#god. no one did drama like Tolstoy. fuck

[kominfyrirkattarnef]

Jesus. Relevant to probably nobody but I’m reading War and Peace and wanted to know the translation of those 43 thousand roubles. A fucking 100,000,000 isk. Holy shit bro. HOW do you keep gambling that long??

[lornahansonforbes]

Prologue

If you’re reading this today, then you know I’m dead, dead to you as you are to me, and that should make you so very happy.

I gave it all up sitting at a red light.

This last piece is the final chapter of “The Emesis Tray of Feelings,” it’s a trilogy.

The trilogy contains one play, “Hot Neon Lights” and “Patina on the Edge,” which is a series of monologues and now this, “It Didn’t Happen,” a one act play.

The first installment, “Hot Neon Lights,” tells the story of two events. Act One is a very messy breakdown followed by the fourth and final attempt of my taking my own life. I failed four times. Act Two is about six to weeks later and the family meeting with the psychiatrist where they decide if I should be locked up in hospital or go cold Turkey. There was no option, no Grey area, only black and white.

“Patina on the Edge,” is a series of monologues that highlights moments of grand and glorious to being a homeless junkie who was sucking dick, meanwhile being a thief and a shitkicker was a great way to being truly infamous. Lofty goals. It parallels the story that’s laid out in “Hot Neon Lights.”

“It Didn’t Happen.” is a one act play with four scenes. Scene one, the night of the breakup and a month after the breakup. Scene two, a phone call about the breakup. Scene three, a group of friends who just saw the two aforementioned plays and are in a bar talking about what The New York Times will say about “Hot Neon Lights” and “Patina on the Edge.”

As you read this, do know that this is like Ivory Soap, ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredth percent (99 44/100%) true.

Several people have been merged into one character and not vice versa.

You should know that I died alone and bitter that I was never truly loved by anyone except by my dogs, Zoey, Chase, Auggie, The Brother Levi, CoCo and Harry; and my three cats, Rasselas, Othello and Belle Kitty.

I sadly cannot think of one person, past or present, who ever truly loved me.

I suffered with Bipolar Depression and Anxiety for a large portion of my life. The three guys who I stupidly referred to as my boyfriend, I see now that they barely tolerated me as did my family.

I don’t give a shit. You and whomever can say what you want about me and pepper it generously with Drama Qween. You do know that but I can only tell you what my perception was and how I saw things, but as usual, you’re right and I’m wrong. Fuck you, your opinion is paying for my funeral and you had the option not to read this.

Lastly, all the things I’ve written starting in the 1980’s and in between has been thrown out and erased etc. Yeppers. All gone. I kept it all but as of this entry, I threw it all out.

Since I’ve submitted to various outlets and people yet only to learn I’ve been ignored.

But you can find me on Tumblr and not on Tinder. Good luck with that.

Post Script:

I’ve told stories about how I lived and how I overcame. “You should write a book.” Motherfucker, don’t play with me. You ain’t gonna fucking read it. Why even bother existing? I’m done. If you really want to know, actually pick up the phone and call me. Bye, Felicia.

I forgot to tell you that someone asked me not to give up writing. Sorry but I’m not gonna change my mind about cutting off my nose to spite myself.

Scene One

The late summer sun was slowly going down as we approached the corner of Melrose and North Robertson.

Granted it was nearly 8:00 PM, the sun was still blazing away. I turned to look from the passenger seat to see people milling about waiting to go inside but also the paparazzi was there gawking and snapping pictures.

She slowed the car down for just a millisecond and then took a sharp left turn. Then Sister Mary of the Perpetual Parking Spot smiled down upon us and she pulled in and parked the car.

The restaurant sign read Ty’s Thai Tie Dye, an Indochina Conglomerate. We went inside and were seated way in the back. It was a jungle, flowers, potted trees and Passion Flower vines everywhere. The sun broke through like mosaic tiles.

Dinner was delicious and uneventful. She was now pulling up in front of my modest flat.

“Darling, I’m sure we’ve had a wonderful evening but I feel that my husband is all over us these past few weeks. I’m just so sick and tired of seeing his Gold Audi here and there every time we go out. Why can’t we agree to disagree with the fact that I’m who I am and you are you we aren’t able to carry on like this anymore. I know that I should break it to you gently, but let’s rip the fucking Band-Aid off, it’s over. Don’t speak. Let’s go our separate ways with our splendiferous memories and as the cliché states, when you do speak of me, be kind,” she blurted out without looking at me.

It took me a moment and then I watched her Black Jaguar Vandam Plas glide away and disappear. Nearly comatose, I fumbled for my keys and took those first tentative steps towards the front door. I saw my cat in the window and her deep gold eyes. We looked directly at each other. I got in my car only to pound the steering wheel with tears in my eyes.

“You ungrateful bitch,” I screamed so loud that my ears were ringing worse than being a rock concert.

I drove into the night with flashes of our tongues lashing about like in some porn as we tore our clothes off each other. She was moist. My turgidity.

I landed at Pfeiffer Beach and I saw a Sandpiper. Fuck my life. The sound of the crashing waves and the sun rising. Stumbling back to my car I spied that CHP had paid a visit with a bright orange parking ticket tucked neatly underneath the wiper blades. God damn it to hell.

When I turned the car over, the radio was blaring, some static but nonetheless it jangled my nerves.

“Now, I am strong enough. Now, I’m strong enough to accept change. Yes, my darling, if you want to live in another place, I can understand it. It’ gonna hurt for a little while, but I can understand it, but before you walk out that door, touch me in the morning,” this woman’s anger and hurt were front and center. We were simpatico at that moment. We were both in a world of hurt and she like me, we were not feeling it.

I tapped a button on my car radio and my playlist replaced her voice as I pulled into traffic on Route 1 South heading home leaving Pfeiffer Beach in my rear view mirror.

Whoever that female voice was previously on my radio, I felt like Kathy Bates and I was swinging that sledgehammer and I left her there to suffer.

Normally I’m not that guy who “gets in touch with their feelings.” It’s just not in my DNA and when I do “get in touch,” it’ll be like a Gatling gun. Crumpled up like a wad of paper, riddled with bullets and left to die gasping for breath in a pool of blood.

This morning I got up and was meandering around my neighborhood. I have absolutely no idea how it happened but I stopped into a local coffee shop and got a Chai Latte. I usually get a green juice with pomegranate and Acai.

I was in a deep, deep funk since I had dinner with my friend and she dumped me. Who was she to me? My girlfriend; friend with benefits: fuck buddy; mistress or just another conquest? Whatever it was, it was good and it lasted but it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before and so this came to pass and now in my mind I heard Louis Prima singing, “…everywhere I go.” If I really wanted to hear that song, I’d rather find the David Lee Roth remake.

Apparently I got my steps in this morning without some contraption attached to me or some app on my phone. I plunked my narrow behind down on a concrete Jersey barrier and I looking at the waves crashing onto Dockweller Beach. I know it’s not Malibu Beach just a short drive North and it certainly wasn’t Malibu Beach in Boston. From that vantage point, you’ll see the highway and Sister Corita Kent’s artwork in the distance.

Seriously what the fuck, yo? Processing, tabulating, analyzing, and parsing the events of being dumped. I know I saw the data, but what did it reveal? Was it actually that simple or was I looking at the galley’s for the unabridged Cyrillic version of Tolstoy’s tome with copious notes in the margins. Could I decipher The Daily Jumble? Was I looking at some foreign language? Was I experiencing some sort of dyslexia? Sigh! Could I really clean this mess with a piece of used snotty paper?

I’m solving Pi!! Yeah, yeah!! That’s the ticket!!

I clenched my hand around my paper cup and almost spilled my Chai latte. I was fucking pissed.

“Ungrateful BITCH,” that right I said it and I said it with such furious anger venom was dripping of my fangs.

What a difference a day makes. Bull-fucking-shit. Something felt dissimilar yet had I seen the same thing from a different vantage point?

At that exact moment I heard one of those thumper cars approaching blaring something I didn’t understand  anything but I did hear, “Baile, baile con El General” and just like that the car was gone. Was Joy Division only for headphones? This is Los Angeles not Colby College.

Perched on the Jersey barrier, I wasn’t contemplating why lint gets in my navel.  I couldn’t dodge raindrops. Had I tabled my ego? Were my expectations quickly quieted? Was it like that thumper car; was I blaring or amplifying some sort of acceptance of defeat? The hounds had been released at the same time as I gave up my control? I can be that Type-A personality, driven and getting in touch with my feeling resided in an abyss somewhere, but the fuck if I know.

I felt dampness. Where am I now? Am I on the Maid of the Mist or standing underneath Niagara Falls? God damn it to hell!! I was crying. I normally don’t do that. I clenched my jaw so tightly I had TMJ.

“Mission Accomplished,” I think was actually the last time I did cry, but that was for my furry friends, Mickey & Minnie and then it was Stanley & Blanche. Do I get ahold of the anger in me? What the fuck? Maybe a word, a smile, an hour of happiness? NETX??!! I picked up my phone. I scrolled through my contacts. In a parallel universe, I called you a thousand times when I know I did not and I never will call you.

A boisterous and vociferous colony of seagulls appeared just a few yards away from me. Fuck. Hitchcock.

My paper cup is empty. I knew I had to dispose of it. Recycle, reuse, repurpose or like this affair, would it end up in a landfill? Just another thing to be unceremoniously and recklessly tossed away. It’s just a thing.

With a great exasperated sigh, eight months, two weeks and a day. That’s how long it lasted without me actually keeping track of it. Don’t go there. Don’t judge me. Men and women silently judge me and you but I can only assume they leave something on me so I don’t catch cold. Oh, shit. We had seen other naked. She fucking hurt me. Okay, I’m not that person, who’d scrawl, No Sale, on a mirror if I found a check and a note that read, “Last night was dope.”

My phone beeped, a text message letting me know I had to drive to Pacoima.

Gotta bounce. Later. Onto embrace the new challenges ahead and channel them into existence.

Scene Two

Part Three.

A Hello, bleep.

B How did you know it was me?

A I’ve known for a long time and plus it’s out there.

B Why did you say that?

A What did I say exactly?

B Don’t give me that bullshit. I saw it.

A I told you about how I felt but then I felt around in the dark and I didn’t know how that single cell actually started to feel like encouragement.

B What I said was to do it for yourself and not me.

A I did it for you first and then afterwards I got to me.

B You took more than you should have and you took it to another place. Also that’s not how it went down.

A It’s how some people work. As I told before, give me a thing to work with and I can easily create from there.

B I only told you about a sixteenth of what happened.

A But that was enough for me and those three sentences told me everything I needed to know. Fuck bleep, I told you recently about my Bipolar Depression and how I grapple with it hour by hour and mostly by myself with no assistance or guidance from anyone.

B I appreciate that and your candor but it makes me crazy. But fuck bleep, I know how mentally exhausted some people feel being in your orbit.

A Bleep, dude, we’re trying to get to that place in the day where we can say, I’m still here. First we get out of bed unassisted and the rest is gravy.

B Why such labels? I mean I know most of the names but you know I’m a tee shirt and jeans.

A Without inferring or intimating the slightest thing, I had a good feeling that who she is and most likely she has her own money but she doesn’t dismiss her husband’s money.

B I have my own money too but I’m not going to be seen eating on North Robertson.

A Possibly I’d see you at one place on Melrose or on Alameda and they’re not that far from where I put you. Then again, there’s a place around the way and you can walk there. I pay attention to things like that ever since I saw Russell Simmons ex wife Creamora eating at raw restaurant in LA a few years ago.

B Wow. How did find that out?

A She had a reality show and they showed her eating there and as a woman of color, she nearly lost her mind. One of things they served was a pizza but it wasn’t a New York pepperoni pizza all hot and gooey with cheese. I yelled at the TV, Gurl, I’ll take a slice. I’m in.

B Wait a minute, bleep. You told me you have issues with food.

A I do but sometimes I’ve got to throw caution to the wind and suffer with each delicious bite.

B So that’s why you fabricated that restaurant.

A Well, kinda sorta. When I was in LA, I found a great little Thai place a few blocks away from The Dolby and if I remembered the name I would’ve told you about it. They’ve got some amazing vegan options.

B This is one of the things I find about you, you know some of the most trivial things and it’s fucking scary.

A Bleep, I just hope I don’t actually lose my mind. I’d hope that you or someone else would put me down if dementia or Alzheimer’s effected me.

B Don’t say that. I sometimes like it when you remember what happened way back when.

A I’m not sure what’s going to happen but I’m still here regardless.

B I’ve got to ask why you said I cried.

A Bleep, you are but one of many Taurus men I know and if they do actually cry, it’ll be in the shower and they’d never admit to knowing how to cry. They might well up with tears but never cry in front of anyone ever.

B That’s fucked up.

A Taurus men do write but never about their feelings nor do they own a diary or journal. If that April born man exists who shares their feelings, they are a very rare breed of man.

B Well writing isn’t my thing.

A You sound exhausted.

B I had to compose myself and all the while I cursed your name.

A Oh it’s because I hit a nerve?

B You’re the last person I’d ever, of course, I think of to wax philosophic and then admit it to someone else let alone admit it to myself.

A Bleep, motherfucker, I’m completely aware and yet I’m not living under the delusion by pining away waiting for you to ask.

B No, it’s not that but does fall in the same zip code and then I used one word, empath. You dug as deep as you could and I’m like, fuck, man, I’m on the phone with you.

A Bleep. Bleep. I’ve known ever since your old EarthLink email and I never and I wouldn’t unless you asked. I told you before I see things that I don’t necessarily understand and with each message, I just end up seeing something.

B I gathered as much. There’s my Nou-Nou. Come up. It’s okay. Come on, Nou-Nou. Move your lard ass, Janx. There you go. All better. Rumple, not a word. You stay right there and let Nou-Nou get some.

A The kittehs!!

B Don’t distract. I’m not sure if you have a malignant will or you gave me something to think about.

A I can’t apologize more. I’m truly very sorry. I riffed on an idea and here we are.

B Life isn’t over as you think of it just because you’re alive. There’s more.

A That’s why I told you that I wouldn’t write again. Stirred the pot.

B You’re a dick.

A And your point is? A cunt? I’m The Dowager Empress and that’s all there is to that.

B You’re so full of shit.

A We’re not going to snap at each other like two terriers.

B Is this what we’ve been reduced to? Bickering just for arguments sake?

A You’re the one with the brown eyes, so you could possibly be full of shit. I’ve got green eyes, pea green with jealousy.

B You said some shit and it hit me. What’s that thing you usually say? Oh yeah, it’s a punch in the face you can’t take back.

A Bleep, dude. Most people want that moment in life where someone grabs ahold of you and pleads with you not to leave. It’s been played out in the movies, but not in our lives, right? I don’t know the life you led but I’ve had three boyfriends and each one of them dumped me. I’ve cried and played all the sad songs. You could have possibly done the same thing but let’s face it fucking Cher said it best, we all sleep alone.

B Whitney clapped back and said I’d rather be alone than be unhappy.

A True. But I had the near perfect relationship with The Beast. More than 40 years together. We both had separate lives and we were celibate lovers. We had each other’s back we did everything for love but we never did that. I knew that he wasn’t some Sir Galahad to love from afar, motherfucker was two legged boa constrictor. I’m okay with dying alone and unloved.

B That’s really a fucking bleak future. Well insert a happy go-lucky cliché here followed by Shady Pines. I can’t with you, bleep.

A I know that we’re estranged but don’t divorce me or fire me just yet.

B Okay.

-The curtain comes down and the audience breaks out in an uproar of applause and cheers-

Scene Three

E What was that we just watched?

CI wish I knew.

E 90 minutes of a conversation that never happened?

D Clearly you’ve missed the point of it. Two guys who knew each other since high school and they meet up years later. One guy had a bad break up and the other guy was now, as he said, a widower.

C Excuse me?

E Yeah excuse me. I don’t see it. Okay high school is one thing but forty years later, they’re talking like that?

D Okay let’s go for a quick pop at The Stone and we’ll go home afterwards.

E Which stone?

C I think that the closest one is Rosetta.

D No. That’s by Park Avenue. I think this one is Killarney but is it Kilkerry? Fuck. It’s right here at 8th Avenue.

C Don’t make thing of it but look over getting of that cab, Miles Silverberg.

E I know that name.

D Murphy Brown.

C It is him. Not bad looking but not my type.

D Bitch, your type is anyone who can make the letter O.

C You should talk. You’re still paying off that asbestos abatement from the last one.

D The two of you are practically virgins again, but then again Father Frank doesn’t give confessionals.

C/E Fuck you.

D Oh look, we’re here.

E I’ve always wondered exactly how many bars in Manhattan are actually Irish bars.

C Probably a few but I’m not sure. There’s only one Blarney Stone and I think it’s in Lower Manhattan not here in Midtown. I’m thinking that anything above 23rd Street is either owned by The Vara or Lyons’ Brothers.

E Damn.

D Hello, Merrick. We like a bottle of your best Shiraz and three glasses. We’ll be over here. Thank you. Yes, Merrick, yes you’re all that but put a ring on it.

E Why won’t you just fuck him and get it over with?

D We like this game. We just love to flirt with each other. No harm, no foul.

C She’s been playing with Merrick for years and he loves the attention.

E I wonder what The Times says tomorrow.

D This is the the last chapter of the trilogy. Uh…

C First was Hot Neon Lights, second was Patina on the Edge and now, It Didn’t Happen.

D I can’t get it out of my head that one scene with the mother fighting with the dad. She was so mad at him, she put out a cigarette in her hand.

C Oh fuck yeah, that was fucking brutal.

E Can someone get that mad?

D She’s his mother and momma bear wasn’t having it.

C True but I’m not sure about the pretentious names. Trenton Burroughs English and Daniel Charles Snyder. But you know what? They’re actual people. I found out that Trenton is some how many times removed from the Queen of Norway and Daniel is a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. AND the most fucked up thing is that they don’t know each and have never met.

D You know what’s even more fucked up than? There’s an actual family here on the social register here in New York with the last name, Frankenstein. Google that.

E Thank you, Merrick. Ladies, a toast?

C Yes please and don’t be stingy.

D Miss Thing, leave some for the rest of us.

ALL 3 Cheers! Give my regards to Broadway!!

E Hot Neon Lights was excellent, though I thought the two fantasy moments were beyond me.

D Why?

E Is that what you’d expect from dropping a hit of acid?

C Not all the time. It’s different from person to person. I did it once and I had goosebumps most of the time and I saw these white penny tiles dance like waves and I was surfing.

D I went to see a midnight showing of Eraserhead in college and I hate that fucking movie. Sigh. I cringe whenever I hear, Eraserhead is dead. I wanna punch someone in the face.

E Damn and I said I was traumatized by seeing Gina Gershon’s pubic hair in Killer Joe. I’m sorry but on the silver screen in a crowded theater. I shudder to think.

C A straight guy cringing at the mound of Venus? What happened? Did you see your mother in the shower?

E It’s not that deep. My face is one thing but on a forty-foot screen? Shit was scary.

D Yeah that is unforgettable. Besides that, was the movie any good?

E I don’t know. I mean William Friedkin directed The Exorcist. Both are going to fuck with your head, period.

D Oh yeah he did but what was really fucked up was in Patina on the Edge when he told us how his father and stepmother thought that they were watching his life story on the silver screen.

C What fucked with my head with my head was when he told us that he actually went to M Street and those stairs. I saw the picture and it was daytime and the caption read, Here laid Father Merrin’s body. Regan MacNeil astro-projected his priestly self right out the window. Rest in Power, Mercedes McCambridge.

E What?

C Yeah. Gimme a second.

D You’re obsessed much?

C I couldn’t believe it myself and I took a screenshot. Look.

E Damn. That’s really fucked up. Here.

D Oh my God! That is fucked up.

C I know reality stranger than fiction.

E It wasn’t science fiction or was it tonight?

D Whatever it was, it was some great writing. He can tell a story.

C What did you get out of it?

E I’m thinking that after seeing Hot Neon Lights, Patina on the Edge and tonight’s It Didn’t Happen, I think they should have a face to face and make a decision if they’re going to be actual friends and figure out if they want to be celibate lovers and in a platonic marriage.

D Fuck that bullshit. It’s obvious that they are actually going to have a contentious relationship and they’re not going to find each other sitting together chatting it up in Shady Pines. The only thing that they can have is a hidden mutual respect for each other and the rest of us can only imagine that since neither one of them will admit to anything. He’s a whore and he’s a prude. They don’t know what they want, but can they be friends in any iteration of the meaning. We’ll never know.

C Well…unrequited love can keep you going. Okay I’ve got unrequited love too but I see mine as that song, All American Boy by Steve Grand. I just love that song and I’m obsessed with the media calling it Brokeback Breakout and he’s like the Gay Cowboy. That’s really a bad cliché but it’s even worse to know that not every fag wants to suck the quarterback’s dick. Yeah let that big man on campus get a pot belly and go bald, and at the 40th high school reunion you’re still in a size seven like me and what’s even worse is that all the girls want to kill me.

D Do let me know when old and bitter arrives.

E Oh c’mon. It can’t be all that bad. You’re supposed to live off a compliment for two weeks, but I always hope for the best. I mean I like my family and we all get along.

C Well how nice for you but I doubt it. It’s like Homer isn’t going to strangle Bart for the umpteenth time.

E Back to the other moment in Hot Neon Lights, what was up with that Diana Ross scene?

D That was explained in Patina.

C Yeah. He went to the Diana Ross Live at Caesar’s Palace show on two hits of mescaline but I think the point was like she said, I am and I’m going to be.

D Powerful.

E Didn’t he also explain how he could actually touch the guy on the flying trapeze at the circus. Apparently he likes dropping acid.

C Patina had that whole conversation about “Gee whiz. Boy I was drunk last night.”

D Yeah it was consensual but I’m not sure if they were that drunk or that high.

E I know right but he did fuck that girl after an eight ball.

C Oh yes! He was up to THANGS!!

D Indeed he was but that failed threesome was even funnier.

E Give the guy a break. I’m not sure if he wanted to fuck the husband in front of his wife or fuck the wife as the husband was going to fuck him.

C YES!! The bamboo chair hanging from the ceiling. If I was in that same situation I have no idea how to proceed.

E True, true, but I’m glad he told us from the jump, we’d never believe it actually happened. My mind hurts.

D Look gentlemen, the bottle is empty and we all have to go to work in a few hours. Let’s table this for the next time. Until then.

E Okay but it’s Romeo & Juliet with social media at The Public.

C That’s got to be something else. We’ll text after we read the review in The Times.

ALL 3 Good night, Merrick!!

[atimefordragons]

IN THE NAME OF THE MOON, I SHALL PUNISH YOU! || EHS

☾♔; May 19, 2020 ☾♔; 2:19am ☾♔; sotd: Man of the World (Takanashi Yasuharu) ☾♔; cotd: Kuruma ☾♔; Elite Highschool ☾♔; Audition

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Sailor Moon, the Champion of Justice!

𝐀 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 (𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎): Finally done, I'm soz for taking so long! I've just been Narutoing. He's my boy, dattebayo!  

☆──════ ⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ════──☆

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

➤TITLE: S̶p̶o̶r̶t̶y̶ ̶S̶p̶i̶c̶e̶  The Sports Star ➤OC NAME: Katarina Văduva ➤AGE: 16   ➤BIRTHPLACE: Brăila, Romania ➤BIRTHDAY: December 31 ➤FACE CLAIM: Bruna Marquezine ➤USERNAME: @.dracarysbitch

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

➤LIKES: football (soccer, not the american one), eurovision (obvs), tennis, volleyball, basketball, ice hockey, figure skating, anime, manga (loves shoujo, but would rather die than admit it), a song of ice and fire (of course), russian literature (tolstoy is a fav ofc), winter, blizards, snowstorms, fresh snow, sweet foods, video games (dragon age, assassin's creed, the witcher, until dawn, pokemon), sailor moon, pink, blue, stitch, disney (sleeping beauty is her fave, even though she doesn't really match her personality, it's more that her parents gave her away for her safety, and Kat used to imagine it was the same for herself when she was a kid), space, faberge eggs, sanrio (her favourites are Kuromi and Pandausa)

➤DISLIKES: sasuke uchiha (fucking bitch), supercilious people, the lodge (lol, grow up you fucking losers), shows that go on forever and never end (please, please just end), shows that have shit endings, game of thrones (fucking dumbfucks), americans, right-wing politics (it's so stupid, just grow a heart), religion (what a scam), being alone (either physically or with her thoughts, let's bury that shit), losing, being wrong, having to concede any ground on any matter whatsoever, not knowing things

➤HOBBIES: anything that is physical (fucking jocks, amirite?), she's loves going for jogs (can't relate - secretly naruto runs during night time jogs 'cause no one can see her being lame), and playing streetball, etc. watching anime, reading manga, ranting on the interwebs about her shows and books (in general she avoids the bigger internet drama 'cause it's stupid, but sometimes you gotta put a bitch in their place, 'CAUSE DAENERYS IS THE PRINCE THAT WAS PROMISED, FUCK YOU!), watching reruns of pro-games (can't relate, so boring)  

➤STRENGTHS: determined, perseverant (is that even a word?), passionate, relentless, protective, observant, straightforward (usually ends up insulting people though, so it's more of a weakness tbh), goal-oriented, independent, self-reliant, has enough self-awareness to not go off on weeb/otaku interests in front of most people, but if it's like a "smart" anime, she'll discuss it (like Death Note, she's not gonna fucking admit to still loving Naruto at this age, shut up), diligent, loyal, a bad bitch (lol, not so much, but she likes being perceived as a strong girl who can and will stab you with her stiletto. the image only lasts for a few seconds, she more just comes off as rude).

➤WEAKNESSES: stubborn, very blunt, which tends to come off as brash and rude, though she's not always intending to be mean, despite that rude, blunt nature, she's also a bit tsundere, and struggles admitting her to deeper feelings. Gets flustered when complimented (outside of sports, there she's fine 'cause I'm the best bitches, or so she says), and she just can't admit it when she needs someone, whether it be a friend or romantic interest, especially if it's a romantic interest, 'cause she's also of the mind of who needs a boyfriend when there's food? while she's observant when it comes to changes in people's behaviour, she in general lacks the capacity to act well on her observations, and is awkward when trying to comfort someone or cheer them up. When it comes to her own feels, part from rage, annoyance, or "Jock Mode", she can barely admit to them, let alone discuss them with other. Speaking of "Jock Mode", she is competitive AF, somewhat dismissive (this usually only comes out in games, but she tends to ignore weaker opponents in search of stronger ones who pose a challenge). Also tends to display some arrogance in the sports she's most talented it, particularly volleyball. It's not quite a personality flaw, but she's weak for loving parents, or just a loving family in general (in life and when watching movies, it makes her fucking cry every time, which really puts a damper on her tough girl image, it's not usually a visible one, but she can't hide the longing in her face when she watches a parent and their child being a normal, happy family). Definitely has tunnel-vision, once she has a goal in sight, that's all she sees. Can even be paired down to dumb things, like C-grade trashy alien movies. She tends to notice only the aliens and revel in their destruction, while ignoring everything else, including the plot. Has plenty of issues; abandonment, trust, ptsd - none of which she is dealing with. She's just ignoring it and hopes it goes away once she becomes a cool, reliable adult™️ (lol, good luck that, adult life is a lie).

𝐁𝐈𝐎

��SHORT BIO: Katarina is half-Brazillian, half-Russian, though she is under the assumption that she is Romanian, she is biological the daughter of Vasily Raevsky, a Russian Oligarch, and Xuxa Amalia Reis Moreno, a Brazilian businesswoman and all round bad bitch. For reasons unknown to her, Katarina was in effect abandoned at birth and placed in a Romanian orphanage in Brăila, which is also presumed to be her birthplace. Her birth certificate lists both parents as unknown, the orphanage named her. Having no parents or known family, and raised in an orphanage has given Kat many self-reliant skills, and allows her to live independently, but it has also left her with a deep sense of loneliness (not to mention PTSD 'cause Romanian Orphan life is a nightmare). She recognizes that much of her yearning is still childish fantasy, and often covers up that desire with her brash nature or jock hobbies.

Growing up in the orphanage was... not easy. The Brăila Home for Children was not the best, to say the least. Though it could've been worse (*shudders at the case of the Sighetu Marmației institution for disabled children* - do better Romania, oh my god). The orphanage was under and poorly staffed. They would often neglect and abuse the children, one year shaving every childs head so they all looked the same, and often chaining rowdy children to their beds. During Katarina's time, many of her fellow orphans died from minor illness or injuries such as cataracts or anemia, which were treated poorly or simply ignored, and a number also starved to death. Because of this, Katarina has a habit of hoarding food, and keeping snacks under her pillow. She also has difficulty sharing, and despises headboards that are railed(? the ones with gaps, idk what to call them).

When she was around eleven, the orphanage received ample anonymous donations, leading to much improvement, and the arrival of a new Director, Ileana Cojocaru, who, over time, earned the trust of Kat and her fellow orphans, and became something of a surrogate mother. Ileana did a nearly complete staff overturn (fun side note, some of the staff, especially those who harmed Kat have gone missing in the past few years, coincidence? no), as well as hiring accomplished childcare professionals from all over the world to help the children. It was Ileana who sparked Kat's, or rather Rina as Ileana called her,  interest in sports, though Ileana was more into football herself, she encourage Kat to explore whatever she wanted, though particularly team sports so that Kat could foster dependent relations. Kat herself particularly enjoyed volleyball, joining a little league team and winning a number of competitions. Due to her skill both in setting and spiking, she usually plays in the Opposite Hitter position.

Katarina entered EHS in Highschool, on what she assumed to be the Elite's scholarship program, arranged by Ileana, who even said as such, though in truth, her entry and tuition are all being handled by an anonymous benefactor. This fact was revealed to Kat last summer after Ileana died (of p̶l̶o̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶s̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ cancer), whose lawyer was put in charge of the bank accounts meant to pay for all of Kat's needs. The lawyer refused to divulge whom the anonymous benefactor is, citing a non-disclosure clause, though the need to discover who has given Kat a whole new mission in life.

➤FAMILY: On Katarina's part, she doesn't believe she has one, though she does consider Ileana to be her family, and has grown to care somewhat about her fellow orphans from the Brăila Home, while growing up they were rivals struggling to survive. Ileana's death devastated her, and she's dealing with it by straight up ignoring it. Lol, I'm not sad, my eyes are just glistening with the ghosts of my past.

Biologically, despite her complete lack of knowledge of it, Kat comes from rather a rather illustrious family. Her mother, Xuxa Amalia Reis Moreno, is a Brazilian Businesswoman, herself the daughter of a self-made millionaire, Xuxa is expanded the Moreno parent company, MC Inc., an oil and mineral company in origin, into numerous side ventures, owning and operating businesses ranging from restaurants to magazines and clothing lines. Her father meanwhile, Vasily Raevsky, is of the (former) noble House of Raevsky, now oligarchs in modern-day Russia, who virtually control Russia's diamond and precious stone industry, currently owning controlling shares of ALROSA, the largest diamond mining company in Russia, and accounting for 95% of the countries diamond production, as well as 27% of the global diamond extraction, and the House of Fabergé, which they purchased after the fall of the Soviet Union. If she remained in the care of either of her parents, her name would technically be Katarina Vasilyevna Moreno Raevskaya, which is a fun and utterly useless fact.

Her parents met at a rich people conference (idk, Davos or some shit like that) and engaged in a short lived affair. Her father was already married and could not accept her, and her mother had no interest in being a mother at all, let alone a single one, leading to them choosing to give her up in Romania, an arbitrary choice that fucked her up, lol.

Via her father, she has an elder brother, Viktor Vasilyevich Raevsky, who is in fact her anonymous benefactor. Viktor discovered her existence after Vasily had an accident and was close to death, so he confessed his sins and what not. Viktor eventually tracked her down and sought to improve her life. Though he wants to bring her into the family, he doesn't for the sake of his mother who cannot deal with the affair, though she refuses to divorce Vasily for appearances sake.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀

➤MOODBOARD: https://tinyurl.com/y8a2gjy8 ➤SCHOOL WARDROBE/AESTHETICS: https://tinyurl.com/ycodubrb ➤PLAYLIST: https://tinyurl.com/y6wwmp74

➤TOP 3 CHARACTER PICKS: the Sports Star, the Princess, The Rebel(de) <-- lol, see what I did there? I'm so funny.

[narwhallove]

Top Seven Early Claremont Moments, part the first

Last spring, I made a mission of reading Claremont’s run of Uncanny X-men, starting from Giant-Size X-men #1. I wanted to see what the fuss was about; wanted to read the stories in their original state. So I expected good writing, good stories.

Right away I enjoyed the Phoenix, how the team bickered and misunderstood each other, even appreciated Cyclops’s angst—never thought I’d say it, but I became Team Scott.

But goddamn. I never expected to be blown away. I didn’t know I would be surprised time and time again by the insights Claremont bears on his characters, to be so repeatedly heartbroken. The comparison of Claremont to Greek tragedians no longer seems absurd but obvious.

This is a list of moments that moved me, the panels that made me say: “Claremont is genius.” The list runs from Uncanny X-men #94 to 180, plus the accompanying miniseries, because that’s what I’m up to.

(Part two of this list here.)

1. Sh*t gets real when Proteus rears his Oedipal head, #127

When Moira MacTaggert warns her estranged husband that their son is on a murderous rampage, she drops a lifetime’s heartbreak in a single sentence: “You didn’t just put me in hospital for a week, you left me pregnant.” 

. . . Which is a darkness that blindsided me. I don’t know what readers expected when they picked up this issue for 40¢, but I sure as hell did not expect a all-too-human domestic drama—of a non-superhero woman, whose husband beat and raped her, left to raise a son who’s turned out to be monster.

Note: Children of rape and violence are not monsters. Obviously. I’d argue Moira’s son is a metaphor for trauma. Claremont, so very much in the woman’s perspective, seems interested in how trauma may feel like a separate entity, for which only the victim seems responsible, and how trauma may be as reality-warping and, well, protean as Proteus.

2. Another discussion on love, #136

Only 9 issues later, we see an inverse of Moira’s dilemma. Boyfriend Cyclops tells the goddess Phoenix, “You are love.”

But the love that allows Jean to save the X-men, then save the universe, requires sustenance too. Phoenix utters a wonderful, wonderful line. “I hunger, Scott—for a joy, rapture, beyond all comprehension. That need is a part of me, too. It consumes me.”

I want to know: How does Claremont know this? How does he understand, so fundamentally, that women are demanded to love limitlessly, without being provided sustenance for themselves? This demand on women doesn’t help the human Moira, and it doesn’t help the goddess.

John Byrne’s radiant, sorrowful Jean does not hurt. I’m in love.

3. The end, #138

Or the beginning? At the end of the Dark Phoenix saga, Claremont goes real small, down to tiny drama of someone locked out of their house. Kitty arrives to the mansion for the first time and no one’s there to greet her. The caption “The X-men will never be the same again!” is so wistful, because it refers to her entry into the X-men but inevitably turns one’s mind to Phoenix.

I just love the sight of a young girl, who has no idea of the melodrama of the last 37 issues, forlorn, at the end of an issue. With the caption, “The beginning.” 

Hope and heart on the horizon. Hang in there, Kitty.

4. Kitty grows up fast, #142

Only four issues after Phoenix dies, we tumble into Days of Future Past. This is like writing Anna Karenina one year after completing War and Peace. How_is_that_possible_?

This was the biggest surprise of everything on my list. Grown-up Kate Pryde, having endured the life in Days of Future Past, sees her 616 younger self— “so innocent, so vulnerable, so young. Impulsively, she gives herself a kiss.” 

Why? It’s not in the art. It’s not necessary. It doesn’t change anything.

But it changes everything. Ageing, compassion, the passing on of knowledge from an older woman to a younger woman; the mercy we wish we’d had on our younger selves.

5. A child, again, #150

Issue #150 is the double-length in which we learn that Magneto is a Holocaust survivor. This could be a gratuitous addition, guided by poor taste; but there are few cheap gestures on Claremont’s part. (Even when he missteps, it’s an interesting misstep—that’s my one-sentence review of God Loves, Man Kills.) In this climactic moment, Magneto viciously attacks Kitty, then “comes to” when he realizes she’s a child. 

And he regrets everything.

He may not know that Kitty is Jewish; it’s enough for him that she’s a mutant. Yet for the reader, her Jewishness matters tremendously. “Fuck metaphors,” Claremont says. “We’re talking about reality and real-world consequences.”

Never moreso than when Magneto speaks of his wronged wife, his murdered daughter (presumably in the death camps). These three panels take on a whole history—of the state can crush the individual, and what losses an individual suffers in trying to make a new state.

6. Growing up too fast, Magik #3

I’d been told, I’d been warned. But how can you anticipate the Magik miniseries? Ilyana Rasputin enters Limbo a child and transforms into an adolescent instantly. I would have used the image of the X-men trying to pull a child out of a portal and yanking out a pubescent adolescent instead—as it’s a terrifyingly precise metaphor for sexual trauma.

But there wasn’t a single good image of that, and anyway I was fixated by this triptych:

Ilyana in bed, frightened of the power she realizes she’s developing—with or without her consent—as she’s trapped and held hostage by a man. Of her power, she says, “It wants me to call on it again. And again. I don’t want to. But I will.”

Ugh. The powerlessness, the desperation—the bed shrinking as the darkness grows. This is a stunningly accurate representation of a girl discovering her sexuality within a patriarchy. It’s the most chilling moment in a series that’s all chilling.

7. What you do can be very nice, Wolverine #3

I read this miniseries rather reluctantly, expecting all sorts of silly Orientalism (there is, including the white guy who out-samurais all the samurais, alas); yet the heartbroken Wolverine—repeatedly called an animal by Mariko’s father—won me over. Well, Wolverine and Frank Miller’s unimpeachable visuals.

“You took my dreams from me, Shingen. But only for a time. Because I’m a man! Not a beast. A man! That mistake is going to cost you.”

How much more thrilling is this than your standard action-movie “suit-up” scene? After dizzying adventures that Logan doesn’t seem to quite understand, thanks to Yukio and said Shingen, Logan will give up the love of his life, his dignity, and all good judgment, but not his honor.

The miniseries raises an interesting storytelling dilemma; in what society does a white man have to prove his humanity? You have go to feudal Japan for that. It’s not surprising, therefore, that Claremont writes so much about women, then, the underdogs of any story.

But he is one of those men writers who have a genius in understanding the psychologies and dilemmas of women and girls. Tolstoy is another one of these men, and it’s no exaggeration to place Claremont up there with Tolstoy.

Anyway, if you’ve gotten this far in this post, please share any of your top Claremont moments in the comments. I would love to hear.

CREDITS Uncanny X-men #127 (Moira), 136 (Phoenix), 142 (DoFP) Pencils: John Byrne Colors: Glynis Wein Inks: Terry Austin Letters: Tom Orzechowski

Uncanny X-men #150 Pencils, inks: Dave Cockrum, Josef Rubinstein, Bob Wiacek Colors: Glynis Wein Letters: Tom Orzechowski, Jean Simek

Magik #3 Pencils: Ron Frenz Finish: Tom Palmer Colors: Glynis Wein Letters: Tom Orzechowski

Wolverine #3 (1982) Pencils: Frank Miller Finish: Josef Rubinstein Colors: Glynis Wein Letters: Tom Orzechowski

[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine 25

Spoilers, obv.

Let's just dive in, eh?

Jamie's Cover

One of the interesting things about comics is the solicitation process. As such, a sub-section of the fandom will be aware of a cover before it comes out (or the month before it comes out if it's a comic which puts a NEXT MONTH cover in the back). So for the hardcore readers, this will actually be the first image they see of Minerva's new look.

So yeah, good debut, Mini.

This arc we're clearly not doing quite what we did on previous ones – the link from the cover star to the interior one is much more tangential than the first two years. Let's not make it too easy.

Emi Lenox's Cover

Emi is one of our favourite people in the whole world, let alone comics. Her co-written with Jeff Lemire (and drawn by her) of Plutona was one of our favourite minis of last year too. I believe Emi wanted to do another god, and then read the latest issues and I WANT TO DO PERSEPHONE!

Which has been a running theme this arc, actually. We've had to encourage other gods for the B-sides later on. Persephone, you're more than a superstar, but you're not our only coverstyle.

Very much a continuation of our Wide Variety Of Styles On Cover theme. This is about art.

Page 1

Compared to many of the issues this arc, this is a less demanding one for the artist than usual. I don't do it unless I have to, and I knew there's horrible stuff ahead. That said, the world fell apart during the production of this issue, and we lost a week. So it was hard anyway. Comics!

Anyway – we start slow. Three panels. Establish location, establish situation, establish key character. This is aimed towards being reserved, clear and efficient.

First swearing of Cass in the issue. And not the last.

The cliffhanger last time is an unusual one for us, as I believe I said (I totally don't re-read these notes after writing them. When we come to edit them for the hardback, it's always a thrill. Hey C! Sorry about all the typos.) It's a mid-action cliff-hanger. Normally we're in a “reveal of important new information” or “completion of surprising action” place when we cliffhanger, and half the time we don't even do that. This is a “half way through action” cliffhanger.  As such, it's about “How does this action complete?”

Structurally speaking, I tend to think that these tend to risk creating false drama. If you don't go through with an action in any meaningful way, that's what it is – a raising of expectations and a quashing of them, which – to use the technical writing term – is total bullshit. If you do go through with it... well, why didn't you do it to end the previous issue? Then you have a “completion of surprising action” cliffhanger, which is much more honest.

So the main way to resolve them, for me, is that what DOES happen has to be at least as interesting as what didn't happen.

So that's where we try to go, as Persephone is totally going to torture Woden.

(In my original synopsis the previous episode ended with Woden's reveal, with Persephone raising her fingers at the start of this. I made this call when writing both issues.)

That was a lot of words.

In other notes: I would really like Persephone's trousers here.

Page 2

Anyway – this whole sequence is about Jamie again. The push and pull of Persephone's reactions here is key.

Obviously the most important expression closes the page – we lose the skull eyes and have a push and pull of responses which caused me to pretty much instantly tear up. There's lots of ways to read this, and none of them good.

Page 3

Cassandra, voice of reason once more. “Go on a bender” makes me smile too.

Steady angle on the hands puts an unusual pressure on things – steady shots, in profile are something which tend to be most used in comedy. But it's all about the hands and the emotion. Also compare and contrast to the one over the page...

Page 4

Oh no, Persephone!

And this is very much about the scene as comedy. Breaking a scene into individual moments – decompressing, to use a much maligned and mis-used term – is all about increasing the effect. It is paramount in comedy.

Page 5 From the Hobbit. Bilbo and Smeagol. You can probably guess who's Smeagol in this metaphor, except not.

Page 6-7

The first page was written in a standard format – once more, using the very basic structure of establish/scene/character beat set up of the first page – and then moved into Marvel Method for the rest of the sequence. It's the first “real” performance sequence since issue 20s, so has been a while.

This sequence brought to mind the movie adaptation of UNDER THE SKIN when I was writing it, and that's not an inaccurate comparison, I suspect.

What's to look at here is Matt's purples, which are just lovely.

And black.

All that black.

And...

Page 8-11

EVEN MORE BLACK! Doing try printing scans of our pages at home, as your printer will hate us.

Obviously reminiscent of issue 3's performance sequence, and I love what they did with the tumbling sequence. Persephone's voice, caption-box less, dropped on the backdrop too.

At script, there was originally a couple of lines on the second spread. It was questioned by C, in terms of “He's a long way away – I don't think we can hear two beats like that” which is right, but also got me thinking about time operating in comics. The second you add dialogue to a page, it becomes a period of time. When you remove all dialogue, it gets a timeless quality. As in, you have no idea how long it's been like this. Seconds? Hours? Years? We don't know.

And that certainly adds to the effect of the sequence.

Page 12

Heh. I'm reading this as we put issue 26 to bed, having just passed Jamie the script for 27 earlier today. They are... somewhat denser. It's going to be a while until we have a three panel sequence like this.

Page 13-16

Oh, hello again, eight-panel grid structure, old friend. We'll be seeing you again soon.

The dumbest “I should have realised this in the script” mistake was that Cass didn't have a line in the first panel of this. That adds time to the sequence, and a repsonse to the appearance of Cass.

I remember the thinking on this for me. Okay, Persephone has dragged Woden away. What does Cass do? Try and free the Valkyries. Like, obviously.

Anyway – what we get instead of Woden being killed is this. Giving up the Valkyries. Dragged to be essentially Cass' helper. Working the level of reluctance and ego back and forth is key.

The Harry Potter line was probably the most closely debated line in the issue. C and I basically had a bunch of conversations trying to unpack the meaning, what Woden was trying to say about it exactly, what Woden thought he was saying, etc.

Whole sequence clearly important as it's stating a selection of the various mysteries in the book, signalling to the reader than them not knowing answers is not accidental, and making the characte's direction clear. “Direction” is tricky in Imperial Phase, which is kind of the point. Showing that we do have an idea what we're doing is probably a necessary tell.

The steady angle on the last two panels – once more, for comedy – makes me smile. The “Enigmatic Wankery” made think of a friend. I asked C who she thought would most likely actually say “Enigmatic Wankery.” She answered the same friend. So let's conclusively say “Enigmatic Wankery” is the line most likely to be said by author and punmeister supreme, Si Spurrier.

Page 15 – which, without saying it, where Cass implicitly agrees to working with Woden – is where I realised how good Woden and Cass are to have in the same room, in terms of pushing information around.

(Perhaps too much – Persephone is definitely an observer in these four pages)

Page 17

Text conversations are fun, just as how much you can get into it, as a piece of character work. That Cass hasn't updated her phone to change Laura's name ever since meeting her is certainly one thing, but also says a lot about various other bits and pieces.

Three golden expressions on the page., You can trust Jamie McKelvie to deliver on such thing – the specific annoyance and the somewhat enigmatic sadness of Persephone. And the... peevishly frustrated nature of Cass.

Also, easy panels! See, I'm not just a monster.

(Says the man who's just sent Jamie a script with a whole middle section sub-titled “ FUCKING HORRIBLE BEYOND ALL HUMAN BELIEF”)

Page 18

The quote's from Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Page 19

Ananke's speech from issue 5 of WicDiv, being broadcast. Fun juxtaposition. And god, that's a hard mask to draw.

And honestly, this page – which you should recognise in its structure – so upset me when I thought of it, I knew it had to go in. The more I think about it, the worse it gets.

The copy of Pantheon  monthly on the table especially makes me grin. I think that was Jamie's idea. Or maybe Katie?

Page 20-21

Persephone and Baal have been going out for three issues now. This sequence is the first time we've seen them in the same panel. Plus first time to see Baal in his guardian role. As such, wanting to live with them, albeit briefly, felt necessary. For a book that's often about death, we have to show life.

(The lightning-to-make-toast is the apex of that. The Mundane + The Divine may be an alternate title for WicDiv, or at least our aesthetic and interests.)

Also, let Minerva – ahem – continue to stretch her wings. Last time we got the human intelligence side of it. Now we get a more analytical mind.

And yes, Baal self-correcting himself is cute. You're trying, Baal.

Everyone's hair game is on point here. Minerva's fringe (aka Bangs, but we're in the UK, guys) is wonderful, but the winner is Persephone's braids.

On a really minor craft note? It's standard to say you end the page on a cliffhanger – an unanswered question, an reason to turn the page. The “Was Ananke right?” is a pretty good example of that, I think. Even mentioning Ananke changes the tone. The question is pointed, both in story and not. And, most of all, who's saying it?

Page 22

Oh, it's Amaterasu. Hi, Amaterasu.

This is very much catching balls we threw into the air, earlier. In terms of Amaterasu's actions, this is how the cast see it. Or at least, this part of the cast.

The third panel of this page makes me optimistic we're going to get away with an issue down the line. That's a lot of wonderful acting inside a tiny panel from Jamie.

I wasn't sure if “Li'l flower” was too much, but decided, no, it was the right amount of much.

Page 23-24

Yeah, this is a swing back to action-mode comics earlier than I suspect people were expecting it.

Kept really basic, leaving room for Jamie and Matt to do their thing. The tendrils whirling around, use of space, etc. Also, let's nod towards Matt's hot pink in the last panel.

Page 25

And hello what we can only presume is the Darkness, Great, which I probably better not say more about until next month. It was certainly a design conversation, but probably best to work in there. Clearly we wanted something interesting.

Yeah, that's enough for now, I think. We'll talk the nature of Cliffhangers again next time.

Page 26

I had a string of names for this one, before ending up here. I liked most of them enough to make me suspect they'll end up being used elsewhere.

Right – issue has just headed off to Image, so we'll see you in a month.

Thanks for reading.

[katyavendel]

I let go of my lucky bird

I let go of my lucky bird

now I’m the one dancing

Singing

Flying

I know my worth

And its a zero gravity zone

Straight to the cosmos

Sending comets left and right

But I’m just smiling

I believe in no gravity

One, two

Lift off

I’m drawing time in the dust, in the sand

I’m Salvador Dali

Tie up my eyes

Hold my wings

And let me go

Draw me like a Michael Angelou

Sistine Chapel

Make me a masterpiece

I’m letting go

As Craig David says

I’m walking away.

Everyday’s a new day

I know michiavelli’s a little tense

Lol he could use a glass of wine and. A quick fuck

Maybe learn a thing or two from Rasputin.

He had his fuck’s and his nose up the Tsar’s business

Who knows maybe if we didn’t go to WW1 we’d still be a monarchy

Look, I’m just smiling

Just smiling

Learning how to operate in the zero gravity of my mind

No worries

Baby don’t worry , he said,

He lit up a zoot

And played me some Bob Marley

Smooth talking’ masterpiece

But all I wanna do is have a good time

I know Rousseau’s a bit psychotic

And Hobbes is a bit dark

But Locke’s alright

Hence why the playwrights copied him

Which playwrights?

Well, the constitution of the United States of course,

Didn’t Shakespeare say all of life’s a play

And we’re merely players and actors staring in different parts

In our own lives and others

And by the things that are occurring, it really does feel like a screen play

I mean, life, the constitution,

And the way things are occurring

In the world, of course

Read the UN’s sustainable development goals

And the Declaration of Human Rights

And then read you some Pride and Prejudice

And see, we’re not so different you see.

If music be the food of love, then play on , isn’t that

Hamlet

Lol, Romeo and Juliet, the Twelfth Night,

Trying to star in my own plays, playing Jane Eyre

And learning Chekov, but what’s the point.

No conspiracy theories

Take me to a cave, a cenote in Mexico, and let’s go swimming baby

Mexian Sky, send me the lyrics

Let’s dance them out loud.

Just plain sanity

Well, they do say Einstein was a little crazy.

Well yes, philosophy

Philosophizing on Locke, Hobbes, the Buddha, and whoever else comes to mind

Don’t tell me about Gandhi, mother teresa, nelson Mandela, and the way the changed the apartheid

Don’t tell me about the way he got through those 29 years

Tell me about your own Valley of the Shadw of Death, and how you got through it.

Don’t tell me about the theoritical equations of quantum physics and mechanics,

I know every theorem on quantum mechanics and the double slit experiemnt

I wanna know about the theorum’s in your mind

The equations you keep solving in your head about your next move

Please don’t tell about how Putin still poses anti’ gay rights

Tell me why it moves you.

Don’t tell me about the job you have

Tell me why you haven’t left

Tell have you ever let go

Have you ever danced underneath a sunrise

Or swam in an ocean at midnight

I have,

These things, it changes you

Have you ever wondered how small you are

And the peek of a summit

Or at the bottom of a valley,

I have.

Makes you realize we’re just a speck in the universe

I’m not a fan of Eastern philosophy

But it does have some sense

Believe in the tao

And just being still

Tell me about the occurrences of your own heart

Your own mount Everests you’ve conquered

Tell me about what brings your soul to life

Have you ever been so ecstatically happy, so ridulously joyous against all odds,

That you felt your heart was gonna burst right out your chest, tell me what that felt like

Did you ever point at a map, a single location, a random destination and just went spontaneously

No matter what.

I have, it changes you.

Have you ever integrated in a culture that’s not your own.

I have, and it changes you.

Have you ever travelled somewhere, just for a good cause, with people you don’t even know,

I have.

And it changes you.

Have you ever stared at the sky and wondered how these clouds

Have been here for millennia’s, I have, and it changes you.

Have you ever worked your butt off to become the best in your field,

I have, and it changes you.

You know Rumi said live as though the whole world’s rigged in your favour

Jesus said if you pray in my name and believe it shall be done for you

Do you believe? In the Lion of Judah.

That’s there’s better in store, a new day coming.

Ah, I know, you’re not into all this drama or philosophy,

You’re not into contemplation, or the purpose of life.

You’re not mundane, but you’re practical, one foot in, one out. All right, lets play a game.

Guaranteed I’ll beat you at chess.

How about Tony Robbins, or Zuckerberg, or your idol, Steve Jobs,

Well he woke up each day as if it’s his last, if that isn’t mindset, then I don’t know what is.

How about your programming, tell what is the wire, the neurocircuits that fire the electrons in your body.

Tell me how your neurons function. What is it that keeps you living, breathing, functioning, and moving forward.

Do you believe in a higher power, that maybe there’s more.

Oh, you believe in Elon Musk, well then baby boy, he’s still a hustler.

It’s mindset baby.

How’s your game?

Stop throwing all your bluff

And blow job techniques and rituals of seduction

Stop telling about how you got this girl or that in bed

Tell me, have you ever made love? So passionately, you thought your life had changed.

Was it real, or was it just a fling. Did you ever wake up to the gaze of a lover and know your whole world had just been made still. that

Somehow you’ve been given a taste of ecstasy , Heaven on Earth.

Of course, not.

Stop talking all your bluff, and why it won’t work. Tell me why it will.

Tell me how hard you’ll hustle to achieve this dream against all odds.

I’m so sick of you telling me about limitation and society’s perception.

i just want you to live.

And If you’re not in it, to live.  But exist. Then baby, we’re on different lanes.

I’m here to live against all odds.

And live so bravely and fearlessly, that when death comes, it trembles to take me.

Courageously and passionately,

But I’m not a hopeless romantic, and I’d never allow myself to be that way,

But I love life against all odds.

Can you?

Let’s go to a museum, lets look at Da Vinci

Let’s go to the Colosseum, let’s visit the Louvre again, how about Nigara falls, take me to a new cafe,

Lets explore, actually, take me to that little cafeteria by the beach, the one that lights up candles at night,

And has shitty seats, let’s get dirty and go swimming.

Throw some mud on my face.

Take yourself less seriously.

Let’s have a laugh.

And when we’re looking at Da Vinci somewhere in the National Gallery in London

let’s go crazy and tell me you can’t keep your hands off me

That it turns you on the way I look at those paintings

And you can’t wait to get me in bed.

lol baby can we have some fun.

I want my life to be a masterpiece

A masterpiece painting

I want to see the way you raise my kids

The way you look at them in the morning and tell them you love them

The way you play ball with our little man and the way you kiss our little girl on her way to school

The way you teach them how to skate

And how to love life

How you teach them how to ski

And how to go bunjee jumping

How their first sky dive was with their mum and dad

And how the first time they learned how to ride a bike was on our porch yard

I wanna see our little boy run around with a skate board

And never get into bad crowds even though he’s always at the skatepark

Cause he knows he can be honest with us

I want our little girl to have a strong side and know how to fight

And know how to weep beautifully without being judged

I want our kids to know how to be authentic

And never feel like they have to hide or compromise anything about themselves

I want them to be leaders in their high schools and the kids everyone looks up to

I want them to be super intellectual and beautiful

And have the world at their feet

I want them to be sensational

And know how to inhabit their body and

Be real.

Baby let’s have a date night

And run barefoot in the middle of the road like we did when we were 18

Lets have a Notebook moment and dance underneath the street lights

But we’re married now, and nothing’s gonna stop us from still living audaciously.

Lets have a Pirates of the Caribbean moment and live like explorers,

And shake the world, and live like tourists on. A borrowed earth on borrowed time

Because we’re all just visitors for a time being on this planet,

Let’s win the jackpot, the lotto, let’s reach the high score, if life’s nothing but a game,

Then baby, I’m competitive and I wanna reach the high score, the high life, the high love,

I don’t wanna wait till I’m 80 to know the worth of life and what really matters.

I wanna die, close my eyes, and know that I’ve really lived.

And I beg God, not to take me till I’ve lived and fulfilled my purpose on Earth.

And if you’re gonna share a life with me, then baby you better live.

Lets kiss while at war, in the middle of battle, because we’re warriors on the inside

Let’s have tattoos and weird cuts and be sexy parents

Let’s wake up at 4am and go for a run

Let’s work out insanely and eat healthily but have insane pasta cheat meals

Lets love on life, lets make love to life.

Let’s be audacious against all odds,

And live like warriors,

And be like titans in our business fields,

In our careers, lets be the best of the best.

baby, Let’s have a Tolstoy moment and be intimate in the middle a war zone

In the middle of an economic breakdown, lets learn to relax and invest,

And lets be the bomb at crypto currencies because that’s the future

Lets learn AI and know about Elon Musk and visit Sillicon Valley.

Lets get weed in Jamaica and chill with the Rastas

Lets meet all the Hindus and Buddhas and chill in in their temples,

And get these weird roses and say thank you.

Lets’ camp on Mount Everest.

And have our own helicopter.

Lets sleep in the forest, and wrestle the lions with love.

Lets see the truth of this earth.

Let’s learn to relax even in the midst of chaos

Let’s learn to dance in the rain

When was the last time you made out under the rain?

Let’s go.

Let’s learn to forgive and love out loud.

Let’s climb Kilimanjaro , and maybe go to the Batu Caves again, where a monkey stole my ice - cream the last time that I went.

Let’s learn about ancient rituals, the rural parts of Eastern France, lets go to the African war zones, poverty stricken villages in Nigeria, lets see

How they live, and how they praise the Lord.

I want to praise like an African.

Because you see, it’s just a dance for the Lord.

But I want to praise Earth like the Shamans and Native Americans.

Live like a child, learn like an intellectual

Blaze trails like a prodigy

Work like a hustler

Live like a lover

Pray like a saint

Love like a warrior

Dress like a queen

Think like I’m Plato

And love like I’m an aphrodisiac

I want to pray like a saint

And love like a lover

I want to play like a child

And work like a hustler

I want to praise like a queen

And dance like every dance is my last

The first time in the Colosseum, I wondered how tough it oughta be to live here, living like a tourist, buying souvenirs, yet a couple centuries ago,

This was the ground for massacre

Gladiators and chariots

and massacres

lions fighting back and forth

The human race always had a knack for violence

Yet we’ve always been suckers for true love

Even, Caesar himself couldn’t help himself, brought, Cleopatra to Rome against all odds,

Just to be massacred by his own men for bringing a woman like her.

They say Nefertiti was more beautiful.

But that’s not the point.

The Hunger Games, live.

On a battle ground.

And what about the Roman inquisition.

Death for the cross, did you know it was chaos.

Or how they cut of Marie Antoinette’s and Louis XVI’s head.

Or how they massacred the Romanov’s in Yekaterinburg

Or King Henry VIII’s wives.

how they suffered the fate of just being women

Or how the Latinos suffered under the arm of dictatorship and the invasion of foreign policy

How the Americans invaded their land

Did you know all of the modern foreign policy tore up the Middle East starting from the Iraq war in 1991

To Saddam Hussein’s death and 9/11

The foreign policy for gold and ivory

that places like Timbuktu could turn into ruins

Look, I’m not insane

I’m just saying, shit happens

But like Richard Branson, we should sail on the waves

Cross Guinness records, own our own private islands

And enjoy life while we can

Just live out loud you know,

Shit happens, but you can’t control it

You can control nothing but your own emotions, and actions, and heads

And as Bukowski said, you can only change one life at a time, all else is grandiose romanticism or politics

Or how the English cut off the heads of slaves

How the Europeans divided Africa like a cake.

How the Belgians, cut up Congo for Ivory in half.

All that’s nice, but now what?

Now you live.

You live against all odds.

And you live life so bravely, so audaciously

That life trembles to take you.

I’ll leave you with a poem and short story.

Firstly, read All The Way by Charles Bukowski, it will change your life .

Secondly, Google, Nero’s 100 Gladiators, and see how the 40 stood up for Jesus, and how the one ran to them,

And see these stories of courage and bravery and be inspired.

Because as the wild saying goes, “Here’s to the misfits and the crazy ones” - Rob Siltanen.