#me living outside my childhood home: why do i have to have constant stimulation? i should work towards a healthy goal of being comfortable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratz-kitten · 3 years ago

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ASTRO OBSERVATIONS PT. 7

gemini and pisces placements are similar in the sense that geminis are able to see things from all perspectives, while pisces are able to empathise with people who have all sorts of different perspectives. pisces placements... be careful with over-empathising with the people who hurt you to the point where you’re understanding why they did it and you start excusing their actions. gemini placements... be careful with seeking the multi-layers and million different perspectives in everything and everyone to the point where you’re driving your own mind insane and you don’t know what your opinion is anymore because you hyper-analyse so much. too much of a good ability becomes a curse.

people with venus-mars aspects have a talent for making people who hate them fall in love with them 💋

moon in the 11th house natives tend to attract friends who get into scandals. moon in the 10th house natives tend to be the ones who get into said scandals. it’s a PERFECT FRIENDSHIP

capricorn placements have a talent for knowing how to make things last. they want to prolong the enjoyment they get out of something for as long as possible, which is why their hobbies, friendships and relationships tend to last a lifetime... hedonistic sluts

since both the 7th house and the 11th house rule fandoms, celebrities with a 7th house or 11th house neptune can attract fans who view them as angels who can’t do nothing wrong — because of this, those celebrities rarely take accountability for their mistakes, since people keep pushing the “but they’re perfect :(“ light on them

pluto conjunct ascendant natives always come off as very serious during first impressions, no matter how approachable and inviting they strive to appear.

sun and moon in the 10th house people may feel as if they’re always exposed to the public eye, they can’t get away with keeping things secretive. others always notice whatever they want kept on the low. this can be especially frustrating if they notice that others aren’t exposed to the same kind of scrutiny that they are for simply existing

lilith in pisces bitches have a natural talent for appearing like angels even in situations where they are 100% guilty. it’s very easy for them to put on their vulnerable, lost puppy act lmfao, which triggers others’ protective instincts. they may be able to cry on cue when people call them out on their bullshit, making them feel like THEY’re the shitty ones for confronting the lilith native... it’s insane

lilith in the 12th house natives may feel as though the themes of lilith are trapped in their psyche, at the core of who they are and those themes become unavoidable for them — they’re always there, lurking in the shadows, becoming the center of their nightmares

people with mercury in the 1st house can feel veryyy threatened and defensive when someone possesses knowledge in an area that they don’t, it’s like it hits them right on their biggest fears. they often either try to “one-up” the other person in an attempt to heal their broken ego or shut down altogether in insecurity. it’s imperative that they work on developing a strong sense of self-worth because they can be extremely prone to comparing their mental skills to those of other people.

people with personal planets in the 12th house may feel as though a lot of their artistic drive is stifled by their lack of energy. like... in the mental realm there’s a lot going on and it’s incredible, but then you pick up a pen to actualize your visions and you feel exhaustion immediately overtaking you. it can feel like there’s a lot to your psyche that feels inaccessible to you not because you don’t want to explore it, but because you have yet to restore the energy to dive deep into it. this can be especially noticeable if there’s absolutely no 5th house energy in the chart

people with jupiter in an earth sign love being surrounded by greeneries in their home; they may take a lot of enjoyment out of taking care of plants, gardening, cooking and stuff of the sort. it makes them feel more grounded, independent, and even healed. they also LOVE scents that connect them to nature like the scent of grass and the ocean.

air mercuries can be very beware of strangers, they can feel offended when their friends make them socialize with someone they don’t know and it can take a hot while before they trust the person enough to lower their defences a bit. they need to know it’s safe before expressing their usual sexy eccentric selves in front of someone new. on the other hand, aries placements can also hate being introduced to new people through their friends but it’s mostly because they’re very territorial over them, and can’t stand the thought that this new person can hurt their friendship in any possible way

meanwhile, it’s probably an earth or leo/sagittarius mercury introducing new friends to the group. they’re so fucking good with people and it shows in how they make people feel welcomed so easily, it’s like they “take” the person in and adopt them into the group. they can’t stand seeing someone being treated like an outcast because they know how it sucks to feel rejected, so they’ll try their best to make you feel included

while on the subject of people who hate seeing others be treated like an outcast because they know how it feels like to be rejected: SCORPIO RISINGS. bro. people underestimate how chill they can actually be. if they see you being left out, they’ll approach you with no fucks given and do anything in their power to make you feel comfortable. they do so well in group settings.

and while on the subject of scorpio risings... i have a scorpio rising friend and he goes thru it on the daily. he often complains that people are always suspicious of him and that they seem repulsed by him, strangers on the street will stay tf away from him. and it’s so heartbreaking because his personality is so friendly and welcoming and it doesn’t at all match his intimidating appearance. scorpio risings have this energy that not many people can handle, others feel either really drawn to them or downright scared of them because of the “danger” element they seem to carry in them

i know two people who are both scorpio suns and libra moons and they look the exact same, even though they have different risings. brown, deep-set eyes, coarse dark hair, naturally tanner skin tone — and they have the same style as well, using lots of band t-shirts and dark clothing. scorpio energy is always so noticeable wherever it is i swear, it’s like it takes over the rest of the chart

gemini moons are what yall claim gemini venuses to be. like, seriously... have you ever met someone with a gemini venus? they don’t need constant stimulation or else they’ll get bored and cheat. not in the slightest; actually, they’re often incredibly loyal and crave longterm, committed relationships. if anything, they need stimulation outside of their relationship in the form of a good, exciting career and hobbies so that they don’t get too addicted to their partner and to constantly analysing every aspect of their relationship. gemini moons however, tend to have multiple partners throughout life and they often feat deep commitment. they can be huge players imo, IT’S THEM YOU SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT!

sagittarius placements are so... tactile? like, they love to touch things. when they go to stores and stuff, they’ll start holding everything that catches their attention— it’s like they can only decide if they want to buy something after thouroughly exploring how it feels, the texture and the energy that the object gives them through touch. and they talk so much with their hands. it makes me so anxious like bitch you aren’t selena gomez, i promise you that you CAN keep your hands to yourself

taurus placements are so weird to me, i can’t understand them. it’s like they’re afraid of exploring their own depths, which in turn makes me unable to explore them. okay, how do i put this... it’s like they have this preset idea of who they are and after deciding so, they’re unwilling to let go of it. “i’m the stable friend who’s here for everyone even when i can barely take care of my own self” and then that’s who they are: the people who are a steady rock in the lives of others, taking care of everyone. and then they refuse to change even after getting hurt. and then, it’s like... well, you can’t just be that. you are a human who contains multitudes, but i don’t think you give yourself enough credit on how layered you are. that fear of changeability, that need to be the one stable thing in a world full of unpredictability will only damage you in the end, because you won’t get to fully experience life’s greatest pleasure: knowing yourself. becoming your own best friend, exploring every layer that there is to your being. i think you deny yourself of that experience because you fear that, with self-learning comes self-growth which leads to transformation. and you fear transformation because you don’t want to change for the worst. but like... transformation is necessary and with that comes adaptability + flexibility, which are things you could greatly benefit from.

scorpio venuses can be so pessimistic— and when they’re in a dark mindset, it’s so difficult to pull them out of it. it’s so difficult to get them to see the good in difficult situations, and to help them believe that it gets better. but even if you don’t believe me, i’ll keep telling you; it does get better. you’ll get through this.

jupiter in the 4th house is an indicator of food having been an amazing part of your childhood; there might’ve been a lot of feasts and you could’ve had a parent who loved to cook. being well fed might be a huge concern for you now; you might get sick easily when you’re eating fast food and non-traditional plates.

mercury square uranus is an extremely difficult aspect to have because, in your earlier years, you might’ve felt dumb or like there was something wrong with your intelligence because you might’ve found school difficult due to it’s structured nature that didn’t fit with the way you like to learn things— you need to learn in an interactive way that piques your interest. your anxiety and any traumatic experienced that you faced could’ve heavily impacted your school performance. you might’ve had an ease with learning but then, when it came to doing the written tests, you couldn’t perform to the best of your abilities. either way, school might’ve been a source of a lot of stress and difficulty.

mercury square pluto can have some weird manifestation where, like... you suspect things but you always suspect the wrong things. i’ve met a few people with this aspect and all of them were extremely suspicious of the most random things who were literally normal and innocent. this aspect can cause a lot of chaos to one’s interpersonal relationships because you might find yourself suspecting your loved ones in the weirdest circumstances due to your trust issues, which in return causes them to lose trust in you + the want to confide in you because you keep questioning everything they’re up to WHEN THEY’RE NOT UP TO ANYTHING IN THE FIRST PLACE. probably the most frustrating thing that can happen with this aspect is when you always suspect what you shouldn’t, but then, when sketchy things are actually happening that should be questioned, you don’t bat an eye to it. omfg it drives me insane

moon conjunct the ascendant can make someone have a very delicate appearance that gives others the impression that they need to handle you like fine china or else you might break. my mother has this at a very tight orb and whenever i bring people over, their first impression of her is always “she looks so frail”. the native might be extremely sensitive to every minor inconvenience which brings a lot of frustration to them, a feeling that they can’t control their reactions and inner turmoil. it can also suck when you don’t want to be depicted as the victim but then that’s the way everyone perceives you. the native might have very expressive and shiny eyes, and they can cry easily. it’s very difficult for them to hide their emotions.

your jupiter sign can signify where you feel an overflow of energy. jupiter in cancer may feel like you have an overflow of nurturing and protective energy towards your loved ones, with a lot of intuition and need for introspection. jupiter in leo can make you feel like you a talent for self-expression and dealing with others, being overly dramatic and prideful at times, and with a huge drive to have fun. jupiter in virgo can feel an overflow of perceptive qualities, with a huge amount of self-awareness and also awareness of your surroundings, ability to constantly analyse and a constant strive for perfection (which btw is impossible since perfection is unattainable and you’re a human being who makes mistakes and that’s completely fine. stop finding flaws where there aren’t none).

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ohblackdiamond · 6 years ago

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starfucker (gene/paul, nc-17)

Yeah, I heard about your Polaroids, that’s what I call obscene...

Written for and on Paul Stanley’s 67th birthday, I’m just a day late in posting it here.

Gene’s introduction to America almost twenty years prior had been like a kid moving to Disneyland. Everything was bigger in America. Everything was better in America. Everything had that candy-coated glaze of promise, still hanging heavy and dazzling in his heart: here, you can make it; you just need the drive and the smarts and the guts. Here is a dream you can snatch up, if you want it badly enough.

He had tried to explain it once, when half the band was more maudlin than full-on drunk, but Ace and Peter both had zoned out entirely and Paul, for all he was first-generation on both sides, for all he’d been hoping for commonalities, didn’t understand either.

“You’re telling me the exact same thing my parents did.”

“They were right.”

“They wanted me to get there through college, Gene. They didn’t tell me I could do whatever the hell I wanted and succeed. It’s bullshit, man. You’re too—the American Dream stuff might’ve been true during Ellis Island and all that, but it’s not now.”

He’d looked at Paul, really looked at him, hoping to find something beyond the cynicism. He didn’t. Paul might as well have been one of his sixth graders for all he’d pay attention without the threat of penalty.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get it because you’ve never lived anywhere else.” Never lived how he had. Selling fruit in the streets with his mother. Living on government rations. Living scared. Paul’s rare, mopey accounts of his own childhood were blissful in comparison. Whatever bullying he’d received, he’d never gone hungry. Never been afraid for his life. He had no idea what a blessing that was. None.

It just confirmed what Gene had already known. They shared a faith, but not a background. Hell, Paul hadn’t even had his bar mitzvah. None of that cultural belonging tied the two of them together. Maybe not even personal belonging, either. Gene was an outsider even in his own band.

Paul just shook his head and shrugged.

“They said that, too.”

So Gene had gradually left that kind of serious talk behind over the course of the tours. It wasn’t worth it; he knew the other three weren’t intellectuals, but he was starting to think they were actually morons. Ace and Peter were busy getting drunk, stoned, or both before and after concerts—hit him at just the right time, maybe a full moon, and Paul would indulge, too—and Rush’s guys were just leading them further astray. Gene felt like trying to get Bill to get them to tour with the Carpenters next, as if that would cut down on the antics.

As for himself, well, since he couldn’t manage any stimulating conversation with his bandmates, he was settling eagerly for stimulation with his groupies. Something else that was bigger and better in America—the size of its women’s breasts. Must’ve been the fluoride in the water. He’d been in the process of chatting up two girls in Ace’s room when one of them had made the tremendous mistake of taking the communal laundry bag off Alex’s head during one of his particularly drunken comedy routines.

It was like flicking the papal mitre off the Pope’s head. Worse, it was like unmasking the Lone Ranger. Alex and Ace had, predictably, gone ballistic and chased both of the girls out of the hotel room. Gene had followed them at a distance, only to hear them mumble about “fuckin’ scary rockstars” and see them digging in their purses for payphone change to call their boyfriends. Well. That settled that.

That settled plenty, except he was still half-hard. He could hear Ace and Alex and Neil whooping from the room, and he knew that a new comedy routine from the bag was already underway. Gene grunted to himself and dug the key out of his jeans pocket and let himself back in his room.

“Paul? You still in here?”

“Hey.” Paul looked up from the T.V., frowning. His hair was wet, and he wasn’t wearing anything beyond a loosely-tied blue terrycloth bathrobe Gene could’ve sworn had been Paul’s only constant companion since they’d started touring. Like every other member of the band—every member except Gene—he lacked the innate shame to even yank on a pair of boxers at the sight of a non-groupie visitor. “What’re you doing here, Gene? Thought you were picking up those girls in Ace’s room.”

“The bag threw them out.”

“The ba—oh, yeah,” Paul said, snorting. “He’s high as shit, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. But I am holding it against him.” Gene paused. “I thought you’d be back to your room by now, too.”

Paul shrugged and went over to turn up the volume on the T.V. An Easy Bake Oven commercial was playing, of all things, the little girl onscreen spreading frosting on the cake. So banal it was a little annoying. Looking at him, though, Gene realized Paul was just trying to catch the jingle at the end.

“I was gonna, then I took a nap and a shower.”

“No girls?”

“No girls.”

Not that much of a surprise. Paul could be indifferent, downright cold to company, which had always struck Gene as a little annoying, if not potentially disastrous. Couldn’t be merrily flamboyant onstage and then aloof as soon as he walked back to the dressing room. Bad publicity in the making. He’d be pleasant enough during what few interviews they’d scored as a band, but it was obvious he didn’t actually want to do them. Gene wondered if Paul was getting more egotistical, or if that latent shyness was just setting his nerves on edge. Paul was the only deep-down introvert in the whole band. He’d have to get over it at some point.

Besides, even if Paul wasn’t as assiduous about getting girls as he was, he still managed to have one in his bed at least half their tour nights. So if he was lonesome, that was his own fault. Paul walked over to the set to turn up the volume one more time—God, he always had it up too loud. Knowing why didn’t make it much less aggravating.

“Really not my idea of a thrilling evening.”

Paul flopped back on the bed.

“What, because of the girls? Just get a taxi and go to a nightclub. There’s gotta be one around here somewhere.” A pause, and a stifled yawn. “Where the hell are we tonight, anyway? Austin?”

“Austin was last night. Tonight’s Corpus Christi,” Gene mumbled.

“Oh, right. Good thing they remind me beforehand. Last time I fucked up the city they were almost rioting.”

“You told Pittsburgh they were a wonderful audience—”

“And it was actually Kansas City. I know, Gene.” Running his hands through his hair, looking more like a damp poodle than a human being, Paul sighed. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve told Charleston they were Pittsburgh.”

Gene snorted and sat down next to him on the bed. Paul was splayed out on his back as if it were one of their lousier photoshoots, but he at least moved his legs to give Gene more room.

“We’d be mounted on some redneck’s wall.”

“With or without the makeup?”

“With. You think they’d dare? It’s like yanking off Batman's cowl.”

Paul laughed, shaking his head.

“Some of the girls don’t even want the makeup off. Don’t you think that’s weird? Like…” Paul was considering, or trying to. Always a bad sign, because Paul tended to trail and never get to the point, in public and in private. Gene had been taking spokesman duties during interviews and news stories out of necessity, not desire. Paul could’ve stuck to a script, sure, except they didn’t have one yet, and Peter and Ace would just bungle things with the press, Gene was positive of it. “Like, okay, if I’m gonna fuck someone, I don’t want the pretense.”

“You mean you don’t want to be Starchild for them?”

“No, not… not exactly. I mean, I don’t mind, but… you ever feel like they’re conning you? No, not… conning, but… they’re not being real, you’re not being real…”

“Paul, if you want an honest relationship, I don’t know why the hell you’re fucking groupies.”

Paul glanced at Gene then, and snorted. His hair had fallen in his eyes, and he just blew it back with a breath.

“I’m not complaining, I’m just saying I wanna be real with somebody sometime. Don’t you?”

“God, no.” Gene paused, leaning back on his arms on the bed. “You wanna be real with someone, be real with your shrink.”

From the corner of his eye, Gene saw Paul’s face fall slightly. Shit. He’d forgotten Paul had one of those. Or used to, at least. Gene opened his mouth, not to apologize, exactly, just explain, but Paul started back in, oddly unruffled, before he could manage.

“Give it five minutes and you can watch the Johnny Carson show with me.”

Gene groaned.

“You know I could’ve done that at home, right?”

“Well, yeah, but here you don’t have to pick up your own towels.” Paul paused. “Not that you do that anyway, but…”

“Move.”

“Okay, okay.” Paul shifted over again amiably as Gene scooted in. Soon enough, Ed was introducing Johnny Carson with all his usual insane vigor, as if he hadn’t been on air every single weekday for the past decade. Maybe Carson wouldn’t be such a bad avenue for KISS, if Casablanca could up their notoriety enough for him to consider it. There didn’t seem to be a method of self-promotion left they hadn’t at least tried to stoop to over the last two years. Even immolation was only barely out of bounds.

Beside him, Paul was paying more attention to Carson’s Carnac the Magnificent routine than it probably deserved that night—Carnac was already spouting off fake curses to the audience.

“What’re you pissed about?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Gene heaved a sigh. Carson’s studio audience laughed loudly in the background.

“I had a big number coming up.”

“A big number?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Tonight I was gonna bang my 200th chick.”

“You’re counting them?”

Gene gave Paul a look that was a cross between bewildered and long-suffering, a look he used to reserve for the slowest of his students when they were scrawling out one-step equations.

“Of course I’m counting them. What did you think the Polaroids were for?”

“I thought you just took pictures of the ones you liked, not every girl you banged!”

“No! It’s a record for posterity, Paul.”

“You’ve probably got twenty posterity running around already,” Paul said with a snort. “I know you don’t wrap it up half the time.”

“They’ll have the most successful dad since Charlemagne.”

“Who?”

“The fifth Beatle.”

“Oh, shut up, Gene.” Paul twisted off a couple of rings as he spoke, scrambling over Gene to set them on the nightstand. The small plinks against the plywood sounded oddly final. Paul returned to his spot on the bed immediately afterwards. “Nothing stopping you from going to a club, you know.”

Gene shook his head.

“I don’t want to deal with drunks. Maybe Ace and Peter don’t care, but I’m not running the risk of her passing out before we get to the hotel.”

“There’s always at least five sober girls at the disco. You’re just being lazy.” Paul clasped his fingers together, stretched out his arms with a groan. “You really want to hit number two hundred tonight?’

“That was the idea.”

Paul looked contemplative. Gene was always thrown off the rare times that look flitted across his face, because ever since he’d met Paul, he’d been fairly convinced the man didn’t think so much as base his life off shaky impulses. And not like Gene himself did, either, not in terms of libertine conquests. Paul was more like an anxious, gangly dog, as apt to hump a girl’s leg as turn tail and hide in a corner. He tried not to let it show, but five years of knowing him, and two years of being a door away, at best, meant Gene knew better.

Clearly, though, Paul was thinking now. Those hormone-addled synapses were firing, fully oblivious to Carson’s latest jab toward President Ford. He was even yanking his hair back and squeezing those last drops of water out onto the carpet as he turned to look Gene dead in the eye.

“Give me your room key.”

“What?”

“Give me your room key.”

It was perched next to the T.V. set. One key hanging from a small metal hoop. Gene got up and handed it over, eyebrow raised questioningly. Paul spun the keyring absently around his finger. That thoughtful look hadn’t faded from his expression yet, but his mouth twitched just slightly up.

“Now get your camera.”

“Paul, what the hell?”

“Number two hundred just volunteered.”

Gene stared.

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding!” Paul was still spinning the key. “You want your two hundredth lay and you don’t want to leave the hotel to get it.”

“That doesn’t mean—shit, Paul, you can’t just—”

“Can’t what?”

Paul was looking at him with an expression so obnoxiously blithe and amused that Gene almost wanted to snatch back the key and tell him to stop screwing around. But that might only encourage him, at this point. Those wheels were turning to some inevitably questionable conclusion. God, they all had to stop spending so much time at those raucous parties, no matter how good they were for filling up his photo album. They were giving Paul disturbing ideas. Gene cleared his throat, tried to explain.

“That’s not something you volunteer for.”

“No?”

“Paul, c’mon, it’s pretty damn qu—”

“You’ve still got a hard-on, Gene.”

Shit. Gene’s eyes went straight to Paul’s crotch, almost accusingly, but that bathrobe was loose enough around his frame that he couldn’t tell. That was it, he couldn’t tell. It couldn’t be that Paul was shooting all this bullshit, trying to get a rise out of Gene, while he was completely soft. No. Couldn’t possibly be.

“Don’t flatter yourself, damn it, you didn’t see their tits—"

The only solution was to follow along. Keep on going, and keep on going, until Paul backed off. He would; Gene knew he would. Then they’d finish up on Johnny Carson and bitch some more about girls or about Peter and Ace or about Paul’s more recent exes (one of whom had been sleeping with Joe Namath, which seemed to bother Paul on some weird intrinsic level that Gene frankly didn’t understand) before finally calling it a night. Pass out like the lousiest excuses for rockstars he’d ever heard of.

“I’m not flattering myself. I’m just saying you’ve still got a hard-on.”

“Shut up, Paul.”

Paul didn’t shut up. Of course he didn’t. He just started humming the chorus of “Strutter” as he stretched out on the bed, ankles dangling from the edge. Gene shifted before getting up entirely and pulling his suitcase out from under the bed, taking out his camera. Plenty of shots left. He’d had way higher hopes for Corpus Christi than Paul Stanley on his bed. He gritted his teeth, willing Paul to back out, and back out now, except he could feel Paul’s eyes on him as he got back to his feet, camera in hand. Could feel the interest there, the intrigue. Paul was going to match him. At least for now, Paul was going to match him.

“How do they usually pose for it?”

“Between their tits.”

Paul frowned.

“I mean, I can try, but…” and he dropped the key on the dead center of his chest. The key looked like a forlorn found object a bird had tried to line its rather furry nest with. “No. No, that’s not gonna work.”

“God, no.”

“Maybe I should just hold it.” Paul picked the key up, frowning. “Or… do you want more of an interesting angle, should I have the edge facing the camera?”

“Paul, I’m taking a picture. This isn’t your art portfolio here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t just hold it.”

Gene groaned.

“Okay, hang on.” Paul got up and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Gene could hear the water running almost immediately, and a few seconds later, Paul returned, bathrobe still tied closed. “All right, ready.”

“Where’s the key?”

Paul raised his tongue. The key peeked out, tarnished bronze on pink, and Gene groaned.

“You’re gonna choke on that.”

“Iy-ull be ’ine—” Paul nearly spat out the key. Gene swallowed a laugh as Paul took the key out, wiped it on the bedsheets, and shook his head. “All right, all right, I’ll just have it in my hand.”

“Okay. Then sit down.”

Paul sat down on the bed. Gene picked up the camera, zooming in carefully, as Paul held the key between his forefinger and thumb. He looked like he was about to crack up. The camera flashed, the picture ejected, and soon Paul had snatched it away, shaking it vehemently as the image started to appear.

“Wait—wait, give it here, I’ve gotta fill out your name at the bottom.” Honestly, Gene was aiming for initials. P. S. could stand for anything

“I’ll fill it out! God knows I don’t charge for autographs.” The developing image, though, was getting clearer and far more disappointing. Paul’s face wasn’t visible. Instead, Gene had taken a close-up of the key itself, leaving not more than an inch of Paul’s index finger in the shot. “Gene! Oh, fuck you!”

“It’s gonna ruin the photo album if I’ve got a hundred ninety-nine chicks in there and then you!”

“It’s gonna make it the best album ever. Take it again.”

Gene hesitated.

“C’mon, take it again.”

Gene gave him a long-suffering look. Paul started fluffing out his hair as if this were a photoshoot instead of the prelude to the most questionable conquest either had ever attempted. Raising the camera once more, Gene was sorely tempted not to warn him first before he pressed the button.

“Fine. Three, two, one—"

Paul popped the keyring right back into his mouth the second before the camera flashed. The key dangled between his lips like the sultriest provocation. He grabbed the photo before Gene could voice a protest, holding it up for both of them to see.

This time Gene had caught him. Really caught him. Paul leaning in from the picture, poised and eager, broad hands resting on the bed. There was a bit of glare from the key in his mouth, a wanting, amused look in his eyes that the slightly-out-of-focus shot didn’t hide at all. But Paul was still disappointed.

“Aw, fuck, it’s a little blurry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“One more.”

Reluctantly, Gene picked up the camera again. Paul shifted on the bed, this time propped up on his elbows, one knee raised. The bathrobe was riding up, showing more of both thighs than Gene cared to see. But it wasn’t indecent yet. Just—

Snap.

“Safety shot,” he insisted when Paul glanced at him curiously. He raised his hand before Paul could reach for the developing photos, gathered them both up and watched the image emerge. Clear this time, perfectly crisp. Maybe Paul nerved out a bit during interviews, but in front of a camera he was golden. Absolutely golden. Dragging the attention away from everyone else in the picture, clawing it away with only a pair of pursed lips and big, dark eyes. It was annoying during KISS photoshoots, but here, with only him, only him on the bed, it was something else. Something Gene didn’t want to own up to as he stared, fascinated, from one shot to the next, finally setting them both down on the bed without a word. He barely heard the next words out of Paul’s mouth, a come-on that shouldn’t have been a come-on at all.

“Let’s keep on.”

“Keep… keep on?”

“Yeah,” and Paul laughed, turned to his side just a bit more, hand running against the edge of his robe. “You’ve got the film for it. You wanna?”

The words seemed to reverberate in his brain. You wanna. An offer. A proposition. Unbelievable. Totally unbelievable. Paul couldn’t be doing this to him, couldn’t be unraveling him—upping the ante, that was all it was, just upping the ante. Yeah. Yeah.

Gene’s fingers fidgeted before he picked up his camera again, feeling some stupid warmth spread across his face. Dimly he could hear Carson questioning the night’s special guest with all his usual slick irreverence, barely a patter in the background. Two words, too easy and casual, and all he could manage was a nod before raising the viewfinder to his eye for another shot as Paul offered up his most shameless smirk for the camera.

He kept on. God only knew why. He’d been with more photogenic girls. There was nothing alluring to him about how Paul was posing. Awkward, whiny Stanley Eisen, that douchey high school senior who always looked stoned—there was nothing sexual about him. Six years down the road, he was still that kid, no matter if he’d changed his name and curtailed his diet, no matter if he’d grown out his hair even more and stolen some slivers of confidence. No matter if he was slowly peeling open the bathrobe, revealing inch upon inch of his broad, hairy chest as Gene snapped shot after shot in a mindless rhythm. No matter if he was wearing that sex-soaked smile and tilting his head just so, languid and eager.

No matter if he reached up and trailed his long fingers down Gene’s arm. As Gene leaned over, as Gene got on the bed, the camera became the only thing left between them, the only piece of distance. The only separation. The photos were spilling out onto the bed like scattered confetti, each one revealing a little more and a little more.

By the tenth shot Paul was toying with the tie of his bathrobe, lying on his side, back arched. The robe had slid down past his shoulder, exposing his rose tattoo. There was a half-healed bite mark just beneath it and Gene couldn’t help but wonder which groupie had left it there.

By the fifteenth he’d cast the robe aside entirely. Gene’s hands were sweaty against the camera, thumb slipping on the button. He was on his knees now, Paul sprawled next to him, back against the covers, completely exposed and half-hard, hips arching up against nothing at all.

“Paul.” Gene barely recognized his own voice, the heaviness there. He was still looking at Paul through the viewfinder, still watching his head raise and his lip curl from a distance as he answered.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t pose like that.”

“Why not? Too provocative for you?”

“Not provocative enough.”

Snap. Paul bristled slightly—there’d been no countdown this time—but then he reached a hand out, sliding it against Gene’s thigh as the photo ejected, forgotten.

“Oh, yeah? You got me in a good mood, Gene, I’m open to critique—”

Gene put his hand on top of Paul’s and lowered the camera, setting it down on the edge of the bed. Looking at him full on, all barriers gone, those still-damp curls and those big brown eyes and the teasing strokes of his hand rubbing his thigh, inching over, over, to grip and fondle his hard-on through his pants. Gene sucked in a breath, fingers curling around Paul’s and pushing his hand aside, gaze never wavering from his face.

“They don’t have me in them.”

He didn’t give Paul a chance to answer. Barely a chance to open his mouth before Gene leaned in and over him, cupping his chin and crushing their lips together. Paul’s mouth tasted like the cherry tarts room service had brought down a couple hours ago, the ones he’d said he wouldn’t eat, and his lips were chapped and hot under his.

Paul was shoving his tongue in Gene’s mouth before Gene could even manage it, reaching up to yank Gene on top of him, rocking up against him desperately as his hands dug beneath Gene’s shirt. All coyness, all pretense utterly shattered. Gene laughed throatily at Paul’s freneticness, but he wasn’t any better, fingers fumbling with his own shirt, trying to peel it off while Paul’s hands roved over his back, short nails leaving light pink lines across his skin. His pants and boxers were off only moments later, Paul’s help no help at all, wriggling and rutting against him as he tried to unzip himself and toss the clothes aside.

It was a tangle of limbs, imprecise, messy. Paul nibbling at Gene’s neck, groaning as Gene’s hand went for his dick, stroking him hastily. Time seemed to collapse on itself. Gene didn’t hear the T.V. anymore or the raucousness from Ace’s room or the groans from Peter’s—all he heard was Paul gasping beneath him, all he saw was Paul flushed and willing and wanting, mumbling for him, indistinct rambles that sank somewhere deep inside him. A feeling he was chasing. A feeling that he might belong after all, only for a moment, a feeling that he might belong with him.

Gene grabbed the lube from the dresser, slicked himself up before turning Paul on his stomach, figuring that might be easier. His fingers were slippery as he started to prepare, inexpertly at best. The backdoor wasn’t his favorite with girls, honestly; too much prep for a less-exciting finish, at least for them. But Paul wasn’t going to be that way, already back to bucking up, relaxing into his touch as he eased himself inside him. Gene reached around, breaths heavy as he grasped Paul’s cock again, stroking unevenly with his own thrusts, grunting hard as every twitch and jerk of his hips drove them both closer, closer—

Paul came first with a low groan, spilling into Gene’s hand, sliding against the sheets. It wasn’t long for Gene after that, just a few more thrusts at best before orgasm coursed through him, utterly blinding. He all but collapsed against Paul after, eyes shut, panting against his sweaty skin as he pulled out, draping an arm haphazardly across Paul’s back before he fell asleep.

---

Everything was better in America. Even, Gene assumed, the morning afters.

Most of his involved asking the girl to leave before the crack of dawn. In fact, Gene had half-expected Paul to be gone by the time he woke up, slinking back to his own hotel room to clear his head of last night’s madness, but he wasn’t. Instead, Paul was leaning against the nightstand, bathrobe back on, eating a bowl of Cheerios. The usual hotel breakfast spread rested precariously on a tray on top of the T.V. “Morning, Gene.” Paul clinked the spoon against the ceramic bowl with every scoop.

“… Morning.”

Gene sat up slowly, reaching over the edge of the bed for his clothes and tugging them on, at an utter loss for words. He could feel Paul’s gaze on him, was sure it was amused and not worried. Not concerned. Had to be. He cleared his throat, finally managing to string a sentence together.

“Where’s my camera?”

“On the table. Figured one of us was gonna step on it otherwise.”

“And the pictures?”

Paul grinned and pulled open the nightstand drawer. There, beside the lube, were the photos, in order, neatly stacked.

“Right here.” He handed them over. “Oh, I couldn’t figure out which one you liked, so…”

Gene sifted through the photos, nail digging against the paper’s edge. At first, he was just looking at the images, turning one after another in his hand. His own documentary of the entire evening’s descent, up until that debauched climax.

Their climax.

But then he looked at the lettering beneath, and he stared, eyes wide. Every photo, every single photo, was signed in bold black scrawl across the bottom:

“Paul Stanley, #200.”

“Paul Stanley, #201.”

“Paul Stanley, #202.”

“Paul Stanley, #203.”

“Paul Stanley, #204….”

“Paul, what did you—”

Paul set down the bowl of cereal.

“Oh, yeah. Well, you said you couldn’t have an album with a hundred ninety-nine girls and then me. So I figured I’d just even things out.”

“Even things out.”

“Yeah.” Paul dug through Gene’s luggage, finding his teasing comb, and started to drag it through his bushy hair. “That was sixteen pictures. Number two hundred’s taken care of, so that just leaves us fifteen more.”

“Fifteen more.”

“At least.”

It took a minute to dawn on Gene. More than a minute, honestly. Paul had averted his eyes, the only sound the tugging of the comb, when Gene finally answered, slow smile spreading across his face as he reached over to yank at one of Paul’s stray curls.

“You’ve got a huge ego, anyone ever tell you that, Paul?”

Paul laughed, brushing his hand away, offering up a grin of his own.

“All the damn time.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #happy birthday paul!!

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sshibalx · 6 years ago

Photo

The venom of my ambition, I sharpened my knife every day, but because of my uncontrollable greed, my knife became dull ⫸

Kim Jun-Myeon + cismale + he/him.┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear Born Hater by Epik High playing in the distance ? oh, thats just Ssibal, a Chaotic Evil member of the league of villains. i suspect they might be Han-Jae Song (승한재), a twenty-nine-year-old Research Manager at Haggis Tech with the ability to manipulate all aspects of filth, rot, and putrefaction. according to my sources, he can be assiduous and multi-skilled, but also muddled, and closed-minded which is probably why they remind everyone of an ceramic ashtray full of half-used cigarettes shattered on the ground as the wind picks up the debris, a black coffee stain on a white cashmere versace turtleneck sweater, and a assortment of rotting fruit in a glass bowl on an black marble island counter. so much. anyway, a supervillain or not, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them!

pintrest || the powers || wanted connections || spotify || musings || playlist || threads (updated daily) || tasks

BASICS ⫸

Name: Name: 승한재 or Han-Jae Song Nicknames/Alias: Nickname: Dr. Song in the professional setting. Han for his close friends. Jj only by his mother. Face Claim: Kim Jun-Myeon (Suho from Exo) Age: He is 29 years old, though he does appear to look younger. Gender: Cismale. Sexuality: Sapiosexual. He finds intelligence and the human mind to be the most sexually attractive feature for a potential sexual relationship as opposed to gender. Date/Place of Birth: He was born Januaray 20, 1990 in Busan, South Korea. Astrological Sign: Acquarius-Capricorn Cusp Ennegram: 7,6,3 Myers Briggs: ENTP, The Debater Super Power: Filth Manipulation Alignment: Chaotic Evil Languages: broken hieroglyphics, Spanish, Greek, German, Arabic, Korean, English Religious Beliefs: “When you die, you rot in a hole in the ground.” Currently: Crystalline City, Downtown District. Occupation: Head of Research, Haggis Technology Rank: Upper Class

HISTORY ⫸

Childhood/Family Life: Han’s childhood was his opinion entirely without flaw, and he reflects of those family memories fondly. His hometown of Busan was full of wonder and excitement. The family of four partook in many family outings, picnics in the park, afternoons at Haeundae Beach, eating fish cakes down Seomyeon, and visiting the many local shops. Of the many places he lived, Busan is his favorite. Though, as to not tarnish those memories, he’s sure he’d only return if it were absolutely necessary.

The nightmares of his family home decayed and decomposing haunt him all too frequently

The family uprooted their location the year he turned 8 years old. A turning point in his mother’s career left them with no other choice but to follow her to Eygpt. And while the first move was particularly hard on him, he found time to forgive his mother as she introduced him to many experiences in his life; from bathing elephants in India, to visiting the many wonders of the world, Han, too, found himself a helpless wanderer, so long as his family was close by.

As a child, he portrayed questionable behavior. His obsession with death and decomposition started in his early formative years. It was a typical day at the beach when a larger predatory bird swooped down to pick at another seemingly flightless bird. Having scared off the vulture, he stared down at the warbler, it’s outward appearance withering in front of his eyes. While it elicited a typical reaction from his sister, the power consumed him, and never left his body. His father would later find out his son inherited the super powers that he’d hope to pass down.

Though he learned most of his skills from his father, he gained his love for life from his mother, Shion Song. Having a very close relationship with her, and given her ordinary status, she is undeniably the most important person in his life.

His sister, Seon-mi, being the second most important person, though he does have trouble speaking this verbally. Throwing cash at her and cleaning up her messes is suitable enough for their relationship. And while he’ll insist she find a better job and her own place, Han doesn’t necessarily think he’d be able to live alone in his condo.

“We promised we’d never speak of Mexico again.”

But Han-Jae is far from the perfect example of an ideal role model and self-less brother. There are some messes he can’t clean by himself, and that’s where their father comes into play. And despite his hatred for Heroes and the League in general, Han does believe there is one true superhero, that being Min-Jae Song, his father. There is no doubt that Han has made his parents proud, though there are some aspects where his father and him disagree on. Seon-mi, being the favorite and far better at her abilities, applied a small amount of pressure on his relationship with his father.

Education: For the most part, and due to their constant nomadic tendencies, the children were homeschooled for quite sometime. Having ever only attending a quick couple of years in highschool.

Accomplishments: Han was accepted into Berkeley College where he recieved his PhD in Infectious Diseases and Immunity, and while typically the next logical step would to beome a specialist, Han spends his time flourishing his career at Haggis Technology. With its reputation and great technological advances, Han believes that he can find a cure for his mother’s ordinariness.

Regrets: Not necessarily a regret, but a constant fear that he will have to listen to his father’s guidance in tapping into his more regenerative abilities. Decomposition being his specialty, Han has trouble understanding that this power could stem from his father’s Infinite Supply. With his pessimism towards human life, their greed, and their vanity, Han believes they deserve the rot and decay they inevitably endure. This is problematic, because his mother, despite how much of a super she can appear to the family of supers, is ordinary, and she too will have to undego the same processes of typical humans and organic matter; death, old age, decay.

Secrets: His family is quite unaware of the research he does. As his research requires test subjects, he finds it a little inappropriate sharing his findings with them, and his end result-- finding a cure to his mothers inevitable decay. And since he is not entirely morally stable in his ideals in humanity, he does cross a couple of bridges when it comes to finding test subjects. This is where Sshibal, his alter-ego, comes into play, and the looming fear that his sister knows that he is the reason behind a couple of missing persons reports.

PERSONALITY ⫸

Positives/Virtues/Skills: He is assiduous, multi-skilled, and very ambitious. His family is very important to him, followed by the work he does at Haggis, and while he doesn’t believe in the more optimistic ideals the company represents, he does agree that technology and science contribute to his own obsessions. Therefore, he would do anything for the company, having helped in his own ways for it’s recent successes in the research department. He can be quite charismatic, golden-tongued, taking on leadership roles to pass the time. Creative, resourceful, and intellectually quick, he’s good at a broad range of things. He enjoys debating issues, and is very much into "one-up-manship". He gets very excited about new ideas and projects, but tends neglect the more routine aspects of his life ie keeping his apartment clean, laundry, keeping an organized work desk. Generally outspoken and assertive, he enjoys people who he finds are stimulating company; coworkers and fellow members of the Syndicate.

Flaws/Weaknesses: Because of his ambitions, he can seem to be in constant motion, never feeling like his goals are met-- this being a theme in his life due to his mother constantly moving them around. He, therefore, can seem very muddled, disorganized, and for lack of better words, all over the place. When he has trouble explaining his theories, concepts or processes he can be very temperamental, cold, and pompous. Making him a little hard to work with. Under stress, he, at times, losses the ability to generate possibilities, and becomes obsessed with minor details. These details may seem to be extremely important to him, but in reality, are usually not important to the big picture. Outside of his colleagues and syndicate friends, he not at all as social as his personality would convey. He has a natural distaste and distrust for anyone outside of his family. He, therefore, tends to fall into rather toxic relationships with others, often times never revealing his true emotions. While he is very upfront with his intentions, he tends to hide his feelings in fear of rejection.

Likes: tea, fish cakes, traveling, fruit, expensive pens, expensive clothing, glass aesthics, expesive watches, expensive wine, elephants, a quiet office

Dislikes: humans, half of his interns--if not all, his cigarette addiction, the messes he always seems to create, Mexico, meeting his sister’s friends, his sister’s personality, pleasing others, white paper-- reports should always be printed on beige, the color white in general

Dreams/Ambitions: To cure his mother from her human form.

Hobbies: Meditation, running, traveling, wine tasting, research.

Fears: He fears losing his mother. He fears losing his sister. He fears that his father will no longer wish to save him from his destructive tendencies. He secretly fears that these relationships are the best relationships that he will experience which is why he fears losing them. He fears of becoming trapped, stuck, or stagnant in his life. He fears failure. He fears that his memories aren’t as accurate as he believes them to be. He fears that his childhood home is not being taken care of.

Comforts: When his sister is at home safe, and not out on the town, money, his father’s scent in the wind as he’s being bailed out of whatever unfortunate circumstance he’s in, the smell of mold

#gloryhqs.intro #// I THINK I'M FINALLY SATISFIED ENOUGH TO POST THIS.#//ALSO PLOT W ME ON DISCORD K

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mae-gi-writes · 6 years ago

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We’re Just Friends (RM/Namjoon x OC): Part Two

Synopsis: In which Namjoon and Yehwa have been best friends since childhood, until Namjoon falls in love with one of their classmates. Cue the drama.

Part: One | Two |

It always starts with the smallest things. The small, insignificant things you think that you can brush off like a stray fly on your shoulder. The small things that make you think maybe it’s best to leave them alone and in the dark, because saying them would mean that the problem is so much bigger than you actually make it out to be.

Namjoon never blew off our Saturday morning jogs. It’s a thing between us; if maybe we incorporate someone else in our physical activity, then it will motivate us to actually get out of bed. It works well for Namjoon, and not as much for me.

Apparently, there’s nothing stronger than my pillow when it comes to restraining my body from moving away from the endless ocean of warmth it basks me in.

But no matter what kind of weather, Namjoon’s always at the front of my house at 7:30 a.m (God knows the boy loves to wake up early to jog, says that it stimulates his brain to think) and doesn’t budge until I actually crawl my way out of bed with a promise that I’ll join him in fifteen minutes tops.

But this Saturday is different.

The sun comes up around six, and although I hate getting myself out of bed, I’m already awake by that point thanks to the wonderful see-through curtains that shed light into my room so that it stops me from actually dozing off again. So I just lie there, waiting until the clock signals that I should get up, hoping in the deep, darkest parts of my mind that Namjoon won’t roll himself out of bed today, that he’ll oversleep or accidentally press snooze on his alarm.

But when the hands of the clock do reach 7:30 a.m on my night stand, I shift uncomfortably and check my phone, wondering why the said boy hasn’t giving any sign of life yet. A prick of something unfamiliar, something maybe like worry(?) forms in the web of my chest, but I brush it off, knowing that Namjoon’s not someone to ditch plans last minute. He actually texts or calls way beforehand. He’s a gentleman like that.

So it gets concerning when the clock goes past that time in question and there’s still no sign of life from the boy.

I decide to text him out of mere curiosity and slight worry, asking whether if he’s still alive and breathing.

His answer comes back a few agonizing minutes later, and I swear I have never been this anxious before, although I try to deny it to myself by saying that maybe he’s still asleep, when I know that in the back of my mind, it’s not a rational answer.

Sorry. Haeryung called me for help this morning. Apparently her puppy got lost yesterday night and she called me since I live in the neighbourhood and I’m pretty familiar with the area. I’m helping her look for him right now.

A small sharp needle lodges itself right in-between my lungs so that it gets harder and harder to breathe, but I turn onto my back thinking that it’s possibly due to the fact that I’ve been lying for too long on my stomach.

I text him back with a faint smile, though it makes me wonder why does it seem like such an effort to feel happy for my best friend.

You better make it up to me with coffee. I woke up early for nothing today.

He replied: Yes ma’am, causing me to chuckle softly and roll back onto my pillow.

I tell myself that he didn’t have time to whip out his phone and text me, maybe there was so much panic, so much frantic movement and restless searching that he didn’t have the chance to contact me, because in any normal circumstances, Namjoon always lets me know what he’s doing with his life.

But a darker thought, a thought that wriggles at the back of my mind like a dark serpent threatening to break the peace with my rationality, the darker thought that pushes me to the brink of negativity and over thinking and insecurity, that kind of darker thought is blinking it’s red light at me, signalling me that there’s something not quite right there.

But like an idiot, I choose to ignore it and settle for simplicity, and that is make as if nothing has happened, that Namjoon hasn’t just stepped over me and forgotten all about me because of someone else.

Because it’s easier to kid yourself in saying that everything is fine, that you’re fine with it, that it’s not your decision nor your life nor do you have the right to be upset by the fact that someone has just placed you second in his priority list.

It’s much easier to live in ignorance, for then it doesn’t hurt as much.

The second time he blows me off is when I least expect it. A few weeks have gone by since the Haeryung and puppy incident, and all through that I brush off his apology even when he had looked really concerned and sincere, rushing to me as soon as they had found her dog, telling me that he hadn’t meant to forget our morning jog, that he had it at the back of his mind all along but that his phone died out in the middle of his search and by that time it had been too late for a warning that he wouldn’t be at my window at the said time.

Everything had fallen back into place. I settle in this routine where I make fun of him on a daily basis, and he gets annoyed or irritated by my comments, then blushes slightly whenever she walks past or drops by our class to say hi to him.

I can tell, even without looking too much into it, that they have good chemistry. She stands a few inches shorter than me, cute and adorable and just about the right size for him to envelope her in his arms. She’s petite, but has a very well proportioned body; with a generous bosom, a slender but curvy frame in all the right places, hips that can make any man turn his head in wonder.

She’s smart too. She wants to be a Vet, as per what Namjoon tells me. This can only mean that her life revolves around Biology, Chemistry and possibly Mathematics. If Namjoon needs someone in his life, he needs someone that’s just as smart and just as sharp, so that they can have long productive discussions, and not someone that always disses his theories with a snigger and tell him that he should stop smoking things that make him say all that philosophical crap about life.

A few months have gone by since then, and although it’s not official between them, there is definitely ‘something’. Exam seasons start and since it’s our finals, we’re both cramming information into our brains every night. I want to work as a translator, meaning that there are mountains of English books and French Grammar to be learnt and studied again and again. Namjoon, on the other hand, wants to divert into Medicine, meaning that his life only rotates around the Sciences and Maths.

The silence is peaceful and calm, with only the slow tapping of Namjoon’s pen against the wooden table creating a constant rhythm that I manage to drown out. At first it made me go crazy and I even tried to stop him multiple times, only to realize that it doesn’t work that way, that no matter how much I reprimand him, he’s not going to change. In the end, I just succumbed to my curse and let him be.

After all, we’re not perfect. Nobody is.

It’s past ten at night when a vibration buzzes through the table. Lifting my head to cast him a questioning look— eyebrows raised in amusement— he only responds with a roll of his eyes before grabbing onto his phone and sliding his thumb across the lock screen.

“Haeryung?” I cock my head at him when I catch a smile dancing across his face. Not just any smile. That smile. The one he does with his eyes lighting up like Christmas has come early and snow is falling outside our window even when we’re in the middle of May already.

“How did you know?”

I ‘tsk’ at him, “Really? You’re honestly asking that?”

He lifted his right shoulder in a half-shrug, and I shake my head in exasperation before leaning it against the palm of my hand, “You should look at yourself in the mirror when you see or even say Haeryung’s name.”

“Oh shut up,” He scowls, “Why don’t you go find yourself a boyfriend?”

“I ain’t got time for that,” I singsong.

“You sound like an eighty-year old grandmother.”

“You’re just jealous that I’m a strong and independent woman.” I tilt my head from right to left, wondering what she had written since he looks like he wasn’t even paying attention to what I just said, “What is it? What did she say?”

“Oh,” his eyebrows are furrowed into a frown as he texts her back. I sigh and wait because I know that he can’t multitask. Yes, a genius like Namjoon can’t multitask to save his life. Someone shoot him. I had always been amazed at the fact that he managed not to watch a tv show while working on his assignments, specially when there’s the miracle of split-screens nowadays.

“Sorry,” he finally lifts his head up from his phone, attention diverting back to me now that he’s finished with the major task at hand, “What were you saying?”

“I was just curious why she texted you.”

“She wanted me to meet her at Starbucks.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’ ? It’s already so late. Plus, you’re not walking home alone.”

I manage not to scoff and instead settle with an eye-roll, narrowing my eyes at the boy before me and wondering why on earth the girl in question was so interested in him in the first place when he was such a dense douchebag, “What the heck, Namjoon. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Do you expect me to wag my tail at her beck and call?”

“Well don’t drag me into your excuses. What will she think?” I take a swig of my water bottle, wiping my lips with the back of my hand before continuing, “Plus, I can take care of myself.”

“Last time I checked, you told me to stay on the phone the whole time you walked back because you thought someone—something— had been following you.”

“That was one time,” I hold up a finger to prove my point, “One time, Namjoon.”

Seeing that he isn’t going to budge. I emit an even louder sigh and stretch my arms above my head. After yawning, I proceed to gather all my things and feel Namjoon’s stare burn into me with a questioning look.

I look up at him, slightly amused by his befuddled expression, “What? Pack your things. I’ll do you the honours of walking you to your date.”

“It’s not a date,” He argues although he does start packing up as well. I raise a brow and he knows exactly what goes through my mind as I smirk at the way he obediently listens to my orders, before slapping my shoulder lightly with his jacket, “You’re so annoying.”

“But thanks to me, you’re going to have the best two hours of your life.” I reply as I skip to the door, “Come on. We don’t want to be later than we already are. Poor girl’s probably dying to see you.”

I leave him at the edge of the road so that we can avoid the questions raised by Haeryung of my presence. We both decide it’s best to lay low on our friendship, specially when it comes to dating. Our closeness always seems to be a source of confusion, and clearly explains why I’m still single to this day. Most guys think that I’m dating Namjoon.

Not that I mind, if that means they leave me alone.

But as I walk down the opposite side of the road, I manage to make out their figures through the transparent glass windows. The yellow glow from the café makes it appear warmer, cozier in contrast to the cold depth of the night. I see Namjoon walk in and scratch the back of his neck, before Haeryung says something that makes him laugh and causes his posture to relax. I continue watching their growing interaction, and must admit that Namjoon has an obvious, very genuine charm that seems to win over Haeryung quite easily. The corners of his mouth are moving rapidly, as though he’s saying something with excitement. She responds by bursting out in fits of laughter as she tries to cover it up with her hand, throwing her head back against the couch.

How nice it must be, to have someone to like.

A small ache resonates in the middle of my chest, but I try not to think too much about it. Instead, I lift my lips into a smile and ignore the small downward tug that somehow makes it harder to do that simple action. My feet continue their route down the road and I try not to think too much about the way Namjoon’s eyes had lit up at the mere mention of Haeryung’s name.

Maybe I knew something I should’ve been aware of , something that I feared so badly I stuffed at the back of my brain in hopes that I could lock up that corner of my mind to never let it out again, like pandora’s box.

It was then that I started to learn a little, about what my heart was saying.

---

“Yehwa, have you seen Namjoon?”

I give a shrug and Jung Hoseok groans in response. My eyebrows furrow together into a frown, “Why did you need him?”

“No, he told me he would come see me. We have a science report to hand in together and he’s been MIA for the past few days.”

“He’s probably with Haeryung,” I reply as I gather up my belongings and slither my way through the desks to reach the door, where Hoseok is standing. He lets me through and accompanies me down the corridor, “that’s who he spends most of his time with now.”

“Oh,” Hoseok adjusts his bag strap over his shoulder, “Maybe I should check out her class.”

I nod. “Anyway,” He says as we reach my locker, “Has he been ditching you a lot? Maybe you should get a boyfriend for yourself.”

As I exchange my books, he leans against the wall and keeps me company with his usual banter and chatter. Hoseok and I started being friends because he hangs out a lot with Namjoon. The said person in question is the one that brought us both together, and I must admit I’ve never met someone as bright and cheerful as Hoseok. If he’s compared to the sun, then there’s a likely chance for him to win, for he has such an optimistic view on life that sometimes it’s almost blinding.

But that’s the thing with Hoseok. He’s too bright, and too kind.

Which makes him awkward in situations where you have to be anything but happy.

“It’s cool,” I close my locker with a satisfied grunt at the effort, “I don’t need a boyfriend. That would just be more trouble.”

“Come on Yehwa, don’t you want Namjoon to hang out with you?”

I raise a brow at him, “And what’s the connection between Namjoon and me having a boyfriend?”

“Jealousy.” I burst out laughing in Hoseok’s face as I play upon the possibility of Namjoon being jealous. Him? It took him long enough to realize that he was attracted to Haeryung. How much more time will it take for him to recognize jealousy if he even had any?

“Why would he even be?” I say when the laughter has subsided within me. I still have a huge smile on my face, but Hoseok’s is one of seriousness, and this makes another round of laughter to escape my lips.

“Because he’s too dense to realize what’s in front of him?”

And just like that, the laughter dissipates. I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing here. I don’t think we’re going along the same meaning and right now, the way Hoseok is gazing at me— with a soft, almost sympathetic gaze that somehow reminds me of pity— makes me feel vulnerable and exposed in a way.

I bite my lip and forced another smile onto my face, slapping his shoulder playfully, “What the heck are you saying?” I laugh it off before winding my arm around his and dragging him down the hallway with me, “I want some ice-cream. You in?”

It makes me laugh that Hoseok thinks Namjoon can get jealous, and that I should even try to make him jealous in the first place. He’s right in a way; he has been spending a lot of time with Haeryung, but that’s mainly because he’s interested in her. Isn’t it what couples do? Isn’t it the most normal thing to want to spend time with the person you like?

As I walk home that day, I notice the flowers that are slowly starting to blossom along the pedestrian walkway that they’ve made alongside the road, and I smile. Changing seasons has always been a favourite of mine. It’s time for new life to blossom, time to turn a new page and to experience a whole new beginning. And plus, it’s going to be summer soon, which means that the city will be filled with ongoing activities, parties and festivals. It’s like the world flourishes with life and I believe that’s when it’s the most beautiful of all.

“Oh stop it!”

“Come on, you know you like it.”

“Shut up…”

A couple walks by, hands entwined and swinging between them, all smiles and giggles as their shoulders brush against each other in intimate affection. My eyes slide away from them when they walk past but I can’t help but glance back, curious by the happiness that seems to englobe these two individuals in a world of warmth.

They look happy. They look like their world is filled with flowers and colours and just about anything that seems to make life so full of hope and happiness. My lips automatically flicker with a ghost of a smile when I look at their retreating figures getting smaller and smaller in the distance, but then it slowly slips away when I linger upon the feeling for a little too long.

I wonder how it feels like to be in love?

Is this the kind of happiness that Namjoon experiences whenever he’s with Haeryung? Is this the kind of smile, the kind of tender gaze he projects whenever he looks at her? Like she’s the only girl that he’s ever found that was so beautiful that she was breathtaking?

Another pinch stings, this time a little closer to my heart. I bite my lip and turn my head forward, deciding that it’s better to focus on my walk home rather than dwindle on the fact that after all these years, I’m still single and I’ve never dated a guy before. It’s not like I want to, but I’ve come to this stage where I think about whether there’s something wrong with me. Although I give off the image that I don’t really care about such things such as romance and love, I still wonder about it, like most girls my age do. I just don’t voice it out to the public. Even Namjoon is a stranger to my feelings that I keep locked inside my heart.

I shake my head and try to shake out of this sudden melancholic state of mind. This is not the time to dwell on such things, I think to myself as I forced another smile on my face. Life's good and there are other people that have more important problems, such as world poverty or famine.

I was denying myself that the whole time as I walked back home, trying to kid my brain into thinking that I was okay, that it was perfectly fine that Namjoon spent all of his time with Haeryung, that he didn’t even call or text me anymore to tell me where he was, that he assumed that I automatically knew where and with who he was hanging out if it wasn’t with me.

But I knew then, at the back of my mind, that little voice that told me that it was only going to get harder for me.

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A/N: I know this is definitely starting off as a cliché, but I'm really trying my best to make the characters appear as realistic as possible. I'm sorry if the plot's moving kinda slowly, but I hope you enjoyed reading it anyway! :D Thanks for reading and for supporting this story xx

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grishaperil · 6 years ago

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INTERVIEW Q&A: Julie Byrne On Vulnerability, Fighting The Pull To Start Over, & Her New Album Not Even Happiness Gabriela Tully Claymore @gabrielajunetc | December 14, 2016 - 10:00 am

Julie Byrne is one of the chosen few who can genuinely say she’s from “all over.” Byrne has led a nomadic existence since leaving her hometown of Buffalo at 18, and is part of a network of artists known nationally for existing neither here nor there, setting up “home” wherever it feels right for a few weeks or a few years. She counts Pittsburgh, Northampton, Chicago, Lawrence, Seattle, and New Orleans as transient homes, and New York City has only recently become a more permanent one.

Byrne’s music carries the weight of a suitcase packed with memories and trinkets, and her songs are most always born of long journeys, both physical and spiritual. Her last album, Rooms With Walls And Windows, compiled the self-titled and You Would Love It Here cassettes, which were recorded live in 2012 and 2013 while Byrne was living at a show space in Chicago. Rooms With Walls And Windows is a lonely, humbly rendered folk album rooted in the specifics of Byrne’s experience. It’s littered with thumbnail portraits of domesticity, songs about falling in and out of love with people and places, and the inspiring inertia brought on by a life on the road.

Rooms With Walls And Windows was released by the small independent label Orindal in 2014, around the time that Byrne took a train from New Orleans to New York, resettling her chaotic life in one of the more chaotic cities she could’ve chosen. Byrne has been slowly working on the follow-up to her debut ever since. Last year, she trekked back to Buffalo for a brief period to record in her childhood home, bringing along producer Eric Littmann and violinist Jake Falby. It was there that Byrne created her sophomore effort, Not Even Happiness, which is due out early next year. It’s a cleaner, more carefully produced album that finds Byrne in a different emotional space than the one she was in so many years ago when she wrote the songs included on her debut. Not Even Happinessquestions what it means to settle down and whether or not it is objectively “good” to finally find yourself home, even if that home isn’t the place you anticipated. It’s still an album written for the open road, but one that promises some kind of love and companionship at the end of a long journey.

Byrne is one of the finest contemporary examples of an artist who can do so much for the soul by lending you some of hers. She speaks the way she sings — slowly, with an enviable, peaceful precision — and she invited me to her home in Queens to talk about the themes that inspired Not Even Happiness. Byrne takes her time answering questions, sometimes pausing for a near-minute to collect her thoughts before responding, and she doesn’t hesitate to delve into the philosophical. Over tea, we discussed her songwriting process and her new-ish life in New York, where she works odd jobs, including one as a seasonal park ranger. Mostly, we talked about the difficulties that come with staying in place, and in turn, the art that’s born of a good challenge. Read our Q&A and listen to Byrne’s new single, “Follow My Voice,” below.

STEREOGUM: When I listen to Not Even Happiness knowing you’ve been somewhat settled in New York, I focus so closely on how much of your lyricism is derived from nature. I think of New York as such a grey, industrial place.

JULIE BYRNE: That’s why I was grateful for the opportunity to work as a park ranger. I was starved for that sense of well-being we feel when we’re in green spaces. And I didn’t even realize the extent to which living without that was affecting me until I returned to Buffalo last fall. When we were living there, working on this album, we’d spend our days recording and to clear our heads we’d hike the trails in a nearby county park called Hunter’s Creek. By the time I returned to New York, it was with a greater sense of my own needs. I was studying environmental science and I hoped to find a job where I could commune with nature and work outside so I applied to the city parks department. I worked in Central Park most days this past summer and came to view it as a sanctuary, not only for New Yorkers to experience their connection to nature but also for the wildlife that take refuge there. And while the surrounding neighborhoods don’t reflect the same ethos, the parks really do belong to the people of New York and the parks department upholds that mission. I liked working in that form of service to the public.

STEREOGUM: It’s hard to look up and actually take stuff in outside of the daily routine. In that sense, I hear a kind of spiritualism on this album, too. I got Not Even Happiness the week after the election, and it felt appropriate because one of the first things I thought when I saw the result was: “I just wish I believed in god or something right now.” And then, to hear you point to little examples of the sublime on songs like “Natural Blue” feels so powerful at this point in time. What’s the story behind that song?

BYRNE: [When I wrote that song], I had been on tour for 40 days and I had maybe 30 left to go. We didn’t build in any period of rest between shows, so I really felt that I was at the mercy of any given day. I had no grounding and no real privacy, and it was difficult to live like that. We were staying outside of Boulder, CO — my friend’s cousin was going to school out there and she was living in an old mountain house with a five friends. A few of them had grown up in that town, lived there all their lives. It was a world separate from the one that I was used to and also entirely disconnected from the national DIY music community that I’m a part of.

They ended up having a party at the house that night, and the past few months had been a difficult time for everyone ‘cause there’d been a series of landslides in the town before that. It seemed like the first time that people had been able to come together and see each other, it was a very spirited gathering. I didn’t know anyone there, except my best friend David, who I was traveling with, and a boy we’d met in Denver, who we always thought was a wild star. We immersed ourselves in that night and hardly got any sleep. Not long after dawn, we had to pack up and get ready to leave on a 10-hour drive to Lawrence, KS. It felt like there was no real break between what we had experienced that night and the day that followed. “Natural Blue” came from feeling so at the mercy of the experience of touring and somehow breaking through to fully live in those moments of mysterious peace, wherever they may be. You can’t expect more than that, living that life.

STEREOGUM: That’s such a beautiful way of putting it. You talk a lot about privacy, or finding ways to be alone even when you’re surrounded by other people. How has your life changed between when the last album came out and now, in terms of how you’ve been living, what you’ve been doing, how you fill your days?

BYRNE: Well, I guess the most honest way I could answer that question is that regardless of the material differences in how I’ve lived between then and now, it’s my hope that I’m gradually aligning myself with aspirations of the spirit and in doing so, becoming more intentional in my daily life. I’m not free of selfishness, investment in my own side of a story, insecurities that manifest in ways I couldn’t anticipate, impatience… making a habit out of returning to short-lived forms of stimulation or escape. All the markings of a brutal heart. But it seems that being honest about these things is part of our movement away from them. My life’s been more structured, way more routine, but beyond that, the greatest change has been the realization that internally, much of what I turned to for a sense of self could actually never supply it.

STEREOGUM: You can hear that intention in this record because it’s bookended by two songs that are very much about the question of: “Should I still be moving or should I stay in place?” Maybe we can talk about the ideas behind “Follow My Voice.” One of my favorite lyrics on the album is that line, “I know you call this home/ But for me, this city’s hell.”

BYRNE: That line is in homage to a Caethua song that I listened to religiously in the past. At that point in my life, it’s very much how I felt about living in New York. But I had fallen in love. I had fallen so deeply, so sincerely in love and the person that I was with was rooted here. It seemed like whatever credentials I did have at that time had no merit in such an unrelenting place. I hadn’t graduated from college, and I wasn’t in school. I had a scattered work history. I pursued music with such devotion, but that doesn’t afford stability here. At one time in my life, it felt that living on the fringes and living without a home was very liberating, even in its most difficult moments. After being in New York and working in the service industry and feeling no sense of conviction for what I was doing to survive, I found myself at the end of that journey. I had no real reason to be here, but I wasn’t sure where else I could go. I don’t feel that way anymore.

It feels good to finally release “Follow My Voice,” it’s very dear to me. More than anything, the song is a plea for those in pain not to be overtaken by fear. For so much of my adult life, in great secrecy, I’ve felt a deep concern that part of me would always feel alone, misinterpreted, or unreachable. That feeling of aloneness was more familiar and constant to me than any romance had ever been, so much that I drew strength from it. The fear we experience, when despite all we try to give in love, we still emerge feeling that we may never truly be seen — this can have a bewildering effect that causes us to act in ways that aren’t true to who we are. In this case, to remain territorial even after the relationship ran its course, to assert our positions and entitlements, to find fault, the refusal to wish someone well when they no longer meet your personal needs. The song is an expression of faith in complete, unmotivated responsiveness in love and that our own capacity to love extends so far beyond the boundaries of what we’ve been told and lead to believe.

STEREOGUM: It’s hard to be honest and to abandon your ego.

BYRNE: It is! Well said. But part of the reason why it’s so hard to be honest is we don’t really live in a society that encourages that degree of vulnerability. There’s an Adrienne Rich quote that I really love… I think it’s something like:

An honorable human relationship — that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love” — is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other… It is important to do this because in doing so we do justice to our own complexity. We can count on so few people to go this hard way with us.

And I think that’s really true. Living and loving is never going to be easy, and the beautiful part of a relationship is being committed toward really wanting to see and understand someone else and really challenging yourself to listen to who they are instead of asserting who you are and what you need. And obviously, I’m not free of that, I’ve certainly done just that very thing. But I think it’s really important to kind of move away from that.

STEREOGUM: There are so many references on this album to being alone and wondering if being alone is what you’re meant to be. Whether or not you can be the same person, loving and living with someone in harmony, or if that requires resigning bits and pieces of yourself.

BYRNE: That’s certainly been… a conflict for sure. I was talking to one of my friends recently who works as a chaplain, and he’s been an important guide to me. He explained a teaching that the aspiration of love should be triangular, where two people stand on common ground with space and individuality between them, seeking their highest good together. In that sense, the relationship is no longer being driven by unexamined need.

STEREOGUM: In the album’s press release you mention that “Follow My Voice” and the last song, “I Live Now As A Singer,” are closest to your heart in some ways. Do you feel like they connect in a cyclical way? Or am I reading too far into it?

BYRNE: No, I’d say that’s true. There’s greater resolve at the end of Not Even Happiness. “I Live Now As A Singer” is a revelation about the nature of travel. The reason I’ve felt so called to move and to tour is because I was never in a place for that long before I wanted a clean slate. But, you know, whatever burdens you carry go with you wherever you go. You could cross an ocean and they’d still be with you. I traveled the country extensively before I even came close to accepting that. And maybe that goes back to what I was trying to articulate before about how, yes, the structure of my life has changed but also the nature of my life has changed. It’s been a period of time where I’m trying to address what kept compelling me to leave again and again and again.

STEREOGUM: That must be really difficult.

BYRNE: [Laughs] I’m not claiming that I’ve made any progress!

STEREOGUM: What’s 2017 looking like for you?

BYRNE: I don’t know. I’m trying to figure that out myself. I’d like to work as a ranger again in the summer, but I’d also like to tour. It really just depends. I’m playing it by ear right now. More than anything, I’d like to be stable enough to maintain the home I return to even when I do travel. I’m not willing to live the way that I did before when I was just like, “All right! I’m leaving everything behind and going on tour!” [Laughs] I think that having a home base will make me a stronger performer in that I’ll have a dedicated space from which to do the work that I need to in order to offer myself more fully to other people. At least that’s the hope.

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molly453 · 7 years ago

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Symposium Speech (video recording wouldn’t upload because too big)

All: To the future leaders, anarchists and inhabitants

Design activism has a political potential to disrupt or subvert existing systems of power and authority, thereby raising critical awareness of ways of living, working and consuming. On the other hand design activism shares an aesthetic potential with art activism in its ability to open up the relation between people’s behaviour and emotions - between what they do and what they feel about this doing.

A design activist is someone who can encourage and motivate a societal change. Design activism proposes the use of artefacts; textiles and other mediums to embody a space to communicate political views and expose ideas regarding a need for a social shift in the way people do things, and think about the environment. Alastair Fuad-Luke is one of number of designers who proposes approaches to broaden design intentions. He focuses on ‘slow’ production as a metaphor for more sustainable design practices, in opposition to the ‘fast’ mainstream commercial imperatives of fast interior. This performance will build on his and other design thinker’s ideas to identify positive trigger points that can begin to shift attitudes and behaviors toward sustainable practices.

Design activism stimulates social change, promotes awareness on beliefs on sustainability and global warming. Focusing on the consumerism effects that takes place on this earth. Design activism can spawn from multiple design disciplines, it’s not only restricted to one. This initiates the freedom of meta-design and co-design opportunities with other educators such as; architecture, textiles, fashion, product and fine arts to collaborate together and try promote a trigger in social actions. The word “activism” accentuates a relationship between political viewpoints that are expressed through the use of design activism through interventions made in urban public spaces interrupting the social sphere. This design mode is not merely a boycott or a strike but rather a designerly performance trying to encourage a positive shift in society's mind set towards cheap consumerism.

In Alistair Fuad-Luke’s book ‘beautiful strangeness,’ he proposed the need for aesthetics to help enhance feelings and affects towards how design activism can challenge and provoke a pivotal shift in the way the whole social sphere thinks towards a political need. Triggering a social shift can be achieved through design activism and the urban experience itself. Urban design activism is about inviting new artefacts from design disciplines and configuring them around public space. This ultimately is interfering with the urban perception. This causes interaction and engagement from the public, ultimately being successful as it introducing new ways of inhabiting a space, thus design activism encourages the paradigm for a new urban experience.

It is design’s ability to operate through ‘things’ and ‘systems’ that makes it particularly suitable for dealing with contemporary societal, economic and environmental issues.” This suggest design’s manifestation is to strategically incorporate and consider all of life’s contemporary values and structure to ensure that the aesthetics and environment are considered, in order the a designer to be successful, they must consider the environment, as well as consider business needs.

Fashion is going through the process of democratization, meaning consumers have the option of what to wear, and can buy high end brands as well as cheaper designers. While consumers think they have the authority over the system of fashion brands, they have no control of what the brand does to elicit their clothing lines, all the consumer sees, is the final item on the sale rack. The fashion system is funnelled through a narrow gap which they decide what becomes ‘fashion’ and what isn’t, meaning consumers have absolutely no control of what decision making in regards to fashion items as it’s all served to them through a pre designed fashion economy plan.

Craftsmanship has been lost through big fashion retailers, the turnover for constant change of style can be up to 52 seasons a year for some fast fashion brands. The need for consumers to constantly be up to date has caused resilience to putting the time and effort into creating their own garments at home due to lack of creativity, self-confidence, the skill of sewing and even just a choice of lifestyle.

To the future,

I propose to bring interiors outside to exterior spaces, to expose whether there is indeed, even a need to have them inside your house. Fast fashion within interior decorating is becoming mass- produced and consumers are fulfilling their need to update their living quarters yearly, monthly or even fort-nightly. Encouragement is provided with throwaway prices, that a majority of families and students can afford. There is a lack of education situated around fast fashion and the supply chain, consumers don’t know the impact this has on developing countries and the ethics that surround the workers rights, health and mental stability.

I suggest the idea of hacking at the prospect of changing the look book of a room and challenging that “old fashion” has so much more value, second hand linens hold so much history in them, and I challenge the idea of proposing that hand craft gives meaning and has been lost through the production of the production of goods. To do this, I am going to be active and intervene with popular public spaces, to create awareness and spark conversations.

Bedroom:

I will venture off into second hand stores and delve my hands into old bedroom linens and re create my vision of new fashion, to exploit a new way in which consumers can add value to their interiors without supporting mass production, while still maintaining a fresh new season look to their humble abode. I will cut, tear and rip away at the linens, sew them onto new linens and create new works of art, thus creating the new duvet cover. I will then create “pop up bedrooms” on Cuba Street, where I will invite my friends to have a public sleeping session beneath my brand spanking (also old) bedroom interior, but experience it in the exterior, exposing the nature of greed and constant want that fuels our society, facing onlookers to the intervention and realize the devastation of our consumerism needs.

Lounge:

I am going to borrow / buy second hand furniture; I’m going to bring interiors into the exterior which will encourage new ways of using your lounge suite. It will create a new atmosphere and encourage usually private space to become completely public. I will dress the middle of Cuba street with a cozy living quarter, using borrowed furniture from friends and/or buy second hand to create a new lounge, using old furniture. Again this reiterates the idea that consumers do not have to buy brand new at throw away prices, instead they can buy pre loved goodness, that creates a new fresh interior, but with the essence of beautiful considered hand crafted furniture, that’s been touched by many different hands and possibly isn’t as mass produced as furniture can be made today.

Kitchen:

I propose to bring every inch of my appliances that are situated in my kitchen to the exteriors public space on Cuba Street. Apart from me realizing myself that I need to de clutter and reconsider my obsession with buying cute colourful measuring cups, it will sponsor the theme of over consumerism, and introduce the idea of want verses need. Ranging from 10 of the same cutlery spoons right through to an electric beater. This will force the audience to consider an important theme of, do we really need all this? I believe it’s overly important that one of the first steps to self realization of a unnecessary hoarding helps possibly diminish the excessive need to constantly update and change our interior looks. A spoon is a spoon, a bowl is a bowl, they have a simple purpose, so why do you need to buy expensive branded ones or have more than enough of the same thing. It becomes an obsession to spruce up your living quarters.

Today, I am bringing back the love and nurture of hand crafted goods, and expose the effort and time that goes into the creation of a simple interior finishing. I am going to hide my self away in my making cave and live stream the birth of my rug, made entirely of old linens from my childhood, teenage years and adult life. This encourages me to learn a new skill from the textiles discipline, as well as promote consumers to re use materials they have lying around the house, rather than buying new.

While activists seek to change societal systems they go through a ‘transformational activism’ meaning the activist is undergoing personal transformation. This suggests being an activist is a ‘life journey to realise a new state of being, all for the greater good.’

#weektwelve

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