#he’s indigenous and I’m dying on this hill

[sexybedhead]

it’s 7:49AM and I am currently tearing up over eursulon calling back to the bear because oh my god he’s just a fuckjng bear

[tepkunset]

Are there any other indigenous people in X-men? Like islanders?

So here’s a list of every Indigenous mutant in Marvel Comics (Earth 616) that I know of. Unfortunately, some are just straight up offensive. But there are a number of underappreciated gems!

Dani Moonstar AKA Mirage (Obviously gotta start with my fave)

Cheyenne

Illusory powers (originally her powers were creating illusions of peoples’ fears. Overtime her illusions eventually expanded to pretty much anything she wants. After she gets fried by the High Evolutionary’s machinery, her illusions could become solid objects, but she could only have one at a time. And during her time undercover with the MLF she developed the ability to channel her illusions into psonic arrows that stun people, trapping them in their nightmares. This is what she mostly uses, currently. (TBH I’d really like to see writers remember her abilities have far more uses than just that... Like, remember that time she recreated Jimmy’s whole damn farm and family so he could ‘see’ them again?)

Dani is also a valkyrie with the ability to sense death

Original member of the New Mutants

Honestly the best character on this list IMO. I could ramble about how awesome Dani is for days...

Forge

Cheyenne

Superhuman mechanical ingenuity/genius (kind of a complicated power, but basically his mutation is that he can understand machines and create anything he can imagine. Like a mutant Tony Stark except better in every way, fight me.)

Back in the day he also dabbled in sorcery but turned out uh Not Good and he hasn’t since

He’s been a member of a bunch of different X-Men teams and none of them have ever given him the respect he deserves

I like Forge a lot TBH, especially after the sorcery thing was dropped and forgotten

A shame we will probably never get to know his real name

Lucas Bishop AKA Bishop

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Energy absorption and redirection, subsequently super durability (if you blast him he will just blast you back)

Bishop isn’t technically from 616, being born in a dark future, but has existed in the main universe for as long as he’s been around. He’s been a team member in Uncanny X-Men and X-Treme X-Men but then went through a period as an enemy, mostly cause he has a That’s So Raven syndrome where he thinks he's shaping the future for the better and fucks things up. Can’t say I’m a fan in the way he was used as an inconvenience for Cable, but otherwise you can count on Bishop for being pretty damn cool.

Just a warning for anyone unfamiliar with him but wants to read up on him: His background may be triggering. The tattoo over his eye isn’t a choice, but a brand he received when put into the mutant concentration camp where he was born in.

Shard Bishop AKA Shard

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Energy blasts from light

Shard is Bishop’s younger sister, and therefore also not technically from 616. She’s also not nearly as prominent a character, but was member of X-Factor for a while.

Honestly, Shard was never actually given a chance to do anything and her relationship with Fitzroy (green haired, slimy time travelling serial killer) is BS. 

James Proudstar AKA Warpath

Apache

Super strength, speed, senses, stamina, reflexes, durability, healing, and flight (everyone forgets the flight)

Also he’s over 7 feet tall which is its own superpower

John Proudstar’s younger brother

Sadly, Jimmy chronically suffers from writers not having a sweet clue what to do with him or how to write him. Swear to god, no one should be allowed to touch him before reading X-Force vol 1 after Liefeld left. James appearing to be scary to people who don’t know him and actually being a sweetheart is the whole deal with his character. He is not a violent raging edgelord! Everyone at Marvel just collectively forgot he rejected the name Warpath after starting to come to terms with the death of his family, too. 

Anyway, I love James with pure spite and venom and would love to fistfight all the writers who’ve done him dirty over the years...

John Proudstar AKA Thunderbird (speaking of getting done dirty)

Apache

Super strength, speed, senses, stamina, reflexes and durability

James Proudstar’s older brother

This poor bastard was created to die for shock value, and has been one of the few X-Men for which death has not been a revolving door. For the brief time he was around, he was portrayed as nothing but a jerk, too. It’s only in brief flashbacks that he’s ever been given more character. Also that one Chaos World mini.

Gloria Muñoz AKA Risque

Seminole

Can make objects implode (think the opposite of Gambit)

Risque was an anti-hero/anti-villain associated with the original X-Factor, and formerly James’ GF. She was a complicated character and deserved a redemption arc. That’s a hill I’m gonna die on.

John Greycrow AKA... I don’t even wanna say it

Unknown Nation

Technology manipulation (can like, turn a gun into a different gun for example), super healing

Scalphunter. His name is fucking scalphunter. And just like the other Indigenous Marauder member on this list, he’s been nothing but a lingering racist caricature. He is currently a protagonist in the running Hellions series and I honestly do not know what miracle Zeb Wells thinks he can pull to reinvent this character, but I guess we’ll just have to see.

Kodiak Noatak AKA Harpoon

Inuit

Can supercharge his harpoon with energy

That’s right, the Marauders don’t have just one, but two racist as fuck caricatures! He also... for some reason... speaks... like this a lot... I sure... wonder why...

Gateway

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Teleportation portal creation

Oh look, it’s the X-Men’s bus ticket. Seriously, Gateway is nothing but a silent teleporter for the X-Men to travel around by, and another racist caricature. However, there is one good thing to come out of Gateway’s existence, and that’s that without him, we may never have gotten...

Eden Fesi AKA Manifold

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Teleportation portal creation (and some interesting ways of using it too)

I swear Hickman must have looked back at Gatway and thought, you know what, let’s try that again except not offensive. Eden is pretty cool, and one of the three reasons I read Avengers vol 5 (the other two being Bobby and Sam). It’s a shame he’s never gotten the chance to interact with the X-Men, what with being a mutant and all. I would love to see him on Krakoa. Given that Hickman is at the helm and Eden is a Hickman character, I don’t think it’s too far-fetched of a hope?

Yeah, that’s all I can think of, unfortunately. Really makes you wish there were more, huh.

BONUS:

Julio Richter AKA Rictor

Listen. I will fight to my last dying breath to defend what I have always seen as the obvious; Julio was created with the intention of him being an Indigenous Mexican boy. I legit have a half-done powerpoint presentation about it that I never finished upon realizing no one would take me seriously when I sound like this mapping out all the evidence -

[shirtlesssammy]

5x05: Fallen Idols

Hey all! Welcome to Hate Watch Week! We’ve picked the best of the worst and are recapping them all week. These are our personal choices, and I’m sure they all (*but one*) have redeeming qualities, we just see the bad more than the good. Enjoy our snark  --and join in if you want :) (And if you’re still trying to guess our hiatus theme, this episode doesn’t count.) 

Then:

Angst-a-thon!

Now:

We meet Jimmy and his pal, Cal, both race car enthusiasts. Well, enthusiasts for one sports car: James Dean’s Porsche 550 Spyder. While Jimmy runs to get the camera, Cal sits in the car, ready to start the “Little Bastard”. Only, the air gets frosty and the car radio flickers on. We hear a crash and Jimmy heads back to the garage to find Cal’s head smashed into the jagged edge of the convertible’s windshield. 

Sam and Dean are on the case! Sam wants to know why this case is so important --what with the devil and apocalypse and all. “This is what we’re doing, okay?” Dean insists. Dean highlights that they’ve been away from each other for a while (*Ahem* maybe I don’t like this episode as much because the last two episodes were just Dean and Cas having fun times together? IDK. 5x03 and 5x04 were a wild ride that I watch over and over again.) 

THE HORROR:

They arrive at the local cop shop as FBI agents Bonham and Copeland. The local sheriff shows them the video “evidence” that Cal’s good buddy Jim killed him. The brothers are less than convinced.

The sheriff applied Occam's Razor, and done and done. 

The brothers want to interview Jim anyway. He tells them what he heard from the house: tires squealing, glass breaking. The car killed Cal. It’s cursed. Jim mentions that it was “Little Bastard” that did it, and Dean’s eyes light up like a little boy at Christmas. OoooohhhHHHHooo. Dean and cars and, well, don’t tell me he never had a crush on James Dean. We all have had a crush on James Dean. Sam “I can’t be any more straight” Winchester has no flippin’ clue what’s going on. Dean insists they check out the car. Bby boy. 

They head to the car, and Dean takes a moment. Sam asks for some exposition. Dean explains that after James Dean died, the mechanic bought the wreckage and fixed the car. 

The car fell on him, and death continues to follow the car wherever it goes (Ugh, I just went down a rabbit hole of what happened to the car and am now in a weird spiral of remembering how much I loved James Dean as a teen and how much Rebel Without A Cause meant to me. I’m not 90 years old. What a weird flex for a 1990’s kid to experience. But also not, since Dean’s right there with me, right?) 

Anyway, to really confirm if the car was James Dean’s, they’ve got to match the engine number. Dean heads under the car to confirm, begging the car to not hurt him first. Dean takes his sweet ass time being nervous and writing down the engine number, but he makes it out alive. He tasks Sam with tracking down all the owners.

While Dean hangs at a bar, Sam discovers the car is a fake. 

Meanwhile, a nerdy man reflects on his day at his desk when the air gets frosty and he hears a creaking behind him. He turns and utters, “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.” Is it a long lost wife? An old rival? Nope. It’s a growling Abraham Lincoln. He chokes the nerd man until he becomes a victim of the blood cannon. Better angels of our nature, my ass. 

The agents meet the sheriff at the crime scene. They remark that there’s nothing strange about the victim dying of a gunshot wound where there’s no gun, no gunpowder, no bullet. Awkward. The brothers demand a reasonable explanation from the sheriff. He hunkers down and whispers, “Professional killer.” He’s thinking this is a Michael Clayton-type thing. And I love it because that’s the limit of his imagination. Sam and Dean know better but only because they live in the fringe of this world where monsters are real. 

Sam and Dean head to interview the victim’s maid, Consuela Alvarez. She’s very distressed, and can only speak Spanish. 

Sam pulls out his freshman Spanish to save the day. I only remember “Donde esta el baño?” Good job, Sam! The killer was a tall man with a long black coat and a beard. And he wore a hat. A tall hat. Dean cracks the code: A stovepipe hat like Abraham Lincoln. DEAN BEAN, so street smart he doesn’t even realize how book smart he is. Sigh. “Abraham Lincoln killed Mr. Hill,” Consuela confirms. 

The brothers continue to research. Dean watches the car video frame by frame until he finds one frame of a blurred red coated figure ---and INSTANTLY guesses that it’s James Dean ---but like Jim Stark James Dean. It’s not like James Dean wore the damn red coat outside of that movie role, lol. (Sidenote: Fun fact: Fry from Futurama’s coat is modeled after that red coat.) 

Sam realizes that they’re dealing with famous ghosts that are killing their fans. (Sidenote: I hope Misha Collins never dies.) The brothers wonder why these ghosts are haunting Canton, Ohio. They do more research. 

The brothers head to the Canton Wax Museum. They marvel at all the random wax figurines (and Sam is taller than Lincoln? Hmmm. They’re the same height. #Borisisanerd) Dean makes fun of Gandhi and Sam defends him, but uh, nope, Sam, nope. 

The museum curator shows up and the brothers introduce themselves as reporters for Travel Magazine. They’re writing an article on “how totally non-sucky wax museums are.” The curator points out that this place is unique. He points to Lincoln and tells the boys that’s actually Lincoln’s hat. Yep, he’s got real items from all the dead guys. 

He’s going to make wax museums hip again. And OMG Sam’s little thumbs up in response. STOP. 

Later, Sam loads up on salt rounds and walks in on Dean talking to Bobby about him. Dean gets off the phone fast and dismisses Sam’s questioning about the call. Dean’s not 100% with Sam yet. They head out to finish the case. 

At the wax museum Dean starts poking around. Let the tomfoolery begin!

Sam hauls out a metal trash can which they can use to torch all the priceless, one of a kind objects. (History-fan me cringes.) While he’s doing an ultra-close-up examination of Lincoln, the doors slam shut. Suddenly, Gandhi is on him! Gandhi is strong, he’s fast, and he’s out to kill. Dean torches Gandhi's watch and Sam’s attacker winks out. 

The next day, Sam mulls over the case in the motel room. Ghost Gandhi's quick disappearance has him troubled. He didn’t flame out like most ghosts, and he seemed almost zombie hungry. Sam thinks the hunger is uncharacteristic given Gandhi's tendency towards fruitarianism. (WWMGD? What would monster Gandhi do?) Dean dismisses Sam’s concerns, and Sam tells him that hunting together isn’t working. Dean doesn’t trust him. More than that, Dean’s trying to stick to their old patterns with the older brother telling the younger brother what to do. 

“Before didn’t work,” Sam tells him. That old dynamic chased Sam off into Ruby’s arms. “You’re gonna have to let me grow up.”

Dean’s phone rings. It’s the local cops, calling about another terrible incident. 

The Sheriff is…utterly at a loss with this next one. Dean and Sam head into the station to interview two teen girls. They tearfully recount the “horrible” “way horrible” disappearance of their friend who was kidnapped earlier by…Paris Hilton. 

Dean and Sam tick the obvious boxes. Paris Hilton isn’t dead, so they’re not after a ghost. Sam suits up in scrubs to do a detailed autopsy of one of the prior corpses. He pulls out two strange seeds from one of the victim’s stomachs. 

Sam fills Dean in on the excessive blood loss he discovered (something was feeding) and the seeds. The seeds are unusual, and he takes them back to the motel. There, he discovers that the seeds were indigenous to a forest in Europe, and the forest was ruled over by a god, Leshi. Leshi can take on any form and feeds on his followers. Dean hand waves the shapeshifting explanation for the audience by asking, “So how's he doing it? What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?” Thank you, Exposition Dean!

The Winchesters arrive back at the Wax Museum, this time bearing a nice sharp axe. In a creepy closed exhibit they find the victim and…Paris Hilton. She (He?) takes out Dean and Sam quickly. When they wake a little while later, they’re tied to the fake trees in the exhibit. 

Leshi sharpens a blade slowly, excited to do the sacrificial ritual correctly this time. He explains that he’s settled in this town to stuff his face full of worshippers arriving at the wax museum. With the apocalypse nigh, there’s no reason to diet! 

Leshi grouses about the poor quality of worshippers these days. Dean fights whining with snark, and Leshi tells him that he worships somebody - his dad. “Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol.” They fight and Sam breaks free and hacks off Leshi’s head.

The next day, we learn that the victim they rescued is going to recover. And even better? The bumbling Sheriff is putting out an APB on Paris Hilton. 

At the car, Dean admits his own culpability in bringing about the apocalypse, when he broke the first seal. He apologizes for being preoccupied with the wrong things. Sam responds with the hero speech with which we’re so familiar. “We gotta just grab onto whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting.” Dean’s on board. Hell, he’s more than ready to move forward. He hands Sam the keys to Baby and they roll off to the sweet sounds of Jeff Beck's “Superstition." D’awwww.

These Quotes are Hot:

We’re not your typical cops

Death follows this car around like exhaust

Christine is fiction, this is real

I'm gonna make wax museums hip again

Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat

You’re not the first god we've met, but you are the nuttiest

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[dailyaudiobible]

05/16/2020 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 18:5-19:24, John 8:31-59, Psalms 112:1-10, Proverbs 15:12-14

Today is the 16th day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today. It is a joy as we close down another of our weeks together to take the next step forward in the Scriptures. And I was saying it yesterday, what a week it's been, because…especially in the Old Testament, through the book of first Samuel just all of…all of the drama of a monarchy coming to Israel, a new era in Israel and just kind of learning about the first King, Saul and seeing him…ourselves in him in so many ways and then this emergence of David, who has killed a giant named Goliath. That was in yesterday's reading and that's kind of where we left things. So, we’re about to begin to see the repercussions of that as we move forward through today. So, we’re reading from the New International Version this week, which is today. First Samuel chapter 18 verse 5 through 19 verse 24.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for bringing us into and through the center of another month marked day by day by day with the counsel of Your word in our lives. We thank You for that. We thank You for each other. We thank You for community when communities been a lot more difficult to achieve in the last little spell of our lives here on earth. We thank You God for allowing us to just continue forward being together around the Global Campfire. We are grateful and You continue to speak into our lives through Your word. No matter what's going on in the world You are still speaking and transforming us, and we are grateful. And we ask that You continue this work of sanctification, setting us apart, making us holy and our part in that is to continually be in an attitude of repentance, one in which we are willing to change our minds and moving in a new direction and we thank You for the ability to do that. So, come Holy Spirit as we end another week, we invite You completely into every aspect of our lives. We surrender our rights. We surrender our wrongs to You. Come Jesus we pray in Your mighty name, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website and its home base, where you find what's happening here in…in…in the Community. So, be aware of that.

Be aware of the Community section. That's where the Prayer Wall is. maybe it's not…maybe you just need to reach out in prayer. Maybe there's nothing going on right now that you need prayer for but you know that that life has its way of bringing things along that you need to not carry alone and so maybe its your turn to reach out in prayer and…and help shoulder burdens. You…there's never a shortage at the Prayer Wall. So, you can always…always do that. And maybe you are in need of prayer and this is a place to reach out. So, be aware of that. That's in the Community Section.

And, also in the Community section are the different links to the different social media channels that we…we are on. So, be aware, stay connected.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There's a link on the homepage. Thank you, thank you profoundly. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if you prefer, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button up at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi, this is Vickie from Arizona and I am calling because I listened to the podcast earlier and I heard Running Desperately to Jesus and she now has custody of her 13-year-old grandson and she’s finding it challenging. And my prayer is that God would just completely overshadow you, overtake you and that you would not be overwhelmed but you would be overjoyed, and you would see that there’s an opportunity. And I know that it can be really, really tough. She…you had said that you’ve been living alone but I just know that God has intervened in this boy’s life and you are his hope and you are a chance. And I pray that God would just give you the grace and the strength that you need to make a difference and whatever time you have with him that you would just…just stay prayed up and know that God has given you this as a gift and that you’re leaving a legacy and I just pray that God would just completely just show you what to do on a day-to-day minute by minute basis. So, I just want you to know that you’ve been on my heart and I’m believing for a miracle with your name on it and your grandson’s name on it. And I pray for all of us that have to go through things that are not fun and not comfortable. I’ve been without my son and my husband for over two years. Actually, Friday will be the two-year mark for my husband’s passing and I’m actually coveting your prayers on May 15th. Just, you know, a day of remembering. And that I am praying for God to bring more people in my life. He said he puts the lonely in friends and that us what I’m praying for, that God would put me in a family and I wouldn’t be lonely in Jesus’ name I’m praying and I ask you to agree with me for that prayer request. Thank you all, I love you, God bless you, have a great day.

Hello this is Terry from Toledo and I was just listening to the May 12th podcast and I heard the lady whose husband is in hospice. My heart goes out to you. When my father was dying, they gave us a little book from hospice and the first part of it said, “dying is the sacred rite of passage.” That has stuck with me through the whole thing. He died in 2013 and it still sticks with me. It’s a sacred rite of passage. And we are…we have the privilege and honor of helping them transition from this life to the next. So, I hope that helps you. And for the other lady that called today about her son, Father God we just pray right now for the children. We ask right now Lord that You just come and touch them in a special way today. Help them know Your presence, help them know that You love them and that You care for them. And help us moms and grandmom’s, the prayer warriors of the family not give up hope. Keep pressing in and keep believing that You will work all things together for good and that if we train up a child in the way that he should go he will not depart from it. Thank You, Lord in Jesus’ name we pray. Bless you Brian, Jill. Bless you China and Ben and bless you all Daily Audio Bible. I love you. Bye.

Bonjour this is Cindy the flute player. Pray with me please. Dear Father thank You for a praying community and thank You Father for those that prayed specifically for me. Thank You for a community that loves You word, that loves people. We’re willing to stand in the gap for each other. Thank You that even though my own church doesn’t know me, thank You that Daily Audio Bible really knows me. Thank You for Your kindness to each of us. Thank You for every blessing. Thank You for the woodshed experience. Father whatever it is that You want to cleanse so badly, do it, take out what grieves You but in the process will You strengthen my heart, my resolve to live well, my desire to keep reaching out, will You hear my heart that in all that I have ever wanted is for people to love You, to be reconciled to each other, that the things that have been stolen will be returned, that the people that had been stolen will be returned. I submit my emotions to You, and I commit to seeing life through Your eyes, Your eternal eyes. I thank You that we can depend on Your word, Your heart, Your character. Thank You for the prayers of the lady from DAB that asked for someone to step up in the gap, stand in the gap for me. Thank You for Dawn, thank You for the interview on the phone yesterday. Thank You for Your word that says there’s repentance that can lead unto righteousness. Father by Your grace, by Your spirit, bring true repentance over my reservation, over my family, over my country. It seems Father that You’re leading me to another spot on the earth to be with indigenous people that love You with all their heart. Thank You for the Father. Open that door if it is Your perfect and most pleasing will. I don’t want second-best or just good enough. So, I want to say one of my favorite parts about DAB, I love you…oops…this is Cindy I love you and I’ll meet you here tomorrow.

I know you’re probably feeling broken right now and hurting but I want to stop and give you some perspective. Clear your mind and picture yourself sitting in this moment in the darkness and in the pain, but someone comes up beside you, kneels on the floor to you and whispers in your ear, “beloved I hear your cries of your heart, I know the things that you are longing for, the things that you’re hoping for, the things that you have been seeking before. Trust me. I have a perfect plan. My timing may be different than what you are expecting but know that I am never late. Keep on seeking me and I will provide for you.” God is with you in this moment. Let Him into your brokenness and just seek Him. I love this community and I just want to know…or I just want to let you guys know that I am I’m praying for you. So, thank you.

Hello, DABbers this is Elisa Marie from Dinuba California today is May 13th and I’m calling on behalf of a sister that called in yesterday May 12th for her father who the doctors had given up on him and he’s dying. She’s in Mexico and waiting to fly to Korea to be with her father. I don’t think she gave her name, but my heart went out to her. So, I’m gonna say a prayer. But first of all, the Scripture that came to mind was Isaiah 38:4,5…38:4,5, and 6 where Hezekiah was given a word from the Lord that he was to…he was going to be dying soon from the illness that he had and then he turned his face to the wall and cried out to God for mercy and God granted him 15 more years. So, we’re gonna pray that God will grant your father 15 more years to live. Father I come to You Father God on behalf of my sister and in agreement with my sister and all who are playing for her that You would have mercy Father God, that You would send forth Your word and heal her Father from this illness that’s bringing destruction to his body. Your word says that You send forth Your word and You healed him, and You delivered his body from all destruction. So, we ask that by in Jesus’ stripes he is healed. We ask You for mercy Father God. We ask You to send someone to his bedside to deliver to him the word of salvation, the word of hope. And we ask for peace and comfort for the whole family Lord. Get our sister to Korea safe and sound Father God where she will be able to speak with her dad Father God. We ask these things in the mighty name of Jesus. Thank you, father. Love you DABbers. Have a great day.

Well good morning Daily Audio Bible family. I was listening to May the 12th as I’m catching up and our Korean sister was praying for her dad as he is losing his grasp and his grip on life. And they’ve been encouraged to say their goodbyes. This is Sandra from Centennial Colorado and I am just wanting to pray for you my sister. Heavenly father you can see both this dear woman and her father at the same time right now and I pray that in the name of Jesus you place your hand over both of them and allow nothing that is apart from your plan to enter into their experience. Oh, heavenly Father we need You so desperately. Thank You so much for coming to this place, for invading this world of pain. Thank You so much for taking things that were intended to be evil for us and turning them into things that bring glory to You and relief to us. I pray that, as Victoria Soldier says in the name of Jesus, I can’t say it as well as she does Lord but You know how much we both love it, in the name of Jesus You be with this dear sister and with her dear Father. Grant him years if it is Your will that he may serve You longer. Grant her courage to face whatever it is that You allow her to walk through with You at her side and we will be careful to thank You for it is in the name of Jesus that I pray. Amen.

[caithelps]

Trip by Jhene Aiko RP Sentence Starters Part 3: (feel free to change name(s), pronouns, etc as needed) Find part 1 here, part 2 here

Triggers: Drugs/pills, alcohol

Never Call Me ft Kurupt:

“Oh, boy, I'ma have to call them boys on you”

“Awe damn, I'ma have to call that man on you”

“Something, something, something must be really wrong with you”

“Why can't you just tell the fuckin' truth now?”

“Yes your mama did, she raised a fool, wow”

“What the fuck did you learn in that schoolhouse?”

“To chase them thrills"

“Takin' pills in the hills, Slauson Hills, Overhills might get you killed”

“Not welcome 'round them parts no more”

“Do not run your mouth no more”

“I can't protect you no more”

“It's out of my hands for sure”

“You should've called me”

“Why you never call me?”

“Okay, now you wanna say all that I’ve done to ya”

“You knew all along that I wasn't the one for you”

“So let's stop pretending like we were in love”

“We never shared anything but the drugs”

“We were both numb, never had anything real between us”

“We really must be smoking that crazy shit, in my city talkin' crazy shit”

“But you ain't know I'm a crazy bitch”

“And tell your lawyer that I ain't paying shit”

“Maybe you should chill, really in your feels”

“My bros really in the field”

“Neighborhood is really real and they don't play that here”

“You shouldn't say that here”

“You should've made it clear, my dear”

“Now hey sis, I'ma let you know like this”

“Hit me right back, this Kurupt, okay?”

“The 60's, we ain't worried bout none of these muthafuckin' bustas”

“Ya understand me?”

“From the Overhill to the fronts to the back mayne”

“We pushin' this line to d'nine”

“So don't worry 'bout none of this shit"

“Don't worry 'bout him callin' you and all the rest of that shit”

“You know what? It's his lost, ya know what I'm sayin'?”

“I heard the homie, the homie called me and was like”

“I'm like "No, not Jhené"

“Né-né, you hit me I got you, you understand me?”

“You're the one, I love you, make sure you hit me back”

“This is your big brother, you hear me?”

“Aye, call me as soon as you get this, you hear me?”

“Don't make me call your mama now, I'll track you down”

Nobody:

“Attention is expensive to pay”

“I can't get by on minimum wage”

“Been dealing with this venomous rage”

“Since I was under the age I've been under the influence of pain”

“And I never needed nobody”

“Never needed no one”

“No, I don't need nobody"

“I don't need no one, shit, I don't need no one”

“Fucking up my chakras again”

“My father is a doctor, I've been talking to him”

“All the shit I'm taking could've got it from him”

“I don't have no patience, prolly got it from him”

“Just a product of him”

“Pop one, pop two, pop three, four pills”

“These things tell me how life should feel”

“Fuck you, it's my free will”

“Please don't tell me to chill” 

“'Cause I don't need nobody”

“No one ever listened, no one called me pretty”

“Grampy called me ‘Penny’, I think I am worthless”

“I don't have a purpose”

“Who am I enough for?”

“Why we always lose what we work for?”

“Why we hurt more?”

“Why we never see my mother cry?”

“She's so tough for us, poor her”

“Grab my purse with my prescriptions in it”

“Tiny bursts of optimism in them”

“I'm reversing my decision to win”

“Take this take this, take this, take”

“Back to '88 when everything was great”

“Then life had just begun”

“It is '89 now, everything is fine now”

“I am only one”

“Wait for the 2008 summer”

“I'ma be a mother, wow”

"2012 summer, it just got tougher”

“I don't have my brother now”

“Take this, take six, take pics, faces, famous”

“Face it, fake shit, pain is faithless”

“Yes, I am aware I am tripping”

“I'm here in this hell that I don't wanna live in”

“I smoke on my own, I drink on my own”

“I know it's wrong”

“To people I know, they just wanna know what's going on”

“I can't tell a soul, no, I can't tell no one”

“Don't need nothing from no one”

“But you're not alone, you got me”

“Look, I know what'll make you feel better”

“Here, try this 

Overstimulated:

“Is this thing on?”

“Reverse effect”

“Don't get it wrong, don't get it twisted”

“Don't mix it up, gotta get lifted”

“You know I'm young, you know I'm gifted”

“I'm on a roll, I'm on a mission”

“I need your light, I need your guidance”

“Already high, I'll be alright, I wanna try it”

“Crushing the line, cutting the line, crossing the line”

“Bumps in the night got me over here overstimulated”

“Crushing the line, cutting the line, crossing the line”

“Bumps in the night got me, got me over here overstimulated”

“Why you never stay for long? You always go so fast”

“Who's gonna hold my hand when I'm crashing”

“Took it without looking now I'm looking up the side effects”

“Pill identifier says that I should be dying next”

“My regrets, oh my regrets”

“Over here overstimulated”

“Let's get one thing clear bitch, I am the greatest”

“You are not my peer, you are overrated”

“Know you mad I made it, know you hate it”

“But I'm in this bitch like”

“And if my heart goes out right now this goes out to you”

“This goes out to you”

“What the fuck did you give me?”

“Oh, no no Chill chill”

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Did you see that?”

“I don't know what you're talking about”

“Relax, relax”

“Get me out of here

“Why would you do this to me?!”

“Someone give her some water”

Bad Trip:

“I'm having an awful time

“You said you would get me high

“But you took me out my mind way down to the other side”

“On a bad trip”

“Like a child in a womb, with no room to grow”

“In a world I didn't know, I'm confused and cold”

“Now you show me all the things I could never see”

“In a new reality, I cannot believe”

“Bad trip”

“I thought you loved me”

“Someone get me some help”

“You told me you loved me”

“You're a liar, I hate you”

“Where am I?”

“Just calm down”

“Don't touch me”

Oblivion (Creation):

“The world's a fucking mess”

“It's gone to shit”

“I am every bit a part of it”

“I may have started it”

“I try to find a brighter sight”

“An elevated, higher sight”

“It's out of sight”

“Oblivion”

“Wish I would go back”

“I could go back to no one”

“Oblivion, wish I would go back”

“I could go back to nothing”

“My life's a fucking trip”

“It makes me sick”

“I am so jaded and I hate it”

“I'm faking it”

“I try to find a greater shade”

“To be the way”

“To lead the way”

“I need to wait”

“I could go back to nothing”

“There's no lovin' without losin'”

“There's no livin' without bruisin'”

“There's no limit, no delusion”

“Sweet oblivion”

“It's out of sight, out of mind”

“Dear brother”

“Am I still asleep?”

“Last night I saw you”

“And you told me there was coin laundry on the moon”

“I met a boy, he wasn't right for me”

“But now that I'm alone I can hear the spirits talking”

“From the metaphysical to the physical”

“From the inside out”

“Let there be no doubt”

“Sage, means sagacity and intelligence that’s why the indigenous people burned it”

“To bring out the wisdom”

“If you talk to your plants, they will talk to you and they will nourish you”

“Nourish you to a greater creation“

Psilocybin (Love in Full Effect):

“Get it poppin' on this Psilocybin”

“Getting rid of inhibition”

“In a sane asylum”

“I can feel it hit the ceiling”

“When it’s in my body”

“An out of body experience”

“A spirit party”

“Won’t let the day get in the way”

“We’re on a plane to inner space”

“Don’t be afraid, give it away”

“We gotta make a great escape”

“I can do all things”

“By the sunlight”

“What a wonderful life”

“We should do mushrooms by the moonlight”

“What a wonderful ride”

“Right mind, right now”

“Right direction”

“By your side”

“You and I, do or die”

“Who am I?”

“Your reflection”

“Got this Psilocybin in my pocket”

“I am a healing prophet”

“Seeds of promise in my garden”

“I need to harvest often”

“Such a lush experience”

“So mysterious”

“In a sweet delirium”

“No need to rush it”

“I am helping you grow”

“Psychedelics, yes”

“A supreme bright other”

“Can't you see my color?”

“I'm the divine mother”

“Please don't blow my cover”

“Take a ride into paradise”

“Let's go on a journey hidden in the sky”

“Come and take a ride into paradise”

“Open up your heart and let me in”

“I will not let you down”

“Don’t trip, I gotcha”

“Open up your mind and you’ll feel it, the healing”

“Go slowly, go slower”

“No need to rush it”

“Love-lovely feel”

“Now, breathe”

“Breathe through it”

“Be still, be here”

“No fear”

“You are here”

“Breathe, love”

“I'm from Sirius”

“8 light-years away”

“15 trillion miles”

“Without the smiles”

“Let me see you smile”

“Give me 5,200 feet of happiness”

“Now let me see you smile”

“Give me 5,080 feet of happiness”

“Are you living?”

“Or are you just surviving?”

“Are you giving?”

“Let me see love”

“Living on valued energy”

“I got life”

“Love is for happiness”

“Love in full effect”

“I'm from the Universe soul”

“We're all from the Universe soul”

“We're all one”

[phaedrecameron]

The Accused, James Fraser, Chapter 10 - Sandbag

“Are you sure this is a good idea…he’s the prosecutor!?” Phaedre whisper screamed in Claire’s ear as they entered the Boston criminal courts building.

“We’ve got to find Jamie. His defense lawyer won’t risk us screwing up the case,” Claire replied, directing them to first floor café. “Grey released Jamie without prior authorization. I’m sure of it. I’ve been around long enough to know that protocol wasn’t followed. He’s hoping Jamie will lead him to accomplices. He’ll have people watching him.”

Phaedre nodded in acquiescence. She’d just have to trust this Beauchamp woman. Claire was taking a hell of a risk helping Jamie and she seemed to care for him a great deal.

Once Phaedre had explained her connection to Jamie, Claire had offered her a place to stay, which happened to be Geillis’ home. Geillis had an entire shelf on her guest room bookcase dedicated to Jamaican and Haitian voodoo. Phaedre would definitely need to ask her about that later.

Phaedre looked at Claire as they sat in the café. She was definitely pretty, but in a sort of untamed, ethereal way. No wonder her best friend was a witch. But she couldn’t say whether Claire was Jamie’s type. Phaedre had been around Jamie often enough to know he attracted the eye of many women. He was always polite, but he was looking for something or someone else. And there was the issue of Beauchamp being married to Frank Randall. Ugh, thinking of that man was like smelling rotten milk. Yet, Jamie must feel something for Claire. While Phaedre had been unpacking her things at Geillis’, Claire shyly entered the room.

“So..do you speak any Gaelic…I mean for your research?” Claire had asked.

“Speak, no. But I’ve gotten to understand a few things.”

“I see.” Claire had tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Well, Geillis doesn’t know any Gaelic and google translate is useless because of the phonetics of that bloody language.”

“What is it you want to know?” Phaedre had been tired and the way Beauchamp had been hemming and hawing was akin to waiting for water to boil.

“Well… do you know what ‘mo cree’ or ‘mo rye’ means?”

“Mo chridhe. Mo ghraidh. My heart. My love.”

“Oh.” Whatever Beauchamp had been expecting it wasn’t that. She’d started to glow and the stupidest smile had formed on her face. She’d left the room as though Phaedre had given her the Holy Grail.

Clearly, Jamie had spoken those words to her, not something he would have done lightly.

Yes, Phaedre would follow Claire’s lead.

****************************** “What the fuck were you thinking! Releasing Fraser from custody!?” Harry Quarry screamed at Grey.

“I didn’t release him, he posted bail,” Grey replied.

Harry was red faced, with a vein protruding from his forehead. John worried his boss would have a coronary right on the spot. Harry walked around his desk to glower over Grey.

“Don’t! You know damn well capital defendants can’t get bail. You dismissed the death penalty allegation!”

“Harry, this is the best way to catch..”

“We have the killer! You know Grey, I stood up for you when everybody thought you were a spoiled blue blood who bought his way through life. I recommended you for homicide when everyone thought you needed more experience. It’s nice that you can blow up your career, go yachting for six months and get another job, but this job is my life’s work and my family needs my pension!” Harry sat back behind his desk, turning his attention to a stack a files. “I’ve already spoken to Brown. You’ll stay on the Fraser case. The optics of removing you now would make the office look even worse, but once this case is over you’ll be lucky to even prosecute a speeding ticket. Leave.” Harry didn’t look up.

Grey went to the downstairs café, wishing he had some MacKenzie Whisky to add to his coffee. If he was wrong about Fraser, he’d hunt the man down and flip the switch himself.

“Hullo.” Suddenly Dr. Claire Beauchamp was sitting across from him. She looked more poised than the last time he saw her, but she was clearly up to something. “I need the location of James Fraser…for the eval.”

Grey sipped his coffee. She would make a terrible spy, no finesse.

Claire continued, “I need a follow up exam. I don’t want to miss the court deadline.” She smiled pleasantly. “I’m sure he provided an address as a condition of pre trial release…maybe even agreed to an electronic gps device?”

“Yes, and he surrendered his passport, but surely you know how…irregular it would be to release the defendant’s address to the court appointed psychiatrist. Contact Ned. He can arrange a meeting or my office can coordinate the interview at police headquarters.”

“I understand it’s unusual, but there are extenuating circumstances,” Claire pressed.

“Which would be……?”

Beauchamp looked as though she intended to grab his coffee and throw it in his face. Grey moved his coffee out of her reach. He was more than willing to wait her out.

“The circumstance of his innocence,” Claire hissed.

“If you had any such evidence, you’d have told Ned or the police. This is clearly personal for you.”

“And if you thought he were guilty, he wouldn’t be out on bail.”

Touché

“Do you know that woman?” Grey pointed his chin at a woman a few tables over. She was eavesdropping while pretending to read a kindle.

Claire groaned and waived the woman over. “This is Dr. Phaedre Cameron, Jamie’s cousin. She’s…helping me.”

Grey ignored her use of a nickname for Fraser and watched as this woman joined their table. “Hello, pleased to meet you,” Phaedre extended her hand. Grey shook it as he looked from Beauchamp back to this Dr. Cameron.

The woman was clearly an American and not from Boston.

Sensing Grey’s confusion, Phaedre explained, “distant cousin, on his paternal side. We have an 18th century ancestor in common, Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, The Old Fox.”

Grey blinked. He definitely needed something stronger than coffee.

“Lovat was executed by the English,” Phaedre added triumphant. “Did you know Scottish people came en mass to colonial America; some were indentured servants and some were involved in the trans Atlantic slave trade and….”

Claire lightly put her hand on Phaedre’s arm. She knew all to well the signs of a historian about go on a very long and very convoluted explanation of historical events.

“Oh, sorry,” Phaedre looked sheepish.

Grey cleared his throat, “Well it’s good Fraser has…. maintained contact with his American relations…..are you a doctor of psychiatry also?”

“Goodness, no. History. I’m a professor at UNC, Chapel Hill.

Grey sat forward. “North Carolina! That’s what Fraser was doing down there. Visiting you.”

Cameron’s face went blank. She had a far better poker face than Beauchamp. She looked to Beauchamp, “this will help Jamie, yes?”

Claire looked to Grey, “I don’t know. Can we trust you? To help find the true killer?” Her face was earnest and open.

Grey looked at the two women. Both highly educated, both convinced of Fraser’s innocence and willing to help him at great cost. Grey, himself was in a similar situation. He’d be ruined if releasing Fraser turned up nothing. Grey sighed. What was it about damned James Fraser.

“Yes, yes, you can trust me, but I want to know everything! What was Fraser doing in North Carolina and how do you really know him?”

Beauchamp nodded to Cameron. Cameron began, “what I said was true; Jamie and I are distantly related. My historical focus is the culture of enslaved Africans living in islands along the southern Atlantic seaboard in Colonial to antebellum America. These people developed a distinct culture and language; a language that is dying. I knew of programs to revive and protect languages— like with the Maori language in New Zealand and Gaelic in Scotland. I discovered MacKenzie Whisky was a huge sponsor of the program in Scotland. I reached out a few years back and Jamie responded. We became friends. He educated me on Scottish history and it was really interesting. I found great overlap and contact between Scots and putative African Americans. I researched some of my own history and found the common ancestor.”

I see, so he came for a visit?” Grey asked.

“He called me about two months before the murder. He wanted to know if I could put him contact with experts who could keep quiet.”

“Experts?”

“Historical experts; archeologists, anthropologists, antiquities specialists, renaissance art dealers, indigenous peoples researchers. I didn’t think much of it.” Phaedre shrugged. “I figured it was for his Foundation. “Said he would fly to North Carolina to discuss it.”

Phaedre stopped abruptly and looked at Claire, “He really is special, tries to help those he can.” Claire’s blush was not unnoticed.

“Anyway,” Phaedre continued, “he brought this.” She handed Grey a stack of photos of artifacts and copies of documents. “Those are historical items of note; spanning centuries, across multiple cultures and all stolen. Jamie asked me to authenticate some pertaining to Colonial America and get the right experts for the rest.”

“Jesus,” Grey flipped through the pages. There was also references to purchases of conflict diamonds from Africa, emeralds from Colombia, rhino horns, items looted from the unrest in the Middle East.

“These items are all in possession of Mackenzie Whisky. Amassed over the last two years, and easily traceable to Janet Murray & William Fraser, Jamie’s siblings,” Claire added.

John sat back in his chair. “A set up.”

Both women nodded. Grey knew if this information got out Fraser’s siblings would be jailed and the company would be ruined. This was a PR disaster in every market where Mackenzie Whisky was sold. This is what Minnie would call a scorched Earth attack.

“Jamie said he knew the liaison who was procuring the items on behalf of the company. He was flying to Boston to meet her. It must have been Laoghaire.” Phaedre stated.

“Once he was arrested, I didn’t know what to do.” She looked between Claire and John, “He wouldn’t return my calls. I didn’t want to go to the police or his lawyer for fear of everything going pubic….I thought maybe with doctor – client privilege…I… I…” Claire grabbed Phaedre’s hand.

“We’ll fix it, we’ll find him and figure it out,” Claire continued to squeeze Phaedre’s hand and looked at Grey.

Grey, while sympathetic, was extremely skeptical of Beauchamp being able to help Fraser.

“He’ll already have a plan,” Phaedre stated, wiping at the corner of her eyes. “We’ve just got to convince him we can help. He’s got a reason to live now.” She smiled at Claire. ***************

Claire fiddled with her hair and wiped her hands on her jeans for the third time as she rode the elevator to the 7th floor of the luxury apartment building where Jamie was staying. What if he refuses to see her? What if he sent her away? Before she could lose her nerve, Claire exited the elevator, walked to his door and knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again.

When she thought she could no longer bear it, she heard Jamie’s voice through the door, “Ach, took ye long enough! Where’d ye go, Memphis?!”

The door swung open and she instinctively stepped back. Her mouth fell open. Jamie stood before her. He was wet and naked, save a gps ankle monitor and an entirely too small hand towel he was grasping around his waist.

He stared, but said nothing.

Claire moved forward.

“Sorry, it’s me, Claire.”

[eventcharts]

Indigenous drummers join the Freedom Convoy!

Indigenous activists joined the Freedom Convoy protest in Ottawa Saturday. Footage shot by The Post Millennial's Beth Baisch shows an Indigenous drum circle leading thousands in O Canada.

Mercury (self-expression, speech (listen to them talk about the importance of freedom)) conjunct Amycus (drumming). Sun (authotity (The Creator is watching everything you're doing and you have humanity) square Uranus (love of liberty, humanitarian), square Albion (initiatives, *armadas).

"We have freedom in Canada, you know, mandates are not laws," one Indigenous protestor told The Post Millennial. "Let's let's have some factual information get out there. A mandate means 'we highly suggest you do something', right. So if it's a law and you got a ticket, fight that ticket."

"Let's have some factual information get out there. A mandate means 'we highly suggest you do something', right. So if it's a law and you got a ticket, fight that ticket," the protestor said.

"It's not a law," shouted Chief JD Anderson of Manitoba. "Just a small fringe of people!"

"I'm a 60 year-old grandmother. I have two beautiful grandchildren and this is not the Canada I want to leave with them," said Linda Audette, an Indigenous woman from Sudbury, Ontario.

"We all let them do this to us. Do not leave this for your children, your grandchildren and your great grandchildren. We have to stand up, take off those diapers off everybody's face. We have to stop vaccinating our children. We have to end all these mandates," she continued.

When asked what she would tell Justin Trudeau, Audette  said "God is watching you. The Creator is watching everything you're doing and you have humanity. All the Canadians lives at risk. There are thousands of people dying and that's on your hands."

Canadian truckers made their way to Ottawa on Saturday for a planned protest in which they have stated their intention to "gridlock" the city until the Trudeau government lifts vaccine mandate requirements for the trucking industry.

Footage shot by Beth Baisch in Ottawa on Saturday shows blocks and blocks of trucks lining the streets. Protestors are marching through sub zero temperatures to express their anger at the Trudeau government.

"He is divisive. He is racist," one trucker told The Post Millennial.

Trucks stretched for several blocks as protestors continued to gather at Parliament Hill. Protestors brought signs, music, and an incredible cacophony of honking horns as they stood bundled in the snow against the cold.

Trudeau has come out in opposition to the truckers and their demands, while Conservative leader Erin O'Toole has essentially hedged his bets, and MP Pierre Poilievre has spoken in support of those truckers who, once lauded as heroes for keeping Canadians' grocery store shelves stocked during the pandemic, are now vilified by leaders and media alike.

Justin Trudeau has reportedly been evacuated to a secret location. The Trudeau family have left their resident due to "security concerns" over the truckers who are currently gridlocking the city with their trucks, honking their horns, and participating in protests.

Minor planet keywords developed by Philip Sedgwick, used with permission http://philipsedgwick.com/

Centaur, TNO & Asteroid Aspectarian http://serennu.com/astrology/aspectarians.php

*Definition of armada 1 : a fleet of warships. 2 : a large force or group usually of moving things.

[riverdamien]

An Imaginative Encounter With Juan Diego

December 12, 2020

An Imaginative Encounter With Juan Diego

Luke 1:26-38

"In the sixth month of Eizabeth's pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a village. a villiage in Galilee, to a virgin named Mary. . Don't be afraid Mary, the angel told her, for you have found favor with God! You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus."

Right before dawn, when night and morning meet, is the most beautiful time of the day for me. It is a time when sleep is still in one’s eyes. There is a chill in the air that startles you. I awoke before the birds began to greet the morning sun with their music. I would leave the house at this time so I could reach the hill of Tepeyac and stand there as the morning light clothed me with its warmth. I could feel what the Franciscan friars call the embrace of Brother Sun. Who would not be filled with so much hope as another day of life is beginning? Many people were still suffering and dying from strange sicknesses, but in these moments, I knew that we were not alone.

The walk to Tlatelolco was almost fourteen miles by the way you measure, but I could walk with no hesitation. I was usually one of the first to arrive for Mass and instructions on the Christian faith. There in the quiet of the chapel I came to talk to Jesucristo about the day, about my worries for my family and for my people. I could open my heart. I could feel his love for me. Walking back to my home I stopped to visit friends along the way, taking whatever refreshment they offered. The smells of the morning cooking were so pleasant. Those were such good moments that I remember.

But I see in your eyes you want to know about that special morning when she, the Most Holy Mother of God, came to visit me. You already know so much. Let me share with you some more. The morning was like all the others. I heard the birds singing so beautifully, but then I heard my name called, by such a tender voice. I thought I was still not awake. I looked around to see who was there. The woman’s voice spoke in the language of our people. It reminded me of my mother’s voice when I was very young. Juantzin, Juan Diegotzin, said this voice. Even now when I remember that moment, my eyes still fill with tears. She spoke with such kindness and made me feel loved. She called me “el mas pequeño de mis hijos.” Her tender voice was like a sweet caress that filled me with such delight. Her voice, her love, made me want to do whatever she asked. She sent me to Bishop Juan de Zumárraga, to give him her message: that she wanted a temple built. I just wanted other people to have the same feeling, the same love that was flowing through me. I still see myself as nothing more than a simple, unimportant servant of a noble lady. I called her Niña Linda, so dear is she to me. Do you understand? from SAINTS OF AMERICA

    In reflecting on this description of the appearance of Our Lady of Guadalupe to Juan Diego, in 1531, we have the Aztecs, the natives, dying from the diseases brought by the conquerors, and have faced much abuse. It was in that appearance that God brought hope and healing. That same sinful colonial and cultural superiority can be found in our society at large today and within the Church. It is ever present.

    Today in many ways there are similarities for all of us to the times of Juan Diego--long lines of people seeking food, going hungry, people losing their housing, and not having health care. People are afraid, broken, dispirited, and have lost hope.

    Our Lady was the first Indigenous saint from the Americas, her apparition was in Aztec flesh, speaking the Nahua tongue, was a heavenly rebuke of this sinful colonial and cultural supremacy. She was God's statement that He stood with the oppressed.

    She stands today as one of us, who suffers in pain, poverty, all the ism's and stands in rebuke against a culture of war and discrimination.

    Today our Lady offers us hope and calls each of us to reach out in hope to others.

    And we can offer hope to others-in little ways-for example:

This week, plan to make a single phone call. Just one call, to one person you care about. The purpose? To express your appreciation and concern.

The person you call could be a family member, someone from church, a person in your neighborhood, a coworker, a friend you don’t see often enough, or someone else you know through a shared interest or organization.

You will call to say, essentially two things:

I appreciate you and what you’ve done for me or meant to me.

I want to know how you’re doing because I care about what happens in your life.

And, to keep it simple, be quite upfront about this call. You can begin by saying, “I’m calling because the holidays are coming up, and this time of year reminds me of all the good people in my life, and you’re one of them. I don’t want to take a lot of your time right now because I know everybody’s busy, but I just want you to know that your friendship has been a great gift through the years.”

At some point, add something like this: “How are you, anyway?” How are you coping with "staying in place? How can I help you during this holiday season to be less lonely? How are you doing with your fears, your economic situation, do you have food?"

I guarantee, if you open such a phone discussion, it will probably have an encouraging effect. It doesn’t have to be a long discussion, and if all you manage to do is leave a voicemail message, that will give this person some encouragement too.

Yes, it can be even nicer to make a lunch date over or coffee break over zoom or simply the phone for such a discussion. I have always found in reaching out and showing care for others that it "ain't so bad," life becomes easier, our step becomes a little lighter. Try it!

    Let us remember these words:

"A singular word can change the world. The Word created us, and it comes to us in flesh through Jesus; it has been given to you and me. If we do not listen carefully, we can miss it being spoken to us. If we do not embody and share it ourselves, we miss the opportunity to be transformed and to bring transformation. This world yearns for a word. This world yearns for a messenger. This world yearns for you. May we accept the call this day, to receive that Word, to embody it, and, most importantly, to share it."

-Chris Decatu

Let us remember our immigrants both documented and undocumented, and remember that we are all immigrants--and as such let us have compassion on all:

"God of all the earth, As we enter into this Advent and Christmas season we remember how you became Immanuel God with us. We know that the story of your birth is filled with the crossing of borders. We know that you were there keeping Jesus, Mary, and Joseph safe  as they traveled to Bethlehem. As they fled persecution by Herod. We know that as the incarnated Christ, you crossed borders.  You called on your followers to do the same.  You are with migrant people and refugees. You are migrant people and refugees.  We pray today  be with all of us who are crossing a border  or have crossed a border.  As we encounter people of different cultures, backgrounds, and ethnicities through crossing borders or becoming neighbors with those who have crossed borders  we get a fuller picture of who you are, God as we see your image reflected in each and every one of us. However, we also know the pain that comes with leaving our homes. We pray for those of us  who will be far from family members this Christmas  because of a broken immigration system.  Be with us, grant us peace,  grant us joy,  and grant us reprieve from this injustice. Amen.

Paola Gleghorn

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

Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

[rainydawgradioblog]

FROM THE ARCHIVES: Treefort 2019 - Tres Leches Interview

This year, Rainy Dawg Radio was invited to attend Treefort Festival, an annual celebration of art that takes place in downtown Boise. The festival took place over the course of 5 days on a surprisingly sunny March weekend and included musical acts spanned across multiple venues which ranged from large standing concert halls to small independent bars. Down at the Shredder, a beautifully grimy dive bar, Seattle band Tres Leches played a daytime set that paired perfectly with the drizzling Seattle-esque weather outside. The three piece band consists of Rainy Dawg alumnus Alaia D’Alessandro, Ulises Mariscal, and Zander Yates who cycled through drums, guitar, bass, and theremin throughout the set like a game of musical chairs. I talked to the band the following day over free coffee and treats (shout out press room) to talk about college radio, the band’s formation, and the current state of music in Seattle. Note: The following script has been edited for clarity.

Tres Leches live at Treefort. Photo by Willy Picton.

Chelsea: First I’m going to talk about some radio stuff because Alaia was a DJ here at Rainy Dawg.

Alaia: I was, yeah!

Chelsea: What was your show called and what did you play on it?

Alaia: It was either called Phonic Earth or Phono Seattle, I forget which rendition I used, but I played a bunch of different kinds of music. I think it was Phonic Earth because I played music from all over the world. Not just in Seattle but we had some cool people come in to do small in-studios. We had Hijos De Agüeybaná play bomba music. They played barriles which are these big drums. They have African heritage and it combines with Taino, which is indigenous Puerto Rican, and played other percussion instruments. They make it up to dance and some of the dance movements and lyrics are Spanish. It is like a big combination of all the different backgrounds of puerto rican culture. We also had a local band at the time called Night Train and did an in studio with us.

Chelsea: Do you feel that your time at student radio and the connections that you made help you in your starting career with music?

Alaia: Yeah definitely. Now I work at KEXP and that’s been a huge help. Having some experience behind the board at Rainy Dawg helped me. I really enjoyed being able to use that as a platform to help local bands too and get them on the radio or have them in for conversations. It taught me a lot about networking. Our band puts packets together to send to other radio stations. Also, curating shows was helpful, like how Rainy dawg does like a once a year concert.

Chelsea: Yeah, now we do three shows a quarter.

Alaia: That’s great!

Chelsea: I meant 3 shows a year with one a quarter sorry haha. But I think the show that you’re talking about is our birthday fest.

Alaia: Oh okay yea that might have been it. When I was there, Unknown Mortal Orchestra was playing. That was kind of a new territory for the station at the time. It was kind of a big deal to have that band there. It wasn’t the first time they had a big band there, but it was one of the first times the students had really done all the curation for it. Got the band, got the funds so that was a really cool step forward. So it’s really awesome that you do three shows a year now, that’s incredible, congratulations!

Chelsea: Yeah! We do two of the shows with local bands only and the last show is where we get national acts, usually we have a local band or two as the openers. And the other thing we do is a battle of the bands which is our next event actually. So then I guess if you all didn’t meet in Rainy Dawg, how did you guys come together?

Zander: Alaia and I met at high school.

Alaia: We met in the band room at school.

Zander: At Nova High School, we started jamming. We were in bands together back then.

Alaia: I still remember when he walked in, he looked very different. But yeah it was funny, I think you seemed kind of sheepish at first.

Zander: Yeah, I was pretty nerdy.

Alaia: And then Ulises and I…

Ulises: I went to Bumbershoot in 2011 I think and I saw this Mexican electronic band that was playing Bumbershoot, Nortec Collective. They were doing like Norteño and Electronica. I didn’t know Alaia and Zander and all of a sudden I heard someone talking in the background and it was Alaia and she had like a really loud voice.

Alaia: (loudly) What are you talking about!

Ulises: Like in a good way, haha! I was just listening in like I wonder who that person is? And we kinda look at each other like we kinda vibe you know really like *snaps* that. We didn’t have to talk or anything. And then we realized that she liked some of the same bands from Mexico like I’ve never met anybody that knows bands from Mexico and I was just like “how do you know those bands?” and we stated chilling and she pushed me to play the drums cause, you know, I’m a painter, so we went to the EMP museum and we kinda started jamming there and I was like “I’m gonna buy my first drum set!” And then we kinda just started jamming from there. And it was fun!

Alaia: At the time he had told me “I’m a DJ!”

Ulises: I’m a DJ actually!

Alaia: Now you are! Now he DJs for Hollow Earth Radio! But at the time I think I looked back to Zander and was like “Ah yeah, I met this DJ”

Zander: I forgot about that!

Alaia: You did not DJ!

Ulises: I was thinking in the future. “I am a DJ, I know what I am not right now” but it worked!

Chelsea: Do you think Seattle is still a place where bands can emerge or do you think that the emergent music scene is being pushed out?

Ulises: Well, in my opinion, I think that all these problems that we have with housing and homelessness is kinda in a good way pushing artists to get out there with their art you know? I know it’s bad but as an artist you kind of have to do that art and make yourself hurt. And now we’ve got to be more of a community to keep going.

Zander: More pressure with [Amazon] not getting taxed, it makes it really easy for them to come in and do whatever they want as a business and it makes it really hard for small business to come up because they have to pick up the bill. The small businesses have a really big hand to play in the music scene of course and venues are having a really hard time. And again, with property prices raising, it’s affecting the kind of music you hear in Seattle, which isn't inherently bad all the time. It is sad to see bands move out because it is really hard to have a drum kit in a small apartment. It’s harder to have band practice, and it’s also just harder to practice and create music that has a lot of complexity or virtuosity to it because it’s hard to put a lot of time into practicing, because there’s no way you’re gonna make it if you’re not working 40-50 hours a week. You hear that in the music a lot. There’s a lot more solo artists because it’s really hard to have a band and there’s a lot more bands that just have really simple music, again not an inherently bad thing but, it is just kind of interesting because you hear it and you’re like “this band sounds like this because of this economic factor”.

Zane: Do you think that has changed during the time you all have been together in the music scene in Seattle?

Ulises: It’s changing really fast. I feel like sometimes we don’t even have time to stop and say “this is where we are”. It changes so fast you have to just get with whatever is happening because it’s just very chaotic and all over the place. It reflects what [Zander] was just saying about how the city is changing. Like the scenery of capitol hill is just construction and there’s constant noise which definitely reflects on your music without even thinking about it. So it definitely plays a role and I try to take it as part of the artwork, like “okay, there’s nothing I can do and at least I can get something from it.” I know it affects a lot of people and it sucks that bands have to move out so I want to make sure that it stays in the music so when people listen in the future they know what was happening today so we don’t make the same mistakes.

Alaia: I will say that I think the community’s response to all of this has been really strong and you have all these bands that are fighting for their independence and fighting for their community, like the Black Tones come to mind, and then you start kind of really having to create community. I love the shows we’ve been playing, I love all the shows we’ve played, but the ones we’re playing currently seem the most supportive. The artists want to stay and see the other bands like “hey all my fans, I want you to see something new!” And that changes with genre mixing too, which is not about staying part of one scene, it’s about breaking down all the scenes because we all need each other. And we can’t divide things into scenes, or north and south and west and east, because we all need to see each other right now and see our resources and pool them together, so it doesn’t matter if you’re playing with an electro cumbia artist like Terror Cactus or a hip hop jazz afro-latinx artist like Guayaba or also DoNormaal and Bearaxe. Everyone right now needs to come together and if artists affected by issues are able to express themselves and be themselves consciously or subconsciously, then those artists are gravitating toward each other and really starting to support each other. It’s not cool anymore to be the loner artist and I’m glad that fallacy is dying.

Zander: It’s cool how that’s the norm now. I remember being in shows or booking shows back in 2012 when there were mixed bills, cause I wasn’t thinking about the bill I just asked my friends if they wanted to play a show and didn’t care that they played a different genre. But I remember all the sound engineers and booking managers thought I was really weird for doing that and now it’s the norm. In Seattle it’s hard to find a show that only one genre, and I love that because it brings everyone together where people can interact and share ideas which is really cool.

Chelsea: People are all over Spotify, Bandcamp, whatever now and you don’t see as many pure metalheads or die hard rock fans or people interested in only one genre, so there’s genre blending for fans and artists. So you said that you’ve been enjoying the shows you’ve been playing lately, is there anyone that you saw either here at Treefort or in Seattle recently that you’ve liked? Anyone that really surprised you?

Alaia: I liked ORUÃ who played last night. They played a couple bands after us. They were definitely really groovy in an unexpected way. When I think of groovy I think of genres that are classically dance music like soul, or RnB, or dance pop and electronica. This was very psychedelic. The beats that the drummer had were really danceable.

Ulises: I’m excited to see Carrion kids. I think their singer is the drummer of another band that came to Seattle and played with us a while back called Los Honeyrockets. Definitely excited for them and Y La Bamba. They’re probably playing right now, but we’re seeing them later.

Alaia: Oh, See Hurricanes at freakout fest in Seattle. They were fun to play with.

Zander: Well we’re excited to play with the black tones again, and go see them.

Ulises: They’re releasing their first album. We’re excited to go see them.

Chelsea: Are they a Seattle band?

Ulises: Yes, they’re really amazing. Another band that I saw that I didn’t know and was surprising was Velvet Q.

Alaia: Yeah!

Ulises: Yeah, I was very impressed. It was one of those moments where you just walk in and you’re like “holy shit this is a great band!”

Zander: I saw Gaylan Lee here and he was pretty freaking good. He’s just a ridiculously good songwriter. It’s really cool to see people and just be like “Oh this person’s really going to be remembered” Well I guess everyone is going to be remembered in some ways, as long as the internet doesn’t get solar flared into non existence, but it’s cool to hear people that you’re like “Woah, this is a legendary singer-songwriter and just a very legendary person” and see someone perform like that. That venue was great, the Boise contemporary theatre.

Chelsea: Yea! I saw Wend there yesterday. They described themselves as chamber psych.

Zander: Oh that sounds awesome, I wish I could’ve seen that.

Chelsea: It was really good, they had a harp and a bunch of strings and everything. It was one of the bands that has like 12 people.

Zander: Oh those are the best kind of bands.

Chelsea: Definitely one of my favorites that I’ve seen. I’ve loved the whole curation of the festival. And I was surprised that they reached out to us to give us these press passes.

Alaia: I think that the festival actually cares about who’s coming to it, and that everybody can at least make connections, and they care about connecting people throughout the community here and throughout the world. I got that state from the stage we were at, the whole curation for that stage was great. It felt like they booked people saying “I think these people would be friends.”

Ulises: Also, the hotel we were staying, at a lot of bands were staying there too, so it was good to talk to some people who were playing. (to Zander) You talked to somebody in the bathtub right?

Zander: (laughing) Hot tub!

Alaia: There was a band High Hazel in the artist home upstairs who we talked to, they’re playing tonight.

Chelsea: Well the last question I have is: do you have any upcoming dates in Seattle that we should tell the UW community about?

Ulises: Alaia and Zander have shows in Seattle coming up, they have their own solo projects.

Alaia: I’m going to be playing April 6th at the clock out lounge with with my band, it’s just my name Alaia, A-l-A-I-A, and sometime it looks weird when you look it up. My name is Alaia D'Alessandro. When you look it up it’s A, lower case l, A, uppercase I, A so it’s like 3 A’s with 2 lines but they’re actually letters it’s just for being cute, but it might not be functional. Also, we’re going to submit a video for a tiny desk so tell ‘em to watch it.

Zander: I’m playing a show April 25th at Vermillion. And if you google my name you’ll find it, I’ve got a bunch of crap out there, I’m starting a YouTube channel and all that, I’m doing some cryptocurrency projects, I kind of want to save the universe so I’m doing a lot of shit. And then after these shows we’re also playing a benefit on May 31st. It’s a benefit for Nova high school because they have to fund some teachers out of pocket, because the school district is not doing their job.

Alaia: That was the high school we met at. That was the high school that just let us make bands.

Zander: We’re working on some new music. We’ve got side projects and you know, we put out a really cool album last year and we might put out some more stuff this year but we’re kind of creating an expanded universe like Star Wars nerds. And Uli’s got some really cool projects he’s working on too, I don’t know if it has to be secret.

Ulises: Oh, well I’m just working on some artwork for the city, I’m pretty excited about it. I was selected out of thousands of artists and I didn’t even have to apply because you know, most art that you want to make you have to make a resume, and submit photos and everything, but for this, they contacted me. I thought it was a scam at first, as an artist nothing good ever happens to you, but no, it’s awesome, it’s going really well for most of us. I think at the beginning I’ll say to all the artists, it’s going to be really hard at the beginning and you’re going to want to quit and you’ve just got to keep pushing.

Alaia: As the buildings are going up in Seattle we’re also building our own thing, just to sound like a dad.

Zander: That’s legit though, to be able to create your own space, to create your own existence. I was reading this argument on YouTube, like it wasn’t really an argument just this person being really down on themselves being like, “what are we going to do? We’re never going to be free, or have liberty because there’s this battle for wealth and resources” And a lot of people don’t want to create, they just want to hoard, or take, or inherit because work is hard, even artwork! Any of it is hard, and someone said the route to freedom is through new technology and creation like creating new spaces. I guess it’s like the original idea behind DIY, and I agree with the root ethos of DIY, and it become more of an aesthetic like ordering things on Amazon. Like I got this DIY pin on the internet.

Ulises: Yeah, I think we’re losing that with technology. I know a lot of people my age who do not know how to do things DIY, like when you have less, you have to go and kind of create things, and a lot of people are losing that creativity 'cause we have technology, which is really sad.

Zander: But some people are gaining it through technology. I mean, crypto is DIY currency. But I think it’s cool that most people even learn just a little bit of HTML growing up, just so we could make our myspace look cool. It’s kind of neat when you think about it, like HTML didn’t even exist when our grandparents were alive, it’s a form of coding. And it’s interesting how people adapt, I also agree with Ulises; I think it’s sad that people don’t know how to fix things.

Ulises: I think there needs to be a balance, we’re losing from one, but we’re also gaining from both. That’s what I mean when I say we should be working toward both, instead of just going into technology and leaving the other.

Alaia: There’s a way to have diversity in the way you do things and in your tools and your resources.You can value the DIY cryptocurrency and you can value the handmade things that take maybe a little more time to make, or maybe a little more of your physical labor to put in, and that gives you a different result and that’s special that they’re both different things and they can provide different kinds of value.

Ulises: (pointing to Alaia sitting in between him and zander) This is a balance right here.

[sephirajo]

writer ask meme: 1, 5, 51

1. Tell us about your WIP!

The working title is Penny and the Golden City because I suck with titles and the file had to be called something and I already used that gag once upon a time naming a character... and, well, the important stuff:  

It’s set 200 years in the future, in an America where the United States is not a thing, I am pulling some inspiration from Fallout, the setting is Southern California, bombs were dropped by 45 on at LEAST LA, Sacramento and San Francisco.   Penny’s from a city in what used to be the Anza-Borrego National Park really close to the expanded Salton sea, which is now the Salton Bay and oops, there goes almost all of Mexicali.  The city is built into the ground and into the rocks there and hosts a doctor from one of the Domed cities that now house people who can afford to get into them and people who are desperate enough to be willing to take a deal to get in.

That’s important because Penny’s little brother has had TB pretty much all of his life and it’s reaching the point where he’s dying.  Given a tip by the Doctor (who in my head is totally played by Danny Trejo) Penny and her BFF Sam go to get put in touch with a group whose purpose is to help them steal a bunch of medicine from the local mega-Dome city and bring it back out to the Wastes. A heist that will save a ton of lives, if they can pull it off.

The Dome cities are Corporation run Authoritarian hellholes run by a group of three people named after the Greek fates.  No one knows outside of a select few, mostly board members, who these leaders are, only that there are three of them, and the position is one that is heavily competed for and comes with a very high mortality rate.  

Because there’s always a need for fresh labor, these cities contract people from the wastelands into work for all sorts of jobs from the menial to the highly technical, with the self taught and most talented able to compete and win a place inside with more rights than average Contracted Worker and Penny’s talented enough to try for that, giving them a way in to the city and on to the next part.  

So about the characters a bit, Penny’s full name is Penelope Pines, she’s half Indigenous Mexican and half African-American.  Her best friend, Samantha Zhong is half Chicanx/Chinese.  She’s transgender and thankfully has had access to hormones and a supportive family and friends and town because damnit in the future some things are going to be better. Once in they meet Emily Bartlett, the disaffected daughter of one of the ruling families and the one showing Penny the ropes in her new job.

Penny is a highly, highly talented programmer and robotics engineer, which bleeds into mechanics too.  Her father helped teach her, but she’s largely self taught and her crowning achievement is the recovery bot she rebuilt and reprogrammed with her father, which they named Cucaracha.  On account of him looking like a cockroach.  He acts like a corgi though. 

And um, I have a lot written already for character profiles and I’m still working on it and I worry it sucks and all that fun stuff, but yeah, still working on it.   Have it open and jot down ideas as they come to me, add notes, tweak the outline,  Next I have to start actually writing it.

5. Top five formative books?

Oh jeeze, this is hard. Um, Lord of Light, though reading it now makes me want to puke as Sam is a terrible person and the entire book a skeeve fest, but Zelazny had a talent for description t hat made me really hunger for his stuff, and hence A Night in Lonesome October is also on this list.  And at least there’s a lot less to hate about a dog.  His master being Jack the Ripper who is on a mystic crusade with all the other characters from horror and detective pop and folklore in one place? Sign me the fuck up.  There’s still tons of problematic shit in it but it happens through the lenses of the dog and really made me think of how you’d go about writing an animal that is relatable but still an animal. Then there’s War for the Oaks, which is even set in Minneapolis. :D I’ve read that like ten times.  Almost anything by @neil-gaiman.  The Great Gatsby, which is a study in characters that aren’t likable but a story that is still engaging and it’s description of 1920s Jazz Age America.  I swear, Zelda wrote more of that one that Scott. I will die on that hill.  When it comes to Star Wars and Sci-Fi writing, Timothy Zhan is my go to guy, he is also hella good.  And responsible for Thrawn. Mmmmm. Thrawn.  *cough*

51. Are you a secretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books?

LOL I spam the shit out of my friends. I think my anxiety is part of it. I want to know what I’m writing is at least decent.  So yeah. :/ They get bothered. A lot. I will send entire blocks of text again because I found a typo.

Jeeze, @serenity2132 how do you put up with your broken hermana, lol. xD

[spectrogramblog]

The Id of L.A.

“There’s a feeling I get when I look to the West”…those are the first lyrics of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven. When the band would come into town, they would take over two entire floors of the Hyatt Sunset. It was coined, appropriately enough, the “riot house”. Its hallways and suites adorned by groupies and cocaine, sex and parties. What else is new in a town infamous for excess? Was this heaven? Not exactly a celestial kingdom, but, Los Angeles, the City of Angels, has had its share of both luminaries and would be stars among its population.

A continuous renewal and recycle of street corner prophets, backroom political dealmakers, and rock star poets. The city of Jim Morrison, Charles Bukowski, Biddy Thompson, Kenneth Hahn, and even George Lopez. Shamans, poets, politicians, jokers. Their talent and fortitude have created legends. Heroes to some, nuisances to others, these Angelenos personify the City of Los Angeles. Bicultural before the term even existed. These Angelenos have had their feet in the sand, their heads in the clouds, their faces to the wind, their hands in the “masa”. Their hearts are the center of Los Angeles. That center being Hollywood Boulevard, Barney’s Beanery, Olvera Street, or Tommy’s Hamburgers stand all at once. It is both Olvera Street and Pershing Square, and the new Cathedral and L.A. Live. The heart of Los Angeles beats everywhere, it continues to mystify, and remains one of the great cities of the world.

Los Angeles excites the spirit, delights the palate, and bridges the worlds of imagination, illusion, and reality. This wondrous town both fixates and creates. Angelenos, be they real or fiction, have the unique ability of living in three worlds: the dream, the reality, and the in-between. Since the official founding in 1781, Los Angeles, like many great cities of the world: New York, Mexico City, or Tokyo, has, along with its citizens-Angelenos, forged itself this unique identity…the “sad flower in the sand”.

Identity and Los Angeles. The terms and subject matter complement each other so well. Carey McWilliams wrote of Los Angeles as an ethnic and cultural “archipelago”. A city where identity tends to vary from neighborhood to neighborhood. Contrary to places like Mexico City or New York, which seem be virtually identical in their descriptions: subways and metros, overcrowded and rambunctious; Los Angeles and its enclaves do not have such easy identifiers. East L.A can be identified not just by the Chicano/Mexican immigrant culture of tamaleras, lowriders, and homeboys. What comes to mind are second and third generation Eastsiders that are college grads with real estate careers and ties to city politics. The Westside isn’t only falafel stands, liberals and money. We have Venice, Inglewood and Little Osaka on Sawtelle. Even Hollywood’s Walk of Fame doesn’t just tell the story of stardom and tourism. Walk a mile east in any Angeleno’s shoes. You’ll be either in Little Armenia or the Thai/Filipino district. Just a few steps away from any common city artery, the Sunset Boulevards and the Olympics; the real Los Angeles comes to life. One or two block away from these primary arteries of life, we find the blood and the sand.

Immigrants, foreigners, bankers, actors, writers, students, homemakers. Every single one of them-dreamers. They come to Hollywood for the movies, perhaps at a chance to work in television or the film industry. Some come for schooling; others think they will do the educating. One thing is for sure, all we be taught a lesson.

Many also come from Asia or Latin America to reunite with relatives and family. They reestablish and reinvent themselves: get some work as nannies or busboys, and make just enough money to send home every month. Some may even work two full time jobs to make ends meet. Aspiring to save, forging their nest eggs with sweat equity. Households brimming with tias and sobrinos, abuelos y primos. One day, they will have enough to buy a little plot back in their homeland. But then, reality hits. They ARE home now. This is it.

“Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans” (John Lennon). But when did this all occur? Did the smog in the L.A. Skyline dull their senses? If the afternoon sunlight on a recent December day has anything to do with it, time has now moved ahead. It waits for no one. Everyone’s kitchen overlooks a road now. Not many Angelenos yearn for the wondrous, blissful California days of Helen Hunt Jackson’s character, Senora Moreno. Since the earliest migrations of indigenous settlers, from the Tongva settlers near the L.A River, to the Spanish/Mexican missionaries establishing El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora de Los Angeles y Porciuncula, up to the modern day, the modern day Angeleno, if not careful, looks out their kitchen window and can only hope to be cognizant of watching time, school, work, and many dreams come and go. Los Angeles, and its denizens, are not as suspended in time as they are captive to the city’s imagination.

Absorbed into the cries of the Santa Ana winds are the tears of Ruben Salazar, the prolific L.A. Times writer, killed by an LAPD tear gas container. Into the night sky, like the gaseous night’s view from Griffith Observatory go the frustrations of Armenian immigrants. They wait to commemorate their homeland’s tragic genocide on the streets of Hollywood, Burbank, and Glendale. And what of the people dying to get here? Where else in the world to customs and port officials, on various occasions, deal with international human trafficking on such a distinct level? From coyotes to cargo bins, from San Pedro to safe houses in El Monte, people feel the need to get here.

Los Angeles, what is the song you cry out? You are a siren dressed in coastal sage. Your phoenix chaparral burns bright among your anointed ones. The faithful, the faithless, the dreamers and the realists. The Tod Hacketts, Arturo Bandinis, Nathanael Wests, and the John Fantes: whose yearnings have been engulfed by the lachrymal Pacific; you sing the echoes of the millions that have cried their way home, to you. Your song is the Santa Ana wind, the foehn winds- howling through the canyons and passes. The Santa Monica Mountains and the Cahuenga corridor abound with the energy of your music. Echoing your own identity, you sing the song of your citizens’ past, present, and future. Los Angeles, the City of Quartz, is the anthropomorphic manifestation of its citizens. Citizens whose goals, wishes, and dreams attained or unattained, come in the form of a Bunker Hill view, a Santa Monica sunset, a carbon monoxide-stained palm tree, or an unfinished oil painting.

Fante’s Arturo Bandini had his dreams. Whether he envisioned himself a great author, the romancing playboy, or the keen observer, Bandini dreamt of his success and merit. Hopeful, not of the accomplishments, but of achieving them in Los Angeles. The reader doesn’t seem to doubt his talent. But his dreams of success, of merit, seem captive to his routine. A routine intrinsically raveled in the DNA of Los Angeles. A double helix of illusion and failure. “I went to the restaurant where I always went to the restaurant…I walked out of the restaurant, stood before an imaginary pitcher, and swatted a home run over the fence.” In this state, Bandini, the somnambulist, was captive to his imagination. The delirium of a child nestled in the bosom of Our Lady of the Angels. The city cradles and nurses its own. Each Angeleno feeds from the trough, suckles on the teat of the mother.”

The mother feeds her children. Hopes and prayers, the jungle leads to “la Calle de la Eternidad”…with thirty foot arms and hands stretched out to the heavens, reaching for the stars, muralist Johanna Poethig and her collaborators strove for the city to reach its people. The dreams of all its migrants, stretching out to their respective places of origin. The mural, on Broadway, not only reaches out sixty feet above, but stretches to the other “streets of eternity” across the globe, transcending time and space. It evokes the observer’s memory that, to be a citizen of Los Angeles-doesn’t imply having to give up one’s original roots. As any transplant or “native” Angeleno. “Where are you from? Oh, I’m from here, but, originally…”

“She had to leave Los Angeles. She found it hard to say goodbye to her own best friend. She bought a clock on Hollywood Boulevard the day she left. It felt sad.” (X-Los Angeles). These lyrics, taken from the title track of the seminal L.A. punk rock band X’s eponymous album, Los Angeles, tells the story of mid-western girl who just can’t handle her life in Los Angeles anymore. “All her toys wore out in black and her boys had too. She started to hate every nigger and Jew. Every Mexican that gave her a lot of shit. Every homosexual and the idle rich.” Can any other song tie together both the love/hate relationship with this city any better? Written more than thirty years ago, the band was young, nihilistic. Now, well into middle age, they perform the song to newer generations of fans. New and old fans alike, the listener can be a native Angeleno, a punk rock fan in Belgium, or anywhere across the globe. The track, Los Angeles, resonates pungently of urgency and regret. Stay or go. Love it or leave it. Regardless of where one stands, living in Los Angeles, the resident becomes a part of the city. You end up loving it. Even when one has to part ways with it.

Why do so many come here? An often asked question. “Why? Because if he or she can make it here, then I can definitely handle this place. I mean, it’s not New York!” Better to just say “the weather” or the “California Blonde” than to open a can of worms. The new transplant under estimates the ego and heart of this city. Travelers come to envy those that are “fortunate” enough to reside in L.A. Yes the smog and sun can get to you. Everything collides and contracts here. Illusion and disillusion meet where Broadway and Calle de la Eternidad become one.

A commercial airplane lands at LAX, upon arrival, the traveler gets in their car, begins their trek into Los Angeles. Once at their destination, the majority always tend to ask the same question…”Am I here yet? Is this L.A?” Almost as if a double take is necessary to confirm one’s bearings? Where is the Hollywood sign? What about Compton, In-N-Out, or Pinks? Where do the movie stars live? All commonplace questions. Run of the mill superficial questions for, what they believe to be, a superficial town. It is never, “When and where was the city founded?” or “take me to Olvera Street”.

In stark contrast, upon departure, the business traveler or vacationer seems to always be in a hurry to leave the city. Not knowing if what they just experienced was truly a visit to Los Angeles or just a tour of the Universal Studios backlot. One thing is certain of the visitor to Los Angeles, be their visit short term or tenured, everyone wants to come back. The question is if the City’s enchantments are what beckon the visitor of if it is the illusion and fabrication of many a celluloid dream, superseding even the imagination of a child, that call one back to Paradise City.

The Angeleno also never fully appreciates the solitude of the Hollywood Hills or the mountains that roll down to the ocean. It is, simply put, a given. Angelenos nod their heads in boisterous confidence that “it is what it is”.

On the contrary, one of the Hollywood Hills’ most creatively accomplished residents was an Angeleno by transplant. Aldous Huxley-the famed British author of “Brave New World” and “The Doors of Perception”, loved Los Angeles. Admiring such idiosyncrasies as its drive-in donut shaped diners, the winding desert roads near Palm Springs, or simply, Los Angeles’ Mediterranean climate-he came to call the City of Angels his home. Once in Los Angeles, much of his creativity flourished, be it due to his new surroundings, experiments with psychotropic hallucinogens, or reading Hindu texts such as the Veda. The Veda’s primary subject mature and theme are, appropriately enough, the belief that the physical world is but an illusion. Welcome to the identity of Los Angeles.

[sempainope-blog]

I am become Death

Title: “I am become Death” AO3 

Length: Ongoing 

Rating: Mature for language, sexual content, violence, possible torture, possible non con/sexual assault,

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian/Bodhi, Peripheral Baze/Chirrut

Summary: A Knights of Ren/Rogue One AU fic. This is the first mission that the Knights have been separated on, and it is the first one that they have been trusted to do without supervision, but then, no mission has been so important. 

Author’s note: Though Rogue One is probably my favorite of the new Star Wars movies, I was a little let down that the terrible fate that the trailers alluded to (Saw Gerrera's "What will you do when they catch you? What will they become?") didn't come to pass. I freely acknowledge that I'm a terrible person (also, maybe, a bit of a sadist), for wanting them to be captured and turned to the dark side.

I also freely acknowledge that I don't know all the ins and outs and finer details of the Star Wars universe. It's been years since I read any of the Star Wars novels but the love has never gone away. There will be tweaks as I work. The only thing I know for certain at this point, is where the story is going and that it is Rook, Andor, and Erso centric. Haha, please bear with me. I may be needing a betareader...

It had come again; intangible, pure, more real than real, and horrible. Heat; unending and suffocating, rolled over her and crushed the air from her lungs. There was nothing she could see, nothing she could hear, beyond the roar of her blood in her ears. The first time she had told one of their keepers about the dream, he had reassured her that the mind made up all sorts of things. Meditation and focusing on training would help, he had said, but years of both of those things had not diminished the visions. If anything, she wondered if they were becoming more real. Even now, hours and hours from waking, she felt her skin prickle in anticipation of the heat.

“Miss?” The blue-skinned owner of the inn they sat in smiled expectantly at her from behind the counter of the bar. The Rogue blinked her impossible dream away, realizing belatedly that the innkeeper’s serving droid had rolled up to her and parked itself at her side. The tray clipped to the unit’s body held a fogged glass pitcher, the contents turning the glass a milky green. Judging from how the liquid was completely still in the glass, the droid had been sitting there waiting for her decision for at least a little while. The Rogue’s companion chuckled quietly, his deep brown eyes steady on her face as if he’d been watching her for a time, too.

“I think we have both had more than enough,” He said, his amusement threaded through his soft voice. His face turned towards the innkeeper, though his eyes lingered on her face for a moment more.

The Rogue ignored him and favored the blue-skinned woman a small smile, bobbing her head slightly in agreement. As if she would allow herself to become intoxicated on mission. The muscles around her lips felt stiff and she wondered if it was as obviously insincere as it felt. If it was, the innkeeper missed it and the droid...well, it was a serving droid. The creature beeped in comprehension and rolled back towards the pantry room. It swiveled its head back to look at them again, as if giving them a last chance to change their mind before disappearing past the pantry door.

It had taken them twenty-three days, twenty-three days of talking and negotiating and making pleasantries, to narrow down the location. Saying that it had been painful and a stretch of her skills would be an understatement. Now, with the target so close, the Rogue felt her mask of warmth and humanity giving way to her impatience. Those extroverted characteristics that made infiltration easy: charisma, a bubbly sense of humor, friendliness; they just weren’t in her nature, if they ever had been.

Of all of their rank, the Rogue never managed to blend in as well or for as long as the others. They were all of them, perfect, near-exact replicas of some long-forgotten human war heroes but something about her unnerved people. The Sniper claimed it was her eyes that gave it away. How they were flat and hungry as a colo claw fish most of the time. The Heavy had been more prosaic about it and had chalked it up to the alterations and additions that had been made to their genetic sequence. There had been almost nothing left of the sources for their genetic templates and some human traits were inherently undesirable to the Supreme Leader to begin with, so the Kaminoans had filled in the gaps and tweaked what existed to order.

Any reasons why the Supreme Leader had insisted on these particular humans for the project was insight into a wisdom that far surpassed the Rogue’s comprehension. It wasn’t deemed necessary information for them to know, and she had never bothered to ask. It hardly seemed important.

Rising up, the Rogue looked over the inside of the inn and meandered towards one of the four narrow windows set in the rounded inn walls. The road was just visible in the dying sunlight, a thin silver-blue ribbon winding over the lush, hilled land. It was clear and empty, and in the distance, the soft glow of the closest colony flickered like a candle. It was more than two hours from the inn by foot but with all the quiet of the countryside, blaster fire would probably carry.

That was fine; blasters weren’t the Rogue’s favorite short-range weapon anyways. Her thumb slid along the top of the belt strapped around her waist before hooking above the handle of her nightstick.

There were strict laws in this region of space, laws fueled by some sort of ridiculous, rabid cultish fervor and the collective unhealed trauma from the Empire’s occupation that prevented the presence of any non-indigenous military presence or bounty hunters from roaming without close observation. That had ruled out their life-sustaining armor in favor for something that, unfortunately, screamed tourist and traveler. The Rogue had been quick to protest but as the Knights and this mission weren’t supposed to exist, it was unavoidable. It had also been a direct order, so. That had settled that.

The Armory’s dark khaki green tunic was the cheap, common kind that could be found at most trading posts with long sleeves and enough folds and pockets to hide all sorts of useful things. The black, high-necked, and long sleeved shirt that the tunic was wrapped over was made of a more expensive and deceptively tough knife-resistant fabric, but a person would have to be looking for that particular detail to notice it. His pants, leg wraps, and shoes were black and all looked to be of the same trading post origin as the shirt.

Weapons were also highly regulated, which meant the most deadly thing the Armory had on his person was a single law-congruent stun pistol, and a crescent-bladed knife hanging off of the utility belt cinched around his middle. The several vials of poison discreetly tucked out of sight were somewhat less legal but they had no intention of staying on this planet past the midnight hour.

The Armory’s dark hair hung loose about his head in a thick, heavy fall that reached his shoulders. It was hardly regulation nor very practical in a fight, but it suited him. The short facial hair that framed the Armory’s mouth and swept up his jaw bone kept his features from appearing too much younger than his twenty-two years and brought balance to the pronounced bridge of his nose and hollowed cheeks. The warm tone of his brown skin easily hid the fact that he wasn’t often exposed to sunlight, quite unlike the Rogue’s. And with his large, friendly eyes that drew people in and a face that leant itself best to smiling, the pair might as well be night and day. That approachability was something the Rogue used to be jealous of for the attention it brought him, but she had ultimately learned to play to her strengths.

The Rogue had brought no weapons aside from herself and a more tame nightstick than the one that usually accompanied her. It hung openly at her waist over a knee-length gray tunic and a twin of the black, stab-resistant shirt that the Armory wore. Her own cinnamon brown hair had been pulled back into no-nonsense braid that had then been twisted into itself and pinned as a bun at the back of her head.

There wasn’t a trace of rouge on her lips or kohl around her eyes, something that the Sniper had pestered her for not caring about. When he hadn’t let up, she rewarded him with a quick sweep of her leg to knock the Sniper’s out from under him and send him crashing heavily down onto the floor. Though the memory of his stunned expression and how he had rubbed at his bruised tailbone brought amusement to the Rogue, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he hadn’t been completely wrong.

A little makeup might have actually made her more approachable...but probably not. If it wasn’t her “colo-claw-fish-eyes” and standoffish demeanor that put strangers off, her sharp tongue inevitably cut away any amicable connections with would-be allies. The knowledge that they had managed at the inn for the past several hours without her offending anyone wasn’t much of a consolation.

The inn wasn’t particularly large to begin with but the Armory and the Rogue were its sole guests. The upper floor housed four rooms to let out to guests while the main floor served as a modest eatery and watering hole for the locals. A place like this probably got more than enough business but it was the off-season now, and the cusp of the second harvest which meant the only people traveling were those who absolutely had to. The inn itself would be closed in another day or two until the cold season was over and planting was complete. It was unlikely anyone would be stumbling in on them.

The Rogue tapped her fingers impatiently along the handle of her nightstick as she started to calculate their odds of being interrupted, then dismissed the thought before it was complete. If the Armory had done his job and the Sniper was currently doing his, it would be impossible.

“I’m sorry, but we must impose even further on you,” The Rogue said suddenly. Her voice was rough and slightly hoarse from disuse, an unpleasant contrast to the calm ease that filled the room. “We were directed here by some mutual friends. We were told you help people find what they’re looking for. Things from the war against the Empire.”

The Armory moved his arms from where he had them leaning against the tabletop to drop one casually across his lap and within easy reach of a quick draw of his stun gun. The other he braced on the bench he sat on as he looked between the Rogue and the innkeeper with nothing more than polite curiosity on his face. He was still planning on getting what they needed without violence. That was not a priority for the Rogue.

The tense moment of silence that followed the Rogue’s words erased any remaining doubt she had as to whether they had the right target. Tension drew the innkeeper’s posture ruler-straight behind the counter of the bar and her lips thinned.

Did the innkeeper know she was prey? If she didn’t, she would find out very quickly. A thrill tickled up the Rogue’s spine and she licked her dry lips in anticipation.

“I don’t. Not anymore.” The Innkeeper said shortly. “Not for years.”

The Armory’s head tilted minutely towards the door to the pantry in an unspoken warning. The droid had returned to the entrance to the main hall, surveying the scene unfolding before it in silence. The Rogue nodded slightly; she’d destroy it soon enough but her focus was on their target.

“I’m just an innkeeper. I don’t want trouble,” She said, raising her voice. One of the Rogue’s eyebrows quirked at the foolishness of the act. Undoubtedly, the innkeeper hoped that someone would hear her but the roads were as empty as the inn nearly was.

“Then indulge us a little. You said years, but our mutual friends said you helped move some Imperial relics six weeks ago. That’s a bit short of the years you say it’s been since you were involved in any smuggling.” The warm smile that had first come to the Armory’s face when the innkeeper had offered them more to drink had never left. Only now, it was twisted into something considerably more focused and less inviting.

The Rogue’s heart skipped when she saw the sweat beading across the woman’s forehead and she slid her fingers around the fabric-bound handle of her weapon.

Prey, the Rogue’s blood sang with excitement, unworthy prey.

Fear tightened the innkeeper’s lips and the Rogue’s eyes measured her, waiting. Would the innkeeper run? There was nowhere to go. No, judging from how the Chiss had drawn closer to the countertop of the bar and had been moving her arms in tiny, stiff motions beneath the counter, she probably had a weapon trained on them at that very moment.

Good. The Rogue preferred an open fight.

Inhale, exhale...Inhale, exhale...

Inhale- A burst of red blaster fire exploded through the thin front board of the counter but the Rogue was ready for it.

In a blur of motion, the Rogue swung aside and closed the distance between them. Her nightstick swung up and the metal-capped end smashed across the woman’s mouth with enough force to send her spinning to the floor. Blood spattered the floor in a spray and the Rogue bared her teeth in a predatory grin.

A sudden, shrill siren-like tone raised loud enough to rattle the teeth in their heads and stole the flush of victory from the Rogue.

The damned droid-!

The windows shuddered in their frames, cracks starting to splinter out along the panes. The Armory had clapped his hands over his ears in an ineffective attempt to dampen the piercing shrill; his stun gun still clutched in one hand. None of his weapons would be effective against the metal creature. In a single motion, the Rogue twisted the handle to electrify the lower end of the shaft and turned to deal with the droid. Her weapon wasn’t ideal for disabling it, but-

Behind the Rogue, glass dust and twisted metal shrapnel exploded out from where a window once was. She grit her teeth against the sudden flash of heat she felt across her cheek as the first blaster bolt passed her and slammed into the droid’s eye lenses. Another bolt blasted into the body of the droid, shearing straight through it’s plating to fry the circuits and cut off its screams. Steam and chemical vapor curled up from the droid, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning plasteel and circuitry but it was silent.

Kriffing hell.

The Rogue cast a glowering look out the shattered window and into the darkness. Subtlety was clearly off the table, but the innkeeper and her droid had seen to that.

Hopping the counter, the Armory landed lightly beside the innkeeper and kicked the blaster out of reach. Placing a booted foot on the innkeeper’s shoulder, he shoved her onto her back.

The nightstick had knocked three of the Chiss’ teeth clean free, cracked several others, and from the blood and saliva that oozed out from her lips, she’d probably bitten into her tongue, too. The Rogue’s nose wrinkled at the sight, not at all trying to hide her amused disgust at her own handy work.

“Well that was foolish of you,” The Armory commented as he glanced back at the smoldering droid. When the innkeeper let out a moan, he looked back down. Dropping weightlessly into a crouch that would have made most knees creak, the Armory placed the flat of his dagger under the innkeeper’s chin.

“Focus.” When the innkeeper’s disoriented gaze wandered, he tapped the flat of the blade against the innkeeper’s lower jaw. It wasn’t hard enough to really hurt but it definitely got the woman’s attention.

“I have connections-! High up friends that will come after you for this!!” She spat, blood from her broken teeth staining her blue lips purple.

“We’re ghosts, my friend,” The Armory replied as the Rogue moved in closer. His voice was gentle but confident. “No one can catch ghosts. Now, you were just telling us about those Imperial relics...”

The innkeeper’s resolve broke fast, certainly faster than her femur did, but the Armory and the Rogue were nothing if not thorough and there would be no stopping until they had agreed they knew everything.

[adlunametadastra]

I Have a Few Questions!

As a former curator of an insanely popular classy & kinky erotica tumblr (I closed mine down like 8 months before tumblr begun its purge of the kink), I have a bone to pick with issues of consent, diversity depiction/representation, and double standards regarding expectations. Buckle up, knuckle draggers (lovingly), because the shitstorm has arrived!!! 

1. Why...pronounced H-whyyyy, do internet “men” (used loosely) turn to porn and paid entertainers to determine and define what consent and sexual enjoyment is or isn’t...for WOMEN??? If you pay a person enough, they will act as if they genuinely enjoy doing what you’re paying them for BECAUSE THEY ARE BEING PAID!! Not to say that these actors may not enjoy the work; there are plenty of testimonials post-coitus to support the notion that a lot of them do in fact enjoy their adult entertainment, but it must be cleared that they are also ACTING. ACTING IS NOT ALWAYS AN ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF REALITY!! IT IS ALL ABOUT PERCEPTION!!!

I bring this one up to discuss the act of erotic asphyxiation, aka “choking” or “breath play”. It looks sexy, but it is actually quite dangerous. One wrong hand placement (It has to be right below the jawline or you risk damaging/snapping the hyoid bone which connects the head to your neck/throat) and you can genuinely strangle someone to death. It should only be a slight exertion of pressure, a light squeeze, and only be done between two people with immense trust for each other because a life is on the line. Literally.

This act ties into consent because it is wrong to assume that anyone and everyone enjoys choking simply because you see it depicted in erotica and porn all of the time. For instance, I was born with the birthing cord around my neck. I was born choking. It was wrapped so much so that it had to be cut off so I could breathe after just having been born. Let that sink in. My mum randomly told me this a couple of months ago and she added, “yeah that’s why you never liked anything around your neck. No high neck sweaters, short necklaces, and you can’t psychologically swallow pills.” It is because I came into this world nearly dying from essentially a biological noose around my neck and throat that I am violently against anyone putting anything around or near my neck and throat. And to this day, I also am unable to swallow pills. I will fight, maim, and/or KILL anyone who tries to choke me. It is not a joke.

I say this because you would learn information such as this if you simply got to know a person why also seeking their respect, friendship, and consent.

2. Am I the only one who is upset at ONLY seeing white women and men (and stupidly skinny white women at that) in the classiest, most romantic and sensually depicted erotica? I would love to see a dashing white man kissing, caressing, or cuddling a gorgeous curvy Black woman, Asian, Hispanic, or even Indigenous women. We all possess forms of conventional and unconventional beauty. I also want to see Hispanic, Asian, Indigenous, Black and other types of men depicted and mixed in with said lasses, too. No one should be left out!

How am I, a curvy and short woman of mixed race & ethnicity, supposed to feel assured about my ultimate fantasy of being seduced all classy kinky sensual and passionate-like, if I can’t even see such pairings actually happening? All of these handsome men (I tend to naturally gravitate towards White men, European preference, but I plan to sample every flavor of man that walks this earth..hehe...yep i said it, come at me...lol) that exist and follow me, STEP IT UP!!! IM TIRED OF HEARING, I WANT TO SEE! I NEED TO EXPERIENCE THIS!!! COME OUT OF THE CLOSET AND PURSUE!!!

3. This leads to my third and final grudge regarding existing double standards when it comes to appearances in both erotica and porn, and how they tend to provoke the idea that women have to be petite, lithe/slender/slim, dress sexily, all done up, etc., while the average man has a (sometimes huge ass) beer belly, smelly hair, and no general desire to strive above mediocrity. This man, as average, below average, and gross as he is, has the NERVE to demand that women he interacts with to be porn star goddesses whose sole focus is to suck his dick 24/7 with red lip lacquer that doesn’t transfer and leave marks behind. 

First off, FUCK YOU AND THE HILL YOU WILL DIE AND DECOMPOSE ON!

Second, lmao go back to your mom’s basement playing the latest Call of Duty release, where you belong, you knuckle dragging troglodyte. In general society, like attracts like. Even if a woman isn’t skinny (curvy/plus size), if she is GORGEOUS, dresses well, and overall has her shit together, she will indeed end up attracting men like Idris Elba, Colton Underwood, Daniel Dae Kim, and the hot dad on Jane The Virgin, because they recognize a good woman when they see her.

I myself speak four languages aside from English (Spanish, Italian, Latin, and Portuguese); I am finishing up one degree in May and will head off to my next one in August, making three degrees under my belt; I adhere to a plant-based diet; I am a virgin and I couldn’t give two fucks what anyone thinks about it because this bitch is accomplished AF and demands only the best so i have no issue with holding out until I am approached by the best; am I skinny? Never will be, but I know that my legs look damn good in heels, my breasts look AH-MAY-ZING in bras/bra-less dresses & tops, and I overall look amazing in jeans skirts and trousers. I’ve won talent shows for singing and dancing; I am about to graduate Magna Cum Laude with invitations to three honours societies and scholarships to cover everything I’ll need for graduate school in Scotland, because I worked hard for and earned it. In other words, I am a catch and I fucking know it. I will never, NOT EVER, settle for less, and to call me delusional or say that i’m searching for the impossible is not only factually incorrect, it is offensive. Get your shit together, then come and play with the grown ups, ok?

This has been my Ted Talk.

[chocolateheal]

Ten Common Myths About American Artists 25 | american artists 25

Jaune Quick-to-See Smith (Salish and Kootenai), Trade (Gifts for Trading Land with White People), 1992, oil and alloyed media on canvas.

Petra Cortright | fishaquarium fish in australiaaquarium … – american artists 2018 | american artists 2018

CHRYSTLER MUSEUM OF ART, NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

“Art for a New Understanding: Built-in Voices, 1950 to Now,” currently on appearance at the Crystal Bridges Building of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas, is billed as the aboriginal above assay of Built-in American abreast art. With that exhibition in mind, beneath is Robin Cembalest’s commodity “Native American Art: Pride and Prejudice,” originally printed in the February 1992 affair of ARTnews, with  a spotlight on a arrangement of aboriginal artists in America and the abounding issues they face while aggravating to get their assignment into boilerplate institutions. (The commodity makes use of the appellation “Indian,” a characterization acclimated added about than “Native American” at the time.) During the ’90s, the adventure notes, abreast Built-in American artists were faced with a decision: How abundant or how little should they await on their heritage? For some, arena up their character in their assignment was unavoidable. As the artisan Kay WalkingStick told Cembalest, “I appear to be a built-in person. Of advance it affects what I do.” —Alex Greenberger

“Native American Art: Pride and Prejudice”By Robin CembalestFebruary 1992

Outdated images of Indians abound in museums and the art market. As the Built-in American association fights to transcend those stereotypes, building policy, scholarship, and Indian art itself are alteration radically

In 1845 John Mix Stanley corrective a abhorrent scenario: a bandage of Indians advancing a white mother and child. Half naked, chaotically bouncing their weapons, they band their victims. One abandoned warrior raises his arm to assure them. But their apparent fate is appear by the title—Osange Scalp Dance.

This painting hangs in the Civic Building of American Art in Washington, D.C., allotment of the Smithsonian Institution. Agnate works adhere in museums beyond the country. They date from the era of westward expansion, aback Indians were beheld as savages—dark-skinned, non-Christian primitives who accomplished barbarian ceremonies and wore accoutrement and paint. Those images lingered on continued afterwards the West was “won,” abnormally in Hollywood.

They were actual abundant on the apperception of Jeffrey Thomas, a columnist from the Onandaga/Cayuga Nations, aback he began his alternation “Strong Hearts: The Acceptable Powwow Dancer” in 1979. “Native bodies hadn’t been cutting the powwows, so I had no predecessors,” he explains. “The botheration was, ‘How do you photograph a stereotype?’ ”

To reflect his subjects’ self-esteem, he fabricated abiding they maintained eye acquaintance with the camera. To authorize a abreast context, he photographed them in artery clothes as able-bodied as costume. “It’s a cairn to survival, and it’s accepting stronger every year,” he explains. “I’m adage there’s a absolute faculty of pride and history actuality that bodies don’t booty anniversary of.”

Thomas belongs to a large, diverse, and about affiliate association of Built-in American artists. Some animate on reservations, some in cities. Some went to art school, some didn’t. Sometimes their works reflects Indian themes. Sometimes it doesn’t. Whatever they do, they call a agnate challenge—to accomplish assignment that is contemporary, whether that bureau depicting beat Indian activity or afterward beat trends.

Spiderwoman Theater, showing, from left, Lisa Mayo, Gloria Miguel, and Muriel Miguel,(Kuna/Rappahannock), Reverb-ber-ber-rations, 1994.

THE ADVERTISER|SUNDAY MAIL, ADELAIDE, AUSTRALIA/COURTESY THE ARTISTS

Several exhibitions now touring the country certificate the advanced arrangement of solutions to that challenge. They ambit from the paintings in “Our Land/Ourselves,” which explores Built-in American approaches to the accustomed world, to the political, about abrasive pieces in “The Submuloc Show” (intended to be apprehend backwards), an Indian acknowledgment to the Quincentenary of Columbus’ “discovery” of the Americas. That appearance is advised to annul the “perception of Indian artists as bourgeois and decorative,” says Jaune Quick-to-See Smith, a painter from the Flathead Nation who organized it. “We acquire a acceptability for not actuality as cutting-edge, as political, as blacks or hispanics.” (Like best bodies interviewed for this story, she uses the appellation “Indian” interchangeably with others, including “native people,” “indigenous people,” and “Native Americans.”)

Quick-to-See Smith is one of a growing cardinal of Built-in American artists who acquire “crossed over” into the boilerplate art apple while advancement abutting ties with the Indian one. She shows at New York’s Bernice Steinbaum Gallery as able-bodied as LewAllen Gallery in Santa Fe; she lectures frequently on anxiety and includes alien artists she encounters there in shows she curates.

Many others, however, accuse that like African Americans and Latinos, they ache from “ghettoization”—they are included in Built-in American art exhibitions, or accessories like this one, but are not advised for projects about photography, installation, video, abstraction, or the abounding added areas in which they are working. (Several artists beneath to be interviewed for this commodity on those grounds.)

Latin American Art – April-September 2018 PDF download free – american artists 2018 | american artists 2018

But the better problem, abounding say, is that the easiest art to advertise is art depicting an angel of the Indian that is arctic in the past. “Art should be a anniversary of who bodies are,” says sculptor Bob Haouzous, a Chiricahua/Apache based alfresco Santa Fe. “Our bodies are the accomplished on the calibration of pain, poverty, alcoholism, unemployment. You’d anticipate their art would reflect it. Best Indian artists are assuming an angel that doesn’t abide for this acutely aboveboard admirers that wants adorning art.”

“We cannot aggrandize our accomplished through art,” stresses Richard Hill, who admiral the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, the nation’s alone Indian art college. “If Indian art is anytime activity to change or evolve, it has to get out of the bartering mode.” Aback that happens, he believes, the stereotypes will change as well—one aim of the institute’s new building spotlighting Indian art from the aftermost three decades, which opens after this year. “Through the arts bodies will get to see what Indians are saying, thinking. It’s important for bodies to understand.”

Kent Monkman (Fisher River Bandage and Swampy Cree), History is Painted by the Victors, 2013, acrylic on canvas.

©KENT MONKMAN/DENVER ART MUSEUM, GIFT FROM VICKI AND KENT LOGAN TO THE COLLECTION OF DENVER ART MUSEUM

Art history, scholarship, and building action with anniversary to Indian art are already changing. The Indian art in best American museums was acquired by collectors and ethnologists who believed in Vanishing Red Man theory—that Indians were bedevilled to afterlife in the face of westward expansion. They adored millions of objects—household utensils, hunting implements, masks, dolls, and games, but additionally basic dug up from angelic burying sites and altar all-important for religious ceremonies conducted by cultures actual abundant alive.

A actual altered affection led the North Carolina Building of Art in Raleigh to acknowledgment a Zuni war god to the Zuni pueblo aftermost fall, alive that it was to be placed in a altar in adjustment to deteriorate. “People are advancing out of the woodwork to accord them up,” says Edmund Ladd, a affiliate of the Zuni Nation and a babysitter at the Building of New Mexico who has helped accommodate the acknowledgment of 70 such objects. One impetus, certainly, has been a 1990 Federal law mandating the acknowledgment of Built-in American skeletons and added angelic and august objects. But addition reason, says Ladd, is that non-Indian curators acquire assuredly accustomed a absorption that was actual adopted to them—“The war gods cannot be endemic by anyone, not alike the bodies who accomplish them.”

The Smithsonian is planning three new accessories adherent alone to Indian art—and they were will be run by Built-in Americans. One will accessible on the aftermost accessible atom on the Mall in Washington, D.C., by 1999; another, absolute added than one actor altar aggregate by the beneficiary George Gustave Heye, will accessible abutting year in the U.S. Custom House in city Manhattan; and a advanced accumulator ability in Suitland, Maryland, is beneath construction. “We are absorbed in interpreting Indian ability as a dynamic, vital, evolving phenomenon,” says W. Richard West, Jr., a Cheyenne/Arapaho who will baby-sit the institutions. “Not asleep or dying.”

While Built-in American lobbying was absolutely amenable for the government’s accommodation to actualize those museums, West credibility out, it was not the alone reason. “The absolute nation is advancing to grips with its cultural diversity,” he says. “Native peoples are appropriate at the centermost of all of that.” The furnishings are axiomatic in abounding areas—from Congress, which afresh voted to abolish George Custer’s name from the Little Bighorn battlefield, to Hollywood, area Dances with Wolves became the aboriginal above motion anniversary to present authentic, subtitled Indian dialogue.

But aloof how far anniversary for “minority” cultures should go has been a amount of debate. If non-Indians admit that anachronous stereotypes endure, should they feel answerability about accomplishing the “tomahawk chop” to acclamation on the Atlanta Braves?

What should we anticipate aback we appointment stereotypes in museums? What if some artists were—from the angle of the politically actual 1990s—racists? Remington, for example, already declared “Injuns” as “rubbish of the apple I hate.”

The curators of “The West as America,” a arguable exhibition at the Civic Building of American Art aftermost year, took such attitudes into anniversary aback they advised works by Remington, Charles Russell, and abounding added Western painters. Because prejudices adjoin Indians, forth with concepts such as Manifest Destiny, were about universal, the archive argues, those behavior surfaced—sometimes unconsciously—in the art of the time.

For example, abounding whites against miscegenation, aflutter that their claret would be attenuated by inferior Indian stock. That dread, says the catalogue, was bidding by Irving Couse in The Captive (1892), which shows a shackled, blood-soaked white woman sprawled on the arena in advanced of a solemn, cross-legged Indian. How do we apperceive that? For one thing, there’s “cross-cultural touching”—the Indian’s bottom nudges the girl’s shoulder. Besides, “the arrangement of phallic altar pointing in her direction, calm with the teepee’s accessible entry, added betoken a animal encounter.”

Such readings were frequently cited in the acerb criticisms that appeared in the civic media, which absolved them as “contrived aesthetic analysis.” The attacks were fiercer in Congress, area senators stood up and denounced the appearance as “perverted” and “distorted.” Best art historians, however, were unfazed by the outcry, pointing out that this affectionate of apostle scholarship has been accepted for a decade.

What’s important to remember, says Peter Hassrick, who directs the Buffalo Bill Centermost in Cody, Wyoming, is that aback we accessory at the assignment of Western artists, we’re application our own affection to appraisal their sensibility. “Certain artists were conceivably added enlightened, in a 1990s fashion, than added artists,” he explains, citation the “noble savages” in the assignment of George Catlin, who visited added tribes than any added artisan in his time.

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“There’s a abode for consciousness-raising, and it needs to be done by museums,” Hassrick adds. “But if you alpha slapping bodies on the face too adamantine with that affectionate of stuff, it gets amid them and the art—it makes it too confrontational. It’s like cogent them there’s no Santa Claus.”

But alike the Buffalo Bill is accomplishing its allotment for consciousness-raising. Its summer appearance is “Discovered Lands, Invented Pasts,” organized by Yale University Art Gallery. “Artists larboard out traces of Built-in American address if they capital to characterize clear wilderness, or added Built-in Americans to add a arresting element,” says Susan Schoelwer, a Yale alum apprentice who is analogous the exhibition.

Native Americans are not as anxious with reinterpreting Western pictures, says Alfred Youngman, a Cree assistant of Built-in American art and art history at the University of Lethbridge in Alberta, Canada. “I don’t say change the labels, booty them down—I say acquaint the history right.”

Oscar Howe (Yanktonai Dakota), Dance of the Heyoka, ca. 1954, watercolor on paper.

©2018 BY PERMISSION OF THE OSCAR HOWE FAMILY/PHILBROOK MUSEUM OF ART, TULSA, OKLAHOMA, MUSEUM PURCHASE, 1954.12

The history of Indian art began bags of years ago, aback Indian ability emerged. The history of beat Indian Indian art began aboriginal in this century, and it was accomplished by white advisers who encouraged Indians to assignment in the Western mode—on cardboard and for art’s sake, not for august or applied purposes. “Shared Visions,” an exhibition of 20th-century Indian art organized by the Heard Building in Phoenix, traces the history of these representational paintings depicting acceptable activities.

Though the years artists began to absorb modernist imagery—Oscar Howe, Fritz Scholder, and Allan Houser, whose affected biomorphic sculptures sometimes border on absorption and reflect the access of Henry Moore. But it was not until the ’60s that Indian art began to change radically.

One bureau was the founding of the Institute of American Indian Arts in 1962. Addition was the foundation of the American Indian Movement, a civilian rights alignment for Indians accustomed in 1968. In 1973 the accumulation alive Wounded Knee, South Dakota, area U.S. troops dead several hundred Indians in 1890. Institute acceptance became absorbed with symbols from Ghost Dance, the key rite of the messianic Indian religion, advised destructive by the government, that set off the massacre. They were additionally attractive at works by Rauschenberg, Warhol, and added abreast artists. The aftereffect was a brand accepted as Indian Protest Art.

Simultaneously, added Indians were accessory university art schools. “With a university training, you’re apparent to archetypal art and traditions from about the world,” says Quick-to-See Smith, who advised at the University of New Mexico. “You wouldn’t be accurate to yourself if you didn’t absorb what you were accustomed with.” Mixing absorption with affiliated motifs is hardly new, she credibility out—it’s aloof that critics booty the assignment added actively if the artists appear to be white Abstruse Expressionists. “Contemporary built-in people, including myself, are accomplishing the aforementioned affair that Pollock and Newman did in demography images from built-in cultures,” she says.

George Longfish, a Seneca/Tuscarora artist, teacher, and babysitter based in Woodland, California, credits his use of Built-in American adumbration in his colorful, agreeable paintings to the assignment of Arshile Gorky, which he encountered while belief at the Academy of the Art Institute of Chicago. “Gorky goes aback to his Armenian heritage. He became a role model, an apostle for application one’s own cultural information.” But that cultural admonition includes non-native adumbration too, of course. Longfish advantaged a 1989 assignment Goodbye Norman Jean, the Chief Is Dead.

On the added hand, Indian adumbration can be misunderstood. “I appear to be a built-in person. Of advance it affects what I do,” says Kay WalkingStick, a painter of Cherokee/Winnebago ancestry who shows her impastoed, abstruse diptychs at New York’s M-13 Gallery and Elaine Horwitch Galleries in Scottsdale and Santa Fe. “But as anon as you say, ‘I’m a built-in person,’ again they alpha seeing teepees. If I didn’t use my beginning name, bodies would say, ‘It’s about tragedy, hope, balance, the accustomed world, the airy world.’ ”

“If Michael Tracy uses icons, he’s allotment of the postmodern debate. If Jimmie does, he’s advised primitive, ethnic, an ‘Indian artist,’ ” says Jeanette Ingberman, who runs Exit Art, an another amplitude in New York, apropos to Jimmie Durham, an artisan of Cherokee ancestry who shows there. “When the alleged boilerplate does the history of the begin object, from Duchamp to Haim Steinbach, they don’t accommodate Jimmie.”

Durham responded to a appeal to be interviewed for this commodity with his own request—not to be mentioned in it. “He is a abreast artisan and should be discussed with the critical, conceptual, and bookish chat actuality generated by issues surrounding all-embracing abreast art,” a letter from his New York dealer, Nicole Klagsbrun, said.

Another artisan who affably beneath to be interviewed is Hachivi Edgar Heap of Birds, a Cheyenne/Arapaho based in Oklahoma. Some of his works are adjoining argument panels that chase a beat attitude of “language art.” Abounding of them additionally appear to be belittling indictments of how white association has advised Indians. “Syphilis/Small Pox/Forced Baptisms/Mission Gifts/Ending Built-in Lives,” apprehend the posters he did for the accessible bus arrangement in San Jose, California, aftermost year, as allotment of his one-man exhibition at the San Jose Building of Art.

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Ironically, says Bob Haozous, it is easier to appearance assignment with political capacity alfresco the Indian bazaar than central it. “There’s no bazaar for Indian bodies attractive at themselves honestly,” he comments. Haozous, who exhibits at Rettig y Martínez Gallery in Santa Fe and has had several building shows, makes up to as abundant as $200,000 for a monumental, accessible sculpture. While some of his pieces accommodate austere images—skulls, acid wire—many are irreverent, like his “Apache Pull-toys,” riddled with ammo holes. “My account is choleric with amusement so bodies can acquire alive with it,” he remarks.

Such prices are still attenuate for works by Indian artists. The alone artisan who consistently commands alike added than that—up to $500,000 for a large, accessible carve commission—is Haozous’ father, Houser, who shows at the Glenn Green Galleries in Santa Fe and Scottsdale. Paintings about advertise for abundant less. Quick-to-See Smith’s medium-sized works amount about $7,000; WalkingStick’s, $6,000.

Melissa Cody (Navajo), Apple Traveler, 2014, 3-ply wool, aniline dyes, wook bastardize & 6-ply selvedge cords.

STARK MUSEUM OF ART, ORANGE, TEXAS, PURCHASED BY NELDA AND H.J. LUTCHER STARK FOUNDATION, 2014, 2014.1.1

Some of the costliest items in the Indian bazaar accommodate works that in added contexts could be alleged crafts, admitting abounding artists and dealers acquisition that chat pejorative. Above pieces by Maria Martinez, an early-20th-century ceramist, advertise for $35,000 to $80,000 at Santa Fe’s Dewey Galleries. Works by abreast ceramists such as Jody Falwell, who has explored such innovations as asymmetry, advertise for amid $8,000 and $12,000, at Gallery 10, based in Scottsdale and Santa Fe.

Most Santa Fe galleries do a block of their anniversary sales during the Santa Fe Indian Market, which will be captivated on August 22 and 23 this year. Added than 70,000 visitors, including collectors, artists, and dealers from all over the country, are accepted to analyze added than 400 booths announcement pottery, jewelry, painting, sculpture, textiles, and assignment in added mediums. All are advised by a board that verifies that whatever the medium, the works are fabricated by Indians.

The acumen is that the Indian art bazaar has been abounding with fakes, knockoffs bogus in places like Hong Kong and Santa Fe. The money spent on these knockoffs, say advocates for Indian art, is like the bound cardinal of scholarships accessible to Indians—it should go to the bodies who so badly charge it. In 1990 Ben Nighthorse Campbell, a Colorado adumbrative who is the alone Built-in American in Congress, as able-bodied as a celebrated adornment maker, sponsored the Arts and Crafts Act, a bill acute that art awash as “Indian art” charge be fabricated by Indians who are certified by their tribes. The amends for contravention can be bristles years in bastille or a $250,000 fine.

Although the act was accounting to administer alone to art for sale, it has acutely bound nonregistered artists’ exhibition opportunities. They can balloon about assuming in Santa Fe’s new museum, in the Smithsonian museums, or in others that about affection Indian art, such as the Heard. Aftermost year American Indian Abreast Arts, a nonprofit amplitude in San Francisco, canceled a appearance of assignment by Durham—who is not registered—on the admonition of its lawyers. The Centermost for Abreast Arts of Santa Fe, additionally nonprofit, “postponed” Durham’s appearance until he could “produce documentation.” David Bradley, an adviser at the Institute in Santa Fe, has filed complaints with the New Mexico advocate general’s appointment about nonregistered artists. “If a assertive actuality has been advertised as Mister Bigshot American Indian Artist,” he explains, he checks if the artisan is registered. If not, “I can seek civilian amercement as able-bodied as claimed damages.”

But the law’s opponents say that actuality registered is not as simple as it seems. Artists can be nonregistered because they abridgement documentation; their ancestors larboard their tribes to get jobs; or their tribes are not clearly accustomed by the federal government. “We’ve consistently been inclusive, philosophically,” says Youngman. “For anyone to accept that you can analyze Indians by what the law says about them is foolish. If you say you’re a built-in person, you are a built-in person.”

Longfish calls the law’s implications “a witch hunt.” Added artists, who compared the law’s supporters to “vigilantes” and the Ku Klux Klan, asked not to be quoted, citation fears of anarchic the amount further. Several nonregistered artists did not acknowledgment calls and one, accomplished by telephone, begged not to be mentioned, authoritative buried references to a career in accident and callers who fabricated aggressive remarks.

Bob Hart, administrator of the Indian Arts and Crafts Board, an bureau of the Department of the Interior, admits that the affair of allotment is “a problem. There are so abounding variations about bodies who acquire not been enrolled. The catechism is, How are they activity to be accommodated?” That question, and the added acute one—whether or not accomplished art was alike meant to be included—will not be bound until regulations are written. But that won’t appear until Congress grants the funds, and the process, Hart speculates, should booty about a year.

Many artists accede this altercation decidedly adverse because it confuses issues of indigenous character with those of aesthetic identity. The way a Built-in American who chooses to be accepted should not necessarily be based on indigenous pride, credibility out Bill Soza War Soldier, a Cahuilla/Apache painter from Denver.

The artisan was an artist of American Indian Protest Art, is alive in the American Indian Movement, and lobbies for Built-in American prisoners’ rights. But aback it comes to anecdotic what he does, he says article else. “I absolutely accede myself an American painter, although I am an Indian,” he explains. “No one calls Picasso or Dalí Spanish painters.”

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