#Eastside where the Sunrise

[queenoftheboard]

kissing your lover lazily first thing in the morning . (you know 😎)

♕ kiss & tell . not accepting

Eirene had never been one to give sunrise much attention - it wasn't her favorite part of the day and rising early meant only that a full day was ahead of her. The businesswoman felt more at ease during sunset or the late hours of night - many deals had been closed and celebrated at such moments, and the cover of the black sky and the bright stars was strangely comforting.

The same colors of a chessboard - it felt like home, as if everything was following their exact path as she had predicted them to do.

But now, with the warm rays of sunshine coming through the curtains that they hadn't bothered to fully close during the previous night, it offered Eirene a new perspective. The regal suite that they occupied change little by little, patches of sunlight on the carpeted floor growing larger and advancing inwards until they claimed bits of the luxurious mattress, going on and on to eventually fall onto their creamy, perfect skin. The trademark of those who supposedly led easy lives in Eastside - perhaps true for Nathaniel and his exclusive upbringing, less for for a foreigner like Eirene.

(But almost no one would be able to tell that she had bled and suffered for Bryce Campbell; the woman looked every bit the ice queen she projected to the masses, untouchable and professional.)

Except that it was just an image - one that had been slowly chipped at and melted before the lawyer sharing the bed with her. Eirene had felt her heart going through the same motions as their suite: a black, dark place which was eventually conquered by light - his light. A romantic idea before the eyes of most, surely, but that wasn't what the businesswoman meant - she didn't see Mr. Fox as some sort of pure source of illumination to cleanse her sins and purify the woman in his arms.

Eirene viewed him as the yang to her yin; the other scale of the balance symbolizing the justice; the charm of the spoken word where she had the power of hard cash; a king of the courts to a queen of the boardrooms.

The Campbell heiress was not looking for absolution with him - Nathaniel was just another part of her, one that perhaps had been there for the longest time without either of them realizing it, and now it would be impossible to break them apart. They had been powerful on their own once, respected figures in their professional fields of expertise. Together, however - they were unstoppable.

Above monarchs - more like gods.

As the lawyer stirred, Eirene moved at his side - just enough to find some leverage to use her folded arm to gain a better angle and gaze at him while his consciousness returned and his eyes reacquired their usual sharpness and wit. Bicolored irises blinked in return, a myriad of emotions reflected there without the woman saying anything - she didn't need to, really.

Instead, the businesswoman leaned forward, partially crawling over him and uncaring for how the bedsheets slipped off her frame as she did so. Their lips met and there was no trace of make-up anymore, of the jewelry that adorned them save for the one piercing his tongue, no lingering concern for their appearances to the outside world. There were just the two of them and that hotel room and it was all that mattered.

"Good morning," she murmured upon parting from that greeting, but not much - Eirene quite enjoyed the way their breathing mingled, and how the soft movement of his chest became hers too, moving the president of Quinn gently as she nestled atop Nathaniel, "Or should I say good morning, my dear husband," a small, mischievous grin followed, "Did you sleep well?"

[britneyshakespeare]

some of you guys never had an all time low phase in middle school and it really... it really.... i wonder what the hell that’s like

[sinsitysol]

Climb II Sovereign Supremacy

sketched it stacked it stacking it work work working rest no sleep no dreams still I Am King puttin in ot more work II be done so i can live my life as what you see when you watch Tv or a Movie On the sliver screen puttin on for the silver state Eastside of MY Sity Sin live N my Sity niggas Haten Envious of lil ol ME 1st place wit the spit Gold Mealdist MAMA should have named me January no boarding pass Fly like Southwest No bitch Southern NV Swear NV live N MY State   They stuck N Illusivie Illusions Me I Allude them this a vivid vision infront of me clear as 1080 HD Blue ray quality aint worked a job since 10/2015 im self employed bitch since 2/15/15 check my City Recs go head ask the IRS since 4/15/15 i can employee employees shit i can employee employers my business liscense say Owner Ceo of an INC.

[oncetheearl]

.Primary Colors

Grell Sutcliff

warnings: none, it's mildly fluffy prose

a/n: Written for @saturnberry. I hope you had a nice Valentine's Day. Because there were so many mentions of Grell in your posts I knew right off that's who I wanted to write for, though admittingly I feel like I don't have a good enough hold on Grell's personality (hence why I avoided a ship with another canon character.) This is technically Grell x Reader as it uses instances of second person; however, the gender of the reader is left open ended.

In a world where everyone is designated a color—an indicator of who they were to become as they grew older—you were born an unremarkable cluster of blues, not bright enough to add to the sky, too morbid for the painters to use.

It was as though everywhere you went, people outshone you. In school the other children were wondrous blends, and your shade felt understated, a waste of anyone's attention. Even the other blues were brighter than you: one girl you likened to the ocean, a sapphire crystal—so warm a shade it leaked into the atmosphere. In class you sat beside a yellow, a cheery snaggletooth boy with sincere eyes behind coke frames, a penchant for silly games, and a willingness to try anything. You knew the rainbow, a brown—tough as nails. She hardly flinched at an encounter with broken glass. A dark grey who only spoke to you once. Even a pink, who laughed with the purples. It came from his uncle, he told you one morning, picking dandelions from the field beside the schoolhouse.

You on the other hand, sat beneath a tree with roots ripped and picked weeds out the Earth, never at home enough in your own shade to cajole with the others. It'd all be different when you grew up, you considered. Adults weren't like this; they'd treat you better, teach you there was never anything wrong with your color—because surely, it couldn't have mattered in the real world.

Yet, when you grew, your sense of loss grew with you. 

The world was organized by color files in a dusty cabinet, by designation and molds that weren't intended for expansion. Bosses had those they preferred. Oranges made good leaders, they said, and greens could be consultants if they wanted. Trichromatics were sought after inclusions. But blues were in abundance, and therefore mere grunts, worker ants; those that populated the factories of London's lower regions.

Needless to say, you did not need to ask in order to know what designation the casualties were; some accident in a factory you heard. But you always waited for your carriage here and chose to do so regardless, even though the air agitated.

As you watched the road ahead, out came someone, bemoaning their line of work (an investigator, you wondered? who else would be in there?), glasses askew, near knocking you forward into the pavement before the fact you should move presented itself to you.

The speed in which you felt your chest constrict was maddeningly slow (surely an instant, but forever in your head based on the lump in your throat.) Away you had looked, heart an unruly child turning pans into drums. You prayed that no one could hear it sputtering beneath your coat, that the stranger in red couldn't sense your nerves. The stranger was definitely a red, just as their clothes would have said. You could tell by the mannerisms, those teeth, the flop of hair into the vision. The annoyance that the rain kept pouring and pouring as though the sky had a rip.

But then that stranger gave you a look, and said something, and for a brief moment you forgot to add air to your lungs, the necessity of breathing.

You can't recall what you were told... cliche of love at first sight, and all. It could have been mundane complaints about how the sky was drenching you both, or questioning of why you seemed incapable of looking upward, or where White Chapel was—but you know it had to have been something sweet like 'what's someone gorgeous doing out here looking so glum' or 'what a pretty coat, where can I get one?'

(If not, why were you so flustered, then?)

You would later put a name to this stranger, but for now it did not matter. Grell had been complaining about the storm, eyes upward, expression turned near startled when you extended a hand and professed lunch on the Eastside, my treat, too willing to say please.

Oh, God. What possessed you to, you wonder? You were not spontaneous, or the type to offer lunch to a stranger in the dark. Reds and blues did not go together—because neither understood the other. Though it wasn't such a mystery why, the rain reminds. Red was your favorite color. That jigsaw smile, the collision of a million things into one, twisted upward, and you knew, no longer had to wonder: you liked red, even if it belonged to another.

And Grell brought out the red in you. Made you so always willing to run, to say I'm hungry, let's have dinner. Promise we'll have candles or flowers or a band that plays Saint-Saëns in fantasia.

I'll make it loud and bold, I'll make it red—because you wear it so.

How about the pier? The symphony? A massage—I'll do the planning.

Your hair is quite long, can I comb through it with only the tips of my fingers?

One day you had stopped to ponder, why is it I love red, I wonder?

Why not orange, or blue, or the shade of wet feathers? Why something so loud and abrasive and untamed. Untethered. Why stand out when it's comfortable in the rafters? Why did you feel more red than you were? But maybe those feelings didn't matter.

Your grandmother was a blue, and so was your father. Your mother had developed it one noon as a girl, came down with it like fever. It ran in your blood, slept in your grandfather's genepool, was inherited in your skin, lived in the liversplotches on your cousin's lips. You were a blue, and that was not worth denying.

You liked your books, the ones with the spines wrinkled. You drunk tea in evenings without sound. Your dwelling had seen better. Your wall clock swing was musicality; oh how boring, you'd imagine Grell would think.

Your shade of blue was mute, tired. A housecat slithered under a creaking armoire. An old weeping oak. A desire to rest before time ran out. But for all the inherent blueness of you, Grell never complained: and that confused you. Not even where you lived; an old building on a simple street with cramped beige walls and floors unnaturally even. At least if they were lopsided you'd feel more unique.

(Luckily, Grell had only insulted your abode once, when a long strand of red had gotten caught in the spinning wheel next to your bed and yanked from the scalp. It was in jest—you hoped—though Grell had been incensed and seemed alarmingly serious about cutting the thing apart...)

Fixing makeup in the mirror, spraying you with scents, Grell spoke where you preferred to listen; 'try this' 'no this smells much better' 'a maiden must always be adorned in fanciful arrangements' 'roses are my favorite, you know?'

Oh, did you ever. And so was bright weather, pretty corsets, lace feathers, heels that made the calves go on forever. Every utterance, complaint, and silly trait was inscribed in a tongue known to no one in the valley of your heart. You were a blue after all, and blues were dutiful lovers. Had memories like harp strings taunt; sharp. And how could you ever forget anything about Grell when there was always more to learn.

But you wanted to share that brightness. You'd walk and consider, could I make red if I mixed others? If I took his orange, my blue, that woman's green, maybe a splash of pink for authenticity... would I have a said shade like yours, a color that says 'look at me, I'm worth beholding'?

Maybe the rafters aren't so pretty. Maybe I'd like them all to look at me even if there's no smiling. Be seen. Red stops everyone, always has them looking. But you cannot make red from anything other. You are born red. You are born yourself. You would never have that shade, ever.

Sometimes you both spoke of what it would be like to be reborn, who either of you imagined would be the other.

Grell would be a supernova; grand, the death of something and the birth of another, a force you can't stop. A contradiction, a paradox; the brute with the love of flowers. Grell was red to the core. Wore it as though it was summer. Red was fond. Red was sticking up for your lover. Red was passion, and great things, and goosebumps from too much laughter. A person who in death, found that bold was always inside them. The poet's encouragement to be yourself. Something strange: spring in the snow, a funeral full of smiles. Red and worthwhile.

Grell hoped you'd still be you, to your wonder, because no one knew Grell better. You smiled when you were told, and that's because you're blue, hun. No one would understand those little details, loves, see so well beneath the water. Only a blue would. Could. A blue keeps the order while maintaining the spontaneity of a boat ride at the shore.

It was because you were blue. Because you were you. And blue is a nice color, Grell told you. Imagine how boring it'd be if we were all red or violet or green.

'I'd be bored'

You laughed, because maybe there was a point. Maybe blue wasn't such a bad color to be, because balance is pretty, a necessary evil. Grell had a flair for losing boots in the gutter, sneaking out to join the ball, and you liked picking up Cinderella's lost shoes. You've got a lover who loves a kiss on the hand, and you, a romantic from reading at all hours. Together you'd make blends and yellows and greens and purples; the shade of sallows, the sandy crunch of the desert, capture the sunrise's caricature.

I love your red, you tell. And Grell thinks your blue is quite special. Because it's red and blue together that unlocks the rainbow.

[hhunjins]

Eastside + LFL

Song Inspiration: Eastside by Khalid, Halsey

Word count: ~800

Warnings: none

Notes:  Happy birthday Felix! He is one of the most inspiring, hardworking, wonderful people I know and not a day goes by that I am so thankful to be able to watch him grow. Sending him all the love this little heart has to offer! 💕💖

It’s nearly two a.m. when Felix messages you a singular smiley face. You jump out of bed, grab the small backpack hidden under it, and pop open the window. You can see his headlights shining in the street in front of your house and a smile blooms on your face without even thinking. The air outside is mind-numbingly cold but you move quickly. The window screen is left on your desk and the glass is pulled closed with just enough space for you to wedge your finger in and pull open when you return. The latch to the fence opens without a sound and within seconds, you’re in the passenger’s side of Felix’s brother’s pickup truck.

Felix has music blaring from the speakers, harsh beats of his EDM playlist pounding against your ears. You’re not a big fan of it and he knows this; he silently unplugs his phone and hands you’re the aux cord once you’re situated. Soon, the soothing orchestral beginning of your favorite ballad trickles throughout the car. Felix’s hand rests on your thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb that you feel through the thick fabric of your sweats. No words are exchanged. You’d trust him with your life.

The drive is almost two hours long. You nod off halfway through and wake up to the blanket in your backpack draped over your body. Felix laughs when you make a confused noise and sit up from the reclined seat.

“I had to stop the car,” he explains, “Can’t have you waking up with a sore neck.” His eyes keep darting back and forth between you and the road, lingering on you for longer every time he does like he’s contemplating just ignoring the road altogether. You lean over to cup his cheek and leave a kiss on his jaw. With the way his eyes light up and his skin flushes soft pink, you’d do it over and over again just to see it.

“Where are we going?” you ask once you’ve fixed the seat and made yourself comfortable.

“Remember when you said you wanted to watch the sunrise with me?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re doing that. Today.”

“Felix, it’s only four a.m. The sunrise is in two hours.” You turn down the EDM Felix must have put back on until it’s barely audible. “I��m not complaining though,” you add as an afterthought.

Felix hums. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise. We’re almost there.”

You wish you were outside, maybe sitting in the back of the pickup truck instead, but Felix had complained about the wind, so you had to make do with curling up in the backseat together. His head is in your lap, breaths coming out in soft puffs that let you know that he’s in dreamland. His hands have bunched up the hem of your shirt, gripping onto it like a baby as he sleeps. Your hand is in his hair, stroking soothingly through the locks.

With the silence in the truck, the sound of distant waves crashing onto the shore is the only thing you hear. Moonlight shines in through the window, casting shadows on the dashboard. The world is different under this light: a different sort of bright that’s almost sad, empty. It makes you think a lot, but you’re determined to not let the problems of the future get in the way of enjoying the now.

There’s an alarm set on your phone for the sunrise in case you fall asleep, the prospect of which is getting more and more likely with every passing minute. But the moon is slowly slipping away and so you force yourself to stay awake.

Your fingers stop carding through Felix’s hair and you peel your eyes from the waves to look at him instead. With a hesitant finger, you trace the shape of his eyebrow and down to his eyelid. His skin is cool against your warm hands. You move down to his cheek and then his jaw. The touch makes him twitch and his eyes open moments later.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“No, it’s okay. You can go back to sleep. You have to drive us back too.”

Felix smiles softly as he adjusts himself so that he’s no longer on his side. “It’s too cold to go swimming, but I hope you enjoyed this.”

“I’d enjoy anything if it was with you,” you whisper.

He laughs as he lets go of your shirt. He pushes himself off your lap with one arm to lean in close and press your foreheads together. “Me too.” When he connects your lips, you swear you feel sparks fly. You tangle your hands in his hair again, his free hand wraps around the back of your neck to pull you closer. The world goes silent.

In the horizon, the sun begins its ascent into the sky.

[cinanamon]

eastside — njm

pairing | jaemin x reader

genre | angst, runaway!au

word count | 1.7K

synopsis | Jaemin would whisk you away every night to get away from it all; he asks you the same question every time, and you always respond with the same words. Based on song “Eastside” by Benny Blanco!

warning | bad homelife, sneaking out

You waited in the shadows of your porch as you watched for a blue corvette. You jumped down the steps as he pulled around the corner and you quickly opened the door and stepped in. His cue to pump the gas was your hand on his thigh and your head turned back to look at your front door.

It was a quiet, pregnant drive, but it was comforting. It wasn’t stifling like it was in your house, like it was at his. You only relaxed your shoulders when one of his hands fell from the wheel to fit into yours.

Your dad didn’t like him, and you knew it still messed with him, no matter how he downplayed it. Your dad ran him out the door when he had revealed that he thought you were the one. You were the one who had to defy the rules to find him before you lost him.

And when you weren’t able to see him anymore, you weren’t just going to let it stop you. You started to sneak out your window to meet him, and he’d arrive just in time every night to whisk you away before you were discovered.

And then you’d drive to the east side. Even though it was almost midnight every time you’d see each other, it felt like the sunset was still on your backs, painting your shoulders red and orange and reflecting in the depths of his eyes. You cherished times you’d get to see him earlier, to glimpse such a breathtaking moment, a warm view that made you feel like you weren’t running, that you were home.

He’d keep his gaze on the road, the backstreets that no one drove on and were almost forgotten when the new ones were made. And though you would barely speak or look at each other, you knew he appreciated your presence by the way his thumb drew circles over your palm.

He took you to your favorite place; the peak. The hill on the side of town with a view that overlooked the town; the small one that you were counting down the days to leave. In that moment, it was becoming; it gave the illusion of homely, with the small charming homes and twinkling lights of what little drivers were left to explore the dark.

He turned the key and sounds stopped; life came back once he opened his door, and you missed him warmth momentarily as you left the car and sat on the hood beside him. You lied back and curled into his side, the view of the town being traded in for the safety of the stars that blinked and danced for you.

You found it hard to remember to breathe in such moments. Such tranquilly and comfort and belonging; your life felt like a distant memory by his side.

“Would you run away with me?”

Your head turned at his soft voice and you studied his side profile. You knew he wasn’t expecting a response, and usually you’d tell him you couldn’t; you were young, and you had a family and life here. You’d always promise that one day you would, one day you’d jump in the car and drive off who knows where. He would always nod, but he knew you were lying; you wanted to, but you couldn’t.

“I would,” you breathed, and he shivered as your words ghosted over his neck. His eyes dropped from the dazzling stars to meet yours. They were so mysterious and they swirled just like the lights above you, feelings and ideas the mesmerizing but fleeting specks. It was hard to get past your lips, but it was a default response. “but we can’t.”

“But we can,” he lifted his head from its resting spot on his arms and he placed his palm on your side as he faced you fully. “We can do anything if we put our minds to it. Take your whole life and put a line through it. Our parents? The least of our worries, we could be so much more; we could be free from all this.” His voice raised and softened like a melody, and it managed to soothe you and inspire you at the same time. And yet, anxiety still took hold in the pit of your stomach as you brought a hand up to cup his cheek.

You both had a dream of leaving; to have children and own a house and be happy there where you can’t here; have a better life for your children than what you and him had in your childhood. You knew it was unrealistic dreaming; it was your wishes at the dead of night, your hopes against the evidence of your dead-end jobs and growing group of enemies.

“Jaemin,” his name came out in a whisper, like a secret, and he was. He was a shadow, you never could, even if you did, see him during the day, and he’d avoid you, for your sake you knew, though you wish he didn’t. You wish he’d show off his confidence with you to everyone else; rub it in their faces that you loved each other and that was it.

You stroked his cheek as you admired him and collected your thoughts. You thought of so many things to say, so many excuses, so many promises you’d never fill, and finally, you let them go. “Where would we go?”

His eyes met yours and for once, it felt like you did something right. That Jaemin could really see your future he always envisioned, the one he’d build every night for you to imagine and give you strength when you finally departed and settled in bed.

“We, we could,” you waited patiently as he struggled to breathe. You drifted your hand from his cheek to his hair, and you rubbed soothing circles into his scalp which he mimicked over your hip. “We could go anywhere we want. We could drive down to the coast, jump into the sea. We could start a new life in a different place, so please run away with me. Stop overthinking it, just do it. Please, for me, for us,” his gaze was turned frantic in a glazed kind of way, as if begging. They looked to your mouth and a pained whimper left his own.

You sat up and he followed, hungry to capture your lips with his. He was gentle; it was a simple kiss but it conveyed so much, his desire for you and the life you wanted so badly. A chance to follow such a dream was right there on your fingertips, you could leave tonight—his arms circling your waist and bringing you onto his lap grounded you. You separated the kiss to steady yourself and placed your elbows on his shoulders, you hands found their place playing with his recently-dyed hair, and you dropped your forehead to rest against his. His eyes were closed as he caught his breath and your own hitched in your throat.

His eyes dilated and charmed your own when they reopened. “My love is yours if you’re willing to take it.” You could feel his lips lingering on yours as you waited with baited breath. “And if you give me your heart—you give me this chance— I’m not going to break it.” He craned his neck and ghosted another fleeting kiss over your mouth. “Run away with me.”

The moment felt stuck in time. You wished you could stay there forever, just like that, because good things never last, and you didn’t realize that such a time could come to an end so quickly. Your eyes drank up his every perfect imperfection and committed the shape and feel of his lips to memory, wrote yourself a map to the universe hidden behind his eyes.

“Jaemin,” he screwed his eyes shut and you hated that you were the one to cause him to. “I want to, I do so badly, but we can’t. Not tonight.” You ran your hand through his hair, as if you comfort and reassure him you hoped, but it fell to deaf ears. He turned his head away to look at the town, reality, not the stars above anymore, the dreams he wanted but couldn’t reach. He could do it, you knew—he knew—but he stayed, you were what grounded him, what kept him here when he almost left the night he met you.

“Let’s get you home.” A pang rang in your heart as you reluctantly nodded. You knew not to push him. You slid off his lap and stepped back into the car. You took one last longing look at your spot on the hill as he drove off, and the only thing keeping you from breaking down was Jaemin’s hand on your thigh. Your shaky hand slipped over his and he captured it and held it tightly.

Excuses and promises flew past your lips like they always did, and it was a lullaby to Jaemin by now; he knew every word that you uttered every night, all for the same reason. He didn’t mind anymore; he didn’t expect anything more.

And as he pulled up to your house, and your voice started to waver at the sight, he brought your intertwined hands up to his lips and kissed the back of yours. You looked at him silently and his eyes left the road for the first time to stare at you. Your hand stopped shaking and Jaemin nodded at you when he parked.

With a moment of hesitation with your hand on the handle, you turned back to him and kissed him. It was rough, but Jaemin’s hands flew up to hold each side of your neck. You parted and held your forehead to his, your breathe mingling with his. You opened your eyes and the sunrise was just arriving. The sun’s rays reflected in his irises and warmed your skin around his touch. You told yourself that you would leave with him one day.

“The sun never sets on us,” Jaemin never broke your gaze as you gasped the words. “The sun never sets, not on us.” And without a second glance, you left his hold and ran up your steps to climb back through your window, to the life you despised and yet always came back to.

When your feet were firmly planted on your bedroom floor, you spared a look back to the road to find his blue corvette pulling away, leaving you with the smell of his exhaust in his wake and the memory of your nightly escapades.

[givemeanuwu]

🍒

1. have you ever been in love?

No...

2. what are your favourite colours and why?

Green, because of all the beautiful scenery

3. who was the last person you held hands with?

My mom... but romantically, then that boy Shane from middle school

4. what is your zodiac sign?

Gemini!

5. how many times have you read your favourite book?

4 times!

6. what are your favourite films?

The Conjuring universe movies, and the cutest gay movie ever 'Imagine Me & You'

7. what kind of weather do you like?

Rain!

8. do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

Sunsets, because sunrises involve walking up early

9. what kind of weather represents who you are as a person?

A cool windy breeze with cloudy skies, but not quite too cold or rainy, just relaxing

10. what’s your favourite animal?

Horses

11. what is your favourite song right now?

Heaven In Hiding or Eastside

12. what is your favourite song of all time?

Fireflies

13. do you like sunny days or rainy days better?

Rainy!!

14. have you ever been heartbroken?

No, not enough to be scarred from it

15. what does the perfect kiss feel like?

I imagine it's the kind that leaves you breathless and wanting more

16. what is your favourite poem?

Currently looking for one

17. who are you most inspired by?

GOT7

18. are you spiritual?

Yes, I believe in God

19. what is your favourite plant?

Those little cactus you can put cowboy hats on

20. what is your favourite feeling?

When listening to a sexy song and totally feeling it

21. what is your favourite word?

Uwu

22. are you an artist?

No, I'm artistically challenged.....but I'm good with words.

23. what is your favourite flower?

Dandelions

24. are you happy?

Yes, at the moment, as it can change so easily

25. what are you thinking about right now?

Delphine

26. what emotion do you feel most often?

Dreamy

27. what is your favourite season?

Fall

28. are you in a relationship?

No, not YET

29. are you an introvert or extrovert?

Introvert

30. do you prefer the moon or the stars?

Stars

31. what is your favourite scent?

FOOD

32. where do you feel most at home?

In my pyjamas

33. what scares you the most?

Loneliness

34. do you believe in soulmates?

I do and i dont, so possibly

35. what is your favourite thing about yourself?

My humour

36. what is the nicest compliment you’ve received?

Someone once said they liked when i say "mean"

37. who is your favourite music artist?

The Neighborhood

38. what was your first kiss like?

Haven't had it

39. are you a sensitive person?

Yes, incredibly.

40. when was the last time you cried?

Few weeks ago?

41. do you believe that love can last forever?

Yes

42. what do you think happens to us when we die?

Heaven or hell, i guess... but i don't like to think about it

43. have you ever broken someone’s heart?

I don't think so

44. what do you think about when you can’t fall asleep at night?

Love, the future

45. do you believe in aliens?

YEAH

46. what is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you?

Tried to understand me

47. do you find it hard to trust?

No, i find it too easy and that's scary

48. are you secretive?

No, only when i have to be.

49. what colour are your eyes?

Blueeeeeeee like the ocean

50. do you have a nickname?

Sweet thing ~

@cleartearsmusic for you!!!

[teamchamtravels]

DAY 112-113 Nov 21, 22. Luxor, Egypt 🇪🇬

Today was the hot air balloon adventure they are not joking when they say it is hot. The fire part is super hot we were sweating. We woke up super early because they do the hot air balloon for sunrise. So cool we got to be in a huge one and watch them all set up and it was crazy. so many people in the balloons and we made it up and went over Egypt and the tombs on the west side. Then we went way way up so high that Sam got a bit nervous, but probably more nervous I would drop my phone while taking tons of pictures. It was really amazing seeing everything at high from a birdseye view. we made our way over the Nile onto the east side of Luxor. We landed on a farmers land and he was not happy about that so we moved a bit and they told him they would pay him for the damage, I hope they do. Then we got out and then made our way back to the bus and back to the west side. We laid low the rest of the day and enjoyed our balcony.

Exploring the east side! We woke up early today and chelsea went for a run the first one in weeks since she got sick it was a wonderful, she said it was her favorite run this whole trip because everyone was cheering her on and the views and the little kiddos that ran beside her. We then got ready and took the ferry to the Eastside to see Karnak and Luxor Temple. From the ferry to Karnak was a bit of a walk but it was great. Karnak was our favorite, unbelievable, we got there and loved all the giant pillars and statues and how much of it was intact again was incredible. But there was a ton of people which was a bit intense for us. So we made our way seeing all we could and then we ended up doing all these things for luck and protection like rubbing the scarab beetle and then walking around the scarab statue 4 times and tons of other things you do at Karnak it was so silly but fun! We decided to take a horse carriage to Luxor temple because it was super hot, and in the middle of the day, and it seemed like fun 🤩 we made it to Luxor temple and it was stunning too but it was our least favorite because there was tons of construction going on for a huge event happening in 2 days where the president of Egypt was coming and they created a road connecting Luxor temple and Karnak and are calling it Sphinx road. We came back on the ferry and hung out with Momo. He convinced us to go check out the alabaster stone that is local to this area and we bought a ton of Christmas presents for our family. We got there by motorcycle chels was super nervous but we did it Momo was driving safe and we are going to miss him he was really awesome friend and hope we see him again next time we come to Luxor!

[pcurrytravels]

Las Vegas: A Love/Hate Thang (Chapter IV - A Question of Love, Pride & Knowledge) (Part II)

Hello once again. So in Part I of this chapter I started off talking about having Love, Pride AND Knowledge in/of Las Vegas, but I had so many things to say about the love and pride parts that the post grew way too long for me to talk about the knowledge part. Here, I will be talking more about that part, let us begin:

As I’ve already stated a few times, there’s a number of things I tend to envy about other cities both within and outside of the U.S. Like how just about every other major city in the world has some sort of rail system and we don’t (that stupid monorail doesn’t count). Or how everyone else seems to appreciate variance in their architecture while we use the same set of five bland and generic blueprints for any structure that isn’t a casino here. Or how history and culture can almost literally be felt in the air in most places versus here where all that can be felt is corporate, commercial and trendy modernity. Or how most other cities like to identify their neighborhoods and we don’t.

Yeah, more about that last one: Now, I understand that Las Vegas isn’t really a big city and that it’s also relatively new. Then again, a metropolitan area of two-million people (and still rapidly growing) is pretty far from what I’d call a small town (even if the rule of six degrees of separation is very much in effect mode here *groans*). Also most other cities in the Southwest and West Coast aren’t all that much older than we are. Matter of fact, this place was officially settled in 1905, i.e. 113 years ago, so it’s not like we haven’t had time to naturally develop, define and identify districts and neighborhoods like other places do. So really, what’s the excuse? 

Oh wait scratch that, our city is divided up into distinctive neighborhoods: There’s DTLV, which further consists of East Fremont, 18b Arts District, The Naked City, John S. Park and Huntridge. The Eastside can be divided up into the University District, Cambridge, Paradise Palms, Francisco Park, Sunrise and so on. The Westside has Charleston Heights, Rancho-Oakey/Medical District, The Old or “Historic” Westside, Berkeley Square and The Lakes. We also now have a Chinatown (which is more of a Pan-Asian district really) in addition to slowly emerging East African, Central American, Caribbean Latino, South Asian and Pacific Islander enclaves. Ask the average Las Vegan about all of this however? Chances are they’d probably have no idea what you’re talking about.

So, how would the average Las Vegan describe this city, you ask? Simple: The Strip, Downtown, Summerlin, Henderson, Westside, Eastside, Northtown, Southwest, Northwest/Centennial and that’s it. Occasionally, some will refer to Spring Valley, Green Valley and Aliante, but even those are slowly becoming obscure. Spring Valley has more or less been (ignorantly and lazily) divided into three: the older, more working-class portion that’s east of Rainbow is considered Westside, the newer, more affluent portion that’s west of Rainbow has been merged with Summerlin, and anything south of Trop on either side is part of the Southwest. Green Valley and Henderson are more or less considered one and the same these days (they aren’t). As for Aliante, given its location and, ahem, demographics if you will, many will insist to you it’s just an extension of Northtown (the classism and closet racism runs thick in these parts). 

As a writer and general “web-worm” if you will, with all of the extensive research I’ve done on various topics, one thing I’ve come to realize is how much everything “reflects” so to speak. Language? Culture? Fashion? Politics? Societal Roles? Music? etc.... All of these things and more influence and are because of each other more or less. 

You may be asking what I’m getting at here, yes? Well, I’ve already indirectly alluded as to how the identity and culture of my city has been buried beneath a shallow, vapid and artificial shell in the previous posts of this series, which is where we come to a theory: The reason why so many of these neighborhoods aren’t regularly referred to/identified, let alone even known, whether due to being forgotten over time, laziness or the long-standing, stubborn insistence on sloppily dividing this entire city into five or six primary quadrants, is because acknowledging these areas would show that something actually happened organically and naturally in Las Vegas, thereby betraying the “fantasy” of being a place where everything was made/built overnight. 

The honest truth of the matter is, artificiality is HIGHLY valued here. The majority of our populace just simply doesn’t place value on anything that wasn’t created with the “build it and they will come” philosophy in mind. I mean, the High Roller is widely regarded as an icon of our city and it hasn’t even been around for five years for goodness sake. You see, unlike just about everywhere else in the world where people actively give things meaning on a daily basis, here, we have to literally be told how to feel about them. (Hate to sound petty, as I am a legit fan, but I honestly wonder if the Golden Knights would have even been as successful as they have if it weren’t for them being explicitly marketed as hometown heroes by local media long before they even hit the ice, just saying) Otherwise, we either don’t know or don’t care. This right here is what we have to blame for the messy situation in regards to neighborhood identification, and by extension, why so many locals don’t even know their own city. 

Even I will admit to you there’s many things about my city I simply don’t know. Granted, I don’t have much of a social life beyond my day job and the internet so that could be a big part of why I’m out of the loop in certain areas, but still. Example: A few months ago, I remember talking with a former coworker who happened to be of Indonesian descent. She gushed to me about the large Indonesian community in town and all the cultural offerings and I was just sitting there like......where? 

Given a number of circumstances, so to speak, Las Vegas’s population is skyrocketing with no end in sight. The thing I fear most is, aside from increased rent (the valley only has so many housing options), lack of housing stock (the valley only has so much room for expansion) and how much harder it’s gonna be to find a job (the valley never had that many great jobs to begin with), is our city’s identity getting buried even further. If the trends I’ve observed throughout my life are anything to go by, 90% of people relocate here because of one sole arbitrary reason (be it cheap housing, The Strip or The Raiders) and that’s it. 90% of pre-existing locals (well, prior to Oct. 1, 2017 and the Golden Knights anyway) simply don’t know or care about their city. For this city to be growing at the rate it is, this is a deadly combo yo. Things are changing once again in Vegas, but I’m not sure if I can really say they’re good or bad this time. 

A pro to all of the people moving in is more diversity and culture. That being said however, would it really be our own? Although people from literally all over the world have moved here over the years, the vast majority of transplants, past and present, have been from California, and it doesn’t look like that’s gonna stop anytime soon. I mean, when it’s $500k or more to buy and/or $2000 a month to rent rundown houses, condos and apartments in the GHETTO, I certainly don’t blame them one bit for fleeing to a town where one can easily find a fairly new home in the nicer parts for $200k. The issue lies in the fact that as time goes on, Vegas becomes less like Vegas and more like a miniature L.A. This is going to sound VERY provincial and xenophobic of me, but frankly, I’m tired of Californians making this place a carbon-copy of California. I’d prefer to take the 4-hour bus ride/road trip and/or 1-hour plane ride so I could have the real thing, thanks. 

Okay, I got a bit off track there, lol, but anyways, given that it appears Vegas Natives are going to remain a minority in their own city, it will most likely be outsiders who will identify and define things for both the foreseeable, and unforeseeable future. Ironically enough, I honestly don’t think I have a right to feel very upset about it when so many of my fellow natives and locals have simply allowed this to happen thanks to their apathy and lack of knowledge in regards to their own city. In countless other places, such circumstances would cause quite the uproar, but here, it’s whatever. So all I can do is shrug and keep it moving at this point. 

After all, it appears I really have no choice but to simply accept this paradox. Our culture is one very much based on trends and the material. Our local identity is one of people and things that all come from somewhere else. Our image is one of fantasy and imagination. As one person, I just don’t have much control over it. Over the next ten years, Vegas is going to be more different than ever. Maybe the next generations of new arrivals and natives will be the ones to finally ground things in place. Maybe the Golden Knights and the Raiders will assist in strengthening the local community. I don’t know. All I can really do is hope. Otherwise (note that I’m cringing as I’m writing this), I’m just going to have to learn that it is what it is. Until next time. 

[sinsitysol]

BL∀ƆʞS┴∀R

My World My Rules Datpiff.com search sinsitysound or E.s.b.E_ soblown B.s.O_ Dropped yesterday Nature Knows No Kings Disk II Droppin IIMorrow & sinsitysol dropped on Datpiff on 3/25/17

3 more tapes droppin on later dates throught the month E.s.b.E_ spell it right sinsity my muthafukin sound eastside of my muthafuckin town 89110 put it on my zip

[willinspireus]

Throwback to 2015 -- It was the best of times and it was the worst of times. No matter where you've been and what you've been through, always remember to learn from the past, live in the present, and build for the future. #memories #sunrise #yeahthatgreenville (at Eastside, Greenville, South Carolina) https://www.instagram.com/p/BvNHJC9ncZB/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1xv45heinmp46

[slit-throats-and-broken-necks]

He used to meet me on the eastside, in the city where the sun don't set . . . . Sunrises and sunsets are quite like the chapters in our lives - when the sun sets, it will rise again, and just as you end one chapter you also know that it is time to begin writing the next one. . . . . . . . . . #theglobewanderer #roamtheplanet #letsgosomewhere #exploretheglobe #nakedplanet #places_wow #instapassport #instatraveling #igtravel #travelblog #instago #mytravelgram #travelingram #sharetravelpics #worldtravelpics #stayandwander #keepitwild #rei1440project #earthfocus #ourplanetdaily #earthofficial #natgeo #nationalgeographic #awesome_earthpix #travelstoke (at Luna Park Sydney) https://www.instagram.com/p/BtCwLeqliYF/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1xp8zaeqpn0h8

[birdsofchristmas]

Chapter 1: The Lamp

Our story starts off in a more humble climate than others you may have heard, moreso than Manhatten, suburban chicago, the North Pole or a giant department store. The camera starts at my feet and pans upwards to a sign reading “East Hastings” in Vancouver’s iconic Downtown Eastside, revealing the Carnegie Hall in the background.

My first apartment in Vancouver is just around the corner on Cordova & Princess. Down the street in Gastown is the first restaurant I took a job doing dishes at, during my first Christmas in Vancouver. Incidentally, this would end up being the last house I lived in while I still had both my feet.

Not long after I moved to this interesting winter wonderland shared with cockroaches, rats, traffic noise, lineups towards a soup kitchen, and the occasional flooded basement a doctor said my right foot had had enough. My poor foot had done it’s best to support me for years after a childhood accident and it was time to send it to foot heaven. I wondered if foot heaven was the same as cat heaven, which is where my mom said my brown cat went to after it fell out of a 2 story window.

It shouldn’t be too surprising my right limb and I had to part ways- honestly I’m surprised it hadn’t gone sooner, or that it wasn’t joined by another appendage. You would be too if you’d seen some of the crazy winter antics my dad and my two brothers and sister got upto each year around december.

One year in the 90s saw our family cross country skiing when a blizzard brought the entire city of Nanaimo to a standstill. The marsh is perfectly safe, it’s frozen over he would say as we coasted confidently onto its icy surface. Or the time my dad tied a GT Racer sled to the trailer hitch of his 15 passenger van towing it on the backroads of mount benson, only stopping when he would notice the sled veering off towards a ditch.

Not long after losing the foot I also lost the apartment I was living in while trying against my sister’s advice to carry on as if things were normal.

At the time the housing crisis in Vancouver was in full swing, and when most folks weren’t either ice skating down on Robson or taking in the German Christmas market they were looking for a place to live for January.

They like me had done the best with the apartment they had- they had put plastic over their heritage windows to cut down on the BC hydro bill, they had placed the Christmas tree in front of the large hole in the drywall the last tenants had left, they had poured nearly half a bottle of pine extract into their scent diffusers to cover up the cigarette smell in the hallway, they had set up all manner of elaborate rat traps to avoid being contaminated by the plague, they had insisted to the landlord that, yes, those dark looking spots under the sink are black mold, all the while dreaming of finding a more ideal living situation.

To put it simply, it’s difficult trying to find one of these rumored nice apartments, much less trying to do so with only one foot, hopping from one viewing to the next trying to outrun the rest of the marathon of young professionals in search of the holy grails of affordable living.

At last I resigned, calling my parents half a month before Christmas to tell them about my housing woes. Well, just come home for the season, my dad said on the phone, it’ll just be for a few months until your foot man or whatever you call him makes you a new leg and you’ll be walking again in no time! Really, it’s what you should  done in the first place, come home and we’ll take care of you.

So on to the ferry I went with a backpack containing a modestly redacted version of my life in Vancouver, the rest of it residing in a friend’s garage for the winter. I was trying not to slip and fall with my single blundstone and crutches, somehow avoiding the 3 ferry sailing waits that would transpire in the days to follow.

As luck would have it I arrived just in time to help my mom set up her elaborate Christmas village- arranged with a stunning eye for detail and careful planning- most towns and cities in Canada would have a hard time comparing to the structural engineering marvel and ease of traffic infrastructure my mom had created.

There was hardly ever a traffic jam in “The Winter village of Avonlea”, and the crime rate was next to zero. “Over here we’ll put the post office, and across the way we’ll place the butcher adjacent to the bakery” she would instruct me, “so the postman will save time gathering groceries on his way home from work, and we’ll place the city hall on the corner of Bedford Halls Lane and Bing Boulevard.”

Oh and don’t get me started on the tree decorations. My dad was allowed to pick the tree out, and that was the full extent of his involvement. Every year it became the host to a multitude of angels, small wooden sleds, doves, owls, pigeons, even the occasional crow. There were glass spheres coated with gold, silver, and platinum. Snowglobes snowed every day of the week, lords leaping and ladies dancing in circles all the way to the shining pinnacle on top of the tree. Some years it was another larger angel, other years a star, one year it was curiously a picture of elvis.

When it came to Christmas decorating my mom was the queen of the ice castle. My dad was self-decidedly in charge of creating our seasonal chaos scenarios to prepare us for adulthood, while my mom was in charge of everything inside the house. You dared not alter the carefully planned set up in any way lest you awaken the demon Krampus.

That was about 6 years ago, and of course things have changed since then. I now have 4 legs instead of only 1. I have my actual leg, my brand new prosthetic leg, and a climbing leg and a running leg. You have every leg you’ll need to carry out a great bank heist, my sister-in-law joked. I would need to I figured in order to continue paying for them. All said and done the price of a leg is pretty well comparable to a brand new honda accord.

After a harrowing few years of recovering and moving back to Vancouver, going from one house to the next, and I was finally in a moderately stable fairly well priced townhouse. It was Christmas again and this year I was heading to the ferry to see my mom and dad who still lived on the island. I had a smaller backpack this time as well as a curiously shaped duffel bag with a surprise for mom. Looking at the bag you might think it was a pile of field hockey sticks, or a set of broken golf clubs. In reality it was one of my retired legs, refashioned with a black fishnet stocking, a black high heel and a detachable light and lampshape.

You see every few years the legs wear down and they need to be replaced. like a ford car or an apple computer these things don’t last long, even with casual use. Once they’re retired they make a surprisingly great basis for all kinds of creative art sculptures. Thus was born a beautiful lamp centerpiece to my mom’s carefully thought out Christmas decoration extravaganza, which I had assumed she would love.

Arriving at the house I almost slipped on every icy step to the front door. The sandpaper I’d nailed to the stairs when I first moved home had worn down from repeated use. It didn’t help I was half blinded by a recently updated series of LED lights surrounding every tree, shrub, corner of the house, and window. Even the snowpeople couldn’t escape the maniacal creeping LED vines.

The house inside was decorated equally as elaborately with little left to the imagination. I hugged my mom and dad, carefully moving my body in twists and turns to avoid knocking any of the holiday flourishes over, like those  weird people you see in grocery stores who try to sneak past you without touching you or making eye contact.

Since all the siblings have moved away home and founded small Christmas-minded colonies of their own my mom had gotten even more carried away with the decorations, making you feel like you were stepping into a densely forested North Pole mock up in a department store. She loved it, Dad appreciated it, and the grandkids were only allowed in with careful supervision.

“Well mom, I brought you a gift for your decorations” I said with a laugh opening the bag. I pulled out the awful, gloriously gaudy leg dressed in holiday cheer, in my mind a beautiful iconic recollection of the great holiday movies of old. I traipsed through the dense menagerie of holiday decorations and gingerly placed the lamp in the picture window, fully in view from the sidewalk.

Plugging it in the light sprung to life with a soft brownish glow emitted by an edison style bulb. My mom’s face was aghast at first, as if she had seen jacob marley ascending the staircase towards her room covered in chains.

Her expression then softened up a little bit and she said with a smile “Oh dear, that’s awful… just terrible”. My dad was laughing as he walked to the kitchen and back with 2 cans of Wildcat in hand. I pulled off my leg for the night and we sat under the glow of the lamp, the tree, the village, the decorations, and the christmas hearth log on channel 3 and talked cheerfully until I fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning I woke up at instinctively at 7am to see the morning sunrise reflect off Mount Benson and reached for my leg.

Now, one thing you might not realize about putting on a prosthetic leg is there’s a process to it, like putting together a desk from Ikea. It starts with either a polyurethane or silicone liner you roll onto your leg, followed by a gel sock covered in fabric or a few layers of wool socks before putting on the leg itself, in my case followed by rolling on another silicone sleeve that attaches the prosthetic to the rest of my leg holding it all together.

I stood up and walked towards the kitchen for a coffee, as I did I noticed something was off in the living room. The lampshade was missing. In its place in the reflection of the picture window I saw a red and white cylinder shape that ascended into a curve. While I was sleeping my mom had replaced my prosthetic leg lamp with a candy cane, and the lamp was nowhere to be found. “Hey Mom”, I shouted upstairs, “my lamp! Where did you put it?” “It’s in the trash out by the the curb” she shouted back, “out front.”

Just then a sanitation truck was pulling up beside the bins on the front sidewalk. One of the bins was overflowing with a familiar looking piece of footwear sticking out prominently from one side. It was my new $35,000 prosthetic leg with a brown leather blundstone still attached to it, being lifted up towards the crusher.

I lept for the door and ran down the stairs slipping on the icy porch! “ hey wait!” I shouted, “my foot!!!” As I ran my right foot was snagged by a lights cord and I fell flat onto my face in the snow, then snapped back. By the time I reached the sanitation worker he was laughing and he said, “hey, what’s with the fishnet?” I looked down, and adorned on my right side was the bottom half of the leg lamp I’d made for my mom, complete with a fishnet stocking, a black high heel, and a long brown extension cord.

By some weird twist of fate she confused the two and had thrown my good leg in the trash in a careless effort to rid her house of my hilariously ironic gift! I had tripped face first into the snow because the leg lamp was still plugged in!

[adamroper]

A Christmas Foot, Chapter 1: The Lamp

Our story starts off in a more humble climate than others you may have heard, moreso than Manhatten, suburban chicago, the North Pole or a giant department store. The camera starts at my feet and pans upwards to a sign reading “East Hastings” in Vancouver’s iconic Downtown Eastside, revealing the Carnegie Hall in the background.

My first apartment in Vancouver is just around the corner on Cordova & Princess. Down the street in Gastown is the first restaurant I took a job doing dishes at, during my first Christmas in Vancouver. Incidentally, this would end up being the last house I lived in while I still had both my feet.

Not long after I moved to this interesting winter wonderland shared with cockroaches, rats, traffic noise, lineups towards a soup kitchen, and the occasional flooded basement a doctor said my right foot had had enough. My poor foot had done it’s best to support me for years after a childhood accident and it was time to send it to foot heaven. I wondered if foot heaven was the same as cat heaven, which is where my mom said my brown cat went to after it fell out of a 2 story window.

It shouldn’t be too surprising my right limb and I had to part ways- honestly I’m surprised it hadn’t gone sooner, or that it wasn’t joined by another appendage. You would be too if you’d seen some of the crazy winter antics my dad and my two brothers and sister got upto each year around december.

One year in the 90s saw our family cross country skiing when a blizzard brought the entire city of Nanaimo to a standstill. The marsh is perfectly safe, it’s frozen over he would say as we coasted confidently onto its icy surface. Or the time my dad tied a GT Racer sled to the trailer hitch of his 15 passenger van towing it on the backroads of mount benson, only stopping when he would notice the sled veering off towards a ditch.

Not long after losing the foot I also lost the apartment I was living in while trying against my sister’s advice to carry on as if things were normal.

At the time the housing crisis in Vancouver was in full swing, and when most folks weren’t either ice skating down on Robson or taking in the German Christmas market they were looking for a place to live for January.

They like me had done the best with the apartment they had- they had put plastic over their heritage windows to cut down on the BC hydro bill, they had placed the Christmas tree in front of the large hole in the drywall the last tenants had left, they had poured nearly half a bottle of pine extract into their scent diffusers to cover up the cigarette smell in the hallway, they had set up all manner of elaborate rat traps to avoid being contaminated by the plague, they had insisted to the landlord that, yes, those dark looking spots under the sink are black mold, all the while dreaming of finding a more ideal living situation.

To put it simply, it’s difficult trying to find one of these rumored nice apartments, much less trying to do so with only one foot, hopping from one viewing to the next trying to outrun the rest of the marathon of young professionals in search of the holy grails of affordable living.

At last I resigned, calling my parents half a month before Christmas to tell them about my housing woes. Well, just come home for the season, my dad said on the phone, it’ll just be for a few months until your foot man or whatever you call him makes you a new leg and you’ll be walking again in no time! Really, it’s what you should  done in the first place, come home and we’ll take care of you.

So on to the ferry I went with a backpack containing a modestly redacted version of my life in Vancouver, the rest of it residing in a friend’s garage for the winter. I was trying not to slip and fall with my single blundstone and crutches, somehow avoiding the 3 ferry sailing waits that would transpire in the days to follow.

As luck would have it I arrived just in time to help my mom set up her elaborate Christmas village- arranged with a stunning eye for detail and careful planning- most towns and cities in Canada would have a hard time comparing to the structural engineering marvel and ease of traffic infrastructure my mom had created.

There was hardly ever a traffic jam in “The Winter village of Avonlea”, and the crime rate was next to zero. “Over here we’ll put the post office, and across the way we’ll place the butcher adjacent to the bakery” she would instruct me, “so the postman will save time gathering groceries on his way home from work, and we’ll place the city hall on the corner of Bedford Halls Lane and Bing Boulevard.”

Oh and don’t get me started on the tree decorations. My dad was allowed to pick the tree out, and that was the full extent of his involvement. Every year it became the host to a multitude of angels, small wooden sleds, doves, owls, pigeons, even the occasional crow. There were glass spheres coated with gold, silver, and platinum. Snowglobes snowed every day of the week, lords leaping and ladies dancing in circles all the way to the shining pinnacle on top of the tree. Some years it was another larger angel, other years a star, one year it was curiously a picture of elvis.

When it came to Christmas decorating my mom was the queen of the ice castle. My dad was self-decidedly in charge of creating our seasonal chaos scenarios to prepare us for adulthood, while my mom was in charge of everything inside the house. You dared not alter the carefully planned set up in any way lest you awaken the demon Krampus.

That was about 6 years ago, and of course things have changed since then. I now have 4 legs instead of only 1. I have my actual leg, my brand new prosthetic leg, and a climbing leg and a running leg. You have every leg you’ll need to carry out a great bank heist, my sister-in-law joked. I would need to I figured in order to continue paying for them. All said and done the price of a leg is pretty well comparable to a brand new honda accord.

After a harrowing few years of recovering and moving back to Vancouver, going from one house to the next, and I was finally in a moderately stable fairly well priced townhouse. It was Christmas again and this year I was heading to the ferry to see my mom and dad who still lived on the island. I had a smaller backpack this time as well as a curiously shaped duffel bag with a surprise for mom. Looking at the bag you might think it was a pile of field hockey sticks, or a set of broken golf clubs. In reality it was one of my retired legs, refashioned with a black fishnet stocking, a black high heel and a detachable light and lampshape.

You see every few years the legs wear down and they need to be replaced. like a ford car or an apple computer these things don't last long, even with casual use. Once they’re retired they make a surprisingly great basis for all kinds of creative art sculptures. Thus was born a beautiful lamp centerpiece to my mom’s carefully thought out Christmas decoration extravaganza, which I had assumed she would love.

Arriving at the house I almost slipped on every icy step to the front door. The sandpaper I’d nailed to the stairs when I first moved home had worn down from repeated use. It didn’t help I was half blinded by a recently updated series of LED lights surrounding every tree, shrub, corner of the house, and window. Even the snowpeople couldn’t escape the maniacal creeping LED vines.

The house inside was decorated equally as elaborately with little left to the imagination. I hugged my mom and dad, carefully moving my body in twists and turns to avoid knocking any of the holiday flourishes over, like those  weird people you see in grocery stores who try to sneak past you without touching you or making eye contact.

Since all the siblings have moved away home and founded small Christmas-minded colonies of their own my mom had gotten even more carried away with the decorations, making you feel like you were stepping into a densely forested North Pole mock up in a department store. She loved it, Dad appreciated it, and the grandkids were only allowed in with careful supervision.

“Well mom, I brought you a gift for your decorations” I said with a laugh opening the bag. I pulled out the awful, gloriously gaudy leg dressed in holiday cheer, in my mind a beautiful iconic recollection of the great holiday movies of old. I traipsed through the dense menagerie of holiday decorations and gingerly placed the lamp in the picture window, fully in view from the sidewalk.

Plugging it in the light sprung to life with a soft brownish glow emitted by an edison style bulb. My mom’s face was aghast at first, as if she had seen jacob marley ascending the staircase towards her room covered in chains.

Her expression then softened up a little bit and she said with a smile “Oh dear, that’s awful... just terrible”. My dad was laughing as he walked to the kitchen and back with 2 cans of Wildcat in hand. I pulled off my leg for the night and we sat under the glow of the lamp, the tree, the village, the decorations, and the christmas hearth log on channel 3 and talked cheerfully until I fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning I woke up at instinctively at 7am to see the morning sunrise reflect off Mount Benson and reached for my leg.

Now, one thing you might not realize about putting on a prosthetic leg is there's a process to it, like putting together a desk from Ikea. It starts with either a polyurethane or silicone liner you roll onto your leg, followed by a gel sock covered in fabric or a few layers of wool socks before putting on the leg itself, in my case followed by rolling on another silicone sleeve that attaches the prosthetic to the rest of my leg holding it all together.

I stood up and walked towards the kitchen for a coffee, as I did I noticed something was off in the living room. The lampshade was missing. In its place in the reflection of the picture window I saw a red and white cylinder shape that ascended into a curve. While I was sleeping my mom had replaced my prosthetic leg lamp with a candy cane, and the lamp was nowhere to be found. “Hey Mom”, I shouted upstairs, “my lamp! Where did you put it?” “It’s in the trash out by the the curb” she shouted back, “out front.”

Just then a sanitation truck was pulling up beside the bins on the front sidewalk. One of the bins was overflowing with a familiar looking piece of footwear sticking out prominently from one side. It was my new $35,000 prosthetic leg with a brown leather blundstone still attached to it, being lifted up towards the crusher.

I lept for the door and ran down the stairs slipping on the icy porch! “ hey wait!” I shouted, “my foot!!!” As I ran my right foot was snagged by a lights cord and I fell flat onto my face in the snow, then snapped back. By the time I reached the sanitation worker he was laughing and he said, “hey, what’s with the fishnet?” I looked down, and adorned on my right side was the bottom half of the leg lamp I’d made for my mom, complete with a fishnet stocking, a black high heel, and a long brown extension cord.

By some weird twist of fate she confused the two and had thrown my good leg in the trash in a careless effort to rid her house of my hilariously ironic gift! I had tripped face first into the snow because the leg lamp was still plugged in!

[superqueerleben-gedacht]

"Kiss Me, Kill me" starring Van Hansis in conversation On June 9, "Kiss Me, Kill Me" appeared on DVD - a crime thriller about love, murder and jealousy in West Hollywood. Main actor Van Hansis on the future of gay films and TV series. Van, how were the shooting to «Kiss Me, Kill Me?» A majority of the scenes take place at night, so we also shot at night. Especially in Los Angeles it is cheaper and easier to film at night. During three weeks our working day started at dusk and stopped at sunrise. This has welded us all together. Gale Harold plays the role of your murdered friend. Since "Queer as Folk" he is considered a gay icon. How was the collaboration with him? Very pleasant, although his shooting lasted only a few days and therefore I did not have the opportunity to get to know him better. He is an extremely professional and intelligent actor. It was very important for him to put himself into his role and to understand and understand their actions. Many elements from "Kiss Me, Kill Me" are reminiscent of Hitchcock and the Neo-Noir genre. This is rather unusual for a gay film. This was also the goal of the screenplay authors. There are many gay thrillers out there, but I've never seen one that spills this particular vibe. The Cameraman has done insane work to capture this mood. The film could only be financed through a crowdfunding campaign that generated more than 100,000 US dollars. Do Hollywood producers keep the fingers of gay movies? Films and TV series in the mainstream have made big jumps in the last few years regarding the integration of gay, lesbian and transsexual characters. Watching have shows and films, which are all about LGBT themes and characters. Demand is there - that proves the fact that such films are produced independently. The removal of the «Looking» series shows that high ratings are important, and it is questionable whether only gay series can achieve such. I do not know if there will be a series like "Queer as Folk". Jealousy is a big issue in "Kiss Me, Kill Me", but also in the series "Eastsiders", where you also played the leading role. Are you an expert in the field? (Laughs) It's fun to play jealousy, just because I'm in a long-term relationship and we do not know about this problem. No matter what desires and problems you have in a relationship, it is important to talk openly about it.

[sinsitysol]

sinsitysound

SInSitySound Productions we are VividVisionaries On the Climb II Supremacy Creators Of Art Mastering Our Craft 4 Love of Our Artform Our Sound Lucid Illusions or Acid Dreams You Paint Your Perception E.s.b.E_ soblown B.s.O_ : Artist Flexican "Gal" : Artist : Sounds Comin Soon IIIEYES : Artist : Sounds Comin Soon JB THE Truth : Artist : Sounds Comin Soon Devin : Head of Visuals: VIVID VISIONS COMIN SOON: AKA VIdeos Roster still Growing these the only Ballers with Team Jerseys SInSitySound Productions we are VividVisionaries On the Climb II Supremacy Creators Of Art Mastering Our Craft 4 Love of Our Artform Our Sound Lucid Illusions or Acid Dreams You Paint Your Perception E.s.b.E_ soblown B.s.O_ : Artist Flexican "Gal" : Artist : Sounds Comin Soon IIIEYES : Artist : Sounds Comin Soon JB THE Truth : Artist : Sounds Comin Soon Devin : Head of Visuals: VIVID VISIONS COMIN SOON: AKA VIdeos Roster still Growing these the only Ballers with Team Jerseys