#robert in a white tee

[theunknownintrowert]

i collect pretty boys with buzzcuts

[clarkkantagain]

[papa-evershed]

RJC sending a fan some love

[bobbie-robron]

Wh… what does it matter anyway. It’s over.

Bonus:

21-Sep-2015

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Hurricane - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley's regretted breaking off his relationship with you for months, but when he sees you walking into the country club after his round of golf, he knows he has to fix things.

a/n: I haven't written much angst before but I'm really trying to branch out a little bit. Inspired by Hurricane by Luke Combs, and also this weird recurring dream I keep having.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: buckle up bc there's a lot? angst (happy ending), parental death, depression, hurt, cancer, goose's accident + carole's reaction, carole literally never getting over losing goose, bradley being a commitmentphobe, pregnancy (i think that's it?), also entirely unrealistic bc you know what? I can't keep roo sad for long.

word count: 3.6k

taglist: @avengersfan25, @nouis-bum, @floydsmuse, @mamachasesmayhem, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @djs8891

Then you rolled in with your hair in the wind Baby, without warning I was doin' alright but just your sight Had my heart stormin'

Bradley narrowed his eyes beneath his sunglasses, the glare of the hot mid-morning sun harsh on his chocolate brown eyes. He grabbed his nine-iron from his golf bag, taking a practice swing before teeing up for his next shot. Bob, Jake, Reuben and Javy stood to the side behind him, watching as he lined up to take his shot. He hadn’t golfed in years, in fact, he’d only ever golfed a handful of times in his life, all of them back when he lived in Virginia. His uncle had taught him when he was 15, a welcome distraction when his mom became sick, and he’d gone out a few times when he was in college after a roommate of his on the school’s golf team had invited him out. He held his breath as he heard the club make contact with the small, white orb, watching as it soared through the air, disappearing somewhere onto the course. Jake let out an impressive whistle as he looked on, placing his hands on his hips as he shook his head in disbelief.

“You’ve never golfed before, Bradshaw? You sure?” He drawled, raising one of his manicured (though he’d deny it if asked) blonde eyebrows suspiciously.

“I told you, a handful of times. Not never.”

“You did say less than five,” Bob shrugged as he cleaned his glasses before replacing them on his nose. “Less than five suggests you haven’t really hit a course.”

“Not to mention you said in years. That was the swing of a man who’s at least hit a driving range a few times,” Reuben pointed out to the course in the general direction of where Bradley’s ball had landed as Javy, Bob and Jake nodded in agreement. 

“I wish Nat had tagged along, she wouldn’t ride my ass this hard,” Bradley huffed, shaking his head. 

“Nat doesn’t golf. You know that. She acted disgusted that I even asked,” Jake shrugged.

“Maybe it was how you asked,” Bob suggested as he disguised his jab at Jake as a helpful criticism.

 “Just take your turn, Robert,” Jake hissed, rolling his eyes dramatically as Bob smirked.

Bradley normally would have joined in with a quip of his own directed at Jake, but his heart just wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t even in the game. The only reason why he’d agreed to go golfing with the guys for their usual monthly game was because you left him. He needed to get over you and move on - it’d been six months and with no deployments coming up, he had nothing to focus 100% of his attention onto. Reuben had noticed it first - Bradley was withdrawn on nights out, his usually chatterbox self now quiet, calm and keeping to himself, barely breaking eye contact with his beer bottle. Then came Natasha’s barrage of questions - he knew she meant well, but God, it was hard to listen to. 

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew why you left. And it was entirely his fault. You’d gotten upset because he’d stopped spending as much time with you, kept getting cold feet about committing to your relationship. He’d never tell you why he couldn’t commit - it was too hard for him to explain to anyone, really. In fact, he was fairly confident that Reuben was the only other person aware of it. 

Bradley wanted to be the partner you needed - he really did. He wanted to be the doting, affectionate boyfriend who’d whisk you off somewhere beautiful, propose to you, start a family with 2.2 kids and a dog, cart the kids around to sports practices on weekends - the American dream. He knew you deserved that much. And yet, no matter how badly he wanted to give that to you - he couldn’t. He’d told you he didn’t want it - he didn’t want to get married, he didn’t want to have kids, he never wanted it. He watched you fall apart the minute the words left his mouth, and it killed him inside. He wanted to hold you close and tell you he was making a mistake, tell you it wasn’t true and he didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t, because he was terrified. 

Growing up without his dad was one of the hardest things he could have experienced, he was sure of it. He was too young to truly remember how his mom reacted when she learned her husband had been killed in a training exercise, but he remembered her crying a lot, feeling paralyzed by loss and guilt, angry with the world for taking the man she loved away from her. He remembered as he grew up, she never remarried, never went on a date, never even as much as looked at another man. His dad was her everything, and losing him crushed her. 

When she got sick, Bradley was a teenager - old enough to understand what it meant for her, what her odds of recovery were, and old enough to be realistic about the future. When they found out she wasn’t going to get better, he’d half expected her to react the way she did when his dad died, but instead, she seemed almost at peace with the idea. She’d spent 14 years of her life missing his dad, and she knew that, even though she was horrified by the thought of leaving Bradley on his own, she wouldn’t have to spend another minute missing her husband.

Bradley decided then that he’d never want to put someone through that. He’d never be able to hurt someone he loved like this - leave them widowed before they turned 30, alone with a toddler at home to raise on the opposite side of the country from their family and friends, with nothing but a military pension and an apology over his death. 

It was at 16 years old that Bradley decided, if he wanted to become a pilot, he was going to have to spend life alone, and for the most part, he was ok with that. 

That was, until he met you.

He tried to deny his feelings, pretending you were just a casual fling, some fun sex here and there between deployments and missions and nothing more. That was, until three months in, he accidentally told you he loved you. It wasn’t a lie, he did love you, but it caught him off guard when he said it - he didn’t mean to blow his cover and let his guard down like that. And when you said it back? He knew it was game over. 

He tried his hardest to push his fears aside, he tried SO hard. He was getting older and beginning to realize he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone, especially as he neared the mandatory 20 years of service cutoff for aviators. He’d grown almost fond of the idea of settling down with you, seeing you with a ring on your finger, picturing you with a baby in you, his baby. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. But, the fears and anxiety he had reared its ugly head, and he couldn’t bring himself to get past it. 

It was on their last mission, when he had to eject and landed in the middle of a snowy mountain, unsure if he’d make it back home to you. His mind raced with thoughts of how you’d react if he didn’t make it home - how you’d crumple to the floor when you saw the two uniformed officers on your doorstep, the blood-curdling scream you’d let out in pain when you heard them say it, tears staining your pretty little face as you were handed that folded American flag - he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stand the idea of putting you through everything his mom had gone through. Not when you were so young and had everything ahead of you. When you could find a man who wasn’t putting his life in danger nearly every damn day, risking himself and risking a chance he might not come home to you. 

This golf trip was meant to take his mind off you. Reuben had mentioned it in passing to Jake and Bob, who exchanged worried looks with one another. Javy had overheard Nat’s line of questioning when he and Mickey returned to the table with a fresh round of beers, both of them offering Bradley silent looks of sympathy as they nodded in agreement to Nat’s advice. Bradley was struggling, in over his head with emotions and regret and sadness, but he knew he’d fucked it all up. And he knew that even if he tried, you wouldn’t want him back, and who could blame you? 

Bob had suggested he reach out to you and apologize, and for a while, Bradley considered it. He strongly considered calling you, going to your house, begging for forgiveness and begging you to take him back, but after how you reacted when he broke things off with you, he wouldn’t even take him back. He’d been a dick in every sense of the word, and now, he had to try and move on, adjusting to life without you in it. 

The next nine holes passed by with little conversation from Bradley and worried glances exchanged between his friends. He wasn’t in the mood for talking, he’d explain, shrugging the concern off before focusing back on the game. Bradley was thankful for his friends’ efforts, but it was beginning to feel like nothing would help him move on. 

He slumped down into a chair at a table in the country club after their round of golf, sipping back the beer Jake bought him. He caught himself downing the liquid quicker than he should have, but at this point, being drunk would at least provide him with that much needed numbness he craved. He could hear Bob bickering with Jake over golf scores and who truly won, prompting an eye roll from Javy as he pulled the crumpled scoresheets from his pocket and placed them on the table. Reuben noticed the glazed over look in Bradley’s eye and clapped a sympathetic hand down on his shoulder. 

Bradley was about to thank Reuben for being there for him when he saw your face. You were walking into the country club with a couple of your friends, laughing and smiling as you spoke. 

God, he loved that smile. 

He gulped back the rest of his drink before placing the glass back down on the table, the sound of Bradley slamming the glass down a little harder than he intended prompting Jake to spin his head around as he saw you.

“Oh..shit,” he murmured as Bob and Javy both turned to look discreetly towards you.

Bradley’s eyes widened as you walked past the bar, revealing a very unexpected new figure. He blinked his eyes a few times to ensure they weren’t playing tricks on him - positive that this had to be some kind of optical illusion or something. It was impossible. You couldn’t be.

“Pregnant.” Jake whispered as he leaned into the table, “She’s pregnant,”

“Did you know, Bradley?” Bob inquired as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“N-no.” Bradley choked out, feeling the walls closing in around him as the room started to spin.

Without hesitation, Bradley rose from his seat and made his way over to you, despite the protests from Bob and Reuben, the two voices of reason to Javy and Jake’s voices of impulse. Bradley approached you cautiously, clearing his throat for a moment to garner your attention. You spun your head around, your cheeks rosy and your skin glowing with that pregnancy glow everyone always talked about. Bradley had never really believed in that kind of stuff, but you were proving him wrong. 

“Bradley?” you asked, your face paleing to a shade of ghostly white. 

“Can…can we talk, please? I need to talk to you,” Bradley rambled with desperation written on his face.

You huffed a sigh, nodding your head slowly as you excused yourself from your friends, who were now whispering and exchanging uncomfortable glances with one another. Bradley followed closely behind you as you stepped out into the fresh air, finding a discreet corner of the parking lot to discuss everything from the last six months. 

“I…Is it mine?” Bradley whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer as his eyes wandered to the bump that was evident under your sundress.

You sighed again, following Bradley’s gaze down to your abdomen, a protective hand resting on your bump as you nodded slowly, humming in confirmation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowned, shaking his head quickly, “I-I, I would have helped you.”

“Bradley,” you said, narrowing your eyes and shaking your head quickly, “You told me you didn’t want this. You dumped me and told me you never wanted to settle down or have a family, you didn’t want to be with me anymore, and being in a long-term relationship wasn’t what you ever wanted. You told me you didn’t love me. So please, tell me why I should have told you?”

“Because,” he said softly, his heart aching as he heard your side of things, “I didn’t mean any of that. I was wrong.”

“Oh, you were wrong? Tell me, were you always wrong, or are you only wrong now that you’ve seen me six months later, heavily pregnant?” 

Bradley was speechless. He gazed down at his feet, kicking at the pavement in his golf cleats. He sighed as he thought for a moment, taking a second of quiet reflection to compose his thoughts before speaking. He wanted to get this right. He couldn’t afford to fuck it up again.

“I was always wrong. I was wrong when I said it, and I knew I was wrong,” he shook his head vigorously before looking up to meet your gaze, “Did I ever tell you about my mom?”

“You told me she died when you were a teenager, and you didn’t really mention anything else about her. Or anyone in your family, for that matter.”

“Right,” he nodded his head slowly, taking a deep breath before beginning to explain. “My dad died when I was 2. He was an RIO, a Radar Intercept Officer. You know Maverick, right?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded slowly, a look of annoyance flashing across your face as you listened to Bradley, you were used to his excuses, and you were really hoping this wasn’t another one. 

“So, Maverick was my dad’s pilot. Best friends. Did everything together. He was flying when my dad died, their plane lost control, had to eject, my dad hit the canopy. Died instantly.” Bradley paused, taking another deep breath as he felt himself getting choked up, “My mom, she, uh, she was really young. My dad was 25, my mom was 23. He was her high school sweetheart. She was devastated. I was too young to remember a lot, but I remember her hurting, and being sad all the time, unable to function some days because she just missed him so much,” he explained as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“Bradley, I’m sorry,” you sighed, shaking your head as you sympathetically rubbed his bicep to comfort him.

“I just…when she died, she was…peaceful, I guess, because she knew she wouldn’t have to miss him anymore. She wouldn’t be lonely. She never remarried or dated after him, she couldn’t bring herself to. She’s buried with her wedding ring still on her finger. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off her,” he took another deep breath, exhaling sharply before looking up at you. 

“I couldn’t do that to you,” he finally said, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over again, “I couldn’t leave you like my mom. Heartbroken and alone your whole life. She never moved on, and I didn’t want that for you if we got married. God, I would have given anything to marry you. I would have taken you to the courthouse and married you on the spot if you would have agreed to it. But, I couldn’t risk breaking your heart. Not like that.”

“Bradley, you’ve always come home in one piece,” you said softly, fingers still stroking his upper arm soothingly.

“But I almost didn’t. I had to eject and all I could think about was you getting that knock at the door and going through what she went through, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to you, or…or to a baby.”

You shook your head, processing everything that Bradley had just said as he poured his heart out to you. He’d never opened up like this to you before, but you could tell each and every word was genuine. As much as you hated him for leaving you, you couldn’t deny that you still loved him with all of your heart. 

You missed him. 

You missed waking up to him after the two of you had fallen asleep watching a movie together. You missed the way he yelled at the tv when watching baseball, how passionate he got over football games, how he’d pick the olives out of his nachos like a toddler and put them on your plate. You missed how he couldn’t eat apples unless they were baked in a pie, how he’d scarf down an entire red velvet cake if you didn’t gently stop him, then regret it hours later. You missed the way his big brown eyes would stare at you, a look of pure adoration on his face like a lovesick puppy whenever you spoke to someone else, as if he was hanging on every single word that fell from your lips.

You burst into tears, throwing your arms tightly around Bradley as you shook your head. “God, you’re an idiot, you know that?” you murmured, laughing softly as you hugged him.

“I know, I’m the biggest idiot. I still would marry you if you let me. I wanted to have kids with you, I want to be around for this one,” he nodded, gesturing his hands at your bump. 

“Really?”

“Cross my heart,” Bradley said with an expression of complete seriousness on his face, “I wanna know everything about them. Everything. I wanna know what you’re having, what name you’ve picked out, what your cravings are, how you’ve been feeling, when they move, what does it feel like? I want to know how far along you are, and how they’re doing, if they have my nose or your nose, or if they’re gonna be tall like I am, I want to know what helps you sleep at night when you’re pregnant, and what their favourite song is. I want all of it, honey.”

“Ok, ok, slow down, breathe, Bradley,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Take a walk with me?”

As you and Bradley walked around the pedestrian pathway on the golf course, smiling as you spoke fondly about the baby, answering all of Bradley’s questions. 

“Well, baby’s a girl, I don’t have a name in mind for her yet, I’ve been craving oranges and Sprite, anything sweet and citrusy. I’ve been ok, better now the morning sickness finally dissipated. It feels like bubbles or something when she kicks, it’s like a fluttering, almost? I’m 28 weeks along, so I have about three months left. She looked like she has your nose on the ultrasound, there’s a 50/50 chance on her height, I sleep pretty much sitting upright because I get bad heartburn otherwise, and I play her music all the time. She likes Elvis and The Beach Boys, just like her dad.” 

Bradley’s smile spread wide across his face, a small laugh of disbelief escaping his mouth as he nodded along with your words.

“That’s great. A girl? Really? You’re gonna have a daughter running around,” he said softly, almost as if he was daydreaming about what the little girl would look like.

“We are going to have a daughter.”

“You’re gonna let me be there? After everything?”

“Bradley, as much as I hated you for what you did and how you ended things - I never truly hated you. I loved you, more than anything. I still do.”

He held you tightly, burying his face into your hair as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring softly against your hair. 

“God, I love you so much, honey. I promise, I’m never going to do something stupid like that again.”

“I know you won’t,” you laughed, shaking your head as he looked down at you, “I know you’d never leave Carly and I again.”

Bradley froze in place for a moment as he stared at you, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. 

“What did you call her?”

“Carly. I thought, I don’t know, after you told me about your mom just now, I thought maybe you’d like to name the baby after her? Carole’s nice too, I just figured Carly gives her a name that’s her own too, they share the same root.”

“Carly,” he nodded slowly as he repeated it, “I love it.”

Bradley took your hand in his, his large fingers enveloping your hand as he held it tightly, as if he was terrified of letting go. He made that mistake once before, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

[writing-until-i-drop]

Read To Me? | Comfort Drabble wc: 338

Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife! reader

You want to enjoy a night in bed with your husband but he has to study for a test.

Warnings: None! It's just pure fluff

Requested by Anonymous, view original ask here

“What are you reading, Bobby?” You snuggled up to your husband in bed, worming your way under one of his strong arms to rest your head on his chest. Bob chuckled, kissing your temple.

“F-18 NATOPS, boring stuff, princess.” You slipped a hand under his plain, white tee shirt, softly tracing his abs. 

“Can I persuade you to do something more interesting?” 

“Better than anyone I know,” Bob adjusted how he was holding the manual so he could pull you more on top of him. His hand slid beneath your waistband, resting on your bare thigh. “But I’ve got to study for this test tomorrow or Cyclone is going to chew me out.” 

You sighed, kissing his chest before relaxing into him fully. He smelled like your body wash, he liked to use it when he was stressed. Bob said that being surrounded by your scent made him relax better than anything else in the world. 

You loved your husband, he was the sweetest man on earth. He was always coming home with flowers or your favorite snacks just because. Bob made sure you never wanted for anything, at least not for long. If you looked at something for too long in a shop but left without it, or mentioned something you liked in passing, you’d find it on your bedside table within a few days. 

“Read it to me?” 

“It’ll put you to sleep, princess,” Bob chuckled, turning the page. “You just want to hear my voice, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please,” You kissed his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

“Chapter twenty, extreme weather conditions. In freezing conditions, water draining beneath the left engine…” Bob’s voice lulled you to sleep, his thumb smoothing comfortingly across your thigh. 

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed, Bob having already gone into work. You rolled over,smiling at the sight of a small bag from your favorite store on your nightstand. Leaning against the bag was a note.

Only the best for my princess. 

Love you,

Your Bobby xoxo

[caltropspress]

Earl Sweatshirt: A Geography of Grief and Growth

I made myself the poet of the world. The white man had found a poetry in which there was nothing poetic….I had soon to change my tune.

—Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952)

I suggest that we do not necessarily need to hear and know what is stated in its entirety, that we do not need to “master” or conquer the narrative as a whole, that we may know in fragments.

—bell hooks, “Teaching New Worlds/New Words” (1994)

Breakin’ ’em down to micro-fragments.

—Saafir, “Battle Drill” (1994)

What is asked of me is not to ascend but to descend.

—Robert Bly (1990)

1.

Earl Sweatshirt’s arc, swerving and dervishy, isn’t difficult to see, as we’ve witnessed it with him—we’re either interlocutors or interlopers, both with questionable motives. So when Earl looks back on school daze, as he does on “OD,” we look back with him (though ours is often an imperial gaze [HOW COULD IT NOT BE?]). We tee-hee and titter as we hear that “somebody tooted in the student commons,” tooted being the most puerile word for gas he could have chosen. An array of scatological options were ignored. It’s a deliberate gesture toward juvenilia. He doesn’t want his expression to be too mature, ha. He wants to welcome you to the romper room, ha. Remaining a kid until the moment he expires, apparently. So he sets the adolescent scene: the student commons. “The bell rang,” and the accused student was spared the prolonged opprobrium. In about four seconds, the student will begin to post. He “went home and argued in the comments,” channeling his embarrassment elsewhere, talking shit (shit) on the internet behind the safety and quasi-anonymity of a screen—an odd facade. He can walk right up to your avi and diss you. That’s his philosophy. The public humiliation replaced with a private self-possession. The discomfort of the crowd exchanged for the solace of solitude.

2.  DID AN ANGEL SPEAK?

The sonics of “tooted” and “student” are twee, giggle-inducing. We laugh along with the concatenation of m and n phonemes [somebody | student | commons | rang | went | home | then | in | comments]. The near-homophonous commons and comments scan hysterical. With “OD,” it’s easy to confuse adolescence with adulthood. That “somebody” committed this social transgression seems defensive. Maybe it was him—the subject, Earl, Thebe—seeing as how the rest of the song is delivered in the first-person. Embrace the Age of Immaturity. Channel the Fat Boys: Darren Robinson’s flatulent beatbox. Place it beside the disorderly lyrics that Bobbito spits: “I write my own shit from finish to start, / Diminish the heart, / I eat a knish and then I fart.” Like the Cenobites, Earl kicks a dope verse, and only that. “I keep my sentences short,” he says on “EAST.” Beauty is brevity, brevity beauty. A “brevity pack,” as Earl has referred to the Feet of Clay songs. He strives to be live ’cause he got no choice. He runs his own business like James Joyce. In A Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, a similar flatus incident unravels. At Clongowes Wood College (Stephen Dedalus’s Coral Reef Academy), a “stout student who stood below…on the steps” by the name of Goggins “farted briefly.” Sonically, the sentence shares much with Earl’s opening line. Dixon asks, in a “soft voice,” “Did an angel speak?” But the others react with bellicosity and name-calling (stinkpot; flamingest dirty devil). Goggins doesn’t retreat home; he simply asks, “It did no one any harm, did it?” You still bet that you can harm me, but you don’t alarm me, Goggins might say another way, reprising Del the Funky Homosapien, echoplexing Masta Ace. 

3. 

Earl “watched the doppler move,” the wavelength shift—the siren song of the “toot,” something insidious—or maybe it’s just the tremors we’re feeling. Woop, woop: that’s the sound of the beast, KRS would say. The frequency shivers. The shift, the movéd doppler, means Earl is immediately older, he’s the child who “get[s] introduced to violence,” even if he acknowledges the line was inspired by his nephew on a playground in South Africa, experiencing apartheid reincarnate as a whiteboy cuts him in line for the slide. Cranly, bullying Goggins, “shove[s] him violently down the steps.” The doppler moves. It slides into violence—like the violence visited upon the MOVE compound located at 6221 Osage Avenue in Philly in 1985. Gradations of black/white. ELUCID mentions the “gray on [his] face showing age” on his Osage (2016) project. Isn’t it strange—how the youngins can turn cold, hoarfrosty, in an instant? The grayscale cover to ELUCID’s tape is graced by a photograph of Birdie Africa, the sole child survivor of the siege. The bone fragments of the MOVE children have since been used in anthropology courses at UPenn and Princeton—case studies. It’s a good trope. Fascinating stuff.

4.  TRYIN’ TO TRANSFORM YOU BOYS TO MEN LIKE DAYCARE

When JuJu of the Beatnuts asked, You want pain?, he wasn’t referencing the dramatical-traumatical pain Earl negotiates—JuJu’s question posed a ruffneck and ruffian pain on “Watch Out Now.” Somewhere closer to Marcy, where Jay-Z’s streets was watching. Earl clocks minutes, anaphoric with what he watches (I watched the doppler… / I watched a child…), much like Dylan’s portentous hard rain in which he saw endless racialized visions: “I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it”; “I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’”; “I saw a white ladder all covered with water.” For Earl, the ladder is a slide. The saw is watched. Witnesses all.

5.

In “Theory as Liberatory Practice,” bell hooks writes that she “came to theory because [she] was hurting”: “I wanted to make the hurt go away. I saw in theory then a location for healing.” hooks says that she “came to theory young, when [she] was still a child,” citing Terry Eagleton who argues that “[c]hildren make the best theorists.” Children, Eagleton insists, possess “a wondering estrangement.” No wonder, then, that “since a jit” Earl has found no use in “giving up.” He rather make it make sense. 

6.

I beat you to the point. Having gained experience, there’s nothing you can tell Earl that he doesn’t already know, that he hasn’t already seen. He’s seen enough, had enough. He doesn’t await the mob’s pursuit; he places the noose on himself, he RE: DEFines it within his own lexicon. His noose, therefore, “is golden.” He’s a young youth, rockin’ the gold [noose], DEATHWORLD goose. He speaks with criminal slang, with a split tongue like ELUCID. Where ELUCID was “true and living, actual—no dull axes, owner of all heads,” Earl is “true and living, lonesome,” with no skulls to keep him company. He has to square up with the “pugilistic moments” on his own. 

7.  I AM OLDER THAN I ONCE WAS AND YOUNGER THAN I’LL BE

I’m thinking of “The Pugilist at Rest” (1991) by Thom Jones, whose epileptic protag describes a “grainy black-and-white photograph” of the bronze statue called The Pugilist at Rest. The pugilist, with a pocketful of mumbles, has “slanted, drooping brows that bespeak torn nerves” and a forehead “piled with scar tissue.” Torn nerves and scar tissue—sounds like the physical manifestations of grief. And, yes, Earl has grieved, and he continues to grieve—as listeners, we’re accustomed to his grief pedigree, as per Ka. In the past, Earl was “panicking a lot”—he just “want[ed] [his] time and [his] mind intact.” That’s a cold fact.

The narrator of “The Pugilist at Rest” readies himself for a cingulotomy—a psychosurgical procedure that will “cauterize a small spot in a nerve bundle in [his] brain.” In other words, he wants to keep his mind intact. The neurosurgeon promises the operation will lift “the heaviness of a heart blackened by sin,” which is what convinces the narrator to agree to it. Good grief, he thinks, he’s been reaping what he sowed. He “can’t go on like this,” barely living “with a deadening sense of languor,” a phrase which calls to mind Earl’s lethargic, slugabed flow. Feeling insane in the membrane, like he’s a Soul Assassinated, exploring the depths beneath his whooligan behaviors. 376 was a brothel. “Good and evil are only illusions,” Jones writes. In anticipation of the surgery, the protag considers the worst-case [so what, so what] scenario: “If they fuck up the operation, I hope I get to keep my dogs somehow.”

8.  MOURNING & MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLIA

Grief carries its own antidote along with it.

—Charles Brockden Brown, Wieland (1798)

“Grief is the door to feeling,” Robert Bly says. But Earl, on “Grief,” told us he “ain’t been outside in a minute”—and that minute, whether we’re speaking with criminal slang like Nas on “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” or not, is an eternity. Earl hadn’t crossed that threshold, hadn’t kicked in that door. MIKE would realize it much later on “No Curse Lifted (rivers of love),” how you “had to walk through the grief,” even if it “was the worst feeling.” In 2015, though, Earl found these passageways distorted. Like the undulating photograph on the cover of his first mixtape. Like the blur-obscured selfie on the cover of Some Rap Songs. Like the static-scrambled cover of I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Earl’s dealt in fragmentary confuzzled noise for a full career. He’s been standing on the corner, red burnt, moving down alien lanes paved by GBV, greenthinking to himself. It ain’t hard to tell that Earl “don’t act hard” and yet is a “hard act to follow.” The density or opacity of his exterior notwithstanding, grief don’t come easy. “As men,” Bly says, “we’re taught not to feel pain and grief as children.” So Earl spits somnolent, numb-tongued and slack-jawed. Like he said on “Cold Summers”: muffle my pain and muzzle my brain up. 

“I’ve been alone in my shit for the longest,” he spit on “Grief,” and in work as recent as “Vin Skully,” he’s still figuring out “how to stay afloat in a bottomless pit.” Bly says that “we receive something from our father by standing close to him—something moves over that can’t be described in material terms.” Bly speaks of being in a “conspiracy with his mother” from early on. Earl finds himself “thinking ’bout [his] grandmama” while he wallows and lies in a bottle. “Grief” catalogs all the things his mama taught him. Earl’s work, of late, is autodestructive. He peels away and pastes back haphazardly. He vibes with this Bly shit: “If you can deny something so fundamental as grief in the whole family, you can deny anything. And then how can you write poetry if you’re involved in that much denial?”

Bly goes on to quote Alice Miller, the psychoanalyst who gave us The Drama of the Gifted Child (1979): “When you were young, you needed something you did not receive, and you will never receive it. And the proper attitude is mourning.” Mourning is the proper attitude, not blame—mourning. Mourning makes its way through moaning and mumbling—Earl’s current intonation. On “Grief,” he “cut the grass off the surface [and] pray[s] the lawnmower blade catch the back of a serpent.” Philip Larkin’s poem “The Mower” (1979) leans more literal: “The mower stalled, twice; I found / A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, / Killed. It had been in the long grass.” Larkin’s speaker genuflects before the innocent critter, recalling how he “fed it, once.” Now, he mourns how he has “mauled its unobtrusive world, / Unmendably. Burial was no help.” Earl, of course, is less forgiving of the serpents in the grass. They’re threats, not friends. Still, a void opens up when the mower—(and let’s not forget the lawnmower is a modernized scythe)—does its mowing. Grief is the door to feeling, and on the other side:

Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.

9.  NOBODY KNOW WHO MADE THIS WELL, FOR IT WAS HERE WHEN I WAS BORN

“Come get to know me at my innermost…”

Riveting, Earl raps. Earl raps are riveting. We fix to the flow—riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s. We’re invited to know Earl, to become familiar, and his “innermost” is a constant vacillation between optimism and [afro]pessimism. The sudden switches—these switches on bitches like fixed with hydraulics—establish what Danny Schwartz, writing for Rolling Stone, called an “uneven terrain.”

Earl’s “family business [is] anguished,” and that’s recognizable. We’ve known Earl (on “Chum”) with the “pendulum swinging slow” and low. He holed up, hostage-like, in his “heart’s bottomless pit.” Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” (1842) brand of captivity. “I was sick,” that narrator says, “—sick unto death with that long agony.” Something tells me there should be an exclamation point there (SICK!). Earl Sweatshirt was down, down, down. “I was in the fucking pits for like 10 months post my pops dying,” he said in an interview. The Spanish Inquisition ain’t shit.

But for these countless downs, “OD” tracks the ups like naloxone in the nasal membrane. “Now I need atonement,” Earl notes—he makes a case for reparations. He “sets the goal[s]” like some motivational speaker. If “half [his] wings is broken,” he can “spread the other for [his] brodie OD.” Somewhat circumspect as he’s “tiptoeing,” yet the approach is laden with “too much love.” Even when his “sister showed in a rut,” he’s joining arms with her and “getting over, sending up.” That rut she walks—like Eudora Welty’s worn path (1941)—is a path through the pinewoods, and she’s suddenly Phoenix Jackson. “She was very old and small,” Welty writes, and she moves “with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a grandfather clock.” Even with her pentium processing and pendulum low, she swings back up—the rise of her namesake. She screams phoenix, her feathers and flames are one skin. “Living in the moment,” Earl raps, and his craft is bars. “You been corrupt”—and, sure, who hasn’t?—but you recover with “some ginabot.” Welty’s Old Phoenix surveys a spring “silently flowing through a hollow log.” She bends and drinks and says, “Sweet gum makes the water sweet.” It’s the equivalent to Earl putting “shilajit in his sippy cup,” which is “healing cuts revealingly.” And, yes, from a “sippy cup,” so we’re back to toddling around again (“Since a jit,” he says). “I can’t give enough,” Earl raps, his last winding-sheet made of nard and myrrh. 

10.

We crouch and teeter, caterwauling along the ledges, for we’ve got these clumsy feet of clay. This is the intended effect[/defect]; this is the rubble of what Earl calls the “crumbling empire.” This is us feeling the violent vibes of the “death throes” he speaks of. Why would we expect anything to resemble traditional song or rhyme structure when the earth quakes, civilization trembles, and Earl’s dungeon shakes? His chains have fallen off. The tenor is tremors. He’s living the trife life—hell on earth—but still living. Earl’s done trying to not look down—he embraces an outer appearance which scans dour; he deliberately gazes into the pit, inviting the vertigo, for it “haunts the whole of existence,” as Fanon says. But Frank B. Wilderson III promises a “vengeance of vertigo.”

11.

Gallons of rubbing alcohol flow through the strip, and Earl’s lips. He’s “refilling the pump”—his heart, yeah—but with a sawed-off shotgun, hand-on-the-pump posture. There’s “no concealing it,” not even with a concealed carry permit. He brandishes right back at “the enemy up in arms bearing snubs.” The mood swings; been down so long it looks like up to him. The turns require tourniquets. This is some Battle of Dak To torture—somewhere between Retaliation and the Heavenly Divine. Emotional turmoil seems violent by design, and Earl’s “memory [is] really leaking blood.” Fear not, the blood is “congealing, stuck.” Like Havoc says, “The Mobb rollin’ thicker.” Prodigy cites it, too: “This ain’t rap—it’s bloodsport.” But Earl has known that all along—he’s been “mobbin’ deep as ’96 Havoc and Prodigy did” since 2013.

12.

HipHopDX’s Kevin Cortez referred to listeners having to “sift through the muddle” in order to appreciate the bars, but where muddle suggests a disorderly conduct, a kaos network, Earl’s style, more appropriately, models. The woozy, wavy, and inner-conflict-war-torn vocals model an abstraction that anticipates the listener’s loyalty. This is what I’ve got, brief and cryptic as the gesture may be, the model says. Writing for NME, Dhruva Balram described Earl’s lyrics as “slurred,” but slurry is the form.

13.

If the empire can deploy Orwellian technologies of repression, its outcasts have the gods of chaos on their side…

—Mike Davis, Planet of Slums (2005)

So if we’re giving ourselves over to the woozes and waves, we’ll just as well find ourselves lost. Let’s go—like those tourist books run by students—and let’s wander eastward. Follow our napkin-scrawled directions and disorientations to a somewhere elsewhere. Let’s go east for a second, for a spell, on a lark, in the dark (word to AKAI SOLO). Earl’s bloodwork contains “pieces of slums”—or more aptly, [sLUms]. He’s hand-to-hand with that Jungle Boy MIKE, but also the god Mike Davis. “[T]he cities of the future,” Davis wrote, would be “constructed out of crude brick, straw, recycled plastic, cement blocks, and scrap wood.” Just the same as an Earl Sweatshirt verse is built—under the tutelage and overstanding-sharing, symbiotically, with MIKE. Davis says our cities aren’t “cities of light soaring toward heaven,” but a world that “squats in squalor, surrounded by pollution, excrement, and decay.” Smells like somebody tooted in the student commons. Smells like a slum village, something we’ve smelled before—possibly coming straight from the slums of Shaolin. 

14.  ACID EASTERNS

Earl trekked to the East and squinted into “one beacon in the dust weaving”—like Clint Eastwood arriving out of the hazy horizon ether of High Plains Drifter (1973). But Earl is heading to the East, blackwards. And though Brother J claimed you can’t define what’s direct from the East, Jeru told us on The Sun Rises in the East that you can’t stop the prophet either. So on “EAST,” Earl traverses a tricky terrain—it’s tricky, tricky, tricky because it’s an acid western landscape: an acid eastern.

The path isn’t direct or linear—it zigs and zags like rolling papers, and stimulates the same. “Double back when you got it made,” Earl says at the start of his journey “EAST.” The objective is to talk sense condensed into the form of a poem like Special Ed once did on “I Got It Made.” Instead, Earl’s poems—his L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poems—skew [non]sense, go form[less], and vaporize rather than condense. Lyn Hejinian in cinnamon Timbs: “constant change figures / the time we sense.” The narrative is hallucinogenic (note: “how the story careen against the bars”). Earl’s bindle contains “thirty racks and weed [with] no fat in the collard greens.” That’s how he gets funky on the mic like an old batch. That’s how he gets sincerity on the mic: “Off top it’s me—no cap, / I don’t bottle things.” That buck that bought a bottle could’ve struck the lotto, maybe. But Earl’s “canteen was full of the poison [he] need[s].” He gets where he’s going like El Topo, bereft. The “trip was long and steep”—that being an acid trip—so let me see you try to ride a horse into the chasms of the canyon.

“EAST” is a death meditation, a grand duel between Dantean and Donneian lyric voices [he damn-near well should’ve double-tracked the vocals]. In a 2015 interview with SPIN, Earl is asked about the worst thing he did that year, to which he replies: “Umm…acid?” He elaborates: “I took it at a time when I really didn’t need to be taking acid. I had like a fucking existential crisis at, like, four in the morning. But it was tight. We reeled it back.” Jodorowsky called El Topo (1970) an “eastern” in that it “incorporat[ed] ancient eastern wisdom in the materiality of American cowboys.” For Earl, it’s more a rhinestone cowboy—he holds the cold one like he holds an old gun (as evidenced in the “EAST” music video). DOOM was no stranger to grief, of course, and the rumors persist regarding the bad acid that precipitated Subroc’s early demise (“Bad Acid” also being the original title for “December 24”).

Estranged Earl, alienated—a high plains drifter (not Clint Eastwood, though) who rechristens a town “Hell” through a baptism of blood. Like the Beastie Boys’ version, Earl pulls out a pair of pliers and pulls a bullet out of his chest. He pulls through, true and living. “I’m long distance from my girl,” Mike D raps, so he’s “talking on the cellular,” but Earl is more alienated than that—beyond racking up roaming charges, immersed in dead zones. He “lost [his] phone and consequently all the feelings [he] caught for [his] GF.” Relationships can’t be sustained in these bleak and barren locations. All the blood has been drained from the ruddy faces—sanguine scenery. In his essay “On the Acid Western,” Jonathan Rosenbaum discusses how the subgenre “refuses to respect or valorize bloodshed.” Memory really leaking blood. Congealing. Stuck. To paraphrase Rosenbaum, Earl’s acid eastern “formulat[es] a chilling, savage frontier poetry to justify [his] hallucinated agenda—a view at once clear-eyed and visionary, exalted and laconic, moral and unsentimental, witty and beautiful, frightening and placid.” Earl’s “innocence was lost in the East,” and obsessives speculate whether this refers to Samoa or New York City—how far east we going? Countless spirit-questers pit-stopping at ashrams, searching for that Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal guide. 

“I wait a beat,” Earl says. His canteen stays filled, auto-replenishes. His “cognitive dissonance shattered” and the “necessary venom restored.” Jodorowsky reportedly once taped snakes to his chest for an experimental theater performance. As if it matters if you think it matters anymore. Or, as ELUCID says, “Words mean things but don’t have to.” Acids and bases. Occident and Orient. Western and Eastern. Up is down.

15.  NOTHING LIKE US EVER WAS

Earl’s “EAST” accordion beat—or whatever Orkes Gambus Al Fata instrumentation is at work—is more madcap than madvillainous. In my head is Erick Sermon, though, speaking about how “the flow slow…like a jazz player, or someone on the accordion” on “Knick Knack Patty Wack.” But I’m less concerned with the flow of air through bellows—compressing and expanding—than I am with Earl’s rendering of wind. (Somebody tooted.)

“Let the dead be dead,” Carl Sandburg says at stanza’s end in “Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind” (1920). Later, he reports, “The only singers now are crows crying.” And so Earl, a lonesome crow, reminds us—and himself—that “the wind get the ashes in the end” on “December 24.” The whining, wheezing consonance of /-nd/ in “wind” and “end” manages to evoke both the wind itself and the circularity of life. The bar whooshes and whips until we’re at our end, the terminus. That circularity, that full circle: ashes to ashes. “We are the greatest city,” Sandburg repeats, “the greatest nation: / nothing like us ever was.”

Global winds be blowin’—[Of the Soul]—and so billy woods cites that same line on “Haarlem”: “Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv.” Check the configuration of the rhime: 

The wind | gets | the ashes | in | the end   {birth}                    {life}                {death}

Even that get does work—whether it’s the violence of Death Grips’ “get got”; Too $hort threatening you to “get in where you fit in”; or the satirical sadism of Keenen Ivory Wayans’ I’m Gonna Git You Sucka. The wind wins out—it gets what it wants. On “EAST,” the wind—infinitely personified—“whispered to [Earl], ‘Ain’t it hard?’” It ain’t hard to tell that it is. How about some hardcore? Yeah, we like it raw like M.O.P. But those burns yield ashes. In Adrienne Rich’s poem “The Burning of Paper Instead of Children” (1989), she struggles with the words she uses, knowing “[t]his is the oppressor’s language / yet [she] needs to talk to you.” I know it hurts to burn, she writes, but writing is no less ardent. “The typewriter is overheated, my mouth is burning.”

Let me bring it back to Robert Bly. “In the ancient times,” Bly says, “the movement for the men was downward—a descent into grief. It’s referred to in the fairytale as ‘the time of ashes.’” Ashes, he explains, is the “code word for the ‘out of it’ time.” 

We know what it is like to take ashes in our hands. How light they are! The fingertips experience them as a kind of powder… Ashes, we note, find their way into the whorls of our fingertips, cling there, make the whorls more noticeable, more visible, more clear to us. We can take our own fingerprints with ashes.

Ashes, then, aren’t simply for the wind’s taking—ashes are for us, are necessary for us to transcend the grief the boys, the men, and the man-child experience. Bly points to the various cultures that have used ashes in initiation rites: “Ashes Time is a time set aside for the death of that ego-bound boy.” Ready to give up, so you seek the Old Earth. The elders cover your face—even your whole body—with ashes “to make [you] the color of dead people and to remind [you] of the inner death about to come.” Consider Earl’s ashen white face produced in the negative imagery of the “Grief” music video.” “The word ashes contains in it a dark feeling for death,” Bly says. “Ashes when put on the face whiten as death does.”

Earl Sweatshirt is a far cry from knocking blunt ashes into caskets.

16.

Feet of clay, hands of light…

—Moor Mother and billy woods, “Furies” (2020)

For Cheryl I. Harris, Earl’s mother, the feet of clay refer to a vulnerability we all possess no matter how formidable we may appear to become. Earl invokes the King of Babylon’s dream, a dream of an idol “meant to represent all the empires of the world,” echoing Sandburg’s imperious “greatest nation.” Earl believes “we at the feet of clay right now…We posted up live from burning Rome.” Imagine the ash pile. So Earl is here, ostensibly, to turn the disco into something dismal—how Mtume becomes “MTOMB” with its entombed sonics, as if he’s rapping from within a wall, the victim of some Poe immurement. 

17.

“I remember woods,” Earl raps on “OD.” “I remember Endom when he wasn’t remembering much, / I remember love healing the ruptures.” I remember is also the refrain and title of Joe Brainard’s poem-memoir, a term which aptly describes much of Earl’s recent output. Brainard’s memories bum-rush into the present:

I remember a dream I used to have a lot of a beautiful red and yellow and black snake in bright green grass. I remember painting “I HATE TED BERRIGAN” in big black letters all over my white wall. I remember liver.

If Earl recalls love “healing the ruptures,” then he also likely recalls Fanon: It is essential to convey to the black man that an attitude of rupture has never saved anyone. But Fanon also speaks of young Black men “maintain[ing] their alterity. Alterity of rupture, of conflict, of battle.” Earl, “feeling rushed, grew up quick.” He echoes Biggie, who “grew up a fucking screw-up,” and Raekwon, who “grew up on the crime side” (though Earl’s mama taught him, as we know from “Grief,” how to avoid the pigs, persecution, and prosecution). Eyes on the clock, Earl acknowledges this “trip around the sun” is his “25th,” so “give it up”—his survival alone deserving of a standing [on the corner] ovation. He celebrates life with “gin and rum.” Again, notably not gin and juice—murder was never the case. The only death is the inner death, the death of the ego-bound boy, that Bly describes. Earl’s gin is the drink of be[gin]ning, of genesis (“Light them Phillies up then…”), of Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis, when I was dead-broke, man… “We wasn’t supposed to be alive,” Earl says, yet here he stands.

18.  RUMINANT

Stare at the Feet of Clay album cover—an evocation of folkloric imagery: a Grimm forest with gnarled tree branches—and the enchanted, diabolic goat lying in wait. Earl’s parasocial following speculate G.O.A.T., of course, but I’m more inclined to mythopoeic possibilities. The Feet of Clay goat glares like Baphomet but frolics like a faun over fractured beats. “OD,” Earl has stated, “brought [him] up out of [his] little wreck”—a wreck of wracked nerves. Adrienne Rich encourages “diving into the wreck” (1973).

I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power.

Earl’s right there with her, submerged and blacking out, but still surviving: Really leaking blood, but refilling the pump.

In her essay “Teaching New Worlds/New Words,” bell hooks invokes Rich’s struggle to navigate the “oppressor’s language.” For hooks, as a Black writer, managing that is even more difficult and historical. “I think now of the grief of displaced ‘homeless’ Africans, forced to inhabit a world where they saw folks like themselves, inhabiting the same skin, the same condition, but who had no shared language to talk with one another, who needed ‘the oppressor’s language.’” hooks explains how Black folks have “remade that language so that it would speak beyond the boundaries of conquest and domination.”

Earl Sweatshirt, especially in his later work, has “altered [and] transformed” English, just as “enslaved Black people took broken bits of English and made of them a counter-language.” The emotional wreckage is also a linguistic heap of fragments—micro-fragments, if we’ve learned anything from Saafir. Earl, in the tradition of his ancestors, “put[s] together [his] words in such a way that the colonizer ha[s] to rethink the meaning of the English language.” “The grammatical construction of sentences in these songs” by Earl, just as by the spirituals of hundreds of years prior, “reflect[s] the broken, ruptured world of the slave.” That crumbling empire Earl mentions was faulted by feet of clay.

At the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles in 2019, sharing a dais with his mother, Cherly I. Harris, Earl spoke to this lineage directly: “Rap music is slave music—the modern-day iteration of it. Slave communication had to be encrypted. You got a code.” He shifted: “If I know what I’m saying…I can teach it to you.” On Feet of Clay, Earl is teaching to transgress. “I’m cracking my own code,” he says to an audience member during the Q&A, “how it comes out garbled…,” and then he trails off, as if making a deliberate effort to keep his answer cryptic.

hooks always saw language as “a site of resistance.” This included the incorrect usage and placement of words—she called such practices a “rebellion.” Weaponizing syntax. hooks recognized rap music as a continuation of this fight—the latest [sound]clash, hip-hop artists as rebels without a pause—while still acknowledging the collateral damage it might cause.

Rap music has become one of the spaces where black vernacular speech is used in a manner that invites dominant mainstream culture to listen—to hear—and, to some extent, be transformed. However, one of the risks of this attempt at cultural translation is that it will trivialize black vernacular speech. When young white kids imitate this speech in ways that suggest it is the speech of those who are stupid or who are only interested in entertaining or being funny, then the subversive power of this speech is undermined.

Or, as Earl once said on “Chum,” “Too Black for the white kids and too white for the Blacks,” an axiom he’s come to loathe. Perhaps Fanon had the better bar on this subject: “The white man had the anguished feeling that I was escaping from him and that I was taking something with me. He went through my pockets. He thrust probes into the least circumvolution of my brain. Everywhere he found only the obvious. So it was obvious that I had a secret.”

Despite the pitfalls (and, yeah, the pit is bottomless), Earl’s words play [wordplay] a part in retraining minds, all while exorcizing his own demons through a steady diet of ashes and fractures. hooks promises us that “in the patient act of listening to another tongue we may subvert that culture of capitalist frenzy and consumption that demands all desire must be satisfied immediately.” Through his embrace of a language that indulges in passion and cerebral coding, Earl “heal[s] the splitting of mind and body” so common within Western metaphysical thought. Earl Sweatshirt speaks “words that do more than simply mirror or address the dominant reality”; he builds blips into a reality that is worth the rewind.

Images: Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot) | Teen at 1990s computer photograph, Unknown (c. 1996) | James Joyce, Age 2, Unknown | ELUCID, Osage album cover (2016), photo by Michael Mally, Philadelphia Inquirer | The Boxer at Rest, bronze statue, Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Rome, Italy (330-50 BC) | Alphonse Legros, The Pit and the Pendulum, second Plate (1861) | High Plains Drifter, dir. Clint Eastwood, 1973 (screenshot) | Subroc on an Apple IIc, Unknown (c. 1987) | Earl Sweatshirt, “Grief” music video, 2015 (screenshot) | Arthur Rackham, The Water of Life, Grimms Fairy Tales (1916) | Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

DNC convention

* * * *

“Kamala Harris, for the people.”

August 23, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

Another night of remarkable moments that promise a shift in American politics and society! Framed by the theme of freedom, Democrats showcased an America free of gun violence, free of discrimination, free of government control of reproductive rights, free of voter suppression, and free from want, insecurity, and fear. It was a beautiful, poignant, painful, and uplifting night.

As before, I will comment only on highlights and rely on readers of this newsletter to add commentary. (The Comment section will be open to all on Friday, August 23. Please be respectful.) Again, my notes are real time transcriptions; please refer to an official transcript if you want to quote the speech.

Kamala rose to the occasion.

On a remarkable night, the only place to begin is with the incredible acceptance speech by Kamala Harris.

Kamala Harris rose to the moment—a moment freighted with significance like few others in our nation's history. She delivered an oration worthy of the moment. Many doubted that Kamala Harris could deliver a “major” speech in which she appeared “presidential” and worthy of the title “Commander in Chief.” She quelled those doubts and more. She was presidential. She was commanding. She was fierce. She was charismatic. She was hopeful. She was human.

The place to begin is with Kamala’s closing charge to the American people:

We must be worthy of this moment. It is now our turn to do what generations before us have done, to uphold the awesome responsibility that comes with the greatest privilege on Earth—the privilege and pride of being an American.

Kamala won the night when she walked up to the lectern with a confident step and broad smile. That entrance spoke volumes. It was telling that she had to cut short the prolonged ovation by saying, “We have to get down to business.”

Introducing herself to the American people.

An important function of every acceptance speech is to introduce and humanize the nominee. Kamala did that with her first words, which were to her husband: “Doug, I love you so very much.” How human, relatable, and normal.

She had the grace to thank Joe and Jill Biden at the outset, saying that she valued “the path we have traveled together. Your record is extraordinary as history will show. We love you and Jill.”

Kamala described her family story—in all its complications. She mentioned her rarely mentioned father and addressed the family trauma of divorce. She quickly pivoted to the positive aspects of being raised by a strong, single mother. The one anecdote she told involving her father ended with her father saying, “Run, Kamala, run! Don’t be afraid.”

She explained her decision to become a lawyer and prosecutor by relating the story of a classmate who was being sexually abused by her father (step-father?). She invited the classmate into her home to protect her from further abuse. She capped this portion of her speech with several memorable phrases:

Everyone has a right to safety and to dignity, and to justice. A harm any one of us is a harm against all of us.

Finally, she told the American people that she had only one client throughout her career: The people.

She then delivered the line that is the title to this newsletter. She recounted that whenever she appeared in court as a prosecutor, she introduced herself as follows:

 “Kamala Harris, for the people.”

That phrase needs to be on a bumper sticker and tee-shirts.

Pivoting to Trump.

Having established her biography and bona fides as a representative of the people, Kamala pivoted to Trump. She cut to the chase:

Donald Trump is an unserious man, but the consequences of putting Trump back in the White House are extremely serious. He caused calamity while in office, but the gravity of what happened since the last election was even worse.

He incited an insurrection on J6. He was found guilty of fraud by jury. He was found liable for sexual abuse

Kamala then listed the ominous threats of reelecting Trump:

Consider his explicit intent to set free violent extremists. His explicit intent to jail journalists or anyone he sees as his enemy. Consider his explicit intent to deploy the military against own citizens Consider how the Supreme Court’s immunity decision will unleash Trump. Imagine Donald Trump with no guardrails. He would use power not to improve your life, but to serve the only client he has ever had—himself.

Policy positions.

In a short but effective section of the speech, Kamala characterized Trump's policies by reference to Project 2025.

Kamala framed her policies through the lens of the middle class, saying,

I came from the middle class. We lived within our means, but we did not want. My goal is to build the middle class.

In an effective summary of her policies, she described them as “creating an opportunity economy where everyone has the chance to compete and succeed.”

Kamala highlighted the need to provide small business owners, creators, and founders with access to capital.

She promised to protect Social Security and Medicare “while Trump fights for his billionaire friends with a tax cut that will add $5 trillion the deficit.”

On taxes, she noted that Trump will impose a national sales tax (through tariffs) that will impose $4,000 on every family in America. In contrast, Kamala promised to provide tax cuts that will benefit 100 million Americans.

Reproductive liberty, abortion, and pregnancy healthcare

Kamala tied reproductive liberty to prosperity, saying

Americans cannot be prosperous unless they are able to make decisions about their lives, especially about matters of heart and home. Trump picked members of the Supreme court to take away reproductive freedom and is proud of it. He said, “I did and I am proud to have done it.”

In a surprise to the media and delegates, Kamala said that Republicans would appoint a national coordinator of anti-abortion measures (those aren’t the right words, but you get it), and said,

They are out of their minds!  Why don’t they trust women? We trust women. When Congress passes a bill to protect reproductive freedom, as president, I will proudly sign it into law.

Border security and foreign policy

On the border, she laid the blame for the border crisis at Trump's feet, saying,

There was bipartisan border bill endorsed by Border Patrol. Trump ordered allies to kill the deal. I refuse to play politics with our security; I will bring back the bipartisan bill and will sign it into law.

On international security, she said,

I will always ensure that America always has the strongest most lethal fighting force in the world and will care for their troops and will always honor their sacrifice. Trump on the other hand, threatened to abandon NATO. Trump said Russia could “do whatever the hell they want.” I met with Zelensky and warned him that Russia was going to attack. I helped mobilize a global response to stand against Putin. I will stand strong with Ukraine and our NATO allies.

Kamala punctuated the international relations portion of the speech by saying that Kim Jong un and Vladimir Putin “are rooting for Trump” because he “is one of them.”

The war in Gaza

On Gaza, Kamala Harris said:

President Biden and I are working around the clock. Now is the time to get deals done. I will always stand up for Israel’s right to defend itself and ensure that it has the ability to defend itself. [Condemnation of Hamas by name.] At same time what has happened in Gaza is devastating. The scale of suffering is heartbreaking. President Biden and I are working to end this war so that the Palestinian people can realize their right to dignity, freedom and self-determination.

Closing remarks

In a powerful closing, Kamala left the American people with these thoughts:

We have so much more in common than what separates us. None of us has to fail for all of us to succeed. We must be worthy of this moment. It is now our turn to do what generations before us have done, to uphold the awesome responsibility that comes with the greatest privilege on Earth—the privilege and pride of being an American.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[sanamartens]

about.

full name: Laksana "Sana" Isara Martens

age & birthday: November 7th, 1992

zodiac: Scorpio sun ☀︎ Leo moon ☾ Aries Rising➶

occupation: Ex-actress, current Influencer on Tiktok/Instagram

preferred pronouns & gender: she/her, cis female

sexuality: Pansexual

hometown & length of time in briar ridge: Born in Thailand. Moved to NYC when she was 5. Visited her grandparents in BR every summer as a child, and lived there from 14-17, until she moved back to LA with her parents.

neighborhood: Beachfront

personality traits: confident, selfish, impatient, manipulative, witty, ambitious, calculating, resourceful, vain.

soundtrack: Messy - Lola Young

✍︎ penned by: Tee

☆ bio | connections / pinterest / timeline

Sana Isara Martens has always dreamed of fame and fortune, craving the glitz, glamour, and adoration her parents embodied as stars of the entertainment world. However, beneath the shiny facade of her upbringing was a darker reality. Her father’s betrayal at fifteen and her mother’s harsh words left deep scars, leading to rebellion, expulsion, and a stark shift to life with her grandparents in Briar Ridge. Determined to escape, Sana pursued acting in LA, but harsh critiques and a scandalous reputation plagued her career. A tumultuous affair with Alex Caldwell, a married lawyer who helped her break free from a controlling contract, left her vulnerable and shattered when their relationship—and her pregnancy—became tabloid fodder. Struggling financially and emotionally, Sana ultimately gave her daughter, Emmy, to Alex, believing he could provide the stability she never had. Reinventing herself as a social media influencer, Sana built a following by twisting her narrative, projecting strength and glamour while masking her pain. Now, hearing Alex has moved to Briar Ridge, she returns under the pretense of finding Emmy but with revenge and unresolved feelings driving her. Complex and contradictory, Sana is a glamorous storm—broken yet magnetic, selfish yet yearning for connection—determined to rewrite her story, no matter the cost.

timeline:

1992: sana was born

1996: sana and her mom move to LA when she's three

2007: she's kicked out of school at fifteen & forced to move to briar ridge with her grandparents

2010: graduates and moves back to la at eighteen, pursuing acting

2012: lands her first soap opera role at twenty

2017: moves to NYC at twenty five to pursue theatre after her reputation goes downhill, labelled a 'bad actress'

2018: lands a small broadway role at twenty six

2020: meets alex caldwell at twenty eight

2022: gives birth to emmy and several months later, gives her up. moves to LA

headcanons:

Inspired by Gabrielle Solis (Desperate Housewives), Alexis Rose (Schitt's Creek), Jackie Burkhart (That 70s Show), Summer Roberts (The OC), and Kathryn Merteuil (Cruel Intentions).

A fan of cheesy rom coms, and cries dramatically at endings — though will vehemently deny it if asked.

She has a TikTok and instagram following of about 800k people.

Her most popular video outside her discussion about a "previous relationship" aka Alex, is her 10 step skincare routine. Allll about self care.

She always checks her lipstick in reflective surfaces.. windows, spoons, her phone screen.

Girl has a voice and can sing.

Does not believe in casual attire — she's almost always overdressed.

Smells like a mixture of vanilla, honey and caramel.

Sana's obsessed with tarot cards and astrology. She acts all skeptical but secretly believes in all of it.

Speaks fluent Thai. Though she rarely speaks it in her day-to-day life, she’s fluent and slips into the language when she’s angry or overwhelmed or talking to herself.

connection ideas:

HALF BROTHER: He is 5 years older, and half white as per the Martens side of the family.

FANS: Either of her soap tv time, time in broadway, or social media followers.

NEW YORK CONNECTIONS: give me all the NYC connects! she was in new york from 2015-recently.

LA CONNECTIONS: She technically grew up there 'til she was about 15, then she moved to BR. She returned to LA when she was 18 until she was 23.

BEACHFRONT NEIGHBOURS: Your girl is currently renting a nice apartment overlooking the water. I want all the neighbour connections.

COUSINS: Must be at least half Thai (her mother's side)

PARTY BUDDIES: Someone who's willing to let loose with her, though she's actively trying not to.

CASUAL HOOKUP/FWB: Self explanatory. Your girl isn't one for commitment.

EXES: Maybe from her earlier New York days, or her time in LA.

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS/HIGH SCHOOL PARTNER (BR): I'd love some connections tied to her childhood summers in Briar Ridge, or the time she spent in BR from 15-18.

[johnnyyumaisarebel]

this ain't no high art baby

but it's free to all who read it

maybe i should write in tie dye

and a pair of leather sandals

a little sugar magnolia in the air

channeling my robert hunter

who must have met you on a train

maybe saw you in his dreaming

you are everything delightful

you are everything i need

sung sweetly by bobby weir

you in my sunshine daydream

sure i'm a little sentimental

world being too harsh these days

then you step into the sunlight

beautiful and anything but harsh

i do not see me apologizing

anyone to kiss you would swoon

whether in tie dye or three piece

or looking like an havana gunrunner

that might be a lot like me i confess

in my aloha shirts and cowboy boots

my aviators admittedly stunning

but you knew and saw me through

some k-mart sneakers sans socks

fruit of the loom plain white tees

straight on in to a monkey suit

finding in me what you like and love

dead not alone in being grateful

or seeing blossoms blooming

skimming through rays of violets

skipping through waves of plagiarism

just to say i feel that when i see you

in daydreams as what they smoked

you being to me the ultimate smoke

show i am deeply moved to attend

could have been john mayer maybe

or someone's taylor swift and all

but i've always been more of a joker

even somewhat of a space cowboy

not that i need any hallucinogenics

other than your narcotic smile

to bounce around a cloud ecstatic

knowing how deep true love is

no it ain't high art ironic or sly

because i can't justify any of that

not for you my sweetest angel

just a big ol' slice of sincerity

[inmyloveworld]

navigation / info

hi! i prefer to go by lena on here. i am: 24 years old, bi, white, demigirl, enfj, leo, & living in the usa.

i casually write as my schedule and mind permits, but i am open to “_ x reader” requests for:

top gun (bradley “rooster” bradshaw, robert "bob" floyd)

outer banks (all pogues & sarah)

all members of seventeen

i reserve the right to deny any requests i do not feel inspiration for or i deem inappropriate. minors are NOT allowed on my page, THIS IS AN 18+ SPACE ONLY!

18+ requests are welcome, but only off of anon so i can verify it is not being requested by a minor.

please do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

current library

jj maybank (outer banks)

sweet nothing (mild hurt/comfort)

studying with jj (mild hurt/comfort)

early mornings with jj (fluff)

kim mingyu (seventeen)

bringing your daughter to a music show filming (fluff)

helping you eat (comfort/fluff)

bradley "rooster" bradshaw (top gun: maverick)

life for two (angst/comfort)

open arms (slight angst/comfort)

as usual (fluff, slight angst/comfort)

in a world of boys (angst/comfort)

i’ll look after you (slight angst/comfort)

robert "bob" floyd (top gun: maverick)

tee shirt (comfort/fluff)

jake "hangman" seresin (top gun: maverick)

*NEWEST* through the storm (hurt/comfort)

[typingtess]

NCIS: Los Angeles Season 14 Rewatch:  “Let It Burn”

The basics:  The team investigates arson at a defense contractor that has the signature of an environmental activist.

Written by: Indira Gibson Wilson co-wrote, “The Frogman’s Daughter”, "Signs of Change" and “Hard for the Money” and was the sole writer for "Lost Soldier Down".  Gibson Wilson played the sleeping Michelle Hanna before Aunjanue Ellis showed up in season four.

Directed by:   Rick Tunell directed "Revenge Deferred", "Se Murio El Payaso", "Where Everybody Knows Your Name" and “Hard for the Money” (co-written by Indira Gibson Wilson).

Guest stars of note: Duncan Campbell returns as NCIS Special Agent Castor from “Of Value”; Justin Huen is Randall Perez.  He was Santo Perez in season two’s “Personal” as the man who shot Deeks.  Ashlei Sharpe Chestnut as FBI Special Agent Summer Morehurst; Romi Dias as Denise Perez, Thal Gondim as Crystal Perez; Brian Leigh Smith as Bomb Tech Aaron Roberts; Rhomeyn Johnson as Terrell and Joe Corzo as Foreman/Michael Duncan

Our heroes:  Are all over the place with Kensi in DC, Callen locked in the office, Sam and Deeks teamed up and Rountree working with an old girlfriend.

What important things did we learn about: Callen:  Reading the Pembrooke file as part of his library day. Sam:   As a caretaker, he has to think about his father first. Kensi:  School trip with Rosa and 24-other 16-year old girls. Deeks:  Offered a trip to Costa Rica. Fatima:   Sent in the field because Callen had a library day. Rountree:  Dated a coworker at the FBI. Kilbride:  Keeping Callen on track.

What not so important things did we learn about: Callen:  Not training for a triathlon because he as common sense. Sam:    Training for a triathlon. Kensi:  OK with Deeks going to Costa Rica – she might go if he doesn’t. Deeks:  Not going to Costa Rica. Fatima:  Wants to know the Rountree-Summer story. Rountree:  Training for a triathlon and going to Costa Rica.  Kilbride:  Not sure Henrietta is Hetty’s first name.  Not sure he likes her either.

Where in the world is Henrietta Lange?  In the Pembrooke file.

Who's down with OTP:   Deeks is trying to figure out a solo Costa Rico trip, worrying that probably won’t fly with the family at home.  Rountree has an ex in the FBI.

Who's down with BrOTP:  A little Sam-Deeks bonding about traveling away from your family and becoming a detective through videos.

Fashion review:   Callen wears a long sleeve medium blue lightweight hoodie.  Sam started the day in a wet suit and wore a black long-sleeve tee for most of the episode.  He was in a brown one at the end of the episode.  Deeks has a pale blue henley for most of the episode but a baby blue hoodie.  Fatima wears a light gray jacket over a white turtleneck.  Rountree started the day in a wet suit too with too, too tight swim trunks.  Wore a gunmetal grey pullover sweater once he was dressed.  The Admiral wore his uniform – dark blue suit, light blue dress shirt, blue tie.

Music: “From Fire” by Perta is used in the teaser.  Deeks is shooting in the range with The Mighty Mighty BossTones’s “The Punch Line” playing over the speakers.

Any notable cut scene:  Not today.

Quote:   Kilbride:  “We've all done things we regret.” Callen:  “Hetty doesn't seem to be the kind of person to regret much.” Kilbride:  “Don't kid yourself.  Now, she may put on a good front, but Hetty has enough regrets for all of us.  She has done things that most wouldn't to keep the rest of us safe.  Unfortunately, that comes with some very dark, ugly things that you carry with you to your grave.” Callen:  “Well, I'm not sure how indoctrinating children does much to keep people safe.” Kilbride:  “I don't know.  Seems to me you keep people safe every day.  So maybe some good did come of it.  Even if their methods were ethically and morally questionable.” Callen:  “If not reprehensible.” Kilbride:  “I don't always agree with her.  And I usually don't like the way she operates.  Hell, I'm not even sure I even like her most days.  But I damn well respect her.  Henrietta, and I'm sure that's not even her real name, Henrietta has dedicated her life to the greater good.  She has made mistakes along the way just like the rest of us.  But it was always done in the service of this country.” Callen:  “So, am I a mistake or a dark, ugly thing she has to carry to the grave?” Kilbride:  “Only you can decide that, Agent Callen.  But in my experience, the past is a place to learn from, not to live in.”

Anything else:  In the evening, a construction crew is working in a high rise office building.  Mostly drywall.  The foreman is shutting things down for the night.  The workers start toward the door taking their hardhats, tools and backpacks.  One worker stays behind.

The worker starts spreading something on the floor and pours an accelerant on it.  As he lights a good part of the office floor on fire, the foreman returns.  The two men fight until the firebug knocks out the foreman.  The firebug tries to drag the foreman to safety but the entire floor is about to be engulfed in flames.  Leaving the foreman behind, the firebug runs.  A symbol is burned into the floor.

Callen is reading the paper in the boat shed by the coffee table.  Sam comes in from a swim with Rountree in tow.  Sam is thirsty, Rountree is uncomfortable.  He didn’t want to wear anything under his wetsuit but Sam found him swim trunks in the office lost and found.  Rountree is worried they belong to Deeks but Sam jokes they are Fatima’s.

Training for a triathlon with Sam, Rountree wonders why Callen isn’t involved.  Callen explains he has common sense.  Sam disagrees – Callen is afraid of sharks.  Callen isn’t but starts messing with Rountree by mentioning “McMurtry” who was shark bait.  Sam joins in on the fun before showering.

At the firing range, Deeks is shooting and listening to really loud music.  The Admiral arrives, pleased that Deeks is joining him in making good use of the early hours at the office.  Kensi and Rosa are on a school trip which gave Deeks the ability to surf, workout and shoot early in the morning like he did “pre-kid.”  Not that he’s complaining.  The Admiral offers Deeks the chance to attend the NCIS Western Conference.  Honored, Deeks is grateful for the offer but thinks he needs to stay close to home.  He recommends one of the younger agents – perhaps Rountree would enjoy Branson and a river cruise.  Rountree will get the Admiral’s consideration but the conference will be held in Nosara, Costa Rica.  Deeks reconsiders – maybe Kensi would be okay with him leaving the family behind for a few days.  It’s a week so Deeks is torn.

Sam took a long shower and hopes there is some hot water for Rountree.  As Rountree is about to go into the shower area, Fatima and Callen pop up on the plasma.�� Sam asks for Deeks who he is told is trying to run a “boondoggle” on Kensi.  Fatima asks for Rountree, who is in the still way too tight swim trunks.  Fatima asks if Rountree is wearing her shorts.  Just kidding, she tells Rountree – they’re Kensi’s.  Rountree hates everyone.

Fatima starts with the case – the fire.  Global West Ventures, the people who had the office space, are Navy defense contractors.  The symbol burned on the floor was the signature of an arsonist named Randall Perez - O and A – On Alert.  Rountree was familiar with Perez – he didn’t work his case but the FBI was “on alert” for years when it came to Perez.  Perez blew up an oil tanker years back.  Shut down the 405 for a week.

Sam asks about the fire.  The office space was under construction and the foreman, Michael Duncan, died in the blaze.  LAPD thinks Duncan saw the arsonist and the two men fought.  This would be the first time an “On Alert” fire caused a death.  Rountree sees another difference in the fires.  Perez went after companies he thought were hurting the environment.  This was a defense contractor – not the same thing. 

Sam suggest he and Rountree go to the crime scene.  Kilbride told Fatima he wants Rountree working the FBI Agent in-charge of the “On Alert” cases.  Sam should met the with FBI as well.  Callen asks what is his assignment from the Admiral.  The Admiral wants to see Callen in his office. 

Castor bring the FBI Agent in charge of the “On Alert” cases into the boat shed.  FBI Agent Summer Morehurst tells Sam her boss thinks highly of him but not to play Sam in pickleball.  Sam knows her boss – Rashid Perkins – and Rashid knows what Sam can do with a paddle in his hand.  Morehurst reviews Perez’s history for Sam.  He started as a non-violent activist who was creative in his protests.  Trained as an artist, Perez made sculptures out of the plastic straws he found in the ocean.  Sam asked when did Perez change.  After a number of arrests for disorderly conduct at more radical protests according to Morehurst.

In 2017, Perez started setting fires.  It took the FBI nearly a year to identify him.  When the FBI started to close in on Perez, he set nine fires over two months.  He fled to Mexico when the FBI got too close and has been a fugitive for three-years.  This is the first time Perez has resurfaced and Morehurst vows to catch him.

Just after Morehurst’s vow, a towel-clad Rountree walks into the boat shed’s main room.  He’s looking for his clothes.  Rountree and Morehurst call each other by their first name and being the world class investigator he is, Sam deduces the two know each other.  “You can say that,” they both reply simultaneously.

Knocking on Kilbride’s door, Callen has some opinions.  He gets that Rountree has a past with the FBI (oh, if he only knew) and he’s good with Rountree working with them.   Sam, however, does not need to be supervising Rountree’s debrief with the FBI.  “I’m sorry you miss your bunkie but this isn’t summer camp,” the Admiral replies.  Sam is working with Deeks, “poor devil.”  When Callen asks why, the Admiral tells him “that’s what I want.” 

While the Admiral believes it is healthy to question authority on occasion, he’s getting pissed off about it being a regular occurrence.  Passing Callen a large folder, Kilbride shares all he could find on Pembrooke.  Callen knows he overstepped and thanks Kilbride.  Kilbride tells him it isn’t a gift – just a way to keep Callen focused on the job and not a ghost from his past.  This puts a halt to Callen doing his own research.  Callen defends what he does on his own time and it does not impact his work.  The Admiral disagrees – they wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise.  Calling it a “library day”, Callen is told to do his research in the office and is dismissed.

A properly dressed Rountree returns to the boat shed.  He asks if Agent Morehurst – Summer – set this up.  She knew he was working for NCIS.  Summer replies that if she wanted to see him, she would have called him.  Except she forgot that he doesn’t know how a phone works.  “Ouch, fair shot.”  Rountree apologizes but Summer says “we were a long time ago.”  Explaining that when they were dating, he was leaving the FBI, Jordyn was starting college – Rountree had a lot on her plate.  Fatima pops up on the screen but neither Rountree or Summer notice.  Still talking about their past – they were a couple for three months – Fatima really tries to make her presence known.  Rountree does introductions and it is all very uncomfortable.

Fatima found Perez’s sister, Denise.  She’s lived in the same house for 20-years in Gardena.  The FBI is aware of her.  Summer gets a call.  While she is dealing with the call, Fatima wants some gossip but Rountree shuts off the plasma.  A returning Summer tells Rountree her agents did some digging into the construction firm.  They are a well-run company – no major violations or complaints.  Thinking Perez may see his sister – and his daughter who is living with his sister – Rountree and Summer are having them brought in.

Finishing a call with Kensi, Sam ask Deeks about how he brought up the trip to Costa Rica.  Since Kensi is chaperoning 25 16-year olds in Washington DC, Deeks didn’t think this was the best time to bring up the trip.  Deeks asks Sam if he would go – now, with Raymond living with him.  Being a caregiver, Sam couldn’t go.  He needs to put Raymond’s needs first. 

At the crime scene, Sam sees some differences with Perez’s MO.  The fire was set much earlier in the evening.  Perez started his fires between 2AM and 4AM.  If the fire was started between 2AM and 4AM, foreman Michael Duncan would be alive.  The fire could have taken out the entire building.  Instead, it was limited to the one floor.  Sam wants to see the financials of Global West Ventures.  Make sure this isn’t a set-up for insurance money by using Perez’s signature to distract.

In the boat shed, Rountree is speaking with Crystal Perez, Randall’s daughter, with her Aunt Denise watching out for her.  Rountree is trying to be kind but the Denise talks about all the problems Crystal had in school when kids found out who her father was.  Crystal suffered enough.  Summer brings up that Randall Perez caused a lot of harm.  The FBI and NCIS want to stop him before he takes any more lives. 

Summer asks about Crystal’s life.  She’s a guide at a museum, planning to study being a curator in college.  Asked if she heard from her father, Denise jumps in saying that Crystal hasn’t heard from her father – “he’s dead to us.”  Crystal admits she has heard from her father.  

Denise is surprised and unhappy – Randall is dangerous.  Crystal explains that Randall is sorry – he left just as Crystal’s mother died.  He’s also sorry for what he did.  He’s considering turning himself in.  This catches Summer’s attention – does Crystal know where Randall lives?  She doesn’t.  They last spoke a month ago.  Rountree asks for Crystal’s cellphone number.

Fatima talks to Deeks – Global West Ventures is flush with cash.  The fire was not for the insurance money.  Sam is checking out the fire inspector’s report.  Thermite was used for the fire, something that is easy to make and transport.  Perez had his own recipe for thermite but tests will need to be run to see if the recipes match.  Nothing about Perez’s recipe was told to the public in the past – a copycat would not know the correct mixture.  Since thermite’s main components are iron oxide and aluminum powder used in bulk, only a few retailers would have them.  Finding where there they were purchased probably leads to the arsonist.

Callen is reading the Pembrooke files and having flashbacks to his oh so happy childhood.

Deeks is looking for footprints in the parking area behind the office building.  He’s a fan of Freaky Phil’s Forensics, leaving Sam worried that Deeks learned to be a detective on YouTube.  Sam is more interested in surveillance cameras while Deeks explains the thermite sticking to arsonist’s shoes if the shoes had deep grooves.  Sam finds some tire tracks while Deeks sees if a footprint belongs to the arsonist.  When the footprint catches fire, Deeks is pleased.  Based on the footprints and the tire tracks, the arsonist got in on the passenger’s side.  This is a two person job.  Since Perez always worked alone, this is looking like a copycat.

Kilbride catches Fatima listening in on Rountree and Summer.  She tries to explain “ghosting” to the Admiral, who knows what that is.  He’s more interested in a sit-rep than Rountree’s past.  A traffic cam caught the car leaving the parking area but the video is too grainy for facial-rec.  The plates belong to a dead man with a different car so that’s a dead end. 

More interesting was a number both the FBI and NCIS suspect belongs to Perez retrieved from Crystal’s phone.  As soon as she left the boat shed, Denise Perez called the same number so Denise has been in contact with her brother.  While the arson is likely the work of a copycat, Rountree and Summer are going to follow Denise to see if she leads them to Randall.  The Admiral tells Fatima to stop eavesdropping. 

Fatima has two stores that have the components needed for thermite with one making a large sale to a company called Core Dynamics two days earlier.  Core Dynamics has no certificate certifying it is a real business and the components were sent to an apartment building.  Sam and Deeks are on their way.

Denise Perez is in a public parking lot when Rountree and Summer pull in with the Land Rover.  Summer is annoyed – she wants to arrest Denise right way for lying to the FBI.  Rountree wants to see how things play out.  A man walks up to Denise’s car – she gets out to hug him.  It’s Randall Perez.  When Rountree and Summer approach, Randall runs and Rountree chases after him.  Denise tries to drive away only to turn around and try to take out Rountree using her car.  Randall Perez flees in his own vehicle.  Denise is under arrest.

At the apartment building, the manager explains he rents out garage space behind the building – www.parkyourauto.com.  Opening the garage that got the components delivery, there is no car but there is a lab set-up.  Sam sees a trip wire that would burn down the garage and cover the renter’s/arsonist’s tracks.  LAPD bomb squad is called.

Summer explains to Denise that she is facing life in jail for the attempted murder of a federal agent while helping a known fugitive escape.  Rountree thinks the judge would be lenient if Denise cooperates.  She’s not in the mood.  Randall did not set the fire.  He believes the FBI and NCIS are trying to pin it on him because of his past.  In his past, Randall believed he was doing the right thing – it is why Denise forgives him.  Rountree asks if Randall had an accomplice.  Two people were involved in the Global West Ventures fire.  Since Randall wasn’t involved with that fire, how could he have an accomplice?

Fatima joins Sam and Deeks as the bomb squad gives the garage the all-clear.  The IED attached to the trip wire probably wouldn’t have done much damage on its own but with all the accelerant in the garage, it likely would have taken out all the garages in the back of the apartment building.  Sam asks why Fatima is there and is told Kilbride sent her instead of Callen.  She has a piece of equipment – a mass spectrometer - that will analyze the thermite mix in the garage.

In the garage, Fatima asks Sam’s opinion of Summer.  Sam thinks she was nice until Rountree arrived.  Deeks is brought up to speed on the Rountree-Summer tea.  Fatima thinks it is like “When Harry Met Sally” mixed with “Love Jones” which means nothing to either Sam or Deeks.  She also says none of this is her fault – Rountree and Summer had their comms on.

The analysis matches the thermite mixture in the garage with Perez’s special recipe.  Deeks finds some maps of Los Angeles and a list of targets.  Global West Ventures was fifth on the list.   There is a health care company, an investment bank and a shoe manufacturer.  Fatima calls in the list to LAPD.

The Admiral has info for Sam and Deeks.  The dead man whose license plates were used in the arson is Christian Navarro.  The plates were cited in two-DUIs before he died.  The driver was Marco Navarro, Christian’s son and Deeks thinks is Perez’s accomplice.  Better news – the burner phone used by Randall to speak with Crystal and Denise was traced to a home in Echo Park.  Sam and Deeks are on their way.

At the Echo Park house, Deeks pretends to be a food deliveryman.  Perez runs and Deeks chases him through the house.  Sam is waiting at the back door.  A handcuffed Perez explains he has been trying to stop Marco Navarro.  He’s been looking for Marco Navarro.  Before he went on the run, Perez asked Navarro to store some of his explosives.  He thinks Navarro had his own mass spectrometer and figured out how to make his own explosives – Navarro is a smart man.  When he heard about the fire and the signature, he knew it had to be Navarro.

Saying they may believe him, Sam asks who would be Navarro’s accomplice.  Perez doesn’t know.  Navarro is a young, brash man who wants to change the world.  They were involved in many peaceful protests together.  He was family, lived with Perez.  When he figured out who Perez was, Navarro wanted to join him in the not-peaceful protests.  Perez pushed him away.  Asked if Denise knew Navarro, she did not.   She lived in a different part of town. 

Crystal knew Navarro, however.  He was like a big brother to her.  Sam checks with Rountree to see if Crystal had any contact with Navarro but Crystal turned off her phone.  She hasn’t been to work in a week – she quit.  Denise says this is not like Crystal at all.  Deeks asks if Crystal knew Navarro had Randall’s explosives.  She probably did but Randall tells Sam and Deeks that Crystal knew he also regrets what he did.  Deeks asks if he regrets what he did or regrets getting caught. 

In the boat shed, Summer tells Rountree that Crystal’s car was found.  A witness saw Crystal get into a car with a man who looks like Navarro.  The FBI is checking the area traffic cameras for license plates.  Denise told Rountree that Crystal didn’t mention having any new friends or changes in her life.  Summer is confused about the targets Sam and Deeks found – none of them have an environment connection.   Rountree thinks Navarro may have a different agenda than Randall Perez.

Back in Ops, Fatima found a connection to the companies on the list.   All of the companies are major donors to Senator Greg Garrett’s reelection campaign.  Sen. Garrett was responsible for killing an environmental bill in congress.  Navarro wanted the companies to pay.  Garrett is in Los Angeles to tour a warehouse that is part of an urban renewal project but the warehouse is not on the target list.  The warehouse isn’t the target, Rountree and Summer think, Garrett is.  They are going to meet Sam and Deeks at the warehouse.  Fatima is going to update the Senator’s team.

Rountree and Summer meet with Sam and Deeks at the warehouse.  The Senator’s team is evacuating the place but the worry is that Crystal and Navarro had an hour to lay down the thermite and accelerant.  Entering the building, there is no sign of anyone – Crystal, Navarro or Garrett.  Sam and Deeks come across Crystal as she’s spreading thermite outside the warehouse. 

Rountree and Summer find Garrett and his aides.  Navarro opens fire, hitting one of the aides.  Rountree goes after Navarro while Summer gets Garrett and his staff to safety. 

Sam tries to talk Crystal into surrendering as he and Deeks enter the warehouse.

Rountree and Navarro struggle for about a second.  Navarro is apprehended. 

Crystal lets Sam and Deeks walk far enough into the warehouse so she can circle behind them and light the place on fire.  Sam finds a fire extinguisher and puts out the fire.  Crystal, on the run, winds up cornered by Rountree and Summer.  Crystal tries to explain that “we” are not the criminals.  She threatens to set herself and her bag of thermite on fire but Summer talks her out of it.  Crystal is arrested. 

The Senator’s aide is on his way to the hospital but everyone is fine.  Deeks mentions wanting to be a fireman – “mostly for the calendar.” 

At the end of the day, a tired Deeks is complimented Admiral for a good day’s work.  The Senator’s aide only suffered a flesh wound and is doing well.  Deeks says that after “extensive consideration” he’s going to turn down the conference.  The Admiral thinks Kensi would be relieved.  No, Kensi was fine with Deeks going, even thought she’d go if he said no.  The Admiral agrees with Deeks’s decision.  Besides, next year’s conference is in Albuquerque – perfect for Deeks.  Rountree is going to Costa Rica instead.

In the boat shed, Randall and Crystal share a hug before both are taken away.  Summer found the Perez's farewells bittersweet.  The FBI coordinated the farewell and Rountree approves.  Since she saved his life, Summer thinks she’s owed about five IOUs by Rountree.  She’s also grateful that Rountree apologized.  Sam arrives – Summer, her boss and Sam are going to play some pickleball. 

Once Summer leaves, Sam talks about starting their triathlon training at 4:30AM.  Rountree is distracted by Summer’s departure.  Sam thinks Rountree thinks too much.  “Call that woman – call her.”  Rountree chases after Summer.

The Admiral and his large decanter of scotch visit Callen in the bullpen.  Callen has the Pembrooke paperwork all over his desk.  Callen asks if the Admiral reviewed the information in the file.  He did not – he just called in some favors to get what he could find.  “This is your story, Agent Callen.”  It isn’t the Admiral’s place to invade his privacy, though his door is open if Callen wants to talk.

Callen doesn’t talk, he instead shows Kilbride a black and white photo.  It is Hetty and Pembrooke.  The Admiral explains everyone has done things they regret.  “Hetty doesn’t regret much,” according to Callen.  Kilbride disagrees – “Hetty has enough regrets for all of us.”  She has done things to keep people safe.  Dark, ugly things she will likely take to her grave.  Callen asks how indoctrinating children keeps people safe.  The Admiral thinks Callen keeps people safe, if the methods were morally questionable.  The Admiral isn’t a Hetty fan but he respects her.  Hetty is all about the greater good and she made mistakes.  But the mistakes were in the service to her country.  Callen asks if he’s a mistake or a dark, ugly thing Hetty will carry to grave.   The Admiral says the past is something your learn from, not where you live.

What head canon can be formed from here:    A rather generic, and talky to be honest, episode until the very end.  Nothing here wouldn’t have worked in season one, season five or season nine, just switching around the agents. 

Not thrilled with the family reunion at the end.  The foreman doesn’t get to hug his daughter one last time.

The end was very well done.  A quiet scene, really well written and well-acted.  Well worth the ho-hum 55-minutes before it. 

The Rountree scene cut in “Glory of the Sea” really would have helped sell Rountree ghosting poor Summer. 

Hey Deeks �� you are going to get a hotel room for the conference.  Take Kensi and Rosa, you surf in the morning, going to some meetings in the morning.  While everyone else goes play golf in the afternoon (I’ve been to my fair share of conferences), hang with the family on the beach.  Life’s good.

Episode number:   Episode eight of season 14.  This is episode number 310 overall.

[ausetkmt]

Active Clubs: Will2Rise Sells Activewear to Fascist Brawlers – Rolling Stone

This Activewear Brand Wants to Be Lululemon for Fascists

Will2Rise is marketing “militant active wear” to white nationalist Active Clubs, which train members for street combat

Conservatives opposed to shopping at “woke” corporations have launched their own lines of pillows, piss beer, and mobile phone service. Now, unabashed white supremacists are setting up shop in this so-called parallel economy. 

Consider the fascist fashion house Will2Rise.

Will2Rise makes sports gear for white nationalists — including muscle-tees, track jackets, “militant active wear pants,” boxing gloves, and hoodies emblazoned with “Cultured Thug.” Leaving no doubt about its politics, the company’s gear is branded with stylized silhouette of a fasces — the ancient Roman symbol (consisting of a bundle of wood with a protruding ax head) later embraced by far-right Italian militants, spawning the term “fascist.”

The company specifically markets to members of Active Clubs, a global network of white supremacists who “tribe and train.” The members of these tight-knit local chapters pursue street-fighter fitness in advance of an anticipated race war, or other violent confrontation. Rather than the Hawaiian shirts and AK-47s that characterize extremists like the Boogaloo Bois, the Active Club aesthetic is gym-wear and mixed martial arts prowess. Will2Rise sells training hoodies and tight-fitting ringer tees labeled, “ACTIVE CLUB.”

Will2Rise is also playing the role of a corporate sponsor for white supremacy events. The company staged a second-annual MMA tournament this August, in a Huntington Beach warehouse decorated with white-power flags. Hosted by the SoCal Active Club, the contests featured fighter representatives from the Tennessee Active Club, Big Sky Active Club, Great Lakes Active Club, Evergreen Active Club, as well as from Patriot Front, another high-profile, white-nationalist group. Many of the fighters sported Will2Rise boxing gloves and other apparel. 

Think of the brand as Lululemon for white-power bros. The company touts its commitment to “bringing high-quality goods to Our guys.” Its white-power symbols are often coded. Many items for sale carry the Roman numeral XIV, or 14. For the neo-Nazi set, that’s a reference to the “14 words,” a dark oath about securing “the existence of our people and a future for white children.” A video montage on the slick Will2Rise homepage is more explicit. It flashes the words “white youth revolt,” “white unity,” and the slogan “action today, victory tomorrow.”

The company’s whites-only ethos extends to what Will2Rise dubiously labels its “Ethical Supply Chain” — with products exclusively “made in Eastern Europe, so not a single hand touches the production that is not of like mind.” The copy continues: “We keep Our people employed and keep all funds within our ranks.” The company takes Visa, MasterCard, Paypal, and Stripe.

https://www.rollingstone.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Will2Shop-screenshot-shop.jpg?w=1024

Will2Rise represents an attempt to monetize the Active Club movement by the same folks who founded it. Active Clubs are the brainchild of Robert Rundo, a white nationalist from Orange County, California. Rundo previously led a street-fighting group called the Rise Above Movement, whose brawlers made a practice of roughing up antifa at social justice protests. Federal prosecutors have described RAM as “a combat-ready, militant group” that’s part of a “new nationalist white supremacy and identity movement.”

Rundo was indicted on federal charges of “conspiracy to riot” in 2019 stemming from RAM actions in Huntington Beach, Berkeley, and San Bernardino. The charges were dropped for a time but reinstated in 2021 after an appellate process ruled that the charging statute is constitutional. However, Rundo eluded capture, decamping to Eastern Europe where he continued to organize around his violent brand of white supremacy — including morphing RAM into a decentralized network of Active Clubs.

The Active Club movement is growing exponentially. A new report by the nonprofit Counter Extremism Project, reveals that there are at least 46 active clubs across 34 states in the U.S. The “transnational” network also has chapters in 15 countries, including Canada, and across Europe, with 23 chapters in France alone. 

Alexander Ritzmann, who conducted the CEP research, describes the groups as “trying to build a militia” in plain sight. They foreground a broad ideology of “white unity” — both to prevent infighting and to appear less threatening to law enforcement. The exact purpose of the fight-training remains ambiguous, but Ritzmann insists this is on purpose, following the philosophy that a violent white supremist movement needs more “fighters than thinkers.” The endgame, he warns, is for these Active Clubs to be the tip of the fascist spear when the next “Day X” — think: a redux of a Jan. 6 — requires the services of a fighting force: “It’s about building that militia for the day a leader shows up … that needs some sort of army.”

Rundo was also “a driving force in the creation” of the Will2Rise clothing brand, according to the CEP report. The Southern Poverty Law Center recently included Will2Rise among entities it labels “white nationalist hate groups.” The shop serves many purposes: reinforcing the public-facing aesthetics of the Active Club movement, raising money, and aiding in recruitment. According to Ritzmann’s research, the shop gets about 10,000 visits a month, with visits lasting about 15 minutes, “indicating shopping.”

Rundo’s life on the lam in Europe came to a halt this year. The 33-year-old was collared in Romania in March, and his extradition to the United States was announced Aug. 2. He has pleaded not guilty to the conspiracy to riot charges, and is expected to go to trial in December. 

Not surprising, Rundo has become a cause célèbre in extremist circles — especially for Will2Rise. A banner at the top of its website demands “Free Rob Rundo.” The company is also selling Shepard Fairey-esque art posters reading “FREE RUNDO,” and is even raffling off a wood carving of its fasces logo, fashioned by supporters at the “Austrian Art Academy.”

Following his vision, the groups Rundo set in motion are continuing to act without him — including by holding the Huntington Beach MMA fights. Extremism experts insist this is in keeping with the leaderless “open franchise” model promoted by Active Clubs, but note that SoCal Active Club has been effectively stewarding the movement in Rundo’s absence.

Will2Rise has not responded to an email request for information on its business, revenue, and profits. The company lists its address as a P.O. box in Virginia. It also features a non-working telephone number with a Georgia area code and one too many digits — ending in 88. That number is often used by white supremacists as a numerical correspondence to the letters HH, short for Heil Hitler.

[quotes121sworld]

Brittany Snow, Elisabeth Shue and Nick Jonas attend the premiere of The Good Half at the Tribeca Festival

The stars of new comedy-drama film The Good Half walked the red carpet for the world premiere on day two of the Tribeca Festival in New York City.brittany snow, Nick Jonas and Elisabeth Shue were among the cast members who showcased their fashion savvy while slipping into promotional mode for filmmaker Robert Schwartzman's latest production.Directed by Schwartzman from a screenplay by Brett Ryland, The Good Half focuses on Renn Wheeland (Jonas), an emotionally distant writer who returns to his hometown of Cleveland to attend his beloved mother's funeral after years of missing his mother sister (Snow) and avoided his father (Matt Walsh) and stepfather (David Arquette), according to Tribeca Festival website. During his time at home, Renn forges new relationships, including a "charming and energetic stranger" (Alexandra Shipp), while healing old relationships and learning that he can no longer avoid conflict in his life.Shue's husband Davis Guggenheim and cast members David Arquette and Matt Walsh also attended the promotional event.As photographers snapped down the red carpet, Snow, 37, showed off her womanly curves in a sequined navy blue dress.The eye-catching dress featured a plunging, off-the-shoulder design that showed off her cleavage and a slit at the left that allowed the actress to show off her legs in an instant.The former John Tucker Must Die star also wore a pair of strappy heels that slung around her ankles and had her dark tresses coiffed long and straight, just past her shoulders, with a center parting. Jonas, 30, looked stylish in a gray double-breasted suit, complete with extra fabric that hung a few inches below the front of the blazer.The Jonas Brothers star opted for an extra casual touch, completing his ensemble with a white tee and matching trainers.Shue, 59, opted for a more casual look in blue jeans with a white blouse, brown leather jacket and matching brown leather boots.The Melrose Place graduate's blonde locks were styled long with a healthy dose of volume and a center part.At one point, Shue's husband Davis Guggenheim joined her on the red carpet for a photo shoot together.The 59-year-old writer, director and producer looked handsome in a black suit, burgundy shirt and black shoes as he snuggled up next to his wife.

Eye-catcher: The eye-catching model from Snow was characterized by a deep and off-the-shoulder design

Leggy: Snow's dress also had a slit down the left side, allowing her to show off her legs at all times

STARRING: The Good Half focuses on Renn Wheeland (Jonas), an emotionally distant writer who returns to his hometown of Cleveland to attend the funeral of his beloved mother after years of caring for his sister (Snow), father (Matt Walsh) and avoided his stepfather. Father (David Arquette)

Family matters: Jonas, who plays the male lead of Renn, would also pose with co-star David Arquette, who plays his stepfather in the film

Man in Black: Arquette, 51, attended the world premiere in an all-black ensemble

Team pose: Jonas, Shue and Arquette also posed with director Robert SchwartzmanArquette, 51, struck a few poses both alone and alongside the film's lead Jonas, dressed in an all-black ensemble.The scream star also joined Jonas, Shue and Schwartzman on the red carpet for a photo or two.Schwartzman, best known for directing the films Dreamland (2016), The Unicorn (2018) and The Argument (2020), looked stylish in a classic black suit with a tie and a white shirt.Walsh, 58, went for a contrast in the fashion department by wearing black trousers with a white jacket and shirt and black leather shoes.The actor and comedian is best known for his roles in Bad Santa (2003), The Hangover (2009) and as The Daily Show correspondent with Jon Stewart (2001-2002).

On-Screen Family: Shue plays Jonas' beloved mother in The Good Half.

Article: Shue and shared the red carpet spotlight with her husband Davis Guggenheim

TV Man: Guggenheim is a writer, director and producer whose Hollywood credits include NYPD Blue, ER, 24, Deadwood and the documentary An Inconvenient Truth

Cast member: Matt Walsh, 58, went for a contrast in the fashion department by wearing black pants with a white jacket and shirt and black leather shoes

Promo mode: In the run-up to the world premiere, Jonas promoted the film on his Instagram page

Family support: Jonas' wife Priyanka Chopra joined the conversation about the premiere of "The Good Half" on Instagram.Ahead of the world premiere of The Good Half, Jonas used his Instagram page to promote the film's premiere screenings.“My new film The Good Half has its world premiere on June 8th with three screenings at the @tribeca Film Festival. I'm thrilled to be alongside this incredible cast! "@brittanysnow @alexandrashipppp @davidarquette @mrmattwalsh Elisabeth Shue," he shared in the caption.The actor and musician's wife, Priyanka Chopra, chimed in, commenting, "Let's go."Founded in 2002 by Robert De Niro, Jane Rosenthal, and Craig Hatkoff, the Tribeca Festival (formerly the Tribeca Film Festival) presents a diverse selection of films, episodes, lectures, music, games, art, and immersive programming each spring in New York City.This run of the festival started on June 7th and will last until June 18th. Read the full article

[drmajalis]

During the 1930s, Robert Moses led a massive redevelopment of New York that included building dozens of new expressways linking communities to new public beaches, parks, and other amenities. He did this by openly, and unapologetically by demolishing black neighbourhoods and bulldozing their houses to build the roads over. He did this even when more direct routes were available, and when those new roads were finished, he often had low clearence bridges placed over them that would prevent city buses from passing under them to those new public places, which effectively blocked many Black Americans from travelling to them, as many relied on public transportation. Cities around America copied Moses' redevelopment plans to a tee, and when Levittown, New York, the country's first modern suburban project opened, it was explicitly a whites only community. Every subsequent levittown and suburb up until past the civil rights movement was, and meanwhile those remaining black neighbourhoods which weren't demolished had their property values obliterated as funding went away from cities and to these new suburbs, and they deal with chronic health issues to this day as a result of living next to loud, polluting highways on all sides. White Americans destroyed their own cities, they destroyed their walkability, their mixed used urban environment, their character, in the name of segregation and racism. You cannot separate the issues faced by modern urban planners from the racism that led to them, you cannot separate the anti-urbanist screed from wanting to continue that racism. They decided they would prefer to live in worse cities with worse utilities and more unhappiness if it meant Black Americans would be worse off. That's just it.

The amount of people getting 0 upvotes for calling this shit ugly is kaczynski inducing

[picturestees]

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