#and do NOT get me started on what he's doing with that one el salvadorian prisoner

[mugiwara-lucy]

Soo...for those unaware, Shitbreak has decided he wants a MILITARY PARADE for his 79th birthday.

Now I know some people are like "He's just trolling", no. At this point we can NOT think it's just "jokes". Remember, he wanted one back in 2018 but was refused because there were adults in the room. Now? You think Pete Hegseth (aka Drunky Brewster) will say No?

The probelm is TWO REASONS.

1.) This is what they do in DICTATOR COUNTRIES. You know? Russia? North Korea?

2.) And more important, consider the ECONOMIC ASPECT of things. This is going to cost nearly 100 million dollars. And who is gonna pay for this horseshit? US AS TAX CONSUMERS.

Now let's consider recent events. As a result of Shitbreak tariffing EVERY SINGLE COUNTRY; prices will SKYROCKET. So I HOPE you all have listened to me in stocking up essentials. The sad part? Europe tried offering a PEACEFUL "ZERO FOR ZERO" solution but Shitbreak NOT ONLY REFUSED BUT his idiot cabinet has ASININE demands:

So I do NOT blame our allies for wanting to work on trading deals sans the US because who the FUCK wants to work with a guy that sucks off world dictators??

And not only that he's threatening MORE TARIFFS on China unless they cave to his bullshit demands by tomorrow:

By summertime when he wants this bullshit parade what do you think the economy will look like?

NOTHING PLEASANT.

And those Fox News fuckers smiling and saying "It's a necessary pain you'll have to experience for a while" that WHOLE BS network needs to be shut down.

Like......Kamala Harris had a FUCKING PLAN. She had a plan to help first time home owners and small business owners PLUS helping with Student Loan debt AND immigration reform.

I'm pretty sure by Day 77 the economy wouldn't look like THIS!

[baelpenrose]

Project Praetorian 41: New Arrivals Part III: Commonality

Micah talks religion with Mark and Molly, and Mia works on language barrier issues. As I do not speak spanish (though ironically @writing-with-olive does) we wound up telling the sequence from Mia's perspective, with the note that everyone else speaking "broken" English from Mia's PoV is a translation convention.

Beta read by @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive TW For kidnapping in flashbacks. Historical note for anyone who doesn't get the in-joke in Mia's flashback: the US Government has a long and sordid history of using Central American and specifically El Salvadorian cartels as mercenaries to do the CIA's bidding.

Micah

Getting off the VTOL was a relief - his dad had been an engineer, even if the obvious accent made it hard for him to get work at any of the really big firms, and Micah had had to hear about the dangers of that kind of air transport more than once when his dad had held up a newspaper and talked about the Osprey. “Another crash! Rotary blades on the top and a jet engine! How did any company allow this out of R&D?”

He hadn’t been riding in one of those - thus why it had landed instead of crashing - but his father’s general distrust of VTOL craft in general had left an impression. And that Nazi asshole who wouldn’t shut the fuck up about his panic attack the whole trip hadn’t helped, even as he’d tried to stay calm by counting the stitches on the seatbelts.

At least Jared hadn’t found out he was the product of a mixed-faith marriage. He’d suffered racial slurs, he’d suffered Islamophobic ones, and he shuddered to imagine how much worse it would have been had Jared known he was half-Jewish. 

Then he was introduced to the people he’d be joining, heard the last name of the leader of the kids, and realized he was going to find out any minute - hopefully with violent consequences for Jared. 

The group of new arrivals was split up, and Micah found himself being pulled aside by the boy introduced as Mark Ascher, along with a redheaded girl introduced as Molly Harper. 

“Hey. So, welcome to Palatine base. You’ve probably been stuck at Aventine for a minute, and…actually, before we start, did they do any testing on any of you there? I know they have facilities there, Echo’s testing started there.”

Micah felt a surge of fear. “Testing? What…what are they testing for?”

Mark blinked. “Okay, that’s a no. They did not. We’ll cover that later - oy vey, at this point I’m gonna buy a camera on my next leave - make an orientation film.”

Micah looked between them and Molly glared. “I think that’d be…kind of a dick move. I don’t think I’d have adjusted as fast if Vergil hadn’t given me the tour.”

“Fair enough, but I never know where to start with this…”

Something clicked for Micah. “You’re not a New Yorker, right?”

“Bite your tongue. I’m from Boston.” 

“That’s what I thought, but you cursed in Yiddish, so I thought I’d check. Salaam.”

Recognition flashed in the other boy’s eyes, changing him all at once from a young man trying to be older and harder than he was to match responsibilities he never wanted to the kind of boy Micah wished he’d known more of in school - clever, quick to laugh, and easy to talk to. “Muslim?”

Micah nodded. 

Mark gave Micah a fast hug. “A relief to have someone else here who gets that at least. Now, I know that Kosher and Halaal are not exactly the same thing, and I have been working to keep kosher on military rations, but you came at a good time - we just got a lot more freedom to operate on our own, so you’re not dealing with the crap I was where it was something I more or less only kept on holidays because I didn’t have a guarantee of eating if I stuck to it consistently.”

“Holidays?”

“Oh, right. Uh. We don’t get them. Not just us, though, for once, I’ve been here for almost three years now and we didn’t get Christmas off from everything sucking. It’s a very nondenominational suck. Oh, talk to Leon, she’ll help you find some ways to keep your traditions while surviving here. All in it together and we do mean ‘all’ in it together. Which means you’re probably going to be asked to explain Eid, both of them, I had to explain Purim and Rosh Hashanna. The results of the whole detachment trying to celebrate each other’s holidays is…I mean it’s often hilariously bad but it winds up giving it more of a home feel than not bothering. And don’t expect help from the higher ups.”

Micah felt a strange mix of warmth and horror at the casual description of a lack of recognition of holidays of any kind. 

Molly suddenly asked a question. “Hey, actually, I have a question since I know Muslims have a holiday where they fast for a month and Lent is coming up…”

Micah spoke first. “My faith acknowledges exceptions for health reasons, I don’t know about yours…”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t have to give up all food, just meat from animals on land, and something else. Also from blood in general. The church used to enforce a ban on carrying arms during Lent.”

Mark took a breath. “I…I want, so badly, to not immediately reverse myself, but I am going to strongly suggest that our job itself is a health reason to not fast - I don’t think you can do a month only eating at the beginning and end of each night. I mean, I barely make it through training on Yom Kippur each year and that’s one day without food or water. I’m not saying you can’t, I am saying, before you decide, train with us, then decide if you can do that while fasting. And remember that combat is much, much worse.” 

He turned to Molly. “And…yeah, sorry. No. There’s no holiday any of us can skip a mission for. If it happens during Lent, or Yom Kippur, or Ramadan, or the High Holidays, or any other day when we are absolutely not supposed to be spilling blood, then…taboos get broken because we are keeping each other alive, and we’re too short on hands to have anyone sit out. I’m sorry.”

Micah felt a thrill of fear. “So. You keep saying ‘combat’ - what are we fighting? I saw a bunch of UN flags at Aventine. Are we going to be turned into supersoldiers to deal with terrorists or lock down nukes, or..?”

Mark looked at him, then doubled over laughing. Micah felt hurt, and Mark kept going, slowly taking a breath, then spoke. “Okay, okay, sorry, sorry, just…that’s what we thought for the longest time, just. Okay. no. The actual answer is so much dumber. No, see, we actually straight up get super powers, and we’re fighting aliens. Yeah, really.” 

Micah started laughing. It was a joke, it had to be a joke - but Molly’s face was deadly serious, and he slowly stopped laughing. “You’re for real. This is…”

“Yeah. Go figure.”

Micah sat down. “Alright, so…” 

“They’re real. I got scooped after an alien scouting party attacked Tanglewood music camp and wiped out my family and killed my best friend. I was the only survivor.”

“That was a fire, wasn’t…” Micah trailed off as he realized how stupid he sounded. No, obviously not. Obviously that would be the cover up. “Ya Allah.” 

Echo was calling to Molly, and Molly ran over to them, Micah noticing the tears in her eyes. 

“She lost everyone she loved in her first contact. We had another battle we were ready for and we beat them, pretty soundly but we’re…” Mark leaned back on the bench, tossing chicken and beans onto Micah’s plate. “It’s terrifying.”

“What’s the testing?”

“I’m going to explain and you are going to leave the swearing or the appeals to HaShem to the end because if you do it every time I say something awful we’re gonna be here a while.”  

Micah nodded, the ghost of a joke failing to cover the menace implied by Mark’s story.

“So. We get injected by some vile chemical that causes mutations. Before it can give us turbo-cancer or whatever, we strip down to underwear or completely, depending on how much of this we’ve already done, climb into machines that look like sealed MRI machines but are not, which then proceed to blast us with radiation from all over the spectrum. This breaks down the mutagen while also mutating you harder and in a more useful way. The reason you don’t get clothing later, we figured out, isn’t that it gives Koleth a clearer read, or that it blocks too much of the radiation, and I can’t believe we ever believed that, no. It’s actually that once you’re far enough along, they have to hit you with enough radiation at a weird enough frequency that clothing will catch fire. By then you’re changed enough that it doesn’t do anything but change you. They did not tell us this, by the way, Echo found out while poking around the scientists’ computers while she was breaking a captured alien machine. I do not know what this says about our ability to survive nuclear fallout so do not ask. I am terrified we will have the opportunity to find out.”

“Allah yahmina, what is this place?”

“Official answer: Imperator’s Palatine Base. Unofficial answer: The best argument I’ve yet encountered that my people are wrong and that hell is in fact a thing.” 

“How are you this calm about it?” Micah felt vaguely faint.

“You get used to it.” 

Mia

She hadn’t slept properly since those mercenary assholes had gotten a bag over her head and taken her north. She still wasn’t sure how or why they’d picked her, but from what she’d gotten out of the mercenaries - who were locals, when she’d screamed at them - they’d told her that the blood tests she’d gotten in the hospital had showed she could be helpful.

She didn’t know what the hell that meant, but she knew she had to get home, back to her mother, back to her brothers. She’d struggled to try to escape, but been told if she kept going she’d be knocked unconscious.

She remembered the mercenaries taking her to someone they clearly answered to, asking him if he wanted to keep her for other sale for a few days, and him shaking his head. “No. Some rich white American asshole already paid us a hundred thousand for her - with another hundred thousand promised if she’s undamaged. Apparently she’s got some rare gene that some fucked up American research firm wants to experiment on and they’re paying top dollar for test subjects.”

She had been kept in a dark room - though fed surprisingly well, apparently the cartel was interested in getting paid for the ‘undamaged’ part - and once she’d realized she wasn’t going to be sold to a brothel, assaulted, or shot because she was apparently already paid for by people who were capable of paying the cartel too much to throw her away, she started using it. 

By swearing up a storm at her captors and spitting on them every chance she got. 

Thus by the time she was dragged out of a warehouse, she had been gagged, and two white assholes were talking to her captor, offering him a suitcase - and shoving her onto a boat, which went a certain ways off the coast before she was put on a helicopter.

She remembered seeing her city - her country - fade away in the distance.

She’d been surrounded by assholes who refused to speak her language, except the man who had apparently commissioned her kidnapping by the cartel, who introduced himself as August Gideon, who spoke it fluently and kept up an eerily polite tone.

“Ms. Orellana, I apologize for the roughness of your arrival. As you know, your country has a history of being a bit politically unstable due to a criminal element who are easily made into efficient proxies for outside actors. Our organization is funded by the UN security council, and we have access to most of the UN data bases, even the ones they swear are strictly confidential. You see - that hospital you went to a few months ago, to get your tonsils out? They tested you, like most patients, with a gauntlet of basic blood work - and one of those samples, as of eight months ago, is determining if someone is a Praetorian candidate. Among other things, I no longer have to collaborate with Stricken about the most effective ways to bribe blood samples out of donation or hospitals.” He gave a wan smile. “You came back with a positive test. Which is when we engaged the mercenaries who picked you up and turned you over to us.”

“What did you want from me? What the hell is a Praetorian candidate?”

“Project Praetorian…you’re now in the custody of an organization called Imperator. You’ll find out the rest from your compatriots, day after tomorrow - you were the last to arrive of this wave, and you’re all being transported together to the other facility. I have a plane to catch back there tonight, I’m afraid.”

“Why not ride back with the rest of us?”

“I have business I have to attend, and an important briefing to provide.” 

***

The four she’d been stuck with at the base were incapable of speaking to her, so she’d been stuck gesturing at herself and saying “Mia,” asking for their names and getting “Kimmy,” from a girl in a wheelchair, “Micah,” from a quiet, nervous looking boy with Gideon’s complexion but the gentle presence of one of her brothers, and “Jared,” from a boy who looked at her like something to scrape off his boot.

The ride on the chopper had mostly consisted of Jared apparently antagonizing Micah - Mia didn’t understand what was being said but she understood the tone - and Kimmy taunting him back. Rapid-fire English that she couldn’t follow but that she knew was probably important to understand.

When they landed and people were presumably introduced, she stood there, asking if anyone spoke any Spanish - and got a response from one dark, gorgeous girl who pulled her aside and spoke, haltingly but with some degree of fluency. 

“My name is Echo and yours…”

“My name’s Mia, it's really good to meet you. I’ve been stuck with no one to talk to because no one understood what I was saying for ages and I don’t actually speak English. So, what is this, what’s going on? What is a Praetorian candidate? Who are these people?”

Echo blinked, slowly, and then said. “I am not that strong in Spanish now. Praetorian is a thing where they do crazy science to us - it hurts. Gives us weird powers, like a comic book.” 

Mia unwrapped that in her head - Echo wasn’t totally fluent in Spanish yet, or spoke a different kind, but she was trying. Praetorian was a program of some kind where they were having experiments done on them, which gave them…superpowers? Echo had to be saying that wrong, Echo seemed smart.

“What do you do here, Echo?”

“I work with computers - hack into them. Jonathan is…” She shouted for Jonathan to do something in English and Jonathan casually lifted an unused table. “Strong. Like a comic book. The crazy science changes us. They teach us to fight too. We’re supposed to be…” Echo broke off and said something that was obviously a chain of curse words in English.

“Supposed to be fighting aliens. One minute.” She shouted for someone and a girl came over, the same age as Mia and red-headed. Echo chatted with her fast, and the redhead looked between them, then said something in Spanish back, also a dialect that was more formal than Mia really spoke but was something her churchgoing aunt would have gotten much more easily. Molly had a rosary, a simple one, but it reminded Mia of her grandmother’s.

“I’m Molly,” she started, “And…I only really know Church Spanish,” she said, waving the rosary. “So I do not know how much I can say about our lives here - beyond that we may have been kidnaped by the devil. But if you want to talk about your family, I can understand that - we had a few Latin families at our church, we were supposed to be able to talk with each other, all of us, about important things.”

Mia nodded. “I have brothers back in El Salvador. And parents. They have no idea where I am.” That started hitting her for the first time. “God, I’m never going to see them again, am I?”

Molly lunged forward and hugged her. “I’m sorry. My parents are dead, died when the aliens first appeared. The others talk a big game about being a new family and hopefully the ones with living parents see their families again, and…I don’t know, Leon and Curtis are talking about ideas for the rest of us if the war ends before we’re adults.”

Mia nodded. “So, Echo - and Molly. What’s the deal with the kids who introduced us?”

“Mark - the skinny one? He’s kinda in charge, and the guy who spoke is Xavier.” 

“Xavier spoken for?”

“Not officially,” Echo replied, glancing at Shiloh in the distance. 

Molly followed her gaze. “I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

Mia let the other two girls guide her to a table and sit her down, shoveling food on her plate and eating with them, slowly fumbling through Spanish with them and starting to get through a smattering of English, some of which she’d gotten in school before she’d had to stop going to start working. Picking it back up with them was helping, a bit, but suddenly Molly started. “Right. She needs ASL too.”

Echo cursed in not only English, but Spanish, and her phone let out a series of beeps that might have been her using powers to curse in morse code. 

“Right - actually, might be easier, different grammar.”

Mia looked between them, and then Molly stood up in shock.

Molly

The conversation had been going well with Mia - honestly the new girl was really pretty and Molly was glad she spoke enough Spanish to make her feel welcome, but then something insane happened.

Shiloh had been over by Kimmy, and was putting hands on Kimmy’s back. The paralyzed girl started screaming, then bit down on her shirt, before Shiloh stepped away for a second, leaving Casey holding Kimmy’s hand as Kimmy writhed in pain, then Shiloh had come back, and begun doing - whatever they were doing again.

And it hit Molly what she was witnessing. Shiloh was trying to repair Kimmy’s spine. 

Shiloh. A person that, as much as she hadn’t admitted it, she hadn’t talked to much, been alone with the least of the Praetorians - by design. Their anger, their weird gender stuff, had always made Molly nervous, went against what she’d been taught.

Shiloh had given someone back his eyes during the battle, healed burns, restored wounds. Molly had seen that, but that had been rational, Molly had thought, or at least, as rational as anything could be in a world where aliens had come down from the sky, gunned down her parents, and she was now a superhero-supersoldier supposed to be fighting them.

But this.

Kimmy stood up, leaning on Casey, as Shiloh slumped, taking deep breaths and huge bites. 

Kimmy took a few steps forward, eyes filling with tears, and laughed maniacally.

Shiloh had just performed a straight up miracle. It wasn’t just healing a broken bone or restoring a wound, Shiloh had just made a cripple walk.

She heard Mia gasp behind her as she crossed herself.

“Even here, that’s…that’s crazy. That’s…”

Molly’s world spun as she saw Kimmy take slow steps and turn around of her own accord. 

“Holy shit.”

“Welcome to Praetorian. That’s our healer, Shiloh. Going completely beyond the impossible.” 

Beyond the impossible. 

That was one way to put it. 

Molly picked up a huge platter of food and carried it over to Shiloh in absolute silence then set it down in front of the deaf healer, signing for them to eat as she did so.

Shiloh gave her a quiet nod, and continued to watch Kimmy, a smile of satisfaction and quiet pride on their face.

[helluvascribe]

Falling From Grace, Landing In Love (AU)

Vaggie has to make a choice to decide her fate for her afterlife. She is trained to become an Exterminator due to her personality and expertise with weapons. She is sent with the other Angels of Death to purge the citizens of Hell once every year to reduce overpopulation and induce fear in the sinners. Along the way, she meets Charlie, the princess of Hell and falls in love.

Unable to kill her or any other demons, Vaggie chooses to be with Charlie and disobeys the others. She falls from grace and lands in Hell in her current moth demon form. She is left with a harpoon weapon to defend herself and a mission. Her mission is now to spy on (mostly) Charlie and the other demons to try and get them to redeem themselves. (and also to ensure that the citizens don’t pose a threat to Heaven, God and the angels). Only when she is able to redeem herself, her girlfriend Charlie and other demons can she ascend to Heaven (or an alternate realm).

  Ascension (Vaggie)

 “Vagatha…”

  “Vagatha…”

  The sound of her name mingled with the chorus of a choir. A black void was all she could see…if she actually had vision. Floating in the darkness, no physical feeling…she didn’t appear to have a body at all.

 For a moment, she just…was.

 “Vagatha…”

 The vocalizations appeared to be coming from above. Faint rays of white light appeared, slowly reaching out. Though bright, it’s wasn’t blinding…it was light at the end of a tunnel of space and time.

The light radiated closer, and as it did, her senses sharpened.

Wait…wasn’t she…dead? Why could she perceive this event in the first place? Death meant a change into energy, a merging with the universe…at least that’s what many spiritualists believed.

Had the choir not sung out her name, she may have forgotten who she is…or was.

 Vagatha was apparently her name…she knew it sounded familiar, but also wasn’t quite right. Too formal and too long.

A shorter, better-suited version would be…

 Vaggie.

 She felt every inch of her ethereal being yell out her name, but no sound came out. It was similar to a person declaring something in their sleep, or speeches inside the mind. Repeating it, holding onto the word that could somehow connect her to what was before…and what was to come.

   The darkness was soon dispelled by the light and the whiteness around her gained the form of large puffy clouds.

 Moving forward until an unseen force froze her in her tracks, the deceased soul saw a unique sight. A slightly rusted golden gate blocked her path. A silver sign next to it read “Low Level of Heaven.”

 Heaven?

 An angel appeared next to the gate, clothed in white dress pants, a white shirt with a golden bow-tie and a pair of white feathering wings folded behind his back. Strangely enough, his face was completely white, with red blushes off to the sides on either cheek. His hair was bronze gold and short, looking white. If he hadn’t looked so serene and regal, she would’ve considered him a clown.

 He stared at her and spoke wordlessly with his golden eyes. “What’s your name?”

She knew what to say. “I am Vaggie.”

   “Vagatha Gonzales,” the angel stated, looking at a holographic list that appeared in front of him. “Formerly of Earth. El Salvadorian ancestry, born to Jeffery and Margaret on May 10th, 1992…”

The angel’s words faded in and out in a haze. She was on the brink between matter and ether. Until something snapped her into focus.

“…died in 2014 of stab wounds and homicide.”

Brief traumatic-inducing images flashed in front of her, but she couldn’t quite piece them together.

 The angel then went on naming all the good and bad deeds that Vaggie had supposedly done in her previous human life. He started off with the good:

“A hard-working individual, devoted to her values/faith. Protective of children, animals, and flying creatures: Moths in particular…”

How in Heaven and Hell could he see through her?

 And then the so-called sins…

“…harmed and maimed various racist men in the name of your family and Hispanic women…displayed lustful feelings toward other females…”

A boiling feeling of rage filled her body-less form. Her previous memories started to rush back to her. “Love, not lust! It’s who I was. Who decides what’s good and what’s bad?”

“God, the Heavenly Father,” the angel answered.

“Read my mind again. I dare you!”

“You don’t technically have one as of yet.”

“Then where’s yours? Did you lose it?”

The angel sighed. “Let’s just get through this interrogation process smoothly. I have eternity to reside here, but I’d prefer to not waste much of it on arguments.”

Vaggie fell silent. “Anything neutral about me?”

“You liked punk rock music, 80’s music, and Latino music.”

“O…kay? When I get into this place, can I listen to them?”

“If you truly get in,” the angel added. “All souls begin with an evaluation and judgement. The majority are neutral, like yourself. The evil and unfaithful get sent down to Hell. Only the heroic and legendary can reach the highest levels of Heaven and find fulfillment with God.”

Vaggie was silent again.

The angel turned red in the face and summoned a piece of paper in his hand, glancing down at it. “Or Nirvana. Or Akasha. Or becoming one with the Universe and the Higher Self,” he read. The list of other faiths went on, though Satanism and certain Pagan faiths were not included. “Man, diverse times in the mortal realm call for more accommodations around here…”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“To answer your current question,” the angel added, unfazed, “My name is Puriel. I am an examiner of souls brought to Heaven. Each soul gets one chance in Heaven at the lowest level. Those who can prove their worth can ascend to higher planes. It is a starting point for the majority of souls. Sadly, there are more that end up going to Hell, which poses a big problem.”

Puriel continued.  

“But more on that, later. And yes…other realms do exist…Enlightenment, Avalon, Summerland, the Void, etc. The lower level of Heaven is a basic starting point for the afterlife, mostly because it’s been woven into mortals’ minds for centuries. Souls are given one chance, though there are, of course, exceptions.”

Vaggie could already feel Puriel’s eyes judging her.

Puriel waved his hand and spoke an ancient incantation. Vaggie somehow understood it: “Breath is lost, a new life found, Temporary form to this soul be bound.”

 Vaggie’s new form very much resembled her previous human form…thought it was also very different. As a human, she had thick dark hair, light brown skin, and a thin but strong physique. She had gotten her muscular tone from martial arts and hard work. She frequently wore gothic outfits of black, gray and pastel pink.

 Her skin was now slightly light gray, her hair long and white with faint bands of red along the tips. A pink bow was perched on her head, like the one she enjoyed wearing as a human. Her eyes were large and the sclera orange. She wore stockings over her legs, the right one navy blue, the left one with pink stripes on it. Her white mini dress with two xs over her breasts covered the top half of her legs and exposed her light gray shoulders. She wore a blue undershirt and a tight collar around her neck. A large pink X appeared over her left eye, the same eye that had been damaged in her previous life. Vaggie’s most stunning feature was a pair of white feathery wings that materialized from golden light and emerged from her back. Her wings also had thin red bands along near the tips.

 “This is the form that appeared in your mind, so at your request, this is your usual form for the afterlife,” said Puriel. “Your redeemed form will be the one you possessed as a human.”

 “Thank you,” she replied, staring at herself. She would have to get used to her alternate form, but already it seemed fitting for her.

 Puriel spoke another incantation and several portals opened up in a row above the gate. The faces that appeared in the holes were the faces of other angels: Michael, Raphael, Haniel, Gabriel, and even some Angels of Death: Dumah, Azrael, etc.

In the very center, another portal opened, revealing six winged seraphim angels guarding a hovering throne. God Himself, appearing as an elderly man with a great white beard, gazed upon his subjects and attendants. He began to talk with the council of angels residing in different spheres of Heaven.

 Vaggie couldn’t make out the words, as they were speaking in a divine language only few had the privilege to learn.

After what felt like an eternity, God left and one by one, the angels and the portals vanished.

 Puriel turned to Vaggie.

“Your misdeeds by themselves would originally send you right to Hell, but you also have a chance to repent based on your values of justice and wisdom.”

 “You have several choices. First, you can return back to the void of nonexistence. No feeling, no memory, nothing…thus bringing balance to the universe. For what emerges from the ether must eventually return. Those who die a second time in Hell, Heaven, or any realm, will cease to exist again.”

 “Just stop with the philosophical bullshit.” Vaggie clenched her fists, eager to get past this unbearable lecture.

  “Second, you can travel to other realms and see if they’ll let you pass…though it may take a while and it’s not guaranteed. Third, you could go straight to Hell and become a demon…though it’s not recommended.”

  “…Or, if you choose to stay here…you are to become a member of our Exterminator Angels of Death. This is determined based on both your proficiency in fighting and weaponry…but also on your neutral nature overall. Though your past human actions would be considered malicious, your overall intentions were pure. Once initiated into the soldier ranks, you will need to prove yourself in order to potentially ascend to higher levels of Heaven. What say you?”

 Vaggie thought for a moment. “I want to stay in Heaven and see my family.”

 “Do you solemnly swear to serve in the name of Christ the Lord and embrace His ways and the ways of the citizens of Heaven?”

 “I accept.” A flaming white halo with little spikes through the brim appeared above Vaggie’s head. A small white arrow with the shape of a French emblem appeared in the center of the halo.

 “Close your eyes and focus,” said Puriel. “Say, ‘Saint Samael, I’m ready for duty.’”

 Vaggie did so, and she instantly transformed.

 A harpoon weapon appeared in her right hand and an LED mask in her left. Dark curved horns arched slightly past her head, her white hair vanishing under a dark hood. Her wings now sprouted black feathers which were both strong as steel and lightweight for graceful movement. In replacement of her normal outfit, she now wore a kind of black body suit with feathered gauntlets over her arms and lower legs, all black. She stared at the LED mask which displayed a glowing white eye to the left, an x in place of an eye on the right and a large glowing white grin. There appeared to be faint red stains off to the sides. Vaggie almost recoiled at the grotesque item. Hesitantly, she put on the mask and was still able to see clearly.

   “Archangel Vagatha,” Puriel said, declaring her new title. “Your fate has been decided. Your mission is to purge the demonic citizens of Hell once a year to reduce overpopulation to a set quantity. Any relationships and fraternization with the citizens of Hell is forbidden. Your training begins at twilight.”

 The gates finally opened soundlessly and Vaggie flew through. She was amazed at how she quickly got used to her wings, like they were a second pair of strong arms. Her harpoon somehow felt natural in her hands. She was half tempted to throw it at Puriel, but she knew that the mostly immortal being would not be happy.

Was he immortal? Was she immortal, even in this peculiar plane of existence?

 “And Vagatha,” warned Puriel as she briefly glanced back at his row of strangely sharp white teeth, “Break the rules of God, and you’ll fall from grace. Your halo will vanish and your wings will burn off. You will become nothing else but a demon of Hell forever.”

   Preparation (Charlie)

“Charlotte, it’s almost time for the show to begin. Hurry on down!”

A young teen demon was sitting in front of a mirror decorated with yellow eyes with black pupils along the elegant rim. She put on a dash of red lipstick while her two goat dolls, Razzle and Dazzle fixed her hair.

 “Dad!” called the blond-haired princess from inside her room, “I told you to call me Charlie! Charlotte sounds too…strange.”

“Well that’s your name, you should be used to it by now.”

 Charlie rolled her eyes and stared at her reflection: golden yellow eyes, a ghost white face with red blushes off to the side of her cheeks, razor sharp fangs when she smiled. She was so excited, she could barely sit still.

 When her attendants were done, she stood up to admire herself and her outfit. A candy red pinstriped dress nearly touched the floor and felt slightly tight around her waist. An enchanted light purple snake was wrapped around her waistline, both serving as decoration and self-defense in case of grabby onlookers. It was very similar to the snake that her father Lucifer kept around his white top hat (though both were protective of their owners thanks to Lucifer’s magic). Spider web leggings covered her pale legs and on her feet were black tap-dancing shoes. One of her feet was already moving up and down slightly. Finally, Charlie wore a black spiked crown with a red apple gem in the center.

 “My 150th birthday!” she exclaimed, doing several happy jumps. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while.”

Indeed, it had been 150 years since she had been born in Hell to the king and queen. Unlike humans, the demons hardly aged at all, or if they did, it was a very slow process. (Then again, they were already dead, so it didn’t really matter.)

 But Charlie had heard of the interesting human tradition they called “birthdays” on Earth. She insisted to her parents they had to celebrate hers once a year.

 While Lucifer had been reluctant, Lilith agreed.

“We can’t participate in that foolish human tradition,” Lucifer argued. “Especially since we aren’t alive and our people are supposed to be suffering twenty four, seven.”

“If it makes our daughter happy, then so be it,” she said. “Besides, no one else has to know. It’ll be one of our traditions.”

“Very well,” he said. “But since Charlie gets a special day of her own, why don’t we make some days special for us…if you know what I mean.”

He gave her a devilish wink and she grinned in return. “A special day for domination…I’m up for that.”

Charlie had then entered the room, asking “What’re you talking about?” and the topic was changed.

“So, about that meeting with the other overlords?” Lilith asked her husband.

“As usual, I warned them they needed to know their place.”

Rolling her eyes, Charlie had left to play the grand piano.

 “Are you coming or not?” Lucifer asked, snapping her back to reality.

“I’m ready!” she called, opening the door.

There was her father in front of her, smiling his nearly ever-present grin. Like her, he had (much shorter) blond hair, a white face, blushes on his cheeks, and yellow eyes. He wore his usual white and candy red suit, with his white top hap with a snake along the rim. A black staff appeared in his hand with the Forbidden Fruit on the top: a red apple. Lilith walked over to stand beside him, wearing an elegant red dress and her usual black crown between her red horns on her head. She had blond hair even longer than Charlie’s and was taller than Lucifer.

“Oh Charlie,” exclaimed her mother in a soft voice, “You look so beautiful! You remind me of me when I was your age.”

 Charlie embraced her mother in a happy hug. “Come on, now,” Lilith said, letting go and beckoning her to come forward. “Our guests are waiting.”

 The “guests” were actually some of Lucifer’s snakes which he reluctantly enchanted to take on the appearances of…

 “Disney Princesses and Harry Potter wizards,” Lucifer muttered in disgust. “It could’ve been wounded demons sprawling in pain on the ground like in the past…”

 Charlie walked down the curving staircase down to the lobby of her family’s mansion. The “princesses” smiled and waved at her and some threw flower petals to her (which were actually dried scales dyed pink.)

 “You know how much she doesn’t like that,” Lilith mentioned. Charlie took the stage and began to sing.

 “But those enchantments aren’t even real,” he said. “It’s one of the ways to prepare her for her future duties as Hell’s princess.”

“And what’s the other way?”

Lucifer whispered into his wife’s ear and her eyes widened in both delight and hesitation.

“Oh that’s right. Today is also that day.”

“Surely she will enjoy getting a glimpse of what happens out in the world,” Lucifer smiled.

“But…what if it’s too much for her?”

“Too, much?” Lucifer asked. “She’s 150 now. She has to be ready. It’s a growing up right of passage that cannot wait any longer.”

 They watched Charlie take a bow as her doll demons clapped.

 “Trust me,” said Lucifer. “She’ll be delighted to witness her first…”

 “Cake!” Charlie squealed. “Oh my Satan, that’s amazing!”

 A devil’s food cake was rolled and set on a table in front of her. It had chocolate frosting (per her request), spidery snakes on the top and a fat red apple candle.

 After singing to her in their deep hellish voices saved for certain occasions, Charlie pointed her clawed finger at the candle and the flame shot into the air, bursting into red apple fireworks. The noise spooked the apparitions and the regular snakes appeared once more.

For the first half of the private party, Charlie entertained her parents by demonstrating her dancing skills up on stage. For Charlie, dancing wasn’t just a hobby: it was a way of life and a method to express her deepest feelings that she couldn’t put into words. Razzle played the grand piano and Dazzle played a violin as Charlie sang.

 As the day neared its end, the clock outside rang out twelve times. In the past years, Charlie would head upstairs to her room to watch musicals while her parents went outside for some “entertainment.” Now this time, Charlie would get a chance to be with her parents.

 “It’s a special surprise, sweetie,” said Lucifer. “Since it’s a big day for you, I’d like you to follow us.”

 He said it as if it were an order. Feeling bewildered, but still very excited, Charlie let her parents led her up the elevator and toward the uppermost balcony. Razzle and Dazzle followed close behind.

Soon, the group walked onto the balcony that overlooked the crimson sky and dark clouds of hell.

 Charlie stared out into the distance as the clock tower rang one last time.

 “I don’t see anything,” she said. “Are we waiting for fireworks? Or a rainbow?”

“Silly Charlotte,” said her mother with a smile. “You’re about to witness something even better than those things.”

 “A spectacle that you’ll gladly remember for years into your rule,” her father added.

 Charlie smiled wide, until seeing a speck of something in the distance. It looked like a circle of white light that slowly grew larger into the shape of a portal.

 “Huh?” she asked.

 Lucifer smiled. “Charlotte, welcome to your first Extermination.”

 Then…a swarm of dark flying creatures burst out of the portal. The shadowy figures rained down on the city below. Charlie looked closer and could see they had black feathery wings, dark curved horns and glowing white halos on their heads. Each one carried variations of spears, harpoons and other weapons in their hands.

 “What are those things?” she asked.

“They’re angels,” said her mother.

“Angels?” she asked. “You mean like the ones in human myths?”

“No, dear,” said Lucifer, his grin wide. “These are no myths.”

 All of a sudden, one flew close by and Charlie reeled back in fright. The angel that glided past had an LED mask on with a large sinister grin and an x over its right eye. The angel threw the spear in his hand, and the weapon struck a large parrot-like demon in the heart. The bird let out a shrill squawk as it plummeted to the ground.

Charlie glanced down at the streets and let out a sharp gasp.

 Down below, demons of all shapes and sizes scattered from the onslaught of angels descending on them like hungry vultures. A demon with three heads was unfortunate enough to have a harpoon struck through all his heads, causing the creature to collapse. Two other angels were choking a red dragon demon, the creature’s eye bulging. Two hellhounds whined in pain as electricity from another spear struck them both in the backs. The bipedal canines crashed to the ground and did not move again.

Nothing but screams, robotic laughter, and carnage. The longer she watched, the more frightened Charlie became. Soon, the rotten stench of death filled her nostrils.

She glanced back at her parents casually watching the show from their chairs like it was a musical.

Tears sprang from Charlie’s eyes.

“What is all this?! Why are you showing me this?”

“It’s a yearly extermination to reduce the population of sinners once a year,” explained Lilith. It was like she was talking about the weather.

“Those are our people!” she cried. “And you’re just letting this happen?!”

“There’s no need to act so brash,” Lucifer scolded. “It’s just a natural way of ensuring that evil gets a through cleansing.”

“Cleansing? This is murder!”

“Sadly, it’s a necessary act,” Lilith added.

“As you know, I was once an angel,” said Lucifer. “I was banished down here and nearly killed myself. But then God, the angels and myself came to an agreement. The Exterminators could kill citizens in Hell once every year, while we, the royal family, would be left alone. It does make sense, considering we are the most powerful individuals here.”

Charlie took several ragged breaths. “What’s so special about us? What about them?!” She pointed down toward the fleeing demons rushing into cars, stores, and even dumpsters to try and get away. Down over at the poor section of Imp City, the imps were even less lucky. The one ones who could escape were ones with enough proficiency to create small portals or to shapeshift into Exterminators to trick them.

 “This is Hell, Charlotte,” Lucifer said, eyes narrowing in frustration. “Suffering is what those lowlife scum deserve to experience. Just be lucky that we don’t have to deal with that.”

 “Vaggie,” Charlie breathed almost in a whisper, already concerned about her friend.

 “Now stop fooling around and embrace this momentous occasion,” said Lucifer.

 “No,” Charlie said.

“Excuse me?” asked Lucifer, eyebrows raised.

“NO!” she cried, tears running down her face. Her eyes turned red and her long horns emerged from her head. “I’m not gonna sit here and let more of my people die. I can’t believe you hid this from me all these years!”

 Charlie summoned Razzle and Dazzle and the two goats lifted her up and carried her down to the streets.

 “GET BACK HERE AT ONCE!” Lucifer bellowed.

Ignoring her father, Charlie landed down on the cracked asphalt, nearly stepping on a severed horned demon head. Razzle and Dazzle hovered nearby.

She saw three angels corner a frightened cat demon with a spotted brown face who held her paws up. Spears pointed toward her head and heart, the feline gave one last sorrowful meow.

“HEY!” Charlie bellowed in her demonic voice. She was seeing red. Her black shoes clacked against the pavement. “STAY AWAY FROM MY PEOPLE!”

The three angels turned at the same time, their eyes glowing red and teeth spread out when spotting her. The cat demon scurried up the wall with her claws and leaped from roof to roof out of sight.

 Flames receding from her body, horns shrinking back, Charlie backed up in fear and gulped as the angels advanced, their weapons at the ready. Razzle and Dazzle shuddered and held on tightly to Charlie’s hands. Just as the angels threw the spears and Charlie closed her eyes…

 She heard a sickening thud.

The spears had struck a pair of black fiery wings. The spears vanished in flames before flaming swords materialized out of thin air. The angels were struck by the swords, causing them to back up.

Lucifer’s eyes were red, his temporary black wings made from his enchanted snakes merged together.

“LEAVE.”

His demonic voice could stop the heartbeats of an entire group.

 Charlie slowly stood up once the angels had retreated and stared into Lucifer’s glowing red eyes. He slowly turned his head toward her. Though he was furious with her, she could see a small tear roll down his cheek before being evaporated by the heat.

“IF YOU EVER DO SOMETHING FOOLISH LIKE THAT AGAIN, I’LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER LEAVE OUR MANSION. YOU WILL BE GROUNDED UNTIL THIS PLACE FREEZES OVER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Charlie nodded with a whimper.

“YOU WILL ACCEPT YOUR ROLE WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT.”

 Charlie glanced over toward a group of demons and gasped. As her father raised his hand toward her, something inside Charlie stirred. A peculiar feeling in her temple, just between her eyes began to tingle with warmth. It was almost as if time stood still.

 When Charlie stared hard at the three homeless demons from a distance, she could almost see their faces briefly morph into their formerly human ones from their past lives: a white skinned bearded man with a bottle of alcohol in his hand, a mother with a cut-up face in torn prostitute clothing, a sobbing blonde boy in the mother’s lap just learning how to use a gun…

 Before Charlie could say anything, a glowing magenta pentagram surrounded her and she was transported back to her room with Razzle and Dazzle.

   Progression (Vaggie)

Vaggie couldn’t believe her eyes. Being so overwhelmed the day before with dying and becoming an Exterminator, she hardly had time to admire the shimmering city in the clouds.

 But now, as she made her way to the armory for her training session, she couldn’t help but stare in wonder.

 The architecture of the buildings ranged from Victorian mansions, to modern tech buildings made of glass and metal, to grand temples made of gold and silver, devoted to various gods, but mostly to Jesus. The streets were spotless and the roads were made of polished obsidian that was always smooth. Solar panels lay on every roof, powered by the sun. In the center of Holy City stood a mighty cathedral made of marble, reminiscent of Notre Dame. Several roman-style fountains were scattered around the city. One was a statue of Mary and Jesus as a little boy.

 Looming like Mount Olympus stood God’s palace, made of gold and precious stones, the gates made of indestructible diamond. A nearby garden connected to the palace housed the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge, guarded by several angels and a golden dragon.

 What was perhaps more intriguing were the citizens themselves. Some of them resembled typical white-winged angels: blonde or light colored hair, pale white faces with red blushes on their cheeks and yellow soulful eyes. Ironically, many of them had razor sharp teeth. The clothing they wore varied just as much as the outfits in Hell, coming from many periods throughout time. She noticed a dozen different ones: Roman tunics, medieval dresses and suits of armor, Egyptian clothing made of silk, top hats and suits from the 1900s. Some of the more casual people even wore modern jeans and t-shirts.

 Like in Hell, other angels had characteristics of animals and items. Vaggie spotted men with dove wings, women with white swan feathers for hair, and dozens of bipedal cats and dogs getting along just fine. A few other angels had heads of flowers and some had the heads of lyres, trumpets, and other musical instruments. None of them had to worry about falling; they could either fly or walk on air. There were several mythical creatures as well, including dragons, a few unicorns, fairies, and Thunderbirds.

 Several angels were in a circle in the sky, dancing the kumbaya and singing prayers while holding hands. Vaggie felt some nostalgia, remembering when she would wear brightly colored festival dresses for Cumbia dances and family events. She remembered dancing with her parents and extended family as upbeat Hispanic music played. How she longed for the taste of steamy quesadillas and juicy fresh fruit.

 Just where were her parents? And how safe could she really feel, even in paradise? The last thing Vaggie needed was to be gang-raped and murdered a second time by a bunch of beastly homophobic men.

  In the city around her, angels worked in ordinary jobs, especially in churches. There were also a few mosques, Buddhist temples and synagogues, but paled in comparison to the number of Christian places of worship. Volunteers and charity workers labored by the dozens, sending out food, blessings and miracles to the homeless and those residing in the lower levels of Heaven.

 Already, Vaggie was feeling like some sort of outsider.

 A small portal opened up to another heaven next door. Vaggie could see a glass building with bluish stained glass windows and classic art inside. A large sign on the roof read “Haven Hotel.” A bunch of angels were lining up and receiving white-winged keys in their hands. The portal closed before Vaggie could observe further.

 Soon, Vaggie reached the armory, a building shaped like a small white fortress. She stood at attention next to several angels, already fitted in their black Exterminator uniforms, black wings and LED masks. Vaggie looked and saw two muscular angels carry out a brown chest with planetary symbols on it. They opened it up and there lay dozens of sharpened harpoons, spears, and swords in neat rows. They were new weapons to be used for the time after the Purge in the next year. After a brief prayer, the recruits were called up in alphabetical order by a slender angel with long blonde hair and a light blue suit to retrieve a weapon of their choice. Gabriel stood next to Samael, the leader of the Archangels. He had red/brown curly hair and pulled out the flaming sword weapon he already had. Michael, another Archangel Leader, held a sword of his own: Excalibur, the weapon that defeated Lucifer. Raphael, the healer angel with long brown hair stood in the distance to watch.

 Samael called out the names of both new and old warriors one by one.

 “Azrael.”

Azrael was the first angel. He strode up and picked out a scythe, then pulled a hood over his head of long dark hair.

 “Camael. Cassiel. Dumah. Haniel. Hafineal. Israfil. Jegudiel. Jerahmael. Japhiel.”

 Vaggie yawned.

 “Kepherel. Munkar and Nakir. Metatron. Raguel. Ramiel. Raziel. Sandalphon. Sarathiel. Selaphiel.”

 The list went on and on.

 “Uriel. Uziel. Zachariel. Zadkiel. Zaphael. Zephaiel.”

 Finally Samael said “Vagathaiel…um, Vagatha? Is that right?”

 Vaggie looked up. “It’s Vaggie.”

 “Right. Come on up.”

Vaggie strode forward, ignoring the murmurs and whispers of her colleagues. It was embarrassing enough to be the last one chosen on accident, not to mention the only female angel in the group.

 Vaggie picked up the only weapon left in the chest, a harpoon spear. It felt good in her hands…like she was meant to wield it. Vaggie walked back to stand next to an angel with blonde unruly short hair, dressed in white.

“I’m Sam,” said the angel. “Many people call me Samael, but the real one is up there.”

 He mentioned to the lead Angel of Death: Samael. He had long flaming red hair, a white face, and crimson eyes. A scar ran along his neck. He enjoyed tormenting sinners more than anyone. He morphed into Exterminator form.

 “Welcome to training session and orientation. After our recent successful Extermination, it is now time to review what went well and discuss methods to increase efficiency.”

 Vaggie and the others flew thirty laps around a group of clouds then sat down for a lecture. The lecture covered Heaven’s history, Exterminator origins and the fall of Lucifer.

 For the next half, Vaggie practiced on using her weapon. She threw her harpoon at a demon training dummy at various distances. She worked on blocking, stances, aim, and flying patterns. At other times, she worked with other angels in a group.

 “Strike the head, between the eyes, the chest, abdomen and back,” Samael advised as he walked, observing the practicing soldiers. “Never get too close to some demons: their bites are venomous.” To others: “Swipe your weapon at the legs to trip your enemy. Keep a firm grip on your weapon. Follow orders and stick with at least two other angels during a raid.”

He continued: “If not enough demons are exterminated, then you all will have to repent for your failure of duty for three to seven days. Excitement of Ten Commandments, community service, fasting etc. Yes, I know we are all dead, but that doesn’t matter to the All Mighty Yahweh. Serve Him and happiness will serve you.” Samael showed a row of sharp teeth and a few angels flinched. “If you kill too many and linger too long and the portals will close and you’ll be trapped in Hell for a year. Either way, the demons must know their place, least they feel the need to bring war to Heaven.”

 He glared and stopped where Vaggie was.

 “Vagatha, your stance is way off. You need to spin faster when attacking multiple demons at once. Let your instincts move your body. And show less mercy to them or you’ll be begging for some during flogging, flying laps and scrubbing!”

Vaggie worked harder, feeling the pressures of this strange Heaven boot camp that felt like a living Hell.

After the intense training, they reviewed the Nine Circles of Hell, the seven sins and the seven virtues.

Vaggie was glad when the session was over at the start of twilight. Fortunately, she only had to attend six long days every other week (Sunday was rest day), as soldiers went on shifts. Walking into her designated home, Vaggie took off her uniform and tossed the mask aside, the creepy grin face staring at the ceiling. She concentrated, clearing her mind and the uniform appeared back on. Focusing again, the uniform came off next to her. She placed her weapon against the wall, not too far from reach. She lay down on a comfortable bed in a small house, which looked like the place she lived in when she was a human. In fact, other angels were living in different spots, in places that resembled their environment in their past lives. Colorful dresses and gothic outfits were neatly folded in nearby drawers. Punk rock posters from 90s bands were already hung up in her room. All of her favorites: Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, Green Day, Blink 182. A nearby iPod had those songs along with Cumbia, Salsa, Reggae and other music from her parent’s home country.

 Vaggie was starting to feel creeped out. Everything seemed…too perfect. The room was mocking her, displaying her favorite things from her past…even an exact replica of a portrait of her and her parents! Her mother and father, both with dark hair, wearing practical clothing. Her as a little girl with light brown skin, long black hair, and both of her brown eyes. Her birth certificate was even in another drawer: “Vagatha Gonzales, New Mexico, May 10 1992 to September 11 2014. Age 22.”

 She sobbed.

She screamed.

 She ripped out chunks of her long white hair.

  “My life…or death is not the same anyone! I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like it is. Fuck you!” she yelled to no one in particular.

Vaggie sighed in exhaustion. She wasn’t sure what would happen next. She missed her parents and her previous girlfriend. She missed music and soccer and martial arts. If only she could go back to worrying about jobs and kicking douchebag boys in the nuts. She never asked to be an Angel of Death with a possibility of going to Hell.

 She buried her face in her hands. “What have I gotten myself into?”

   Contemplation (Charlie)

The young demon princess lay down on her queen-size bed, complete with an apple-shaped headboard, velvet red sheets and matching curtains. Her room was a blend of a vampire’s room and a little girl’s room: among the spider webs and skulls along a dresser were drawings of unicorns and bottles of makeup. Drawings of demons holding hands hung from old branches sticking out from inside the wall. One drawing showed a smiling Charlie and Vaggie in between her parents. Scattered among the dark red walls were rainbow paint splotches and a painted sketch of a flower. A typed motto of “Don’t worry, be happy” was taped to the side of a mirror.

 But on this particular day, the usually happy-go-lucky girl found it hard to be positive.

 “He…called me a failure,” she said softly. Razzle and Dazzle nudged her head affectionately, their faces full of concern.

“Just before sending me here,” Charlie said. She stared at a crumpled piece of paper with her drawing of a hotel on it. The sign read “Happy Hotel” but the page was ripped thanks to Lucifer’s accusing claw tearing through it.

 He had paced back and forth, clearly frustrated. “Ever since your foolish fiasco on your birthday last week, you’ve been…shall I say…frying my nerves with your random ideas.”

“What’s bad about a hotel that redeems sinners?” Charlie had asked.

“I’ll tell you what’s bad about it…everything! First, there is no hope for those low-class demon trash. They were sent down here for a reason; because there’s no chance for them to ever change their ways.”

“Dad, that’s not true…”

“Second,” he interrupted, “You’re supposed to keep up an important reputation as heir to the throne. No one will take you seriously again if you blab on and on about some fantasy you insist upon.”

“It can be true, though!” Charlie replied. “I’ve seen what those demons are like. Sure, they did bad things, but everyone deserves a second chance.”

“There are some people who don’t get second chances,” Lucifer answered, with a faraway look in his eyes. “And that also applies to those people out there. It’s just the way afterlife works, Charlotte.”

“What if, it doesn’t have to always be that way? There is a more humane way of reducing overpopulation without all the senseless slaughtering…”

“There is no other way!” Lucifer said, raising his voice. Charlie flinched back a bit. “If hell becomes overcrowded, then God and the Angels will not hesitate to eliminate the threat: us.”

He paused. The king hadn’t considered the possibility of a second death before…the final journey to the void.

“Dad, listen, I know it sounds far-fetched, but I’m confident that my idea will work. I just need to spread the word about the Happy Hotel.”

“And embarrass yourself and our legacy? Along with putting yourself in danger?!”

“I can defend myself, easily!”

“You may be powerful, but this place crawls with overlords and who knows what else that will kill you.”

“But we’re already dead.”

“No. I was born an angel, near immortal. You were born here in Hell. If you want to be able to have a stable future here, you will stop with your nonsense.”

“I’m not going to give up. I know there’s a rainbow inside every demonic soul. I’ve seen…”

She hesitated, debating on whether to tell him about the anguished human faces she had seen during the last purge.  

“…humanity,” she finished.

As if reading her mind, Lucifer leaned in close, flames in his yellow eyes. “Do not think like an inferior human mortal. Humans are nothing but temporary bland prototypes to demons. All arrogant, not worthy of divine respect.”

“Have you even met a human?”

“I’ve learned enough about them to stick to my conclusion.”

“Many humans are good, just like other demons can be. Demons, after all, used to be human! Maybe they can become human again.  Redeemed souls will be sent to Heaven and everybody wins! No more killings, no more sorrow. Enough with the “us versus them” speech. You will join me in paradise, Dad, then you’ll see.”

Lucifer growled, and flicked his daughter backward across the hall with his power. She landed on her butt and back with a surprised yelp of pain, as Razzle and Dazzle lifted her up off the floor.

 “THERE IS NO PARIDISE FOR ME,” he boomed in his deep demonic voice, eyes red. It sent chills up Charlie’s spine. “NO HAPPY ENDING FOR ANYONE.” He sighed heavily. “The sooner you realize that, the better. You and the other demons will never leave Hell, I’ll make sure of it.”

Charlie’s mind began to whirl. What did he mean by that?

 Charlie began to speak but her father held up a hand. “Not another word. One thing is for certain: based on your actions thus far, you are nothing but a failure.”

Tears pooled in Charlie’s eyes. “You…you don’t mean that, do you?”

Lucifer pointed toward Charlie’s room and then looked away. “Get…get out of my sight.”

Charlie could only stand frozen in disbelief and sadness as her father departed down the hall, staff in hand.

  After tossing the worn paper aside, Charlie turned around and sobbed into her pillow. Later on, she sang a lament while walking to her balcony outside. Razzle and Dazzle even howled mournfully with her as she sang. It was the only way for her to truly express herself and let out her emotions.

   “Why am I such a failure?

It always seems to be

Destined for the throne, yet I feel so alone

What is truly best for me?”

 “Happiness lies at the end of the rainbow

Feeling like that’s the place to go

An endless distance, out of reach here

Lost in emptiness, foreshadowing fear”

 “Inside of every demon is a soul (is a soul)

Trapped by events beyond their control (their control)

I try to help and brighten their day (to find their way)

But my hopes and dreams fade far away”

 “Seeing the light in the darkness

In this world I’m blind

I wonder why I cling to hope

For those cruel and unkind”

 “Goodness beneath the surface

Redemption beyond the mask

What is my role, my purpose?

How can I complete my task?”

 “Peace, love, is all I ask

(Oooh, oooh, oooh)

Peace and love, is all I ask

(Oooh, oooh, oooh)

All I ask…”

 “Inside of every demon is a soul (is a soul)

Trapped by events beyond their control (their control)

I try to help and brighten their day (to find their way)

But my hopes and dreams fade far away”

  Extermination (Vaggie)

 It was now time for Vaggie to put her skills she had learned to the test. One year had passed and the time for the Purge was upon her. Despite being a newbie in comparison with everyone else, Vaggie had become one of the best fighters among the Exterminators. The fateful day soon came, and Vaggie lined up in position with the other Archangels. All dressed in black. Vaggie’s harpoon was in her right hand. She had requested that her wings stay white, with the red line through them like her hair. Although she didn’t like to think of herself as a murderer, she told herself that it was for the greater good. Sinners would get what they deserved and balance and cleansing would be brought to Hell.

 The angels all saluted when Samael strutted over. He had a black scythe in his hand, black flames rising from the blade. His red hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, his dark uniform, horns and mask ready for use. He walked over to Vaggie, approval in his eyes. “Your dedication to the Lord has been commendable. You’ve adapted well from your previous novice status. As such, I now assign you with an additional task.”

 He continued, “You are to spy on Hell’s princess Charlotte, find her, and make her surrender to us. Be wary of her pyro kinetic powers. If she does not comply, you are to kill her on sight before the days end.”

 Vaggie silently gulped as she saluted.

 “But,” Samael added. “Don’t forget about the other demons. And…do not try to reason with Lucifer. The traitor and his promiscuous queen sealed their fates long ago.”

 “Yes sir,” said Vaggie.

 Samael nodded and walked toward the front to address the winged assassins.

“Remember to aim for the head, chest, groin and pressure points. Show no mercy to anyone or anything. May the Lord bless you and all your endeavors. The Father, Son and Holy Spirit will reside in our souls always. May He deliver us from all evil. Amen.”

 “Amen!” the angels repeated.

 Michael waved Excalibur and a round portal to Hell appeared against the white clouds. Samael led the way and the angels filed through, Vaggie following close behind.

   Vaggie descended into the crimson chaotic world. The Big Ben-like clock tower rang twelve times, the *BONG* *BONG* rings echoing like hell’s bells of doom. The citizens screamed and scattered and scurried in the streets below. The angels were black vultures, circling around their prey. The thrust their spears forward. One angel managed to stab through two chubby orange demons like a gruesome shish kabab. Another demon in a black and white stripped outfit fired a gun at an angel to no effect. The demon teased the angel by appearing and disappearing around him. The trickster’s antics were cut short by a well-fired bolt of electricity through the demon. Two spears crisscrossed through the paralyzed frazzled demon, finishing him off for good.

 Vaggie flew down and landed on the ground, stomping after other demons. One demon climbed up a tree, Vaggie followed it, lifting herself up, spear in her mouth and swinging up the branches. She sliced off the demon’s blue head then landed gracefully on the ground on one knee. Standing up, she spotted a red vampire with black wings. She threw her spear and the creature was struck down in a splash of blood. Retrieving her spear, she attacked other demons that got too close…or ones who ran in her line of sight.

 “CLEANSE! CLEANSE! CLEANSE!” The chants rang out like a constant war cry.  A demon held a sign that read “Fuck you, Heaven!” in large red letters. Nearby, demons with six arms held up protest signs which displayed hellish slogans on them: “God spelled backwards is Dog!” “Hail Lord Lucifer, our true savior!” “Salvation, Sex, Substances, and Slaying.” “Asshole Archangels Suck Dick!” “Go Home Jesus, We’re Drunk As Shit!”

  Vaggie quickly made short gory work of them.

 Then, Vaggie saw some things that made her freeze. A green frog demon was nursing a wounded doll child back to health. A long dark green snake demon hung motionless from a streetlight, looking like a piece of thick string in the shadows. Whining could be heard from a gray teenage hellhound wearing a black tank top in the middle of a road. She was kneeling next to the furry corpse of her hellhound boyfriend. She lifted up her head and howled in sorrow. Small mouse demons scampered away in fright when they saw Vaggie.

Vaggie stared at her bloodstained hands. “Have I truly become a remorseless monster?”

 “CLEANSE! CLEANSE! CLEANSE!” The shouts pounded through the dark among the sounds of breaking glass, screeching cars, demonic laugher and the flickering of flames.

 Vaggie’s gut clenched. There was no way she could kill these souls. They did bad things, yes…but surely there was still some light in them. “I never fully believed all they taught me,” she thought. Heaven isn’t perfect at all. It’s ignorant and exclusionary! How could I have followed through with that for so long?”

 Around midway through the Purge, Vaggie finally spotted the person she was looking for. The demon princess with her long curly blond hair and pal face was looking forlornly from a balcony. She was wearing a red Victorian style dress with apple designs along the ends of the long dress.

Clearing her throat, Vaggie flapped over to her, spear at the ready. The girl’s eyes grew wide as she approached. Vaggie’s outfit morphed from plain black to an elongated version of her usual stripped leggings and white tank top with Xs over her breasts. Still, she kept her mask on, her horns extended in slight curves. The girl turned to run, but Vaggie waved her hand and the doors locked. She spoke in an emotionless voice, “Princess Charlotte.”

“W-what do you want?” Charlie asked, her voice tremoring in fear.

“I have arrived here on behalf of my leaders and the word of God. You are to surrender yourself peacefully and come with me. You are now an official prisoner of Heaven.”

Tears welled up in Charlie’s yellow eyes. “N-no! I can’t leave Hell and my people. I can’t leave my family!”

“I will resort to physical force if necessary.”

Flames erupted around Charlie and her straight black horns protruded from her head. No other words were needed to get the intention across.

Vaggie raised her spear. “If you won’t come with me…then perish!”

Charlie flinched back. “Leave me alone and hear me out!”

 Vaggie stared longer at Charlie. She lowered her weapon. She wasn’t allowed to feel emotion for any demon, let alone the princess of Hell.

 But this…peculiar feeling of warmth…was something new. Like a trace of her humanity was rising to the surface.

 Charlie stood up, breathing a small sigh of relief.

“I don’t want my people to be slaughtered every year. It truly breaks my heart. I know there’s good in everyone…including you.”

Vaggie lowered her head.

Charlie continued. “I am proposing a way to redeem sinners by introducing a new hotel to help them reform.”

She mentioned to the building she was in, the one with the sign that read “Happy Hotel” in large pink lit up letters on the roof.

“I’ve tried for months but no one listens to me. It’s like I don’t really belong here. If you believe that there’s a soul in everyone…if you have a heart…”

 Vaggie stood, conflicted. She had been taught to ignore pleas and cries of mercy. But this was different. It appeared that Charlie felt like an outcast as well…

…and the rare humanity that she showed, despite her status as the daughter of Satan himself.

“I…I…can’t do it!”

She dropped her spear and collapsed to her knees.

 Transformation (Charlie)

 Charlie did all she could to promote her hotel. Nobody would listen. No matter how many songs she sung, art she created or speeches she made, she’d always be ignored, taunted, ridiculed or even threatened. Food would be thrown at her as demons booed. Her rival Hesla called her a crazed Barbie bitch. Aaron von Eldritch, her former tall green boyfriend, son of Helsa, told her to get a grip and to “start being the pretty, polite, and passive princess she was before.” Out of a new desire to be with a caring woman partner, Charlie broke up with him. Her parents were not pleased.

 Lucifer was vivid when he heard the news. “You’ve just severed a valuable alliance with the Eldriches. Now they’re our rivals. We can’t afford to have more competition against us than we already have. A family like theirs could easily turn the tides against us when they badmouth us to our citizens!”

 Lilith was disappointed as well and a little surprised with her daughter. “You want to date girls now?” she asked. “How will you raise your heir in the next two centuries?”

 “Yes,” Charlie said. “I love both men and women. I don’t see what the problem is.”

 The only one who’s the problem is you,” Lucifer seethed. “You’ve never done anything right for so long and, frankly, I’m getting tired of your teenage nonsense. Break away from your petty fantasies, stop tainting our legacy…” his eyes turned red, voice lowered… “And… Grow. The. Fuck. Up.”

Charlie raced into her room, crying fresh tears as she wondered over to the balcony. Lilith was chiding her husband in a harsh voice over how hard he was on her. Charlie looked away when she heard the clock ring out.

 Now here she was, with an Exterminator angel sobbing at her feet.

Charlie stared as the angel slowly stood up, picked up her spear, and then removed her mask. A beautiful angelic face appeared, light gray skin, long white hair, a yellow eye, and white shimmering wings. “I am Vaggie, but people call me Vagatha.”

“I am Charlie, but people call me Charlotte.”

“It sounds too formal,” they both said at the same time.

They looked at each other some more, surprised to find they had so much in common on their first meeting day.

Vaggie spoke up. “I was sent here to restrain you or kill you so you wouldn’t be a threat to Heaven. But now…that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“So…you’re not going to kill me?” Charlie asked.

Just then, Samael spoke telepathically to Vaggie. “Based on my observations, the princess cannot be reckoned with. Exterminate her and return to the portal. Over.”

Vaggie gulped.

“What’s wrong?” asked Charlie.

Vaggie looked around frantically. A few other angels stood in mid- air, watching her and waiting to see what she would do next.

“I really can’t do it…” Vaggie said, her body shaking. Charlie comforted her with an embrace. Vaggie stood, stunned, but briefly returned it. Both of them were bonding…and gradually falling in love.

Samael’s voice rang through her mind, making her flinch back. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, VAGATHA?! FINISH HER OFF AND RECONVENE WITH YOUR ASSOCIATES AT ONCE!”

Vaggie put her mask back on and stepped back. “I promise, Charlie, I will do whatever I can to help you out. Everyone deserves second chances.” She flew off.

   Damnation (Vaggie)

Vaggie flew toward the open portal. The angels turned their heads and their eyes glowed red. Samael pulled out his black scythe. Vaggie stood in front of him.

Samael pointed behind her. “Get back down there if you know what’s good for you. Kill her, or I’ll do it myself.”

“No,” said Vaggie.

 Vaggie couldn’t believe the word flew out of her mouth. Her thoughts were faster than common sense. Vaggie could no longer hide behind the metaphorical mask of indifference, nor her physical mask over her face. Vaggie took off the black abomination and tossed it to the ground far below.

Samael’s eyes gleamed dangerously red. “What did you just say?”

Vaggie pushed down her fear. “I said, NO!”

Samael growled, showing sharp teeth. “You dare disobey a direct order given to you?”

Vaggie pointed down to Charlie on the balcony. “Charlie wants to rehabilitate sinners and bring them to Heaven! Why should I stop her from pursuing such a merciful goal?”

 Samael leaned in. “You should know that we do not accept any sinners. They are inferior to us, plotting our destruction at every moment. Even God has limits on who He can let in.”

 Vaggie clenched her fists. “But that’s not just! Slaughtering people without giving them a second chance. I’ve seen bad demons, yes, but others are just innocent families that are poor shadows of who they once were on Earth. Whatever happened to “love thy neighbor?” “Love thine enemy?” Why would God just turn people away?”

“Because,” Samael stated, “They’re monstrous scum. Filthy bugs and maggots who need to be eliminated. They’ll kill us all if their numbers are too great.”

 Vaggie shook her head. “Charlie has shown more humanity in her soul than anyone I’ve met. And I’ve only just met her today!” Vaggie stood, defiant and filled with a new purpose. “I refuse to continue with my mission.” But her confidence wavered as more red eyed, angels closed in on her. “Blasphemy…mutiny…” they muttered, emotionless behind creepy grinning masks. One by one, they pointed their weapons at her.  

If you won’t obey the will of Christ and God…” Samael held out his hand…”then you’ll burn in Hell just like the rest!”

 From down below, Charlie gasped in terror. Vaggie screamed in agony as her gray skin peeled away in chunks. Her spiked white halo broke in little pieces above her head. Her horns and dark uniform vanished. Worst of all, her beautiful white wings rapidly caught fire, burning off feathers that flew to the ground, some stained with blood. Soon her wings were completely burned away, the remains turning into streams of multicolored light that vanished.

Vaggie plummeted to the ground with loud screams, spear still clutched in her hand.

“Vaggie!” Charlie cried.

Samael rushed at Charlie at lightning speed, weapon raised, but someone else was faster.

Lucifer landed a punch that sent Samael flying backwards in an arch. He flew after the angel with six black wings that materialized from his body. His eyes glowed demonic red. He spoke in a deep voice that shook the ground and seeded sheer terror to anyone who heard it.

“NO ONE TOUCHES MY DEAR DAUGHTER! RUN YOU COWARDLY PIECE OF SHIT, OR I’LL DESTROY YOU WITH A FLICK OF MY FINGERS!”

Samael and the angels retreated into the portal and it soon closed.

“This isn’t over, Lucifer!” came Michael’s voice before the portal completely snapped shut.

Charlie jumped off the balcony, her body surrounded by flames. She caught Vaggie before she hit the ground.

 Vaggie opened her eyes, now in base demon form, a large pink X over her left eye. White tank top and leggings, back to regular size. She gave Charlie a sad smile before passing out.

 Restoration (Charlie)

Vaggie woke up in a comfortable bed in the Happy Hotel. She opened her eyes and saw Charlie standing nearby. Her back and hands were bandaged up, her hair spread apart like resting moth wings.

“Charlie?” she grumbled.

“Yes, I’m here,” said Charlie sounding relieved.

“Thank you for saving me like that,” Vaggie said. “But…why would you do that? I’m your enemy.”

“Not any more. You’re my new friend,” Charlie mentioned. “I don’t want anyone to suffer, not even one of the Exterminators.”

Vaggie sighed, feeling her back. It felt naked and vulnerable without her wings.

“Well, I’m not anymore.” She glanced at her spear, leaning against the wall. “But at least I still have my spear. I think they let me keep it in the hopes I would repent and kill more demons. Which won’t happen,” she added. “But make no mistake. I will strike anyone down who lays a harmful hand on you. You’re too good for this world. Me though…I’ll never be redeemed.”

Charlie smiled and placed a small kiss on Vaggie’s head. She picked up a discarded pink bow and put it on Vaggie’s head of white hair. “You can redeem yourself,” Charlie said. “By helping others redeem themselves. Help me with this hotel. This is your new destiny. Our new destiny. We can live a new afterlife together, and we can get through whatever comes at us.”

Vaggie believed her words with all her soul. Then she glanced down, sadly.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

“I didn’t get to see my family in Heaven.”

“I’m sorry,” said Charlie. “You must miss them. You were human once, right?”

Vaggie nodded.

“I was born here in Hell, but I can understand how you must feel. I promise we can make things right for both worlds. I’ve seen for myself that humanity can exist even in the blackest hearts.”

Vaggie sighed. “Not sure if I can agree with that part, but let’s see how it goes. You’ll need me to keep you grounded.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me, I’m still grounded by my parents. I broke up with this guy and challenged my parents’ opinions.”

“Do you feel guilty about it?” Vaggie asked.

“Sometimes I do,” Charlie admitted.

Then she squeezed Vaggie’s hand affectionately. Vaggie squeezed back. “But for now, I wouldn’t have this moment any other way.”

Vaggie laughed. “What do you see in the future, crazy girl?”

Charlie just smiled. “Rainbows inside every demon.”

[pamphletstoinspire]

A Martyrdom Of Love

In January of 2015, I sat in my kitchen early one morning, bleary-eyed after a fractured night’s sleep. (And I’m using the term “sleep” quite loosely.) The former night’s guilty parties, ages 2 and 5, lounged – in varied stages of consciousness themselves – on the couch, while I clutched a mug of coffee and scrolled through the day’s news stories. Suddenly I was wide awake, as I came upon the headlines of several Catholic sites: “Pope says Motherhood is Martyrdom.” Whoa.

Putting down the coffee, and reading on…The previous day, during a Wednesday audience, Pope Francis spoke about the willingness of mothers to sacrifice all for their children and give of themselves completely, heroically. And in saying mothers are martyrs, he was referencing a homily given by the late Archbishop Oscar Romero. Interested for obvious reasons, I had to know more. I was able to find a portion of the Archbishop’s actual homily, given in El Salvador in May of 1977 during the funeral of a murdered priest:

“Not everyone, says the Second Vatican Council, will have the honour of giving their physical blood, of being killed for their faith, but God asks the spirit of martyrdom of all those who believe in him, that is we all have to be willing to die for our faith, even if the Lord does not give us this honour, we, yes, are available, so that when our time to give an account comes, we can say, “Lord, I was willing to give my life for you. And I have given it.” Because to give your life does not only mean to be killed; giving your life, having the spirit of martyrdom is to give in duty, in silence, in prayer, in the honest fulfillment of one’s duty; in the silence of everyday life; giving life little by little? Yes, just as a mother gives, who without fear, with the simplicity of maternal martyrdom conceives a child in her womb, gives birth to the child, nurses it, helps the child to grow and cares for it with affection. She gives life. This is martyrdom.”

Surely Pope Francis was thinking about Romero that day because the cause for his beatification had just leaped forward when the Congregation for the Causes of Saints had found the Salvadorian Archbishop himself worthy of the title of “martyr” by a unanimous vote.

That seems obvious enough. After all, Archbishop Romero was gunned down while saying mass because he had openly and vehemently condemned the violence of a long and bloody civil war. I think we can all agree – that’s martyrdom, that’s heroic. It echoes the traditional scenes of martyrdom that have captured our imaginations: St. Stephan being stoned, St. Lawrence burned, St. Philomena beheaded. It brings to mind the recent pictures we’ve had pressed into our memories of the new martyrs in the Middle East.

But…motherhood? How can that compare? Few of us mothers will die for our faith in face of violent opposition.

No, says the Church, so wise and generous in love. No, but you can die daily.

You can die a “white martyrdom”. You can do what everyone is called to do, but few achieve. You can slowly but completely give of yourself, literally dying to yourself and to the world and all it holds out to you. You can die, a little bit at a time, to all the old desires and dreams and live for Christ and all that He asks you to live for, and who He asks you to live for. And you will do so quietly, and no one will know, and that will be part of the death.

And in the case of motherhood, you can put aside all – even, from the start, your own body, and give it to another. You give up sleep, you give up peace and quiet, you give up your best-laid, scheduled plans, you give up travel, you give up careers, you give up freedom – well, in the worldly sense (and find it completely in its true form).

Even our most pious longings must die, sometimes. How we struggle to find even a morsel of time for quiet prayer. How we crave an hour in the adoration chapel. How we suffer when we wave goodbye to another, as they head off on a spiritual retreat, and turn back into the house, toddler on our hip, to tackle the dishes and mountains of waiting laundry.

One Sunday, I had hoped to get away for a time – not even an hour, just a little time – to the adoration chapel in a nearby parish. But it wasn’t meant to be. Little fires had to be put out, the many needs of six children simply had to be attended to, and soon the day was gone. Finally, that night, I knelt. Not in prayer. I knelt on the kitchen floor, head bent, cleaning up spilled Cheerios. And then, suddenly, this: You couldn’t come to Me, so I have come to you. The words penetrated my heart. He was there. He was there, with me, among my mess in the dark kitchen. He saw. He knew.

So does the Church. A mother herself, she knows. She knows who helps carry the crosses, like silent Simons, as suffering children climb their own little calvaries. She knows the fervent prayers and whispered blessings. She knows the sleepless nights and long, weary days.

She knows, and Our Blessed Mother knows, the pure white, radiant joy (for there is much of that too), and the heavy shadow of the cross. She knows. And how generous of her to offer us a crown, like one of those Mary held out to another “Martyr of Charity,” St. Maximilian Kolbe. Something to strive for, even in our humble, crumbly lives – a crown, and a title worthy of the very best of her children. May we, mothers or not, reach for it with singleness of heart. May we all become martyrs of love.

Written by: CLAIRE DWYER

[livinginlandmarketing]

Infection rates. Drive-thru testing centers. Hospitalizations, ventilators and intensive-care units. It’s a very different sort of holiday season for Southern California.

Welcome to the pandemic Thanksgiving. This is the year our leaders asked us not to travel, dine away from home or gather in big groups — essentially, Thanksgiving’s tentpoles. So for many, that seat at the table for a beloved mom, a treasured uncle, a lifelong friend, a revered grandma … is empty this year.

The months-long coronavirus outbreak is surging anew, taking dozens more lives every day from San Bernardino to Pacoima to Pasadena, from Riverside to Orange County to the South Bay.

And still…

“We don’t have a lot of extra stuff, but I can’t think of anything we really need. I have so much to be grateful for.”

That’s the voice of Tanya Doby, 41, a business owner and the first Black city council member in Los Alamitos.

Amid the tragedy and the turbulence, Doby is deeply grateful.

She’s not alone.

She’s one of many folks we spoke to who reminded us that even amid a year steeped in disrupted traditions and heartbreaking headlines, there is still reason for gratitude. And hope.

“On Monday, I drove by a food bank in Anaheim with a long line of cars,” she said. “It occurred to me, I don’t have to be in one of those lines. I have food and clean water. My children are healthy, my husband is well.”

Los Alamitos City Councilwoman Tanya Doby poses for a photo at Laurel Park in Los Alamitos on Wednesday, August 26, 2020..(Photo by Kyusung Gong/Contributing Photographer)

Amen to that.

Others will mark the day having lost much this year, and yet, still are finding fortitude to push through. And many found ways to help those who weren’t so fortunate.

Twelve days in May

Julian Ramirez, 63, stares out at his yard. He and wife, Saramaria, planted and nurtured that mango tree.

It’s a symbol of a robust life the El Salvadorian L.A. couple lived. He proudly holds up a picture of Saramaria. Wide smile, lots of teeth. Lots of love.

  Julian Ramirez shares a picture of him and his wife Saramaria in his Arleta home on Friday, November 20, 2020. Saramaria, 36, died of COVID-19 after catching the virus at the convalescent home where she worked as a nurse said Ramirez. (Photo by Sarah Reingewirtz, Los Angeles Daily News/SCNG)

The two met in El Salvador in the 2000s, but by then Julian, much her elder, had already long been settled in Arleta. So he helped her get a visa to come to the U.S. She arrived in 2005, and they would soon marry. They had a son, also named Julian. He’s 10.

It wouldn’t be long before Saramaria would earn her nursing degree, studying at L.A. Mission and L.A. Valley colleges in the San Fernando Valley, Julian said, adding it was the culmination of a life devoted to helping people.

Then, devastating news in 2018: Cancer.

“When we heard that.. believe me, everything just fell apart,” Ramirez said. “Not economically.. but in spirit everything just fell apart. We knew that it was an uphill fight.”

Julian Ramirez thinks of his wife at the mango tree he surprised her with in the garden she nurtured at their Arleta home on Friday, November 20, 2020. Saramaria, 36, died of COVID-19 after catching the virus at the convalescent home where she worked as a nurse said Ramirez. (Photo by Sarah Reingewirtz, Los Angeles Daily News/SCNG)

She battled hard. She continued her work as a nurse, still wanting to help people. Who was Ramirez to stop her from her mission, he asked.

But by May 2020, the pain in her back grew too severe. She’d see  doctor, who ultimately diagnosed her with the coronavirus.

Saramaria, 36, never came back home — back to “la casita.”

In 12 days she was gone, leaving lasting memories of Facetime connections with a mom, a sister, a wife, a son and a husband she could not see in person.

Ten-year-old Julian Amani Ramirez holds a picture of his mother Saramaria and her wedding rings with his father Julian in their Arleta home on Friday, November 20, 2020. Saramaria, 36, died of COVID-19 after catching the virus at the convalescent home where she worked as a nurse said Ramirez. (Photo by Sarah Reingewirtz, Los Angeles Daily News/SCNG)

Much of her family — Julian’s father-in-law, mother-in-law, his brother-in-law, lives with Julian now — as they raise his 10-year-old together.

As Thanksgiving arrives, the memories of the year are still raw. But he said he finds strength to be thankful that his family has health and offers thanks to a country that has enabled him to have a life to provide for a family.

He continued his gaze at the mango tree, with a few tears, and the flowers the couple planted around it.

“Everything reminds me of her,” he said, remembering the best of times.

“Many times, I felt like I am feeling like the happiest man in the whole world, from my head to my toes,” he added.

“I breathed it in.”

‘A harder Thanksgiving’

Long Beach Mayor Robert Garcia will hunker down on the holiday, at home with his husband.

“…Just the two of us,” he said.

Mayor Robert Garcia (Photo by Jeff Gritchen, Orange County Register/SCNG)

But it will be unlike any previous holiday for the 42-year-old mayor, now in his second term.

Garcia’s mother and father-in-law died from COVID-19.

  Greg and Gabriella O’Donnell Long Beach Mayor Robert Garcia’s stepfather, Greg O’Donnell died from coronavirus complications — two weeks after the mayor’s mother passed away. (Courtesy of Mayor Robert Garcia)

The mayor’s mother, Gabriella O’Donnell, who immigrated with Garcia from Peru when he was 5 years old, died July 26. She was 61 years old. Then, Greg O’Donnell, 58, her husband, died on Sunday, Aug. 9, one day after Gabriella’s memorial service.

The death of the Whittier couple came at at time when Garcia himself was — and still is — working around the clock to lead the city of more than 460,000 people through the pandemic.

As Thanksgiving arrives, he’s got both things on his mind.

Mayor Robert Garcia outside city hall in Long Beach, CA, on Thursday, Sept., 10, 2020. Garcia lost his mother and stepfather to COVID-19.(Photo by Jeff Gritchen, Orange County Register/SCNG)

“This is going to be a harder Thanksgiving for me, and quite frankly a lot of families across the country, who will be experiencing their first Thanksgiving, or their first Christmas, without members of their family — and for me, for my mom and my step dad,” he said this Monday. “I am still thankful that I have other members of my family who are healthy and alive.”

He hoped everyone would just try to stay safe, stay home this year for the holiday, as the surge threatens to put more stress on the region’s hospitals.

“I’m still thankful for all the blessings we still have in our life, and hopeful that there is light at the end of the tunnel,.” he said. “If we can just continue to sacrifice and keep each other safe, early next year in January we are going to start seeing people getting access to the vaccine… .”

‘Courageous dialogue’

The pandemic and the protests against racial injustice have exposed not just racial inequities, but also the fact that the country has a long way to go when it comes to battling systemic racism, said Pastor Samuel Casey, senior pastor of New Life Christian Church in Fontana and executive director of Congregations Organized for Prophetic Engagement.

Rev. Sam Casey, Executive Director of Congregations Organized for Prophetic Engagement, at his home in Fontana on Tuesday, July 14, 2020. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

“I’m thankful that even though we have some rough seasons this year, things are getting better, and we had the opportunity to fight for justice in new ways,” he said. “Through Black people and other people of color, it has been brought to national and global attention that America still has work to do.”

This has also been a year of reconciliation, which despite widespread division and polarization, has been taking place in pockets in communities across the country, Casey said.

“It has opened up courageous dialogue,” he said. “Proximity does breed empathy. And this year has really brought us together whether we wanted to be together or not.”

A new life

It was Sept. 9, and the time had come. After months in and out of the hospital, Janet Udomratsak was ready to give birth.

It had been a rocky road.

Janet Udomratsak with her family, James, 2 months, husband, Chris and Henry, 5 in Sylmar, CA November 25, 2020. James was born in September after a harrowing pregnancy that included complications. The family will celebrate Thanksgiving her parents and siblings who are in thier “bubble” with time. (Photo by David Crane, Los Angeles Daily News/SCNG)

Pregnancy complications landed her in the hospital throughout the year. Not only was her pregnancy at risk, but so was the beginning of the school year for a Sylmar woman who’s been in the business of teaching for 11 years.

Up until three days before the delivery date, during a 10-week stay, she was teaching her elementary-schoolers from the confines of her hospital room at Providence Holy Cross in Mission Hills.

But things got extra complicated at birth. Bleeding in her uterus during the planned caesarean section turned an expected 30-minute delivery into an hours-long surgery that involved tense moments, concern, multiple blood transfusions and the ultimate removal of her uterus.

Even for Udomratsak — long braced for the unexpected after such a difficult year — the tension was clear as the pre-delivery banter and anticipation turned to serious silence.

She was forced to make a life-changing decision in the matter of moments. But what mattered most was making sure the her baby was born.

Janet Udomratsak with James, 2 months. James was born in September after a harrowing pregnancy that included complications. The family will celebrate Thanksgiving her parents and siblings who are in thier “bubble” with time. (Photo by David Crane, Los Angeles Daily News/SCNG)

Meet James — all 3 pounds, 11 ounces and 16 inches of him at birth.

“When he came out, I was in shock,” she said. “I was like wow, he’s here. He came out, kicking and crying when he came out. The whole room was in tears. They knew the struggle. They were with me from day 1.”

This Thanksgiving, the family will be together — little James, mom, dad Chris, and Henry, 5, who loves bringing toys to show his little brother.

“Knowing it could have been worse, it makes me that much more thankful, I am more aware of everything now. I want to enjoy my time with everybody,” she said.

“And, with that, I also want to take care of myself so I can be around for everyone.”

Staff writers Deepa Bharath, Susan Goulding, Martin Wisckol and Steve Scauzillo contributed to this story.

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-on November 25, 2020 at 05:00AM by Ryan Carter

[cenonyc-blog]

THE KHAN

THE KHAN

Hailing from uptown DC  (14th street to be exact), The Khan has boasted an distinguished career in both the underground music world and DC’s cultural story today. From the same scene that’s delivered the likes of Yung Gleesh, Jay IDK, Goldlink and Shy Glizzy, The Khan’s undeniable influence on his local and national peers cement his place among the rest in the Chocolate City’s music legacy. The hometown hero stopped by CENO to talk about the history of his city, how he  got into music, and the people and culture that helped him get there.

“I’m the Khan from DC – from uptown DC, 14th street. It’s punk, you got the punk scene. You got a go-go scene. You got a jazz scene. Black Broadway was in DC on U street, where I grew up at,” he explained. DC didn’t get the nickname ‘Chocolate City’ for nothing, and it’s cultural significance can’t be overstated. The historically black neighborhood surrounding U street, once known as “Black Broadway,” was a regular stop and home for historic black icons like Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Zora Neale Hurston and educator and social visionary Mary McLeod, to name a few. But as the city became desegregated and black families started attending venues that had previously been “white-only,” the economy of U Street disintegrated and the area was absorbed by rapid gentrification.

“It’s hella music orientated, hella culture there – drill culture, street culture. Now it’s a bar culture, it’s hella shit. Hella lingo and shit like that. But then you got me and my friends. Every artist that’s famous from DC, not everyone can stack that they’re really from DC. But we’re really from DC, people know us in DC and our whole come up. Like me going out to LA and doing the shit that I’ve been doing, it’s never really been done, as far are from like, young niggas. People don’t look outside of DC. Even when I went outside of DC for the first time it was crazy as fuck. I didn’t think it was real. It’s a small city, a little life every day. Everyone’s tryna work up, finesse, do what they gotta do. Everybody.”

DC today looks different. Like any major metropolitan in America, white people have moved in without regard to the black legacy of the city, and they’re taking over. They own neighborhoods, blocks, streets, and establishments. A white bigot who ran on racist propaganda and dog whistle language was just elected to the highest political appointment in the United States, just a few blocks from where The Khan and his friends grew up. “I didn’t go to the White House til I was ten. And that shit’s literally a five minute drive from my house. I could see it from looking down, I could look all the way down and see it two miles down. I’m from 14th so it’s two streets over on 16th, but I ain’t never been in front of that jaunt til I was like ten. Me and my friends went down on bikes and got in trouble for being too close… It’s the capital too, that’s something I learned to accept – it’s the capital, nobody can’t do nothing about that. It’s just some government ass shit. You technically can’t even own land in DC because everything is federal property.”

While everyone’s distracted by what’s going down on Pennsylvania Avenue, The Khan is on the ground, in his own neighborhood, and with his own people. “DC is like black migo shit. Around my way we got a trap building and it’s like Latino people in it, doing they thing. And we got black people in there and we all brothers. Even white people, we like white people. We just started seeing them and was like…I dunno, we should be cool. DC is different.”

The Khan describes music as a staple in his immigrant household, and the metal and punk preferences of his parents and family are easy to track in his personal style and the wave of music he’s known for. “My mom don’t mind if we’re blasting music to the max, she does the same. My mom used to wake me up singing “Chop Suey” as a kid. Every morning. I remember my mom doing that, and I grew up with my dad too, he used to be a metal head. Had like long straight hair, tight leather pants, so my whole family, my Latino family of the side is like that too. A lot of my uncles listen to rock, they all came here during that era and that was the cool kids. The El Salvadorian side.”

Meanwhile, his older brother helped him cultivate his passion for trap music alongside boom bat, and even a more classic New York sound. He gives a lot of credit for the what we might think of as old-school hip hop to that same New York sound (“real hip hop” as old heads would put it). “My older brother got on his trap shit. DC, especially back then was like, everything the hood. Blocks were like, hood, hood, hood. My first album I got was Get Rich or Die Tryin’. So I was on my hip hop shit too. He was putting me onto underground – mixtapes, not buying albums. And then when I started rapping I was into old school hip hop, I used to be on my rap-rap shit. To this day I will bar rap with anyone that wanna go. I’m just more into flows and stuff right now, more into sonics. And that’s just the way I want to go about it. And I feel like everyone that was rapping like that in a sense, wanted to sound like they were from New York. So when the old heads, E-bro and shit are like everyone don’t rap like this no more, it’s like bro – everyone not from New York. Everyone don’t know how to impersonate that. We can’t fake act like we on the train in New York. What the fuck?”

He’s okay with that. The impact of his local sound on the underground rap community backs up the pride he has for being from DC, and creating and perpetuating a sound specific to his his lived experience there. But something DC and NY undeniably have in common is a rapid and widespread gentrification at the expense of communities of color who have lived there and influenced the culture for generations. The Khan describes leaving DC for a few months and coming back to find parts of his city unrecognizable, and definitely not the same place he grew up in when he first met the people who would form the rest of his group, Atomos, The group met at the historic Cardozo High School, whose alumni include Marvin Gaye. “Atomos is Mahi, Red and Chachi… we started this group in Biology class. Atomos. We were like sixteen. It means individual, that’s where the word Atom came from and we were like that’s us, and we just ran with that…we became a super fucking group in DC.”

They were confident off top – The Khan describes Atomos getting booked for their first show off one song, and literally creating the rest of the songs for their set in that same week. “I made one song that was a freestyle everyone uptown was fucking with - “Intricate Softcore Thugging”- I don’t know why. Then my friend was throwing this DIY show, that’s part of the culture in DC too, art shows and things like that. So my friend booked us for that show, it was in a week, and I’m freaking out like we only got one song! So we ended up making a bunch of tracks for that set. And that was our first show ever, at this little dance studio, mirrors and poles and shit. And our first song, we just exploded, as soon we started performing we broke four speakers. We had a big ass intermission at some point because it was like – broke one, oh fuck, grab another one; broke another one, oh fuck, boom, then it’s like this big ass intermission because we had to find another speaker. Then we had to calm them down, move them back.”

“We just kept at it. We were the young kids from DC – to this day we still making history. My man Mahi just walked Tommy Hilfiger in fucking China and shit, that’s cool as shit. No one in uptown DC really did that, even for the whole city, we kicking down doors for people. And whether or not kids know it or not - they not gonna give it to me all the way - but me and my friends showing kids how to do it and showing them the steps. Just paving the way for our whole city. That’s why it’s more about the culture to me than anything. I got a responsibility down there.”

Stream FREE JESSE: THE MIXTAPE here, and follow him here.

[shapshapproject]

Transcending borders and connecting global imaginaries

by Lindi Mngxitama

Playing at the Antigel Festival for SHAP SHAP has always been a dream of mine, especially after watching videos of FAKA’s performances there over the years. It was probably due to the nature of COVID-19 making electronic music more accessible globally, and me choosing to focus on promoting myself globally — because there wasn't an option of shows and stuff like that during lockdown — that made the opportunity to be able to play a festival like this possible. Overall, it was an awesome experience, and although it was virtual it still felt like I was on a global stage amongst some really great artists.

Says producer and Roses are Red record label founder Rose Bonica speaking about SHAP SHAP’s annual programme at Antigel Festival, but more specifically, speaking about the 6th edition of WHAT’S UP?. Creatively connecting people and using physical and digital stages to take action against global inequalities and discrimination, this year’s Antigel Festival found itself evolving in form and having to adapt in its possibilities of engagement due to the pandemic all of the world has been — and is still currently living through — in all of our varying and intersecting realities across the globe. “Over the last years ANTiGEL Festival has grown to become one of the largest cultural events in Geneva. By bringing artistic experience to parts of the city that are detached from this kind of engagement, the festival aims to be a reminder of the importance of making spaces for arts and culture”, remaining committed to this mission even within the setting of our current pandemic dystopian reality. This year’s ANTIGEL X SHAP SHAP WHAT’S UP? programme was curated in collaboration with Johannesburg's own Cuss Group, DJ, artist and self-named proud eurolatina Anita Kirppis (Geneva-San Salvador), Maïté Chénière AKA DJ Mighty (Geneva) and BATEKOO (Rio de Janeiro).

A non-profit organisation founded in 2015, SHAP SHAP is invested in taking action against global inequalities, racial and gender discriminations through artistic cultural projects. The festival’s curatorial and creative methodology is one rooted in collaboration — with both artists and scholars, to contribute to: “1) strengthening the artistic, social, political and economic status of emerging and off-the-grid artists from the Global South and from minorities who need support to emerge locally and internationally 2) facilitating international mobility 3) raising awareness on inequalities and discriminations 4) fostering dialogues”. The program at Grand Central STREAM Antigel 2021 unfolded over a course of 23 days from February 5th - 27. Self-named as eurolatina in a move towards the search for a better understanding of her identity because as Anita expresses:

I left my country very young (El Salvador) to come to Europe. A that time I was still searching to understand my identity as I was defined as a Salvadorian immigrant in Europe but when I was coming back to see my family every year I felt [like a] ‘foreigner’ in my own country. In a constant back and forth in every part of my life, even in my art studies I was lost. Nowadays, half of my life it has been built in Europe with codes, cultural and political references that I’ve mixed up with my Salvadorian background. I think that I’m finally embracing this richness and the complexity of this multiple identity and I’m more aware to reflect this on my dj sets. Kirppis’ Central America What’s Up, kicked off the festivities and in our conversation reflecting on the experience she shares that: Being part of this project, it was like I found allies who do things with careness and understanding about the issues that me or any other artist coming from the Global South could encounter during their career. Having this structure [that] backups and defends your positions, your ideas and your projects, is like a deep breath of clean and fresh air coming from the pacific ocean.

The artists who made up Kirppis’ segment included the collective Ghetto Witchez and musician El irreal Veintiuno. Speaking to first time participant El irreal Veintiuno — whose musical practice is rooted in capturing the sounds of his country — about his experience, especially within the festival’s 2021 virtual form, he shares:

It has definitely been a new experience and what we are living [through] with this pandemic, was not an impediment [on] the experience of connecting with people from all over the world. Through a screen [it became] possible, you know it is curious how between countries there are giant walls, and with the help of technology you can put an end to those walls. It is simply magical, although to be honest, I like to think about the fact of being there physically with people dancing, enjoying and feeling each song you are playing. I hope at some point in life it is possible.

For Ghetto Witchez’ REBURRA, the festival helped her reconnect with her creative side which had been suffering from a pandemic induced lull as she expresses:

Personally it was a positively challenging experience, it helped me wake up my creative side and shake off lots of heavy feelings I had bottled up during most of 2020. In El Salvador the quarantine restrictions were specially hard during the first months of the pandemic. So, most of us where just locked in our houses scared for our lives and listening to the president’s long misinformed press conferences. It was hard, my heart and mind where not that well recovered from the quarantine experience and there where moments I just wanted to go back in time. So I decided to make our participation in SHAP SHAP’s programme at Antigel festival an excuse to revisit this Salvadoran fantasy land I’ve created in mind and heart — [to] revisit all those feel good and pretty things that connect me with my country. All the footage we added to the set visuals and the intros are part of a well know Salvadoran cultural phenomenon or landmark from my generation’s childhood, that have a special place in my mind and heart. This way, we made of our participation a way of healing my reality at the time and I really appreciated that. It was a bright spot during dark days.

Week two which was curated by Mzansi’s own Cuss Group, under the programme segment South Africa, What’s Up started off on February 12th. Not their first #me at the rodeo — 2021 marks Cuss Group’s 5th year participating in the festival, however, this #me bringing along new home grown talent and first #me festival participants to fill their segment. Rose Bonica — “your favourite producers’ favourite producer” and X14. As mentioned before part of SHAP SHAP’s intention and focus is “strengthening the artistic, social, political and economic status of emerging and off-the-grid artists from the Global South and from minorities who need support to emerge locally and internationally and facilitating international mobility”. This in-turn creates space and opportunity for dialogue and cultural/artistic exchange that is able to imagine beyond the limitations of the nation state and its borders. Speaking about the value of this work and intention Rose shares:

I mean, it's extremely valuable. I live in a country where the arts, especially underground electronic music, is barely funded so these kinds of opportunities are truly valuable. And being able to perform on a global and diverse stage is such a great opportunity for any artists with the added financial stability that the festival offers, I honestly couldn't think of anything better. The experience also pushed her where her own creative methodology and confidence are concerned, revealed as she expresses that she found it really difficult: to translate my live performances into a virtual space and the whole process of filming and editing the performances together often feels draining. My self-confidence generally takes quite a big dip and before the stream starts I feel like it's just all going to be a big flop. My experience with SHAP SHAP was really reassuring. And for the first time since I started doing any type of virtual streams I went into it feeling a little more confident, and feeling like I was a part of something.

X14 — also a first time participant — expresses having no expectations as he went into the festival, however, feeling robbed of his first international trip due to COVID-19 travel restrictions, sharing some more he states “my journey as X14 has allowed me to get proximate to artists whose work I really admire, one of [them] being Naledi Chai. I told her about it and she immediately hit me with the vision for what you saw... she helped me communicate something raw and beautiful”.

Friday February 19 ushered in week three curated in collaboration with Afro Futurist DJ, founding member of the House of Butch Xtra and artist Maïté Chénière. The first time I engaged with Chénière’s work was through their first solo exhibition, Octavial Scape, which mapped different modes of refusal and resistance in the forms of music, popular culture, academia and storytelling against the backdrop of the Atlantic — a central site of subjugation in the Transatlantic slave trade and node among a global community. Like Cuss Group, this was not Maïté’s first time participating in the festival either, having have been part of it before as both collaborating curator and participant (DJ). Roles which require one to show up in/from a particular way. I ask them about how the experience of those two roles matched up, and which may have been more challenging to which they respond:

There is always this duality in my practice, artist/DJ and curator. It’s been a journey to find balance between those two and it's a constant work in progress. In the context of An-gel, I guess the most challenging for me was to curate. I proposed a line up within SHAP SHAP's program, within Grand Central's program, within An-gel's program. It's a lot of circles to navigate and sometimes you risk losing touch with the core intent. I find it hard to imagine that working within such a collaborative and far reaching way — especially within the framework of challenges presented by COVID-19 — wouldn’t affect/effect ones own relationship with their artistic practice. Asking Maïté about this they express that: When I arrived in Geneva I noticed a gaping hole in the night scene. What brought me to Dj-ing is that I was tired of looking for myself in those white spaces. Then I began hosting the Archipelagogo Club events dedicated to celebrating club culture and its originators; queer people of colour. These are trans-disciplinary events fostering artistic creation and community at a local level but also with international artists. Through the SHAP SHAP residency I got to meet artists from South Africa: Moonchild Sanelly, GYRE, Angel Ho, Griffit Vigo, Desire, DJ Candi, CUSS group. And we produced music in Johannesburg together with Bone Black and Dokta Spizee (The Good Dokta). This opened all kinds of places in me and brought the realisation in my flesh of the necessity to shift from the western gaze as an active practice.

The final week — week four curated in collaboration with BATEKOO. Speaking to Mauricio Bahia Sacramento aka FreshPrincedabahia — ceo/founder and creative director at BATEKOO — I learn that their own approach to their sonic craft is rooted in taking “cultural trips in the musicalities produced in the peripheries of Brazil and the world”, a mode of research which as he expresses “has always been present in my life as a dj and as a creator, I needed to do this analysis when creating BATEKOO, for example”. For BATEKOO, the festival’s 2021 virtual form also spoke to “the moment of transition” he thinks we are currently in as he shares, “I think we are going through a moment of transformation, and we will always take positive balances out of it. I believe that in the future we will use more internet tools to spread information, entertainment and learning”. Cultural happenings like this are imperative as “it is very important that today the cultural class and large companies look for ways to reframe the present and help each other in a 360 way”. If anything SHAP SHAP program at Grand Central Antigel was a creative manifestation of the fact — to quote Anita Kirppis — that “the boundaries are [being] pushed, [and] the forces are changing”.

[fraudulence-paradox]

4/24/16

Die young and save yourself.

    When I was in ninth grade, I listened to a lot of Brand New. I have a lot of specific memories of being an angst ridden teenager, sitting in the back of my mom’s green van as she drove me from place to place. I’d blast Brand New, and look out the car window. Rain hit the window and dripped down, my breath fogged the glass as my head leaned against it, and I listened to Brand New. My favorite song at the time was Quiet Things. I thought the lyrics were incredibly deep. “Keep that thought in your head, and keep your feet on the ground” Jesse sang to me. Now I think that’s probably one of the worst songs Brand New had to offer. Now as I listen to The Devil and God, or Deja, thier two best albums, I can really appreciate the lyrics.     At the time I’m writing this, I’m only 19, so I don’t pretend to be much deeper than I was only 4 years ago, when I was 15, but I at least feel that between my life experiences, and the hallucinogenic substances I’ve taken, I can think a little more intelligently than I could then.     I remember when I worked at Outback, I trained this guy. I don’t remember what his name was, but I remember a lot about him. I’ll call him I-----. I----- was just like me, and honestly, add a few more years to me, and I can very easily see myself becoming him. He was into psychedelics, telling me once about the time that he took acid 6 hours before his math class, and was asked to write on the whiteboard. He lived a pretty average life, went to a pretty average school, he had troubles dating, didn’t buy the JFK assassination explA--tions, but most of all, he was into Brand New.     It’s not uncommon to bond over music taste, but I don’t think since 2011 I’ve ever met anyone into Brand New. Kr---- is into Brand New now, but not when I told her about it around the same time. J--- can tolerate it as well, but I don’t think he shares the same appreciation for them as I do. I----- on the other hand, was extremely into them. We shared a lot of music taste actually. He had a Blink 182 tattoo on his left breast, which he showed me the day I donated blood.          “Damn, I can’t donate blood anymore”, he said, before showing me.      It doesn’t so much concern me that I’ll become like him because of these traits. A cool tattoo, and a healthy appreciation for early 2000’s emo is what makes you a successful young person, in my opinion. What concerns me is his negative traits. His drug use to be more specific. I don’t know if I worry that I’ll start using drugs as frequently as he did, but I think I worry more that my motivation will be as zapped as his always was. I remember one particular evening he came in, and was on his phone most of the night. He told me he was a bit buzzed, and that he was having issues with his girlfriend, so I thought myself to be an excellent friend when I didn’t mind him texting constantly during our shared shift, and covering for him while he went out to take smoke breaks. 

    Honestly, even this isn’t behavior that I would be concerned to share with him. At my current job, teaching kids Minecraft after school, while I was dating Tessa, I would frequently run to the bathroom to check my phone or stress-vape. In extreme moderation I don’t even really see this as a dangerous activity. But as my mother is so fond of saying, it’s a slippery slope.     One day at outback, I----- disappeared. I wasn’t sure where he went, and I was sad, because he was one of the only interesting people there who spoke english. A-- was a fantastic old El Salvadorian lady (almost all of the kitchen staff were El Salvadorian refugees) who trained me, and really took me under her wing. She taught me the majority of the Spanish relevant to working there. Basura, saboya, para acqui, para yavar, etc. She was sort of like the old hispanic grandmother I never had. She was constantly being hit on by the line chef, O---. The name O--- is short for something, but I’m not sure what. Once, when I asked A-- what O--- had said to her, before repeatedly smacking her ass, she misunderstood, and told me,       “O--- has 10 wives, and 7 childrens with all of them!”. I’m not sure if she meant to say he had 7 children total, or 70 between all his wives, but either way, O--- was a player. He was an absolute lunatic, but he was the best line chef outback ever had. I was told once the managers only tolerated him because he was essentially irreplaceable. I like to imagine back in El Salvador he was the Suis Chef of a 4 star restaurant, serving the aristocrats while secretly giving food to the rebels. Or maybe he hated himself for serving the wealthy of his country, but was trapped in his job making their steaks. That would at least explain the drinking. I remember one time, Ju--, the young assistant manager, came up behind O--- as he was putting the finishing touches on some fillet minion. He grabbed the plastic bottle propped above O---’s stove and took a deep smell, crinkling his nose. 

    “Whatcha got in here, O---?” he said.     “Water man.” Said O---, in his thick accent. Ju-- obviously didn’t believe him, but to prove either his virility or the water’s virginity, he snatched the bottle back and swallowed down all of its contents.     Ju-- was a cool guy as well. One time, while he was helping me at the salad station, the topic of drugs came up. He asked me if I’d ever tried weed, and I told him once, but it didn’t really effect me.     “You know, I’m like your manager, so I can’t really say you should try it again,” he said. “But you should definitely try it again”. Between him and R----, the other young assistant manager, it seemed weed was definitely the cool thing young adults did in their free time. I can’t really protest this notion, because at least in my own life that seems to be the case. R---- was identical to Ju--, just without Ju--’s glasses, beard, or hot waitress girlfriend. He was also a bit more of a “bro” than Ju-- was. What I mean by this is, Ju-- was a very cool, collected guy. He didn’t have to flaunt his confidence. Either because of R----’s lack of it, or excess of it, he did. R---- was loud, outgoing, and eventually became a waiter, which seemed to be the final resting place for people like him. Community college dropouts, with infective personalities. I was always rather put off by R----. Not because I didn’t like him, at least, I like him fine now. But at the time, his confidence and bombastic attitude were just too much for a minimum wage job where I had no upward prospects other than deep frier duty.     I guess this was the real appeal of I-----. Unlike his english speaking counterparts, Ju-- and R----, he was a lot more relaxed. He was laid back, but did his job most of the time. He was the kind of guy that these days I’d like to smoke a blunt with (I’m really mad I forgot his name, or I’d look him up on Facebook right now). This may have been because he didn’t have much in the looks department. At least, not at his age. I remember he had sort of a ratty look to him. Big, beady eyes, and a light mustache that he’d probably only shaved once the three months he worked there. He didn’t have the confidence of the bigger guys like Ju-- and R----, so he kept his composure and put all of his effort into being a nice kid. He seemed genuinely interested in my opinion, despite the fact that he was nearly 5 years my senior, and always had something interesting to talk about, like Brand New.     He was fired because of his terrible work ethic. I can’t really disagree with the managers on that one. Even when I was there to cover for him and push him along, he seemed to only do the work of half a person. Maybe because that’s what he was. He seemed like a really depressed guy, deep down. Maybe that’s why we got along so well. It definitely explains the interest in early 2000’s emo music. He told me he was going to Penn State, for a degree in communications. He was almost a senior and told me from day one he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do. He also told me that at this point all he knew was it wasn’t communications. But what could he do? He had already worked for this degree three and a half years. He couldn’t throw all that time and money away. I feel like I might be like him in this regard. Am I doing cyber because it’s what I want? Or am I just doing it to impress my dad. When I really think about it, I wish I could be doing something in the arts. I wish I could be a cartoonist, or an animator, maybe a photographer, and obviously as I’m writing this, I feel like I should be an author. No. I’m not doing it for my dad. I’m doing it for me. But not for my happiness, at least not in the short term, I’m doing it for the money. Everyone says don’t work for a job that doesn’t make you happy, but really, are a million people in something like data input services because it makes them happy? I don’t think so. I think that’s one of the big secrets of adulthood. You can be happy on the weekends, with the money you made the other 5/7ths of the week.     I----- was fired about a month before I quit. L---, the general manager, and proprietor (a word I picked up at Outback) told me in the weeks before I quit that he came back. He was totally drunk and slurred at her, “you have to give me my job back. You’re not allowed to just fire me. It isn’t fair”. They almost needed the police to get him out of the dining area. That was the last I ever heard from him. I gave him my number before he left, because he said he would send me a list of songs to listen to, but he never texted me. He’s just gone. Vanished back into the population of the world. This is what I’m most afraid of becoming. At first, an interesting guy, but underneath the layers of self-pity and substance abuse, a broken, sad person. Maybe he grew up. Maybe now he’s out there, being happy on the weekends, doing technical writing for some Japanese firm, using his communications degree. But I prefer to believe that somehow, through acid or magic, he transcended this world and lives in the lyrics of Brand New’s Soco Amaretto Lime:

“I’m gonna stay eighteen forever So it can stay like this forever And we’ll never miss a party, ‘Cause we’ll keep them going constantly

And we’ll never have to listen To anyone About anything

‘Cause when it’s all been done And it’s all been said We’re the coolest kids And we’ll take what we can get”

[back-and-totheleft]

Living El

The making of Oliver Stone's brilliant portrayal of journalists amidst a terrifying bloody central American war. Imagine Withnail and I meets Apocalypse Now with not quite so many laughs.

Oliver Stone: The original idea was to shoot a semi-documentary in El Salvador starring Boyle as himself and Dr Rock as himself and we were going to get the Salvadorians to put up all their military equipment. Boyle took me down to El Salvador and we partied.

Richard Boyle: We met with [Robert] D'Abusisson's generals. They liked Oliver because they loved Scarface.

Oliver Stone: These guys were slapping us on the back, drinking toasts to [Scarface's] Tony Montana. They kept talking about their favourite scenes and acting out the killings. They'd go; 'Tony Montana, mucho cajones [Lots of balls)! Ratta-tat-tat! Kill the fucking communists!' [...]

James Woods: I'd heard of Oliver as being this crazy, druggy, gifted writer. I liked him right away. His reputation preceded him, bolstered I have to say by Oliver's own efforts: he was very good at getting himself in the headlines of people's minds. But he was never afraid to be who he was. [...]

Oliver Stone: Richard is much worse than Jimmy. Richard's a very colourful character. Jimmy didn't want to play him as raggedy and scummy as Richard really is. Jimmy felt he made Richard more attractive to a larger group of people. People say; 'That's attractive?!' But the real Richard is far worse. [...]

James Woods: We were all just nuts. I don't know why we were nuts but I think it was in the nature of the picture. I'm playing this lunatic and we're riding fucking burros up in the woods. John Savage is a brilliant, unheralded, unappreciated nutcase great actor. Oliver is a fucking lunatic. [...]

James Belushi: There's a scene where we come out of this armoured personnel carrier and get into the back of an open truck. So Oliver says; 'Jim Belushi, you come out first and walk in front with your hands over your head and get into the truck, and then Jimmy Woods, you come walking right behind him.' So we get out and start to walk, and Jimmy literally knocks my arm out of the way, and sort of elbows his way in front of me, and we get into he truck and I'm pissed and Jimmy won't shut up. He's improvising all these lines because he knows that as long as he's talking, the camera has to stay on him. And I finally said; 'Will you shut up!' Oliver left it in the movie because it fits, but it's really just me telling Woods to shut the fuck up!

James Woods: Belushi and I would always tease each other. And the same thing with Savage. I remember when the three of us would be in the same scene, Oliver would say; 'This will be a struggle to see who's going to steal the scene.' But, of course, that situation is what makes for great movie making. [...]

Oliver Stone: Jimmy's like the guy you want to punch out at school, He drove everybody crazy. The crew, me, his fellow actors. Everyone wanted to kill him because we had no money and we really had to depend on his mercy. He was the biggest single star in the entire thing. When someone is always reminding you of that, it becomes tiresome.

James Woods: Oliver and I are great friends now, and were then, but there was a lot of tension between us during the making of the film. At one point, I was strapped down to the street with these squibs running up my legs because I was supposed to get shot, and this Mexican pilot was about to fly this old plane real low right over me. Just before the scene starts, I hear Oliver say; 'God, I miss combat.' So I think; 'You get down here and be wired to the damn street with his screwy plane flying over you then!’ [...]

Oliver Stone: It was a complicated scam, getting the movie finished. It involved acts of high piracy, buccaneering and skulduggery.

James Woods: One time I got a phone call through to my agent and he said; 'You haven't been paid for two weeks so come home.' And I said; 'I'm not going to do that to Oliver. Tomorrow's our biggest day.' He said they were going to fuck me so I should split.

Oliver Stone: We took over this entire town for a week to shoot the battle of Santa Ana. The mayor was great. He loved movies. We redesigned his office and used it as a whorehouse set, with real prostitutes. He liked the decor so much he kept it that way, red walls and all. Later, he said; 'Go ahead, blow up the whole fucking City Hall,' and we blew it to pieces. [...]

John Daly: Oliver puts 1000% of himself into a film. It's all up on the screen. For Salvador, he waived his salary and expenses. I think he would have given up his house. I don't think he goes and directs a film. I think he lives a film. It's a rare quality.

Oliver Stone: The feeling was that people in America didn't know how they were supposed to react to the movie which I found kind of sad. Dr Strangelove was a perfect amalgam of humour and seriousness about a subject that is extremely dark. There's no reason the subject of Salvadoran death squads has to be solemn.

James Woods: I saw the final cut of the film. I watched it with the music for the first time. All of a sudden I thought; 'My God: I thought it was this little movie. Am I wrong or is this a Great Movie?' Bob Dylan was there and said; 'This is the greatest movie I've ever seen.' [...]

Oliver Stone: We were against such odds. I had so many roadblocks to make that picture. And I got enough of what I wanted in there. We shot Salvador the way it looks - hand-held, urgent - I love that movie. It was an ugly duckling. It went after American policy in Central America and it said some things Americans didn't want to hear.

-Richard Luck, “Living El: An Oral History of the Making of ‘Salvador’,” Sabotage Times, Nov 15 2013 [x]

[l0nely-edgel0rd-g0d]

The following excerpts are from Barbara Aikman's initial FBI interview.

Please forgive me, as I am to tell this story exactly as it’s maestro dictates. Many of these specific details he provided after the fact, But I can assure you, it’s all true officer. And since I value my life I shall do just such.

My name is Barbara Akiman, I’m a 28 year old woman from Fontana, California. I have a husband and two wonderful sons. I work as a webcam model during the school year and I voted for Trump. I was kidnapped during a webcam session with a suspiciously generous tipper. In hindsight that’s how they knew where I’d be, when I’d be there and alone. They wore all black combat suits and helmets. That’s all I saw for about six seconds before they gagged & hoodwinked me. I remember the hoodwink smelling of okra and fear. I was handcuffed and gently placed on the backseat of an electric car.

The car ride lasted the first eight tracks of Let It Roll; it’s an album released in 1989 by Don Johnson. From there I was placed in a helicopter with other people similarly restrained. We could hear each others moans and groans but were powerless to do anything. The helicopter ride was turbulent and lasted the entire length of Cool with You: The Platinum Collection plus the first six songs repeated. BTW, it’s the Asian edition "best of" album by Jennifer Love Hewitt, released in 2006. Again many of these details were provided for me after the fact. Again, these are the specific details he demanded I not leave out.

The helicopter took us to the M/Y Eclipse, a luxury motor yacht built by Blohm+Voss of Hamburg, Germany. I was the last one removed from the chopper. I was placed in a wheelchair, wrists and ankles restrained. The hoodwink was removed and I could see the beautiful yacht, clear blue sky and the deep blue sea before being wheeled inside. I was rushed at breakneck speed to the disco hall. A nerdy looking woman with glasses and bad acne in a filthy lab coat fitted me with a speculum and a dental gag. I was then wheeled front and center to the stage where I could witness this atrocity.

At first I was alone but over the course of the first nine tracks of C. Webb’s 2 Much Drama, a crowd of eccentrics gathered as if it were a social event. To them, it was. Drinks and hor dourves were served. A man wearing top hat, black tail coat, dark glasses, and cotton plugs in the nostrils, all in gold, took the stage and said,

“Welcome to our 4th of July party! I am you host, Demon Lord of the Black Magick Syndicate. Everybody clap your hands!” No one does, he continues, “Tonight’s event is simply an auction. We have enough victims to ensure no one will leave unsatisfied. Except maybe Nina.” This was a private joke about the tall woman with blonde extensions, wearing a dress that can only be described as, “Grandma threw up her split pea soup on an unflattering green bridesmaid dress.

“Each guest is allowed to bid on as many victims as you like up until you purchase one, then you’re out of the bidding. You’re free to use your victim however you please but it must be done here where we all can see.” This brought a cheer from the crowd eccentrics gathered about me, “And know that all corpses will be tossed overboard before we return to port. Oh, and one more thing. Bidding starts at ten thousand pounds and only bids in ten thousand pound increments will be recognized. C.O.D. of course. With that, on with the show!”

Before I continue let’s state that all of the victims were paraded out devoid of all clothing and makeup by the black clad soldiers I mentioned earlier. And the prisoners were unaware of what happened to each other.

“Marcia Lopez is an 11 year old El Salvadorian girl who was apprehended while trying to illegally enter the US.” She is sold for £1.1 million to a man that was obviously Donald Trump in a navy suit with a red tie, wearing an eagle mask. He physically overpowers the girl and rapes her, in a manner that obscures the crowd of eccentrics’ view of his genitalia. He commands her to shout compliments about him, but she doesn’t speak English which enrages him. Julio Camacho of the Sinaloa Cartel offers to translate but the Donald demands only English be spoken while he’s “making love”. After he discharged, Donald claimed he was too tired and too important to add to the pot and kill the girl himself. He claimed that’s what lackies were for. This is jeered by the crowd of eccentrics.

Viktor violently grabs the POTUS by the jaw and balls as Demon Lord graphically explains to Donald that if he doesn’t kill that girl and add to the pot; he will be the next item up for bid. He laments that he didn’t bring a gun, but Viktor lends him his Smith & Wesson Model 500. With tears in his eyes, the POTUS shoots the girl in the face. The bullet hits her on her left top incisor and does a satisfactory job of nearly decapitating the girl. He uses a serving spoon to scoop out some of the girls brains and add them to the pot. He then retires from the event while trying to pretend he isn’t crying.

“This is Dreama Beckett a 31 year old mother of four who whored her own children out to feed her prescription drug addiction. Her own children arranged for her to be here today.” She is sold to a man who is obviously former US president William Jefferson Clinton in a cheap suit from Walmart and an antiquated rabbit mask. It was repeatedly noted that he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks.

He has the woman locked in the pillory and thoroughly raped by a 54 year old homeless man from the streets of Cairo he brought as a guest. Just as the bum discharges into the woman’s womb, he cuts the trachea of the bum with the kama half of his kusarigama. He then sodomizes the dying bum and strangles Dreama with the chain portion of his kusarigama. His discharge comes with a roar so loud it would remain a topic of conversation for the remainder of the event. Her corpse seemed to be ignored by the sharks on the way down.

“Our next victim is 14 year old Olivia Huxtable of Atlanta Georgia. She came into our clutches due to corruption in the Georgia foster care system.” She is sold for £530,000 to a woman in a heliotrope pants suit and peacock masquerade mask that was obviously Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton.

She has the poor girl locked in the pillory and plays Gold Cobra, the fifth studio album by American nu metal band Limp Bizkit. She then performs acts of cunnilingus on the girl so thorough, so profound, she’s to remain the envy of all female witnesses, including myself, until the moment she expires. The girl is then raped with a strap on dildo by the former First Lady who shouts expletives and insults at the poor girl. She fucks her like she intends to kill the girl with rigorous fucking. She then insisted Mahmoud Togo and Viktor anally rape the girl, and they happily oblige. Mrs. Clinton the used an obsidian knife to slice off the poor girls breasts and add them to the pot. She then raped the girl with the knife and smeared the blood all over her face and the girls. She the made the herself a cup of coffee and made the girl watch as she drank it. Then had her tossed overboard.

“Meet 17 year old Chad Leftwich of Jackson Mississippi. He is better known as reddit, twitter and 4chan user 66WhiteApolloCreed420. His racist tweets, rants and memes are just a means of getting likes for him. He doesn’t truly feel this way in his heart.” This was jeered by the crowd of eccentrics. “Yes Chad! This is the beauty of our delights, that we pursue them with clear purpose and perpetual enthusiasm! That is why tonight all shall expose their passions and pursuits to all! No secrets between us! This allows us to overcome any and all segregations society tries to impose upon use with the yokes of religion, nationality, skin and race! If all were to follow their delights, one would soon find others who wanted to find similar delights, while moving away from those who wanted no part of such delights. Entire societies could be built upon the principle of what delights are legal here that are illegal there. And should one find the no longer wished to participate in what is happening here, they need only go there where it is illegal and never have to endure it again. And that state should welcome him with open arms because he has turned towards their way of life. But men and women never see themselves as the problem though, society is wrong for not being like them. They wish to impose their brand of order on people who never asked for it, don’t want it, and resent it for even being offered. So they start crusades and inquisitions and lynchings to rid their neighborhoods of undesirables among which they numbered only a few short months ago. And are among the first to cry foul when turnabout proves to be fair play. How boring.”

He is sold to woman in a designer heliotrope pants suit and ornate peacock masquerade mask that was obviously Melania Trump for £990,000. She has the man locked in the pillory and proceeds to shove a Billionaire couture Umbrella up the man’s ass as far as it will go before attempting to open it, like it should naturally open under these conditions. There is some speculation among the crowd if this is malice or ignorance but it’s quickly dropped. She then requests Demon Lord, Cammie, Nina & Viktor take turns dislocating a joint on Chad’s body until none remain. She defecates a thick steaming log into the man’s mouth, which Viktor helps him swallow. . She then rapes him with a strap on horse dildo made of ivory for exactly 900 seconds She the goes ass to ass with the aforementioned Zara Hogan with a rather large double dildo, screaming racial and religious epithets the entire time. Her discharge is so voluminous that she is able to salvage most of it and add it to the still simmering pot. The First Lady then chokes her victim to death the the double dildo. When he is tossed overboard, she watches him sink until she cannot see him anymore.

This is a work of satire. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination; or used in a fictitious manner to expose and criticize foolishness and corruption of an individual or a society by using humor, irony, exaggeration or ridicule. It intends to improve humanity by criticizing its follies and foibles. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

[epchapman89]

Javier Garcia: The Kind-Hearted Paragon Of Spain’s Sakona Coffee Roasters

A lot has happened in the career of Javier García since 2011, when Sprudge first interviewed the “Spanish barista champion and kind-hearted coffee paragon of Basque Country.” For starters, six years later, García is at his own cafe in San Sebastián, in the Basque province of Gipuzkoa.

Sakona Coffee Roasters is located on the Urumea River, right where it feeds into the dramatic Bay of Biscay. The venue, with its polished post-industrial interior, has a façade of glass. It invites in light and provides a clear view to the opposite bank, including that of the Hotel Maria Cristina, a favorite squat among Hollywooders attending the annual film festival taking place later this month. Nearby is the Zurriola, an unassuming beach where wetsuited surfers dance on waves like bonito flakes on a hot plate.

The cafe opened on February 6, 2016, though “only for two hours that day, I remember,” says García. An accompanying smile signals contentment as much as a patiently acquired taste for his own fastidiousness.

Being Type A surely helped García win the title of Spanish barista champion straight through from 2008 through 2011—when he went on to place fourth in the World Barista Championship—and in 2014. That year, he also collaborated with Spanish roasters Right Side Coffee to, as García puts it, explore what happens if you put him “with an espresso machine in a bakery with really good coffee.” What happened was that people began asking: “What is this?” he recalls. “They started talking about coffee in a different way. And I smelled the potential.”

Within nine months, the barista was ready to follow his nose. He left the bakery known as The Loaf (its first incarnation still around the corner from present-day Sakona), and by December 2015, had established his roastery in Irun. Some 20 kilometers east of San Sebastián, on the French border, Irun is García’s hometown. Besides supplying the cafe, Sakona fires up its Probat UG15 for wholesale business, offering monthly changing single-origin coffees for espresso and filter.

Additionally available is a blend, two parts Brazilian Arara and one part Guatemalan Bourbon. It is named Jaizkibel for “the mountain that I look at each time I roast,” notes García. He knows the choice raises eyebrows in some circles, but given the relative rarity of specialty coffee in the Basque Country, a blend seemed pragmatic.

“Because we are a small company, we can [create] a tasty blend, and we can compete with the big companies’ prices,” García explains. “In Madrid and Barcelona, they have the opportunity to focus on more specialty coffee—or to close doors, saying ‘only single-origin’—because there are a lot of young people opening new shops. But here, no. Here there are a lot of professionals, bars, and coffee shops that are old-fashioned, but they want to improve and, at the same time, they don’t want to change the price of a cup.”

Currently, Sakona sources most of its green beans from the UK’s Has Bean Coffee. Within three years, García hopes to do some origin trips himself, notably in Central America. In fact, it was speaking with Salvadorian producers and tasting Kenyan coffee at the 2009 WBC that led him to “the cup that can change your mind forever.”

Garcia at the 2014 World Barista Championship

Long making a living as a bartender, García professionally committed to coffee in 2008. For two years, he worked as a barista trainer for Spanish cafe and roaster conglomerate Grupo Dromedario. Its renowned head, the late Emilio Baqué, had so much faith in him, García recalls, that he straightaway articulated plans for the two to begin a barista school and develop a specialty coffee line. Baqué also envisaged García as a co-author. That much is stated in an inscription, by the boss to his new employee, in El Cafecedario, a book on cafe culture that Baqué published in 2006. García’s copy stands flushed against his WBC trophy over a shelf of AeroPresses. Inside, the handwriting instructs:

Read this carefully and start thinking about the book that we will write together. We will call it “Baristología: A Treatise of Barista Science and Its Glorification,” to become the bedtime reading and reference for any self-respecting barista.

The note is dated the day of the Spanish Christmas Lottery 2008. In September 2009, Baqué died of cancer.

In 2017, García can be found gazing at the Jaizkibel Mountain—roasting—on Tuesdays. The rest of the week he rotates cafe shifts with a regular staff of four. Equipment includes a Victoria Arduino three-group Black Eagle and two Mythos One grinders, a Mahlkönig EK43 grinder, and a Marco SP9 Twin brewer used with Chemex and Kalita Wave for pour-overs. A couple of beers are on tap. There are bottled drinks and fresh baked goods. The head barista and operations manager role is deftly filled by Juanmi Cuesta, who has over three years of experience working on bar and in management at 3fe in Dublin.

Juanmi Cuesta

A mountain lends its name to Sakona, too. It sounds Japanese to some ears, García concedes, but the intention was just to “find a word in Basque that’s simple to pronounce for the whole planet.” Cafe frequenters—comprising locals, expats, tourists, surfers, skaters, and señoras—attest to a broad appeal. Back in May, Sakona proved most accommodating to the regional AeroPress competition.

On the topic of competitions, García is quick to bring up his performance at the WBC in Rimini. “I have in my heart, like a little”—he makes the noise of a branch snapping after an ice storm—“because my last year competing was a disaster,” he says.

As Sprudge Live reported: “In what can only be described as a heartbreaking turn of events, Javier Garcia has called time at around 4 minutes into his #wbc2014 routine.”

García elaborates: “I did what I thought was best, but after talking for one minute and a half with the judges, serving the espressos, boom! Blackout.” He decided to quit his performance altogether.

Sugar comes in mini mason jars at Sakona, but García cannot sugarcoat his self-reproach. And yet, with three more years of baristología under his apron, today he has more confidence. “OK, everybody, I’m getting old. I’m the grandfather of the baristas,” he laughs. “But if Sakona gets its rhythm, and I can focus on other things, I would like to compete again.”

“Because now I own Sakona—for me it’s like a dream come true. I’m 45 years old. I think I can do something different than the young people,” he continues. “For me now, it’s very easy to get a really tasty coffee and to prepare something solid… I’m not saying ‘Yes’ and I’m not saying ‘No,’ but it’s still on my mind. Why not?”

Then, as though projecting himself into future championship floor banter, he adds: “Guys, you know me, because everybody at the WBC knows me. You know me. Javier is back. Enjoy your coffee.”

Sakona Coffee Roasters is located at Ramón María Lili 2 bajo, San Sebastián. Visit their official website and follow them on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Karina Hof is a Sprudge staff writer based in Amsterdam. Read more Karina Hof on Sprudge.

The post Javier Garcia: The Kind-Hearted Paragon Of Spain’s Sakona Coffee Roasters appeared first on Sprudge.

seen 1st on http://sprudge.com

[thecounter333]

The Final Touch 15

Back at it with a quick one for the Gold Cup guys. You know, it’s been a boring one for me and I can’t really explain why, but I can though. What has it been for you? Is it the lack of class? Is it that the groups are just not evenly matched? I want to venture around the skill of the winners of the groups so far: What makes them different from their foes? How’d they make it to the knockout stage, did these teams show their natural style of play or did they just get lucky? Whistle has blown, let’s get started… Let’s start with the boys from the USA. I have to be honest, they were terrible the entire tournament so far. I understand the idea of bringing in new talent, everyone deserves a chance. But this team did not meld the way I, and I’m sure other fans would like to have seen them meld. Usually I would point people out but I won’t do that. There were players that I really did enjoy their performances, like Kelyn Rowe, Dom Dwyer, and Bill Hamid. These three for me showed up, for the first time, were able to really allow us to argue on why they deserve at least an opportunity at a spot. Now, there were others that did well. But when you’re beating teams like Martinique by a point, that’s a damn shame. I don’t care if their team has pace, adjust and figure it out. Knockout stage starts tonight for the boys; we’ll see what happens with a nothing-to- lose El Salvadorian team that seems to be surprising people. I know this, I did not see them tying Jamaica. They did and that’s what has ultimately kept them around. In a very tough group, Salvador managed to make it. It’ll be a task for them but I don’t imagine they won’t give USA a fight. I have a feeling they will be conservative about their movement but will look to find the right window. It will be a good game either way. On to Mexico, these guys have proven time and time again why they are dominant in this region, nationally and domestically. With light reinforcements there is a possibility of an early exit. This Mexican team is kind of soft. I really don’t know if I’ve seen them take it to the next level in this tournament. They are a powerhouse, internationally even and they have not advertise this as of yet. Their Manager, Juan Carlos Osorio’s antics have taken the concentration off of the team’s strength and in another strange direction. I’ve never seen them, at least in my time, this distracted. Luckily, they will be going up against a tired Honduras team. Honduras just has a lot to figure out in the next few years. They’ve lost a lot of talent. They made it through really on technicalities. I don’t have much to say about them really. They are going to have a long day on Thursday. Jamaica, da reggae boys, really started out strong but kind of ended weak. The amount of creativity on the team could really propel them to another level. Somehow, they just never seem to get it right. Their link of play the first two games was something different than what I’m used to seeing from them. If they can reassemble the, ball to foot method/ hold up the ball style of play they might be on to something. Darren Mattocks is playing really good soccer for the Green and Gold, a few weird moments but still good. He will have to be leader in front of the goal. They will face a team that I believe can match them in class, Canada. Canada looks just as different with a speedy winger in the form of Alphonso Davies. I think they’ve found a real star in him. He’ll have his hands full with a very quick back line. If the Canadians figure it out it should be a very good game to watch. Last but not least, the game of the tournament in my opinion, Costa Rica vs. Panama. These two teams have taken over the tournament with a bang. Panama has looked hungry in every group stage match. Every Panamanian has to be very excited about what is going on with this team. From the beginning of the tournament Panama’s brotherhood like play, having each other’s back, has really been fun to watch. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make it to the final. Costa Rica on the other hand is handy on the fly, they can adjust too well. Their weakness may be in the middle but they make up for it on the wing. Rodney Wallace has continued to amaze me. Costa Rica can catch teams in a bad spot and exploit that. This game will be the game of the tournament. This was a quick one for a kind of unsuccessful tournament. I know that’s harsh but hopefully we’ll see the sparks fly in the knockout round. Thanks for reading you guys and like always, don’t hate, play soccer. Please feel free to let me know what you think. I love soccer and look forward to hearing what’s on the minds of the North American/ Central American/ Caribbean state football fanatics, but more MLS and USA MNT & WNT. ;) Have a good one! -Just another soccer lover

[826valencia-blog]

The Struggle

Written by Alessandro G. for the Oral Histories project at Mission High School, March 2017

I interviewed my dad, Jose Gonzalez. He  was born in El Salvador in 1977, and he now lives in San Francisco.  My dad is a hardworking person, he is short tempered, he’s always in the move, he’s funny, and sometimes he can be heartless.

El Salvador is a country in Central America with 7 million inhabitants and 3 million Salvadorians in the U.S. and the rest of the world. El Salvador is a small country; it's a country that unfortunately has experienced war, earthquakes, and right now they’re experiencing war with gangs. With all that that they’re going through right now, people are still working, still dedicated to making life better for their kids. “We haven’t been left standing,” Jose said. “The workers, which is us, are people who work hard no matter what job we have.” That’s why the country is still standing. There are many Salvadorians in the U.S, and Jose thinks they contribute to the country and make it more powerful. As he said, “ It’s the government’s fault that the economy is doing so poorly in El Salvador.” Despite this, Salvadorians still persevere.

 Jose lived his childhood in a town where there was a lot of war. He lived in the middle of bullets. He lived in the middle of poverty. His mother entered the FMLN, a guerilla army, which has progressive beliefs. His dad was a military sergeant in the armed forces, which were conservative. He was raised with his grandparents since his mom was in combat in the mountains. The only one that would sometimes visit him was his father. His mother would see him only once a month, but not always. His mother would sometimes come disguised. He remembers one time she was disguised as a monk so they wouldn’t see her because she was a target and the military wanted to kill her. So he was raised without a father or a mother; He was raised with his grandparents. His grandma had a little business making candy. He would have to get up really early to help her sell candy. “Now I see that childhood was better when I was a kid than it is for kids today. Back then, we didn’t really have any electronics, so we dedicated ourselves to playing soccer. We played with marbles and yo-yos. That’s why I enjoyed my childhood,” Jose said.

Soccer has always been a big part of Jose’s life. When he was eleven years old, he got into a soccer academy called Audaz Jr. When they were in that academy, they had to practice two times a day. They’re trainer loved working with the kids and was also a scout. He taught them things like how to kick the ball, where to run, and different strategies. Jose had a lot of the qualities to become a soccer player, and when he was fifteen years old, he debuted in the third division. He was also selected for the U-15 national team for El Salvador, and he went to a Central American tournament in Guatemala. He was able to score a free kick against Costa Rica. This is when soccer started to have a huge impact in his life. Then at sixteen years old, he debuted in the second division. He scored a lot of goals, and the team close to his home bought him, and that’s where he played for three years. “Those three years are the years that I will never forget. I was the highest scorer and I was an idol in that region,” Jose said. They paid him well. In fact, they wanted him to play in first division. But because of the lack of support, he didn’t go and he felt better there. At the moment, soccer is still a part of Jose’s life.

“When I was young I had friends that were from my town and we played soccer together. We went and partied together. We were also classmates. We were friends that enjoyed our childhood. But they were also friends that introduced me to bad habits.” When he was fifteen, they told him to start drinking his first beer. In that moment, he was at the best part of his soccer career, but they told him “One beer isn’t that bad,” and he believed them. He started drinking one, then two, then three. But in the end you have to choose your friends. “I really enjoyed my childhood, and I also enjoyed my friends,” Jose said

 Jose graduated from high school. He studied Fisico Matematicas. He really enjoyed Math. He started going to college, but because of the poverty that he lived in he couldn’t finish college. Going to college in El Salvador means wasting a lot of money. But when he did study before college, he won academic awards for being a good student. Sadly, he couldn’t finish college.

When asked about a memorable memory Jose said,” Just my childhood because we grew up without technology and we spent more time outdoors playing things like soccer and other Salvadorian games. I feel honored to have spent my childhood in El Salvador because I know I enjoyed it more than I would have in the U.S.”

Jose came to the U.S. because when he was seventeen years old when his girlfriend (who is now his wife) became pregnant. He had problems with his father-in-law and he came to the U.S. because he wanted to kill him. Plus, his mother had already gone to the U.S. and she told him to come. His girlfriend was the only daughter in her family, and she was sixteen and her family was really mad. His mother was scared that something would happen to him so she sent a coyote to bring him to the U.S.

Jose’s  journey to the U.S was overall very dangerous. He arrived in San Francisco after a month of travelling. He had to go through a lot of difficult things. “I remember I was in a trailer with about 80 people. We were hungry, thirsty, and sometimes we couldn’t breathe”, Jose recalled.

When asked what he misses most about El salvador he replied by saying, “I miss everything. You can’t compare the country you were born into another country. Even though my country is a violent and poor country, it is also a fascinating land. My family, my culture, my friends, the streets, I miss all of that. The beaches, the stadiums, soccer, these are all things that I miss. Even though I have many years in the U.S., I wish I could go back.”

Jose compared life in El salvador to life in the U.S by saying, “The life in El Salvador is a much calmer life. You’re not stressed about many things, you don’t live a fast life like you do in the United States. Since this country is a capitalist country, it’s a place where it’s all about working 24 hours a day. This is a robotic lifestyle. Sometimes you go to your house just to sleep. You’re stressed all the time. You have many bills to pay. You can’t miss a day of work. Sometimes you have to go to work sick or tired. In my country, even though we live a life of poverty, we don’t have to live with that stress. You live with happiness. You can have everything here, but you live with stress.”

Overall Jose is grateful for life.“I’m thirty-nine years old, I’ve left all of my youth to work in this country, but this is the sacrifice we have to make when we have kids. My daughter is going to be twenty-one. She’s at UC Santa Cruz, starting her third year in Economics. My son is fifteen years old and is still in high school. My goal is for them to graduate from college because I couldn’t graduate, I want them to do it. Even though this country takes up all of your strength, when you see your kids almost graduating, it makes you want to work even harder. That’s my motivation, that my kids will graduate. I ask God to give me the strength so I can keep on working. I’m a Latino who came to this country to work and to keep my family moving forward. I’m a hardworking person who doesn’t do any bad to any person. I’m a man of God. I thank this country for giving me the opportunity to work and for giving my kids a great education.”