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symbiosis-law-school · 1 year

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The Evolution Of Environmental Law

Introduction

Environmental law has undergone significant evolution in response to the growing recognition of environmental issues and their result on human health, ecosystems, and the planet as a whole. Over the years, governments, organizations, and individuals have recognized the need for legal frameworks to regulate and protect the environment.

Courses like BBA LLB and BA LLB offer a comprehensive education in environmental law. You can study it in detail by enrolling in the top BBA colleges in India, which also have LLB courses.

Early Environmental Laws

The roots of environmental law can be traced back to ancient civilizations that recognized the importance of natural resources and sought to manage them sustainably. For instance, ancient civilizations such as the Indus Valley Civilization in South Asia implemented regulations for water use and waste disposal. Similarly, the Code of Hammurabi in ancient Mesopotamia included provisions for protecting trees and controlling water usage.

However, modern environmental law as we know it today emerged in the mid-20th century, largely driven by incidents of environmental pollution and degradation. The publication of Rachel Carson's groundbreaking book, Silent Spring, in 1962 raised public awareness about the detrimental effects of pesticides, leading to the formation of regulatory agencies and the enactment of laws to protect the environment.

Environmental Legislation and International Cooperation

In the 1960s and 1970s, countries worldwide began enacting legislation to address various environmental issues. The United States passed landmark laws such as Clean Air & Water Acts, which established regulatory frameworks for air and water pollution control. Similarly, other countries, including Canada, Australia, and European nations, implemented their own environmental laws and regulations.

At the international level, the United Nations Conference on the Human Environment in 1972 marked a significant milestone in global environmental cooperation. The UNEP was created as a result of the conference, and it opened doors for other international environmental agreements like the Montreal Protocol (1987) that aims to protect the ozone layer and the UN framework that addresses the issue of global warming.

Expansion of Environmental Issues and Legal Responses

As awareness of environmental issues grew, environmental law enlarged to address a wide range of challenges. Legislation and regulations were enacted to regulate hazardous waste disposal, protect endangered species, conserve biodiversity, and address issues such as deforestation, land degradation, and pollution.

Environmental impact assessments (EIAs) became a crucial tool for evaluating the potential environmental consequences of proposed projects, ensuring that development activities adhere to environmental standards. Environmental law also began incorporating the principle of sustainable development, recognizing the need to balance economic growth with environmental protection and social well-being.

Additionally, the concept of corporate environmental responsibility gained prominence, leading to the development of laws and regulations needing businesses to lessen their environmental footprint, disclose their environmental practices, and adopt sustainable business practices.

The Rise of International Environmental Law

International environmental law has witnessed significant development and cooperation among nations to tackle global environmental challenges. Treaties and agreements, including the Kyoto Protocol and the Paris Agreement (2015), have aimed to address climate change by setting emission reduction targets and promoting international cooperation.

Transboundary environmental issues, including air and water pollution, deforestation, and illegal wildlife trade, have prompted the development of regional agreements and collaboration among countries. Examples include the European Union's environmental legislation and initiatives, such as the Amazon Cooperation Treaty Organization in South America.

Integration with Other Legal Fields

Environmental law has also become increasingly integrated with other legal disciplines, reflecting the interconnectedness between environmental issues and various sectors. Environmental considerations are now embedded in areas such as land use planning, energy law, international trade law, and human rights law.

Furthermore, environmental law has increasingly incorporated indigenous rights, recognizing the vital role of indigenous communities in preserving ecosystems and promoting sustainable practices.

In conclusion, the evolution of environmental law reflects a growing awareness of the interconnectedness between human activities and the environment. You can study and build a lucrative career in the field of environmental law by enrolling in a top BA LLB Hons college in India.

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rogerslovesstark · 4 years

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Hi there! A huge fan 💜💙 I was wondering if your requests are open?

If yes, could you please write an angsty fic where in reader is dating Bucky and for some reason he belittles her and breaks off their relationship. After which eventually everyone on the team stops talking to her. She's forced to leave off on her own and struggles a lot. Later Bucky realises his mistake and tries to contact her but the old her is gone. Like she finds her own happiness. Sorry if it's too detailed☹️

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

WARNING: Angst

Your recruitment to the team was quick and very low-key. Almost no one knew that you had joined the Avengers because you requested Tony not to hold a press conference. You loved being an Avenger, the idea of helping people in need was so fulfilling.

However, the spotlight of being an Avenger was not pleasant. You did not know how Tony and Steve were able to handle it, the constant feeling of eyes on you, paparazzi almost always being on top of everything you do.

The few events you did go to, you stood with Bucky most of the time. He always kept you safe and comfortable while the party was booming. The two of you would walk around the venues Tony would rent out, looking at the architecture of the building, admiring the art that was around.

The conversation was kept minimal because there was already so much noise from the party. Both silently agreed that there was no need for extra noise.

It was the New Years Party two years ago where Bucky asked you if you wanted to slow dance. The Venue had multiple balconies and he chose the smallest one for the two of you to dance.

The two of you swayed to the soft music that could be heard from the party. Once the clock hit 12:00, Bucky leaned over and kissed you. You two began dating shortly after.

Every Sunday was a day for a date unless either of you had a mission. Every other week you planned a date for you and Bucky, walks in the park, restaurants, bars, everything you could think of.

You developed a dependency on Bucky. Always seeking his reassurance, seeking his comfort and touch. You felt as though you were not complete unless you were with Bucky.

Your childhood was to blame, primarily your father. Physically, your dad was there but not emotionally. You never received emotional love from your father, the ‘I’m so proud of you’ or ‘you’re doing amazing’ Just a stiff nod.

Being raised by your psychotic father was the reason you developed into the cold-hearted killer you were. From 16-19, you worked as a mercenary and killed for money.

You craved emotional validation from someone because you were so deprived of it when you were a child. You struggled to form relationships with others because of it too. That was one of the main reasons why you were not as close to the team.

Bucky would always smile at you, or kiss you when you were excited about something you would accomplish. On missions, he would always stay near you unless instructed otherwise by Steve.

Bucky has been extremely off recently, always working with Steve, or working out with Sam, helping Wanda train her new abilities because it’s hard to kill a super-soldier than a normal human.

He had missed five Sunday dates. Five of them. In those five weeks, you barely saw him and it was driving you crazy. You constantly would search for the time where the two of you could just be alone. You were so deprived of physical touch and emotional love, you began to fall into a depressive state.

You walked towards the conference room, you asked Friday where Bucky was. She said he was in the conference room alone which is weird that she specified.

You opened the door and found Bucky just sitting on his phone. It was almost 10:30pm and he was just chilling in the conference room on his phone.

“Baby, I’ve been looking for you,” You said, walking over to him and running your hands along his broad and muscular shoulders. He was always so tense when he was sitting hunched over.

He shrugged you off his shoulders and turned to look at you. Not a soft, loving kind of look that a lover would typically give his lover; he gave a harsh glare as if you had done something to him.

“God, you are so fucking annoying, you know that,” Bucky said. He grabbed that hand that was touching you and stood up from his chair. He let go of your hand rather quickly as soon as he stood from the chair.

“I can’t fucking stand being around you Y/n, I don’t know why I ever asked you to be my fucking girlfriend,” He said, lowering his face closer to your face so the two of you were at eye level.

Tears pooled in your eyes, every word he said was like a thin blade stabbing you in the stomach over and over again. You did not know what you did wrong, you had not even seen him in almost a week despite living with him.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I’ll be better, what can I do to be better, please,” You whispered, if your voice were any higher, you would being sobbing.

Bucky just watched as you pathetically tried to hold your sobs in. You really were a weak woman and Bucky knew that. He knew that he held you in the palm of his hand and if he wanted to, he could break you.

He watched as your world crumbled around you because Bucky had decided to hurt you. Your hands were shaking and curled into fists. Your nose was turning red from holding back your tears.

“You are nothing without me, and I don’t want you anymore, so get the fuck out of my face and leave. No one on the team likes you, they would rather see you dead than ever have to see your horrific face ever again.” Bucky snarled, ready to see you burst into tears.

He knew that was the last straw.

You quickly turned around and left before you burst into tears. Bucky grabbed your arm and tried to turn you around, wanting to see you cry. You were forced to turn around, tears in your eyes pulling your hand back and smacking Bucky on his cheek.

You left him dazed in the conference room. You ran to your shared room, collecting all your belongings. You had a small apartment in the heart of Montreal that no one knew about. You deliberately left off your information given to FRIDAY.

“FRIDAY, get rid of all information regarding Y/N L/N” You requested.

“Request denied, reasoning: unauthorized access to function,”

“Override denial, code Tony Stark has a fat ass” You rolled your eyes at the code Tony had told you to be used as a last resort code.

“Permission granted, removing all information regrading Y/N L/N,”

You grabbed a piece of paper on your desk, writing a short goodbye to Tony knowing he would wonder where you went. You quietly walk over to Tony’s office and placed it on the monitor he mainly used.

You left the compound shortly after, walking seven miles to the small car you planted in the forest. You prepared this as a last resort option. You never wanted to use this car but times were desperate and you had to get away from Bucky.

++++

You were struggling, barely able to figure out how to live on your own. The money you had saved from working for the Avengers was running low and the waitress job you did have has barely enough to pay the bills you had.

Montreal was really expensive you ended up realizing, with such a horrible job, you sold your apartment and moved in with some college students in a small house. You shared a bedroom with one of the women in the house.

Ashley, your roommate, actually found the job for you, she helped you changed your appearance and spotted your money whenever you were desperate for it.

You had no skill set for an actual job, the only skills you had were killing. And your skills had developed rapidly as an Avenger. You knew what you had to do to survive.

The first kill that you had was a child trafficker in Toronto. Ashley covered for you, saying you two would go to a spa for a girl's weekend. She stayed at the spa while you finished the job. You gave her 20% of the income made.

You two had gotten close over the two years that you spent in the shared house. She was one of the only people that you trusted at this point. She suggested that you started therapy, which you decided to actually go to.

Your therapist wanted you to start realizing that you were more than who you surrounded yourself in. You deserved the love that you craved and you could only get it when you truly loved yourself.

++++

Bucky was laying in the bed the two of you shared. Two years had passed since he had driven you out of his life. He didn’t know why he did it, he was so upset because he saw you flirting with Tony. But Tony got engaged to Pepper only a few days later.

After nine months of you being away, he started to crave your presence in his life. He asked FRIDAY where you were but she had no information on you. When FRIDAY said she had no information on you, he had one of the biggest meltdowns he ever experienced.

You were officially gone from his life. Even with all the winter soldier experience of tracking people down, he couldn’t find you. Bucky knew that you were smart, you could hide in plain sight if you wanted to.

It was in Toronto that he saw you again. Bucky’s whole world stopped after he saw you. You were so different now. Your hair was completely different from what he was used to, and you dressed differently too.

It took him two months to finally get you to speak to him.

“What do you want Bucky?” The way you used to speak to him was so soft, now you were so cold towards him. Bucky’s stomach churned, almost nervous to respond to you.

“Y/n, please come back, I’m sorry for everything I have done to you, everything I said was a lie. I still love you” Bucky pleaded to you.

“Bucky I’m not the same woman I used to be, you broke me, I was so broken and I was the only one who fixed me. You don’t get to come back after I learned how to not live with you.” You shouted at him.

Tears pooled in Bucky’s eye, he had lost the one person who had shown him, true love. The one person he wanted to protect for the rest of his life. He lost you, forever.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x Female Reader #Winter Soldier #WINTER SOLDIER ANGST #james barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes angst

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whumphoarder · 6 years

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Grand Entrance

Prompt/Summary: "Would you ever write something in which Peter gets carsick with Tony taking care of him?"

Or, in which Tony and Peter attend a science expo just north of the border and Peter vomits his way into Canada.

Word count: 1,869

Genre: Sickfic, whump, hurt/comfort

A/N: Shout outs to @sallyidss for beta reading and being ever so helpfully Canadian, and to @xxx-cat-xxx for all your edits and ideas!

Link to read on Ao3

“I still can’t believe I’m going to be in a room with Søren Thygesen,” Peter says in awe. He’s scrolling through the conference workshop list on Tony’s Starkpad. “Do you think since you’re a speaker too, we can get backstage and meet him? Will he sign my textbook?”

Tony scoffs as he shifts gears on the Audi to overtake a slow-moving semi truck. Peter grins—he loves the rush of the 532 horsepower V10 engine lurching forward. “You have to be the only teenager in this country excited to see a three-hour lecture by an eighty-two-year-old Danish astrophysicist,” Tony remarks.

“A world-renowned Danish astrophysicist,” Peter corrects, looking up from the tablet. “Plus, he’s like the god of clean energy!” At Tony’s raised eyebrows, he quickly throws in, “Well, besides you, of course.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry kid, I’m not feeling threatened by your Scandinavian grandfather.”

“He’s just so awesome,” Peter gushes. “If anyone is going to figure out how to get humans on Mars, it’s Thygesen.” He lets out a long sigh. “I really want to go to the Q&A panel on Saturday, but I don’t know what questions I would even ask.”

“You know you don’t actually have to ask a question to go to a panel, right?” Tony points out for the second time that day. “You can just sit and listen.”

“I know,” Peter groans, “but I don’t wanna waste what might be my only opportunity to ever speak to him.”

Tony snorts. “That’s a good point—he is eighty-two. Probably doesn’t have a lot of science expos left in him.”

Peter whips his head around to throw his mentor a horrified look. “Mr. Stark!” he gasps.

“I’m just saying ...” Tony chuckles. “Toronto isn’t exactly a stone’s throw from Denmark.”

“He can’t die,” Peter says firmly. “He’s Søren Thygesen.”

“What is he, the new Chuck Norris?”

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who?”

“Never mind. God, you’re young...” his mentor mutters. Tony shifts over to the right lane to take the next exit. “Alright, alright, what about asking him something related to his biosphere project?” he suggests. “Or the new Mars Land Rover design, now that Oppy’s kicked the bucket?”

Peter sticks his lip out in a pout. “Too soon, Mr. Stark...” he complains.

After a brief stop for gas, they pull back onto the highway and Peter spends the next half hour pouring over the tablet, looking up every article he can find related to Thygesen’s Mars exploration research. Most of the journals are written in abstract, theoretical language, but Peter has always been a good reader and he can usually get the gist. Whenever he comes across a term or concept he’s unfamiliar with, he reads the paragraph aloud and Tony helps him work out the meaning.

Peter just forgot one little fact.

He can’t fucking read in the car.

The nausea doesn’t come all at once. It creeps up on Peter—slowly, gradually—until he has no choice but to pay attention. By the time he realizes he’s not feeling well, his stomach is already churning inside of him and a headache is pounding in his temples, leaving him feeling as though his forehead has been stretched too tightly around his skull.

He abandons the Starkpad, shifting his gaze to look out the window and doing his best to take deep, even breaths. Tony flips his blinker on and speeds up to pass another truck. The lurch of the engine is the same, but this time Peter’s expression is more of a grimace.

“Um… Mr. Stark?” he mumbles. “Are we almost there?”

“About ten more miles to the border, and then another eighty or so to the conference center,” Tony replies. “Don’t worry, you’ll see your elderly man crush soon enough.”

“Oh.” Peter swallows hard in an effort to push the queasiness back down. “Like, how many minutes is that?”

“Minutes are not a measure of distance, kid,” Tony retorts.

Peter groans and rolls his eyes, then immediately regrets it as his stomach rolls as well. He quickly locks his gaze back on the horizon. Between carefully measured breaths, he mutters, “I was just wondering if we’re going to stop soon.”

Tony frowns at him. “I asked you twice if you needed the bathroom at the gas station, and you said no. It’s been less than an hour and now you need to go?”

Peter feels his cheeks flush slightly. “Never mind, I’m fine,” he mutters. “Just wanted to stretch my legs, but I can wait.”

“Damn right,” Tony scoffs. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he fishes around on the car’s floor with the other for an empty plastic Gatorade bottle and tosses it onto Peter’s lap. “If you have to pee, use this. I’m not stopping because you suddenly remembered you have a bladder.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Peter huffs. He shoves the empty bottle back in the cup holder before twisting in his seat to press his cheek to the cool glass of the window. “I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”

Fifteen minutes later, Peter is no longer fine.

“Got your passport ready?” Tony checks as the car rolls to a stop behind a silver SUV.

Peter nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. That’s not entirely accurate—the passport is actually in the front pocket of his backpack, which is currently sitting on the floor beside his feet—but he doesn’t feel quite up to bending down to get it at the moment. Beads of cold sweat are dripping down the back of his neck and it’s all Peter can do to keep his stomach in place as they inch their way towards the border crossing.

“I’m thinking we’ll stop for dinner somewhere around the Falls,” Tony goes on. “Have you ever had poutine?”

Peter chances opening his mouth just long enough to breathe out a quick, “Um, don’t think so.”

Tony hums as he follows the SUV forward another couple meters before braking again. “Gotta admit, I was skeptical the first time Rhodey made me try it, but it’s not nearly as gross as it looks. You’d think it would be soggy, what with the gravy soaking into the fries and the cheese curds sort of half melting, but—”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Peter cuts his mentor off. Saliva’s been pooling in his mouth for the past five minutes, but it’s definitely not from the prospect of eating traditional Canadian food. He swallows hard and breathes carefully through his mouth.

A red minivan ahead of them clears the security checkpoint and each vehicle in their lane rolls another car’s length forward.

“Butter tart isn’t bad either,” Tony remarks, braking again. “And Montreal bagels put New York ones to shame. But if you breathe a word of that to anyone, I’ll deny it.”

With a small grunt of acknowledgment, Peter squeezes his eyes closed, silently praying the man will just shut up.

The border patrol officer waves the next car through.

“Alright, passport time,” Tony announces while the SUV ahead of them moves into the inspection zone. He holds one hand out expectantly over the kid’s lap. “Hit me.”

“It’s in my backpack,” Peter mumbles without making a move for it. His ears are ringing and he’s actually dizzy now. For a brief moment, he wonders if it’s possible to pass out from motion sickness. If only he could be so lucky.

Tony frowns, retrieving his own passport from behind the sun visor. “Well, hurry up. We’re next.”

“Right, right…” Carefully—ever so carefully—Peter bends forward to unzip the backpack. He fishes out the passport, but just as he starts to sit back up, the SUV drives off and the border patrol agent waves Tony forward.

Peter’s stomach lurches along with the car’s movement and he burps, tasting the pickles and ketchup from the hamburger he’d had for lunch. Bile is rising in the back of his throat and instantly Peter knows he has mere seconds to prevent a tragedy. His eyes dart around desperately for a cup, a plastic bag, a tissue box, anything. But there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

In pure desperation, he does the only thing he can think of to save Tony’s custom leather interior.

The moment the Audi rolls to a stop at the checkpoint, Peter yanks the collar of his hoodie up over his mouth and pukes all down the inside.

At the sound of the kid’s gag, Tony whips his head around. “Jesus, kid!” he swears in surprise.

Standing just outside, the border patrol agent—a gangly red-haired kid who looks to be fresh out of high school—is staring wide-eyed at the gasping teenager in the passenger seat.

Tony blinks at Peter, his expression morphing as the initial shock is replaced with concern. “Are... Are you okay?”

Peter gives a small nod and blushes, trying not to move any more than necessary. Inside his hoodie, hot, gross vomit is running all down his front, soaking through his t-shirt. “Yeah, sorry,” he rasps out. “Just… got kinda carsick.”

Tony blinks again. With barely concealed disgust, he reaches over and starts trying to wiggle the passport out from the kid’s grip, but the officer intervenes.

“Uh, it’s fine. You can just pull on through,” the redhead instructs, still staring at Peter as he waves the car forward. “There’s, uh, there’s a rest stop not too far from here.”

Peter flashes the other boy a grateful thumbs up as he pulls the sweatshirt back up over his face and heaves again.

When Peter emerges from the rest stop bathroom, he’s wearing a completely new set of clothes and carrying a knotted plastic Pharmasave bag containing his vomit-soaked hoodie and jeans. In the other hand, he’s clutching the remaining quarter of a package of baby wipes.

Tony is standing in the parking lot beside the car, his arms crossed casually over his chest and a mildly amused look on his face. “Feeling better now?”

Peter gives a half-hearted shrug and deposits the bag and baby wipes in the backseat. Tony passes him the bottle of PC lemon-lime soda he just purchased from the vending machine.

“I’ll rephrase,” Tony tries again. “Feeling better enough to get back in the car? We’re about seventy minutes out from the hotel.”

“Minutes are not a measure of distance, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

Peter hesitates, opening the soda to take a cautious sip. He’s feeling less sick now that he’s on solid ground and his stomach is blissfully empty, but the thought of getting back in the car still makes him queasy. “Um, maybe in another five minutes?” he mumbles. “If that’s alright…?”

“Sure,” Tony agrees easily. “We can go take a walk by the Falls or something. Maybe pick you up some Dramamine.” His brow furrows in thought. “Although that might knock you out, and your buddy is giving the keynote tonight.”

“I’ll be okay,” Peter assures. “Just need a few minutes.”

Tony huffs out a quick laugh. “Yeah, can’t risk missing Thygesen. Even if you just vomited your way into Canada.”

In spite of everything, Peter grins. “May always said I liked a grand entrance.”

Click here for chapter 2!

A/N: Additional shoutout to @awesomesockes for for helping to invent the exceedingly awesome character of Søren Thygesen, for whom we now hold so many dumb irrelevant headcanons (such as that he holds the Guinness world record for the longest nose hair and can play the didgeridoo).

Fic Masterlist

#sick peter parker #mcu writing #spider-man fic #irondad fic #spiderman #my fic #carsick peter parker

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andistillgetbutterflies · 4 years

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to grief:

I haven’t written here in a while and I think it’s because I’ve felt less sad about life in general. Yea, there are still days where I feel like I’ll never find happiness, but those days don’t out number the ones where I truly feel content. That is until this week.

I’ve loved watching glee since the beginning. The characters are the same age as me so as I went through high school, it felt like I really knew these characters and are going through it with them. At first, I really loved glee for the songs and the humour and even the teen drama that seemed so relatable yet far fetched to me. My high school had musical theatre, which I was very much involved in, and my friends and I weren’t bullied for it. In fact, we were praised. We were the cool kids and even got away with avoiding school work because the drama teacher loved us so much and would call our other teachers for us.

Just like the glee characters, there were a lot of “incest” hookups and drama caused by who was dating who and who liked who and who kissed who. But it was a nice way to bond with people who are seniors and get invited to cool parties.

During the time I watched glee, I realized more and more how much I enjoyed watching Santana’s character. She was witty, sarcastic, and had a no fucks given attitude that always kept her 100% real. I pride myself in trying to be as real as possible so she was definitely a character I drew towards. Throughout the years, even during the horrible season 5 and 6, I still kept up watching the show, mostly watching for Santana. I’d like to say she carried the show, but reality is I saw a lot of myself in her. The more I watched, the more I became interested in the actors. I’ve always wanted to be famous - I mean I did audition for Disney once. So I’ve found myself drawn to the actors, especially Naya Rivera who played Santana on the show. I’ve imagined ways I’d bump into the cast and how that’ll easily transition into a friendship. So I guess my imagination really brought us closer than we were.

During COVID-19 and quarantine, I decided to rewatch glee again. The convenience of Netflix and me being laid off gave me insomnia and glee was the perfect fix. I get to sing along and relive my high school years and remember why I loved this show so much. I once again started imagining what it would be like if I moved to LA and how I’d be able to befriend them, even after all these years. My obsession came back as if no years has passed between high school and now. So when the news of Naya Rivera’s passing broke, that hit me hard.

I’ve never understood why people mourned celebrities they’ve never met. I know people cried when Michael Jackson died or when Whitney Houston died. But I never understood it. How can you feel for someone so deeply if you’ve never met them and you don’t even know who they really are? I guess now I know how it feels.

During the days she went missing, I constantly refreshed every social media page I had and the other cast members to see if I would receive any updated news. I constantly had the gut wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t shake it off no matter how hard I tried.

When the press conference finally announced they found a body in the lake and it was her, I lost sense of reality. It was like time stopped and I didn’t want to believe this was real. I constantly felt sad, and every time I refreshed my social media, someone was mourning her which made me more sad. I couldn’t control the tears that were falling down my face and I couldn't, still can’t, grasp exactly why it hit me so hard. She will always be a part of my growing up and I will forever thank her for the excitement she brought me through her character. But that’s not the only reason why I’m sad.

I’ve always been terrified of death. When I went to church as a kid, a youth pastor pulled each of us aside and explained the concept of heaven. I broke down crying and couldn’t understand what that meant and how that was guaranteed. “Will I see my mom and dad again?”, I asked. I couldn’t fathom that this life ends and that everything I know or have will disappear and I won’t even know or feel it. So to me, everything that means ANYTHING to me at all, I try not to think about it ending. Almost like everything related to me can escape death. So when I found out about Naya, my reaction was, what do you mean she’s gone? How can she be alive yesterday and gone today? I literally just saw her Instagram story and her tweeting. I didn’t, and still don’t, quite understand it.

As you can probably tell, I haven’t lost a lot of people in my life, or at least people I remember losing. The closest to my memory would be my aunt who was battling cancer, but I was very young and the only grief I remember having is seeing my mother in the back seat of the car bawling her eyes out after hearing a certain song on our way to go fishing. I’d never forget that look.

And as I continued my grief, silently of course, because my Asian parents would never understand, I thought I’d reach out to my best friend. He’s very special to me and someone that I really fell in love with. The last person I ever loved til this day. We always played phone tag and would check in on each other every now and then. We would always try to be happy for each other on whatever we’re up to and try to encourage each other to chase our dreams. We’re both Gemini’s so we’re ambitious like that. To my surprise, he responded “who is this”. This never happens, because he usually says its him and he knows my number since I haven’t changed it since 2012. That’s when I get a call from him.

I was hesitant to answer at first because I was nervous. I always got nervous around him, even after all these years. But when I picked up, a woman answered. To be honest, I thought it was his girlfriend and she didn't want me messaging him. He always had a lot of girlfriends, some were crazier than others so I wasn’t too surprised. But, it wasn’t. I wish it was a crazy girlfriend. Instead, it was his mom.

His mom remembered my name, I even met her once. I was happy to hear that he talked about me to her because it shows that I meant something to him. But I cannot believe what she said next.

“Carter passed away on July 3, we actually had a funeral last Thursday.”

What. The. Fuck.

As I continue to stutter and apologize for having to put his mom in this situation, I can’t help but wonder what happened. So as I tiptoed around the subject I finally asked, “was it sudden?”

“He killed himself. I try to be honest about it. I don’t know if he told you about his mental health problems, but he’s been sad for a long time.”

I knew about his depression and mental health struggles. I knew that he had a rough childhood and he resented his dad for leaving him. He fought with his mom all the time, and she kicked him out on multiple occasions. But he found love from his grandparents, which are who he stayed with most of the time. I knew all this, but I didn't realize how bad it had gotten. I wish I had.

Ever since we were kids, I’ve always tried to be a good influence to him. I even tried to convince him to come to summer school with me, which let’s be honest, he barely showed up for school during the year and that was mandatory so why would he ever go to summer school. But he entertained the idea for me, like he always did with everything I suggested. I guess he didn’t want to disappoint me. And as we grew up and grew apart, mostly because he moved and changed schools a million times and I went off to University in a different province, we still kept in touch. He has always struggled with finding a passion and what he wanted to do with his life. First he wanted to make music, which he did for a while, then he turned to art. I thought this would be his biggest break through, his art was amazing. I suggested he should be a tattoo artist since he loved tattoos and is clearly good at drawing. So when we chatted back in March of 2019, he had let me know he is restructuring himself and even went to an open house at OCAD and centennial to enrol if he doesn’t hear back from a tattoo apprenticeship. Then December 2019 came around and he let me know he was in a transitional phase with his art and might want to go into animation so he could work from home. He even suggested he’d come visit me in Montreal. I know he never would, but just the fact that he suggested made me so happy. We even tried to make plans to meet up, I really wish I had pressed him for these plans because maybe he needed to see me for a reason.

Nothing until now had been a red flag for me. I tried to always be positive and whatever dream he was chasing after next, I tried to be supportive and reaffirm that he did have talent and he will figure it out. But in February, his art on Instagram had taken a darker turn. I didn’t notice at first because he posted sporadically and also the Instagram algorithm only gives you a piece a time so if you didn’t go on his profile you wouldn't see the full picture. But his Instagram story caught my eye. It was a post along the lines of if he died, no one would even care. I immediately messaged him letting him know I would. He said thank you and quickly changed the topic to visiting me again in Montreal. I should’ve said something more. I should've called him because he clearly wasn’t being honest.

When I moved back home this summer thanks to COVID, something inside of me kept telling me to text him. If only I had texted him a couple of weeks earlier. If only I had reached out to him then. Maybe, this would’ve changed everything.

I always thought we would’ve found our way back into each others lives. I’ve played over a million scenarios in my head of how we’d be as close as we were back in high school. I even imagined the day I had the guts to tell him how much I’ve loved him and how long I loved him for. But now I’ll never get the chance.

I wish he saw how much he meant to me. How I’d smile when I see his name come up on my blackberry messenger with an incoming text. Or when he’d call me babe even though we weren’t dating. A friend who read over my shoulder used to laugh at me because the way we texted sounded cheesier and more in a relationship than my friend and her actual boyfriend. He always thought he was a ball of darkness, but he never knew how much light he brought into my life. To me, he’ll always be that kid we spent hours in Toys R Us sitting in children couches, hiding from the staff and talking about life. The goofy guy who photobombed a family at the CNE, and when the family saw, they just laughed because that’s just how charming he was. The guy who my parents picked up from his house to drive us to the movies and they even caught us, you behind me with your arms around me while we waited to be picked up (my mother immediately decided to have the birds and the bees talk with me the next day at a Swiss Chalet, thanks for that). And as we got older, we promised to marry each other if we were still single by 30, it was one of those promises we made to each other prompted by a silly rom com. But he didn’t even hesitate. He even agreed to have a skydiving wedding with me and say “I Do” in the air. He was the first person I told about this crazy sky diving onto an island wedding idea and like always, supported me even when I’m out of my mind. To me, he was perfect.

Right from the beginning he said to me “don’t fall in love with me”, at the time he had a few unfaithful relationships and a few toxic ones. He thought he wasn’t worth me loving him because he would ruin everything.

Well Carter Avery Benitez, from the day I stalked your Facebook after only meeting you for an evening at your ex girlfriends house and messaged you, desperately wanting to get to know you, there was no way I wouldn’t fall in love with you. You’ll always have a special place in my heart. June 13, 1994 - July 3, 2020, rest in paradise my love.

#rant #trigger: death #trigger: suicide

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spine-buster · 7 years

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Chapter 13 - The Beginning and the End of Everything (Finn Balor)

@wrestlewriting @wrasslin-x @thegenericluchadora @fan-fiction-galore @anerdysouthernbelle @spot-of-bother @amaranthine-reign @baleesi @flnnbalor @smuppies @sarahmatthews7 @daintymissdevitt @newjapan @corey-renee @running-ropes @balorsomega @karleedaniels27 @kazuchika @ileana0300 @alexahood21 @imnobodiesbitch @fembxt @heelturn-timesten @kaitlynwwefan @50shadesofadamcolebaybay @50shadesofkennyomega @chasingeverybreakingwave @thyestean-feast @thecandicej @devittsbalor @sp00kylesley @danahart @sietefinns @kaydee-kayyyy @powerbombshell @swedish-strong-style @blondekel77 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @artgurl559-blog

QUICK A/N: I know I haven’t in the past but I’m going to start using my regular tag list for this story for all future chapters. Feel free to like and reblog and let people know about this story! I’m sure there are a bunch of Balor fans I’m not tagging that might enjoy something like this.

And now, sadly, on to the first awful breaking news of the year…we have gotten word, and now confirmation, that hockey player and Olympic gold medalist Gemma Fitzgerald has been forced to retire due to her knee injury. Last August, Fitzgerald suffered a complete rupture of her ACL, a torn MCL, and a litany of other tears and ruptures in her knee after she crashed into the boards after an altercation with Amanda Robinson of Team USA. She has been quietly attending physiotherapy in Orlando, Florida, but after a recent evaluation, doctors concluded that her knee will never fully recover enough to be able to play hockey at an elite level. Fitzgerald, best known as the woman to score the ‘golden goal’ for Team Canada at the Olympics, will be holding a press conference at 3pm today to discuss the shocking news.

Fergal was practically in tears as he watched Gemma’s press conference live. She had flown back to Toronto with her doctors the day before. A large conference room at a hotel was set up and filled to the brim with reporters for the press conference. At the table, she sat in the middle, flanked by her doctor, her surgeon, Diane, and the general manager for the women’s national hockey team. After a prepared statement, she was forced to answer question after question from the litany of reporters. Her voice was dull, emotionless, and her eyes were empty. He could tell she was still having a hard time, that she felt dead inside despite being in a room full of people.

He didn’t know how she was doing it; how she was keeping it all together, after having to repeat details of her injury, why exactly she couldn’t play again, all the minute details reporters kept asking about. He knew if it were him, he wouldn’t be able to do it. He’d send out a statement and that’s it. Who would want to face all those questions? Who would want to relive the injury over and over again? It was absolute torture.

Rami had been texting him. He was watching the press conference live, too, and was upset at what was unfolding. Not to the degree of Fergal, of course, but upset nonetheless. He shared Fergal’s sentiments of this being absolute torture for Gemma and how the media should ease up. ‘But they won’t,’ he told Fergal, ‘because the hockey media in Toronto is just as bad as it is in Montreal.’ When the press conference ended Fergal wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He thought about making himself something to eat but he wasn’t very hungry; even if he was, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to hold it down. He thought about watching stupid cat videos, or soccer highlights from the European leagues; anything to get his mind off things. That only lasted so long. Before he knew it he was on Twitter, going through the tag of Gemma Fitzgerald and reading what fans and journalists alike were writing.

Gemma Fitzgerald is the reason why my daughter put on a pair of skates. She’s the reason my daughter sees herself as a future hockey player.

Fitzgerald is the best of her generation, and although he career was cut short, the argument could be made she was in the top 10 of all time.

Sad day for hockey in general, not just women’s hockey. Fitzgerald’s better than a lot of NHLers. This is horrible news.

Robinson now has a target on her back. She should be banned from ever playing again. Everyone knew what she did was deliberate.

Fitzgerald has inspired so many little girls. Her power is truly beyond hockey. What sad news.

And then, Fergal’s phone rang. He expected it to be Rami or someone else but was shocked to see Gemma’s name flash across his screen. He answered it so hurriedly he almost dropped it on the floor. “Gemma.”

“Hey,” she sounded exhausted. “Uh, how are you?”

“How are you?” Fergal asked, completely ignoring her question.

“Not good,” she admitted to him, the faintest crack in her voice. “It’s…it’s a lot.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m in a hotel room,” she said. “In the same hotel we had the press conference. God, it was so fucking hard.”

“I can imagine.”

“Like, you’d think that the statement by the doctors would answer any and all questions they would have, but apparently not,” she complained. “God, they practically made me relive the last five months over and over again until they sucked all the blood out of me.”

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” he said. He didn’t really know what else to say. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Fergal automatically knew she was crying. “Ferg…” she managed to choke out.

“Gemma, come on, tell me,” he urged her.

“I feel like my life is over,” she was full out crying at this point. “I can never play hockey again Ferg. Ever. What if someone told you you could never wrestle again? Your life would be over! Your world would be shattered! No press conference or reassuring words from your doctors or hugs from your mom and dad would be able to make you feel better!” she began to freak out and ramble like she did the night he brought her back to his place and she saw the bruise she gave him. “I just feel so empty, like nothing is going to be able to fill me up again. I lived and breathed hockey and now I can’t play it anymore. I’ll be so close yet so far. I’ll be able to skate but I can’t do drills. I can hold a stick and put on my uniform but I can’t…I can’t…”

“Shhhhhh,” he tried to get her to calm down, though he was thousands of miles away. God, all he wished was to be by her side right now, hugging her. “Gemma, it’s all going to be okay.”

“You keep saying that. Everybody keeps saying that. What I need everybody to realize is that it’s not going to be okay. If I’m not playing hockey it’s not okay,” she stressed. “The one thing I love most in this world has been ripped away from me. I don’t know how I’m ever going to get over it.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now…but you will,” Fergal tried to offer some words of encouragement, although he knew they would probably have no effect. “I mean…fuck, that came out wrong. You’re never going to fully get over it, and that’s okay. But you can find other ways to love hockey besides playing the game. Listen, you’re always going to love hockey, and hockey is always going to be a part of your life.”

She was silent on the other end, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she was soaking up his words or because she was trying to compose herself and stop crying. Probably the latter. He probably wasn’t saying anything to help her feel better. “Ferg?”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t know what I did in this life to deserve you telling me all these nice things when I’m at the lowest I’ve ever been…but I just want to let you know that even if I don’t show it…I do appreciate it.”

A small smile crept its way onto his face. “Anything for you, Gemma.”

“Can I…can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“The Toronto Maple Leafs…they’re going to be honouring me this Saturday, on Hockey Night in Canada, before the face the Canadiens,” she began. “I’ve gotta make this speech, but my family…Jane…I mean, we’re all getting a private box to hang out in afterwards. I just…I need you there. Can you come?”

It was an automatic yes. There was no way he would have said no.

Fergal had been in his fair share of arenas before, but tonight, Saturday night at the Air Canada Centre, everything just felt…different.

Despite the gruelling press conference Gemma still had more media to do. He was able to watch reruns and live interviews on TV sets at various locations he found himself in, but he found it extremely hard to watch. Knowing how Gemma was feeling, knowing how hard this was for her…it almost made him sick. But now, at the Air Canada Centre, she was forced to put on a brave face. She was gracious to everyone, forcing a smile, shaking hands and posing for pictures. She looked exhausted. Fergal knew she was exhausted.

They finally got five minutes alone together about half an hour before the ceremony was supposed to begin. Fergal made sure to take her aside before things got started.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked, holding her elbow lightly.

“Surprisingly, yes,” she nodded her head.

“Are you sure?”

“I just gotta make sure I don’t cry during my speech, because if I know I do I won’t be able to stop,” she chuckled, trying to make herself laugh.

“Is there something I can do? Do you…I don’t know, do you want me down there on the ice or something?”

“Only my parents are gonna be on the ice with me,” she told him. “Jane isn’t even gonna be there, cause if Jane’s there then the whole team has to be there, you know? Gotta keep in minimal.”

“Okay, sure,” he acquiesced, nodding his head. “You sure there isn’t something I can do?”

Gemma smiled briefly. “You’re fine, Ferg. You being here is already enough.”

As if on cue, Gemma’s name was called from the opposite end of the hallway. Both Gemma and Fergal looked to see another brunette walking towards them. She was moving quickly, wearing a nice pair of fitted black pants and a navy blazer over a Toronto Furies t-shirt, which Fergal assumed had ‘Fitzgerald’ written on the back. “Hey babe,” Gemma smiled slightly.

“Hey hun,” the woman smiled, looking over to Fergal briefly. “This must be the infamous Fergal Devitt.”

“You’re right,” Gemma nodded her head. “Ferg, this is my best friend Jane Hounslow. Jane, Fergal.”

Fergal stuck out his hand and Jane shook it strongly. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Fergal said. “Gemma’s told me so much about you.”

“Likewise,” Jane smiled wryly.

Jane wanted to say something else, judging by the look on her face, but Gemma quickly nipped that idea in the bud when she saw Jane’s smile. “Anyway, you can wait in the box with Jane,” she said quickly. “And I’ll be up there after my speech. I assume that’s why you came to find me? I need to be somewhere?” Gemma asked Jane.

“Larry Tanenbaum wants to take some photos,” Jane nodded her head.

“Alright, fine. I’ll see you guys later, then,” Gemma said as she began to walk away. She paused for a moment before turning back to Jane. “Soyez pas bizzare,” she shot to Jane. [[Don’t be weird]]

“I can’t promise anything,” Jane winked back. Gemma snorted and shook her head, continuing to walk away. Jane looked back at Fergal, another wry smile on her face. “You and I have a lot to learn about each other.”

Fergal barely made it through the video package tribute that was shown to the arena. They had compiled every major highlight, clips of interviews from when she was just starting professional hockey at 18 years old, clips of her coaches and teammates singing her praises, clips of little girls saying how cool and amazing she was and how they wanted to be just like her while waving Canada flags and wearing her jersey. It was very emotional. When the video package ended, they cut to a few people in the crowd who were already in tears; a quick shot of the owner’s box, where Brendan Shanahan and Lou Lamoriello were on their feet clapping; a group of girls, each wearing a Team Canada Fitzgerald jersey, their dads sitting between them.

The standing ovation Gemma received as she walked out on to the ice was deafening. The cheering and clapping didn’t stop for a good few minutes. He, Jane, her parents – they were all on their feet, following suit, clapping and cheering and wiping tears away, just like everyone else. Eventually, the crowd stopped clapping and cheering, and let Gemma say her speech.

“Thank you to the Toronto Maple Leafs organization and the Montreal Canadiens organization for hosting me and organizing this tribute tonight. As everyone in this arena and everybody watching knows, hockey is a team sport. Therefore, I would like to thank my teammates from the Toronto Furies and the women’s national hockey team for being an endless source of support and strength during these last five months, and in particular these last few days. I’d also like to thank my team of doctors, my physiotherapist Diane, and everybody down at the rehab clinic in Florida for taking such good care of me. I will readily admit that I haven’t been the easiest person to be around these last five months, and they have been working miracles to get me back on my feet.

All I’ve ever wanted to do was play hockey. When I was a little girl watching Hockey Night in Canada with my parents, I immediately fell in love with the game and the magic of it all. I remember telling my parents, my extended family, cousins, anybody who would listen, that I was going to be a hockey player – I was going to be the next Cassie Campbell, I was going to be the next Hayley Wickenheiser. Don Cherry and Ron McLean wouldn’t be able to stop talking about how good I was. To an extent I accomplished those dreams, but I still feel like there could have been so much more to do, so much more to accomplish.

Despite my premature retirement I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Gratitude that for eight long years I was able to play hockey professionally; gratitude that I was able to represent my country at the World Championships and the Olympics; gratitude that I was able to create my own magical moment for fans when we won the gold medal; gratitude that my teammates have been with me every step of the way. I want to end this speech by addressing one group in particular. To all the little girls in the crowd and watching at home who live and breathe hockey like I do, I want to say one thing: I see you. I see you, and your passion, and your commitment, your tenacity and your hard work, and I encourage you, I implore you, I DEMAND you follow your dreams. It could be you one day, scoring a golden goal for Team Canada, inspiring millions of other girls across this nation to pursue their dreams. You are the future of this sport. Make it what you want to see.

Support women’s hockey. Support the dreams, the hard work, and the dedication of women’s hockey players. This may be my end as a player, but this does not mean the hockey world has seen the last of Gemma Fitzgerald.”

The entire arena was on their feet again as Gemma finished her speech and saluted the crowd. The teams, still on their respective benches, began knocking their sticks against the boards in respect. Two runners came to clear the podium away, and the captains from each team skated towards Gemma for the ceremonial puck drop. After a polite photo op, she dropped the puck, shook the captains’ hands, and made her way backstage.

She eventually made her way up to the private box, and was greeted with warm hugs by everybody. Not wanting to talk about anything or go over what she just did, she settled on Fergal’s left side, while Jane was on his right, and they focused on watching the game, explaining things to him and screaming about penalties like any fans would.

The Leafs ended up winning 4-3 in overtime, which made Gemma happy, at least briefly. When it was time to go, Fergal began saying his goodbyes to Jane, James, and Nabilah, but the feeling of Gemma gripping his elbow stopped him.

“I’m just gonna make sure Fergal gets back to his hotel safely,” Gemma said to her parents, who were obviously expecting her to go home with them. “He doesn’t know this part of the city and I don’t want him getting lost in the crowd.”

“Well…okay,” Nabilah nodded her head, not really having much of a choice. “Are you going to take a taxi home?”

“Yeah mamma, don’t worry.”

“It was nice to see you again, Fergal,” James shook his hand. “Maybe we’ll see you again before you go back down to Florida.”

“Yeah, for sure,” he nodded, unable to keep his eyes off of Gemma, who was essentially ditching her family to ‘make sure he got to his hotel room safely’. What did that even mean? He knew exactly where his hotel was – he was a big boy, he had Google Maps, he had the Uber app. Did she want to talk about something? Did he do something wrong? Did someone say something to her?

“It was really nice to finally meet you,” Jane’s voice stopped his thoughts from going in to overdrive. Gemma was working something out with her parents and he had no clue how long he had been staring at her. “I have to get back home, but like James said, hopefully I’ll see you again before you leave for Florida.”

“Thanks. It was really nice to meet you too,” Fergal said, leaning in for a hug.

Jane readily reciprocated. “I can see why Gemma’s become so attached to you,” she said, only loud enough for him to hear.

Before he could ask what she meant by that, another tug came at his arm. “Ready?” Gemma beckoned.

“Ready.”

The walk back to the hotel room took all of five minutes. By the time they left and were walking the streets, the crowd from the hockey game had dispersed, so Gemma wasn’t recognized or bothered at all. To Fergal’s confusion, they barely spoke, Gemma mainly just directing him where to go and asking what floor he was staying on. There was so much to say, so much that could be said, but nothing.

When he opened the door with his keycard, Gemma made her way in. Fergal followed close behind, but deliberately took his time, watching her as she paced at the edge of the bed a few times before finally sitting on it. When she finally locked eyes with him, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was keeping in. “You’re okay with me being here, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” Fergal said softly. “Do you really need to ask?”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

Fergal waited a few moments before asking what he thought needed to be asked. “Do you want to talk about something?”

Gemma shook her head. “No. I don’t want to talk. I’m sick of talking,” she said. “I managed to keep it together for the ceremony, now I’m just going to leak, if you don’t mind.”

Fergal half-expected that was coming. But the fact that she was comfortable doing it in front of him rather than Jane or her parents was something he didn’t expect. “Leak away,” he said as he sat down beside her.

She started to cry automatically. It was like a tap. Tears just started free flowing and she buried her head in her hands. Fergal did the only thing he could think of doing, which was hug her. Almost immediately she melted into him, grasping at him and crying on his shoulder. He let her cry, words escaping him, as there was nothing really left to say. She’d had a rough day, and he wasn’t about to make it rougher; he just wanted it to end as comfortably for her as possible.

Eventually he came to the realization that she wasn’t going home; that she would be staying here, with him, in his hotel room, because she wasn’t going to stop crying anytime soon. He moved to bring her closer to the pillows, and moved to take off his sport jacket to make himself just a bit more comfortable. Gemma began wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and he moved as quickly as possible so she wouldn’t feel deserted for too long.

When he lay back down beside her, she latched on to him again. He moved closer to her and grabbed at her hand, clutching it against his chest. After a while, her crying stopped, her breathing softened, and she was fast asleep against him. Fergal could only hope that, in her sleep, she wouldn’t relive the pain of the last few days.

#finn balor #finn balor fic #finn balor fan fic #finn balor fan fiction #finn balor fanfic #finn balor fanfiction #wwe #wwe fic #wwe fan fic #wwe fan fiction #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wrestling #wrestling fic #wrestling fan fic #wrestling fan fiction #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fanfiction #baeoe series

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silent123456 · 8 months

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Silent Conference In Montreal

In Montreal, there are these cool events called "silent conferences." What makes them cool is that instead of using regular loudspeakers, everyone wears special headphones. These headphones let you listen to talks, music, and discussions without bothering anyone else. Imagine being on a rooftop with a beautiful city view or in a peaceful park, all while tuning in to what interests you the most through your headphones. It's like having your own personal audio experience. You can switch between different things you want to hear, like interesting talks, live music, or group chats. The best part of Silent Conference In Montreal is that it's good for the environment because it doesn't make a lot of noise, and Montreal cares about being eco-friendly. So, if you're up for a fun and unique way to learn and have a good time in Montreal, these silent conferences are the way to go.

#Silent Conference in Montreal #Hire Silent Conference System In Montreal #silent conference worldwide #silent conference #silent conference system rental

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tartsky · 5 years

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~ Spring Gigz ~

3/8 - Shanzhai Lyric Talk @ ACLA conference (DC)

3/21 - Full Moon @ HOWL! (NY)

3/24 - Silent Lovers screening @ Flowers 4 All Occasions (NY)

3/30 - Zhe Zhe Episode Premiere @ 6th St Community Center (NY)

4/1 - Scratch Nite @ FringeArts (PHL)

4/11 - “All of the People, Some of the Time” @ David Levine (NY)

4/12 - w/ Holy People & The Cradle @ Magic Pictures (PHL)

4/18 - Earworm @ Secret Project Robot (NY)

4/19 - Full Moon @ Howl! (NY)

4/21 - Your Sunday Best @ Quig’s (PHL)

4/27 - Spaghetti Cabaret @ Werks Barehouse (PHL)

5/1 - A Night for Bab(oo)shka @ Old American Can Factory (NY)

5/6 - Positive Futures @ Vox Populi - 7 PM (PHL)

5/7 - Some of the People, All of the Time @ Printed Matter - 6 PM (NY)

5/9 - Playwrights Festival @ Hunter - 7:30 PM (NY)

5/10 - Gardens Cabaret @ Loisaida Center - 8pm (NY)

5/11 - Locomotion Children’s Dance Theater (NY)

5/19 - LES History Month Poetry Reading (NY)

5/25 - Shanzhai Lyric @ Artetexte - 2pm (Montreal)

5/25 - Shanzhai Lyric @SBC Gallerie - 6pm (Montreal)

5/26 - LES Garden Parade & Pageant (NY)

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andrewuttaro · 6 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 48 - VAN - Worthy

The first meeting with the Buffalo Sabres’ 1970 expansion buddies came in the early days of the ten game win streak (the second game of it in fact) and Vancouver made us fire up the comeback machine. I told myself I would stop bringing up the ten game banger, its dead and buried, but gee if this game is the second in a streak half as good as that then we could be turning this ship around at just the right time. Any results on that front will have to wait a freezing cold Western New York week as this end of the Western Canada road trip is the last game for the Sabres for 11 days. It’s a bye-week on top of an All-Star break so it won’t be a great stretch without hockey, just this specific kind of it. It’s hard deciding if I’m happy for this break from the Sabres considering how bad they’ve been or if it frustrates me. For the sake of my mental health I’ll choose the first option. On the bright side of how bad it’s been lately it maybe priming the pump for a trade or two. I wouldn’t hold your breath but at this point no one is really sure what will create some consistency in this team. I tend to pull for the turn coming from the guys in the room and perhaps we’re seeing the beginning of some change from within. You got to be encouraged by this game and the last as a pair: both were complete efforts, both had a lot of battle and the only difference really is finding that third period mojo. This game had potential to be a fun win for Buffalo just like Wednesday night in Calgary but the cookie just didn’t crumble that way. This 4-3 is a happy 4-3 loss considering how they played but the Western Canada road trip earns a measly 2 points in the standings which squarely puts it in the failed road trip category for my acceptability scale. Not good enough but this game was a bounce or two away from being a different story.

The opening period was bizarre, like frighteningly so. The Canucks must have not realized they were playing yet because they did not get a proper shot on goal until past the halfway mark of the period. The Sabres dominated play for the first 11 minutes including a tap in goal by Evan Rodrigues to officially place him in a category of hot players as getting a goal in three straight games. He must like Western Canada! He’s from Toronto? Well that’s definitely not the case. It was a bizarre play and he only barely got his stick on the puck after it haphazardly bounced off Rasmus Ristolainen’s skate. The real bizarre thing about this period is that even after the home team turns it on and scores two goals via Alexander Edler and Sven Baertschi the place is still damn near silent; I’m not kidding you could hear the players yelling to each other. The 100 level at least was full there so I was beginning to wonder if I had been drugged. Linus Ullmark in net for the Sabres was not drugged; in fact his game was pretty good facing former AHL North Division rival goalie Thatcher Demko in the Vancouver net. He was screened for the Edler goal and there was not much more he could’ve done except scold the defense for the Baertschi goal. That goal was not ok: it was everything hockey teachers tell you not to do defensively namely puck watching. Every Sabre had their back facing the guy who got the quick pass and put it in. Ullmark was left out to dry.

The second period was a little less bizarre as the crowd got louder. I can only tell from the highlights because I fell asleep before the middle period began and woke after it. My wife and I took care of our sick older cat quite a bit yesterday and perhaps it stands to logic I was actually tired. When I did wake I wasn’t cognizant enough to really mount an effort to watch the post-midnight third period. Those choices were good for my health but unfortunate for my Sabres fanhood because the second period at least was probably the Sabres best period. After coming out stronger in this go at it, Kyle Okposo got the puck off of Johan Larsson (who continues to have good fourth line games) and drove in on Demko, shot high and scored. That goal was unlike the chances the Sabres were starting to get in this game. The strategy that won the Sabres many games in the first half were net-crashing plays was going and there was a notable decrease in frustrating, unhelpful drop passes and dump-and-chases in this game. Thatcher Demko is probably the guy in net for Vancouver for years to come because he was always the talk of the division in the AHL and he must proved his NHL worthiness in this game if he hasn’t already. He stopped two incredible opportunities from Jeff Skinner and Rasmus Dahlin in the course of 2 minutes in this middle frame. Jeff Skinner and Jake Virtanen got into a little disagreement because we know how Skinner talks shit and then it was 4-on-4 hockey for a goal by the Vancouver wonder-kid not named Elias as Brock Boeser got a puck from Bo Horvat that Horvat had so gracefully received from Sabre Lawrence Pilut in the corner and tapped it past Linus Ullmark still calibrating for a Horvat shot. Vancouver was in the lead again in spite of continuing to look out-skated by the visitors. Sam Reinhart, born and raised in Vancouver actually, got his a few minutes later when Jack Eichel got into the zone and initiated a tape-to-tape series of passes that went through Conor Sheary and eventually got the puck to Reinhart alone in front who put it in high on Demko. It would remain 3-3 going into the third period.

The Sabres did not fall asleep for the third like I decided to. They pushed pretty heavily (not scoring on the powerplay which is the greatest failure of this team right now) outshooting the home team by ten and dominating in that way like they did for most of the first. The problem is only goals matter and the Canucks got one in this period. After hardly 5 seconds in the O-zone for his team Jay Beagle, yes that Jay Beagle, got the puck to Josh Leivo, yes that Josh Leivo, who got the puck to Loui Eriksson (I know isn’t this goal is just a wild blast from the past of our Eastern Conference enemies) who fired high past Ullmark hanging perhaps the only goal you can blame on the goalie on Linus. Dumb luck! Friggin dumb luck that for all the opportunities the Sabres got in this third period, ten more than the Canucks (!), that that one goes for the other guys! The Sabres continued fighting, right down to the final buzzer they were throwing everything at Demko but this one ends 4-3 in regulation. That was a game the Sabres deserved at least a point and they were denied by a Canucks team that just found a way to win. Yea, the Canucks haven’t been too hot lately either but I think you’re missing the point of this one ragging on Pilut or Ullmark. This game was a real stick breaker and the Canucks got the points to get themselves back into a Western Conference wildcard as the Sabres stare down a break they’ll certainly fall further out of the Eastern Conference picture during. Perhaps you take the positives of how you played into the break preparing for a week from Tuesday but gee, this is a frustrating loss. It shows the Sabres are worthy of better results but didn’t give them one. Enjoy the snowstorm I guess?

At the posting of this blog post the Sabres sit 4 points back of the last wildcard spot held by… Pittsburgh? Ok. Pittsburgh, Montreal and Boston have 1 game left before the Sabres play again except the Penguins who have two. Worst case scenario the last playoff spot is 8 points away by the time Buffalo visits Columbus. That gap will not grow much larger than that. Montreal and Boston have been on wicked tears that will slow up and the only reason I didn’t include the Islanders like I would earlier in the week is because they shot to the top of the upside down world known as the Metropolitan division. The playoffs have not gotten out of reach yet and the Sabres come back from this break into the home stretch of the season that will not see more than three nights off until they’ve either clinched a spot or been mathematically eliminated. The stretch run will be the moment of truth for this Sabres team. I at least keep saying they’re not as good as the first quarter of the season but not as bad as the second. The stretch run is do or die.

Like, share and comment on this here blog. Whether or not the stretch run is as fun as we hope it will be with the ending (or lack thereof) we hope it has, this blog will provide you with the fan reaction that the consummate hockey writers and beat reporters not dare waste their time with! I hope you enjoy these posts and I hope to hear from you if you are the type that normally reads this far. You can expect an Amerks Angle post over the bye week that I anticipate will be awfully fun and perhaps another surprise or two on the blog side. That said, if you’re watching every game and thinking about each deeply like me, maybe take a breather from hockey and go sledding or something. Here in Buffalo there is no lack of snow at the moment. Stay safe and Let’s Go Sabres!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. The plus side of this big olde break is it gives Jeff Skinner and other probably-injured players time to heal. Heal up boys, for starting on the 29th: WE RIDE!

#buffalo sabres #hockey #blog #nhl

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tomhasson-blog · 8 years

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Equal Rights By Peter Tosh: Revisiting The Masterpiece 35 Years On

Originally published on The Quietus - April 2012

35 years on from its release in April 1977, what was Peter Tosh addressing with his Equal Rights album, asks Thomas Hasson, and what, if anything, has changed since?

In response to the Jamaican government’s refusal to allow Black Power supporter Dr Walter Rodney permission to re-enter Jamaica after his trip to a black writers conference in Montreal, The Rodney Riots began on the 16th October 1968.

Concerned about the effect this Guyanese civil rights thinker would have in Jamaica, the government declared Rodney, a lecturer in African History at the University of the West Indies, to be an undesirable person.

But the very move the government made "to save the nation" (as The Gleaner, a Jamaican daily broadsheet, put it) was the very thing that sparked chaos.

Taking part that day in the demonstrations and looting was one Winston Hubert McIntosh, known to most as Peter Tosh. He placed himself behind the wheel of a coach, drove it towards a local shopping precinct and rammed it through a glass storefront. All around him people piled in to loot what they could before climbing on board the coach as Tosh backed out and ferried them all back to Trench Town.

Both the police and army were dispatched to quell the violence that was spewing out onto the streets of Kingston, causing millions of dollars in property damage. People were killed and many were injured.

These random acts of violence and destruction had the government spooked. But scarier still was that protesting alongside Tosh and the Trench Town activists were middle class students. This was unprecedented. Between them they had been heard to chant slogans pertaining to Black Power, a movement that was causing ripples not just in Kingston, but across the world.

On the very morning that the Rodney Riots began, 1,500 miles away, African American athletes and Olympic medal winners Tommie Smith and John Carlos were to be seen giving the Black Power Salute as the U.S. anthem played at Mexico City’s Olympic Stadium.

This silent gesture was one of the strongest political statements in the history of the Games. It was not, however, a welcome gesture. The athletes were booed as they stood down from the podium and subsequently ejected from the US Olympic team.

Peter Tosh may have been imprudent in his method of protest, but all around him, signs pointed towards something indisputable. Things were not equal. They were not right.

The anger inside of Peter Tosh had been building for many years; as a child he was asked to sing at his local church a hymn that included the lyrics; “Lord wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.” He was nine years old and it filled him with disgust.

Personal, national and international events had conspired together to create anger and frustration within Tosh about these iniquities.

"The truth has been branded, outlawed and [made] illegal. It is dangerous to have the truth in your possession. You can be found guilty and sentenced to death." Peter Tosh.

In 1977 Peter Tosh released Equal Rights, a rallying cry against what he called the ‘shitstem’, his declaration of rage against the injustices he had seen all around him.

It was his finest studio album, cementing his position as one of the most outspoken artists of the 70s. And although he’d suffered at the hands of the ‘shitstem’ many times before, the album notably called not for revenge but for justice. Revenge is personal, justice is political.

Setting out his stall with a version of 'Get Up, Stand Up', Tosh makes it clear that equal rights will not come without a fight. He follows this call to arms with 'Downpressor Man', a warning to any and all oppressors of him and his brethren. “You can run but you can’t hide” Tosh sings, ominously.

At no point does this record relent from its militant message. “Don’t underestimate my ability,” he sings on 'I Am That I Am'. And on 'Stepping Razor' (the Joe Higgs song Tosh claimed as his own before a legal battle forced him to credit Higgs) he lets it be known in no uncertain terms just how dangerous he is.

He sings on the title track of the album that he doesn’t want peace, but that he needs “equal rights and justice”. It’s here that he asserts his message most powerfully. By dismissing peace so easily, he maintains that what’s needed won’t come without a fight.

What Tosh hopes to achieve is made clear in the album artwork. Six identical images of Tosh’s face, head turned and wearing a beret and his trademark goggles, are repeated on the cover of the record, calling to mind both propaganda posters during wartime and those of political leaders fighting for office. Look closer and you see that the edges of each image are perforated like a sheet of stamps; the idea of CBS designer Andy Engel.

Those whose images grace postal stamps generally are not singers, they are typically the leaders of countries. It would appear that this is where Tosh saw himself; as a leader of people, leading the fight for equal rights.

But as much as the album is informed by Tosh’s struggle for justice, it is influenced equally by his faith. Tosh had been exposed to the teachings and way of life of the Rastafari as far back as 1963, and by the time he released Equal Rights he was a convert. Both 'African' and 'Jah Guide' make music of his beliefs. Dealing with identity in the former track, Tosh makes clear that to be black is be African; one of Marcus Garvey’s key teachings. In 'Jah Guide' Tosh delivers a rousing justification for the upcoming fight for equal rights: “Jah guide I through this valley.” His path was righteous.

“Every form of victimisation is universal, not only in Jamaica.” Peter Tosh

Herbie Miller, Tosh’s then-manager and production coordinator has said that the struggle to liberate southern Africa (Zimbabwe, Namibia, South Africa) was a key influence on the album: “The theme of this whole record is to do with that particular struggle, of the Africans in Africa, and the Africans outside Africa.” He said that Tosh had wanted to document this particular struggle with “machine-gun lyrics in a suite tying together songs that all related to those both within and without Africa.”

The final track of Equal Rights, 'Apartheid', opens with the sound of gunshots. Eight years before the Artists United Against Apartheid were put together by Steven Van Zandt, Peter Tosh was singing that there were "certain place in Africa, black man get no recognition. You got to fight against apartheid”.

Peter Tosh was murdered in 1987. He didn’t live to see the ending of enforced racial segregation in South Africa, nor Nelson Mandela’s election as the country’s first ever black president in 1994.

Thirty-five years have passed since Tosh called for equal rights and justice. During that time an African American has become President of the United States, Desmond Tutu has won the Nobel Peace Prize for his outspoken criticism of the apartheid regime, and closer to Tosh’s home, an organization called Jamaicans For Justice (JFJ) has been established. Since 1999 JFJ have fought for respect, freedom and the right to a peaceful existence for citizens of Jamaica.

However, just last month in Florida, USA, an unarmed black teenager named Trayvon Martin was shot dead by George Zimmerman, a non-black vigilante, because he “looked suspicious”. Trayvon was walking home to his family carrying a bag of sweets. The case is reminiscent of the 1993 murder of Stephen Lawrence whose death sparked an inquiry that exposed institutional racism in the UK.

Equal Rights is passionate and critical of the world Tosh saw around him, with observations that resonate to this day. Self-produced and recorded with a team of musicians including the rhythm-section powerhouse of Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare who credit their international career to their work on Equal Rights and the subsequent tour to support the album. It is Tosh’s masterpiece.

When recording his Red X tapes, which were intended to form the basis of a never completed autobiography, Peter Tosh said: “I am here to play the music and to communicate with the Father spiritually so I can be inspired to make music to awaken the slumbering mentality of people.”

Equal Rights does just that.

#Peter Tosh #Bob Marley #The Wailers #The Quietus #Bunny Wailer

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