#he's got the energy of someone who turns into a cool uncle with rich history and a glimmer in his eye

[antirepurp]

sonic who's a bit older and a bit more mentally tired than he used to be. who's finally had some time to understand the weight of the things he does and foes he faces, who's beginning to realize the kind of shit he battles and the powers he messes with, but who actively tries not to think about it too hard. who keeps up the smile even when he's not fully feeling it that day, who's much more quiet when he's by himself than he used to be. whose appreciation of his friends grows with every passing day, who believes in them even more than he used to to the point he doesn't need to fear death (if he even did in the first place); if the world is in their hands after his passing, things will turn out alright

#soda offers you a can #lore drabbles #sonic #he seems like the kind of guy who calms down as he ages #he's got the energy of someone who turns into a cool uncle with rich history and a glimmer in his eye #edit: can i stop typoing all the time im so tireddd

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

#short story #original fiction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #fiction

[aloesarchives]

Imai Cosmo Headcanons

Alright, now it's time for sunshine boy Cosmo. 

(Edit: I am so sorry, I accidentally deleted this for some reason. Sorry for the inconvenience) 

You met Cosmo when you both were first years in high school. You just recently transfer to his school in the beginning of the year for reasons not disclose(just move to Japan, came from a different school, etc.)

It was a hard time making friends because you were new and no one would approach you. But it didn’t stop Cosmo from wanting to be with your friend.

Cosmo is pretty much a social butterfly and is always friendly to everyone. When he said hi to you, the first thing you took notice was his bubbly personality. After that encounter, Cosmo actually made it his goal to be your friend. Everyday at school, he would always talk to you when he has the chance. And during after school you two would hang out together whether it be eating out or looking at the latest version of some Martial Arts magazine.

Thanks to the time you have been spending with him, he’s one of your closest friends you have. It’s kinda known around the school that you two always hang out with each other.

You also come over to his house to tutor Cosmo b/c he wasn’t doing so well in math so you had to help out a homie. You did have some encounters with his brother, Meteor. You get along with him as the two of you share the struggle of taking care of Cosmo.

Cosmo’s enthusiasm is contagious and even when you kinda hit your lowest Cosmo’s vibe just somehow revives you and you smile once again.  

Cosmo’s energy is so bright and powerful that you feel like you’re standing in the presence of the sun and you need some goddamn visors to look because he’s just pure and happy all the time that it hurts your entire being. But it’s in a good way, sis.

Throughout the time you spent with Cosmo, you notice that every once in a while that he would have a bruise or a bandage on his face or arm when he wears his short sleeve shirt. Come to think of it, Cosmo somehow has some sort of injury that can’t be explained in normal terms. Even when you ask Cosmo when he gets his injuries and small scuffs, he’ll just brush it off with an excuse that wouldn’t add up or make sense to the injury. But again you don’t push it since when you try to press on the issue that Cosmo switched the topic immediately and has completely forgotten about the conversation.

You did at one point remember that Cosmo did have a small rebellious stage but one day he stopped for some reason you don’t know about. But even so, it doesn’t calm your concerns of Cosmo’s random injuries.

In short, he’s really bad at hiding them and not making something obvious. But you being you, you didn’t push on the matter out of consideration.

Now that I mention that, you also notice Cosmo getting ripped and becoming more muscular. Cosmo actually lets you feel his arms and back when you ask him, he’s completely fine with it. Fam, no gonna lie, it has a nice feel to it.

(Y/N):Hey Cosmo, have you been working out lately? You’re back has been getting toned as of recently.

Cosmo: Actually yeah, I’ve been working out more nowadays. Do you want to feel my back, (Y/N)?

(Y/N): Sure, if you’re fine with it.

Cosmo: Go right ahead.

*Proceeds to feels Cosmo’s back

(Y/N): Woah! You’re pretty ripped, Cos!

There were some subtle hints that Cosmo had that kept being in your sight. Like his physical strength when the class would play volleyball, or doing those fitness test everyone has to take, he was somehow on the top on it. Or at least there was a far seeable gap than he was to you and the rest of the class.

You, for sure, know Cosmo is hiding something when Cosmo would turn you down to hang out because he had some business to do. What only push your suspicions was when you were walking home one day from school and a car past by you. Although it was a nice car and you didn’t really care for it, the thing that caught your eye was who was in it. You saw a tan man with cool shades driving the car and Cosmo was in the passenger seat next to him. As the car sped off, you stood still on the sidewalk, completely confused. You’ve seen that guy before when you would go to the gym, but you didn’t put any thought to it.

I mean you don’t to bug him about all of this because you don’t want to be nosy and pester him about it. But you know Cosmo isn’t gonna spill the beans anytime soon so you keep it to yourself.

God, I really, really like to headcanon that Kureshi is a distant uncle/relative of your’s that you’re somewhat close to. You don’t tell Cosmo right off the bat because you thought it wasn’t super important. All you tell him is that your uncle owns a gym and during after school sometimes you go there to train/exercise with him. Cosmo doesn't think much of it too since you didn’t make a big deal out of it. But he was curious on what gym your uncle runs and that at you one point you mentioned he was a fighter too.

The way you found out was pretty much very coincidental. While you were at the gym, your uncle aka Kureshi mentions to you that he took up a student and took him under his wing. This was odd for you because you never saw your uncle to be one to take up someone for training. When he mentions to you that the person he’s training is around the same age and goes to the same high school, you were intrigued by who it was. The week you found out about this was the same week that finals/ heavy testing was being held and so you wanted to distress by going to the gym. You asked Cosmo if he wanted to hang out 2 hours before you go to the gym but he said he was going to do training at a gym beforehand and had to turn down your offer. You were kind of bummed out but you couldn’t convince him otherwise so oh well. Upon going to the gym, you get a text from your uncle that his student came to train and asked if you wanted to meet him. You said why not and when upon arriving to the gym, your uncle greet you and took you to see his student who was dealing some good blows to one of the gym’s punching bags. Upon further inspection, the boy looked familiar, too familiar. Without thinking, you blurted out Cosmo’s name. After stopping his workout, he turn to you and the both of you had equally shocked faces while Kureshi was having a kick out of it. When you looked at your uncle and asked if he was his student, the answer was fairly obvious and you just stood there while trying to process all of this. When Cosmo asked you why you were there, you explained Kureshi and stuff. It was a awkward few minutes before you decided to change into your workout clothes and doing some training of your own. After you were done with your workout, you took a shower and changed into some casual clothes. You waited for Cosmo to be done and the two of you would head home together after bedding your uncle farewell.

Since you caught Cosmo training, he couldn’t really hid it from you anymore because you saw him there at the gym and he had a entirely different training regiment than the average person. You got the courage to ask him about what’s the training for while telling him your suspicions. Cosmo kinda went silent, which is unlike him to do so especially in your presences. Then Cosmo just spills everything to you, the training, the bruises, the times he had to decline your offers to hang out, he explained himself to you why he had to it. At the mention of Kengan Matches and underground fighting, you thought this was like fight club or something. But snapping out of your thoughts, you didn’t see Cosmo any less differently and told him that his secret is safe with you. Cosmo is grateful for you and that he’s glad you’re understanding.

One day, when Cosmo didn’t come to Kureshi’s gym, you asked your uncle how he meet Cosmo. He told you that Cosmo got into a fight with a few guys that had him on the ropes before he stepped in himself to save Cosmo. While at it, your uncle ask about your thoughts on Cosmo and his potential in fighting. When you answered with a Cosmo having untapped potential, Kureshi made a deal with you. He said he’ll allow you to watch Cosmo’s matches and cover your back when you parents ask about your whereabouts. In return, you have to help him train Cosmo and update him on his matches. You didn’t even think about it, you just took the deal and the rest is history.

Another time, you met Mr. Nishihonji while training Cosmo. Apparently he used to use this gym a while back. After learning he was Cosmo’s sponsor/ fighting for his company, you do remember Cosmo subtly mentioning him in your conversations in the past and now you meet him in the flesh. He made a good impression of himself to you and ever since then you’ve been chill with him. The man means well so he doesn’t really give off any bad vibe that you can tell.

Mr. Nishihonji has picked up the both of you from school when Cosmo has a match. Once school is over, you two would head over to where his car is and people from your school would just gawk because who knew the two of you were hanging out with a rich man with a nice car. This happens a lot where you kinda get use to it.

Your crush/love for Cosmo is built up over time and isn’t too obvious  that other people can catch on but people close to you can see something is up with you when your around Cosmo. When people ask you about it, you brush it off as simple friendship you have for him. People won’t push it but people like Kureshi and Mr. Nishihonji can piece things together to where they have an fundamental understanding that you really care about Cosmo.

Speaking of Kureshi, your uncle Kureshi loves to fucking tease you about you and Cosmo. He really gets a kick out of how you get all tsundere on him when he does. It’s like an inside joke you have with each other and it’s family love, that’s all.

You never confessed to Cosmo because you 1.) don’t want to ruin or make the friendship awkward, and 2.) you don’t think Cosmo feels the same way as he is oblivious to your small actions/hints towards him.

And by the way, Cosmo is fucking oblivious to everything unless pointed out by him. This sadly includes your feelings, sis. This is one of the things Cosmo needs you in his life because of this. He’s oblivious to the point where you had to point out or explain things to him when he doesn’t get it or it goes over his head.

But your feelings becomes evident when the Kengan tournament goes under way and that you were invited to go with him. You watch on the sidelines, with Mr. Nishihonji of course, Cosmo’s matches. You knew after his first match ended that this tournament was something else when you saw the line up and after Cosmo fainted into Mr. Nishihonji’s arms after exiting the pit. You knew that Cosmo was not going to have an easy time in his matches and he needed to know this. Although you have faith in Cosmo, it’s not impossible to remember that this isn’t a simple walk in the park.

After beating Adam, Adam kinda just became your friend instantly. Like after Cosmo convinced him, he just stuck around the two of you. Even though you hate what comes out of his mouth, Adam isn’t really a jerk and tries to unlearn the things he has said to the two of you. When Adam stays in Japan for training, he literally becomes you best friend/ brother at this point. Adam is probably the only person that actually caught on

But the thing that has been bothering you is Cosmo’s naivety. There’s nothing wrong with his happy go lucky attitude. It’s just, Cosmo doesn’t seem to be grounded a lot in certain situations where he’ll understand the dangers/risks that come with this. Especially when it came down to fighting. You do warn him of being careful and taking the fight seriously, but he just say don’t worry and not really mean it. You knew that this would be problem because Cosmo takes his fighting skills for granted. You love the man but wish he would understand how grave some matches could’ve been if he didn’t take them down sooner.

But that fight with Akoya, oh my fucking god. First off, Fuck Akoya and his justice boner. Second, god this fight did some ever lasting damage on you. This was one of those surreal life changing moments that you can never forget even if you tried. The fight, in it of itself, was one of the most intense, gruesome, but slightly breathtaking things you have ever bear to witness. Although you hate to say this, this was the fight that Cosmo needed for his break through. This gave Cosmo what he’s been looking for in order to evolve and better his fighting.

However, this fight was to you was gut wrenching and mentally breaking. Like when you caught Hiyama helping out Akoya in the matches with Adam and Mr. Nishihonji, something was wrong by her desperate reaction to continue to help Akoya. Then the next you know was when you look down towards the arena, Akoya goes berserk and went total psycho on Cosmo. From biting a chunk of Cosmo’s leg off, cracking his ribs, and practically torturing him by bring him back to conscious after Cosmo pasted out. You, on the other hand, couldn’t shout as nothing would come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried. Tears were building up, your heart was pounding out of your chest, it was hard to watch. Two things could’ve happened next, you either fainted from the immense fear where Adam had to catch you or you glued your eyes to the match and gripped the concrete so hard your finger nails got damage along with bleeding finger tips. Let’s go with the second one, then. The match in-front of you seem one sided and you feared for Cosmo’s life. But deep down, for some goddamn reason, you believe he can pull through if he found his motivation and drive. You called yourself stupid for having so much faith in him but he never has once let you down, so why should you? Once you said that Cosmo has a chance, Adam thought you were nuts but the unwavering hope said otherwise. For Cosmo, he has the classic anime protag shit where in a near death experience he has a bunch of flashbacks. Most of them was his time training with his master, however, some were times spent with you. With all the memories, Cosmo wanted to win, not just for his life and master, but for you as well. When Cosmo started to have his epiphany and turning the fight around in his favor, you never yelled as hard and as loud in your entire life. You bet his ass that he heard it. After the brutal few minutes, Cosmo came out the victor and you have never felt so relieve and exhausted in your life. You cried, fam, there's no doubt (I cried too, don't worry). When you came to get him and send him to the infirmary, you stuck to him for the rest of the tournament.

The fight didn’t make Cosmo realize he loved you, but it did stir up something inside of him that made him view you in a new light. In which he didn’t want to spend a moment without you. Man, you yelled at him for almost dying on you but spoke of your relief to him. He just apologizes and said he’ll win his next fight. It’s a very tender moment between the two of you.

What shock you the most was Kureshi suddenly appearing at the quarter finals tournament, he stated that he wanted to see Cosmo’s progress. It was odd seeing him but it was probably important as the tournament was nearing the end. He was up against Ohma which prove to be a powerful opponent. But alas, Cosmo was defeated by him. While he sat in one of the waiting rooms, you were right next to him, comforting him. Then you let your emotions speak for themselves, how you were proud of him for coming so far especially someone for his age, that he shouldn’t stop here and strive for more, and that you’ll give him your undying support. Then Cosmo pulls you into a hug and just cries it out, you smile and held him close.

After a few months after the tournament, Cosmo realizes he has feelings for you and confessed to you after he took you out to eat. And the rest is history.

Being with Cosmo is great (I say this with almost everyone, so bear with me). Being happy 24/7, a lot of hugs and kiss, spending endless hours with him. The man, himself, is a ball of sunshine at just happens to be your boyfriend.

The man loves you unconditionally no matter what. He doesn’t really have a preference on appearance. However, I’ll do say that if you’re shorter than him(he’s 5′6 i think), he’s over the moon because it adds some cuteness to you. The man loves you.

Cosmo really likes hugs and cuddles. He knows not the strangle you when he’s cuddling with you, but he loves to squeeze you tight. Meteor has caught the two of you sleeping on the couch in each other embrace in more than one occasion. Meteor thinks it’s cute and doesn’t disturb you two.

Cosmo is more than okay with PDA. He can’t really keep his hands off of you, yet he’ll respect your boundaries. He’ll hold your hand, arm around your waist or shoulder, giving small pecks to you. He’s not afraid of showing you off.

He’s a playful kisser, he likes to play around with you. But there are times where he does kiss you passionately, but that’s usually in private though. Before his matches, it’s a must for you to kiss him before he goes out and fights. Sometimes he kisses you out of nowhere and when you ask him, he just says I love you and stuff.

I can see him calling you baby/babe/ and love. It just sounds like him.

The man’s always hugging you from behind.

I’m gonna say since no one has said it louder: Cosmo with his hair slicked back makes him from cute to instant HOT. Deadass when you see he like with his hair like that, you cheeks heat up quickly and you just quietly freaking over his hair. You tell him that it looks better on him(which it does, btw) but he says it’s a simple haircut for him.

I headcanon that you and Kureshi gave him the idea to grow out his hair since it’ll suit him more. When his hair gets long enough, you sometimes braid his hair or brush it. To him, it’s a very relaxing moment since you’re kinda spoiling him.

Cheer for this man and he will definitely fight even harder in his matches. You’re his motivations.

Cosmo does have nosebleeds so make sure to bring some tissues.

Before the Kengan Omega, you had to help him take care of himself but after the two years he doesn’t have to, or rather not as much.

The only time you got jealous was probably when you found that Mr. Nishihonji took Cosmo to a brothel(?) and you finding out Cosmo had a taste for older women kinda sat with you the wrong way even though you two weren’t an item yet. You didn’t tell him out right what was wrong because you thought it was stupid to be feel jealous. It made you avoid Cosmo for like a day or two. You still haven’t told him yet about it and it will remain like that to this day.

You did take note on Cosmo’s estrange friend group aka the fighters. They’re not intimidating people. You actually had a run in with Wakatsuki on accident. Cosmo invited you to come hang out with him but you were busying with errands that you sadly had to decline. While you were fast walking to your next destination, you bumped into someone and tripped on your own foot. Before your face touched the ground, Wakatsuki caught you and helped you up. He apologizes for bumping into you because he didn’t see you. You said you were fine and ask what he was doing, he stated he was waiting for a friend of his. After you excuse yourself to continue your day, Cosmo comes around the corner as you left. While they were eating, Wakatsuki told Cosmo ran into you. When Cosmo said “oh, you met my girlfriend?” Wakatsuki had to pause because, like what?, the girl/person he bumped into was Cosmo’s girlfriend. Big shocker for him. Before you guys became a thing, Sakura, Sekibayashi, and Wakatsuki, would tease Cosmo about girls that would know him. I mean, they do this a lot when it was with you but to know the two of you ended up together caught them blind sided.

The fact Cosmo can take down opponents twice his size and age is pretty amazing in your eyes. Man’s short but damn can he pull off some impressive moves. Proud to call him your boyfriend honestly.

Food buddy, you guys love to eat with eat other. It’s pretty obvious that Cosmo loves to eat. The man takes you out to eat all the time, fucking bet on that shit.

When Cosmo loves you, he will LOVE you to death. Sure, you were hard on him when he’s training, but he is thankful for you being with him for the long run.

Being in a relationship with Cosmo is just full of fun and love even though it does get serious at some points. Cosmo never fails to show you that he loves you and how much you mean to him.

#kengan ashura #kengan omega #kengan ashura headcanons #imai cosmo × reader #imai cosmo

[goosefightrobinmayor]

Best Man

I just wrote this.  Pushed what I had planned to pub Thursday ahead a week :p

It is...very self-indulgent.  But I had sort of a Long Day last Monday and I wanted to write a situation where someone comes out, and the people come out to are actually really thrilled.

This scene mirrors a flashback in Dolls and Duckbacks where Nathanael *tries* to come out to his parents.  

“It’s just a hypothetical,” the boy settled back into the chair, “nothing to get upset about.”

“Honey,” Christian said, “we’re not upset.  This is wonderful!”

The boy sort of cringed into his hands but said, “R-really?  You think it’d be good thing if I were a boy?”

“Of course!  That’s who you really are, isn’t it?  If you’re living as who you really are it’s a good thing.”

The words made him smile, because they echoed so much with his inner monologue, “Yeah, I think it is who I really am?”

Astor clapped his hands, “Oh, I’m so excited!  I’m so excited!”  He smacked his head, “Wait!  I have to-” he checked his watch, “just enough time if I take the Saab.”

“Astor,” Christian chuckled, “what?”

Astor kissed Christian on the cheek, “I’ll be right back!” he ran out the door.

The boy cocked his head, watching him go, “What was that about?”

“I have no idea, honestly,” Christian said, and came around the table, “Get up and hug u your uncle.”

The boy laughed nervously, “Uncle.”

“Come on.  Please?”

The boy stood up to hug the old man.  It was a hardy bear squeeze.  Christian took a look at his face, “I have a nephew!”

“Oh shit,” said the boy.

“Don’t swear,” said Christian.

“Sorry.  But, nephew,” he grinned, “yeah!  I’m a nephew?  I guess.  That’s cool.”

Christian pat him on the shoulder, “I guess this means I’ll have to do more man-centric activities with you.  Uh.  What do nephews do with their uncles?  Fly-fishing?”

The boy wrinkled his nose, “I hate fishing.  I think I’d hate fly-fishing even more.”

“Forget the fly fishing,” he looked him dead in the face, “I’ll take you to the barber.”

The boy touched his hair.  It hung in a braid down the center of his back.  “Mom and Dad will probably kill me if I cut my hair short.”

“Oh!” Christian said, “Right.  They don’t know yet, do they?”

The boy looked away, ashamed.  Before Christian could press, his cell phone rang.

“Yes?  Dear?  Oh!  Oh!  Yes!  Of course!” his eyes slid sideways to the boy, “Honey!  I mean, pal, what’s your name?”

“Uh,” the boy couldn’t help a smile, “what?”

“What’s your name!  You’re not going by Clara anymore, right?”  With a grimace he said, “Not that you can’t!  You can still be Clara if you want to!”

“Oh!” the boy said, “oh uh, Clark?”  There was a tinge, “No, no, no, no.  Not Clark.  Definitely not Clark.”

“Not Clark, got it.  Astor?” Christian spoke to the phone, “I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

He set the phone one the counter and Astor’s voice came through, “Whatever name you’re comfortable with.  You can change your mind later.”

The boy nodded, “Definitely not Clarence, though.  I don’t want an old-man name.”

“Wow, excuse you,” Christian said.

“How about Clair?” Astor asked, “With an I?”

“I dunno.  Can I do my middle name instead?  Can I be like Nathan or something?”

“Nathan is great!” Astor said.

“No wait!  Nate!” said the boy.

“Nate it is!  Thanks, Nate!” Astor hung up.

The boy put his hands over his face.  “What’s wrong, Nate?” Christian asked.

“He’s so happy.”

“Well, of course,” Christian frowned, “you have to understand, Nate, it was different for our generation.  I spent way too many years buried in a closet.  So seeing you, as a kid, knowing who you are and declaring it- it gives me hope.”

The boy peaked between his fingers, “I’m not gay, though.”

“No.  But you’re letting yourself be who you really are.  Do you know what a great gift that is?”

The boy hugged himself, frowning.

“Buddy.  What’s wrong?”

“What if I’m like- what if I’m making it up?”

“Making it up?”

The boy frowned, and swung his arms, trying to get rid of some toxic energy that was building, “I mean.  I dunno.  Just.  I did come out to my parents.  I mean I tried to.”

Christian frowned, “Tried to, huh?”

The boy nodded.

“And what did they say?” Christian’s tone is disappointed.

The boy says, “Just that- that I’m wrong.  That I’m a girl and,” he tucked some hair behind his ear, “I guess kind of implied that the reason I think different is because I’m ugly?  And then mom turned around and said transexual people were sick.”

“Transgender,” Christian corrected, then shook his head, “Oh, Jen.  And what did Ezra say?”

The boy shrugged; looked at the floor.  Christian inhaled sharply, “Goddamnit, Ezra.”

“It doesn’t really matter, Uncle.”

“It does.  You deserved more from your parents when you came out to them,” he hugged him again, “I know I’m not your Dad, but I’ll be the best gay uncle I can be,” his face lit up, “I know!  You’ll be my best man!”

With Prop 8 history, Astor and Christian were, of course, legally married.  They still intended to have a ceremony, though.  They had it planned for the end of August so the kids could come.  

“What about my Dad?”

“Eh,” Christian said, “I haven’t actually asked him yet.  And now I’m sour at him.  What do you say?”

“But I’ll have to be out, and in public front of my parents?  With my dad wondering why his daughter is the best man instead of him?”

“Oh,” Christian put his hands down, “well, maybe not.”

“Sorry, Uncle.”

“It’s OK,” Christian smiled, “the closet is safer, sometimes.  You’ll be my best man in spirit.  You’ll definitely not be a flower girl, though.”

“Jeez, aren’t I a too old for that, anyway?”

“You’re right.  We’ll save that for the triplets.  And Hilda too, if she wants.”

“I think she’s too old, too,” the boy smiled, “but, it’s a deal, anyway.  If you call it a casual wedding, I can wear a suit and my parents won’t freak out a lot.”

“Noted,” Christian said.

The boy sighed, and felt himself settle- finally- into his own bones.  It was as if he’d been dragging along skin all this time that didn’t fit right, and finally he had made the right alterations for it to be comfortable.  His uncle calling him stuff like ‘buddy’ and ‘nephew’ and ‘Nate’, the boy couldn’t think of a time he felt better.

“Listen,” Christian said, “if your Mom and Dad give you a hard time, come here, OK?”

“As in?”

“Live here.”

Nate blinked several times, “You mean that?”

“Absolutely.  You deserve to be surrounded by people who let you be who you are.”

Nate felt his eyes fill up with water, “Jeezum.”

“Awww,” Christian hugged him, “cry it out, young man.  Men aren’t afraid of tears.”

Nate sniffled, “Shut up.”

Hilda came into the kitchen in her zebra onesie and her puffy socks, grinning, but frowned when she saw the boy in tears, “Clara?  Why you crying?”

Nate wiped his tears, “I’m just happy,” he blew his nose, “how was your finale?”

“Oh man,” Hilda sat at one of the stools, “I’m gonna miss her so much.”

“So what happened?” asked Christian.

“Well, Amelia went back to her own time, of course, which is good for her.  But Ricky the Robot went with her and now they’ve opened up a flight school for girls in the 1930s?  And it’s like,” she sighed, “why can’t I just keep following her adventures as an instructor?” she groaned, “I’m glad everybody’s happy, though.”

“Probably because Amelia Airhart is more interesting when she’s dogfighting aliens and stuff?” said Nate.

Hilda sighed, “I guess.  So what have you guys been doing?”

Christian smiled, “Hey Hilda, guess what?”

“What?”

Christian looked to Nate, though, “Can I tell her?”

Nate laughed, “She already knows, dude.”

“I know what?”

“That you have a big brother instead of a big sister,” Christian said.

Hilda turned to Nate, “You came out to him?  Without me being there?”

“Uh,” Nate tried to measure her tone, “Sorry?  It just sort of happened.  I didn’t know you were supposed to be there.”

“Astor knows, too,” Christian said, and smiled slyly, “he’ll be right back.”

“Oh man,” Hilda said, “how’d they take it?”

“Honestly?  Thrilled,” Nate said.

“That’s great!” Hilda ran into a hug with him, “He came out to me first,” she said to Christian.  This was clearly a point of pride for her, “sorry the name I suggested didn’t go down well, though.”

“It’s OK,” the boy said, “I think I’m gonna be Nate now.”

“Oh, that’s cool!”

“Yeah!”

The front door opened, revealing Astor.  He had a very uncharacteristic grin all over his long face.  He put a cake down on the counter.

We Love You, Nate! was icinged into the top.

Astor hugged Nate, “Happy coming out!”

“Wahhh,” Nate was just glad he hadn’t been eating anything at the time, “a whole cake?  Because I came out to you?”

“Yeah!  Consider this a coming out party!”

“Eh,” Christian waved his hands, “bad terminology.  In this country, a coming out party is for a rich young woman.”  Astor had a slight accent because he was an immigrant- a refugee, actually, forced out of his old country by war.

Astor frowned, “Well, that’s stupid.  I think English needs to evolve in that area.”

“I can dig,” said Nate.  

“Anyway,” said Astor, “when I came out as bisexual to my family, I got cake, so Nate deserves a cake, too,” he blushed, visibly, “I got really excited, though.  Rushed out the door before I knew what name to put on it.”

Hilda laughed.  Nate looked at the cake.  It sure did give him a glowy feeling inside.  But-

“Guys?  What if I’m wrong?  But if I think I’m a- a trans guy today, but then I realize like, I dunno, I’m just a lesbian or like, one of those people with five genders, or something?” he spidered his fingers.  He felt guilty, now, to be making his uncles do all this stuff, especially if this wasn’t real.

Christian grinned, “Well, it doesn’t hurt to have more than one cake.”

“I dunno about that,” Astor said, “your doctor did tell you need to watch your sugar intake.”

Christian’s arms drooped, “Oh, come on.”

“Sorry,” Astor petted him on the back, “maybe the next time one of you kids figures out you’re queer, we’ll go bowling instead?”

“You old dictator,” Christian growls at Astor, but smiles at Nate, “but, I say, go with the flow.  Nate, do you feel like a boy?”

Nate smiled, “Well, I know I really like it when you call me that.”

Christian smiled, “Well that’s a good hint.  But at the end of the day, it’s up to you,” he squeezed his shoulder, “if you think you’re a boy, Nate, then you’re a boy, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”

#around the queueniverse #mairzy posts #real toys #nathanael drosselmeyer #christian drosselmeyer #astor shahab #swanhilde drosselmeyer #jennifer drosselmeyer #ezra drosselmeyer #prose #i mean Nathanael does admit he likes guys later but i guess he leans more towards being attracted to girls? #also fuck so #this story takes place in another universe #and in said universe amelia earhart never existed #as a real person #she is a cartoon character tho #hey lets play a game of catch the dingo pictures reference

[easypeasygardens-blog]

Le Paradou

Have you ever been given a book by someone who loves it - swears by it, even - and promised you would read it straight away? The book comes home with you, and you get “too busy” to begin, so you hold onto it for years, a piece of dust-collecting guilt. Finally, one day on an unprompted whim you start to read and you are entranced from the very first page. This has happened to me too many times to count, and each time I am subjugated by the almost magical way the evaded work suddenly becomes imperative; something within compels me to feverishly consume what I long let languish. Rather than regarding them as steely-eyed reminders of one’s lack of time, or worse yet, one’s flippancy towards the certain sort of indebtedness that comes with being loaned or given literature, I’d like to see such books as slow-ripening fruits that are better picked off the shelf only once their scent is strong enough to draw the reader to them.

Émile Zola’s “La Faute de l’abbé Mouret” (the several English translations are entitled ”Abbé Mouret’s Transgression”, “The Priest’s Sin” and “The Sin of Father Mouret”) is the fifth in the series of twenty novels that he published between 1871 and 1893 as what he called a “Natural and social history of a family under the Second Empire” - Les Rougon-Macquart. I was given this book in 2015 by a Parisian friend who insisted I read it, and it has been a full three years since then. Now half-way through, I am quite taken with Zolien Naturalism as a whole. Do I dare to eat the peach of each and every Rougon-Macquart novel, now, in order? Time will surely tell. In any case, this particular book seems made for me right now as I embark on new gardening projects. Entrez, mes amis, au Paradou!

The story goes that Serge Mouret, a neurotically pious and chaste young priest, suffers a mental breakdown due to, amongst other things, a long hot walk down a dusty trail, badly digested cabbage soup, the chthonic stench of his sister Désirée’s farm animals, the village maidens joking and playing in the church as they decorate it with rosemary, laurel and olive branches, and his own obsessional love for Saint Mary gone a little too far that night (all that self-mortification and cilice-wearing probably got to him, too). But what’s really upset the young Father’s nervous system is - obviously to the reader but of course unbeknownst to him - the chance meeting of Albine that morning. 

Serge had accompanied his doctor uncle to administer the last rites to an old eccentric named Jeanbernat at Le Paradou. Jeanbernat, a veritable heathen, was far from being in any mortal danger - he’d bled himself, thank you very much - and not quite irked enough by the priest’s presence to deny his guests “un pot de vin” (though almost). Ensues delightful philosophical banter that quite upsets Serge - mais Dieu existe! - until Albine, an orphan who had been left to the hermetic, extensively well-read Jeanbernat and who in turn left her to her own devices, much like the grounds he’d been charged with keeping in the faith that nature might take care of its own, erupts into the house covered head-to-toe in flowers. For outside these four walls where Jeanbernat has been plugging away incessantly at the large collection of philosophical treatises and natural histories left by the noble family who once summered at Le Paradou, there is a veritable garden of Eden - lush and immense, and hemmed-in by tall stone walls. It is Albine’s unlikely, unofficial inheritance: she’s out in the garden, whose name is a thinly-veiled reference to Paradise itself, from dawn until sometimes past dusk. 

Le Paradou is all the more surprising a place for the fact that it is situated in the Garrigue, the southern French semi-desert scrubland characterized by its’ hostile infertility, an abundance of thorny plants and aromatics. I know how difficult cultivation is in this area as I lived there for a year while pregnant and for my daughter’s first summer; the garden was a hot mess because it was impossible to keep up with the watering demands. Every day that summer there were cloudless skies that rich and haughty hue of blue one only finds in the south, and an almost ferrous aridity. We had only the well which was ever in peril of drying out. Besides and despite our attempts to ameliorate it, the clay-based soil seemed to end up having a choke-hold on even the hardiest seedlings that managed to eke out of the earth. And in the autumn, the devastating downpours that wrack the region with floods wiped bare all the earlier efforts anyway, eroding even one’s will to keep trying next year. 

To create an earthly Eden in the Garrigue was once, in a sense, my calling and the bent to my life that year in isolation on the four hectares we were entrusted with - for 100 euros a year as rent, the price of the property taxes - by a woman named Nathalie who wanted a “presence” to protect her land and “mazet” (a small stone cabin typical of the Garrigue) from hunting trespassers and vandals. It brought meaning to my bizarre existence as a newly-minted bohemian living “off the land” (read: as a dumpster-diving Freegan and forager) to toil and to, despite all the odds being against me, attempt to bring new life and beauty to the place we dubbed “La Mistoufle” (a made-up word that contrives to mean “trouble”, “deceit”, “a clusterfuck” and “a party” by turns, depending on the context). The nearest village was a forty-five minute walk away over a hill and down winding, rocky slopes, and it was called Les Mages - The Magi. Indeed it was a gift to live there, but of all my labour of love, only two things remain - everything else either scorched by the sun or washed away by a succession of five rainy seasons - and of one I’m not certain. The first is a little girl named Lumyhna with bright red hair reminiscent of the southern sun, and we have come so far away from that distant land once home. The second is a slender fig tree - my name, Bethany, means “House of Figs” - transplanted from Fontpédrouse in the Pyrénées where I met her father. I don’t know, though, about this last one, planted at the southeast corner of the cottage, for I haven’t been back to La Mistoufle since we effectively cast ourselves out of that place. Yet generally, unlike the peas and carrots I failed to grow past seedlings, figs do quite well in such adversity. They seem to thrive on thirst and desire. 

The earthly Eden home to Albine - the white, the innocent, the impeccably free - was created centuries before it became her fate to land in it. A prosperous gentilhomme of noble blood had the means to bring forth green and shade from the bare bone-dry wilderness, and so he did, and opulently. It makes one think of how in places in Israel the desert has been turned to fertile farmland, or of any number of creation myths in which, from nothingness, a divine figure creates the earth. I will resist the temptation here to describe Le Paradou in great detail (for what worth is an Eden except in one’s own mind, the most exquisite garden of the individual imagination?), except to say that at the beginning, the hand of man-as-god must have been quite apparent: the manicured lawns, the topiaries, the cool cascades and bursting fountains, the hedges and rows and alleys of trees, the neat botanicals and silent groves, and the fragrant orchards... it must have taken a small army of gardeners to maintain such perfection over the days and the months and the years. Yet when at last Le Paradou fell to abandon, that perfection strangely enough was not lost, but only changed, reminding one of the old physics dictum that says, “rien ne se perd, tout se transforme.” The original creation provided a sort of perennial energy to keep the beauty of that place lasting through the centuries, although the allure which once was that of industrial achievement now became that of nature’s wily way. Albine’s Paradou is indeed the sort of garden that I dream of: a place of carefree rêveries and matted odours, of grass that’s never cut and lusher than satin on goose down. But now I’m being too descriptive - time to prescribe a little bit before I end this mental meandering.

What can I learn from La Mistoufle and from Le Paradou? Although the first has ended, for me, in marriage, a daughter, and happiness - though in a very modern way and through a certain waywardness - and the second ends (spoiler alert!) in shame and pain and death (oh nineteenth-century social mores!) the two are not reverse reflections one of the other. The difference between these gardens comes down to three very simple things: time, care, and means. Indeed, anything is possible today from Biodomes (done) to growing lychee fruit on Mars (to do). Yet, a passion for growing does not suffice. So, when you are planning your dream garden, I advise that you begin by taking stock of the three most important factors involved before you dig in. And one more thing: if you’re unable to commit a small army of gardeners to maintaining a bombastically beautiful, lush, green perfection in the semi-desert, why not start with what works well where you are? Had I, at La Mistoufle, been content with the aroma of lavender and rosemary and flowering mint, I would have been the happiest girl in the world! Taking it slowly and patiently, introducing just a few new experiments per season and really tending to them well is a way to scratch the itch for novelty and challenge without getting overwhelmed and eventually feeling like a failure as a new gardener. Eventually, you’ll have a Paradou of your own. Just promise me you won’t, then, give up on life after a priest dumps you out of godly guilt and “expire in the supreme hiccup of flowers” as Albine does at the end of “La Faute de l’abbé Mouret” ;). Sorry about the spoiled fruit - I mean, book!

[whatsappstatus2017]

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Latest Cool Status Messages for Whatsapp 31. Everyday is a second chance. 32. If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door. 33. Do not give up, the beginning is always the hardest. 34. The only way to do great work is to love what you do. 35. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Advertisements 36. You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else. 37. Life is like riding a bicycle to keep your balance, you must keep moving. 38. You're already a successful personal. The things we take for granted someone else is praying for. 39. Dreams is not what you see in sleep, Is the thing which doesn't let you sleep. 40. I will win, not immediately but definitely.

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Attitude Cool Whatsapp Messages 61. Phones are better than girlfriends, at least we can switch off. 62. I love my job only when I'm on vacation 63. Friends come and go, but enemies remain and build up. 64. Behind every successful man is a surprised woman. 65. In my house I'm the boss, my wife is just the decision maker. Mostly collectors are including Hindi Status in every collection due to content unavailability that spoil the collection and user experience. However, we have always picked English status and WhatsApp status in English language. Therefore, now you can directly come and choose WhatsApp status as per your wish and desire :) Check Out Now: Whatsapp Status in English (in English with Pure Grammar) 66. How is a poor man a lot like a rich man? they both have an iPhone. 67. Some people call me Mike, you can call me tonight. 68. Sometimes you succeed and other times you learn. 69. I always dream of being a millionaire like my uncle... He's dreaming too. 70. Scratch here ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ to reveal my status

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76. I'm not single, I'm just romantically challenged. 77. Trust in God, But lock your car. 78. AwesoME ends with ME and Ugly starts with You. 79. Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. 80. It hurts when you have someone in your heart but not in your arms. Damn Cool Whatsapp Status Quotes 81. Please don’t forget to smile :) 82. Get up every morning, imagine a future then make it happen. 83. Everyone is beautiful in their own way because God makes no mistakes. 84. You're right. I'm NOT perfect. But I'm unique! 85. Always remember that you’re unique. Just like everyone else.

86. Don’t compare yourself with anyone in this world… if you do so, you are insulting yourself... 87. Create your own visual style… let it be unique for yourself and yet identifiable for others. 88. Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going. 89. It is almost impossible to smile on the outside without feeling better on the inside. 90. No matter how strong of a person you are, there’s always someone who can make you weak

Daily New Cool Whatsapp Status Updates 91. It’s funny how people say they miss you, but don’t even make an effort to see you. 92. Life is like Facebook. People will like your problems & comment on them but no one’s gonna solve them because everyone is busy in updating their. 93. Attitude is like underwear Don’t show it just wore it… 94. I Am Not Special , I Am Just Limited Edition :P 95. I got less but I got best!

96. Get as rude as possible and don’t let anyone tell you how to live. 97. The only reason I am fat is because a tiny body couldn’t store all this personality. 98. Adjustment with right people is always better than Argument with wrong people. A meaningful silence is always better than meaningless words. 99. If a hug tells you how much I love you, I would hold you in my arms forever. 100. Silence is the most powerful scream. 101. Some poeple are like clouds. When they go away, it's a brighter day. 102. I changed my password everywhere to 'incorrect'. That way when I forget it, it always reminds me, 'Your password is incorrect.' 103. Don't know where your kids are in the house? Turn off the internet and they'll show up quickly. 104. A best friend is like a four leaf clover, hard to find, lucky to have. 105. When you wake up at 6 in the morning, you close your eyes for 5 minutes and it's already 6:45. 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If your relationship status says, “It’s complicated” then you should stop kidding yourself and change it to “Single” 115. I’d really post your name here every minute if facebook keeps on asking me what’s on my mind 116. Delete me , Poke me, Like me, Limit me ..The choice is yours.. Welcome to facebook, where no one is really your friend. =P 117. I’d rather check my Facebook than face my check book. 118. I’m wondering why logging onto Face book has become part of the everyday routine?… Do I really have nothing better to do! 119. Your intelligence is my common sense. 220. That awkward moment when you change your Facebook status to ‘single’ and your ex likes it. 221. Weather forecast for tonight: Dark with a chance of tomorrow in the morning. 222. I intend to live forever, or die trying. 223. Being nice to people you don’t like is not being two faced, it is called growing up. 224. The kids next door challenged me to a water balloon fight. I’m just updating my status while waiting for the water to boil. 225. Sometimes I wish life was like facebook, you can delete anyone off your page and go back and delete everything you have said and done! 226. …did a lot of nothing yesterday, but I didn’t finish, so I’m going to do it again today! 227. Trust me I am a liar. 228. Got a new job with the local hostage negotiators and tried to phone in sick but they talked me out of it. 229. Girl: Why do you constantly keep posting my name as your Facebook status every 2 minutes? Boy: Facebook keeps asking me what’s on my mind? And honestly, it’s always you. 230. I’ve officially been diagnosed with OFCD (Obsessive facebook checking disorder). I have also been told that I am beyond cure. Please pray for me. 231. Roses are red, Facebook is blue, No mutual friends, Who the hell are you? 232. Facebook is the only place you can write whatever you feel on a wall. Grrrr Facebook won’t stop asking what’s on my mind even if I tell it, it keeps on asking. 233. I’ve gone out to find myself. If I should arrive before I get back, please ask me to wait. 234. I Know Wat You’re Doing Right Now… You’re Reading On My Wall, Right ! 235. Facebook is like prison, you write on walls and get poked bu people you don’t know. 236. Call me anorexic, call me fat. I can put on or I can lose that. Call me annoying, call me dumb. Excuse me miss; but I’m having fun. Call me a flirt, call me fake. That’s just me, so give it a break. Call me weird, a nerd & a geek. Call me what you want, I’m just unique. 237. Facebook should have an ‘Enemy List’ 238. Adding you as my friend doesn’t mean I like you, I did it just to increase my friend list. 239. You can't please everyone, you're not a Nutella jar. 240. Hmmm this text message is a little too harsh, I'll add LOL at the end. 241. Seeing a spider in my room isn't scary. It's scary when it disappears. 242. I'm not running away from hard work, I'm too lazy to run. 243. I miss the days when you could just push someone in the swimming pool without worrying about their cell phone. 244. Some people have "aha" moments, I just have "Oh Seriously?" moments. 245. Dear humans, in case you forgot, I used to be your Internet. Sincerely, The Library. 246. Don't worry, the spider is smaller than you. "Yeah. So is a grenade." 247. They say "don't try this at home" so I'm coming over to your house to try it. 248. For you, I would swim across the ocean. LOL, just kidding, there are sharks in there. 249. Sure, I do marathons. On Netflix. 250. Your eyes water when you yawn because you miss your bed and it makes you sad. 251. Always be positive. *Trips down the stairs* Whew, I got down those stairs fast. 252. Never wrestle with a pig. You'll both get dirty, and the pig likes it. 253. Dear automatic flushing toilet... I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I wasn't done yet. 254. If you keep annoying me, I'll give your phone number to all the kids and tell them it's Santa's hotline. 255. Facebook should have “So What” button! 256. As Facebook has a “Poke” button, it should have a “Kick” button as well. 257. My greatest fear is that I will accidentally use the status update as the search bar. 258. I don’t like to commit myself about heaven and hell – you see, I have friends in both places. 259. Whoever said facebook was a good idea, “Let me share my dull life with the rest of the planet.” ? 260. No matter what anyone says, my cooking is excellent, even the smoke alarm seems to be cheering me on! 261. Facebook is the red carpet for pretty girls who have no talent. 262. …It’s Not That I Hate You… But Let’s Put It This Way If You Were On Fire And I Had A Gallon Of Water I’d Drink It. 263. He who went to facebook and left myspace is wise. 264. Am quitting face book to face my books. 265. Facebook should add a “dislike button” some updates are just too senseless. 266. Facebook is where hypocrisy, falseness, double standards, rumors and depression meet up for coffee. 267. I’d say we should have a “You Bore me” button on Facebook! 268. Single doesn’t always mean lonely and relationship doesn’t always mean happy. 269. Paper cut: A tree's final moment of revenge. 270. People like me great. People don’t like me great. As long as I like myself that all that matters. 271. Thank you to every person who has ever told me I can’t. You are just another reason I will. 272. I made my Facebook name "Benefits," so when you add me now it says "you're friends with benefits." 273. Marriage is like a walk in the park... Jurrasic Park. 274. How does a train eat? Chew, Chew... 275. I'd walk through fire for my best friend. Well, not fire because that's dangerous. But a super humid room... well not too humid, because you know... my hair. 276. What did the traffic light say to the other traffic light? Don't look, I'm changing. 277. You know you're an adult when you get excited about a new cleaning sponge at the kitchen sink. 278. Yes of course I am athletic... I surf the Internet every day. 279. I'm not weird, I'm just limited edition. 280. Dear Diamond, we all know who is really a girl's best friend. Sincerely yours, Chocolate Cake. 281. Of course I talk to myself... sometimes I need expert advice. 282. If Monday had a face... I would punch it. 283. I drank so much Vodka last night that this morning I woke up with a Russian accent. 284. I wasn't mad, but now that you asked me 7 times if I'm mad.. yes, I'm mad! 285. I enjoy taking long romantic walks, to the fridge. 286. I really should do something with my life... maybe tomorrow. 287. I have reached a point in life where I feel it is no longer necessary to try & impress anyone. If they like me the way I am, good & if they don’t, it’s their loss. 288. You can’t compare me to the next girl. Because there is no competition. I’m one of a kind, and that’s real. 289. An attitude is an inward thought that wiggles its way out. 290. I’m not cranky. I just have a violent reaction to stupid people. 291. I might not be someone’s first choice, but I am a great choice. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, because I’m good at being me. I might not be proud of some of the things I’ve done in the past, but I’m proud of who I am today. I may not be perfect, but I don’t need to be. I am the way God made me. Take me as I am or watch me as I walk away. 292. There can be no positive result through negative attitude. Think positive. Live positive. 293. A bad attitude can literally block love, blessings and destiny from finding you. Don’t be the reason you don’t succeed. 294. Like me for who I am and not for who you want me to be. Take it or leave it. That simple. 295. What others think of me is none of my business. 296. Love me or hate me I’m still gonna shine. 297. Keep your face towards the sunshine, you will never see the shadow. 298. I’m only responsible for what I say not for what you understand… 299. Some days I wish I had the wisdom of a 90 year old, the body of a 20 year old, and the energy of a 3 year old. 300. I know that Einstein's theory of relativity is correct because every weekend goes by twice as fast as normal. 301. Smiles are contagious... be a carrier. 302. Every weekend I do what I love most, absolutely nothing! 303. Relax, it's the weekend... just don't blink or it will be all over. 304. To thrive in life you need three bones. A wish bone, a back bone, and a funny bone. 305. It's so hot outside that I went to buy vegetables, and by the time I got home they turned into soup already. 306. Please cancel my subscription to your issues. 307. I tried looking at the bright side of life, but it hurt my eyes. 308. I'm a Nillionaire. I have little to no money! 309. Square box, round pizza, triangle slices, now that's confusing. 310. Never judge a book by it's movie. 311. Maybe if we tell people the brain is an app, they'll start using it. 312. Exercise? I thought you said extra fries! 313. I hate mosquitoes. I mean, I know I am delicious, but I don't give out free samples. 314. Isn't it funny how red white and blue represent freedom, unless they're flashing behind you? 315. So you’re a player? Nice to meet you, I’m the coach. 316. If taking a shower is bad for the environment, I know I’m doing the world a big favor!;) 317. For those of you complaining you can’t sleep, LOG OFF FACEBOOK! It’s a proven fact that it’s impossible to sleep while facebooking. 318. David loves animals. Especially the sweet and sour chicken. 319. Liking your own status is like high fiving yourself in the face. 320. I wish that I could put my status to what I am really thinking. 321. I should change my name to No One, that way when I request you as a friend it will say “No One wants to be your friend”. 322. I should change my name to No One, that way when I request you as a friend it will say “No One wants to be your friend”. 323. The person who has ruined my life is one and only Mark Zuckerberg :D 324. Who needs TV we got Facebook DRAMA.

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325. Go away don’t talk to me right now cause it’s my break time and I’m on FB mode… 326. Has implemented a healthy routine, affecting immediately . Very basic and it’s free – Nap Time!! 327. If the world really ends in 2012, I wasted my whole life in school. 328. Dear Facebook: They are not “Suggested friends.” They’re people I’m intentionally trying to avoid. 329. I don’t care what you think of me! Unless you think I’m awesome – in which case, you’re right! Carry on… 330. Don’t run after him who tries to avoid you..! 331. I just want to be left alone, is it hard. I don’t wanna talk because it ain’t going anywhere, let me be. I’ll be fine because I’m stronger than you think I am, I will not be defeated. 332. Treat me like a queen and I’ll treat you like my king. Treat me like a game. And I’ll show you how it’s played. 333. I’m just a mirror for you, You are good, I’m best, You are bad, I’m worst. 334. Don’t get my personality and my attitude twisted, because my personality is me, and my attitude depends on you! 335. Life: Besides gravity, nothing keeps me down. 336. I don’t follow others, I only follow my orders because I am my own boss. 337. Whatever life gives you, even if it hurts, just be strong & act like you’re okay. Strong walls shake, but never collapse. 338. My attitude is based on the way you treat me. 339. I let my haters be my motivators. 340. Attitude is not what you learn from school, it is part of your nature from within. 

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