#steven schick

[mistofstars]

Ich war mit der lieben @soronya bei der Jkvsp7 Aufzeichnung heute und es war soooo gut.

Ich hab auf Twitter schon bisschen gepostet, aber hier auch noch.

Stimmung war super, es war mega spannend. Leider hat die Aufzeichnung bisschen früher aufgehört als gedacht aus *Gründen*, die Spoiler wären.

Joko, Klaas und Steven war gut drauf, aber nicht kicherig oder so. Wir haben trotzdem sehr viel gelacht.

Zur objectification 😂

Joko Kleidung: Hellblaue Jeans, helles (weißes?) Hemd, weiße Sneaker. Kurzgeschorene Haare, die neue dicke Hornbrille. In echt sieht er unglaublich süß aus und durch Frisur und Brille wirkt er noch... verletzlicher und kloin?

Klaas: Schwarze Hose, weißes T-Shirt, dunkelgrüner Cardigan (schick!), weiße Sneaker. Vollbart und Haare saßen sehr gut.

Und: Klaas hat irgendwie ein ganz schön breites Kreuz bekommen!

Es gab eine MAZ, in der beide einen Smoking trugen

Es gab eine MAZ, in der sie was bauen sollten und Klaas sah wirklich unfassbar sexy aus. Mit Arbeitsklamotten und weißem T-Shirt, was seinen Bizeps betont hat.

Zwei Fliegen haben Steven immer wieder verfolgt, Klaas hat sehr lustige Witze darüber gemacht

Es war teilweise so spannend, dass das ganze Publikum mitgefiebert und geschrien hat und ich hab fast gekotzt vor Aufregung

Steven hat sich mehrmals in Umbaupausen zu uns gesetzt auf einen Schwatz und war äußerst sympathisch und cool

Während der ersten MAZ saßen JK im off sehr nah beieinander und Klaas hatte seinen Kopf einmal fast auf Jokos Schulter

Bei einem Spiel haben sie fast das Unmögliche bewiesen, sie sollten was in kurzer Zeit erraten, und ich hab das für unmöglich gehalten.

Es gab in einem Spiel viele süße Umarmungen

Am Ende gab es von JK eine Dankesrede an Firma und Fans, und Schmitti stand da im off an der Seite und sah auch sehr gut aus. Wie so ein stolzer Papa. Aber hagerer als ich mir vorgestellt habe.

Klaas hat angeblich gestern viel gesoffen und Joko wenig geschlafen und sie sind wohl gestern Abend gemeinsam Auto gefahren. Macht mit der Info was ihr wollt 😂

Gestern bei der AZ haben JK wohl das Martinshorn bei einem Spiel angemacht, wussten nicht, dass man das nicht darf, und es kam die Betriebsfeuerwehr 😂

Ich hab anscheinend Tickets für ne WSMDS gewonnen, weil ich bei einem Spiel im Wartebereich mitgemacht habe 🎟️😜😍

Ich will sofort wieder zu einer Aufzeichnung, es war so schön 😭😭😂

[dustedmagazine]

Christian Carey’s 22 Recordings from 2022 in no particular order

Oneida

Like 2021, 2022 was a year that was full of extraordinary recordings. In part, it is Bandcamp that has given a new lease on life to independent records, somewhat obviating the hegemony of paltry stream income. Touring, on the other hand, is costing far too much, resulting in a group as big as Animal Collective canceling a tour, pleading finances. When major labels are starting to ask for a percentage of the gate, one can see the numbers crunching into nonviability. In the meantime, instead of masking and risking shows, I enjoyed the following 22 recordings (and many more). 

Oneida — Success (Joyful Noise)

Heiner Goebbels and Ensemble Modern  — House of Call (ECM)

Wadada Leo Smith — String Quartets 1-12 (TUM)

Carla dal Forno — Come Around (Kallista)

Nina Berman and Steve Beck — Milton Babbitt:Complete Songs for Treble Voice (New Focus)

Hugi Guðmundsson — Windbells (Sono Luminus)

Christopher Fox — Trostlieder (Kairos)

Barre Phillips and ​​György Kurtág Jr. — Face á Face (ECM)

Whit Dickey Quartet — Root Perspectives (TUM)

Matthew Shipp Trio — World Construct (ESP Disk)

Kirk Knuffke Trio — Gravity Without Airs (TAO Forms)

Richard Causton — La Terra Impareggiabile (NMC)

Pedro de Cristo; Magnificat — Cupertinos (Hyperion)

Andrew Mcintosh, Yarn/Wire — Little Jimmy (Kairos)

Sophia Subbayya Vastek — In Our Softening (Self-released)

Tyondai Braxton — Telekinesis (Nonesuch/New Amsterdam)

Julia Hülsmann Quartet — The Next Door (ECM)

James Romig — The Complexity of Distance (New World Records)

Gity Razaz — The Strange Highway (BIS)

Bryn Harrison, Quatuor Bozzini — Three Descriptions of Place and Movement (Huddersfield Contemporary Records)

Jenny Hval -Classic Objects (4AD)

Steven Schick — A Hard Rain (Islandia Music Records)

Christian Carey

[negruj]

Einde poulefase met slot Poule F

De poulefase werd gisteren afgesloten met twee matchen:

Georgië - Portugal: 2-0

Tsjechië - Turkije: 1-2

Daarmee zijn ook alle 1/8e finales bekend en dat betekent dat het tijd is voor nieuwe pronostieken. Gisteren omstreeks middernacht ontvingen jullie een mailtje met een link naar het formulier om nieuwe pronostieken mee te delen. Deadline, morgenavond (vrijdag) om 20u!

Georgië - Portugal: 2-0

Georgië wist Portugal te verrassen. Twee - nul winst, sterke prestatie.

Bart, Gert G. en Toon zagen het niet graag gebeuren. Hun goaltjeskeeper Portugal slikt twee tegendoelpunten en dus minpunten in de prono.

Voor Bart, Bram V., Christian, Christoph C., Dave, Gert P., Hans, Jarno, Jens, Jurgen, Kasper, Lars, Lien, Michael en Sofie had de uitslag heel wat spectaculairder mogen zijn. Zij hoopten op een fortuinlijke goaltjesmatch. Het werden echter 4 punten.

Daar hadden voor mezelf gerust wat goals van topschutter Ronaldo mogen bijzitten maar helaas blijft hij dit toernooi voorlopige verstoken van doelpunten.

Winst voor Georgië? Helemaal niemand die het voorspeld had in de matchprono. Geen punten uit te delen dus.

Tussenstand

De tussenstand wordt dus helemaal bepaald door goaltjeskeeper- en goaltjesmatchpunten.

De Brammen (Bram P. van 4 naar 3 en Bram V. van 9 naar 4) staan broederlijk naast elkaar quasi bovenaan in het klassement.

Lien (13 naar 6), Jarno (15 naar 8), Hans (19 naar 11), Gert P. (21 naar 13), Dave (22 naar 14), Bart (17 naar 15) en Jens (25 naar 18) claimen een mooi(ere) positie in de top 20.

In de tweede tabelhelft zien we Kasper (22), mezelf (24), Christoph C. (28), Sofie (29), Michael (32), Lars (35) en Christian (37) meerdere plaatsen klimmen.

Verliezers van de match zijn Tom V. (19) en Toon (25). Beiden met 7 plaatsen verlies.

Tsjechië - Turkije: 1-2

En zo zijn we aanbeland bij de laatste match van de poules.

Tsjechië verloor tegen Turkije en moet Duitsland verlaten. Helaas voor Filip liet Patrik Schick geen afscheidscadeautje achter in de vorm van topschutterpunten. Patrick ligt er samen met zijn team uit.

Goaltjeskeepers en goaltjesmatch waren niet aanwezig in de opstelling.

De matchprono was in deze wedstrijd dan weer een heel pak interessanter. 10 deelnemers winnen immers 3 punten met een exact voorspelde 1-2 eindstand: Bart, Bram V., Dave, David, Jeff, Lennert, Pieter Jan, Sander, Sofie en Tim.

Voor Bram P., Christian, Christoph C., Jarno, Kim, Michael, Steven, Toon en Yves lag er 1 punt te wachten met de winst voor Turkije.

Tussenstand

En dan komen we opnieuw bij de tussenstand. Daar zien we Jeff zijn kloofje op de tweede plaats uitdiepen naar 4 punten. Eerste achtervolger is nu Bram V.

Tim zoekt aansluiting op positie 5.

Jarno (7) en Dave (14, +6) klimmen ook in de top 10. Bart (11) en Sander (13) parkeren zicht net buiten die top 10.

Pieter Jan, Lennert en Sofie vormen op plaatsen 22 tot en met 23 een stijgend treintje.

Michael (31), Christian (36) en David (37) verbeteren hun positie eveneens.

Zuiver op basis van de matchprono's is Bram P. de beste pronostikeerder. Hij bekleedt daarmee de 4e plaats. Helemaal onderaan treffen we het andere uiterste aan. Thomas heeft met 13 punten het minste aantal punten binnengehaald met de matchvoorspellingen.

Na deze ronde heeft iedereen een goed zicht op welke ploeg goed of slecht voetbalt. Benieuwd of er in de volgende ronden nog meer juiste voorspellingen worden opgemaakt.

[digitaltariq]

Households nonetheless hope to satisfy with Biden as first Nationwide Hostage Day flag is raised

Washington — On Saturday, the U.S. is marking its first Nationwide Hostage and Wrongful Detainee Day. Bipartisan legislation signed into regulation by President Biden established March 9 as a day of remembrance for People wrongfully held abroad. The Hostage and Wrongful Detainee Day Act was launched and shepherded by way of Congress final yr by Reps. Haley Stevens and French Hill, and Sen. Chris Coons. The measure additionally created a nationwide flag for wrongfully detained People and hostages, which was raised for the primary time exterior the State Division on Friday morning alongside the American flag. The black and yellow flag is paying homage to America's prisoners of conflict and people lacking in motion (POW/MIA) flag. March 8, 2024. Deputy Secretary of State Kurt Campbell proven with flag to be raised exterior the State Division yearly to commemorate Nationwide Hostage Day on March 9.State Dept. Flickr account A handful of former hostages and their households attended the flag-raising ceremony with State Division officers, standing alongside households of those that stay wrongfully detained overseas. Deputy Secretary of State Kurt Campbell introduced on the ceremony that the flag will likely be raised exterior the State Division yearly on March 9. It'll additionally fly when an American hostage held overseas both dies or returns dwelling. Diane Foley, Siamak Namazi and Emad Shargi on the State Division. March 8, 2024.Camilla Schick Secretary of State Antony Blinken, who claims to hold in his pocket a card with a listing of the handfuls of People held hostage or unjustly detained, introduced in a video deal with earlier than the flag-raising that he has "been capable of cross off 46 names on that listing" over the previous three years. "Roger introduced me with my very own card — I am having it laminated. I'll carry it with me at all times," Campbell instructed the gang, referring to Roger Carstens, the particular presidential envoy for hostage affairs. As he stood underneath the flag, Carstens instructed CBS Information that the brand new flag is considered one of solely three allowed to fly exterior federal buildings, along with the American flag and the POW/MIA flag. Hostage households on the State Division. March 8, 2024Camilla Schick The date of March 9 holds particular significance for the household of 1 hostage specifically. "March 9 is the anniversary of my father's disappearance," stated Sarah Levinson Moriarty, the daughter of Robert Levinson, who disappeared in Iran in 2007 and have become the longest-held American hostage in historical past. In March 2020, U.S. officers instructed the Levinson household that that they had intelligence indicating Robert had died in captivity in Iran. "It has been a horrific day for us for the previous 17 years. Once we have been advocating for today of consciousness and the flag being codified, we took the chance to show a extremely damaging day right into a constructive for our nation," Levinson Moriarty instructed CBS Information. The flag can fly on three days of the yr: Hostage Day on March 9, Flag Day on June 14, and on July 4, in addition to when a hostage dies overseas or comes dwelling, Levinson Moriarty stated. "It will be significant to my father to know his struggling and ache was not in useless, and that our household and our nation have been capable of take what occurred to him and switch it into one thing that may assist others to forestall it," she added. The flag was designed by David Ewald, a professor on the College of Oregon College of Journalism and Communication. He instructed CBS Information that the households of these wrongfully detained had helped create its distinctive yellow and black design, with two rows of tally marks extending throughout its middle evoking the passage of time for detainees. Ewald stated he did not suppose he would see the day it flew, describing the flag as an actual "heavy weight." After the flag-raising ceremony, various households headed to Lafayette Sq. in entrance of the White Home to stage a sit-in, considered one of a number of protests that the grassroots group Carry Our Households Residence has held exterior the president's door to strain him to satisfy with them and for the administration to do extra to carry their family members dwelling. "My dad was taken when was vp," stated Harrison Li, the son of 61-year-old Kai Li, who has been wrongfully detained in China since 2012. "So it is actually been a really very long time." Kai Li is considered one of three People wrongfully detained in China, together with Mark Swidan and David Lin. Harrison Li is a co-chair of Bring Our Families Home, which was shaped quickly after the president met in March 2022 with the mother and father of Trevor Reed, a Marine Corps veteran who was detained in Russia in 2019. Reed was freed in a prisoner swap only a month later, prompting a few of the households of different hostages to wonder if they have been being handled in another way by the U.S. authorities. "All of the China circumstances have been very, very lengthy circumstances. I do know that there are individuals placing in effort. However I believe the true roadblock is there's loads of disagreement and paperwork," Harrison Li stated. "The sense I get is there's loads of of us who perhaps aren't so certain on what to do and how one can method these circumstances, and that results in loads of gridlock. That is actually but another excuse why we're seeking to simply meet with the president — he can type of break up that gridlock." He continued, "If we're capable of get Trevor Reed and Brittney Griner out of Russia throughout the Ukraine state of affairs, then you'll be able to think about getting People out of China at a time, particularly now, after they're making an attempt to heat up relations with the U.S." Li's predecessor at Carry Our Households Residence was Neda Sharghi, whose brother Emad Shargi was held for years in Iran. Neda Sharghi had buttonholed the president at a crowded White Home Persian New 12 months's celebration in March 2023, after months of unsuccessful makes an attempt by her household to obtain a gathering. Emad was launched in a prisoner change with Iran a couple of months later, together with fellow People Siamak Namazi, Morad Tahbaz and two others who wished to stay nameless. The Biden administration additionally helped make obtainable $6 billion in restricted Iranian oil income to the regime in Tehran. Households embroiled in the newest hostage disaster — Israeli-People held by the militant group Hamas in Gaza — met Wednesday with lawmakers on Capitol Hill, and with nationwide safety adviser Jake Sullivan. They have been invited to satisfy in particular person with the president in December, weeks after their households have been taken hostage — a relatively compressed timeframe that was not misplaced on the households of hostages held in different international locations. There are six American twin residents nonetheless unaccounted for, together with Keith Siegel, Sagui Dekel-Chen, Edan Alexander, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Omer Neutra, and Itay Chen. CIA Director Invoice Burns was in Doha on Friday urgent for a Hamas-Israel deal to launch 40 or extra hostages in change for a six week cessation in violence and surge of support into Gaza. A handful of relations of People wrongfully detained overseas have been invited by members of Congress to the president's State of the Union deal with, Thursday, together with Anna Corbett, spouse of Ryan Corbett, who's at the moment being held by the Taliban in Afghanistan. Harrison Li was additionally invited. "I needed to attend, hopefully to get out to satisfy individuals who can assist me get to the president, and even maybe meet the president himself, nevertheless briefly," Li instructed CBS Information. The household of Wall Road Journal journalist Evan Gershkovich have been additionally company of the First Woman on Thursday evening, as President Biden made point out of Evan and former U.S. Marine Paul Whelan, each detained in Russia. Paul Whelan has been detained in Russia since 2018. His brother, David Whelan, says that the federal government has made progress in its efforts to take care of American hostages. "When Paul was arrested there was no infrastructure, no help for households, there was no overt exercise by the U.S. authorities, by the State Division or anyone. So we have come so removed from that," David Whelan instructed CBS Information. "We're now beginning to see tangible proof of the U.S. authorities making an attempt to grapple with this hostage-taking drawback." Biden has met with the Whelan household twice—in September 2022, and in January. "I believe that the households of hostages and detainees have the suitable to request a gathering with the President. I believe that the U.S. Authorities, the State Division and the White Home specifically, ought to take laborious have a look at how they deal with household circumstances in another way, as a result of, whether or not they intend to deal with them in another way or not, they're doing so." "On the identical time, and clearly with the privilege of getting had Elizabeth (Paul's sister) communicate to the president twice, I believe Paul's case is a extremely good instance of how chatting with the President would not really lead to somebody coming dwelling." "I believe our authorities has at all times stated that a majority of these issues are a high precedence," Sarah Levinson Moriarty stated. "However what higher strategy to present it than to truly meet with these households, maintain their fingers and inform them that the U.S. authorities is doing each doable factor that they'll to finish their struggling." — Margaret Brennan and Andrew Bast contributed to this report. Extra from CBS Information Read the full article

[hellocanticle]

Solo Percussion Manifesto Volume I: Steven Schick's "A Hard Rain"

Islandia IMR 011 Steven Schick is a multi-talented and skilled musician. A quick look at his website demonstrates the sheer scope of his musical career. He is probably best known as a master percussionist having played with the San Diego Symphony and a host of others internationally. He is also a fine conductor and composer. His website is a must visit to grasp the scope of this man’s…

[asromaworld]

Roma- Genoa 1-1 ( El Shaarawy)

[cultfaction]

The Secret of Sinchanee arrives today!

The Secret of Sinchanee arrives today!

Vertical Entertainment has announced the release of Steven Grayhm’s The Secret of Sinchanee. Following a string of awards on the international festival circuit, The Secret of Sinchanee will be available in select theaters and on all major digital and cable platforms, including Apple TV, Amazon Prime Video, Vudu, Comcast, Spectrum, Cox and more. Grayhm stars opposite Green Beret and former NFL…

[fearsmagazine]

THE SECRET OF SINCHANEE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Vertical Entertainment

SYNOPSIS:  Will is an industrial tow truck driver and mechanic who suffers from insomnia. He returns to his childhood home after the untimely death of his father and discovers that a paranormal presence has been living in the house and haunting the sacred land it was built on. It is a place of tragedy and loss that has left its mark on Will’s family legacy and will continue to stalk the land unless he can overcome and banish it.

REVIEW: Steven Grayhm’s THE SECRET OF SINCHANEE is a smoldering tale of the supernatural that embraces a multitude of themes including that of mental illness. The typical supernatural tale is offset by crime/police procedural elements to build a gripping story of tragedy and family’s fight against an ancient darkness that lingers over this parcel of land.

Actor, director and screenwriter Steven Grayhm offers an interesting tale that looks at a family’s tragic past and the implications of another family’s present. At the center is Will, played by Grayhm. Will is this traumatized soul who has never recovered from the horror in his past. His coming home unleashes this presence that is feeding off his pain and needs Will as a catalyst to continue the cycle. Will is a complex character who is unraveling due to the internal and external forces coming at him from all sides. Will’s dog perceives what’s going on and abandons Will for sainer pastures. The story is a slow burn that is told through multiple vantage points to build the tension and drama. The mysterious history of the area adds weight and intrigue to the story. It permits the scary elements to operate with little more explanation. The film has this nice arch that feels disrupted by this added scene in the credits that seems out of place with the rest of the narrative and is an obvious Hollywood tag to keep the story open for a sequel.

The filmmakers do an excellent job technically weaving this tale together. The locations, costumes and productions designs have an organic feel that draws the viewer in. The visual/special effects are stark, with little finesse. They’re good, but they lack an intense scare factor or menace. They could be creepier.  I liked Gary Rugala & Rycky Ruke’s score. What the effects lacked they added in terms of atmosphere and intensity.

This is a solid cast. They do an excellent job of lulling the view into the story for the ride. Steven Grayhm delivers a memorable performance as this broken character dealing with the demons from his past and those of his present. He allows the viewer to feel empathy and horror. The film clearly rests on his shoulders and he skillfully supports it. The rest of the cast is solid and engages the viewer.

THE SECRET OF SINCHANEE is a production where you can see the film’s budget up on the screen. Steven Grayhm delivers a fascinating tale of the supernatural and  a troubled, broken character. There are beats in it that feel like a Shirley Jackson (“The Haunting of Hill House” / “The Lottery”) story. The horror is there, but it is all about the central character’s mental state. If you’re a horror fan that looks for story over effects, THE SECRET OF SINCHANEE is your film. The plot is a blend of themes from other genre films, but it is not a blatant homage and finds its own voice. I enjoyed the film and am looking forward to seeing what Steven Grayhm does next.

CAST: Steven Grayhm, Nate Boyer, Tamara Austin, Laila Lockhart Kraner, Jacob Schick, and Rudy Reyes. CREW: Director/Screenplay - Steven Grayhm; Producers - Charles Arthur Berg, Nate Boyer, Lynn K. D'Angona and Steven Grayhm; Cinematographer - Logan Fulton; Score - Gary Rugala & Rycky Ruke; Editor - Elliott Eisman; Production Designer - Victoria Hersey; Costume Designer - Samantha Markey; Visual Effects - Lucas De La Torre. OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/btSfUGj-tvA RELEASE DATE: Available on Digital HD and On Demand October 8th, 2021.

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay),  or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[wolfinshipclothing]

Summary: I need to hurry up, she kept thinking. Any minute now, her dad could come home early, tired from a lazy dayshift. Or her mom could drop with the excuse she forgot something, and use the opportunity to check out on her daughter. Her independent, smart and intelligent daughter. Then Connie would have to explain to her what said daughter was doing sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower, holding a blood-stained shirt over her forearm, with a pair of scissors resting at her side.

The same pair of scissors that went missing a month ago, by the way.

Excerpt:

But what about you? You never tell me what's up," said Steven and Connie perceived the sourness. "How's cram school going?"

"It's going," she said flatly.

"That's good. How about Lion? I haven't seen the little rascal since forever."

"You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases."

"Right, right." Silence. She wished Steven would stop asking questions and just talk. "Connie, are you alright? You sound a bit under the weather; and I am the one about to be soaked."

Steven's attempt at humor was ignored; the red lines over Connie's arm caught all her attention. There was not a discussion inside her head. There was a whole fucking debate, with a hundred people committee and a chairman that was chewing her nails as she waiting for the lunch break.

"I don't know," she said, choosing simple words.

"What do you mean? Did something happen or…?"

"It's just one of these days, you know?"

Steven's silence asked her to elaborate. The cuts of her arms seemed to shine brighter, mocking her for her weakness.

Welp, i came crawling back from my hole with this fic. Mind you its a very angsty, sensible fic bout self-harming and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I wrote this because 1) its always Steven the one that is hurting and needs helps, and Connie the one who is there to put him back on his fic. Few times i have seen the opposite.

And 2) this has been a shitty year. To everyone in the world, obviously. Just have been very garbage to me. Or maybe I AM the one who was being garbage to myself. In any case, i haven’t been feeling well, and decided to write up my feelings into the characters i am currently hyper-fixating on.

Is it healthy? Who knows! But it DID made me feel better. I hope this fic, if it doesn’t trigger some catharsis in you guys, at least entertain you all for a while.

Anyway, that’s all. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year folks.

(You can also read it in Fanfiction, btw)

"You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only under extremes of duress, but once I'd crossed that line the first time, taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation was provocation enough. Cutting was my all-purpose solution." —Caroline Kettlewell, "Skin Game".

Connie’s mind was beyond herself; far, far away, where she couldn’t reach it. Her body was heavy; lead weight held together by rusted tin bolts. And Connie was trapped inside it, with no company but the stinging pain on her arm and the weight of the shirt she kept against it.

How long have I been like this? She wondered. It felt like hours. Her legs were like paper; where she not sitting on her bed, she would have already plummeted to the floor.

I need to hurry up, she kept thinking. Any minute now, her dad could come home early, tired from a lazy dayshift. Or her mom could drop with the excuse she forgot something, and use the opportunity to check out on her daughter. Her independent, smart and intelligent daughter. Then Connie would have to explain to her what said daughter was doing sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower, holding a blood-stained shirt over her forearm, with a pair of scissors resting at her side.

The same pair of scissors that went missing a month ago, by the way.

Connie lifted the shirt. The bleeding had stopped. The cuts were all dry out now —probably had been for a few minutes— but they still shined with a disgusting color. The marks from last time were underneath; red rivers over dried out canals. Feral slashes over healed scars.

Connie dropped her head onto her hands, elbows on her knees, and applied pressure over her temples. That usually helped her think.

“Stupid,” she said with a sore voice. “Stupid, stupid. You always do the same.”

Connie’s harming habit have come, less like a metaphorical descent into madness and more like a —also metaphorical— walk down a descending staircase, where each step would disappear behind you, leaving you no choice but to go further down, into the dark.

It gradually became a routine. If she’d messed up a test, she would spend all night studying the subject. If she’d snapped at her mom in a moment of hormonal-fueled rage, she would skip dinner —breakfast too, if possible. If she’d been so absorbed in her own world she’d ghosted her friends, she would train with her sword until her palms were all blistered. Small pinches of pain she could administer, in measurable doses and only when it was justified.

It was astounding how quickly she lost sight of what was measurable and justified.

But the real aggravating part of it, in Connie’s opinion, was how much of her time it takes. It’d taken her a whole morning of self-loathing for the static to take over her body. Once it did, she lost control and started attacking her outer forearm with swift, brutal slashes, instead of the controlled cuts she usually administered. When she saw what she’d done, she panicked and reached for her neatly folded white shirt. What a waste. She had barely bled a few fat drops, yet it was more than enough to ruin her favorite shirt.

She’d been quiet since then, holding the soon-to-be-rag over her arm and trying to grasp her slippery psyche at the same time. She could feel her body, but she wasn’t in it. Her brain was working itself to death, but she’d no control over its thoughts. Like Schrodinger’s cat, it was like she was there and not there at the same time. Alive and Dead. Connie has come to call this dissociative state ‘the limbo’. And she was knees deep in it now. And it must be past noon already!

If I could make my butt to get up and clean up this mess, maybe I could sit down and have some work done. Otherwise, this would be a lost day.

The thought loomed over her. A lost day. She couldn’t let that happen. Now she just had to find a way to get out of the fog of her mind…

The phone ringed. Connie as much as jumped from the bed, dropping the shirt and scissors on the floor. She reached for her phone on the table.

BISCUIT

Just left the hotel and hit the road. The engine sounds like it’s about to choke to death, tho. I hope it doesn’t break before reaching New Orleans. Call me when you have a break! Love you!

Connie sighed; her heart’s palpitations echoing in her ears. How ridiculous! Jumping to grab her phone as if she’d been caught. Like some bad horror movie; someone on the other side would said ‘you have been seen’ and then hang up, leaving Connie panicking like a fool. Ridiculous!

She grabbed the scissors and the shirt with one hand, the phone with the message she ought to respond in the other. She glanced at the bed; the sheets were wet, she ought to change those. Her arm was still stinging; she ought to treat the wounds. Also, she ought to get properly dressed. And her test was still on the desk, waiting for her…

Connie groaned and gravitated naturally towards the bed and felt into it. She’d never had trouble compartmentalizing before. She also had never been in the limbo this long before, however.

She found herself thinking of Steven; living on the open road, driving that tank with radio he calls ‘car’, doing whatever he wants, going whenever he wants to go —previously checking his rigorous list of places to go. Being whoever he wants to be.

This made Connie mad. She didn’t want to be mad. She rotated her phone in her hand several times, thinking.

I could call him, she thought. You are supposed to reach out when… in situations like this, right?

Her stomach grumbled with acid reflux. She definitely didn’t want to talk to Steven —nor anyone else, really. But hearing a friendly voice could be what she needs to get back on her feet.

She pressed the name on the screen and put the phone on speaker. It rang. Please don’t pick up, please don’t…

Schick.

“Hey Connie! What’s up?”

“Hey Steven. Are you busy?” she asked.

“Not at all. The road’s pretty calm. I think there is a storm coming though; there are some mean-looking clouds above me,” said Steven, a bit uncertain. “Are you on your break?”

In a manner of speaking. “Yeah. I just thought… you know, checking out on you.”

“Making sure I didn’t pick any new hitchhiker? I’ll let you know I haven’t done that since Miami Beach,” he laughed. “Seriously though, you should have seen the motel I crashed last night. ‘Sir-sleep-a-lot’ was the name, and it was great. There’d a real-looking imitation sword and shield above the bed! That’s the stuff you won’t see in any fancy-brand hotel.”

Connie smiled briefly. Despite everything that’d happened to Steven —and he really broke the limit of shit that could happen to a person—, he was still the same kind-hearted boy that got emotional over the simpler stuff.

“But what about you? You never tell me what’s up,” said Steven and Connie perceived the sourness. “How’s cram school going?”

“It’s going,” she said flatly.

“That’s good. How about Lion? I haven’t seen the little rascal since forever.”

“You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Right, right.” Silence. She wished Steven would stop asking questions and just talk. “Connie, are you alright? You sound a bit under the weather; and I am the one about to be soaked.”

Steven’s attempt at humor was ignored; the red lines over Connie’s arm caught all her attention. There was not a discussion inside her head. There was a whole fucking debate, with a hundred people committee and a chairman that was chewing her nails as she waiting for the lunch break.

“I don’t know,” she said, choosing simple words.

“What do you mean? Did something happen or…?”

“It’s just one of these days, you know?”

Steven’s silence asked her to elaborate. The cuts of her arms seemed to shine brighter, mocking her for her weakness.

“I’m doing badly,” Connie said quickly. “I’m feeling real bad right now and I don’t even know why,” she added, only half-lying.

There was a long mmm on the other side of the line.

“Alright. I’m going home,” said Steven.

Connie’s heart started to race. “You can’t do that. You are driving... a-and your schedule-”

“I’ll just park on a side of the road. There are some nice trees I can park under. Then I’ll call Lion and be there in a flash.”

No, no, NO. “Steven, you really don’t have to.”

“It’s no problem at all! I want to be with you-“

“Steven, I don’t want to see you, OK!” Connie bolted upright, sitting on the bed. “Nobody asked you to do anything! Why do you always have to make things about yourself?”

Silence. A gust of wind came from the window, chilling Connie to the bones. She squeezed her left hand until it hurt. The scissors were still there. She glanced at her right arm; smooth and clean of any mark. Connie was right handed, but she could make an exception.

The thought alone shook her to her core, making her open her palm. The scissors felt with a clink-clank. She brought the phone closer to her face.  

“Please,” Connie muffled a choke with her free hand, “please don’t go. Can you just talk to me?”

More silence, and there was a moment in which Connie knew ‘this is it, my best friend hates me forever’. But then there was a sliding noise, and the rumble of dirt being removed. There was also a distant boom; a storm was about to drop.

“I stopped the car,” said Steven. “I’m here for you, if you want.”

Great. It’s not like that’ll deepen Connie’s guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. Dark walls were closing around her, and the only source of light was her phone and the person on the other side. Obstinate tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Please don’t say that. I know… you know that’s not true,” Steven measured each word as he spoke. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, “I’m just being a big baby, that’s all.” No answer. He’s not gonna make it easy for her, is he? “I’m mad. Really mad.”

“Mad at me?”

Connie grumbled as an answer. She heard Steven’s struggle to swallow.

“Right. Not about me.”

“Exactly,” she said, although it was a half truth.

“I’m mad at myself,” she proceeded. “I’m mad because I fail at everything I do.” Connie took several breaths. Here comes the bomb: “I flunked at my practice college entrance test.”

More silence.

“Go on,”

“Aren’t you gonna say its stupid?” she asked cautiously. She’d expected a scoff, a snicker. Maybe even some laughter.

“I’m listening,” Steven insisted.

Connie tried to put some verbal sense in the ball yarn that was her mind.

“I really flunked it, you know,” she said, waiting —hoping— for a reprimand. “Even the stuff that I’ve studied and re-studied.”

“But it was just a practice test. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything, Steven,” she cried. “If I’d taken it today, I would have gotten a garbage grade.”

Connie cleaned the tears away with the back of her hand. The gust coming from the window was making her shiver. Her wet hair and the soaked sheets were not helping either.

“It like everything I had done, all the hard work I put into it was for nothing,” she said. “Everything feels so pointless.”

“I don’t think it was,” said Steven, carefully. “Even if you failed, you still practiced for the real one. Don’t give up. Going to college was your dream.”

“Was it? I don’t really know.” Connie bit her lip. “No, that’s a lie. I do want to go to college. I just wonder if it’s worth it. I mean, what’s the point of trying so hard if I fail anyway? Do you have any idea how many nights I lost for this? O-or how many times I had to put my friends on hold because I was busy studying?”

She stopped. She felt as if her breath was stolen from her.

“Of course you do,” she sighed. “And it was all for nothing. I failed at this as I fail at everything else.”

“What is ‘everything else’?”

Her blood was freezing cold, as was her answer. “You know.”

There it was again; the roar of thunder, followed by the sound of a million drops falling down. It was starting to rain somewhere.

“Connie,” said Steven, on the verge of shattering. “Have you been thinking about Homeworld?”

Connie clenched her free hand, her teeth, and everything else that required physical exertion.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

“I know I have no right to feel bad about it. You are the one who suffered the most from it-”

She was cut by her own throat shutting down, and for a moment only tiny hiccups came out. There was a blinding, white rage inside her. It commanded her to grab her sword and slash, lunge and cut all her problems away. But she didn’t. She stood still and cried.

“But I was there too. I saw what White did to you and I couldn’t do anything.” Connie gasped for air. “I trained so hard for nothing. When you needed me I… I failed you.” She stopped to gasp and clean her tears. “H-how can I know I won’t be a mess in everything else I do, that I won’t flunk on my first year of college? Studying was the only thing I was good at and… and I’m not even good at it anymore and just…”

She stopped to let the tears roll freely. It was too much; too much weight, too many tears. Everything was in the air now. All her failures, all her fears, like an enveloping toxic cloud around her; it’d always been there, but now someone else could see it. In the middle of her wailing, she caught Steven’s concerned voice.

“Connie, can you hear me?”

It could be easy to hang up now, forget this ever happened, and call back when she was strong and put together. ‘Hey Steven, sorry about that, everything is better now’. But Connie couldn’t do that —not to him. She mumbled a reply.

“Alright. I want you to breathe with me, OK? Can you do that?”

Well, that’s easy for him to ask. He’s not the one hyperventilating. And to think many times she’d said the same, when Steven was going through a panic attack. How the turntables indeed.

She knew the instructions to the letter, but she coordinated them to Steven’s voice. Four seconds inspiration. Hold it for seven seconds. Eight seconds exhalation. They repeated it until every corner of Connie’s mind was occupied with this routine.

“Feeling better?” Steven asked.

Connie noticed she wasn’t crying anymore and with one last sniff she said: “A bit.”

“Good. Now I want you to listen,” said Steven. “First, just because I was the one who was attacked doesn’t mean I got the monopoly on trauma.” He stopped to see if his joke caused any effect. ”What I mean to say is, that day was… it was a literal hell for all of us. Maybe more to me than to the gems, but it was so for you too because, like you said, you were there with me.”

“Which brings me to the second point: nothing of what happened in Homeworld, or that happened to me, to us, was your fault,” Steven said, firmly and fluently, like a practiced speech. “And there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. I know you are mad because you couldn’t take a swing at White’s giant nose…”

Connie laughed. She imagined Steven raising a triumphant fist into the air.

“But you did help me. You carried me to… to me! If I’m alive now, it’s because of you. And I should…” Steven stopped. Connie could see him, hand on his mouth, trying to hold the tears back and be the rock she needed. She knew that feeling too well. “I should’ve told before how much you did to me. You saved my life back then, a-and then you saved me again, months ago, when I got corrupted.”

Connie gasped. Steven never brought that topic unprompted, and he never called it for what it was. It was always ‘the incident’.

“You were there for me since day one,” Steven laughed dryly. “Actually, I should be the one apologizing. You had to go through all of that because of me.”

“I wanted to do it,” Connie retorted. “I wanted to go through all of that with you.”

“That doesn’t make it right. It wasn’t fair.”

Connie huffed. They were scratching the surface of a deeper conversation. Because Connie was mad for wanting to go to Homeworld so bad, and for all the times her life was in danger before that. And she was mad at her parents —what were they thinking? They shouldn’t have let Connie run around with a sword, fighting a war that wasn’t her own; they should have locked her up until she was eighteen. Damn, she was mad at the whole Universe for needing to be saved. They were kids! Stupid kids who didn’t knew better than to take such a task over their shoulders.

And deep down, in a corner she dared not to look, she was mad at Steven. Because from the first day they meet, he chose her. To be his friend, his partner-in-crime, his… And in an even deeper place, Connie was mad at herself. Because she had chosen Steven too, and if it came to it, she would do it all again. Back then, in the middle of the chaos, with the fear of death and the threat of the destruction of the Earth as her everyday bread and butter, life made sense.

But now the war was over, and the books Connie studied so much felt as unreal as any fantasy novel. How do you go back to being normal after having a destiny?

Connie let her head fall back and softly touch the wall. She was far too tired to shine light on those darks corners. She just wanted to rest. She was half-way napping when Steven’s voice brought her back.

“Connie? Connie, are you there? Please talk to me.”

Connie slapped herself awake. “I’m here Steven. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, as convinced as anything. “How about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Well I… I worry about you!” Steven protested. “So I guess we are in a loop here.”

That comment wasn’t particularly funny, but Connie started to laugh; a short, weak laugh that grew up to be a roar. On the other side, Steven laughed too.

“Oh man. This sure feels familiar doesn’t it?” said Steven, and eased a bit on the laughter. “I guess you are better at making me feel better than I am doing it for you.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short. I do feel better. A little,” she confessed. “I’m sorry you had to deal with me being dumb. I don’t know what came over me.”

Steven was quiet for a while. When he spoke again, it was with the clearness of a professor giving class.

“Connie, do you remember one of the first things Dr. A. told me when I started therapy?

“Life sucks?” She heard Steven breathing raggedly, trying not to laugh.

“That is the first thing,” he said in a short breath, “but I mean the second first thing.”

Connie scratched her head. “The thing about the pond?”

“The frozen lake,” he corrected. “She said that, for people with depression —not saying you have it— or have gone through some trauma —again, not pointing fingers—, anxiety is like a frozen lake. Every day you bring new problems to the lake; little, everyday stuff that’s not too heavy. Then some days you bring heavier stuff, and the ice starts to crack, but you don’t notice because you hide the heavy stuff under the lighter stuff. Finally one day, you bring a new little problem and you put it on top of the pile. You know what happens next?”

“The ice breaks?”

“It breaks,” said Steven, like a satisfied lecturer. “It breaks and you fall in the frozen water, with all of that heavy shit you have been hiding.”

Connie’s hand grabbed the front of her bathrobe. She was still not used to hearing Steven Cutie Pie DeMayo Universe curse —even if she was the one who taught him the coolest words (besides Amethyst, of course).

“I remember the story now,” Connie scratched her head, feeling the hard knots of her hair. “I always thought it was a bit complex as a metaphor.”

“My point is-“

“Why not use a house of cards? Every anxious thought is a new card, and as you pile them up, the house loses stability. Finally, one day, it just falls under its own weight,” Connie explained with renewed vigor. “See? It paints a much clearer picture.”

“The point, Miss Wiseguy,” grunted Steven, and Connie could see him folding his arms. “Is that if you don’t want the ice to break-“

“Or the house of cards to fall.”

“Or the house of cards to fall,” he conceded, “you have to deal with that heavy stuff before you are overwhelmed. You don’t need to do that now,” he added, predicting her complain. “But at some point, you will need to talk to someone. Your parents or your friends… Or I can give you Dr. A.’s number. She knows everything we went through.”

“That ought to save me some time,” she said. “Maybe she’ll give me a discount card of ‘Friends of Steven Universe’.”

“See? Now you are being positive,” Steven laughed.

Connie smiled sadly. “What about you?”

“I’ll always be here for you. By phone, video chat, or to visit you… If you want me to,” he whispered that last part.

“Only if you promise to not turn into a Kaiju when we start exposing my inner demons.”

“Ha ha,” he said robotically. “I’ll assume by your sarcasm that you are the same old Berry now.”

Connie mulled about it for a few seconds. The cloud of anxiety was slowly banishing, and she no longer felt the claustrophobic walls closing around her.

“Yes, I’m good now. Thanks to yo-aaah” a loud, long yawn took over her. “Sorry. Guess I’m more worn out than I thought.”

“Yeah, I can tell… Have you really not been sleeping at all?”

“Unless you count passing out of tiredness as sleeping,” she joked.

“Ah,” said Steven. “Have you been, well… you know?”

Connie didn’t answer. She knew what he meant, but she’d no voice to say it.

“Connie, have you been hurting yourself?”

“This conversation is hurting me.”

“Connie.”

The phone vibrated and got hot to the touch, before cooling down real fast. Connie’s head vibrated too, like a snow globe being shaken. Steven’s control over electric devices had been growing.

She lifted her arm to look at the cuts; they still stung, although she hasn’t been paying attention to it. All the slashes were dry and had a dull color.

Fuck it, why not?

“Just a few cuts,” she said flatly, “with my mom’s scissors.”

There was silence for a while, but Steven’s was still there; his breath was ragged and odd. Has he turned pink? Did Connie throw him into a panic attack?

Finally, he spoke: “Connie, I need you to do me a favor.”

Oh boy, that doesn’t sound good at all. “What is it?”

“Throw those scissors away.”

Connie pursed her lips. “Steven, I can’t do that. My mom would be mad,” she said, although it was a poor excuse. If Connie cared about her mother’s feelings, she wouldn’t have stolen the scissors in the first place.

  “I know. I don’t pretend to tell you what to do,” he said, measuring his words like a baker measures flour, “but it’s something that helped me a lot. I mean, when I was in a bad place, I would go into these blank moments when I wasn’t thinking at all.” Connie nodded. He was talking about the limbo. “When I started therapy, I was told to try to be more conscious of myself. More present. So when I felt I was, you know, getting in the mood,” Steven groaned at his own choice of words, “I would take a step back and do something different. We can’t always control our situation or our mood or even our actions, but we can make small changes to have some power over ourselves.”

The way Steven spoke in plural said that he wasn’t doing vain motivational talk; he was talking from a place he’d been in… and maybe still was. Connie remembered sitting on Steven’s bed, trying to cheer him up to eat or step outside and get some fresh air. She also remembered coming home, locking herself in the bathroom and taking a long shower while she cried.

Connie held onto that thought and sat on the bed. She picked the scissors with her free hand and put that memory in them. She also put the memories of White Diamond, the monsters’ attack on Beach City, the arguments with her mother. All her anger, her insecurities, her fear of not knowing who she was— she grabbed all of it and put it into a ball, one she was carrying in her throwing hand. She extended her arm all the way behind her back. And when the wind blew the curtains opens, she propelled her arm forward like a whip.

The scissors —and metaphorical ball— broke free of her hand, made a straight line and finally flew out of the window; out of sight.

Connie stood still, catching her breath. The first thing she noticed was that her chest, while still swelling with anger, felt notably lighter. The second thing was Steven’s voice calling her from the phone. The final thing she noticed made her scream:

“Holy shit!”

“What? What happened?” she heard Steven calling to her.

“I threw the scissors out of the window!”

“…WHAT?”

Connie dashed towards the window, holding her bathtub with her free hand, and stuck her head outside.

“Is everyone ok?”

“Yeah… yeah I think so,” said Connie with a relieved breath. “The street is desert at this time. Anyway, I think I can see the scissors. They felt right by the trash can, so maybe I accidentally stabbed a rat?”

Steven was hyperventilating, but he took a break from it to scoff at her. “Now is no time for jokes, missy! Oh man… you could have killed someone! Why did you do that?”

“Because you told me to, you dumb-dumb!”

“I didn’t tell you to throw a sharp object out of the window, you dumb-dumb!”

Connie shook her head. “Forget it, I don’t want to fight.” She leaned against the wall and let gravity slid her to the floor.

“Me neither,” said Steven. The sound of rain was quieter now. “At least did that helped?”

“Yes. Almost killing innocent bystanders always cheers me up.”

“That’s my girl,” Steven laughed and so did Connie, albeit weaker.

Still, she felt better. Her body was recharging energy quickly and her mind was emerging from whatever black hole it had been hiding in.

“I think I can go on with my day now,” she said and she meant it.

“Are you sure?” Steven asked. Connie reaffirmed her decision. “Well, that’s awesome. So… would it be cool if I drop by and check on you?”

Connie’s heart started to race up again as the anxiety came back. Check on you. Like she was sick and she needed to be taken care of.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” she said, firmly. “But later. Definitely later. I’ll call you.”

“But I… OK. Alright, w-we’ll talk later then.”

Steven sounded really bummed out, but Connie could pay it no mind now, lest she wanted to feel down the whole again. “Thanks for everything. And I’m sorry I made you stop in the middle of a storm,” she said.

“Oh it’s not so bad. Kinda weird though,” said Steven. “You know, usually you hide from the rain, lock yourself inside and look at it from the window of your house. But I’m under it right now. The sky is falling around me but I’m as dry as clean clothes. And, I don’t know, it’s beautiful. It makes you appreciate everything there is, even stuff that’s supposed to be ugly. Does it make sense?”

The words struck something deep inside Connie, but whatever meaning Steven was trying to transmit was ignored. She was not in the mood for lessons right now.

“I know what you mean,” she swiftly said. “So I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright then. Please be safe. And call me.”

“I will.”

“Ok… I love you.”

Connie blushed. “Goodbye.” She cut the call. She should have said something else, something more. She didn’t know why she had been in such a rush to hang up.

She just knew saying ‘I love you’ was easier when they weren’t dating.

  With one long, invigorating breath, Connie stood up. She stretched her arms over her head until her bones cracked, then she bended and touched her finger toes until her legs were burning.

With the sudden rush of adrenaline, thinking became easier. The rage was gone and her chest didn’t feel as heavy. Connie has left the limbo, at least for now.

She looked for her phone. Her last study break was one hour ago. Most of that time had been spent talking to Steven. So much time —hers and his— wasted in vain…

Alright Connie, compartmentalize. There’s a lot to do. What comes first? She asked herself. Well, her red, stinging arm would be a good starting point. She headed for her bedroom’s bathroom and closed the door shut.

The bathroom was still mildly warm from the shower she took. The first aid kit was where she left it; resting over the sink, opened. It’s where Connie usually hid the scissors. She hung the bathrobe on a perch and checked the cuts on the mirror. They ran deeper than Connie’s usual handiwork, so she applied the process she used for her training injuries. Soap and water to wash the wounds. Dry well, apply antiseptic to prevent infection and then bandage the whole thing, from the elbow to the wrist. She’ll have to change the bandages after tomorrow at least.

Some petroleum jelly could help the wound heal faster and prevent scarring, and Connie’s mom had some in her first aid kit but she discarded that thought. Explaining to her mom how she got these wounds was out of question.

Connie was about to put the kit away when an idea hit her. She brought the bandages out and applied them over her right arm —her clean, unharmed right arm. There; now if anyone, be it her mom or her friends asked, she could appeal to a training accident. And if her mom wants to check the wound herself, Connie will show her the right arm. Her mom will comment on how well the injury had healed, or she’ll simply believe Connie was overreacting to a minor rash. In any case, she’ll be none of the wiser.

Connie looked at herself in the mirror —naked, except for the bandaged arms. Her reflection smiled sadly. You think you are so cunning, don’t you?

With that done, she left the kit over the sink and tiptoed into her cold room. She went to the wardrobe and chose a long sleeved shirt, some jogging pants, and a sweater.

Next thing were the sheets. They were soaked; perfect to catch pneumonia. Connie started to take them off. She stopped and instead she left her room —with the same feeling as Robinson Crusoe leaving his island—, and headed for the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of juice and drank it like an old man in the desert. She poured another glass and headed back upstairs.

Once in her bedroom, she took off the sheets, rolled them all into a ball and poured the orange juice over the sheets, with extra care as to not wet the mattress. The textile absorbed the juice like a sponge. Finally, she went back downstairs, threw the sheets into the dishwasher and set it on. In the unlikely event her mom questioned Connie about her dropping a glass of juice on the bed; Connie only had to point at the orange colored stains.

They’ll disappear after a few washes, anyway. Ironically, the marks on Connie’s arm might last longer. She entertained the idea of putting her shirt to wash, but she scratched it off. Being a doctor’s daughter, she knew blood stains were a pain to get rid of.

Satisfied with what she had accomplished, Connie’s heart gave a little thud as she approached the door. She didn’t feel like going for a walk, but she’d to recover the, sort of speak, crime’s weapon. She stepped outside and walked aimlessly around the sidewalk for a minute, looking for the scissors. She found them on the floor right next to the trash can. Five inches left and they would have landed on top of the trash. It really makes your mind think.

Or someone else’s mind. Not Connie’s. She didn’t have time to metaphors.

She knelt to pick the scissors. And then she saw them; or rather, they saw her. On the other side of the street, a young couple crossed sights with her. They keep their glance on her for less than five seconds before walking away, laughing. It was enough to throw Connie down a hole. Eyes seemed to materialize out of thin air, staring faces, judgmental glances; all of them pointing at Connie. All of them knew what she’d done. She’d been seen.

Connie dashed inside the house and slammed the door behind her. She felt to the ground, short of breath. That couple must be on their way now, totally oblivious of the effect they caused on Connie, and she can’t blame them; she couldn’t predicted that either. Her social anxiety had been tame for so long, Connie thought it was a thing of the past. That’s another thing to scratch out of her accomplishments list.

Nevertheless Connie had the scissors in her shaking hands, and all she wanted was to put them away.

She stood up and moved around the house exhausted. She picked a pair of clean sheets and went back to her room. She locked the door, shut down the windows and closed the curtains. She breathed out loudly. Now she was unseen and nobody could judge her.

She set the clean sheets on the bed. A strong scent of lavender hit her. Finally, she went to the bathroom; put the scissors inside the first aid kit, under everything else, and put the kit on the back of the cabinet, until next time.

Next time… now that was an upsetting thought.

With everything else done, she just had to get rid of the shirt. She had second thoughts about washing it, since throwing it away would be complicated. Feeling a headache incoming, Connie opened her closet and threw the bloody rag inside. It wasn’t like her to postpone things, but… who was she kidding? This is standard Connie’s stress dealing procedure.

Connie looked at everything she’d done, and felt at peace for the first time that day. Then her eyes felt onto her standing mirror.

Oh no, this won’t do, she thought, meaning her hair. More specifically, the crow nest that had taken over her head and that she usually called hair.

She grabbed her blue hairbrush. Her hair was so entangled the regular ministrations won’t do, so she attacked it with brutal brushing motions. In the meantime, her mind kept producing images. Steven under the heavy rain, checking the soaked engine that broke down when he stopped to talk to her. The disappointed glance of her mom when she finds out all the scheming Connie went through to hide the truth. Her own hands shaking with anxiety as she takes the real test and she realizes she doesn’t know any answers.

She set the brush down. There. Now the image in the mirror was presentable —although some days, Connie wasn’t sure if it was really hers.

“I’m alright,” she said, with a voice that felt alien even to her. “I’ll be fine. I’m a warrior,” she added, more convinced with each word.

She was a warrior. Maybe she’d lost her center, but she could find it. She could be strong again. Once she gets a grip of herself and gets into college, everything will be alright.

Right? Right.

With this new resolution, Connie walked to her worktable. Her failed test was still there. Next to it was the half-done new test she had been working on when the static became too much.

Now, she could keep working and pretend all of this never happened. That this was just a very long study break, that everything she did was normal and healthy. It’s what she was expected to do, right?

Once again she thought of Steven, taking time from his trip to sit down under a deluge to talk to her. Breathe with her, as if they were one.

Connie’s hand reached towards the test… And then went left, grabbed the nearest book and dropped it over the papers.

This can wait… she thought, uncertain.

“This can wait,” she verbalized defiantly to the World.

With that problem done for, she had a free afternoon. She tapped her chin —she hasn’t had this free time in a while.

She picked her phone and flipped through the library. There was this reboot of ‘Crying Breakfast Friends’ that Steven had been bugging her to watch, but she’d been rain checked until she could pass the test. Maybe it’s time to keep the study waiting. She shuddered at that inch of her rebellious younger self taking over.

She picked her earphones and lay comfortable on her fresh, lavender-scented sheets. Five minutes into the first episode and she was cackling and crying with a cartoon about animated fruits while her papers —her physical future— waited on the table. And they’ll keep waiting until tomorrow.

Connie didn’t know if this was a step forward or backwards. But a step’s a step nonetheless; and she was still moving. 

[merzbow-derek]

POST-SCRIPTUM 749

11 JUIN 2017 : LE SON DU GRISLI #2

Avec David Toop, John Stevens, Bertrand Denzler, Libre Dimension, Michel Henritzi, Ignaz Schick, Arthur Doyle.

( Arthur Doyle, par là )

[fileunder]

Lei Liang: "Luminous" (CD Review)

Lei Liang: “Luminous” (CD Review)

Lei Liang Luminous The Formosa Quartet, Aleck Karis, piano; Third Coast Percussion, Daniel Schlosberg, piano; Michael Lewanski, conductor; Mark Dresser, contrabass solo; The Palimpsest Ensemble, Steven Schick, percussion, conductor New World CD Luminous, composer Lei Liang’s latest CD for New World, is among his most imaginative releases yet. In an email exchange, Liang cited fruitful artistic…

[negruj]

Georgië - Servië : 1-1

De makkelijkste prono-updates zijn die zonder goaltjesmatch en goaltjeskeeper. Dit was zo'n match.

Er was echter wel een goaltjeskeeper aan zet. Dat was Patrik Schick bij Tsjechië. Filip selecteerde hem en doet daar vandaag een goede zaak mee. 2 extra punten dankzij het doelpunt van Schick Meteen dus naar de matchprono. Een exacte 1-1 werd correct voorspeld door Bart, Bjorn, Bram P., Hans, Jarno, Jeff, Kim, Sander, Steven: elk drie punten.

Een gelijkspel werd voorspeld door Evi, Lien, Maurice en Pieter Jan. Elk 1 punt.

Tussenstand

In de tussenstand zien we Evi zich losrukken en alleen op plaats 2 opduiken. Jeff loopt op de leidersplaats echter verder uit. Kim, Bart, Hans en Sander doen uitstekende zaken en komen de top 10 binnen of versterken er hun positie dankzij de driepunter.

Bram P. en Steven zien we opschuiven naar plaatsen 12 en 13.

Filip, Maurice en Jarno doen enkele plaatsen profijt in het midden van het klassement.

Maar wat vooral opvalt is dat Bjorn de laatste plaats heeft verlaten. Hij begint aan zijn inhaalrace naar boven. Tom B. heeft nu de bedenkelijke eer hekkensluiter te zijn.

[allmusic]

AllMusic Staff Pick: Houston Chamber Choir / Kim Kashkashian / Sarah Rothenberg / Steven Schick / Robert Simpson Rothko Chapel: Morton Feldman, Erik Satie, John Cage October 23, 2015 Chamber Music

The program locates the intellectual origins of the American avant-garde composers Morton Feldman and John Cage in the music of Erik Satie. At the beginning is Feldman's 1967 masterpiece Rothko Chapel. The album reflects local roots for the Houston Chamber Choir (the Rothko Chapel resided there), a solid regional ensemble hitherto hardly suspected capable of the heights they achieve here. - James Mannheim

[asromaworld]

Friendly match against Tor Sapienza

[cultfaction]

The Secret of Sinchanee trailer released

The Secret of Sinchanee trailer released

Vertical Entertainment has announced the release of Steven Grayhm’s The Secret of Sinchanee. Following a string of awards on the international festival circuit, The Secret of Sinchanee will be available in select theaters and on all major digital and cable platforms, including Apple TV, Amazon Prime Video, Vudu, Comcast, Spectrum, Cox and more. Grayhm stars opposite Green Beret and former NFL…

[fearsmagazine]

THE SECRET OF SINCHANEE | Trailer, Poster & Images

Vertical Entertainment releases THE SECRET OF SINCHANEE, a paranormal thriller from Dallas Buyers Club Executive Producer Joe Newcomb October 8th, 2021 on Digital HD and On Demand

Steven Grayhm stars opposite Green Beret and former NFL player Nate Boyer ("Mayans M.C") and Tamara Austin ("The Walking Dead"), who play Boston homicide detectives lured to a small-town after the disappearance of a single mother. The Secret of Sinchanee also stars breakout Netflix child star Laila Lockhart Kraner ("Gabby’s Dollhouse"), Jacob Schick (American Sniper, A Star Is Born), and Rudy Reyes ("Generation Kill").

An industrial tow truck driver suffering from insomnia returns to his childhood home after the untimely death of his father, to discover that a paranormal presence has been living in the house and haunting the sacred land it was built on.