#the green night designer lives in fucking portland

[nolanhattrick]

i have some pretty severe beef with the kraken not using someone from the west side (or even just a washington resident) for one of their special jerseys. one of the most glaringly obvious ways to tell that everyone inside the organization is a transplant. fuck that, dude.

[laequiem]

Mal d’amour - Part 5

/5 times the High King of Elfhame missed his exiled wife + 1 time she had enough.

The package is there, on the front porch, but it clearly was not delivered by the postal service. There is no address, just a name: her name in elegant cursive letters. The same handwriting that is on the note she keeps on her nightstand.

Cardan’s.

read on ao3 • masterlist • part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4 • last part

Cardan

It was already dark when I woke up from my dream and gave the package to Liliver. Due to mortals’ strange habit of living during the day, we have to wait the entire night before one of the spies can deliver the package. 

Needless to say, I do not pay much attention to the various meetings and meals I attend during the night. I doubt courtiers notice, given my usual blasé attitude. 

My participation in today’s revel consists mostly of drinking wine and asking the servants for more wine. Whenever someone approaches me for requests or conversation, I reply so shortly that they leave quickly. Nearing sunrise, the Ghost approaches and tells me the package is on its way.

I try to look like I am at least enjoying the revel in front of me. My tail is curled around my calf to prevent it from lashing wildly and betraying my nervousness. My fingers drum absentmindedly on the armrests of the throne as I stare distantly at nothing.

I only last half an hour after the Ghost’s appearance before I retreat from the throne room. 

The Bomb

The air of Portland, Maine stinks of iron and gasoline. Nothing like the mossy and flowery scent of Elfhame. Liliver lifts her scarf over her glamoured face, hoping the fabric will filter some of the iron out. It doesn't work, not really, but at least she will not be staying here for long.

High King Cardan has assigned her the task of delivering a package, as if her talents weren't better used elsewhere. She had agreed, or course—money is money. Plus, she hopes to sneak a glimpse of Jude and assess how her friend is doing. 

Ever since she left, she has been fighting the urge to peek at the contents of the package. It is about the size and weight of a dinner plate and is delicately wrapped in dark green fabric. Seeing how the King hid the thing, it must be quite valuable.

From the rooftop of the building opposite Vivienne Duarte’s apartment, Liliver can see Jude. She is sprawled on an old couch, numbly looking at some square box with moving images. She seems to be the only person in the small house right now—the perfect moment to deliver the package. The High King has made it clear that Jude has to be seen receiving it. Liliver cannot blame him for being careful. 

She makes her way across the street, climbing the stairs as quietly as she can. After placing the box on the floor, she presses the button next to the door and knocks twice. She then jumps to the roof of the adjacent building, making sure she has a good view of the door.

And then she waits.

Jude

Jude groans as she gets up from her spot on the couch for the first time since waking up this morning. Vivi left for work hours ago. Usually, she tells Jude when she is expecting a delivery. Maybe the person rang the wrong doorbell. Still, Jude makes her way to the front door. A peek through the peephole reveals that nobody is on the other side. 

It’s been 30 seconds, they better not have put one of those “sorry we missed you!” notices or else she swears—

The package is there, on the front porch, but it clearly was not delivered by the postal service. There is no address, just a name: her name in elegant cursive letters. The same handwriting that is on the note she keeps on her nightstand. 

Cardan’s.

Her chest tightens and she takes a deep breath. Is this hope or fear? It is her first time hearing from Cardan in more than six months. Part of her hopes that he will revoke her banishment and ask her to come back, but why would he? He is finally free to rule the kingdom by himself and be as cruel and unhinged as he wants to be.

The package looks out of place here, everything from the dried flowers used to decorate it to its delicate grassy smell scream Faerieland.

Jude closes the door behind her as she brings the package inside, certain that someone is out there watching her. She won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. She shoves the clutter off the coffee table and puts the package on it as she sits on the couch once again.

For a few minutes, she just stares at it, wondering if it isn’t better to just throw it out. 

Like he threw me out, she hears the intrusive thought over the roaring in her head, loud and unwelcome. 

She clenches her jaw, then undoes the strings tying the fabric together. Inside is a nicely carved wooden box topped by a folded piece of paper. She picks up the piece of paper and unfolds it. Her hands are shaking slightly, with fear or rage she does not know. 

When she reads it, however, the rage takes over.

I miss you.

Your devoted servant,

Cardan

Jude crumples the piece of paper in her hand and lets it fall to the floor. She opens the box and immediately sees red. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she screams to herself as she picks up the crown, its jewels sparkling in the artificial light of Vivienne’s apartment.

She has never seen it before. Cardan either found it deep in the vault or he had it made only to send it to her as a sick joke. In a fit of rage, she throws the crown against the wall and storms to her room. 

Her clothes are scattered everywhere, some of them lying on her air mattress for what might have been weeks. She picks out the darkest, most flexible clothes, then reaches under her mattress for Nightfell.

If it’s trouble he’s after, he’ll find her. 

Cardan

“I almost feel bad, Your Majesty,” the Roach says, “pay up.”

I knew trying to sleep was useless, so I headed for the Court of Shadow headquarters instead, where I have been playing cards with the Roach and the Ghost for hours now.

“I hope you’re not cheating,” the Ghost replies, “the punishment could be deadly.”

I lost every single game.

I am not paying enough attention to win.

The cards in my hands are blurry, their numbers and designs utterly meaningless. 

All I can think about is Jude.

Jude, opening my package and packing her things to come back here. 

Jude, opening my package and immediately throwing it out. 

Jude, immediately throwing the package out without looking inside.

This woman has occupied my every thought for years, and I still cannot predict her moves. She is a puzzle, a challenge I want to lose myself in solving. All I can hope for is that she opened it, at least. 

My last letter. My last gift. My last chance.

If this is all the time I had with her, I royally (urgh) fucked up. 

The Roach gathers the jewels from the middle of the table and brings them to his side.

I discard my hand and reach out to shuffle the deck when his attention snaps to the door, to the small form who just entered.

Immediately, I get up and walk to meet the Bomb.

“Did you find her?” I ask

“Yes,” she says, “She picked it up. I could not confirm that she opened it, but she brought it inside.”

“How is she?” I cannot stop the questions from pouring out of me.

“She looks… different,” she frowns.

I understand she is trying to find a way to phrase it without upsetting me. I do not even know what would upset me more, her being happy in the Mortal Realm, or her being miserable. 

“I see,” I sigh, “Thank you.”

The words feel wrong coming from me—yet they seem right in the moment. I do not know if I have ever thanked someone before. But these people, Jude’s spies, have been dealing with me for the last half-year. They have seen me at my lowest. I cannot go much lower than crying after a particularly gruesome nightmare.

I did not tell them this was my last time reaching out to Jude. From the look of pity in the Bomb’s eyes, she knows. I can’t stand it. I walk past her and leave the Court of Shadows.

The hallways are almost empty as I make my way to the cellars. The guards stand straighter as I pass the various rooms, but none of them stop me or try to talk to me. 

When I get to the cellars, I grab the worst bottle I can find. I wish the royal cellars had some really low quality alcohol—a budding brewer’s first try, anything that would taste as bad as I feel—but even the worst of the collection is still good. I drink the whole bottle.

Then another.

I drink until I forget.

Forget the responsibilities, the kingdom resting on my unworthy shoulders.

I try to forget about Jude, but I black out before I can.

[scardoherty]

BASIC  INFORMATION.

FULL NAME: Scarlett Marina Doherty Kaufman When she moved away from home she changed her last name as a symbolic cutting off her family.

NICKNAME: Some call her Scar, much to her irritation. It’s not even a cute nickname.

OCCUPATION: Personal Shopper/Stylist

AGE: 36

DATE OF BIRTH: January 16, 1984

NATIONALITY: American

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis female, She/Her

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

RELIGION ( or lack thereof ): Agnostic, but was raised Jewish.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION.

HOMETOWN: San Francisco, CA

PLACES LIVED SINCE: Oakland, CA

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Portland, OR

LANGUAGE(s):  Fluent in both English and Russian, but English is her first language. She also can have conversational French. Conversational tagalog also.

SOCIAL CLASS: Upper middle class.

BASIC EDUCATION: High school diploma.

COLLEGE EDUCATION: None.

DEGREE(s): High school diploma.

MOTHER: A trophy wife mom -- Adina Kaufman.

FATHER: A sociopath father--Vadim Kaufman.

SIBLING(s): None/.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(s): Scarlett has only ever had one serious relationship when she was 25. He was the definition of the perfect boyfriend, everything she thought she should want but nothing seemed right. Two years into their relationship, he proposed and impulsively she accepted believing she was in love with him. Just days later she regretted her decision. thinking she would catch wedding fever, she stuck to the engagement and continued to plan out the wedding but emotionally became distant from her fiance. A year into their engagement they were married, and just six months after they finally wed, she decided she was going to divorce him. she met with an attorney and was near ready to serve the papers when he told her he was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. he fought for 7 months. She’s harbored a substantial amount of guilt knowing that as he was dying, she wanted to leave him.

Nothing else is worth mentioning. She usually keeps her relationships casual, hardly sleeps with anyone more than twice, and even that’s pushing it.

CHILDREN: No, thank God!

ADDITIONAL FAMILY: None--although it’s very possible she has half-siblings out there somewhere due to her father’s extramartial affairs.

PET(s): None--she had a goldfish once and that was a lot of responsibility.

RELATIONSHIPS.

EVER CHEATED?: No, not at all. She would never do that to someone because she saw the damage her father did from his multiple affairs.

BEEN CHEATED ON?: No. Other than her three year relationship, she hasn’t been in a relationship serious enough for it to get to that point.

LEVEL OF SEXUAL EXPERIENCES: She doesn’t date, but she frequently has one night stands.

STORY OF FIRST KISS: Her first kiss was with her best friend in 8th grade during a sleepover when she suggested that they should kiss since Scarlett said she was bored.

STORY OF LOSS OF VIRGINITY: It’s nothing exciting. In fact, it’s quite cliche which she hates. She lost her virginity the night of junior prom with a guy she had AP bio with.

A SOCIAL PERSON?: Superficially, yes, but she’s very particular with who she deems as a close friend.

MOST COMFORTABLE AROUND: A bottle of red wine.

HOW DOES SHE THINK OTHERS PERCEIVE HER?: charismatic, witty, beautiful.

HOW DO OTHERS ACTUAL PERCEIVE HER?: brutal, pretentious, beautiful

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

DOMINANT HAND: Righty.

ACCENT + INTENSITY: No accent--she can be super loud though.

TATTOO(s): No tattoos--no tainting her beautiful skin.

SCAR(s): She has a scar toward the back of her neck, right below her ear from trying to cut her own hair when she was nine years old. Her mother was less than pleased, to say the least.

PIERCING(s): She got her bellybutton pierced in high school and her earlobes are also pierced. 

GLASSES: Doesn’t wear glasses.

STYLE OF DRESS/TYPICAL OUTFIT: Scarlett dresses in very trendy, designer clothing. a casual coffee outfit would be a cream colored blouse with dark wash skinny jeans and a pair of brown booties, with her hair in a messy bun and gold hoop earrings. On a night out she would dress in a black skinny strip body con dress with black strappy heels with her hair down and a gold collarbone necklace.

UNIQUE MANNERISMS: She’ll lick her lips almost every time she takes a sip of coffee. when she’s drinking wine, she likes to tap her index finger just below the rim.

ATHLETICISM: She’s not into fitness, like at all. She loves to eat and she loves to drink. Her main source of exercise is walking for miles in her heels and running around stores.

HEALTH PROBLEMS: none.

CHARACTER PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS:

NEGATIVE TRAITS:

BIGGEST FEAR:

BIGGEST REGRET: Not telling her husband the truth before he passed away.

WHAT’S MORE IMPORTANT? SEX or INTIMACY?: Sex--plus sex is intimacy.

ARE YOU A LEADER or A FOLLOWER?: Leader.

ARE YOU SPONTANEOUS or DO YOU NEED A PLAN?: Need a plan.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN TRUE LOVE?: She knows it exists--but she truly doesn’t think she will ever find it. Not because she’s insecure or anything, but because she knows the whole being in love thing just is not for her.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?: Nope.

DO YOU CARE WHAT OTHERS THINK OF YOU?: Absolutely not---in some regard. She is... very aware of her physical appearance.

HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH STRESS?: Drinking and eating.

WHAT IS A SONG YOUR CHARACTER RELATES TO THEIR LIFE?: Independent Women Pt. II by Destiny’s Child

VICES & HABITS.

DO YOU SMOKE?: She used to--she quit a little under a year ago. 

DO YOU DRINK?: Heavily. Just kidding, but it’s definitely one of her favorite hobbies.

DO YOU DO DRUGS?: No.

DO YOU HAVE ANY ADDICTIONS?: Yikes--she would never admit that she is addicted to junk food and addicted to alcohol...

DO YOU HAVE VIOLENT TENDENCIES?: No.

DO YOU HAVE ANY SELF-DESTRUCTIVE TENDENCIES?: Not that she is aware of.

MISC CHARACTER QUESTIONS.

IF YOUR CHARACTER COULD CHANGE ONE PHYSICAL DETAIL ABOUT THEMSELVES, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Her eyes. Her right eye is green-blue and her left eye is a hazel color. She’s rather just have green-blue eyes.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S FAVORITE PHYSICAL ACTIVITY? Walking. And sex, lowkey.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S LEAST FAVORITE PHYSICAL ACTIVITY?: Anything involving any type of exercise. But running and push-ups are awful. YOUR CHARACTER CAME FACE-TO-FACE WITH THEIR WORST ENEMY. WHAT IS THEIR FIRST REACTION? Passive aggressive smile and then comment about how ugly their shoes are.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S FONDEST CHILDHOOD MEMORY? The day she met her Lolo and Lula--who she wishes were her real parents.

SOMEONE ASKS YOUR CHARACTER TO DESCRIBE THEIR FAMILY. HOW DO THEY ANSWER? What family?

IS YOUR CHARACTER A MORNING PERSON, A NIGHT OWL, OR SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY? Definitely not a morning person--she’s more a night owl.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S LEAST FAVORITE COLOR? Brown.

A STRANGER MAKES A CRUDE COMMENT TO YOUR CHARACTER. HOW DO THEY REACT? “Fuck off, motherfucker!” Then she flips them off.

[wondertainmenttoys]

A Gamer and a Wondertainment intern talk over video chat

Document POI-9874-12

Date: 10/12/2019 - 10/19/2019

Background: POI-9874 (Arthur Mullin) is a suspected member of the group of interest “Gamers Against Weed” and has been under Foundation surveillance since 07/16/2018.

Document Summary:  Document POI-9874-12 are transcripts of online interactions between POI-9874 and Thomas Randall, who is believed to be a friend of POI-98745 and possibly associated with the group of interest “Dr. Wondertainment”. Reclassification of Randall to the status of POI is pending.

For the sake of brevity, POI-9874 will be designated as “Gamer” and Randall will be designated as “Vendor”.

—

Vendor: DUDE

Gamer: Wat???

Vendor: I GOT A JOB

Gamer: DUDE

Vendor: DUDE

Gamer: [IMG]

Note: Image was an animated gif of a video game character dancing

Gamer: what is it

Vendor: Some vendor job. The interview was kind of weird but I’m just happy to finally get a paycheck.

Gamer: weird? You got nervous or something?

Vendor: Nah. The interviewer just seemed way too happy to talk to me. like come on it’s just a vendor job what are you excited about.

Gamer: lmao probably desperate to get someone to fill the spot. hope that doesn’t mean that they’re about to go under or something.

Vendor: God please no

Gamer: I’m sure its fine

Vendor: hope so

Gamer: when do you start

Vendor: tomorrow

Gamer: dude you have to tell me how it goes

Vendor: lol it’s a vendor job so I’m not expecting much, but I’ll let you know

Gamer: whats the place called

Vendor: it’s dumb. Wild Oddities, Neat Doodads, Rare Terrific New Magic Toys

Gamer: [IMG]

Note: Image was a jpeg of a zoomed in picture of Shrek. The character has a neutral expression.

Vendor: I know. But whatever I’m getting paid for it

Gamer: True true. Good luck tomorrow!

Vendor: thanks!

—

Gamer: yo

Vendor: yooooo

Gamer: dude how’d that new job go? Did you vend hard. Sell some of those terrific rare toys?

Vendor: it was pretty boring. I sold some things. they’re stupidly cheap.

Gamer: cheap?

Vendor: yeah. Like some of the pricier stuff only costs like $5 max. it’s wild.

Vendor: especially with how much they said they’re gonna pay me

Gamer: how much are they paying you???

Vendor: $30/hr

Gamer: holy shit

Vendor: YEAH

Gamer: Dude not to alarm you but that’s kind of shady. might not be something that stays in business for long

Vendor: I know. Maybe they’re the type of company that sells a ton of cheap stuff en masse.

Gamer: maybe

Gamer: what are you coworkers like

Vendor: uh there aren’t any. it’s just me at this small store I think

Gamer: wait so they’re making you clean up and restock without help

Gamer: that’s some bs

Vendor: I don’t think so? It wasn’t in my job description, so I’m guessing someone comes in at night or something after I close.

Gamer: bro

Gamer: bruh

Gamer: brokowski

Gamer: ngl that’s shady as shit

Vendor: yeeeeeeah now that you mention it

Gamer: you’re like in a front for the mafia or something

Vendor: I’ll see how it goes for the next few days. if it gets way too shady I’m out.

Gamer: bro I’d just get out now

Vendor: but the pay

Gamer: bruh

—

Vendor: hey so you know how we talked about shady shit

Gamer: uh yeah?

Gamer: please don’t tell me that you had to bury a body or something

Vendor: someone broke in last night and stole a ton of the merchandise and the cash in the cash register

Gamer: oh shit

Vendor: smashed the window in too

Gamer: you ok?

Vendor: I thought i was going to get fired

Vendor: but I got a call from the manager and told them about it

Gamer: yeah?

Vendor: and they thanked me??? like they said that was the biggest sale I’ve done for them and that I’m doing a great job?

Vendor: dude you got your shit stolen why aren’t you mad

Gamer: calling it now that stuff had drugs stuffed in them. it’s too shady

Vendor: yeah it’s freaked me out a little

Gamer: way too shady

Vendor: but that’s not it

Vendor: After my lunch break I went back to the register

Vendor: and all the stolen stuff had been restocked

Gamer: what

Vendor: like when I wasn’t looking someone just restocked the shelves or something

Vendor: and the window as fixed too

Vendor: I didn’t hear the door open or anyone walk in or anything

Vendor: not even a customer

Vendor: It’s a really small shop so I would’ve noticed

Gamer: okay that went from shady to scary way too fast

Gamer: get the fuck out of there

Vendor: I know I’m already looking for a new job

Vendor: this is some paranormal shit

—

Gamer: you doing ok

Vendor: yeah.

Gamer: your still at that Wild Terrific Toys place right

Vendor: Wild Oddities, Neat Doodads, Rare Terrific New Magic Toys?

Vendor: yeah

Gamer: anymore spooky shit go down

Vendor: no. the shelves are still doing that restocking thing when I don’t look but other than that it’s been quiet.

Gamer: I was thinking

Vendor: what

Gamer: what do they sell again

Vendor: toys and games.

Vendor: board games

Gamer: and this is in Portland right

Vendor: yeah?

Gamer: Just throwing this out there but have you heard of Portland with a 3?

Vendor: ???

Gamer: Like a 3 of Portlands or a 3rd Portland at your job

Gamer: 3 Portlands

Vendor: what no

Gamer: ok just had an idea but I was wrong

Vendor: what was your idea

Gamer: it was about that weird place you’re working at

Gamer: i thought it might have to do with something

Gamer: hey can you send me a pic of the store logo?

Vendor: sure. why though

Gamer: i’m going to see if any of my friends know about it. I know one who is super into bizarre stuff like this

Vendor: yea tomorrow I’ll get you a pic

—

Gamer: hey you got the pic

Vendor: no. for some reason everytime I try to take a picture it comes out blurry or unfocused

Gamer: weird

Vendor: the store’s haunted or something

Vendor: I drew a sketch of it though

Intern: [IMG]

Note: Image is a sketch of the Wild Oddities, Neat Doodads, Rare Terrific New Magic Toys logo on a yellow sticky note. The font style loosely resembles that of previous logos used by Dr. Wondertainment.

Gamer: thanks

Note: Shortly after this interaction POI-9874 discussed the topic in an online chatroom with other members of Gamers Against Weed. See Document POI-9874-14 for a full transcript.

—

Vendor: hey so I know it’s 3 AM and you’re probably asleep

Vendor: but i decided to stay late at the shop just to see if any other employee would come in

Gamer: oh fuc

Gamer: k

Vendor: and someone did at like midnight

Vendor: OH YOU’RE AWAKE

Gamer: ye

Gamer: dude was it a ghost?

Vendor: no

Vendor: some old lady

Vendor: I think it was the janitor

Vendor: but like everything else there she was weird

Gamer: a ghost

Gamer: calling it

Vendor: she was surprised to see me but didn’t seem too bothered by it

Vendor: like complimented me for working late or whatever

Gamer: ok

Vendor: but I swear dude

Vendor: her eyes

Gamer: DEAD GHOST CALLING IT

Vendor: I DON”T KNOW DUDE

Vendor: but I SWEAR I saw them glowing in the dark

Vendor: like glowing green

Vendor: like a Christmas light

Gamer: ghost

Vendor: She was super nice and cheerful but it was unnerving

Gamer: dude you saw a ghost at your haunted toy store

Vendor: i dont know it was weird like everything else

—

Gamer: so I spoke to my friend

Vendor: yeah?

Gamer: Does Wondertainment ring a bell to you?

Vendor: yeah I think most of the toys there are from them. why.

Vendor: are their toys supposed to be haunted or something

Gamer: something like that yeah.

Vendor: are you kidding me

Gamer: I mean they said it’s harmless

Gamer: like some sort of urban legend that’s weird but doesn’t hurt you

Gamer: you just do your thing and they’ll pay you

Gamer: I’ll have to introduce you to them later

Gamer: they can explain it better

Intern: ok

Gamer: they also said that Men in Black type stuff can happen if you stay there too long

Vendor: uh men in black? like the movies

Gamer: no like the creepy UFO stories

Gamer: where they show up at your house and try to shut you up or mess with your memories

Vendor: what even is my life right now

Gamer: Like I said, it might be better to get a new job

Vendor: I think I’ll weather things out for now

Vendor: at least until I get my first paycheck

Gamer: I guess. just let me know if more weird stuff happens dude

Vendor: will do

—

Vendor: ok so weird stuff happened again

Gamer: oh boy

Gamer: you ok?

Vendor: yeah I’m fine. I’m honestly starting to get used to it

Vendor: so the less weird thing was that this morning I found a basket of baked cookies

Vendor: with a note thanking me for being a hard worker

Vendor: they were still warm too

Vendor: so I guess the janitor or someone else just dropped them off right before I arrived Intern: look if it’s just weird stuff happening, then I guess I can live through it

Gamer: ok

Vendor: but then I got a weird customer

Vendor: like some random guy

Vendor: just walked in saying he’s here to inspect the store

Vendor: it’s a small toy store what is there to inspect

Vendor: i mean it’s haunted but that only happens when I’m not looking

Vendor: anyways he said he’s part of some Social something Policy

Vendor: Social Coordination Policy

Vendor: Social Corporate Policy

Gamer: uh

Vendor: something like that

Vendor: Social Corporate Policy. Yeah that’s what it was

Gamer: uh

Vendor: The guy kept wanting to get into the back but I told him I’d need to call the manager

Vendor: really pissed him off

Note: This seems to be describing Field Agent ████████’s investigation into the venue, which was conducted on 10/18/2019.

Gamer: uh

Vendor: uh?

Gamer: I think that’s the men in black stuff my friend warned you about

Vendor: OH

Gamer: what did your manager say?

Vendor: They didn’t seemed really bothered by it. Said it happens and that they’d take care of it, whatever that means.

Gamer: ok

Gamer: so he was basically like

Gamer: [IMG]

Note: image is a jpeg that depicts a cartoon character leaning back with the caption “Not My Problem”. Testing revealed that the image is anomalous in nature and temporarily makes any individual who sees it resistant to amnestics.

Vendor: lmao yeah

Vendor: if this is the Man in Black stuff then the moment I see that dude again I’m running for it

Gamer: not sure if that’s a bad or good idea dude

Vendor: maybe my ghost manager will protect me

Vendor: or maybe I’ll find another job before anything else happens

Gamer: I can help you look for something if you need

Vendor: thanks. I think I got it though

—

Vendor: uh

Vendor: remember how you offered to help me find a new job

Gamer: yeah??

Gamer: what happened

Vendor: the store is gone

Gamer: waht

Vendor: it’s gone

Vendor: poof

Gamer: like gone gone?

Vendor: the place is empty

Vendor: [IMG]

Note: Image displays a photo of an empty storefront. The inside of the store looks abandoned and shows signs of structural decay. A Foundation agent monitoring the location that morning confirmed that Thomas Randall was the one to take the photo.

Vendor: It’s like it’s been abandoned for years

Gamer: ghost toy company

Vendor: YEAH

Vendor: and this morning I got an email from them

Vendor: thanking me for my work and saying I’m pretty much fired

Gamer: wow what dicks

Vendor: NO BUT THEY’RE LIKE PAYING ME A YEAR’S WAGE

Vendor: a year’s worth of $30/hr

Gamer: wow what not dicks

Vendor: yeah

Vendor: I got spooked a lot but I kind of don’t regret it?

Vendor: I won’t lie I’d work for a haunted toy company again just for that kind of pay lmao

Gamer: honestly I don’t blame you

Gamer: glad you didn’t get kidnapped or killed

Gamer: especially with the Men in Black

Vendor: lol yea

Gamer: Fucking Tommy’s Bizarre Adventure with Wondertainment

Vendor: [IMG]

Note: Image depicts a heavily edited image of an cartoon character with the caption “IS THAT A MOTHERFUCKING JOJO REFERENCE”

Gamer: HA

Gamer: Speaking of that I still need to introduce you to my friends

Gamer: they know a lot about this stuff

Vendor: dude please do

Gamer: also might help with anymore weird stuff that happens

Gamer: because after this I think you might be running into more weird shit

Vendor: My Bizarre Adventure begins

Vendor: as long as it’s not shady anymore

Gamer: [IMG]

Note: Image is similar to the last, but with poorer spelling

Gamer: yeah here you go.

Gamer: [LINK]

Note: link leads to a chatroom that POI-9874-12 frequents, which is believed to be associated with Gamer’s Against Weed

[yeswritingsandwritings]

COVID Diaries; Pennies

It is March 2020 and I’ve channeled the spirit of Paul Revere. As Los Angeles erupts into rioting and mass fentanyl suicide, I dive headfirst into the cabin of the Mazda, and gun the packed ship upwards along the vacant I5 corridor. Every smouldering city under Gavin Newsom looks further gone than the last. The navigation takes me on some perverse fantasy detour thru post-apocalyptic San Francisco. It’s been a long time coming but now it’s solidified. The mayor and her delegates have chomped their cyanide pills and now the streets and bridges offer rotting cars beside silent, beautiful Victorian manors. Still in full color, the sky is blue and the sun is yellow, gleaming indifferently. I am nervous about San Franscisco County. The shelter in place order says no one shall be out on the street without proper reason. And, proper reason or not, I have a pharmacy of drugs in the trunk of my car. Will it be enough to wait out the pandemic in my mother’s house? Enough to keep me sane tucked in the basement of the compound on Cougar Mountain, Issaquah, Washington, for GodKnowsHowLong? My very own Bavarian Alps.

For years in LA I have lived for high speed and hard sex in a blackout frenzy which no young American could denigrate without looking like a nerd. In our culture of excess I sought the most insane, unexplored corridors. Chavionistic romps through the bitter forests of lust, contamination, too-young suicide, too-good blowjobs that leave explosions on this cast of characters flown from every corner of the globe, all with the same indelible fever. I come to now, in this chaotic month handed down by God, March 2020, and I’m withdrawing from all of it in the penthouse on the side of the mountain.

In this moment the fantasy is fading fast, like being jolted from a wet dream by a home invasion. For a lot of people the American dream was already a flickering ember in the distance, a relic of some stupid pilgrimgrage for egoic glory, a blind propaganda puzzle piece with no jigsaw to belong to. But I had formed my own relationship with the concept, and, until now, had believed wholeheartedly in the myth in America; or at least that myth’s capacity to spur significant action, which could abolish hunger and pain, mistreatment and misunderstanding, which could deliver us from evil and unto the kingdom of heaven.

I am not, to many of her 300 million pairs of eyes, a portrait of traditional American success. I am the starving artist archetype. I’ve lived in abandoned buildings and shot cocaine into my veins in the speeding bathroom of many an Amtrak carriage. These may be my most definitive traits, save for the music I somehow manage to draw out of all of this. Albums worth of potential answers to the impossible questions. Sometimes I think I’ve reached the peak, with the LSD and the naked festival girls. I am 26 years old and feel incompetent. I go to pay a traffic ticket or am electric bill and find myself paralyzed at the entrance to the website. In a moment of otherworldly strength I call the bank and my debit card has been cancelled. I stare at the parking ticket in my pod, which has been rented from a company called Up(Start), and is arranged in a row with twenty others. At least I’ve made it to Los Angeles.

Up(Start) is a strange place. I find most people don’t last very long in this community. They leave back to their hometowns or find apartments. The ones who stay haunt this place like ghosts, with no discernible goals and mysterious incomes. I’ve learned not to ask how these life-longers pay the rent. The answer is not translatable.

Willow is one of these life-longers. She always talks about moving out; sometimes to an apartment in LA, most recently about some nebulous palace in France. She says her grandmother died and left her everything. She shows me a suitcase full of watches and rings that still can’t fully convince me of her story. She drinks vodka when she wakes up and convinces me to fuck her when Jesse leaves us in his room alone.

Jesse found his way out to a beautiful house in Silver Lake. He had been at Up(Start) for a year before that. He is the nicest guy I know, offering the coat off his back for nothing but a swig of your vodka in return.

I left these characters behind, keeping a steady 65 on the interstate and stopping only to black out in a hotel room in Redding, CA. Summer, inspirational barista and blowjob queen, dared me to stop and see her in Portland, but my body was crawling from scabies from Lucy, (who was also in Portland and, I would later learn, infected with the virus) and I sped right through.

My younger brother Jon was at the house and had been awaiting my arrival. I instantly understood why. My mother had become a figurehead for the national panic, and shoulder-hugged me with her mask on. She is, as we speak, sterilizing the place.

I’ve gotten to spend a good amount of time with Jon, and am somewhat surprised to find that he faces the same existential torment as I do. This is not something we talk about, but I can feel it on him. He is super into Xanax, and orders pressed bars off the darknet. I share the drugs I’ve brought with him. Kratom, weed, and, —most enticing— Flubromazolam. I learn that he has been kicked out of UW on academic probation. I ask him about it in front of my mother and stepdad. With a casualness that shocks me he says he just didn’t care about any of his classes. But he’s got reaccepted to the school and he says he’s going to make it this time.

I show him how I order my drugs online. I show him the designer benzodiazepines on the clearnet, pennies per dose. We place an order for O-DSMT. It’s an insane solution to our problems, but I guarantee you it works.

I tell Jon about my life in LA with the stuff. Taking it and driving weed deliveries all day. I don’t tell him about the long nights with Lucy, telling her the love I feel from the opiate is sourced from her, then failing to get hard.

Jon, for his part, tells me about the peak of his Oxycontin habit, poppin 7 OC30’s a day with his buddies at Rolling Loud. I was just a few blocks away. I didn’t know he was in town.

We order the O-DSMT to his apartment in the U District, stopping to and snag it on our sole vacation to Dad’s for dinner. Two packages have been delivered. We have the save pavlov response. We carry the packages to his apartment on the top floor and split the bubble wrap with a butterfly knife. Out of a manilla envelope comes 100 green Xanax bars. From a bent UPS envelope comes a gram of O-DSMT and 250mg of 4-ACO-DMT, a bonus for me (Jon says he hates psychedelics).

We set to the scale and split the gram, dosing 50mg then and there to get through dinner. The next day he visits me in the basement, saying “Yo, this O-DSMT shit… it’s dope.”

I say “I’m with you.”

My days are spent deep in the dream flow, recording songs for a hopeful fourth album. The third one is still far from complete, but I can’t go back and meddle with those songs now. Wouldn’t dare touch their Los Angeles essence with the hand of the evergreen state. They will go to Rob and Twon and Andy as they are.

I’m back to guitars for the new album. Cardinal sin AC/DC type songs. I think it may be a double album, quarantine permitting. I want an exploratory, unstructured, throw paint at the wall and see what sticks, White album/Life of Pablo situation. I want solo piano pieces and Aphex Twin-esque 808 excursions. I want the label to release it on white vinyl with extensive liner notes. Indulgence. I want this album to be the one where I say “indulge me.”

If Rob is vehimently opposed to the idea I had the fantasy of making an easy album. Taking songs like Parade Owl, See You Tomorrow, Miss Can’t Sleep and putting out a whole album of them. Good rock music. Take a step back from the frontlines; the cutting edge. We’ll see what sticks to the wall after this quarantine is over.

Weeks drift by. There’s a trade route for all the beer that gets brought into the house. It goes from the garage fridge to the basement fridge to my eager hand, to my mouth, to my blood. Night by night the ritual recurs, til my mom takes out the downstairs trash and finds all the empties. She makes some subtle comment. I tell her to buy more White Claw.

Despite the drug flow my inspiration seems to be drying up. Rob took a listen to the twenty five songs I’d completed since arriving in Issaquah and said they sounded like Dogs. The old band. The old rock and roll band we’ve been trying to move away from. I was disappointed to hear him say it. I was disappointed he wasn’t excited about the songs. “Fuck it, should I scrap them all?” I asked myself. Then I started to look around the house and understand that if nothing came of these songs… I must be insane. I must be losing it. The stupid research chemical stimulants don’t help. I thought they would. Productivity and all… but I’m just jittery, texting strangers on Instagram for hours, all the while feeling like I should be doing something else. And the television is on in the background, and I told myself I was going to do so much to day. And I did it. And people on Instagram say “you seem busy.” They’ve always said I seem this and I seem that. I never agreed with any of it, but they probably know me better than I do. How could I see myself? I look for myself through a fog and it’s only a ripple of a shadow. A microcosm a million miles away through a hellscape with no up or down, no east or west. They say I’m social. They say I’m a socialite. Really I just get drunk and unleash all my nervous energy on the party or, nowadays, the Zoom meeting.

Today I drink Modello. Ma and Chuck went to the Seattle waterfront for a picnic or something. I didn’t get the details. But the sun should be going down now, and she’s texting me asking if I want to play a board game when they get back. I say yeah sure I do. My temper when I’m off these amphetamines analogues, though… I worry I’ll flip the Pictionary board. Slam dunk the wine glass onto the wood floor. Now the cliffhanger; will this Modello calm my nerves?

This morning I went with mom to buy plants for the garden. I thought we were going to get seeds but she wanted the already grown ones. She was ready to be angry. Nothing made her happy. We went to three different garden store. I think she got some tomatos. How the hell am I going to get out of this one? Feels like the walls are closing in. I feel like I’m in the freezer in the back of McDonalds. I feel so sad for her, but I also feel so sad for myself. I feel cut off. I feel short of breath. I feel terror. It is Friday, April 17, 2020. Dread, terror, paranoia… I’m sure it’s been felt a million times by a million people, but here’s my version of it. In this McMansion on the side of the mountain, feeling less like I have a mission than ever. Calling nobody. Freezing. Yeah I’m freezing.

My brother and I both have drugs to get through this crisis but I’m planning to get off them. I sold him half of my etizolam and half of another shipment of O-DSMT the other day. He wasn’t at all interested in the 2-FDCK, an analogue of the dissociative Ketamine. I am still not really sure what dissociatives do to consciousness. They can move you into states profound darkness. You feel like your life is a black and white film and it is raining outside. And it drips off the palm trees and you sit in traffic on the way back from the Boy’s and Girl’s Club, where the boys and girls wouldn’t listen, they’d just go off into their own worlds. I wonder how they’re all doing now, tucked into their parents houses in Calabasas.

Anyway, I said to Jon “I’m getting off the stuff.” And I intended to. This journal finds me at a crossroads between fantasy and reality. What is my life going to be for? Where do I cast this fishing pole? Well the pole’s been cast. It’s out there in the middle of the ocean. But at the same time it’s in my hand, in this very moment, and I can chose where to dip it. I’m not trying to catch a fish in this scenario, I just like the serenity of the bay.

The question on everyone’s mind is: “If not drugs, then what!?” That’s a great question and I’d be bullshitting if I said I could answer it. I don’t know what lies on the other side of this life. I want to find out. Do I truly? I have to truly. Love, sex, work, victory… I’ve seen all these things before. And I keep turning to these substances. They fill up my days and my hours and all the music is informed by them. They move my hands to play the guitar and my voice is scratchy when it comes out. I’ve formed an identity around these drugs to a certain extent. That idea of me has to die. It does. I’ll have to mourn it. I’ll have to mourn a lot. I guess I don’t know what to be afraid of. I know a lot of stuff is going to come up through this process. The drugs numb it all out. People say that but it’s really really true. Bad news doesn’t don’t hit you as hard. Most things don’t hit you at all. You’re in your world. You’re off in a cloud. You’re unaware of the world around you. You’re afraid to engage. Why?

It’s easier not to ask why. It’s easier to get the immediate relief of a squirt of etizolam tincture. Or a gross tossing of O-DSMT powder into your mouth and a quick washdown with water. In this way you don’t have to answer any questions. In this way nothing hits you. And guess what else? All your heroes did the same thing.

But a lot of them died doing it. And you don’t want to die. You really really don’t want to die. You want to live a long life, with kids and grandkids, and see what happens to America and what music turns into. You don’t want to die, but what do you have to live for? You know you can make things up. Everyone’s always making shit up. All of this is made up. The culture, the value of a dollar, the value of a Benz. We just decide on it. And that takes a lot. But you know what takes a lot less? Deciding how you want to react to each moment. This one and this one and this one. Do you know what I mean? They say a lot of stuff about the world. The world’s fucked. They say the world’s burning to the ground. They say we can’t leave our houses. They say America won’t be a super power by the end of all of this. But they’re making shit up. And I’m making shit up too. I’m whipping up like a chef. Throwing dishes out from the kitchen, but the dishes are words and actions and the kitchen is my mind. What kind of food am I throwing out? What kind of food am I serving the world? Let me serve love and hope. But for that to happen, let me cultivate it in myself first. Let me nurture it like a child. Let me see it sober. Let me take the steps in the right direction. It’s simple. It’s simpler than you think it is. What are you going to do right now, after reading this? Or while reading this? How are you going to face the world?

Jon told me he got into Xanax from the Famous Dex song “Japan.”

“Baby girl, what you doing, where your man? I just popped a xan, fifty thousand in Japan”

He told me his friends heard the song and picked up some Xanax because of it. They liked it and reached out to him “You’ve got to try this,” they said. My little brother, in the throes of this batshit demon force that will bury him. It might bury me too. The jury’s still out. Mom, just let me withdraw in peace. She brings down a space heater. I grow to love it. I lay down on the wood floor that the spiders sometimes dash across. The space heater comes close to burning me, but I’m ok. I stand up, dizzy from all I’ve done to try to combat the withdrawls. Way too much etizolam, way to much kratom, getting to the point of way too much weed and alcohol. But hopefully it’ll all be over soon, and I can call my friends in peace and not want to slam down the phone whenever there is the tiny threat of silence, or whenever I speak, or whenever they speak. I can’t any of it sober, that’s what I think. Life is hard sober; it’s a breeze when you’re floating thru it. A good dream. So why get sober? They say it’ll kill me. Well, I said that. In this very same paragraph. And maybe it will. But when you’re withdrawing like this… all you want is a moment of peace.

Oh God, at dinner tonight I started to go off about my own mental state to the family. I should have known it was a big mistaken, but on my way home from Doordashing a rainy Issaquah I stopped at QFC and got a bottle of True Eagle American Spirits, Kentucky manufactured vodka. And, helping myself to serving of kimchi,  I said to them “I think I’m losing it.” And the conversation spiraled until my mother asked me “Are you suicidal?” And “Are you struggling with drugs?” Jon, between us, must have felt betrayed, but I just wanted to feel understood. I feel Chuck does not want to understand. I understand what he’s sacrificed for the life he has, but what value does that life has to him? He has a tumor in his jawbone, and it’s eating away at him, and no one can do anything. And they can’t get out to the specialists on the East Coast, and they won’t do the invasive surgery. He’s too busy. I know, in some capacity, he understands. Because he blows these things off like they don’t matter at all, when anyday he could have a stroke like Grandma had, fall to the floor of the kitchen while dishing up his kimchi, or pulling a slice of pizza out of the carton. I feel the same way. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I know that I am mentally unwell. And I avoid the questions about my drug use and about my suicidality. I miss girls, ma. I miss pussy and parties and not giving a fuck. The way I don’t give a fuck now is in these terrifying sound collages drafted on the latest of nights, in the deep dark depths of quaratine. What was I saying in the last one? Something about how I didn’t wanna kill the crabs on the beach on Whidbey Island as a kid. Holy shit I’m losing my mind. But it’s all fine, isn’t it? As long as the music comes out fine.

What could I possibly do to get healthy? I feel so far off the deep end. You have no idea; I feel like crying. My best friend, living with the girl I thought I could always go back to. We don’t talk. I mix these ketamine analogues in with that cheap cheap vodka (plus etizolam) and cry tears onto this plastic table. It’s pointless to keep up the tinder courtships. I feel like this will never end. And it started with such a bang. I was such a part of history. Now I’m a nobody; I’m a junkie, holding on by the thinnest thread. No energy to pray. I feel like Cobain, and I know so many people do… but I really do. I can only imagine. But I’m only listening to Mingus, Lana Del Rey and Radiohead (Kid A thru Hail to The Thief).

Should I throw weed in the mix? Lord knows I have enough of it. It’s my number one priority. I’ve made enough songs now that we could workshop what I’ve come up with years. What else is there to do? Mingus ripped the piano strings out of some pianist’s instrument in front of a live audience, then stormed off the stage. Where the fuck is that in my life? I’m in front of the computer, weeping because America has come to a close. You know they sent jazz to the Soviet Union as a WEAPON? A weapon of freedom and democracy and individualism. What the fuck happened? It all makes me want to cry. It’s all too much; this world. These people I’ve known and loved and lost. This music I’ve made that they promise me will be something, but I don’t know if I believe them. I don’t know if I want anything to do with this life. I can’t engage with my culture anymore… my history. I feel like I’m not a part of it. I feel so disconnected. Who’s rippin the strings out of MY piano? Or who’s piano am I ripping the strings out of? We’ve lost so much… I mean… I’ll do my best to work with what we still have, but we’ve been so fractured. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was the end. Of America. Of our culture. Of our music and our hustle and bustle and industry and lover’s lanes and rites of passage. I feel like I’m mourning it now. Mourning my culture. Maybe mourning the illusion that was sold to us. Believe me, I was first in line to buy. That’s why it destroys me so deeply to see it collapse.

I guess we’re all one people. I’m crying writing this. Weeping, weeping, weeping. Grieving. You know what grieving is. I remember what’s-her-name in the pool. We went to every hot tub, each a different temperature, in the Desert Hot Springs Resort. Then Lucy’s friend’s new boyfriend told us Bernie Sanders had stayed there when he had visited DHS. I laughed so hard. Lucy ordered me another drink. She didn’t mind the cost. She liked me to be on her level. And I didn’t mind. I was proud to sip. We went back to the hotel and did god knows what. Feels a million lifetimes away.

This was back when anything could happen. When America was a blank slate and no one could predict anything. When you could go outside and say “What the fuck is up?” and get in adventures. I mourn the loss of that. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe that’s still there. But I’ve emotionally severed my ties to it. And I wish I didn’t. Because I love it. I love it so much. It’s not a myth. I swear to god it’s not a myrh. It was a reality… until all this happened. You have no idea. I mean, if you’re reading this and weren’t around before. You have no idea. I mean… I don’t know what things are going to be like after this. But not the same. There’s no way they could be the same.

You know I hope I get this shit. I hope I contract COVID-19. Lay in this guest bedroom bed with the scabies I may or may not have gotten from Upstart Creative Living… and which wouldn’t die off. I hope I can’t breathe. I hope I’m immune. I want to walk the world. Maybe I should go out, get it, isolate, heal, be immune… if that’s even possible. At this point we don’t even know if immunity is a thing that happens with COVID. But even if I could walk the earth without fear of it… everyone else is cowering, and they pull away from, seeing I’m not wearing a mask or gloves, or even if I am… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would all end this way. I would have done so much more. Focused so much more on each kiss. Even every note. I did my best, I guess. It feels like it’s all coming to an end. It’s Thursday, April 23, but that doesn’t mean anything. You have to understand how little dates mean in this time. It’s like we’re living in one of those time capsules buried beneath the walkway at WWU. Stagnant… yeah we write songs and poems and do our work and keep the economy from faltering completely… but there’s a different angle to look at it all now. The world is over. I mean, aha, to use the words of Rem… “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.” Key words: “As we know it.” I had no idea this would happen in my lifetime… I couldn’t even conceive it. If you would have told me this would have happened six months ago I wouldn’t have believed it. America seemed so stable. And now it feels like it’s in shambles. It really did feel stable. You may think I’m insane for saying America in September, 2019 seemed stable… but shit, we were free. And we were headed where we were headed. This throws a wrench in all of this. And it could be the end. And I thought this was the greatest country on earth. Happiness is a buttery, try to catch it like every night.

I’ve been fascinated in American history since I could understand it. Most specifically, I’ve been fascinated about how history is still happening. The closer you get you the current day, the harder it is to get a straight story. FDR did what he did and we won. That’s fact. That’s cement. Nixon? Everyone agrees he was a crook. But what about Reagan? What about Bush Sr? What about Clinton? The closer you get to the modern day, the more difficult it becomes to discern what is real and what is fake.

[kingstonbaillustrationanimation]

Kelly Knaga - Digital Ethnography

Kelly Knaga is an artist and designer based in Chicago. On the face of it, her online social media presence gives little away about her practice and working life, but on her website there is a small biographical blurb which sheds light on this:

My name is Kelly Knaga. I'm an artist and designer living and working in Chicago and Northwest Indiana. [...] I'm the Director of Design Education at Indiana University Northwest where I teach strategy and design. I also get to work with amazing people and communities as the Executive Director for AIGA Chicago, and Founder of the Voices of Gary project.

source

As many contemporary creatives do, she balances her personal, or self led work with a ‘day job’ in arts education. 

Her instagram posts, though rarely of anything other than her own work, are often captioned with small details of her personal life, mostly unrelated to the image that accompanies them:

@kellyknaga: The hills are alive. And dancing. Just like me on this rainy (yes again) morning. How do people in Portland and Seattle do it? Anyway, not sure what this is, where it’s going or if it’s done but the colors seem fitting with alllll the rain that’s pouring down this AM. Anyway, kids are gone, coffee is on, dog is sleeping at my feet, off to work I go! Happy Friday everybody.

@kellyknaga: Cranky toddler in my lap. So we’ll revisit this one and hope he falls asleep soon. Fingers crossed friends.

@kellyknaga: It’s raining. It’s pouring. My backyard is flooding. Only a few more days until I’m standing in that west coast sunshine. I’m going to miss my babies. I really am. But I’m sooo excited to see green things, sunshine and feel warm weather on my skin. This winter has been long, brutal, gray, and just so fucking heavy. I’m ready to be free of it. So so ready.

@kellyknaga: What a weekend. Sick kiddos. Sick mama. Falling trees. Luckily I’m too old and too tired to get too down about it. Shit happens. Hopefully next week will be better. I hear it’s going to be sunny and we’ll even hit the 60s. That is something to look forward to. That and eating more than saltines and ginger ale. Keep moving forward. 💛☀️💛☀️💛☀️

@kellyknaga: It’s a few days and nights of weird dreams from these ongoing fevers. Some have been strange. Some beautiful. I haven’t been this sick in a very long time. For a brief moment this afternoon I felt energized to do a few things around the house. But after 15 or 20 minutes I was wiped out and needed to lay down. I’ve never been very good at just resting but this time my body is forcing me. So it’s time to listen I guess.

[chrishoulihan]

FYF ADVENTCHEA

So this shit turned into a fucking novel, I’m putting it under a cut and it’s just as much for my own recollection as it is for anyone who wants to hear about my festival weekend. Get into it

So I arrived in LA on Thursday morning after my flight was delayed by an hour and ended up getting there at the exact same time as Anna A @yourveryeyes which was fortuitous! We took a Lyft to Exposition Park to pick up her wristband for the festival, wandered around a little bit, and ended up taking the Metro downtown to meet up with Kylie @electric-candyman who was GREAT TO MEET and was also going to the festival, and her friend Chris who doesn’t have a Tumblr afaik and was going to both FYF and the Planetarium show that night. We went to MOCA which was pretty sweet, they had a Rothko room and a few Rauschenberg pieces that were really cool to see in person. After that Anna and I split off to go to Hollywood and check out Amoeba on our way to Sufjan and that was obviously amazing, I didn’t have enough space in the bags I packed to buy any records (which was by design, my broke ass can’t afford to drop a lot of money on vacation and you can’t waste money on stuff if you don’t have room to carry it home *tapping head guy meme*) but I bought a little heart-eyed cat emoji pin as a souvenir and I definitely wanted to buy 5000 things I couldn’t have.

From there we went to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery for Planetarium and met up with Anna L @louisdebumhole ANN- SQUAD REUNITED HELL YEAH. We got to the cemetery and went in all together like over an hour after the doors opened but since it was a lawn show there was still barely anyone lined up at the stage by the time we got there and we got just behind the rail?? AMAZING. I haven’t had the opportunity for rail at a Sufjan show since the Christmas pageant in 2012. Chris showed up not too long after us and joined us right by the stage and Anna L’s friend was there on the rail too so it was a party.

OBVIOUSLY PLANETARIUM WAS INCREDIBLE. My dumb ass forgot to save my Instagram story so I don’t have any of my own videos but it was so great. Sufjan wore his stupid beautiful clashing pajama suit and some fuckin moon boots and he looked fabulous and sang like an angel and said a lot of nonsensical inspirational stuff (like this which is the only video I managed to salvage.) The whole record sounds even richer and fuller live; Jupiter, Moon, and Venus sounded especially amazing. AND fun fact, Matt Berninger was there and watched the entire show from the left side of the stage! My indie dad Matty B supporting his homies!! I also got a setlist after the show ended, which was exciting even though of course it’s literally just a list of planets and in the exact same order as the record lmao. But it’s my first Sufjan-related setlist and I will cherish it forever.

So we got back to Anna L’s house I think around midnight that night and by then I had been awake for like 21 hours so I was exhausted and basically passed out as soon as I could. Next day was the START OF FYF and Anna A/Kylie/Chris and I decided that we wanted to go for Bjork rail, since she was the first act on the main stage on Friday and there weren’t really any other bands playing before her elsewhere that we were dying to see. Before we went to the festival Anna A and I hung out with her friend Jen who was great, we got boba and then went downtown to The Last Bookstore, which was bomb, and had lunch at Grand Central Market. Got to the festival about half an hour before the gates opened, made it through the long ass queue, and went immediately to the main stage where we got basically center-right just behind the rail!! For fucking Bjork!!! Commence freaking out for the next three hours. Chris and Kylie showed up later right behind us and it was such a fun and easy queueing experience for me, everyone around us was super chill and everyone was so hype to see Bjork that we pretty much just looked out for each other and bonded over our mutual fandom. Anna and I had intended to see Bjork together in NYC back in 2015 but it got cancelled so this was a LONG TIME COMING and I’m so glad that we were able to make it happen.

So Bjork was the first set of my whole festival weekend and honestly it was one of the best performances I’ve ever seen?? SHE WAS AMAZING and I knew I was gonna be emotional but I wasn’t fucking prepared for how surreal and incredible it felt to hear THAT VOICE in person and to be that close to her while it happened. Unreal. She had Arca with her as her DJ and a whole string ensemble, and she came out wearing a glow in the dark lime green headdress mask thing and a huge puffy dress that made her look like a beautiful pinata. Everything about it was fucking perfect; she did at least one song from every record except Vespertine. Multiples from Vulnicura/Homogenic/Post, Come to Me, Mouth’s Cradle, Wanderlust, Mutual Core. Fucking awesome. Favorites for me were probably Joga (CRIED), Mouth’s Cradle (fuckin bomb arrangement and a huge surprise), Isobel & Bachelorette (two of my all time faves), Notget and Hyperballad which had LITERAL FIREWORKS AND FIREBALLS going off onstage behind her?? What the fuck?? Amazing. And it was the most fun and loving group of people on the rail I’ve ever been part of; everyone around me was so genuinely excited and emotional and singing along and I could FEEL THE LOVE.

So that was an amazing start to the festival obviously and after Bjork we met up with Anna L and went straight to go see Anderson Paak who I missed BOTH TIMES he was here in Portland last year because I’m an idiot, and WOW he is so great live!! I’m actively offended that he is not my boyfriend tbh, he has the most beautiful and infectious smile I’ve ever seen on a human being. Big ol dance party up in the lawn stage. After that we went back to the main stage to watch Missy Elliott for a while and that was a lot of fun; found out after the fact that Bjork and fucking BEYONCE were watching off stage, so like, now I can say I have been in the presence of Beyonce. Went to Flying Lotus early which was the last set of the night to get a good view, with our sweet Flylo-branded 3D glasses obv. Flylo was amazing as always and the 3D show was awesome, I hope he takes it on the road cause that shit was fire. I’m also really into the mystical shaman look he seems to be cultivating lately lmao, and he looks cute as hell with the longer hair!! One of the biggest highlights of the whole weekend for me was when he started the Captain Murphy stuff, got one verse through The Killing Joke, and then was like “you know what fuck this I changed my mind, I want to do this song cause I never get the chance to do it” and fucking busted out with COSPLAY, which is only my favorite Captain Murphy track ever!!! I wasn’t expecting it cause it’s pretty obscure even for the Captain Murphy stuff and I lost my goddamn mind it was so much fun. (Gotta say though that the longer he keeps riding out Murphy tracks from 2012 at his live shows, the more egregious it is that he still hasn’t fuckin dropped a Murphy album or any substantial Murphy release since then. Come on bro. I’ve been waiting 5 years) ANYWAY so that was great of course. Day One = big success.

Day Two! Before we went to the festival that day we met up and had lunch with Anna L’s bf Jesus, who had a Saturday/Sunday festival pass and is a lovely man with great taste in music and cat photos and baseball caps. First set of the day for me was Thundercat and it was my SIXTH time seeing him live, which is hilarious (gonna be 7 times in September.) One of the first things he said to the crowd after getting on stage was “you guys look like you smell weird,” which was accurate. Obviously he’s always great live and I loved getting to hear more of the Drunk songs since the last time I saw him. He’s also rocking some pretty sweet neon pink dreads right now. Caught the end of Noname’s set with Anna A and Chris afterwards and really enjoyed it! I want to check out her album now cause she was great. Grabbed some food and then the whole crew met up together again to see Perfume Genius – GORGEOUS. I’d never seen him live before and he’s so captivating to watch. His performance of Slip Away to close the set was one of my favorites of the whole weekend.

After that I ended up splitting up with everyone, watched some of Arca’s set but ended up leaving to go hang out on the lawn before Erykah Badu because my feet were killing me and I really needed to sit down and recharge. Erykah was supposed to go on at 9:50; cut to 10:15 and she still hasn’t gone on and I was already planning on cutting out of her set at 10:30 to try and snag a semi decent spot for Frank Ocean, so I said fuck it and bailed to go do that. BUMMED I DIDN’T GET TO SEE HER TBH I was really looking forward to it. But it’s kinda good that I left sooner rather than later because the main stage was already pretty packed by 10:30 for Frank. I got an okay spot to the right of the stage probably about 10+ rows back from his platform catwalk thing, and it was easily the most crowded audience I was in all weekend. Talk about being packed like sardines it was madness, if I had showed up like 10 minutes later than I did I would have had an absolutely shit view.

So like…..FRANK FUCKING OCEAN. Never ever thought the day would come that I’d see him live, and the whole experience was so incredibly special to me. I DEFINITELY cried buckets when he sang Lens, which has weirdly become one of my all time favorite tracks in the last few months, and Ivy really really got to me out of nowhere too. Literally everyone around me within earshot sang along to every single word of every song and it was amazing. He played an unreleased cover of some old school funk track that was absolute straight fucking fire, me and the girl next to me danced our asses off together. That shit better get an official release on his radio show like he said he was planning!! Also Brad Pitt was on stage at one point and that was HILARIOUS tbh I wish I had gotten any sort of video of that myself, but the way the wasted dude behind me shouted “WHAT THE FUUUCK” when he popped up on screen will remain fresh in my memory forever. The whole show was gorgeous and I just LOVE FRANK OCEAN!!! I want him to tour so bad so I can actually plan out a scenario where I can get rail for his show and have a better view.

Aaaand Day Three. Got to the festival kinda lateish because the first act the Ann- Squad wanted to see wasn’t till after 6 (Little Dragon), so once we got there we took some photos and wandered around a bit, met back up with Chris and Kylie and took these majestic photobooth pictures, and then Anna A and I went to Little Dragon early for a good spot. I had never seen them before and it was a blast, just a total dance party. They mostly played stuff from Season High which was fine by me cause that album fuckin bangs. Then mood whiplash when we went straight from Little Dragon to Moses Sumney lmao. We got to Moses’ set right when he started our mutual fave Lonely World, serendipitous tbh!! He is beautiful and I loooove the lighting setup he’s got going for his show, it felt really unique to me among the loud dancey festival fare.

After that we went back to the main stage for Solange, which was great; I’m not as familiar with her music as I could be tbh but I really enjoyed how conceptual and dance-oriented her show was. At one point a whole massive brass section streamed in out of nowhere just for one song and it was fuckin awesome. Towards the end of Solange’s set Kylie texted me to say that if we hurried there was still a little bit of rail space left for Run the Jewels in fifteen minutes, to which we were immediately like UHH YES WTF and hustled our way the fuck over – made it in time, got just behind the rail for motherfucking Run the Jewels right before they went on somehow, *Killer Mike voice* goddammit it’s a motherfucking miracle. Give Kylie 5000 gold medals tbh. And RTJ ended up being probably my favorite non-headlining set of the weekend, SO MUCH FUN. The crowd was fucking nuts, everyone around me was going stupidly hard, and I discovered that I know pretty much every word of RTJ3 lmao. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would have been if they’d done Panther Like A Panther, WHICH THEY DIDN’T and was greatly missed by me. But it was amazing. I’m kind of in love with El-P’s ridiculous ass tbh.

Last show of the weekend – Nine Inch Nails!! Who I love!!!!! And hadn’t seen live in almost four years!!!!!! I’m always fucking trash for Nine Inch Nails honestly, their live shows just turn me into a raging dancing idiot and this was no exception. ‘Wish’ will always be one of my favorite songs to hear live from any band ever. Also got to hear Something I Can Never Have and Reptile for the first time ever for me which was awesome!! Bold move of Trent to throw in Something I Can Never Have as the fourth song in a festival set but I was loving it. Like I said yesterday I randomly lost my fucking mind to The Hand That Feeds lmao, I was actually jumping around like a moron. The newer songs were great too, Field On Fire FUCKING BANGS live holy shit. Basically it was just so great to cap off the weekend with band that I’ve loved for ten years and are always fucking immaculate live. And then when it was all over I got chicken strips and fries and walked out of the festival with the fam eating my delicious food. Perfection.

So that was my weekend and I honestly could not have dreamed of having a better time. I’m so so glad that I was able to do this, see some of my favorite bands with an awesome group of people who love music just as much as I do, get out of town and clear my head, and find some healing at a time when I really needed it. I feel very lucky.

[ofjanuaryembcrs]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Beverly Martha Marsh

NICKNAME(S): Bev, Bevvy (do not fucking call her that, it reminds her of her dad and that is not something she wants to think about), Beaverly, Slut

AGE: 18

DATE OF BIRTH: February 13th, 1976

HOMETOWN: Derry, Maine

CURRENT LOCATION: Derry, Maine

ETHNICITY: English, Irish, Scottish

NATIONALITY: American

GENDER: Cis female

PRONOUNS: She/her

ORIENTATION: Biromantic bisexual, though she’s never really discussed it with anyone. She kissed a few girls at parties back in Portland, but she’s never gone further than that. She does like girls though.

RELIGION: Agnostic. No one in her family has ever been really religious - her father and aunt were raised Catholic, though, while her mother was raised Methodist. 

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: While she definitely has left-leaning beliefs, she doesn’t follow politics enough to have a specific opinion on every issue. She identifies as a liberal democrat though.

OCCUPATION: Student, a clerk at the fabric store in the strip mall

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Bev currently lives with her aunt in a tiny, two bedroom apartment near the one she used to live in with her dad. It’s older, but Bev’s never been one to complain as long as she’s got a roof over her head. 

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English

ACCENT: Maine

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Sophia Lillis (younger), Abigail Cowen (older)

HAIR COLOUR: Red

EYE COLOUR: Blue

HEIGHT: 5′7″

WEIGHT: 120 lbs

BUILD: Slim

TATTOOS: She has a collection of seven small birds on her rib cage. Bev got it on her eighteenth birthday - before she and her aunt moved back to Derry. At the time, she wasn’t sure why seven felt like the right number, but now she knows that there’s one for each of the losers.

PIERCINGS: Bev’s had her ears pierced for as long as she can remember. When she was sixteen, she got her cartilage pierced. A few weeks ago, she also pierced her nose because it’s the 90s and everyone’s got a nose piercing.

CLOTHING STYLE: Okay so fashion is actually Beverly’s favorite thing in the world. Growing up, her father always restricted what she could or couldn’t wear and now that he’s dead, she wears whatever the fuck she wants. Bev’s style is eclectic; some days she’s in a black, ripped crop top with a bright red plaid skirt and combat boots, and then the next day she’s in a soft summer dress with sandals and a flower crown. Beverly makes most of her own clothes, or she tailors and alters things she finds at the thrift store. She does wear makeup, mostly because it’s fun to put on.

USUAL EXPRESSION: Her lips are almost always turned up in a soft smirk like there’s some sort of joke or secret that only the two of you are in on. Her dark eyes are warm and loving unless you give her a reason why they shouldn’t be. 

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:  Freckles scattered across her face, shoulders and arms, as well as a scar on the palm of her hand.

HEALTH

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: None

NEUROLOGICAL CONDITIONS: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (undiagnosed) 

ALLERGIES: None

SLEEPING HABITS: Beverly is usually more of a night owl than an early bird. She sometimes struggles with falling asleep, which means she usually stays up listening to music or flipping through magazines until she gets tired. If she’s really restless, she’ll sneak out and visit a friend or go to the quarry to look at the stars.

EATING HABITS: Honestly, Bev’s eating habits aren’t great. Her aunt works ridiculous hours and Bev is horrible when it comes to cooking, so she lives on a diet of takeout and meals that are quick and cheap to make. She does try and eat a balanced meal most of the time, though, and she doesn’t go crazy with sweets. Junk food isn’t something she gorges herself on, really. 

EXERCISE HABITS: She doesn’t work out regularly really, but Bev walks or bikes most places. She does run sometimes if she’s feeling stressed or upset, but her stamina isn’t great due to the fact that she’s smoked cigarettes since she was twelve. 

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Pretty high. Beverly still has nightmares about different elements of her childhood, but usually, she can calm herself down afterward. She’s not too distressed most of the time, at least on the outside. Bev’s good at letting things go, or at least ignoring them until they’re a serious problem.

SOCIABILITY: High. Bev’s a very social person. She doesn’t like be alone, really, and tends to surround herself with people she loves and cares about. Making new friends isn’t her strongest suit, but she’s okay at it. Bev’s kind to strangers, and can usually make small talk with people.

BODY TEMPERATURE: Bev’s usually cold, even when it’s pretty warm outside. She tends to wear layers just for this reason.

ADDICTIONS: Cigarettes. She picked up the nasty habit when she was twelve and hasn’t been able to quit for longer than a month since. It’s not something she’s proud of, but she also can’t seem to let it go. 

DRUG USE: Recreational marijuana use, though she only smokes it with friends. It’s not her favorite stress-reliever, but it’ll get the job done. 

ALCOHOL USE: Beverly is a social drinker; if her friends are drinking, so is she. She’s a giggly drunk who can sometimes be a little flirty, and she rarely throws up. Her hangovers can be pretty brutal, though. 

PERSONALITY

LABEL: The Empath

POSITIVE TRAITS: Compassionate, Forgiving, Creative, Loyal, Tenacious, Brave

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Impulsive, Stubborn, Sarcastic, Distant, Rebellious

GOALS/DESIRES: More than anything, Beverly wants to work in fashion. She loves designing and creating her own clothes, and would love to do that on a larger scale once she graduates. It’s unlikely that she’ll get a scholarship to any school, but she’s still applying to places with fashion design programs. If she manages to get in one, she’ll take out loans to go. 

FEARS: Her father, though she does have some peace of mind now that he’s dead. Anyone that majorly reminds her of him scares her a bit too. Beverly’s aware of the way men stare at her, and that troubles her a lot too. Sometimes she can use their leering to her advantage, but most of the time, it just creeps her out. 

HOBBIES: Bev likes making her own clothing. She spends a good deal of her time at her sewing machine, making new things from scratch or altering things she’s found at a thrift store. She also makes things for her friends, for holidays or their birthdays. Most of the time, she doesn’t have money for a gift, so she makes them something instead. Sketching out designs for her own clothes takes up a portion of her time too. If she’s bored in class, Bev will begin drawing out a new dress or skirt or something that she wants to make one day. When she isn’t working on clothes, Bev can be found reading. She developed a love for poetry when she moved to Portland, though she didn’t understand why until she moved back. She also likes murder mysteries and true crime books. Weirdly enough, gruesome stories fascinate her. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. 

HABITS: Beverly plays with her hair a lot. She’s kept it short ever since she was thirteen, though now it falls to her shoulders. If she’s stressed or nervous, she’ll play with it even more than normal. Smoking also helps calm her nerves. If she’s trying to quit, she’ll chew a lot of gum.

FAVOURITES

WEATHER: Overcast weather is Beverly’s favorite. Sunshine is nice sometimes, but she thrives in cloudy, slightly chilly weather. That’s why Fall is her favorite season. She loves being outdoors when the air is crisp and you can taste the rain.

COLOUR: Bev loves pink. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being feminine, and Beverly will make sure you know that. She loves red a lot too, though.

MUSIC: Bev loves both pop music and alternative stuff. She loves Whitney Houston (though no one can love her as much as Eddie), and she used to be really into Madonna. Now, she listens to Green Day and some girl bands. She likes some rap too.

MOVIES: Honestly, Bev can watch pretty much any movie; she loves romantic comedies, though. Because she’s friends with the losers and the party, she’s developed a taste for sci-fi and adventure movies. Bev also likes horror movies, but only if they’re slasher movies. When the antagonist is human, she’s fine.

SPORT: Sports aren’t Beverly’s thing. Her lungs are terrible after smoking for so long, so she can’t really play much. But, she’s in the stands at every game Mike or Ben are playing in. She wouldn’t miss that for the world. 

BEVERAGE: Coke or coffee

FOOD: Pizza with green peppers, mushrooms and sausage 

ANIMAL: Bev’s always liked otters a lot. They’re adorable, and they hold hands to stay together. What’s not to like?

FAMILY

FATHER: Alvin Marsh, an actual piece of shit (Deceased)

MOTHER: Elfrieda Marsh, not a great mom when she was alive (Deceased)

SIBLING(S): None

PET(S): A kitten from Richie the Cat’s litter, given to her by Mike Hanlon

FAMILY’S FINANCIAL STATUS: Bev has lived with her aunt since she was thirteen. They manage to make ends meet, but they certainly are far from being wealthy. Bev doesn’t like to talk about it, but she’s definitely poorer than most of her friends. She can’t always afford to go bowling or go to the movies every week, but she never wants her friends to feel sorry for her. 

EXTRA

ZODIAC SIGN: Aquarius

MBTI: ENFP

ENNEAGRAM: Type 1w2. Bev wants to make a difference, but she also wants to help others. 

TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good

PRIMARY VICE: Wrath

PRIMARY VIRTUE: Charity

ELEMENT: Air

[clubofinfo]

Expert: People will believe a big lie sooner than a little one, and if you repeat it frequently enough, people will sooner or later believe it. ― Walter C. Langer, The Mind of Adolf Hitler: The Secret Wartime Report, 1972, Basic Books I write a lot about the punishment society, which is the hallmark of American capitalism, both conceptually and in practice. It bears repeating and repeating – ironically the punishers of late are also Zio-Cons, and we get ad nauseam the Jewish holocaust, the Jewish Reparations, the Single Moment in Eradication, but god forbid that we have common sense history about the destruction of native peoples here, the subjugation of Africans, the entire blasted world of moneyed interests slashing and burning entire swaths of mother earth and children of the earth. You listen to the Goldman Sachs thugs in Armani, Jewish or Christian, and listen to the arbiters of slave wages and precarious work, who have set up a false dichotomy of “all the money for millionaires and billionaires, or else the collapse of society, so buyer beware and don’t complain about social services/safety nets being cut, or yammer on about the public commons being yanked away by the almighty corporations, or push this fair wages, equity, and education-housing-healthcare for all agenda, or else — YOU all will see the collapse of any hope YOU all have in making it to even first-base in this competitive world.” This is the warfare carried out daily, for sure, the heavy economic carpet bombing by the chosen ones, by the few, elite, the hedges and Kochs and all the other captains of thievery. The uneven reality of the chosen few holding court over the universe, divvying up the crumbs of their engorgement to the masses, as in 99.99 percent of the world. This elitist mongering of the moneyed class, the all-powerful, those symbols of manhood in Capitalism – the barrel of a gun, the nuclear tip of the proverbial phallic, the supersonic waste of our militaries, or the blubbery sap of fawning over the mercenaries of the land, from SEAL to sweating Green Beret, it is hyper-unreal but hyper-deadly! In this large view, this wide angle take, we have microcosms tied to the belief systems of those underlings and swollen-lipped small-timers who push the punishment daily on the streets, in the stores, in the schools, at airports, on public transportation. It was one of those Skippy days on the Portland light rail, MAX, listening to two great examples of minor league punishment on the small-small little Eichmann scale – a man and a woman, in their forties, heading home after a hard journey into night: parking ticket enforcers. I understand the work and words of the working class, but these two just kept swapping stories of the stupid people (their words) trying to get out of tickets, that is, attempting to thwart the sting of the violations in this punishment society. This is the Eichmann of the Small-fry species, in a nutshell, but the way these two stalwarts of retrograde humanity were depicting violators is emblematic of this country’s “it will not take a village to raise a vibrant and safe village – so let the dog eat the dog world prevail be damned” ethos (sic). Something about the American mindset, in general, that has been raised on high fructose corn syrup and the most perverted TV-Film-Video Game-Live Event shit out there. The very manifestation of sociopathy, but these people believe their very prominence in the community is somehow the glue for our culture. The kicker, though, way beyond the mean-spiritedness of their depictions of poor people freaking out about a $44 ticket or multiple $100 violations, was how they demeaned the tourists and locals who dare ask these uniformed ticket cops for simple directions. These two idiots believe they bear no responsibility in assisting the city (where their salaries originate) with the tourists and locals attempting to find place in a cluttered high rise city. It’s the old adage of putting a badge and uniform on someone, and the little brown-shirt many times comes out, in all its glory of dehumanizing “the other” by believing their very existence in the gravity vortex is somehow very special. Making fun of people looking for directions to the museum or some cool well-known locality, well, that’s classlessness of the crass country we have morphed deeper into. This attitude is carried through to its very high-level and broad-reaching culmination in the hard and wicked rules-regs-fines-taxes-garnishments-limitations-checks-and-balances this pro-pro Capitalist society has built into the unfair system of corporations calling all the shots. We can see it in the blaring light and dank shadows as a parody of this un-Supreme Court follies, with this un-gentleman Utah judge whose goal in life is to protect the collective kleptomania of the corporations and taskmasters of hedge funds and the banksters getting the same-same faux grilling of all the other judges for the highest court of the land. One decision says it all, in life, for sure, and his decision to side with the trucking company that fired the trucker for leaving the trailer to save his own life and not putting other travelers at risk is proof of lack of judgment. But then to believe his own little cold blooded pissed out empathy Gorsuch spewed under the lights of the media — with Saturday Night Live comic-senator grilling him? — justifies his existence as a non-impartial judge. But then again, this addiction to the rule of law, over rule of humanity, well, that’s what we have handed over to this legal system where a Gorsuch can ramrod his interpretation of bloodless and emotionless legal crap, putting  every man/every woman at risk, and under the screws of the felonious corporations. Neil Gorsuch – hmmm. America is all in for the optics, the crudeness of these rotten guys, like Trump, or even some military punk, like Schwarzkopf; collectively we are into the military, into the bombs bursting in air. We are lovers of the men and women in blue, and lustful for the hardware – guns and tanks and civilian control devices and SWAT and Sniper gear. It’s what kiddos gravitate toward, and teens, even girls and women, and then the older infantiles, the men in big pick-up trucks or those in tricked-out Honda Accords. This is the punishment hoard, hoping for some cruising for a bruising war or skirmish or anything to make noise and flatten people – people of color, especially, and those boats of fleeing refugees, ka-boom, ordnance dropped smack on schools and strafing of lifeboats. This is not just the dominion of conservatives, or right-wing wackos. The average liberal hems and haws about just how big of a killer Obama was, and how deeply ingrained the Democratic Party is in the military industrial complex. Colleagues in the social services are actually legitimizing anything that demonizes Russia or Iran or North Korea. And this is a culture of armchair Eichmanns, for sure, just counting the fissures in their own countrymen/women, and waiting to swoop down and attack all social services, all things good and safe in the form of the human/humane welfare system. A picture is worth a thousand words, or in this case, a picture-perfect immigration ban for leading minds from Africa paints a perfect portrait of how fascist and insipid this country is, from election cycle to election cycle, from one rotten president to the next, one new law after another new law: The African Global Economic and Development Summit, a three-day conference at the University of Southern California (USC), typically brings delegations from across Africa to meet with business leaders in the US in an effort to foster partnerships. But this year, every single African citizen who requested a visa was rejected, according to organizer Mary Flowers. This is probably the biggest news of late, never broadcast on major networks, never mouthed by the pundits, and, quickly vanishes into the sludge that is mainstream thinking and journalism, but what does this mean, that 80 leaders from African nations were blocked from coming to the freest (sic) nation (sic) in the world because of this country’s proclivity to not want to know, to witness, or tangle with the real important ideas! The compelling part of all of this is the unknowing, the unholding, the lack of honor, the hold on the minds of the controllers – everyone is enemy, everyone is a set of biometrics to parse up and juggle inside the dungeons of digital prejudice. This is not the first example of bans, travel restrictions, of pushing truth and debate into a prison cell or isolation chamber. This country, UK, Canada, EU, Israel, and a thousand banana republics run by capitalism thugs spewing declarations of independence, they’ve all done bans, for decades, centuries, millennia. Applied not, 2017, in USA, well, no wonder there is confusion running amok in the liberal (sic) class (sic). This is the infatuation of America – how much can we throw up on Facebook, how much can the corporations capture, and how well can the government facilitate the collection services of the profilers? There are great chasms in America, and they are etched through the implosions of capital eating at mother earth, all those rivers of toxins cutting away at the epidermis of the world, exposing the villainy and corruption of the elites and outing the tag-along middlings who are in it for the chance at lottery fame, anything to touch the sagging skin of the Trumps and the Botox glow of their trophy wives! All of this observational tie-in is being unpacked through the wickedness of the world I work in – social worker, homeless advocate, recovery facilitator, and even though the systems I work under are non-profits, the devilish nature of my colleagues’ own version of punishment toward our clients is sometimes shocking. This is the systems of accounting for every fucking dollar spent on a struggling soul, while the interior designers and architects glower over their profits. I run into people in the government bureaucracies, and they are so tied to the fatalism that is fate-determined by their Judaeo-Christian belief systems – professing the work they are doing, the work I do, is predetermined by their master(s) god(s)/Jesus(-es)/all knowing (s). It’s messy, this pre-ordained belief system, as I work with some major cases of people trapped in that trauma no-one on any Breaking Bad set could dream up in their Hollywood nightmarish brains. Fate and angels and afterlife –whew! Americans believe there is an afterlife, heaven, with the all-knowing god all buttoned up and tailgate party ready for believers to continue the hallelujah all-you-can-eat buffet (puns intended), says poll after poll, year after year — 90 percent! And then, more than half of Americans polled (52%) believe in fate — out of our hands, out of our agency! We are talking about women in their forties, survivors of childhood horrors like being pimped out at 12 after six years of constant rape, violence, witnessing of more horrors, booze and pills and meth by the age of 11. Fodder for the punishers, the levelers, the judges, the pundits, the inquisitionists, for sure. Yet, the systems fed by broken safety nets, broken by the people in it for the I Do Not Know paycheck. Horror upon horror, and yet my colleagues sees this all as a great plan for their demon god(s). Plan of the great planner to seed youth at age six with syphilis, seed brains with violence only dreamed up in the corridors of the most wicked people on earth. Yet, our systems of social work only give these damaged one so much time before we turn our back on them, exit them, finish all services. Heroes, in the survivor sense, but outcasts by not only the elites, the Social Darwinist millionaire clubbers, but in many ways outcasts by the very people who should know, care, and advocate. I see the disempowerment of the “normal” barely standing straight a portion of the day facing all these disruptive industries-economies-education plans-ideologies-collective consumerism-on-steroids. I see it in their eyes, in the way they hold their hands; I hear it in their voices – defeated but gasping at the final attack on say, a Donald Trump, confused by the rapidity of the fall (sic). I want to give them the benefit of many a doubt, to be sure. My brethren want no anger, no radicalism, no revolutionary, no mano y mano. Praying for salvation in the other life, the after-pre-life. This is not the teachings of Martin Luther King, Jr., this passivity, this hoping for change in the leaders who control the armament of military-police-finance in their vigilantism of anything dealing with the public good-welfare-safety. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism and militarism are incapable of being conquered. — “Revolution of Values” speech 1967 This is death by a thousand bills, debts, fines, fees, deductions, de-fundings, delays, garnishments, and paying the ferryman for services unrendered. The insanity is not only the perversions of our capitalist world – graduates of the school of inflicting maximum pain. The insanity is in compliance, in our unwillingness to collectively rebel, stand up, walk off, strike, hack, reappropriate, and carry out a massive citizen’s arrest to lay claim to our futures and our great-great-great grandsons and granddaughters’ futures. The insanity is how much we are taking and subjugating our wills to; how far we allow the perpetrators to go into our own heads until we believe suicidal walking is an option; and how willing we are to move closer and closer to the edge of the cliff that capitalism has carved out from which the world to jump off. The insanity is the lack of rebellion, the lack of mouthing off to the controllers and the Little Eichmanns; the insanity is the de-education, the re-education by/for/through the controllers. The real madness is our lack of anger and our collective lack of will to take on the ignorance that is at the heart of consumer-predatory-extractive Capitalism. For those of us who do, we are lone actors, men and women lost of tribe, hitting the horizon at terminal velocity speed. It’s a dance with many devils, a tango with toxins, a self-encased dirge. We have lost tribal truths and human touch. We are wrapped in plastic and steel pushing air-water-land into a permanent fog of pollution, and the greatest of all pollutants — war. That’s one megaton bomb of guilt and awareness to place on one’s shoulders, but is there some other choice? http://clubof.info/