#so i’ve been trying to re-associate myself with my Physical Forme

[mars-ipan]

my favorite game: do you feel that way about your body because you’re transgender because you’re neurodivergent or because you’re a furry and/or therian

[altraviolet]

Hi!! I know it’s been so long since TEG’s conclusion, but after re-reading it, I’ve come to find myself having a few lingering questions:

1) If you were to reference both Mirage and Skywarp’s characterizations, in ‘The Echo Garden’, from any of their canon/corporate material fiction alternates—what would be the most comfortable for them to be associated towards?

Also, out of curiosity, have these two ever fantasized about becoming mentors / parents / caretakers? It’s not that important to me really, but I’d appreciate your opinion on the matter for future reference.

2) Hypothetically, when Soundwave does get inevitably beat up enough to the point of having it be a main priority to obtain supples from his home dimension, would he want to “fix” his elbows and knees and his whole… ace-fae ituation-say?

Like, I’ve been daydreaming a bunch about a specific outcome where he goes to his home dimension and ends up getting the glow up of his dreams—aka something a bit like his old gladiator get up. But at the same time not changing too much because of how contempt he already is with his form, and how he mostly just took a chance while getting repaired to ask for a few changes to his frame to make it more battle-ready instead of sneaky and shadowy. Man keeps taking hits from left to right and I’m horrified at the notion of his flat arms snapping and his stiff joints slowing him down.

3) Has there ever been anyone on the ‘Lost Light’ that actually enjoys being on the chore one cycle? I’m very aware from Soundwave’s POV that it’s like staring into the gates of barnacled-hell, but I’m sure there’s maybe one freak out there that takes pride in the somewhat cleansing ritualistic aspect of the crustacean colonists, the wet garbage, and Toaster’s debilitating demands when it comes to his standards.

4) Would the ‘Lost Light’ crew ever react negatively towards any newcomers who happen to be physically “amalgamated” with organic material ever since the… are-stay ive-dray incident? Even if it is proven to be harmless, would it still be plausible for them to have any extra security measures taken that might be harmful to said bi-organic-metal subjects?

5) Has Rodimus ever thought about how a Conjux bond would work between him and Soundwave?

Not even just like a super romantic way—well maybe at first—but like physically. I feel like a former Matrix holder and a God-killer living on a trans-dimensional spacecraft already makes a ludicrously dope power couple, so I feel like the universe could literally bend to their will at this point without much effort. But still, marriage yeah, but spark-bonding? They’d both probably cause a supernova at the alter if they’re not too careful.

6) DO THEY GO BACK FOR THUNDERCRACKER (and Starscream??? Wait is he also Skywarp’s brother, I actually don’t remember if he was even mentioned—). Well, would they ever go back for Thundercracker and or Starscream?

I seriously think in hat universe Starscream would be very dead but I’m not sure at all. Please correct me if necessary.

———

SORRY FOR THE RANTS!! I needed to get a few of these questions out of my system, and I’ll probably try to look up some more information from any previous posts I might’ve missed. To this day I’m still so enthralled with the world building in your AU it’s inspired me so much and I didn’t even realize it. If any of this seems too confusing I’m so so so sorry, I’m still nervous at the thought of asking these kinds of questions even if there are already answers.

NONETHELESS—have a great rest of your day!! :3

p.s. would it be possible for me to make an au from teg that takes place wayyyy into the future? like with a “conjuxed” maybe not “conjuxed” rodimus and soundwave. i dunno, the only reason for them to be conjuxed in this hypothetical au was to show the passage of time, or something. maybe skywarp’s brother(s?) would be on the ‘lost light’ too? would that work?

AH IT’S TOO MUCH!! AGAIN I’M SORRY!! I KNOW IT’S A LOT!! AGAIN, HAVE A SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS DAY OR NIGHT, WHICHEVER AAAUGH (>[]<)

Hi spinspin! Thanks for the long message. I'm glad you continue to enjoy the fic :)

1) If you were to reference both Mirage and Skywarp’s characterizations, in ‘The Echo Garden’, from any of their canon/corporate material fiction alternates—what would be the most comfortable for them to be associated towards?

Hmm. Mirage is closest to his G1 incarnation: a wealthy mech who didn't want to join the war. Skywarp is... not like any canon Skywarp I know of. I suppose his trickery is kinda in IDW2, but that's not what inspired that aspect of him. Both of them are a lot closer to their Face The Past characterizations than any canon, tbh.

Also, out of curiosity, have these two ever fantasized about becoming mentors / parents / caretakers?

Ah ok so... I'm absolutely NOPE on parent/caretaker stuff, so anything I wrote would never contain that (unless it was from canon and I was using that canon). I'm talking, push away with a ten foot stick aversion levels, lol.

Now a mentor... ehhhhhhhh... I think they're amenable to teach SW about crystals in TEG because it's part of, well, their reality, and they'd rather keep an eye on SW and teach him themselves than have him flounder around and accidentally ascend to a higher level of existence and destroy everything. It was a somewhat small detail, but Mirage did make their teaching him part of a deal: it wasn't done 100% out of the goodness of anyone's spark.

They wouldn't fantasize about mentoring, but they'd do it if they had to.

2) Hypothetically, when Soundwave does get inevitably beat up enough to the point of having it be a main priority to obtain supples from his home dimension, would he want to “fix” his elbows and knees and his whole… ace-fae ituation-say?

If SW was damaged enough to need to return to his dimension for metal and supplies, he wouldn't otherwise change his frame. There's nothing wrong with it in his mind. He went through the whole war with it. He's never complained about it or felt any kind of (for lack of a better word) dysphoria or regret for losing his gladiatorial frame.

Re: the damaged eye: I think he would aim to get that fixed, if they could find an optic lying around. Recall that in TFP you can't just slap inanimate parts into mechs. It's a big thing that you can't build organs in that part of the franchise (Arcee and Jack have a discussion where she says something like "Can you build me a small intestine, Jack?" lol).

3) Has there ever been anyone on the ‘Lost Light’ that actually enjoys being on the chore one cycle?

*writes a whole paragraph answering the question "Do mechs like their regular chores?"*

*rereads question*

oh LOL oh shit, you asked about the chore CYCLE. lol. sorry. I just got home from work. Uhhh no. Definitely no xD no one likes being on the chore cycle. It sucks purposefully, lol.

So like if Inferno got put on the chore cycle, he'd still have to do his job, but he'd be stuck with Toaster 95% of the time and they'd both hate that soooooo muuuuuch, and that's part of the point. It will discourage Inferno from being a bad boy xD If UM found out someone LIKED a certain aspect of the chore cycle, he'd remove that aspect from their rotation, lol.

[if you're curious what I wrote initially, here it is: In reality, most of the mechs treat their usual chores like a job. Some will like their jobs, some might not like them as much, but when Rodimus and Megatron and UM (and maybe Drift too) assigned the jobs, they took into account what mechs were built for and what they like to do. So, Inferno isn't weirdly into scraping out the plumbing, but he can do it, he knows he can do it better than anyone else (except maybe Hot Spot), and he's proud of his work. I'd say that all the mechs are pretty satisfied with their work, and they are proud of it.]

4) Would the ‘Lost Light’ crew ever react negatively towards any newcomers who happen to be physically “amalgamated” with organic material ever since the… are-stay ive-dray incident? Even if it is proven to be harmless, would it still be plausible for them to have any extra security measures taken that might be harmful to said bi-organic-metal subjects?

They do have a strict rule about bringing 100% organic beings aboard the LL. That's a no-go.

If they encountered a Cybertronian that was partially organic, like the Beast Wars continuity, or what Blackarachnia seems to be in TFA, they'd probably assess the situation on a by-person basis.

They're generally very careful and reticent about bringing people aboard (despite what we see Rodimus doing, lol). In over 3000 dimensions, they've only 'kept' 4 mechs, and they've invited only 2 aboard, as mentioned by name in the fic. Stardrive and... I think Rook? Another character got a quick shout out at one point. Obv TEG doesn't detail all 3000+ dimensions' worth of adventures. I think they'd let a few more mechs temporarily aboard. But overall, they're very careful about things.

5) Has Rodimus ever thought about how a Conjux bond would work between him and Soundwave? Not even just like a super romantic way—well maybe at first—but like physically... spark-bonding?

Mmmmmmmmm... hmm. Conjunx ritus, as we see in the comics, is a cultural thing. They're not literally bonded by the spark together. So you're asking about 2 things here, just to clarify.

re: conjunx ritus: hmmmmmmmmmmm idk, I don't see Rodimus doing that. 🤔 it's a cute idea for fic, of course. but staying true to Rodimus as a character? I don't see it. I could see something that was a mix of ceremonies between his and SW's dimensions. or maybe something that felt more casual.

re: spark-bonding: I think they wouldn't want to try this. SW's spark chamber is damaged and when he infiltrated Rodimus, Rodimus's body didn't react well. HMMMMMMM yeah I dunno. We did have the scene where Rodimus exposed his spark for SW, and SW enjoyed absorbing Rodimus's Rodimusness, and Rodimus felt pleasure from that. But that's quite different from them exposing open sparks to each other.

I think if they did do that, they'd be very careful about it.

Honestly, as the author, I'd have it hurt them >D idk, that just feels right, with all their dimensional differences. they need to find other ways to enjoy each other, lol. a lot of TEG's sexy stuff dashes expectations in the trolliest way possible on purpose, heheheheh

6) DO THEY GO BACK FOR THUNDERCRACKER (and Starscream??? Wait is he also Skywarp’s brother, I actually don’t remember if he was even mentioned—). Well, would they ever go back for Thundercracker and or Starscream?

Starscream is definitely extremely dead.

The last Skywarp knew about TC, he was in that building where Skywarp was found. The readers saw that building fill with molten energon. Sooooooooo...

I've said in several places that I've left seeds in TEG for a sequel, and we'll just say, that ever so slightly ambiguous mention of TC was a such a seed ;D

But, no, Mirage and Skywarp would not go back to their dimension for TC. They think he's dead and the price Soundwave pays for every dimensional portal is too high. They'd have no reason to go back, unless like... one of them was horribly injured.

p.s. would it be possible for me to make an au from teg that takes place wayyyy into the future?

ah, the sticky wicket. you have just as much right to make a TEG AU as I did making TEG from MTMTE in the first place. but, since you asked, I'm going to be honest. I prefer people not write their own TEG-based fics, AU or sequels or whatever. I feel like I worked really hard for this sandbox, and it's mine and I wanna play in it by myself, and it would be better if you made your own sandbox to play in, because you should practice building your own worlds and plotlines.

so like... I'm not going to get any AU you write taken down, or anything like that. but I won't read it and I wouldn't want to discuss it with you. I mean that in the very nicest way possible 🙏 I think creativity and expression are important, and it would be mean to squash yours. but also... those are my truthful answers. thank you for asking first. most authors don't mind other people using their AUs but I'm not one of them.

Thank you for the well wishes. Hope you have a good day, too :)

[musicalmash]

Doing the Work – June

Man. I had to remember all my tumblr login details for this thing.

This post is about accountability. Here’s what I’ve been up to since my last video. It’s mostly devoid of musical theatre stuff.

First off, as promised I’m donating all of my June internet revenue. That’s $250 to The Martha P. Johnson Institute.

Most of this comes from my Patreons. My deep thanks to them.

Next, I thought it’d be nice to let folks know what I’ve been reading in hopes it’ll help you pick up a book. Here’s what I’ve finished so far.

So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo

Required reading. Highly recommended. If you don’t know where to start, start here. Oluo walks you through a straightforward unpacking of systemic racism in contemporary USA with solid action points about what YOU can do.

————

White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo

This book is “required reading” assigned by the school I teach at. Don’t read it. I got about a chapter in and something felt off. Kelefa Sanneh explains it in his review in the New Yorker. For more discourse, check out Episode 17 of Blocked & Reported (and the associated Bonus Episode).

————

The Great White Way: Race and the Broadway Musical by Warren Hoffman

This was my second time through this book. A thorough analysis of the “whiteness” of the world of musical theatre and the mostly unseen racism it’s been enforcing. If you’ve heard the rumblings from the We See You, White American Theatre open letter and the associated petition, then you need to read this book to understand why Whoopi Goldberg is suggesting we rebrand broadway as “The Great Bright Way.”

————

I Won't Learn from You: And Other Thoughts on Creative Maladjustment by Herbert R. Kohl

Another re-read for me – this one comes from my time learning to be a teacher in college. I had forgotten how much I LOVE this book (really a collection of short essays.)

If you are an educator who feels “stuck” in the system, this is the book for you. Kohl borrows the concept of “creative maladjustment” from a speech by Dr. King:

Modern psychology has a word that is probably used more than any other word in modern psychology. It is the word “maladjusted” … Certainly, we all want to avoid the maladjusted life. In order to have real adjustment within our personalities, we all want the well-adjusted life in order to avoid neurosis, schizophrenic personalities.

But I say to you, my friends...there are certain things in our nation and in the world which I am proud to be maladjusted and which I hope all men of good-will will be maladjusted until the good societies realize.

I say very honestly that I never intend to become adjusted to segregation and discrimination. I never intend to become adjusted to religious bigotry. I never intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. I never intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism, to self-defeating effects of physical violence.

In other words, I’m about convinced now that there is need for a new organization in our world. The International Association for the Advancement of Creative Maladjustment–men and women who will be as maladjusted.

Kohl talks of how he brings his own particular form of this “creative maladjustment” to the schools and systems he works within to try and affect change from the inside.

I had forgotten how much this concept is core to my educational philosophy.

————

So that’s been June. I’ve got a long book list for July – still figuring out what I want next. Really, the literature I’m looking for is some straight-up history. If you’ve got any suggestions for good books that go beyond the whitewashed “American History” textbooks, please tweet them at me. (@MusicalMash)

Also, yes (YES!) I do have plans for upcoming content. If you’ve followed me long enough you’ll know how I fall into fits and starts of creativity. I’m working on it. Along with plenty of other things.

Be well. Love each other.

-Tommy

[stalecrackers]

I've had a god damned day. When I woke up this morning, I would have sworn that I was human being. That I fucking mattered. But so many things have pointed to the contrary.

After three months of constantly trying to get a proper physical therapy referral, including three doctor visits and countless phone calls, I was finally able to begin treatment for my back/spine. It took ages to begin treatment for anything, because the doctor just wouldn't send the referral. Then sent it to the wrong place. Then sent it in complete. Then sent it to the wrong place. Then incomplete, then to the wrong place again, and then finally, the proper referral. I overheard my physical therapist talking to her boss during my treatment this morning. Apparently, the doctor never signed any of the three forms that were required to have his signature, in order for my insurance to process the claims. Bearing in mind I'm being seen on a financial hardship basis, so the remainder of my cost is waived. Apparently my insurance enjoys labeling things as a shared payment, and not a co-pay...as all of my out of pocket co-pays have been met. Well, I joined the conversation, and said I'd been eavesdropping, and that I actually had my supposed follow up to see how physical therapy was going, right afterwards, before work. I offered to deliver the paperwork, and literally not leave until he signed it, then deliver it back. So, they printed it off, and I was told that it could possibly be my last session, even though I've only had three treatments for my back, haven't yet had my neck re-evaluation, and am still severely struggling with my hands. Because my doctor wouldn't return faxes. Won't bother.

So, I get to the god damned appointment, and the mother fucker walks in and fucking introduces himself. I didn't hesitate even a moment to call him out on it. I wasn't rude. Just straight forward and factual. He seemed a little flustered, and then said he did remember me after all, but he just sees a lot of patients. We discussed that I'd made progress, but was still having issues, and that I'd only had three treatments so far for my back, because the referral hadn't been sent. Again. Factual. Not rude. He asked if there was anything else of concern. So, I said yes, actually. I needed an updated std screening, and that I prefer to be responsible and get them every six months. He said he doesn't like to do the tests just to do them. I restated the question, saying I needed the test, as the person I'd been seeing had gotten someone else pregnant, and I'd recently started having pain during sex. He said he doesn't like to do the tests just to do them, and that I probably needed more lubricant. I just stared and said Ok. After hesitating, I said “Not trying to be rude, but is there a reason to not do the test?” He said he doesn't like to do the tests just to do them, and that if I started having any issues, like vaginal discharge, he could see me in a month and do the tests then. I restated that I was having pain during intercourse and that I'd like to get the test done. He said “well, I could take a urine sample”, to test for gonorrhea/basic bacterial things. I said Ok. As soon as he left and the door closed, the student who'd been observing the appointment and he erupted into a slightly hushed bickering session. I couldn't make out what they were saying. The nurse who'd initially taken my vitals and information came back in to give me an updated tetanus shot and said she'd collect my urine sample. I asked if it was for the std test, to verify. She said yes, it was. I said it was extremely bizarre, that I'd asked the doctor to do an std screening, as sex was painful and the person I was seeing got someone else pregnant. I told her that I had to twist his arm to even get the urine test done. She seemed sweet and professional, and said it might usually be another appointment and a physical exam. I said he wanted me to wait a month to get it done, even though I'm having pain now. That I wanted to be responsible and be sure I don't have anything, so I don't accidentally spread stuff to people. She mentioned it might be something my obgyn might need to do, and suggested an updated pap test as well. I told her I'd already had my female exam for the year. She was polite, told me to relax my arm muscle so I'd be less sore from the tetanus shot in the morning, and later helped me open the plastic bag the urine sample bottle was contained in, as my hands were not cooperating on opening it. When I leave, she sweetly tells me I can go to the desk and schedule either my one or two month follow up. I scheduled my two month follow up, to track the course of my physical therapy. I'd decided to go to a walk in clinic to get the rest of my std screening done. I already had a veterinary appointment, and two appointments of my own scheduled for the following day, but I'd decided I'd have to squeeze in a walk in clinics, since he'd refused to do the tests.

So, I leave the place, and on my two fucking minute drive home, I get a call from a number I don't recognize. I answer. Immediately recognize the doctor's voice. He asks if it's ' miss (redacted)', I reply with 'yes sir'. He said, since we're doing these tests, I wondered if you'd like to actually bundle the syphilis and HIV tests in with it?” I reply with “yeah, that would be good.” He went on to tell me that his supervisor told him he apparently could do the std screening. He said to come in whenever was most convenient to me, and tell them I'm there for lab work, and that they'd take my blood. I asked if it was fine if I came in the morning. He said yes that would be good.

That mother fucker. One, or both of the women involved absolutely stood up for me afterwards. So, that's a win. I don't know if it was the student who erupted into an argument with him. Or the nurse who told me I could schedule my one or two month follow up, if I'd like, but one of them said something.

During all of this, I'd been offered a full time position, with benefits, for $35,000-$45,000 a year, in graphic design. But, the only catch was, the job is within 200 yards of my former stalker's house. The man who assaulted me, on more than one occasion. The hideous coward whose pupils I watched dilate as I pleaded with him that he was hurting me. Over and over again. The sorry sack of shit who took away my dexterity. My art. The very core of my identity. The person who ruptured my disc in my neck, causing the most excruciating years of my life. Whose laughable actions lead up to having a TIA, ungodly severe migraines, and the feeling of literal strings of fire being pulled through my arm and out the tips of my fingers. Who paralyzed my hand. Who made me believe I'd never be able to even draw a straight line again, or ever escape the most excruciating pain imaginable. The person who told people I was over reacting and making things seem worse than they were, after he'd twisted and snapped my neck two months after the spinal surgery to correct the injury he'd caused in the first place. The person who has made me previously contemplate the exact and vivid details of what it would be like to put a bullet through someone's skull. The reason I can't be touched in the same ways as I used to, and the reason I have to warn my dates how to avoid triggering my ptsd. The person whose actions lead to me having to leave my job and take time on disability. The reason I couldn't create art for four years of my adult life. The person who alienated me from my social group. Who convinced me I was broken and would never be lovable. Whose treatment sent me into downward spirals of self injury, substance abuse, and three hospitalizations. The reason I have tattoos on my forearm, cover scars created when testing the sharpness of a blade before I planned to lay my veins open.

The person offering me the job claims he didn't realize any of this transpired, though he doesn't seem adamant about no longer associating with him. Apparently, he told my friend that he's tried contacting me over the years and that he doesn't understand why I ignore him and won't talk to him, and says he still misses me. Almost six years after rupturing my disc and effectively ruining my life...paralyzing my hand, creating years of almost no use after spine surgery because of re-injury, and having to go through the process of relearning to individually move my fingers... after all of this...He misses me. Cute.

I would obviously get a restraining order if he ever contacts me again. The statute of limitations is up, and the lawyers I consulted with wouldn't take on a case with him. I waited too long. I was too emotionally vulnerable to get the police involved after he hung me, or after he forced my head to the left and upwards, creating a deafening pop and a shock wave down each side of my incision. I was too emotionally vulnerable, after weeks of barely being able to get out of bed, my head drooping to the side, and struggling to teach myself to do all of my self care left handed. After being forced to very effectively become ambidextrous. After having to be spoon fed, because I couldn't lift soup to my mouth. After spending so many weeks, day in and day out, laying in bed, struggling to roll in the correct manner in order to get up to use the restroom as my head drooped and my hand was useless. After all of the times I've spent, afraid of going to sleep, because I knew I'd have to start all over again with the pain that I cannot even now fully comprehend. The reason that, even today, I can only sleep in very specific positions, with a special pillow that costs $125. The reason that my muscles are still so atrophied that I am barely able to carry out basic tasks, spent several weeks in physical therapy before I could properly resume basic household chores, because I finally started a job. An attempt to restart my life. Carrying out basic work tasks forfeits my art. My daily tasks. Weeks of extensive physical therapy has gotten me to the point that I'm sweeping and mopping my home again, and not struggling as much to cook my meals. When I give in to my desire to create, I suffer substantially at work. Shattering pain spreads through my hands and fingers. Every single day I have to spend 1-2 hours when I first wake up to do a body awareness and mindfulness meditation. To tell myself that I am worth the basic commodities of life. To check in on my pain levels, and to stretch my muscles in my neck, back, and hands. My back suffers extensively, as I put strain on it to avoid further injuring the herniated disc from the assault that occurred after spinal surgery. My hands suffer from years of under use. My neck suffers from herniation, bone spurs, permanent arthritis caused from the first assault and the surgery, and simply from the trauma of being so severely injured and being so systematically emotionally traumatized. This “person” misses me.

I obviously cannot take a job, where I will live in fear of this person. Spend every day scrambling to and from my car, in fear that if I loiter too long, I might be seen. Might be discovered. I cannot have another job that is jeopardized by this person, where I actively need to involve the police and file a restraining order. I might be able to afford the dental care that I need, for the tooth I recently broke, likely from clenching my teeth from stress. And I might be able to pay for the upcoming eye exams to deal with the retinal holes and 30 flashes of light I see a day in my right eye. I might be able to move out of section 8 housing, where I automatically jump to the floor any time I hear a loud sound, in anticipation of another shooting. I might be able to afford my own groceries, without having to avoid certain stores because of the disgust upon being presented with an EBT card. I might be able to afford my arthritis medicine, and not have to order it from a foreign pharmacy. I might be able to afford to see a doctor that doesn't make me feel like a god damned mangy mutt, waiting in a run at the pound to see if I make it off the euthanasia list within the next month before my fleas get treated. Perhaps I'd be able to see a doctor that made me feel like a god damned human being, even. If I got extremely lucky. Not one who offers to double my anti-depressant, and refuses to do an std screening.

I scanned a copy of the reports from physical therapy. My hands were rated as a 72% disability, and my back was 50%, apparently. I am keeping a copy for my own records, as everyone is god damned incompetent, and I have to scratch and claw my way into a minimal existence.

When I finally got to work, three hours and four minutes after originally scheduled, my coworker was angry. He yelled at me because I asked him to keep a look out for some black ear buds that I'd dropped on the floor some time during the week. He then proceeded to blare screaming guitar music and make pottery. A strange, angry, and entitled combination. The temperature in the office was 78. The main studio was 91. The chemical room was 93 or 94, and the kiln room where I was doing most of my work was well into the 100's. I kept having to take breaks to cool down and to put ice on my hands and wrists and shattering pains shot through both hands and wrists. I even temporarily draped myself into the freezer, when I was getting ice out. The small part of the building that has air conditioning, I turned down to 68 degrees. I sat in one of the tattered cushioned chairs. I've gotten past my panic related to sitting in at office chair, as that's where I was sitting when my second neck injury occurred. That was something I discussed extensively in therapy. I felt the sweat trickle thickly down my back, squeezing between my skin and my tightly cinched back brace. The air started to chill my skin. I momentarily felt a little too cool, until the sweat dissipated, leaving me feeling somewhat comfortable. I wanted to work on some of the class demos I created last Monday. Trim them before they became too dry. Sacrifice my dexterity, and fight with my numb finger tips to create something that might, if I'm lucky, actually get me into a graduate program that would allow me to get the fuck out of the miserable stagnation. Something to challenge my mind and further my own art. But, I knew if I did, I would get bitched out by my boss, scolded and reprimanded like a naughty child, and told to create hideous phallic slab vases, even though they hurt my hands and wrists to create. She has made three. I've made 14. When she asked me to make more the other night, I said I would assemble them if she made the slabs. She said “ME?! You want me to help you?” I blandly replied yes, I did want her to help me, as the process injures my wrists, hands, and neck. My elderly coworker jumped in and offered to help. He's very kind, and I think he wanted to divert potential rising conflict.

So, instead of working on my own stuff, and being reprimanded for doing so, I just sat and stared into space. Tired, weak, exhausted, dejected, and fairly discouraged. A kind yoga teacher massaged my arms and hands for me, because she saw I was icing my wrists. Kindness always surprises me, and I find myself thanking people multiple times. It leaves me with a strange feeling. Nurturing isn't something I'm accustomed to accepting.

I flipped through my phone so much while staring into the void today that my battery almost died. The person I spent time with last night seems to have disappeared, and the person who seems most interested in dating me, I automatically fear will hurt me physically somehow, so I avoid carving out the time to spend. I apparently associate sweetness or tenderness with physical danger. Lines start to blur and I don't know whether I'm sensing a “red flag” or I'm so intrinsically programmed to think that if someone's interested in me, they're surely going to stalk, assault, and force themselves on me.

It's late, I'm tired, I'm in pain from typing. My hand is numb and tingly, and swollen and achy. I have to get up super early so I can take my cat in for a surgery I'm going to spend the next two months paying off. So, I have to say, again, it's been a god damned day. I'm just overwhelming relieved that my boss has put in her notice. Maybe, just maybe, I can get her old position, and get benefits and get out of the ghetto, and get things up to basic safety standards so my eyes don't burn from surfer dioxide. A thing that simply got a “huh” from my doctor, when mentioned. “Doctor”, I should say. He doesn't take me at all seriously, because I'm a female with ptsd. Mental health struggles mean you don't matter, within the medical field. It's been a mother fucking, god damned day. Good night.

[ghostsofmemories]

Writing My Obituary (context on my weird poetry collection)

I realized today that I very casually bring up my poetry collection all the time and a large majority of my followers have no clue what I’m talking about, so here’s a WMO explanation post thing! I should definitely give a content warning though: this book deals with suicide, abuse (both physical and emotional, by both parents and other people), homophobia and transphobia, allusions to major appetite and stomach issues (which while reading sound a lot like eating disorders), toxic relationships, just a lot of really heavy emotions in general. Please don’t read the book or this post if those things could trigger you. This post also ended up super long, so the rest is under the cut.

So. first thing’s first, this collection is being published by Pure Print Publishing this fall (due to covid there aren’t any exact dates available). I didn’t query it, someone reached out to me after reading my poems on Instagram, hearing that they were in an unpublished collection, and basically connected me with their friend who runs the indie publishing house and is an author himself.

A big part of the reason this book is so difficult to talk about in context is because that requires getting pretty vulnerable - most of this book is just me dealing with everything I’ve struggled with over the last 4 years of my life. So if there’s discussion about the book in the replies, please keep it to the content of the book and not the validity of these experiences or details of things that happened to me.

The collection is about me and my journey from 13 to 17, starting with my suicide attempt at 13. There are several poems from around that time in my life, but they’ve changed a lot over the four years of editing. However, you can definitely still see changes in the way I write and the way I approach poetry by the end of the book - which was the goal. The book is centered around learning about identity, about how relationships should work, about friendships, about learning to handle mental and chronic illness, and above all, growing. There’s really no “breaking point” where everything about the way I write changes all at once, so in context, the change is almost difficult to see. So to sort of represent these changes, I’m putting a poem from the beginning, from the middle, and from the end all right next to each other (and some bonus analysis of my own poetry!).

Call me a monster is probably the most stark change from the past to the present. I almost never rhyme my poems anymore and if I do, they’re fleeting and mostly for rhythm. The lines are also extremely short, which I only do now when it really fits - in general, I make an effort to avoid consistently short lines. I like to tell myself that it’s symbolism I did on purpose to represent how all over the place my brain was, hopping from one thought to the next, but I don’t think it’s symbolism. I think my brain was really too jumbled to have more than five words in a line.

 I also took my own poems very seriously back then - writing a poem was an Occasion, so the first letter of each of those lines is capitalized like I’m some sort of English classics major. Both stanzas are also the same length (I still do that now sometimes, but back then it was in so many of my poems that I think I thought it was a requirement). Basically, I wrote this like I was going to turn it in somewhere.

Still pretty heavy on the capitalization here, but I definitely got more flexible with stanza length and slightly longer lines (7 whole words, yay!). This poem was somewhat of a turning point for me, basically realizing that I could not only vent through poetry, but still make it poetic and artistic in a lot of ways, and also explore contrast in my own emotions and conflicting feelings. For some reason, prior to this, I thought a poem could only be one emotion at a time, but now I think a poem can be one topic and the way multiple or conflicting emotions revolve around it. This is also one of the first poems I wrote that I was proud of from beginning to end.

This poem isn’t totally representative of the last couple changes I want to talk about (especially line length - for being relatively recent the lines are still pretty short), but I don’t want to use too many poems that haven’t been posted online before and this one has been posted and read aloud on an Instagram live, minus one stanza I added, which I’ll get to. I also wanted to choose this one because it has a direct reference to The Universe In You and several other poems, which gives me a chance to talk about how much I love referencing my other poetry in my poetry. Buckle up, this one might be long.

By this point, I had pretty much realized that there actually aren’t any rules at all. I’ve figured out what I want to say and I’ll say it however the hell I want to - I don’t need to capitalize things unless it suits the form, I don’t have to be totally consistent, I can repeat things as much as I want. I reached back into my 15 year old angst for this one, though, so I could more properly write about the relationship in a way that made sense. 

Now, I could honestly write a whole other book about how I reference other poems in each poem, but for now I’ll just break down the ones here.

Sort of a half reference right at the beginning: I have so much to say. I bring that up in different words in so many poems, both about my relationship and my dad. This is probably because, growing up as someone who had a speech impediment (meaning I talked too much no matter how little I said because of how long it took to say it), I always felt like I never had the space to say everything I wanted. It’s brought up in at least 3 other poems.

lost signals: a direct reference to my poem Thread Unavailable:

We’re riding down a dirt road in the middle of a conversation and lost signal. Message failed.

empty spaces: a reference to The Universe In You!! Pretty much the whole reason I included this poem.

burned poems: this one is basically just a reference to all the poems in the collection that are breakup poems, or poems where I directly addressed my ex saying don’t read this, you don’t have to read this, I shouldn’t have written this, etc. Specifically, A Long and Lonely Letter, Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem), and The Poem That Shouldn’t Exist.

another July come and gone and I didn’t write about you: this reference is hard to really understand the context of unless you know me in real life, but in two other poems I mention the month of July, in a couple others I reference summer, but there are dozens of poems that didn’t make it into my cut of the collection that talk about July. Basically, in context of the relationship, it was the only time we were actually happy and we split up and got back together over and over trying to replicate that fleeting, 30 day feeling that was overtaken by school, seasonal depression, and our own instability as people. For so long, all I could think about was that one month, and that line was my way of showing how I was done writing about it.

you told me, once, that we’re soulmates: this entire little stanza is directly copied from Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem). In order to continue talking about it I’ll throw a piece of that here:

If you want to come back, be sure of me. Be sure of yourself. I don’t want to be a consequence of your impulses.

You told me, once, that we’re soulmates. That once you find a person you want to spend forever with, it feels like nothing else matters. Do you believe that like I do?

That’s just a really short chunk of a really long poem, but basically the re-use of that section goes to say that me truly believing nothing else mattered was not good and extremely unhealthy. I put it there even though the poem was just fine without it because I really wanted to get that message across, especially since most of my target audience falls between middle and high school.

I know love in so many shades and I give it in every color: this references a couple different poems that aren’t in the collection, but in terms of the book, it’s a reference to Red, Like You, which is about color association and love and stuff? I I still don’t totally get it. I say in the poem that I don’t totally get it. No one totally gets it, but all in all I went from loving just one person in just one way to loving everyone in tons of different ways and realizing that those other types of love are just as, if not more, fulfilling to me, and that romance is not the be-all end-all of love and happiness.

All the other references are repetitions so I’ve pretty much already explained those. But anyway, that’s my book! It has 77 poems total, quite a few of them more than a page, and some that are probably several pages once in paperback format because, you know, I never shut up. Since I did my mini beta reading round (I got a lot of necessary feedback but that was so much to keep track of, I’ll probably just get a couple feedback partners next time), I’ve cut 34 poems and added 16 newer ones, edited the crap out of the whole book, and gotten the perspective of a professional editor.

 This book, even though there’s a lot of it I’ve grown out of, is super important to me and it’s so hard to let it go. Part of me wants to keep this book going forever and just keep growing until it has thousands of poems, but all of these “character arcs” in my life are finished. I left my toxic relationship and friendships, I figured out my gender and sexuality, I learned how to love openly, I cut off my dad for good. There’s obviously always more to learn about my relationships with these other people and myself, and I do that unconsciously every day. But in all honesty, I have nothing left to say about these people or events that would change the conclusions I’ve already come to - they would only further prove them to be true.

I absolutely always want to talk about this book, so if you have any questions, send an ask! Also feel free to scroll through the poetry tag on my blog and ask me about any poems I have posted there, there are a few that I’ve written since the completion of the collection that’ll (most likely) end up in whatever I write next. Basically, I’m obsessed with poetry and want to talk about it all the time. Please ask me about it.

[cautious-creation]

“Ensign.” “Commander.”

Fandom & Character: Star Trek:Voyager, Commander Chakotay

Pairing(s): Chakotay x 1st person female y/n

Word/page count: 3300ish words, 3.5 pages

CW/TW: fluff, superior officer x subordinate relationship, past loss of a grandparent, discussion of grief, power dynamic

Summary: an ensign and her commander fall in love in the Delta quadrant

“Ensign.” he walked into the lab, holding what I assumed was the information I needed,

”Commander?” it didn’t make much sense for him to come down to the lab to deliver it. He looked up from the data and gave me a smile in greeting, which put me at ease; at least there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. I returned the smile.

“I’ve got that data from Seven.” he handed me the data.

“Thank you, sir,” I turned in my seat back to my work station, “you really didn’t need to come down here, I was about to head to astrometrics.”  he leaned against the work station beside me, looking at another information pad he’d brought with him.

“Captain’s in command and I needed a break from the bridge. I’ve heard about how quiet it is down here this time of day.” he dismissed.

“That’s why I prefer this shift, sir.” he paused from his work, looking at me.

“You don’t need to be so formal, ensign. After two years stuck in the delta quadrant together I’d think we could all benefit from being a little more casual.” I chuckled.

“I’ll try. It’s become a bit of a habit. Early in my starfleet career I was told I had a tendency to speak a little too casually, particularly with senior officers. I had to… re-train… myself. I seemed to have unintentionally made a few officers feel disrespected.” I smiled, reminiscing.

He nodded in agreement, “I’ve always found it a little problematic, some senior officers seem to use it to stroke their egos.” I laughed,

“That was part of my problem.” he laughed with me. “I understand why it’s necessary, but some people take it too far and it gets in the way of strong relationships being formed by the crew.” he smiled, seeming to admire my perspective.

“I’m glad I came down here. I think we could have some very interesting conversations.” 

I nodded “I think so too.” 

He pushed off of the work bench, “I need to head back to the bridge, good luck with that assessment, ensign.” he headed for the door, giving a nod for farewell.

“Thank you… commander.” he gave me a smirk as he walked out the door. I grinned, turned back to my console to put that luck to use.

-

“Well, my professor for xenosociology seemed to have a burning hatred for students like me, who actually question things, so I decided to move to xenobiology and that ended up expanding out to botany, neurology, anatomy, I almost took a psychology course. That professor made me never want to take a sociology course again, and yet, I still keep on looking into it myself.” Chakotay and I both smiled fondly at the memories of our respective experiences at Starfleet academy.

“Considering the horror stories I’ve heard from some of my Maquis friends, I had smooth sailing through my days at the academy. Sociology is fascinating, but I’ve always loved anthropology.” 

“Anything else for you two?” Neelix came past our table, gathering our used dishes. It was something he tends to do when he’s trying to ‘subtly’ listen in on people’s conversations. He’d been doing it a lot when Chakotay and I had meals together.

“I’m alright thanks.” I looked at Chakotay, he shook his head,

“Thank you, Neelix.” Neelix gave a small nod and left the table.

I waited for Neelix to leave earshot before I spoke again.

“I think he might be spying on us.” I leaned forward and spoke in a playful whisper.

He chuckled “I’ve been told that our… association has become a subject of gossip among the crew.”

We smiled at each other.

“Well, aren’t they presumptuous.” he shook his head in amusement looking down at the table.

When he looked up, our gazes locked on one another. Everything around us seemed to go quiet. I tilted my  head to the side, a furrowed brow and slight smile on my face. He’s a handsome man, charming too. So kind and gentle, righteous, patient. A good man.

Subconsciously, my hand dragged along the table until the backs of my fingers touched the back of his hand. He hooked his index finger over mine. It was practically a ‘pinky swear’. Just that little bit of physical contact felt like so much. It was a good feeling. I looked down at our hands and sighed.

“Are you alright?” his question drew my gaze back to his now concerned expression. I gave a lazy smile and slowly nodded.

“I just… “ I decided to take a risk, “Why don’t we have dinner in my quarters this evening? There’s a family recipe I’ve been meaning to try and I could use the excuse to finally do it.” a small, thoughtful frown crossed his face as he looked at our hands.

“No obligation, commander. Just an option. I’ve put it off this long, and the recipe isn’t going anywhere.” I spoke softly.

“Actually, I was just thinking about timing. My shift ends at twenty hundred hours, yours starts at… oh three hundred?” I nodded, “That doesn’t give you much time to sleep.” his concern was sweet.

“I can manage with four to five hours.”

He beamed at me “Then, ensign, I accept your invitation.” 

I smiled. I couldn’t deny I was excited for this dinner. All our meals so far had been in the mess hall. I’d started to get uncomfortable with all the glances we’d get. Perhaps it’s a bit odd for an ensign and a ship’s first officer to spend so much time together, or to be so close with one another; but it’s not as if we’d been doing anything unsavoury and definitely nothing that would go against regulations. Little goes unnoticed on a ship like this and whatever gossip may be circulating is milked dry very quickly; any new material is quickly scavenged upon. I didn’t want to risk Chakotay’s reputation or even his position. Nothing unbecoming a Starfleet officer.

It would be nice to spend some off duty time together away from prying eyes. We’d come to enjoy each other’s company, and Chakotay was right, our conversations were quite interesting.

He was taking a sip of his coffee when Tuvok called him to the bridge. He excused himself, saying he’d see me later, I wished him luck on the bridge and went back to the novel I’d been reading. Neelix came by soon after Chakotay left, not-so-subtly prying into the nature of our relationship. I played dumb, not falling for any of his sneaky questions. It was amusing to watch him getting progressively more frustrated, my form of justice for his intrusion.

-

I spent that afternoon napping and cooking. At nineteen hundred hours I showered and changed out of my uniform. I couldn’t decide what to wear so I ended up putting on a fresh uniform, sans jacket. I spent probably more energy than I ought to on decisions like what tablecloth to use, candles or no candles, wine or no wine and I decided to only dim the lights slightly. I didn’t want to push it, we hadn’t defined the nature of our relationship, I’d prefer to go too platonic than too romantic.

Five minutes after twenty hundred hours my doorbell chimed and Chakotay presented me with a bottle of wine.

“Oh, fantastic. I couldn’t decide if I should open a bottle.” he smiled and I stepped aside to let him in. He’d clearly just come from the bridge. His uniform made him look quite dapper, but I could tell he was fatigued from his duty shift.

“So, what’s this family recipe you’ve been so excited about? It smells amazing.” he approached the dishes of food on the table.

“How about you sort out the wine while I dish up?” I handed him the bottle and a corkscrew, then moved to the table to give him the story.

“My great aunt gave me instructions for green beans, creamed spinach and butternut puree. The bread is my paternal grandfather’s sourdough recipe; a lot of research and development went into that one; and my uncle taught us the trick of dipping bread in a shallow bowl of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. There’s a tradition that I think my dad started, to fry or grill sticks of halloumi cheese and season them with lemon.” Chakotay had poured the wine and sat in the chair opposite me. I placed a plate in front of him and sat down to mine.

“It might not be the most cohesive meal but together it reminds me of home.” there was a pause, an unprompted moment of silence for those we were so far away from.

He lifted his glass, “To… our families back home, and the one we have right here on Voyager.” I smiled. The crisp sound of the glasses touching split the hum of the ship for a moment. Such a beautifully wholesome sentiment.

“How’s the bridge, commander?” I tore some bread and dipped it into the oil vinegar mix.

“The bridge is just fine, ensign. No alien contact, no helm challenges, refreshingly quiet. How about the lab?” he took a forkful of butternut.

“We’ve been getting some momentum on that analysis. Surprisingly, there’s been a lot of data to sift through. The sample turned out to be far more interesting than we thought it would be.” he nodded,

“That’s good news.” I took a sip of my wine, “Now, enough about work. How’s life?” 

I chuckled, “Life is work and work is life here on Voyager, commander.” he shook his head, amused.

‘Ensign’ and ‘commander’ had become our pet names for each other, an inside joke that he and I shared. With all the prying ears and eyes it was fun to have something they didn't understand, and it helped us to seem more professional with each other for the sake of those concerned or bothered by the relationship Chakotay and I had developed.

“I’m glad we could have dinner without spectators for once.” I nodded, agreeing. It had started to feel invasive.

“It’s kind of unsettling to have everyone watching and listening to us. I get that it’s a small ship but surely that doesn’t mean we’re no longer allowed at least a little bit of privacy.”

“You’d think a crew of Starfleet officers would have a little more discretion than this.”

I scoffed playfully, “at least we haven’t been getting much commentary from our colleagues.”

“The captain said something this morning,” I frowned

“She did?” he nodded

“It wasn’t about us specifically, but the implication was there.”

“What did she say?”

“Something along the lines of being sensitive to the consequences of specific relationships within the crew, considering that we’ll all be stuck with each other on Voyager for a long time to come.”

“I’m impressed, an approach like that to a situation like this takes a lot of finesse on the captain’s part. But I’m not surprised, we’re ‘stuck’ out here with one of the wisest Starfleet captains I know.” He nodded. I could see how he admired her.

“I can’t think of another captain who would’ve been able to keep Voyager going this long out here in the Delta quadrant.” I agreed.

“You know who else’s work out here has been exemplary?” I decided to lighten the mood, “Harry Kim. If it was up to me he’d be a full fledged lieutenant by now.” Chakotay seemed amused,

“His work has been exemplary.” The sentiment was sincere.

“You haven’t done too badly yourself, commander.” His smile was small and bashful.

There was a moment or two of silence and we continued eating.

-

“You must’ve used a week of replicator rations on this.” he sat on the couch, taking the mug of tea I handed him.

“Only two days, actually. The beans and spinach were from the airponics bay. I used some of a weird bulbous vegetable Neelix had in storage to stretch the butternut I replicated and he had some Talaxian spices close enough to imitate cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. I replicated the flour for the bread but yeast was a bit more difficult to get my hands on. The halloumi I had to replicate.”

“What about the lemon juice?” I chuckled.

“Six months into Neelix’s cooking I decided we needed some citrus so I grafted cuttings of about five different plants. We’ve ended up with limes, lemons, grapefruit, blood orange and an oddly bitter variety of Bolian tangerine. Neelix seems to get quite excited whenever I tell him the franken-tree has yielded another fruit. Which is rare because of how small it still is. Fortunately, citrus keeps well. The lemon I used tonight was in storage for about a month and a half.” Chakotay smiled.

“I think that citrus franken-tree is  one of your greatest achievements yet in terms of crew morale.” I chuckled,

“It’s definitely been one of the more challenging undertakings I’ve had while on Voyager.”

“You put a lot of effort into this meal.” I shrugged,

“I couldn’t have done it without Neelix’s help.” I frowned, “And it’s something I’d been needing to do for myself, a little bit of self-care. I’m glad I could share it with someone.” I looked up at him. I was glad that I had him to share the experience with.

“I’m honoured to have been allowed to share this meal with you.” His sincere smile put me at ease. I placed my mug of tea on the coffee table in front of me and leaned back into the couch.

“I’ve been missing home a lot recently. I guess the anniversary of my grandmother’s death hit me harder than I expected.” he took my hand in his, 

“You could have said something.” I responded to his concerned expression with a sad smile and looked down at our joined hands.

“I wanted to try working through it myself. I thought it would last a couple of days and I’d be back to normal.” my gaze became distant as I thought back

“Her leg of lamb stew was legendary. Not even my aunt could recreate it. She’d been cooking it on the day she died.” a small forlorn crease grazed my brow, “Two months after she died, I think it was on her birthday, it was taken out of cold storage and we all sat down to eat the last meal she ever made. It was… almost like a last goodbye. There was such a finality to that meal. I was only nine years old.” a single tear ran down my cheek, Chakotay gave my hand a comforting squeeze, “Her death changed my whole world view.”

“In what way?” His gentle question refocused my gaze. I shook my head slightly.

“I don’t remember.” It was true, but I knew for certain that I wouldn’t have grown into the person I had become if it wasn’t for her influence on my life, as well as the influence of her death.

“She meant a lot to you. I’m not surprised things didn’t just go back to normal for you after two days.” I smiled fondly and sighed, looking up and seeing his caring expression,

“Thank you for having this dinner with me.” he smiled softly,

“Of course. I’m glad I did.”

We sat for a while, my thoughts starting to gather again.

“A while back I programmed a traditional malva pudding recipe into the replicator data banks, well, our family recipe. Would you care for a piece?”

“I have no idea what it is, but I’m willing to try it.” I chuckled, getting up and heading to the replicator.

“It’s a traditional South African dish. My version is a bit different from what you’d find described in an historical database,” I sat back down with two plates of the syrup laced pound cake type dessert.

“Usually it’s served with custard or ice cream, but I think that just dulls the flavour.” one bite and a smile spread onto my face.

“I haven’t ever had anything like this. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” I shook  my head.

“Sorry, commander, that’s a family secret.” he chuckled.

“I might just have to order you to, ensign.” I laughed at him.

“Good luck with that, Chakotay.” it was a little startling to both of us to hear me call him by name, before that, I never had. That sounds bizarre, but it’s true.

“Chakotay,” it still sounded odd, my plate made a thud against the coffee table “I think we need to talk about some things.” he nodded, placing his plate down beside mine.

I took a deep breath. My chest tightened in anxiety. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I knew we needed to address some things about our relationship but I feel like I couldn’t quite describe them.

“I… “ I looked down trying to find the words, “we need to discuss… ‘us’, the nature of our relationship. What we… want out of this relationship, where we see it progressing. How we respond to the crew and commanding officers about… this.” he held my fidgeting hands in his and flashed me a soft, concerned smile.

“Well, I believe we’ve come to be close friends.” the smile that responded tried to hide my slight disappointment, “But, as for what I see in the future of our relationship… “ he looked down at our hands, “That’s a little more… sensitive.”

I gave an empathetic smile and chuckled, “I know the feeling.”

He sighed. “I care about you, a lot.”

“And I you.” I gave a small smile.

“I’d absolutely be happy to continue as friends,” he locked eye contact, searching for my thoughts, “but I’d hoped we could work towards a romantic relationship.” I grinned. I couldn’t describe the relief that I felt.

“Me too.” he beamed back at me and almost seemed to blush.

One of his hands released mine and came to the side of my face, my now free hand lay on his chest, beside his neck, against the undershirt exposed by his unfastened jacket. The warmth of his body against my skin brought a slight flush to my face. His thumb padded over my cheek. My fingers fiddled with the pips on his collar.

I looked up at his handsome face, his gentle, calming eyes focused on mine.  My fingers itched to trace along the lines gracing the skin around his left brow bone, cheek bone and temple. He was frustratingly close to me. I so badly wanted to reach out and touch those dimples that smiled at me. His eyes enthralled me. 

I took another risk, letting my other hand rise to meet his face, the tips of my fingers lightly dragged along his tattoo. He seemed to sigh into my touch, which made a contented smile cross my face. My heart fluttered, I felt so peaceful.

“I don’t think you’ve told me, why the tattoo?” he smiled.

“My father. He wore it to honour our culture, I wear it to honour him.” my heart swelled.

“That’s so pure.” he chuckled bashfully. I gave him a thoughtful smile.

“You’re a good guy, Chakotay.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before today. I like the way it sounds when you do.” it was my turn to blush.

“Chakotay, what are we gonna do about this?” I chuckled. My palm settled against his cheek.

“Well, what I would like to do about it, is to kiss you.” how suave, I’d been smiling every few seconds that evening, now was no exception.

“I’m not quite there yet, Chakotay.” I liked the way it sounded too, “I hope this can tide you over for now.” I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll hold out for you.” he took my face in his hands and gave an equally gentle kiss to my forehead. My hands rested on his shoulders. A gleeful smile spread across my lips.

[kingspoetrysoc]

Interview with Konstantinos Pappis

Konstantinos Pappis is a poet and King’s alumnus who studied Strategic Entrepreneurship and Innovation for his Master’s. He shares his blackout poems on Tumblr @blackout-diary​ and on Instagram @blackout_diary, and is the Music Editor at Our Culture. The King’s Poet’s Karen Ng talks to Konstantinos about his poetic experiences, process, and inspirations.

What is your earliest memory of poetry?

Like many people, my earliest memories of poetry are associated with school, where I felt pretty alienated by the way we approached poetry. It felt cold and analytical and I struggled to connect with it on a personal level – or perhaps there was less of a need to at that age. Although there were some Greek poets we studied in school whose work I remember liking, including C.P. Cavafy, Kostas Karyotakis, and Odysseas Elitis, it wasn't until later during my adolescence when I started discovering poetry outside of an academic context that I was able to appreciate it more. Things really started to change when I was introduced to English and American poets; for some reason, something about it not being in my native language made it easier to engage with and relate to. And then eventually I was able to approach different kinds of poetry from both an intellectual and an emotional standpoint.

How did you first realise you wanted to write poetry? What do you enjoy the most about writing?

In a word, Tumblr (RIP). But honestly, finding a community of people who used poetry as a form of expression more than anything else inspired me to do the same. I realised it wasn’t this inaccessible, overly sophisticated thing that you had to be especially clever or well-read to really get. Again, if you weren’t doing it to get a good grade, it was considered a bit weird to engage with poetry in any way, so seeing it outside of that context was pretty eye-opening.

It was also something that came with realising I had a passion for the arts in general. Music had always been my primary outlet, but poetry took over when I felt I needed the words to have more space on their own – to jump out on the page and release all the teenage angst I was going through, because listening to Creep every day somehow wasn’t enough. None of that poetry was any good, of course, but it was vital. And when I felt like this really personal thing was something I could share and exchange with friends, writing also became an important part of embracing vulnerability and forming close connections, too. I came to enjoy it more as a medium than an art form, in a way – at first, at least. 

In terms of what I enjoy about it now… Well, it’s hard to articulate, but if we’re talking about writing poetry specifically, I guess the appeal hasn’t changed all that much. It’s been a while since I’ve felt inspired to write a poem, but in the past it’s always been when I felt like I need to channel something that I couldn’t through any other form. Some might view the poetic form as being kind of limiting, but I feel like it’s quite the opposite – it’s almost freeing in the endless possibilities that it presents.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is “Moon” by @makingthingswrite on Instagram.

You’ve written a lot of amazing blackout poems! What about this form  appeals the most to you?

Blackout poetry appeals to me for almost entirely different reasons. I treat it more like a mental exercise that can be both calming and stimulating; something that operates on a more subconscious level. I like that I don’t have to be particularly inspired to do it, not even by the text that I’m using. I like that it doesn’t necessarily have to make sense, that I don’t have to stress over the final result too much. I like that it can then inspire me to make something else. I like the visual aspect of it, the act of repurposing something and giving it new meaning not just by altering the text but also its surroundings. Of course, people can make blackout poetry in a much more intentional way, but what sets it apart for me is that it’s a creative outlet that can be simple and almost passive yet gratifying at the same time.

How do you select a text for your blackout poems – where do you look? What do you look for?

It really varies: sometimes I’ll take photos from a book – I used to do blackout on old books nobody would ever open, but I switched to doing everything digitally –  and sometimes I’ll search for poems or articles randomly online. Reviews often work quite well. There does have to be something about the text that sticks out to me for me to use it as a source, but I tend not to overthink it.

I love that – inspiration is everywhere in our daily lives, even when we aren’t looking for it! Can you tell us a little about your writing process? Is it more emotion-led or methodical?

For blackout it’s entirely intuitive. For poetry in general I would say it’s almost always emotion-led, but the editing part can be more methodical. Normally, a lot of it happens late at night when I can’t sleep, and if I can’t sleep long enough for me to write things down and it doesn’t strike me as absolutely terrible in the morning, then it might turn into a poem.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is Sam Sodomsky’s review of duendita’s song “Open Eyes”. Your poem pebble (an ode) was one of the first poems to be published in our magazine. It isn’t a blackout poem, but could you tell us a little about it too – do you remember what it was like writing it?

See above re: late-night thoughts and the utter absurdity of the human condition! 

How has your experience of sharing your poetry to Instagram been? Are there any tips you could share with our readers? 

I haven’t done it in a year, partly due to a lack of inspiration and partly because I’ve tried to distance myself from Instagram and other social media platforms as much as I can – though maybe I’ll go back to Tumblr? But my experiences with the Instagram writing community have been nothing but great – I participated in Escapril back in April of last year, a yearly event founded by Savannah Brown, that encourages users to write and share a poem a day based on a prompt. It was a really great and fun challenge that helped me write and read more and connect with other poets. I would say participating in these kinds of communities is probably the best way to utilise the platform.

Thank you for that advice! On a similar note, which poets and poems inspire you the most? These could include childhood inspirations… Have your influences changed over the years? 

I would not be the person I am nor would I have any interest in poetry if it weren’t for Sylvia Plath. I can’t even pinpoint exactly when I first encountered her work, but I identified with it to an almost unhealthy degree as a teenager, as I’m sure many people have. I still get that feeling whenever I revisit her poetry or read more about her life and art. Also, a lot of spoken word videos from people like Sarah Kay really resonated with me at a young age. 

More recently, the closest I’ve gotten to that feeling of being deeply excited and inspired by poetry was when I discovered Savannah Brown’s work a couple of years ago. Her spoken word videos and poetry films really moved me, and her second poetry collection – which came out last year – is absolutely incredible (I wrote about it here). Lately I’ve also been listening to a lot of musicians whose work intersects with poetry, including Cassandra Jenkins and Anika Pyle, whose most recent albums reckon with grief and loss in a really powerful way.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is Christopher Gilbert’s poem “Fire Gotten Brighter”. Are there any styles besides blackout which you particularly love, or themes? Are there any topics you gravitate towards? 

I’ve always gravitated towards confessional poetry, both in terms of what I tend to write and what I like to read. Something most of the writers I’ve mentioned have in common is that they use intimate language to evoke a deep yearning for connection, in the face of existential dread and the unfathomable vastness of the cosmos. That usually does the trick!

Have any experiences at King’s Poetry Society or King’s in general – events, classes, readings, people you’ve met, or London itself – been particularly memorable, or inspired you? Can you tell us a little about them?

Absolutely. Just being in London, not even necessarily the experiences I had there, made me want to write more poetry than I had in a long time. There’s a Savannah Brown video essay on YouTube where she talks about passing a billion people on the street – obviously in the before times – and being like, “Who are all of you people? Could I care for you? How many of you idiots could I love?” That’s basically the gist of what had been stirring in me for a long time and that I still think about to this day. And then being a part of King’s Poetry Society was an opportunity for me to try and channel that, and engage in an actual physical writing community in a way I never had before. I literally read a poem inspired by that video during one of our poetry reading events – that will certainly stay with me.

Above: Konstantinos’ poem “doors on the underground”. He read this poem at one of the 2019-20 King’s Poetry Society critique sessions.

How important do you think writing communities are, in fostering “better” writing? In your experience, is writing helped by discussion? 

I think they’re incredibly important, not just in fostering “better” writing but also fostering a space for vulnerability. Poetry can be an intensely private form of writing, but so much can be gained from discussing it, especially if one is looking to not only hone their craft but also learn from and connect with others. Us writers can be especially introverted people (hi!), and may be discouraged by the long stretches of silence that can pervade a poetry meeting, but there’s power in hearing the words you or someone else has written out loud. Even a single comment can completely change a way you think about a poem.

What do you think the value of reading poetry is? Can a poem profoundly change someone’s life? Conversely, can someone read a poem and be unaffected – and if this happens, has a poet “failed”? 

I think Marianne Moore sums it up pretty well in her poem Poetry, where she talks about finding in it “a place for the genuine.” As for the second question, poetry can definitely change someone’s life – not to be corny or anything, but like all art, it can also save someone’s life.

That said, I don’t think a poet has failed if the reader feels emotionally unaffected by their work. Sometimes, a writer may wish to portray an event or theme in a cold and unaffecting manner to get a certain point across. There’s value in that type of poetry, too, and art’s inherent subjectivity means that someone might be moved by a poem that someone else feels indifferent towards. There’s also value in poetry that is private and not meant to be shared, because even if only one person derives something from it, then it is valuable. I do think, however, that the further one strays from that ideal of earnestness, the closer the work hinges on being trivial or pretentious. We’ve moved past the need to be overly cynical or ironic.

I agree, poetry that is never shared is not lesser by any means – I find great personal value in treating a poem like a diary of sorts. Maybe each stanza mimics a different entry... With all that you feel manifesting into this thing that is at once completely attached to your experience but also – if shared – something that becomes detached and open to reinterpretation... That is really powerful. How do you think people who have never written before could be encouraged to start writing for themselves, whether for fun or as catharsis – without the pressures of becoming someone recognised or followed?

I really like that approach! I think the diaristic style of writing is often looked down upon as less legitimate, even though it isn’t. To answer your question, I think normalising the act of writing poetry purely for enjoyment or as a form of catharsis is really important, especially from a young age. Part of that could be achieved by exposing young people to more than what one might call the poetic canon. Being disappointed that a student isn’t engaging with poetry when they’ve only been introduced to Shakespeare is like assuming someone isn���t musically inclined when they’ve only been exposed to a single genre of music. Another way would be to incorporate more writing activities that utilise the poetic form, and allow the freedom to explore it outside the confines of academic study. I’m not saying all teachers should follow the example of Dead Poets Society, but there are so many ways to foster creativity and make poetry more approachable.

Do you think poetry is sometimes perceived as an inaccessible art? 

100%. I think that’s the biggest problem with how poetry is perceived. A lot of it comes down to the way poetry has been taught and disseminated for centuries – through a lens that is inherently exclusionary, upheld by systems that are classist, racist, sexist, etc. Hopefully that is starting to change – studies have shown that more and more young people read and write poetry, largely thanks to the rise of social media poetry. Poetry can represent such a wide range of experiences, but for people to view it as an accessible art form, more barriers need to be broken. Amanda Gorman becoming the youngest inaugural poet in American history, and the first Black poet ever to perform at the Super Bowl this year alone is certainly a huge sign of progress. 

Do you have a favourite literary journal, or a poetry platform you would like to recommend? What have you been reading lately? 

Subscribing to the Poetry Foundation and the Academy of American Poets’ poem-a-day newsletters has been a great way of keeping poetry in my everyday life. Recently, I’ve also been loving a podcast called Poetry Unbound, where each 10-15 minute episode immerses you into a single poem. On YouTube, I love Ours Poetica, a video series curated by poet Paige Lewis in collaboration with the Poetry Foundation that features readings of poems by writers, artists, and actors – including John Green reading Moore’s Poetry and Savannah Brown reading her poem the universe may stop expanding in five billion years. It offers a truly intimate and approachable way of experiencing poetry.

Above: Konstantinos’ poem “lonely little london”.

Is it important to you to read a wide variety of poetry, from different communities and on different subjects? Do you think it’s important for poets to write about things beyond their immediate world? 

That’s probably the biggest shift that has happened since I first got into poetry – realising how important it is to read widely. I was mostly drawn to poetry that reflected my own limited experience, but now more than ever I find it vital to immerse myself in different points of view, especially from underrepresented or marginalised groups. I now see poetry less as a means of personal expression than a form of empathy, and because of that I’m able to gain so much more from it. That said, I don’t think it’s necessary for poets to write about things that aren’t part of their immediate world. It depends on one’s goals and ambitions, but there’s already so much that’s unique about a person’s immediate world – things that are reflected in society at large – that being forced to write outside of it can often lead to work that feels hollow and insincere, or even insensitive. That doesn’t mean it has to be limiting – the beauty of poetry is that you can write about your immediate world but not necessarily through it.

Lastly… Do you think a poet is born a poet, or made into one? Which is more important: natural talent, or practice and growth? Can anyone become a poet? If everyone has it in them, do you think anyone who puts their mind to it can produce meaningful work – since, of course, all work is meaningful in one way or another, whether privately or publicly?

This is a slightly tricky question to answer, because either way it could imply that only some are afforded the privilege of becoming poets. If a small percentage of people are born poets, then of course that means everyone else is inherently excluded; if one is made into a poet, then only those who are able to cultivate any artistic inclinations will have the opportunity of fulfilling their potential. Most people will say the truth, as always, is somewhere in the middle, that it’s some complicated combination of the two. But I feel it’s much simpler than that – when you boil it down, really, everyone is born a poet.

[sanoiro]

Lucifer Meta: Wings & Identity

 ~First of all long time no see. Yes, I was busy with work and uni this past year and also I didn't have the time nor the patience to be on two social media platforms at the same time. I apologise for that! 

In this post, I’ll try to meta Lucifer and his wings on a different level which you will understand once you have read this post. The inspiration came when last night I re-watched 4x07 and the ending was short of a revelation for me in regards to Lucifer, how he perceived himself but also what he wanted to be. 

In 4x07 as you remember Lucifer discovers that his once fluffy white wings now are monstrous, leathery bat wings and cannot comprehend why is that. He says 

Lucifer: You have to help me, doctor. I don't want to be a monster. Linda: What's wrong? Lucifer: It's my wings. I hadn't checked them since my devil face returned. I was afraid they might have gone. I was afraid what that might mean. What that might say about me.

^If you had not noticed you can see that Ellis portrayed Lucifer crying in that scene. You can see the tear dropping from the tip of his nose. 

Now as you remember in S3 we had a Lucifer who abhorred his wings but there was a mistake in comprehending what exactly he fought so hard against. It was not his wings it was the fact Lucifer felt he was manipulated and forced to be something. Up to that point, angelhood and devilhood had to do on which side of Dad’s grace an Angel was but that was disproven by the end of that season, therefore, the wings in S3 were something that held no physical hatred but an emotional one. 

At 3x11, Lucifer comes to the self-realisation, which might be a wrong one, that in this city of Angels, he is not one anymore. He says to Amenadiel that he waited to be forgiven in Hell by Dad but now Lucifer decides to abandon that, I would say abandon that hope. In the end of 3x11, he has Maze cut his wings and at that moment he physically severies a bond while turning the manifesting an emotional pain, that of Dad’s rejection with a physical pain, that of self-harming himself to disassociate with Him. 

In a sense cutting his wings in 3x11 like in the beginning of S3 is a bit like Lucifer trying to remove a common familial feature that associated him with his Father but when Amenadiel rejected him he abandoned all hope. It’s like cutting a mole or I would go further and say taking our your eyes because you inherited your father’s colouring and you simply cannot stand to see that every day. 

So cutting the wings was painful but also a tantrum while Lucifer lost a foundation and started spiralling until Chloe came it his life. No, she didn’t make everything better but she gave him a path and that was a healing process.  It’s also remarkable how Lucifer for five years he kept his wings safe in a container, and in 1x07 he tells his brother that: 

Lucifer: To fool me into desiring the wings and the hellish throne they accompany. Well, do you know what? It almost bloody worked. A rip cord back to the life that dear old Dad chose for me. But I don't need it now, because, in case I haven't made myself abundantly clear, I'm never going back to Hell.

In the lines, Lucifer delivered above in S1 we often go back to how they were used for Hell’s depiction in S4 or how Lucifer didn’t want to go back but the one part we always leave out of our metas is the line: “fool me into desiring the wings”.

Why would Lucifer ever desire the wings? It was clear in S3 he hated them but again as I have explained before it was not the actual wings. He didn’t desire the wings per se and that ties with 3x11. In 3x11 Lucifer forces himself to stop considering himself as an Angel although he desperately wants to. Yet not in the sense, you may believe. 

In 3x11, 1x07 and 4x07 we can see that the wings are a physical and emotional part of Lucifer that yet they also hold a connection to what he once was, an angel. In 4x06, Ella says that what they expect us to believe that the Devil went from an Angel to the epitome of Evil? At that point, Chloe correctly says that Ella is right, Lucifer is also an angel. Not was, is. 

At this point let’s clear some confusion about the Angel part. When we are talking about Lucifer being an Angel it does not mean that he should be virtuous or replace the piano with a harp at LUX. It does not mean that Lucifer is subjected to a certain behaviour and nature due to his state of being, aka being an Angel because in all honesty he always was an Angel that never, ever changed. 

Lucifer’s case is a bit like a person doing inhuman acts. Yet they stay human, they were born human and will die as a human. Acts good or bad do not move people up and down a scale of what a human is, because you cannot stop being a human but you can choose what kind of human you wish to become. A person who wants to protest against a policy is not a bad human or a bad citizen but has an opinion which he or she wishes to express and seeks the freedom to do so. 

Now getting back to sociology and criminology, studies were focused on why poor or second-generation migrants are more likely to commit a crime and the answer after the 1980′s, the most popular one was social exclusion. Of course, you cannot pinpoint a whole field of study on just that but for this meta we will just have to in order to proceed. 

Lucifer was thrown away from his home, he felt betrayed by his Father and Mother. He was socially excluded by his siblings in Heaven and Hell and so what was marched and presented as a freedom march ended up being criminalised to the point where when Lucifer looked back to himself he could only see that distorted image yet the wings remained white, fluffy, untouched by the grimness of what he believed he had become. A monster. 

In S2 we see that Amenadiel lost his wings because he didn’t believe he was an Angel anymore. His actions that filled him guilt and doubt over his very nature didn’t make him a Devil but human. He lost his wings but at 3x17 he has accepted his mortality and regains his wings only when Charlotte dies and thus elevates himself on the fact that everyone is redeemable and is what you make of yourself not what Dad believes you deserve. 

If that’s the case why Lucifer never lost his wings if he believed he was just a Devil? Again because he always saw himself as an Angel until s4 that is. 

In 4x01 there is finally another key moment, another key line: 

Lucifer: I've had literal aeons to come to terms with what you saw. My- My monstrous side. [SHUDDERS.] But it's not all that I am. At least I hope not. [SIGHS.] Either way, it's unfair of me to expect you to just accept it. I'm honestly not sure when I'll be able to. If ever. 

This brings us back and forth in seasons and episodes. First that his Devil face is not a welcome feature but something he hides behind as we saw in a metaphor the writer room gave us in 4x09. It’s a mask that does not hide but projects his fears, his guilt and his despair towards mainly to himself...

Lucifer has not accepted what his physical Devil manifestation is and that’s clear in 4x01 as when he says, come in terms with it does not mean that he has accepted it but was dejected to it as we saw in 3x11. 

Second, he insists it’s not all that he is. As we saw in his speech in 4x07 he does not consider himself a monster but it’s like a slide that takes him in places he cannot control and which we see more clearly in 4x09 but also in 4x10. At the end of 4x10, it’s not his rage that turns him into his Devil form if you like but his guilt in my opinion. People have died, demons roam the earth, his nephew was taken because of him and Chloe is attacked so he lashes out and like a child, he projects the impossible. He puffs out and makes himself loos threatening while he is scared and lost again. 

Third, I would like to explore more the ‘when’ part. It shows that after billions of years Lucifer still considers himself an angel despite the monstrous side that takes over here and there. In his speech in 4x08 we have an example of what that feels like: 

Lucifer: There is something rotten inside of me. I find it near impossible to drown out the constant cacophony of voices whispering in my ear, telling me I am evil. I'm drowning, doctor! And I can't stop asking myself why do I hate myself so much? 

The rotten and drowning part Lucifer expresses presents us with a visual where whatever bothers him, he feels it spreading, taking over contaminating him. Yet contaminating what? The angel he is? If an angel is a partly rotten will that spread and if it has is he still considered an angel or is it something entirely new? Something that needs and has been thrown away before it affects the rest? 

With all that, we see that Lucifer has not accepted being the Devil as many perceive him to be and that in reality, the Devil, in this case, is not due to him being evil or making bad decisions and acts but because he is simply different. Obviously, I’m talking about the series. 

The Devil in this series is just an Angel with a different opinion which was twisted. Perhaps that different opinion was expressed in a wrong way aka the Rebellion but that cannot birth evil as we know it. Furthermore, there is no scale to null good acts with bad acts and keep an equilibrium so all that, have him in a state of total confusion because what he believes he is deep down aka an angel does not correspond to what he does some times nor what an angel should be which brings him in a constant self-rejection as what he is cannot be comprehended and by many is not a state of existence. 

Like in the case of Amenadiel or Remiel it was easier to believe that Lucifer’s nature had been corrupted entirely leaving nothing back to what he once was rather than recognise that people as Chloe said, constantly changing so there is no real medium to be reached aside from what is right and wrong and what you can do for that.  

Finally, the cacophony of voices is not just in his head is every individual who has enforced their opinion on what Lucifer is now. To make it clearer just think of Amenadiel in 3x11. 

Lucifer: Yes, of course, it'll work, Brother. That's why you asked me, remember? Someone crafty, smart-  Amenadiel: And evil. [LAUGHS.] Lucifer: Evil? Amenadiel: Well, if you want to find a deplorable criminal, you just ask a well, you know what I mean, Luci. Come on. You are the Devil, after all

So what can we take from all of the above? That Lucifer is an angel, he wishes to be an angel just a different kind of one. He is confused between his duty and his punishment on what he should be and what he is and yet all comes down to one very simple thing. Lucifer is an angel and he wishes to be one but not under the terms that have been subjected to all his siblings and that unique blend of what he is was drawn out by Chloe. She was in a way the balancing ingredient for some reason which I very much hope to see it be explained in S5... 

Perhaps just perhaps that was why he was also so hurt when she couldn’t accept his devil face as it would have been an affirmation that he still holds something angelic in him, worthy of her at that point. 

Yes, Lucifer makes her step down from the pedestal he put her on in 4x08 but at that scene, he saw her perhaps as a divine touched person who could soothe him and say that despite his appearance and the past mistakes that face betrayed, he could still reconnect with the divine. When she doubted that we can see one very important concept Lucifer still has. A faulty one but still...

Like with Amenadiel and many of his siblings, there are no grey areas, no maybes. There is either white or black so no matter how much Lucifer wants to hold on, to the idea that he is an angel, always was, always will be despite what he has done he has not transformed to a monster, dissociated from his family and nature despite of his choices to not follow the family business, he fails to see that grey area. There are maybes. Feelings and truths still prevail within any mess and you can find a middle without tearing yourself apart as Linda very well noted in 4x06. 

So that’s it I guess... 

[chiserendipity]

Why 2020 has Changed Me Forever - and Why I'm Grateful for That

*Warning, this deals with emotional and physical abuse, trauma and just is really long. Please do not reblog or repost this post.*

I'm just gonna say it. 2020 as a year has been terrible on a global scale with the pandemic, and the oppression of many people across the world. However, 2020 has allowed us to both reflect personally and on the world around us and demand change. I think that makes 2020 a great year for growth and shouldn't be merely dismissed because we couldn't go to concerts, have large parties, or the hot girl summer we hoped for. Real change is happening before our eyes, a movement for equal rights and to end the the endless cycle of oppression and suffering for not only the black community, but minority groups whether that be race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, religion, those with mental or physical disability, the poor, and so many more. Yes the world is seemingly in shambles. But guess what? We have nothing but time to try and fix it now. To demand better. Both for our communities and ourselves.

Personally, I feel 2020 really pushed pause on my life and asked me "what are doing?" "why are you doing this to yourself?" and "what do you want from life?" I began looking at what I had become and I was disgusted with myself and how I decided to try and cope with past trauma. Before corona, I found myself in a very dark place mentally with seemingly no way out. I would have panic attacks repeatedly and just cry myself to sleep many nights (despite not getting very much). My endometriosis was continually getting worse with every flare up (probably from all my stress). I had no direction and very little motivation to continue.

Then, the virus hit. Once I was sent home and online classes began, I had time to stop and catch my breath. To look around at my life and really ask what I was doing wrong. As young people we tend to give ourselves a pass for poor behavior and bad decisions, or even encourage it. I realized I was falling victim to my own anger, bitterness, anxiety, and depression that had haunted me for years and it was finally rearing its ugly head. I had been suffering from depression and anxiety for years but that spring semester while still on campus was different. My moods began to swing from a hyperactive anxious state to a haunting and chilling depression that made me want to stay in my room and hide. I didn't really get much sleep in either state. But, now back home all alone and with nowhere to go. No class to dive head first into. No parties to dance the night away. No kickbacks to chill at. Just me and my monstrous thoughts. At first my overwhelming thoughts were suffocating. I would question "what is wrong with me? Why can't I get my moods under control? Why must every facet of my being so overwhelmingly broken?" Then as classes began to finish, and with the help of antidepressants, I finally started to feel a shift. I started unpacking my compartmentalized trauma I had shoved away for years in a desperate attempt to leave it the past. People always say the past is the past, but the past will never not be apart of your journey. Without properly dealing with the past, it'll always show up again in your present reeking havoc in your day to day life.

With meditation, therapy, medication, and a lot of self reflection through videos about helping your inner child, I realized I didn't know me. My life had always in some way shape or form been controlled by others. I was assigned the role "golden child" by a narcissistic father who demanded I perform that role perfectly. Even as a child, I was taught to ignore my pain and sadness and push through, because my feelings didn't matter. I was fed, lived in a nice house and had nice clothes and whatever I asked for. That was enough to prove my father’s love for me; in his eyes. I lived merely to please. As I aged this mentality seeped into my romantic life as well. My feelings always came last so I began to simply just turn them off until I became an emotionless shell. Acting as a robot, I went to school and grinded myself to the bone in all my AP and IB classes. Joined all the community based clubs and took leadership roles. At 16 I even got started working 20+ hour weeks. Meanwhile, I had to surgeries courtesy of endometriosis. The first was a emergency surgery due to a ruptured ovarian cyst and the second to dislodge my right ovary from my abdominal wall since the endometrial lining cemented the two together. 

I remember complaining about cramps and my father punched me saying, "Toughen up”. My father said things like that all the time and didn't want to discuss my chronic illness or mental health. When I was 16 I admitted to having suicidal thoughts and a previous attempt a few years back and he responded that was "white girl bullshit". Another time,my father cussed me out in a pizza shop for wanting a margarita pizza calling me a stupid bitch in front of everyone in the restaurant. He constantly mocked my choice for my major and university, saying that majoring in marine science was idiotic and I'd do better in political science and studying at Vanderbilt. Pain wasn't allowed. Feelings wasn't allowed. Choice wasn't allowed. Only thing that was allowed was to do the work expected. To be "perfect".

Finally I was beginning to understand that after being told my entire life that I was nothing more than robot with marching orders, the lack of orders now that I had cut my father out of my life was causing me to feel that I had no purpose at all. I had never known freedom, and it was was now suffocating me. Now knowing this, I was able to start retraining by brain and discover who I wanted to be. My feelings were valid. I wasn't just my report card or my ACT score or my medals and academic awards. My body while it doesn't function like it should, it is still worthy of love and respect. I wasn't insane for my moods fluctuating and I just needed help to get where I needed mentally to function. And that's okay. I had to start being me and living for me, not for the approval of others. Savannah the person, not the robot, matters. I matter.

This was when I had a spiritual awakening of my soul and ego, truly deep diving on how to heal from my past. I spent hours watching videos and discovering how to dismantle the false self I had created to appease those around me and stop acting as a emotional crutch for others whilst ignoring my own emotions. I began to recognize the trauma bonds I formed with exes and current friends. I choose to associate with those who encouraged these negative social responses and bad coping mechanisms. I was merely re-entering patterns that begun in my childhood.

From our earliest years, the ego is formed. Our deepest need is to gain love + approval from our parents + caregivers. The ego, in an attempt to protect creates a concept of self identity in alignment with what we believe will give us this love.We begin to say "I am smart" or "I am strong" or "I am bad at x." We internalize the beliefs of our parents about who we are + who other people are + how the world is. All of this ego identity unconscious. Because we are not taught about our egos, we are unaware they exist. So we operate as if we ARE the ego. This brings us a ton of our own suffering + shame. It makes us feel "stuck" + unable to escape our learned patterns. That's what ego does: keeps us repeating the past. Ego work is the process of questioning the ego stories that are just thoughts + not "reality." Becoming conscious to this allows us to access CHOICE in how we respond.

- @the.holistic.psychologist

Now aware of my ego and really getting to the heart of why I'm bad at sharing my feelings and why in past relationships I was described as "distant" and "inattentive" but also “good listener but won’t open up”.  Today, I can honestly say I'm no longer in that dark place I was before. I'm beginning to relearn the things I loved and truly appreciate them. I'm being the true goofy, silly, marine scientist I always wanted to be. I have friends who do care about me and I've tried to open up more emotionally. Of course I have a long way to go and constant improvement is necessary. 2020 allowed me to return to myself, not the burnt out, bitter and depressed woman I had become. I'm happy 2020 happened and for the first time in years, I'm excited for what the future brings.

[josephkellywriter]

MIND MAP TUTORIAL – PART ONE

Read this post on Wordpress...

There are a lot of guides out there about how to create mind maps, and this will be another one! I work in a pretty free form way, so I hope my take on this method will be a bit different from your average mindmap.

Again for this tutorial, I will use Scapple. I highly recommend it– it’s simple to use, and has such a generous trial that you might never have to buy it. (It only counts days as days of actual use.) If you do want to buy it, it’s quite cheap and anyone doing NaNoWriMo can get a discount. You can use your favorite mind map software for this technique, make it in Photoshop or even do this on paper.

My mind maps begin with humble origins. I just free associate words related to my theme. I was creating a mind map for my vampire story, so I just thought of themes and images that had been floating around my head. When I found topics particularly notable, I capitalized them and made them red. I drew some loose associations, but my focus is identifying the main themes of my story. 

From there, I took each broad topic and began listing associated ideas. For example, being a vampire story, I took extra time on ‘vampires.’ I thought of their physical and emotional traits, and related objects. You could be more messy than this if you like. 

Here I’ve done this with blood, trying to group and expand where I can. Don’t be afraid to get weird and tangential. It was fun to go from blood all the way to a dam; you never know where your imagination might take you. 

For this technique, I tried to think of good (or neutral) and bad versions of concepts, and then symbols to demonstrate. I would be very unlikely to use even half of these, but it was interesting to think of the ‘good’ side of imprisonment as being hugs! 

Try taking ideas from their very broadest to the most specific. Starting with plague, I broadened it to disease, and further to entropy. What other concepts could be grouped? Think about each topic, and what it might say in a general sense, what philosophical statement might you make about it. 

Here’s another way to free associate I found very fun. Once I’d chosen my main themes and images, I stacked them as a list, and made a copy. I offset the second stack by one, and then thought of them as (thing 1) + (thing 2) Once I’d gone through the list, I moved the second one up a place, and continued until I’d looped all the way around.

For example, LOVE + SICKNESS is obvious enough, as well as heart break. CRUELTY + LOVE could be abusive relationships. NIGHT + FAMILY could allude to being snug in a family home at night. You might end up with more kooky things too. For BLOOD + NATURE I came up with tree sap! Try to push yourself as much as you can to list more than you normally would. Those last few weird things you pull out of yourself could be something very special.

Now that I had a big jumbled list, I started tying them together into a more traditional mind map. Connect your main topics first, then start connecting more tangential ideas, and draw even more from there. In order to not just have an unreadable tangle, if I wanted to connect an idea to something on the far side of the map, I just added a note (SEE: TOPIC X) I kept all the ideas I came up with, and just faded the ones I ruled out. (In Scapple, you can hit Ctrl+Shift+F to do this automatically.)

When I came up with a specific idea RE: my story, I would add a note and leave it unconnected. I also made notes of any important facts I discovered, like that the association of hemophilia with royalty did not appear until the 19th century.

On I went, using Wikipedia to come up with even more associations. I use what I call the ‘three click rule’, where I won’t go over three clicks deep into a topic before stopping myself. In reading about Judas, I discovered the term ‘potter’s field’, which led me to reading about grave robbing. I might bend the rule if I end up somewhere really interesting, but I try to restrain myself to not fall down too much of a rabbit hole. (More on that later!)

Once you’ve ended up with a decent amount of material, look over the wild mess and make notes of the most interesting ideas you’ve come up with. Try to think about how you could use them in your story. Even the simplest connections could be interesting. I learned that part of a nail is likened to a crescent moon; maybe that will come up in my story. I’ll write more about mind mapping but I hope this gives you some insight into my technique.

[journeyanddream]

Semester One

24th August 2019; Saturday night and currently week 5 into semester two of medical school. This has been a very long overdue update (9 weeks too late), something I have kept pushing myself to do but never had the time or energy to pull through. But here it is

My last writing detailed my experience of day 1 at medical school, as a freshman full of triumph, excitement and ready to tackle the world, but at the same time too naive to know what hardships and obstacles lay ahead of me. And now, I’m almost half way through finishing the year and on my way to become a second year medical student...ohhhh how time flies.

In the past few months I’ve experienced many ups and downs. I’ve learned how to take my medical history, acquainted to the ways of “medical talks” and “professionalism”. I’ve learned and performed my first physical examination, took my first formal clinical examination (OSCEs), went on my first shadowing at an emergency clinic, seen my first patient. And to top it all off, I was inducted into the medical profession at a stethoscope ceremony, where the symbol of medicine was bestowed to me - one of the proudest moment of my life, where all the blood and tears; early morning and late nights finally came into fruition 

At the same time, I’ve also went through one of the hardest period of my life - I had to re-learn how to live “by myself” again after facing the inevitable and having to let go of a person who shared so much with me; and the emotional burden of which took a big hit on my life: both emotionally and personally. I was beaten up, distraught and depressed while trying to prepare for my final exams days later. Maybe in a few years time, I’d realise I have become stronger and more resilient because of it 

The semester itself was tough, because everything was a new experience to me, and having to re-define my place among the turmoil of life. It was an endless cycle of preparation, lectures, tutorials, practicals and revision over and over again at an intense pace, akin to a little mouse trying to drink from a fire hydrant. We cycled through different blocks: cardiology, pulmonology, gastroenterology and urology; all integrated with associated anatomy, physiology and pharmacology. I have learned so much about a human body, why it goes wrong and most importantly, how to treat it. 

2019 is also a year of achievements. I was awarded Dean’s list of excellent academic performance, and topped the cohort for the final exam. 

At the same time, I had to constantly remind myself why I chose this profession, and why I must distinguish myself from others, because I was not happy about where I am, literally and metaphorically. I was not satisfied with being in a non-elite medical school, which meant I have a lot more things to prove. I was not happy with the people around me, I expected nothing less than perfection, excellence, dedication, impeccable work ethic, intense respect and passion for the medical profession...and most importantly I expected to meet people who can inspire me, who will make me want to work harder and chase up to. But in reality, it is a very stratified environment with a mixture of everything. I knew i must climb higher, and travel further to reach a place where I truly belong. 

Maybe, by then I will be truly happy?

Managing inter-personal relationships has been an interesting and challenging test. Relationships you form in medical school is a fine balance between “friends” and “colleagues”. The line between which you must titrate and thread on a daily basis...getting too distant from the crowd, you will be called anti-social, but getting too close to the people, you will also get inevitably burnt to crisps. Different people will eventually fall in and fall out of the circle throughout this 4 year journey - and it’s about time to get used to this. 

Last but not least, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to further my interest and passion in anatomy as an University tutor and demonstrator for Department of Anatomy and Histology at Sydney - a place where i truly feel at home. The mentors and academics (co-workers included) over there are simply phenomenal and amazing people, that not only opens my eyes to the world but also inspires me to do better and improve every single time. This relationship and experience is something I will treasure and protect at all time. I am grateful for everything my mentor has done for me.

Let the next few months be a time of great transformation 

As usual: trust the process, believe the progress 

- until next time 

[deliadexaerisofficialuniver-blog]

Gendered Communication and the frustration of trying to communicate with TERFs from a perspective of inferred masculinity

I feel like a frustrating thing trying to have any semblance of impactful dialog with TERFs is that they act like gender doesn’t exist when it’s convenient for them, but then also like it does exist, and is irrevocably tied to genitals, also when it’s convenient for them. Example: Any education major, which I once was, psych major, or gender studies major has to take courses which at some point will cover gendered differences in communication between men and women. When I was taking this course (that’s not the content of the whole course, just a significant portion of it,) I had to give a presentation on this specific topic. When I did, it was a uniquely awesome experience as a transgender woman, even not being fully out at the time. I had a habit of coming to that class dressed in my more feminine attire/stylings, as it was on the same night as drag nights I went to at the time. I was often wearing a women’s shirt, women’s bondage pants, and nail polish, without makeup, had long hair, tied back, but went by my deadname and male pronouns. It was in the bible belt, so I found it odd that people didn’t harass me at the time, but it was obvious they were never quite sure what to think of me.

Anyway, when I was going through the presentation, I struck a huge chord with the other women in the class (most of whom were straight), by focusing on how those differences often create conflicts in heterosexual relationships which could be easily avoided by each member of the relationship learning the subliminal languages of the others communication style, and how they differ from their own. The men seemed like someone had lit a light bulb over their heads and smashed a brick over them simultaneously in this sort of series of “OH!” moments, while the other women were just a constant sea of nods and “mmhmms,” punctuated with laughter. I hadn’t really piped up much in the class, I was pretty quiet and liked to keep to myself, but after the presentation I was expected to be a social butterfly of a public speaker on gender when all of the attention of the class suddenly turned to *my* gender, which the other students presumed must be female. They all saw me as a transgender woman, even though I hadn’t come out, brought it up in any way, or made any outward indication that I identified this way. Everyone, even the cishet guys, was legit just reading my mannerisms and communications style, and matching it with I’d gone over in my presentation, which I was conveniently enough actively demonstrating literally just by communicating the way I’ve always communicated, which they’d also been able to observe in what limited interactions they’d had with me up to that point, and realizing that they internally coded me as feminine based on my communication style and mannerisms.

At the time, the concept of transness was in and of itself very new to me, and I was carrying a lot of internalized transphobia. The way that people in the class tried to put the way *they* perceived it was generally vocalized as “So you were born a boy, but you’re really more of a girl on the inside,” and I was happy to leave the understanding at that, but my the point is that they were able, just from watching a trans person give a presentation on gendered differences in communication, and analyzing how that person communicated, determine my gender, even if their language was off/not entirely accurate. Okay, cool, so what does this have to do with trying to have any kind of productive debates with TERFs, and how their treatment of gender as existent when it suits their purposes and non-existent when it doesn’t? Well, first, let’s establish that gender is a thing. It’s a social construct which people align to based off of who we find ourselves as similar to throughout our lives along it’s spectrum, and those who study gender generally agree that gender is much more about culture and psychology than it is about sex, and is also an independent factor from sex, just many people within a given sex align with the same gender, but it’s not always that way. Some people, like me, differ from this expectation.

I’m not talking about what kind of clothing you like to wear, and how you like to present yourself in order to express the trappings our society associates with gender, right now, even though those are still a part of the larger social construct, because those are the ways we learn to express a way in which we desire to be seen to others who have not yet had a chance to interact with us and “feel out” our gender, I’m not talking about arbitrarily gendered interests, like who is taught to like cars and sports and who is taught to like fashion and domestic interests, because 1: It’s just as stupid as gender coding colors and styles of clothing, and 2: this is more an effect of society sexistly deciding that some interests are only appropriate for one gender, and inappropriate for another.

I’m talking purely about how we interact with other members of our gender vs. members of other genders, and the interesting web of communication difficulties and misconceptions that can create in a world where we are constantly shifting between interactions with other members of our gender, and members of other genders. IE: How I decided “Ew, ‘other’ boys are grotty and weird and bullies and I would rather spend my time with my sisters or alone” long before I entered school, how I decided “Wow, girls make a lot more sense, and I’m going to make friends with the girls, and screw the boys” when I first entered daycare and elementary school,” how my bullies in middle school decided that I was to be attacked for “being a girl,” and how my friends in high school decided that I was “such a girl.”

Once we have felt out someone’s gender, we either flow with it, or fight it if we decide that the person we are interacting with is not gendering “properly,” according to our expectations. The problem I tend to see in interactions between transgender women and TERFs is that it seems like TERFs frame their expectations as “Penis = Male = Man = Read everything this person says as though a man is saying it.” Now, there are a lot of differences in communication styles between men and women, and I’m not going to go into an in-depth discussion right here, right now on every single difference in the ways that men and women use, or don’t use different words, gestures, tones, subtle vocalizations, or lacks thereof to “say” different things in combination, how much of a conversation each gender takes part in and how we break in and bow out when we are in shared physical space/setting, because this is online communication and many of those things are eliminated, and we get down to pretty much just words, with no real limits on what we can say, how long we have to say it, etc., but still, even when reduced to written words, a man and a woman using the same words can be saying two completely different things. The intents behind those words, the message they are meant to carry, in a conversation in a shared space, or even over an audio or video medium are much easier to read because we can take advantage of other portions of the message that we are missing online, and so, when we are reading something, in order to infer those subtle signs we are missing, we have to rely on what we know of the gender of the person speaking to try to perceive meaning properly as just one of many things that we should know about the person who’s message we are reading. In a debate between a woman who is trans and a TERF, often the individuals communicating are strangers, the TERF reduces all missing context to gender, and a man’s tone, intent, and meaning, which were never placed by the woman writing are instead forced on by the TERF in order to accomodate her lack of understanding for the fact that she is in fact speaking to a person who genders as a woman. The transgender woman has two choices at this point, she can get into a lengthy series of having to try to re-explain everything she’s saying, and break everything down to the most idiot-proof, lengthy-ass detailed as fuck version she can to spread every feminine coded message in between the lines of the words selected, which tone, gesture, and other more subtle forms of communication would have carried had she been having a face-to-face conversation, and force that understanding past the masculine coding the TERF has chosen to forcibly apply to the message even in it’s initial absence, or she can throw up her hands, roll her eyes, and walk away, which the TERF will take as a “victory,” even when it represents a fundamental lack of understanding, and generally amounts to actually shoving words in the other woman’s mouth. This is an example of how TERFs, even subconsciously acknowledge gender, but assign it as irrevocably tied to genitals when it is convenient for them. If they can tack an unintended, and absent male coding onto words from another woman just because she is trans, and the written word may lack the necessary context clues to indicate they should instead be reading the attempted communication with the female coding which would have been more easily readable in a face-to-face interaction, they can use their own misinterpretation as a basis to portray the woman as exhibiting “masculine behavior,” even when none is present, and was only inferred by a complete lack of comprehension based on an improper, internally applied coding, which was assumed based on the genitals of the individual speaking. Conversely, in repsonse to this discussion a TERF may argue that gender has no impact on the way in which we communicate, because they are critical of whether gender is even real, even as they themselves continue to assign male gender coding to a woman’s words. While the irony at this point is a bit unfathomable, it is useful to remember that gender, while it does play an immense role in the way we communicate is not a binary, and is a social construct, and that everyone relates to gender uniquely, pieces our own gender together out of a complex upbringing in a society in which the meaning of each gender is continuously changing in ways from subtle to gross from generation to generation, and again, very importantly, that how we gender, in the end, as described by experts in the study of gender, has little to do with our genitals, and much to do with psychology and culture. Therefore, when I say that communication has gendered differences, a TERF may read “all people with vaginas communicate one way, and all people with penises communicate another way,” or, even, if being perceptive, “all women communicate alike, and all men communicate alike,” and apply the idea that there are only two groups, when neither of those things is what is being stated, and there are in fact not only two groups to belong to with some universal set of coding, and they are not inherently linked in any way to how an individual would be sexed in an also false binary on the basis of primary and secondary sex characteristics. What must be understood is that these differences simply exist, and occur in broadly definable ways, which most people can relate to well enough to be able to say when educated on these differences “Oh, I relate more to this particular aspect of gendered communication styles than this one,” for each of the various aspects of human communication we use beyond mere verbage in a dialog. Essentially, one, when made bluntly aware and properly educated should be able to see that spectra exist in the ways we communicate, and that most people who identify with a gender can roughly see how we line up with most other people who identify as we do. This is not without complications however, and these complications go beyond the vast differences in the most masculine styles and codings and the most feminine styles and codings of communication, to the fact that an individual can definitely have a “mixed bag” of codings. Furthermore, styles of communication are not strictly gender defined, and are influenced by an array of other factors, nor are they gender-defining. In general, we do tend to communicate better, at least in face-to-face settings with members of our own identified gender than with other genders, although this can obviously be improved through education non these differences and practical application, as men who spend a great deal of time around women, or women who spend a great deal of time around men can very easily learn to decipher, and speak the languages better, and often do, and we all develop our own unique languages based on who we spend most of our time around, but at the same time, who we spend most of our time around and communicating with doesn’t change our gender. Examples include a woman who might have many interests society deems “male,” and be identified as a “tomboy” who might have more male friends than female friends growing up may learn the masculine coding better than the feminine coding, and be a bit lost among the more feminine women and more comfortable communicating with men and other women who’ve had a more male social circle, and her identity as a woman is still valid. A man with more traditionally feminine interests who may have therefore spent more time associating with other women may have an easier time communicating with women and other men who have had a similar social surrounding, but his identity as a man is still valid. Trans people are often a bit caught up in the middle somewhere, which can be a strength in facilitating communication in groups of mixed gender, as it was in my presentation, or can be a frustration when we are intentionally mis-read on the basis of our genitals being used to apply an assumed gender, even, at times, in a way which may be used to intentionally override any broadly gendered communicative styles we present and express, even in face-to-face interactions in a way which completely derails communication, and can, again, really make a woman want to throw her hands up, roll her eyes, and walk away from the conversation regardless of whether it’s with a man, or another woman. In the end, neither genitals, nor identified gender is strictly determinative of how we code our communications, and what subliminal messages should, and should not be read into the spoken, or written word. Genitals in fact, have no impact at all past perhaps gonadal hormones impacting how patient we may or may not feel in a given moment, but gender is still a massive factor, and one which should not be ignored or erased, and communication can almost be guaranteed to be mistranslated when those codings are ignored, even more so when a present coding is erased, and an inferred, non-present coding is implied. This, combined with the way TERFs seem to enjoy acting like gender is ever-present in a dichotomous binary determined by genitals when it is convenient to their understanding makes it likely that having a reasoned conversation with a TERF online, or, perhaps even in person, is simply impossible when coming from a position in which masculinity will inevitably be inferred and applied to every word as even as present femininity will be ignored by the TERF, all while she may even claim that gender simply doesn’t exist if it suits her argument, a belief which could be influenced by a misunderstanding of the reality of gender as a social construct in preference for an over-simplified take on what this means, or, in some cases, even the uniqueness of her own experience, development, presentation, and expression of her gender, which may not have been explored past the idea that vagina = woman = all women must participate in gender identically, otherwise gender itself is invalid. This is not at all to say that she does not gender herself correctly, merely that she may ignore the complexity of gender and the fact that not all members of a gender adhere to some cookie cutter mold of gender, regardless of what genitals we were born with, and that the cookie cutter is in fact what is invalid, because society attempts to apply gender not only in a strict binary, but also in a way which attempts to force every aspect of personality, identity, interest, motivation, drive, behavior, sexuality, etc. into one of only two available all-consuming templates, only one of which is considered “appropriate”/available to each gender, which does not indicate that gender does not exist, merely that society is sexist and discriminatory in the way in which it establishes expectations of performance on individuals on the basis of gender. This could become it’s own entire conversation. The point remains that until a TERF can become willing and able to acknowledge the feminine gender of a trasngender woman, and read her words with the intentional assumption of a female communication style and meaning, choosing to hear the words with the intended tone and subliminal, “between the lines” messages, we might be better off just throwing our hands up in the air, rolling our eyes, and walking away the same way we would talking to a dense man who doesn’t understand what we’re trying to say, even if we are in fact attempting to communicate with another woman. It just doesn’t work when an intentional road-block is put up by the party intended to understand, regardless of shared gender.

[passionsfire2]

There’s Beauty and Healing in Tears

I walked out of my counsellor’s office dazed, lightheaded and exhausted.  A feeling that nearly overcame me as I stumbled walking to the restroom.  I looked in the mirror and saw the raw emotion left from a difficult EMDR session.  My eyes were red and glazed over from the tears left in that office.  My face glowed a pale innocence.  The innocence and pain of a child who’s experienced their first heartache.  My body, after being highly anxious and tense, was oddly calm.  My mind was silent, almost in shock.  “There’s beauty and healing in tears.”  I told myself looking in the mirror.  In this state, I have been stripped down to raw emotions that went years without surfacing, and it’s exhausting.  Once home, I plunked myself on the couch with my favourite furry blanket for comfort and tried desperately to nap.  Of course, now, my mind was racing with all kinds of thoughts.  Eventually, my brain settled down and I was able to nap for a bit.  Then I had this huge urge to write a little about my experience today.

So here I am, 3 hours after my EMDR session trying to put into words my experience.  Today was my 3rd session.  It was by far the most difficult one I’ve experienced because of the intense emotions around the memory.  So much unfelt emotion came bubbling up to the surface.  At times it was so overwhelming that it was causing me to feel confused about what I was processing and the emotions attached.  At the very end of the session, my counsellor suggested that we process this again in another session because of the many emotions that came up.  Uck...  I don’t want to go back to process this again, but if it means that I can put it behind me for good, its a risk I’m willing to take. 

Those of you who may not know what EMDR is, I’ll try my best to explain it to you from my experience and what my counsellor has told me.  Firstly, EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing.  The idea behind it is to fully process traumatic memories by working through the negative thoughts/feelings associated with the memory.  Then replacing those negative thoughts/feelings with positive ones.  This is all done through a technique called bilateral stimulation which can be eye movements where the counsellor waves their fingers left to right in which you follow with your eyes, or tapping left and right.  There are other forms but this is what my counsellor does.  I find I’m able to process better when she alternates left and right tapping on my knees.  That way I can close my eyes.  While she taps, I have to think of the image, thoughts, feelings, (physical and emotional) about a particular distressing memory.  This can be overwhelming because the tapping speeds up the processing and it can feel like you are reliving it, but you are not.  She will do a set of taps and then stop.  Together we will breathe in and out a few times.  Then she will ask me what came up referring to (emotions, feelings, body sensations, images and thoughts).  Sometimes she will say go with that and start another set or she will ask me to think about something else that came up in a previous set before starting another set.  She guides it but I’m doing all the work with processing anything that comes up.  This is repeated until the distressing memory is no longer causing an emotional reaction and it can take more than 1 session to work through.  The most important part of this process is staying grounded and feeling safe.  This is your counsellor’s job to make sure that you are not being re-traumatized, that you are grounded and feel safe.  With today’s intense session, there were several moments where I felt lightheaded and she and I both knew I wasn’t grounded.  So we would pause the sets until I came back.  We would breathe together, she would tell me to move around, look at a picture or pick up something until I was grounded again.  At the end of an EMDR session, it is highly crucial to wind down before leaving, especially if the session is not completed.  You don’t want to be leaving in a heightened emotional state, it's not safe.  My counsellor guided me through some relaxation techniques for some time before she and I agreed that I was ok to leave.

Well, that was just a blurb of my experience today and it may be a hard few days since processing can continue for a few days after.  With my previous sessions, I have awoken in the middle of the night to weird thoughts and feelings.  This is normal too because most processing after EMDR occurs at night when you are sleeping.  This can bring out nightmares as well.  Hopefully, I won’t have any nightmares tonight!!  Anyways, this is getting a tad bit long.  So I’ll end it with saying that, from what I’ve experienced so far with EMDR, I think it will have wonderful benefits.  In fact, I felt lighter after my first session but that memory wasn’t nearly as distressing as the one I’m currently working on.  Friends, if you have any questions please feel free to ask!  I’ll do my best to answer them :)

Thanks for reading!

XOXO,

Tara-Fay <3                       

[theatredirectors]

Sammy Zeisel

Hometown?

Bethesda, MD.

Where are you now?

Chicago, IL.

What's your current project?

I just opened and closed The Late Wedding by Christopher Chen (one of my favorite contemporary playwrights) with a company called The Neighborhood. It was a strange, beautiful, and difficult play about Italo Calvino, heartbreak, and the transmigration of souls performed in the "Rummage Room" of a church. We sourced all of our props from the boxes of shit that were left in the space after the church rummage sale and got some great use out of the organ that happened to be there, too. The whole thing was kind of magical.

I also am in post production on a short film about a girl getting her period for the first time at her friend's birthday party titled The Care and Keeping of You.

Why and how did you get into theatre?

Well, my mom is the Associate Artistic Director of Imagination Stage, a children's theatre in Washington DC. I grew up in rehearsal rooms. As I'd imagine is the case for most of us, I started out acting at summer camps and in school plays. While I was playing Renfield in my high school production of Dracula, it occurred me that I might actually I want to do this for the rest of my life.

What is your directing dream project?

I always find this question difficult because I see myself as highly responsive to the people and places at my disposal. A piece of theatre does not make sense to me out of context.

THAT SAID I love me some Chekhov. Specifically, I've been on a bit of a Cherry Orchard kick recently. There are secrets contained in that play about the potential for (or futility of) human change that speak directly to this moment. The political and the personal are so beautifully intertwined. Plus, it’s goofy as hell.  Chekhov plays embrace the entire contradictory mess of being a human. How to not, as a director, deny those contradictions by providing easy answers? I see that as an ultimate directing challenge.

What kind of theatre excites you?

I like theatre that takes on the responsibility of its liveness. This can happen in so many different ways: virtuosic physicality (a tap dance?), engagement with the audience's imagination (a person becomes a bird?), direct engagement with the audience (playful meta-theatricality?), or--maybe my favorite--some sort of more subtle, silent communion (Annie Baker). A piece of theatre is not just a story, it is an event; a director is not just a storyteller, she is a coordinator of moments in real-time.

I like to see truthful characters interacting within strange theatrical forms. I think that is what we are: deeply human creatures inside of forms that we do not understand. I like theatre that embraces uncertainty and, in that way, coaxes us to into a more comfortable relationship with our own uncertainty. Violence (outward and inward) stems from a need for control within life, and so, theatre that makes us to sit in an uncomfortable state of unknowing has the capacity to make us gentler.

Finally, I seek out any art that contains a little hint of the inarticulable. A piece of art should contain secrets.

Also probably all theatre should be funny.

What do you want to change about theatre today?

We have a lot of conversations about the need for riskier choices when it comes to content. And we do need that. We should be constantly pushing the boundaries of content and honoring stories that have been neglected. But those stories should also be paired with riskier forms. From what I can tell, theatre companies are more frightened by experiments in theatrical form than almost anything else--probably because a challenging form has perhaps the highest potential of turning an audience off (audience members didn't walk out of The Flick because it is about three people who work at a movie theatre). In the age of Netflix, however, if we do not find forms that are inherently theatrical we will become obsolete. But if we find inherently theatrical forms that contain the electricity of live communion, we will be providing something that the world is desperately hungry for.

And obviously we have to figure out some way to make theatre more accessible. Theatre is basically a hobby for rich people. It's just true, and we all know it and are deeply embarrassed by it. But what can we do to combat this? I certainly don't know. But it might have something to do with returning to bare essentials. We need to be paying artists and we need to be lowering ticket prices, so what gives? What if we made our productions with fewer resources? What if we placed the storytelling weight firmly on the back of the actors and the imagination of the audience? After all--engagement, intimacy, communion--this is REALLY what we offer. Within greater constraints, we might cut costs and revive our medium in the meantime.

What is your opinion on getting a directing MFA?

Not sure. Probably right for some and not for others. I am personally intrigued. I would love some time to discover myself outside of the crucible of the "real world."

Who are your theatrical heroes?

Oof ok here are a couple that come to mind right now:

Anne Bogart (her discipline, her articulation, her curiosity),

Will Eno (his verbal playfulness, his sadness, the intimate communion of his plays),

Andre Gregory (his spiritual/minimalistic approach, Vanya on 42nd St.),

Mary Zimmerman (her theatrical imagination, her physicalization, her childlike wonder)

Annie Baker (her lessons in patience, restraint, yearning character),

Edward Albee (his social critique, his plea for honesty, his courage in the face of the void)

Sarah Ruhl (magic, poetry)

Charlie Kaufman (film director, a storytelling North Star)

My mom

Any advice for directors just starting out?

I am a director who is just starting out, so anything I say is also advice to myself. So here are a couple of things I have to tell myself over and over:

You are you. The more directors you watch, the more you see that no two directors do ANYTHING the same way. In fact, equally incredible directors do things in precisely opposite ways. What does that mean? What makes those directors good? They are good because they know themselves. They are working from a place of personal authenticity that no one could have possibly taught them. And so you cannot emulate them. Emulating a good director will make you a bad director. You can only work at getting closer and closer to the director that you were meant to be from the beginning.

Direct stuff. You can only discover who you are as a director by directing. Find cheap-as-shit spaces. Hold rehearsals in your apartment. Produce your own ten-minute play festivals. Do stuff that leads nowhere because it all leads somewhere.

Direct the kind of stuff you say you want to direct. I've had a tough time with this one. It can be scary to actually DO the work that you say you love. Because it's super vulnerable, I guess. But until you present the work that actually feels like your jam, no one will have any idea what your jam is. You probably won't even know. Be brave enough to do the work that turns you on.

Craft is generosity. It's not all about discovering who you are. Directing is a craft. And by that I mean, there are concrete skills involved: how do you create varied stage pictures? How do you make sure an audience hears important information? How do you stage compelling transitions? Maybe think of getting better at these things as acts of generosity. When you put work into these elements, you show an audience that you care about every second of their experience.

You will disappoint yourself. Making stuff comes at a price. You will feel inadequate, and you will make work that doesn't feel like you. Lean in. Hold on to faint glimmers of hope. Do better every time. Inch closer and closer.

Interrogate your privilege. If you are doing this, you are probably the beneficiary of a certain amount of privilege. I am the beneficiary of a massive amount. If this is true for you, acknowledge it. Interrogate the narratives you are drawn to. Think twice before putting yourself on stage. Doubt yourself and listen to the wisdom of the less privileged. Use the love and care you've enjoyed in your life to create loving, caring spaces for others.

Be kind. Be critical of the work you see, but be curious about where your criticism comes from. How would you like your own work to be seen? How can you approach other artist’s work with that same generosity? Separate intention from execution and acknowledge how terrifying it is just to be out here trying. Strive to be an enthusiast: you will learn more, people will want to work with you, and the inside of your own head will be a nicer place to live. (You will also be a better director if you are not driven by ego, insecurity, and a need to prove.)

Don't listen that hard to people's advice. Most people who are giving you advice are telling you what they need to hear, not what you need to hear. Nobody knows what they're doing, and no-one moves forward in the same way.

Read more books, listen to more music, watch more movies, think about things a lot

Plugs!

Rumple: Last year, I developed a children's musical adaptation of Rumpelstiltskin with Chicago folk band, Friends of the Bog. It's a feminist re-telling of the strange old tale, filled with stellar folk jams and tap dancing puppets. It's weird, theatrical, and full of heart (think Pig Pen Theatre Co. meets Spongebob). And we are looking for a home for it. Hit me up if this tickles you and you have a lead.

Beth Hyland: One of the best young playwrights in Chicago or probably the country. She's also my pal. If you don't know her, you should get on that.

Chicago: The reputation that Chicago has for community and authenticity is grounded firmly in reality. Artists are struggling in Chicago as much as they are anywhere else but they are surrounded by their friends. There is vital, community-building theatre happening out here in church rummage rooms and abandoned storefronts. Just saying.

My website. My email: sammyzeisel@gmail.com

[inhalareexhalare]

The menstrual cycle begins. I usually feel pain until the third day at most, but I can move just fine.

Slow, but with fight in it Like embers of honey

It scorches the eyes But is sweet to the palm

Did you know by the way? The faster and the hotter you heat honey, the more you reduce its nutritional value. So yes, while it has a very warm color, its temperature is usually not the same :)

2018-10-23 10:00 Philippines Tuesday

My daytime journal has been discontinued due to its tendency to take over my whole identity. I somewhat live [a double life], you could say, and I am now exploring my nighttime psyche.

This is my heartfelt "letter" to @neweresth​ (CHECK OUT neweresth IN YOUR DASHBOARD BTW IT WILL ROCK YOUR DORMANT WORLD), who inspires me to keep learning and discover my photographic sense.

True enough, this nighttime journal has been a very big compilation of crunchy insights to my deep-deep-down subconscious, which in my opinion takes a big bite off the whole pie of what makes the self.

I've been anxious about how to teach for a time now. It's like a secret calling, a secret dream that I have that I quietly—and secretly—shut off every time it resurfaces.

The reason is my ineptitude with socializing. Communication, especially verbal, has always been hard for me.

My English teachers throughout my school life (and even outside its premises) have doubted my authorship of countless papers I've written, all due to the fact that I navigate speech poorly, yet apparently write eloquently enough above my age.

That has discouraged me from honing my lesser swords. The possibility of never growing out of anything.

But that's bullshit.

I write because I love. I write because I want to communicate. Communicate!

I write for no one else other than for the truths that live inside me, and they are written for no one else but others who could do with a genuine story that cares about their beautiful and suffering minds.

I am socially inept. I am antisocial, by the world's standards. But that doesn't change what I write for.

I write to learn.

Likewise I will teach to learn.

Maybe I am bad at it. Maybe it takes talent.

But nothing good has ever touched and transformed hearts and minds other than that which has originated from those very things.

Talent is a gift indeed.

But heart even more so; it is both curse and privilege.

The pain that makes us human. The agony that teaches us what is real. The happiness that guides us to what is worth living for.

If I had all power, and all talent, all knowledge, and all beauty. If I had all riches, and all the admiration, and fame, and number of friends--

If I have not love, I am nothing.

PS I really do love movies. If you’re an aspiring writer, or a writer with fluctuating inspiration, do watch The Rewrite. Check out  1 Corinthians 13:2

“And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.” 

2018-10-23 18:07 Philippines Tuesday

"Keenness, spontaneity, and trusting the moment..."

I entered the room to discover a Thor exploring the wonders of my film-filled laptop.

I took my favorite Nuyorican Poets Cafe book to read and learn. Stepped out to the living room filled with people and stretched my legs to feel at home on the couch. I made a re-friend! :) Yana approached me and asked about the book.

I didn't know she was interested in prose and poetry! She also writes snippets here and there sometimes. I told her to collect them.

I asked for recommendations, since strangely enough, even though I like to write I don't have a wide background when it comes to poetry from the celebrated and the local poets alike.

I don't know why I didn't read them sooner.

Keep learning!

2018-10-23 19:31 Philippines Tuesday

To Karu:

Sorry for imposing on you last night. I just really do value good sleep. I don't know about you but I can't workout without it, and it also affects the general mood and brain function.

I still don't know what to do about it. Everyone seems to enjoy not sleeping at night, but I don't feel like conforming to it especially since I see its daily effects on me. You can actually join stuff like that if you like. I was thinking that we both need sleep desperately, but I realized that I might have been forcing/pressuring you to go to bed.

Though I do request to have no guests in the late night of this approaching Saturday. I'm going to need tons of energy and also an early alarm since I will be called for work (thank God they allowed me to go to church first)

(Even if I did only request it, that doesn't change what it might have felt to you. So again, I apologize if a part of you was in unease or anything.)

I love you

[25 minutes later]

I would like to kiss you all over, but that will rouse you from sleep.

I love you, and I love you to death.

2018-10-24 06:21 Philippines Wednesday

From Isla:

"My tita and tito from [the] US are here in the PH right now

"and they said im too young to be in a relationship.

"and gave this vibe like......don't be in one right now.

"i really appreciate the love and support from them ofc

"it's just....medj na-down ako lol" [I was a bit downhearted lol]

To Isla:

I'm assuming they aren't free thinkers, your aunt and uncle hahaha

They probably are right, but if you think about it that observation is only relative to an imaginary concept which is the future

In my opinion, no one is too old, and no one is too young. It's never too late, and it's never too early

There's only now, and a moment's opportunity to come to a decision

There's only now, and a moment's commitment to be true to who you are at this point in time

Only what is existent after all counts as truth :) the future is yet to happen, and both possible and unlikely

Entrusting the sense of reality to tomorrow, in other words, a question mark seems illogical to me

The BEAUTIFUL book you gave me about the deaf-mutes gave me this idea

The future is not a universal or "natural" concept

[Check out Seeing Voices by Oliver Sacks]

And the past is not more real than a memory is. And we all know how nearly inexistent memories are. That's all they are--memories.

From Isla:

"Those are beautiful thoughts. :)

"Reading it really helped me.

"I'm thankful that i have you in my life."

[An hour later]

"Did other people tell you the same thing before? if you don't mind me asking

"Have you ever been so hard on yourself one time in your life, and eventually you stopped it?

What did you do to overcome it?"

To Isla:

Personally, it takes me a continuous amount of effort to stand up against the self-hatred. Some say it's a lifelong sickness we have as humans, and it seems true to me

(also, writing heals both the writer, and hopefully the reader, so it's mutually a good thing, hopefully hahaha)

It's like the motivation to commit to a vocation

It's not natural to be motivated at every moment of your life, but we seek to make it a habit

Habits form the shape that our thoughts and feelings take. Like my nighttime anxiety. It was developed because I gained the habit of thinking that I am alone and abandoned every time these factors come together: it is nighttime, and I am physically alone

I unconsciously associate the scenery with something from the past that reminds me of a similar situation, but is actually entirely different

In fact it dates back to the time I was still very close to my mother. We still loved each other as I grew up, but not too close as to always be hugging every chance we get

It dates back to when I was a little girl of age 5 at most (since the scenes were from my Atimonan home, and we left that when I entered elementary)

Habits don't die on their own. They cannot be thrown away just like that. But, they can be replaced

If I can create a little nighttime routine, even just cue words or a little ritual, that could change a lot. I just need consistency because some nights I'm too tired and I forget to pray or to practice deep breaths and stuff. And when I find myself alone again, it starts all over; I get anxious as hell

So maybe the first step before changing your habits would be to forgive yourself

We are imperfect, at that is incurable. But we have the potential for growth, and that is at least forgivable. We can learn from our mistakes, so we shouldn't let ourselves down from them.

They are there to give us two options: give up, or try again.

Changing a habit is probably going to take more tries than my fingers can count, but hey we're still alive and breathing, so I presume Life is willing to give us as many chances as we need in a lifetime

Failure is unfortunate, but failure is an important mark of what truly matters to you.

If it's worth more than the self-obsessive need to be successful, and if it means your life and your calling and a better world, it's at least worth trying again, no? :)

When people bring you down, they could be there for a good reason, and that's not to bring you down. Maybe that's hardly what they wanted to do in the first place.

We need to learn to assert our own beliefs and stand up to them. Maybe they think it's all just a whim because they don't understand yet how it matters to you, and what it means to grow up.

Growing up means making mistakes (your relationship is not necessarily a mistake haha), getting up, and learning something new.

Learning something new always requires a new experience.

Learning something new always means stepping out of your comfort zone and into unknown territory.

If you end up hurt, that's fine, we're here for you. What's important is that the lessons are not lost. What you learn is what you grow out into.

So don't ever stop learning. :)

Learn to stand up for what you believe in.

Don't be afraid to share what you have learned!

But never impose beyond your personal right to live. Nothing teaches an individual more than a personal experience.

We each take our own paths, and each take our own lessons in life, in forms that we are ready to understand.

And if advice or conversation cannot help your case with them, then you've done your part.

All you need to do is live your life and live it honestly enough for it to speak for itself

2018-10-24 07:00 Philippines Wednesday

[gashaponma]

Currently the Sun is in 0 degrees Cancer, marking the Summer solstice, a time when according to myth the veils between worlds are thinner and there are rituals one must perform to keep the evil spirits from taking the opportunity to invade our minds and our lives. Hah! Has no one noticed lately, Earth seems be full up on its evil spirits quota!

With many planets in Cancer, I am always quite physically informed in the movements of the Moon and ingresses of other heavenly bodies in signs that make contact with my Cancer planets: Crabs are extremely sensitive to the “undercurrents” that affect their home environment and sense of safety. I don’t even have to look at the ephemeris to know when the Moon has moved signs or perfected a New or Full phase.

This solstice, in the midst of feeling rather anxious and breathless — I feel as if big shifts are coming our way like massive tidal waves that look like they could be made by Cthulhu — perhaps in anticipation of the upcoming eclipses in July and retrogression of Mars and Venus etc., I had a sort of epiphany about retrograde planets in transit and in one’s natal chart.

From my still-incomplete knowledge of astrology: The Western school views retrogrades as a time to ‘re-view, re-visit, re-do’, while practitioners of the Vedic form view retrograde planets in a natal chart as a symbol of their amplified energy. Mulling over my own experiences of retrograde planets, in personal life and astrological practice, I came to the realisation just now that perhaps the answer lies somewhere in the middle.

When a planet goes ‘retrograde’, that is just the apparent motion of the heavenly body from Earth’s point of view, but what is actually happening is that Earth is outpacing the planet which could symbolically be seen as “getting away with it.”

In astrology as in most other esoteric spiritual practices the Earth is viewed as the realm of physical manifestation, ideally, of the Divine will or direction (I have recently been studying the Kabbalist Tree of Life, Sephirot, and the Rosicrucian Rose Cross, which illustrate this idea so intriguingly beautifully). I say ideally because like every Tarot card has a different meaning in reverse; like every planet and sign in astrology has a higher and lower expression, so every human has shades of  ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ which determine what an individual might do with their free will — will they materialise that Divine inspiration for ‘good’? Or ‘bad’?

Sephirot, Image credit: Public Domain, uploaded on Wikipedia by User, AnonMoos

Rose Cross, Image Credit: By Fuzzypeg – Created by Fuzzypeg using Inkscape, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4100581

When I synthesise all the ideas above, I visualise (I only truly understand anything through immersive visualisation) the retrograde effect as: A human on earth, rat-racing forward, getting ahead of themselves in the pursuit or expression of an urge, suddenly stopping, realising something is missing, looking back to see their goal is falling away from them, it’s being taken away! Then retracing their steps to get back to Start, discovering on the way something they’d dropped, to place themselves once again in tandem with the project schedule (planet agenda). Or differently, A person leaving their house to go somewhere, getting to the car only to realise they’ve left their keys back home so they turn back to fetch them, realising in the process they’d left their heating on!

In transit terms this seems to fit the Western view of review times during retrograde.

Also, from Earth’s perspective, when a planet is retrograde you are spotting it in a portion of sky you’ve already looked at before, so symbolically too, you are called to attend to something from the past rather than initiate new projects. Since planetary retrogrades are less frequent than their direct motion, they symbolise periodic flips in perspective which might return to normal once the planet resumes normal movement, so anything initiated at this time, you’ll most likely have different feelings about once the tide changes, hence the prediction of doom associated with retrograde-born initiatives.

In natal terms I can appreciate how the Vedic view of amplified power comes through because those who are born with a ‘constant’  feeling like their goal/objective is falling away from them will, in the planet’s positive expression, try doubly harder to get to it. Since achieving the retrograde planet’s forward expression does not come easy, and requires quite a bit of trial and error to refine their methods, people with natal retrogrades are perhaps even better at what they ultimately achieve — a hard-won victory! I know a few people with retrograde Venus in their natal chart who are really good at amassing money in spite of, or perhaps because of, their poverty mindset.

Individuals with retrograde Saturn are likely to desire approval from a father or authority figure so much that they self-regulate themselves to the point of toil, achieving high ranks and authority positions (Saturn) for themselves in the bargain! Of course, on the negative side, this same desire for approval can cause fears or blocks in their creative expression or intuitive intelligence.

Being on the greyer side of 30, I have lived through many retrograde transits myself but in 2018 I have become acutely aware of three whose impact was too stark to ignore.

Saturn retrograde in my First House of Will: In line with Saturn’s message of toil I have enrolled for an educational course that I hope will launch me into a completely different, yet perfectly resonant with me, career. As I got to grips with studies at this age and stage, I put off getting my balcony door fixed, which was threatening to fall off any day. But it so happened, one thing led to another, and I was forced to postpone taking my exams for this course to the next semester because, upon closer inspection, along with the door, the roof was crumbling, as were the walls and various other parts of the house! I had to pause my ambitions for an overlooked task which would only have created a bigger block at a much more crucial time further up ahead in my course.

Jupiter retrograde in my 11th house of wishes and networks: My pursuit of finding “my tribe” (also linked to my course above) also got stalled with the home renovation and interestingly, this period and a little before it, has witnessed a natural ‘trimming away’ of friendships and associations perhaps to make space for the new? Or as we might find out when Jupiter turns direct, to return in my life better aligned with my new goals.

Neptune retrograde in my 3rd house of communication, mental and manual abilities, and kinship: The standstill of Neptune just a few days back couldn’t have been more obvious had it dropped a piano on my head! Here I was merrily exchanging messages, communicating with people when suddenly, I realised there was a different meaning to what was being communicated to me and I had been perceiving it as quite the opposite! Certain facts came to light too that gave me a BIG pause for review.

This year we have more ahead, Mars (our drive, ‘warrior’ spirit, energy, lust) turns retrograde on 26th June, Uranus (our unfettered, ‘eccentric’ drive and will) on 3rd August, Venus (our sense of romance, harmony, pleasure, abundance) on 5th October, and of course Mercury (our cognitive abilities, communication skills, logic) on 26th July and again on 16th November.

I have only written here the personal expressions of each planet but of course these planets also manifest their lessons as external events through the agents associated with each but I’ve other work to do and I’m beat, perhaps I’ll update this already rather long post another time to list them all!

Happy Summer Solstice and Cancer season! 🙂

  2018 Summer Solstice Special: Retrograde Revelation (or Ramble) Currently the Sun is in 0 degrees Cancer, marking the Summer solstice, a time when according to myth the veils between worlds are thinner and there are rituals one must perform to keep the evil spirits from taking the opportunity to invade our minds and our lives.