#almost chocked at “i know how you feel about religion”

[fettuccino-alfredi]

Came for Zac, stayed for the bizarre Chamanda alien romance play. Those characters are just too good to be one offs. Between Amanda's commitment to the weirdness and the contrast to Chanse's calm delivery/translating her gibberish, I was invested in their love story. The whole saga needs to be clipped.

[david-goldrock]

I am thinking about them again, so let me tell you the story of Ayala

Ayala is not their name, obviously, none of them names in the story are true.

We met in the 4th grade. I just moved towns and went to this new school, but she wasn't in it. She was at the gifted kid institute. Once every week, they'd pull us out of the school system to let us into a world of happiness, challenge, and understanding. My best of days were from there, I have yet to have told you of the time I got high off of sugar there, but that's a story from another time, for another time.

It's the 4th grade, and I just meet the fellas, many of which I still keep in touch with.

She had glasses. she always wore the same blue hoodie, summer and all. She was always a bit cold. She had this weird bowl cut hair that never crossed her shoulders, as if she cut it the shortest she could without being an outcast. she was funny, she was brilliant, smarter than I am for sure. She beat me at math, and at riddles. She solved a Rubik's Cube while I was fiddling with the upper face. She could speak a bit of Chinese by the end of that year, I couldn't remember anything but my name, which was the same word

She was my best friend at the time. I didn't have a smartphone, so we couldn't text, only call. So we did, often. once a week, twice a week, thrice a week.

When we met, I'd hug everyone. we were still young enough so it wouldn't be weird. We were still young enough I couldn't control my strength, and would often chock my friends out. She was the only one who matched my strength. Some people appreciated the hug but wanted out, not her, her hugs lasted minutes, filling my inside.

The years went on and we grew closer. We made a religion, with goals, rituals and all. we made a plan to kill every adult in the world so only we will remain. We would make jokes, we would make games, we would recite plays, we would write poems.

6th grade. I got my smartphone.

We texted, every day, for hours. We didn't know what memes were back then, nor did we have some, but we would create jokes and tell each other. We'd challenge each other with riddles and philosophical thought experiments. We would plan actual experiments. I told her her experiments would almost certainly be illegal to perform, but she just brushed it off.

7th grade, the hottest class at the institute? gender studies. of course, it is, one day I'd perform the experiment we once designed: track the gifted kid population through a 10-year period and check how many are LGBT. in our institute it's only been 4 years, and we are already over 50%. I am one of the few cishet boys in the class, as to be expected. I challenge and ask questions, often. the class almost never advanced after the first slide, we would get caught up in discussions. the discussions didn't end at class, the WhatsApp group was fuming, always running, 19\7. The discussions didn't end at the group, She and I would chat to the late hours of the night, after the teacher couldn't handle it anymore.

She convinced me god does not exist, and that it is okay, because we had each other. It took her 30 minutes to turn me from a questioner to an atheist.

She was so smart, and so funny, and so... beautiful. She was stunning. No makeup, no fancy clothes, she didn't look like a traditional model, and my parents openly called her ugly to my face.

They could never understand, She was beautiful.

I fell in love. I didn't know it at the time, I didn't recognize the feeling, I didn't know it, but now I do. I fell in love, I fell hard.

Then 8th grade. Covid hits. my grandma dies. I don't know what happened at her side, but shit hit the bottom as well. We fell into a deep depression, both of us. There were weeks at a time I would feel nothing. We would message a lot over that time, I was really sad, she was suicidal.

At 9th grade shit hit the fan, she called me, she didn't call me often by that point, only texted, so I was ecstatic.

"hey david"

"HEY WHAT'S UP? HOW ARE YOU?"

"david can I ask you something?"

"Sure..... what is it?"

"if i'm gone, will you be okay with it?"

"WTF?! NO! WTF? WHY WOULD YOU SAY IT? NO! NOT EVEN AS A JOKE!"

"please"

"NO! AYALA! YOU ARE NOT DYING ON ME"

*hangs up*

I call her mother. It took me 15 minutes to call her, I didn't have her number, Ayala didn't give it to me, and none of my friends had it. I found it 15 minutes later in a "details" card I kept from a year before.

15 dreadful minutes

She responds, she tells me she's safe, she's with her, everything's fine, she knows she is suicidal, they are working on it, thanks for calling

A month later they tell me they are non-binary, and that their name is now Ash. I am shocked. I ask them if I could still refer to them in the female. They say that in hebrew, yes, but to use "they" in english.

Their messages get less frequent

2 months later I get a call from her mom. They tell me she tried to suicide. she took an overdose of pills, and then called the hospital on herself. She is fine, but she is put in the mental hospital for the time being. No phone contact

3 months later, I get a text. "Hi, sorry for being distant, I got my phone back, for a while. I wanted to tell you that the reason I called the ambulance is that I didn't want you to be hurt, or for my cat to be hurt"

They don't respond to any of my texts. I send them memes, and drawings, and get-well-soons. I pray for them every night. I get the occasional text, once a month roughly. "ha ha", "nice one", "use the masculine next time or this will be the last time I text". I didn't even know it bothered them

I finally changed their handle on my phone. I changed it to "Ash (male) GoodHuman". I knew their family name, of course, but it didn't matter, what mattered is that I miss the GoodHuman.

Then... a year passes, and a few months more, they haven't written a text in what seemed like forever.

"Hey david, sorry for ghosting you, It was too difficult responding, I love your texts, and I will try to text you more often"

so we continue to text. turns out, they cut their hair short. they switched to cargo pants and leather, no more blue hoodie. They wore a fedora now, and had new glasses

They had a new boyfriend.

I do not remember their name, I am afraid to go look if I'm honest. I don't like the guy, he seems way too controlling, and way too sure of himself, and way too... too dumb for them. But they were happy, and after the last couple of years, it's been good enough knowing that they were happy

They texted from his phone sometimes. he switched and talked to me sometimes.

I meant to sent her something by mail. I knew the city, but not the address, so I asked.

They told me "Oh didn't I tell you? My parents got divorced. My mom couldn't handle me being trans, my dad could. I live with him now"

They give me the address

It's so close. So absurdly close. Not in my city, but my city borders a field, and the field connects to another city. I lived on the entrance to the field, they lived on the other. Half an hour by bike.

So they invite me over, and I bike. I bike like mad, I didn't know the path, it didn't matter, I rolled through the thorns, they couldn't hurt me, we are about to meet again.

And we met, and we talked, and we watched a musical, and we played, and recited plays, and sand songs, and we riddled each other riddles, and we played philosophy, and it was suddenly like the old times came back.

I asked how was it going with the boyfriend. They told me they actually were polyamorous, and if I wanted, we could have sex right there and then, her father wasn't home.

I suddenly realized... the years have changed me. I say no.

It was getting late, so I went to take my bike and... the thorns punctured them. I didn't even think to look. I waited for their father to return to bring me home, and promised: next time in my house. They gave me an origami frog. I still have it

Their father came later. he drove me back, but by the time we got home, my mother asked where I've been.

I lied. My mother hated Ash, and still called them Ayala. I don't remember my lie, I am pretty sure she knew exactly what happened, but we never talked about that.

Stuff went well for a while, then...

We went into a gender studies discussion. It went as usual, then they said "yeah, but all men are rapists".

"I'm a man"

no comment

"Ash, I ask you to back down, this hurts me a lot"

They doubled down. I don't remember what they said. I remember I shed a tear for the first time since my grandma died and say "If you want to talk with me again, back down, if not, I will not engage again"

I assumed they'd back down in a day. In 2 tops. Every day I'd check the chat, still empty.

5 months later: "I am not backing down, but it shouldn't affect our relationship-"

I stop reading

I write some "professional speech" bs about me being able to accept an apology whenever they'd like, but I cannot continue like this, and wish them the best

This is the last message in our chat

Often I ask myself if I was too dramatic, If this was too much, If I should have accepted it for our friendship. I don't know the answer

This was a year ago. more, actually. They never came for the "next time in my house". The friends who keep in touch with both of us say they are still with the same boyfriend. they colored their hair. they are trying to pass school, but having a hard time with math.

I pray they are still okay

[whileiamdying]

The Essential Toni Morrison

Looking to read one of her books? Let us help. By Veronica Chambers Feb. 18, 2021

ebruary 18, 2021 would have been Toni Morrison’s 90th birthday. As we approach the anniversary of a global pandemic that has changed our lives in every way, it seems a fine time to dive back into the world of Toni Morrison. The questions she asked in a 2002 lecture seem wholly relevant now, almost 20 years later: “To what do we pay greatest allegiance? Family, language group, culture, country, gender? Religion, race? And if none of these matter, are we urbane, cosmopolitan, or simply lonely? In other words, how do we decide where we belong? What convinces us that we do?”

In everything Morrison wrote, she offered narratives that revealed the journeys of characters, specific but universal, flawed and imperfect, with a deeply American desire for freedom and adventure. One might say that because her characters were almost exclusively African-American, the quest to be free — in mind, body and spirit — was the consistent adventure. She was also a masterful crafter of windows; when you opened a book of hers, the worlds you entered were so rich with detail, you could feel the molecules around you change as if you’d just taken a long flight and were descending onto the tarmac in a town or city where you’d never been.

I’ll say this. Reading Morrison can be daunting. She won the Nobel Prize, the Pulitzer, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. She was, and will remain for lifetimes to come, one of the finest writers to craft narrative in the English language. As Dwight Garner wrote when she died in 2019, “Morrison had a superfluity of gifts and, like few other writers of her era, bent language to her will. Her prose could be lush, or raw and demotic, or carefree and eccentric, often on a single page. She filtered folklore,

biblical rhythms, dreams, choral voices and a steep awareness of history into her work. In the best of her 11 novels … she transmuted the basic matter of existence into profound works of art.”

One of the greatest joys of Toni Morrison’s work is knowing that you will never get it all on the first read. In her Nobel Prize speech, she famously said, “We know you can never do it properly — once and for all. Passion is never enough, neither is skill. But try.”

She was talking, ostensibly, about writing and writers. But I think it also applies to readers, her readers in particular, the millions of people around the world who have read and re-read her books. To read Toni Morrison is to know that from her brilliant opening lines to the stunning last pages that leave you shook that you will likely never match her wit and wisdom, but what joy there is in trying!

As someone who had the privilege of interviewing her several times over the last decade of her life, I think I can say with confidence that she wanted all of us — intellectuals and romance readers, book club aficionados and those of us who binge TV more than books — to get in where we fit in. Creatively, Toni Morrison set a large and lavish table of literature. If you’re new to her work, or haven’t read her in a long while, here are some thoughts about where to start.

My attention span is short.

If, like so many of us, you’ve found the anxiety-ridden free time of the pandemic not exactly conducive to deep reading, I’d start with her Nobel Lecture in Literature. It is a slim 10 pages, available as a digital download and it is a powerful meditation on why we read, why writers write, and why it matters.

It is, from beginning to end, chock full of the gorgeous, sugar-spun prose that the Nobel Prize judges noted when deciding to award the prize to Morrison, “who in novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality.”

It was in this speech that she first uttered the words, “We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”

Relevant to the moment we’re in — and any hard times still to come — she offers up both an invitation and an invocation for the power of vulnerability to transform our relationships and ourselves: “For our sake and yours forget your name in the street; tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. Don’t tell us what to believe, what to fear. Show us belief’s wide skirt and the stitch that unravels fear’s caul.”

And she does what she did better than almost anyone else, bring to life the humanity of enslaved African-Americans, writing them so real that you can almost hear their whisper: “Tell us about a wagonload of slaves, how they sang so softly their breath was indistinguishable from the falling snow.”

Published March 1, 1994, 40 pp.

Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

I want to read one powerful, not too long, book.

Published in 1970, Morrison’s debut novel, “The Bluest Eye,” tells the story of Pecola Breedlove, a Black girl who has so deeply absorbed that whiteness conveys privilege and beauty and — this is important — protection, that she prays for God to turn her eyes blue.

It’s worth mentioning that white characters are rare in Morrison’s novels and among the many things this does is erase the prospect of easy villains. In “The Bluest Eye,” for example, the focus is always on Pecola — her jeopardy, her world view, her survival.

As Morrison would later tell The Times, “I was eager to read about a story where racism really hurts and can destroy you.”

But the book itself is by no means polemic. This is Morrison showing us how much she has mastered craft. There is not a single word in this novel that wasn’t considered, chosen and polished with the kind of love a real Pecola Breedlove would long for. An example: “Nuns go by as quiet as lust and drunken men and sober eyes sing in the lobby of the Greek hotel.”

Published 1970, 224 pp.

Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

I want to read a masterpiece.

“Beloved” is considered Morrison’s most important novel and rightly so. Many know it from the movie adaptation that was produced by and stars Oprah. The novel was inspired by the true story of Margaret Garner, a runaway enslaved woman, who decided when realizing that her captors were upon her, killed her daughter rather than allow her to return to the brutality of plantation life. It had been Garner’s aim to kill all four of her children before killing herself. It was a case that made papers across the nation, including The Times.

As Rebecca Carroll wrote in her Overlooked obituary of Garner, “Garner’s story has been preserved in history as both sensational and singular. It writ large a question that had been unanswered in the homes and hearts of whites in pre-Civil War America: Was slavery a fate worse than death? Garner, with knife in hand, gave an answer that was impossible to ignore.”

Morrison would go on to write the libretto for an acclaimed opera about Garner. In 2010, she told NPR, “"The interest is not the fact of slavery, but of what happens internally, emotionally, psychologically, when you are in fact enslaved and what you do you do to try to transcend that circumstance. And that really is what Margaret Garner reveals.”

“Beloved” is Morrison at the height of her gifts, asking and answering dozens of questions across the narrative: What is required in motherhood when the world is at its most menacing? What might this story tell us about life after death, love after despair, the healing power of forgiveness and the shelf life of vengeance and rage?

As Morrison once told the critic Hilton Als, “I didn’t want to grow up to be a writer, I wanted to grow up to be an adult.” And so in “Beloved,” as we will in other novels like “Jazz" and “A Mercy,” we get to see what a grown-up love looks like. When Paul D., who was enslaved at the same plantation as Sethe, the protagonist, describes their relationship, he never needs to use the word “love” to say what she means to him: ““There are too many things to feel about this woman. His head hurts. Suddenly he remembers Sixo trying to describe what he felt about the Thirty-Mile Woman. “She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It’s good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.”

Incidentally, “The Pieces I Am” is also the name of the powerful documentary on Morrison.

Published Aug 12, 1987, 288 pp.

Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

I love Marvel, mythology and origin stories.

“Song of Solomon,” the story of one Macon “Milkman” Dead, is infused with Morrison’s love of language and mythology. It begins with his birth the day after an insurance agent attempts to fly from the roof of the local hospital: “I will take off from Mercy and fly away on my own wings. Please forgive me. I loved you all.''

The palette of language Morrison uses in “Song of Solomon” is particular and vast. As she once said, “In my own family, there was street language, there was sermonic language.You know people actually quoted the Bible to you.” Morrison weaves that mixture of languages, high and low, slang and holy into a quest where the hero of the story searches for gold, purpose, meaning and truth.

In an interview about the book she said, “ “I was very enchanted with the myths and sagas, and, you know, mythological stories that had been told to us as we were kids. Because I thought, the one thing you can say about a myth is that there’s some truth in there, no matter how bizarre they may seem.

“And the one that I had always heard that seemed like just a child's wish was the one about Black people — Black slaves — who came to the United States, and under certain circumstances, they would fly back to Africa.”

She went on to explain that of course, the mythography that there were enslaved people who could fly had to do with escape. What struck her in reading narratives of former enslaved people that were collected in the 1930s was that this was a myth that came up again and again. Some people said they’d heard of people who could fly. Some claimed to have seen it with their own two eyes. But no one, Morrison noted, ever told an interviewer that the question was crazy or unheard of. The mythology of flight and freedom was deeply familiar to all of the former slaves. Throughout “Song of Solomon,” there is a beautifully woven thread of the possibility that this ancestral folk tale of black people and flight is true. (You can read more about this phenomenon in Virginia Hamilton’s powerful collection of African-American folktales and myths, “The People Could Fly.”)

Published 1977, 337 pp. Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

I want to read a story about female friendships.

“Sula” is about two women, cherished friends, who take decidedly different paths. Hilton Als wrote, “Part of the extraordinary power of ‘Sula’ is that it’s a world where men are not the focus. It’s the sound of women’s voices that takes precedence, makes the story.”

At one point in the novel, Sula returns home, and the grandmother who raised her says, “Well, don’t let your mouth start nothing that your ass can’t stand. When you gone to get married? You need to have some babies. It’ll settle you.”

Sula’s response? ““I don’t want to make somebody else. I want to make myself.”

How does a woman make herself? How can two women be friends when they make radically different choices about what their lives might look like? What can you forgive in a friendship and where is the line when the friend who is outlandish, bold and maybe just a little bit unhinged, becomes more of a liability than an inspiration? A full 25 years before books and shows like “Sex and the City” portrayed female friendship as being the emotional center of smart and daring women who wanted to live by their own rules, “Sula” posited that two straight women could actually be the love of each others’ lives.

Published November 1973, 192 pp.

Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

I love books, but make it fashion.

“Tar Baby” is the story of Jadine, a beautiful fashion model based in Paris, and the man she falls in love with — a working class guy from northern Florida called Son. (His father is known as the Old Man.) Can star-crossed lovers from different classes make it? As Jadine and Son traverse each other’s worlds, the question comes up again and again: What is home for these entirely different Black Americans? Is there one place where they can both feel whole?

Jadine and Son’s banter is so light and playful, one can only imagine the delight Morrison took in constructing it.

“Imagine something. Something that fits in the dark. Say the dark is the sky at night. Imagine something in it.”

“A star?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t. I can’t see it.”

“Okay. Don’t try to see it. Try to be it. Would you like to know what it’s like to be one? Be a star?”

“A movie star?”

“No, a star star. In the sky. Keep your eyes closed, think about what it feels like to be one.” He moved over to her and kissed her shoulder. “Imagine yourself in that dark, all alone in the sky at night. Nobody is around you. You are by yourself, just shining there. You know how a star is supposed to twinkle? We say twinkle because that is how it looks, but when a star feels itself, it’s not a twinkle, it’s more like a throb. Star throbs. Over and over and over. Like this. Stars just throb and throb and throb and sometimes, when they can’t throb anymore, when they can’t hold it anymore, they fall out of the sky.”

This novel is also a terrific way to explore Morrison, the naturalist. She slows down time when she takes in nature, with a wonder and precision that brings to mind the poet Mary Oliver. One example: “Bees have no sting on Isle des Chevaliers, nor honey. They are fat and lazy, curious about nothing. Especially at noon. At noon parrots sleep and diamondbacks work down the trees toward the cooler undergrowth. At noon the water in the mouths of orchids left there by the breakfast rain is warm. Children stick their fingers in them and scream as though scalded.''

Published Mar 12, 1981, 320 pp.

Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

I want historical fiction that swings.

“Jazz” is the story of a love triangle gone violently wrong. But it’s also about Harlem in the 1920s. It is Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston, Paul Robeson and Josephine Baker. It is shiny and powerful, hopeful and talented, it swings with possibility.

One of my favorite passages of all time in any book is from “Jazz,” and it goes like this: “I'm crazy about this City. Daylight slants like a razor cutting the buildings in half. In the top half I see looking faces and it's not easy to tell which are people, which the work of stonemasons. Below is shadow where any blasé thing takes place: clarinets and lovemaking, fists and the voices of sorrowful women. A city like this one makes me dream tall and feel in on things. Hep.”

James McBride, the award-winning author who is also a musician, wrote in this paper that “it is through jazz, actually, that one can best understand the imaginative power and technical mastery that Morrison has achieved over the course of her literary journey. No American writer I can think of, past or present, incorporates jazz into his or her writing with greater effect. Her work doesn’t bristle with jazz. It is jazz. Her novel of the same name is an homage to the genre. Jazz eats everything in its path — rock, classical, Latin. Like the great jazz musicians who evolved out of bebop and moved to free jazz, and whose later work demands listening, Morrison’s later novels are almost as enjoyable listened to as read. That is why, I suspect, she spends exhausting hours in the studio recording her books, instead of letting actors do the job. She’s the bandleader. She wrote the music. She knows where the song is going.”

Morrison recorded most of her own audiobooks, and to hear her say these words and so many others compounds the value of the gift of her narrative. Pat Conroy said that the four most important words in the English language are “tell me a story.” Hearing Morrison read her novels is like having the most elegant, erudite, elder in your tribe saying, “Come. Sit next to me, let me tell you a story.”

In every book, and on every page, one gets the sense that Morrison, who did not publish her first novel until she was 39 and did not quit her day job until more than a decade later, took the art of fiction as a solemn calling. Everything she put on the page was carefully constructed. We feel at home in the pages of her novel because her work is orchestral in scope and yet, especially in the audiobooks, there is always this enchanting intimacy that pulls you in. The books are important and mighty works of American literature, and yet somehow, it feels like she is speaking, writing, singing, just to you.

Published Apr 07, 1992, 229 pp.

Buy this book: Local booksellers, Barnes and Noble, Amazon.

Photograph by Sara Krulwich/The New York Times.

Produced by Rumsey Taylor.

[shawnjacksonsbs]

I'm going to start by saying I'm still going to post my entry and the video as I had planned to, but . . .

I have to add, that this evening I got a call that one of my older boys was in a terrible car wreck and that he was in the hospital.

Of course we headed out.

The whole way my head was reelin'. Is it just human nature to assume the worst in situations like this? Several actual worse case scenarios played out in my mind.

I still feel like I could throw up my heart at any second.

What if, what if, what if, what if.

. . .

What now?

He's ok.

He's probably not going to feel ok physically, mentally, or emotionally for a while, but he is.

If you're my people, and you know if you are, I just need you to be ok. Make good choices and be ok. Ok???

If you're not my people, well, I want the same for you guys, but it's just on a different level. Lol no lol

Everything below this is the entry I had written and planned out. I just had to get that out my head.

He's ok.

I'm still sick about it.

If you pray, please pray. Otherwise please keep him in your heart and in your positive thoughts.

~

Yeah.

Let's call this one

the REINS of TERROR,

because the ones holding them probably aren't who you think they are anyway. 11-4-23

""" Hawkeye : War isn't Hell. War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.

Father Mulcahy : How do you figure, Hawkeye?

Hawkeye : Easy, Father. Tell me, who goes to Hell?

Father Mulcahy : Sinners, I believe.

Hawkeye : Exactly. There are no innocent bystanders in Hell. War is chock full of them - little kids, cripples, old ladies. In fact, except for some of the brass, almost everybody involved is an innocent bystander. """

I don't normally attach my entries to videos. I've attached to a few pics or memes over the years, but this one . . .moved me, enough.

Now remember kids,

in real life,

"outta sight, outta mind" makes it too easy and way too comfortable to choose a side in a conflict you probably don't truly know much about.

Aside from what the media feeds ya, and then depending on your left or right wing news sources that lean their program in "your direction.". . .what???

It's this kinda shit that makes it hard for me to respect your politics and religion. I struggle with the little beauty I do find in it.

I just wanna scream fuck your religion and god damn your politics. If this is what comes from your side, try again.

You best be the gold standard for your cause, because this isn't ok.

AT ALL!

What about his fucking side??

I'd fight a side I agree with to protect the innocent.

I'd probably fight you to keep this boy out of harms way.

We are always involved in different conflicts, as a country, that we shouldn't be in, or choosing a side instead of forcing an end.

Is it a for profit war (?) hmm,

or are we scared to shut it all down because it's all sacred ground or whatever the fuck?

Repeatedly throughout my life, we rarely handle conflicts abroad in ways that make sense for anyone besides a few politicians, a few military leaders, and, I'd imagine, several of the rich and elite.

People aren't pawns on a chess board.

I'll never get over how innocent civilian casualties are statistically calculated, and they put a % on how many are acceptable losses. That's not just our country either, that's everywhere.

As our politicians in the House approve over 14 BILLION in military aid.

Aren't we still the world's #1 super power? Why aren't we . . .just stopping it.

Now, go ahead and bring your little bit of noise.

#damntheman at home or abroad

#killin'inthenameof

#fuckyourside, weak ass side anyways

Loving and caring will always be harder and the true path for the hero(s).

When I say share your LOVE and laughter with the WORLD, who the fuck is it, exactly, that you think I'm talking about?

Until next week, and just so there's no confusion;

"Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you."

(Others means: anyone not you, anyone not like you, everyone else)""

Perspective growth is knowing that my son laying up in the hospital and this little boy in the video have each enhanced my emotional range for the other.

Quite a bit, if I'm being honest. This happens to me more frequently these days than it ever used to. Js

[jasper-pagan-witch]

Books I Recommend For Beginners

I recommend these books for beginner witches (or even other magic users!) who don't know where to start and need a foundation built. These are my go-to recommendations, taken from my recommended reading page. But here, I hope to explain why I recommend these.

Every book here is by an author that is queer/queer-friendly, anti-appropriation, and explains things in a simple way that beginners shouldn't have trouble with. All opinions are my own, nobody gave me any money (but I wouldn't turn down a pizza night tbh) and my reviews are often scathing, so some of the high numbers here should speak for themselves.

If you'd like to see my recommendations for specific topics, send me an ask and I'll scrounge some up for ya!

Grovedaughter Witchery [2016] Bree NicGarran - @breelandwalker (Advice For Beginner Witches page and tag) and @/breenicgarran on Instagram Keywords: secular, practical, DIY and tutorial, spells, plants, candles 10/10 My review

Grovedaughter Witchery is one of my favorite books of all time, fiction and nonfiction alike. If someone came to me and asked for a book that explained fire safety, cursing safely, smoke cleansing without appropriating, solitary witchery and coven witchery, and consent in love magic, this is 100% the one I would give to them.

Kitchen Table Magic [2020] Melissa Cynova - @/melissacynova on Instagram Keywords: secular, broad, spells, divination 7/10

Kitchen Table Magic is one of those books that cleared the hot garbage threshold. It's kinda surface-level and tries to cover a lot in the first half, because the last half is chock full of spells and a guide to several kinds of divination: charm casting, bibliomancy (divination using books), pendulums, automatic writing, scrying and crystal balls, tarot, and bird divination.

The tarot section feels a little...basic, but that may be because I have Kitchen Table Tarot by the same author and I'm very familiar with tarot.

of witchcraft and whimsy [2017] Rose Orriculum - @orriculum (Witchcraft 101 masterpost) and @/orriculum on Instagram Keywords: secular, DIY and tutorial, practical, spells, food, candles 10/10 My review

I would give this book to someone who has never even heard of witchcraft before. It goes over mundane common sense needed for witchcraft (such as "not every divination reading is true" and fire safety), debunking common myths about witchcraft, and how to really get started. There's also information about spell work and making potions and tea spells - in fact, the number of spells in here is quite impressive considering how small the book is.

Every single spell is available freely on Orriculum's blog, so when you buy this book, you're really paying for the convenience of not having to shift through their 101 posts and their spells on their blog.

Queering Your Craft [2020] Cassandra Snow - @/tarotcassandra on Instagram Keywords: pseudo-Wiccan, broad, divination, spells, practical, DIY and tutorial 9/10

This is a thick book. While it's more Wiccan-based than the other ones, I feel like the content is worth enough otherwise to add onto this list. It covers almost everything that a beginner could wonder about, and it approaches it from a queer direction. The author is genderfluid and approaches magic from a queer activist angle, pushing for equality in all aspects of witchcraft and its spaces.

However, there are some problems with this book. It's definitely a pusher for the Wheel of the Year, which is...complicated in its history. The author also says that shadow work (which isn't even witchcraft, it's psychology) is necessary. Mx. Snow also cites poppets as coming from voodoo, hoodoo, or "folk magic" - poppets are from an English folk practice and have been adopted into voodoo and hoodoo because that's part how the practitioners were able to continue their religion, but... Look, I have a whole post in the works with sources discussing poppets and their history, just wait for that.

I also had a note in here about Florida Water and appropriation in this book, but I literally can't find where it was because Past Jasper didn't think to write down the page number it was on. Past Jasper is making things very hard for Current Jasper.

But besides these three (four?) problem spots, I still do recommend it. For a book covering a wide array of topics, it's thick enough that it's able to give most of these topics the attention and respect that they deserve.

[normal-horoscopes]

Getting Started With Magic:

I am often asked “Caretaker I want to get in to magic but I don't know where to start. Any recommendations?“ and I am at a loss for an answer. Magic is about as unformalized as you can get, and due to the nature of the occult in general, attempting to find a good starting point is almost explicitly impossible. What follows is a jumble of broad generalizations that make up my best shot:

Part 1: A sense of humor

The world is magic. Everything from physical objects and people to ideas and dreams has some relationship with magic. Some things are chock full of it, some are made of it, some resist it, some produce it, some feed off it. At the end of the day, any magical practice will involve experimenting, reading, and learning firsthand how different things interact with magic. Our goal with these first steps is to figure out how you personally interact with magic.

For us humans, magic comes in three primary forms I call humors. To use an analogy, if magic itself is the idea of color these are the three primary colors. Almost any magical act will function on some blend of these three things. Most practitioners tend to either specialize in one humor, or sit comfortably in the middle between two, and the majority have at least modest ability with all three. The humors, the magic based on them, and the archetypes associated with them, are described below. See if one in particular stands out to you.

The Sorcerer - Will: Will magic is logical. Things like sigilcraft, occult geometry, runework, and most forms of magical artifice like enchantment, are all based on will. Traditionally, will magic has been the purview of secret societies, alchemists, and occult researchers. A will user manipulates the magic of the world through sheer focus, and often finds themselves drawn to the mathematical elements of magic. They are the person who spends long hours pouring over occult texts that seem to pull them in.

The Priest - Faith: Faith magic is social. Anything involving communication or interaction with a non-human entity or intelligence is generally faith magic. Most religious magic is based on faith, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be faith in a god, just faith in something besides yourself. This could be anything from the major god of an established religion, to a pagan god, to a local water spirit, to a ghost, to a demon. These are your priests, mediums, and spirit workers.

The Witch - Instinct: Instinct magic is meditative. Its anything that works best when you don't think about it, or anything that works based on vibes. Most folk magic and superstition falls into this category, along with the oracular arts, divination, and most of alchemy and herbology. Instinct users have a good nose for when stuff just feels magic. These are your classic witches, psychics, and apothecaries. 

[rockofeye]

Out of the depths.

It is somehow appropriate that a re-emergence and re-alignment comes with the beginning of the month of May. May is a big month for vodouizan; we celebrate Kouzen and all his family this month and, for people from Jacmel, it is a month devoted to celebrating Jacmel's heritage, which is tied closely to Kouzen. It is said Jacmel is where Kouzen was from before he went to more rural areas; it's not a coincidence that fet Jacmel and fet St Jacques e St Philippe (the patrons of Jacmel) are celebrated on the same days as fet Kouzen (May 1 and May 2).

I've been thinking about Kouzen a lot lately. It's been a difficult year in a lot of ways, but not a bad year. COVID has really permanently changed how things in my professional field work, and with the help of Kouzen and a few of my other lwa, I managed to leverage that into a position using all my professional strengths with the org that has been my target for employment for years. Landing that has not only been life-changing and future-solidifying, but really reinforces that I know what I know and that I am an expert at what I do.

That's a lesson that comes from Kouzen, and it's one that I struggle to learn and remember in my life. Kouzen shows me balance: he is the expert worker in his field (literal and figurative), but you might never know that from how he does his work. Underestimate him and you'll find out, but how he carries himself keeps his mastery of work and growth and agriculture from being the first thing that you see.

I'm pretty okay with that part, but that's the part I get tripped up about. I don't find anything fulfilling professionally or personally about illustrating what I know,, but there is a difference between going about your business and actively hiding from those moments where you can insert who you are and what you know.

I'm a hider. It might sound kind of funny coming from someone who has been writing a blog in the internet for close to a decade, but it's true: I am actually pretty shy and private and being the center of attention--professional or personal--is kind of horrifying to me. I've reached the point in my life where I don't feel I have a lot to prove because I know what I know, but in many ways that's just not possible for me. I don't work in a field where I can just close my office door and have it all be fine, and the lwa have made clear time after time that I cannot just ride off into Ginen with them and live a private life.

This has something that is always a struggle for me because I am introverted and like my alone space and time. It comes back to the good ol' lessons the lwa want me to learn over and over: balance and vulnerability. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes I react like a cat thrown into a bathtub full of water. The lwa win some, I lose some.

I had to get my ass in gear with the notions of balance and putting myself out there and being vulnerable in knowing my worth and demanding (politely) that it be recognized when I found myself completely dissatisfied with my job(s). I was working two jobs (houngans and manbos know about that hustle...) and making good money, but I was ready to work one job and free up time for spiritual work and projects.

I took a chance and applied for a job that was juuuuust within my experience. It was definitely bigger than what I was doing and while it was within my experience level, I honestly wasn't perfectly qualified....but you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, so I buffed up the resume, sent it off, and sat with my lwa about it. I told them that if this was where I was supposed to go next, I knew they would clear the way.

I didn't get it.

I made it through two rounds of interviews, but ultimately there was an incumbent with 10 more years of experience than I have, and that's almost always a losing equation. I was okay with it because I still had work and at the end of the day, I don't have to love my job to cash the paychecks.

BUT....the lwa had another plan. The team of interviewers liked me, and so I got headhunted for a position that was very, very in line with my professional experience and goals. I spoke with them several times about it and they made me an offer....and it was so low I almost rejected the offer outright.

I was both angry and scared at the same time; angry because the salary offer was ridiculously offensive based on my career history and scared because I have never been in a position to turn down a job offer or, honestly, negotiate.

This time was the first time in my life that I was planning to leave a job because I wanted to. I grew up in a upper working class home and as an adult have spent too much time jobless and underemployed to discount steady work and a regular paycheck. It was scary as hell to be staring down the possibility of kicking the steady paycheck to the side in favor of taking a step into the unknown.

When I got the offer letter, I sat down with the lwa and literally cried because I was so burned out with my other job that it was affecting my performance, but here I was getting a bullshit offer for a hugely involved job. It felt like a loss if I took it and affirmed that both my experience and what they were asking of me was only worth what they were offering. It felt like a loss if I didn't take it, because those opportunities do not come alone like that very often.

It was such a moment of unique despair. Like, I was not hurt or anything tragic but that feeling like I was painted into a corner and that the choices in front of me would leave me at a loss was HUGE and real. For me, when I feel like that it's hard for me to turn on the part if my brain that's analytical. I just need to sit in my misery for a minute (or more) until I get it together enough to figure out what to do.

That is where the blessing of Kouzen (and really all the lwa) came in. He told me to go back to the table, creat another option, and ask for my worth. Like, not swing my proverbial dick and be an asshole, but go be vulnerable and say that the offer was disappointing and that I expected more. So weird because it makes so much sense, right? And yet there I was totally sold that I was either going to be worked like a mule for less money than I was making already, or I was going to remain in The Bad Place until something else came along.

So I did. Even if I felt pessimistic about it (I did) and thought they would say no (convinced of it), I did what I was told because at the end of the day I agreed to sèvis lwa because I believe in the vision the lwa have for me. Some days I say that through gritted teeth, but that's my guiding principle and they have never let me down.

I sent in my counteroffer and waited for the 'we're sorry, but..' email. It was fucking scary. My agency is a behemoth in my field and has been around forever, so pushing back felt a little bit like David versus Goliath, and I didn't have the benefit of a sling and a rock.

It took two days but they got their offer almost to what I asked for, so I took it and it was a huge relief. I am sure that somewhere in the background Kouzen maybe did a quiet fist pump of 'Alex learned a thing' before going back to his work.

In all seriousness, that's a lesson I have struggled so hard with and it was a moment where I had to put it all into practice and rely on what the lwa have taught me as being an ultimate truth. Knowing my worth is not enough; I have to be able to communicate that in a way that both opens doors and doesn't get me used as a doormat. Not doing that seems like it would be almost offensive to Kouzen because, at least in this case, it would be essentially leaving money on the table and wasting it. My Kouzen is very rational about money, but the idea of not trying to set up my financial future makes his eyes bug out and would probably result in Having To Have A Conversation, which I avoid at all costs. Nothing like the lwa reminding you not to fuck up your own blessings.

Getting settled into this particular blessing has been what has been occupying my time the most these days. I came back from Haiti and went right into this job. I have finally clawed my way into administration and, in a very Kouzen twist, am responsible for managing several million dollars worth of grants and spending them both quickly and wisely. I work closely with the person in the position I originally interviewed for and am really happy I didn't get that job, as I am able much better fit where I am.

What else? In late January, I turned in a final draft of a chapter I was tapped to write for a book detailing the experiences of people who are converts to African Traditional and Diasporic religions. I'm excited to see the book when it comes out; I was the only writer on Haitian Vodou, and so it is chock full of other experiences from people from all different places who converted at some point in their life to a huge variety of African and African Descended religions and cultural practices. It's a project that has been in the works for several years, and it was interesting to see personal growth during my involvement in it and while tracking and detailing my journey from a fairly conservative Protestant upbringing to where I am now as a sèvitè lwa.

My living situation has changed up in the middle of this and I am once again at a point in my life where I have a dedicated space for my lwa. Living in one of the most expensive cities in the US has meant roommates and keeping my lwa in a closet in my room (my most recent roommate lovingly referred to them as the Closet People), but the lwa managed to swing it so I have a room dedicated to my spirits.

I have longing for that for so long...it's been years since that was a reality, and now it's finally a thing again. I always have the room for my lwa as my studio space too, since they are a creative force behind a lot of it, and it make my heart so full again to have room to spread out. It's such a gift for me. No more sitting down to pray and having my roommate start to have sex with their partner on the other side of the wall....I cannot tell you how many times that has happened.

Recently I listened to my mother tell some folks how to make tchaka/Kouzen's favorite meal. The regleman/ritual food is one of the most important parts of both ceremony and personal relationships with the lwa, and Kouzen reminded me that it had been quite awhile since I made him tchaka and boy his stomach would feel so much better with some tchaka in it and I already had a lot of the ingredients and wouldn't it be delicious to make some doumbrey for the tchaka too?

...so I went shopping for what I would need for tchaka for my beloved Kouzen because I have clearly neglected his stomach for too long. Living in a city with a huge Haitian population is great because the Haitian grocery store I went to had joumou/Haitian pumpkin, lalo sèk/dried jute leaves, tritri/tiny dried shrimp, djondjon/Haitian black mushrooms, fresh kowosol/soursop(!!!!!), and fresh lam veritab/breadfruit(!!!!!!!!!!).

It is so rare to find fresh kowosol and lam up here in New England because it def doesn't grow here and it doesn't last well when it's shipped....but it looked great today. The kowosol is going to be for me...ji kowosol ak lèt is a favorite, ESPECIALLY with a little Barbancourt poured in...and Kouzen will either get some tomtom or at least boiled lam veritab with his tchaka. Also have the makings of some bonbon siwo, so this husband is gonna eat GOOD. He deserves it.

And then...? Our live-on-Zoom socially distanced fet Kouzen will be sometime late in May. Making our fets available for folks to 'attend' at a distance has been surprisingly cool. I was not thrilled about the idea because of my personal hangups (I hate being on camera) but it's been really wonderful and has been a way for people who can't get to the temple to be able to share energy and get a taste of what a real Haitian fet is like. COVID isn't going away anytime soon, so we'll probably keep doing our fetes this way for awhile.

And...Haitian Summer is coming. I could write another whole post on what's going on down in Haiti, but I am very much looking forward to our kanzo and fet cycle this summer. My very favorite ceremonies are part of kanzo, and I love the opportunity to see the lwa in their home in the temple. I've been so lucky to be able to travel safely to Haiti several times during this mess, and it has fed my soul. It's safer for me and many of my family members now that we are vaccinated, so one less thing to worry about.

With Kouzen's month and the season of spring, I hope for growth in new directions for each of you, complete with all the blessings that Kouzen can bring: fertility and fecundity, inspiration, energy, commitment, rootedness, solid partnerships, and wise investments in self, community, relationships, and business ventures. May the fresh breeze bring you health with every breath and wealth with every exhale.

[resonant-star]

Hello! I know this might be a little random, but I’ve been helping a friend who’s trying to connect with her Egyptian roots and have been looking for book recs etc. for kemetism! I was wondering if maybe you had any? Thank you in advance and I hope you have a lovely day❤️

Hi there! I haven't found Kemetism to be writhe with great literature when it comes to practical application though I would welcome anyone who can prove me wrong. The Ancient Egyptian Prayer Book by Tamara Siuda is chock full of prayers in the ancient style but I never felt particularly drawn to any of them. They just feel dry to me. I've read a couple of books on Egyptian magic but I didn't learn a thing about how to actually perform it myself.

Since I've been a longtime student of Eastern religions I did enjoy Meditation the Ancient Egyptian Path to Enlightenment by Dr. Muata Ashby. This book suggests that the ancient Egyptians were the original yogis and were well versed in meditation, following (or inventing perhaps) the original formula for spiritual awakening. As a meditator it gave me some encouragement that the Netjeru support my practices of inner transformation, when before I viewed the two worlds as almost separate. You can find it on Kindle if you're interested. I guess it all depends on what you're after. I have yet to find a book that hits all the sweet spots for me on this subject.

Thanks for the ask! If you're looking for opinions I have a few I've collected over the years. Hope this helps and I wish your friend many revelations on their path.

[yourlatitude]

indemnify. (ii)

Gaius find himself trapped in her eyes. She got into his head and all he wants is to hurt her like she did. But he couldn’t. Not when it cause him a greater pain for himself.

(18+ Trigger Warning. Explicit. Smut. Heavy one.)

The story is set long after the last war with Rheya and Gaius is confused with his purpose. The story may sounds disturbing, but that’s how Gaius and Lily-Rose functioning at first. They seeks justification and solace for their loved one.

(Bloodbound: Gaius Augustine x Lily-Rose Raines (OC))

PART I. PART II.

i.

She stares at her mother’s painting for an hour straight. If she opens her cap, everyone will start to look at her instead of the painting. Lily-Rose realized the resemblance between her and her mother is uncanny with a splash of her father here and there. Thank God her parents are gorgeous.

She usually visits this museum until late, waiting for a certain person to come and do what she’s doing right now. She saw him first in the history book. Then every time her mother touched her when she’s feeding. Then in her dreams. And last time was in her connected dream with her mother that turned her eyes permanently red. Blood red. Doing nothing to conceal her true nature as a vampire.

Not that she tried to hide. Humans and vampires live together in peace now, with a little of stupidities here and there of course. She can walk under the sun, somehow, and doing just fine with eating human food. So she never had the urge to hide. She was born past beyond those hardships era that her Godmother, Kamilah, often told her when she was a child.

Her senses tingling when she smells him. She quickly moves from her spot and let him have his usual spot. He is earlier than usual. Tall, dark-haired, piercing blue eyes, sharp jaw, and sharp structure of his face. He is sharp everywhere. Even his smell is too sharp to her liking.

Lily-Rose has been stalking him for a month. After endless dreams and nightmares with his face in it, she couldn’t take it anymore. She needs to find him.

Gaius Augustine stands in front of her mother’s painting as always. 30 minutes minimum. Just staring at her like he is praying to her. Lily-Rose doubt that he is praying to any God. Yet his eyes always looking at her mother as her mother is his religion. Well, her mother is some kind of Goddess to many vampires. Including her father.

But this man killed her. While she was just a lowly human. Helpless one. Why is he praying to her now? Is he praying to her face? To her strength?

Lily-Rose aches to touch him. To get inside his head. To find out how to hurt him like how he hurt his mother. The last connection she had with her mother almost killed Lily-Rose in the process. Her mother’s memory of him was too unbearable. She faced death too many times. And Lily-Rose could feel it too real. Like she is the one who’s being stabbed.

You know, her hair is actually not that wavy in real life? She said, finally ready to face him.

He said something then turn around. She walks closer to him, let him watch the face he worshipped turned into two.

Adora. He whispered enough for Lily-Rose to hear.

ii.

Every time they met, the fucked.

Not like Lily-Rose hates it. He had her body under his control. But his emotions? She got it right under her palm.The more they touched, the more she reads his mind. And the more confused she is.

He wants her. Did he got confused to think that she is her mother?

She feels his pleasure every time he hit his release, spilling into her. But she also feels his guilt and shame. Should she be sorry for him?

Fucking no. He killed her mother. Tortured her. Killing so many people. He deserves none of her sorry.

“I let you taste your own sin, Gaius. I make you do what you love the most.  Making sins.” Lily-Rose said what she always wanted to say.

And he lost control on top of her. Everything just spilled into her. His fear. His pleasure. His guilt. His shame. His anger. His jealousy. His desire.

He cried her name. Lily-Rose grips his back, crying on her own.

She wanted to hurt him, but little did she know that she is just her mother’s daughter. She feels his hurt when she stills in his head.

iii.

“You get what you want. Now leave me alone.” He said as he gets off from her.

Lily-Rose, spent and confused, staring at him unmoved as the male one get off from his bed and sit in the dark.

"You can fuck me. All you want. But never, never get into my head again." He hissed at her. She stops her sobbing and sits down, "I can't hurt you if I'm not inside your head."

"Well, congratulations. You just did. Does it make you feel better?" 

Betrayal. Too much betrayal in his stare.

"No. Shockingly no."

"I spent centuries, fucking centuries, having women inside my head. Controlling me. You aren't welcome inside. This?" He points to his head, "You can't have it." 

She can feel her hand trembles so hard. She never feels this way before except with her mom. He feels terrible in her touch. His mind is too... too much in her touch.

"What is this thing you feel inside your head, Gaius?" her question came as a whisper.

"Fuck! Just go! Just fucking go!" His words come out as a loud groan. Shockingly, she is not afraid. 

Pity. She feels pity.

Lily-Rose just stares at his blood-red eyes, unmoved. A second later, she is alone in his room. Gaius Augustine is nowhere to be found.

iv.

"I was born in sunny July. In the middle of somewhere in Italy. My birth was a shock, and unimaginable. My mother had to give up walking for 6 painful months with me inside her belly. I was feasting her inside her belly."

Fast pregnancy for too-fast growing fetus like her. She almost killed her mother.

After their last encounter, she couldn't find Gaius everywhere for 3 months. She couldn't smell him anywhere besides her own body. Now he is here, in the middle of nowhere in Barcelona.

"How the fuck you find me?" Gaius turned around. 

Her heart suddenly drops to his belly at his sight. Too much pain. It's too painful for him to look at her.

"Our minds were linked before. It took time, but I know how to spot you again." She said, walking closer and close their distance. She lifts her hand to his cheek, staring at those blue eyes for a sign of rejection before she places it on his cheek when he nods.

"Adora could find you?"

"Anywhere. She could find me anywhere."

He closes his eyes and she can instantly feel his emotions. Solace and fear. Which one is for her?

"I can feel Adora in your blood."

"Well, she is my mom?" Lily-Rose chuckles.

He opens his eyes, "I couldn't feel Adrian on you."

She sighs and pulls back her hand, "She fed me her blood. It's crucial to keep me alive and not turning into feral."

"Why don't they just kill you? I couldn't imagine Adrian will agree to see someone feeding on his Adora."

Gaius' word hit her hard.

After she was born, it took 2 years for her father to be able to hold her. The fear, the anxiety, and little hint of hatred filled those blue eyes for the first year of her life. Well, she almost killed the love of his life. She couldn’t blame him.

“I bet someone already had those ideas in their head, but mom wouldn’t let them.” She smiles. Gaius nods and pulls something out from his pocket.

A picture of her mother.

“This is the last solid piece of her that I have with me. You wanted to hurt me that badly? Here, take it.” He said as he offers the piece of paper into her hand. Lily-Rose stares at the picture. All it takes to hurt Gaius Augustine is Adora Raines. That’s why it’s so painful for him to look at her face.

Lily-Rose has her mother’s face.

Those brown eyes, sometimes turned red, full of compassion and love. The only pair of eyes that never looked at her like Lily-Rose is such an unimaginable thing. To her mother, Lily-Rose is just Lily-Rose. Her baby. Her little baby vampire.

She knows she is different as long as she remembered. Everyone has been having a very good job of reminding her. She wasn’t turned. She was conceived. Adrian Raines got her mother pregnant and voila, the most unimaginable thing popped up to be her.

“I was feeding on her for a long time. My body growing so slow. It took me 30 years to be fully grown, like an actual adult. Like this.” she said.

Gaius looks at her for a minute, eyes travels down from her head to her feet. “And you grow up to be beautiful.”

v.

They spent their time mostly together. Barcelona, Milan, Moscow, Warsaw, Cannes. Mostly tangled in the sheet together. They fucked and fucked. Cried and cried. She let him. And he let her.

The touch of his skin and his emotion on her palms become too addictive to her. He always had new emotions with him every time they fuck. How can he handle that much emotions in one time?

Lily-Rose never tried to get inside his head again. Hurting him means hurting her. Hurting him means involving her mother. And she doesn’t want it. When his cock is inside her and it’s her name that he screamed through the night, she doesn’t want any other female hurting him in his head. No one but her.

“Do you have to touch someone to get inside their head?” He asked one night after their intimate session. Lily-Rose nods, “I couldn’t get into their head without touching like my mother did.”

“Is it painful? To have your power?”

For a second she sees worried in his eyes. “No when they are not hurting. Yes when they are hurting. But mostly I don’t really care about everyone’s pain. Just several people.”

Gaius holds her hand, kisses it before place it on his forehead. A second later, Lily-Rose bursts into tears. The loudest cry she ever cried. The hardest cry she ever made. Her sobs are chocking her painfully. Blood red eyes blazing through in the middle of New York’s midnight.

“Am I hurting you, Lily-Rose?” Gaius whispers as he kisses her tears.

vi.

She told him about her dreams. The one that took her brown eyes. And all other dreams about him inside. In exchange, he told her about his past from his point of view. None like the one written in history books.

They travel together in daylight. Even with his anti-sunshine technology, it still drained him a lot. Gaius still mesmerized by the fact that Lily-Rose doesn’t get affected by the sun. They walk by day and fuck by night.

After long fuck, drained and satisfied with their marks on each other, they just lay down and talk. About her world and his world.

Lily-Rose could feel a little less shame and guilt in his eyes. In exchange, she feels devotion and fear. But she doesn't complain as she feels that in her too. Maybe they linked their minds too strong. Maybe they fucked too much. She just doesn't care.

Gaius sees less of Adora in her. She just looks like Lily-Rose now. Maybe he realized too much Adrian's features on her face or maybe he had too much of her smell around him to think about anyone else.

They walk around, finding someone in need. She is a doctor. Sometimes she is Dr. Lily, sometimes she is Dr. Adrienne, and sometimes she is Dr. Anna. They changed their names in every place they visit. Only at night, they call themselves their real names. An endearment of intimacy.

Her mother knows. Adora knows that Gaius is fucking her daughter.

Once they accidentally met on a busy road in Berlin. It surprised him that he couldn't even realize her sooner. Gaius was too busy picking oranges for Lily-Rose when he saw her. Across the road, holding Adrian's hand. 4 of them exchanged glances for a minute before Adora and Adrian suddenly gone in the middle of the ocean of people.

"She said I smell like you." Lily-Rose chuckled as she sniffed herself.

He won't complain.

"What are you thinking?"

She whispers, stirring in her sleep before opening her eyes. Blood red eyes.

"Why don't you find out?" Gaius asked.

"You know I promised I won't get into your head unless it's urgent."

She did promise it.

The moonlight making her eyes glow more than usual. If he has to drown in blood, her eyes are the only blood he wants.

"It's okay. I give you permission. You won't hurt me." he guides her hand to his forehead and closes his eyes. A couple of minutes passed, and he opened his eyes to find her sobbing.

"What are you doing to me, Gaius?" She sobs.

"It will take longer than you could imagine, but please don't hurt me again. If you leave, it will be the greatest pain for me."

Her eyes glow in desperation. Yearning.

"I don't want to hurt you no more."

Gaius pulls her face to his, "Then stay with me."

God, whichever that is, finally granted his wish. 

After 3 years of yearning, she kisses him.

They find what they looking for.

Solace. Purpose. Justification. Chance. Acceptance. Forgiveness.

[radedneko]

Top Books of 2020

As for everyone, this was a tough year for me, yet I somehow managed to read 237 books from 35 US states and 35 countries, a new record.  Altogether, I racked up over 55,700 pages, which isn’t bad if you consider the absurd amount of time I spent playing Animal Crossing and the fact that I decided to read The Journey to the West, which is denser than it has any right to be.

You’re going to notice a lot of comfort reads on here; I specifically excluded the nonfiction about race, politics, and sexuality I read from this list, because, honestly, you shouldn’t need me to tell you to read How to be an Antiracist and there are much better reading lists for those subjects than I could make.  Instead, you get my top 11 fiction and popular fiction.  My next post will be graphic novels. 

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune: The rest aren’t in ranked order, but this was hands-down my favorite book of the year.  Chances are, I’ve already recommended it to you no matter what you usually read.  It’s a fantasy with major Diana Wynne Jones vibes, the literal antichrist, and a gentle, gay romance thrown in.  Plus, it’s about overthrowing the system with kindness, so I heartily approve.  I cannot emphasize how much you should read this book.  Klune’s YA superhero book, The Extraordinaries, almost made this list as well, but was narrowly beaten out due to the sheer number of good books I read this year.  

The Empress of Salt & Fortune by Nghi Vo: This novella is so beautifully-written, with world-building that left me wanting Discworld levels of books written in it. The storykeeper concept and oral story/secret-telling device had me hooked; I read the entire thing in a sitting, then immediately read it again to soak in the prose. It also got points for having a nonbinary main character without having any plot points specifically being about this fact.  I’m hyped about the sequel.

The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea by Maggie Tokuda-Hall: I’m a sucker for fairy tales, and even more so for original fairy tales, so it should come as no surprise that I put a book chock-full of them on this list.  The characters were all well-fleshed out and so, so diverse, the prose was amazing, and it was an adventure story as much as it was a romance.  I wasn’t surprised when multiple library review magazines put this on their Top of 2020 lists.  It deserves it.

Mudlark: In search of London's past along the River Thames by Lara Maiklam: This book created a new obsession for me--looking at Mudlark Instagrams.  It also made my history-loving self swoon and reminded me just how many hours I spent digging up my yard as a kid to find cracked pottery and animal bones in the refuge piles from whoever lived in the house 100 years ago (thanks, Mom, for letting me dig random 4-foot-deep holes everywhere).  

Not So Pure and Simple by Lamar Giles: Not a whole ton of YA manages to depict the male teenage voice correctly, and even fewer manage to do so while also tackling important issues.  I can hand this to just about any teen boy and be confident that they’ll love it, but also sneakily give them a lesson in consent, toxic masculinity, sexuality, and the intersection of all of these with religion.  Just as importantly, it’s hilarious.  Giles has yet to have written a book I didn’t love, honestly. 

Red Hood by Elana K. Arnold: I know, I know.  A LRRH retelling made this list. Surprise. But, seriously, the combination of biting modern social commentary, the themes of the old oral versions (the wolves are both literal and metaphorical werewolves, the grandmother’s passing her powers onto the granddaughters), and characters I loved made this easily one of my favorites for the year.  Don’t ask me exactly what I loved about this one; it’ll turn into an hours-long rant. 

Slay by Brittney Morris: This is another one I could hand to just about any kid and be confident they’d love it.  It’s got all the marks of a thriller, combined with social commentary, huge character growth, and a family you root for.  It’s also unabashedly geeky.  I just wish AR didn’t make me massively nauseous. 

Stealing Thunder by Alina Boyden: Adult fantasy is typically behind YA in terms of representation and originality, and yes, often quality, so I was surprised when I loved this one.  A main character who seems like a real person, deep worldbuilding, dragons, a romance that didn’t make me want to murder everyone involved and didn’t feel shoehorned, the author did actual research...I can’t wait for the next in the series. 

The Storm of Life by Amy Rose Capetta: This is the second in a duology, so you’d better read The Brilliant Death first, but this was a wholly satisfying sequel and an amazing book in its own right.  The magic system, the characters, the villains, the dialogue--everything was well-done and I was annoyed every time I had to put the book down to go do something as banal as go to work or sleep. 

Weird Women: Classic Supernatural Fiction by Groundbreaking Female Writers: 1852-1923, edited by Lisa Morton and Leslie S. Klinger:  Was every story in this anthology mind-blowing?  No.  But there was only one I disliked, and this led me to so many writers I otherwise wouldn’t have heard about that it absolutely deserves a spot on this list.  Some of these tales were eerie to the extreme and all could easily be slotted into a literature class.  “In Nut Bush Farm” haunted my dreams for weeks, and I got to read some of the most original werewolf lore I’ve ever come across.  Plus, who doesn’t want to read really creepy ghost stories written by Louisa May Alcott and Frances Hodges Burnett?

Woven in Moonlight by Isabel Ibañez: This book is a true under-the-radar gem.  It needs way more recognition than it’s gotten.   Bolivian-inspired fantasy with characters you feel for, whether good or bad, I loved the magic and the thrills.  Weaving moonlight into tapestries as part of a rebellion? Living moonlight? Tested loyalties, spies, and food descriptions that made my mouth water?  There was nothing about this book I didn’t like.  When the sequel comes out, I’m dropping everything else I’m doing to read it.

[woossexyponytail]

Shadow Born, Chapter 5, How it all began.

Masterlist.

We made our way home. Auntie already waiting for all of us at the front door.

"Come in, come in darlings" auntie said as we all followed her to the kitchen.

The guy's looked around the building, being their first time in the house. Yeosang almost walked in to Leviathan stand, he hoowd at him, peeking at Yeosang's head. Ducking and jumping away, he freaked out until he saw it was an owl. Wooyoung watching the whole thing pointing and laughing at Yeosang.

Though then Wooyoung walked in to Vinegar Tom cage, as he slithered up to Wooyoung. He turned around seeing the snake and screamed as he ran behind Hongjoon. Yeosang laughed back at Wooyoung as I rolled my eyes at the stupid scene and Yunho chuckled at the two. Auntie made us sit down in at the dining table.

"A nice pot of calming tea might help soothe all of your nerves." Auntie said going over to the kettle to make us tea. Auntie placed the cups down on the table for us.

"Thank you auntie but my nerves are perfectly fine. Which is more than I can say for you lot. Running around like headless chickens." I said grabbing my cup and taking a sip.

"So can someone please explain to us what the hell happened?" Hongjoon asks looking around at the three of us waiting for an explanation. "Yeah and why was I able to summon a a demon?" San asked looking confused, he looked up at me and I couldn't help but look away, I don't want to be the one to tell him.

"We are not human but something called shadow born we have magic in our blood" auntie said as she sat down with us to explain. "Shadow born? What does that mean?" Wooyoung asked looking around at us.

"Like witches?" Jongho asked grabbing his cup and taking a slow sip. "In other words, yes" Yunho agreed nodding his head.

"Shadow born, How is that possible?" Hongjoon asked rubbing his head, "Well I'm hoping you all know your Christian study's" auntie said looking around at the guys.

"Like God?, Satan?, heaven and hell?" Yeosang asked raising an eyebrow at that. "Yes exactly. Shadow borns where born from fallen angels millions of years ago" auntie told them.

"Fallen angels?" Wooyoung asked I could feel his eyes burning in to me, I just rolled my eyes. "Fallen angels are  angels who were expelled from heaven. The literal term fallen angel used to describe angels who were cast out of heaven, or angels who sinned. Such angels often tempt humans to sin." I said shrugging at them.

"So Shadow born are angels?" Yeosang asked eyes wider then I've seen, his mouth dropping open.

"It's a little more complicated. You see it started as a war in heaven between  angels led by the Archangel Michael against those led by the dragon, identified as lucifer the morning star or the devil, who was defeated and thrown down to the earth." Auntie said.

"The motif of a heavenly being striving for the highest seat of heaven only to be cast down to the underworld." I said, just then I heard a meow, looking over Stolas came running over and jumped up on my lap.

"Yep he was cast down then mocked by God. 'How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! You said in your heart, 'I will ascend to the heavens; I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of Mount Zaphon. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.' But you are brought down to the realm of the dead, to the depths of the pit. Those who see you stare at you, they ponder your fate: 'Is this the man who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble, the man who made the world a wilderness, who overthrew its cities and would not let his captives go home?'

Once on earth he created his own religion, satanism. Leading many angels that stood by his side in the war to become followers once again." Auntie explained.

"Shadow borns are descendants from fallen angel's, we have angel blood that allows us to step foot in holy lands. God believes shadow borns are abominations" Yunho said as he stood up and grabbed some crisps from the cupboard.

"Abominations?" San asked his eye glued on to Stolas as he leaned over and scratched behind Stolas ear, the cat started purring.

"Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are swift in running to mischief, a false witness who utters lies, and one who spreads strife among brothers." I told him watching as Stolas jumped over to San and sat on his lap.

"So sixteen years ago God's plane started and sent his disciples down to earth to exterminate all shadow borns, which is why so many people died in the attack here, one of them being your farther, San." Auntie said her voice low and soft, looking over sadly at him.

"My...my farther?" San froze looking over at auntie shocked about that, I watched closely as I saw some tears in his eyes, I rubbed his shoulder as he looked up at me, a sad smile now placed on him lips.

"You are half shadow born, that's why you were able to summon that demon" auntie explained. "Jongho is a full shadow born, but no one knew so both of your magic was dormant for being suppressed for so many years" she said walking over to the sink.

"And how do we get our magic back?" Jongho asked eyes wide with excitement. "You little one have to cast a spell, any really. But you are a little harder to deal with, after all you need someone to do a reborn ritual for you. Most likely Yn." Auntie explained further rubbing her chin.

"WHAT!?" I said as I chocked on my tea not expecting auntie to say something like that. "A reborn ritual? What's that?" San asked now looking back over to me.

"Auntie that's really dangerous-" I ignored San's curious eyes as I looked over at auntie, but then Yunho interrupted me. "Not to mention really intimate" he said chuckling at the situation, I slapped him at the back of the head.

"Uhm what!?" San asked eyes wide again as he looked over at Yunho who was now rubbing his head. "EXACTLY!? No absolutely not, I'm not doing it" I told auntie crossing my arms.

"I think it should be up to San if he wants to do it or not, right Yn?" Auntie asked, I slumped down in my seat getting uncomfortable.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

After that auntie sent the guy's home safely as I started walking to my bedroom. Yunho came running up behind me putting his hands on my shoulders and started jumping.

"Today was soo fun! best Halloween ever!" Yunho yelled as he carried on jumping over to his room, once he got to his door he turned around and smiled at me.

"It's nice that we've got some good friends here" he said and then giggled as he said night and closed his bedroom door. I sighed and made my way to my room closing the door, Stolas jumped up on the bed meowing.

"I don't care if you like San, I'm not going to do the reborn ritual" I told him crossing my arms, Stolas meowed again, "No you know what I would have to do, we're not even that close" I explained.

"What do you mean he likes me?" I asked glearing at the cat as I sighed and sat down on my bed, Stolas jumped up on my lap meowing again, "No I didn't see him blushing, and No he wont text or call me soon" I said rolling my eyes.

Just then my phone started ringing. Getting up and walking over to my phone that was charging, I picked it up and saw who was calling, my breath caught in my throat as I saw San's name.

"I hate when your right" I sighed glaring at Stolas as he meowed and walked over to me. Clicking the green button I put the phone to my ear.

"Hey Yn it's San" I heard, I took a breath to cool my nerves, 'nerves? Why was I so nervous?' I thought shacking my head.

"Hey San, what's up are you okay?" I asked wondering why he called, San was silent for a little while before he spoke up again.

"Uh about the reborn ritual, can we meet tomorrow so I can talk to you about it?" He asked, I agreed and told him where to meet and what time, after that we hung up.

Putting my phone back down, I looked over at Stolas as he meowed at me, I rolled my eyes at him, "Yeah yeah, shut up" I told him as I started to get ready for bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

[gluestickcherrybum]

Procrastination Tip #2 - Time Management

Howdy guys! (>w<)/

Quick backstory, I’ve always believed that when we have less time we tend to appreciate it more, so in my university, I took the absolutely lunatic decision in joining and taking important roles of five different clubs just to fill up my mental space. I actually have more reasons for this but i won’t talk about it in this post. So i was a treasurer here, a president there, a secretary in this club and organizing events for that club. I know, its a headache but somehow i manage to plow through everything and still manage to do well academically. I’ve been wanting to share this for a while so here we go.

1. Know your priorities

You’d think academics came first for me, but I put my clubs first because they involved other people and not just myself. I attend almost every single meeting and make room for every club equally. Also other people get upset when you don’t put them first apparently. But hey, keep your objectives in mind when you do anything. Like I said, i had my reasons so I kept to that all the time. Second was academics. Keep track of due dates, assignments and never do things to the last minute and you’ll be okay. I put my hobbies third and before my social life because my hobbies benefit me and act as stress free breaks and I’m kinda antisocial anyway, but you do you. 

2. Time blocking

Now that you know what’s important for you, you can visualize what you need to spend your time on. Make a schedule starting from what time you target to wake up (mine is 4 am) to when you plan to go to sleep (11:30pm). Make a mark at every 30 mins instead of an hour to better divide your time. Now block off the times when you’re definitely occupied such as classes, meetings, dance practice etc. and you should be left with spaces of time when you’re free to do other things. You can fill these spaces with Pomodoros chock full of tasks to accomplish or designate little tasks and set how long you think you should you should spend doing it (ie decluttering my room [10 mins], hanging laundry [5 mins]).

3. The 1.3.5 Rule

If you don’t have a specific schedule for the day like a weekend or when you’re free all day, do not waste it. To inhibit a productive lifestyle, you must be consistent or at least be able to keep up that momentum. But you definitely don’t want to overwhelm yourself by stuffing it with endless chores that would end up demotivating yourself. That’s when you use the 1.3.5 Rule meaning for each day you should do one big task in which if you finish this task, your day will feel complete and satisfactory (ie starting that one assignment, or mopping your whole house), 3 medium tasks to make your day feel better and more productive (ie laundry or revision or smth) and 5 small tasks that should only take a short amount of time to fill up the rest of your day (ie calling a relative, printing out something)

4. DO NOT neglect sleep or eating

This has been something that i desperately try to tell a lot of people, i know some people feel more accomplished because they're actually sacrificing something that seems like a luxury to them. Cut it out. That’s your ego talking. Sleep is important. Period. Some people even think im “carefree” for actually getting enough sleep but no. I sleep because I need it. It’s important. Make sure you eat healthily too. Eat them veggies, you’re not an incompetent 6 year old. Drink that water. Trust me, your body will thank you for it. Plus it will help you work efficiently and your body and focus will work optimally. It’s only damaging to regret these necessities. As well as this, if you’re a Muslim or any other religion will daily responsibilities, please please please, don’t neglect prayers, don’t forget amalan sunnah every now and again because they say if you make time for God, He’ll make time for you (in which for me means im less prone to distractions but Wallahua’lam). (>w<)

5. Know your distractions and yeet them

If you’re as antisocial as I am, then you can definitely check social media off your list ahaha (qwq). Whatever you do in your fun time, whatever de-stresses you and whatever isn't in on top of your to do list is your distractions. Use apps or extensions to limit using your gadgets and restrict them to your break times or reward yourself with them once you check off everything on your to do list. If you’re planning to do them as a break be sure to have time constraints too in case you go overboard. Remember, taking breaks is not the same as giving up on work. If things get too hard, take a breath and keep at it. I believe in you! 

6. Be consistent

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. Consistency is key. If you use a bullet journal, I’m sure you’ve heard of a habit tracker. Frankly, its a spread that keeps track of certain habits to have on the daily. But if you don’t use a habit tracker, the Seinfield Method works just as well. It’s a very similar method devised by the man, the myth, the legend, Jerry Seinfield. Jerry Seinfield is a comedian and he pressures himself to consistently write a new joke every single day. To keep up with this daily habit, he keeps a calendar on his wall with a large red marker beside it. Each day when he wrote a joke, he would mark an X on the calendar. His goal was to not break the chain of X’s on his calendar so to keep himself accountable of his own progress.

7. Find what works best for you

By now you’re probably thinking I’m a complete maniac with calendars and timings and strict habits and all that. Yes, I am a maniac and that is what works for me. For my finals i practically did repeated Pomodoros from 4 am to 11:30 pm stopping only to eat, shower, and pray every single day of revision month before the finals and my roommate thinks i’m straight up insane. Yes, I did lose touch of humanity and that’s why I don’t condone this behavior to anyone. Please find out what works best for you, i find that my head is a bit clearer early in the morning because i’m naturally a morning person, but some people prefer to study in the evening and that’s okay. Find when your brain feels most active and you can work on the harder tasks at that time. UwU

Okie dokie lokie. Sorry for the long post, as usual i try to explain stuff as much as possible. My finals are around the corner so wish me luck QwQ

[paradoxhamartia]

About me

I was tagged by @nimudashh. Thank you so much for thinking of me! :D

- How tall are you?

Haven’t checked in a while, but last time i was 1.86 cms.

- What color and style is your hair?

Black. About the style...do i even have one? My hair are so afro that it’s almost impossible to find a way around their consistency, in order to give them some kind “of style”. I tried multiple times, in so many ways, to make them softer so that they could be worked with, but...it was always a failure. The most i can do is get a regular ass haircut. Eh.

- What color are your eyes?

For the longest time, i just assumed they were two pits of absolute, dark black. Turns out, they’re actually an extremely dark shade of brown. But if you look at them under a direct/strong light, you can clearly tell that they are brown.

- Do you wear glasses?

Yes, i do. They are a part of me, at this point. I’ve been wearing them since i was...seven? Eight? Still, it’s been a long ass time. They are my most valuable tool for living, cause without them i literally cannot see a single thing. I would die in something like, 30 minutes. If you want to kill me and get away with it, literally just take my glasses away and i’ll do the rest on my own.

- Do you wear braces?

Nope, never had to. The dentist always said that i have the most beautiful teeth he ever saw.

- What’s your fashion sense?

I’m really just a huge slut for beauty and elegance. Still, multiple individuals told me that my style is really close to that of an hipster. I guess.

- Full name?

I have two names. An italian one (Marco) and a senegalese one (Youssoupha).

- When were you born?

October 9th 1997 (i’m a libra).

- Where are you from and where do you live now?

I was born in Dakar (Senegal) and i lived there until i was around one, with my motherly relatives. At that point, my italian relatives came in and took me with them. Since then, i’ve been living in Abano Terme (a thermal city extremely close to Padua, near Venice).

- What school do you go to?

At the moment i’m working, but in the past i went to this Liceo Classico named after Tito Livio (in Padua). I’m also preparing myself for an audition at a drama school in Milan. I’ll probably give it a shot in around a year.

- What kind of student are you?

The smart but extremely bored one. Every professor had to go extra hard in order to keep me entertained. I was lost in thoughts 90% of the time.They always joked about how i was a philosopher that time traveled into the wrong era, lmfao. And my classmates always asked photos of my notes.

- Do you like school?

I loved it. When you go to school, you get to learn something new. You get the possibility of looking at reality from yet another, new viewpoint. Also, going to school forces you to stay with others. And i’m an extremely social individual. Being alone kills me. So, yeah. High school was dope.

- Favorite subject?

Mostly the ones related to human sciences. Aka ancient greek, latin, philosophy and history.

- Favorite tv shows?

My fave ongoing show is Shameless. Yes, i know it’s basically a shadow of its former self. But it’s my dear child and i’ll always love it, even tho it has obvious flaws. I recently discovered Now Apocalypse. It’s most likely fave material, can’t wait for season 2 to drop. If we’re talking about shows that already ended, Awkward (known in italy as diary of a superstar nerd) was my shit. Started a rewatch the other day. I love it so much.

- Favorite movie?

This will probably put a smile on your face, but it’s a tie between LaLaLand and Moonlight. They both resonate with me on extremely deep levels.

- Favorite book?

South of the border, West of the Sun (by Haruki Murakami). I could talk for weeks about this book. I resonate with Hajime so. Fucking. Much. Looking for an event to consider the “real beginning of your life”, so that you can completely invalidate the past that you simply cannot accept, is something that i do as well. Always looking for “rebirth”, basically (coff ken kaneki complex coff). But the one character that really pierced my heart was Shimamoto. We both are that kind of person that naturally attracts others, but is unable to be understood by them. We both are that kind of person that finds inconceivable the idea of being completely honest about the situation we’re living, even with those that are extremely close to us. That book is a gem. I’m rereading it asap. Higly recommended.

- Do you have regrets?

Having regrets is basically my main personality trait. Most of the time i’m unable to focus on the present cause i’m too busy wondering about what i could have done differently, and the scenarios that could have been but will never be cause of the choices i made.

- Dream job?

Actor/writer (for both books and series/movies).

- Do you like shopping?

Yup. As i said, i get easily bored. So i need to keep myself stimulated with new stuff.

- What countries have you visited?

Oh boy. Need some focus for this one. Italy (fucking duh, Marco), France, Spain, Germany, England, Sri Lanka, Senegal (again. no shit sherlock) aaaaand...that’s it? I think so. Dunno tbh.

- Scariest nightmare you have ever had?

I had this recurring nightmare where i was running aways from Gollum (he scared the shit out of me as a child), and while he was fast as fuck boiiiii i was extremely slow (imagine running underwater) so he always managed to get me and eat me alive. But if we’re talking about something recent...i would say my two cases of sleep paralysis. The first time it was about the main hunter from Bloodborne. But the second one is the one that really scared me. Korekiyo Shinguji came and, unlike the hunter, he didn’t just stare at me from a corner of the room but he legit came on top of me and chocked me. It was so surreal cause i could physically feel his hands around my neck. Weird. Especially cause i, like, really love Korekiyo as a character.

- Any enemies?

Not really. I’m that kind of person that goes along with everyone.

- Do you believe in miracles?

If with miracles we mean extremely positive but random events, yes. If we’re talking on the religious side, i dunno. My whole thing with religion is that i really don’t care about it (aside for the philosophical side of it) cause even if there’s actually a God i wouldn’t really be ok with how he’s managing this whole humanity thing so, yeah.

- How are you?

Don’t want to seem like a major edgelord so let’s just SKIP.

I’m too awkward to tag anyone, and also 90% of y’all probably already did this. So, if you see this and feel like it, just go for it.

[melonoverlord]

Obscure ask meme juni (obvs)

What convenience store food would be their go-to at a 7-11 (Fantasy or otherwise)?

She just bats her eyes at Icio while she dumps several Rice Krispies’ Treats into the shopping kart.

Who is their drinking buddy? If they don’t drink, which drunk friend would they watch over?

Icio, definitely, but also Flor eventually. The three of them and Venus just have spa nights where they bitch about everyone else.

Who would be their go-to character in Clue?

In the extended version, Lady Lavender. She’s a herbologist who may or may not have poisoned her husband. It’s very intriguing to her.

If they ever had to go to college, what major would they pick?

Plant Science with a religion minor.

Do they have a signature color(s)?

Green and brown. Because she a tree.

What would be their favorite vine?

Up until she joined the Freedom Vessel she didn’t know much about human culture but when Val introduced her to vine compilations, she absolutely loved “Are they helium balloons? Ah fuck it, it’s too late, we’re flying away.”

If they had a social media account, what would it be about?

Her twitter would just be chock full of the militia shading the templars “Your god fucks cacti for fun and you wear turtlenecks but go off I guess” and a couple tweets about how stupid and lovely her crush is (before Icio grew a spine and got together with her). Her tumblr is workout and training info and how to use any type of body and have it be able to kill a grown man, and her instagram is selfies of her and Icio cuddling, and a couple of posts where she compiles ugly candids of Icio and posts it. Cut to Nivviah saying “I think I’m feeling very Icio 14 today.”

Who would they invite to be their best man/maid of honor at their wedding?

Once Juni and Flor meet and become close in Bengalia, she would invite Flor to be her maid of honor. The only stipulation is that Flor can’t be better dressed than her.

Alternatively, who’s best man/maid of honor would they be?

Delta. She can’t see Delta settling down anytime soon, but she’d be ecstatic if Delta asked her to be her maid of honor. Is it awkward though if you slept with your maid of honor though?

What would be the title of their sex tape/mixtape?

‘Hump me like a tree’

If there was no prejudice, what time period/place would they love to visit?

Ancient Sparta. She’d be the best fighter and would probably be the inspiration for the Amazons.

What three words would they use to describe themself?

Small, feisty, brave

What three words would their friends/family use to describe them?

Funny, clever, intimidating (and spicy) by Castor; Amazing, intelligent, strong, and wonderful by Icio

What nicknames do they have? Any particular stories behind them?

Juni is her nickname, but Bark for Brains is her nickname that is only to be used by Icio. It started after she started calling them ‘Fish Stick’. If anyone else calls her Bark for Brains, they are probably going to die.

Do they consider themself a good person? Why or why not?

Yes. There’s some choice things she’s done that she doesn’t agree with, but overall she knows that she’s a good person.

If they were a cryptid, what would they be?

Lizard person: Well liked, popular, and enjoys drama.

What is the one thing they wish they could’ve said to a loved one, but never did?

She wishes she could have told Pan she still loves him, but wants to live her own life on the Material Plane.

What would they tell their ten year old self?

Confront Fish Stick early, because they’re gonna be an asshole for a while. But still hang on to them, because they’re the one who cares the most about you.

Who would be on their team in an all out prank war? Who would they be against?

Icio of course, as well as Flor, Percy, and Castor. Against, any other Templar because honestly, fuck those guys.

Can they drive a car? Are they good at it? (If cars don’t exist, would they be able to drive if they existed?)

She’d be a good driver but a little reckless. She’d go through an intersection if it didn’t turn red when her wheels leave the 

Tell the story behind their most stupid injury/scar.

When she was a little kid, she almost burned her finger off because she was trying to set Icio’s pants on fire because they were being sassy to her.

What word(s) would they freeze up at if someone said it to them?

“People only like you because you’re a goddess” or “You’re the reason Heron is dead”

Who is someone that they don’t talk to much, but would probably get along with?

She wants to talk to Castor more because she thinks they have the same type of way of dealing with their feelings (stabbing), but knows he’s a loner type and only wants to talk to Percy, Val, Luna, or no one at all. And she feels a little sad about it.

Have they ever done something they think is unforgivable?

She completely blames herself for putting Heron in the necklace. If they just let him die and return to the stars like he should have, Icio wouldn’t be so guilt ridden about the stone.

What type of soda would be their favorite?

She’s a fan of vanilla coke.

What do they want more than anything?

To have people respect her for her skills and what she’s worked for, not because she’s a goddess.

What is their fatal flaw?

When she’s mad, she will most definitely hit you. And if she thinks that you need to talk about something, she will corner you and make you talk about it. She doesn’t really take the soothing route when it comes to helping problem.

What Greek God would they be most like?

Athena, goddess of warfare, strategy, and wisdom.

Who do they looks the most up to?

Luna. From one leader to another, she admires how Luna can keep everyone in line, especially people like Icio and Castor.

If they had to pick between their best friend or significant other, who would they pick?

Icio is both her best friend and significant other, but it doesn’t matter because except her snabies, she would choose Icio over everyone else.

[booksbeyondimagining]

The City of Brass (The Daevabad Trilogy #1), by S. A. Chakraborty

Publish Date: November 14, 2017 Published by: Harper Voyager Pages: 528 Genre: Fantasy My Rating: ★★★★☆ (4 out of 5 stars)

**I received this as an egalley from the publisher through Edelweiss in return for an honest review.**

Synopsis:

Nahri has never believed in magic. Certainly, she has power; on the streets of 18th century Cairo, she’s a con woman of unsurpassed talent. But she knows better than anyone that the trade she uses to get by—palm readings, zars, healings—are all tricks, sleights of hand, learned skills; a means to the delightful end of swindling Ottoman nobles. But when Nahri accidentally summons an equally sly, darkly mysterious djinn warrior to her side during one of her cons, she’s forced to accept that the magical world she thought only existed in childhood stories is real. For the warrior tells her a new tale: across hot, windswept sands teeming with creatures of fire, and rivers where the mythical marid sleep; past ruins of once-magnificent human metropolises, and mountains where the circling hawks are not what they seem, lies Daevabad, the legendary city of brass?a city to which Nahri is irrevocably bound. In that city, behind gilded brass walls laced with enchantments, behind the six gates of the six djinn tribes, old resentments are simmering. And when Nahri decides to enter this world, she learns that true power is fierce and brutal. That magic cannot shield her from the dangerous web of court politics. That even the cleverest of schemes can have deadly consequences. After all, there is a reason they say be careful what you wish for . . .

My Review:

This was a book that took me some time to get through (so much, in fact, that I didn't finish it until almost a month after its release). I wish I could say that it was because of outside factors like work, but it is sadly not so. This book was just long. And I don't know if it's just because I had to take a lot of time understanding the world-building, or if I just didn't feel extremely compelled to constantly be reading it. Either way, despite that, I came away from it feeling mostly enchanted and eager for the next installment. The book drew me in right off the bat, and I immediately fell in love with Nahri as a character. There was something about her that pulled at my interest and held onto it. The plot moved quickly with her and had me eager to turn the page - only to find myself suddenly facing Ali's perspective in the City of Daevabad and finding it kind of losing its momentum. It wasn't that I disliked Ali or anything (in fact, by the end of the book I was almost as in love with him as I was with Nahri), it was just that his scenes were so chock full of politics and basically setting the scene for the reader to understand the dynamics of the population of Daevabad, particularly concerning the shafit (part-djinn, part-human). Somehow this just felt like a lot to take in all at once, and it took me several chapters between his and Nahri's perspective before I felt that I understood it all well enough to actually start reading it at a more decent pace. The world-building was good, just long and full of so much information that I sometimes felt like I had forgotten something or mixed something up. I loved the magic of everything, and the plot definitely had a lot of intirigue and emotion behind it. I did feel some reactions seemed a little strange or convoluted, but I think by the end I had already started forgetting minor things that weree mentioned once or twice prior that would have helped me understand those incidents better. What mostly drove the story for me were the characters, particularly Nahri and Ali. Like I said, at first I was only mildly interested in Ali, who, despite being kind and pro-shafit, had the unfortunate tendancy to also think that the religion of the Daevas was wrong and that only his was right. I honestly can't even tell if he ever changed his stance on that. And while I did not agree with the Daevas, either, who believe that all humans and shafit are evil and no better than dirt, I don't agree with Ali's presumption that they're religion is wrong either. Nahri, on the other hand, was wonderful from the start. Her main goal in life is to study to become a physician, and is willing to do anything to do it. I love her intelligence and wit, as well as how much she cares for those close to her. I don't, however, understand how she still loved Dara by the end. Dara, who is one of those thousand-year-old love interests who suffered for millenia and is quick to temper, started off decently, but slowly became someone I did not like by the end. He became angry, possessive-but-distant, and just overall kind of douchey. Like I said, the plot was extremely interesting if not a little slow to understand at first, and the characters full of great depth and intrigue. I feel like I don't fully agree with either "side" of the overall conflict, nor do I fully disagree either, and I like that that reflects reality because no one is always fully right or wrong when it comes to things. It definitely kept my attention the entire time I was reading it, despite the fact that I didn't feel the extreme need to always have my face in it.

[theessaflett]

Wicca & Whispers: My Unexpected Month as a Pagan Convert

My first and, to date, only, experience of a spiritual revelation happened in the summer of 2017.

Half an hour into a meditation session, eyes closed, legs crossed, I had a startlingly clear image of a gigantic oak tree growing out of the ground in front of me, unfurling its leaves and stating in a deep voice: I am Mother Earth. I am the one true religion. Convert to the Wiccan Faith.

This spiritual revelation, crystal clear in my mind’s eye,  was a little unexpected…not least because that meditation session was part of a Christian retreat. When we went round the circle afterwards sharing any godly moments we’d had during our prayerful meditation I, unsurprisingly enough, kept quiet. Right sort of experience. Wrong religion.

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With no small amount of trepidation and some curiosity, I recently asked around my friend group and requested that they describe me in one word. Some responses were:

Focused Self-Assured Unique Creative Warm   Versatile Funny

And, my favourite: “Essa” …Fair enough.

Now, this is a wide reaching list, but there was one word that didn’t make a single appearance from anyone: religious. I am not surprised by this. I am generally known as the cynical one, the sardonic one, the pessimist, the sensible thinker, and rightly so. (I am Scottish, after all.) Essa the logical. Essa the skeptic. Many, if not most, of the people who meet me in my day to day life would probably expect me to be agnostic, even atheist.

And yet.

And yet the institution of the church and Christianity itself has had a profound and far-reaching importance in my life. My mother is a lay-reader, church organist and choir leader. My dad is also a church organist. My Mum’s family are Church of Scotland Elders, My Dad’s folk are Salvation Army, some of them even founding members of the London branch of the institution. My family tree is heaving with religion, my own childhood spent in church buildings and prayer meetings. I was playing violin in the praise band at aged 4, playing the organ and helping run local church summer workshops by age 12, arguing on theological issues with church camp youth leaders by age 13. When people ask what my relationship is with the church, I usually just say, “I grew up in the church and my family is very involved with our local church community” and leave it at that. At that point most folk presume this to mean that I have given up on religion myself and leave the matter be, much to my relief.

And yet.

And yet I do still go to church, when I can. I am a congregation member of a very liberal C of E church in London, the type of church where God is referred to by female pronouns, people don’t guard ‘their spot’ on the pew and metropolitan gay couples bring their aesthetically flawless children with them every Sunday morning. I don’t tend to experience much great spiritual uplifting during the service but I enjoy the sermon, which usually has a disruptive, feminist slant, the sense of community, the feeling that here is a group of people who care about each other and are trying to just generally be nicer to everyone. I’ve told myself for years that there isn’t a need for a powerful sense of the otherworldy, of godliness, to make church worthwhile: surely a sense of that community and a reminder to be kind is a generally good thing, worthy in of itself.  

I was the church organist for this tiny yet friendly congregation in Tayport between the ages of 15-17. They did excellent cups of tea. I’m the one with the ginger hair.  (2013)

And yet.

And yet since I was very small, I have yearned for that ‘aha!’ moment. That euphoric experience of spiritual enlightenment where I would know that God was out there in the world. An unmistakable KA-POW. 

“You just need to send one sign!” I remember fervently bartering late one night when I was about eight during my bedtime prayers. “Just send one sign to show you exist and I won’t ask again and I’ll be extra good!” I was unaware then, in the midst of my doubt, of the irony of my paternal grandmother’s maiden name: Thomas. (Theology joke).

Years passed, and my wish for clear ‘godly proof of life’ faded into the background but didn’t entirely dissipate. From the ages of 10-13 I went to increasingly evangelical church summer camps where everyone else and their pet dog had seemingly had a personal meeting with Jesus, throwing myself into bible study groups and arm-waving to cheesy pop worship songs in the desperate hope that some sort of visitation from the Holy Spirit might eventually happen by Day 9 of camp. Nothing.

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

My teenage diaries are filled with fears of a malignant God, or a long-dead God, or a God that simply had decided that I personally was worthy only of being ignored. By seventeen I had given up on God entirely and announced myself agnostic. …This proved to be a very short-lived phase. Homesickness and a wish to find that specific sense of belonging that only churches can truly give led me to my current  liberal C of E church in 2014, but that wish for that ‘just one sign’ was still a background hum.

You can perhaps appreciate my frustration, then, when I finally got my sign in that prayer meeting in 2017. This was it. The visitation I’d been waiting for since eight year old me had laid down the gauntlet, demanding proof. It was just such a shame that it was the wrong bloody religion.

What would you do? On the one hand I was a church goer, who came from a church family, who had been brought up in the Christian faith.

On the other hand I had been wanting a spiritual sign from the heavens for about 14 years by this point and there it was. Ridiculous in nature and almost certainly brought on from a combination of severe sleep deprivation, high caffeine intake and end-of undergraduate-degree existential stress, but there nevertheless.

Reader. I went for it.

As my girlfriend at the time watched in mild, and then moderate alarm, I went out on what can only be described a ‘Wiccan Spree’, where in the space of about three weeks I obtained four spell books and a brand of incense called ‘Dragon’s Blood’, started following about eight different ‘Witchy Aesthetic’ Instagram accounts, watched countless YouTube spell videos, joined a Facebook group called ‘Divine Goddesses’,  signed up for a MeetUp event where you joined a ‘coven’ and casted spells in woods, guilt-read a blog called ‘So You Used To Be Christian And Now You’re Pagan: An Introduction To Your New Faith’, collected leaflets for a Pagan festivals that included activities such as ‘Tree Yoga’, drew my very own pentangle, made a wand and repurposed tea-light holders as containers for random household items that I decided represented the four elements. I was, in retrospect, almost certainly having some sort of small nervous breakdown, but at the time the sense of sudden purpose was truly wonderful. Wonderful, that is, until I got to the chapter about gender roles in my new, shiny Wiccan textbook. 

The enthused, evangelical pages about the powerful, strong energy of men and the sensitive, delicate energy of women left a sour taste in my mouth, particularly when it became clear that male and female energies were always expected to ‘intertwine’ exclusively with each other. I’d thought I was pursuing a fresh, exciting new way to explore my spirituality, a way that left the more archaic views and beliefs of the church behind. It was a disappointment, then,  to discover that heteronormative expectations of gender and sexuality permeated more than just the ‘mainstream’ religions. Wicca wasn’t going to be my ‘true path’, after all. The vision of the tree suddenly seemed like a silly figment of my imagination, and I was glad that I’d kept it mostly to myself. The spell books quietly and sheepishly went to the charity shop.

…And yet.

As I write this here in late 2019, there is still, somewhere in my brain, that eight year old child who is waiting for the moment of indisputable proof of a higher power. I am, of course, in good company, as countless Christians have searched for exactly that proof right from the beginning of the faith: the New Testament is chock-full of disciples needing massive, indisputable signs from the Heavens before they’ll believe practically anything, much to Jesus’ frustration. In John 20:29 a newly resurrected and very irritated Jesus says to Thomas, a disciple so skeptical that he’s known as Doubting Thomas (…told you my earlier Thomas joke was a theological one) and who has refused to believe in the resurrection of Jesus right up until the moment Jesus literally appears in front of him, “ Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed!”

…A phrase probably written into the Bible for the early Christians, encouraging them in their belief in a Messiah they hadn’t personally met, and a phrase that still holds comfort for Christians around the world today.

It’s one of those deceptively easy-sounding sayings, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed’.

I’ve always been someone who’s a stickler for facts  - for instance,  I worked out that Santa didn’t exist when I was five and then couldn’t understand for the life of me why everyone else was perpetuating a lie that was, in my mind, simply unnecessary. (It took quite a lot of persuading from my parents for me not to share my newfound knowledge with my friend group. I settled for pitying looks and pointed questions along the lines of, “But how exactly does he get down the chimney, Karen?”)

People who are Fact People don’t like the concept of blind belief. We don’t like it at all. It makes us feel exposed, and icky, and foolish, and like we’re being played for suckers.

I am a Fact Person. I am also not many people’s typical idea of a Christian.

I have tattoos. I am openly queer. I believe abortion and birth control are fundamental human rights, I don’t believe Mary was a virgin or that non-believers need ‘Saving’, I consider the Bible to be a fascinating tapestry of sociological history best read with the expectation of cross-culture misunderstandings rather than it being the undiluted Word of God, and I think that in institutionalised religion there is often too much fixating on a possible future Heaven when Hell is already happening now, in this lifetime, to so many people who need Earthly help rather than lofty prayer.

I am, in short, too much of a questioner to ever be a ‘true believer’. Blind Evangelical faith is just never going to come easy for this Doubting Thomas.

And as for my tree vision? My queer, feminist relationship with gender and gender roles stopped me from identifying as Wiccan, the restricted binary expectations making that path an instant no-go.

And yet. I am far from an atheist.

Me (now with blue hair) at a spiritual retreat with members of my current church community (Spring 2019)

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

As I move away from my teens and deeper into my twenties, I can slowly feel a subtler understanding of what God might be beginning to lap at the edges of my understanding of the world. Be it Mother Earth, be it the Holy Trinity, be it whatever you want to call it, I have noticed the small things I do in day to day life to honour the unexplainable.

The fact that I knew that lighting a candle and conducting my own small service for the flat I was about to leave after living there for 3 years was absolutely the right thing to do, despite the fact that that building was theoretically just bricks and mortar? Unexplainable.

The fact that I sometimes enter a house and go “yep, this is good” and sometimes am like, “ABSOLUTELY NOT, NOPE, DO NOT WANT TO STAY HERE THIS HOUSE DOES NOT LIKE ME”? Unexplainable…and ridiculous to witness.

The fact that, every so often, in the woods or on a deserted beach, I get a strange sense of flickering connection? A sense of an electric undercurrent that could be sparked into life if only two wires were connected? Unexplainable, unexplainable, unexplainable.

Celtic Christianity, that ancient and now largely forgotten Spiritual meeting-place between Christianity and Paganism, has a term for these moments where the Other can be felt, if only for a half-second: they are ‘thin places’, the places ‘in the world where the walls are weak’.

In the words of 1 Kings 19:12,  

         After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.          And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

I’m beginning to suspect that perhaps in all my straining, in all my looking for divine ‘massive earthquakes’ and ‘impressive firestorms’, I’ve missed countless gentle whispers.

My relationship with faith is destined to wax and wane. The only certainty is that it will never stay the same. That, I’m beginning to realise, is allowed. Normal, even. For now, unsure of what the future may bring, I am content to search for those thin places and whisper into the quiet. 

You never know. I might hear a whisper in return.