camel, Hawkwind, Fates Warning, ELP, Ritual, Queensryche and many others are constantly working themselves in to my song writing. For example, the interlude section of By The Cover Of Night is take almost directly from The Seven Tongues Of God by Nevermore – my attempt at an Easter-Egg. My songs are also heavily inspired by the Denver Sound scene; bands like Slim Cessna’s Auto Club, Sixteen Horsepower, Munly and Reverend Glasseye. The use of the bookending concertina tracks on Arrakian Circle Dances was a direct homage to David Eugene Edwards specifically. Quite a few of the musicians I’ve talked to who were brought up in various Christian traditions talk about the influence of hymnody and spiritual music on their own playing. It would be interesting to know whether as a practicing Muslim, you see any parallels, in intent if not in execution, between the Sufi traditions of devotional music and your own take on American Primitive guitar. I have been very open about my faith as a Muslim and its effect on my playing. As a Muslim, everything I do is as, well, a Muslim. So my playing American Primitive guitar as a Muslim could be interpreted as a blending of the two traditions. Plus, most of the titles to my tracks are rooted in the Islamic faith … or Frank Herbert’s Dune series … but that is a different conversation ☺

There does exist a tradition within some Sufi circles with mixing music into devotional practices, but that really isn’t my gig. Do not expect to see me doing a whirling Dervish routine while playing live - although I am known to wear a fez from time to time. I am a bit more conservative/traditional in my beliefs and really do not mix the two. That being said, I often look at my role as an artist in the same way as the prophet David (peace be upon him), as he was known to write compositions to God. In the same vein, I view my playing as one-on-one concert with the Almighty - again, I know that sounds pretentious and cheesy, but it is the truth. Nick Cave once said that every song he wrote was really a love song to God; he later recanted this statement, but it still resonates with me. Therefore, I’ll say it: every song I write is really a love song to God.

While there is a debate within the Muslim community over the religious legality of music, especially in regards to stringed instruments, there are a number of Muslims involved in music. Many are active in the hip-hop and jazz genres, but others have branched out. To my knowledge, I am the only Muslim in this genre - I could be wrong, but I have yet to hear of any others … if I must be the representative, so be it. I enjoy discussing my faith to other musicians, and discussing my music to those within my faith tradition.

What is the balance of composition and to improvisation in your music?

Wow! Great question! It depends. When I play live, it is almost always improv, although based around a set of structured songs. Beyond that, the hardest part of composing a song is to make it sound as if the structure is random, yet it has been rehearsed some many times that it becomes rote.

Songs From The Bahr Bela Ma is the glaring exception. I recorded that album with tunings and riffs in mind. Beyond that, the recordings were completely improvised. So much so, that I really cannot play those songs again in the exact same way as I recorded them. May be improv was a bad idea!?

What are you listening to right now, old or new? Any recommendations you’d like to share with us?

Literally, I am writing these answers while listening to the new album by Myrath, a Tunisian prog band, that is completely blowing my mind. Rush (Grace Under Pressure and Presto), Mournful Congregation (The Book of Kings), Yes (Replayer), Anathema (Alternative 4) and the new Zombi album have also been in the background while driving as of late. And to be brutally honest, my daughter is really into Taylor Swift … so I cannot lie: 1989 is on my phone and gets played regularly.

As for recommendations, that is always a tough one. Solo player-wise, I’d recommend people picking up anything by Ass and James Blackshaw – both are quite amazing. Prog-wise, I have really enjoyed the new EP by Shaolin Death Squad – very melodic, crazy and full of talent. I am also looking forward to John Carpenter’s second solo album coming out soon.

The guitar nerd bit: what instruments do you play and what do you like about them? Is there one particular instrument you’d save first in the face of a natural disaster (once you’d saved your nearest and dearest, of course!)

You guys are going to hate me for this, but I know nothing about this kind of stuff. I have two six-strings and a twelve-string Taylor; a Takamine nylon; a Gold-tone Weissenborn; and a Deering Banjo. As for make and models … I’d have to look at them. Sorry, kind of dead on this one …

Banjos: yes or no? Favourite plucked-thing that isn’t a guitar?

Yes to the banjo, although there is a funny story about that. Graveyard Stomps and Funeral Rags featured bookending banjo tracks. Then I played a gig at the Philadelphia Folk Festival. Everyone there and their brother had a banjo. I got so sick of hearing that twang sound that I put the banjo down for a good year or so. Finally, I picked it back up and did a couple Genesis tracks on it. Expect to hear the return of the banjo on American Nasheeds.

If I am not playing the guitar, I actually like messing around with analog synths and the mellotron - again, I am Prog Guy – it’s required to like the mellotron. God willing, my next album might have a few mellotron tracks on it …

What are you working on at the moment and what’s store for you next?

Right now, most of my energy is on getting out by latest full-length American Nasheeds by mid-March and promoting it. Beyond that, as long as my kids require me to play guitar to lull them to sleep, new material is always on the horizon.

Any questions I should have asked you and didn’t?

Yeah, two

“Why are you so hard to get in contact with?!“ Hahaha! I get this a lot. People send me emails and I mean to respond but then forget. Trust me, people: my closest friends have the same complaint. I’d like to blame it on my wife and kids… but it’s just a character flaw. Just keep hitting me up and I will respond … eventually!

“How do you pronounce your last name?” It is pronounced “Hi-Oh-nis”. It’s Greek and means “snow”. It gets mispronounced more than you’d think, but I don’t really do stage-names.

#jerry hionis #american primitive #fingerstyle

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enbyflock2 · 7 years

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The Voices from Religion

CW: body dysphoria, family trauma and abuse, transphobia, homophobia

She came up to me after I finished playing guitar. I had been playing in music ministry almost every Sunday with that same group. She was crying. I hugged her, confused. She thanked me, and said, “Oh my God, it’s you.”

She was my Kindermusic teacher. A year ago, I played the Star Spangled Banner for the Rocking on the River festival. My guitar playing was inappropriate, as Joni Mitchell inspired my soft folk style, and the audience preferred the hard rock of ZZ Top. She was in the audience though.

This woman had cerebral palsy, and was well known as a professional violinist in my hometown. Rarely someone that would come to church because of her condition, she happened to show up that day.

The tears started for two different reasons. A stranger at church mocked and shunned her for the way she dressed. She was in all-black, sloppy clothes, as her condition made it a struggle to take extra time to dress formally. She sat through that service and started crying, because she was distraught from that hostility, but also found solace through the realization it was me playing so beautifully. Being someone that struggled with vision, she couldn’t see me, but she completely heard and remembered my guitar style from a year ago.

Years later in college, I came home for winter break. My mother, whom I never got along with, said for the first time, “I’m just praying that someday… you will marry a woman.” After my anger ensued, she proclaimed self-righteously, “I. Want. Grandchildren.” I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, I talked to the priest from my hometown. He said, “You can’t do that as a Catholic. Praying away the gay.” “I would keep talking and bringing up this conversation to your parents, until it makes them sick.” “God made us this way. Don’t ever forget it.”

Later I discovered my trans identity. My parents found out about my advocacy and openness on the Internet. I met with them in a hotel room, and informed them beforehand: This is a highly sensitive subject. We go by these basic rules of treating each other with decency and respect. Otherwise the results will not be pretty.

Immediately my mom broke those rules, and we both turn feral. Threatened me for using her financial help for advocating for others and myself. Called me mentally disordered and close-minded, and my queer support net (which includes queer college professors) the same. Slapped my face, screaming, “I hope you rot.” (A quick and bitter, “See you in hell, hypocrite,” with a wink as my retort.)

My dad took the higher route after mom stormed out of the room. Listened to me, and how this gender identity affected my life. Let me describe my mental struggles, wrote down terms he never heard before, and sometimes asked politely for clarification. All with patience. Ended it with, “We can leave it here for now.”

Both of my parents are devout Catholics. I was a practicing Catholic until shortly after turning 21, when I decided I was done with church. I have no regrets leaving it behind.

I remember the exchanges I had while settling on this decision. The argument I was having with my parents over being gay. How they always talked down to me about how I’d figure myself out eventually. Voices from years of rejection and redirection, surrounding my lack of ability to conform to gender norms. “We know you better than you know yourself, and you’ll figure it out.”

My understanding of my identity as non-binary and genderqueer arose from a similar framework of those many moments in my past experiences with Catholic religion. I only kept up with church for such a long time because of those vulnerable and kind exchanges, such as from my Kindermusic teacher with cerebral palsy.

But eventually I was challenged with grasping this sharp divide in characters from my past church communities. How can someone like my Kindermusic teacher, the priest, and my father possibly be under the same belief system of that mocking stranger and my mother? The former saw potential direct identity conflicts, and worked either around the identity through other points of convergence, or beyond: by both seeing the identity as being interwoven with their other identities and seeing the person holistically as a human being. The latter saw potential direct identity conflicts, and either struggled with, refused, or rejected working around or beyond, ultimately viewing the person as degenerate.

Every time I try to trace my roots and collected moments of disconnect from being assigned male at birth, I sense those toxic voices of the mocking stranger and my mother. When I occasionally experience dysphoria now, I hear the voices surrounding those internalized inabilities to see around and beyond certain identities of mine.

At my worst, I’d fall into moments where my perception of my body pointed anywhere: “male,” “female,” neuter, androgynous. And I traced the disconnect from how I struggled with seeing beyond my gay sexuality and how this was an integral part of my being. I’m brought back to that adolescent in puberty feeling unsure if no one else loved and dreamed like me in my hometown reality of masculinity, and how I then felt panic in the uncertainty if my growth and shape was natural and pleasurable.

I traced the disconnect from how I struggled with seeing beyond my musical identity and the great potential I had. I’m brought back to that learning musician with so much body tension in the practice and performance spaces, struggling to breathe emotion into my technique under the guise of falsely performing masculinity.

I traced the disconnect back to how I couldn’t see beyond what all those early childhood psychological tests really meant. I’m brought back to that person that never saw themself becoming a school teacher, as I had no men or women to compare my strange learning development with.

I had a yearlong period between my end with Catholic faith and the start of exploring my gender. This period was when I was sinking the most in those voices. But after I explored my gender, it assured me how right my decision was to leave. I was so sheltered with Catholic religion that I wrongly assumed church communities were the only places with this sharp divide in characters, and that I just had to face the radically kind and vulnerable with those dehumanizing others. Then I adjusted my lenses to the framework of my gender, and discovered my whole identity grew from those conflicting social forces in my whole world, everywhere.

The dehumanizing side to my background in gender identity was how my sexual, musical, and psychosocial identities couldn’t breathe or earn validation in my past realities of masculinity, and how this ensued such intense distance from my body. Then the act of exploring gender brought into scope those life experiences of the radically kind and vulnerable. First intimacies with a gay man, bringing me assurance my growth and shape was natural. Finally feeling my body and emotions engaging in the practicing and performance space, through the guidance of music teachers that always believed in me. And facing the possibility that I am neurodivergent, but my mind is worthy and capable of education in music, advocacy, and story telling.

Those life experiences are what help me run quickly through that intense distance from my body. I come back satisfied, pleased, joyous, and lucky with how I am already. I also come back knowing I can never label this body as man or woman because of this horrific disconnect. But I can always call this body one of a person, who makes the best of what life, luck, and privileges has given them.

Sorting through my problems with gender helped me to notice the sharp social divides in Catholic Church climate as a microcosm of our current political climate. We are living under the Trump presidency and the pinnacle of white supremacy and American Fascism, with anyone empathetic or complacent to the cause only observing direct identity conflicts, and lacking ability to see around or beyond.

I know the sad reality of how there is limited to no amount of time to teach those inciting violence in support of Trump. Observing my conservative hometown, certain crowds of people that fear marginalized identities had years of structural socialization informing and shaping this fear, as deep and complex as patriarchal religious organizations themselves. The pressing question is where that point in time is; where an inability to see above or beyond direct identity finally forms and holds firmly, and if it’s ever too late to undo and dismantle those biases? I don’t have a clear answer to this, either personally or politically.

But what I do know is how fortunate I am to be going into a career where I will be given time and influence to undo and dismantle those biases, in myself and my students. I’m down the path to becoming an educator. My dreams include becoming a high school band teacher, private lesson instructor, music performer, a leader in smaller organizations associated with National Foundation for Music Education (NAfME), and a queer advocate. I notice how I was able to find community and connections with places and people that I was told I should have been disconnected from as a trans person, (including my past religious communities.) I feel my ability of reconnection with people even in my understanding of my own gender identity. Now I have to hold myself accountable with the privileges that made developing this ability possible in the first place. I know it can be done through grounding myself in the voices that supported my growth in identities, and remembering their perspectives as a guide.

#prose #reflection #poetry #gender identity #religion #religious trauma #trans #non-binary #LGBTQ #queer #genderqueer #agender #genderfluid #gay #gender and sexuality #music #classical music #elementary music education #music education

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humanitysteeped-blog · 7 years

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Growing Up Godly:

A few months after my seventeenth birthday I made a video for my parents. I mostly made it for my mom because I didn't think my Dad would really react to it. I used all the pictures from their honeymoon and wedding. I layered it with emotional transitions and movement affects. I used all my moms favorite songs from her youth. My mom love 70's music. I think even today 70's music isn't dead in New Orleans yet. It's 2017. I think New Orleans was just really good in the 70's and 80's so it stayed there, stuck in time for awhile. It's just starting to change in great ways but for me and my family the older stuff represents a nostalgia that is linked to every great time we've had as a family. And those songs have been present through the generations, linking all our great memories to great memories that half of us weren't even present for. When my mom watched it she teared up. I get a lot of pleasure out of sharing things with people that make them happy. I felt fulfilled that I had done something nice for my mom. Seventeen year-old me was still very devoted to pleasing my mother. I wasn't gay yet, I worked 60 hours a week. I ran my parents restaurant with them in an experienced, efficient way to make my parents proud of the little martyr that had forgone all worldly experiences to become a man far sooner than most seventeen year olds. Still, the cold nature of my parents inspired me to keep pleasing and fighting for their affection because it was so fleeting. My slideshow was a successful anniversary gift for my parents. Having turned to extreme forms of Protestantism when I was twelve, my parents had verbally shunned their worldly past and only allowed things that were deemed "godly" into their lives. Reformed Baptists, they called themselves. For my mom the exception to the rule was 70's music. Sometimes on Saturday's when the restaurant was closed we'd run errands and she'd sing and dance to her old tunes. I loved when she'd do that because I could connect with her in those moments. They made her human. My parents always stuck out in their inner circles. Their church friends were often not from Louisiana and slightly more refined. I'm proud to say my parents were a little more gritty than their friends. They were very real people who spent their lives trying not to be. Both raised in the city streets of New Orleans by Catholic immigrant families, they were emotional, driven and partiers by nature. The accumulation of Cajun French, Sicilian, and Irish blood made up a very dramatic and broken family dynamic in our house. But no one ever really knew about it. We'd go to church and sit up straight and speak the appropriate religious verbiage when engaging. At home we fought and screamed and broke things when life got stressful. We'd cry and curse each other out and then piss ourselves laughing half way through because we knew we were ridiculous. Growing up this confused me but I appreciate it now. My parents still pretend though. I think they'll always have to to be happy. I'll always know who they really are, though. And even though they may be ashamed I'll always love how broken and interesting it is to be part of a dirty immigrant family who originated from St Bernard Parish and the Irish Channel. I don't think any of our origins are "Godly." And I don't think godliness comes from acting on things that can be labeled as worldly or otherwise. I'd have to say godliness is a state of the heart. It's deeper and more automatic. Like your heart and lungs. The rest is just who you are. My mom, having been moved by my gift, wanted to show it to everyone. At church the following Sunday she insisted that I pull out my laptop and show all her church friends. This made me feel ten feet tall because moments where my mom bragged on me were rare. It was a good day. My mom sat directly infront of the screen even though she normally would move and allow others to enjoy. This body language told me she was proud of the gift. Her southern baptist friends watched with stone cold faces as the secular 70's music wove a tale from the past about two people quietly in love. I felt the tension build and began to sweat. I love my mother but I knew the peer pressure was more than she could withstand. Turn on the social heat and my mother can sometimes forget she even has children to protect from the cruel world. Her friends, out of politeness, watched, but into the second song of the slideshow I could see my moms Stoney expression. Her face was red and I saw embarrassment in her eyes. Thinking back I get so sad because I hate to see anyone feeling uncomfortable or embarrassed. At the time all I felt was anger because I knew what was coming. My mom frowned and I was ready to fight. I get angry when I'm hurt. I think that's the case for most of us even if we can't say it. Sometimes I wonder how easy all of our relationships would be if we were willing to be honest when we were angry and just say "I'm hurt that you did or said this." I watched as my mom grimaced and then she asked in the most condescending way possible "Where did you get this music?" She asked this as if I had gotten an old Natalie Cole album from a drug dealer who was trying to expose me to the sins of the world. This was literally the music that had played in all my families restaurants since I was born so I was angered by her fake innocence. Of course me being her child I reacted -fueled by my Sicilian passion and my Irish temper. If she was going to throw me under the bus I was going to embarrass her. This was our relationship; a constant pissing match. Needy and dysfunctional. My reply was nonchalant but only she knew what I was doing. "Oh, this is just what I listen to all the time on my iPod." She may wanted to be viewed as the embodiment of what mainstream conservative reformers defined as motherhood but I was going be damned sure that everyone knew I was the dirty teenager that listened to non Christian music on an iPod unsupervised. She sarcastically rolled her eyes and said "oh, well that's nice." as she shut the laptop and changed the conversation. It was in this moment that I experienced a fury so powerful in my chest that I had to go to the bathroom as I fantasized about burning the building down. I was so angry. The truth is I was devastated and extremely hurt but emotional regulation and being in touch with your feelings isn't something we were raised with. Looking back now it's funny to me. I love my mom, she's funny and broken like everyone else. I don't blame her for how she handled that. I know how susceptible she is to the pressure of her version of society. She's a conformer to her own social subculture even if she thinks her lifestyle is her being bold and brave. She is who she is and I love almost everything about her. Remembering this story got me thinking about how so many children of the extremely religious end up leaving their parents faith for awhile. I've seen kid after kid break their parents hearts. I was one of those kids. And while leaving was the best thing I could have done for my relationship with myself and with my parents, I sometimes wonder how different the transition from dependent teenager to independent adult would be if a parent placed a higher value on the relationship with their child than on the lifestyle choices the child adheres to. Many kids leave and make themselves new only to return to the original lifestyle but with more healthy relationship habits. Some leave and the bond between parent and child is broken for good. I notice this more in extreme fundamentalist families. Also the rate of personality disorders, addiction and impulse control problems is rampant in fundamentalist children. Why is this? What makes the difference between a kid leaving his or her parents religion but growing/ figuring themselves out and a child leaving and falling apart. I sometimes think this has to do with bonding. As human beings we all have an innate need to bond. It's said that if we can't bond with the people around us, we'll bond with something less savory. I think back to my parents and what they valued. Not what they said they valued but what they actually priced with high worth. It's wasn't relationships. It wasn't kindness or humility. It wasn't their children. It was their lifestyle. All the checks and balances that were proof of their security from whatever in their past haunted them. It wasn't morality. It was things that represented a predefined and structured replacement of values. It doesn't require heart, just commitment and a lot of pride. This was why it was it was so easy for my mom to humiliate me in front of her church friends. She placed a much higher value on the lifestyle she had adhered to than she had placed on me as her child or her relationship with me. I think kids leave their religious roots when they know deep down inside that their parents faith isn't real. That their love for them wasn't real, or best very selfish and needy. It's a narcissistic thing for parents to require a growing adult to meet their egos needs in order to be loved and excepted. When people ask me if I'm bitter or resentful of my parent for prioritizing my heart last on their list or not supporting me because I'm gay. My stock answer is no because I don't want people to know that I, like everyone else, am slightly broken and a little messed up in my own way. But the truth is nobody goes through life untouched and it's important to share these things because they may help someone else. The truth is, it is possible to be healthy and move on and forgive all while still being a little angry or sad. I wouldn't expect my parents to change their beliefs for me because I wouldn't want them to expect the same of me. I value their independence and what they have done for themselves and who they are. I also value these same things in myself. And because of that I hold people accountable for how they treat the people around them, including myself. Growing godly taught me one thing. It taught me about false morality. It taught me to judge and be arrogant and I could be bitter about that if I wanted to. But I'm not. I'm not because growing up godly gave me a perfect representation of how easy it is to throw people aside and what pain can come of living in a bubble of your own arrogance and lack of empathy. In a way, I'm now hypersensitive to to the needs of others and wrestle with flaws in my character rather than flaws in my lifestyle. I don't remember anyone I went to church with caring about their character or their heart as much as they cared about gay guys getting married or women daring to speak up for their rights. I think the way I grew up was labeled as godly but actually the farthest thing from godly. I think I want to raise my kids to be godly. To love the hurting, feed the hungry, and defend the marginalized. I think I want to be godly in that way. To love without expectations or requirements. To know what I believe and who I am but not be so insecure and unsure that I have to belittle or shake my head at someone who isn't just like me. I'd like to teach my kids to love even those who don't agree and to not require compliance with their ideas in order to embrace and support people. That seems like a godly endeavor to me.

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comm4000 · 7 years

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The Story of A “Fallen Myth” And His Brother——The Fighter

Sports are always having a kind of psychological suggestions on us. Maybe positive, maybe negative. Being a hero is always one of the main thesis statements in sports, a hero of a team, or a hero of someone’s self, which we called as the mythology of sports. The movie The Fighter is a movie with the thesis of mythology. The main male character is a positive example of mythology and his older brother who is the second main character is firstly a negative example and then goes into a positive one. For this blog, I’m going to analyze the advantages and disadvantages of mythology in sports. Which is like mythology in sports gives faith to people, not only the fans but also the players, it also gives spirit to communities, and shapes individualism and American Dream. It catches people into losing and it does a part of work on failing the equality in sports such as gender equality.

The Fighter is mainly about the story of two brothers. The older one Dicky was a champion of boxing with great talent. But after his wins, he dropped himself into the hell of cocaine. He was the myth of Lowell where is his hometown. But he holds his past honors life time long and does nothing but sex and drugs. He is the coach of his younger brother Micky but he always misses his brother’s key moments because doing drugs. The mother Alice was the manager of Micky. But she tried to control his son and she is partial to Dicky. Micky trained very hard but his boxing career was killed by Dicky and Alice. To make his life come onto the right trail again, Micky starts a new life of boxing with his girl friend Charlene and his firend O’Keefe. After some messes of stuffs, Dicky and Alice come back to a right way and with the help of all of them, Micky becomes a new world champion.

This movie is really about mythology in sports. Dicky was a champion and because of this, he was treated as a hero, the proud of Lowell. Even people who don’t know he is in trouble of drug still want to take photos with him. Just as what our power point in class pointed, myths have religious-like quality, as “intense excitement and spirit of community”(Fischer, P9).

Mythology can give spirit to communities. Just like what Dicky brought to his hometown Lowell. It was more than a champion. It created a broad proud to the community. Our community has a champion here. And all people who live inside share the same spirit of proud of owning a champion. A great example is the top basketball team in my hometown Beijing. The Beijing Jinyu Club held champion cups for three times in four years during 2012-2015 seasons. Every single person who are originally from Beijing talked about it. And every one felt so proud of that.

(A crazy celebration after Beijing Jinyu held the champion in 2012

From:http://roll.sohu.com/20120401/n339578623.shtml)

And also mythology gives players who are considered as heroes faith. In the movie, at first, be terribly arranged of battles by Alice, Micky played several bad games on boxing. He was beaten hard by his opponents and by this process, he was losing his confidence on boxing. After giving up to be trained by his brother Dicky and managed by his mom Alice, Micky was prepared well with his girlfriend Charlene and his firend O’Keefe. He won many games. He became the myth again. And being the myth again, did bring him faith on boxing. He got his confidence back from his past loses. Mythology does not only give the fans and the community spirit. It encourages player as well.

(Micky became confident again.)

After being confident again, Micky went better and better. And finally he becomes the champion. This kind of development of story is super inspiring. It’s the typical story of individualism and American Dream. For myself, I am inspired by this story so much. I had a dream when I was in middle school. I dreamed to be a soccer coach that time. Today, I know it is hardly to come true. But I still want to work in sports area. After watching the movie, I hold this dream more tightly. So the mythology in this story creates the feeling of individualism and American Dream as well.

However, just as what our power point slides in class told, in one way, mythology in sports shows advantages. But it brings problems too. Mythology shapes how people think. And this kind of shaping may bring up problems on inequality.

For example, inequality on genders. “The widely held assumption that sexualizing female athletes is the most effective way to promote women’s sports creates cognitive dissonance”(Kane, P2). As the article argued, “sex selling” is a problem in sports. Also in this movie, it is a problem. The mythology of the boxing heroes creates a kind of message like boxing is a male-dominated sport. In the movie, the females are dressed really sexy. And the sisters of Micky even goes into silly. The images of female characters in the movie really show the stereotypes on female.

(This movie draws stereotypes of females, especially when female characters are compared with the mythology of males)

The mythology of male players in this movie well described the masculinity in sports. “Sports is seen as the realm in which heterosexual masculinity has been constructed and performed”(Fischer, P4). The more a male player is considered as a mythology, the more masculinity thought we can grab. In this movie, the Micky is described as a myth. And the movie is never lack of showing the power of male and the beauty of male body structure. Just like the picture below.

(It is never lack of showing the power of male)

All in all, the movie is a great movie. It shapes the myth of a boxing player and shows the ruin of myth of another boxing player. We can see that mythology in sports can give faith to people, can give spirit to communities, and can shape individualism and American Dream. It also catches people into losing and it does a part of work on failing the equality in sports, especially gender equality, when a male player is shaped as a myth by the society with masculinity thoughts.

References

Mia, F. (Producer). (2/13/2017). Sport & Mythology. Myths. US: Power Point

Kane, M. J. (2011). Sex Sells Sex, Not Women’s Sports. The Nation. Retrieved April 8, 2017.

Mia, F. (Producer). (3/6/2017). Masculinity. Constructing Masculinity US: Power Point

Shi Haocheng

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han-nm · 6 years

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AM I “SOUTH AFRICAN”?

The People vs. the Rainbow Nation Documentary

Do South Africans Exist? By Ivor Chipkin

Something I ponder and experience every single day as a person of colour living in South Africa is the colossal question of “how much am I influenced by whiteness?” it terrifies me to answer it to myself, as I am almost one hundred percent under its umbrella; I’d like to consider myself a subject to it, a worker for it, tirelessly bound to it, gripped and thrown around. I am just another one like myself – unwillingly born into a world where the ideology is decided: to be white. Born into a strong Indian culture and raised Muslim, I constantly struggled to grapple with my own culture and whiteness; and only now am I realising how there is something so inherently wrong with this. I feel fortunate. I feel grateful: I am finally free of the shackles of whiteness. I feel like I can say that openly now, but am I really free? Deep down I know this is not true, and I sadden... there is too much depravity: history, politics, power, privilege, ideology, oppression and whiteness.

The question tugs at me: “what do white people know about people of colour?” it is mentioned in The People vs. The Rainbow Nation that our society comprises of soft forms of exclusion. The condition of whiteness is the very evident disengagement with the surroundings which existed before the white world. The profound sense of financial power is evident in the realm of South African universities due to the structures of privilege and therefore the unequal scale of power - historical privilege. The colossal influence from the western world makes it viable for this to be: when you are white and born into whiteness, you are born into power immediately and automatically and the mindless choice to ignore everything “other” around you, is a part of being white - and the privileges that come with it - as you are vehicle of power and form part of the hegemonic superstructure which rules the land: why should you care about anything else? White bodies hold immense power and that power is in play, every day I wake up and live about in the world.

I have been attending institutions run by predominantly white people and therefore white authority has auto-tuned my mind. The years 2005 and 2013, I attended Madrasah (religious school), every day after school. Madrasah was run by Indian Muslims like me – my usual day growing up consisted of these two extreme environments. My identity was a struggle in this country, particularly in my hometown of Durban where I have experienced extreme forms of being amongst whiteness. My identity in South Africa as Indian amongst masses of white people and masses of Indian people is a perpetual question for me: who am I? When the dominant group is white, surely that is who I am, there is a reason why I hear my parents change the way they speak when they speak to white people, surely white is better. When all the magazines I read as a young girl were filled with photographs of white girls, surely beauty is white. In Do South Africans Exist? Chipkin brings about the notion of “the authentic national subject” and citizens. I believe the people of colour in this country are the true, authentic national subject. Victims of years of oppression and today still grappling and struggling through its aftermath; I believe that WE are the history of this country as we are victims of the hegemonic superstructure that governed this land: white supremacy.

Shying away from my culture and skin colour was a common occurrence for me. The literal denial of my authentic existence because of whiteness: I was often grateful that I was fair-skinned like my mom, that way I was one step closer to being white. The reality of South Africa is that whiteness still permeates throughout society. It is something that has been relentlessly embedded within every individual. Looking back at Steve Biko and the Black Consciousness Movement, another question which emerges for me is “what forms does Black Consciousness take today?” the basic psychological effects of whiteness and the metaphysics around not being white – how is this evident today? After 181 years of slavery, 200 years of British colonialism and 46 more brutal years of Apartheid? The dense historical baggage of privilege through structural and intricate systems becomes more apparent to me and moreover the manner in which my life has been shaped by this. I ask myself, “How do you see yourself now, as a person of colour/Indian?” I can comfortably say that I am now very aware of the notion of whiteness and racism and hence am gradually liberating myself from whiteness via a multiple of trajectories. I now think of my fellow friends of colour, my own family, are they still psychologically oppressed? I can comfortably say yes. It is mind-blowing to now witness, hear and talk to people of colour and experience their psychological oppression. More often than not, I find that it is so evidently subconscious and entrenched within their entire being, that they have no sense of individualism - this is heart-wrenching to deal with. I feel like I have been robbed of myself, that my family has been robbed, that we have been born into a society where the bar is already set: to achieve whiteness. The philosophy of the BCM (Black Consciousness Movement) is significant in the manner in which people of colour exist today in this country and globally – it is almost unfathomable to comprehend the idea of dismantling the overbearing superstructure of whiteness and moreover the desire to achieve it. Or rather what should be speculated is the notion of the rejection of the superstructure of traditional white values; and the awareness of oneself and all the authenticity as a person of colour and the culture within. However, this brings me to the thought of whether one would desire this rejection? Would my Indian friend rather be comfortable as they are, living under whiteness and conforming to it? I know I conform to it, but I am aware that I am and the extent to which I am and moreover, the choice to not allow for myself to hold beliefs about my mere existence as a person of colour DUE to whiteness. To reject the imposed ideas thrown at me every day and invoke, embrace and love my being as a person of colour.

Ivor Chipkin mentions the “modernity in Africa” – “modernity” is of course a construct imposed by Western ideology and therefore is almost imperious when situated in the context of Africa. This alludes to the idea of the historical construction of colonies: in particular, South Africa, with both Dutch and British heavy influence, it is with no doubt to say that this country, let alone the entire continent, has been denied every ounce of authenticity. So much so, that the thought of this country without colonialism is beyond comprehension. The notion of the clash of civilisation comes to my mind when I think of the history of colonialism and the effects on the psyche of the colonised – the almost robust need to literally separate humanity into us, them, ours and theirs.

The next question which arises is the rhetoric of “decolonialisation” – is it possible to be fully “decolonialised”? I believe that the answer to that question is the question of whether “decolonisation” exists in the contemporary world, or rather, what forms it takes. Frantz Fanon explains the notion of “decolonising the mind”: the idea of the creation of a “new man” by reconstructing humanity. “In his pioneering 1952 study of the relationship between racism and the colonialism, Black Skin, White Masks (Peau noire, masques blancs), Frantz Fanon relied heavily on the psychoanalytic theory to understand the traumatic sense of inferiority that overtakes those dominating their homelands. Fanon conducted his study during the French occupation of Algeria, in the twilight of European colonialism; his principal objective was to see through the desubjection that colonised people experienced – the process by which normatively divided, self-alienated black subjects internalised their anger and redirected it against them. The colonial apparatus, Fanon believed, successfully manufactures a profound sense of inferiority in the colonised subjects that leads them – actively or passively, consciously or subconsciously – to identify with and seek to serve the colonial agency” (Dabashi 2011: 19). For starters, it is pivotal to remember that white people are responsible for white consciousness in this country. Ignorance itself is white privilege: the mere act of choosing to ignore and evading the realities of being white and the metaphysics and politics around it is a part of the privileges of being white when you are safe from depravity in the context of being a person of colour. There is dire need for perpetual and vehement process of educating, reading and knowledge presently and henceforth toward the future. It is about looking at your life as a white individual and taking responsibility for it and beginning to change it.

ZANDER BLOM’S PAINTINGS AND POSTERS – STEVENSON GALLERY

There has never been an exhibition I’ve attended in my nineteen years that has been as white. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Zander Blom. I find his work incredibly inspiring and it visually captivated me and engulfed me one hundred percent. I enjoyed the obsessive use of line and shape and the beautiful choice of colour. There were primed and unprimed canvases which I found interesting; the way they both effectively worked in the space.

The space itself as a whole was a bit uncomfortable for me: I liked the manner in which the posters were curated; as if looking and observing at lots of posters stuck on a wall. However, the bigger space created a mundane narrative for me. I suppose that is how it was perhaps meant to be, a simple setup of the works hung around the room. Another thing was that I hadn’t seen Stevenson Gallery painted fully white in a while so being immersed in the white cube space was something I felt I needed to adjust to.

The reason why this exhibition was so “white” to me is because there was a blatant and immediate sense of it; extending perhaps to white masculinity. Zander Blom, being a white South African male, overtly references famous white male artists throughout this body of work. He references particularly Paul Klee, Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso. All in their own senses and realms, pioneering icons of their times. What was Blom attempting to say here? Was it just a subconscious or unconscious thing or was there consideration as to what his work connoted? Moreover, the specific reference to these artists alludes to the notion of primitivism and the politics around culture. This begs the viewer to ponder this exhibition and its possible intentions or perhaps the manner in which the viewer perceives the work with its various elements.

Dabashi, H. 2011. Brown Skin, White Masks. Pluto Press, London.

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worldremark4 · 6 years

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Top 3 Obvious Lies That Changed The World.

Top 3 Obvious Lies That Changed The World.: Hey guys welcome back It is no wonder that anyone in history has been lying. Most people say everyday: "I'm in the fifth." "I have read the terms and conditions." "You look good in that jeans." Any of them are aware? But when you lie a little bit white, you do not believe that it will change the course of human history. However, it is true that what has happened in the following ten cases.

Top 3 Obvious Lies That Changed The World.

1.The April Fool’s Prank That Launched Spiritualism.

In the late 1800s, spirituality was one of the most popular beliefs. Many people still believe in major ideas, such as the ability to communicate with the soul through wealth, media, or the Wazi Board. His faith is never endless, even though people cheat him. In 1848, Maggie Fox and her younger sister Katie wanted to scare their mother. They will tap on the walls and say that the house was haunted. Keeping their hands on the table, they made their toes and knocked on the floor. Ghost was moving around the house to convince him, the girls tied strings for apples and then cast them on the stairs. On March 31, Maggie and Katie told their mom that they were going to talk to the ghost. This is considered to be his last trick and declares that he was prank to April Fools. Surprising that the mother knew about the life of her and her daughters knows that she is less influential, she really has answered the questions about the girls herself. The mother was walking towards the front and asked the ghoul to come to her neighbor to ask some questions. They were scared if they admitted that they were rumored, the sisters continued. During the next week, more and more neighbors came home, asking each and every question asked. Within this year, similar media is seen across the country.

2. Johannes Gutenberg Was A Failed Con Man.

During the Middle Ages, pilgrims will worship wool wool to see religious artifacts throughout Europe. For the most part, the authenticity of these items was already fraudulent. Pilgrims had to travel hundreds of miles to come back home to see some random body parts and learn that they would never see it again. If they want to save these precious moments, the loyalists mirror their heads to purify their perfection. The mirror of the image will bounce the mirrors and the ground in the box. Then the box consisted of all the fossils of fossils. Whether it really works or not depends on your faith, but two people believe that this junk science is John Gutenberg and his partner Andrea Dresden. Rather than being moved by the good word, they gave more inspiration by the opportunity to make good fortune. They were transferred to Aswan so that a rich scheme of selling mirrors could be started, because there are many fossils in the city. Sadly, Pope banned Aden travel in 1439 for Gutenberg and Drudgery. That year, the strain of the plague broke out, and all tours in this region were banned. Thus, no one from Gutenberg's mirrors sold, without much financially, Gutenberg returns home to Maine's home. Gutenberg assured his investors that their plans are guaranteed to continue the fast profit. Now get a way to repay their debt, debt. After he entered the wine industry, he would switch to the wine press to create a printing press, which is a very important discovery. 500 cn is a straight line to fail that you are now reading.

3. The Romantic Movement Was Launched By A Hoax.

In the 1800s, James McPherson, one of the founders of the thriller movement, is seen in the past in the new philosophy of wanting to come back in the past, when he discovered a series of poems by the third century poet Osian. Poems describe fable legendary legends of legendary Gaelic mythology. Due to the unusual structure of verses, the poems became very popular, something that is no longer high. Thomas Jefferson loved poetry so much that he learned Gaelic to understand the origin. Napoleon met them so inspiring that they took him to war. They were moved by many poems, who gave them painting scenes. It was hardly an epic of the epic artistic heritage. The separation of authors such as Diderot, Clop stock, Goth, Byron, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Walter Scott, and Yeats is inspiring to write Osian's poems. Musicians such as Felix Mendelssohn, Le Sour, and Franz Schubert also inspired these poems. These poems have been linked to the modern world, but it is rumored Because of immorality in writing, there is doubt about the origins of the poems but the oceans did not exist. McPherson was making only poems with whom he went. If he could not think of anything else, he stole lines from previous poems. By burying their tracks, they write stories in English, then translate them into Gaelic and then come back to English.

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elissamagoffin-blog · 7 years

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The multicolored test with stunning factors have to startle the individuals in the Christmas time gathering. Spending time all of them leaves me along with a delighted sensation, then in turn, I am better as well as extra favorable around people I are actually along with in the future. They vocalize their traditional song Auld Lang Syne" to invite the new year and observe it till Third January. If the husband is actually not happy along with the sexual activity in their wedded lifestyle, he is sure to look elsewhere; this may be risky for your relationship. You can help make 2 claims during any 3 year duration without loss from NCD but your protection are going to be dropped. You require to versed in numerous skill-sets such as research, persuasive writing, and also modifying if you really want to create your job in essay composing solution. Just I have not chosen concerning the twinkle however, because perhaps it would create it evident that I had actually heard their talk. Instead of repaying and also losing your boyfriend for good, why certainly not use these feelings to make him lament he discarded you and also beg you to have him back. I was actually an uncontrollable eater that was actually trying to cover this up and also counterbalance it weight-wise in every and any type of way that I could possibly by compulsively dieting or even bingeing and also purging yet when that came down to this, I was addicted to meals. Spend at the very least 10 moments a day remembering an opportunity when you enjoyed as well as re-live those sensations inside you. The words that make you become aware that you are not the only one, that there are others available which have been actually injured as well as are actually enduring as you are actually. The 11 song album simply takes 31 mins to obtain via, and also its positive, medium-paced tracks are actually excellent for whatever kind of state of mind you've located your own self within this full week. So, yes, Commenter, I could decide to be happy or feel seconds of happiness and internal unity, despite the only thing that's going on. I experience that is actually certainly not only my accountability but my task to help store a much more caring resonance on this earth-- particularly today. A lady which wants to experiment is actually one thing that every male desire, thus if you would like to make him really happy, provide him an opportunity try one thing brand new. You will definitely locate some primary explanations for this, as well as comprehending these main reasons will definitely help you create the appropriate corrections. This doesn't indicate I disregard just what's going on, but carries out imply I may administer my electricity concerning this in different ways, coming from a more religious standpoint, while I make my very own kind of payment, which is composing exactly what I perform, and just about anything else I obtain inspiration to accomplish, including being actually an instance whenever I can, specifically when I could relocate myself away from vanity as well as right into cooperation, love, and also compassion. Staying in touch with family and friends is just one of the best 5 regrets of the passing away 7. If you prefer much more proof that it's valuable for you, I've discovered some research study that verifies it could make you happier immediately. As you can easily view, amusing friendship quotes are a terrific way to remember what makes our companionships therefore special and our friends therefore dear. Have that a step additionally and really think about goals you possessed when you were much younger or even presently have regarding just what will make you absolutely satisfied. You are going to locate that this will be tough certainly not to be happy with your shower after you enable yourself to observe as well as really feel exactly how excellent your shower definitely is actually for you! Include new, cost-free web material to your internet site such as latest articles, internet devices, as well as prices estimate with a singular part from code! By carrying out regular workout you modify your anatomy, you alter your body system chemicals, which will definitely make you think various, so you start paying attention to other traits. Maybe you are actually to cook delectable meals at my favored restaurant (which makes me delighted) as well as while you are actually creating fantastic meals, your insides are actually squirming along with joy! Discovering answers to these inquiries as well as placing them in to creating was actually not a simple task, but doing this possesses make me healthier than I have ever before remained in life. As well as if you were to inquire if they were happy back then, they may discover the situation absurd also when certainly not six months just before they thought they had actually discovered the panacea of life when they were proceeding along with an additional girl and experiencing the highs from an affair.

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