#may my spirit continue to repel fake love

[babythegod]

[dailyaudiobible]

11/04/2020 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 10:1-11:25, Hebrews 6:1-20, Psalms 105:16-36, Proverbs 27:1-2

Today is the 4th day of November welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it is a joy, it is an honor, it is a privilege, it is a gift, sometimes I even think it's a miracle that we can be together like this today, right now, around the Global Campfire just coming in out of the chaos of it all finding a place to sit, it’s warm, friends are here. We look across the fire, we see each other, and we know that we are united in spirit, we’re after the same thing - to let God's word speak truth. It is one of the joys of life to be around this campfire with you and take the next step forward. And, so, let's do that. We are reading from the EHV, the Evangelical Heritage Version this week and continuing our journey through the book of Ezekiel. Today chapters 10 and 11.

Commentary:

Okay. Let’s go back to the Proverbs again. The Proverbs are giving us these, you know, one or two sentences yesterday and today again that are just so penetrating and so now and so immediate and so much of a mirror into our own souls, and so much of a light shining into the world around us, So, today we had two verses, two sentences, and they say a ton. “Do not boast about tomorrow because you do not know what a day may produce.” Right there…I mean right there should bring just a generous dose of humility. No matter what eventualities we have prepared for we have no idea what is coming in our direction. And the humbling thing is that our Father does. We are under the shadow of His wings for us but for us to be out there running our mouths about what we’re gonna do tomorrow, like what's coming is ultimately not certain. No matter what kind of certainty we say it with there is no way that we can know that outside of walking with God. And in a lot of ways this entire year has been that kind of a metaphor, all kinds of unexpected transitional things in our lives and in our world that we’ve had to adapt to and kinda fight against and accept and all kinds of disruption letting us know how fragile the whole thing is. And we've spent so much of our energy just trying to figure out how to get back to how it was when God is only going forward. We’re being invited forward not backward. But then on the heels of the confidence and the boasting about what we’re gonna to do tomorrow, like about how confident we are in our strength and whatever may come we have this second sentence right on the heels of it –“let someone else praise you, not your own mouth, a stranger not your own lips.” You know people who are just…just…like…like their selves are the only thing they think about, apparently, because that's the only thing they talk about? You know what I’m talking about, where somebody…you can be sharing your day, you can be sharing something deep in your life, but one way or another all they seem to think about is themselves? And, so, they’ll flip the whole thing back around, they’ll acknowledge you, but what they really want to do is just talk about themselves. And you know how challenging it can be to be in a relationship with that kind of a person because it's only about them. And, so, ultimately this kind of self-promotion, this bragging constantly, the boasting, the praising of self continually out of their mouths, they are awesome and their spouse is awesome and their children are awesome and their everything is awesome…ahh…that just gets repellent after a while. That kind of person ends up alone eventually because…well…for a couple reasons. First of all, it's a front, it’s that layer of falseness that we were talking about yesterday. So, eventually it all comes down like a house of cards. Nobody is as interested as one might have thought and people begin to back away because really this person doesn't want to be in a relationship with anybody else. They just need to be seen by other people. Like, they’re on the stage and everybody else in the world is in the audience. So, the world is there stage and everybody else is a bit player in their story. And eventually there's like no life there. And, so, people retreat and back away when all of this fronting. all of this boasting, all of this drawing attention to oneself really is exposing something very needy underneath, that this person needs to trust, this person needs to find a true friendship, one were the fake…like the Halloween costume comes off and what's real is really exposed to somebody trusted. And ultimately this leads us to the fact that…yah…it can be dangerous to be in relationships, but you have to start with a foundation of trust in God. God already knows you’re faking. You can't fool God. He already knows everything that's going. He can't be duped. And He still loves you as you are right now with the deep desire and hope that you will enter into relationship with Him where these broken things can be healed and you can be utterly transformed, transformed so much that you begin to resemble Him. You become Christ like. That's what's going on here. That's the goal. And the more layers of falseness that we apply to this, the more difficult the challenge until life one day confronts us and strips it all away. And then we find that to be such a difficult process but then we reflect back upon it, we realize that was the moment we became free because all that we had feared finally happened and it wasn't as bad as we thought it was and now we’re free to be who we are and to delight in who everybody else is because we don't need to be better, we don't need to compare, we’re not in a competition. There is no game going on. There is no cosmic God game where He's looking to see which one of us human beings is going to achieve the most to be the number one human being. We’re His children. We’re His kids. That's not what you do to your kids. So, why are we doing it to each other? Because it only leads us into falseness. So once again, “do not boast about tomorrow because you do not know what a day may produce. Let someone else praise you, not your own mouth, a stranger, not your own lips.”

Prayer:

Father, we enter into that acknowledging, even though we don't live like this most of the time, the thing that we need is You. It…it's…it's Your words of praise, it's Your words of encouragement, it’s Your drawing year that we need. It's being seen by You that we long for and we exchange it and we try to compete with each other and we try to live in a very, very backward way that is never gonna work, which is essentially what You were saying Jesus in the Beatitudes – this is a backward world, this is not gonna work, it's the opposite of what You think it is. And, so, help us Holy Spirit to get our minds right, to get our minds in alignment with Yours, the mind of Christ on things, to get our Spirits right, to know that we are inseparably intertwined with You, to get on the same page that we might actually be free. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

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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:

Our Father who art in heaven ancient of days omnipotent and omniscient worthy of all praise Jehovah raphe Jehovah jireh our healer our provider we come to you open with our hearts and minds hoping that you are still willing to bless as we humbly confess that you’re worthy of all honor though we’ve given you much less wondering in confusion because we buy into illusion greedily gulping down a great big slice of the devils pie exchanging your wonderful truth for a lie and we need you to heal us both outside and in strengthen us father revive us again Jehovah nisi our banner our fortress our friend please help us heavenly father we love you Amen

blindtony1016@gmail.com like to give a shout out to David Michael, Dice and Darlene Dice. Matthew Fouts it was good hearing your voice again. Know you are all loved and on my prayer list daily. And once again Brian and the Hardin family thank you for this wonderful podcast for God’s Holy Spirit to flow. Keep it flowin’ y’all. All right. Bye-bye.

Hey this is Jared calling from Duluth Minnesota it’s day 555 in my journey since April 26, 2019 in the Daily Audio Bible renewal time where God wakes me up every morning early in the morning to spend time with Him. What a great time it was today in Hebrews chapter 4 verse 12 saying for the word of God is quick and powerful sharper than any two-edged sword. And then going on that God has been tempted in all points like as we are yet without sin and we lay naked before Him. He knows us better than what we know ourselves and yet we can come boldly to the throne of grace to find help in a time of need. And there’s a time of great need and all of our lives right now. The world is turned upside down, full of turmoil. I know personally I appreciate your prayers for my son Steve as we’ve been estranged from him for now year as he got mad at us and disowned us and hasn’t spoke to us now for almost…almost a year. On the fourth is his birthday. He’s coming up from the cities, Twin Cities, tomorrow and I’ve reached out to him to see if we can get together and…and…and talk and chat and for him to…to be reconciled with him. I appreciate your prayers that that might happen. But in any case, we know that God is in control through all the trial and turmoil of what’s going on right now. May God give us grace, mercy, help in time of need. God bless.

Good morning DABbers this is Running Desperately to Jesus also known as Staying Connected Desperately to Jesus which right now that is definitely my filling, running desperately and staying desperately connected. I am…have always struggled with depression and was on medication and therapy for some time. My therapist retired in 2016 after she was able to get me stable from being sexually assaulted. Today I’m feeling quite depressed. I don’t know if it’s this Covid or what’s going on but I am in definitely a dark place now and what is crossing my mind a lot lately for the past couple days is suicide and I know that is definitely Satan’s work and I’m having a difficult time hearing of God’s word and His voice. So, I’m asking all my DABbers to lift me up to pray me through. I don’t want to go back into therapy because since my…as I said earlier…my therapist that I was formerly with who is very good retired, and I don’t want to start over again. I know that this can be fought with word…with God’s word but right now because I am in a dark place, I cannot even call upon His word. So, DABbers I’m just asking again that you stand in the gap for me to lift me up and to help pull me through this dark space, these dark thoughts, especially the source idle thoughts. I don’t have any friends that really call to check on me. So, I’m actually in this by myself. Running Desperately to Jesus.

Hello, it’s John from Bristol in the UK again. I called a couple months back about my father. He has mental health issues and it’s causing a separation between him and my mother. So, he still has the same delusions. He’s adamant he doesn’t want to go home, and they had such a happy marriage before he had this psychotic episode. But…and he’s still in hospital but he’s…he’s much more stable than he was which is an improvement but mom and dad have a meeting on Wednesday this week. So, if you guys would just cover that in prayer for reconciliation of their marriage that would be wonderful. Thank you so much. God bless.

Hi, DAB it’s Emmy from Illinois just calling in with continued prayer requests for my marriage. I’m struggling right now. Things are a lot better than they were but I’m feeling extremely lonely. Just…I miss…miss having relationships with people, especially right now when the one person in my life doesn’t really want a relationship with me. I know God’s at work. I know that He’s still called me to stand for my marriage but I’m really struggling right now to just want something to be done either finally ended or create a breakthrough. And I don’t know what’s happening and I’m just getting lonely. And as we get closer to the holidays and my 40th birthday it just makes it even worse because I know I won’t be seeing friends or family. So, if you could just continue to pray for me, I would appreciate it. Thank you.

[kayistiredt]

Here’s something I wrote about my roommates

"Hey, can everyone NOT leave a bunch of fucking dishes and food out in the open? So we won't get ran out of our own house by a bunch of fucking gnats? Is that possible for everybody? Can we all agree we don't like gnats?" I'm standing in the middle of the living room. Shouting all of this. It's a bright day. Maybe people look down on those of us who wake up a few hours past noon, but at least we wake up just in time to enjoy the day and the sunset. That's not bad. I know everyone who lives in this house is home. I continue to shout, "I think we all don't like gnats all over everything so from now on, lets do better."

 There's more authority in my voice than anger. I'm commanding. This isn't really up for debate. I'm not even sure what the debate could be. For gnats? For not cleaning? I can understand within your own personal room, hell there's garbage bags in my room that have collected colonies of gnats of their own. But Jesus, how can you stand it? They're just buzzing around, on any and everything. You can't look anywhere without seeing not just one, but two or three. How could you possibly look at the sad pile of a rag on the counter, holding God knows how many and just ignore it? I can't. I'm sick of ignoring. Of not speaking out for things that make my skin crawl. I'm coming into the realization that I just may be more powerful than swallowing my disgust. I walk around the corner to Genesis' room and bang on the door. Her six-foot-something dreadhead boyfriend could answer the door and I anticipate that, squaring my shoulders and clenching my jaw. I need to see the child in him. I need to see through him to the child in him and scare that child. That's how you intimidate a six-foot-something boyfriend. Easier said than done, but I'm powerful enough. I realize that now.

He swings open the door and I meet his eyes immediately. "I'm going to clean the kitchen. I need these bags on the porch out of here. Call up who you gotta call up, do what you gotta do. I need that shit gone. Asap." He's stunned, I think. I don't give him time to respond and turn around in the tight hallway to round the corner into the kitchen. I suppose I'm taking a pretty big risk. This man has a shotgun or rifle or something in the room, I've seen that. There's also a machete that I'm not sure is real or fake. I know they get up to some fraud activities but I don't know how much violence they get up to. My hands should be shaking but they're steady. I'm grounded. My guides love to see me in my power so why wouldn't they assist me as I stand up for my space? It's actually our space. You would think I would be appreciated for putting my foot down and insist that we all take care of it. In any case, it doesn't matter if they appreciate this move or not. I’m in control. I've had enough of feeling uncomfortable in a space I used to claim as my own. 

Sure, I'm leaving soon. I've resolved myself to that fact. I'm leaving. I'm getting out of here and although I cherish and value this space for all that it's given me, it's time to let it go. So that said, should I really make such a big fuss over all of this? 

"You fucking tripping," he says. High pitched in disbelief. I take a deep breath and call on the most powerful, intimidating spirit that wants to see me do well in life. I feel the power surge from the ground up. My footsteps sound like thunder as I step back around the corner. I feel taller than the man in front of me as I say: "I want the patio cleared. I want the trash gone." His eyes widen and he doesn't seem to be looking at me but something taller than me, which feels incredible. "If y'all had just taken the trash out instead of piling it up out there in the first place, I wouldn't have to do all this." I take a few steps back and turn around the corner to open the glass doors to the back patio. "Let's go!" I say, in a voice that doesn't sound like mine. A sound that booms out of my chest and seems to make the floor vibrate. He walks quickly around the corner, stepping outside in his socks to start putting garbage bags in the cardboard box that managed to make its way out there.

I know where it came from and decide that since I haven't felt the power drain out of me yet, I'd tick something else off my to-do list. I trust in whatever entity is currently with me to pull the reigns if I get carried away. I bang on Cynthia's door twice. She opens swiftly. Most likely standing nearby and fiddling nervously as she listened in, knowing that she dropped off a giant cardboard box and a few garbage bags of her own at the make-shift landfill just yesterday. According to her, her ankles are weak due to a disability, so maybe she just couldn’t find it in herself to do more than walk the four or five steps from her room to the back patio door. However, since I’ve seen her walk to the front door, which is a considerably longer distance, I’ll call bullshit on this behavior. Darion, the boyfriend, knows all of this too, but he's too scared and confused to argue and continues to work with his head down.

It feels like my energy is spreading through the room. In my mind I can see the tendrils of powerful energy spreading across the walls and floors. Maybe it'll even reach the second floor and my neighbors will stop throwing themselves around like test dummies. 

Cynthia opens the door and the sight of her brings a reaction so visceral out of me I have to keep myself from lunging at her. She's trembling. Good. I want to scare her. I want to repel her. I want her energy as far away from me as possible. Whoever this spirit is agrees. The way she attempts to befriend me after having threatened to get me arrested and sued is irritating to me. No apology. Just trying to skip right to the part where we’re good roommate-buddies. I resent her for even thinking that’s a possibility. 

She brings out the shadowiest tendencies from me. I've had dreams that I've screamed at her. Threatened her. I was hostile. I kicked her. I'm practically a bully. Yet, I can't help but feel it's warranted. Not just because of what she did to me, but the way she was so sure in what she was doing. I don’t trust her whatsoever. But, I do hold a certain empathy for her. I don't know what the rest of her life holds but it feels bleak. It feels full of disadvantage. Strife. You could understand why I'd want to keep that away from me. The fact that she tries so hard to impose or connect herself to me just feels like confirmation. My energy is probably very tempting for her. Maybe she brings out the dark sides of me ego as well.

"Stop putting your trash on the patio. Put it outside the front door." My voice is level but strong. Again, leaving no room for argument.

"Okay. I will do that," She says. The way she speaks sounds stunted. If you heard her speak, you would think she definitely had some kind of developmental disability. She has that kind of speech impediment that makes her R's sound like W's. Together, she sounds like someone that most people would assume couldn't match them intellectually. But I give her more credit than that. I'm sure there's certain things she can't control. She's middle-aged. There's things she's grown into that'll be hard to break. But I know that she has more critical thinking skills than people think. 

I nod my acceptance of her answer. She nods in return and takes a meek step back to close her door but I step forward and push it back open. "I want you to hear this." I step back. "If y'all see the trash can empty and there's no trash bags in sight, just use one of the trillion plastic bags in the laundry room." I could say more about how there's no reason to put trash in an empty can with no liner. That it just makes life difficult in the long run. About how idiotic it is to throw trash in an empty can when there's plenty of bags that will hold trash. But this energy doesn't need to be elaborated on. I don't need to hear an answer of compliance. I know they'll listen. They watch as I walk around the room, spreading my energy around to every corner. Claiming the space. Reclaiming it, rather. I walk back to the kitchen entrance. Genesis is standing in her doorway. Eyes wide. I feel bad for her in a way. I'm not sure what her own personal aspirations are but I'm sure this can't be it. I relate.  "I need to borrow the car to make a copy of the mail key." I push my energy onto her and stare through her to the little girl cowering in fear. The energy softens. "I need to have a mail key to turn in when I move out." For some reason, the mail box locks got changed. My key hasn’t worked for months. I don’t expect mail often anyway. She nods and turns back to get the keys. I make a mental list of other errands I need to run while I have a set of wheels. 

While I wait for her, I turn to the kitchen and get to work, spraying every non-edible surface down with bug-spray first and foremost to kill all the gnats that have settled on the various surfaces. It was all getting cleaned anyway. She comes back and puts the keys on the counter then pauses. I notice and straighten up. The spirit I called hasn't left yet. I wonder to myself if maybe this was a permanent fusion but get reassured otherwise by a thought that doesn't seem to come from me. "Listen, we're sorry we let it get out of hand," She says, smile easy-going. A tone I had heard before. I wasn't in the mood to put on the act of tolerance. 

"You should be. Y'all spend the most time out here. But I wasn't exactly sparkling clean when you moved in so there's only so much to say." I must have surprised her face into a non-reaction, like she was browsing for the appropriate reaction and parked her face in Neutral. "And just so we're all on the same page," I said as Darrion passed by the both of us, I'm assuming on his way to put on shoes, "I realize y'all still haven't paid me back for my Playstation. I'm telling you right now, if you move out of this apartment without paying me what you owe, you'll never make anything of yourselves for the rest of this lifetime. And you'll have to work damn hard to do something with yourselves in the next life." 

I felt the universe confirm what I said. I felt in my gut that they believed me. Whether they were willing to admit that or not was none of my concern. "Trash can needs a liner. I'm cleaning out the fridge when I get back." I take the keys and walk to my room. I still need to get dressed. I close the door behind me and take a breath. This would normally be the time a person would collapse after such a long display of power. But I feel clearheaded. All of this is for nothing if I crumble behind closed doors. I glance at myself in the mirror hanging from my door. No visible changes. I just feel different. Interesting. 

When I step out again, ready to brave the outside world, I notice the quiet that still lingers even through the rustle of the trash bags Darion is gathering and the water running in the kitchen as Genesis rinses dishes and loads the dishwasher. "I'm not mad. Just so y'all know. I'm just tired of looking at trash and battling gnats in the kitchen. Somebody had to do something." They nod like reprimanded children. Hopefully this part will ease the fear I struck in their hearts earlier. I don't want to traumatize people. They just needed to be scared into some discipline. "Wait," Darrion calls out as I open the front door, "I need the car to run the trash." The spirit spun me around faster than I could think. "No. You don't," I said lowly. Energy flaring out of me in what felt like a bright flash. The man took a step back. Thoroughly intimidated. I may have been imagining it, but I could've sworn I heard confused thoughts as to why he was so afraid. I spun back to the door and walked out of it. It may have been petty to make him walk the trash to the dumpster. Chalk it up to character building. I had errands to run.

[mishamoonberry]

Onmyouji AU

you would (always be by my side) CH. 1 - AO3/FFN

This AU is inspired by Shounen Onmyouji and some spirit AUs in the Naruto fandom.

This is also written for the Kakasaku Month 2017 Week One – Myth/Fairytale AU (and can touch the yukata prompt too tbh bc feudal eraaaaaa). Please do check out other KS Month works by other people on tumblr and AO3/FFN (they're tagged usually so it's easier to find them!) and give them the feedback they deserve! Make this month enjoyable for all of us KS shippers!

Okay, enjoy reading!

They say there exists a spirit that guards the town’s oldest and most beautiful cherry tree.

They say there exists a cherry tree spirit that watches over the people living in town, remembering their names and their deeds.

They say, the spirit is lonely.

XXX

“You have the demon’s eye,” is the first word she says to him, full of wonder and curiosity. The man blinks. Looking left and right and finding nothing, he looks up. On top of a large cherry blossom tree in the middle of the district, on the particularly sturdy branch, sits a woman wrapped in a white kimono with pink red floral patterns. Her hair is pink, reaching her waist and decorated with a simple sakura kanzashi. Her hair is parted in the middle, showing her forehead decorated with a strange purple diamond shaped tattoo.

If Kakashi doesn’t see the ethereal and mystical glow that seems to surround her, he’ll think of her as a random woman too bored with life that she decides to take tree climbing as a hobby.

But no, he recognizes that aura.

She’s a spirit.

And Kakashi is willing to bet his left ass cheek that she’s the spirit of the tree she’s currently sitting on. Spirits—the friendly ones anyway—don’t like to mess with other spirits’ territories after all.

Kakashi stares at her, left eye closed and expression blank, choosing not to answer her simple statement of his ‘demonic’ eye.

It’s not like she’s wrong.

He’s an Onmyouji, one of the practitioners of the Onmyoudo. Basically, he’s one of the specialists in magic, spells and divination. Onmyouji are known to be able to protect other people from evil spirits, and although not all of them may have the sixth sense, Onmyouji are trusted to protect the capital and the people inside it.

One of the largest clan known for their strong onmyouji is the Uchiha Clan. While the civilians simply think that they are blessed with a strong sixth sense, it is merely an excuse to hide the fact that they are cursed.

The tale—probably true or not, although many spirits claim it is true—said that it started with the ancestor, named Indra, who had an actual sixth sense and fucked up real bad during a quest in a mountain, angering the mountain God and thus him and his kin are forever cursed with the Sharingan, the red eyes that enable them to see and feel the spiritual world around them.

It’s perhaps a blessing for those who want to become an Onmyouji. But becoming an onmyouji requires both dedication and talent, not just an uncannily strong sixth sense.

Also it explains why civilian Uchihas are often very skittish when they are out of their warded homes. The spirits are everywhere, whether major or minor, tame or evil, little ones that like to prank or big ones that cause destructions, or ones that are simply bored.

Just like the spirit who is staring at him right now.

“Are you an onmyouji?” She asks, titling her head. “You don’t look like an Uchiha, their aura feels different. Why do you have the demon’s eye?”

“I,” Kakashi drawls, “have no reason to answer that.”

It is her turn to blink.

“Why not?” She presses on, then, “it’s not like I have anyone to tell anything to. You do realize I’m this tree’s spirit, right?”

“I have no interest to tell you anything,” the silver haired man continues pleasantly, smiling a sweet smile so fake his teeth will rot if he keeps it up much longer, “now if you would excuse me.”

“What?” Kakashi ignores her confusion, humming as loud as he can while he speed walks away. He doesn’t want to deal with a nosy spirit, no matter how pretty she is. “Hey!” The spirit calls, indignant. “Where are you going? I’m not finished talking to you!”

She is left ignored.

Xx

“You’re such a rude human.”

Kakashi jolts from his seat on the porch of the Onmyoudo’s dorm, turning around with frantic heartbeats to find the spirit from a few days before floating there, arms positioned on her hips in the typical scolding manner.

“Ha…” the Hatake breathes out, bewildered. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you bound to that tree?”

The spirit has the gall to roll her eyes and scoff. “Don’t mistake me for a cursed spirit, human, I am free to wander as long as I do not bother the Gods.”

“You are…” He trails off, gesturing with his hands, “…bothering me, you know.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Are you a God?”

“…No…”

“Then I can bother you as much as I please,” she concludes pleasantly, lips quirking up in triumph. Though Kakashi can’t understand what is so very good about bothering a non-Uchiha with the Uchiha demon’s eye, the eye that—contrary to expectations—he did not want. If his best friend could rise back from the dead and take back his eye, Kakashi will give it back happily. The Hatake Clan has had members with sixth sense before, Kakashi included. He doesn’t really need the Sharingan other than that it makes his sense stronger than ever.

Seriously, though, what the hell. He doesn’t understand the spirit’s motivation for even one bit. What is it that she wants from him? She is, as she says so herself, a simple cherry blossom tree spirit; the kind of spirit that causes no prank or malice to other creatures, the kind of spirit that is free and probably loved by everyone.

There is absolutely no reason for her to bother him.

He says at much.

“Well, you can see me, so I have a reason to bother you, now!” She counters, her smile showing her teeth.

Kakashi twitches.

“Repel,” he says, muttering out strings of spells. The spirit jerks, then, looking panicked.

“No, wait!”

It’s too bad that Kakashi is having none of that.

The spirit is forcibly thrown out of the area, and all is peaceful for the Hatake once more.

XX

“You,” comes a snarl from behind him, and Kakashi sighs behind his book, “are very rude.”

“The rude one is you, you know,” he doesn’t take his eye off of his book, “you’re the one who bother me.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can just repel me! I landed thirty kilometers away from my tree, you asshole! If I had landed on an unfriendly spirit’s territory, I’d be dead.”

“Oops,” he says, thoroughly unrepentant, and finds delight in how the spirit seems to try to withhold her furious shriek. Minutes seem to pass afterwards, with the spirit staring at him intently and Kakashi being very content in ignoring her existence altogether. Who knows, maybe she’ll disappear if he ignores her long enough.

Probably not.

“Why are you so against in talking to me anyway?” She says, then, “your life is so boring. You only study, train, read that porn of yours, and patrol. Isn’t it nice to have somebody talking to you?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer, simply flipping the page of his book—and it’s not porn, thank you very much! It’s romance, the spirit must be quite dumb not to recognize romance—and continues on ignoring her.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Junko is being very loud in this scene, he’s afraid Akiko next door will be able to listen in to their—er… nightly activities.

“Hey… Hey!”

…No matter what people says, he really is reading this for the romance.

“Hey, don’t ignore me! Hey!”

…Really. It’s the romance, not the porn.

“Ugh, you’re unbelievable! Hey! I just wanna talk!”

Well, the sex scenes are definitely a plus, he thinks, and also the insight about an onmyouji’s life is very detailed here. As much as he’d expect from the Legendary Traveling Onmyouji Jiraiya. Nevertheless, Junko is truly a beauty, although Jiraiya could have added more description about her face and expression rather than her bulbous—

“…If you don’t answer me, I’ll throw that book into the pond.”

Kakashi’s finger twitches.

She doesn’t seem to notice.

That’s good, because if she actually does according to her threat he’ll not only have her repelled, he’ll have her bound to the tree forever.

“…Hey, hey, come on. Talk to me? Please?”

…Where was he again? Oh, yes, Junko is really a beauty. He wonders if Jiraiya got this inspiration from somewhere. Not Tsunade, because she’s obviously the model for Akiko, whose description could fill in a whole page. Perhaps from some of the women he met on the streets? Or a spirit? Though the thought of seeing a spirit and using her as a romance novel material is a bit—

“Hey, I’m sorry if I was rude but it’s rare for people to be able to see me that are not the Uchiha and I just want to have someone to talk to, you know? The Uchihas have sticks up their butts and they are not good conversationalist, so I just thought you can be a nice person to chat with! That’s all, really! I don’t have any malicious intent, I promise.”

She could’ve talked to some other spirits, why is she so keen on talking to humans? And the Uchiha? Only a few of the Uchihas are as non-Uchiha as they can be; case in point, his dead best friend and a little bugger called Shisui who cracked his head a few days ago because he was lured to the cliff near Naka River by a mononoke called Danzo. It was a wonder he’s still alive.

Ah, why is he even focusing on what she’s saying? It’s better if he just go back to his book, truly.

“…Are you going to continue on ignoring me?”

Well it’s not like he ever wants to talk to her in the first place.

“…”

Has she left?

“I’m just…”

…Nope. Nevermind. If she’s going to ramble again, he’ll just go back to his book, easy peasy. He’s done this ignoring thing since Obito and Rin died, he can manage this, no matter if this is a spirit, not a human and certainly not Gai (although he can never seem to manage to ignore Gai, but he digresses).

And then, she says—

“…It’s lonely, you know?”

The whisper is like a fluttering wind, and probably is not meant to be heard by him. Despite himself, he can’t help but to be intrigued, and thus he finally looks up from his book to look at the spirit properly.

But she’s already gone, leaving the space she previously floated around somehow empty and achingly lonely.

XXX

For the next few days after that, there is no nosy cherry tree spirit trying to talk to him.

However, ‘nosy loud spirit’ seems to have upgraded into ‘nosy stalker spirit’ because she’s been following him around for days. The only places she leaves him alone are the Onmyoudo’s dorm and the Hatake Clan’s compound, in which it’s probably because the latter is warded against unfamiliar spirits.

He’s not even kidding. The pink haired spirit is always at least five meters away from him, peeking from behind the tree or wall or window or anything, looking at him with a pout and that sad kicked puppy look on her face…

…He likes puppies—has like eight of them but shhh—and that look on her face is just unfair.

And so, Kakashi finally relents. He sighs, staring balefully at the spirit that stares back at him with both hope and ferocity that could’ve made a lesser man melt, and motions her to get closer.

“What do you want from me?” He asks, because surely to be persistent, this spirit—however non malicious she may be—must want something from him. He’s had some spirits chasing after him so they can eat the Sharingan, and he wonders if such a pure spirit such as hers would also think of Sharingan as a delicious meal…

The spirit lands in front of him, an almost frown forming on her lips. “I just want to talk,” she says, and when Kakashi raises as a disbelieving eyebrow, she presses on. “I’m serious! The city has been boring for quite awhile and while I can wander, I can’t leave the city lest the tree dies and then I’ll die, talking to small spirits gets boring after a decade and, well, I miss talking to a human.”

Kakashi’s interest is piqued, and he asks, “you’ve talked to a human before?”

“A little boy, this little Uchiha tyke,” a soft and undeniably fond smile is present, and Kakashi figures the boy must have left quite the impression on her. For a spirit that says the Uchihas have sticks up their butts, she seems to be quite fond of this Uchiha. “I haven’t seen him for more than fifteen years, I presume; since he had to move to a neighboring city for Onmyoudo practices.” Then her eyes turn sad, as she whispers, “I think he’s dead.”

“Maa,” Kakashi drawls, “that’s mean of you to think so.” Very rarely Uchihas die out of town, mainly because they prefer doing jobs for this town that is already big enough as it is, other because when they’re taken to other towns, they’re more than capable to protect themselves.

Accidents can still happen though.

(That, or a reckless teammate that ultimately brings your demise).

(Kakashi restrains himself from touching his left eye).

“I’m serious!” She exclaims, sounding offended, “he didn’t go back with the rest of the group that left with him. And the Uchiha did a funeral afterwards; I can’t see the tombstone to make sure of it because the place is warded!” And then, softer, “he promised to come back. Obito never broke his promise.”

Kakashi very nearly bites his tongue off.

“What?” He almost demands, staring at her wide eyed.

“What?” She parrots, blinking. “I said he didn’t come back.”

“You said Obito,” he whispers, jaw trembling. It couldn’t be—

“Yes,” she confirms, “Uchiha Obito,” her expression clears and she lights up, looking hopeful. “You know him? Have you seen him anywhere? Is he well?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer. He isn’t able to. Here in front of him is a spirit who knew of Obito, his (dead dead deadeaddead—) best friend, the one who gave him this eye she seems to be interested in. She doesn’t seem to realize that the eye in his left eye socket belonged to Obito; or perhaps she unconsciously does, which explains her efforts in getting close to him.

Spirits are, after all, sensitive by nature and when they cling to something they deem precious, they will always cling onto it. The only reason she probably allowed Obito to leave the town is mostlikely that she’s not a malicious spirit and has quite the understanding of responsibilities an Onmyouji has.

She belongs to the oldest cherry tree in town; he’s not surprised if she knows some stuffs.

But—

But she doesn’t know of this. She doesn’t. Because Obito never returned and the Uchiha grounds are fucking warded from bottom to high ground and not even a non-malicious spirit can get close; only gods and their blessings may touch upon the Uchiha grounds. She has no way to know and she looks so excited, so happy and—

Has she been waiting for Obito this whole time?

The spirit, probably seeing his deafening silence, lets her excitement fall. She watches his expression, as he seemingly opens his mouth behind his mask and closes it again, at loss on how to reply.

Oh.

Oh.

Her eyebrows furrow, and with a downcast expression, she asks the question she fears the answer of.

(But she knows the answer already, doesn’t she?)

(Because Obito never broke his promise).

(And Obito never returned despite his promise).

“He’s dead, isn’t she?” She whispers, eyes watching the silver haired Onmyouji’s every move, and when the man flinches as if struck, she knows her worst fear has come true—has been true for the past decade.

She closes her eyes.

(I’ll be back, Sakura, he said with a wide smile. He looked manlier than the scrawny little kid that long time ago scuffled toward her tree to ask her to be his friend).

(I heard the neighbor town has these pretty kanzashi on sale, so I’ll buy you one, he promised, a hand grasping her own. With a teasing smile, he said, and then you can finally replace the one I bought for you long ago).

(I’ll be back).

(I promise).

He never comes back.

XXX

Is that hints of past ObiSaku? It is. I am a multishipper, I ship Sakura with a lot of people.

I apologize for the lack of Kakasaku in this chapter, but it will happen next chapter, I promise!

This story will be short, probably only having three or four chapters before it’s completed. I hope you can enjoy the ride as much as I do.

Review please!

[thechroniclesofdaraliss]

D&D Story: Love Hurts

In one of my favorite D&D campaigns I’ve run, I amassed an impressive group of PCs. Among our ranks were a mysterious Cleric, a careful Rogue, a protective Wizard, an extremely well-read Monk, an improvising Illusionist, and a Paladin of many...interests. Despite all of the odds, I managed to get the party in a place where they could all get what they wanted out of each session, and still make the dynamic work. But just when you think you’ve got a whole party dynamic down, things change. In this installation of D&D Story, I learned that sometimes the best moments in campaign occur when things go horribly wrong. Here’s what happened.

Context: The party has been travelling through the wilderness trying to find the alchemists responsible for twisting innocent children into horrible monsters. The journey was trying, and they finally got a lead on a castle that belonged to a noble named Mallister. Here’s what happened.

DM: You arrive at Fort Mallister. It’s a grand fortress meant to repel any invading force. You see dozens of archers along every wall, and each wall goes forty feet high. You also see that there’s only one entrance through the front gate, and you know that all of the men inside are tried and tested battle combatants.

Rogue: This may be a problem

Paladin: Are you kidding? There are six of us. We can take them.

Cleric: I wouldn’t go that far.

Illusionist: Wait! What if we caused a distraction?

Rogue: A distraction large enough to make all of the guards leave?

Illusionist: I’m sure we can think of something. What about the Cleric? Can’t she summon monsters?

Cleric: I can, but I don’t have a lot of control over what comes out of that spell.

Illusionist: Well I say it’s worth a shot.

The party looks to each other, and they come to an unsteady agreement

Cleric: Let’s do this.

Cleric proceeds to summon a monster. Everyone looks eagerly to see what emerges.

DM: You look out and see that the Cleric’s summoning has caused a circle of brimstone to emerge in the ground. From its smoldering confines, you feel a horrible flame and rank smell emerge as a obsidian-scaled dragon emerges. It is of medium size, but its ferocity shows in its wild eyes and blood-soaked teeth. Smoke emerges from its wide-set horns and its sharp nose burns like coals in a fire.

Rogue: Crap!

DM: The dragon looks at you all, and its pupils disappear in excited bloodlust.

Cleric: We need to get out of here, now!

The party proceeds to duck behind a massive stone

DM: You duck safely behind cover, but the dragon hurtles molten venom at the boulder that separates you. In mere moments, the rock begins to crack and the pieces that fall to the ground start an impressive fire

Rogue: I thought you had control over the creatures you summon!

Cleric: I let myself get possessed by a Demon in my backstory, and most of my power comes from him! It’s not my fault!

Illusionist: I’ve got another idea!

Party: We don’t need any more ideas!

Illusionist: Just because he’s out here, doesn’t mean we can’t use him! We just need to direct his anger elsewhere!

Rogue: A distraction for a distraction?!

Monk: That’s crazy! The last thing we need is for a hot-tempered male dragon to get distracted by something else. You might just get him angry!

Wizard: How do you know it’s a male?

Monk: I don’t like to assume gender, but I read up on dragons in the last village. He has the wider horn structure and the sharp nose of an Abyssal Dragon.

Illusionist: I’ll just need to focus. Give me some time! DM! What do I need to roll?

DM: In conditions like these, you’ll get a -4 to Concentration. You need to roll a 16 or higher.

Illusionist: 16!!!

DM: You hold your staff tightly in both hands. Your eyes glow as you cast an illusion just beyond the reaches of the growing forest fire. Soon, a cloud of azure smoke forms and lightening bursts at the center like a heartbeat. But then, the smoke settles, and the light turn orange. A radiant burst of energy shoots out and reveals another dragon as grand and piercing as the dawn.

Wizard: How does that help us?!

Monk: DM, what does this dragon look like? DM: The dragon is almost exactly like its predecessor, save for its redder scales, its closely-set horns, and its aerodynamic nose.

Cleric: Are you suggesting…

Paladin: I think he is.

Illusionist: I roll to make my illusion dragon seduce the real dragon.

DM: You do specialize in illusions, not dragons, so you will take a slight penalty.

Monk: I’m going to give him advice.

DM: Then forget I spoke.

The Monk whispers in the Illusionist’s ear

DM: As you wave your staff toward your Illusion, she spreads her wings and gives the Abyssal Dragon a demure look. The Dragon soon forgets he’s chasing the party and turns his attention to his potential mate. A sort of dance occurs, and he approaches.

Illusionist: Guys, we have a problem.

Paladin: What?!

Illusionist: I specialize in illusions, and when the dragon realizes that this was a fake, he’s going to be pissed!

Rogue: We’ll think of something!

DM: You hear a voice call up from Fort Mallister.

Cleric: Oh yeah, I forgot that was a thing.

Paladin: Shh! I’m trying to watch a Dragon mating display!

The party loses it

DM: You hear the voice again, only this time more intense.

Guard Captain: FIRE!!!!

DM: A storm of arrows falls onto the dragons, and while one feels the arrows burn on contact with is flesh, the “female dragon” is untouched.

Illusionist: I have my Illusion take flight above the fortress!!!

Rogue: But why?

Illusionist: Apparently mating displays among dragons turn violent.

Wizard: Do you ever get tired of writing down this flavor text?

DM: Not when you guy use it to such amazing effect!

Rogue: So what’s happening?!

DM: The Dragons descend on the other side of the walls. The Guards immediately launch everything they have. Arrows, men, even the dogs are being loosed to attack these dragons head-on. You see flares of dragon fire shooting off into the sky, and the gate has been swung open. Some Guards flee in either terror or pain, and they search desperately for the closest river.

Paladin: Hot.

Illusionist: Guys. I’m not sure how much longer this spell is going to work. My magic works best when I can see my spellwork in front of me.

Monk: DM, how much time do we have?

DM: One turn.

Party: NO!!!!!

The party charges through the gate, consequences be damned

Rogue: We have so many questions that need to be answered!

Wizard: We need to save the children!

Paladin: I’m not missing out on a Draconic one-night-stand!

DM: You look out and see that the illusion is working too well. The Illusion Dragon stares deeply into the Abyssal Dragon’s eyes, and they both seem entranced. But you see that the Illusion is fading. The Abyssal Dragon is none the wiser.

Cleric: He’s found love!

Illusionist: I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Monk: What?! The Illusionists waves his staff, and with what arrows that are still flying at them, they seem to pierce the neck of the Illusion Dragon

Party: NOOOOOO!!!!!!

DM: The Abyssal Dragon is devastated, and lets his fiery tongue gently wipe off the blood that seeps from the arrows. The Guards continue running in different directions, and the Abyssal Dragon charges directly through the front door leading into the stronghold. You hear countless battle cries, the unsheathing of swords, and the cries of those who perish in Dragonfire. Finally, a whimper calls out louder than any hateful cry.

The Party rushes inside, finding that dozens, perhaps even hundreds have perished in this fire. Yet the Abyssal Dragon looks out to all of you, gutted, pierced, and nearly decapitated

Cleric: I’m so sorry…

The Party crowds around the Abyssal Dragon and gently touches its head.

DM: The head is quite cool.

Cleric: I didn’t mean for this to happen. You were supposed to take down some thugs and then disappear back into the Abyssal Plane.

Paladin: May the spirits take you to your beloved Illusion Dragon.

Rogue: Shit, I’m actually crying.

Monk: It’s alright.

Wizard: You will be avenged. Folmer Mallister will pay. This is no longer his castle, it is the tomb of a Dragon brave enough to love.

DM: The Dragon gives you what appears to be a smile, and falls to the ground lifeless.

Party: …

Party: LET’S GET MALLISTER!!!!

And thus began the revenge quest to avenge a fallen dragon that was so ready to love he burned down an entire army and castle.

[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2vjxsVL

Modern western society tends to view shed hair with all the tolerance it affords a dead rodent, as you may know if you’ve ever heard your mother shouting, “Why is there a capybara in my shower drain?” But some shrewd thinkers have started to see the hidden merits of human hair. They view it as a viable resource and look for practical ways to use it. And some of their best (and oddest) ideas come straight from the pages of history.

#1 Holy Relics One of the first get-rich-quick schemes was the sale of fake “holy relics.” Relics could include morbid keepsakes like a tooth, scrap of clothing, finger or lock of hair from a saint. In the Middle Ages, these grisly tokens were in great demand but were often fake. The macabre highlight of this scheme is that fake relics were sometimes from real people. No one but the con man who sold them will ever know who the mummified fingers and severed curls really belonged to! Some religious groups still use relics, but fact-checking is a lot easier today. However, some religious leaders don’t really seem to care whether relics are authentic or not. Religious feeling, they reason, is more important. It sounds like the fake-relic scam is due for a revival! A modern version is the sale of celebrity hair. You can buy “authentic hair” online that’s said to come from figures like Neil Armstrong, George Washington, Paul McCartney, Marilyn Monroe, JFK, Justin Bieber, and even the King himself, Elvis Presley. Is it for real? Well, there’s only one way to find out: let’s ask Paul and Justin if they have anything to do with this nonsense.

#2 Incense Anyone who’s leaned too close to a lit birthday cake will recall the acrid stink of singed hair. What sort of masochist would want to smell that stench in incense? Well, in India, incense was historically of two kinds. One was as pleasantly aromatic as you’d expect. Lovely plants like ginger, fragrant leaves and gums were used for this type. It was meant to appease demons or spirits. If the spirits were doing something you didn’t like, you’d try this first. The other sort was meant to repel spirits. It was often made of not just human hair, but other nasty things like pig manure and horse hair. If a spirit or demon couldn’t be appeased, this was the next line of defense. It was hoped that any self-respecting demon would flee in terror from the smell, much like any self-respecting human. Similar mixtures were also used as a remedy for fainting. This may be a case where the cure is worse than the affliction.

#3 Fertilizer Feeding your crops with human hair and excrement may sound like an extreme survival story, but it was standard in ancient Chinese farming. It sounds unsafe, but hair is relatively harmless and full of nutrients. It contains 15% nitrogen (compared to chicken manure at 4.6%) but doesn’t burn plants. In some situations, hair fertilizer is comparable to chemical fertilizer. It works best as a long-release treatment though, because your ponytail can take years to compost. If you want to feed your hair to a house plant, chop it finely first. That will help it break down faster.

#4 Family “Hairlooms” One tiny tribe in China came up with the world’s most creative hand-me-down: their great- grandmothers’ hair. Each woman of the Longhorn Miao tribe combines the lengthy locks of her ancestors with other natural fibers to form a huge, ropelike mass. This is then wrapped in a figure-eight shape around a pair of “horns” worn on her head. Real animal horns were once used, but now pieces of wood in the same shape take their place. Wrapping 10 pounds of hair onto them can be a nearly hour-long process. Such an extreme hairstyle is usually worn on holidays, but it’s sometimes shown to curious visitors as well. Their ancestor’s hair is often the most precious object these women own, valued even above their detailed and colorful embroidery. The tribe, isolated for hundreds if not thousands of years, continues its hand-me-down custom to this day.

#5 Embroidery Dongtai hair embroidery is another old Chinese custom. In contrast to the Longhorn tribe’s colorful handiwork, this art started out black-and-white. It began over a thousand years ago with a purist form that uses only naturally colored black human hair to stitch designs onto white silk. At first these creations only featured pictures of Buddha, which young girls would stitch with care to show their devotion. More recent pieces show scenes full of ancient Chinese symbolism. Over time, a colored variation developed as well. Both branches of the neglected art form nearly faded to oblivion in the past century, but a few artists are trying to revive it. With around 30 companies marketing the craft in its home province of Jiangsu, hair embroidery has a chance at a comeback.

#6 Medical Sutures From the Mayans and the ancient Romans to the present day, human hair has a long history in the field of suturing. It’s fallen out of favor in modern Western practice, but at the turn of the twentieth century it was still in use by some American doctors. It allegedly worked quite well, and didn’t cause infections. Despite its history, hair suturing probably doesn’t have a future in developed countries. It shows promise, though, as a solution for those with less access to healthcare. An Indian medical college has performed tests on human hair to see if it’s practical and effective as suture material for developing countries, and so far the results are optimistic.

#7 Music The Mangyans live on an island in the Phillipines called Mindoro. Their folk music tradition birthed the git-git, a bowed instrument strung with human hair. It compares to the violin in both function and looks. The git-git was only used by young men when they went courting. Serenading was an important part of courtship; young men had to both sing and play musical instruments during the process. In addition to the git-git, the young men would sometimes also play the kudyapi’, which is basically a six-stringed guitar. In Western society, both violins and violin bows have sometimes been strung with human hair as well. This is usually more of a publicity stunt than a practical means of making music, though. Hair isn’t as strong as the steel-core violin strings usually used. Because of this, human hair works better for folk music than orchestral music, which calls for more sound.

#8 Pest Control Human hair has been used for centuries to repel animals and control pests. It’s used differently on different kinds of animals. It works on moles by annoying them enough to drive them away. To deer, just the scent of humans is alarming. Rhinoceros beetles in India can be trapped by a simple ball of human hair. Farmers place it at strategic points on the tree, the beetles try to walk over the hairball to get at the crop, their spiky legs get tangled up and they can’t move! The Old Farmer’s Almanac even cites a strategy to repel rabbits by encircling a garden with human hair. The rabbits, like deer, will only be scared off if they’re wild. In the suburbs, where the smell of humans is everywhere, rabbits and deer will adapt to its presence. So if you’re thinking of making a rabbit-repelling hair fence, only bother if you’re out in the country.

#9 Clothing Using human hair in fabric is traditional in both India and China. Knowing that pure hair fabric would be too rough, they blend it with softer animal hair and wool. The reason it’s so rough is that human hair is thicker than other fibers used in clothing. Spinning it into thread makes some of the coarse, stiff ends stick straight out. The high prickle factor that results is not ideal for clothing. Imagine a pair of shorts made of the stubble of a three-day-old beard! It’s not exactly what you want rubbing against your sensitive skin, is it? In modern Western society, clothing made of human hair is quite a novelty. It’s usually used in cutting-edge or alternative designs. But during World War II, human hair was seen as a viable substitute for other fibers in short supply. The bolts of cloth on display at Auschwitz are a grisly woven memorial to the horrors of the Holocaust. The cloth didn’t originate as a memorial, but was created as part of everyday trade agreements by the Nazis. The Nazis traded their prisoners’ hair to German factories, which mixed it with various fibers to make fabric.

#10 Jewelry Human hair was one of the oddest passions of the Victorian age. People gave each other locks of hair to show affection. They made accessories of it and even sent bits of their hair to one another on postcards. It must have been a bad time to live if your hair was already thin! Hair work was just as popular as knitting and crocheting. Several different techniques were used, such as table braiding and arranging individual strands into “paintings” on ivory brooches. Incredibly fine and detailed work was the result of this obsession. Pieces such as bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces, brooches, chains and shawl pins were made of hair, as well as accent pieces like handbags and bookmarks. Many of these are now on display in a hair museum, which looks as creepy as it sounds. The Victorians sometimes embroidered with hair too, but they weren’t as fond of it as the ancient Chinese were. They would rather stitch with normal thread. Considering all the things they made out of hair, they wouldn’t have had much extra to fuel their cross-stitching!

[flauntpage]

I Kicked Oxy During a Pro Boxing Bout in Tijuana

On the shelf in front of me burned two prayer candles. The pre-fight ritual. One read, "Calm and Professional, Box-Box-Box." The other candle read, "Clean and Sober."

Yeah fucking right. Three days into detox, even my tears tasted like a pharmaceutical.

My eyes glazed over as I watched the flames slowly flicker and melt into the floor. In them I saw a highlight reel of all the mistakes that led me here.

I was sitting in the dusty coffin sized back room of what must have been an old military bunker, now corroding on the outskirts of Tijuana, waiting for my 13 th professional boxing bout, just days after my latest attempt to quit OxyContin.

Trembling, I pulled myself up and started to shawdowbox in tiny circles, trying to a get a decent sweat going. In reality, I had been profusely sweating all day. According to WebMD at the 72 hour mark is when the body goes into full opiate withdrawal. Seeing that I had flushed the last of my dope three days earlier, I was right on the money.

+ + +

Coach grabbed the Vaseline out of his bag and walked up to apply the pre coat. He smeared the grease across my eyebrows as I clenched my mouth shut, gritting my teeth to hide the stench of three-day-old tequila, still decaying on my breath.

In the past, this moment had been everything. A crucial point of contact between my coach and I, not to mention the reason I started fighting to begin with—human affection. The bond between a fighter and his trainer is deeper than anything most people will ever experience. I trusted him with my life. I closed my eyes and tried to gather what was left of my spirit, but I couldn't form a single thought.

Photo by Scott Leon

Outside the window I could hear wild dogs howling at the moon, scavenging through the streets of Tijuana for a fix to quiet their hunger. My eyes opened to a fogged mirror that scaled the locker room wall. I looked like a shell of the boxer I used to be.

+ + +

I wasn't your run-of-the-mill California beach kid. My early life consisted of acting out in Special Ed so I could spend the afternoon in detention. Detention kept me hidden from my abusive stepfather. At 13, I was shipped off to military school in south Texas. This was where I first learned how to box.

Being so unsure, unsettled and unsatisfied, three-minute intervals of requited brutality became a state of grace—free from sin. Boxing became my first safe space. A space where all the shitty cards I'd been dealt in life could be put on the table.

Poker face in full effect, evading you with a shit-eating grin, I'd circle the square. Sly as a fox, I became sugar coated in the sweet science—pickpocketing you with jabs, disappearing before you ever knew what happened. Besides, slight of hand was my second nature, to box was to lie and for me growing up, lying meant surviving.

I returned to LA with a new skill set and refused to let my stepfather put his hands on me again. But as much as boxing had given me confidence, my problems continued. I dropped out of high school at 16, not long after reconnecting and moving in with my biological father. He was in between prison sentences when we rekindled. Less than a year later, my dad and I were arrested together for going full Bonnie and Clyde on a crystal meth induced crime spree.

I remember the detective peering over his shoulder taking a mental note of the father/son duo in handcuffs. Cruising down Sherman Way, hog-tied in the back of a patrol car, another sad song of growing up in the Valley. The officer looked me in the face and said, "Son your father's been in and out of prison his entire life. After you get outta juvie, you may want to consider a different line of work."

When I got out of juvie about a month later, I didn't even have enough quarters to take a bus across the valley from Sylmar to Woodland Hills. But the driver let me slide, and I arrived at my father's abandoned apartment and peeled the eviction notice off the door as I picked the lock. I walked past the chaos the cops left behind and went straight for the bathroom. Lifting the top lid off the toilet, I desperately peeled away little pieces of tape that were glued to the bindle hiding the oxy and the eight ball. Using my fathers declined credit card, I swirled together beautiful blue and white lines.

+ + +

What I had realized, finally, was that I could no longer hide behind the masks I wore to survive my childhood. Three days earlier, I kicked oxy. The drug addict had to go, even if the boxer in me had to leave with him. But I still had to box.

I took my trunks out of my bag, white and speckled with the blood of my last five opponents. Never washed, I used to wear them like a badge of honor. That night, in that dark back room, I didn't feel that same confidence.

I pulled up my trunks and immediately threw my shirt back on—it wasn't the night for pre fight-flexing. I was fighting at Jr. Middleweight that night. That's a full weight class higher than I'd ever been. And there was no training camp—remember, I was just three days off the shit. I literally puked my way through a weight cut.

Wrapped up, gloved up, I started warming up on the mitts. Combinations that used to silence the room, echoing like a thunderstorm, were now drizzle, dissolving into my coaches hands.

"Come on kid, come on son, you got this," he said to me. But his words were hollow. He knew why my hands were shaking, and neither of us wanting talk about it. Not tonight. Not again.

+ + +

A man from the commission banged on the door. "Gringo, your up."

If ever boxing had a grim reaper, it was that guy. Coach tied a knot in my robe and I pulled the hood over my head. My body ached so badly, I could feel the silk sinking down the back of my skull. One foot in front of the other, in little pigeon-toed steps, I stuttered down the hallway, feeling uncontrollably sorry for myself.

"Fuck this sob story I tell about my father,," I said to myself as I walked in slow motion, the fans on each side of me cheering my opponent into the ring.

"Fuck my probation officer for introducing me to Freddie Roach.

"Fuck my coaches for loving me unconditionally, there's nothing worth saving here.

"Fuck bottle service girls, fake tits and bumps of cocaine.

"Fuck my fans for believing in this "All-Class" bullshit. I'm a junkie.

"Last but not least, fuck whatever cheese-dick DJ thought it'd be a good idea for my walk out song to be 'Eye of the Tiger.'"

Through a silver curtain, I entered the arena. Still hiding underneath the hood of my robe, I wasn't quite ready to be unveiled.

+ + +

I climbed through the ropes, coach following behind me. He pulled the silk knot from my waist, undressing my robe. I felt vulnerable, naked, and soft but there were no more drugs to hide behind. For the first time in long time, I was truly exposed.

Pulling the Vaseline out of his pocket he applied the final coat over my eyebrows. One final moment to just shut my eyes and feel loved. His arms wrapped around me as he gave me a kiss on the cheek. "This is it son, go get what your worth."

"Seconds out!" the ref yelled.

Coach slid between the ropes, waiting for the time-keeper to buzz the opening bell. Looking down at the floor, I could feel my opponents' eyes burning a hole through me from across the ring. I was too heartbroken to look him back in the eye.

I'm not a big puncher so I usually box gracefully, working off the jab, setting things up, picking my spots, but there was no way I could have pulled it off mid-withdrawal. I was going to have to hit that motherfucker with bad intentions if I wanted to make it out of the ring.

Ding! Ding! My opponent slid up to me, hands high in a poised stance. Fingernails digging into the leather, fists clenched, with every ounce of self-hate in my entire being, I started punching.

Punching for every time the dealer texted me at 2AM saying, "I got blues."

His nose splattered blood as his body crashes against the canvas. He gets up.

"Box!" yelled the ref!

I sent off another barrage of punches.

Punching for every time I put my hands in my own vomit, searching for a chunk of OxyContin that hadn't fully dissolved yet.

He dropped to his knees and the ref began the count. "Don't get up!" I thought to myself. I didn't have enough gas in the tank to get through another round.

His nose poured out a violent red waterfall, and he got up again. The official ordered for the fight to continue and I threw one last combination.

Punching for my coaches that loved me though all this, even when I put them through hell.

Punching for the years I lost, nodded out, and cried behind the curtain in my bathtub.

Punching for the countless overdose attempts, each time coming-to in front of friends and family, fucking humiliated.

Punching for every time I gave up on myself.

+ + +

And suddenly it was over.

Smearing blood from my gloves onto my trunks, I looked back at my coach, I said, "It's okay, I'm okay."

I had 3 days sober and if I made it to midnight, then that would make four. I made a promise to myself that I meant to keep. Even if meant this had to be my last fight.

Photo by Scott Leon

The ref grabbed my wrist, walking me to center ring. The microphone repelled down from the rafters and he leaned in to shout, "Winner by first round knockout... Fighting out of Hollywood California… Representing Wildcard Boxing Club…. ZACHARY "KID YAMAKA" WOHLMAN.

+ + +

Today is my 120 th day clean and sober. The kick is long gone but the memories of my drug use vividly remain. I wish I could sit here and tell you that was my first crack at the whole sobriety thing but that wouldn't be true. What I am hoping is that this is the last crack.

The fight in Tijuana changed me. Sick and miserable, punching through my addiction, I was able to leave the drug addict behind. And for now, I was able to keep the boxer in me alive.

I Kicked Oxy During a Pro Boxing Bout in Tijuana published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv