#i shant be held responsible

[snekjin]

my favourite genre of Frank images is when he is patiently waiting to be asked a question

[chesters-ocs]

Stone's daddy kink: :)

Me, spraying him: Down, bad boy. Stick with the fluffy cuddles.

Thankfully, Stone is feeling tired and is content to just pass out while cuddling his husband. With his arms wrapped around Butcher.

Sorry, Butcher, you will be in Stone's arms for the rest of the night. Stone has a strong grip.

butchers fine with it, as long as it means both of them will actually sleep soundly trough the night

[seafoam-roe]

Nevermore

Fyrwyb tore off her helm and threw it with all her anger across the inn room. The metal clanged and crashed, knocking over a potted plant in the corner. She didn’t care. Her hair stuck to her cheeks with sweat. Her heartbeat was frantic.

“Gone again. Always gone!” She exclaimed under her breath, sinking to the floor. The closest wall supported her as her shoulders began to shake. Her armor made small noises to fill the silence while she cried.

“Ye always have t’run off without me. Without someone. Always runnin’ off alone!”

The roegadyn shifted her weight and sat back against the wall, her head leaning back so that she could look up at the ceiling. Tears mixed with the sweat on her face.

Knock knock.

Part of her wanted to keep quiet. To pretend she was just some other lass. She threw an annoyed glance at the door.

“Aye, who is it?” She grunted in response.

A soft spoken miqote answered.

“Fyrwyb..? I don’t mean to bother you, but you ran off with such haste. Could I at least check you over?”

Y’shtola. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Fine, come on in.”

When the miqote opened the door and peered in, Fyrwyb purposefully didnt look at her. Their friendship had grown strong and she knew if she looked into her eyes, she wouldnt be able to hold it together. Instead, she stood up and faced away from her friend, pulling off pieces of dragoon armor one by one. They made a decent ruckus when they each fell to the floor.

Y’shtola’s ears lay flat against her head at the sounds.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked suddenly, waiting for Fyrwyb to finish.

“There’s nothin’ to say I haven’t already said,” she huffed, trying to keep her voice from cracking. She bent at the waist to rid herself of the armor covering her shins.

“Perhaps. But it can help the anger, to say them aloud again.”

Fyrwyb snorted and her shaking fingers tore more armor away, this time from her upper legs. The plates clashed against each other on the floor. She was starting to shake.

Suddenly, long, slender fingers gripped her bare shoulders firmly. She jolted awake, sitting straight up in her bed. Her bleary eyes blinked a few times as they took in her surroundings; her bedroom. She was home, in her little cottage in Ishgard. Their home.

“My heart, whatever troubles thee? I am here.”

Urianger’s closest hand still held onto her shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring. He sat up in bed next to her and used his other hand to move the sweat-sticky hairs from her face. When she finally looked back to him, her eyes were filled with tears.

“A nightmare, that’s all,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling.

Urianger’s brows knit together as he pulled Fyrwyb into his chest, wrapping her up and holding her tightly. He smoothed her hair and kissed several tears from her cheeks.

“The same as before?” He asked, his voice low and calming. She nodded and her shoulders shook. The elezen let out a soft sigh and nuzzled his nose into her hair.

“I am here, my dearest. I shant be disappearing. My heart belongest here, next to thine.”

Fyrwyb clung to Urianger, slowing her breathing with the herbal scent of his nightshirt. Her arms squeezed around his waist, and she listened to his heartbeat, her ear pressed to his chest. All part of her process, her reassurance that he was real and present.

“Don’t leave me, Uri. Please. Stay with me,” she sniffled.

Urianger’s heart broke anew every time she awoke from that very same nightmare, time and time again. And like every other time, he made the same promise—one that he meant, every single time.

“Nevermore.”

[dungeonmalcontent]

I finally have some time to do some work on design projects and writing for a client and behold yon wired USB mouse hath decided it shant pan. Lo, the beast doth zoom when beckoned to pan. For it hath a problem with its middle mouse button, as when it clicketh once and is held down it thinketh that it hast been told to clicketh many times instead of once. Ye it doth zoom while it doth pan and doth zoom more than it ever ought.

Verily, in in response to this issue, man hath requested aid from the manufacturer. Nonetheless, man hath found himself unable to work for the sake of a nail, as it were. Ye, surely the whole project is forsaken.

Wherefore, man doth yearn to retire from his place of work and watch TV with the child of man as the child of man hath commanded.

[lostcastiel]

if Cas isn’t in the finale I will (and I am saying that in the most capital C Calm way possible) go berserk. actually, fuck it. if Cas and Dean don’t heavily make out on screen in the finale, I will also go berserk

[iamartyom]

The Mutt and The Tabby

Long ago a brown haired mutt met a beautiful tabby. She had fair golden hair and eyes of deep brown, but in their depths twinkled the light of all the dreams she held in her heart, like little stars. He was like the earth, grounded and set in stone; she was fleeting and existed far over his head in a world he could not imagine. They met for only a moment but she lingered in his mind like light that burns into ones vision. He saw traces of her wherever he looked for the longest time after she left. In the way some would move, the music of her voice in crowded rooms, brief flashes of her light in the strangest of places. And the mutt, while he lived his life, would sometimes stop and think of her. One day a crow, adolescent and young, came by and saw the mutt still as a statue, lost deep in thought. Curious as young crows are he flew down and perched on the mutt’s back. "What does so plain a dog have to ponder?", the crow mused aloud. "A light, dear Crow. It's brilliance, even faded, dances on the fringes of my mind. I often wonder what things it illuminates, and if they feel as blessed I did." The crow cackled to itself, and chastised the dog, "Dogs are I'll suited to such fair musings, would it be better not to chase such dreams? Light has a way of burning those that wander too close" "It is not my place, indeed, to think of such things, but think of them I do nonetheless. It's easy enough for you to scorn the sun when you've seen it up close, Oh Winged One. But for us on the cold ground it looks quite lovely." The crow burbled deep in it's throat, amused with the silly dog. "Tell me of this light then, Dog. I am curious now as to what could light such a fire in such a dull mind." The dog told the crow of the Tabby he'd met, and of the stars in her eyes. Of the dreams he saw within them, so beautiful. The crow was moved, "I am young, Dog, and my wings are strong. For your sake as well as my own I'd like to see what's become of this light. I wonder if it is truly as bright as you claim. I will find this cat, and if you wish I will bring her tidings to you. But be warned that I am not responsible for whatever occurs, the responsibility lies with you silly dog." The dog had a strong heart, he was foolish but brave, "Fly true, friend. It is not within me to stomach this itching in my heart, I will pay what ever price is demanded of me." "So you say, do not regret it when the times comes.", and with his final warning the crow took flight. The winds bore both him and the dogs plight far and wide, for many weeks till by chance he heard rumor of a light, thousands of miles away. But the rumor was harsh. The crow returned with these whisperings and found the mutt waiting patiently. "Hark, Dog, I have returned, but the tale I bear is not the one your kind heart seeks. I offer you one last chance to chase other dreams. The price of this one is quite high." But the dog had resolved himself long ago, "Tell me crow, I have made my peace." The crow spoke at length, of a light many miles away, once as bright as the one he'd seen but diminished through hardship. The light had burned fiercely, but where there is light, darkness is found to be creeping. "Tell me crow, please. Where is she?" "I shant, dear Dog. What would you even do if you knew? What could you possibly do about such things?" "Only what I can, Crow. But if not that much, I fear I could never live knowing that things might have been different. If it is a mistake, it is one I must make, for the alternative is abandoning something that does not deserve to be forgotten." The Crow sighed,"So be it, Dog. Many miles away, near the distant ocean, in the land of peaches, your light lingers there, small and dim. Tendrils of darkness grow close to it, and soon it seems they will snuff it out." The dog listened, his resolve stiffening. His heart would offer him no respite now, only one thing remained for him to do. "I must go, my friend. I could not forgive myself anything else." The crow grew sad, for he had feared no less. "Careful, that your own light does not fade. All things end, to delay one, is to hasten another. Give too much, and nothing will remain." "Thank you, Crow, but I am only a dog. What is that when held against something better.", and with that he sprang away, to find the light in the land of peaches. "Dumb Dog.", the crow whispered sadly to himself. Without rest the dog traveled. Through storms, fog thick as cloth, and howling winds. The whole world seemed to protest his journey, "Turn back, Dog! This story does not end well!" But their words were lost in the storm that raged even more fiercely in his own chest. And at last, on tired legs, with eyes like lead, he arrived in the land of peaches and found those brown eyes; so sad now they looked, her fur thin and her stars few "Dog?", the Tabby could hardly believe, "Dog, what are you doing here?" "Are you happy?", the dog asked bluntly. "What do you mean, dog?" "Exactly what I ask, nothing more or less. I don't demand answer for me, but that you ask yourself the same thing. Are you happy, Cat?" The cat thought to herself a long time, of the darkness that had crept into her heart, "No, sweet Dog, I fear that I am not. It's been so long now since the world was kind." The dog collapsed on his feet, his tired legs bearing his weight no longer. She sprang to his side worried, but he smiled warmly where he lay. "Come home with me, gentle Cat. Let me bear your burden at least for a time." She began to cry, "Stupid Dog, why would you do such a thing? What purpose could you have?" "Love, my wonderful cat. Love for you and those brown eyes like the night sky, so very full of stars. I could no more suffer them to fade than I could suffer my own dreams to end. They're such beautiful dreams, and all the more beautiful that they are yours, and yours alone." "You can barely stand, kind Dog. What makes you think you could bear my pain as well as your own?" "I don't know, sweet Cat. I only know that I must try. I can allow myself nothing less or I fear I would not be me, or at least not a me I'd enjoy being." She began to weep openly now, for this stupid, stupid Mutt, "Then yes, oh Dog, I will come with you. If you truly insist." "I do, now and always, I insist. For your light and for your stars, I insist." "Then let's go home, Dog.", she purred "Let's go home, Cat."

[gyrlversion]

Inside The Counter-Protest That Drowned Out A Hate Group In Dayton, Ohio

By DeMicia Inman

Memorial Day weekend often calls for cookouts and relaxation. In Dayton, Ohio, however, many people opted to gather downtown in order to protest a rally held by the Honorable Sacred Knights of Indiana, a Ku Klux Klan-affiliated hate group that has been listed by the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) as one of 24 active hate groups in the state of Indiana.

The event had been a long time coming; according to the Dayton Daily News, the group was approved for the rally permit in February after going back and forth with the city about the legality of the event. (Montgomery County Administrator Michael Colbert told the Daily News, “We are legally obligated to provide access to public spaces where individuals can exercise their freedom of speech and right to assemble.”)

That wasn’t the end of the fight, however; based on the permit’s indication that the group would be armed and operate in a military fashion, a March 13 lawsuit filed by the city claimed the group’s presence endangered the community. “We are proud of what we represent, which is Christian white straight Americans,” the group said in statement released to Fox45Now.

The city ultimately aimed to disarm the group completely and prevent any members from covering their faces. But, according to the Dayton Daily News, the group threatened to rally with or without the permit, citing First and Second Amendment rights. On May 14, the two parties reached an agreement and settled the lawsuit. The resolution prevented the group from wearing tactical gear and carrying assault rifles but did allow for members to cover their faces and carry certain firearms, given that Ohio is an open-carry state.

“The agreement does not mean that we accept their hateful views or that their presence is supported by our leadership, our community or our residents,” Dayton’s city attorney, Barbara Doseck, said during a press conference.

On May 25, the air in downtown Dayton smelled of equal parts cigarette and marijuana smoke, as well as burning sage as protestors gathered as early as 11:30 a.m, an hour and a half before the rally was approved by the city to take place. The small group of Honorable Sacred Knights of Indiana arrived promptly at 1 p.m.; the group established their presence with a KKK flag, a Confederate flag, and “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Approximately nine members showed up; only one remained un-masked while the rest concealed their identities from the counter-protestors.

In contrast, their critics came ready to make their voices and identities known. The diverse crowd ranged from Christians to Atheists, youth to elderly citizens, veterans to anti-war and anti-violence organizers, and every demographic in between. Between them, they waved American flags, gay pride flags, the transgender pride flag, Antifa banners, the Pan-African or Black Liberation flag, and other emblems while battling 80-degree temperatures.

“[We plan to] drive out the KKK and anyone who wants to show up and sign up,” Gerry Bello, a member of the Columbus chapter of the Anti-Racist Action Network, told MTV News. “We never had any doubt [the permit] would be approved. [We will] do whatever we can to interfere with their recruiting.”

The Anti-Racist Action Network, or the ARA, was founded in 1988 and uses education, organization, confrontation, and celebration to eradicate racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, and discrimination against the disabled, the oldest, the youngest, and the most-oppressed people.

The Dayton Daily News reports the City of Dayton overall spent approximately $650,000 to ensure the safety of both the rally-goers and counter-protestors. The event would eventually close with no arrests, injuries, or incidents reported, in stark contrast to the 2017 counter-protest in Charlottesville, Virginia where a white supremacist drove a car into a crowd, killing activist Heather Heyer. The city also prepared for the confrontation by blocking off streets leading to Courthouse Square, where the rally was set to be held, and separating the counter-protestors from the hate group with fencing and a barricade of armed members of the Dayton Police Department. In total, the DPD employed 350 police officers to patrol the streets; helicopter coverage and their visible presence on the rooftops of nearby buildings made some uneasy and others question who the police intended to protect and serve.

The rallyers spoke as planned, but hundreds of activists from all walks of life drowned them out with noise, with the aim to let both the group and the country know that Ohio residents do not stand for bigotry.

“I think that the Klan rally’s primarily a recruitment tool, certainly in this area. I think that the counterprotest clearly shows the Klan that they are not welcome in our city” said one protestor, who attended the rally with A Better Dayton Coalition, a collective of seven grassroots organizations with similar activist goals.

Many of the counter-protesters had geared up for the worst, by sporting bandanas and sunglasses to block potential tear gas attacks and etching identifying information and important phone numbers on their arms with permanent markers in the event of violence and arrest. Grassroots organizations provided free water, and shared vegetable and hummus trays, sunscreen, and even distributed emergency contraception to those in need.

“Our presence here today is to protect our people. We are not here to yell at the Klan or anything like that,” a woman who identified herself as the Minister of Defense of Republic of New Africa told MTV News. “We are here to make sure that each and every one of the people who came out here today to protest goes home safely.” As the event ended, she encouraged counter-protestors to exit the area in the same way they came, and used a megaphone to amplify her message: “We came in peace, we leave in peace.”

For some groups in attendance, protesting the the Honorable Sacred Knights was nothing new.

“We’ve protested this group before in their home base of Madison, Indiana, several years in a row,” Jen Scott, a member of the American Atheists who traveled from Cincinnati to protest, told MTV News. “We wanted to know why they chose Dayton and why this time. Usually, only 10 or 12 of them show up, spit out their message of hate for about 10 to 20 minutes, and they leave.”

Another protestor named Vanessa said this event was her first time protesting anything, but she felt that it was necessary to represent as a Christian standing up against hate. She had attended the rally with her church, and stood frontline at the fence with her partner, holding a wooden cross.

Ben, a protestor who attended with an organization associated with the Party for Socialism and Liberation, told MTV News that when he first heard that a group affiliated with the Klan was on its way, he was angry and planned to counter-protest immediately.

“We wanted to make sure that Black people’s bodies and lives are respected in the city,” he added. “We wanted to show that we are against hatred, bigotry, violence, and terrorism and that Dayton is a city for all working class individuals, not just white working class individuals.”

And while labeled organizations arrived en masse, local Dayton residents made their presence known on an individual level, too. A 39-year-old named Shante and her 11-year-old daughter Grace made sure to be active as Dayton natives, proudly raising a “No Hoods In My Woods” sign between them. Shante told MTV News she was not surprised by the KKK rally, but pointed out that the same First Amendment rights that allowed them to gather gave her the same rights to counter their arrival under the same statute.

“They have a pride and I have a pride,” she added.

Grace, who chose to attend and protest on her own, added that she joined her mother because she knows her own voice matters.

“I came here to show that they won’t make me feel any different about my color at all,” she told MTV News.

Those protesting the KKK presence in Dayton not only expressed messages denouncing the hate group; they also included anti-Trump, anti-police and anti-capitalist messaging with chants, posters, and body art. The group repeatedly cheered “No Trump, no KKK, no racist USA.” The police were met with chants asking “Who do you serve? Who do you protect?” and “The cops and the Klan go hand-in-hand” as counter-protesters showed disdain for the DPD’s protection of the Honorable Sacred Knights. Many protestors had written the phrase “Fuck 12,” a slang term for police, across their bodies in red ink. Attendees also held posters in memory of those killed by police brutality, referencing the Black Lives Matter movement.

As for the city of Dayton itself, the local government launched an initiative called Dayton United Against Hate, as a direct response to the hate group’s choice of location. “Hate is not a Dayton value. This event is an opportunity for us to talk about what our values are as a community, and you all have named them loud and clear,” Mayor Nan Whaley said in an accompanying PSA.

“We have to make sure that fascism doesn’t take hold of this country by showing it is outnumbered,” one protestor who led many chants but asked not to be identified by name, told MTV News. “It is important for us to be out here in numbers and making our voices heard.”

The post Inside The Counter-Protest That Drowned Out A Hate Group In Dayton, Ohio appeared first on Gyrlversion.

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[beckoningtales-blog]

The Last Pages..... "Acceptance"

(14June17):Wednesday; An extremely yet also late "top of the morning" lads and lasses. It is 44:2AM and the Mistress continues to allow peaceful, long overdue much needed rest to elude her. Eventually the wondrous overtake of slumber will eventually come my way and my mind, poor achy body can finally seek some comfort. The tale I am once again about to unweave, may very well not come as 8f any surprise to most of you, as still in all the harrowing stories, "emotions", "feels", and disadvantageous behavior, with blatant rectories of truth staring me down and speaking aloud....somehow I still am managed to find shock and surprise in realities unforeseen. Imagined, emphatically "yes", believed..."without a shadow of doubt"..... However the prudent, blatant truth presented in various contents as imagery, to reels, and my own personal favorite form....literature. As I always say, (while bearing well meaning), I shall keep this short, and precise. I have known since the ground was still frozen cold, until its thawing and even at this very moment.... The Mortician had become beyond infatuated with his work, it became every detail of being, breathing, and existing....his life. I planned (mindfully, the heart is but full of trickery to the usual senses and a fool) NOT to compete with any "thing" much less another individual. My mind, and internal instincts spoke volumes of truth .y beguiled eyes were too blinded by love to see, admit, accept and move past. I shant fill the pages with keen detailed information as I would normally. For one, I am "LITERALLY" exhausted by this entire ordeal as much as I was when I first sensed an upheaval. Also, even as I have FINALLY prepared myself for this moment.."feelings" as absolute as they may appear to one or many still hurt. Our relationship grew apart before this year ever struck midnight. My noticing of behavioral change, characteristically and beyond came some months later. I was "blindly" unaware, yet had a hunch of how deep seeded his connection to "this newer/ yet old" passion had become. I felt there was that of bonding concerning Civil Duties which I many times could only fathom but not share corresponding roots for having never served in that form. However the bonds we (he and I) made earlier on in the beginning, and in the midst of sharing our lives and home together grew daily. Yes, we each had a past. Professionally speaking, some public, some private, some sordid, a great deal secret only to ourselves until we spoke in unbridled truth in to the other. Our most sacred bond was never that of a physical caliber despite my willingness, and committed oath that NO OTHER individual but he would ever have me in the forms we shared, (some passionate, other deviant) and above all would never have my heart, love, or respect as that all was an invisible gift I could only present in gestures and literary words off my lips were (and sadly will be) none other than his. His straying came first as he admitted, in the form of "curiosities" . then fascination, finally commitment, and I was a mere afterthought and a means to a bitter and no pave loss end. The infatuation, (as he harringly, yet executed poorly through his journals....added on with fictitious mentions of false greatness by astounding teams of repertoire) was someone of his past. Not the usual random "fair haired, ginger, or brunette" willing to provide the least amount of attention....this was one whom could share the stories of wartime, service, sacrifice, and more. In his ledgers he admitted having "feelings" (huh, imagine that) during their time together in years past, but never acted upon them. It was only when the other, sought him out these years later (in his near perfect form as he conceited himself) that those fleeted feelings rearose and left him wondering "Why now?" and moreover...."Why not??!!" We shared a blissful short well meaning time together just a few days ago leading into the weekend. I played the tale of the domestic, which filled me with nerves (of my performance as I sadly had not committed to for months now), but also upon his approval and liking. Beyond that we reminiced of our laughable, yet queer tales of situations that befell on us in the year 16....of physical love, throws of passion and intimacies that we never shared (even with our former spouses) until having laid eyes upon eachother. The greatest in our time spent, was the laughter, and the sincere embraces as we slept. Once again the ticking of time was inevitable to remind us it would be short lived. I spoke in haste out of (once again yet new characteristic for he as the norm) and it eluded from there. The evening drone on, I made baseless notations of ending our union, to taking long overdue and much needed time apart....to finally reconciling leaving by nightfall. Once again I left the decision still "hoping" (FOOL) that he would genuinely want me and us. He was cold, indifferent and set. I as usual in my despair of love and a life lived without him...(no not for what he can afford to provide me) I speak 8f an empty cold, living day in and day out like a breathing corpse due to the missing of your very beating heart and soul. He again exclaimed his desire for me not to leave.....but ended his statement with the threat that once I crossed the threshold and closed the door......HE would heed that as "Goodbye" and with very little room for emotions of loss, sadness or grief..move on. How it burned to hear, but in between the array of various half truths, and soulless mendacities he sited....THAT statement I knew had great merit as I told him numerous times, he would...easily. He also informed me (as I spoke myself numerous times due to the hatred and disgust I had even more so than usual for myself) had "changed." I was no longer the means of joy, laughter, pleasantry and light he once enjoyed being with let alone around. I (in my usual and TRUTHFULLY heartfelt demeanor) apologized from the bowels of my soul for my abhorrent, crude, hateful, accusatory, and without meaning judgemental behavior and gave my word.....IT...the questions, wondering, etc, etc would cease and dissist. He accepted my newfound gesture, (making no personal announcement of changes HE would be undergoing for the betterment not only for us, but moreover himself) and why would he??? He felt no apathy, no responsibility on his part which increased my madnees, and above all,,,,,held fast to the deception of pure innocence and blameless behavior. His only "half spoke sorrow" and it beared no deep feeling, was in his wrongdoing for "neglecting me" (poor colored me) from time spent on the computer. Today........ Oh how I rue the day, but my bed...my stupid heart....therefore my tears are not only in grief for what we had and have lost, but also in rageful frustration and anger within myself for being so undoubtedly foolish, weak, spineless, and above all lacking any means of common sense and decency. The first shocking (graven into my memory for all time) were the numerous....and I do mean NUMEROUS movies, takes, "tags", and countless unprotected bodies I saw in REAL (no not in person) time of him impaling with no feeling other than that of lust, and self satisfaction. NOT ANYTHING of a supposedly engaged or even taken in a committed relationship man. He was behaving like a self satisfying whore! !!!! I kept my word, and did not allow what I'd seen under various aliases (much like that of his fictitious Author's books). It hurt, as emotions do...... I felt filthy for even sitting beside him, and immediately lost my appetite at any meal he prepared seeing the filth of his ways onscreen. NO it isn't of is past life I judge nor have I ever, it is at the thought let alone execution of his unfeeling (minus said lust) cruel, crude and unhealthy behavior towards me. As everything else it came as no shock due to my suspicions coming forth, it was the witnessing. And dare I not ever even make mention. For one, his probably removed all accounts and content (minus that which he shares via "apps", links, codes, and torrents) but also he (in his mind I'm sure yet still failed miserably) tried to geniusly falsify his true presence by mocking different faces (that any amateur would take note of) on the male portions of the bodies in each. His costly mistake.....underestimating my intelligence as he well should, would 8ther idiotic fool would willingly choose to live with a vagrant. But yes also left a trail of endless breadcrumbs upon his searches and installations. He asked numerous times for me to avail my true feelings as upon not only being sick with cold, I was also somewhat dispondent and I truthfully replied. ....it was NOTHING. Also what personal gain have I ever deemed by admitting something bothered me in the past even upon his "concerned insistence." I held onto a shred of pride and bit my tongue. It wasn't until just a mere few hours later that I found the black and white (haha....and I am not referring to myself against his list of many) I mean the "literary journaled" truth that he even so bewitchingly had the audacity to place in front of me (after making more personal downloads and removing content from my prying yet no longer caring eyes).....the very HELL only non rouse for phonographic means of a webpage, to introduce me to something I love......"books". The night/morning continues to bemoan by. My face is sore and taught from the battle since the previous night, of allergies. Therefore I shall allow this to be my long awaited close. As yet again meaning well... I poured in several details for the audience to gain full perspective. This shall be deemed "Part 1"......of the cliffhanger (pardon me for not receiving the blatant telegrams sooner). I shall resume with the conclusion as the sun awakes the Earth or upon next moonlight. My deepest gratitude for your eyes and ears.....

[lineageblog]

What is your story? Our story?

Lineage Performing Arts Center audiences recently experienced storytelling of different types, toward different goals, but ultimately the storytelling was about community and the ways we build it and sometimes break it down.

What happens when a leader doesn’t welcome an entire group of people? What happens when a parent doesn’t accept her child’s gender orientation? What if that child grows up to talk about his experience, with humor? What if a homeless man must pay his father’s health care, while a homeless woman finds hope on Skid Row? What ties bind, break, and rebuild us as individuals, family members, and cultural groups?

Such questions came to my mind after watching a series of “Stories that Move Us” at Lineage’s intimate theater in Old Pasadena. One of the more straightforward shows in the series, “Stories of Refugees,” features Street Symphony musicians plus composers Artur Avanesov and John Guth, Lineage dancers led by choreographer Hilary Thomas, and storytellers including refugees and performer Erica Gimpel. These stories can make a person stop and realize the privileges and responsibilities that we may have as Americans. 

I was first struck by the program note, which quoted Cyrus Vance during the Cambodian refugee and Boat People crisis, in July 1979, when Vance was U.S. Secretary of State:

“We are a nation of refugees. Most of us can trace our presence here to the turmoil or oppression of another time and another place. Our nation has been immeasurably enriched by this continuing process. We will not turn our backs on our traditions. We must meet the commitments we have made to other nations and to those who are suffering. In doing so, we will also be renewing our commitments to our ideals.” 

The refugees’ stories took my breath away, such as when Tsoler Antoonian described the gunfire that surrounded her before she made the decision to leave everyone she loved behind, in Syria. She described her own breathlessness; she could barely tell her parents about the sudden crossfire and how the soldiers had cleared a pathway for her to escape and return to her parents’ home. Her parents understood that it was time to send their child somewhere safe. 

Now, Tsoler says, “I’m here, safe, and they’re in the war. I got married, and they couldn’t be here.” She is trying to bring her family here along with others who were not as fortunate as she is. 

We learned from Occidental Professor Sophal Ear about his mother’s heroic quest to move her family (including Sophal and siblings) from Cambodia to Vietnam to France to the United States. The family’s journey as refugees began in 1975 and ended in 1985. He still has the PanAm ticket that landed him in this land of opportunity, where he, his siblings, and his widowed mother went right to work in designer-clothing sweat shops and lived in a shack in Oakland, California. 

Sophal is grateful for his mother’s artful, relentless, and successful efforts to save the family, and he follows the saying, “To whom much is given, much is expected”; he teaches at Occidental College and serves on international development teams, councils, foundations, and Refugees International in order to save people, like his mother saved him. 

These and other stories segued into the peaceful sounds of Street Symphony and the sweeping lifts of dancers, allowing today’s stress to subside, letting us breathe easily again, filling us with hope that others will enjoy futures like ours. The whole storytelling process seemed to allow the refugee storytellers to breathe more easily, as well, and to renew their hope for brighter futures for people who are not so privileged. 

However, they reminded us that hope is not the only thing that is needed for change. “Tell others our stories,” consider our cause, they asked. The program notes listed Refugeesinternational.org, RefugeeRights.org (the International Refugee Assistance Project), and Rescue.org (the International Rescue Committee) as sites to check out to begin to help the “65 million people displaced by war, conflict, and persecution,” and it notes that tens of millions more are displaced by climate events.

The seed for “Stories of Refugees” was planted when Hilary Thomas’s high-school student Shant Armenian chose to focus his Community Impact Project on Syrian Armenian refugees. Hilary is artistic director of Lineage when she’s not teaching high school. Watch out, because, what catches Hilary’s attention often becomes a dance. 

Can stories, sounds, and sights move us to action, as they move Hilary, and as they moved Jimmy Carter when he came face-to-face with Cambodian refugees in front of the White House in 1979? As Sophal Ear told us in his story, one day in 1979, with Joan Baez singing and refugees telling their stories in front of the White House gates, Carter changed his stance toward the Cambodian Boat People, walked up to the gate, and told the storytellers: 

“I cannot let your people die.” 

What stances are being held and reconsidered today? What story will we write?

—H.P. Bhaskaran