#scuffin

[xobaileemadison]

FruitFilled Scuffins

[castle-theme]

FruitFilled Scuffins

[hansengiselle]

Muffin - Chocolate Cherry Coconut Scuffins These scuffins, a cross between muffins and scones, are a scrumptious mini treat flavored with milk chocolate, dried cherries, and coconut.

[reflective-muses]

“  let me explain.  ” Cyno wants to be able to explain the joke--

"You're going to anyway, even if I say no," Tighnari sighed. Whoever bought Cyno a book of puns and dad jokes for his birthday...

Tighnari hopes they know what they've done.

[florawaycott]

Chocolate Cherry Coconut Scuffins These scuffins, a cross between muffins and scones, are a scrumptious mini treat flavored with milk chocolate, dried cherries, and coconut. 1/2 cup white sugar, 1/2 cup coconut oil at room temperature, 1/2 cup turbinado sugar, 1/2 cup milk chocolate chips roughly chopped, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 3/4 cup sweetened shredded coconut, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 3 cups all-purpose flour, 1.5 cups dried cherries roughly chopped, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon almond extract, 3/4 cup confectioners' sugar, 1 cup plain fat-free Greek yogurt, 1/2 cup butter at room temperature, 1 tablespoon heavy whipping cream or more as needed, 1.5 tablespoons cherry jam, 1/2 teaspoon baking soda, 2 eggs

[dylmei]

Chocolate Cherry Coconut Scuffins These scuffins, a cross between muffins and scones, are a scrumptious mini treat flavored with milk chocolate, dried cherries, and coconut.

[burnwater13]

Concept art by Christian Alzmann. Grogu is being held by a Dark Trooper as it soars about Tython to deliver Grogu to Moff Gideon. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 6, The Tragedy.

Din Djarin knew he shouldn’t read his son’s diary. He knew that. It was an invasion of privacy. It was not the Way. In his defense, as thin and wobbly it was, Grogu had left the file open when the Mandalorian was clearing the table for dinner and one phrase caught his eye. 'Those Dark Troopers were programmed by a burnt out protocol droid.’

He knew Grogu had been trained by the Jedi, but Din Djarin wished he could help his son understand that didn’t make him invincible. No more than his full suit of beskar armor had made him invulnerable. They had both taken hits and had fallen harder than they liked to admit. Certainly Grogu had lifted a mother scuffin’ mudhorn up like it was a fried gorg on a stick, but he hadn’t bothered mentioning that he’d also slept hard for two days solid. 

Same for deflecting the fire or healing Greef Karga or even forcing the rancor to fall asleep. When Grogu did too much he had to renew his energy immediately and that left him vulnerable. He’d been lucky those other times and it worried Din Djarin that Grogu didn't really seem to appreciate the role luck had in their lives. 

As hard as his life was following the Mandalorian Creed and all the risks that his chosen profession of bounty hunting had entailed, Din Djarin never forgot how lucky he’d been that any Mandalorian had noticed him on the awful day on Aq Vetina. When he had been brought back to their ship, he had searched for friends among the other children the Mandos had rescued. There weren’t any. All of his friends were gone. He had been the lucky one. 

He recognized that luck for what it was. Not the luck of the lottery winner who walks away with a bunch of credits and the ability to lead any kind of life they wanted. Not the luck of those who had fallen. Their pain and sacrifice was over. They had given what they had and no one expected them to do anything else. No, he had the luck of the survivor. Gratitude that had to be spent every day saving others from a similar fate, while never forgetting those who were gone and what they had meant to him. 

He’d had a friend a bit like Grogu’s best pal, Ian. Jace had been a class clown and a bit reckless. Djarin had liked him immediately. With sandy hair, skin the color of Mandalorian tea, and a voice that sounded like the crack of doom, Jace had pulled so many tricks, stunts, and capers, that his nick name of ‘The Magician’ was the most accurate nick name any kid at the school had ever been blessed or cursed with. So much better than ‘Sharpy’ because the Mandalorian had been an expert shot even then. 

That had been one of the reasons Jace became his best pal. Jace was being picked up by the scruff of his shirt by some market stall owner and was turning a remarkable shade of purple, as he dangled from the big man’s hand. Before he really understood what he was doing, the future bounty hunter had selected an object and thrown it at the adult, hitting them square in the ear. The stall owner had dropped Jace to pull the remains of an overripe battle fruit from their ear and look frantically for whoever had thrown it. 

Djarin had turned on his heel and ran for all he was worth, only to find that skinny, sandy haired kid tackling him. 

“Why’d ya’ do that? I had him just where I wanted him!”

“Really?” Djarin had gotten to his feet and started to beat the dust off of his robes. “It looked like he had you right where he wanted you, about a minute from unconsciousness.”

“Ahh, that woulda never happened. I put a fire cracker in his pocket. I was just waiting for it go off.”

The Mandalorian remembered rolling his eyes at the other child. There hadn't been any… then ‘BOOM’! Both boys heard a muffled explosion, followed by the most instructive set of cursing that either of them had ever heard in their lives. Even as a bounty hunter, Din Djarin had never heard a finer selection and placement of a string of curses. 

“Are you crazy? You coulda killed that guy!” Djarin, the boy, had been horrified by the implication of the sound.

“Nah. I put it in the pocket of his jacket which was hanging on a peg at  his stall. He thought I stole his money pouch. He had no idea that I put that device there.”

Jace had been smug. Smiling and carefully dusting his pants and shirt off. Then he had casually removed a leather bag from his pocket and handed Djarin a couple of credits.

“Thanks for your help though. Distraction is an important part of any magic trick. You did great kid. Maybe we can team up.”

The Mandalorian remembered shaking his head. That kid was trouble with a capital T. Jace had noticed immediately.

“One day you’ll need a friend. A friend who can pull credits or firecrackers out of thin air. I am that friend. That’s why they call me The Magician. With aim like yours you should be called The Mandalorian. No one has better aim than they do.”

The Mandalorian laughed at that and then closed Grogu’s datapad. He didn’t need to read more of his son’s perspectives on their adventures. They were what they were. They had each taken something from them and that was fine. Maybe the Darktroopers had been programmed by a burnout protocol droid, or maybe Jace, The Magician, Pentya’cx, had done it as a distraction from his next big trick. Neither of them would ever be sure and that was okay. 

[grox]

you play roblox sometimes dont you you should drop your user and we can go through my huge backlog of games and fuck around👍 i aint got no playmates neither maybe instead of scuffin our shoes morosely in a tiny sandbox we can link arms and traverse through those lego plasticine tunnels together. your call

It's GEORGEHEADED... I'm playong woth other people tonight. But hit my line

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two 105

Oldarva hummed quietly to herself as she almost drifted through the kitchen. It was hard to move quickly when she felt so calm. She probably should not have felt calm, she realized. Nyota and Hadley were both in the med-bay again, she had gone hand to hand with actual Occasus, and they had a prisoner locked in the storage room turned brig. A few months ago, she would have been nothing but afraid.

“But a few months ago, I was still living under Big Ape’s eye,” she whispered to herself as she took the mixing bowl off the shelf. “I would have never reached the stars.”

She stopped, laughed at herself, and shook her head. She would never have talked to herself like this, either. Too dangerous. But she had stopped being afraid at some point, here. Started to really trust.

A hand knocked on the doorframe. “Someone’s feelin’ poetic,” Lumen said, stepping into the room. “Reachin’ the stars, huh? Now that’s a right purdy way to put it.”

Oldarva laughed and started looking for the flour. “It is better than how Namina would phrase it.”

Lumen hummed and crackled like a chuckling stormcloud. “Don’t ya get me started on him. Yeet at sssky, my boot. The hey’s a yeet? A yet ya stretched too long? Bloomin’ golly. And now he’s got Sonny sayin’ it.”

“Pass the eggs, please,” Oldarva said, trying to mirror that smooth way Nyota had of avoiding arguments in her kitchen. And then, because she was Oldarva and not Nyota, she added, “Does it really bother you?”

“Eh, not really.” Lumen ducked down to get a better look through the fridge. “Just does me some good to fuss ‘bout somethin’ when we got a whole lot of somethin’ I can’t do much about, y’see.” He straightened up and passed her the eggs with a thin hiss. “Hoo-ee, that half smarts, gettin’ the cold air on my brand.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that…” Oldarva paused in her work with a nervous, apologetic smile.

Lumen waved it off. “Don’t ya worry none, neither did I. I always forget about that. So, whatcha makin’? Don’t think I’ve seen ya use the oven before.”

Eldie looked down at her hands, blushing. “I thought I’d try muffins… SAIL had some useful kitchen safety tutorials, so I thought I might be able to do it by myself.”

Lumen nodded in approval. “That’s mighty wise of ya. And I’m sure the captain won’t mind ya givin’ her a break in here when she’s gotta rest. Saves some worryin’.”

“Yes, that’s what I hoped.” The blush got hotter, but she didn’t mind it too much. “But I can’t seem to find the sugar. Have you seen it?”

Lumen whistled curiously. “It ain’t in the usual place?” When she shook her head, he sighed. “Well, I can guess. Just hang on half a tick, I got ya.”  

He did not even bother looking for the sugar. Instead, he walked over to the wall, wrestled the grate off the air vent, and banged on the metal. “Hey, Ferny! I know you’re in there. Where’d ya hide it this time?”

A raspy chuckle drifted out of the vent and made Oldarva’s fur stand on end. Stars but he sounded spooky like that. Eldie took a reflexive step back and bumped into the counter as she heard something shuffling in the vents.

Namina popped his head out with a sheepish grin. “Lightss-friend has gotten clever,” he said. “Heard Floran in the air pipess?”

Lumen flicked his nose. “Didn’t need to hear ya this time,” he said, making a strange thin noise like a radio being tuned. “I hear ya scuffin’ ‘round in there all the time when I’m mindin’ the medbay. And we all know ya hide the sugar to play a joke on the Captain.”

Eldie had not actually known that, but decided that now was not the time to speak up.

The floran’s grin widened and he pulled himself out of the vent properly. “Is hidden in freezer today. She does not look in freezer much. Don’t tell. Fun can wait until Captain is done sssleeping, yes?”

“Sure, sure. Oh hold on now, don’t ya dare shake off in here,” Lumen warned as he caught Namina shifting in place. He pulled in the floran’s elbow, with absolutely no effect. “C’mon, get outta the kitchen before ya do that.”

“Floran is not dusty!” Namina protested. “Sparkss-friend cleaned those vents lassst week. Floran is curiousss.”

“Sparks? Is that what ya call Sonny now?” Lumen let go of Namina’s arm and ran his fingers through his corona, thoughtful. “It suits her. But what’s up, then?”

Namina ruffled Lumen’s corona and ducked away, chuckling, as the novakid crackled and tried to swat him. “Floran helps, yes?” he said, sidling up to Oldarva. “Floran gives sssugar, helps with the cooking.”

“Oh—” Oldarva nearly dropped her mixing bowl. He moved very fast. “Well, if you like. It’s just muffins, though. But I can always make extras if I have helpers.”

“Yay! More ssnack!” Namina pulled the sugar out of the freezer and scrambled up onto the counter to retrieve the extra flour from wherever he had hidden it.

Lumen fizzed and shook his head. “Boy howdy but I guess I better help ya too, at least to keep an eye on him. Well, not an eye… ya know what I mean.” He pulled a spare apron off the cabinet door and put it on. “We better make more’n usual anyhow. Captain said we’re visitin’ the rebels soon. They always like a good meal.”

Oldarva smiled and nodded. “They do. They more than deserve it. Let’s see… banana and nut, I think. Oh, but Commander Blake dislikes bananas. Chocolate, then?”

The novakid laughed, then sparked and jumped back. “Blazin—whoa!”

Eldie turned around just in time to catch Namina as he fell off the counter. “My goodness! Namina, you must be more careful. Don’t squish Lumen, please.”

Namina grinned and bonked his nose against hers. She blushed and dropped him in shock. He caught himself easily and presented the cocoa powder with a flourish. “Chocolate, yess! Floran helps.” He spotted the blush and his grin widened even further. “Floran keeps this up and we bake muffins on Eldie’s face, yes?”

Lumen swatted his arm. “Give the poor gal a break and go find the muffin tins.”  

[truthundressing]

lee from steps was so right when he said foot kickin', finger clickin', leather slappin', hand clappin', hip bumpin', music thumpin', knee hitchin', heel and toe, floor scuffin', leg shufflin', big grinnin', body spinnin', rompin', stompin', pumpin', jumpin', slidin', glidin', tush pushin', thunder footin', cowgirl twistin', no resistin', drums bangin', steel twangin', two steppin', end to end, hardwood crawlin', some four wallin', rug cuttin', cowboy struttin', burnin', yearnin', windin', grindin'

[genderlessjacky]

My boot scootin' baby is drivin' me crazy My obsession from a Western, my dance floor date My rodeo Romeo, a cowboy god from head to toe Wanna make you mine, better get in line 5-6-7-8

Foot kickin', finger clickin', leather slapping, hand clappin' Hip bumpin', music thumpin', knee hitchin', heel and toe Floor scuffin', leg shufflin', big grinnin', body spinnin' Rompin' stompin', pumpin' jumpin', slidin' glidin', here we go

*jammy jam jams x2*

[our-inspire-verse]

MAE, Coelocanth, Zim and Mitten.

I absolutely adore everyone here, they turned out so well. Mae's attitude/softness is so gently conveyed. Shes visibly talkin to u with her face! What is she sayin?! Coelocanth just scuffin his feets with hands in his pocket. His tail is just so pleasing here. Hes such a gender.

Then as always we have our Mitten and Zim. She's poking at his antennae and he's acting annoyed, though you can see he's leaning it toward her to reach better. And holding her up still. He loves her so much.

[lizzy-lue]

Ok these people are absolutely insane. Shoes are disgusting, you walk down the street in them through god knows what. Do not wear them in anyones house!!! Wtf. Not your own house, not someone elses. It costs 500+ dollars to get carpets cleaned and you have to move all the heavy ass furniture. You are scuffin the wood floors. This is about respect and tradition. No one wore shoes in Jesus' house you had to fucking wash your feet before you came through the door. You don't wear shoes in mine. This modern American thing where its ok to wear shoes in someones home is bizarrre. You don't see people wear shoes indoors historically, not anywhere people have floors. Floors are expensive man. Ok sorry ridiculous rant over.

fascinated/horrified by this set of tweets…

[xtrablak674]

When God Closes A Door He Opens A Window

I rode home last nite from 17th Street to Coop City in the Bronx on my bicycle; it was truly spiritual.

"RUFF RUFF GROWL SNARL RUFF RUFF GROWL SNARL."

I stick my head into the offices of Norman Rothstein and am met by this unforeseen welcome. A dog, in the office, which I find quite odd, in an office that is.

"Hold on calm down boy, calm down. How may I help you?"

"I have a 3:00 with Norman."

"Name?"

"Trevor Brown."

"OK Mr. Brown have a seat."

The office was decorated with Broadway show posters and one comer seemed to be dedicated to The Cosby Show publicity shots. I looked at the posters looking for names of people I have worked with so I could make sure I dropped a name every now and then. There was a little boy in the office, with his mother obviously there for an audition, freckled, reddish brown hair, blue eyes, cute.

"Sir, why did the dog bark at him when he came in and didn't bark at me."

Perceptive child.

"This dog is not a house dog, Its a guard dog its here to protect the offices at night, Its trained to bark at tall... men carrying bags."

Why didn't he just say black men. I thought back to the sign outside the door that said: MESSENGERS' PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING. I wasn't a messenger, so I didn't knock. I wondered what happened to the brother that just barged in unannounced. To bad this dog wasn't hip to the abolishment of Jim Crow laws. Or maybe his master... Nah I'm not going to go there. I might be bein a bit over-sensitive.

Anyway, I'm lookin sharp in my, after tryin on twelve outfits, olive and grey knit, matching pant and shirt outfit, with a tweed salt and pepa vest, with one of the single brown top buttons buttoned. White bucks. No tie, I hate ties, tight fitting things around the neck, maybe its a Black thing.

I had gotten a call from Julie Crosby, that Sunday nite, she was our house manger on Hello Again, my first time out at Lincoln Center. I was happy to be there, but very depressed because I got hired there on the tail-end of my Feld Ballet tour and my father and my buddy Ray's death. We didn't stay in one place long enough for me to deal with those emotions so they surfaced at LCT.

I thought Julie hated me because she was so chipper and I couldn't even pretend to be happy, so I hated her cheerfulness. Anyway, this woman was telling me that she was impressed with my work as a PA and wanted to know if I was interested in interviewing for a position on a European tour of Black & Blue, to leave in two weeks.

Interested? I was praying for it especially after feeling so snubbed by Fred Omer at a recent job interview, that I didn't get. My future ex-husband Corey was right when he said " When God closes a door, she opens a window." Julie gave me the number of the general manager and told me to give him a call Monday morning. I did give him a call Monday morning. Interviewed at 3:00 got a call Tuesday morning to come in and sign a contract. I had twelve days till I left that would make the departure date, April 28th.

Oh Shit, Mark is back off his tour on the 27th. Goddamnit, we've just had our first lunaversary and just entered our fifth week. I was so happy, I had made it this far. I really like Mark. I met him on the train, still freshly in my top-mode I thought he'd be a quick fuck. A little thing like him is gonna be scuffin his heal on the ceiling fan the minute he hits my bed. Well that's what I thought. I had fucked this thick brawny construction worker a couple weeks before and he had screamed and squirmed under me like a bitch, and I felt god-like and wanted nothin but big beefy guys to submit to my manhood.

"Yeah, who's your daddy, who's your daddy?"

Oh boy, I've been hangin around Joel too much.

So there I am in an off-white outfit feelin all butch standing an impressive 6'1" in my boots, lookin at this little about 5' 7" platinum blond boy. We were sort of checkin each other out on the train, but I didn't want to scare him, havin been sort of accused of stalkin this guy. Beside, I'm huge!

We didn't actually talk until about S. Second Street. I learned he lived two block away on South Sixth. I joked that was a galaxy away. He said he had some things to do and would ring my bell when and if he completed them.

"RING!"

Eleven-thirty. Oh Shit. I didn't think he was going to show up, there I am in my oversized jumper, houseware, no pumps on, cuz I wouldn't want him to think that I'm a drag queen or something.

I change the radio from CD 101.9 to Hot 97, dim the lights, burn the incense and jet downstairs. I open the door slowly nonchalantly.

"Come on in, I didn't think you'd show up."

We get comfortable on my large forest-green sectional, I lite more candles. I soon learn that he's a ballet dancer with a company called Trockadero, a male company that dances on point, and in drag. He's cute. His baby blue eyes sharp nose, supple eyes look good on his five foot seven inch, one hundred and thirty pound sinewed frame.

My hands were cold. Which usually only happens when I am nervous, which is rare. This man makin me, Trevor nervous? Why? Why does he excite me? Why can't I wait to feel his lips on mine, my arms in his and his in mine? One of the reasons is that he's been such a gentleman, we've been talking for about an hour and a half and he's not made one move to grab me.

He's busted up a bunch of stereotypes, that I had, me Mr. PC, me with issues of sizism and believing the gay communities hype about short men bein bottoms, platinum blonds being punks, and white men being ignorant. He's not made me feel one bit objectified. He's not into "Black Men" which nowadays is my biggest turn-off. It's important to me to be liked for bein me, "Trevor". So its funny the thing that I would hate happenin to me the most, I did to him. Damn, I can be the biggest hypocrite.

So now five weeks later my affection for him has grown, and I'm about to be sent away for thirteen weeks. He's gonna be in Japan for two and a half months and I over heard a conversation with him and his mother talking about going to Minneapolis for a little while. Whats I'm gonna do? What I'm gonna do? I lo...like him a lot but I have the libido of three suns, I need to be around him. Thirteen weeks, oh God give me the strength to bear this burden, knowledge to make the right decision and the wisdom to stick by that decision.

Of all the changes I go thru as I embrace life with a new vigilance. This is the most difficult. As I ride my bike and work muscles that I haven't worked in years, its just like the emotional muscles that haven't been used very often, and I hope they will be strengthened as my legs have been from riding this bicycle.

[Afterwords: You know the first thing that leaps out to me is that, I wasn't as bad a writer as I thought I was. Even with the lack of re-reading what I wrote, the general structure, the level of detail and intimacy and even how I wrapped the piece up were masterful. All I needed was a bit more prodding to proofread the work and do some mild re-writing where necessary. I thought my grammar and sentence structure was horrible and this just isn't true. It upsets me because I could have been writing short-form work my entire life if I had the proper encouragement and support.

I have seriously thought for years that this zine was totally and completely unreadable, and that just isn't the case. This story was a perfect time capsule of what was happening in my life at the time, and just like I still do there were extraneous bits that gave more context to my life and things that were going on outside of the main story. If that isn't good writing I am not sure what is.

There are a few things that I want to expound upon a bit more to give better context. That was a racist interaction in Rothstein's office and its silly to attempt to say it was something else. Even I can clearly see that Rothstein wanted to say the dog was trained to bark at Black men. Curiously this was a foreboding of what my experience would be on this trip coupled with the fact that in my interview I was literally told that I was hired because I was Black. Problematic much?

The production staff knew that touring an all Black production with an all whyte staff had bad optics, I was literally hired to be the token Black or quite plainly the house-nigger, who was ultimately supposed to side with master if anything went wrong which it inevitable did. That was actually the story I was looking for this morning, but started transcribing this one which I think is an excellent precursor to the other story because it sets up that this entire situation was racialized from jump.

My goodness how could I forget that ninety-six was a banner year in my development, it had many great highs and lows. I hint at it in the beginning of the piece, and it didn't sink in until I was doing my yoga, which is what I usually do after a first draft, then return afterwards to do a final edit before posting. I remembered this was the year I lived with my Aunt Mary in her Co-Op City apartment after giving up my Williamsburg apartment due to lack of work.

This was also the year I decided to leave the theatre and work in the corporate world. The next year I would start at my first advertising agency which would change the course of my life. But lets not get ahead of ourselves, I had a short timeline before this new tour started and Aunt Mary had given me an ultimatum that she couldn't care for both of my cats during my time out of the country. I had to do something that I will never forgive her for. I left my cat Poopsie out in a field, near some houses. I remember how traumatized by the entire experience that I wouldn't dare do that to Anastasia too, but by that time Aunt Mary had returned from wherever she was and said she could take care of Ana.

The thing is Anastasia was the most loving cat I had ever shared a home with and she had even melted Aunt Mary's heart with her very sweet and loving disposition and this saved her life, but forever left a black mark on my relationship with my favorite aunt.

Soon after I got back from this tour I would apply to jobs at Robert Half for temporary work and was assigned to a boutique agency called Kirshenbaum Bond Partners in Soho, the rest is history.

One of the extraneous bits of information I shared was that my father had died recently, this tour was in ninety-six, my father had died in ninety-three and I think Ray, who I was a buddy to through Gay Men's Health Crisis, died I within a year or so of my father dying. Ray was a victim of the AIDS crisis and I remember how hard this was for me, because my father was also called Ray. Losing two paternal figures so close to each other was very difficult, and at this time in my life I didn't realize I had a major depressive disorder that was much more than a seasonal issue.

Hello Again the musical production at Lincoln Center also ran in ninety-three so all of these things from three years ago were colliding. Lincoln Center was also the place I had met Julie Crosby, not really making it nepotism that had gotten me the Black & Blue tour but my work ethic witnessed on another job. In hindsight I have become hyper-aware of how much nepotism versus merit won me the jobs I had gotten in the past. I had come off of a tour with the Feld Ballet which also happened in ninety six, the Pounding Your Jefferson tour as we joked amongst ourselves, it was amazing to be touring once again and this time in Europe.

Joel Carceras is mentioned by first name, he is the same Joel who allegedly wrote the music for my short film which I talked about in a recent journal entry.

Now Mark Rudzitis, in all honesty I barely remember this five-week relationship from the mid-nineties. Mark was Latvian and as I wrote here from Minnesota. Curiously even though he lived two blocks away from me I never recall visiting him once during our month of dating. I also have no photos of him or us from this time, I am sure none were taken.

What I do have is the photoshoot I did in Hamburg with Oliver Boeshenstein the local production assistant we hired for the Black & Blue tour. Albeit I say Mark and I only lasted five weeks we attempted to stay in touch during our separate tours, I had commissioned the photoshoot just for him because I knew we didn't have any photos of each other. OMG I remember how crazy the phone bills were when I got back to the states, we attempted to talk a few times while he was in Japan and I was in Switzerland, and since this was a pre-internet era things were quite different and very expensive.

But ultimately we broke up, the long distance relationship didn't work. I remember it wasn't an amicable break because I went on to sleep with forty-two different men during my four month tour in Europe. Yes I remember the number specifically because it was a rage-filled sexual binge I was attempting to hurt Mark who wasn't even aware of what I was doing and probably at that point could care less.

I attempted to reconnect with him years later, but he had recently been mugged by some Black boys in Central Park and conflated his violent attack with some residual feelings about me so we never became friendly. I was sad because as I can see from this piece I had fond memories of him and wanted to see how he was doing. Clearly he wasn't the same person I had cruised on the train, dated for five weeks and never felt objectified by. The major failing of our country had finally corrupted his spirit leaving him now with nothing but disdain and hate for Black people especially Black men.

[Photo by Brown Estate]

[deshex]

New Years Scuffin' Eve 2023: Live with Gunfire Reborn

Celebrating the new year with friends!

Been a while since we've done Gunfire Reborn, but it never fails to be a good time, seems like a great way to start the year. Gonna a be a lot of fun, stay tuned!

[dattarajkamatart]

Chocolate Cherry Coconut Scuffins Recipe These scuffins, a cross between muffins and scones, are a scrumptious mini treat flavored with milk chocolate, dried cherries, and coconut.