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lillaxtrigger · 5 years

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Young Hope: Chapter 21

The salty starch of a curly french fry is dipped into a small cup of delicious ketchup; the spicy delight soon chomped in half by Kingsley’s teeth. “Mmmh...” After swallowing the piece, he goes on to compliment the flavorsome fries with: “This restaurant always makes some of the best fries. The salt and spices in each piece just burst flavor. You really outta try them Damian.” From the opposing side of the table does a tan brown hand pinch one of the longer curly fries before him; lifting it near the head of a hooded teenage boy with curly black hair drooping out from underneath. Before him, the boy watches as the long strand of potato simply droop down until it rips under its own weight; a depressing sigh escaping from his mouth as he turns away. “Hey, what’s the matter? Afraid you might burn your tongue? They’re not that hot.” Kingsley question. “I’m just not that hungry is all.” Damian moans.

Right after saying such, a small toddler smacks into his chair; Damian disappearing upon the sudden bump. The toddler looks back, staring curiously towards the seat he’d just ran into; Kingsley watching as the little kid slowly starts to approach. Right when he was near, both hear the cry of a woman; demanding the toddler to: “Get over here, Jimmy! Quit bothering them!” On those orders does the little kid retreat from the table; the boy genius looking back towards the seemingly empty seat. “You wanna talk about what’s been eating you up? You been acting more withdrawn then usual this past week or two.” Before Kingsley does the boy reappear back in his seat as a disheartened groan leaves his lungs; answering him with: “I don’t know. I...I just haven’t been the same since that whole Circe episode. Going through that whole kidnapping and life threatening drama’s just been a little hard for me.” “I ain’t really seeing anything wrong with ya.”

Beside the two, Cayenne sat woofing down the burgers and fries before her like a savage animal; bits of fries and meat spilling back onto the table as she scarfs her food down. “Ya still lookin like the same overly dramatic try hard emo pansy you’ve always been.” she mentions, her mouth stuffed with overly greasy burger pieces. “I don’t think that’s the case. I haven’t heard him speak a single poetic line the whole time he’s been around.” Kingsley denies. “I still ain’t getting what’s eating your ass. Ya got outta that circus of horrors and lesbian magic without losing a single speck of your powers. So what the big deal?” “Cayenne! He’s probably still scared about being kidnapped and nearly getting killed. I’d know I’d be.” “You did, and so did most of my cousins too. Most of the kids that went through that shit storm turned out just fine in the end.” Hearing the spice queen recall such causes Damian to let out a disheartening moan; the boy hanging his head over the batch of spicy fries. “Uh, Cayenne. Maybe it’d be best if you sit this one out.” the boy genius suggests. “Whatev.” Rising from her seat, she takes whatever food was left in front of her before taking her leave; bidding her adieu with: “Still thinking he should just get over it.”

Watching the Spice queen depart, a defeated groan leaves Damian’s lips; hesitantly agreeing with her crass judgment with: “Saying it hurts, but…she right. A lot of the kids that witch had snatched up bounced back from it all without so much as a hiccup. Like the mighty grizzly, the chilling winter of her icy grip had lulled them into a long slumber. But the comforting spring of your warming rescue had awoken them once more; springing back from the brink with more vigor than before. Alas, the cruel winter shows little mercy for me. Like the graceful gazelle, unfit slumbering through the harsh bitter ice; growing ever more frightened and frail than ever.” “Quit thinking like that. You’re not as weak as you make yourself out to be. Everyone just goes through trauma differently, that’s all. That doesn’t make yours any less valid.” The boy genius’s encouraging statement unfortunately fails to perk Damian’s spirits, remaining ever drowning in his woes.

Kingsley slapping the table baits the ghost boy’s attention; Damian hearing him offer: “Tell ya what, how about you and I go out on day through Townsville together. It’s been a while since we done something with just the two of us. We can go wherever your ghostly heart desires. Whadya say?” “I-I don’t know Kingsley. The only thing I’m really wanting to do now is just go home and cry my eyes out.” “Did I mention that the underground cafe downtown is having a poetry evening?” “...Alright, you win.” Rising from his seat, Kingsley rejoices from the agreement by concluding: “Fantastic! Just need to pay the bill and we can hit the road.” Picking up the bill, the boy genius’s chipper demeanor is swiftly cut upon viewing the cost; finding several meals that he knows neither of them had ordered. Over a hundred bucks worth of burgers, fries, sides; Jesus! Only one person was with them that could stuff themselves that much. “Ugh, Cayenne.”

Through the streets of Townsville, the duo walk together among the countless urbanites going about their day; the boy genius asking Damien: “So, you still listen to stuff like Hip Hop and Rap?” “Nn, yeah. I’ve also been branching out more towards the tranquil melancholy that Lofi has to offer.” “Glad to hear your music tastes are still intact. I’ve been seeking out stuff through techno and synth wave myself. Guess our first stop on this cheer up trip’ll be something that both of us will be into.” “Where exactly are you taking us?”

Stepping through a shop door, the specter’s question is answered then and there; beholding a vast cavalcade of music in a slew of forms. Cassettes, records, CD’s, all hailing a multitude of countless genres for all to enjoy. “A music shop? Why is our first stop here of all places.” Damian wonders as both he and his host enter. “I figured since both of us are exploring new genres, I figure we’d stop here to look through some of the new and retro stuff they’ve got stocked.” “Can’t we just do that online?” “Well, yeah. But I find there’s this oddly comforting novelty of having physical media as opposed to just pure data. Just nice to have something displayed on the shelf I guess.” Grabbing hold of the specter’s shoulder, Kingsley guides his guest towards the collection of music as he urges him to: “Come on. I bet we’ll find a ton of amazing stuff sitting in these racks.”

Along the racks of tracks, the duo search the surprisingly vast collection of synthwave music; one of which was a CD labeled “Mitch Murder”. “Think that this might be good, Kingsley?” “Mitch Murder? Oh yeah. My dad used to listen to him a lot while he’d be making gadgets and bots. I remember when I was little, I’d here the soothing synth echoing through is lab and just lull me to sleep. Really relaxing stuff there. Thinking about taking it home?” “Me? Hmm, maybe. It be rather a curious to listen to what music others might enjoy and find out what got them hooked to it.” “Really?” “Venturing out in such unexplored territory can offer a window into the souls of others. Even if it’s completely subjective, you can tell a lot about a person from the sounds that best resonate with them.” “Sounds like you know more about this stuff then I do.” “The souls of others are a very curious endeavor to explore, Kingsley. Every single life in existence is a completely unique being.”

Their search through the shop send them leaning towards the newest lofi hits; Damien trailing his finger across the cases until coming to a particular album. Pulling out the track makes the ghost boy lets out a small sigh, followed by mentioning: “The first Lofi artist I’ve discovered, a hidden diamond sparkling out in the rough that would spark a love for the secluding melody that such a genre offers.” Popping the CD out form its case, Damian flips it into the drive of a nearby music player; grabbing hold of both the headphones attached. “Care to drift along in the sea of melancholy with me, my friend?” the specter asks; offering the extra set of headphones to Kingsley. “Uh...Sure.” Grabbing hold of the pair of headphone, the boy genius dons them right over his ears; first notes and beats he listens to sound...depressing, like really depressing. Slow beats, low droning reverb, soothing piano and guitar; really sounds like something you’d listen to when wondering of the pointlessness of life and contemplating the futility of our own existence, wondering if anything that we strive to achieve will simply just waste away in the march of time until it corrodes into something far less than memory… Depressing stuff, honestly. Not really the kind of music anyone going through those thoughts should be listening to. Best to switch to a much more joyously relaxing experience.

While Kingsley moves over and flips through the countless other lofi tracks, Damian takes in the idyllic desolation playing in his ears. The depressing strums the guitar mixing with the low key strikes of the piano truly a create a comforting misery that eases the pain; as if the musician sympathizes with the woes of trauma and depression.

Such a symphony of gloom is swiftly silenced; the specter opening his eyes as he snaps back to reality. His gaze shifts over towards the player; a new CD being inserted into the slot. Looking to who changed the track, he found Kingsley holding onto the music he was listening to with a caring smile; a new piece swiftly playing for them. This time, a more upbeat, relaxing melody fills Damian ears. A piano, playing higher, more uplifting strikes sings alongside a similarly slow beat much like the previous melody. A complete contrast of the last lofi track, this one envelopes more of a chilling beat, a far more comforting rhythm. Like a friend saying: “Let’s just kick back, relax, and listen to some sweet, sweet sound.” A relaxing breath leaves the specter as a faint smile cracks between his cheeks.

After that change of tune, their journey through the genres continues unabated; both Kingsley and Damian scanning through the seeming endless walls and racks of music track. It’s in this moment that an all too familiar tune reaches the boy genius’s ears; gazing up towards the intercom to find it playing: “You used to call me on my...” Is that… “You used to, you used to” Is that really… “Yeah...You used to call me on my cellphone.” Oh my god, it’s playing Hotline Bling. It’s one of Damian’s favorites. Does he even knows its on? “Late night when you needed my love.”

Turning back to the ghost boy, he found not a single inch of his body dancing to the rhythm of the bass. “Call me on my cellphone.” Guess Damian hasn’t caught on yet. Probably too preoccupied with his woes to even notice. Perhaps a little push in the right direction might break him out of his shell. “Late night when you needed my love.”

Vaulting right over the racks between him and the specter, Kingsley slowly encroaches over to Damian’s side. “And I know when that hotline bling.” The boy genius’s head next to Damian’s, Kingsley starts to serenade along side the songs hot bassline; following the rhythm as the intercom continues with: “That can only mean one thing. I know when that Hotline Bling. That can only mean one thing.” Though not strong at first, Kingsley starts to see the specter’s body moving with the music; Damian foot stomping to the rhythm. “Ever since I left the city, you...Got a reputation for yourself now.” The further he hears Kingsley repeat the songs lyrics, the more Damian starts to break from his shy and apathetic standstill, beating his hands in tune to the bass. “Everybody knows and I feel left out. Girl, you got me down, you got me stressed out.” In the midst of harmonizing with the song, Kingsley begins to hear a low hum from the side; turning to the ghost boy to find him humming to the words. “Cause Ever since I left the city, you...” In tandem with his humming, the ghost boy starts to bop his head to the beat; slapping the racks with more vigorously. “Started wearing less and goin’ out more.” Damian’s whole body begins to move with the rhythm; Kingsley backing away from the dancing boy with a smile. “Glasses of champagne out on the dance floor.” The specter backs away from the rack of music tracks; his hood lowering to uplift his curly black hair. “Hangin’ with some girls I’ve never seen before.”

Finally, Damian turns away from the rack, dancing in full as he joins the boy genius on his chorus; singing out: “You used to call me on my cellphone.” Kingsley soon joins the phantom in his rhythmic bop; dancing side by side with Damian to the beat. “Late night when you need my love.” Both boy spin with one another, soon catching the attention of everybody in the music shop. “Call me on my cellphone.” Both boy then halt their twirl close to the carpet, slowly rising as they stay back to back to each other. “Late night when you need my love.” Once having fully risen, Damian jumps in the air and starts leisurely floating across the CD racks. “I know when that Hotline Bling.” All of the shops patrons watches the ghost boy glide through the store; the cashier even can’t help but gaze upon Damian as he moves to the rhythm of the music. “That can only mean one thing.” One of the shoppers joins in the phantoms serenade; her hips swaying with the beat. “I know when the Hotline bling.” Alongside her, the other shop patrons are gradually pulled into the rhythm; shaking their hips and bopping their heads to the music. “That can only mean one thing.” From the back of the store does a man with a shirt labeled “Manager” burst from the door; joining his patrons in their rapping chorus. “Ever since I left the city, you, you, you.” Gliding through the store; Damian twirls through the air as the other shop goers dancer. “You and be we just don’t get along.” Kingsley looks towards the ghost boy; happy to see a bright smile across his face as he sings with all his heart. “You make me feel like I did you wrong.” Damian lands back upon the carpeted floor with a dazzling flip; spreading his arms out in both directions. “Going places where you don’t belong.” The specter soon leaps back in the air; the people beneath him throwing CD cases in the air all at once. “Ever since I left the city, you-”

From the phantom’s carelessly joyous flight, Damian smacks himself into a whole wall full of tracks; the wall careening down upon another set of tracks beside it. That wall soon knocks over another wall of CD’s, spiraling an entire domino effect of collapsing sets of music tracks. The other patrons scatter away from the chaos, fleeing out the exit in panicking packs. Kingsley rolls away from the falling walls of music track, soon finding an entire rack threatening to topple upon him. Before the collection of songs could slam down upon the boy genius, somebody push him away from the descending rack; Kingsley finding himself thrust out from danger by his phantom friend. The boy genius can do little but witness the CD display tumble down upon his savor in a thunderous bang; soon seeing him buried under more dropping walls and racks.

The collapsing mayhem soon settles into a calming close; leaving the shops vast collection of music in ruin. Though the destroyed merchandise be the furthest worry from the boy geniuses mind; screaming out for his fallen friend. “Damian!” Kingsley lunges towards his buried friend without so much as a hint of hesitance; lifting up one of the falling rack as he assures him that: “Don’t worry buddy, I’ll getcha outta there soon! Just hang on!” Just as he ready to lift away the next piece of debris, the boy genius soon sees the translucent head of his friend; the ghost boy insisting that: “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Like an intangible spirit free from the physical plain of this world, Damian phases right through the toppled collection of tracks; turning corporeal once more as he lands back in front of the boy genius. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” A hearty sigh slips out from between Kingsley lips, the boy genius admitting: “Thank goodness. I really though you were done for a second there. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” “Trust me Kingsley, I’ve made out out of worse.” “I meant like...Are you feeling any better?” “Um...Kind of, but not a lot. Thanks for trying Kingsley.” “Hey, don’t quit just yet. This is just the first stop on the encouragement express; the next surprise in store might just fix your spirits yet.”

“You think so, huh?” a third voice questions. In that moment, a wayward fist breaches out from the rubble of the racks behind the boy genius; the emerging arm soon erupting out to show it belonging to the music shops managers. “You figure out how you’ll do the same with my store?” the manager growls. Presenting the resulting destruction to the two, he points towards the wrecked racks of broken CD’s and cracked case; reinforcing how: “The walls of records ruined, the racks of CD’s reduced to rubble, the tracks that I’ve stocked in shards. My entire music shop’s been completely destroyed! You got a way to fix all that!?” With a worrying groan, Kingsley pulls his wallet out from the depths of his pocket; slipping out from one of its folds his credit card.

Strolling through the concrete streets, the boy genius can’t help but notice Damian’s troubled glare; a gloomy moan leaving his lungs as the phantom stares out into space. “Hey, don’t look so down. I guarantee that the next stop were gonna visit will turn that frown upside down.” Kingsley promises. “You think so?” “I know so. It’s been someplace I’ve been wanting to take ya for quite awhile now. I guarantee your ghostly spirits will soar when you see it.” “Mind I ask where exactly are you planning to take us?”

Guided to his next stop, the ghost boy’s question is answered right then and there; Damian caught off guard by Kingsley surprise. Witnessing the astonishment in his eyes, a smile stretches across the boy genius’s face. “So, what do ya think? Your mood lightening up?” he asks. “I- I can’t believe it.” Standing before them be a brightly colored shop; the phantom beholding the assortment of exotic, almost otherworldly flowers displayed beyond the windows. “I’m guessing that’s a yes. Come on, I want to show ya the inside.” Taking the ghost boy’s hand, Kingsley gently leads Damian through the bright blue doorway; the wind chimes attached to the door ringing through their ears as they enter.

From within the shop, the duo beheld the quaint collection of blooming bunches surrounding them; a rainbow of flora encircling the pair. “All this is simply beautiful. The colors and fragrances all just blending harmoniously together in a symphony of natural beauty. How did you know?” the specter questions. “You kidding? With the whole array of flowers I see all over your house, it’s just a matter of putting two and two together. But all this, it simply pales in comparison to what they got set up in the back. Amazed me the first time I saw it all. It’s what got me thinking it bring you here.”

Stepping out the stores backdoor, both beholding a majestically expansive site spread before them; flora from every corner of the world and beyond gathered within a single enclosed garden, free from the influence of the outside world. The numerously vast collection of foliage leaves the phantom utterly speechless; left at awe of the overwhelming beauty of nature his eyes lay upon. Noticing the amazement in Damian's eyes, Kingsley lets out a little chuckle alongside mentioning: “Yep, that’s pretty much the same face I made when I first saw all this. Ain’t it neat?” “Neat? Neat simply isn’t enough to describe a site such as this. A wondrous union of flora from every corner of the world. The enchanting allure of such an earthly gathering simply draws forth the soul of nature within.” Having poetically described his feelings of wonderment and awe; Damian glides further into the wide collection of flowers before him.

The first set of flora to bait the ghost boys site be the seemingly dangerous cacti; planted upon patches of dry earth surrounded by brick. Drifting closer towards the green desert plants; Damian can’t help but let out an admiring sigh. “The mighty cactus, flourishing among the scorching desert sands. And yet, despite their unwelcoming appearance, they hide beauty among their prickly spines.” Glazing across the barbed patches, the specter soon finds a disturbance to the green; a bright pink flower, blooming right on the surface of a single cactus. “A single beauty; radiating among the harsh shells of the countless cacti.” Gliding his fingers across the flowers petals, Damian feels the gentle, almost silky texture of its petals. “Such a truly remarkable site bares with it a striking statement. How even the seemingly deadliest among us can show truly tender beauty.”

Breaking his site from the cacti underneath him; Damian is soon drawn towards another gorgeous site. “Ah! A deceptive contrast.” The ghost boy floats right over the prickly spines of the cacti and soon faces a glorious set of bell shaped flowers; a glass cage standing between him and the pure white flora. “The duplicitous brugmansia. The Angels trumpet. Truly a name none more deserving to represent the diabolical side of nature.” Phasing his arm through the glass, the specter delicately lifts one of the bells; continuing his description by adding: “Though their bell like bulbs may show themselves to be delectable and tempting, their petals hide an insidiously toxic poison. Even a single bite of this bell may very well send one on a terrifyingly painful trip towards the gates of heaven.” Taking his arm out from beyond the glass cage; Damian concludes is poetic statement with: “An example none more fitting for deceptive beauty. For what we may find as graceful and innocent may well be far more deadly and toxic than we perceive.”

Away from the lethal bells, the specter continues to drift through the glorious garden. Swiftly are his eyes taken towards a small bush sporting white flora all throughout its branches. “Quite the rare site. Never in my life would I imagine laying eyes upon the delicate hawthrons.” Nearing the bush of white, Damian gently brushes his palm along the white flora; adding how: “A flower seemingly so bland and uninteresting; blending in alongside the other beauties of nature. Alas, these tiny, fragile flowers hold within their stems an extremely potent healing property; the perfect ingredient to create powerful herbal medicine.” Pulling his hand away from the delicate flora, the phantom finishes his poetic dialect with: “A bold statement on how the small and blandest in our lives can have the biggest impacts.”

Out from the side; the ghost boy hears the call of his friend; Damian turning towards the source of his voice: “Hey Damian, come check this out.” Quickly, he glides towards the boy genius; gazing up to the majestic site right behind him. Witnessing the look of amazing upon his ghostly friend, Kingsley questions him with: “Ever seen something like this before.” “Only in myth.” Standing tall above them was the grand centerpiece of the entire exotic garden; a glamorous emerald tree enveloping a regal fountain. “An emerald evergreen. I’d never thought I would lay eyes upon such a wondrous site.”

The dazzled specter begins to ascend towards the top; the emeralds shine glimmering across his body as he rises. Near the trees crest, Damian plucks a piece of emerald hanging from one of the crystal branches; holding the piece of naturally grown jewelry towards the sun. Through the glass dome, the sun shine beams through the emerald; shining green upon the phantoms face. Dancing whimsically with the piece of rock in hand, Damian recites how: “This beautiful tree of shining jade truly brings the entire garden together; standing alongside the majestic flora to create a stunning symphony to represent the earth as a whole. A magical union of natures wonder.”

Finishing his dance, the ghost boy casually tosses the emerald leaf in his hand aside; soon descending back down towards Kingsley. The piece of rock ends up lodging itself into the sprinkler set at the top; the rock blocking the fountains water flow.

Landing right beside the boy genius, Damian lets loose a blissful sigh; Kingsley questioning if: “Guessing your spirits are soaring high now, aren’t they?” “As high as the stars themselves, Kingsley. My soul has soared beyond the atmosphere and has drifted through the planets themselves.” “Great to hear. You uh...You still hung up about you know who?” “As a matter of fact, I-” Right before the specter could give his say, both hear a violent shaking of metal and rock behind them. Turning back towards the tree, the duo witness the emerald evergreen swiftly start to furiously tremble; the loose bits of jade shaking off the crystal branches.

Right in front of them does a jet of water breach out from the hard emerald; Damian turning intangible before the gushing stream could hit him. The water jet phases right through the ghost boys body, soon striking the boy genius right behind him. “Kingsley!” Damian screams; watching as his host careens across the garden. Soon, the boy genius is smacked against the shops back wall; dropping down upon the grass with a thud. Witnessing Kingsley rise from the wayward flight, a relieved moan escapes from the phantoms lips. That same relief is swiftly withdrawn when he turns back towards the evergreen; geysers of fountain water breaking out from every side of the emerald tree; the sharp shards of which scatter all across the garden. As he gazes upon the disaster acting out before him, panicking cries reach Damian’s ear; glancing to his side to find the people fleeing from the ensuing chaos. One of these passerby’s lags behind the absconding crowd as he trip right onto the tiled walkway; looking above to witness a shower of sharp emerald pieces raining down towards him. The man braces for his inescapable demise; curling up as he awaits for the shards to impale his backside. But he feels not a single sting to his back, soon curling out from his brace to notice an emerald green glow shining right behind him; gazing back to discover the specter shielding him from the lethal shower with a translucence green plasma shield. “Get out of here!” he hears his savor demand. Not hesitating for a single second, the man scampers away from the ghost boy; Damian’s shield dissipating from the palm if his hand once the emerald rain ceases.

Back upon his feet, Kingsley beholds the escalating pandemonium ensuing before him; whole chunks of the evergreen now spraying out from around the fountain. Oh god. This is getting bad, really, really fast. They got have a water pressure control around her somewhere that can shut all this down. Hoping to find such, Kingsley swiftly scans through the garden for something that fails to blend in with the scenery; an element that clashes with the background as a whole. Out from the other side, his eyes soon lay upon a gray box nestled among a bed of gorgeous lilies. Jackpot!

The control box in his site, the boy genius sprints through the tiled walkway; passing through the retreating garden patrons. Kingsley glances up to witnesses his ghostly pal surveying through the sky; Damian’s attention soon baited by the boy genius when he calls. “Damian!” Gazing down to Kingsley below, the phantom listens as the boy genius orders that: “I’m going for the water control box! Get everyone outta here!” Hearing these demands, Damian descends down to the tiled pathway towards a couple of fleeing people. Hugging both by their wastes, the phantom sweeps the two out of the enclosed garden; phasing both him and the couple right through the glass dome.

Witnessing his phantom friend working on rescuing duty, Kingsley continues his race towards the control box up ahead. Out from the evergreen does another chunk of emerald come blasting out from the tree’s surface; the large jade rock careening towards the sprinting boy genius. Rolling along the tile, he slides right under the careening jewel as it passes right over him; the rocks rugged shards just inches away from his back. Once the emerald flies by, Kingsley leaps right back on his feet and continues towards the control box.

From there, the boy genius hurries towards the patch of lilies; green shadows sliding across the pathway baiting his attention up. Above, Kingsley witnesses several large shards descending right towards his path; refusing to halt for their landing. Continuing through, he sidesteps out from emeralds piercing crash down; witnessing the sizable shards digging straight through the tile. Finding another ready to crash before him, he jumps out from the jade jewelry’s landing; pieces of tile scattering upon impact. One more jagged jade digs right into tile pathway in front of him; Kingsley moving right by the broken piece of emerald.

Within the shop itself, two scruffy looking fellows calmly browse through the selection of flora along the shelves. One of them puts his nose up to a set of blue flowers and takes in the present aroma they emit. “I’m telling ya man. These hydrangeas will really make the place pop. Be a nice site among all those moldy hallways.” one of the suggests. “Hmm. Not to sure if blue really is the color we should go for.” the other doubts as they withdraw their nose from the flower. “Well, what kind are you thinkin about?” “I don’t know, man. Something like looks more natural. Maybe something green?” “Man, don’t fuckin joke about that. You remember the last disaster that happened when green came into our lives?” Before the other gent could answer, a crowd of fleeing patrons passes right behind them; the two turning their sites to the absconding shopper. “The hell’s got them so worked up?” one of them wonder. Glancing out through the window, the other answers with: “I think I might know what.” Both gazing out into the enclosed garden, the two scruffs stare out as they watch the specter and gifted scientist zoom through the scenery; their sites specifically locked towards the racing Kingsley. “Oh ho… ain’t that a familiar motherfucker.”

The boy genius lethal race through the garden seems to begin reaching its finish; Kingsley making out the piping hooked to the water control box among the lilies. Threatening to halt his progress however be another jet of water erupting from the tree. Though none of the shards tempt to fly in Kingsley’s direction, the speeding stream of water shoots right for him. Right on the mark, the geyser of fountain water strikes him aside; the technician sent flying through the garden. Kingsley’s forceful flight starts to take a turn for the worse, soon finding himself rocketing right towards the desert dwelling cacti. Kingsley closes his eyes, knowing there’s little he can do to to stop his careen towards the sandy pin traps but brace for the spiny impact.

Just before he could feel the sting of their sharp needles, he’s is snatched out of harms way. Failing to feel any of the cacti’s deadly pins pierce his skin; Kingsley opens his eyes and gazes up to find himself held in the air by his ghostly friend. “You okay?” Damian wonders. “I’m fine. Just fly me to the control box.”

At his friends request, the phantom teen glides across the garden to deliver his friend towards the lilies. Right when nearing the control box, Damian hears his passenger then order him to: “Now, drop me down!” “What!? But where nowhere near close to the ground! You’ll get hurt!” “There’s no time to land, Damian! Other peoples lives are at stake!” Although reluctant, the ghost boy heeds to his friends request and releases his grip on Kingsley’s arms; the super genius plummeting down towards the lily patch. While Kingsley’s descent proves trouble free, his landing shows to be anything but; breaking his ankle upon the solid concrete. The rough landing makes him tumble back; the gifted technician grabbing hold of his foot as he cries out; “Ah! My ankle!” “Kingsley!” his phantom friend concerns as he starts to descend. “Don’t worry about me! Just keep getting people out of here!” With that order, the ghostly teen flies away; leaving Kingsley to limp towards the control box.

Zooming back into the fray, Damian witness a huge chunk of the evergreen burst from the tree; the emeralds trajectory sent straight towards a fleeing elderly couple. With all his might, the specter jets straight towards the couple; coming neck and neck with the careening piece of crystal. Outracing the chunk of jade by only several inches, he reaches his arms out towards the two; grabbing hold of both senior citizens. The hunk of shining rock however slams down upon all three; the tiled pathway around the crashed emerald fracturing on all sides. Thankfully, all of them remain completely unharmed; Damian intangibly leading them out of the chunk of jewelry.

Finally making it to the control box, Kingsley leans over and begins digging through his pockets; soon pulling out his beloved screwdriver. With but a single stroke, he jams the tip of his tool right between the box and its cover; soon starting to wedge the lid off. It takes only several motions before he finally pries off the lid, revealing the valves and button controls held within; immediately beginning to turn the valve clockwise. The fountain set around the broken evergreen begins to finally calm; the water spurting out from the shattered walls of emerald soon dying down as a shimmering rainbow is left in its wake.

Finished leading the elderly couple out of the garden, Damian zooms back towards his technically gifted host. Kingsley himself sits relieved; a peaceful sigh escapes him as he knows the destruction is at an end. Seeing his phantom friend approaching, he rises from the patches of dirt to complement the ghost boy with: “Thanks Damian. You’re a big help. Your bravery and swift thinking here saved everyone's lives.” “Are you kidding. You’re the real hero here. I just simply kept people out of harms away. You...Your the one that actually stopped this whole mess.” Tempting to rise from the dirt, the boy genius stands on his feet; his ankles soaring horribly upon standing. Watching Kingsley fumble back down, Damian approaches worried; asking him if: “Oh my god! Are you alright!?” “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just my ankle. I’ll walk it off.” Rising to his knees, another question pops into Kingsley head; making him wonder aloud: “Still, kinda curious to know what screwed the fountain up so bad. Piping just doesn’t burst outta nowhere like that.”

Wondering such himself, Damien glides over towards the fractured fountain; taking a curious glance at its crown. Looking within the warped pipe at the top, the phantom teen spots something green clogging the inside. Phasing said object out with an intangible hand revealed to be a solid emerald leaf, a very familiar emerald leaf actually. Upon wondering why it seemed to recognize the jade crystal foliage; the answer suddenly hits him. “Oh...Oh my...” “What’s the matter, Damian!? Find something up there!?” he hears his host shout from below. Reluctant to show him; the phantom teen slowly descends to the base of the fountain where Kingsley stands. Without a word, Damian shyly presents the jade leaf to the boy genius; Kingsley surprised how: “That little thing caused the fountain to burst? That’s nuts. How did it even get up there?” “It’s because of me...” the specter shamefully admits. “What?” “I was the one who carelessly tossed this beautiful crystal leaf into the fountain’s crown. It’s because of me that the pipes burst and caused so much trouble.” “So it’s you’re fault, is it?” a third voice blames.

Gazing towards the source of the raspy intrusion, the duo are joined by an approaching old lady pointing her finger at the phantom as she continues with: “You’re the reason the piping went haywire!?” “Huh?” Damian wonders. “Look at the mess you made out of my precious garden!” Gazing upon the destruction that the owner presented, the two see before them the countless chunks of emerald having destroyed the tiled walkway, but the various flora as well. The rhododendrons ripped to shreds, the carnations crushed, the anemones annihilated, the peonies pulverized; almost every single flower in the garden pierced by jade shards. “All the work that I’ve put into this glorious garden, now reduced to nothing but a bejeweled catastrophe! But the worse of it all is the centerpiece.” Pointing towards the crystal tree; all three of them behold the result of the fountains clog; the emerald evergreen fractured by the burst piping. “My beautiful evergreen, shattered and destroyed beyond recognition and repair. Never to be beheld in its former glory again.” Contemplating the destruction of this once gorgeous garden that he had caused, despair ridden feelings begins to well within Damian. “Look, we’re sorry, okay. We didn’t mean to cause any of this.” Kingsley attempts to defend. “You think saying that’s gonna fix my garden? You know how much I’ll have to spend to restore all this; to track down another emerald evergreen!? How do you think your gonna compensate for the destruction you’ve caused!?”

With a guilty conscience weighing him down; the ghostly teen digs through his pockets to pull out his wallet. “I can-” Getting his wallet out, Kingsley lowers his phantom friends while he insists that: “Relax, I got it.” “But Kingsley, I can’t let you pay for what I did.” “You really think that you or your parents can afford to pay for all this? I got this covered.” A weak moan leaving his lips, the ghost boy puts his wallet away.

Limping through the twilight streets, Kingsley can’t help but hear his ghostly pal beside him berate himself on how: “It’s all my fault. All the wonder and beauty held within that glorious garden, all the CD’s and records that the music shop had gathered; all squandered and ruined because of my carelessness. The very pleasantries that deliver me joy and happiness, all come to ruin by my thoughtless actions. Truly, the universe wishes for me to weep; to wallow in the sorrows of my own doing.” “Step beating yourself up so much. You managed to save a whole bunch of people today; twice myself included. Swooping in and flying people out of the face of danger. You should be proud.” “Danger that I’ve caused. None of them would even have to be saved if it weren’t for me.” “It ain’t even remotely your fault. It’s how those places were constructed that was the problem. What made that flower shop keeper think that growing an emerald tree around a fountain wouldn’t lead to a disaster.”

Even with these statements, Kingsley finds his words showing little in lifting his friends mood; Damian simply staring down onto the concrete streets. “But uh, hey! Don’t be too down. We still got one more stop left on this encouragement express, and I guarantee that this final stop will really make the day. Trust me.” Upon those words does the boy genius lead Damian down a small flight of stone steps; soon opening the door at the bottom to reveal a small bar. The specter’s eyes are set alight on beholding the small stage behind the crowd; hearing the woman on stage sound off a haiku. “The wind is blowing. With it carries the glow of spring. The lily orchid blooms.” The end of her poetic haiku is met with a slew of snapping fingers; Damian's mouth open in astonishment. “The underground theater bar. I was so busy wallowing that I’d forgotten.” “I knew this would brighten you’re mood, even if it is kinda smokey. Think your up to get on there and perform.” Kingsley asks, waving away the puffs of cigarette smoke. “Are you kidding? I can’t wait.”

Brimming with excitement, the ghost rushes to the nearest empty table; soon pulling out a notebook and pencil as Kingsley sits next to him. Teething upon the neck of his pencil, a pondering groan escape from Damian’s lungs. “Nnn, I just can’t decide. What do you think I should write about?” he asks his host. “Whatever you want to write about, Damian. Poetry is a beautiful free form art with only the limits of your imagination.” “Kingsley, that not an answer. I need inspiration, dammit.”

The chime of the mic cuts in between their conversation, both looking out towards the stage to witness a woodland dressed gentleman tapping upon the tip. Drawing the entire bars attention, the gent clears his throat and begins his poetic anecdote with: “Few have never had the pleasure to experience an enchanting encounter with the heart of Asian nature such as I; beholding the unfiltered majesty of the Thailand jungles. The sunlight shinning through the bamboo thickets revealed the beauty reflecting within our precious earth. The elephants marching through the tall foliage as they guide their young showed to me the parental bonds we humans take for granted. Witnessing firsthand the symbolic relationship between the flock of oxpecker birds and pack of hippopotami proved to be a heartwarming example of the harmonious relationship between different creatures. All stunning examples of what we as a species should be striving for.” The woodland gents description of his trip through the Asian jungle lends him a mild snapping applause from the audience.

Fresh off hearing this performance does the distinct sound of rumbling hit Kingsley’s ears; the boy genius glancing down to see his stomach in an uproar. “Esh, guess those fries ain’t sitting too well. I’ll be in the bathroom if you need me.” he mentions as he rises from his seat. “Don’t take too long in there, Kingsley. Once I’m done, it’ll be my turn on the stage.” Damian insists without looking up from his notebook. With the boy genius strolling into the bathroom, he fails to witness the next poet come on stage; a woman in gothic attire standing within the spotlight.

Grabbing hold of the mic with her nail polished hands, the goth girl begins to recount the her tale by starting with. “The waxing moon shines down upon the decrepit remains of a Norwegian castle; the midnight lunar glow illuminating the rustic and dust ridden ruins of its halls revealing a haunting beauty one of which can only behold to believe. Traversing through the keeps darkest corridors, I had witnessed a magical site before me; fractured vision of the abodes glory days flash through the hallways. Passing through these sparks of nostalgia, the very air itself felt out of time; the furnishings and decors feeling new down to the very touch. But alas, these visions fade all too soon; the battered and decayed remains of the castle returning to shambles once more. Never have a seen anything more decadent such as that Norwegian keep, as if whatever haunts its halls is attempting to recollect memories lost to the unforgiving ages. Perhaps the day shall arrive when those that linger within the castle release themselves from the grip of their troubled memories and finally rest once and for all.” Having finished retelling her trips throughout the haunted castle, the gothic woman sets the mic back onto its pedestal; the audience lending her story a much stronger set of snaps. This haunting experience also sparks inspiration within the ghost boys own thoughts, Damian rapidly scribbling down words within his notebook.

Fresh from leaving one of the bathroom stalls, Kingsley draws in as much of the ocean breeze air fresheners captivating scent as he can; a refreshed breath leaving his lips. Ahh! That smells so much better. Certainly beats the puffs of smoke wafting outside. Don’t really know how anybody can live in that nicotine fueled air.

His shadow trailing behind the streetlights out the window, the technician strolls to the sink as he takes in more of the bathrooms pleasant incense. As he turns the sinks nobs, he wonders where exactly the refreshing smell originates; pressing the soap dispenser to find the scent coming from it alone. Whoa, that is some strong smelling soap; the scent itself leaking out from the dispenser just to grace everyone with its majestic scent. Almost as if the air of the very tropics themselves boarded a plane to town just to forcefully jam themselves straight into the noses of others. Wonder who sells this stuff?

Beside him does another stall open, a shadow trailing along the tiled floor as it approaches the boy genius’s backside.. All the while Kingsley himself remains distracted by his personal hygiene. Lathering his hands with the strong smelling soap, he finally rinses his palms; washing away every last bit of the suds. Taking in the smell of his palms, a relaxed sigh escapes from Kingsley lungs; the ocean breeze soon replaced with the scent of chloroform as a rag is forced over his mouth. Struggling against his assailants grasp, the boy genius looks within the mirror to find somebody holding him tightly, unable to make out any distinct details as his vision slowly fades. Kingsley soon falls into a deep slumber, the red swirling goggles once strapped to his neck slipping off onto the bathroom tile.

Upon the bars stage, the Damian’s chance in the spotlight finally arrives; the specter shyly putting his mouth to the mic as he announces: “Thank...Thank you all for giving me the chance to tell all of you my own tale. Truth be told, I’ve had this chronicle on the back of my mind for quite a long time now, and am happy to finally share with all of you one of my stories.” Sharing such earns the phantom teenager a small set of snaps from the audience before him; Damain looking down onto the paper of his notebook.

“Through a man made portal of swirling green, my entire body was cast into the emerald afterlife. Beyond the gates of the dead, I float through a seemingly endless void of tormented spirits and haunting beings; wailing in never ending agony over the mortality they’ve lost. Among the countless lost souls, creatures beyond words drift alongside them; praying upon their despair and sorrows like emotional predators. Floating along the swirling madness, a countless cavalcade of doors rest to my sides; each one unique to the next. Living behind their wood lie the countless memories of the departed, some being little more than single lit rooms, other massive expanses as far as the eye can see; though they all attempt to keep what little shards of memory their mortal lives once held. Soon, my journey led me faced with exotic islands beyond the reaches of the living; struggling against weathers of blistering heat and freezing winds. Venturing through the beautiful paradises of lost roman cities, to the unkempt hellscapes of torturous ruined prisons; I’ve ventured out through the most alien and imaginative worlds that human imagination has yet to comprehend. But at long last, my search for home came at an end; led to the very portal I was thrust into. Without a single moment of hesitance, I bolted through the swirling gate, soon met with my loving parents arms once more.”

Upon finishing his daring story through the dimension of the dead, Damian steps away from the mic and gives the audience a graceful bow. The silence is then shattered by a wave of snapping fingers, everyone in the bar applauding the ghostly teen’s haunting tale. Hearing himself receive such an ovation brings a bright smile to his face, the phantom casting away his dark hood to reveal his long sleeved dark yellow garbs underneath. That smile however starts to dissolve upon staring back towards his table; realizing his friends failed return from the bathroom.

Entering the men’s washroom, Damian sees not a single soul beyond the door; not even a sign of his host. “Kingsley? You in here?” he calls out. Alas, he fails to bait even a remote response, hearing only the acoustics of the tile repeating his call. His sites soon turns to the stalls, checking underneath to find not a single pair of feet. Opening all three of them yield nothing either, each one completely vacant. Quite peculiar to be honest. He definitely said he was going to the restrooms, certain that he was. It’s not like him to just depart without so much as warning, especially during a day out such as this.

Upon pondering this does Damian feel something crack below his feet, glancing down and lifting his foot to find a familiar set of goggles, one of the lenses shattered by the specters foot. Picking them off the floor, he knew right away who they belonged to. This-these are Kingsley’s favorite pair! He’s almost always has them around his neck. Something must have happened. He wouldn’t just leave them on the floor so carelessly like this. Betting he was kidnapped, this is a job for the cops.

With this in mind, Damian feverishly pulls out his phone; his finger resting on the police dial. Right when he was ready to make the call, a worrying thought perks up and causes him to hesitate. Hang on! If he was kidnapped, it’s almost a safe bet they plan to hold him hostage; having him at gunpoint and could cap him at any sign of the heat. Might wanna call in somebody that can make things go smoothly. Thinking this, the phantom teen scrolls up to the “C” list; his finger hovering over Cayenne’s number. Eh, maybe not. She might wind up making things worse.

Putting his phone back, the ghostly teen lets out disheartened groan. It’s no use. It doesn’t matter who can help out, they’ll just draw attention and put Kingsley in danger. Guess its more of a solo rescue mission then. Still, there is one thing that can track him down. Something that Dad talked about a couple years back. Might be kinda rusty at it, hadn’t really had much need to practice. Oh well, guess now’s a good a time as any.

Taking in a deep breath, Damian lets out calming sigh; shutting his eyes as he holds the pair of broken goggles before him. An emerald green aura begins to emit from the ghost boys palms, soon enveloping Kingsley’s swirling goggles in their glow. From the aura do the pair of goggles start to ascend from his hands; the phantom focusing upon the eye wear until nothing else remains in his mind. With enough concentration, the aura surrounding the goggles transforms into a violet hue; soon trailing away from the pair of eye wear and drifting towards the left. Opening his eyes, Damian witnesses the aura trial phasing through the bathroom window. Walking to the small window, the specter lightly taps the glass; the window falling over onto the concrete street. From there, Damian phases out from the bathroom and in to the alley; swiftly following the aura of his friend out into the streets.

Trapped within the dim confines of a ruined room, two thugs finish tying the gifted technician from neck to toe tightly to a wooden chair; remaining oddly calm to the daring situation at hand. “Sooo...why did you guys kidnap me again?” he nonchalantly asks his captors. “For real, you saying don’t remember a thing about us?” the one to his front wonders. “Mmm...Nah.” “Not even the time we kidnapped ya a few months back?” the goon wonder, hurt by the boy genius’s lack of memory. “Eh, ain’t ringing any bells.” “Seriously, how often does ya sorry ass get ganked that you don’t recognize us?” the other behind him wonders as he walks to Kingsley’s front. “Happens more times then you’d think, honestly. Ya mind being a bit more specific?” “The Raw Shuck gang?” Mentioning their identities leaves their captive ever clueless; Kingsley simply starring at them with a confused gaze. “Those three brats you had with ya tore up our sweet hideout the last time we took ya.” “Nnn...sounds familiar, but...You sure that was you guys?” Upon this absence of memory, the two crooks are left speechless; one of their eyes beginning to well up with tears. Wiping the tear off his face, the goon pulls his partner aside to talk in private.

Facing away from their captive, the one goon goes on to mention: “Told ya our reputation’s been plummeting the past couple months. Gotten so bad that this mofo we ganked a while back can’t even remember us.” “Maybe it wouldn’t have took a nose dive down to the earths core and out the other side if we had more than one hideout. The damage that assholes kids caused took out half our gang.” “Hey, it ain’t my fault that some new brats in town are muscling in on our turfs and beaten the shit outta us.” “Who’s even stompin us out anyway? Didn’t even hear a single name.” “I don’t fuckin know. Bunch of young ass mofo’s going around callin themselves the “Yellow Jacket”. Some shit like that.” “You fuckin playin with me here? What kind of twink ass freaks just strutten through the streets like tough shit name themselves after a bunch of damn wasps?” “Well, who names their gang after a psychological test?” Kingsley interjects. From behind their back, the two goon look back towards the boy genius; glancing to each other to realize their captive listening their private conversation. Fulling turning back to their tied up hostage, the two gaze upon Kingsley with intimidating glares; one of them putting their face to the boy genius’s and threatening with: “Ain’t nobody gonna bust you outta here this time.” Both make their exit out; the other goon leaving Kingsley with a departing promise. “You gonna pay for make fools outta the Raw Shuck.”

With these parting words to the two thugs leave the boy genius tied up; Kingsley himself left apathetic to their warning. “Oh no. I, Kingsley Spicer, have been captured once again by a menacing gang of thugs and entrapped under their ropes. If only I had come prepared for this inevitable situation. Oh wait...” he claims with droning sarcasm. Loosening his wrist from the tight hold of his restraints, the boy reveals a watch from under the ropes. Pressing a button to its side causes the watches face to open; a small mechanical appendage soon firing a small laser. “I did.” the boy genius sarcastically recounts as the laser cuts through the rope holding him down. Once the last of his binds has been severed, Kingsley rises from the wooden chair, brushing off the loose strands of rope. “And people wonder why I wear a watch with smartphones around.”

Outside, Damian stares onward as a nervous gulp passes through his through; beholding the run down hospital blending into the night. “Get it together, Damian. It’s an abandoned hospital...filled to the brim with murderous thugs ready to unload their guns towards an intruder at a moments notice. No big deal, nothing to fear.” Glancing down to the pair of broken goggles in his hands, the phantom teen witnesses the voilet aura trail winding through the front door. “If I play my cards just right, I can swoop in and get Kingsley right out. All with no one else the wiser.” This strategy cemented in his head, Damian makes himself invisible to the naked eye and glides right through the front door.

Set deep within the dark corridors of the hospital, two goons stroll past an open desk sitting right in the middle of a big intersection. “So they asked you how you want your pork cooked?”. “Yeah, it was really weird. You told me that pork has to be cooked in a specific way right?” “It has to be cooked thoroughly so that all the bacteria in it get burned off. Kinda shocking that they even asked in the first place.” “Yeah, probably won’t be long before they catch the heat of the FDA. That steakhouse is a lawsuit waiting to happen, just wait.” Once the two turn the corner, their thought to be captive peeks out over the counter; glancing in both directions before sneaking away in the opposite direction.

Prowling through the molding hospital halls, stealthy technician gazes up towards the ceiling; the exit signs hanging over head beaten in. Beyond it however laid another sign, pointing where the fire escape is located. Seems like the perfect getaway at first, doesn’t it? Just slip through the emergency exit and book it as fast as ya can. But with the tempting bait lies an insidious trap. Judging by the dim lights, this place is still holding the power together. The alarm to the fire escape probably hasn’t been cut. Try and walk out through there and the blaring alarm will get the whole hospitals attention. Still, there’s gotta be another way out. Somewhere nobody will even notice anybody making their getaway. Upon wondering such does Kingsley witness a shadow creeping out from the corner; soon frantically looking around for a place to hide.

Out from beyond the corner, disgruntled goon walk through the empty hallway with a mop and bucket in hand. “Man, why the fuck do I always get stuck with janitor duty. Ain’t like anybody else is going through this moldy ass shit hole. Only got me on this one man clean up crew with just fucking mop and bucket; don’t know what makes em think that anybody can clean this whole crap dump with just these thing.” Caught up in his aggravated rantings, the janitorial grunt fails to discover Kingsley hiding within one of the open patient rooms; the door broken from its hinges. Once the angry cleaner was clear from the halls, the sneaking genius slinks away from the janitor; sadly unaware of his invisible ghostly pal searching for him on the other side of the hall.

Passing the pissed grunt overhead, Damian continues to trail through the dim hospital halls; following the violet aura emanating from his friends broken goggles. His trailing search soon takes him to a split in the middle; Kingsley’s energy venturing off in both directions of an intersecting hallway. The phantom ponders why his trail would fracture so distinctly like this; only two explanations at the top of his head. Either these thugs couldn’t decide where to stow him, or...he must have broke free! If the latter is true, then Kingsley would be attempting to sneak out towards the exit. Best track him down post haste, lest these brutish thugs catch him in the midst of his escape. Judging from where the entrance is located, Kingsley would likely be going...right. Having thought this, Damian takes a right on the 4 way hallway; resuming his rescue as he continue to follow his friend’s aura.

His invisible pursuits soon lead him to an alarming predicament. Standing before him be a whole cavalcade of thugs, crooks and grunts, mingling to one another of their criminal escapades within what looked to be a small lobby. Oh...oh boy...Okay, this gonna be tight. Just gotta not make a single sound and this’ll go as silky smooth as melting butter on top of toasted bread.

Carefully does Damian start to fly over the pack of thugs without so much as a peep; as getting close to the ceiling as he possibly can without touching it. Only a few feet of space stand between their countless heads and his body; the specter quieting his breath so not to draw any attention. As the phantom teen carefully floats over the murmuring crowd, he regrets not making enough time to practice his other ghostly abilities with his father; maintaining intangibility alongside invisibility being a skill that would have come in handy in situations such as this. Perhaps once this is all over, the father could explain how to do so without contracting overwhelming migraines.

A trouble that bares its fangs when Damian’s clothes are caught on the ceiling, the unexpected jerk making the mineral fiber tile over him tremble. Glancing back, the phantom had found the bottom back of his shirt caught along a loose wire. Hearing the murmuring cease underneath, Damian gazes down to find the crooks below him staring up towards him. “Anyone else see that?” “Yeah, part of the ceiling moved.” “I saw it too!” “Probably just rats! This place is crawling with them.” “I don’t know, I ain’t hearing any scuttling.” With the crowd under him growing curious, Damian slowly attempts to pick out his shirt from the wiring; his endeavors causing the tile over him to shake. “There! It’s moving! I knew it!” “Da faq’s goin on up there!” “Someone got a stick or somethin?” “We could just stack on each other and reach up there.” “Hell, no. I ain’t havin someones dirty ass dick on the back of my neck.” “Found a broken IV pole. Will that work?” The crowd beneath him gathering ever closer, Damian hurries to unhook his shirt from the loose wire; someone from the band of crook drawing forth with a long metal pole. Right as the goon with the broken IV pole was under him, the phantom manages to free himself from the wires grasp. The crook below begins to thrust the pole upward; Damian slipping right past its metal neck just in the nick of time. Floating away from the mineral fiber tile, the lackey instead pokes at the loose bit of ceiling; lifting the tile to reveal simply the loose cables underneath. “Huh, maybe it was just some rats.” “Well, what else do you expect from an abandoned hospital?” “Don’t know. Fuckin ghost.” “Josique, shut yo damn mouth.” Finally putting the curious crowd behind him, Damian lets loose a quiet sigh; glancing back to find not a single one of them the wiser.

The phantom then attempts takes off from the gang of goons, hoping to gain as much distance from them as possible; his getaway immediately interrupted when slamming into a wayward henchman. Both the invisible ghost and goon fall right on their asses on impact; the entire crowd behind them drawn by the unexpected fall. “You okay there, man?” one of them worries. “Ah! Anybody see what the hell happened?” the crook on the cracked marble wonders. “Think you might have tripped?” “No, felt like I ran into somebody.” The crowd of criminals behind him approaching the two, Damian wastes not one more moment to escape while he’s still remains relatively undetected; zipping right past the baddie before those behind him could realize his presence.

Peeking out from the other side of a thick metal door; Kingsley finds himself having reached the roof of the hospital; the full moon illuminating the entire top of the building to reveal not a soul wandering outside. With nobody in site, the wonderous genius steps out into the night; the cool fall winds brushing past as he shuts the door behind him. Although a little shivering, the freezing night air is welcoming none the less; taking in a breath free from the foul stench of aging mold and dried blood. It never really crosses the mind the kind of horrible odors that can originate from a hospital with cleanup being a constant need. With barely anybody around to keep up maintenance, all the fowl smelling bacteria comes out to play. Kinda surprising then that no one down there has contracted any diseases yet.

Putting these thoughts behind him though, Kingsley opts to take a glance out from the side; staring down below to spot an armed thug patrolling the face of the hospital. Pretty obvious that they’d have the front of their hideout covered, but what about the sides? Looking down to the left shows a couple of crooks creeping along their HQ’s first half. Okay, maybe the right might prove more lax. But alas, walking across the rooftop revealed the hospitals right side to be just as secure as its left. Right, they probably have the back covered as well. And just as predicted, the back shows to be just as covered as the rest of the outside. They’re not really being lazy with security, are they? There isn’t a single blind spot to climb down to and sneak off. With every corner of this place covered, there’s really only one option left to take. Digging through his pockets, the boy genius pulls out his smart phone; unlocking his screen and brings up his contacts. Hard to believe they didn’t think of taking this away.

Scrolling through his friends number, he ponders who exactly to call in this time of need; knowing all too well that calling in someone like Cayenne would risk causing one heck of a commotion and could end extremely poorly. No...a situation such as this calls for someone with a far more careful hand. Somebody who can easily slip into the shadows and go by undetected; as if turning invisible to the naked eye. But who exactly can fulfill such an insanely careful and incredibly crafty roll... Eh, Damian could fit the bill.

Finally making his decisions, Kingsley taps on his ghostly pals number; putting his phone to his ear to hear the dial tone sound off. Come on, please pick up…

On the floors below, Damian himself floats through the dim halls of the hospital in pursuing his friends aura. The phantoms search soon leads him to a run down patients room, opening the door to find before him a peculiar site. Behind the destroyed equipment at the end of the room be a lone wooden chair with a set of rope surrounding its bottom. Picking the rope off the old marble floor shows the binds having been cut in half at the back; sporting scorch marks around the severed end. Touching these marks felt hot to the touch; the smell of burnt cloth still fresh.

They definitely tried to keep him held up in here; but knowing Kingsley, he swiftly figured out a way to escape. The goons outside don’t really seemed particularly alarmed; they must not realize that he’s free yet. Gahh! Should’ve took the left instead of the right back at the split. Guess there’s not much else that can be done but backtrack and hope that Kingsley can stay outta site long enough.

Right as he ready to trudge back through the halls, the phantom’s phone blares out Drakes “In my feelings”; Damian scrambling through his pockets to pull out the source of the echoing ringing. From the side, the phantom feverishly puts his call on hold and shuts down his phone entirely; regrets of not doing so sooner flaring in his mind. Though there’s little time for self deprecation, as the specter soon hears the sound of approaching footsteps. “Who the hell’s playing Drake in here?”

Three thugs soon storm through the doorway; gazing within the seemingly empty patient room as one of them assures that: “Swear I heard it come from in here.” “Think some dumbass might’ve left their phone in lyin around?” the other wonders. “Maybe. Let’s look around. See if someone’s hiding in here.” the last suggests. All three of them start to look deeper within the ruins of the patients room, unaware of the source of the noise standing right beside them. Damian remains completely quiet as the crooks search through the broken hospital furnishings; inching closer towards the rooms open exit.

One of the lackeys soon comes across the chair surrounded by freshly cut rope. “Hey, guys. We kidnapped anybody recently?” he wonders. “Yeah, somebody finally knocked that Spicer brat and brung him back. Have him stowed up somewhere. Why?” one of them questions. “Uh, think they might have got out.” “What!?” From the other side of the room, the goon rushes to her comrades side and beholds the very same site as he. Picking the rope up, she ran through its string to come upon its severed end. “Dammit! How the hell, he get out so fuckin fast!?” “We gotta go tell the others. Who know’s how long he’s been sneakin around here?”

With the crooks alarm does Damian finally leave through the doorway; soon meeting with the blunt force of a wayward baseball bat. The impact causes the phantom to fall to the marble floor; soon becoming visible to the world once again. All within the patient room stares down onto him; surprised of his sudden appearance. “The fuck! Where the hell’d he come from!” “Swear, this town is full of freaks!” “Didn’t even see him at all. Who punched his lights out?” “That be me, mofo’s.” someone speaks up. Coming out from the hall, a forth crook wearing an odd pair of goggles comes in wielding a baseball bat. “Josique!?” “Ya’ll callin me fuckin stupid for blowin my cash on inferred goggles! Bet all ya’ll asshole kickin yoselves for constantly given me shit! “God dammit, Josique. You wastin yo greens on stupid shit stead of crack or hoes? The fucks wrong with ya?” Well, that look like a waste a greens, mofo’s!?” he gloats, points to the groaning ghost boy. Writhing on the floor; Damian’s consciousness begins to elude him; the last words he hears before blacking out be: “Just shut up and get the cuffs.”

Anxiously awaiting atop the roof, Kingsley stands by as he attempts to call for his phantom friends; the droning ring sounding out in his ear sweat drips down his forehead. A disheartened sigh leaves his lungs when the tone goes straight to voicemail; spurring the chance to leave a message and jumping back to his contacts. Guess there really isn’t much options left to take now, is there? Things might get kinda messy with Cayenne charging straight in, but what else can be done at this point. Just hope she doesn’t go overboard this time.

The boy genius scrolling back up towards the C’s in his contacts, his finger hovers over Cayenne’s number. Just when he was ready to make the call, his phone picks up an incoming call; the oncoming number soon turning to Damian’s name. Seeing his ghostly pal calling, Kingsley waits not one more moment to take the call; putting the phone up to his ear and pleading: “Damian! Thank goodness I finally caught you. Listen, I’m trapped up here at the top of an abandoned hospital. I need you come get me before the goons down below find out I’m-” “Hello, dear friend.” a deep voice greets. Kingsley nerves wind right back up when hearing the unfamiliar tone on the other end. “Mind staying on the line as you come back down, buddy? I have a guest down here that I think you be interested to reunite with.”

Held within the dim confines of a central office, Damian struggles to free himself from a set of neon green handcuff. Turning intangible fails to release his hands from their grip; a painful shock delivered to his whole body that forces him back to the physical plane. As he recovers from the sudden shock, a voice to his side warns that: “Slipping outta those cuffs ain’t gonna be that easy for ya, pal.” The specter gazes over towards a slim man donning a pale business suit; his face sporting black markings around his eyes. “I know. These are standard phantom containment cuffs. Only official phantom patrol officials are allowed access to these. How did someone like you get your hands on a pair?” Damian demands. “Kinda hate to admit it, but nabbing a pair of those puppies wasn’t easy. Had to go through a ton of black market channels just to try and find the damn things. Course since last time, we knew that it had to be a necessary investment. A little precaution just in case. And judging from the way your struggling in those cuff; I’d say it was all worth it.” Turning away from his ghostly captive, the man puts his feet up over his desks and lays back on his chair.

Right after he gloats does his office door creaks open, the boy genius himself being led in by a crook with a gun pointed to his back. “Ah, speaking of which, glad to see you back. Allow me to formally welcome you into the depth of the Raw Shucks den.” Damian steps out from the shadows, fervently asking: “Kingsley! Are you okay!? Did they hurt you!? I- Hang on second.” The phantom then turns his sites back towards the man behind the desk, wondering: “The Raw Shucks? Really? What kind of crime boss would name their gang after some psychological test?” “I was asking the exact same thing.” Kingsley adds. Slamming his fist against the desk, the boss rises from his seat; insisting that: “It’s meant to be a bad ass name! It’s supposed to tell others that we’ll psychologically ruin them. Get inside their mind. The trauma we cause’ll fuck them up. Ya get it? Come on.” Everyone in the office stands in the office in silence; perplexed of the boss’s naming reasons. Glancing to the goon holding Kingsley at gunpoint; Damian watches as she simply just shrugs. The lack of a response makes the boss pinch his nose as an irritated groan escapes his lungs. “Where the hell was I?” Snapping his finger; he reminds himself that he cut off at: “Right. Right. Threats.”

Sitting back down, the boss picks up where he left off; promising Kingsley that: “We’re gonna make you pay for crashing our party last time, Spice boy. Those brat you sicked on us ain’t here to help you out this time. Not to mention having your ghostly pal here on his leash. The bust up since then set us back big time. Rival gangs have been coming in and muscling in on our turfs, drug trafficking ring’s been shafted, heists and robberies have been dwindling to a crawl; it’s all been just a really shitty month to be honest. But ya know something?” The boss then vaults right over his desk; finishing his statement as he lands with: “All that’s gonna change real soon once we cash in on the pretty pennies both your ransoms will make. The investments we made in our hour of need will pay themselves back tenfold. With all those greens fueling are return, we’ll take back Townsville’s underbelly and conquer what lies beyond!”

His painted gaze aimed towards the boy genius, boss commands him with: “Now, hands up, phone down.” Feeling the cold steel of the iron barrel on his back, Kingsley calmly complies with the bosses orders; dropping his phone and raising both hands over his head. After picking up the mobile device, the boss glances right above his hostage’s head to find the boys hands balled tightly; immediately ordering his guest to: “Fist...Open.” With those words does Kingsley look towards his ghostly friend; Damian staring back as his eyes squint. Following the bosses words does the boy genius open his palms; releasing a small black ball that drops towards the ground. Both the boss and phantom watch as the featureless ball rolls along the marble crack; Damian’s eyes widening as he realizes his friends plan. The little ball finally explodes; Kingsley giving his phantom friend a determined smile as the entire office is swiftly enveloped in a shroud of white. Coughing up the smoke bombs discharge, the crime boss flails about to try and clear out the clouds; several gunshots sounding off in the chaos. The smoke eventually dissipates, the boss and his armed lackey finding their guest having vanished. Glancing back to his desk’s side, they saw that the phantom has disappeared as well. A small growl coming from between his teeth soon morphs into a full blown scream; the boss crushing the boy genius’s phone with his bare hands. He swiftly turns towards his goon; demanding that she: “Don’t just stand there, go after them!” Once the crook sprints out into the hall, her boss vaults back on the other side of his desk; grabbing hold of the intercom and announcing to the entire hideout. “Attention, my lovable pack of marauders. We got a couple escapees scuttling in our halls! Get yourselves armed and scramble towards the west wing, on the double!”

His announcment echoing across the entire hospital, Kingsley and Damian sprint as fast as their legs can carry them. “You really can’t phase us outta here?” the boy genius question. “Unfortunately, no. As long as these accursed cuffs cover my hands, nearly all of my powers are locked under its steel. Curse the bounding achievements of paranormal technology!’” “Damian, relax. I can get them off. We just have to find someplace to hide so I can pick the lock.”

Winding and weaving themselves through the molding halls, the duo attempt to break down every door they can in hopes of finding a place to hide; most of the doors they encounter either locked or stuck shut. Those few with no doors fail to be effective hiding places; rooms they come across either being cluttered messes or small closets.

Their escapades are eventually come to a dead end, Damian stopping in his tracks when turning the corner. Kingsley unintentionally tackles him down, both boys falling upon the dirty marble floor. “Ah, why’d you stop?” the boy genius wonders; soon looking along his side to find the answer. Rising from the floor, the duo are faced with a squad of armed goons and crook; all their firearms aimed right at the two. “Oh, wow. They gathered faster then I anticipated. That’s...quite impressive actually.” the technician admits. “Yeah, bitch. The Raw Shucks don’t slouch around. Now, you two piss ant’s scramble back your rooms before we cap yo asses.” one of them warns.

To the specters side, Kingsley whispers that: “I only packed the one smoke bomb. I don’t got anything else up my sleeves.” Gazing out to the group of armed thugs set before him, the phantom puts on his bravest face and counter that: “You might not...but I do. Stay behind me and plug your ears.” With that answer, Damian start to approach the front of the crowd; Kingsley frantically whispering: “What are you doing!?” “Something that my dad said that I should only do in emergencies.”

The phantom teen stepping to the front of the pack of lethal crooks; one of them warns the boy to: “Come on, kid, don’t be a hero. Just back away and play nice.” Breaking his determined glare, Damian takes in a mighty breath of air; the crowd before him perplexed why the boy was holding his breath. Their answer is soon given in the form of a bellowing screech; Damian letting loose powerful emerald waves from his mouth. Kingsley backs away towards the wall, covering his ears upon the horrifying screech. The intense wail starts pushing the thugs before the phantom back; the emerald waves causing them to careen into the walls. While some try to block out the unholy shrieking, others attempt to fire upon the bellowing phantom; their bullets failing to travel far as the emerald waves push them back. The constant blast of booming screams starts to make the entire hospital tremble; the walls before him beginning to give way. Soon, Damian’s tormenting wails breaking through the facilities structure, entire chunks of the hospital being blown away by his green screech.

Eventually, the boy genius hears the ear piercing screams die down; Kingsley opens his eyes to find an astonishing site. Before his ghostly friend, the entire side of the hospital had been completely destroyed; a funneling hole left remaining in the aftermath. He finally breaks his stare out into the open night sky when he witnesses Damian fall to his knees; the specter coughing up blood onto the broken marble floor. “Damian!” the boy genius shouts; rushing to his phantom friends side. Kneeling to Damian, Kingsley worries if: “Are you okay!?” Ignoring the boy genius’s question, the ghostly teen puts his entrapped hands before Kingsley. “Get these cuffs off. They’ll be here any minute.” he wheezes out. Upon this request, Kingsley frantically digs through his pockets, soon pulling out his trusted screwdriver and jamming its tip straight into the cuffs lock. As he shifts his tool through Damian’s binds, both begins to hear the echo of constant footstep approaching; the ghost boy urging his friend to: “Hurry...” Kingsley looks back to see shadows he begin to creep out from the corner, making him haste his lock picking. Finally, the specter’s cuffs come undone, the technological metal binds falling to the floor.

Damian witnesses a pack of crooks turn the corner, witnessing their barrels aimed right towards the two. Before a single one of them could open fire; the phantom bounces on the boy genius. Kingsley hears the sound of gunfire echo through the hall; looking beyond his phantom friend to find the goons behind them unleashing their salvo atop the two. Though dozens of bullets pass right through them, not one does any harm to them. The teenage genius looks down to find Damian hugging him as tight as he possibly can, the phantom turning them both intangible against the led shower. With whatever strength he bares left; the specter jumps away from the small cavalcade of armed of criminals and rockets out from the very hole that he’s created. The thugs behind them attempt to shoot the escaping duo right out of the sky, none of them coming close to land a single bullet on either of them.

In his flight, Kingsley looks back towards the hospital disappearing in the distance; admitting that: “I can’t believe we actually made it outta there in one piece. Damian, your-” Just before the boy could speak any further, his friends strength finally fades; both boy soon begin to plummet down towards the buildings below. Both soon land right on top of an apartment building; the duo rolling across the rooftop before stopping right near the edge.

Slowly rising from their rough landing, Kingsley looks on towards the direction of their escape; claiming that: “I don’t think they’re gonna pursue us this close to the city.” Turning back to his savor, he begins to conclude that: “I think we should be safe to-” Silencing his statement, Kingsley witnesses his phantom friend kneeling on his knees; the sound of sniveling sounding out across the rooftop. “What...What the matter? Are you still hurt?” the boy genius wonders, nearing Damian’s side. “I’m...so...worthless...” Taken aback by his self loathing statement, Kingsley looks to his phantom friends face to find tears trickling down his cheeks. “What?” “I screwed practically everything over. I couldn’t keep you from getting kidnapped, I broke your favorite pair of goggles, and when I tried rescuing you, I just wound up getting caught myself.” he reviews, presenting Kingsley shattered lens to him. Taking the eye wear from his ghostly pals palms, the boy genius hears him continue with: “All day, things how been taking a turn for the worse and its all cause of me. I’m nothing but trouble. Cayenne was right. I’m nothing but a melodramatic coward.” Kingsley throws his broken set of goggles aside; patting his self loathing friend on the shoulder as he denies that: “Damian, that ain’t true in the slightest. Far from it. I probably would have wound up becoming a led filled organ pinata if you hadn’t came in and got me out of that nest of crooks.” “But...you still had to come and save my spectral hide after I got locked in ghost proof cuffs.” “And you still went and blew a ton of them away. Even with those things on; you not only took them out, but blew up a whole half of a hospital, all just by screaming. We would have been caught dead if you couldn’t do that.”

Wiping away the snot from his nose; Damian adds with his retort with: “No one’s gonna believe any of this coming out of our mouths though. People like Cayenne’ll still see me as nothing more then a spineless poet.” A melancholy sigh escaping from his lungs, the teenage specter, continues with: “Much like natures mighty lifeline, the graceful honeybee. Keeping their world beautiful and full of life. But alas, those that benefit from them the most see them as nothing but a nuisance, much like I.” “Stop thinking like that. You shouldn’t care what the vast majority of people think of you anyway. Doing that’s just gonna make you get all kinds of unnecessary stress. You know who’s opinion you should really be concerned with?” “Who’s?” Pointing his finger right to his ghostly pals nose; Kingsley simply answers: “Yours.” Kingsley sees that this statement fails to waver Damian’s self doubt; swiftly thinking what he should add to cheer up his phantom friend. “But…even if you still aren’t too sure about yourself. Just know that...you’ll always be a hero in my eyes.” This final guarantee makes a smile crack between the spectral teens cheeks; a laugh soon escaping through his teeth. “Thanks Kingsley.”

Rising from the course roof, Damian stands tall by Kingsley’s side; both boys starring out up to the full moon as it shines its lunar glow down upon the town. “The full moon. Shining its brightest when facing the earth and its struggles. Much like how all of us can shine when we face our existence.” “Glad your feeling better, buddy.”

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

Might’ve given credit about Damian earlier, but just in case:

Damian belongs to: @princesscallyie

#lillaxtrigger #Young Hope

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richincolor · 5 years

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Group Discussion: Watch Us Rise

Welcome to our first book discussion of 2019! We all enjoyed reading Renee Watson's & Ellen Hagan's feminist novel "Watch Us Rise" that gave us two amazing teens Jasmine & Chelsea that we all laughed, cried, and loved with. Onto our discussion!

K. Imani: I first read this book almost in one sitting, it was so good! I loved how it was so “in your face”, but completely authentic at the same time. There were many touching moments, many funny moments where I laughed out loud, moments where I was annoyed with the characters (mainly Chelsea), and moments where I felt so proud of these girls. I loved the structure of the novel and greatly enjoyed the inclusion of the poetry, and the different styles of the Write Like A Girl blog posts. This is definitely a book that I would think about using in the classroom. So, what did you think of the book? What aspects of it did you absolutely love?

Audrey: Honestly, one of the things I loved most was all the different forms of media in the book. There were blog posts (and likes/reblogs/comments on them), poetry, sketches/drawings, posters, biographies, lists, etc. that all got used to tell Jasmine and Chelsea’s story, and I thought it was all very cleverly constructed.

I also loved the fact that this was explicitly a novel about activism and the journey of how to be an activist. Jasmine and Chelsea made mistakes in their activism, but they also learned from them. I loved their conversations with Leidy in the second half of the book and how she got them examine their own motives and consider how they could expand their activism. The mentorship and community support demonstrated in this book was really uplifting.

Crystal: There were many things to appreciate so it’s hard to pick, but like Audrey, I really enjoyed the variety of media used to tell this story. I especially like to find poetry in YA, so that was an extra gift.

Activism can be complicated. I really liked seeing how Jasmine and Chelsea used their voices. Sometimes they acted impulsively, but they ultimately worked through what they wanted to say and how they could say it to create change. I appreciated seeing them have to think through what they were really fighting for and why they were speaking out.

Jessica: First off, I have to say: I love the cover. It’s just so eye-catching and whenever I see it in a library or a bookstore, my heart lifts a little. Totally agree on the different forms of media. It really brought the story alive. I appreciated that the book tackled the online aspect of activism -- the good and the bad. That’s never easy, and it made Watch Us Rise all the more relevant for today’s generation of students.

K. Imani: This novel had a lot of poetry in it. What was your favorite poem? Mine was The Bod (pg. 237) that Jasmine wrote. As a Black woman, it really spoke to me with all the insecurities I’ve had about my body and my hair at times in my life. The way the poem moved from dealing with racist words about the body to the acceptance of her body was beautiful to me. The last line really sealed the poem for me.

Audrey: I loved “What It Be Like: on being a girl” (pg 115-116, hard copy edition), particularly the sentence “It be like second-guessing your know-how, like fact-checking your own truth.” That hit hard for me. I’m intimately familiar with that hesitation, that instinct to second-guess my own experiences and desires. I’ve read it a couple times now, and I really appreciate the way the poem transitioned to the final verse.

Crystal: So many of the poems dealt with bodies - how we are seen and how we see ourselves. I enjoyed many of them, but really felt “This Body II” (pg. 333). There are so many things that our bodies are and can be, but no matter what -- our body is our own. Jasmine says “My body is perfect and imperfect…” and she lists things that make her body distinctively hers. She explains that her body is a masterpiece. Jasmine reminds us to love our bodies and claim them.

Jessica: It’s honestly really hard to choose! If I had to pick, then I’d say “What It Be Like: on being a girl” was also my favorite. It definitely rang familiar to me in a lot of ways.

K. Imani: While this novel is practically a feminist manifesto, it does touch on the need for intersectionality. The moment when Chelsea doesn’t consider Jasmine’s size when ordering the t-shirts really hit home how white women feminists can get caught up in their own fight and forget about others. I felt like it was a lesson, not for just Chelsea, but for all budding young Feminists to really think about how different types of women experience oppression and their own privilege.

Audrey: Yeah, I cringed when Chelsea picked up the t-shirts because I knew immediately that she’d screwed up. She took the time to order extra small but it never crossed her mind to go beyond a large in the women’s sizes, which--yeah, that’s a major oversight on her part, especially right after writing a poem against the ads that told her to change her body. I’m also glad that the girls were told that some of their actions had negatively impacted people they hadn’t considered (the school janitorial staff) and resolved to apologize and be smarter about the actions they took. Jasmine and Chelsea’s conversations with each other, their friends, and their mentors in the community were often learning opportunities and chances for them to think deeply about their goals and the repercussions of their actions.

And on a broader level, their whole school was supposed to incorporate social justice in basically everything, but there were still major flaws within it. There were a lot of intersectionality fails there, from the students to the teachers to the principal. Even in spaces where people want to “do better,” they still screw up and can push back when someone points out where they failed.

Crystal: Yes, this was definitely a wake up call for Chelsea. No matter how much she thought she was seeing and addressing injustice, ignorance and/or obliviousness could still happen. I think it can be worse with people (and I’m pointing that finger at myself too) who are making concerted efforts in specific areas of injustice because they are ultra-focused on that aspect of identity or marginalization and then it’s hard to see the bigger picture. Like Audrey pointed out, there were flaws throughout the school even though it had a social justice emphasis.

Jessica: There’s definitely been more and more conversations online about what intersectionality is and isn’t, and I think Chelsea and Jasmine’s interactions really drive that home. There was a lot of nuance to the discussions and conflicts in Watch Us Rise, and it made me realize I definitely need to give this book a reread to digest all of it.

K. Imani: One of the parts of the book that I loved was when Jasmine & Chelsea did the Feminist Spotlight. I had not heard of any of those artists so I was happy to learn about Feminist artists doing their thing. I know if I were to teach this book, I would have my students look up these women and respond in some way to their art. What other aspects of art that was all over this novel stood out to you?

Audrey: I think the thing that stood out to me most wasn’t necessarily the art itself but the fact that in the novel there’s a few sentences explicitly mentioning that Jasmine and Chelsea deliberately set out “to make sure we were inclusive of art forms, ethnicities, and work for and about women.” And then the text itself backed up that in-universe decision by highlighting a diverse range of activists, many of which I hadn’t heard of before. The book repeatedly had Jasmine and Chelsea’s draw upon and name previous activists and movements for their inspiration, and there was even an entire bibliography at the end entitled Resources for Young Activists that included poets, books, blogs/sites, etc. I appreciated that effort toward inclusion, the acknowledgment of the work done before, and the resources provided for the teens reading the book so that they have a place to start from with their own work.

Crystal: I just really appreciated the many ways of expressing their thoughts and opinions. They used their voices in so many ways. I also liked that Isaac is also part of this feminist group, not just because he cares for Jasmine, but because he’s actually a feminist. Like Audrey, I also found the resources to be an excellent addition to the book so readers can move into or continue their own activism or growth.

Jessica: The aspect that stood out to me was just how varied it was. I’m usually not a fan of books that incorporate different forms of media, or show exactly what the protagonists have created (i.e. a book about fanfiction, with actual fanfiction excerpts). I’m very picky that way! But Watch Us Rise was brilliant in its portrayal of the many forms of art that Jasmine and Chelsea create and reference. I just loved that.

K. Imani: I realized most of my comments & questions have focused on the feminist aspect of the novel and forgetting that this novel just also gives us a slice of real life. I feel like Jasmine’s sweet growing romantic relationship with Isaac, that also mixed with her growing activism and her self-esteem, really showed how complicated life is. Jasmine was finding her voice throughout the novel but was also opening herself up to loving herself and being loved by someone, and the way their relationship was written was so beautiful and real. Their relationship was very healthy and I was happy to see it portrayed that way. What other storylines stood out to you?

Audrey: I also enjoyed Jasmine and Isaac’s relationship for the reasons you pointed out--it was very sweet--especially since it contrasted so well with Chelsea and James’s not-a-romance. I was so proud of Chelsea for realizing that she deserved better in a potential partner and that James wasn’t it, no matter how attracted to him she was. The two romantic plots were great foils for each other.

The death of Jasmine’s dad was a major, and hard-hitting, part of the novel as well. I haven’t read many YA books that dealt with the death of a parent due to cancer, but I felt that this plot was handled sensitively and handled well. I was glad that Jasmine’s family, friends, and community were there to support her, her dad, and their family all through her dad’s failing health, eventual death, and Jasmine’s mourning.

Crystal: Yes, there was way more going on here than I expected, but I too appreciated Jasmine and Isaac’s relationship. It didn’t overwhelm the story, but revealed another layer of life. There’s a lot happening, but the relationships in the story are meaningful.

So, that is our discussion. Have you read Watch Us Rise yet? What did you think of it? Share your thoughts in the comments!

#group discussion #WeNeedDiverseBooks #ownvoices

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castlehead · 3 years

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: LITTLE MILE,

PART ONE : : [live for the weekend and buy grams of blow with your paycheck.

see section A. feel good about going for walks. work thru a long distance relationship and get through the suicidal shit okay. then

break promises but also keep a few, not to keep up appearances but you wish rather to keep the purity of your word, which is hard fucking work. wait till she comes for a visit after super long time

apart and spread some roses on the bed because she likes that sort of thing. leave oreos on the pillow as oreos are delicious. ride her later in the night about that time you smoked six cigarettes in five

minutes as she was blowing xanax to prove a point. go to sleep crying but remember a few special moments as well and base your memories around that. see GOD for awhile but then decide it was

bullshit and perhaps just your conscience given a literal voice. see section A. hear nobody text you for days and understand some weird nonsensical ehrebung at really enjoying a smoke for the first

time in the morning as you look out the window. it is brisk and sunny and the bricks of the buildings look beautiful. think what a day what a day etc. then actually try to accomplish something with friends in

PARK SLOPE. understand finally that the general agreement is you whack as shit. then find a letter from your girlfriend from awhile ago and feel uplifted all over again for some reason but as for positivity

you do not discriminate. drink horn of sun to fierce last dregs. think about whether you are actually thin or just think you get thinner when you are really just used to how fat you are. talk to your girlfriend at

a certain point mentioned in section A. while on break for way too long.

sweat out a cluttered subway ride every morning forever. decide to jump off the BROOKLYN BRIDGE then decide not to. look meaningfully at a

church because you are reading twilight of the idols. repeat a lot of different stuff at irregular intervals. repeat stuff at regular intervals. learn that those statements are an acceptable example of an irregular repetition: or is

irregular as regards time only, not difference: an irregular life has less to do with fiber than we think. an irregular life can be as varied as disposition to pate : : as feeling to brokenness, as alteration altered to fear of change

might comfort one back into the nest of ignorance : it doesn't have to mean as regards, well, anything : it itself can be fiber, a fibrous fiber: so: we scrounge for something burred underneath the soft netting: crack up: put way too much

weight in your presence at social events : leave social events early or go to sleep in front of everybody pretending to be passed out : see social events as a total stressor : don't kno what to do : never know what to do ever: social

events. assume yourself a negative, discomfited person thereby. lose all friends because you dig deep into stupidity to find a reason for it, think about it until you go blind, rectify and rectify till all's a mess: is that what you want: yes:

friends are lost based upon too many simpering blasted apologies. really wish that you will leave a good looking corpse and do leave a good looking corpse. wonder why you don’t think about childhood very often, as in the concept.

see section A. come to the conclusion that fuck yes it is too late to have a happy one but really come to understand that that doesn’t matter as all things are for a time anyway but then get pissed off about this because you then realize as well

that you are mere mortal and still fields of open grass and oak away from describing something beautiful or whatever but then also wonder that you are infinite wherein the moment is concerned: and then think about your ex

for some crazy reason because all that matters is the past as regards what you’d want to retain in some eternal rolodex of spite or some shit, or maybe it’s just you but you can’t reimburse your mom because of all the infinite

you’re feeling and tell her you can’t and she says that is okay but doesn’t mention that it is ok because the advent of your twenties was mainly depressing, and you there, in room, gnawing at psyche like some useless ape as usual say, WELL

OUT WITH IT, and there she goes finagling a fart out of her ass your mom we are speaking of your mom and her aggravation and her remnant pain from a lost job years ago because oh certainly to fail once is to fail forever

and then you as you are young realize the moment is forever and you can make it a failure and you can make it a wonderful revealing of some big thickened BLEAR asking for property, asking for sense to be given it but you

can’t you can’t justify the dread nay [beckett] nor the odd ghosts in your bathroom that time you spoke to yourself for days and and and so then so then the weekend promises at least an end to this damned ineradicable

gloom and empty state as in empty and taxing but no state of emptiness no state of gloom yet here is gloom here is the reflections of a man refusing too long to look in the damn mirror and see himself is it you or is it i or is it all

the damn farts from the woman who birthed you wanting to be the final whiffing sound as to all of your gutsy failures and drudges through fields of stone and grass and oak you paint out of a backpack and some green

carpet in your room that one time you tripped balls on a tuesday on mushrooms and the razor talked to you and proved by its unassuming nature a very grill to the face that damned long face of a son too burnt

into his own damned house and wired by the damned eternity that sounds like some resilient, grand tocsin, some priketh ye some don’t but ya know it’s all just plain forgotten and happy at that, I’d live in codes wordless

more than explain this meaninglessness and/or stain on the life of time, that is humanity: that is growth: that is the paradigm of something written, written, scratched along the judgments of your mom’s farting fucking

asshole, your grown ass self, so proud to put on pants, so good at that one joke made riskily at a party and relished ever afterwards, so good at failure, happy failure, happy, happy to enter that small crack in the sadness too, happy

to bloom out of dismissal, shunning, happy to mature past the point of needing a single reason for a fart, an end, or a waste of mind. turn 30.

repeat. [etc] see section A.] ?? . . . .

RAGE on rage on, collapse into morning day like something of a storm, at least Frightful mist, some thunder bloom / glass incipient of the troubling harrowing: Some awful precondition. Out its frightful bells: wetly dew paints grass lucent-

-And I rise away from all that in my small cave in my state an eye half open, My knuckles are red from cracking them on my own jaw very a lot that night And some banging head i.e. sleep deprivation considered itself and made it

Worse. I thwarted myself continually mind whanging useless and thickly, like Sometimes i feel like that hamster I had when I was in middle school, wasn't, That i never named - - - uh, worth, it, wasn't worth it . S'ok it's ok for things

To no be worth it. Don't cry well then here's a fucking cookie Tard. I literally Just spat up phlegm right on my computer / no joke / I am freakish, & loud Also re hamster-mortality: I kno it is tragic, my girlfriend lost HAMSTERR

Named peanut. An entire quadrant of space specking thru eyes of that thing All day . Dont think ive evr done this much speed in one night (lol) i dont think i should be able to backtalk : this quick speed = religious,

[chalk dust molars fanatical facial people crunch 'em with 'em to dust. be sure to drudge up spume in the foggy brume some master floater or for sake of interracial justice an inanimate image of justice untarnished by opinion

or blaspheme. vulgar just for sake of cashing in on the weird honey : dip in there : of big politics etc anticipatory raging, prolepsis, summoner say : ARiSE ! ! !! : my girlfriend: she is sleeping right next to the and oh like a lamb she is, right

next to the voodoo-man, shepherd, making us all fly thru the honey right into some strict objective eye, truly naked vision, making commune with image and self. - - ] She goes on dozing into me and snoring soft like a, like subtle universal truth, or

Somethin. My snot is stuck in the bakc of my skull, i feel, i feel like waking up my Girlfriend with my hands all over like tidal waves : : i know hamstermortality, to let The reader kno : it is the wave of arcanum 17 : it is, it is waft of hope, like random

Prescience. Iit is the great like space etc of all, or some completely lazy encompassing. Kewl things only exist cuz hm i guess they exist for — — time, like hamsterts, Hamsters = meaning of universe, it’s like classical semantics or fuzzy logic:

Supervaluationists predicting borderline cases!!! How many hairs must i lose before You can call me bald : for the hairs will exist alway / they will, they will scream out : They will be a thing that is they are the very fuxxx god calls logic

Slash these words apart, greet blame and slash that, grab the bags: Run from the rage then, drum up some possibility for fuel, beat legs For leagues. ‘Message’ after ye with a bat, won’t get a thing so. But

Kicked up dust he’ll cough on, sweat drooling, finally fatigued: marigolds Fooling in the wind around him, agh, long day: we run into the ‘Pome’ Later: find it sucking on a sugar lump in some coffeeshop, well, money:

Who knew, who but the pivot finally: as drain groans a fable like a job to Do. Shit twists with flood and the seagulls berating lend belief at it all with Solid statement, caw, caw, wishing, duh, To Be Done With Message

Of course, especially one that some brine of heart sloshed up: some Reticular wisdom like as hair, hateful : some weird gloss over shadow Dims the bald head, the bald ‘Message’ - the crested ol’ bigot furious

Yawp yapping damnable in that there roast for the father: big squeeze, Squeeze of animus. Finally, down the block of stillness, down dug into The brig, obstructed color, rigid air, manic doors, kids laughing at him:

Little Mile : : feel it all over again : what answers can we get to as regards You fully: an elliptical, maybe? Or trash, or earthy disarrangement, dirt, Particles resulting in flipflop, wages made but unfulfilled for good? Or

Maybe marigolds !! Breezes coming out of their loops into wiggling weight Themselves, hulking as cathedral tunes, heavy with ambiguous threadiness, And that holy torment of an ever-figuring progenitor, professor of the

'Message'—black & bleak—against the righteous curiosity, ol' puff-head, ol' Apoplectic, Sorry For The State Of - - and dese homeless parties of the Sad. The sad chase, the chase as I must do is still solo. But grand, the

Hemophilic fire, the rusty brigade o’ pleaches o’ daffy hair, dummy cunt To stake on cosmic sex, just a blowoff: still. Then. Little dragoons whiffed It up anyways and blessed the fakery past mythos into real, made a great,

Big sepulcher for all 'em fathers: all the risks at tacky jive: lagoon: great, Great swoon of fibrous living out the ducky’s little murmuring in the mud, Tump-a-tump with buckles o’ swash : #dgaf : yet is we da pirate , as in ,

We is , we ah make anything magnificent and say it is that and leave it So. We. Croon and wait for that swell damned music’s dish to punch big and soft into the pillow : we: meet poetry POETRY POETRY POUR IT ALL

And soft into th. pillow. We. Down a side-street : have a baffled-eye ‘a sec: Din in the den gets closed the sisters ears : think some nature-shit: stfu: Bucolic site there wispy girl : pencil neck : root , , , for Image-Pleasant:

For you that is : root for the Panjundrum not, in his anger-yells all daffy, Deadening reasons for the noise, amplified like a big [bracket] to the side Of something, past declaration, past the final honesty and towards some

New squeamish chuck of ew-grease out of my bad throat : 'Message' Attempts to toughen with - providence, it feels, it knows - of mere scraps Of itself, and then I emit new strings for my shoes, frayed knot, couple

Stoners ranting in a parking lot when one sees a human innim and flees, From eye of him : one states the [bracket] as annotation even though it Supplies nothing : mere notation is as much enclitic for an infidel sense

As rhyming to behead borders of rhythm with timing , adding meaning Like chaff at the end while a sprocket ebbs out then 'splodes at once, a Gathering of mite and fingernail and bedding shod in the cracks under

The bland couch then sets aflame, burning down the garbage, which is Everywhere : police police : fuck da : : whelp : lost musings only whelm As much as one is willing to go rapidly , that is, will be as quality as the

Quicken, enacting some different statement thru defensive natures of style Like Declension : Logoaedic : parse the thought, then let it run before the Jello melts, food gets cold: picnic raped by ants. Premise of the rule. So the:

Uh: bracketed, shuffling fragged things dole more out for the warmness, As in, have something mean what it means, leave it at notation , make the Final well and, "End like a spear, not like a broom" - - Well, who knows

About honor: maybe just to prove myself I will right something really for Awhile too messed for the husbandman to mould with his ass: drop the Incisive manacles, they get my wrist bit with copper: write to right a thing

You never mention: madden out copper tongues: make demands about Stuff you have no idea you are actually talking about: but that's not going To mention itself either and is perhaps what is missing for the right reasons:

So why yell out proper tongues if that is all tongues want is their own voice To hock a spray of legit logey sniffed up the nasal psg. and out into the World. Well. Garbage burns itself to slew. But you like that. You enjoy

The mesmerized epiphanic trumpeting, priketh, prike prike : nasty uncle, He was , and a bald head a sunshine away from DEATH-LAZER. Stun, But be stupid as brick. As was said, I speak to reflect mirrors in darkness.

Should be obvious. Maybe this inkling of finding a new way to speak'll Dart straight for the first reason to pant and wave commodities at the sullen Sucker-tourist upon losing his next day's provender at the hands of silly kids.

DeMand: Wring rungs out proper tongues, lick pompous, drone on in thatt Stat o’ thing: status of thing: state of things: rut t tt t t t tt t tt t t tttt tt t t t t tttt Guts me : feeling in’t I feel nothing but in hole: & & & & & & & & & & & & &

Still the great compilers edge more into the fantastic, learn to eat it along with The tragic as one happy meal. Eventual blossom, hoping Mary and Ed ride fine Off into the sunset, cans tied to the bumper clicking like cliché: Jesus is sick :

He tells me so much is at risk here : then again, who could harbor such a feel But Big J or Yeezy : : well he’s a prick : that’s why you shouldn't music so much: I don’t listen to music nomores: even you’re tarnished bc of all this harlot noise

Attempting heaven, & whatnot : WHAT? WHO THN ?? WHAT THEN ?? So Fortunately, I’m Done. Getting into ye head. I’m already there. Felt random & Also, tortuous pressure spread keen thru label after label, waiting for sustenance,

It was given, as if words could ugh the body with ugh : feed me with 'don't' is What the character 'Message' means. This sentence means it is myself declaring A sentence. That is what it means, and the Myself in it shines out of that part of

It like some beautiful renegade oxygen, a distillation more perverse, a naked way, A death of all that damnable stuff we got our heads warped around in like some Exquisite Fucking Turban [tho false] tho, maybe drunk off picked points smacking

Of defeat, well : : : such's to give up meaning at all - - MESSAGE _a t_ _a l l_ [?] As if words could damage the body : does language uh have one string it can plukk To stop the heart?[.] Or does it all. Well. Uh, lose weight: is it a fascinating receptacle,

Or mere extensiveeverything: ” Do You Believe In God.” – – – – – – I wouldn't be Able to give you anything for jesus, much less Jews. HAve little idea what I believe. Belief is odd. I think I believe in, just, being chased, you know, for thievery. It's a

Saturated L.A. sun like in this song by [The National] it is called "Pink Rabbits." it Is really damn good I remember feeling like the string to my heart almost cut that one Time. But I couldn't tell you anything a medium in some spooky curtained shop

Wouldn't be able to perform with a bit more erggh 'flair' well damn I despise flair write To construct a core or write to DeMand to write or write to right something wrong w. Your sister's [hairdo] or write about strings. Write about all the strings. What all of

Them would do if connected THE WORLD IS POME across the globe. Don't think There'd be much room else for people. Well no worries then, you’ll steal hunches till you Can’t even breathe a thinnest wisp of sister-air. Enjoy never figuring out anything. I

Like to tip-toe but that's no way to run , I gotta say the world is fucked w/o a point , , , The drain is really sick [!] w. all this flood it might as well be the guts of garbage And the rightness of wrong , of the failed and of lineage thru language do we bring

Our own booze do we sing some amped version of the obvious soullessness everybody Gets to grate all over everybody else like some annoying sadness too small for this World, too inscrutable to be anything bt what it is, what it is not anything, as POME

Is words, not ideas, get subjugated by need to buddy up with certainty by corroborating This or that line with another, breaking another, letting pennies go slipshod thru da Grate, while all the while mighty confusion rends a new surprise in plain polished sight,

But o the bees in my gut wig out more folly but as plain to live and hope by their ruin To bring the ties untangled, yes, state the statement-as-goal, martyr a few mirrors thru Indelible mistake, ending Kierkegaard at Democritus' river etc. NO WE NEVER

STEP THRU THE SAME RIVER TWICE NO NOR PERHAPS ONCE, anyways, The bees escape nathless from a pirson-prison. In spite of all this floppy flotsam, Like some weird torture. The stingings bless, the robust yellow flow mitred across

De backs uf'm. And I still considerable, a regular pill for the unagog men still seeing Me unsightly, some lack, some twit, some spook : er something as like, as what god Makes of his leftovers in the afternoon between jobs: but me young boss: HOSS:

What?, zooks, gain, what gain 'questionmark' nothing an adorable steeple could not Bring together as all us wonderful people together rise them, these middle fingers- -Pointing up UP UP, run with lacking, then, fuck, huh?, shut up, suited only to

Sslipped phrase, the bank account gets canceled & yr out on the streets with only Luck and Fucks to feed you. Wiring runoff, shattered, wrecked, fetid, but all of it So Human that nobody seems to mind: neither of those three words can understand

My theosophy, nor gainsay, I'm too cryptic: : fault fault, fault fault, thwartedness- -But still continuance, shorn but not straight dead. Lucky but suffering. What a bore, To get brought in by force, to the party, snatch a few lichen, press against petri dish

To make dialogue unheard of or no at the party what this is about, this sleight of hand, This emotional screening we seize up and clench our asshole to forget about, rot in it I Say, row those sewage tentacles, mandibles, new legs from the mess, new smack to

The veins, new shot, lessening as day and eyesight, NARCAMNARCAM. Ruin stake [valuesystem] bless me achoo gradient risen sceptic collide me w truth,

Ruin stake dress me up in my garters and delirious falbalas at table, valuesystem,

Run to the ruin: make stand up puppetry the rotary: vast tracts of time enable the- -Child to believe he is infinite. Child god goes wishing-wishing at peak, wishing To see: you flee from definition like that stoner guy from earlier all the time, you

You let the questions mysteries bleed out thru yr fanciful cufflinks: drat: quaint: Wanna bleed staid blood. Want to create the hurt that must hurt, that must come: Just to have some control, as elusive blood, got to pour lopsided from a precious

Wound : : we gaze into ourselves and do not speak, wondering what batty thing Happened back there: we go wishing to dash away performance with a little more Laze: 5-year-old Genius. But yea. But, with you I shuffle into someone free. You

You see the curtain and you know the pianist is behind it nodding off into overdose: You are knowing what curtains mean and that curtains rarely help to cover meanings: You realize there is nothing to peek at nothing to see so you shrug and go home to

Your death, ever-approaching some more-appropriate redness , , , but the redness in The West , tho. What's with that haze that looks like the hoarsest GLARE of all: It is the shot in the arm taken too breezy, brought you to the finale, the glimpse then

Recession into embedding blank blankets of so-and-so upon your life, weighty big Deaths greeting you with comfort, delicious sating of the lorn, and raggedy willful Bravery so long perceived like an animal, that is, now seen so much to salute. So I

Have access now into your maze : it is dangerous here : bees go grinding against the Gut. Entrails that trail haphazard underneath everything forever : the flighty frolic Of your hair, sister : good on you for nvr doing hoarse/horse. Your hair that speaks

In looks looks like the bigger maze, the bigger harder hug to give one day when just , When things get better: just so one don't get bitter, what from examining all sides of The same pipe dream. DeMand, and makes thus bigger dissonance w. me. Say me,

Of your aspect, at base, nothing less, your talent is my name and sister-curse, my uh My name is one to have in spades, you gotta have it so it radically disappears under A veil mentioned elsewhere in full wherein the chase is always and never the point

As your legs, extremities exist by the disappearance of a prior location, or some Name, some name called death we get into other ideas 'bout. But it is a lost name. Bu I cannot bless more than I bleed. Whatever that means. Perhaps I tell

This to others, they do not offer but stares and blinking : oh alienation : what an Easily dismissible thing : REAL PROBLEMS hah : in that case, those girls Kidnapped in Nigeria're having real problems : suffering is subjective & hell

We, as In I, Race Towards It as anything the wiser, wise as answer, jus cast answer, Jus cast ANSWER:- whatever happen to be, jus quake out a few inappropriate Inabilities in front of anyway, including meshing: hear aspersions there, here

And there: I say, if one feels pathos then uh you know the whitest lash fuck express it, fuck!, don’t you painful on your brow loose the snow came, bother with a perfect shape as the clad in crammed houses families shape you have is naturally a very frown at homies, themselves children, improvisation, imperfect as a sky made random and the same as all storm, asleep flakes or something, like, one sky, just made like me to feel like an actor one. i guess, uh. that is what i make like to me guess. that nothing happens if we within the thin walls, while bruised dads glimpse the hood are indifferent or something. give in rochester, barely guap to eat, to obsession, passion etc. then uh my father runs into a grand jizz what follows’s a thing the greater on the way back captures it and puts it in a safe . for therapy. write on for therapy? his father was a vato, well fuck yes. do it and do it and gift-wrapping raining down do it. i like channeling whitman , , on christmas, wanting to capture fame and getting the pink slip . cuz it’a means wealth, like, iduno it was majestic, slowly he i guess like, [vulgate,vulgate] it drowned in throat cancer, later. my dads hates is freewheeling all over the place christmas, but at least he caught a good fuck in childhood and without regards -blank- see yu kno, i cant write on tumblr atm bc something is wrong with my uhhhhhh

keyboard. it doesn’t allow me to , , delete the space between one anddd another line. so i am writing this

to you. it’s probably not really i guess to interesting just see that infinitesimal cube understood so , ,

uh, distantly, as me here, in this room, hanging out with whitman! as in i see ‘im, right here. he is in

the corner smiling to himself bout some private meditation, mostttttt likely. have you figured out this

is a msg in enjambments yet?, you are really cool and ring out , , , , , , despite, right?, whether or not or

maybe regardless. PART II : : : : ERHEM: fast sadness folds in a toilet like down it you know like those soothing squares, gulls take to the particles after response to command goes lagging, and the aqueduct explodes filter to filter after longing for more than garbage could recall, prideful trash–

garbage i done made myself blind blabhah i done made a bad hither, done dash right into the fount of degrading. i feel very such things as i feel and call them detritus still. i am monstrous i am - big eye, i can fuck myself without any charity-help from anybody.

i am to call myself things like topaz once the giddy girth sloshes within a pictureframe's modest dimensions, and the sharks while snapping snapped alive by the implied sort of movement given only to starkly imperishable images that lighten you up at the art

show. well its time t-to start from the start and start a movement founded on a ginger ignorance of other movements. is i-t: is time to start from the beginning of focus way past bemused glance, ripe glare, teeth beside themselves w cavities of roe and garlic:

it’s time to inaccurately anticipate something, like we knew it was coming and wanted our surprise to look nice. anticipate the perfect slur, find a wide audience for that: it is, uh, time to enact maelstrom considerably, like, lofted above the saddest cloud's

drenching of itself: clouds they are clowns : be sure to recognize the hidden voice, what rattles us is not the mystery of how and logical wherefore but in transmuting some odd warfare of a distant crud's finding, that is - - - it is not what links but what is explained,

which for me is the distance crud, or clod, i call planet : am i a part of it or do i depart from its frequent accusings, importances, rudeness, and flat commodity, material, or just shattered booms hailing the demise of precept got so infrequent that one, less

righteous, is more thru the confessional of the lessness, a lesson : us, , rule, , : the sea like an antelope’s stride is, that is, like the picture purely between man, shark, and sea, of slopping sides over the frames of the picture: something by movement not volume,

by not expanse but a few flits of eye - big eye, - regardless of bigness it is, is and will be there for when the ranting stays, crucial delectable bizarre 'mischance of machinery' while the self goes further out, taken by the turning tides, and then yet this is a bit more

than mangling the heart by placing it on sleeve; this will always be here, distant, or like, remote!, yeh, better word!, you will disassociate whatever

from whatever, [edittttttttttt ttt ] from your blinding clarity [edit] : : you will take an eye out for the bossman cannot : since

wills black as char make the crud, clod, dusty clod, a piece of crud: "shouldn't be so hard to have a nice day." Mutter and grimace. wake up to totally remove yourself in the only way possible, that is, from the world of dreamstate: and piss dole me a new

self of yuck and maelstrom. PART III : : drying the die out of to play craps . or somethings like pinochle of life itself, shouted madman. made anterior who wants the soul who wants it made outside of use I see. something— / something digs for a very hinting it goes like something as must to stop,

as much to save the world as self by saving declamatoriations [!!!!!] declarations yeas, declaiming . / well go ahead and rue the ensuing bratty corps of lifer’s whom stake much on image / nada -rtiet- [edit] editwrite made something is^^^ within that words

them words something letters inverted salamander-language seen spanking new by breaking every rule, ruling over breaks like you had more time. / discovering the body, etc. and it all makes you want to imprint on the wise world some attmept, to do more

by removal of sense if sense is not snuffed out already by now in this senseless world, just going on and on!!!! to the creakiest hints shuffling under floorboards like captives from the bad!! quite the soul search. make more inklings, don't harry yourself, I say,

to discover a bunch of cool shit, also, uh, master it. master thinking in language. maybe i always never did nitpick and nitpick only yeup that is me I knit together the nits the nits are scratchiness, a scratchiness. then I think about how nice honesty is as re the slow

deliverance or rather sparing of us all by the most high / as by and by,, we grope for some bigger socket to launch a sensitivity of me I we errybody into, and me and ha and ha. ALERT. cannot diverge ALERT ALERT ALERT!!! Whoop show./Whopp whoop

whoop, can’t but take it down I wsiwiwsh i wish i was blind, i wish the rails weren’t so sharky : : so bloome [!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] 5$%uh September 13, 2014. Leave a comment Edit POME34 there is language to report, a monster essence. hammer away

and believe till the growth gets funnier and then throw it away handsomely / feel it run like sand thurr rthru your thru thru you[edit]hrought your fineger.s ample tome, im ean time, to write, requite certain disposable nothings like a big random power/ mind goes

and glowers at itself again. ah you kno. broken triangle. anything broken becomes an angle or many. a ziggidy line or somesuch. / so break a whole, rift it to life as some ziggidy line. some sorta line that breathes with uncaring for anything like information

but retaineing formless form as if your occupation was with something else/ let relax the

strands in you ankel, let the angel fall my dear / dont deny it / yur a good person, dammit. all the se facile blunders. all this. these stupid years of making. in the making,

or just making, about too. etc. greqat. great magnificent quiet [edit] is that which i search for and make and build into the most complex geometric shape for good / only to rift it and - - make what people would holy-fy even more bettr than the more better it was /

bby oh how you go on concealing pleanty of plaintiveness. am i nice ?? so what if you are. youre a stara special star . . . yr starved, strande line you ssay you are a bulk of issues you say you dance like a man made

of things .. light as wing . dwindle. wind. light as wind. so much so much to destroy sitll. my eyes need more blurs t[edit] to in order make everything wrong rightwise. foreget aspbergers. or any label / speak pretty

mane’s ruffling sinousity in wind. / a bloke with flow / gnarly [edit] speak charlie stude the sirfur, charlie stud is he who rides the wave, rides wthe wave in /by just meeting

wit ha hello and a hahaha at ripe ombustive ripe combustiveness at / a large offense

#writing #poetry

0 notes

thebandcampdiaries · 3 years

Video

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King P is back on the scene with a brand new studio effort: Slip N Slide.

April 2021 - King P is an artist and performer who has recently releases a brand new project, Slip N Slide.

This track is a perfect example of what it’s like to produce great modern hip-hop.

One of the most distinctive traits of this release is certainly the energy, and the drive that fuels the performance of the artist. The vocals feel very animated and spontaneous, an obvious sign that this performer is actually genuinely connecting with his lyrics, in a much deeper way. This isn’t just a puppet singer popping out catchy hooks: there is a deeper concept behind the songwriting, which really adds weight to the mix. Although he has roots in Jamaica, King P is actually from Miami, Florida, where he was born and raised, save for a few years he actually spent in Jamaica before his family returned to the US by the time he was five years old.

Slip N Slide is actually a really great example of what King P can accomplish in music. His sound is incredibly diverse, and the quality of this production is a testament to the passion and flow that drives his lyrical excellence and approach to hip-hop.

In addition to the personable and edgy performance value, this release is also quite distinctive because of the sheer quality of the production. The mix is balanced and very detail-oriented, making for a lively, edgy and stark sonic approach. In other words, there are many subtle nuances in this release, which really add to the richness of the track when summed up together. The frequency spectrum of the mix is also very balanced, with a tight, yet deep low end working wonders along with a smooth top end, which adds a sense of clarity to the music.

Slip N Slide stands out for its modern sound, but although the production is quite polished, it is never overproduced, allowing a lot of wonderfully organic and “human” elements to really add liveliness to the mix. The release is actually really amazing in terms of quality and sound design, as the beat really suits the unmistakable feel of this excellent performer. What makes the song really stand out is actually the amazing personality of King P as an artist. He knows what it takes to entice his listeners, and he has a remarkable ability to keep the listener tuned in from start to finish. His songs are incredibly catchy and dynamics, and this amazing release is definitely no exception. The track has bass for days, and the punch of the mix is truly amazing. More importantly, it is really just a lot of fun to listen to, making for a one-of-a-kind experience that will make its way into your heavy rotation, along with many other rap favorites in your music collection! This one has got what it takes to stand up to even the most notorious hits and it does feel as good as you would expect from the top rappers in the game.

Ultimately, I’d definitely recommend giving this one a shot, particularly if you are a fan of artists such as 50 Cent, Drake, Jay Z, or Kanye West. This is the kind of track that will surprise you for it sonic variety, and it will keep you on the edge of your seat due to its catchy, yet unpredictable arrangement. I always love to hear from artists who set the bar higher and push the envelope when it comes to their productions: this certainly appears to be the case!

The music video to the song is actually going to be available on May 28th, during Memorial Day weekend, a perfect opportunity to celebrate and enjoy some banging new tunes! If you don’t want to wait, you’re in luck, because the official lyrics video to the single has already been posted online!

Find out more about King P and do not miss out on the artist’s most recent releases, activities and events:

www.YouTube.com/PSSKingP

www.Instagram.com/1KingP

www.TikTok.com/1KingP

www.Twitter.com/1KingP

www.Facebook.com/1KingP

Official Website: www.KingPent.com

We also had the chance to ask the artist a few questions: keep reading for a full interview!

I love how you manage to render your tracks so personal and organic. Does the melody come first, or do you focus on the beat the most?

Answer: Great question! I believe because I am a musician first that I hear melodies almost anytime even without a beat. At the same time because of the same reason, whenever I’m listening to beats or even songs, if the beat does not move me then it’s hard for me to create. I have to feel the music. I allow the music to speak; it tells me what to write about based on my emotions and experiences. I never force the creative process, so if I feel nothing, I move on.

Do you perform live? If so, do you feel more comfortable on a stage or within the walls of the recording studio?

Answer: Do I perform live? Allow me to reintroduce myself – “King P (born Phillip Solomon Stewart in Miami, Fl.) is a Jamaican-rooted Hip Hop artist and multi-instrumentalist who delivers an unmatched level of energy through his Dancehall flair!” Do I perform live? – Yes, I absolutely perform live and thoroughly love it! Although, I do get nervous prior to performances every time, as soon as I begin the nervousness goes away usually. I’d say I’m more comfortable on stage if you throw the factor of having a lot of people in the studio while I write or record. Within my personal studio, I am most comfortable to hear myself and allow myself to express freely. I am actually working on being more comfortable creating and recording in a studio with a crowd. This interview actually just gave me the idea to act as if I am performing the song in the studio when there is a crowd and maybe I’ll feel more comfortable in those situations. I think, I’ll try it! Over-all, I’d say performing live is a treat because I’m able to inspire people and to see their spirit uplift before my eyes. Nothing is better than human interaction in the name of Good Vibes, Good Energy! With that being said,

If you could only pick one song to make a “first impression” on a new listener, which song would you pick and why?

Answer: Good Vibes because I can perform this song anywhere at any time. It is a World song! Some years ago, I remember saying to myself, “I want to make world music”. I actually forgot that I said that but remembered last year, February 2020 (pre-pandemic) when my Good Vibes Music Video nominated for five awards, won “Best World Music” and “Best Choreography” at the California Music Video Awards. However, I believe my new single Slip N Slide will be very fun to perform and could easily be my favorite but also make a great first impression as well!

What does it take to be “innovative” in music?

Answer: I’d say first knowing yourself so you can be yourself! I believe that ideas come to us all. If you get an idea, write it down, record it or just immediately act on it. Otherwise, once that idea leaves ya spirit, you may not ever get it back. There’s nothing better than just doing because as you go, more ideas come to you and in the end, it all comes together! Being innovative is allowing yourself to be inspired and I believe inspiration is everywhere! Lastly, having a team helps so you can bounce ideas around, discuss and fuss (if need be) to get the best out of any idea

Any upcoming release or tour your way?

Answer: Yes, Slip N Slide is out now but the music video premieres on May 28th, Memorial Day Weekend. Every two weeks after, we’ll be releasing Music Videos that was filmed in Los Angeles, California for the songs Top Notch, Aloha, My Life in Time (part 1: sax version, part 2: sing version) and short film music video Tonight We Party of which we are also turning into a feature film. I of course have more songs on the way. I’m very excited about upcoming singles Body Calling and She Make Me Wait! I’d love to re-launch my All or Nothing Tour that was halted because of the pandemic last year. We’ll have to see how the rest of the year unfolds in regard to the pandemic to see if we’d continue the tour. However, I am ready to perform again, and my goal is to hit the biggest stages, like Rolling Loud! … Introducing - King P the Jamaican-rooted Hip Hop artist and multi-instrumentalist to the stage!!!!!

Anywhere online where curious fans can listen to your music and find out more about you?

Answer: My music is on all platforms including my Official Website: www.KingPent.com.

My current single Slip N Slide lyric video is out now: https://youtu.be/HvuZq0QJ6lA and the Official Music Video that was filmed in Miami, Florida will premiere on May 28th Memorial Day Weekend on PSSKINGP YouTube Channel (www.YouTube.com/PSSKINGP)!

Stream/Download Slip N Slide now on all platforms here: https://unitedmasters.com/m/slip-n-slide

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5C6voWFD8fkd4TzwXCM1VF

Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/king-p/1365165448

Sound Cloud: https://soundcloud.com/phillipsolomonstewart

Social Media:

www.YouTube.com/PSSKingP

www.instagram.com/1KingP

www.TikTok.com/1KingP

www.Facebook.com/1KingP

www.Twitter.com/1KingP

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negression · 5 years

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Tiffany Gholar (image courtesy of the artist)

This is Part 2 with Tiffany Gholar (Part 1 here). I was personally blown away by Gholar’s fourth publication, The Sum of Its Parts: Artwork, 2014-2018. Immediately upon completion of it, I recalled Carrie Mae Weems in a video commemorating her 2014 MacArthur “Genius Grant” win. At the time, Ms. Weems was featured in solo exhibit at the Guggenheim, a show I visited several times. Yet, her relief and decompression was palpable as she described what the notably large grant meant most to her upon first word of it: “I won’t have to fight so hard for every, single thing.”

As an outside fan, my impression was Weems was writing her own ticket. As long as I had followed her career, I never imagined she had to fight for anything. And while I have the privilege of friendship with Gholar to come inside, I still had the same impression of her career from my outside look. The Sum of Its Parts was a wake-up call I needed and could have written myself. I suspect Weems and more could as well. Why don’t we?

Gholar has provided missive for a new way to write about the creative life, art-making and (most specifically) Black women navigating those historically troubled waters for all talents. Usually, we receive saccharine look-back chronicles of celebrities’ “early days” as starving artists and couch surfers, after the most iconic artists blossomed into household names. Rarely do we hear from those of us who remain somewhere in the middle, as budget artistry and near volunteer work for our works are not the most sexy and glamorous revelations for a public who needs its stars to help them escape or fantasize.

Daily, in real life and online, we walk on a lonely balance beam between the blessed opportunities we have to show dreams come true and our necessity to be paid or sell. The Sum of Its Parts suggests the world must see both in equal measure and respect if writers, artists and creatives at large are to persevere. It is my honor to join Gholar in enlightening others on the unseen fight for every success.

Gholar is a multi-facted visual artist whose many offerings include personalized interior design for commercial and residential spaces, custom made artwork tailored to clients and participation in women-centered art exhibitions. She is an expert in a variety of space models, building types and art materials as well as current trends in art, design and color. She is also a prolific writer who has documented four bodies of work with companion books to explain the theoretical, process and societal depths behind each body. Her contributions to fiction include the novel A Bitter Pill to Swallow, a Chicago Writer’s Association 2016 Book of the Year; School Library Journal praised it for inserting an uncommon element of multi-generational concerns into modern YA fiction.

Her vibrant, uplifting collections of smaller retail products, apparel and displays are available through Zazzle’s Mixed Media Art Design store– including offerings based on one of my favorites of hers: “Flower Power.” This juicy, complex collage work is but one example of Gholar’s radical efforts to bring fine art to the mass public, with printing options available on products such as journals and totes. It is artwork I passed on to inspire for my latest novel’s cover and I was happy to see it influenced the final result. Please enjoy the rest of our discussion on what it is to be Black women creating today.

“Flower Power” by Tiffany Gholar (image courtesy of the artist). Click image to purchase office products such as journals featuring this art and more.

Kalisha Buckhanon: I remember coming to last year’s The Other Art Fair and seeing “Violet Verve.” That’s a real painting. It spoke to me, called out. Thank you for documenting its creation in the book. I regret I could not buy it, mainly because of these self-funding creative issues you document in The Sum of Its Parts. Ironically, my friends who aren’t creators splurge on art, film, theater more than I do- and I’m the one who needs that creativity on a regular basis, to power my own creative motor. So if creative professionals can not splurge on each other or feel guilty when we do, and the masses are just on the internet, how can we adapt: artist cooperatives, individual subscription services, social media boycotting?

Tiffany Gholar: Thank you for remembering “Violet Verve.” That really means a lot to me. To answer your question about how we can adapt, yes, I think artist cooperatives and individual subscription services are a great idea. I have seen other artists do well with them. I’m not sure if boycotting social media is the answer. But I am trying to network more in-person because I haven’t reaped the benefits from being online that I had expected to. That’s why I am also feeling a lot more skeptical about the social media for artists “experts.” I am wary of wasting my time with their webinars and articles, or buying services I don’t need.

“Violet Verve” by Tiffany Gholar (image courtesy of the artist). Click the image to find out about Gholar’s latest show and explore pieces.

K.B.: I never noticed “Violet Verve” had a flaw, the number “7” you said the paintbrush accidentally dried into it. I also did not notice you had a want of buyers, were responsible for the booth fee, did not get a grant to pay the exhibition fee, had no help hauling your work to set up and dismantle it, and- though I should have known this one- weren’t paid for two-days time you spent there. Reading your side in the book, which I participated in the unpaid labor of, made me realize how much I speak and put on shows for free. All writers do. But I go to writers’ public readings, and museums, just assuming grants pay big speaker fees and wealthy patrons buy larger artworks. I never consider the sum of my part adding to a whole, and I am an artist. Besides buying books and small art pieces here or there, what can I do? Am I wrong for sharing many things and artists I love online, giving glimpses and snippets with awareness people may not be buying?

T.G.: No, I think it’s great that you share the work of the artists you love online because you never know who might see it, or if what you’ve shared will be passed on by someone who could make it go viral. If even ten percent of the accounts that follow me on social media would share my work as much as you have, I would be so much better off.

K.B.: That’s good to hear. I do think you are exemplary to others for offering so many options to the public, from your quite informative social media channels to your many smaller products many fine artists are not considering or providing enough of.

T.G.: Yes, I love it when people buy small art pieces from me. That’s why I make them. I know that not everyone can afford to spend a few hundred dollars on a larger painting, but plenty of people have $25 for a miniature piece that can decorate their cubicle or bookshelf. That‘s also why I use print-on-demand sites like Zazzle and Society6, so that I can also sell my work at lower price points to customers who want something practical, like a throw pillow or a phone case.

Gholar’s “The Doll Project”, created out of concern for thin body images forced on women and girls, features a variety of charming and affordable gifts or products at Society6.

T.G. (continued): As for the art fair, my brother actually helped me bring the paintings from my studio to the venue. He helped me hang them as well, so at least I did have help in that area. But you’re right about the time that I was not paid for. I spent four days total and never sold a single painting. I had to borrow money to even get my booth! You’re right about the unpaid labor of creative work, though sometimes the venues that will pay may be surprising. A few years ago, I did a show at a university gallery. They sent a messenger service to pick up the artwork and return it when the show ended, in addition to paying me a fee for participating. I would love it if all my shows were like that.

K.B.: You wrote about leaping into Instagram with high hopes and finding out it was just another area to compete in the “Best Life” show. But you pointed out great connections you made from Twitter and Facebook. So, it is a two-sided coin. I am curious how you stay so prolific on social media, but still manage to create as much art as you do. Any tips or ideas about best practices for those who are overwhelmed in this area?

T.G.: I try to schedule my social media in advance so I don’t spend as much time online, although sometimes it’s easy to get distracted because so much is going on I want to keep up with. Scheduling allows me to continuously share my work while I am actually not on my computer or phone. Half of the “content” I share is finished work or occasional photos of work in progress. The other half is work that inspires me by other creatives. I only follow accounts that I enjoy hearing from, at least when it comes to individual people. I don’t believe in “hate-following” people.

There are some local organizations I don’t necessarily agree with, but follow to see what they’re up to. I don’t debate people on social media, either. I’m not afraid to stop following accounts that annoy me, turn off retweets from accounts that share things I don’t want to see, mute accounts that are tedious, and block people who are downright hateful. It’s not perfect, but it has helped make my experience tolerable, and even enjoyable sometimes. Although my work has never gone viral on social media and I have only gotten a handful of art sales and projects because of it, it has benefited me in other ways. It’s made me aware of grants, galleries, art shows, and other opportunities I wouldn’t have known about otherwise.

K.B.: I have a personal mission to avoid mentioning “Trump,” not even in a card game. My horror is so deep. But I can not avoid applauding you for being so clear about his contamination of our souls, and our souls root all creatives. I, too, stopped creating from it. This unqualified leader has scattered our thinking, given us forms of mental and emotional illness. In the book, you vowed you are “Reclaiming My Time.” What do you hope will be the sum of all you are and have learned in your next body of work, 2019-2023?

T.G.: I can definitely understand that! I didn’t want his name to defile my book, so I never used it once. “Horror” is a great way to describe how I felt about everything that has transpired since the 2016 election. I was also furious, disgusted, and depressed. I disapprove of him on so many levels. But as a Black woman, I feel a deep resentment for the power he and the unqualified people around him have been given when I am under so much pressure to be ten times as good to get paid half as much and get half as far as a mediocre white man. And I despise being governed by fools.

For the sake of my own sanity, I spend less time watching the news as I did when he first came into power. I think that obsessively watching the news on TV and online was what drained my creative drive in 2017. Now I try very hard to maintain some semblance of balance, between staying informed and being overloaded with information that enrages me because there is so little that I can do to change things. I still support resistance movements, but I allow myself the creative freedom to make whatever kind of art I feel like in the moment, even if it means some people might dismiss it as escapist if it’s not a vessel for all my negative feelings or if it’s not protest art.

K.B.: There is so much pressure, especially on artists of color, to make protest art. Sometimes we just want to tell stories and make magic like we’ve done all our lives. But given this has been our lives for so long now, I’m coming to a loss on how not to infect my work with it. It’s going to be interesting to see how both our work evolves within this.

T.G.: I’ve actually started working on my next art book, though at the moment it doesn’t have a title. My goal for now is to build my interior design practice so I feel less pressure to sell my artwork. Of course, I still want to sell artwork. However, worrying about sales can make painting less enjoyable for me. I am really interested in continuing to work in the same style I’ve been working in. I feel like I still have a lot more textures and shapes that I want to explore, and still feel excited about the prospect of making new work.

(Tiffany Gholar will read from The Sum of Its Parts tonight at Tuesday Funk, Chicago’s longstanding reading series, at 5148 N. Clark Street, 7:30 p.m.)

Have negression waiting in your inbox: Subscribe Today.

Twitter | Pinterest | Instagram | Kalisha.com

“I allow myself creative freedom to make whatever kind of art I feel like in the moment…” More with #TiffanyGholar on her new book #TheSumOfItsParts, a must-read for women artists dealing with doubt. #Arts #Women #Culture #Justice

This is Part 2 with Tiffany Gholar (Part 1 here). I was personally blown away by Gholar’s fourth publication, …

"I allow myself creative freedom to make whatever kind of art I feel like in the moment..." More with #TiffanyGholar on her new book #TheSumOfItsParts, a must-read for women artists dealing with doubt. #Arts #Women #Culture #Justice This is Part 2 with Tiffany Gholar (Part 1 here). I was personally blown away by Gholar's fourth publication, …

#NegressionSuggestsArt #The Sum of Its Parts #Tiffany Gholar

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kalishaonline · 5 years

Text

Tiffany Gholar (image courtesy of the artist)

“Flower Power” by Tiffany Gholar (image courtesy of the artist). Click image to purchase office products such as journals featuring this art and more.

“Violet Verve” by Tiffany Gholar (image courtesy of the artist). Click the image to find out about Gholar’s latest show and explore pieces.

Gholar’s “The Doll Project”, created out of concern for thin body images forced on women and girls, features a variety of charming and affordable gifts or products at Society6.

(Tiffany Gholar will read from The Sum of Its Parts tonight at Tuesday Funk, Chicago’s longstanding reading series, at 5148 N. Clark Street, 7:30 p.m.)

Have negression waiting in your inbox: Subscribe Today.

Twitter | Pinterest | Instagram | Kalisha.com

#NegressionSuggestsArt #The Sum of Its Parts #Tiffany Gholar

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wellamarke · 7 years

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ULTIMATE PLAYLIST: 2016 EDITION

Woops, it got to be March without me posting these. Here’s a little thing I’ve been doing since 2010, where I make a playlist of my favourite songs from the year. The 2016 list is very Lenka/Ingrid Michaelson heavy, for various reasons (but a big one being that Ingrid’s newest album ‘It Doesn’t Have to Make Sense.’ is one of my favourite albums of all time. The entire record features on this list - that’s never happened before.)

Putting the track listing under a cut because I tend to ramble on!

1. Blue Skies - Lenka “It's gonna be blue skies for you and I, we'll step out of the shadows and walk into the light” In some ways this song doesn’t feel very Lenka-y, being a little bit techno-y with echoes and such, but in all the ways that matter it’s a classic piece of Lenka goodness, uplifting and cutely cutely cute.

2. Somewhere Out There - Danny Pudi and Donald Glover “And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby, it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky!” So, if you’ve been following me for any amount of time you probably know that I became utter trash for the show Community this year (like, we’re talking, top 2 TV shows of all time level of trash, I love it so much, I don’t know how or why I lived before it) and especially Troy and Abed and their friendship. They sing this song as a duet to their rat in season 1 episode 10, aka the episode where my soul was finally consumed into Community hell never to return. The whole end section of that episode is a true gift, and it’s overlaid with this song. Which then becomes HORRIFICALLY APPROPRIATE for the two characters later in the show, leading to me just wanting to cry and/or die every time I hear it. So y’know. Top quality stuff.

3. Another Life - Ingrid Michaelson “It's in the galaxies and all the history books - I think we shared another life, don't you?” A beautiful song to start off the torrential downpour of tracks from this album (I’m not joking, every multiple of 3 on this list is from ‘It Doesn’t Have to Make Sense’. This is serious obsessive business.)

4. Get Together - Lenka “Now we're all together and I hope it lasts forever, got my people here tonight” Listen, show me a song that somehow alludes to a group of friends who love each other, and I’ll show you my new favourite song. I can’t. Get. Enough. (If you were wondering what appeals to me about the aforementioned Community, I’ll, er, give you 3 guesses?)

5. Ampersand - Bittereinder “Daar’s iets primitief in ’n stem en ’n beat, dis die eerste musiek, dis die voete om ’n vuur” I think this is the first year that Afrikaans has made it as the only extra language (not an Italian track in sight, woops) and this is prooobably the first song that’s ever got on one of these lists that could properly be called a rap, haha. I don’t know what it is about Bittereinder...I don’t usually like anything like this....but... it’s Bittereinder. They own me.

6. Celebrate - Ingrid Michaelson “This is my throwback song, it’s just like the ones, the ones that we used to know” My my, is this a nostalgia song? Welcome to my favourite songs ever, you rose-tinted bag o’ wistful feelings!

7. No Harm Tonight - Lenka “Nothing will harm you tonight, all of your darkness will turn into light” This song is sooooo beautiful, lyrically and musically and gaaaaah, it’s just so adorable. In a year when I have become even less emotionally demonstrative than ever (I know, but yeah apparently there was room to go further) I have compensated by collecting some of the mushiest songs going. Ya gotta reroute it to somewhere, I guess.

8. Toe Vind Ek Jou - Francois Van Coke (with Karen Zoid) “Ek het genoeg gegee, ek het genoeg geskree, ek het lankal terug geleer, maar nog steeds het ek probeer” AAAAH this song maaan. So good. If you’ve ever read one of these lists or just in general seen me talking about music, you may know I have a bIG weakness for duets, and particularly male/female duets, so, with the added bonus of it being Francois, this was always going to be a winner for me. Such a good song UGH.

9. Drink You Gone - Ingrid Michaelson “Like a sinking ship while the band plays on, when I dream you're there, I can't even sleep you gone” This song is honestly so painful. Aaah the emotion in the chorus is just, that shouldn’t be allowed in mp3 format. No, Ingrid, stop. (By which I mean never stop.) A deliberate misinterpretation of this song makes it an EXCELLENT and DEVASTATING Karen/Pete song (Humans ship of sadness). She can’t drink him gone, she can’t smoke him out... she can’t eat away the way that he ate her heart out.... because she’s a robot... ha .... geddit.

10. Joni Was Right - Marit Larsen “Time just sent me off to bed, love was just a word we said, I thought someone would always keep me safe” For obvious title-based reasons, I would have loved this song even if it was three hours of a duck trying to play a harmonica, but as it turns out, it’s my favourite kind of nostalgia-laden, bittersweet lyric and it’s so, so beautiful. Like, Marit Larsen didn’t even have to try to win me here but she still brought this masterpiece. Amazing. (More on the ridiculous levels of coincidence surrounding this album later in the list.)

11. Grow - Frances “You know I'm here holding on, tying up your loose ends and your drifting esteem” I can’t remember how I came across this song now... was it a fanvid for something?... but I’m glad I did, because it’s beautiful. You know how my writing is so often in a kind of wannabe hurt/comfort genre? Yeah, my music isn’t all that different. Supportive friendship is such a great concept! The application is... ew.... but the theory’s great.

12. Hell No - Ingrid Michaelson “Stop crying, stop crawling, can’t you see that I have stopped falling?” This sooooong has the kind of attitude I strive for, I LOVE it. As much as it’s a rage anthem, it has a positive message about self-reliance and is SO FUN TO SING. That’s an important ingredient for me. (Also, there are lines in it - like the ones quoted - that are scary relatable.)

13. Roll With the Punches - Lenka “When life tries to knock all the wind out of you, you've got to roll, roll, roll with the punches” Now THIS is the Lenka I have known and loved for so long - she made my first Ultimate Playlist and she’ll probably make my last. But for so long I had only ever heard ‘The Show’, the album I was obsessed with in 2010. This year I discovered, like, 3 other Lenka albums, which was a joy, and this song....SO FUN. SO CUTE. SO SINGABLE. SO LENKA. I can’t say enough good things about it.

14. Fools - Lauren Aquilina “I don't want you to go but I want you so, so tell me what we choose” I kind of wish this song had come to me earlier, because it really caught me on the very tail end of its relevance to my life, but then, these things often do. I like having a concise way to look back on things, though, so this works just as well in hindsight as it might have in realtime :D

15. I Remember Her - Ingrid Michaelson “Things they fade, things turn to grey. As much as I try to save them, they turn to grey.” Just. I cannot. This song is sooo sad. It might be the saddest one ever to make it to one of these lists, unless I had ‘Song for Josh’ last year, which I think I did, so call it the joint saddest. I mean I guess both subjectively and objectively 2016 was a pretty sad year, so it makes sense. Damn it, Ingrid!

16. Kwaad Naas - Bittereinder “I grew up in the Moot, but my Afrikaans is limited to net ‘n paar woorde” Another awesome bilingual raptastic track from Bittereinder, my loves. This lyric especially illustrates why I love it so much, for I too communicate sometimes in a mixture of Afrikaans and English (usually when trying to Afrikaans and forgetting half the words. Dis ‘n curse, ek kan nie help dit.)

17. Sad Song - Lenka “Everyone's compelled to look into the mirror when they're crying, but just because your tears are pretty doesn't mean they'll get you by” Oh Lenka, you sound so happy but you talk so wise. I love this song so much, it doesn’t sound like it’s gonna be deep when you hear the general sound of it, but then it is. That’s kinda Lenka’s thing, I guess. The chorus especially is IMMENSELY singable.

18. Light Me Up - Ingrid Michaelson “Well you’re not what I was looking for, but your arms were open at my door” There are a whole bunch of repetitive lyrics towards the end but my oh my, what a beautiful sound. Just gorgeous.

19. Morgan, I Might - Marit Larsen “I might have been guilty of thinking one day I'd find myself waking up with you.” Listen, Marit Larsen has always had a timeshare on my brain. I just accept that now. That’s the only way it makes sense that she can write things so exactly right. But she used to be subtle with it, you know? She used to leave the names out, so that I could sleep at night able to tell myself that it might just be a coincidence, that she can’t have actually stolen my diary. But this year? All of that went out of the window. She wrote the sequel to the first song that ever made me go, “damn, somebody gets it”, she splashed that name all over this song, and then she splashed my name all over the album title. Honestly, woman, was it so hard leaving room for reasonable doubt? (At least she had the decency to get the timing a little off, because this isn’t how this is anymore, but it so, so, so was.)

20. Mr Brightside - The Killers “Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, turning through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis” This song is such a classic but it became much more meaningful to me this past year, mainly because it featured on our group’s roadtrip playlist for Scotland in May, and...yeah, it’s just a #quality song and finally its time has come. 21. Miss America - Ingrid Michaelson “I am the one who is always singing, louder than the rest, louder than the others” Songs that mention singing are the best songs, okay? I don’t make the rules. However, I wish I could get out of the habit of singing ‘I wanna be Miss America’ instead of the actual lyric, which is ‘I’ll never be Miss America’. I mean, there’s basically no way to get the song’s ethos more wrong. Shame on my tongue’s faulty muscle memory.

22. When It Comes to Us - Frances (& Ritual) “You and I, we're one too many worlds apart, it really shouldn't work, but it does” Oh what have we here? It’s another male/female duet. Which is a shame, really, because if it was a female/female duet, it would be a really great Nistrid song. But anyway. Beautiful track with beautiful words, yes please stay with me forever thank you.

23. The End of the World - Lenka “At the end of the world, we will kiss for the last time, and we won't feel the earth collapse into a mess of flood and fire” Listen up, The 100 and other angst-fest post-apocalyptic nightmare shows. This is how you do this. Cheesy and cute and with lots of “aahhh-aahhs”. Get on it. (No, but this song is adorable, truly.)

24. Old Days - Ingrid Michaelson “Heaven help the ones who fly away, heaven help the ones who have to stay and place the blame” Honestlyyyy, what a haunting and beautiful song. All of the lyrics are just so... atmospheric? Like, in an almost eery way but still so pleasing to listen to. I dunno what it is, but this is a damn fine song from my main girl Ingrid.

25. Quicksand - Tom Chaplin “Love's gonna leave you broken, time's gonna work you over; you get up, you get up, you keep rolling on” Awww, it’s Keane’s voice but without the rest of Keane! I love this guy, what a pro. Considering that a massive part of my early music life was taken up by Keane, I really haven’t grown out of my love for his voice. Aaanyway. This is actually thematically quite similar to Roll With the Punches. Was it really that hard of a year?! Ha.

26. Unique - Lenka “No, I don't really make sense, but I know that you know what I mean” Hehe, such a cute song. I want to be Lenka if I grow up.

27. Still the One - Ingrid Michaelson "We dance in the living room, and we dance to the beating of our blood” Aaaah this song is so great, so singable. This was one of the first ones I fell for before hurtling deep into the abyss of adoration for this album.

28. No - Marit Larsen “You could give up, I won’t give in, ‘cause where you end is where I begin.” Another beauty from my girl Marit. A little lighter on the coincidences in this one, thank goodness, because I don’t know if I could take another hit, but still solid gold.

29. We Are Powerful - Lenka “We fell in love on the same dark night, when the moon was high and the stars were bright” Another adorable song, another catchy, catchy tune. Lenka, my love, never stop with your beautifully singable tunes. (When I say singable, I mean both fun to sing and not vocally challenging enough to make me have to swap octaves halfway or sit out the middle 8 because the tune is too crazy. Aka the best kind of music.)

30. Whole Lot of Heart - Ingrid Michaelson “I said, "Let's rule this kingdom now, let's live and love and tear it down, to build it up"” Well, when I listen to this playlist in order, I will fittingly be left with the achingly catchy notes of this last Ingrid track in my head once it’s over. By faaar the catchiest of the bunch, this kind of addictive pulsating sound I can’t get enough of. I think this is might be my favourite from IDHTMS, but that changes regularly, so I won’t commit. Suffice to say it’s a fitting song for the end spot, down to the very last ebbing notes.

.....

Well, that’s it!

I haven’t done the math for every year, but I think this is the most female my playlist has ever been. Only 1/5 of the songs have male lead vocals, compared to the copious amounts of Frank Turner etc that have dominated previous years. GIRL POWER!

If you’ve actually read this post, I applaud you, and I also worry about your apportioning of time. What should you have been doing instead?!

As always, if you make your own one of these lists, please tag me for the sake of my ego and to give me new songs to listen to, because if we’ve learnt one thing from 2016′s list, it’s that I could do with some variety! ;D

#joni's ultimate playlists #music #ingrid michaelson #donald glover #lenka #bittereinder #francois van coke #marit larsen #frances #lauren aquilina #the killers #tom chaplin #jonisultimateplaylists

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iges · 6 years

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2017 Journal Wrap Up

Decided to compile some of the most prominent thoughts of the year into one place to get a full look at how my thoughts evolved over time, while also pushing myself to continue this. it’s dope being able to see your own growth so tangibly.

January

· How are you doing?

Where are you going?

When are you growing?

What are you saying?

Who are you being?

Why are you creating?

· I did not come to teach you / I came to love you / love will teach you

· It’s easier to raise great children than it is to repair broken parents. But both are hard as hell.

· Now can we fall in love with southernplayalistic bangin through the night? At least we fell in love with something greater than debating suicide

· Family has taught and continues to teach me so much in the love and light of their company. I have learned most of all the power of peace. The power in community, how it builds for calm unity

· “they won’t love you in boston like we do”

· What we need are two lists. On the left side: This Is What Matters To Me. On the right side: This Is How I Spend My Time. In the middle, one resolution: to make the right side align with the left.

· Peacock told me he loved me

· "the difference between the successful man and the mediocre one is as simple as golf. If a mediocre man goes golfing and hits the ball into the pond, he immediately picks up his club and starts yelling blaming it. If a successful man does the same thing, he simply grabs another ball and tries again. Its that ability to bounce back" – Benoit

· Talking about our parents and their lack of ability to understand a lot of mental and emotional health issues they've caused. "because they live on survival mode, and react by reflex. Like if someone punches towards you, you flinch. That’s how they live their lives. If someone punches towards me, I don’t flinch because experience in karate has taught me that you're too far to do anything to me." our reflexes evolve with our experiences.

· And just like that I left for boston, he left for Hong Kong, and we’d see when the world brought us together again. Although we are both travelling, flying, free souls, we are never fleeting.

· “At some point, you gotta decide for yourself who you gonn be”

February

· Bonds are elastic, allowing for molecules to vibrate with each other

· It's like everyone's driving in one direction on the street and there's another road on the ceiling. And you're hanging from the car on the ceiling touching the people below you and there's the pressure of falling down into the bustle of the crowd below. So you've gotta figure out how to flip yourself upside down so you're in the driver's seat and driving in your own direction without the fear of falling. Until you flip your perception on its head you'll be stuck in the same position.

· People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul at the end of the day. Remember that.

· I continuously find myself surrounded by great people that push me and help me grow. Challenge me and believe in me in the same breath. It’s beautiful but it also comes with a certain pressure. Pressure to not let them down, while also uplifting yourself.

· Work on this book, Gesi.

· I’d rather die of passion than boredom

· I don’t want to be famous, I just want my work to be.

· Thank god, thank self for growth. For finally loving who I’m becoming, finally becoming who I’ve always wanted to be.

· Art and love are the same things. Both grant us the potential to conceive monsters, or to breathe tranquility. It's all there.

When they don't love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself: you are not a reflection of the people who can't love you.

· I have come to know far too well the tug-of-war that exists between what is important to me and what is important to the rest of the world, and the friction that may cause.

· Which do you want: the pain of staying where you are, or the pain of growth?

· I have to fight for this. Art is the weapon

· “I’m tryna get like you” “I’m tryna get back like me too”

· I read something about how raids are going on in Brooklyn for immigrants. I started crying.

· Curated and ran A Day Without Immigrants. In a matter of 5 hours I was able to mobilize a campus wide event. In the midst of classes and meetings all day. This is what activism, passion, and sacrifice looks like. I am so very proud of you, Gesi. And I love you always for being able to channel your energy in the way that you do. Keep grinding. Keep pushing. Keep creating. You are powerful.

· Vision keeps growing clearer but I keep losing focus. Gotta change my lens maybe.

· “I see you changing your M.O. – Mode of Operation”

· Clear vision. Positive thoughts. Positive actions.

· Don’t let your hometown limit you.

March

· Sometimes you realize things about the people you love that you wish you hadn't. you realize that they're not as strong as or as caring as you think they are. They're not as innocent as your love for them makes them seem. They're glamorous and complicated and cold. Sometimes the people you love don't love you back, or they don't know how to tell you they do. Love feels so young, so reckless and so blinding. Yet it can be so futile, so restless, and so binding. I wonder if it will ever stop feeling this way.

· Don’t have other people believe in your journey more than you do.

· This above all else: to thine own self be true.

· I really don’t care about most things or people but I’m also not inconsiderate

· Tumbled out of space / crawled out the sea / it’s just love / boundlessly

· I kick it with my soulmates. All my homies reflect my soul in different forms

· Mind processes through entrance, experience, evaluation

· “On the NYC boardwalk” piece, later named The Roughest Kind of Gentle

· Doesn’t complain so she must not feel pain. Lol

· “jealous of your confidence”

· Do something once a day to remind this city why the hell you’re here

· “never fuck someone you wouldn’t wanna be tho”

· 2 of my friends dropped clothing lines this month, 1 dropped a book and a clothing line, and anotha one is launching next month! Support your friends in their endeavors!! Support them the way you support big name brands that don’t even know ya name. be their biggest fans first! The people I surround myself with motivate me daily to keep pushing and growing. Peace & love.

· I’m here physically. But my heart and soul are restlessly elsewhere.

· Need to be stronger. Somefuckinghow.

· Energy circulates. Tap into your network

She said I seek true intimacy in my relationships, to have someone want to know and understand me while wanting to know and understand them. As well as being intellectually challenged

Traced back my pattern in relationships with men and people in my life to how I used to do so much for my parents. How I've always bore so much responsibility and so little choices. And how they've relied on me for so much growing up that it's become habitual to help people almost instinctively.

· Went to ahzeme’s the other night. So as it turns out, he’s been in a relationship this whole time and has been cheating with me. Why would you ever put me in a position like this without my consent.

o One thing I will not have is you having me out here looking stupid. “who’d I make you look stupid in front of?” “myself. And that’s all that matters.”

o “because I feel like I can rely on you for anything. I know you’ll always be there and try to understand and help.”

· “thank you for growing and still tryna be a good person regardless of how people treat you”

· Isn’t it funny how people always love a free spirit until that spirit actually seeks to be free?

· She has her mother’s quiet

· Don’t hang out with people who make you justify your vibe. Black holes don’t give light back.

· You don't want people to understand it you want them to wonder how the fuck you're making it work. And you carry on. And you fucking be great – Skepta

· Trippy. Intimate. Beautiful.

· I want me first and foremost, and nobody else.

And sometimes I keep my feelings to myself because I can find no language to express them in.

Because no matter where you run, you end up running into yourself. Remember that

Keep my best work on top of me at all times to remind myself what I'm capable of

April

· Guys kept following me and pri. Guy tried to put a curse on me at pizzeria. Guy threw a sandwich at me mike and alozie lmaoooooo

· Impact investment

· Stop going through the motions and start moving.

· Don’t nobody ask me for no more parts of me.

· Another kid on campus committed suicide today. It's crazy the dark spaces this school and its environment can drive people into.

My daddy taught me how to drink my pain away. My daddy taught me how to leave somebody. My daddy taught me you don't need nobody

And I aint never felt no way bout this life shit do or die

Lost my god tonight?

· All people are looking for is a trip in me

· Life feels like a constant state of sobering up for other people. You're always on this higher journey. And others are disruptions that you get carried away in

· The world operates on energy. You attract

· I have always been too intense for others.

· Rumeer trusts me enough to rest. And because he trusts me I feel like I have to look after him

· I wanted to write but I just felt so much. That’s why you write. Because we’ve all got stories to tell, but how many of us will write the book?

· I’m not angry because I take the time to understand things and people.

· My mind is a web.

· The situation with tommy reminded me of _______

· It’s my job to create spaces where people can trip out in each other and their own creativity

· "if there's ever a problem and I film it, it's no longer a problem. It's a film" - andy Warhol

· i am of those women who keeps the shame our mothers braided into our hair

proudly wears the guilt they have sewn into the very fiber of our being

i mean i get it,

the culture should have overpowered any foolish desire i may have had

even if this foolish desire is love.

i get it,

ignorance should have desiccated any feeling out of my blood and turned my body to salt

to by washed away by these other men

these more acceptable men

i get it,

my heartstrings are healing and you wanted to ask the doctor to take reign of them once again,

because some self proclaimed doctor told you this intermingling of races is an illness

so you can't believe the miracle happening in front of you,

proclaim it a chronic illness,

wonder how long it'll last before it kills you

i mean me.

she asks me where this fear stems from.

where this guilt grows from.

you see, when every part of your identity is not represented in your culture

you become a latchkey child of the cosmos

when everything you do is a disappointment to those that created you

you run for cover,

hide every piece of you they wouldn't want to discover

let fear and guilt grow inwardly and hover

let that become your lover.

because you never know what the last string may be.

and you know all too well

how disappointment can sometimes smother love

so i am of those women that hides behind love like fake innocence.

approach every situation with ambivalence

but it's hard when you see this fighting for love as militant

don't you know you raised a soldier?

don't you know she's only grown bolder?

don't you know as much as this love is militant, it is just as much imminent?

just as much limitless, just as much divine.

and so,

if all you see is race

Then I guess we'll see you at the finish line.

May

· 3:03 am just watched Mustang. Very emotional. Hit even closer to home than I expected. Need to watch with significant other one day to show them the things I can’t explain about my upbringing

· I’ve been thinking of Albania a lot lately

· I think of home and my tongue tangos with exhaustion.

· He is truly one of the most beautiful pure souls I have ever come across.

there you are. moonbeams and madness. sunshine and chaos. how did they ever let you not love yourself? i remember the hidden logs, hushed and griping beneath your energetic body as you squirmed and squealed your way atop mountains, atop sins, atop convictions. the rocks barely able to hold onto your soul, so they kept a piece of your skin to remember you by each time you passed them. the way water wanted every part of you so badly it clung onto you hoping to fill your lungs with its presence each time you stepped in it. nature wanted to be a part of you as much as you wanted to be a part of it. just before you fell and drank all of the water from the Red Sea. Red from your skinned knees. i saw you drown and come back baptized. Young girl full of sassy sanctification, the water cycle churns inside your body since the moment you entered it, since the moment it entered you; do you weep still because no one seas you? there you are. i sea you, my dear gesea. waterfalls and wings. do you sea you yet? how did they ever let you not love yourself? do you finally?

· Everyday above ground is a good day

· We come from men who do not know when they were born

We come from women who do not know when they came alive

If they ever even did

They came together and had daughters full of all the misguided language.

· I know what it is like to not be from here, to not be from anywhere

So I make myself a home for these boys to grow into men here

· My blue passport makes me american but most days I don't feel it / in new york I am more ambiguous than I am american / in boston they think I am hispanic because of my accent and attitude

· I have enough pages to stitch them into wings

· "as an artist you have to keep reinventing yourself," he said. "in a marriage, you have to be consistent. It's difficult"

· We got that….silent and confused kinda love

· “when your boo is an artist, the visuals they can paint is insane”

· A genuine beautiful soul. A connection far beyond what I have experienced before. He brings out the childlike curiosity in me again. I want to learn everything about him and indulge in his interests while showing him my own. I want us to be our own people while understanding and loving each other's person.

· I have never believed in time, but I have always believed in your enabling of it / I have never believed in time but it tugs at my flesh, as I am reminded of how to love you from afar.

9:22 pm spines leaning into one another, skin symphonies, soft percussion sounds seem like silk as it cups us, encircles us, we will write love all over each other, how often will we write? In a circumference of pain, I think there is nothing else worth writing, worth loving.

· I don’t do this just because it’s fun. I do it because I can’t shake the feeling

And I think of how they think. How they want the earth to swallow them because they couldn't swallow the woman they wanted whole.

Te kendosh edhe te creosh

Ne qofte se nuk eshte cultura, nuk eshte kenga, nuk ke se ta shikosh dot veten

If there is no culture, no songs, you haven't got anything to look at yourself in

· And what is a black boy / but a spectacle / a shimmy and a shake / a shuck and a jive / a shackle and a cry / a black thing only alive to entertain

And what is a spectacle / but a lens / a glass to look both at and through / a perspective offered through transparency / a mirror that often wants to see other people / a lack of recognition of a reflection / a disheveled tornado dissipating right before your very eyes / an eye of a storm / an empty space filled with destroyed things ��

And what is a woman / but a bolt of lightning / a brilliant streak of light in the midst of a storm / a rippling silent strength / one just as powerful as thunder, without all the noise

And what is a man / but a striking of thunder / a booming voice in the sky / an accumulation of noise / always trying to be the most powerful one in the room / one that cuts silence like a knife

And what is a language / but a knife / a collection of different sizes, shards, and blades / a dual blade with a hardwood handle / its power coming from the tongue that it weighed / used to cut, create, destroy, build, spread, hunt, attack, collapse / a manifestation of thoughts made blade

And what is a thought but a string / a connection / a concoction of ideas held together by the balance of belief and knowledge / a steady stringing, building of connection

And what is a connection / but mist / intangibility felt / a fluidity that melts at hearts / at hands / an energy that demands

And what is love / but an energy / chaos turned benevolence / suns devouring forests / in growth and flourishment / one that starts at the self and spreads in nourishment

And what is energy / but the universe

And what are we / but the universe

June

· Making poetry people can forgive themselves to

· At what point do you realize your influence? Impact? How is this different from your worth?

· What is your soul food?

· I run my fingers through my hair, looking for the splitting end of a poem

· We clutch each other moreso out of the necessity for warmth than ever the desire for romance.

· This time bomb of youth

· Maybe there is no such thing as a country. Maybe there is just gutted land and sharp teeth that have torn at my flesh for so long I’m not exactly sure which wound is the one I belong to

· “no one ever taught us how to introduce ourselves…our parents accidentally made us emotionally impoverished. I think that’s the true lesson behind materialism: that you lose sight of emotional wealth in a very serious way that goes unnoticed.”

o And so we ain’t all grow up the same kinda poor.

· Anything you do, could fail. Everything you don’t, will.

· Consciousness is an unreliable narrator. It speaks endlessly. It comes with many voices. Not all are to be trusted. Consciousness comes with a person. or several. They all call themselves “self”. Not all are to be trusted.

· Be careful what you say in that it tells you what you think (of yourself).

· A lesson on empathy on the 2 train

· I’m strong. But I’m also more than strong. At times, I am weak and lonely and afraid and anxious and angry and silly and happy and defiant and bored. Sometimes, I don’t even know what I am, and sometimes I don’t know what I am in English – I can only explain it in a different language.

· Think I caught a vibe

· Poetet dhe vajzat e bukura, shpesh jane njerzit me t’vetmuar ne bote.

· “you will always be my beautiful blessing from the east. And you are still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

· This book is really coming together.

· I wrote my heart in a poem. It made a home of itself there. It doesn't pay rent. It invites everyone over but takes up the whole room. There are bodies piled in here now, expecting, demanding a space in a heart that never belonged to them. This heart is a tricky thing. It gives and gives itself to everyone but still stands alone. And all these bodies lay there, pounding to its very rhythm in hopes of catching it when it falls. But there is no room for falling. We are standing in the love we grant and give others everyday. It takes up the whole room. It grows too big for itself. It makes its way onto the pavement, breathes its fire into the city and wraps itself around it, taking everyone it once loved with it and made a home of itself there

July

· Did u get my vibes man? I’m thinking we are all going to be alright.

· I am my motherland free from bondage

· This is one of the hardest summers to date

· I know some things are better left unsaid and some people better left alone.

But I still pick up the phone.

· There’s a future version of me who’s proud I was strong enough

· All around there’s silence. Everyone decides for themselves whether that’s loneliness or freedom.

· Distance, too, is good.

Because you are far away

I feel you are very close to me.

Yes—

But what of proximity? Of union?

When you come near, then, my love, you are far away. – truth

· talking with mike about the concept of love. Love is an energy in that it can never be created or destroyed merely transformed into different forms for different people and things. Love is chaos turned benevolence. asked me to clarify. love, as an energy, when left untampered with exists in its purest form. but you take an energy and put it between two parties who each come with their own set of experiences, people, upbringings, pasts, etc. this turns it chaotic. but the benevolence comes in when we finally see this chaos as something beautiful.

so what is love in its purest form what does that look like?

honestly, self-love is i think the purest form of love.

so the goal of any love exchange or experience is to love the other person how you would love yourself; in this exchange you are treating someone as you would want to be treated and thus are showing them how you want to be loved and they in turn should do the same. this is the most ideal situation.

· And I think that's the really peculiar part about being in your own company is the urge to both stay and go.

The only thing separating me from becoming who I know I can and need to be is the hard work and dedication. When you really get that, I mean when you really see that Beyonce isn't unique, she just works hard; Steve Jobs isn't really unique, he just works hard, perhaps that is what makes them unique. What sets people apart is their hard work. Once you see that, you can be exactly who you want to be. I don't want people to be offended by my need for solitude. I just feel like I have to become what I am. And ever since I realized I can be exactly what I want to be, it has really shaken me. And I just can't go back to a time where I thought about anything but writing, anything but making myself to be human. And it's scary because once you know that you have to become this thing, it means that you're plagued with the voice of possible failure, but that voice is pushing you so loud that you can't betray your future self.

· I don't think I've ever felt more alone than I have these days. But I've also never loved it more, loved me more. I can't run away from this. I think oftentimes, that's what we do in times of loneliness, we automatically run from it and in an inability to escape, fill it. I plan on staying in this space for a while. I implore to explore it. But I think that's easy for me to say as someone who's never felt at home amongst other people. But it's still for everyone, this exploration of the self. Maybe I miss myself. Maybe I've missed myself this entire time. Truth is, I don't think I've ever truly met her before--myself. We've flirted a few times but I haven't taken her out to get to know her more until recently. I think I am trying to tell myself something even I don't know yet. But it sounds beautiful so far, from here. I plan on staying here for a while. Damn it feels good to bask in the glory of your own solitude. Kendrick had it right, this what god feel like. I think it is in these waking moments of solitude and silence that the self is born, discovered, and furthered. She is trying to push me deeper so I can be fully, wholeheartedly myself. And fall into the person I have always wanted to be. Thank God, thank Self for growth.

I guess I just never thought, believed, was never taught to believe I could be the one to do it. I guess it's because I could be the one to do it. I guess it's because I come from spaces that do not teach us we can be what we are meant to, want to, be. Only what they need us to be. I never believed in all my years and love of reading, that I could be the one to use language to craft pieces and experiences that evoke and provoke. I mean, it all started somewhere, right? People created languages out of nothing and gave them meaning. Shakespeare created his own language because the preexisting one wasn't fitting enough to convey what he wanted to express. And some call that ignorant and some call it creative, but regardless it worked for him. He did it because he felt he had to, to be able to go on. He created something out of a preexisting thing and gave it meaning. This is what it's all about, I think. It all boils down to creating your own rules. I come from such opposite cultures with different languages that my tongue needs new rules to express because these exist on opposite ends of a spectrum. The space in between all these differences is comprised of nothing. We must make something out of it and give it meaning.

· What motivates the artist?

What gives the artist her voice?

What gives the artist her courage?

Who/what gives the artist the will to create?

· But greatness, innovation, I do not believe these entities are entirely inspiration as they are digging-- digging both into one's craft and into one's self.

· Bless the child that can hold his own, flesh and bone

And no matter where I roam, I feel right at home, and that's the real shit

-xzibit

· Sins of a father make your life ten times harder

· Be the person you needed when you were younger

o When I was younger, I needed writers—authors, poets, artists, creatives—so I became just that.

· How can they crave the fire but fear the flame?

· You never know how many lives you impact by simply just being there.

Lesson: thoughts and feelings aren't everlasting but everchanging. Remember this next time you're beating yourself up over something.

I say “sometimes to drown is the water entering your body looking for a home”

And I notice so many men in my life washed ashore at my temples

If the body is a temple, why do they come here drowning in sin?

If the body is an ocean, why do they never learn how to swim?

· I put in my 10,000 hours and then some. I lived under a roof that didn’t support my craft for almost two decades. I wrote, at bare minimum, 200 words every day for the past three years. I still do. I featured in shows I didn’t pay a dime for and others that I invested a few dollars in. I put my money where my mouth is and supported nothing but artistry for years in college. I heard no and all of its echoes hundreds of times. I earned my yes’s. I sacrificed eating and sleeping for creating. I gave up just about every casual friendship because I didn’t have time to bullshit. I couldn’t cheat myself out of any possible opportunity. I’ve been to hell for this, and I’m almost back. If you overlook me now, you’re going to look foolish. I’m building something that will be here after I leave this place, and there’s space in it for all of you.

I love you.

-Ges

· 1st trip: discovery & purpose (DAMN.)

2nd trip: closure & arrival

· Today traveling is home base. But we knew this already.

· Fuck the lines. FUCK THE RULES.

· I haven’t slept all summer long.

· What is your vibe? What do you dedicate your vibe to?

· I am Durim. But in the best way possible. In all the ways you couldn’t be.

· And fuck fame that killed all my favorite artists. All my favorite artists (today) keep themselves out of the spotlight but make sure they’re not in the shadows.

· “you are just enough”

· Book is published. (07.27.17)

August

· Sitting in the airport with James Baldwin in my ears and in my bag, and my own book in my lap.

Being able to truly disconnect from a world I've known for so long is exciting me so much. I wanna disappear for a while, and need it now more than ever. I do what I need to do quietly and then make noise and dip. And I love living life this way; having no one know what I'm up to until I announce and release. It's great having people think you're up to nothing and then surprise them. Now for the next few weeks it's like I have to learn how to do things without thinking about social media. Without having my phone on me all the time, without all the constant pressure to post everything I'm doing and perform for an audience that's always watching your next move, I get to fully enjoy my time back home. get to fell the authenticity of all these moments of intimacy between myself and my motherland. It's been so long. We have so much to learn about each other still to this day. We have both changed so much. Even the journey here is the transition into the change in pace and lifestyle. While most flights are riddled and filled with reading and writing and constant productivity of sorts; the energy on this one is different. Watched the first season of Atlanta, let jazz sounds play in my ears as I drifted off into the sleep I haven't been able to get all summer, and rested for the first time in a while. Thought about how talented Donald Glover is, how he is an artist to the core of the word, to the core of his person. Always creating something new. And you don't always have to be doing the same thing forever. It's all about what we dedicate our vibe to. That was the lesson I took from my last trip as I embark upon this one. It's all about what we dedicate our vibe to. And that can be anything you put your mind to, you've just got to make the choice.

Albums that have defined my year: DAMN, At.Long.Last.A$AP, Blond

· For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m ready to go back home.

· This is to say, there are parts of you even in the places you no longer consider home.

How do you know somethings before you really even know them or are ready to? This kept tripping me out during my last trip. I would think I was realizing something new about myself or the world and then a random line of my poetry would pop in my head and I would understand my words, myself a bit better each time. And surprise myself.

And so I am awoken by a breathtaking view of stars covering the sky, blanketing over the mountains. A few hours later, the stars have faded, the sky lightened from its former pitch black, but still not light out, and I am awoken by the sounds of the rooster nearby. A call to the town to wake up and begin the simple life they have always known as theirs.

This is a beautiful place to grow up. But once you're grown, where do you go? (conversations with nuse lida)

And I wonder if there are any other artists here awake at this time. Up creating to their souls content at 5am. In the dark of course, hiding in the shadows under the stars. But they don't have time for creativity here, they need to survive. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only reason I'm still here.

I don't just do this because it's fun, I do it because I can't shake the feeling.

· A R T – Arrive Receive Transform

· I was going to write down all the realizations I had this summer as I had them and got worried due to lack of time. But then I realized, once you realize something, it’s yours and stays with you forever.

· I understand my gravitational energy better after watching my parents from afar.

· I listen so much more than I speak here

· This has been the most emotional trip of my life, for everyone.

September

Do you remember the last time you felt something for the last time?

Back on my "oh word that's ya energy?" shit again

I am tired of raising men and them then disrespecting me or acting like they don't wanna know me anymore.

Coming in with peaceful energy this year. It's interesting to see how we've all grown and how sometimes that makes people grow apart. I'm glad the people I keep close to me are always looking to grow and prosper and find inner peace. It's interesting how others switch up as soon as they've milked as much as they can/want out of you. I am currently on the journey of learning to not be salty and hold any hard feelings. He who acts, also bears the reaction they receive. I gotta continue to focus and grow while they continue sleepin on me. I promise you'll know about me one day and be mad you didn't earlier when you had the chance.

I no longer struggle with my mortality. It's like the homeless poet said to me "you can die tomorrow and be fine because you put something of yours into the earth. That's forever. You live forever in your creations" and I can't help but feel so much thinking about that. About how big that is. And I get so emotional. I've been thinking about death a lot lately. But I could really die anytime and be okay with that because I created and concreted my mark. And it's scary. And it's surreal. And it's beautiful.

And once again, I can't believe this is my life. Whenever I used to think of death before, I always wanted to be my own cause but was also too scared of myself and my potential to ever do something like that. Now, I know that my life is in my hands but I no longer want my death to be in my hands. And I'm no longer scared.

No fear, what's stopping me?

· Remember when you wanted what you currently have

· The rage you feel? Listen to me carefully. It’s a gift. Use it, but don’t let anyone see it.

· Support feels so beautiful. Wish I could feel it more often. Shit is breathtaking.

· What is a win? A small quiet life? How do you measure that? What does freedom look like?

· So yes…I’m really trying to write myself free.

· “I asked God for it. and I got back ‘are you sure? Ok. Just know everyone can’t go’”

· God willing. Your willing

I think this is what happened to me this summer. For the first time in my life, I was forced to face my pain in that I was finally processing and letting it go through the process of writing and knowing I was going to share with others, that I was going to articulate a pain that belonged to me and me only for so long, but that I knew also belonged to others, and that in releasing it out into the world I was freeing myself from it, and so many others. And so I felt it more than ever in such a short amount of time, even more than when it first pained me. And I think that is our jobs as artists, to mirror Toni Morrison's shared notion, to free ourselves through expression and in that process, free others. And this is the first time you truly see yourself. It's such a trippy, crazy feeling, really. After all these years of self-reflection, expression, feeling like you know yourself, growth, after all this time- to not have known yourself at all, to not have faced yourself once, to not have healed or freed yourself from all that weighs down on you, this is perhaps the hardest realization to swallow and address with yourself. To always wonder what it is to make yourself human, to think you are in the process of doing so your whole life, only to realize two decades later, you have just started.

· These people really think I give a fuck about the shit they give a fuck about. Just need a moment of silence. Just close ya fuckin mouth

"It's just that every time I hang out with you and I mean really spend time with you outside of just tryna get in your pants. When I really spend time with you, you fuck with me mentally. And idk no one else really does that to me.”

Rape is the reason I look at all men as sexual opportunities. My father is the reason I’m numb to it all. How the fuck do I combine the two in healing?

How do I disrupt an entire culture?

Growth doesn’t come in peace but for peace.

A lot of people hate me because I love them more than they love themselves.

I’m only out here just tryna impress myself now

October

· “life is a summary of your actions”

· It’s all about what you dedicate your vibe to

· “people are changing their perception of you quicker than you can process any of it” catch up and move accordingly

· People are really trying to fuck with my energy lately

· Art’repreneurship. I’m going to do this, with or without babson.

· Self-investment is the best investment

· I am an equation seeking its language, searching for its variables. I am steadily subtracting myself from situations, making alterations, building models, adding together messages I find at the bottom of empty bottles, dividing the self from multiplicitous absolutes, all while tracing my linear roots.

· Short films as a trend in music is something I’m really interested in exploring and studying more of.

I am grieving missing fatherhood for both myself and my father. And his father. Ain't that some shit. How does that not weigh down on you?

The way my parents view my creative career affects the way I live it in silence. I come from a family of silence, I was raised by it, and that's how I try to raise myself to the places I want to be. That's why I can't handle making too much noise at once- I have to disappear immediately. But this is where things conflict. I need to be heard, want to be heard, need to use my voice for the power it is, but every once in a while am reminded of how I never knew how to, forget how to.

How far can I go if every few months I have to act like it doesn't even exist? Like I don't even exist? What does that do to one's confidence? To one's faith? To one's drive? To one's dreams?

· The place in which I’ll fit will not exist unless I make it.

· “hopefully you can free me from this shit too”

· “you’re in charge of keeping me in control”

· “you might be just the right break I need to be quite honest”

· “do you think drugs is a party of every creative?” “I think creativity is drugs”

It's been two years without you gramps.

I can't believe I forgot your birthday. I can't believe I almost forgot about today. I can't believe I let myself get this wrapped up in this shit. Gotten so distracted from the real. Thank you for grounding me a bit more. For existing as you did. I'm gonna talk to dad today about you. I know he's still grieving every day. I know he's been crying today, in random spurs of moments. Like picking up a screwdriver at work and remembering your hunger for work, always finding something to do, to keep yourself occupied, to have something to work towards, something to look forward to. He's been crying for you all summer. He made you and grandma a beautiful grave, lemme tell you. Everyone is so proud of him. Hopefully, you are too. Have you ever been proud of him? I made that presentation of your life, and showed everyone. We had a big lunch for you. Everyone was so proud of me. For the first time. Your own daughters never knew you sang. Ain't that some shit? How we manage to live these secret parts of our lives. And how sometimes, those parts are our entire life's purpose. I don't know how much longer I can live in secrecy gramps. I also realize we come from a lineage of abandoned parenthood and missing fathers. I am grieving for myself, for my father, and for you too. And for who knows how many years. I wonder how much generational trauma you have passed down to me. This was such an emotional trip. The other day, we went apple picking and orjada asked "did we bring one for grandpa?" and we laughed but I'm not sure it was funny. More like, one of those uncomfortable wow laughs. Like a that’s so silly but goddamn. You're really gone. But always here. Always with us. I've never seen dad love someone as much as he loved you. It's touching to know he's capable of such. It's beautiful and hurtful to witness. It is so many things gramps. This was such an emotional trip. I don't think one day passed without seeing mom or dad cry. Yet, we still live such separate lives. And now, you're no longer living in this life at all. Is there another one after this? I don't know how many more I can handle. I can't believe there is ever a point of just resting and peace. I'm striving for peace more than happiness these days, I think it's a nice adjustment. I think it's a growth adjustment. You're in my book, gramps. I wrote a book, gramps. I published it. mom and dad don't know. And if you were here, you wouldn't either. But I'm just saying it out into the world hoping someone will be proud of me, even if it isn't in this life. How do I make them proud gramps? How do I not let it kill my spirit? Is this all even worth it? People ask me what's going on lately and I pretend to complain about all this shit that isn't even real, pretend to care about these mediocre people. But what's really killing me is this secret life gramps. And the fear of them ever finding out. The fear of losing another piece of family, even tho it wasn't quite there before. There's not a day that goes by without me thinking about it. I went home recently and realized I'm so far detached from that place. There's almost nothing that draws me back besides devin and orjada. Mom is begging us to get married, gramps. I don't know how to tell her no, I don't know, how marriage ain't for everybody, how I don't know if I'll ever be capable of loving someone like that, how I don't know if someone will ever be able to love me in my wholesomeness. She doesn't care. Said we need to celebrate the new house. The one you built with your bare hands. You were so smart. You were so wise. You were so hard-working. You were so respected. You were so loved. All of the above still stands true, years later. You made your mark on that village, in cities, in another country even. I can only hope to continue to draw it out. I'm so glad you finally got a chance to rest. I hope you're resting easy, gramps, still restless as always but more peaceful. Rest in full peace. I love you.

"There's something about making you smile and blush that gives me purpose. I definitely want to feel that for the rest of my life"

· How many soul do you touch a day?

· I wear my vibe on my sleeve

· F R E Q U E N C Y

· Free cash flow

Free bands flow

Free man know

Ain’t nothing free no mo’

· “I love you”

o Something beyond language but not beyond notice

November

· Energy doesn’t lie

· “you’ve got really great energy, you know that?” –from across the room

· You know who a man truly is once he doesn’t get what he wants

· Shared vibration / reincarnates conversations, maybe not had in this lifetime, but perhaps in another. Catch that feeling of familiar and let it uncover.

· It’s 4 am and I’m tired of men making me feel guilty for the shit they do. Or the way I choose to live my life.

· What’s a love poem but a pair of wings?

· Break often-- not like porcelain, but like waves. So when you think everything is crashing down, remember that a wave must crash before a new one develops and rises.

· Spirits doing this dance with one another and it feels like freedom

· Every day I eclipse the me of yesterday. We come to what seems like toward each other, only to realize one of us is further ahead than we may have realized and ultimately comes to the forefront of character until it outshines the other, completely.

Writing always works for me, even lifts me out of depressions. Because it is in writing that I (most) experience my autonomy, my strength, my not needing other people.

Lots of people will tell you how difficult it is to be an artist, but not many people will tell you how difficult it is to not be an artist.

· The men worry about her but she doesn’t stress any of them

· Never has a show exposed me as much as She’s Gotta Have It has. Came for my whole neck and then some.

· Content curation

When someone shows you who they are, believe them

December

· Fuller than the moon

· Been doing a journal exercise where I go back into older months and look at the questions I was asking myself. Rewriting them and answering them in separate entries. It’s been a really interesting way of measuring growth and how I now have answers to questions I was once asking, wondering when I’d have them.

· dancing vertigo around the centerline

i in my heart pour

too many people in line for the good life

too much aggression

40 degrees celsius (thats fuckin hot america)

my love for you is relative

i disappear and heal myself

i distance friends

i am a system to myself waking over gravity

i have loved and kept moving being a creature of the universe

whether that love loved me back or not

please expect nothing more

· i mount the dissonance and dissassociation of this reclining northern hemisphere

certain of pole position and retro slack

certain of a silk view off curled road

the sterilization of isms and academic smirks

the mocking pop of business suits on a tuesday

i am not seeking a theme

i am not a font

these lines are not abstractions but concrete bombardments you are passing to fast over

hold a minute and watch this slow smooth walking

perhaps you oughta learn something

hold a minute and feel this gushing miracle existing for itself alone

i am in a good mood among meaninglessness

what does that do for you?

· salvage my golden self and remind him hunting a vibe is something you can't discuss but if they cum while reading you, then fuck baby.

· “Ms. Universe Juice”

· “you’re a trippy person and people need something to trip out in”

· You’ve gotta be careful who you pretend to be before it becomes who you are.

· He tells me I remind him of his mother

Tells me he's never loved a woman like this since his mother

Tells me I remind him of her

Back home

Nothing but a trip away

It's not love that you're feeling darling,

it's a trip,

not a stay.

· He buries his face in my neck and tells me I smell like his mother

Like memories from his childhood

Like times where he used to be held

Like a time travel to simpler times

Asks me to take him there

Wonders if he could trip out on the trip there.

· You’ve got to be careful of the energy you carry with you. People always ask me why im so happy and shining and it's because the energy I carry with me everywhere I go affects everything and everyone around me; it affects the person who makes my coffee in the morning, it affects the person I walk by on my way to class, it affects my professor, it affects my friends and even strangers that watch from afar.

· I need someone to stick around past the initial excitement. To not get blinded, shocked by it and assume it’s only temporary. I am always true to myself. Just because it shocks you, just because you’re not used to it doesn’t stop me in the slightest.

· I need to be and feel like more than just a trip. Maybe this is the curse of being “too” independent. Whatever the fuck that is. No one ever sticks around for long/ long enough.

o “you’re like the freeist bird flying out here. I thought I could never get a hold of you”

· I don’t know what love is baby

So please don’t ask me now.

Love was a country he knew nothing about.

I don’t have the answers baby.

What you know about love? What love know about you?

Love knows me far better than I know it. perhaps because I haven’t taken the time and effort to get to know it really until recently. Much like myself. Perhaps that’s where all the answers lie—in myself. And we know this already. But how to dig deeply for answers within you, which you are too scared to face the questions of yet? But how else to go on? But what else is life, if not a constant state of searching, digging, discovering, only to question and dig deeper, in waves? If not a constant dissatisfaction with what already exists, a constant “but what else?” And what is the life of an artist but the constant reconfiguration of a frequency which seeks to create for the world, that which doesn’t already exist within it?

And so, what is the love of an artist but a constant rebirth of itself, the constant edits of a creation until it becomes an energy which satisfies both the artist and the world?

But isn’t energy always a changing force in our universe?

And so this, my dear, is why people are afraid to love artists. And though in denial, are even more terrified of an artist loving them with a never-ending, ever-lasting energy.

And yet, this is what makes my self-love so beautiful, so breathtaking, so exciting. I never know where this love will take me next. I am learning something new about myself every day. I learn by doing what I want and need to do to go on. And this going-on is what makes this love ongoing.

· I think there is no better timing in how I’ve read through Another Country.

#thoughts #journal #reflection

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sheilasministry · 6 years

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Jesus says I have a time frame but it’s okay that I start now & finish later. I will sometime in the future not have one but for now I do. I have to work & be with my mom now that she can no longer drive herself places. I know it’s easy to say we can do this or that when our parent or parents need something but it’s been a lot for me to come back & forth for me to say I’m enjoying it a lot. I want mom to be happy but it’s not making her happy until she knows I’m okay with being her driver for her errand’s like almost daily. I will have to get some days I can be with her in her time of shopping & make it work out for her to be happy again with me. We had a good day yesterday but she is slow & not going to fast is her thing. I have to be in not a hurry at all. It’s not good to say I’m going home to late for walking my two pups. Then she worries they aren’t getting their day out with me. So I will try to be more patient with me & her together. It takes time & I’m good with what is going on now. I’m not good with me here because I worry about deleting blogs now days. It’s not easy to say I’m in a good mood if I delete one or more of God’s blogs in a day or two or week. It’s been a while since I have been here but I’m good with me doing this for now. I have to admit I do want to be here but I’m thinking about taking the two pups for a walk before it gets dark. It’s not good to say anything bad about our weather today. We have had a great run of sun. I’m happy we had some sun with no wind. Some but it has been absolutely beautiful. Cold but absolutely beautiful. God says I have thanked Him most of the time. The cold gets to me but I want the sun to keep coming out. It gives me an uplift to get through these early dark days of our state getting not much light during the day & we live on the side of a big hill that blocks the sun from getting more time in for our light here on this property. It’s okay but it’s depressing to see the sun other places on tv & we get like not much at all in the summer & in the winter. That is it for our two season’s here in Oregon. Just cold with not much sun & then hot with not much sun. I’m wondering why I live here but it’s because of our sons & my mom. Otherwise I would move to another state & be happy but I do miss my friends here where I live. Okay it’s time to change conversation to God with me now. God Is Awesome God Alone. We all know this already. Don’t go there with me that it’s not different then the e-book God is writing for me now. I will have it out next year but I’m waiting for my Children’s e-book to come out anytime. I know I took my time to make sure we had the right conversation of how & what we needed to get it out soon. He is busy but not good in his life without his wife. He wants to know why God told him to be happy but he knows why he’s not. I know it’s not me but God says he is not interested in doing much these days but is. I’m here to say I understand his way of thinking. I think about God to the point of me saying; I wish God would just come back but we have to wait for all to be safe here on this planet again. I know many will find God as Jesus in time. My time is not with God as much as I want it to be but I’m good with me being here to write for God Jesus. I know I’m supposed to win a number of things in my life. I don’t know which will come first. God said the one He just gave me will happen soon now that He is first in my life but for the first time. I haven’t been with God much all of my life. I don’t know how to put God first in my life. I thought I was but God says it’s the heart in time with His that is first & not with people that makes the difference to Him. I don’t know what I have done different but I know I want to be with God but I have felt that way for a long time now. I know it’s awesome news but I’m not sure what I can be doing that I wasn’t first with God in my life. Maybe that was it. Maybe I was putting me first but I have done that for like all of my life to. God says it’s His time for me & many to say He Is God all of the time down here. I Prayed for our Country to be America again today but I haven’t really been saying it that way but God said in a tweet this morning that I had been Praying for our Country to be America again with God. He said I was the only one saying it the way it should be said. I guess I have been doing something right for a while. God said I have been the only one down here to say; Put someone in Office that has some famous outlook on life here in this Country that means what he says when he says God is not with him as much as me but will be in time. That means someone will be President really soon but he is in Office now. I know it’s not me but it’s someone else who wrote for me last time when I was in Office for ya know being President. We all say we can do a better job then our present person in one or more places in Politic’s but I see how tough it is to please one person in life little alone more then we can think of to get one Law passed for us to be happy we are going to pay taxes but we aren’t. The new Law for tax reduction is not a good one for us middle class people. God would have said that to our President now but he wants the tax break for him & not us. We have to understand that when they put something into action from the Office of the White House. It’s not for us really. It’s always for the people running the Office besides the President & the Vice President doesn’t care. He get’s his share of his taxes cut so he’s good with whatever President Trump does in Office. One thing I know for sure is this. I don’t have the knowledge to be a Politician & if I did I wouldn’t run unless God said to & the time was a perfect time for anyone to say I’m doing it because God said to. I’m not sure anyone now in Politic’s knows the difference from this blog & my next one coming out. I do. Its about me here with God only now saying our Country is really bad trouble with each of them now in Politic’s & the FBI is NOT to be trusted at all until God says they can be for Him Alone & for His Glory Alone in time. I will just say I will be playing pickleball & Praising God & Praying until I go home to be with God Jesus & God Jehovah. I’m safe that way & I’m into God’s Heart a lot to say like; I want to be with you so much but I have to be here which is good but I want to be home with you now in time with you & me together in conversation so I can say I want to know more about what it is that will be in time with me & you in time here on this earth. It’s fun to hear but I need to be with others to. I’m here to say I want to be with others & I’am but my time is not mine for now. I want to be with God in writing for Him & then exercise & stay in shape for me to be with me like I Pray for a long time here on this planet. I want to be here for our grandchild & more of them will happen in time. I’m happy about our first one being here with us for next year & maybe the next & maybe the next. That’s how my son is thinking for him to finish school & have a baby & use birth control like crazy next time so they won’t have two one right after another. Okay God says because I was concerned they don’t have much money & things like that do happen. I love them & I want them to be okay with their child & be comfortable with money in their spacious fifth wheel home. It’s nice but small. He says, our son that is, that it’s perfect because it’s cheap & he can afford to be a dad & a husband for a while until he get’s a better paying job. I know it’s hard to say this but I can’t wait until I have one child in my life to just say; Hey your my grandchild & not a niece or nephew I get to spoil. Okay I have some issues going on in my life right now. I have to say I haven’t been able to lose some weight but I’m doing better. My heart is not happy but God says it’s not been happy for years. I want to be out & play some racquetball but I have to wait until I know I won’t be committed to a tournament in pickleball. If I hurt myself in racquetball I won’t have to say; Oh it’s just me in this tournament. I will have to say; It’s me & now I have to say to my partner that I can’t play. I will wait until I know I can play & have fun with no tournament’s in the way of anything like an injury to say I can’t play now racquetball or pickleball & tennis all in one day. Okay I have a love for these sports & God says He will get me out in all three in a day in time. I won’t know how that will happen but when it does I will be thrilled to pieces. I want to know this about me. Is my heart okay now? I just had a big old jolt of a thump from my heart beat. God says it’s not the caffeine. It’s just that I try to do way to much in this time of mine & my heart is now getting tuned up for more fun with God Jesus here on this earth. I’m Praising God all the way through this sentence because I know He has my number & I don’t want to know when it’s up down here. Okay He says keep in mind what He has said to me the earlier part of last night & today. God says we all have our grave to look forward to. I know it sounds bad but when God explained it, it sounded really good afterword. It’s like He says this to me to see if I’m okay with dying. Well I don’t have a choice but God says I do. I want to live until the Return of God Jesus. It has to be soon but God says a little longer then me down here. I was afraid of that but there is hope in God’s Heart here & now. We can say; With God All Is Possible. I’m going to go with that for me. I know it’s not a long shot for God Jesus & God Jehovah. I can’t wait to have them over to my new home in Heaven. God says I have another new home to be built if I want but I don’t know if there is one already built to save us time of having one built. God says no. He wants us to have a nice big old home so we can have company over & say we have the room & if we see you fine. If we don’t fine with me to. That means if they come over we want to have fun with our privacy space in our home. Not many people know what our house looks like inside but it’s small so people just say; Go to the shop. It’s the fun place anyway. That’s what I say. No one asks so I don’t offer to say come into our house. It’s small but you can see it now if you want. I know I don’t have a really nice place but it’s home to me. Comfort is my home for me. I don’t know what it is but my mom is like that to. She has to have her stuff around her in a certain way like me. I’m not quite as cluttered. She likes lots of things in her way for walking. She had a home when my dad was alive but now she is in a retirement home. She keeps buying things & it keeps piling up in her way & anyone else’s way for them to sit or stand comfortably. She likes it when we leave her to her place. It’s her stuff so back off on that for her. In time I will have an uncle to see that I haven’t seen in over forty years. I know my family might think I’m a little off on that time but I’m right on that time frame. I will go looking for him soon now. My mom thinks she is the only surviving sibling but she is not. I want to say his name but I won’t for now. She has other people in her life that she would like to have as her brother but he is in another state.That’s not the one I will be looking for with my mom. I don’t know where he is but years ago God told me in a way through The Holy Spirit that he was going to be home for Easter. I know it was a day of Prophecy but God says it was meant to be that way anyway. I went away from God but just for a short time. I know when I felt God say this to me that my uncle would be found. I couldn’t believe God told me that. I wasn’t sure if I was right because it’s been so long & we think he is not here anymore. He is about two years older then mom. He is her baby brother & mom is now eighty seven so we think he is in Heaven now. Well he has been thinking about mom a lot lately wondering if she is still alive. He doesn’t know how to find her so he won’t try. I don’t know where he is at but God does. He knows everything. I know it will be fun but I don’t know when it will happen. When God says it will happen it will happen. I know this for sure. I’m good at saying I will Praise God & Pray. This way I won’t be wrong if it doesn’t happen like now. God’s time is not the same as ours. It has taken years to get me to see & hear God’s Voice but God says I would have heard it anyway. I know it’s not a disappointment for me to say some will say; God just spoke to me. I will say; God spoke to me to a long time ago. I will be happy for all who hear God’s Heart with them. He is so much fun to be with. I have a nephew who will know God’s Heart to but not for a few more times but in time with God Himself like in being with Him in knowing He Is God Alone for sure. Okay he knows this but I haven’t been with him for a bit. He knows there is no other god but God Jesus but someone just doesn’t get it with God Jesus at all. They don’t know how to put together God with me & with other people around them. I guess I will have to be with him more in time. God says he will be fine but Church won’t help him. They don’t Teach that Jesus Is God with God Jehovah & The Holy Spirit as One but Three in the Presence as One God Alone Still. Okay I know it’s not what they told me either but I knew God was Jesus when I was really little. God chooses us to be with Him from a time frame of little or old. We have to be with God sometimes to say He Is God Alone but many say no to that. Now that I have been here for a bit I will say this. I’m good with this blog but God says it’s not what He wanted to say. I will say this. When it’s God’s time it will be exactly what God wants to say alone here but today is me & tomorrow is me & tomorrow & the next day. It’s not me that says it here for God. It’s how God says it about Him with me. I have to say this to be sure God is saying it the way He wants to say He Is God Alone here & on all sites He wants to say what He want’s to say for me. He won’t say what He wants to say because He says I have it down so well that He will just help me say it so well that people will say I can do this to. Yes you can but it takes some time but God says not much time at all from now on it’s me & Him here for good. I haven’t been reading much for me. I read for God Jesus Glory. That’s all I can think about. Man has made some terrible mistakes in saying we have alien things that make mans heart with God good to better here on this planet. I know that God Is God Alone Period. No one can say God is not when we all know He Is with us through The Holy Spirit. I know this for sure. I’m here to say Harry won’t be for now but in time it will be so much fun to say Goldie & Angie will be with God so much in their own life they will say to me; Hey I know God to. Watch this & I will & then I will say good for you. Now give God ALL Glory for all He has Blessed you with & go out & find someone to say these words to & your children to. No one will move in any direction for a bit but I know it will happen. I have people who do things for God Jesus through The Holy Spirit daily. So I’m not saying I won’t be into this myself here. I will be doing what it is that God wants me to do but I have been wanting to do writing for all of my life. I didn’t know it was going to be for God Jesus Alone or anything about God Jesus or Prophesying for Him. God says it all. I just write the words & when they come out it’s for Him & His Glory Alone. He can do that you know. It will be a great day when we all are in Heaven but until then we have to do what we can for God’s Glory Alone. It’s not hard to write this blog at all. God says it all through The Holy Spirit. That will take time to write. Right now I’m going to take my two pups on a walk. They want out before it starts to rain. Bye for now & may God Jesus be with me when I say; Hi my name is Sheila in my first well lets say not Sermon but with someone who has not been here for a bit but she thinks it’s her name I’m talking about. Well with eight you don’t get egg roll you get two full pickleball courts. Sorry but I have to laugh at that. Bye for now. Goldie you & Harry make a great couple in time. Tell Kurt babe it’s time for that ring on your finger now. Harry might not let him near you in time. That hair will en thrill him like no other with your heart as big as it is now you can do this another time to. That means this. You can be with Harry & with Kurt to. They can be good friends but not really good friends. He will want you more then anyone else but then see Kurt has your heart but he will be your friend & I will be here to smile all the way to whatever Bank God says for me to go to, to cash a check so much I mean so much in favorment of God with me that I won’t even cry. I will almost faint but I want to hear them say that ticket is for real so I can say; Let’s go get that new motor home & pay cash for us & our kids. Okay that’s it for now but it’s time for one more thing to say. I want more things in my life with God but I’m here to say I want more time with my family so I will get that to. I won’t be in my life for much of my time but for God more in time. That’s it for now. Bye & don’t get that thing in your hair Goldie. I hear your voice echoing like crazy. How are you doing that anyway? I don’t know but I’m here & I’m tired & I can’t hear anything anymore in my right ear. Something about God Is Jesus echoing all the time in my ear now. Okay well that’s from God saying He is reminding you of who He Is as God Alone. No it sounds like an echo more then the Voice of God. Well have you heard God’s Voice to know that for sure? Yes I have. Okay my computer is saying bye. So bye for good now.

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