#my general philosophy is i would never go out of my way to snoop for shit

[classicjdiesandgoestohell]

everyday i wonder what my sisters tumblr acc is and what she posts but ill have to stay curious until 3 years from now when we share our cringy tumblr posts the same way we now share our amino chatlogs from when we were 10

#i could literally find it easily too but my high moral code prevents me.. #i know her phone pin she knows mine i could easily just look #i think about that stuff a lot like omg i can never let anyone on any of my accs #i don't intend on doing it but it is an option #one time me and mae switched spotify accounts it was the mosr vulnerable moment of my life #wr actually switched discords that day too but it was back when the only person i used discord for was marz so nothing rlly to see #also i always wonder if ppl are fr when they say they'd never look through things bc like... #it would ABSOLUTELY be a lie if i said i didn't want to see certain things or snoop #my general philosophy is i would never go out of my way to snoop for shit #but if it comes up naturally somehow then yea ill take a little peak #like when my ex bf went public #i didnt know bc i was stalking him i knew bc one of my mutuals rted the post not knowing that was him #so i was like...okkk.....rubs mt gands together what has he been saying about me #i think it is a very human thing to wonder about these things but a dangerous line to cross whether you actually look at them or not #i am quite a curious cat but i have been hurt by that curiosity many times so i tend to not look for shit anymore lol #wow that was long winded. #lucky strike

[dork-empress]

Singing In The Dead Of Night Ch 2

Harley and Barman set up a playdate for their wards.

forgive the long post, i'll edit and clean it up when im home. chapter can also be found on my ao3, url in the description.

Harley made it back home, which was actually the manor of some billionaire who only really used the house for tax purposes. Harley had taken it over when Lucy came to live with her, deciding she needed more room, and they quickly changed it to suit their needs.

“Luuuucyyyy, I’m hooooome,” Harley called out to the manor, heading through the living room/gymnasium.

Lucy was balancing on the beam by her hands. “Never heard that one before.” She went into the splits and stayed on one hand.

Harley looked over her form. “Point your toes more...there ya go.” Lucy did as recommended. “I got candy for dinner!” She dumped her stolen lollipops on the table.

“I already ate, Aunt Harley,” she said, “I made extra pasta if you want.” She pointed over to the kitchen, before switching hands and flipping herself over.

“Oh,” Harley said, going over to make a plate, but feeling like ants were crawling in her skin. “You know, you don’t have to call me your aunt when it’s just the two of us,” She said, swirling her fork through the noodles.

Lucy shrugged, “Force of habit. Plus it’s a good idea in general, ya know, in case someone’s secretly listening in or we mess up some other time.”

Harley shrugged her shoulders. “Makes sense,” and it did, but it still kind of hurt. “You can have the lollipops for dessert though. You like cherry?” She tossed her the red candy.

Lucy looked down at the wrapper a second. “Can’t, I’m allergic to the red dye.”

“Oh,” Harley said, silently cursing herself. That was something that mothers should know about their kids, allergies and crap. “Well. Lemon then?”

“Sure!” They traded the lollipops, and Harley sucked on hers between bites of the pasta. Sweet and savory combined, delicious.

Lucy swung her legs as she sat on the beam. “Does...my father have any allergies?”

Harley blinked at her. Did Joker have any allergies? It was hard to say. Even now, Harley didn’t know a lot about the Joker. That’s how he liked it. “Best not to talk about it,” she said instead, “In case of those listening things or whatever.”

Lucy hummed, but didn’t seem satisfied. “Hey,” Harley said, trying to distract her from the ‘dad’ talk, “You wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

Lucy brightened, jumping a bit, “Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno,” she said, “Go lookin’ for trouble. Let the trouble find me. Punch out a couple people but only if they REALLY deserve it!” And maybe if they only kinda deserved it, Harley thought.

Lucy hummed again, thinking. “I dunno. I think violence often begets further violence, and while it is occasionally necessary, efforts should focus more on the community building and personal improvement area.”

Harley blinked at her. Right, she was a reader, Delia had mentioned that. Not unlike Harley at her age, really, although Harley had focused on psychoanalysis instead of philosophy. “Ah, of course,” she said, “Well, what do you wanna do?”

Lucy thought for a second. “Well, there was this girl I wanted to go inspire to fight her eating disorder.”

“Oh,” Harley said nodding. It was a noble cause, really, but...also seemed really, really boring. “I...sure!” she smiled.

The truth was, when Lucy came out to live with Harley full time, she had really thought they would be a lady dynamic duo, a proper partnership mother/daughter team. But Lucy wasn’t much like Harley. Or, she was but, she was different, a goody two-shoes. Or, a goody tutu. Ha.

More than that, she followed a strange sense of logic that was oddly reminiscent of...Harley didn’t even finish the thought.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” Lucy asked.

“Hmm? Of course I do!” Harley said, “I’d do anything with you sweetheart,” she gave Lucy a wink, then went to the kitchen to hide her facial expression.

She didn’t see that Lucy had followed her until she was directly behind her. “Oh, Jesus!” She said, clutching her heart, “Gotta look out there, sweetie. Almost brained ya!”

“Is Dad like me at all?” she asked, head tilted to the side.

Harley blinked at her. She felt like her bones were shaking inside her skin. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

Lucy spun a little in place making her tutu swish. “I’ve been reading about him. People think he’s crazy. I mean, he says it. But that’s not what your records say.”

Harley frowned, backing away as though physical distance would get her out of the conversation. “What’re you goin through my records for? What, are you a snoop?”

“They got published after one of your arrests,” Lucy said, “Other people were more interested in the little notes you left in the margins, but--”

“Alright, stop.” Harley said, hand clutching her lollipop stick so tight it might break. “Look, Mr...your father is mean and cruel and manipulative, and nothing like you! He wants to drive other people crazy, and for some people, self included, he succeded. But I grew out of it as best I could and now...you don’t need to worry about him, ok? He ain’t ever gonna know about ya, and he ain’t ever gonna find ya. Got it?”

Lucy hesitated a second and there was something strange in her eyes. Something familiar. “Got it,” she finally said.

Harley lightened, smiling at her. “Why don’t we play a game or somethin? You like Monopoly? I make up my own rules!”

Lucy smiled, “That sounds nice,” she said, all bright again. As they set up the game, Lucy said, “You don’t have to come with me tomorrow, by the way. I can take care of myself.”

“You sure?” Harley asked. Lucy nodded. For the rest of the evening, Harley felt like something was…off.

She slipped the burner phone out of her pocket. She typed, ‘Wanna set up a playdate?’

“She called it a WHAT?!” Damian said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Aww,” Tim said, over by the batcave computer, “Little Damian’s got a plaaayydaaate.”

“I will end you, Drake.” Damian snarled, fingers twitching for his sword.

“Enough,” Bruce interrupted the both of them. “Damian, if it helps you can think of it as a mission.”

“I thought I was forbidden from Robin duties for the next two months.” Damian said, arms crossed.

Bruce groaned. “Harley has taken in a ward, her niece Lucy. She has some petty crime charges, but from my recon, she’s not a villain. Harley wants her to spend time with someone her age, and I need someone who will watch over her.”

“Watch out for her, or watch out because of her?” Damian asked, scowling.

“Oooh, good question,” Tim said, still at the computer. “Hey, how come you didn’t set me up with vigilante kids?”

“Because you found them on your own,” Bruce shot back, “Look. Damian, you just have to spend the day with her. Follow her around, help her out as long as it’s not hurting anyone. Don’t let her get killed. Invite Jon if you want.”

“Uggh, Jon’s off world with his Dad,” Damian said.

“Oh right,” Bruce said, massaging his temple. “Why do interdimensional crises have to happen at the worst times?”

“Why is it we need a plural for interdimensional crisis?” Tim asked.

Bruce gave him a side glance to let him know he was coming up on the line that breached from ‘annoying’ to ‘problem Bruce will deal with.’ “Damian…”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said, “But I won’t be her friend by you forcing us.”

“Fine.”

They met up with Harley at a neutral location downtown on top of a party goods store. “Hiya Batsy, Hey Bird Boy!”

Despite himself, Damian liked Harley. She was usually of a like mind about which villains did or didn’t deserve to live, but he didn’t tell Batman that. “Harley,” Batman said, “Where’s your niece?”

“Just doin some high-wire practice.” Harley said, “Lucy-goosey!”

From the side of the building, a girl faulted up from where she was hanging on the flagpole. A girl wearing a tutu and white paint. “Nice to meet you, Batman,” Lucy said, “Aunt Harley’s told me….a lot of mixed things.”

“YOU!” Damian said, before he could stop himself, and all three of the others turned to him.

Lucy trotted forward on her tiptoes. “Have we met?” She asked, tilting her head, and looking him up and down.

Damian swallowed. “Uhh….”

“Blackbird!” Lucy said, and swooped him up into a hug, “Oh, I knew you were a Robin, why’d you lie to me?”

“Blackbird, huh?” Batman said, and he couldn’t see, but he knew there was a very pointed eyebrow being raised at him.

Damian, still being swung like a ragdoll by Lucy, tried to gain his balance. “I didn’t...I mean I wasn’t…”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Batman said, “You kids go on, I have something to talk about with Harley.”

“Kids?!” Damian said, offended, especially that he was going to be left out of whatever this conversation was. But in doing so, he left himself vulnerable as Lucy pulled on his cowl to the edge of the building.

“Come on, birdy, whatever color you are. The city awaits!” And she jumped from the roof, grappling on outcroppings to reach the street safely. Damian grumbled, but eventually followed.

Harley looked to Batman, and her face fell. “He’s out there, isn’t he?”

Batman gave one slow nod.

Lucy skipped everywhere. It was very irritating, because it was faster than walking, but slower than running, so hard to keep pace. Also,it was just very perky, which made it hard to sulk.

Lucy claimed she had deliveries to make around town. Something about girls who were bullies in high school and were treating others poorly, but it was only because of the societal pressures that were put on young girls of America and...and thats about where Damian lost interest.

She carried a cartfull of boxes like a damn girlscout, and left them on the girls doors. Damian could have followed in his sleep...except there was something about one of the boxes….

“What’s in that one?” Damian asked as she brought it to the next home.

“Huh?” Lucy said, “Same thing as in all of them, some cookies, a letter, balloons of course and--”

“It’s beeping,” Damian said.

“What?”

Damian didn’t wait any longer, he grabbed the box out of her arms and tossed it as high into the sky as he could, tackling her to the ground. The box then exploded.

Lucy gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together. “Birdy, look at it! It’s fireworks!”

Damian growled, jumping off of her and taking out his sword. “I knew it, I knew you were up to no good.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Whatcha talkin about, Birdy?”

“You--” He pointed to where the box was still smoldering. “You were going to put a BOMB on that girl’s doorstep!”

“I didn’t put that there,” Lucy said, getting up with no care of the sword pointed at her.

“You-” Damian stammered. “What?”

Lucy bent down and picked up a scrap of paper from the ruins. “Change of plans for the evening, Birdy!” Lucy said, “We’re going puzzling!”

She tossed the paper at him and he grabbed it quickly. It read ‘I’ve the tallest of trunks and thickest of stumps, a switch in the breeze, but I’m no tree. What am I?’”

They came quickly to the elephant pasture at the zoo. Damian couldn’t help it, he held out his hand for the elephant. She reached out her trunk and wrapped it around him. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Her baby came forward this time, trotting on new steps. He was already the size of a small horse, but he stole Damian’s heart all the same. He tried to bowl Damian over like a large puppy, and Damian couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t know you could laugh, Birdy,” Lucy said, kneeling over a shady patch in the enclosure.

Damian’s scowl returned. “Stop calling me ‘Birdy,’” he said, “You can just say ‘Robin,’ if you want.”

“But aren’t there other Robins?” Lucy said, fiddling with something, “I’d love to call you something unique to you.”

“There’s already a Blackbird, you know.” Damian said, continuing to pet the baby elephant.

“There is?” Lucy asked, “Picking a superhero name is HARD. I’m still trying to get Commedia to stick. You know, like, Commedia del arte? But I’ll end up getting called ‘Tutu girl’ or something if I don’t watch out.”

Damian gently pushed the elephant away, seeing what she was doing. She was hands deep in another box like the one they’d found in her cart. “Careful, it could be another bomb.”

“Fireworks,” Lucy corrected, “and I already diffused it.”

Damian leaned down, looking. She had indeed done so, quite efficiently. “How did you know to do that?”

Lucy smiled, “An uncle of mine taught me. You’ll meet him.” She dug further into the box. “I wouldn’t mind some more fireworks, but I don’t want to scare the elephants.” She pulled out another slip of paper.

“This has all the hallmarks of The Riddler,” Damian said, “We have to be careful. He might have bombs all over the city.”

“Fireworks!” Lucy corrected again, “And, probably. See, we already have the next clue!” She waved the paper and read out “Can you hear me make a sound, only when you are around.”

“Of course you can only hear things when you’re around.” Damian said, frowning.

“But only when someone’s around does it make a...Oh!” Lucy said, jumping to her feet, “An echo! We have to go somewhere there’s an echo!”

Damian sighed, “I have an idea.”

Technically they weren’t IN the Bat cave. They were at a far entrance to it, another end of the cave system. So he wasn’t breaking any rules. “Hey, is that Wayne Manor?” Lucy asked. “I tried to break in there once, but they have some crazy rich person security system.”

“Funny that.” Damian said, trying to seem completely ordinary.

Lucy stood at the edge of the cave and yelled into it. “ECHO!” listening for the echo in return. She skipped into the cave, humming all the way, the sound bouncing off as she went.

“Lucy?” Damian said, following her, “Don’t go too far, there’s all sorts of--” He heard a squeal and rushed forward.

He stopped short, his flashlight falling on Lucy. She waved at him to put it down, squinting. “Look here!” She brushed aside some dirt to find some rusted over metal. “Isn’t it fascinating! This cave system must go on for miles! Maybe people hid treasure there!”

“It’s just the old mining system,” Damian said, truthfully. “It’s all blocked off.”

“That can’t be hard to undo,” Lucy said, intrigued by whatever lay beyond.

Damian grabbed her hand before she could continue. “We have to catch the Riddler. There has to be another package here.”

Lucy sighed, but nodded. She took his arm with the flashlight and swung him around the cave. “Ah! There.”

She took the package and skipped out of the cave. “Careful!” Damian urged. “Come on, just diffuse it.”

“Nope, not these ones.” She tossed the package high in the sky, and Damian saw the fireworks light up.

He felt his phone buzzing, no doubt Tim could hear an explosion out here, not to mention Alfred. They’d come investigating fast enough. He leaped up, grabbing the fallen slip of paper, and grabbed Lucy again to pull her along. He read it quickly and passed it to her as he made his way away. “Even in the city scape, nature comes to take its place.” Lucy read. “It must be the park!”

l,

“No,” Damian said, still pulling her, “I mean, yes, that is the answer to the riddle, but that’s not where we’re going.” He texted the police to inform them of the location of the hidden package so they could diffuse it, and dragged Lucy away.

The original Gotham Ice Cream shop was one of the oldest remaining buildings in Gotham, although was clearly closed for the night.

Damian saw a flash of green from the kitchens and rushed inside, finding none other than the Riddler standing there. “Stand down, Riddler,” Damian said, holding out his sword, “We’ve got you now!”

Riddler snarled, backing into a defensive stance. “Robin! How did you possibly find me?”

Damian smirked, “The beginning of each clue was clearly spelling out your final location. I-C-E. I didn’t need to follow 5 more clues to figure that out.”

Riddler cursed. “Those clues weren’t for you! They were for--!”

Lucy came skipping up to join Damian. “Hi, Uncle Eddy!”

“Lucille!” Riddler said, immediately warming. “I had so many sights around Gotham for you to see, why’d you go skipping to the end?”

Lucy skipped up to him, and Damian was once again left dumbfounded. “My friend Birdy here isn’t much for riddles, I think,” she said, “Although he enjoyed the elephants! And he knew about the mining carts in the caves, I want to explore those later.”

‘Uncle Eddy’ hugged Lucy, and Damian came to his senses, “THIS is your uncle?!”

Lucy shrugged, “I mean, that’s what I call him. I met him when I was visiting Aunt Harley a few years ago.”

“I heard you had moved to Gotham full time,” Riddler said, “I wanted to be sure you saw the sights. But the bat-brats have to ruin everything I suppose.” Riddler glared at him, and he glared right back.

“I don’t-” Damian started, but cut himself off, “You can’t just be leaving BOMBS around the city!”

“Fireworks!” Lucy and Riddler both corrected.

“Whatever! They’re explosive and they’re dangerous!” Damian hated having to be the safety one. It felt wrong.

Riddler rolled his eyes. “He’s just as much a barrel of laughs as the big one.”

“Aw, he’s sweet, really,” Lucy said, coming over to Damian and linking their arms. “Aunt Harley and Batman set us up on our own little playdate.”

“It is NOT!” Damian said, squirming away from her, “It is NOT a playdate.”

“Uncle Eddy, can my friend Birdy have some Ice Cream too?” Lucy asked, ignoring him.

Riddler and Damian glared again. “Fine.” He pushed his own bowl of ice cream towards Damian and went to get his own. “It’s MYSTERY flavor!”

Damian looked at it hesitantly as Lucy sat down to enjoy. Riddler went back to the kitchen. “It’s coconut,” Lucy said, “But Uncle Eddy likes to think it’s a mystery, so I let him.”

Damian frowned at her. “You’re really weird.”

“Thank you!” Lucy said, patting the seat beside her. “Come on, even you had to admit you had fun today.”

Damian thought about the elephants, and skipping around with Lucy, and watching the fireworks at the mouth of the cave, and seeing her all excited about mining carts for some reason. “Fine,” he said, “But it’s NOT a playdate.”

“Alright, alright,” Lucy said, digging into her ice cream. “Just a regular date then.”

“I--” Damian started, his head exploding with so many protests that he ended up just short circuiting. Lucy continued chowing down on ice cream like she didn’t say anything of importance. So, Damian just sat beside her, and ate his own.

#lucy quinzel #damian wayne #batman #harley quinn #dc fanfic

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Typing help needed: My mind is organized I guess, because I greatly dislike vagueness, randomness and convoluted things. But I struggle with keeping my things organized. I’m highly curious but only about what interests me. I’m curious about how people really are, how things really work backstage in companies and industries I’m interested about, how things I like come to be (I love documentaries). I let myself daydream for fun but I’m very aware of the divide between imagination and reality. 1/8

Many ideas are so ludicrous or illogical you can just discard them immediately, but if needed I Google it to check if they are true. I have to keep true to my values and self, I also can’t stand people who don’t have their own or discard them to follow the herd. Look before you leap is my natural way of being, but I’m also quite reactive. I'm not impulsive, but I have a very quick response time. I need to have freedom and autonomy, my space and privacy respected, being able to dedicate time 2/8

to things that interest me. "Show, don't tell" is one of my mottos, so I don’t brag or make promises, I prefer to let my work speak for itself. In college I focus on quality and filling requirements. I used to stress myself out a lot about the results of every project, then I realized I was usually the only one who cared, so others would benefit from my hard work and get great grades for free. After that I still usually am the one to decide the theme we’d work on and a format, beyond that 3/8

that I don’t really care about other’s work or lack of. I care about my individual grade and being prepared for the actual presentation. I completely lost my marbles when one of the members of a group I was working with just decided she could emailed me a copy and paste of a Wikipedia page as her “contribution”. I sent out a group email berating whoever may think it’s ok to do such a juvenile, lazy and disrespectful thing. I can’t stand people who can't separate feelings from reason and make 4/8

everything personal. People prone to self-victimization and whining. Using double standards, being over lenient and making up excuses for everything, intellectual laziness. The mental gymnastics of denying facts to create alternative narratives. Putting your preferences and affections before truth. Being vague, too indecisive and unwilling to take a stance. Lack of professionalism and work ethic. Lying or trying to fool me in any way, trying to emotionally manipulate me or guilt trip me, 5/8

trying to sweet talk me into doing things instead of asking me directly, snooping around on my private business, being less than courteous to me. Lack of independent/critical thinking, attention seeking behavior. They come for me so I can advise them on people or important decisions I help them see the pros and cons and probable consequences, and how to get out of difficult situations they find themselves in. I guess I'm as good at giving advice to others as I am at ignoring the ones they 6/8

give me. I was always seen as confident and secure in myself, which was not always the case. I never shared my insecurities so they couldn’t have known. My flaws are that I'm impatient, can be too aggressive, have an all or nothing approach, am super lazy when it comes to chores, have super high standards for myself which makes me compare myself to others and my ideal at all times, can't open up about emotions or "show weakness" at all. I have doubts about being a sensor because I’m 7/8

I’m very much into theoretical subjects (like psychology, philosophy, theories on the nature and fabric of reality), and I see everywhere that they dislike and have no patience with these topics. Most people online seem to see typology as a fun hobby, things like “the types as kitchen utensils”, memes and discussing how it can be applied to their sexual and romantic lives. Those things annoy me a lot, and typology is serious for me. I can see the humor in it of course, but I take it  8/8

------------------------------

While this seems fairly clearly enneagram 3, it’s difficult to tell anything else. I suspect Te-dom over Fe-dom but due to the nature of 3 and the general subjectivity of questions like this it’s hard to be sure, and there’s nothing here that clearly indicates Si over Ni or vice versa.

The forcefulness and attitude towards group projects as well as being a planner, but quick to react, is what makes me fairly confident you have a dominant extroverted judging function. The part about being true to yourself is fairly subjective, so it’s hard to know for sure, and since you indicate you’re college-aged your Fi would be pretty weak, and the anecdote about berating everyone over one person’s plagiarism could go either way and could also just be a sign of being college aged (I should note this is not bad and I’ve done things like that in my late teens/early 20s). Fe+3 is often hard to tell from Te from the outside because there isn’t that same attempt to ingratiate one’s self through trying to be friendly or nice, which is why I’m hesitant to rule it out. Being more emotionally private though and all of the other reasons above make me at least lean towards Te-dom.

Somewhat related to the question yesterday about ENTJ, with a dominant extroverted function it can be hard to tell. The only evidence you give against sensing though is enjoying theories, which isn’t actually evidence against sensing. Sensors can and do enjoy abstract theories; it’s a matter not of enjoyment at all but “do I want this to be my primary focus in life”. I can enjoy a good abstract discussion, but when, for example, someone comes into my inbox trying to have that discussion I’m not interested because who is this random person (also, I like typology for practical applications and so I’m not interested in pure abstraction in typology; I’m more interested in abstract theories of philosophy or science but again not so much with a random anonymous person I don’t know). Plenty of sensors enjoy psychology, which is very much an applied science, or the concept of a grand unified theory of everything, so it’s more a question of “do you like talking about this sometimes with your friends and colleagues, or do you want to become a theoretician as your career and purpose in life”. So with that, either high Ni or high Si is possible.

#mbti #enneagram #enneagram 3 #bite-me-once

[haberdashing]

Cohabitation

TMA fic inspired by real events. Statement of Quinn Morgan regarding their imaginary roommate.

on AO3

Statement of Quinn Morgan regarding their imaginary roommate. Original statement given September 13, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

It all started as something of a joke, really. I’d call it an inside joke, but can you really call it that when you’re the only one in on it? I never thought it’d get so out of hand but, well, here we are.

See, my freshman year in college--university, I guess you’d call it?--my original roommate moved out to room with one of her friends instead. Not a big loss, really, she was always up later than me and was way more into the party scene than I’d ever be. Anyway, housing said they’d replace her, but spring semester came and went without me getting a roommate, which was fine by me. I liked the peace and quiet, liked having the extra space to myself, liked being able to come and go as I pleased.

Sophomore year, though, I knew that would all change. I hadn’t made much in the way of friends in my freshman year, and those I had made were generally male, which. Well. My own gender is more complex than checking off one of the usual two boxes, but to be fair to housing even I hadn’t realized that bit yet. Suffice it to say rooming with any of my guy friends simply wasn’t an option, at least not then and there.

So I went in for a random roommate. Housing said they’d paired me with someone, but didn’t pass along any details besides a phone number that gave me an error message when I tried calling it. Wasn’t sure what to expect when I got back on campus. Honestly, I was kind of scared they’d paired me with some weirdo, even though I suppose by that logic, I’d be “some weirdo” as well.

Whatever I was expecting, though, it wasn’t for move-in day to come and go without my roommate arriving.

I spent a couple days wondering if they’d just missed move-in day somehow, if they’d show up with no notice and start moving things in, but after a week I was starting to doubt that my roommate was ever going to show. I sent housing a vaguely-worded email asking about my roommate, but when they responded asking if there was a problem, I... I didn’t respond. I should have told them the truth of the situation, I suppose, but I figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and I’d enjoy what time I could with the room all to myself.

They stuck a little white-board outside the door of each dorm room for people to write their names, an easy way to introduce yourself to your neighbors, I guess. So I put my name on there--well, my deadname, since I was still using it at the time. And then after a bit of thought, I added the name Heather. I’d never known anyone named Heather, but I’d always thought it was a pretty name, maybe something I’d name a baby girl somewhere down the road. It was a normal enough name, too, one that wouldn’t raise eyebrows or get people asking too many questions. And this way, people passing by my dorm room wouldn’t know that I’d managed to nab a room by myself. Just me and Heather, two ordinary roommates in an ordinary dorm room, nothing to see there, definitely no great conspiracy to be unearthed.

Maybe if I’d stopped there, that’d be all it ever was, just a name on a sign that helped me fool housing into not forcing another roommate on me. But that was just the start of it.

See, I’d always fancied myself a bit of a writer, even though classes freshman year taught me well enough that while I enjoyed it at my own pace, it wasn’t something I’d want to major in, let alone get a career doing. So now that my supposed roommate had a name, I started thinking of her like just another character in one of my stories.

I gave her a full name, one generic enough that it could be the name of someone going to school here--Heather Anne Johnson, I settled on. I decided she’d transferred from another local school, one that some people joked didn’t exist because nobody ever met anyone from there despite them being one town over, though the real explanation was probably just that school being super small compared to us and a lot more religious to boot.

And then I went and made a Facebook profile for her, partly to flesh her out a bit and give me a place to put all these ideas for her I’d come up with, partly so if housing did come snooping around she’d seem more like a real student. The profile picture was a photo of a lilac bush I found on Google, I had “Heather” join the school page and a few others, she even shared a few memes I came across. If you did some research I’m sure you would’ve figured out that her life story only existed through that Facebook page, but at a glance I thought it’d seemed believable enough.

Apparently I was right about that bit, because when I checked on it a week later it had a few friend requests from actual students at my school. I think one of them shared a bio class with me, but I didn’t know any of them super well. I accepted all the requests, though, figured that’d just make the page seem that much more real. I updated it every couple days, too--not on any kind of a schedule, just when I was bored, which was pretty common.

I wasn’t the most social person... I’m still not, I suppose. But when it happened to come up in conversation, I’d tell whoever was asking that I had a roommate, maybe share her name and a few other tidbits about her (I’d decided she had brown hair, was kind of a neat freak, and was majoring in philosophy) if it seemed necessary. It’d all fall apart if anyone visited my dorm room--I hadn’t gone so far as to actually set up the other bed in the room or give “Heather” a separate living space--but nobody ever did. And housing never bothered me again after they responded to that one email of mine, so on that end, it worked just fine, I guess. Nobody suspected that I’d managed to get a room all to myself.

Heather kept getting friend requests from both people I knew and people I didn’t, as I’d post fairly generic status updates and share posts from other students, and at one point I realized my nonexistent roommate had more friends who went to school with me than I did, which... it’s sad, definitely, but I’m not sure whether it says more about how persuasive I was or how little of a social life I had. Probably a little of both.

Then one of my handful of friends from freshman year, Tyson Hunter, asked me about her, a couple weeks after I’d accepted his friend request on her profile. Said Heather had looked sad the last time he’d seen her, and he wanted to make sure she was doing okay.

Now, the one thing I’d never done is posted an actual picture of what Heather was supposed to look like. I’d replaced that lilac bush profile picture with a few other things--rainbows, cartoons, waterfalls, other flowers--but never any of an actual person. I knew I was crossing some lines here, but I wasn’t catfishing anyone at least. So there was no way Tyson could’ve seen what Heather looked like, because she didn’t look like anything, besides the vague descriptions I’d give whenever anyone asked.

Maybe I should’ve told the truth then. Tyson’s a good guy--a smart-ass sometimes, sure, but a nice enough person--and I doubt he’d have ratted me out to housing if I’d just come clean then and there. But now that it came up, I felt kind of weird about having not let him know in the first place, and I didn’t want to just up and confess.

So instead, I just asked some questions, trying not to seem as confused as I really was. What did he mean, “the last time he’d seen her”? When was that? Where was that?

And Tyson said he’d seen her in the halls of the philosophy building the day before, and she kept looking down at the floor and biting her lip, and she looked like she was trying to hold back tears.

I changed the subject after that, because... because it was weird, and because obviously he’d just bumped into some random student who happened to resemble how I’d described Heather and assumed it was her. Which was awkward, given the reality of the situation, and meant that some random brunette had been near tears yesterday, but even if I’d wanted to track down this supposedly-Heather, it’s a big school, that’d take forever. So I tried to just move on and forget about that.

A couple days later another friend of mine, Jack Murphy, said that that roommate of mine, Heather, was, and I quote, “a total hottie”, and was she single, because if so he was interested.

I blurted out that sure, she was single, before actually thinking through my response. I assumed Jack must have mistaken some other student for Heather like Tyson did, and asked where he’d seen her?

Jack’s answer wasn’t as clear as Tyson’s had been. He just said he’d seen her “around” a bunch of times, and that she was cute, that he liked her freckles and her dimples and the way her glasses framed her deep brown eyes. Which... I had decided she had brown eyes, actually, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned that to anyone because who just casually brings up their roommate’s eye color in a conversation?

So one of my friends was drooling over a girl that he thought was the roommate I didn’t actually have. Great.

I think it was when Jack asked if I could set him up with Heather that I realized I was in way too deep.

I told him I’d talk to her about it, but no promises, and then I went to my dorm room and saw the bare bed next to mine and just... just burst out laughing, because all this was ridiculous, really.

This was all during finals week, by the way, which... probably didn’t help my test scores any, but it did mean winter break was right around the corner, so I just stalled Jack until then, figured I could figure out what to tell him about my roommate that didn’t exist over the break.

That winter break was... intense. It’s when I realized I was nonbinary, for one thing, and when my parents sprung on me that they were getting a divorce, for another. So I didn’t have that much time to think about the whole Heather thing. But the couple of times I checked her Facebook profile, a few people had sent messages about sharing classes with Heather--one from some upper-level philosophy class, one from contemporary world history, and two from intro to psych. All things that were probably the sort of classes she’d take if, you know, she took classes at all.

I ignored the messages, and when winter break was up and I met up with Jack again, I told him I hadn’t had time to talk things over with Heather yet, which, well, technically not a lie, right? Jack gave me a folded-up piece of paper and said to pass it along to Heather, let him know what her reaction was.

I just... I just nodded and went along with it. I didn’t look at the thing. I was sure it was a confession of love, or bad love poetry, or something else of the sort, and I really didn’t want to read any of that. I just tucked the piece of paper into my pocket, and when I got back to my dorm room that night, I chucked it onto the bare, empty bed that would be Heather’s if she existed, before going to sleep.

The next day, after going to classes and eating dinner with Tyson, I noticed that the piece of paper wasn’t where I’d thrown it on the empty bed anymore. After a bit of searching, I found that it hadn’t just fallen off, but had somehow ended up in my garbage bin. I opened it, then, and from what I could make out it was exactly the sort of thing I’d expected, a nicely-worded letter asking one Heather Johnson on a date, but what stood out most was the big X drawn to cover nearly the entire page in what looked like red Sharpie.

All of that’s weird, of course, but the part that stuck out to me was that I didn’t even own a red Sharpie, or a red marker for that matter, just a single black Sharpie and a lot of pens and pencils. I figured the rest could be chalked up to- to sleepwalking, or some sort of mental break, or something, but there was no way I could’ve put that big red X on there.

Things kept getting weirder from there, but from the end of January on it, it kind of starts to blur together in my mind. The Facebook account I’d made for Heather started having friends I didn’t remember adding, even a few that weren’t students at the school I went to. Jack came to me red-faced one evening saying that he’d asked Heather about the note he’d written for her and she’d laughed in his face, and it’d been right in front of the cafeteria so half the school saw. Tyson kept asking me questions about Heather’s new boyfriend. Heather’s Facebook account suddenly said that she had a new boyfriend, which I certainly hadn’t put there. (Aaron, I think his name was? Aaron Masters, maybe? I, I didn’t look into it that closely. Think I was a bit scared to look too close, honestly.) I got a noise complaint from a night I hadn’t even been in my room, since I’d pulled an all-nighter in the library just before a big midterm. My parents asked questions about that nice girl they heard in the background of all my phone calls. I kept finding garbage in my bin that I was sure wasn’t mine, like- like a bag of salt and vinegar chips, when I hate those...

Eventually I just broke down. Jack asked me something about Heather--I don’t even remember what he asked now--and I just snapped at him that Heather wasn’t real, I didn’t have a roommate, I made her up and I didn’t get why everybody was just going along with it so much, so stop asking about my imaginary roommate already!

He’d stared at me for a long minute before just shaking his head and saying that it wasn’t funny, that I could do a lot better than that if I was trying to mess with his head.

I hadn’t even realized it was April Fools’ Day.

I snapped at Tyson the day after, though, and then my parents later that evening, and I think that’s when everybody realized it wasn’t just a joke or a prank or whatever, that something was seriously wrong.

The rest of April was... well. I got pulled out of school, thrown in a psych ward for a bit, and then forced into a lot of therapy when I got home. Because everybody thinks I’m the crazy one here, everybody thinks Heather’s real and I’m the weird one for thinking she’s not. But I swear I’m sane! I mean, I got diagnosed with ADD as a kid, and I’ve kind of suspected I might have some kind of social anxiety for a while now, but nothing where I’d have any sort of break with reality like that.

Heather Anne Johnson was a name I assigned to a roommate I didn’t have. She never existed. Except- except everybody thinks she did, now. Everybody except me, anyway.

I’m taking what I’m calling a gap year, though I think usually that’s for when you do it before college, not right in the middle, but it sounds nice at least. Told my parents I thought backpacking across Europe would be good for me, help me get back in touch with the world around me. And some of that was true, but really I just wanted to put as many miles between me and my old school, between me and Heather, as I could.

I’ve been trying to avoid information about her now, but in the middle of June I tried logging into her old Facebook profile, just for shits and giggles, and I couldn’t. The password I’d used for the account for all those months didn’t work anymore. And my computer had saved it, so I wasn’t just typing it in wrong, either.

And around the end of August I checked her profile, thinking about how it’d been almost a year since Heather first came to be and how much had changed since then, and I saw Heather had posted a status just a few days before saying that she was excited to start her junior year of school and meet her new roommate.

I don’t know what good telling you my story will do. You probably won’t believe it any more than the therapists and psychiatrists all did. But I want it on record somewhere, anyway. Because I keep thinking about that latest status update. Keep thinking that whoever Heather’s new roommate is, they’re in for one hell of a time, if they exist any more than she does.

Keep thinking maybe things could have gone even worse for me than they did, in the end.

I think however this gap year of mine ends, it won’t be with me going back to school there. The last thing I want is to hear about someone else’s run-ins with the roommate I invented.

Statement ends.

#tma #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing #unreality #if you're curious about the rl deets i'm throwing some of them into an endnote on ao3

[davidfostercomedyblog]

8 Things Dad & Biggie Smalls Had in Common

I don’t remember when we discovered that Dad shared his birthday with Biggie Smalls, but I remember how happy it made us. Shortly thereafter, we found out the two also shared their birthday with Mr. T and Havoc from Mobb Deep. This made us even happier. Somewhere underneath this WASP from Staten Island we called “DAD,” was there some intimidating, young black thug? We liked to believe so.

Coincidences like these might seemingly make it difficult to defend astrology. I mean, what did Dad have in common with these self-proclaimed killers who rapped mostly about sex, money and getting intoxicated, usually in the same breath? I guess a lot, actually. Dad enjoyed a drink or three on occasion (each day) and drove a 7-series Beemer at the height of his career. He grew up in New York with a single mom, definitely loved music, and now I’m starting to wonder who he might have killed? Probably some Red Sox or Dallas Cowboys fan. I’m sure he had his reasons.

Dad and Biggie were two of my favorite men, obviously on opposite ends of the spectrum in familiarity; but love comes in many expressions. I loved the Notorious D.A.D. in a way I could never love B.I.G., but the inverse is probably equally true.

As a newly married man with fantasies of family (FOF?) I imagine this is a brutal reality to prepare for: After puberty my kids will come to love certain strangers, as much, if not more than they love me, just in a different way. Fortunately I figure also from my own personal experience that they’ll never weep tears of appreciation while discussing “their Biggie Smalls” (at least I hope not), whereas I can barely talk about Dad for 60 seconds without crying.

I’d like to examine the 8 things DAD and BIG shared in common, not in defense of astrology, but in the interest of commemoration and highlighting fundamental human similarities over superficial differences, an important theme in our present time. Of course there are likely more than 8, but 8 is a conspicuous in Eastern philosophy… and there’s the ages they would have turned today:

1.     DAD would be 88! BIG would be 48! Crazy Eights… and three 8’s equals 24, which is half of 48. I guess I’m admittedly more curious what Biggie would be up to these days, since Dad’s cognitive and physical plateau of his twilight decade was sadly typical. Many wonder if hip hop would have died the way it did shortly after BIG if he hadn’t. I assume it still would have, as one of the great historical constants (in music) is change, and just as the Beatles eventually gave way to Poison and Def Leppard, Biggie would have given way to Drake and Lil Wayne. I wonder if he’d still be with Faith. I wonder if Jay-Z would have risen to become the godfather/Russell Simmons figure of the culture. Would he and BIG have shared the title or would it have been exclusive to BIG, and would anyone be using the term “bae?” Who knows?

2.     Brilliant writer: Dad never completed his personal memoir (he did start it) but he was definitely the Biggie Smalls of birthday cards and personal letters. Getting a hand-written letter from my father was as if sent from a lost time of years past. It was as if he’d sent it from the 1940’s, pre-war. Although not in old English, it felt like it should have been, with thoughtful prose and a finely crafted penmanship in the kind of thin black ink only found on the desks of corporate big wigs. There were no clichés or generic thoughts in Dad’s cards – instead specific reflections on the year past and that to come. Similarly, Biggie is credited as one of the greatest lyricists of all time. While pretentious fools naively rank Tupac higher, those who know (better) are able to distinguish between conscious subject matter and clever writing. Tupac was kind of the Christopher Nolan of rap, tackling profound topics, but at the expense of quality art. Instead, Biggie rapped about what guys in their early 20’s knew best: Sex and weed. His brilliance was in execution and content, the cleverness of his metaphors and witty humor he was able to ironically weave into raps on dark topics, a la Quentin Tarantino from the same era.

3.     Humor: I have many memories from childhood of workdays when Dad would take me with him into the office. Our arrival on the floor was like a moving comedy show as he would shout at receptionists into open doorways at friends, occasionally with mild expletives like George Costanza’s corporate colleagues from Houston. Everyone loved him. Everyone laughed at Dad’s jokes, including Mom at home, but I always laughed longest and loudest and he’d look at me affectionately, acknowledging: “My biggest fan.”

4.     Golden Era’s: Just as Biggie spearheaded the golden era of hip hop, alongside Nas and Mobb Deep, Snoop, Dre, Jay-Z and Wu-Tang, Dad was an ad executive in Manhattan when it was still cool to be an ad executive in Manhattan. Just like BIG was a Bad Boy, Dad was Madmen, the show that enlightened me to the fact that Dad’s glass of Dewar’s on the rocks he’d pour nightly after getting home was probably not his first of the day. In any case, both men were patriarchal pillars of culturally defining movements in New York City history. I’m very proud of that.

5.     “Cheese, eggs and Welch’s Grape:” For Dad it was more like cheeseburgers and Dewar’s scotch, but let’s be honest – neither BIG nor DAD could recall when they last wore a 32 waist. When Mom would go shopping for shirts Dad would call out to reminder her: “Extra Chubby,” which could just as easily have translated to “Extra Biggie.” We all loved Dad’s belly.

6.     “Crazier than a bag of fuckin’ angel dust! When I bust my gat motherfuckers take dirt naps!” OK, to my knowledge Dad never owned a gat or busted it at anyone, but I never saw anyone more out of control than when Scott Norwood missed that field goal in Super Bowl 25. Dad frightened all of the kids in the party as he bumrushed the television, screaming: Fuck you, Marv (Levy)! Fuck you! As far as we all know Marv Levy is a sweetheart.

7.     168th Street: Odd coincidence, I found out Biggie Smalls died while I was skateboarding at the triangle on 168th St. and Broadway, across the street from Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. 20 years later I found out my father died as I held his hand on 168th Street inside Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.

8.     Me: I think we have many parents in life, the most important of which by far being our biological ones, but our psycho-emotional development is then undoubtedly impacted and shaped by best friends, romantic partners, idols and society on the whole. It is on enormously different scales – extra chubby, biggie size different scales – but I wouldn’t be who I am without the Notorious DAD or the Notorious BIG. I thank you. I love you. RIP.

#biggie smalls #notorious big #my dad #happy birthday

[mtemplex]

Little Baby Faulkner

# 1

My girlfriend Sashi used to hate it when film crews used her neighborhood to film. She hated it because her neighborhood was quiet—and then come all these film people noising it up, blocking roads, leaving colored tape everywhere. But mostly she hated that she was the insider, and they were the outsiders, and shooting a film was their pass to become tourist in her neighborhood, where she was a native.

Also: Sashi went to film school. And somehow that figured into her hatred of film crews.

I went to film school too. Sashi’s was in New York. Mine was in LA. She studied lighting. She liked to be on crew. I studied directing. If I never pick up another light or calculate line voltages in my head it will be too soon. I think Sashi held it against me that I liked the heady work while she preferred the grunt work. Sashi was smart enough to direct. To write. She considered it more pure to haul cord, to respond to the cinematographer bark orders. When she worked on a movie, she *preferred* not to read the script. She and her fellow crew members would go to Starbucks after filming and talk philosophy—not the casual kind that most people talk, but real philosophy, the kind that to keep up with you had to be read up on every last work by Derrida. They didn’t *want* to know anything about the movie: Their way of filmmaking was *pure*. The less they knew the better.

This story I’m about to tell you took place over one weekend in September (or maybe October). It was senior thesis week and as a director I didn’t have any interest in helping out some classmate by holding the boom microphone—which is what I liked to do when I was required to be on someone else’s set. Much for the same reasons Sashi worked lights: I could be there and not be there. Just get the mic in the right place and my brain could wander to infinite places other than *here*.

I lived right up the street from my school. Three blocks. And right between block two and block three was a restaurant with no name (as is popular in LA). It had a black door and a red carpet and I had never been inside but I had walked past it every day for a year and on Sunday and Thursday the red carpet was rolled out. If I got drunk my apartment was one block up the hill. I could walk there and see the homeless man sleeping on a couch someone had literally thrown out their window. Hollywood is like that: Lamborghinis and rich people live on the same street as homeless ones. There is no plan to help the homeless ones. They wander, move, die.

I had seen people enter the restaurant with no name. In couples or quads, guys and girls, all dressed up. And disappear behind the door into relative blackness.

Now I stand here, ready to knock—realizing what a silly gesture that is—and I’m not dressed up, instead wearing my brown cargo pants that I used to swear by as a film person (due to the extra—the third—side pocket almost to the cuff at the bottom of the pants). I’ve never seen that pocket before or since. Only on the ones sold in a surplus shop on Hollywood B.

I pull open the door, walk a few steps in. I almost leave because no one is in there. The tables are stood on top of each other like they stand when a restaurant crew closes for the night. There was a bar—no one at it, no one behind it. I look around the place:

I see a bar with nine stools. An area in the back with a stained-glass skylight. Tiles on the floor underneath that: Forming the structure of a wave, patterns never lost on me. I think about texting my film school buddy but decide I want to be alone. At the top of the Ave is the Alto Nido building, where I live. Sashi lived with me for a while. Then I threw my phone across the room, shattering it, glass everywhere. Then I kicked her out. I feel bad about it but me throwing that phone was the last in a line of incidents tracing us from Arizona to Ohio and then to LA. I have never met anyone who made me as mad as that girl.

Other than the skylight, there were no windows in this place. The ceiling was packed with cinema lighting, stage lighting. Even underneath the floor, which was glass block, a parade of colors went by as though I was standing on a river.

I went and sat at the bar, put my laptop bag on the floor, leaning against my stool. Maybe there was an underground chamber and *that’s* where everyone who comes through that door went to..some *Alice in Wonderland* in the basement or sub basement where all the kids in Hollywood (not the students, not the ones without money) would go to dance and hook up and go home and fuck and come back next Sunday or Thursday and ignore everyone they had taken home before.

“Excuse me”—that was the bartender.

I smile in a familiar way, as though we know each other.

“Is this place open?”

“We open at seven, actually.”

“Do you have a kitchen?”

“Yes,” he says deeply. “I’ll get you a menu.”

“That’s ok,” I say. “Do you have a ribeye?”

“Yes sir we do.”

“I’d like a rib eye. Extra rare. With blue cheese crumbles on top.”

“Sure thing,” he says.

“Also? Could I have serrano peppers and two eggs over easy on top of that blue cheese?”

“Sure thing? You want a drink?”

“Yes, a glass of Syrah if you have it.”

“We have it! Totally. We have it. I guess it’s ok if you sit here. There’s a party later.”

“I’ll be out of here by then,” I say (having no intention to leave).

The bartender pours me a generous glass of wine in a glass with a thin lip (important if you’re me). He goes into the kitchen.

I flip through my phone book. Almost all the way to the end. I pretend to consider each name, each number, but really I’m looking for a certain name all along: Roberts, my fuck buddy from Ohio. Don’t ask my *why* I picked Roberts. It may have had something to do with my having tried cocaine for the first time a few days ago, and something in me knew that Roberts had done it, or could help me with her sexy words. My sex with her was the best ever—she said our sex was amazing. After our second bout of soap-suds squishy sex on the floor of my apartment in Ohio, she said, “It’s not that our sex is amazing. I just always wanted to know what it was like to have sex with a genius.”

I refrained from asking her what that was like.

Now in LA, in my empty restaurant, I called her.

“Well look who it is,” she says.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“So what’s going on?”

“I’m on a coke binge and I need a break.”

“So you called me! Ha ha.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Matt. You will not believe your synchronicity with me and my house right now! We—me and my roomie Hannah—we just got this house. To rent. And we are breaking it in with a whole weekend of coke. The whole weekend. You know what I think would be great?”

“If I fly to Dayton and participate in your coke weekend?”

Silence.

Then Roberts’ voice: “Would you?”

“Umm..”

“Oh please! *Could* you?”

“Ahh..”

“Oh my god we could do coke and have sex all weekend!”

“Ok!” I say. “Tell me about this house.”

“I will,” she says. “Hannah and I live here—the lease is in our name. My grandmom lives here. And Hannah’s boyfriend name of Rambuncto is getting out of jail on Saturday.”

“They let people out of jail on Saturday?”

“You’re my smart boy. As in: Anyone else would have asked me *What is he in for?* but you ask *Will they let him out on Saturday?*

“Well: What is he in for?”

“Assault. On a stranger in a Walmart.”

“Is he guilty? I mean: Did he do it?”

Roberts’ laugh gets two steps louder.

“I’m pretty sure he’s guilty, yeah.”

“Is he gonna be there this weekend?”

A pause from Roberts.

“Matthew, don’t worry about it. Rambuncto may talk some shit but he’s harmless.”

“Not to the person in Walmart.”

“Don’t worry about it, Matthew. You spend so much of your head worrying it’s a miracle you’re not losing brain celluloid whenever you wake up. Come over. Can you afford it? I can send you money if you can’t afford it.”

“I can afford it.”

“Ok, good. ‘Cause I can’t really afford it.”

We both laugh.

“And I have enough money for coke.”

“Ok, this is what I think we should start with: an eight ball,” Roberts says. Then we can get more eight balls when we run out. I don’t know if you remember, but I always wanted to get a Snoop doggy dog and—guess what?—I have one. Do you want me to tell you his name?”

“Hold up. Before that. Is Rambuncto—? Is Hannah—? I mean, are they ok?”

“You’ve *met* Hannah before.”

“Did she go to Colonel White?”

“She went to Stivers. She’s fine. Don’t worry! The house is cool, ok? Say *The house is cool*.”

“I just wanna—“

“SAY THE HOUSE IS COOL!!”

“Ok. It’s cool. The house is cool.”

“We’re gonna have so much fun when you get here, Matt. We’ll fuck *all weekend*. I know you like that slippy little soap suds fucking we do. Look. I gotta go.”

“Can you pick me up from the airport?”

“Guess what my dog’s name is. Just text me the details. What’s my dog’s name? Baby hurry ‘cause I gotta go.”

“I don’t know. What’s its name?”

“Faulkner.” She lays it out like carpet.

“Why did you name him that? Have you ever *read* any Faulkner?”

“I gotta go, my wayward king! Hannah says we have a dead-ish baby in the crib room.”

“Alright, girl—“ I say, but the line goes dead.

Just then the bartender returns with my steak. It is cooked extra rare. With two eggs, blue cheese, and jalapeño peppers instead of serranos. I decide to eat it anyway.

# 2

Roberts and I had a history. From the first I saw her practicing color guard with the school’s JROTC program—her face so smooth, her hair: an angels!—to the time I followed her across the gym floor during a science exploration—projects everywhere, and none more important to me—I tracked her down and we spoke and she did seem kinda dumb to me. But I liked her anyway, and over the years we’d become fuck buddies. From that time watching *The Great Gatsby* (Robert Redford version) sitting in the dark of the basement where her apartment was, her dog outside listening. And Roberts and I moved deliberately to a lying down position and kissed in the dark—and all we did was kiss—but the seed was sewn, and it wasn’t till a couple years since *The Great Gatsby* that we hooked up in my place on Second Street in Dayton Ohio (with the help of a bottle of Aftershock) that we finally took it all the way.

Fucking Roberts had become an exalted experience. Full of imagination and the fulfillment of imagination. Her puss was so red and so tight..it was unimaginable. Truly, the best sex of my life, right there. Soap suds—the works. Tight as a flower mate by a honeybee, the bee shaking his tail feathers to get in there. Before we had stood in the light of a street lamp visible five floors below..and when it turned red we stopped touching each other and when it turned green we started again.

My friend Julian was mad at me when I told him Roberts and I had fucked. He asked me to describe her vagina, which I did. Red. Redder than the purest red in a box of Crayons, a set of oil paints. Tight as a honeybee. Wet and snug and so tight she made me cum in her after five strokes, even after she asked me not to cut. We never used a condom. Kept it clear and functioning. Lord of the *Flies*. The next morning she jacked me off with two hands while she waited for her mother to pick her up. Then it was off and on, whenever one of us happened to call the other. And it never seemed off-limits, even when one of us was in relationship—it was never cheating, with us.

This is the girl I was flying from LA to Dayton to meet. This is the girl when I showed her picture to my film school buddy, he said:

“You fucked *that*?”

To which I said, “Yep.”

And that was the end of the conversation. The end of Mike’s constant pestering me about getting a girlfriend, about everything he pestered me about, right down to the bottom of why I took showers instead of baths. Right down to the end of who my Christmas present was: A girl who I woke up in my LA bed to see. A girl I fucked during film school: brown hair, lovely petite, screaming sex in her chokers and all blackness and pink panties you could see above her back. Her back hurt. She needed relief. Any way I could provide it, I was willing. Fucked that girl in the equipment room, just, like, that.

I don’t remember that film school girl’s name—believe that? I don’t remember my Christmas present’s name. She was a costume girl for Adam Sandler. And the fact that I didn’t remember her name isn’t really an act of pathological sport fucking—more an act of casualty that we all engage in. Fuck one girl, forget her name. Forget her phone number and wake up the next morning with more unknowns in your address book: “Molly, 323.818.9544”—total unknown. Don’t remember a Molly—don’t remember anyone. No one new, no one old. A real bright way of living, there.

But on that night Roberts and I decided to invite each other to spend a coke weekend at her house in Ohio..on the night I invited myself into this anonymous dance and supper club, on that night I stayed sober enough to remember two cute girls a few years older than me who danced and opened up their world to me.

“Do you wanna dance with us?”

These women were formally dressed and I with my six-pocket cargo pants they grabbed me me by the hands and took me to the place under the skylight and they freak-danced me, holding me in the envelope of light where each of them plus the skylight made a triangle of importable lust, striking jealousy in the eyes of the boys more normal to this party. Soon they picked me out as the threat, the tall nail which is inevitably hammered down, and the girls were saying goodbye and the bartenders and bouncers were telling me goodbye and the street lamp having just come on was guiding my home across the street with the intersection of the homeless man sleeping in a couch that had been thrown out the window and my school was far behind me and I let myself into the Alto Nido—it’s the building shown in the opening shot of *Sunset Boulevard*—and I took the stairs (down) and I struggled with the lock and soon was in the wood-flooring studio apartment where I had the pages of an entire screenplay (one I was writing) placed end to end across the floor.

This and some squirrel puzzles (dubbed thee by my friend Michael). They were stacked on the writing desk with a bunch of cocaine stacked next to them. I was reaching for a result and I thought coke could help. It seemed to speed up my thinking, but no result came. These were some mathematical puzzles that had been puzzling me and I didn’t know whether it was more in the problem-solving *vein* to take them to Dayton on my Roberts weekend or to leave them here and take a break.

I thought of the dead man out there on the sidewalk—he seemed dead to me. I had never used enough drugs to make myself actually *homeless*. I didn’t have sympathy for that man. This was what happened when you couldn’t control your addiction. When you lost your job and lost your wife and lost your nerve to walk into a job interview on LSD or walk into a job interview on meth and coke—if you couldn’t make that work, then you couldn’t *make it work*—period.

The idea that there were people out there who had never tried drugs was empty to me: I did not understand how that could be. My cousin divorced her husband after he 1) had back surgery 2) was prescribed opiates 3) became addicted to those opiates and 4) went to rehab to end his addiction. To me that seemed like the best-case scenario, minus the divorce. But, I mean, how in this first world of ours could anyone live for long without coming into contact with drugs. We live on them, can’t function without them. Anyone who has tried alcohol knows that if this drug was introduced today that it would be illegal. Same with cigs. The most dangerous drugs are on the street, legal to get. And a couple of the most transformative drugs are listed as the most restricted in our world. The real problem is you have people walking around with no general knowledge of drugs and their actual dangers and benefits.

I set up a line of coke, snarfed it.

I set up another line, banged it.

Mmm. Salad wenches of lines spreading before me the remnants of ecstasy flying, colliding. Rummaging in my mind tailwinds of stories I had yet to tell. Yardley dangers of Pluto, planets banging across each other to form craters, my jizz the center of the galaxy, girlfriend gone, somewhere at a Starbucks sitting out front talking with a homeless man, treating him better than she treats me (I have seen this) and her going home to some weekly hotel where she barely makes the rent, has to eat off the employee shelf—all she had to do was not wake me up at night, not engage me in impossible swirls of arguments that never end, there is never a truce, never a peace of the day, but me waking up with her kneeling over my body *yelling* at me. Never stopping. One who wants not to live together, not to love each other, but to be one end of a debate course, for us to work it all out *and for her to be right*! I could not take anymore of that.

I punched up my ticket—laptop, coke—making sure I got the flight times, origins and destinations, correct. Making sure I had the times correct. Enough room for changes to and from Dayton Ohio. I’d pack my bag tomorrow. I called Roberts.

“Hi y’all” (said in an English accent) “I hope you have been following my YouTube channel as of late where myself and my house mouse—we will call her ‘H’—move into a *fabulous* house in East Dayton. This weekend we have a guest, my old friend Matt from Colonel White. Anyway—*any who*—he’s coming for a visit. A sortie. An exportage. If you will. I” (sound of a smooch) “you, fuck boy! I smooch you I smooch you I smoooch you!!”

# 3

Listening to Roberts’ voicemail prompts were always like this: spinning in infinity, telling a tale. You could get a glimpse of her, through this medium, that gave you information you could only get in this way. If you saw her grandmother die and then asked Roberts if it saddened her, Roberts would say nothing. Then you’d listen to her voicemail and hang up before leaving a message, she would say the truth right there: she was sad.

Boarding the plane high on coke scared me. I had done a lot of coke before taking a cab to the airport, and I spent the whole ride there wiping down the corners of my bag, licking clean my normal coke holder and burying it in the bottom of my clothes. LAX is a trip within itself, messages of the white zone and the orange zone. I passed through the white zone thinking of all the white I had done, hoping those drug-sensing chemicals wouldn’t expose me—all to everyone. I took off my shoes and put my laptop in its own bin and walked through that fucking machine with the facial expression of the Dalai Lama and the shluffing feet of a would-be LA party goer—I would be a party goer except after that first impression I came across like a kid just broke into a candy store. I had the all the nerve but none of the money: real LA party people had rich parents and bottomless trusts and multiple parts in small movies.

They were the chosen ones. I was the nothing one.

I got through security. Got through the boarding process. Sat with my carry-on beneath my seat, leaned my head against a window, and I’m sure snored all the way through the flight.

During my sleep, I dreamt I was on a bicycle touring a school that was close to. There were a hundred black people in a small gymnasium watching a basketball game that was in cable—only—not on regular TV. I ride through that room and back outside, nodding to a guy who is riding *his* bike and he has crystal meth on him and while my nod means nothing to me, it means that I want some crystal, to him. Soon enough I’m riding my bike, high on crystal, around this park and some people hold a phone out to me:

“This is Paula Abdul. She wants to talk to you.”

I stop my bike and talk on speakerphone.

“Hey Paula!”

“Hey, my bro. How are you doing over there? Where is *over there* for you, anyway?”

“Over there? I think I’m in a poor neighborhood, traveling like a flashlight across the country by air, and my shadow casts a spot over poor neighborhoods across the country. Whatever the plane’s shadow touches, I am there. We’re somewhere in the Midwest now. That’s all I know.”

Paula Abdul continued the dream:

“Look there on your TV. There I am—see? Now tell me what to do.”

I looked at the TV in front of these hundred poor kids here to watch the game. It was an old-fashioned one, SONY, with no inputs but for one—the antennae—and skipping past the part where I wondered how they could see *anything*, I told Paula Abdul to make a heart shape with her hands and fingers and as soon as I said that, she did it!

Paula Abdul, right there on TV—right there for me.

I rode out of the gym and saw the meth guy again and I remembered (in the dream) something that seemed at the time to be a remembrance of another meth experience but which seemed at the time to be a remembrance of *another dream*, or a remembrance of dream—just created!—a memory of a memory, the second memory created *at the time!* to *seem* like a waking-life memory *of* another dream—I don’t know how I seem to you but this tangle tripped me solidly upon waking and it was a few minutes more before I took this dream within a dream to consist of another waking-life dream accessed by myself from within this secondary dream. It’s confusing, I know.

Somewhere in there was a stop to change planes. I stooped around this large airport sitting in a circular intersection of hallways, desperately checking that my carry on was beside me.

I sat down, removed my laptop. It had some of the snail puzzles on it—plus the code to generate them. I tapped this way and tapped thus, there was nowhere else to go with them. I had spent a lifetime (it seemed) in Tucson in front of a white board deducing what originally seemed a system of *two* states and *two* rules to what seemed now to be a system of *four* states with two rules. I could generate, with my new set of pieces, the table of 16 binary Boolean operators just by *copying* them with your hands, with visual pattern matching (and that’s what made this second rule set superior) but I could not generate the actual snail puzzles from them.

This concerned me as I sat alone in—which airport I can’t remember—working out the pattern matching, the visual copying of four rules which allowed *computation* to be known as simple creation and unfolding of patterns. They didn’t even have to be visual!—They could be calculated by a blind person—Even a person with no senses could *sense* this, deep in their brain, I had determined.

That and nervously picking at my coke pill: silver with a keychain and a screw-tight lid. I had carried it with me since I first started doing coke. It came from Amazon. In the airport I unscrewed it and tried tapping its (hopefully non-empty) contents onto my laptop cover. You’ve never lived until you’ve done coke off your MacBook. I was hoping to do some here but the silver pill box had nothing to offer. If you could somehow get your coke over the security points, doing coke in airports would be ideal: it would be a safe environment, no one would imagine you had coke on you and you could tap out lines in clear sight of everyone and they would go: *What? Is that what I just saw?* and they would say *Naw* and keep going.

I had a dangerously long layover—one could say a dangerous hangover—during which I could easily have exited the airport and ended up in Nashville, or Atlanta, or whatever city I was in. I could have easily met up with party people in an airport bar and from there gone off on some other adventure, something far more dastardly than the one I was on. Filled up my coke reserves and re-filled my silver pill box.

On the second leg of the flight I wasn’t fortunate enough to have a window seat. I was in the aisle and this meant there were duplicate waitresses-cum-stewardesses rubbing on my super-sensitive sides. Everyone seemed like they were on coke and everyone seemed like they could sell it to me.

I had a panicky moment wherein I doubted my entire goal: sleeping with Roberts was doubtable, unlikely: she had gained weight and had a child before our last meeting and I had been telling myself this time would be different: she would have lost weight (at least to her high school level) and the child wouldn’t be with her (that was a London baby that Roberts and her boyfriend had given to adoption)—when she had that baby and given her up, Roberts had suckered me into listening to her whole sob story, how they named her London and they *insisted* to the adopting couple that they keep her name and the adopting couple said *Sure, sure* and they obviously were going to change the baby’s name—*obviously*.

Roberts told me that story while I was pinned to the bar stool in a Dayton Thai place. Roberts always did that: kept you on the phone too long, long past when *anyone* would insist the conversation must end! She did it to everyone—I was one of the only people who would still talk to her (listen to her) and so my punishment grew. From a virgin boy who wanted to have sex with her to an experienced man who had sex with her and a lot of people, Roberts was always wasting my time. Always making a two-minute conversation into a ten-minute one. Always driving me crazy with superfluous monologues, over-emphasizing small points which Roberts claimed were big ones!

Years after this trip, several moves from city to city for me, Roberts found my number on Facebook and called it. I was on my last few minutes of cell time and that wasn’t even a factory when I finally said to her, “Stop. Roberts, stop. You always call me and dangle all this bullshit in front of my face, how your kids are doing and how this new man in your life is finally the perfect one..but then there is this unmatched thread where you introduce that he’s a wife beater or a drug addict or a crazy Christian. And you never get to it! You’re dragging me on for years with a story that could be told in a minute! Just stop, Roberts—please, stop. This is the last time we talk together. I have seen you for the last time. Don’t find me on Facebook. Don’t call this number—in a minute it will change. I love you—in a way. Were a high school thing. That turned into a fuck buddy thing. I had fun and I truly like you and I will always remember you well. You blew my mind—truly. And I appreciate that Dallas and Caycee have me as their godfather. That was nice if you—more than nice. But I’m not your children’s godfather. I’ll never see them. I’ll never see them, Roberts, as few or many years as you and I and they will pass. I will never see you, Roberts—never again.”

# 4

[incorrecteragonquotes]

Eragon Movie Recap Part 4: Great Responsibility

So. Much. Arguing.

We pick up where Part 3 left off. Saphira’s big. Eragon is taking inspiration from a story Brom told about dragons. Brom himself is being disruptive. The Ra’zac are on the loose, hunting for the new Rider.

Under the cover of darkness, Eragon sneaks into Brom’s house. Does some snooping. Opens a book. There are fancy metallic dragon figurines on the cover. Eragon finds a page with a griffin picture, and stares at it as though it were informative. I would like to take this moment to remind you that Book Eragon is confirmed to have been extremely illiterate at this point in the story.

Brom isn’t too happy about being snooped on by some snot-nosed kid. Grumpy, he decides to perform a jumpscare. Eragon doesn’t care. He’s busy asking unsubtle questions about Brom’s dragon story. Brom isn’t feeling very welcoming, so he tells Eragon to put his head in the dirt.

Confusingly, Brom also makes a point of stating his philosophy of “better to ask forgiveness than permission”. That’s a bit of a mixed message in this context, and Eragon immediately tries to exploit it. I wonder if it’ll come up again. Regardless, Eragon doesn’t like Brom’s attitude, so he tries throwing insults at the problem. After a bit more arguing, he finally leaves.

Alone at last, Brom takes a few moments to ponder. Resolving to take some sort of action, he digs out a bundle of unusual belongings and retrieves a suspiciously coloured sword.

As he walks through the town at night, Eragon hears some weird noises. This is strange; the town is fairly deserted, and what people he does see appear to be in something of a hurry. He tracks the sounds to their source. Through gaps in a wall of the offending building, Eragon sees Sloan being threatened and hurt by the Ra’zac. They want information, and what luck! They found the one and only person who would know!

Sloan tells the Ra’zac how to find Eragon. Unable to pull a cardboard box out of thin air to help him complete his stealth mission, Eragon settles for hiding under a table just in time to avoid being noticed.

As soon as the threat passes, Eragon runs home so he can stop the Ra’zac from finding his uncle. Along the way, Saphira picks him up and flies off into the sky so that she can stop the Ra’zac from finding him, instead. Eragon is displeased by this change in plans. They argue for a tense few moments, and high-altitude shenanigans ensue.

Saphira calls Eragon out on his stupidity but eventually concedes, dropping him in a haystack beside his house. But it’s too late! Garrow has been Uncle Ben’d. Eragon blames this development on Saphira and sends her away. She obliges in a huff as a thunderstorm brews up in the distance.

After a few seconds, Brom walks in. Upset, Eragon tries to attack the newcomer, but he is very promptly subdued. Brom sees Eragon’s weird hand scab and deduces everything immediately. He seems surprised, displeased, and more than a little offended that this guy is the One Rider To Save The Land.

Brom sets his feelings aside and works to resolve the current crisis. Eragon is having none of it, and won’t listen to Brom any more than he listened to Saphira. Not one to be so easily defeated, Brom isn’t having any of Eragon’s own excuses, either. He wants to bury his uncle? Well, since the uncle is inside the house, how about we burn the house down? Problem solved! Not equipped with sufficient retorts to combat arson, Eragon lets Brom drag him away.

As the storm breaks, Eragon wants to know why he should even trust Brom with his safety, much less his dragon. Brom doesn’t want to tell him. Eragon does not win this argument.

By the time they stop, they’re in the middle of the forest, and it has long since stopped raining. Eragon is very tired from riding his horse. When questioned, Brom shows that he subscribes to the “because I said so” school of reasoning. Eragon, still miffed at being forcibly prevented from helping his uncle, decides to stir up another verbal fight.

Brom tries to impress upon Eragon the magnitude of the threat they just escaped. Eragon insists without so much as a second thought that he could have killed the Ra’zac himself and then had time for tea. Brom, a professional nonsense dealer, handles all of this masterfully, but his use of silly things like knowledge and logic is no match for our hero. The discussion eventually escalates into a proper argument: in a fight between Eragon and the Ra’zac, who would win? Everybody place your bets!

Through everything, Brom maintains control of the discussion until he makes one small error: he cites Eragon’s age as a source of weakness. This itself isn’t a mistake; younger people are generally less strong, less experienced, less trained, and so forth. All disadvantages in a fight against magic assassins. The actual problem is with the number Brom guesses. Exuding a strong sense of “this is the most disgusting and offensive thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire life”, Eragon forcefully informs Brom that the correct number is, in fact, seventeen, rather than the suggested fifteen or sixteen. This is another book inaccuracy - Book Eragon had his sixteenth birthday during events of the first volume.

Carefully abandoning the topic of age, Brom tries a different angle. Apparently, the Ra’zac aren’t even the real problem. That particular honour belongs to some guy named Durza. Determined to avoid learning anything from people who are clearly more experienced than he is, Eragon resolves aloud to go beat up Durza instead. Explaining that Durza is a Shade, Brom finally crosses the argumentative finish line. One does not simply go beat up a Shade.

Ready to take a risk, Brom decides to introduce the topic of the Varden, those feisty rebels, insisting that he and Eragon pay them a visit. Unfortunately, this was a poor risk to take, and Eragon insists that Brom tell him how he knows all of the Varden’s juicy deets. Cornered, Brom admits to having been a feisty rebel himself, once upon a time.

Brom asks Eragon to call Saphira. Since agreement must by this point be punishable by death, they have a quick spat about instating a no-lie policy, before Eragon deigns to comply. Saphira promptly reveals that she never actually left. If you forgot that this separation happened, I don’t blame you; it was barely mentioned, and according to runtime it only lasted 6 minutes. Together once again, Eragon and Saphira reconcile. Saphira seizes her opportunity to growl at Brom a few times. Finally introduced to the dragon, Brom makes a rather knowledgeable appraisal of Saphira’s physical state, which fails to impress her until he ends it with an unambiguous compliment.

In case we might be getting anxious waiting for our next infodump, it is once again exposition o’clock! Eragon has resolved to never ride his dragon again because of that action’s connection to his uncle’s death. Brom starts up a discussion by playing the destiny card. In a brief moment of sense, Eragon remembers that he didn’t ask for any of this drama. No dragons, no murder, no Shades. But there’s no escape - the king is hunting him now. Apparently, Galbatorix wants Saphira dead. Saphira confirms that the death of her Rider will inevitably and immediately lead to her own demise. Therefore, since Eragon is very easy to kill, he’ll be the one in more immediate danger. Even Galby likes to kill two birds with one stone, and the more literally this happens, the happier he’ll be.

Additionally, the Dragon/Rider mutual death pact issue is one-sided, so Eragon doesn’t suffer from the same handicap. It’s a movie-exclusive rule, so he really dodged a bullet there. And, lest we forget, this whole wanting-Saphira-dead thing that Galby’s doing right now is very much in contradiction with later books.

With their problems clearly laid out before them, and the daily argument quota met at least three times over, Brom, Eragon, and Saphira end their discussion on a tense note.

That’s it for Part 4! So many of the events in this segment could be summarized as “they argue a bunch, someone gets offended, also there’s exposition?” and it was hard to strike a balance between information, commentary, and brevity. I hope the end result is still fun to read. This part covered about 12 minutes of screentime. That’s the longest one yet, by quite a margin! I sure hope we’re past the halfway point on the expository infodump front. But only time will tell, and it will probably do so in a dense and uninteresting fashion.

Remember to tune in next week when we visit such questions as “what are Carvahall’s legal consequences for agreeing on things?”, “how long will it take Eragon to teach Brom that logic is meaningless?”, and “is Saphira secretly a radioactive spider?”. See you then!

#eragon #inheritance cycle #eragon movie #so much bickering in so little time #eragon movie recap #eragon shadeslayer #brom #saphira #ra'zac #sloan #garrow #long post #sorry mobile users #mod zar'roc

[afanoftheglassscientists]

Comments on The Glass Scientists Chapter 7 Page 28 (Discussing Chapter 7 Pages 10-28)

So my comments are being detected as spam on the comment section of The Glass Scientist page, which from what I can guess from searching through various Disqus threads is because my comments are split into paragraphs and are really, really long.  And although they automatically have a “we’ll work on getting this corrected” thing the moment it gets marked as spam I hear some comments taking months to get released from spam jail. 

Which is annoying, because for one Disqus doesn’t set any clear ground rules for commenting beside the obvious ones regarding bullying and is vague about why things might get marked as spam by accident, and for two I had to go through some threads where people were complaining that SOMEHOW it was the sjws fault that the system was so bad and how its censorship to mark their comments as spam.  NO DAWG, ITS A BAD SYSTEM OF AUTOMATICALLY MARKING THINGS AS SPAM WITH VAGUE RULES LIKE PARAGRAPH BREAKS.  WHY CAN’T YOU PEOPLE COMPLAIN ABOUT LEGITIMATE WEBSITE ISSUES WITHOUT MAKING IT A BAD FAITH FREE SPEECH DEBATE NONSENSE PARTY GUUUUUAAAAAH

But I’m not here to just complain about that.  What I’m here for is to share my riveting and thought-provoking sentiments on Sabrina Cotugno’s The Glass Scientists such as “Jasper is the best” and “Jasper is a good werewolf scientist” and “Did I mention how great Jasper is yet?” and anything else I mentioned in the dark forbidden comments I wrote.  I’m not re-writing everything word-for-word, and I’m only doing the for the ones that are spammed.  I’ll probably leave my longer thoughts here from now on if I feel like gushing more and leave my comments on the Disqus page to a paragraph. 

If you want to see my older comments that range from okay to downright embarrassing here is my profile.  I’ll mention putting my blog (the one you’re look at) in my disqus profile next time I comment if people from the glass scientist discussion want to join me in this hellsite.  So without further ado...

Jasper’s the Best.  The End.

...okay i had more than that to say.

Jekyll and Lanyon were a Thing.  Mood of the Day is “We Been Knew”

In all seriousness its nice to have it in canon as it were, but if you’ve ever looked through the author’s blogs and her previous page descriptions it was pretty clear they had some history together.  So it wasn’t so much a “oh my gawd they WERE roommates” moment as much as a “oh worm” moment.  Its nice to think about the happy time they might have had together, even it did get cut off unceremoniously.  Could it be that their break-up just HAPPENED to be in the same year Jekyll decided “Do you know what would be cool?  If I just like...plucked out the bad, naughty feelings.  Just.  Make a nasty little man from my mind and toss my bad no good feelings there.  Yeah.  That’d be nice.”  Hmmmmmmmm????  Maaaaaaaybeeeeee?????

Lanyon the Super Sleuth

Jekyll - “Oh yeah, Lanyon.  He’s great isn’t he?  He’s the best.  He taught me how to dance.  Jasper I need tell how great Lanyon is for like an hour.  In this room.  With the door closed so no one can come IN while I gush about my friend.  Just a good...long...chat.  About Lanyon.  My best friend who would definitely not go snooping through my private paperwork behind my back.”

Lanyon holding a very important page belonging to Jekyll that he’s definitely not supposed to have while hiding behind an office desk -

*silent screaming*

I Can’t Think Straight on the Hyde in Jekyll Gentlemen Jail Part of the Chapter So I’m Going to Set That Aside for Now

I don’t know why.  I just can’t have any other clear thoughts aside from “Hyde is a stinky rat man” and “oooooooh pretty mindscapesssss.”

Frankenstein and Jekyll are doing JUST Fine and They are Not Hiding ANY Underlying Issues With Bravado and/or Sparkles (They’re Not Fine)

So the thing that just clicked with me is that Jekyll and Frankenstein have the same struggle with being vulnerable and dropping their guard around others without it feeling wrong.  If they realized they had this in common they’d hate it.  I’m just going to copy the part of my comment on Frankenstein’s issue here-

She hates vulnerability.  I mean, she's definitely not a woman who bit more than she could chew and in the process lost everything she held dear until all that was left was the creature she made that led to her destruction no no no. She’s a legend. She's THE mad scientist. She made the impossible possible. She can't be vulnerable nooooo. For people as brilliant and ingenious as her vulnerability does not exist. Its not an option.

It’s good to know her history (or as I called it, “The Frankenstein F***** Up Real Bad Story”) is relatively the same as the original story’s Frankenstein, because like...Frankenstein did a real bad there.  And Jekyll is in the midst of biting more than he could chew with his whole “oh sure just split my mind its fine” thing about to get him in trouble with his best friend/ex and soon with his other friends and probably the cops somewhere along the line so its almost like Frankenstein’s life mistakes and the way she copes with it...is a reflection of Jekyll’s past and future mistakes, and how he copes now and what he might do to cope in the future...hmmmmm... symmmbolismmmm...mmmmmaaaaybbbbeeee....

Okay I Behaved Myself Now Let Me Talk About My Good Good Science Wolf Jasper Please

HE’S BACK!  HE’S BACK!  BRING IN THE MUSIC!

...okay in retrospect he was there at the beginning of the chapter so it hasn’t been that long since we last seen him.  But I haven’t caught up reading for like six months so it felt really long to me. 

Jekyll’s been having it rough and his tears are entirely reasonable.  Here’s another part of my comment that I was VERY proud of because its almost readable-

TFW you have to care for a involuntary patient who discouraged all of your lodgers to no longer participate in the exhibition which you absolutely need to succeed in order to keep the place open and also you have a part of you that you use to hide "dark desires" locked away and currently attempting a jailbreak in your mind AND YET in what might feel like the worst week of your life you find one good werewolf country boi trying his best for you and the lodgers and he might need a lot of work on presentation and cleanliness but good lord you were able to find SOMETHING to feel happy about. 

Its funny because I predicted Jasper wasn't exactly with the Frankenstein IN crowd because he's not a crowd person in general and he's got creatures to feed and large chicken legs to eat, but I was surprised that Jasper is putting effort into the exhibition without Jekyll pushing him. H-he's so good! What a good and smart man he is. I'm so proud. So strong. So sweet.

It also shows that Jasper can push himself to work on projects without outside help, even while the others around him slack off without consequence (for now.)  Which in hindsight makes sense, considering he was by his lonesome collecting critters and data for like months before he met Jekyll.  Obviously he still needs a push when it comes to socializing, which is good for Jekyll because he really, really needs someone to depend on him that doesn’t hate his guts (You hear that, Frankenstein!?)

It’s like having a class where the professor doesn’t punish anyone for ignoring his lessons so most of the class considers it free time but there’s that one student who not only takes the lessons seriously but actually works on the assignments.  Like wow!  Someone still cares!  Amazing!  Miracles still exist folks.

Its interesting how Jekyll is so willing to give away his “trade secrets” when it comes to presenting himself as a gentlemen to Jasper.  He doesn’t sugarcoat his philosophy on how people only look for the surface and don’t care what’s underneath.  He did this a little during the second chapter when he was trying to encourage Jasper, and he’s continuing it now in more detail.  Also between the sparkly lecture on how to gussy up a presentation he like...talks about himself?  Like has a chat with Jasper that isn’t exactly following the code of gentlemen sparkle-speak where he either tries to flatter people, convince people of something or find ways to improve his image.  There’s a solid line between when he’s just having a conversation and gettin’ along with new werewolf pal Jasper, and when he going into sparkle mode to give Jasper advice.

Also on the author’s twitter she revealed that Jekyll never told anyone about the dance lessons until now, which wasn’t surprising.  Jekyll is Tired enough to reveal he has an accent and is Tired enough to let his guard down a little and talk about how he learned to be sophisticated through his REALLY GOOD FRIEND LANYON WHO’S TOTALLY NOT HIDING IN HIS OFFICE.  I feel like if you really want to hear his accent you need to knock him out and hope he mumbles in his sleep because I find it hard to imagine him being even more Tired than he is now.

I think it’ll be interesting to see which aspect of their relationship moves further forward - the aspect of a growing friendship between Jasper and Jekyll that could help both of them open up or the aspect of Jekyll continuing to pass down his philosophy to Jasper (which I’m positive will have absolutely no unintended consequences hahaha and teaching Jasper the ways of the sparklemen.

Okay that’s all I’ve got to say from the comments I made.  I was going to make a list of predictions but I think I’ll save that for another day.  For now I’ll leave you to imagine Frankenstein with a steampunk-style electric guitar in her bed screaming singing heavy metal music about mad science, with a Tired Jekyll behind her going, “Ma’am please...take your medicine...”

#the glass scientists #tgs #disqus #comic

[womenofcolor15]

Keke Palmer Explains Why She Prefers Dating Non-Celebs, Why She’ll Never Do ‘Relationship Stuff' Online & Why She Deleted Her Dating Profile

Keke Palmer gets candid about her dating life and what led her to deleting her online dating profile inside We’re sure some of you can relate. More inside…

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                  It’s more important than ever to surround yourself with light and positivity during this time of crisis, and that’s why we’re excited to introduce you to our spring digital cover star, #KekePalmer! ⁣ ⁣ With natural showmanship and a studied ability to harness the power of the Internet, Palmer is defining millennial stardom one meme at a time. See the full cover shoot and read her interview with @clovito at the link in our bio. ⁣ ⁣ Photographer: @adrienneraquel⁣ DP: @mr_dume⁣ Executive Editorial Director: @joyann_king⁣ Fashion Director: @kerrypieri⁣ Styled by: @cassieanderson212 ⁣ Hair: @ann_joneshair⁣ Makeup: @mimikamara⁣ Manicure: @ginaedwards_⁣ Production: @agpnyc⁣ Video Editor & Colorist: @ericaharperdillman ⁣ ⁣ Keke wears @marcjacobs and @futurajewelry

A post shared by Harper's BAZAAR (@harpersbazaarus) on Mar 26, 2020 at 5:02am PDT

  Keke Palmer wants you to mind her business when it comes to her love life. And – according to her – you won’t be snooping through her man’s (or woman’s) social media accounts.

A few years ago, the HUSTLERS star made headlines when she revealed she’s sexually fluid. Since then, there have been rumors about who she’s dating, including her Brotherly Love co-star Quincy Brown, a man named Elvin RD Jackson (below), and mostly recently a white model named Mae Seven.

We see you.

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                  “I miss our crew and Michael and Sara. However, it does free some space up in my head to play around with ideas that I haven’t had the chance to get around to. Now that I’m chained to the house, I have no other choice but to find fun ways to stay active and creative! If you’re looking to be entertained for a bit check out my insta, I’ve turned it into my own daytime talk show!” —@keke discusses how her life has changed over the last few weeks amidst the COVID-19 pandemic in our spring digital cover story, link in bio. ⁣ ⁣ ⁣ Photographer: @adrienneraquel⁣ DP: @mr_dume⁣ Executive Editorial Director: @joyann_king⁣ Fashion Director: @kerrypieri⁣ Styled by: @cassieanderson212 ⁣ Hair: @ann_joneshair⁣ Makeup: @mimikamara⁣ Manicure: @ginaedwards_⁣ Production: @agpnyc⁣ Video Editor & Colorist: @ericaharperdillman⁣ ⁣ @keke wears @carolinaherrera and @ondynfinejewlery

A post shared by Harper's BAZAAR (@harpersbazaarus) on Mar 26, 2020 at 5:24am PDT

  Is Keke single or taken these days? “Could be,” she tells Harper’s Bazaar in her cover story before laughing. If you’re looking for clues about her love life, you likely will not find them on her social media accounts.

“I don’t really do relationship stuff online, mainly because I don’t know how I would do it without looking, like, cheesy or something, you know?” she shares. “Yes, I’m a hundred percent authentic, but there is stuff that I do save for family and friends. I do have a Finsta. Sometimes I forget to post on there, ’cause I do post a lot of real moments and raw moments on my main Instagram page. But at the same time, when it comes to romance, [posting about it] doesn’t really come naturally to me, so I feel like, why force it?”

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                  “If I’m gonna have something to say, or if I’m gonna be someone that’s looked at, I wanna try my best to uplift other people like me. Whether they be Black, whether they be women, whether they be millennials, whether they be the underdog, whatever. If I can be that voice, why not?” —@keke opens up about knowing the power of her voice in our spring digital cover story, link in bio. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Photographer: @adrienneraquel⁣⁣ Executive Editorial Director: @joyann_king⁣⁣ Fashion Director: @kerrypieri⁣⁣ Styled by: @cassieanderson212 ⁣⁣ Hair: @ann_joneshair⁣⁣ Makeup: @mimikamara⁣⁣ Manicure: @ginaedwards_⁣⁣ Production: @agpnyc⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ @keke wears @gucci and @bulgari

A post shared by Harper's BAZAAR (@harpersbazaarus) on Mar 26, 2020 at 6:10am PDT

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                  “I honestly give credit to Twitter. It was like a perfect little sound bite that people could add to a million different stories. That’s why I say our generation inspires me so much. The voice. The creativity. I mean, it’s masterful. They gave it life.” —@keke opens up about the viral “Sorry to this man” meme that took over the Internet last year at the link in our bio. ⁣ ⁣ Photographer: @adrienneraquel⁣ Executive Editorial Director: @joyann_king⁣ Fashion Director: @kerrypieri⁣ Styled by: @cassieanderson212 ⁣ Hair: @ann_joneshair⁣ Makeup: @mimikamara⁣ Manicure: @ginaedwards_⁣ Production: @agpnyc⁣ ⁣ Keke wears @maisonvalentino, @cartier, and @jimmychoo

A post shared by Harper's BAZAAR (@harpersbazaarus) on Mar 27, 2020 at 8:53am PDT

  The “Strahan, Sara and Keke” co-host – who’s gearing up to host a revival of "Singled Out" on the mobile streaming platform Quibi - tells the publication she prefers dating people who aren’t in the same line of work as herself.

“I’ve always had the same philosophy when it comes to dating,” the actress says. “Not that I wouldn’t give someone a try. But trying to keep my private life outside of my work life, to me, it’s easiest when you don’t date someone with the same career.”

We could see that. Being a celebrity herself, the Olay Body ambassador struggles with having thoughts in the back of her head about whether the person she's into has ulterior motives.

“I think a lot about, like, Does this person really like me for me?” she says. “And it’s not just romantic relationships. It’s friends too. That wavering, that’s the most traumatic thing about fame. And that can really tear at your self-esteem if you let it. ’Cause the reality is you really might be a great person, you really might be that fun to be around, you might be that lovable, but because you’re always having to protect yourself from what people may want from you, you can’t even embrace the fact that maybe it’s all true.”

To get away from it all, she tried her hand at online dating, creating an account on Raya. However, she didn't find any luck there. She said her first date felt more like a networking event, so she scrapped that idea. At least, for now.

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                      A post shared by Harper's BAZAAR (@harpersbazaarus) on Mar 26, 2020 at 7:32am PDT

  Either way, Keke will is going rock to the beat of her own drum.

“I feel like I’m a very open person in general, so people wouldn’t even know what I’m being private about. I’m open especially when I feel like it can be useful for someone else,” she says. “But I’m truly just the kind of person who follows what feels natural.”

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                  cover is now available with @harpersbazaarus #millennialdiva

A post shared by BIG BOSS (@keke) on Mar 26, 2020 at 5:56am PDT

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                  Swipe up on the link in my story to check out the full article. Shooting this was such a pleasure! All @chanelofficial everything. Get. In. To. It. LOVE!

A post shared by BIG BOSS (@keke) on Mar 26, 2020 at 5:55am PDT

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                      A post shared by BIG BOSS (@keke) on Mar 26, 2020 at 5:56am PDT

    You can read her full cover story here.

  Photo: Parisa Michelle/Shutterstock.com

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/03/30/keke-palmer-explains-why-she-prefers-dating-non-celebrities-why-she%E2%80%99ll-never-do-%E2%80%98relation

[disconnected-from-reality]

Fanfic Rec: 00Q

I was sorting the list of fics that I have read and love, and it seems that I have enough to make a list for these two idiots! It wasn’t that long ago when I started reading for this fandom. I wasn’t a big fan of Bond movies, I’ve watched a few movies here and there, but when I read my first 00Q fic my mind said, “It works. They work. How could you not notice it, idiot.” And the rest is history! 

Anyway, as much as I love to tell what was my experience in finding this amazing pair, here is my list! Some of them will be a crossover with another fandom, but it doesn’t make the fics worse. 

Remember Me by Jen (ConsultingWriters) [Words: 5,667 | Teens and Up Audiences] Bond has lost his memory. Q has lost his love. "What have I forgotten?” Bond asked; Q watched him, trying to find the James he knew. “Nothing that you won’t work out on your own, if it’s really important,” Q said carefully, before returning every fraction of his attention to the computer in front of him.

Denominations by WriteThroughTheNight [Words: 29,689 | Teens and Up Audiences] "Q confirms that he's an Empath three months before his first day of primary school, and the deciding of Denominations that comes with it." OR Q is smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and an Empath to boot.

Forsaken by Chestnut_NOLA [Words: 50,080 | Explicit] Wounded and betrayed, 007 is found by a mysterious young man in the woods. Who is Q? Can James trust the man enough to heal and help him find the traitors within MI6?

Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by feelslikefire [Words: 66,236 | Explicit] What followed was the most bizarre courtship Q had ever—well, heard of, certainly. He didn’t have much to compare it to, but Moneypenny confirmed that normal people didn’t flirt like this. Not that he was normal. Not that any of them were. Or: Q has a past, a cat, and a dangerous new boyfriend. Two of these things keep him up nights, the other pees in a box.

the sheer lack of professionalism by scioscribe [Words: 1,945 | General Audiences] Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, there are just bloody wheels within wheels to it, aren’t there, this kidnapping business? Really, you should give it up. You’re not cut out for it. Think about it, your first time out, and you pinch a national intelligence treasure and ask his MI6 boyfriend for ransom. It isn’t very promising, is it?”

Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle by KatsatheGraceling [Words: 22,751 | Mature] Prompt: Could you do one where Q and James go to meet Sherlock and John for some reason, and then when they get back to Q branch James says something about how Q doesn't need to be so worried about Sherlock safety since he happens to be living with an assassin (John) who seems to be looking out for him. And Q is all like WHAT!!!! — Esperanza Or, the one where John is a BAMF assassin. With an affinity for cuddly warm jumpers.

Before it Breaks by KatsatheGraceling [Words: 13,453 | Mature] Prompt: I have a prompt for you: Bond (Ace/GrAce/Straight) is given the mission to seduce a very MALE college student (Q) who has been making trouble for MI6 and dead set against joining. Downtime, top secret, paper only mission. A few years later, Q finds out that their relationship was/is (just) a mission... happy or sad ending up to you. Excerpt: Everything revolved around the boy in the kitchen; every thought, every decision. Everything Bond said or did had to be carefully filtered and thought through; a game of chess that he never wanted to play in the first place. His entire routine had been shifted, and he hated it. 

If an Agent Asks for a Favour... by KatsatheGraceling [Words: 10,444 | Teens and Up Audiences] Prompt: Mycroft's minions alert him that John is stealthily entering MI6. John and James covered each other's asses once and have been friends ever since. Mycroft calls upon his brother Q to find out what they're up to. Bondlock crossover. - Sunny Or in which John is a BAMF and Mycroft likes to snoop (more than usual). Established Johnlock and eventual 00Q.

In Name Only by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria [Words: 84,449 | Explicit] Beyond the world of BDSM clubs and fetish communities lies the Marketplace — a secret society of consensual slavery and service. During an MI6 investigation into black market sales of Ministry of Defence assets, James Bond discovers what he believes to be a human trafficking ring called the Marketplace. He infiltrates the organisation as a buyer, but remains focused on his goal: follow the money trail. On a private Marketplace cruise, one slave for auction catches Bond by surprise. Q is brilliant, ethereally beautiful, and vulnerable. Bond is instantly drawn to him, and he resolves to take down the Marketplace and rescue Q. What Bond doesn’t realise, though, is that Q is right where he wants to be.

The Courtship of Mr. Bond by marlowe_tops [Words: 29,669 | Explicit] In which Bond is a retired naval commander with too much house, Q is a mechanical engineer with too many sisters, and they have lengthy conversations about decorum, bonnet-ribbons and philosophy in Regency England.    ~ “I just thought you might go pay a visit," his mother suggested. “Me?” Q asked, aghast. “Pay a visit?” “He must be starved for proper gentleman company, now that he’s settled in so far from London--” “I am far from proper gentleman company.” “--and perhaps if you befriended him he could introduce you to some nice heiresses.” “Heiresses?” Q repeated, baffled and horrified. “What in the world would I do with heiresses?”

Blue-Eyed Monster by Only_1_Truth [Words: 118,363 | Mature] Yes, this version of 007 was a terrifyingly smart agent, and M wondered long and often whether it had been a good idea to promote him to the position. Usually, the title was the dangerous part - being 007 meant deadliness - but this time, M feared that a certain man with ice-blue eyes and scruffy blonde hair had dragged in more danger to the title than it had previously possessed Enter MI6's new Quartermaster: an unassuming, bespectacled genius with no mind for subterfuge but plenty of genius behind a dry smile. Curious 00-agents and young boffins don't always mix in predictable ways...

And there it is! I still have more, but let me save that for the part two, yes? Enjoy!

#fic rec #00Q #James Bond #Q(James Bond) #part one #fanfic rec

[powadeli]

406 PRESENTING THE ARTIST.

hi every one,my name is David chijioke Ibekwe  A.K.A

 SAFARI 24 years old.

This name comes from a personal characteristic of me approaching the music and life, been always a natural expression and a something coming from any feeling or emotive state of mind i’ve been through,basically something coming from my love and connection with Africa as my back ground is Nigerian,and the love for travelling the world,as i was burn in Italy and now living in England. But this name is covering other aspects of me, musically talking is about my versatility on different styles,when i was young i had music influences of different genres,from deep house music to reggae roots and various,and i mean that is a trip all over those music characteristics,at the age of 16 i was dj and were playing house and tekno music,but at the same time i was mad for the  hold school hip hop and african caribbean music,the name Safari is meaning even my ability on singing in different styles  and uniq melodies and with this i mean for example the variety of animals  you can see in the Savannah. and regarding my life story i find my self with this name cause in the savannah is dangerous and plenty of predators and prey,and this how the world look like,my life back in the days been problematic and difficult,and i try to take the reality of that wild in my past experience,cause i’ve seen my self as a prey then realised that i cud be the predator. 

I am a song writer an singer originally from Nigeria but burn and rase up in Italy in a city named Perugia placed in a region of the central part of Italy called Umbria.Music is life and my philosophy about it,my style of music is mostly about african/caribbean rap hip hop origins but i’ve experimented different kinds of music on my own artist development.

I felt in love with the songwriting when i was 18,i remember my first songs and i remember the heat i had everyday to go home after school to write songs and express my feelings,my parents they weren't home that much,if that day i was happy angry or sad it was the solution to vent me,music always been an escape,writing been the remedy of an everyday mater, was basically writing everyday,sometimes i was writing even in class and the teachers were complaining continually,i wasn’t the example of the best schoolboyfor my very energetic character,but that was the signal for me to start studying something different.All started as a game was challenging my class mates with the freestyle,i remember that at that time was a crap,we were joking about avery thing.when i started writing was in english cause i preferred,was seeing my musicality more in english than in Italian language.the first song i’ve wrote was on the beat of Dr.dree and snoop dog(still dree) i was madly loving that beat and i was madly loving hold school rap, basically was what i was mostly listening to,snoop dog,2pac,notorious big,fugees and many more but because my family really likes music so much i was influenced by many different artists,big names like bob marley,lucky dube,fela kuti michael jackson,growing up my education been made about african american and jamaican music.i remember when i was in fifth grade,we use to create shows for our parents and in many occasions i been playing percussions,to be honest my innate rhythm that time surprise everyone,my age and my talent surprised the teachers,even for the exams of music i performed playing percussions.Me and my older brother we use to take the jambes dad was selling and we use to play around all time in our youngest years,and we been playing it with a very conscientious rhythm.

At 18 when i started embracing the music in a different way i was in love with the rap and bashment world,and i wanted to sing and perform good as they was doing and my dream was to sing and dance in front of big crowds of people screaming dancing and singing along my music.i was fascinated by the connection these artists had with the audience,i always been someone loves to connect and communicate with people,and music revels as my best way to do it.

i got clear reminds about my young kid,use to play football for years,and i was very good at it, at that time thought was all my life,it was the thing was kipping me alive and out from problems.My father was a musician around his 20ʹs he was playing base for a music band,and i remember him playing sometimes on Sundays or playing vinyls of high life Nigerian music,he been playing various, of different countries also,i remember lucky dube tapes planty,remember congolese music,cofi olamide or on the american pop soul music of sade,me and my older brother were living with my dad,and on the weekends my other older brother was coming to pic us up from dad home that were in (assisi) and he was taking us to mum home in (perugia).my holder brother is a music enthusiast tho,and he was dj when i was younger,and at that time his car speakers where totally modified to be loud.when he was coming out the street we knew it for the loud music he was playing,he was listening mostly dancehall/soca caribbean music and afrobeats,my mother was owner of an african restaurant/pub/club,when me an my brother was visiting on the weekends, we was always there at the restaurant an always between people and music. in my city Perugia and in the cities surrounding it we have a big community of people listening house,deep house soulful house & techno music. I been playing football from the 5 years old till my 19.sins i was younger i always been going school and

and football with my earphones,always had music on me,was listening before any football competition,buss schooling the street.I never thought before my 17 years old that i had this natural passion for music and may was more than a listening thing.ive started writing songs at 18, started with reggae music and rap,day after day my belief about the music world was stronger,when was on secondary school been studying at industrial technical institute,but never felt in love with it till diploma.i’ve started writing songs more or less everyday for this years i where living in Italy i’ve started working with some friends,we started recording and making projects after two years of training and work,i came out with a mix tape,and i had an amazing reaction from people,they was liked it, i was surprised and happy cause never thought that the music i been listening for all my life where what was making me feel good,was surprised someone cud ever like it,ive recorded many songs randomly in that years remember even the raw quality of all and the getting better time over time i been spending in to music,after the mix tape i’ve done an album of 11 tracks but i never released it,I'm planing to release it this months forward.

it.i’ve always been attracted from Afrobeats/caribbean music but my roots coming from old school rap,soul r&b and funky jazz,i got many mentors,and i think my mains that gave life to the music im doing today are singers like stevie wonder,fela kuti,bob marley ,marvin gaye,whitney houston,de la soul,fuggies,soul to soul,

2pac ,B.I.G,Erika badu, method man and many more,music in this years teached me that the listening is one of the best ways to learn,I had influeces by many different types of

music,that’s why today i can not say that i’ve a one mentor.furthermore i can not really give an identity to my style,i’ve started with reggae/dancehall music been doing some rap aswell on many songs,and the album that i’ve never relise was a well done mix of types of

music,from reggae to hip hop fanky soulfull house and dancehall, had other experiences with music,im temperamentally a charismatic person and,that aspect of me helped me on all the live performances i’ve done till today..My first performance been to a event in a club called LIDO,was a freestyle and singing competition,i’ve won the singing one,I never been in many freestyle competitions cause i never been singing in italian apart from a couple songs,was been speaking italian for most of my life so for me been difficult to sing or rap freestyling in english at that time.i was writing more than freestyling was spending most of my day inside my room doing it.for a period i been working every day,after school with my friends,ive performed many times around my city,know im in London from more or less 3 years and im working full time in a bar,i got many things to learn about music many times i feel like im waisting my time doing something different than music,i would love to work full time in the music business and have more time for focus in what i really love and i enjoy to do,to improve it with all my might and kip and make it professional..And i know that the occasions are not many but if it were given to me i’ll do my best to handle it.

Being a Nigerian originally but born in Italy as many others i got my own particular identity,i can not say that i am fully Nigerian as i can not say i am fully Italian,my identity is not clare but is unique,i got a big part of Nigerian culture in me but a big Italian to. I can relate my own identity to someone representing my generation and the change the world going through,no language assigned to colour,milting pot, love and unity.I can relate my artist identity to music talking to many people in different languages,i can relate my identity as the voice of people that like me coming from different parts of the heart living in Italy and all around the world. I want my image to be a prove of self made man,i want my image to be simple cause i am simple and i come from a humble family,I want to give power to people coming from districts like mine,big cities around the world,people from villages in Africa and in all the world,i want to encourage people and make them understand that nothing is impossible as is something I’m fighting for,i really feel part of the people and ordinary people is what i want to represent. my first experiences with music have begun at the age of 18, with the help of a friend that was owing a little studio in his house,he’s holder than me of two years and he was already in the music for a bit longer than me, i started to record songs on rap and reggae character i had the first contact with the recording in a studio well equipped,i started to have a clear image of what i was doing little by little,before publishing the first songs i been writing and recording random songs for months,i been performing straight way,when something was ready we was looking for a performance to show what we made,so i was improving even my confidence to performance at the first real concrete contact with the performing artist world,and i been making my confidence trying to improve and give more value on the work we been doing,especially that year we worked a lot,we been performing as well on events.we relies my first ,mix tape.when we relies the mixtape i had a good feedback from the people,and even if my music was raw still, my singing gave me a reason to put it on work harder. i started to perform my mixtape around my city i been performing in different situations.in some way i feel very prepared for live performances,i think is one of my strongest aspects,after the mixtape we start working on an album called (I’m on the run).my first mixtape was more reflected to artist and mentors i was in to, like the public enemies snoop dog, sizzla,elephant man tony matterhorn   

The project we running with urban development is a research project about analysing the artist and developing how to improve personal creativity,live performances, management and promotion of the product by social networks ,how to sell the product,process of the music production,how to work with other musicians,how to solve problems with intellectual thinking,how to make of weaknesses strengths,how to organise and manage projects to have a clear communication with the public,how to provide good material to the music industry using the action technique of questioning(Needs,aims,input,action,output,outcome).

with urban development in the foreground we been presenting ourselves artist knowledge and we were asked to chose images we liked, to motivate the choice and to express the essence of does, we were asked to tell about our background and previous music experiences and influences,we been discussing about whats behind an artist,whats the purpose and all of this here an artist is surrounded, which is very important cause many times artists are not really reflecting on whats behind them own music and we don’t give much attention to what we trying to achieve instead having a clear idea analyzing step by step.We basically did an in-depth research about our selves and how to give more value to our actions.

my intentions with the music are ambitious but not in a bad way,for me is not just a business or a clue for fame,anyone loves success but for me music is a life style,is something that not many people in this world fully understand,for some is just lots of words notes and sounds blended together giving instant pleasure, for others is just music without no reason behind it,for us musician music is expression of human beings lives,music is an escape from difficulties of everyday, is a sound of joy for who’s sad is dedication of love for who’s loving and power for who’s weak.the melodies of music touching our soul and the power of the words enlighten our minds,As we seen in the story of it music can be a weapon.

people told me’’i don’t understand people wanted to be famous,and don’t even like the ideas they share’‘i agreed with them about the ideas that some of them share but i’ve answered,fame is a consequence of an action,not all the people that become famous decide to get it,we got examples of people came from nothing that achieve dreams with passion hard work and devotion without any material issue between them intentions.

20′s he was playing base for a music band,and i remember him playing sometimes on Sundays or playing vinyls of high life Nigerian music,he been playing various, of different countries also,i remember lucky dube tapes planty,remember congolese music,cofi olamide or on the american pop soul music of sade,me and my older brother were living with my dad,and on the weekends my other older brother was coming to pic us up from dad home that were in (assisi) and he was taking us to mum home in (perugia).my holder brother is a music enthusiast tho,and he was dj when i was younger,and at that time his car speakers where totally modified to be loud.when he was coming out the street we knew it for the loud music he was playing,he was listening mostly dancehall/soca caribbean music and afrobeats,my mother was owner of an african restaurant/pub/club,when me an my brother was visiting on the weekends, we was always there at the restaurant an always between people and music.i been playing football from the 5 years old till my 19.sins i was younger i always been going school and

football with my earphones,always had music on me,was listening before any football competition,buss schooling the street.I never thought before my 17 years old that i had this natural passion for music and may was more than a listening thing.ive started writing songs at 18, started with reggae music and rap,day after day my belief about the music world was stronger,when was on secondary school been studying at industrial technical institute,but never felt in love with it till diploma.i’ve started writing songs more or less everyday for this years i where living in Italy i’ve started working with some friends,we started recording and making projects after two years of training and work,i came out with a mix tape,and i had an amazing reaction from people,they was liked it, i was surprised and happy cause never thought that the music i been listening for all my life where what was making me feel good,was surprised someone cud ever like it,ive recorded many songs randomly in that years remember even the raw quality of all and the getting better time over time i been spending in to music,after the mix tape i’ve done an album of 11 tracks but i never released it.but never supposed,i’ve always been attracted from Afrobeats/caribbean music but my roots coming from old school rap,soul r&b and funky jazz,i got many mentors,and i think my mains that gave life to the music im doing today are singers like stevie wonder,fela kuti,bob marley ,marvin gaye,whitney houston,de la soul,fuggies,soul to soul,2pac ,B.I.G,Erika badu, method man and many more,music in this years teached me that the listening is one of the best ways to learn,I had influeces by many different types of music,that’s why today i can not say that i’ve a one mentor.furthermore i can not really give an identity to my style,i’ve started with reggae/dancehall music been doing some rap aswell on many songs,and the album that i’ve never relise was a well done mix of types of music,from reggae to hip hop fanky soulfull house and dancehall, had other experiences with music,im temperamentally a charismatic person and,that aspect of me helped me on all the live performances i’ve done till today..My first performance been to a event in a

club called LIDO,was a freestyle and singing competition,i’ve won the singing one,I never been in many freestyle competitions cause i never been singing in italian apart from a couple songs,was been speaking italian for most of my life so for me been difficult to sing or rap freestyling in english at that time.i was writing more than freestyling was spending most of my day inside my room doing it.for a period i been working every day,after school with my friends,ive performed many times around my city,know im in London from more or less 3 years and im working full time in a bar,i got many things to learn about music many times i feel like im waisting my time doing something different than music,i would love to work full time in the music business and have more time for focus in what i really love and i enjoy to do,to improve it with all my might and kip and make it professional..And i know that the occasions are not many but if it were given to me i’ll do my best to handle it.

OUTLINE RESEARCH METHOD:

in this past three months my activity in the social networks been fundamental and plenty of positive feedback from friends and potential fan base in London and in Italy.i like my connection to people following me to be friendly and to represent them life and mine to,i like to be part of them and to give the best feeling ever listening to my music,i really want them to live the dream i am living.

i think that people relate my brand & image to an expression of an everyday life.I'm trying to put in my music  life experiences of all kind,that can be love, adventures,funny moments, party, right moments to dance and laugh social situation and more.

i like how people response to my music,and i really want and appreciate all feedbacks good or bad opinions that people gives me,cause i take them as a teaching and a good reason to do better and improve my weaknesses.must of the times people giving a positive response to my music,they like the vibes an melodies I'm put in in to it, and from performances i can see people bouncing and dancing along my music.i see them responding more to my afrobeats and dancehall music cause is giving them the chance to express them musicality by dancing on a rhythmic sound.I would like people to enjoy my music dancing and feeling part of it, and i think i got skills and abilities to make it happen,and i want people to get what I'm trying to do,i wait people to get the fun side of my music and the life experiences of every day i want them to be part of it.

TASK 2. Design and complete a second  action plan covering the next 6 months, consider everything you learnt from your last action plan.

i am actually publishing my mixtape that contains 7 tracks,my plans for this months are to perform around London and to participate to events and music contests between England and Italy,for the month of august and September  i am working on video shoots/short films as introduction to my music, and visual elements for my own music brand,to spread my idea on my own town and abroad.my brand is named (BLACK ITALIANO INTERNATIONAL MUSIC)and what I'm trying to do is to gave to the people something different.with different i mean to not give a singular language to the international music,i want to make of european black music more international than it is.i got an E.P and singles ready to go for the months of September and October,then for the 3 months of November December and January I'm ready  to work on a brand new album and publish the one that i never publish. then i am ready to start my project,(collaborations with artists of different parts of the world,as i am a black Italian originally from Nigeria and I'm talking 3 different languages i got lots of musicians friends coming from different parts of the world,(Italy,Spain,France,Nigeria,brazil, Portugal,and lots more)obviously I'm going to concentrate on the closest ones to me at the beginning but I'm excited and hungry to get my project well done.

TASK 3. Summarise how the course has changed your thinking or approach and the effect this has had on your artist brand and you personally.

This course literally opened my mind and helped me to understand my own music and the direction i wanted to take,with grate explanations and intellectual thinking,helped me to subdivide and analyse my actions with a clear distinction between music product outcome income  marrket own personality social networking and performance URBAN DEVELOPMENT  enforce the  frame of  the artist i am today.

[gatoseliana]

Spray | Eliana & Ezekiel

TAGGING: @ezekielpwilde & @gatoseliana

TIME: Monday afternoon

PLACE: Basketball side building & Philosophy class

NOTES; Ezekiel follows Eliana after class and finds she’s going to tag the wall and convinces her not to ending up in them chatting and becoming friends. 

Ezekiel Wilde sat near the front of the auditorium and took out his notebook. He didn't bring anything else to class other than the notebook dedicated to the subject and two pens, a black one for titles and a blue one for the actual class notes. He generally wrote down all that the professor said and then went over it before he got into bed in the evening. He smiled at a girl he seemed to recognize from The Beat, named Eliana. He had noticed her in class before, he'd even asked her for a pen once when his had run out but he really didn't know the girl.

Eliana 's by far hated class was Philosophy. The subject was interesting enough but she never liked the idea of lectures and sitting for hours listening to an old guy talk while she was supposed to be 'learning' something. She wasn't the most organized person and kinda fell short of model student which is why it wasn't a surprise to anyone in the classroom including the professor that she arrived late. "Sorry" She mouthed as she found the only seat up front next to some kid she recognized online vaguely. He smiled at her and she politely grinned back. She took out her notebook from her backpack, which was a mess and had various things that weren't school related like some CDs, gym clothes, tangled up headphones and even some spray paint she was gonna use later that day after class.

Ezekiel Wilde was playing around with his pen as he focused on the intro the professor was giving. He accidentally let it fly from between his fingers and it landed on the floor between his and Eliana's chair. "Oh, shoot." He whispered and leaned over slightly to take his pen. He glanced at Elaina's hands that were rummaging in her backpack and noticed a can of spray paint. He stopped himself from raising his eyebrows at that and sat back, politely smiling at the other student. It really wasn't any of his business... but spray painting on school grounds could mean that she'd get serious consequences... but maybe she wasn't going to use it on any walls. He tried to follow the class but his curiosity was peeked. He really wanted to know what she was going to do with those cans.

Eliana noticed Ezekiel look at her funny and she frowned. "What?" She asked as she zipped up her backpack. She adjusted in her seat, thinking how weird this guy was. The whole class period she half took notes, have texted on her phone, not paying much attention as she should have. As the class ended she swung her backpack onto one arm and headed out. Eliana liked to push the boundaries at how much she could get away with without getting caught. Tagging the side wall of the basketball court was one of those things. After class she headed towards there, knowing not many people would be around the court since they didn't have practice going on today.

Ezekiel Wilde shrugged. "Nothing." Is all he said and then put this spray can issue to thee side. He took full notes, engaged in class (which people found really annoying about him but he didn't really care) and resented his untidy handwriting multiple times. He really didn't like how he put so much effort in his notes and they still looked like he didn't care at all. He thought he should have become a doctor, he had the handwriting. When the class ended he noticed how quickly Eliana ran out. He put his stuff away and followed her from a distance. Where was she going? He asked himself as he followed her through the masses.

Eliana As Eliana made her way to the building she sat down her backpack and lit up a cigarette before taking out the spray can. She wanted to do something profound, not some stupid gang tag like you see on the side of the highway. She thought about doing something basketball related because maybe they wouldn't paint over it that way but wanted to do something ironic like 'art is not a crime' type of quote. As she puffed on ehr cigarette she shook the can of spray paint before popping off the cap of it.

Ezekiel Wilde felt a bit creepy, hiding while he looked at a girl just sitting down and smoking but then he saw her grab the can of paint and pop the cap off. She could get in so much trouble if she did this and if he didn't speak up, wouldn't that also mean he was sort of an accomplice? He didn't know for sure but he did know he had to do something. He stepped out from behind the wall of the school building and jogged over to her. "Hey, I don't think you want to do that." He told her, hoping she wouldn't get mad at him for interrupting.

Eliana turned when she saw someone running towards her. She put out her cigarette with her shoe and frowned at him. The weirdo from class? What kinda of trip was this guy on, honestly? "Oh? And why's that?" She asked as she put her arm down but kept the can in hand. Eliana didn't like taking orders, especially from nerds like Ezekiel that didn't even know her. "What's it to you anyways?"

Ezekiel Wilde sat down next to her and shrugged. "I don't want you to get in trouble and honestly, I don't want to get in trouble..." He told her. "And by being here and knowing you're spray painting around the school, I could be considered an accomplice if I don't tell the staff at the school." He said and rubbed his neck. "I don't want to tell anyone about this, but I also don't want to get kicked out of school." He explained. "And I don't think you do either." He added.

Eliana laughed. "An accomplice. Yeah... I mean we could both go to jail. But if you dont say anything and I'm not gonna say anything..." She looked around and shook up the can again and then paused. "Wait...did you follow me here from class? What a stalker." She said confronting him. "Because...you say the paint in my bag." She walked towards him quickly. "You're a little snoop!" She said as she crossed her arms.

Ezekiel Wilde held up his hands and stood up. "Hey, I didn't snoop. You just didn't hide those cans very well." He explained himself. He knew he'd have to make her talk about something else other than how he was a snoop and getting mad at him. "Uhm, why do you do it? The spray painting? Have you been doing it long?" He wondered.

Eliana tossed her can back to her backpack knowing she wasn't gonna be able to do anything til she got rid of this guy. "You don't even know what I was gonna put up there. Its art. And I don't think it should get anyone in trouble honestly. Since high school though I guess to answer your question." She shrugged. "Why you so interested in my spray painting history?" She asked as she leaned against the wall. After a pause she looked him up and down. "What's your deal anyways? I've seen you on The Beat."

Ezekiel Wilde shrugged. "I don't know what you mean by 'my deal'. I just wanted to find out what you were going to do, if you were going to get yourself in trouble or not. And you were." He told her with a smirk. "I'm just happy I was right and that you're not spraying yet because even if you don't think you should get in trouble, there are a lot of people who don't agree." He told her. "They have handcuffs." He added for good measure.

Eliana "Not really any of your business anyways though..I mean you followed me here I didn't make you do anything." She squinted her eyes at him. "What so you always follow all the rules? Thats so boring. Wouldn't be the first time I got handcuffed." She smirked at him. "I meant what's your deal like who are you?" She asked.

Ezekiel Wilde leaned back a bit."I am Ezekiel Wilde and I'm a theology student. I do follow all the rules, unless I'm not aware of them. Who are you?" He asked, just as bluntly as she did. He didn't know why she was so pissed at him, though. He really was only to help, but maybe the girl didn't realize that.

Eliana "Theology. That's super interesting." She nodded. Eliana sat down on the ground and pulled her backpack towards her getting out a soda can. "So you're like really into religion or something, that makes since that you want to follow the rules then." She smiled at him. He was interesting and she wasn't sure why she kept sitting there talking to him. "You want a soda?" She asked. "I have like a 6 pack of pepsi in here" Eliana laughed.

Ezekiel Wilde smiled. She seemed to be warming up to him a bit. That was good. "Yeah, sure. Thank you." He said and took the can of soda from Eliana's hand. He thanked the Lord for his drink and then opened it and took a sip. "I wouldn't say that it is my religion that makes me want to follow the rules, it's just that when rules are just and with reason, I don't mind them. There are a few rules I would like to change, but they're all with a goal that is supported by scripture." He explained. "I am studying theology because I hope to one day become ordained." He explained. "It isn't something a lot of people want to do anymore, but it suits me." He added.

Eliana watched him pray before his soda and she smiled to herself. It was strange but she liked how different he was. "Okay well why do you think its against the rules to tag the wall? You think its just that I can't express myself when I want to?" She asked. "Its art. You think it's just that people get in trouble for graffiti but not for far worse crimes?" She asked. Eliana wasn't trying to be rude although it could be seen as that. She was just asking as an example. "Yeah you don't find many...Christian right?"

Ezekiel Wilde smiled softly at her. "You could express yourself by at least using... chalk? Or pen and paper? Or draw on your own wall in your room. This isn't your property and maybe not everyone likes to see your art." He explained. "Now, do I think you deserve a prison sentence for it, no, but I also don't agree with just anyone spray painting anything they want. I was annoyed when my little nephew wrote on my door and wall, so... I'd imagine people feel the same way about your spray painting." He told her and then nodded. "I am a Christian. An Anglican, actually. My parents were Catholic and I still carry a lot of those Catholic values which Anglicans have sort of put to the side... which makes me a bit of the odd one out but I'm used to that." He admitted.

Eliana opened her mouth to speak but she knew he had a point. "Well...fuck you got me. You should see me room though its very graffiti friendly." She smiled. "Oh, I don't think I know much about anglican...what's the difference?" She asked curiously. Eliana was always interested in different religions. She grew up Jewish but she wasn't really religious herself. She knew a few people growing up that were Jews for Jesus and she thought that was cool. It was the one thing that she didn't judge people too much on despite the world judging so much.

Ezekiel Wilde squirmed a bit. He was uncomfortable around crude language but he knew that he couldn't restrict other's speech. "Well, the difference isn't stunning. Both churches believe in the Holy trinity, for example and have a lot of the same traditions. I think the big differences are that the Anglican church permits divorce while the Catholic church doesn't and the Anglicans don't have a Pope, as we try to disperse power among multiple bishops. We also have female bishops and priests. In many Catholic churches I cannot take communion because I am Anglican. The reverse isn't so, Anglicans do allow Catholics to take communion in their churches." He explained. "I am a bit less pro divorce as some of my Anglican brothers and sisters. I think the only reason to get out of a marriage is abuse, everything else is possible to be worked out, in my opinion. This is just one example of how I am a little different within my own church." He said. "Are you at all religious?" He wondered.

Eliana "Alright. Wait why can't you take communion?" She asked curiously. "I get that. I mean marriage isn't super important to me but I agree, if you're gonna make a commitment to someone you should stick to it..maybe because my dad left when I was young I've been bitter about that. My mom said with him way longer than she should have..." Eliana was quiet for a moment and then perked up. "Anyways um...sorry that was too much information. I don't even know you. I'm Eliana Puckerman by the way." She said finally introducing herself.

Ezekiel Wilde sighed. "It's because Anglicans stepped away from the Catholic church and they don't allow members of other Churches to take communion. In an Anglican church anyone who's baptized can take communion." He told her. He listened to her story and then smiled softly as she obviously felt embarrassed. She showed some vulnerability for the first time it seemed. "Eliana Puckerman. I'll remember that." He said. "And yeah, it could stem from that but really, it just makes sense, doesn't it?" He questioned.

Eliana "Oh okay." She shrugged. "Yeah I guess so." Eliana didn't like talking about her father that much. She didn't remember much, just that her mom cried a lot. Ezekiel seemed like the guy that really had a great childhood. "And to answer your previous question, I'm Jewish. Not super into it. I like exploring my options you know. Learning about new religions is pretty fascinating."

Ezekiel Wilde nodded. "You should explore your options. There are multiple ways to find salvation or fulfillment." he told her. "For me it's Christianity, for others it's Islam, Judaism..." He told her. "But are you culturally Jewish? I mean, you might not believe but you can still follow tradition. Do you?" He asked her. He was interested in people's religious and spiritual life as well.

Eliana nodded. "My family does. I did up until I was like high school. I had my bat mitzvah and then kinda just decided it wasn't really for me. My ma's into it though. Still exploring it all you know" She pushed some hair behind her ear. "I don't think I've ever had a conversation like this after someone stopped be from vandalizing." She laughed.

Ezekiel Wilde chuckled. "Well, I've never had this conversation after stopping someone from vandalizing either." He told her. "If you ever feel like exploring Christianity, I have no problem explaining it to you or taking you along to church. It's not as boring as they say. Only if you're interested though." He suggested

Eliana thought about it for a moment. "Maybe" She stood up and put her backpack back on. "We'll see." She smiled. "I'll see you around though yeah? I mean...you take way better notes is Philosophy than I do" She joked, but honestly it was true.

Ezekiel Wilde grinned. "That I do." He said and then shook his head. "I don't, everyone has their own way of making notes but yes, I'll see you around... and use that paint on a wall that is yours or destined for art, alright?" He asked.

Eliana rolled her eyes. "yeah yeah yeah" She smirked and waved goodbye. She didn't know what it was about Ezekiel but Eliana knew that they would be good friends. He was the complete opposite of her but he was interesting. She walked off towards her dorm room.

#para #para: spray #para: ezekiel

[lilliefitzwater-blog]

The Debate From Profound VERSUS Pretentious.

Everybody must view the world as well as trip, is what all the motivational, this-will-change-your-life posts mention. To propose an individual is actually pompous is to state they are actually behaving in techniques they're certainly not obtained through take in or financial standing. When you have almost any questions with regards to where by in addition to tips on how to employ mountains of mourne map - http://legalviver11.info/titan-gel/ -, you are able to email us on our own web site. Thus, pretentiousness has become a best bogeyman and also a peculiarly pernicious put-down. Pretentious Game 1 as well as 2 pay attention to Blue as he pines for Magenta, that ignores his feelings for her and also winds up marrying Gray, and also attempts to proceed through meeting with Peach. Since of the extreme crazed state of minds and also the truth that some people shed contact with truth, bipolar I is taken into consideration the much more intense problem. Coming from there, people may either read them or in fact utilize all of them in their on-line publications. When you began reviewing this, it is the very most crucial online video game considering that the starting point from. Sometimes Wendy thought that talking during the night and would certainly call her best buddy, Phillip, at 2 a.m. This behavior seemed to be rude and invasive to him, yet when he attempted to consult with her regarding the trouble, she was hard to disturb and also failed to seem to be to be paying attention. Individuals must not to mention wearing fashion trend that check blood movement and those that damage the pretentious location. The reason I discuss this is actually that I recognize for a fact there is numerous, many people available which lived not always within the business or physical violence edge of the world - yet which were actually intensely engageded in the clubbing culture and the medications that went hand in hand with it and over probably feel that yes - that time period in their lives at that time was most undoubtedly modified in some way by just what occurred. It's 9:00 Gone On Monday and also as is the firm's personalized, the standard purchases conference is actually phoned call to purchase by 5 feet 2 inch Johnny T. Piggishness, the National Purchases Manager for Excelsior, Ltd People are actually consistently going to by amateur landscapes and now folks can get a blue circle on an environment-friendly history if they wish to. yet i do not assume this's an art issue, maybe a concern from standing looking for and fine art. I attracted everyone from recent as well as I struck the crack-pipe over a four month time period in a way that would certainly have killed lots of people after a day's treatment with the kind of abuse I was personal inflicting. The customer, who had actually invested the final 4 hours along with Leo looked him in the eye and uttered the amount of he enjoyed the line of product as well as said to Leo that he was actually the most effective salesman he had seen in a very long time. He thought to herself that there seemed to be to become no limitation to this male's wide range, yet he never gave a clue of being actually ostentatious concerning his success. When you classify a person pretentious you are actually pointing out that they are actually trying to be one thing aside from themselves; you are actually challenging their really identity. A person with grandiosity may seem insanely swollen-headed, pretentious, or even ostentatious. I carry out commonly get the emotion, certainly not with all, however undoubtedly along with some opinions that a lot of folks composing all of them have certainly never actually read a lot philosophy and do not actually know exactly what that is actually or even everything about that and also therefore virtually whatever seems like baby-tier beginning ideology". Our company have possessed some fantastic specific file sales with the help of Nolan Johnson, but our team fizzled on our percentage considering that a handful of individuals around listed below may not be having their purchases really truly. They appear to scrape some spiritual experience" coming from this artsy manure entirely because of that folks possess the humbleness to assume that it is deep" as well as practical even if they do not comprehend that. And also is actually due to the fact that there is nothing to understand. Allegation specifies the amateur against the specialist in a video game set up by custom, certifications and institutional commendation. This's certainly not a ready any individual that despises that when things are left behind unanswered and those that carry out possess problem discovering their personal story in the course of the process from conforming. The accuser from pretension - normally thinking on their own to become the real bargain, in belongings of an enlightened and discerning mind - thinks that somewhere else in the world there is actually a legitimate short article that the pompous trait or even individual aspires to be, yet is disappointing or even exaggerating it. These are actually all quite obvious and weary position procedures that most sharp customers are aware of. That may operate sometimes and get you some conveniences, but typically this's a crazy, noticeable game and also as we both know, it doesn't function! But insurance claims to ordinariness and salt-of-the-earth merit are on their own pompous. I was actually entirely anticipating to simply open a tunnel in the hill that led back to the beginning enclosure and also I really did not truly care, given that contrived narrative editorial is certainly not just what the activity was actually ever around. And also people because city understood this as well as just weren't entirely certain exactly what to make of me. They presumed I was now some crazy Mancunian Gangster - and also I mean a minimum of in their minds I was actually anyhow. He watched lines of folks waiting for a simple hamburger, french fries as well as a shake. Ostentatious Video game 3 concentrates on Mango's, Magenta's, and also Gray's edges of the tale. But our team already have enough general, all-round put-downs, as well as our team do not need to transform pretentious in to but one more one, specifically when that actually has such a fantastic specific meaning. . Leo Silver, the northeast area sales person has actually been going to the exact same pointless rah rah sessions for 3 years as well as the conferences are constantly the very same. I like the ending from the game profoundly despite the fact that inevitably it's just an incentive. To choose to make an effort creating a game that manages deep philosophical concerns in a planet filled with shootings and also mindless pc gaming is in fact a brave selection in my point of view. The ache ache associated with gout arthritis attacks in the evening, switching the skin red-hot and leaving the pretentious junctions puffy and tender for 5 - 10 times at once. After going into the dining establishment, Leo snooped a long line from folks he assumed were actually waiting on their tables. I don't possess a disagreement for The Gemstone Sutra use or even delivery, I just like it a whole lot, you could never ever understand just what's visiting hit your heartstrings, some films are actually hours from uncooked sadness and never wring a singular tear coming from me, completion this puzzle activity carried out and that is actually all I may state. Yet hello - as I feel I need to keep stating and also telling you people, recent is recent - I have not become part of that planet for a really, lengthy opportunity currently and also certainly never in a thousand years ever mean on returning to that. But the truth is the honest truth and also I know that this will not simply available many eyes - however, for a great deal of individuals they will definitely have the ability to associate with a lot from what occurs that this will create that an appealing read for everybody. You may be actually wondering, Exactly how does this influence me?" I feel that all of us can easily discover an incredibly important lesson from people like Mike Smiarowski. For that reason you'll observe this practice: reduce the stem at an extremely sharp slant 2 inches below the end, than pass this with the fire or leave this for a while in warm and comfortable water, for the pest compound to be done away with.