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dangertomyself · 4 years ago

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𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: Flashback

There is beauty in the way that you decide to love someone. Love in itself can be chaotic, tragic even at times, yet all the while worth every second. Sometimes there is a certain love that sticks with you; bound to your heart… never allowing you to forget the magnificent feeling it held. It can be something so grand, that at the time, it is hard to notice completely. You can take it for granted, and use the love as a crutch until there is nothing left but a broken bone. Only this time, the pain you feel is something much worse, more hollow… the taste of sweet love will be gone forever, gone into the universe never to return to your touch. Desperate hands may reach; only to slip through meaningless air of hollow feelings. How did it get like this? How did a world of passion and aspiring hope turn to something so cold?

To answer that question, I would have to go back to the very beginning to where it all started. There were no bright flashing lights, or signs to tell myself this was the right moment. It was not fate, but rather a moment where everything somehow seemed to fall into place. The right time, the right people scenario that happens every so often to two unfortunate souls. The two souls casted for this fatal heartbreak were that of myself and Elle Greene. Myself, the lead singer to an infamous rock group, while she was a no name up and coming actress. From the beginning to end, we both knew our lives would never be the same. One for the better, and one for the worst. The only thing we could mutually set upon ourselves in agreement was that in the beginning, we loved one another. From that very first night, we knew it was love.

I would never be able to quite place that love again— no matter how hard I tried. In the beginning, I never knew I was a man capable of romantic intentions. Sure, there were girls who caught my eye… but they never found a place in my life more than the bed for a night or two. Each beat of my heart brought forth sexual pleasure and desire. The mind of a boy could not quite compare to that of a man. Women were objects; bodies and lust that I craved from the moment I opened my eyes, to the very end as they closed. Their unique taste brought me a new high that even the drugs and alcohol could not compare to. What was more damning than that of a naked woman lying with me in bed? I never wanted to picture myself in any other place. No heaven would ever be as sweet or secure.

The room was filled with people from places that all oozed of money. The high elegance of the air filled my nose, telling my brain that I did not belong there. My manager said it would be a good public appearance, to give the people something to talk about. A rough around the edges singer at a white tie event… what could possibly go wrong? It was a sick joke to someone— someone other than the people of the charity event that all turned to look at me with peculiar eyes from the moment I walked into the room. The whispers started, slipping from one end of the room to the other. It was clear I did not belong there— or was I quick just to set myself aside? To allow the high moments of anxiety to take over what little had to do with me at all? I could not say. The quick aid of a drink or two would do away with any doubts I had shortly.

“How much longer are we going to have to be here, babe?”

My eyes drifted away from the gowns and tuxedos to the woman by my side: Cazzie Maylynn. She was an actress— but what people would call of adult films. We were nothing serious, only using each other for a quick fuck every now and again, but to the public eye they were a high profile item. The blonde did not do much for conversation, her goals mainly being that of how to further her career into more professional aspects. It had been the only reason I wanted to bring her. I knew she was a porn star, there was no hiding that fact, but she had a dream for herself. If there was any way I could have helped her, I did not see as to why I could not try. It also gave me a reason not to be the only outcast in the room.

The faces of empty hearts and dreams circled all around me, pretending that somehow I was the strange one. A man who did not belong. What was it to walk around endlessly with no real drive in your heart? That was all I could see in their faces. Lost souls wandering, searching for the feelings they once held onto so deeply when all of their dreams started to come true. The only difference between myself and the men and suits was that I still lived my dream. Each night I could go out and fill my void and know my heart was content enough to sleep through the night. How many here could claim the same shit?

“Can you stop talking for once?”

Cazzie's eyes widened, shocked at my careless remark and the even more careless look in my eyes. Was I being an ass? Sure. I would apologize for it later and she would forgive me— the thought dawned on me as she turned herself away and stalked off in six inch heels towards the bar. Hell in heels could only be the one thing to describe her. Our time together would be as short lived as any relationship I had in the past several years. No woman ever got too close— just as I preferred it to be. Normal people could hardly handle my mood swings and unique methods of affection.

Already nursing a drink in my hand, I turned away from the bar and set my sights towards one of the nearest exits I could find. A lone bathroom would do or even an abandoned room without the watchful eyes of elite people around me. The alcohol really wasn't doing it for me tonight. In the breast pocket of my tuxedo hid the contents of a party favor a little more suitable for my liking. One line disappearing would alter my mood for the night; maybe then I could pay more attention to Cazzie and really give these people something to talk about.

I had already set my sights on a side door of the hotel which I was sure would lead to some sort of enclosed exclusion when I felt the hand of my producer reach for my shoulder.

“Oz! Not so fast! Where do you think you're going?”Danny Chadwick infamously made a name for himself at the Record Label for bringing in up and coming acts that we're sure to make money. I was a shoe in to be the next greatest thing for rock music; someone to bring in attention and green for as far as the eye could see. Little did good ole Dan and everyone else know that I was going to be a lot more trouble than they originally expected.

“I was just getting out for some fresh air, man. Hey!” Calm, cool, and collected. I wrapped an arm around my ‘friend’ in a casual embrace with a familiar smile. The energy around them held nothing but a fake aftertaste. I couldn't have given two shits about Dan or anyone else here— I knew what I was to them and how my piece in the puzzle was going to be used until no longer useful. “Who’s your friend?”

Who was I really kidding? The blonde was one of the first things my eyes noticed when Dan made his way over. I made sure to keep the calm and collected attitude, but my gaze couldn't stop itself from wandering her way. A magnetic pull that felt far too dangerous for my liking. Every few seconds her green eyes would flash upwards towards me; damning my mind for all eternity for what I knew was not mine to have... yet. Was I insane? Maybe. But when has that ever hurt anyone?

“Well, that's what I was coming over here for. Ozzy, I'd like you to meet Elle Greene.”

At the mention of her name, the blonde instantly gave me a smile that felt far too secretive. A world of mysteries hid behind those cherry red lips wrapped inside of a stunning black cut out dress. I knew why she wore it— hell, she must have wanted to be the center of attention. Right now, right here, she had about one hundred and fifty percent of mine. I couldn't even hide it, looking her over from head to toe before finally settling back on the hidden forests that were set deep within her gaze. Reaching a hand out, I offered what might have been my most polite behavior. "Elle, it's a pleasure to meet you. The names Luke."

The curl on my mouth wasn't a smile, but a complete twist of seduction. There was a mystery lying within her, and I couldn't quite uncover the truth. Her eyes could never quite meet mine yet her facade was nothing but polite. Was I somehow fooling myself— thinking she could sense the same spark I had? A spark. The thought turned my stomach over and I did my best not to roll myself. This wasn't a spark, this was full blown attraction at its finest. Human nature, two people ( or well shit, just one ) who were drawn by natural instinct.

Her mouth opened, daring to speak before Dan cut into her stolen words: "Hey, show her around would you? I've got a few more people I need to talk to right now. I know you'll make her feel right at home."

Something in the way he spoke left me knowing he didn't walk up to me with Elle for no reason. Dan was a man who constantly had wheels turning within his head. Whatever he had going, I wasn't sure if I wanted to play with. But when danger looked that good? I didn't know if I could resist. He gave both of us a final farewell before drifting off into the sea of people. My eyes turned to Cazzie, who was still at the bar now being entertained by two other monkeys in suits and I no longer before a sense of guilt about ignoring her. She'd be fine here tonight without me.

The mere seconds passed before I looked back to Elle— finally for the first time she was able to speak. "Well, it was nice meeting you Luke, but I think I better be going." She gave a shrug and dismissive smile. I knew what it meant— but I'd be damned if I let it slip away so easily.

"Hey, where are you going?" I questioned, finally allowing a smile to move her way. I didn't have to be charm all of the time, a voice in the back of my head reminded me. The role of douchebag didn't always need to be played.

Her eyes shifted to everywhere else in the room, never once looking back to up mine. "Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but I know who you are. I'm not trying to be wrapped up in..." As she now frantically talked, her hands moved with her in speech. "The whole bad boy thing. I'm sure you're really nice and all, but I don't want people to see me with you. I came here tonight to play nice with the right people. Being seen with you? I don't think..."

"What makes you think you know me so well?" I finally cut her off, feeling a bit pissed off at her words. Were they wrong? No. Did I live up to almost every terrible thing people thought about me? Probably. But hell, at least I wouldn't be that rude to a total stranger. Looking at her, I knew I caught her by surprise. Whatever anger lighted in my mind, I was quick to put out. What was it going to do anyways? I wasn't nearly drunk or high enough to go down that road.

Her expression remained in a state of neutral— unshaped by any regret of what she said or any means of taking it back. She was bold as fuck, I'd give her that. Hell, I still kind of liked it. "Fine, Lucas. Maybe I am wrong." Shit, the surprise on my face couldn't have been harder to hide. "But that doesn't mean I am going to find out tonight. It was nice meeting you."

"Would you ever want to find out?" I pressed, knowing the window of her time would be short lived. What the fuck was wrong with me? This girl had insulted me more in the last five minutes than any girl had in years. Maybe that was what I liked— she was real... honest. Not a fake shit show.

"Maybe. Maybe not." As she started to walk away, face still hardened with intent, her eyes looked back at me with only a hint of a smile as she drifted into the sea of people. I could see the flash of green in the back of my mind like a green light in the sea of darkness. What the hell was I doing? I didn't know. But for whatever reason, I knew I had to know more. She was the realest thing I had come across in years, the only heart and mind I somehow wanted to know more of. Elle Greene.

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blackkudos · 5 years ago

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Afrika Bambaataa

Afrika Bambaataa (born Lance Taylor; April 17, 1957) is an American disc jockey, rapper, songwriter and producer from the South Bronx, New York. He is notable for releasing a series of genre-defining electro tracks in the 1980s that influenced the development of hip hop culture. Afrika Bambaataa is one of the originators of breakbeat DJing and is respectfully known as "The Godfather" and "Amen Ra of Hip Hop Kulture", as well as the father of electro-funk. Through his co-opting of the street gang the Black Spades into the music and culture-oriented Universal Zulu Nation, he has helped spread hip hop culture throughout the world.On May 6, 2016, Bambaataa left his position as head of The Zulu Nation due to multiple child sexual abuse allegations dating as far back as the 1970s.

Early life

Born as Lance Taylor to Jamaican and Barbadian immigrants, Bambaataa grew up in The Bronx River Projects, with an activist mother and uncle. As a child, he was exposed to the black liberation movement, and witnessed debates between his mother and uncle regarding the conflicting ideologies in the movement. He was exposed to his mother's extensive and eclectic record collection. Gangs in the area became the law, clearing their turf of drug dealers, assisting with community health programs and both fighting and partying to keep members and turf. Bambaataa was a member of the Black Spades. He quickly rose to the position of warlord of one of the divisions. As warlord, it was his job to build ranks and expand the turf of the young Spades. He was not afraid to cross turfs to forge relationships with other gang members, and with other gangs. As a result, the Spades became the biggest gang in the city in terms of both membership and turf.

After Bambaataa won an essay contest that earned him a trip to Africa, his worldview shifted. He had seen the movie Zulu and was impressed with the solidarity exhibited by the Zulu in that film. During his trip to Africa, the communities he visited inspired him to create one in his own neighborhood. He changed his name to Afrika Bambaataa Aasim, adopting the name of the Zulu chief Bhambatha, who led an armed rebellion against unfair economic practices in early 20th century South Africa. He told people that his name was Zulu for "affectionate leader." Bambaataa formed The "Bronx River Organization" as an alternative to the Black Spades.

Career

Inspired by DJ Kool Herc and Kool DJ Dee, Bambaataa began hosting hip-hop parties beginning in 1977. He vowed to use hip-hop to draw angry kids out of gangs and form the Universal Zulu Nation. Robert Keith Wiggins, a.k.a. "Cowboy" of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, is credited with naming hip-hop; the term became a common phrase used by MCs as part of a scat-inspired style of rhyming. Writer Steven Hager claims that the first time "hip-hop" was used in print was in his Village Voice article where he was quoting Bambaataa, who had called the culture "hip-hop" in an interview.

In 1982, Bambaataa and his followers - a group of dancers, artists, and DJs - went outside the United States on the first hip-hop tour. He saw that the hip hop tours would be the key to help expand hip hop and his Universal Zulu Nation. In addition it would help promote the values of hip hop that he believed are based on peace, unity, love, and having fun. He brought peace to the gangs; many artists and gang members say that "hip hop saved a lot of lives." His influence inspired many overseas artists like the French rapper MC Solaar. He was a popular DJ in The South Bronx rap scene and became known not only as Afrika Bambaataa but also as the "Master of Records." He established two rap crews: the Jazzy 5 including MCs Master Ice, Mr. Freeze, Master Bee, Master D.E.E, and AJ Les, and the second crew referred to as Soulsonic Force including Mr. Biggs, Pow Wow and Emcee G.L.O.B.E.

In 1982, Taylor, who was inspired by Kraftwerk's futuristic electronic music, debuted at The Roxy a test cassette of EBN-OZN's ground breaking, 12-inch white rap/spoken word "AEIOU Sometimes Y". It was the first commercially released American single ever made on a computer, a Fairlight CMI, ushering in the era of music computer sampling. In that same year, Bambaataa and Soulsonic Force stopped performing with a live band, and began to use only technology. Bambaataa credited the pioneering Japanese electropop group Yellow Magic Orchestra, whose work he sampled, as an inspiration. He also borrowed a keyboard hook from German electronic pioneers Kraftwerk and was provided the electronic Roland TR-808 "beat-box" by producer Arthur Baker and synthesizer player John Robie. That resulted in "Planet Rock," which went to gold status and generated an entire school of "electro-boogie" rap and dance music. Bambaataa formed his own label to release the Time Zone Compilation. He created "turntablism" as its own subgenre and the ratification of "electronica" as an industry-certified trend in the late 1990s.

Birth of the Zulu Nation

In the late 1970s, Bambaataa formed what became known as the Universal Zulu Nation, a group of socially and politically aware rappers, B-boys, graffiti artists and other people involved in hip hop culture. By 1977, inspired by DJ Kool Herc and DJ Dee, and after Disco King Mario loaned him his first equipment, Bambaataa began organizing block parties all around The South Bronx. He even faced his long-time friend, Disco King Mario in a DJ battle. He then began performing at Adlai E. Stevenson High School and formed the Bronx River Organization, then later simply "The Organization." Bambaataa had deejayed with his own sound system at The Bronx River Houses' Community Center, with Mr. Biggs, Queen Kenya, and Cowboy, who accompanied him in performances in the community. Because of his prior status in the Black Spades, he already had an established Army party crowd drawn from former members of the gang. Hip hop culture was spreading through the streets via house parties, block parties, gym dances and mix tapes.

About a year later Bambaataa reformed the group, calling it the Zulu Nation (inspired by his wide studies on African history at the time). Specifically, Bambaataa watched the 1964 film Zulu, which sparked the name for the group. Five b-boys (break dancers) joined him, whom he called the Zulu Kings, and later formed the Zulu Queens, and the Shaka Zulu Kings and Queens. As he continued deejaying, more DJs, rappers, b-boys, b-girls, graffiti writers, and artists followed him, and he took them under his wing and made them all members of his Zulu Nation. He was also the founder of the Soulsonic Force, which originally consisted of approximately 20 Zulu Nation members: Mr. Biggs, Queen Kenya, DJ Cowboy Soulsonic Force (#2), Pow Wow, G.L.0.B.E. (creator of the "MC popping" rap style), DJ Jazzy Jay, Cosmic Force, Queen Lisa Lee, Prince Ikey C, Ice Ice (#1), Chubby Chub; Jazzy Five-DJ Jazzy Jay, Mr. Freeze, Master D.E.E., Kool DJ Red Alert, Sundance, Ice Ice (#2), Charlie Choo, Master Bee, Busy Bee Starski, Akbar (Lil Starski), and Raheim. The personnel for the Soulsonic Force were groups within groups with whom he would perform and make records.

In 1980, Taylor's groups made Death Mix, their first recording with Paul Winley Records. According to Bambaata, this was an unauthorized release. Winley recorded two versions of Soulsonic Force's landmark single, "Zulu Nation Throwdown," with authorization from the musicians. Disappointed with the results of the single, Bambaataa left the company. The arranger credit on these recordings is correctly attributed to Harlem Underground Band leader, Kevin Donovan. This led to the false assumption that Bambaataa's real name was Kevin Donovan, which was widely accepted by the hip hop community until recently, following sexual abuse allegations, when Bronx River residents spoke out and revealed in oral testimonies that Bambaataa's real name was in fact Lance Taylor.

The Zulu Nation was the first hip-hop organization, with an official birth date of November 12, 1977. Bambaataa's plan with the Universal Zulu Nation was to build a movement out of the creativity of a new generation of outcast youths with an authentic, liberating worldview.

Recognition

In 1981, hip hop artist Fab Five Freddy was putting together music packages in the largely white downtown Manhattan new wave clubs, and invited Bambaataa to perform at one of them, the Mudd Club. It was the first time Bambaataa had performed before a predominantly white crowd. Attendance for his parties downtown became so large that he had to move to larger venues, first to the Ritz, in a show organized by hip hop pioneer, Michael Holman, with Malcolm McLaren's group Bow Wow Wow, then to the Peppermint Lounge, The Jefferson, Negril, Danceteria and the Roxy. "Planet Rock," a popular single produced by Arthur Baker and the keyboardist John Robie, came out that June under the name Afrika Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force. The song borrowed musical motifs from German electronic music, funk, and rock. Different elements and musical styles were used together. The song became an immediate hit and stormed the music charts worldwide. The song melded the main melody from Kraftwerk's "Trans-Europe Express" with electronic beats based on their track "Numbers" as well as portions from records by Babe Ruth and Captain Sky, thus creating a new style of music altogether, electro funk.

Afrika Bambaataa was booked on the first ever European hip hop tour presented by Europe One and Fnac France. Along with himself were rapper and graffiti artist Rammellzee, Zulu Nation DJ Grand Mixer DXT (formerly Grand Mixer D.St), B-boy and B-girl crews the Rock Steady Crew, and the Double Dutch Girls, as well as legendary graffiti artists Fab 5 Freddy, PHASE 2, Futura 2000, and Dondi.

Bambaataa's second release around 1983 was "Looking for the Perfect Beat," then later, "Renegades of Funk," both with the same Soulsonic Force. He began working with producer Bill Laswell at Jean Karakos's Celluloid Records, where he developed and placed two groups on the label: Time Zone and Shango. Bambaataa recorded "Wildstyle" with Time Zone, and he recorded a collaboration with punk rocker John Lydon and Time Zone in 1984, titled "World Destruction." Shango's album, Shango Funk Theology, was released by the label in 1984. That same year, Bambaataa and other hip hop celebrities appeared in the movie Beat Street. He also made a landmark recording with James Brown, titled "Unity." It was billed in music industry circles as "the Godfather of Soul meets the Godfather of Hip Hop."

Around October 1985, Bambaataa and other music stars worked on the anti-apartheid album Sun City with Little Steven Van Zandt, Joey Ramone, Run–D.M.C., Lou Reed, U2, and others. During 1988, he recorded "Afrika Bambaataa and Family" for Capitol Records, titled The Light, featuring Nona Hendryx, UB40, Boy George, George Clinton, Bootsy Collins, and Yellowman. He had recorded a few other works with Family three years earlier, one titled "Funk You" in 1985, and the other titled "Beware (The Funk Is Everywhere)" in 1986. In 1986 he discovered an artist in Atlanta. (Through MC SHY D) by the name of Kenya Miler a.k.a. MC Harmony (Known producer now as Kenya Fame Flames Miller), that was later signed to Criminal Records and Arthur Baker. The group was Harmony and LG. The first single, 1987's "Dance To The Drums/No Joke," was produced by Bambaataa and Baker with musicians Keith LeBlanc and Doug Wimbish. Bambaataa was involved in the Stop the Violence Movement, and with other hip hop artists recorded "Self Destruction", a 12" single which hit number one on the Hot Rap Singles Chart in March 1989. The single went gold and raised $400,000 for the National Urban League to be used for community anti-violence education programs.

In 1990, Bambaataa made Life magazine's "Most Important Americans of the 20th Century" issue. He was also involved in the anti-apartheid work "Hip Hop Artists Against Apartheid" for Warlock Records. He teamed with the Jungle Brothers to record the album Return to Planet Rock (The Second Coming).

Gee Street Records, Bambaataa and John Baker organized a concert at Wembley Stadium in London in 1990 for the African National Congress (ANC), in honor of Nelson Mandela's release from prison. The concert brought together performances by British and American rappers, and also introduced both Nelson and Winnie Mandela and the ANC to hip hop audiences. In relation to the event, the recording Ndodemnyama (Free South Africa) helped raise approximately $30,000 for the ANC.

From the mid-1990s, Bambaataa returned to his electro roots. In 1998, he produced a remix of "Planet Rock" combining electro and house music elements, called "Planet Rock '98," which is regarded as an early example of the electro house genre. In 2000, Rage Against the Machine covered his song "Renegades of Funk" for their album, Renegades. The same year, he collaborated with Leftfield on the song "Afrika Shox," the first single from Leftfield's Rhythm and Stealth. "Afrika Shox" also appeared on soundtrack to Vanilla Sky. In 2004, he collaborated with WestBam, a group that was named after him, on the 2004 album Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light which also featured Gary Numan. In 2006, he was featured on the British singer Jamelia's album Walk With Me on a song called "Do Me Right," and on Mekon's album Some Thing Came Up, on the track "D-Funktional." He performed the lyrics on the track "Is There Anybody Out There" by The Bassheads (Desa Basshead). As an actor, he has played a variety of voice-over character roles on Kung Faux.

Bambaataa was a judge for the 6th annual Independent Music Awards to support independent artists' careers. On September 27, 2007, it was announced that Afrika Bambaataa was one of the nine nominees for the 2008 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductions. On December 22, 2007, he made a surprise appearance performing at the First Annual Tribute Fit For the King of King Records, Mr. Dynamite James Brown in Covington, Kentucky.

On August 14, 2012, Bambaataa was given a three-year appointment as a visiting scholar at Cornell University. The appointment was made in collaboration between Cornell University Library's Hip Hop Collection, the largest collection of historical hip hop music in North America, and the University's department of Music. His archives, including his vinyl collection, original audio and video recordings, manuscripts, books, and papers arrived at the Cornell University Hip Hop Collection in December 2013.

Child molestation allegations

In April 2016, Bronx political activist Ronald Savage accused Bambaataa of molesting him in 1980, when Savage was 15. Following Savage's allegations, three more men accused Bambaataa of sexual abuse. Bambaataa issued a statement to Rolling Stone denying the allegations. In early May 2016, the Universal Zulu Nation disassociated themselves from Bambaataa as part of an organizational restructuring that saw the group removing "all accused parties and those accused of covering up the current allegations of child molestation" from their current roles in the organization.

On May 6, 2016, Bambaataa left his position as head of The Zulu Nation.

In June 2016, The Universal Zulu Nation issued an open letter apologizing to the alleged victims of sexual abuse perpetrated by Bambaataa.

"On behalf of the members of the Universal Zulu Nation worldwide, who have made their voices heard through their chapter leaders, we extend our deepest and most sincere apologies to the many people who have been hurt by the actions of Afrika Bambaataa and the subsequent poor response of our organization to allegations levelled against him," the Zulu Nation said in a statement signed by dozens of UZN chapter leaders worldwide.

"To the survivors of apparent sexual molestation by Bambaataa, both those who have come forward and others who have not, we are sorry for what you endured and extend our thanks to those who have spoken out for your bravery in bringing to light that which most of us were sadly unaware of, and others chose not to disclose."

The apology was signed by nearly three dozen members of the Zulu Nation, including leaders from as far as New Zealand. The organization also apologized to Ronald "Bee Stinger" Savage and Hassan "Poppy" Campbell, two of Bambaataa's accusers, who they said were "subjected to unjust and inexcusable attacks on their characters in official statements by our organization when they chose to speak their truths. ... We hear you, we believe you, and we stand with you."

In October 2016, Vice published an in-depth article titled "Afrika Bambaataa Allegedly Molested Young Men For Decades" and reported the stories and testimonies of the alleged victims and witnesses. The article stated the accusers "claim that these accounts of alleged abuse have been common knowledge in the Bronx River community and beyond since the early 1980s, including among many of Bambaataa's closest friends and Zulu soldiers."

Despite the multiple allegations and testimonies of victims and witnesses, to date no charges have been brought upon Afrika Bambaataa and he has not been prosecuted for these alleged crimes. This is due to New York state statute of limitations, which provide that actions for civil damages for defined sexual crimes, including sexual abuse of a minor, must be brought within five years of the acts constituting the sexual offense.

#04/17

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didanawisgi · 5 years ago

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written by Terry Newman

“Remember when the scariest kid in your neighborhood was the football jock who terrorized the high school with his minions in tow, and got bailed out by his rich parents when he went too far? Or it was the gothic malcontent with the switchblade and the swagger. Either way, what made these high-status alphas so terrifying was that they came at you in numbers. They travelled in packs. This has been our narrative, in the stories we tell—from Henry Bowers in Stephen King’s It, to Biff Tannen in Back to the Future, to Billy Hargrove in Stranger Things, central-casting bullies attracted followers. They belonged.

As any grade eight schoolgirl who’s been bullied off Instagram can attest, this stereotype still holds. But when it comes to the most dangerous and sociopathic actors, the opposite is true. All three of the young mass shooters who terrorized the United States in recent nationally reported scenes of carnage—Connor Betts in Dayton, Ohio; Patrick Crusius in El Paso, Texas; and Santino William Legan in Gilroy, California—acted alone. The old image of the bully as locker-room alpha or goth leader now seems passé. Often, it is the kid who used to be the fictional protagonist, the social outcast, the member of the Losers Club from It, whose face now appears on our screens with a nightmarish empty stare.

These recent shooters fit a similar profile. They were outsiders, all seemingly socially awkward, who became emboldened through fringe online communities that act as mutual-support societies for violent malcontents. This phenomenon is fuelled by hate, guns, mental illness and ideological extremism. But there is another factor at play here, too. Before a youth makes the decision to murder, before the gun is stashed in his backpack, before his state of mental health is so deteriorated that he commits the unthinkable, what has happened to him? It’s important to remember that these murders are also, in most cases, suicides.

In his 2008 article School Shooting as a Culturally Enforced Way of Expressing Suicidal Hostile Intentions, psychiatrist Antonio Preti summarized existing research on school shootings to the effect that “suicidal intent was found in most cases for which there was detailed information on the assailants.” The research also indicated that “among students, homicide perpetrators were more than twice as likely as their victims to have been bullied by their peers, and also were described as loners and poorly integrated into school activities…In most of the ascertained cases, perpetrators prepared a well-organized plan, and often communicated details about it to acquaintances or friends, who failed to report threats because they did not consider them serious or were embarrassed or ignorant of where to go for help. The most antisocial peers sometimes approved the plan, sharing the same anger against the stated target of violence.”

Preti’s article predated the rise of some of the most notorious web sites—including 8chan, which was shut down this week after several mass shootings were linked to its users. But the nihilistic phenomenon these killers represent predates modern social-media culture. Indeed, it predates digital communication, and even broadcast media more generally.

In 1897, French sociologist Émile Durkheim noted that suicides overall were increasing in society. But there were differences among the affected populations, he noticed. Men were more likely than women to commit suicide—though the chances decreased if the man was married and had children. Durkheim observed that social groups that were more religious exhibited lower suicide rates. (Catholics were less likely to commit suicide than Protestants, for instance.) Durkheim also noted that many people who killed themselves were young, and that the prevalence of such suicides was linked to their level of social integration: When a person felt little sense of connection or belonging, he could be led to question the value of his existence and end his life.

Durkheim labelled this form of suicide as “anomic” (others being “egoistic,” “altruistic” and “fatalistic”). Durkheim believed that these feelings of anomie assert themselves with special force at moments when society is undergoing social, political or economic upheaval—especially if such upheavals result in immediate and severe changes to everyday life.

Durkheim came from a long line of devout Jews. His father, grandfather and great grandfather had all been rabbis. And so even though he chose to pursue an academic career, his experiences taught him to respect the mental and psychological support that religious communities supplied to their members, as well as the role that ritual plays in the regulation of social behavior. In the absence of such regulation, he believed, individuals and even whole societies were at risk of falling into a state of anomie, whereby common values and meanings fall by the wayside. The resulting void doesn’t provide people with a sense of freedom, but rather rootlessness and despair.

Durkheim’s thesis has largely stood the test of time, though other scholars have reformulated it for modern audiences. In his 1955 book The Sane Society, for instance, Erich Fromm wrote that, “in the nineteenth century, the problem was that God is dead. In the twentieth century, the problem is that man is dead.” He described the twentieth century as a period of “schizoid-self alienation,” and worried that men would destroy “their world and themselves because they cannot stand any longer the boredom of a meaningless life.”

In her 2004 book Rampage: The Social Roots of School Shootings, Katherine Newman described findings gleaned from over 100 interviews in Arkansas and Kentucky. The male adolescent shooters at the center of her study, she concluded, “shared a belief that demonstrating strength by planned attacks on their respective institutions with (too) easily available guns would somehow mitigate their unbearable feelings of inadequacy as males and bring longed-for respect from peers.” Ten years later, in a 2014 article titled The Socioemotional Foundations of Suicide: A Microsociological View of Durkheim’s Suicide, sociologists Seth Abrutyn and Anna Mueller set out to update Durkheim’s theory about how social integration and moral regulation affect suicidality. “The greater degree to which individuals feel they have failed to meet expectations and others fail to ‘reintegrate’ them, the greater the feelings of shame and, therefore, anomie,” they concluded. “The risk of suicidal thoughts, attempts, and completions, in addition to violent aggression toward specific or random others, is a positive function of the intensity, persistence, and pervasiveness of identity, role, or status-based shame and anomie.”

Writing in the 1890s, Durkheim was highly conscious of all the ways that industrial capitalism corroded traditional forms of social regulation in society, often at the expense of religious—and even governmental—authorities. (“Depuis un siècle, en effet, le progrès économique a principalement consisté à affranchir les relations industrielles de toute réglementation. Jusqu’à des temps récents, tout un système de pouvoirs moraux avait pour fonction de les discipliner…En effet, la religion a perdu la plus grande partie de son Empire. Le pouvoir gouvernemental, au lieu d’être le régulateur de la vie économique, en est devenu l’instrument et le serviteur.”) But if he were to visit us in 2019, Durkheim would be surprised at the extent to which once-dominant ideas with no connection to economics have been marginalized as regressive and hateful—such as nationalism, patriotism and even masculinity.

This is one reason why so many people now feel unmoored. As Canadian science fiction writer Donald Kingsbury eloquently put it in his novel Courtship Rite, “Tradition is a set of solutions for which we have forgotten the problems. Throw away the solution and you get the problem back.” Faith in god, country and manhood might be seen as regressive by modern lights. But insofar as they were holding back male anomie, we perhaps neglected to consider what damage would be done if we discredited those ideas before finding replacements.

In the history of our species, there has never been (to the knowledge of modern scholars) a human society that did not express belief in some sort of supernatural force—which suggests that we are programmed by a need to believe in something bigger than ourselves. Sociologist Max Weber warned in 1919 that “science deals with facts. It can’t tell us what to do or what’s important.” This is to say that while the scientific revolution did a good job of helping us explain and harness the natural world, it did nothing to fill the god-shaped hole that Blaise Pascal identified in the 17th-century: “What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace? This he tries in vain to fill with everything around him, seeking in things that are not there the help he cannot find in those that are, though none can help, since this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God himself.”

If we are to resign ourselves to the fact that “God himself” isn’t going to intercede any time soon, then we are left with the ordinary tools of policy, such as Robert Putnam outlined in his famous 2000 book, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of the American Community, in which he pointed to the value of “the connections among individuals’ social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them.” These connections could be strengthened, Putnam argued, through improved civics education, more extra-curricular activities for youth, smaller schools, family-oriented workplaces, a more enlightened approach to urbanism, technology that reinforces rather than replaces face-to-face interaction, as well as a decentralization of political power. These recommendations were written 19 years ago, before Facebook, Twitter or 4chan existed. It would be interesting to know how he would revise his recommendations now that we have a better appreciation for the massive effects of digital culture on our social dynamics.

In a 2017 article I wrote, titled Towards a Theory of Virtual Sentiments, I argued that real-time empathy generation often requires some degree of eye contact—which is hard to generate through online interaction. Moreover, it is shockingly easy to get worked up into a rage when you are interacting with an online avatar of a person you have never met. Simply put, the more we physically see each other, the less likely we are to be awful to each other. As Louis CK said in an interview about youth and technology, “They don’t look at people when they talk to them and they don’t build empathy. You know, kids are mean, and it’s cause they’re trying it out. They look at a kid and they go, ‘You’re fat,’ and then they see the kid’s face scrunch up and they go, ‘Oh, that doesn’t feel good to make a person do that.’ But when they write ‘You’re fat’ [online] then they just go, ‘Mmm, that was fun, I like that.’” Even putting aside the extreme cases of forums that cater to homicidal shooters, I remain unconvinced that any community that exists primarily in online form can be a force for long-term good. Perhaps more time offline is a good start for anyone seeking to enhance “the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness.”

Do we need a new nationalism? A new religion? What common human project can we collectively embrace that gives a sense of mission to everyone, regardless of skin color, religion, economic class or ideology? It would be presumptuous for me to suggest I have the answers. All I know is that men who see human life as meaningless are symptoms of a larger sense of anomie that, in less dramatic and destructive form, increasingly grips us all.”

Terry Newman is currently an MA student in the Sociology Department at Concordia University in Montreal. Her SSHRC-funded research is on the candidate controversies that took place during the 2015 Canadian federal election. She is also a Teaching Assistant in Concordia’s Engineering Department. She tweets from @tlnewmanmtl. She is the author of the Quillette article Through the Looking Glass at Concordia University.

#Anomie #violent crime #ideological violence #psychology #society #sociology #social commentary #tribalism #gun control

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limitededitionsanderssidesblog · 6 years ago

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Speech Impediment - Chapter 1

Sympathetic Deceit Week- Day 4: DLAMP

Ships: Logicality, pining-Prinxiety, platonic DLAMP

Summary: Deceit has gone through much of his life alone and being called a liar, all because of something he can’t help, but once he makes it to college he gets adopted as the little brother and son of a very strange group of friends without his permission. Going from life long outcast to being in a circle of friends is a little overwhelming, and not short of bizarre.

AO3 - Here

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Dexter had always been seen as strange to those around him at school, in public, and even at home. Maybe it was due to his unnaturally golden eyes or his, as some might say, creepy fascination with snakes, he never knew the reason. Well whatever it was, it was the reason why Dexter was always left behind by the other kids. It wasn’t too troublesome for him though, Dexter liked the solitude and quite. Often times he’d spend hours upon hours alone in the library reading about murder and supernatural mysteries. During class he’d stick to his seat either reading a novel, or playing with his magic trick cards. Magic was one of the few things Dexter was ever good at, even though it wasn’t really a skill.

When he was about nine years old, Dexter grew a habit that still sticks with him even ten years later. He became a compulsive liar. It wasn’t as if he purposefully bent the truth to take advantage of others, it was more like a speech impediment. He would say the opposite of what he meant without meaning to, in fact it would take much more energy to speak ‘normally’ then it was to say it backwards. His parents took him to speech therapy and mental health therapy, but nothing worked, so his parents and teachers just learned to accommodate for him. The other students, not understanding his situation, took to calling him Deceit, a name Dexter did not mind. They poked fun and teased, but it was never anything serious, and Dexter never let it get to him.

This was how Dexter went through the entirety of elementary, middle, and even high school. Now he was standing in front his new University, nineteen years old, his mind set on becoming a novelist, and expecting nothing different. There were maybe hundreds, if not thousands, of other students around him lazing about in the grass and courtyard, almost all in their own little circles of close friends, none of them noticing Dexter.

Not minding the lack of acknowledgement, Dexter continued though the campus and walked to one of the several boys’ dorms. Getting his key and room number he then headed to the stairs, never being a fan of elevators, and made his way for the third floor. Once there Dexter searched for his room number. 200. 201. 202. Ah, there it was, dorm room number 203. Dexter took out the small key he was given by the old man at the attendance desk and slipped it into the lock and opened the door.

The room was empty, but on the left side there were partially unpacked suitcases and colorful pictures tacked to the wall. Dexter walked over to look at them and saw different photos of the same four guys. Two of them had glasses, one looking strict and stoic like a robot, and the other looking goofy and wild, another looked extremely emo, and the last looked like a prep. Under one of the pictures were words written in red sharpie saying: We’re famILY. Dexter smiled slightly at the picture and moved to what he assumed was his side of the room to unpack.

About an hour and a half of calm passed in near silence, save for the rowdy boys across the hall, and Dexter was nearly done. Half of the closet was filled with his coats and jackets; his dresser was organized by garment in both alphabetical and spectral order; and his bookshelf that he had shipped in ahead of time had been organized with all of his favorite books based on genre and height of the book. As of now he was setting up his snake’s, little Dee Dee, terrarium on top of his dresser.

Eventually a loud group of voices appeared in the hallway, but Dexter ignored them, thinking it was just more rowdy neighbors. But soon the sound of the door being unlock startled him into realizing that it was in fact his roomate who had at last arrived, and most likely his friends as well. Not ready or prepared to speak with anyone yet Dexter did the only thing he could think off. Run into the closet and hide in a dark and enclosed area like a snake. A mere second later, in walked there very same four people from the photos, talking loudly. Well, so much for his peace.

“Hey Patton, looks like you’re new roomate is here!” One enthusiastic and regal voice said.

“I wonder where he is.” Another, robotic, voice pondered.

“Bro, you can’t just assume it’s a guy.” A very sarcastic voice spoke.

“I can’t assume anything else either, we don’t know who Patton’s roomate is yet.” The robotic voice responded. “When they’re here they can notify us of their identification.”

Dexter thought this was the perfect time to pop out from his hiding place. Well no he didn't, but he was getting cramped and it would be even more embarrassing if they discovered him on their own.

“I’m not a guy.” He stated as he stepped out of the closet, earning him a chorus of screams. All four of them instantly turned to face him in surprise. The emo one sitting on ‘Patton’s’ bed, the prep sitting next to him, the robot standing near his bookshelf, and the goofy one standing in the center.

“What the fuck was that?” The emo one said, holding a hand over his chest, obviously more shaken up then the rest.

“Sorry.” Dexter apologized. “I wasn’t nervous when you all arrived.”

“Um, okay...” Said the emo.

“What’s you’re name kiddo?” The goofy glasses guy asked.

“It isn’t Dexter, but I don’t prefer Deceit.” He responded, cringing inwardly when he realized that he did it again, watching as the confusion grew on their faces. Really not wanting to come off as rude or weird, Dexter hastily followed up with an explanation. “Sorry, I don’t have a speech impediment where I don’t say the opposite of what I mean.”

For a good three heartbeats no one said anything, but instead just stared at him awkwardly. Dexter would love nothing more than for a meteor to fall to the earth and hit him right now, or maybe the floor would give out beneath him, anything to end this mess. However, as he was contemplating the quickest away to escape the dorm by means of a quick death, the one in the middle smiled brightly like a radiant sun, not at all put off by him.

“So it’s like opposite day on repeat? Wow! I’ve never heard of that before.” He said brightly.

“Yes, I’ve never heard of that speech disorder before either.” Said the robotic one skeptically.

“Uh, well it is very common.” Dexter told him.

“So Dexter-”

“Deceit.”

“-let me introduce myself and my friends. I’m Patton Sanders, the dad of the group. That’s my boyfriend Logan, the mom-”

“I am not the mom.”

“The one in the hoodie is our love child, Virgil-”

“Sup.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“-and that’s our dramatic son Roman.”Patton finished, practically jumping up and down in his spot, filled with excitement.

Dexter didn’t know exactly how to respond to their introduction. What do you say back to a group of friends who label each other as different rolls of an immediate family. He didn’t know if it was endearing or creepy. Maybe a sniper would have been a faster option.

Logan, noticing his discomfort, let out a heavy sigh and rested a heavy hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Pat, I think you came off a bit too strong again.” He said in a soft, but lecturing tone. Patton was able to calm down slightly, but stilled rocked back and forth on his feet. “I apologize, I’m Logan Winchester, a physics major, Patton here is an art major.

“Virgil Black, majoring in music theory.” The emo joined in next, still sitting in a ball on the bed, curled like a cat.

“And I am Roman Sanchez, actor, singer, and future Disney prince.” The preppy looking one then finished the introductions.

Once again, Dexter didn’t how to respond to them. He already told them his name so what else could he say? His major was probably a normal human response, but they’d probably ask if they could read any of his work, and he’d just as soon drive a bus into the ocean then show them his horror stories. So, maybe he could ask a question and... Wait, how long has he been standing there not saying anything? Oh shit they probably think he’s a socially inept introvert, well he was but oh no their staring- say something! Anything!

“Are you all gay?” What the fuck was that?

“Bi actually.” Both Logan and Patton answered at the same time.

“I’m pan, Roman is the only gay one.” Virgil shared.

“Gayer than a unicorn eating skittles on a rainbow~” Roman then sang, resting his head on Virgil’s side giving the small, cat-like emo a seductive wink, to which he was promptly shoved off.

“How about you kiddo?” Patton asked, taking a seat on the floor and resting his back against his bed frame. Logan followed close behind and sat next to him, crossing his legs.

“I’m not asexual.”

The smile Patton had been wearing the entire time began to grow impossibly large until Dexter was sure that his cheeks would rip wide open. With absolutely no warning, the dad friend bounced up off the ground and bounded over and enveloped him in a bear hug, scaring no one except Dexter.

“That settles it, you’re now my son!” He cheered and spun them around in a small circle. The others looked on like this was nothing new, perhaps this was how all of them met Patton, but Dexter could have sworn he’d turn into a puddle of blushing, stuttering gibberish. To say that he was caught off guard and confused would be the single most largest understatement of Dexter’s whole lonely life.

“I-i’m y-y-you-your so- wha- huh???”

Little did he know that this big bunch of weirdos would be the best thing to ever happen to him.

Well here's my contribution to this week. Chapter 2 will be out on Day 7.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #dlamp #logicality #prinxiety #sympathetic deceit week #sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders

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punkdaddylouis · 6 years ago

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// two prudes: code red //

chapter two of my punk louis au. behold, some zouis brotp moments - thanks in advance if u would proceed to read on ! x

//a one night stand; don't belong to no city, don't belong to no man//

at around 9:30 in the morning of a monday, louis pushes at the entrance door of code red and strolls inside with delilah nestled to his side, making the bell hooked atop the door ring soundly throughout the area.

he meets with the relaxing atmosphere of the air conditioned and truly spacious shop, some metal music playing to a minimum level in the background.

he sees the same multi-purpose cool shop with its skateboards all hanging on one slanted corner, boxes filled of stuff louis yet doesn't know - perhaps some wheels and other tools.

on one corner there are shelves specially for comic books of any kinds, even k-zones and mangas. on the center are aisles with neat alignments of vinyls and stacks of cds with headphones hooked to some, the certain lists one is allowed to listen to for free. and then there's a door on the other end, just right below the shelf of skateboards, with the neon sign that says guns & roses tattoo parlor.

a head from behind the counter snaps up as he nears, and louis is right away met by a pair of dashing hazel brown eyes framed by dark eyelashes, the owner of them being his ex-boyfriend slash best mate for three years now, zayn javaad malik. the brooding guy with the jet black hair and arms littered with tattoos just like louis himself.

"morning, lou," he greets eerily, voice thin as per usual, flashing those white pearls, lower lip decorated by a round piercing on the right corner.

snickering mentally to himself, louis deems out of nowhere not remembering a single time zayn's voice was ever that thin when he was fucking him into oblivion and he was groaning like a rabid animal.

but of course, that was in the past. louis and zayn are now just best friends, or more like, brothers from another mothers, something like that. zayn ended them, and louis was chill enough to just shrug and agree to his decision. i think i'm just gonna go find my true penguin.

penguin? what the fuck are you talking about, zaynie boy? louis had laughed so hard, sex hazy and high with consumed marijuana.

penguin, lou. zayn shook louis' arms, as if wanting him to wake the fuck up. it's like, your soulmate, yeh? because when penguins mate, they never leave their other halves anymore. it's like, their forever, ye know?

louis had blinked at him, sobering up by the absurdity of it all. and then he pushed at zayn and straddled his hips. will you shut the fuck up? you're beautiful, baby, it's true, but fuck, you're also the fucking lamest, most cliché person ever. and then he surged down, kissed zayn and shut him up for the last 5 hours as they fucked once again.

like, zayn is just...the weirdest weirdo louis has ever known in his life. and he's seen worse.

truth be told, he didn't love him like that - the whole sweetness and romance shit, because fuck no, louis doesn't do that. louis loves zayn, of course he does, but only like he's his cousin or step brother or perhaps little sister. they were boyfriends before, but that only served as a label, since they fucked like rabbits at every chance they got back then, sex driven and young. but that was that.

zayn is the gentle type, the sentimentalist, the tiptoeing kind of person, so louis figured they needed something to somewhat seal the deal - for the two of them to have the authority and right to fuck. and it was for them to become "official". thus they became boyfriends.

they only lasted four months, however, before zayn had eventually realized that louis never loved him in a romantic way. he never took offence to that, thankfully, knew to himself that he was a good fuck, a warm hole to sedate, so he didn't blame louis for using him to release steam anytime he so pleased.

they don't fuck nowadays anymore though. it's been years.

"hey, babes," louis greets back, leaning against the platform and pecking zayn's forehead sloppily with a loud smack, rounding the counter and then dropping delilah at the corner. zayn smiles hazily, nodding his head.

they work together at code red, about a year ago now since they applied. they alternate being in charge on the till and serving walk-in customers, and then their boss, ed, is the one in charge for callers of deliveries. those calls don't come as often.

moments to his clock-in, louis finds himself later playing with his lip ring, as he chews at his bottom lip. he rummages through a couple of vinyls at one aisle and looks for the one their first costumer for the day is asking for. they said they wanted am by the arctic monkeys, so.

when louis finally sees it, a black vinyl with white obscure linings that briefly show a drawing of a ribbon, he fishes it out and inspects it before anything else.

he's got one vans clad foot perched on the three-step ladder left by the aisle they're in, and he's wearing his beanie today and then a loose gray tank top that he now regrets for wearing, since the ac is probably by 17 degrees and it's killing him, fuck.

anyway, he hands the album over to the guy who has their white tee and blue jeans on, curtly reminding louis of a lana del rey song, and then he watches them retreat back to the counter where zayn is now conversing to a few new kids that probably stepped in while he was busy back there.

by the looks of it, the kids are purchasing comics from zayn. he has a keen for nerdy stuff, this dude, and since ed is kind enough to let his shop be used for other business agendas, he lets zayn sell his own comics here, no problem.

"batman, spider-man, green lantern, you name it!" zayn chirps dazedly, voice languid as if he's high, which. probably. he's always high.

"i want superman."

"hey, i want superman too!"

"me, me! i want x-men!"

"yeah! professor x is the best!"

louis watches in peace as zayn lights up at the persistence of the kids crowding him by the counter - asking for the things he also like - can't help biting at his cheek at the happy look his half-pakistani friend is sporting. they both know it's not everyday that they wear genuine smiles and share hysterical laughter to others, considering they're a bunch of college drop-outs that are the outcasts of the town, and that now people see them as this - rebels.

which they're not, mind, seeing as louis still visits his mom and sisters and that he doesn't cause (much) trouble around the city.

they just like having lots of tattoos, smoke chain until four, get pierced every now and then, dye their hair different colors, get high whenever they could score (and that means every day), and live independently on their own, what's so wrong about that?

people can just go fuck themselves, to be honest. louis is fine being this way, thank you very much.

his life, his shit, don't like it? go suck a dick.

simple.

just as zayn's about done with serving the rest of the customers by the counter, it's only a matter of time then for louis to be greeting another batch that spills right at the door of code red, being a pretty much in-demand multipurpose shop and all. he mentally rolls his eyes.

as he looks up, louis sees students, giggling girls, an adolescent, and - a person. one who's wearing a green beanie atop their mop of curls, a hoodie above that, and is plausibly standing a solid five-foot-eleven given that he isn't wearing one of his silly boots today.

harry styles.

because of course, he goes here. of course. louis takes a deep breath, shuffles towards the new customers.

"heya, welcome to code red. anything i can help you with?"

once again, blue meets green. louis isn't really affected by it.

#beneathts #beneath these sheets #zouis #larry #my fic #chapter two #punk au

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sweetfirebird · 6 years ago

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I also donated to RAICES, and to encourage others to do the same, here is another option c, a small snippet about characters you don’t even know yet.

Despite that, and the loveliness of the land, the property had been dirt cheap when Emery and his mom had moved here when he’d been twelve. No one wanted to live next to the dead. No one wanted to care for them either. Emery had never minded although he’d been new in town and confused about a lot of the shit in his life and really hadn’t needed to immediately be known as the kid who lived in the graveyard.

His muscles burned a little from overuse as he gathered up more debris and added it to his pile.

“I don’t live in the graveyard,” he muttered, no less resentful now than he had been at twelve. Another cold breeze sent a ripple through the honeysuckle and stirred the ivy, creating soft, shushing murmurs.

He paused to glance through the honeysuckle at the house that was his now. His mother hadn’t wanted to bother with the large former farmhouse on her own, and had gladly handed it over to him when he’d moved back to Trinity Creek after his years at the community college one town over. The roof would have to be replaced in the next few years and most of the rooms were unused. The garden and trees needed a lot of work he had yet to get to as well. But the practical, simple building with its old-fashioned shutters and faded gray and white paint was all his.

But it was close to a graveyard, and that was enough to label him as weird even without his other issues.

Emery froze just before he could accidentally tear through a spider’s web, then considered the wicked-looking creature sitting at the center of its work.

“I’m cleaning up,” he warned it, with the wind gentle in the ivy and stray twigs skittering gleefully across the ground. “There’s a place for you here, but not on the path. Okay?”

He glanced around once the words were out. The stone angels and lambs were turned away. The doors of the Smithe mausoleum stayed closed. He was still alone.

Talking to himself was a lonely kid’s habit he’d never grown out of. He could always pretend he was speaking to the ghosts that supposedly haunted the cemetery but that didn’t seem any better. This was probably a sign he should stop for the night. Head inside, make a frozen pizza, watch TV and go to bed, like most other nights.

The cypresses swayed inward, their shadows like reaching fingers.

Emery picked up his rake and set it against the fence only to watch it immediately slide down to the ground. The tittering of dry leaves across the gravestones drowned out his sigh as he picked it back up and rose to his feet. He’d leave it in the truck. It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight.

The autumn so far had been dry, if colder than usual. It made him worry for winter, and remember vague warnings from the other weird kids about six months of darkness, and seasonal cycles, and balance. They’d had all sorts of stories about that kind of thing. Trinity Creek’s collection of outcast teens had been dramatic, to say the least.

Right about now, when everyone else was excited over Halloween, they’d be going on about oak trees or the last harvest party of the year, which they always called a revel just to be pretentious or sound sophisticated. Really, they seemed like everyone else in high school, except they tended to get blitzed on cider or rum or wine instead of beer, and they didn’t celebrate anything as common as Halloween or go trick-or-treating.

Which reminded him—his mother thought he should put some lights on the porch. As if any kids were going to come all the way out here for candy. Half of them were afraid of the house anyway. They would probably start screaming even before the lane up from the main road split into two paths, leading either to here or to the house.

Orange lights on the porch might take some of their fear away. That might be what his mother meant, and she hadn’t been making a subtle comment about Emery needing a life. He doubted it, but it was possible.

The kids should be more scared of the haunted house at the town’s Halloween carnival than this graveyard. The only soul here was Emery, alone again, alone always. There was nothing inside the ring of iron and cypress but bones and dust. Even death had left this place.

Emery jerked his head up at the sound of a bird’s wings, too close, and saw the large owl settle atop one pillar a second before he swung his gaze over to the person watching him from directly in front of the open gate.

The wind stirred up, making a mess of the edges of his pile and sending whirlwinds of dust and twigs through the rows of headstones. Long, swaying shadows just reached the first stone pillar at the entrance gate then stopped without touching it.

Emery hadn’t heard a car. He should have, even if someone parked at the house and walked over, which Ezra had most likely done. Ezra was formal even by his standards today, but a walk through a field that might dirty his clothes wouldn’t have bothered him.

Emery found it easier to look at Ezra’s outfit than in Ezra’s eyes, from his flat, sturdy black boots to his black pants and black waistcoat. His equally dark shirt was long-sleeved and buttoned all the way up this neck. The buttons on his tight waistcoat were white and probably repurposed antiques or bits of polished bone. The silver chain of a pocket watch glinted in the dying light, although the watch itself was tucked away in a pocket.

Aside from that and the buttons, the only relief of all the darkness in Ezra’s fashion choices was the light purple and dove gray lining of his long black coat. He had likely sewn that lining in himself. For all Emery knew, Ezra had woven the cloth for it too. The same way he’d probably spun and dyed the wool before knitting the dark gauntlets currently keeping his hands warm.

Ezra held a small container in front of him, which he dropped his gaze to stare at when Emery’s study finally reached his face, giving Emery time to get a good look at him. Ezra was slender, but with a slight chubbiness in his cheeks he’d never outgrown. It made him seem soft, even more than the scattering of freckles across his pale brown face, or the way he wore his hair so that his natural brownish-red curls sprang out in all directions beneath his flat-brimmed black hat.

That hat looked like something an old-timey farmer would wear. It made Ezra’s shape into something serious, something slightly foreboding until Ezra raised his head and his wide, amber eyes focused on Emery.

#familiar spirits #r. cooper #oh snap emery you are in trouble #ez and em #fundraiser responses

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lez-com · 6 years ago

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The Child and the Future: A Pessimistic Analysis of Reproductive Futurity

By: Ashley Stryker

The future has always been something we organize around, it has become the cathexis of modernity and the politics that coincide within it have a nefarious purpose against queer existence- particularly in its erasure. Optimism has become a venom to the very existence of our identity, and neoliberalism becomes intent on furthering our erasure through its deployment of the image of the child to perpetuate the concern that we exist only to destroy modern society and its foundations. In this essay, I will dissect the image of the child and its deployment against our bodies, the meaning of reproductive futurity, as well as alternative ways to exist without oppressive futurity.

To begin, it is vital to dissect the image of the child and what it stands to be within modernity. The child is a structural motif acting as a stand-in for futuristic politics itself; for ideologies that focus on a nexus of futurity and optimism as the center of their praxis. This political optimism will always use the meaning and symbol of the child to further their actions transnationally, but it is important to dissect that usage and what the child is. It is important to realize the child is not literal children, nor is it a symbol of youth, rather the child is the mediator of the future, whenever the right wishes to further its political agenda, they use the image of the child to make sure their wishes are achieved. A prime example of this is the infamous “Daisy Child” ad during the age of nuclear terror. The commercial opens with a small girl (presumably daisy) picking petals off of a flower while counting down from 10, as she counts down her voice is overridden by a voice from a radio counting down and ending with a nuclear explosion enveloping the screen as LBJ’s voice narrates “These are the risks”. This image of the child was used to further the terror of foreign nuclear war, but even in more recent politics we see this image being deployed to serve political agendas. Bill Clinton said ‘It’s all about the kids’ while the Obama administration injected numerous no child left behind acts into education. While these forms of futurity may not seem toxic on their own, they get repurposed into

This is where reproductive futurity comes into fruition. Obviously it is important to have a definition of this specific mode of futurity. Futurism like this uses the child as a means to erase all non-normative life, it does this by portraying the white, cis heterosexual child as an innocent bystander to which marginalized life poses a very real and direct threat towards. Queer existence poses a threat to the child due to the way that neoliberalism deems our reproduction perverted. Our sex and our unruly acts of indulgence don’t allow for what is deemed normal reproduction, we do not promise children or a future for them, and as such we are outcast and labeled as monsters to society. Neoliberalism deems our lives as completely unnatural and monstrous as we can’t normatively further its society through the assurance of children. It becomes apparent that we have become marked as criminals, marked as perverts, and marked for death. The violence against our bodies becomes ceaseless at this point as we are deemed outlaws to the very society we are forced to exist under. Think of how trans women get murdered by their partners when they find out they are trans or how lesbian women are told to act certain ways to fit heteronormativity’s sexualization of them or they become deemed useless to society. All this can be traced back to the fact that our bodies are forced to a fit a spectrum of acceptance set by futurity and neoliberalism or we become radicals and social justice warriors forcing an agenda merely by existing. So the question arises of how we must exist without futurity.

To live without optimism or faith for a better tomorrow in mind is difficult, and fearful for some. This is because we are habituated by modern society to desire a better future of some optimistic alternative. Instead, we must abandon this desire for a future to truly liberate our bodies. However, contrary to some authors, I do not believe we should forsake all focus on telos in our crusade against reproductive futurity. Not only is telos inevitable, it can exist without neoliberal intent, such as in an attempt for a revolution, it can be helpful in creating resistance against neoliberal ideologies. This is the key difference between reproductive futurity and anti-institutional futurity. We embrace the latter, the abandonment of the figure of the white, able bodied normative child in favor of a focus on how best to revolt against those who would seek to have our lives destroyed and distorted by modern education. With this knowledge we embrace the role assigned to us by neoliberalism. We embrace our role as revolutionaries and we embrace our role in violently deconstructing society as it stands today. Only through this can we liberate our bodies and our identities.

Futurism has become the cathexis and the filter through which all political decisions are made. This filter of reproductive futurity serves as the melting pot for oppression against all life deemed non-normative. The advancements made to make violence more discrete has only led to a more sophisticated system of oppression, and an embrace of reproductive futurity would do only the same. Only through an embrace of anti-institutional futurity can we truly embrace our roles as liberators and fight against the state.

#q word #q word tw #essay

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onestowatch · 5 years ago

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Boy In Space Is Done With Playing It Safe [Q&A]

Photo: Sophia Leubert

In the simplest terms, Boy In Space makes pop music. But it is more than simply another mass-manufactured byproduct of an industry seeking momentary cataclysmic highs; it is infectiously emotive pop music crafted by a Swedish artist with a unique penchant for American culture. His songs unfurl out like chapters in a story we simply cannot get enough of, letting us in on a previously unseen side of himself with each addictive melody and confessional lyric.

It is an inimitable blend of music guaranteed to get stuck in your head and lyrics sure to touch your heart that has transformed this rising Swedish artist into a budding worldwide success story. Yet, the millions of streams increasing by the day are not the end goal for Boy In Space, as the difficult task of turning a stream into a diehard fan lies ahead of him.

We sat down with Robin Lundbäck following the release of his latest single, “Caroline,” and ahead of his European tour with Jeremy Zucker to get to know the man behind the Boy In Space. From his thoughts on the possibility of venturing to Mars thanks to Elon Musk, thinking of a stream as a real person, to being more daring in the year to come, we get to know Boy In Space.

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Ones To Watch: So let’s go back to the beginning, before Boy in Space you played in a few bands back in Sweden.

Boy In Space: Yeah, well I’ve always done music. I was always in different bands and with my friends and just playing around basically. Then I realized I wanted to do my own thing, so I could just focus on my own vision and not having to listen to like 500 people.

Is a solo project more fulfilling?

Yeah, it’s just more fun. I like the creation process a lot, and when I’m in control of what I make, it’s just more fun because no one else is like “No, I don’t want to do that.” It’s just my vision and what I want to do.

How did you first come up with the Boy In Space moniker?

I first had ideas about being called Space Boy. It just popped into my head one day. I was like “Space Boy,” that’s cool. It sticks out, it’s weird. I always walk that little edge of weirdness in my projects. We want to make some weird, weird stuff. We’ve done the safe pop moves, just showing the industry we’re here and we can make great quality content, but the next move is to make it weird.

So, I found that name and I talked to my friend at the label who didn’t love it at the beginning. He was playing around with it and was like “Boy In Space,” and it sounds like First Aid Kit. It sounds more indie and cool and more grown-up.

So, Boy In Space, with Elon Musk making serious moves, are you excited to go to Mars?

Kind of. I kind of don’t care. I’m happy that it’s going to be a thing, that it will be possible. That’s cool. But I think I have more important stuff to do here. Like why would you put me on Mars? There’s no point. I can’t do anything there. I’m just going to stand there and take up all the space and play a song. You know what I mean? You should put the smart people there.

But the first concert on Mars could be you.

Boy in Space. Shit. Do I get like a tour rocket? A tour UFO? Could be cool.

It hasn’t even been two years since you started releasing music, but there has been a palpable reaction. Did you ever expect such an immediate response?

It was always the goal, but I didn’t expect it to happen, definitely not. But it was always a vision that I had. So, it doesn’t surprise me, but it’s still amazing. It was definitely the goal for that to happen and we’ve strategically made the moves to get into those positions. It’s really cool, and it’s fun when you do shows. You see people singing the lyrics and they actually love the music, like some people, obviously not everyone in the world...

One day.

Yeah, hopefully. It’s just different. I feel like a lot of artists can get streams, but it’s what you do with those streams. There are so many people who get on playlists and are like “Oh I have 30 million streams here, and I have a lot of streams there.” They just kind of do the whole release music thing, but I want to be an artist artist, perform a lot and everything.

It’s so hard to think of a stream as a real person compared to a living, breathing fan in the audience.

Exactly, and sometimes when you listen to playlists you don’t really care about the acts. You like the song, and you’re like “I love this song, cool,” and you just keep playing it, but I feel like it’s two different things. Like being on tour with Alec Benjamin, I saw that people actually know the things that I do.

Photo: Niklas Haze

You create this really great brand of pop, which must come from Swedish pop.

Yeah, definitely. I’ve always loved pop. It could come in different packages or versions of pop but yeah, there’s nothing like a really strong pop melody. I just love it. I love it so much.

It’s the melody that gravitates you towards pop in particular?

Yeah, I think the melodic language, I guess that’s what you’d call it, sounds super fancy. It’s something of a sweet spot for melodies that when it hits, it just makes me so happy I could die, literally. So when I write, I’ll start with the melody and kind of word-poop a lot of words and “blah-ba-doo-blah,” and I’ll find a few things and kind of puzzle it all together.

You’re currently working on an EP and the major theme is love?

Should I try to make a pop song about anything other than love?

Heartbreak?

Yeah, but that’s also love. I mean I usually do write about heartbreak, that’s like my main thing.

I have to say I’m a little surprised you’re still so uplifting in person.

I think that’s why I write depressing songs, because I need an output for it. I’m a very happy guy. I don’t have a lot to complain about. I love what I do, I have a great girlfriend, I have a dog. I have a great life. There’s not a lot to complain about.

Your hometown, it’s pretty famous for potatoes?

Yeah! Good research!

So can you tell me about growing up in…

In potato town? Alingsås. It’s a really small town. There’s something I love about it and something I don’t love about it. There’s a love-hate relationship, but I feel like that’s what you have with anything. Like if I lived here [Los Angeles] I’d be like “it’s so cool” because of the weather, but the traffic sucks and some people are kind of fake, you know what I mean?

There’s always pros and cons, but it’s cool because I’m in my own bubble there. I don’t want to break that magic, I don’t want to be in the midst of everyone and be another Stockholm writer. I have nothing against Stockholm writers. They’re amazing, they’re beautiful people, and they make really good songs, but I just like that mystique of being from a small city. People are like “What are you doing over there?” and I’m like “I just wrote this smash, boom! What ya gonna do about it?” You know what I mean? It’s kind of cool.

From your songs “7UP to “California,” what drew you to American pop culture?

I think just being born when I was born in ‘94. I was just watching MTV, Jackass, and everything, and, obviously, the movies were American-centered. So we tried to do our own thing off that.

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There’s this sense of nostalgia in those songs. It makes me feel young and in love every time I listen.

That’s cool. I like that. There’s definitely, definitely nostalgia to it and there’s also some guitar riffs I want to put in because it reminds me of Blink-182 and the records my brother had. I wasn’t allowed to have them, because I was too young, so I would sneak into his room and play the records, just like a movie. I would be like, “This is sick, this is so much cooler than KIDZ BOP.”

Actually, we have our own version of KIDZ BOP in Sweden where the Smurfs make versions of the songs. It’s cooler because it’s not kids. It’s called Smurf Hits. They did “Umbrella” by Rihanna, like every big song. You should definitely watch it late at night where you’re in that tired humor where you’ll just laugh at anything.

What would you say you miss most from your childhood?

You know what’s really cool? And I’m going to sound like such a boomer here, but the fact that I was like unapproachable at all times. That was the sickest thing ever. When I would leave my house, I would just say, “Mom, I’m going out,” and I would just go off into the woods and play there for hours. It would be a sick world with my imagination. I would just be like “Mmm there’s a wizard over there, and if I go too close he’s going to catch me.” I would just make up stupid shit that I would believe, and it would be so sick. I didn’t even have a phone. I feel like I should have a week where I should just put my phone away and no one can call me...

And just go into the woods...

Literally! When I woke up, I would be excited to do stuff all the time. I would wake up with the most excited mindset of anyone in the whole world, and I would be like “Today is gonna be sick because I’m gonna go biking here!” It’s so cool, I wish I could feel like that right now. I don’t hate social media and stuff like that. I just think you need to have a good relationship with it. But yeah, those were the times.

Any goals for 2020?

I don’t know. Taking off the edges creatively and being braver. I think I can be safe sometimes. I want to stop being safe because there’s an unsafe creative person inside of me that needs to fly a little bit.

Who are your Ones To Watch?

That’s a hard question, because I don’t really listen to artists, I listen to songs. There’s actually a song I listen to on tour right now called “Peachy Keen” by L Devine who’s pretty cool. Also started listening to BROCKHAMPTON for the first time, so I’ve been listening to “No Halo” nonstop. It has a lot of the outcast vibes. And then I listen to 3 Doors Down “Here Without You.” Hit. That’s a hit. I also listen to Japanese House quite a lot. I feel like I discover things too late.

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#boy in space #interview #pop #indie pop #singer songwriter

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mountphoenixrp · 7 years ago

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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Lee Minhyuk, who is known by no other name; a 22 year old son of Arawn. He is a makeup artist at Halo Salon & Spa, a tattoo artist at Taste of Ink and a security guard at Babylon.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Minhyuk / MONSTA X CHARACTER NAME: n/a AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: November 3, 1994 (22) PLACE OF BIRTH: Seoul, South Korea (Gangnam) OCCUPATION: make-up artist at Halo Salon & Spa, tattoo artist at Taste of Ink, security at Babylon HEIGHT: 180 cm (~5’11”) WEIGHT: 65 kg (~143 lbs) DEFINING FEATURES: pale skin, feminine and boyish features, mini star tattoos on his right forearm along with the quote “love me dead”, middle of his back: “when she needs a shelter from reality, she takes a dip in my daydream”, skull tattoo with roses on the right side of his chest, paper fan tattoo on his left wrist, pierced earlobes, tongue piercing

PERSONALITY: Minhyuk is a pleasant and sociable individual. Yet, he wasn’t always like this. Upon his arrival to mount phoenix, he was a very reserved and quiet teenage boy. He started using a more social personality as a mask for his pain. He is bold, creative, and original. He has a good eye for detail. He’s also very attentive when it comes to the taste of others. He cares for those around him as he can be overprotective of them. He can be insensitive, defiant, and impatient. He clearly inherited some of his father’s temper. He also has a tendency to be unstructured or disorganized. He seems to be distracted most of the time. He gets frequent headaches due to the voices he’s constantly hearing. Even now, he can’t completely silence them, which can make him irritable. As a result, he can say things he doesn’t mean to say. Even though his father has a notorious reputation, Minhyuk isn’t an evil person at all.

HISTORY: Minhyuk’s story begins in the Gangnam District of Seoul, South Korea. From a young age, he started hearing voices. No matter how hard he tried to shut them out, he couldn’t control it. He had little knowledge or grasp of his powers. As a result, he was a social outcast because he was seen as different. Doctors misdiagnosed him with a plethora of mental illnesses, including schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. At one point, he remarked that he saw the fiery depths of hell. “I see dead people” from The Sixth Sense was indeed a reality for Minhyuk. With practice, he developed the ability to distract himself from dark thoughts by doing things such as drawing, meditating, and listening to music. Yet, he still found it difficult to completely clear his mind.

Then, he started having nightmares. Most of his dreams consisted of people being torn apart by hell hounds or dragged into the depths of hell or the underworld. The “auditory hallucinations” also worsened. He suffered from insomnia, and he was recommended to take sleeping pills. At one point, his uncle tried to take him to a church so the pastor can expel the so-called demon within Minhyuk. However, Minhyuk was not possessed by any demons. He was haunted, but he wasn’t possessed.

Not much is known about his family. His mother abandoned Minhyuk since she thought it was too much of a hassle to raise him. She claimed he caused her immense grief and misfortune. He was labeled as a “trouble kid.” His mother was a selfish and materialistic woman. She only cared about her social status and her wealth. His aunt and uncle took care of him. He hasn’t seen his mother since. He did poorly in school since he was often distracted during class. Eventually, he dropped out of school at the age of seventeen.

His aunt, his mother’s sister, finally told Minhyuk what she knows about his birth. His aunt called his mother insane for being involved with the Celtic god of the underworld, Arawn. That can explain why he can actively communicate with the dead. In general, he was just different from “regular” humans. He also possessed great strength. At first, Minhyuk didn’t want to believe that he’s part deity. Really, it sounds like something out of a fairytale. However, his aunt knew about a place called Mount Phoenix since his mother was constantly searching for the place to reunite with Arawn. Of course, whether his mother truly loved the god of the underworld is uncertain. Most likely, she was seeking him for her own gain. Minhyuk decided he had nothing to lose by searching for the entrance to Mount Phoenix.

Eventually, he arrived at the bridge in Incheon that connected Mount Phoenix to the mortal world. On the ground, there were rocks neatly lined up in the center. The wind was pushing him further down the bridge. He ran as fast as he can across the bridge, never looking back. Since then, he’s been living on the island of Mount Phoenix for around three years.

PANTHEON: Celtic CHILD OF: Arawn POWERS: Minhyuk has the ability to communicate with the dead. He also possesses enhanced physical strength. He can raise the dead for short periods of time, but this takes up most of his energy. As a result, he can become fatigued, and it may take him awhile to recover. STRENGTHS: Minhyuk is physically strong. He clearly surpasses the Olympic feat of strength. He can lift, throw, or catch items of great weight. He can view and hear ghosts or spirits of the deceased, which most people cannot see or hear. He can also raise the dead. Apart from his powers, he’s artistic. He’s good at drawing and has a great eye for beauty and detail. WEAKNESSES: He can communicate with the dead, but he has absolutely no control of their actions. He’s still vulnerable to being possessed by spirits. His powers do not grant him spiritual protection. He can only serve as a medium. His strength can have its limitations. Enhanced strength does not equal durability. If he were to try lifting something extremely heavy (by his standards) over his head, his bones and joints would snap. His strength is also affected by balance, gravity, and mass. As stated above, he can raise the dead but it is extremely draining for him. In terms of social skills, he finds it difficult to open up to others or completely trust them. At times, he can be mentally unstable.

#kpop rp #krp #monsta x #lee minhyuk #monsta x minhyuk #mp; welcome

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biofunmy · 5 years ago

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The Nightlife Outlaws of East Los Angeles

The Look

Club Scum, a monthly party that embraces punk and drag, is a distillation of the fringe-friendly gay underground on the Eastside.

Photographs by Daniel Jack Lyons

Text by Daniel Hernandez

Produced by Eve Lyons

Let’s get one thing straight, so to speak.

There’s mainstream gay club culture — homogeneous house music, international circuit parties, rainbow flags everywhere, which is fine! — and there is underground gay club culture, which is more like a spider web of alternative scenes. The underground reflects themes and identities, as well as literal geographies, that are usually marginalized, or are, in a word, “queer.”

In Los Angeles in early 2016, two queer club denizens put a party together at a strip-mall gay bar in deeply Latino eastern Los Angeles and called it Club Scum. Far from the posher dance floors of the gay enclave of West Hollywood, the goal of the organizers was to mix scenes that hadn’t often met, even on the widest of webs: drag and punk. They were nervous.

“The first Scum, yeah, some people were leaving, and the manager was worried,” said one of the co-founders, Rudy “Rudy Bleu” Garcia, referring to their venue, Club Chico in Montebello, Calif.

“But at the same time, those punks who took the bus were rolling in late,” added Ray “Hex-Ray” Sanchez, the other co-founder. The pair shared a laugh as they recalled the hint of what was to come. The punks mixed in with goth drag queens and the club’s masc, down-low regular clientele. Something clicked. “By the end of the night,” Mr. Garcia continued, the bar owners said: “‘Wow, this was great, the energy was great, the performers were great.’ And the regulars” — pause — “have the rest of the month.”

More than three years later, this monthly party featuring art and drag performances, D.J.s, go-go dancers and sometimes live punk bands, has become a staple of underground East L.A. night life. The mixture has worked, its founders said, because Scum spoke to a cultural current that was hiding right before them.

“For us, it’s just fun to play X Ray Specs and then Banda Machos, or like, Gloria Trevi to the Germs,” said Mr. Garcia, 41, referring to the sounds of Scum playlists, but also to the musical styles that might echo against one another across city streets in East L.A.

Dress is central to Scum’s subculture. The club’s adherents show up reflecting all kinds of alternative styles, often with a gender-bending or drag bent. Body positivity is functionally boundless. Extravagant face makeup is a norm. Prosthetics are encouraged.

On a recent night in September, the latest Scum night at Chico was going strong. The music and vibe veered — seamlessly — from New Wave, to techno, to traditional Mexican ranchera to hard-core punk. A few people approached me and said they’d never seen me there before, just as a regular said might happen. Inclusivity reigns at Club Scum. I smiled and embraced strangers, informing them that, yes, I was a party virgin.

“Scum is that place where you can be your true authentic weird self,” said Mr. Sanchez, 30, and I knew exactly what he meant. In a way, I’d been to this party, in some form, many times before.

I had a pretty great time living in Los Angeles in my 20s in the mid-2000s.

It was in its last few years in the ranks of megacities that were considered underrated, and, for its sheer vastness, Los Angeles felt like a place where wonderlands for any fancy beckoned from behind discreetly marked doors. There was always something going on, always another room to peek into, always another entrance. In that decade, L.A. was the city of secrets.

I was convinced that in order to really understand the place, I had to get to know as many distinct night life scenes as possible. After dark, I got in my car and went out. I plunged into the neighborhoods that radiate from downtown, hurtling into backyard ska-punk shows in El Sereno, experimental art happenings in Chinatown, and smoky trip-hop after-hours in warehouses in South-Central. Most of all, I was at the underground gay club nights.

In L.A.’s central neighborhoods and its Eastside, denizens followed the underground gay calendar from club to club, week to week, where we made bands of friends and notched strings of enthusiastic bed mates. There wasn’t a lot of overthinking going on; labels weren’t in style. Maybe this was because the period came right after the vibrating trauma of Sept. 11, but also well before dating apps, necessitating analog contact with strangers in order to have a life in a driving-heavy metropolis.

The corresponding flow was fluid and bent slightly toward the nihilistic in everything from music to sexual practices to street fashion. As a result, it’s taken me some years to realize that there were actually two alternative gay underground cultures in Los Angeles at the time, and that many of us had firm footholds in both.

There were the more mainstream-adjacent scenes that centered in East Hollywood and Silver Lake: leather, bears, rockers, “creative” types, the people who congregated at places like Akbar, MJ’s, the Eagle, Cuffs and Faultline. Then there was the immigrant-led underground, dominated by working class gays and lesbians, Latin drag queens, trans people. These venues included the old Le Bar on Glendale Boulevard (now the hipster haunt Cha Cha Lounge), the now-defunct Circus Disco in Hollywood, the divey New Jalisco on Main Street, and Tempo on Santa Monica Boulevard, a veritable club of worship to gay vaqueros and queens.

Farther east, there was the little known lesbian bar Reds in Boyle Heights, and Club Chico, a “cholo bar,” as we called it back then, that catered mostly to Mexican or Mexican-American guys who shunned the traditional L.G.B.T. identifiers but could definitely be described as “men who have sex with men.”

Being a gay underground clubgoer in L.A. at the time meant almost by default being some shade of brown. Nearly half of the county’s population was already Latino, but it was a time, almost two decades before Latinx entered the dictionary, when the city was weirdly un-self-aware about it. Everyone was just mixed in.

The deeper I got into downtown and the Eastside, the weirder and freer things would get. Which is why, when I first entered a Club Scum night in Los Angeles in 2019, I knew, in club-going terms, that I had effectively returned home.

Scum sits at the intersection of queer culture, punk culture and drag culture. It is for women, men, and literally every gender expression in between. Mr. Garcia is a veteran underground night life maven, part of a generation who created intense community at the L.A. queer party nights of the late 2000s, like Mustache Mondays (whose co-founder and beloved impresario Nacho Nava died in January) and Wildness in MacArthur Park.

The community at Scum, like that of similar parties that exist in its orbit, touches on the propensity among alternative-leaning, young Eastsiders to be drawn to anything goth, gore, electro or hard core. For drag personalities in particular, Scum is seen as a community home-base; several drag houses have organically formed around the party.

Scum also serves as a beacon to the essential identity of the Eastside of Los Angeles County. Montebello, where Chico has kept a low-key presence since 1999, is a couple blocks away from the boundary of unincorporated East L.A., which, remember, is a distinct entity; its natives — including Mr. Garcia and Mr. Sanchez — don’t ever let a newcomer forget it. The location keeps the club rooted in the various cultural pillars of the region. East Los Angeles proper is more than 95 percent Latino, according to the U.S. census, and largely some form of Mexican.

From here, Scum also becomes the party that arguably fits best for those who feel like they’re the strangest in their neighborhoods, anywhere. Maybe they love the Misfits, but also know their Juan Gabriel. Or they skate, but also do some drag. To some adherents, it’s all “queerdo,” a construction of “weirdo” and “queer” — apt, though of uncertain provenance.

“It just feels safe,” said Amanda Estrada, 31, a regular clubgoer and musician, who once had a band with Mr. Sanchez. She attends regularly with her partner Rocío Flores, who also D.J.s at the club. They were there together on the very first night. “At Scum, you know you’re among your people, your community, and I know that sounds cheesy, but that really is the vibe when you walk in,” Ms. Estrada said.

Mr. Garcia and Mr. Sanchez came into the scene through their bands, and by promoting clubs and making zines. These activities will sound familiar to elder Eastsiders, as they have flourished in the gay underground of the Eastside since at least the 1970s, said C. Ondine Chavoya, a professor at Williams College, and co-curator of “Axis Mundo,” a 2017 museum survey exhibit that charts queer visual arts and cultural production on L.A.’s Eastside. “It was about being the punk kids at the gay disco, or being the Latino queers at the bar in the West Hollywood, which didn’t always work out,” Mr. Chavoya said.

For the misfits, the outcasts, the night crawlers, it works. “Scum provides a space for people to be themselves, and take risks, and try new things with the way they dress, perform, communicate,” Mr. Garcia said. “And to meet other people who are like you, and are not just trying to fetishize you for being brown or for being punk.”

Mr. Sanchez added: “It’s been nice to bring people to our gay bar, in the hood, where we grew up.”

Daniel Jack Lyons is a photographer who divides his time between New York and Los Angeles. Daniel Hernandez is a Styles West reporter and the author of “Down and Delirious in Mexico City,” a nonfiction exploration of youth subcultures in Mexico.

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freakflagbyiana · 5 years ago

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Pride & Coming out

It’s Pride month, and I’ve been listening to the coming out stories of people I know and admire. I’ve also been thinking a lot about my friends who either aren’t out or are out but their family doesn’t quite accept them... They have an “understanding” that they don’t talk about it. So here’s my coming out story, a queer memoir in 3 acts: Childhood, Puberty, and Adulthood.

Childhood

When I was a kid, I was called a Tomboy. It’s not even entirely accurate; I played with Barbies and makeup and costumes. I just also enjoyed Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and video games and comic books and getting dirty. And since this was the '80s, having an androgynous haircuts wasn't an indicator of gender or sexuality one way or another, it was simply the fashion.

Here’s a fun fact: My dad potty trained me, so I first attempted to pee standing up. He quickly realized he had to demonstrate sitting down if he was going to be the one teaching me. My idea of femininity - instilled in me by my mother - was also rather androgynous or 'tomboy'. Because she had always been skinny and flat chested, I grew up naturally assuming I’d be the same. I came from mom so I’ll look like mom when I grow up, right?

I remember hating Easter. It was the only time mom made me wear a big frilly dress for the pictures we'd send to Grandma. Pictures which inevitably involved me sitting on the side of the highway in a field of bluebonnets. In these photos, I am wearing a hot, unbreathable dress with scratchy tulle to make it 'poofy', sitting in a field (probably next to some fire ants), breathing in fumes of the highway with the afternoon sun burning my retinas, and trying not to squint too much for the picture. I remember thinking, “Boys don’t have to deal with this crap” (To this day, I still take bluebonnet pictures in the shade.)

I remember liking pink because, “I’m a girl, I’m supposed to like pink. Barbie’s favorite color is pink, so if I like Barbie, I like pink.” Gender Programming in action, folks! Eventually I rebelled against this gender standard, and, to this day, I’m still allergic to pink. Later I felt vindicated when I figured out how olive-yellow my skin tone was and thus how pink will always make me look sick. But I think it will always make me feel sick, too, because it was forced on me so heavily as a child. Forced by society, that is, it wasn’t my mom’s fault. I remember not knowing quite what was going on with David Bowie in Labyrinth but being really into it. {see previous blog on the subject} My parents watched a lot of MTV in the '80s, which explains most of my music and aesthetic tastes. But, more importantly, as a kid who would not understand the negative sides of the decade - the war on drugs, the AIDS epidemic, the Yuppies - until much later, the '80s were a magical time for a baby queer. Grace Jones was a strong masculine woman of color; and Nick Rhodes made it okay for “straight” men to have what I still call the gayest pink wedding I’ve ever seen. I could go on about my influences from this decade but the points that are relevant right now are these: Androgyny was fashionable, and Genderqueer was fashionable. In so many ways, the society of my early childhood, the '80s and early '90s, accepted all this stuff far better than that of my pre-teen and teenage years, the later '90s and '00s. At the time when I was affected most by society’s views on sexuality and gender identity, the culture was shifting, becoming less fluid... More into dividing by categories and labels and, to some, moralities. In my childhood, my mother was a department store makeup artist. This is a key ingredient in the Life Story of Iana. She was a department store makeup artist for Clinique, but she really wanted to be a special effects makeup artist for the movies ... like back in the days before CGI became the most efficient option, when they still hired artisans to create prosthetic movie monsters. (RIP the glory days of prosthetic SFX.) This is why I grew up watching horror movies and wasn’t scared by the scary stuff. She always explained to me how they made the zombies look dead, or blood look real, or those amazing transformations in American Werewolf in London & Thriller. Horror education aside, she also notably introduced me to makeup, brought home by her from work for me to play with. This was her most glorious, single-mom, life-hack moment: Tell child they can play with makeup and get them set up in the dry bath tub, allow them to draw on themselves and on the walls (because it’s only tile and it’s only makeup) while you sneak in a nap on the fuzzy bathmat floor. Dangle arm over bathtub so that the child knows you’re still there. When they are done, surprise! it’s bath-time, and you’re already trapped in the tub, kid! ... Frankly, it was a true stroke of genius. When people tell me “you’re so good at makeup,” it's like, of course I am! It was one of my first toys, and I’ve been playing with it ever since. You'd be, too, if you’d been playing with it as long as you can remember. It’s simply a matter of practice: do a thing 1000 times, and you’re a master, right?

Puberty

I grew up in Cuernavaca, the “affordable” hippie area of Westlake at the time. Cuernavaca is a weird little microcosm all on it’s own... I once referred to it as “The Twin Peaks of Westlake” and I stand by that statement. I attended West Ridge Middle School from 1996 to 1999. Although I was closer to my mom, I had to live with my dad in order to go to this “better” school. All the people I'm still close to from that time were kids from my neighborhood. They weren’t completely spoiled jerks, and most were probably a little weird like me. I had a beautiful best friend named Jane. I’m using her name because I want her to know if she ever reads this. Her parents were hippies while mine were weird, artist nerds into cyberpunk and technology, and we were from opposite worlds in many ways. But both of us, along with our other close friends Chelsea and Saira, were great at art. We were like an antisocial fantasy art coven who didn’t want to get involved in school politics ... we would keep to ourselves and draw when we were supposed to be taking notes, draw during lunch, and hang out after school to draw and listen to music. We hang around after class to talk to our favorite art teacher, Ms. Mouer, who always would say, “You’re only young once, but you can be immature forever!” (That’s not relevant to the story; it’s just a shoutout incase she reads this, too.) I remember this time was when Labyrinth was out of print, and I was the only girl in the neighborhood who had a VHS copy, taped off of HBO. My girlfriends would frequently come over to watch it, although once it got re-released on DVD, my house was suddenly less popular. It was in this environment that I was able to explore different aspects of my aesthetic. In hindsight, if I had been this age nowadays, I’d describe myself as non binary or genderqueer (not the same thing, but I’m not sure which I’d have used then). But at the time, I looked like an outcast no matter what; people could make their own assumptions, and I certainly wasn’t going to defend myself to anyone judging. The first Bowie album I acquired (read "stole from mom") around then was the Ryko edition of Scary Monsters - one of my favorite David Bowie songs still is Teenage Wildlife. This part always brings a tear to my eye. I think most teens can relate to this because most of us were “others” in some form: You'll take me aside, and say "Well, David, what shall I do? They wait for me in the hallway" I'll say "Don't ask me, I don't know any hallways" But they move in numbers and they've got me in a corner I feel like a group of one, no-no They can't do this to me I'm not some piece of teenage wildlife I had developed an androgynous, genderfluid aesthetic, but, problematically, I did not have an androgynous body. I did not develop into a lanky, Twiggy-esque waif like my mother. I developed hips and breasts so suddenly that I had bright red stretch marks, everywhere. To this day, my breasts were never as big as they were then. I’m assuming it has something to do with still having “baby fat” and all the new hormones working overtime, and also my diet being sugar/dairy heavy (fatter = curvier). Later, in my 20s, I was relieved they got smaller as I cut HFCS out of my diet. In any case, sudden curves meant that I had to drop out of gymnastics ... it’s very difficult to safely throw your center of gravity around when your center of gravity is extra jiggly and changing daily.

I didn’t know how to dress for my body type. At the time when I just wanted to wear oversized band tees, the only bras I could use were underwire ... it would be years before I discovered the glory of sports bras, much less breast binders. So I wore oversized band t-shirts with underwire bras, paired with pants that never fit quite right (they still don’t) or full skirts. On top of wearing what most often resembled a giant tent, I had started cutting and coloring my own hair, so it changed regularly and got shorter. Sidecuts, mowhawks, pixie cuts, and a fully shaved head at 14 years old. From the outside looking in, you could definitely tell I was either “gender confused” or “on my way to becoming a butch lesbian” to use the language of the times; non-binary was not yet a label, especially not a respected one. My room was covered in posters of comic book women (mainly the characters from The Sandman), male rock stars (mainly Robert Smith and Keith Flint), and LOTS of pictures of Brandon Lee from The Crow, with whom I have been obsessed since age 9.

One day, mom told me about a “joke” she made to my father; taking one look at my room covered in pictures of Brandon Lee, she said to him, “At least we know she’s heterosexual” It was the first time I wanted to speak up, to argue about it with someone. I didn’t care if people outside my family assumed one way or another, but I was so angry that my mom just jumped to a conclusion like that. My own mother - who enjoyed short hair and androgynous fashion, who herself had been “a lesbian in college.” She was the one that taught me that gender and sexuality were a fluid spectrum to begin with. I didn’t argue with her though; I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary, I just knew she was wrong. I grew up watching The X-Files from day one - trading her love of David Duchovny for a deep interest with whatever Gillian Anderson was doing onscreen. Mom also took me to see The Fifth Element when it came out, and I have been in love with Milla Jovovich ever since. To this day, I have bonded with many of my male friends over these two female crushes. At this point in my life, I didn’t know if I was gay or bisexual. I wasn't sure if I was comfortable with my cisgender female identity, or if I was something else. I just knew she was totally wrong. In this time also, I would say that Jane was my best friend. She was beautiful and looked exactly like Claire Danes in Stardust, which is crazy to me now, because she and I had been obsessed with Neil Gaiman’s works long before any movies and Stardust was always one of her favorites. It's impossible for me to watch the movie now without thinking of her.

So I was close to my best friend because we were weird kids. So I thought she was beautiful because she objectively was. So what? Was I gay for my best friend? Probably a bit but no more than is normal to be gay for your best friend. ... I mean, I think even heterosexual, same-sex besties should be a little gay for each other. That’s how close friendships work! This is a person you love so much that you have their back in 99% of situations, you would bury a body with, etc. You should think they’re attractive even if you don’t want to sleep with them yourself, you should enjoy their company often even if you don’t want to marry them yourself, you should love them enough that it doesn’t matter if people accuse you of being gay for them. Platonic love is still love, so even if that person is gay and you’re not, it doesn’t mean their love is romantic. What I’m building up to, dear audience, is the other shoe dropping. Jane’s “hippie” father didn’t like me. He was in the National Guard and had just come back from dealing with the aftermath of the war in Bosnia and living in Russia for a while. After Russia he was different; he bought Jane very sexy (for a fifteen-year-old), form-fitting dresses, dressed her up like a Barbie and became more strict at home. I remember her finding it distressing, but she liked fashion, so it seemed like the typical patriarchal tradeoff that my gender faces: If you want to have shiny objects bought for you, you have to obey the breadwinning man of the house. And then, in the midst of that, here came I, parading around their house with my strong sense of self, thanks to my '80s-influenced, genderfluid upbringing. How dare I waltz in there and preach the word of David Bowie to his little Stepford daughter? I, on the other hand, just knew that they were hippies, they were supposed to be into peace, love, unity; acceptance of other, races, cultures, and “free love.” I was just a kid, how was I supposed to realize her father was so threatened by my very presence in his daughter’s life? It was so long ago that I don’t quite remember if he accused me of being gay to my face, or if Jane relayed the questions he asked her about me when I wasn’t there. But I vividly remember uncomfortable dinners, where vague personal questions that would be downright unacceptable to ask a child today were posed to me. When I asked my mother what to do, she wrote Jane's father off as “an asshole,” because she was familiar with the type of man he was. She told me to just stop going over there. But then how was I supposed to hang out with my best friend? Well, in truth, after that I didn’t really. She would have to make the effort to hang out with me at mine, or I’d just see her at school. But in truth, she totally checked out of the friendship after that. She put her head down and concentrated on getting good grades in school like she was serving a sentence in jail. I knew she had always wanted to make costumes, but after that time, she suddenly needed to get better grades as her father wanted her to become a lawyer or something related. (Eventually, she ended up making costumes after all) In April of 1999, right before I graduated from 8th grade, something happened that would change my life - and the country - forever: the Columbine school shooting. At the time, the only story we were told was that the shooters were goths, and they shot up the school because they were being bullied by jocks. (We now know that it was the other way around, the shooters were also the bullies.) And here I was, a baby goth and a genderqueer “lesbian” in a school full of rich, preppy jocks. The media perpetuated the “us vs them” situation, magnifying the underlying misconceptions and misjudgment. To be honest, I probably would not have gone to Westlake high school in any case, but Columbine sealed the deal. My mom and I loved watching Heathers, and I knew a similar environment awaited me at Westlake. Fortunately, it was around this time that I became acquainted with another Cuernavaca kid who was in the grade above me, Maria Russo. She was out as a lesbian or bisexual (I don’t remember which exactly as they were essentially the same thing in that environment) and was the only other goth girl in school. She wore ripped fishnets and dog collars and was obsessed with both Rocky Horror Picture Show and mermaids. She told me she wasn't going to Westlake either and that I should join her at this cool, hippie high school she found, The Griffin School. So even though I was only 14, I told my parents I was not going to go to arguably the best public school in the city, and that instead they were going to work together to send me to this weird, small private school for artsy kids. I was always a good student, except for middle school and I blame that on everyone being more concerned about social status than actually learning anything. That’s the irony of privilege, nobody appreciated the educational resources they had they just cared whether or not my clothes were from the Gap. I sold my parents on sending me to Griffin because of my grades suffering, the fact that my best friend and I had drifted apart, and then Columbine making the world more dangerous for goth kids really sealed the deal... The backlash meant that my safety was more severely threatened by the clothes I put on everyday, which I had been wearing for years already. I attended Griffin for all four years of high school and had one of the rarest experiences for a teen - I thoroughly enjoyed every year of high school. And it wasn’t because I was popular and peaked in high school either. I felt my sense of self was respected, my sexuality or gender identity wasn’t a concern to the staff or to the other parents. Also, I made excellent grades. I have since reconnected with several of my middle school friends that attended different high schools. But I never saw or spoke to Jane again.

Adulthood

As an adult, I identify as Bisexual. There is a myth that bisexuality excludes being attracted to people of non-binary orientation because you are attracted to "males OR females." The way I see it, the "bi" in bisexual refers to both ends of sexuality as a spectrum between heterosexual relationships and homosexual relationships. The stuff in between is undefined but included.

Many of the people who would have been considered Bisexual in the '90s identify as Pansexual today. That’s fine, but I’m not going to do that. I’ve considered myself bisexual since puberty; I don’t see the point in rebranding my sexuality now when I know what I mean by it, and that’s all that matters. But I think the reason Bisexuality split off into Pansexuality is that Bisexual is still a four letter word in the gay community. It’s better than it used to be, but there’s still this feeling that we’re not gay enough.

I once talked to a Pansexual who said she has been attracted to all kinds of things, including trees. And I thought, first, "that’s very interesting," and second, "I definitely don’t identify as that." This makes it hard to be a loud and proud bisexual; I don’t hide it, but I’ve kept it private for a reason. In the past, when a lesbian I had just met (at a party) asked me about my sexuality and I said I was bi. She then interrogated me about my gay experiences in a way that made me very uncomfortable. I finally interrupted her by shouting - “I don’t have to tell you anything!” - I didn’t know her, and it was none of her business. I got defensive because it took me by surprise, both, I suppose, because I expected more from another member of the queer community, and because it triggered memories of those uncomfortable dinners with Jane’s father. But the great thing about being an adult is that peer pressure isn’t real. No one can actually force you do anything you don’t want to do or tell them anything you don’t want to share simply by “putting pressure” on you to do their will. So I stick to the Bisexual label, partially out of resentment. I had to fight so hard to find this identity; I changed schools and lost one of my closest friends over it. I’m not going to stop being bisexual just because there are some mean girls in the gay community. And, in the end, I will always defend use of the term Bisexual: it was good enough for David Bowie, and he was a fucking Genderqueer alien. If the King/Queen of Genderqueer aliens Hermself feels included by this term, why wouldn’t I? Weirdness is a part of me right down to my sexuality and gender identity. I will always be attracted to the “others” of the world. In the end, I don’t belong in the gay clubs because I don’t like dancing to Beyonce, not because I’m not gay enough.

Although we’ve come a long way, people are still surprised if I mention that I’m not straight. Not every member of the queer community is an effeminate boy or a butch girl. Just because I look comfortable as a cisgender female doesn’t mean I didn’t struggle with my gender identity my entire childhood. I went to see Eddie Izzard do his standup act the other night, the first time since I’d seen him live in 2003. Towards the end he got heckled with something simultaneously misogynist and homophobic - “SHOW US YOUR TITS!” - and audible cringe swept over the audience as we began to boo. I thought, “WOW, He’s been out since the '80s, he’s so established and respected and famous now, and he still can’t get away from this stuff.” You never get away from it, there will always be a problem for someone. All you can hope for is a bigger, better group of people around you to boo on your behalf. You’re probably thinking to yourself, “wait this is your coming out story, when do you come out to your parents?” The truth is I didn’t. This blog entry, coming out to the general public, is the most coming out I’ve ever done. I didn’t have real relationships when I was in school, and I got married to a bisexual boy when I was 19, so it never came up. At the time, we were openly bisexual to each other but neither of us really had “the conversation” with our parents. He didn’t because they were British and, although I have no doubt they would have accepted him, Brits just didn’t talk about that stuff out loud. I used to think of him as choosing to be repressed, choosing to remain in the closet, but it’s only recently that I’ve realized that would mean I chose the same thing. I didn’t have “the conversation” with my parents because A) I wasn’t having relations under their roof either way; B) my “woke” mom had already assumed wrong, and I wasn’t close to my dad; and C) I felt it was none of their business. By the time I confirmed my sexuality, I was an adult, and they had no say in the matter anyway. That’s the million dollar question - if you know your parents accept and love you either way, do you need to have a conversation about it? Are you still in the closet even if you make no attempts to hide your sexuality or gender identity? Many of my clients are various degrees of queer and trans, going through their own complex struggles with all the emotional dust that Pride month kicks up. For example, those we have lost. ... I am again reminded of the recent void left behind by an older gay friend, the closest I had to a brother; we lost him in December to suicide shortly after he was diagnosed with advanced HIV. He was in his 40s and there appeared to be some form of denial coming from his family. Even though he was a fully grown adult, it seemed like he chose suicide over living as a “sick” person and having to address the facts with his family. Pride isn’t just about rainbow outfits and drag shows. Pride in the queer community is essential to survival. Lots of statistics prove this out in different ways; here’s just two of them: “LGB youth seriously contemplate suicide at almost three times the rate of heterosexual youth." And "LGB youth are almost five times as likely to have attempted suicide compared to heterosexual youth.” [source: The Trevor Project] If is that common as a teenager, do you think that changes when you grow up into a gay adult? Not necessarily. But I’m not going to end on a sad note. I have a lot of happy memories associated with Pride, too. My favorite part of living in Chicago in my early 20s was being a block away from Boystown, the gayberhood. The parade would come down our street, Broadway, off Belmont. For a few glorious hours the street was absolutely covered in rainbow confetti and glitter. Then as everyone moved indoors to drink and party, because Chicago is a proper city, the street sweepers would drive by and clean up all the litter like nothing ever happened. Below are some pictures from Chicago Pride 2005. That year was the first and only time I’ve ever seen RuPaul perform, way before Drag Race, when Supermodel was still his top hit. The Grand Marshal was Wilson Cruz, and, as a '90s latchkey kid who watched reruns of My So-Called Life with some of TV's first out gay teens, that was very exciting! (CW: this picture of the proud gay WWII vets makes me cry every time)

In the process of writing this blog, a client who came out to me as non-binary. It’s always exciting for my shop to be considered a safe space for people to come out before they deal with the complications of telling family, if they even tell their family. We related on a lot of the same levels. Being outright gay is difficult, being outright trans is difficult. ... But being nonbinary/bisexual can be difficult in a different way; it’s like flying under the radar, sometimes even to yourself. You’re not denying that part of you is 'other', but you know you’re not 'other enough' to be Grand Marshal of the Pride Parade. Especially for folks of my generation who grew up with the fashionable androgyny of the '80s/'90s. Then when you hit puberty and struggle with having a very feminine or masculine skewing body, it’s easy enough to fall back into binary fashion since those are the only clothes that are made to fit your body. This is one of the reasons there’s so many older people discovering this stuff about themselves now. Now we finally have language for the nuances of gender identity, so we’re all able to talk about it together. Strangely enough, these concepts are as old as mankind, the language is only new to the western culture. One of my favorite things to read about is the five gender system of Native American cultures: men, women, trans men, trans women, and nonbinary are all mentioned. {see this super-rad article here} In the end, though, when people ask me about my pronouns, I still don’t know what to say. I'll get that feeling like I'm taking a test I haven’t studied for. I’m still wired to be unconcerned with what people think of me, what they call me, but I’ll try to answer to the best of my understanding. I don’t feel entirely comfortable being a female or dressing femme. But I damn well love costumes, and I got comfortable with makeup early on in my childhood. So when people compliment my feminine aesthetics, I see it as being good at drag. Like high femme feels more like drag than when when I dress in androgynous or boyish looks. High femme is a lot of work but simultaneously (relatively) easy because I understand the programming I’ve been receiving since I was a little girl. Androgyny is easier and more comfortable for my brain but also more difficult to execute given the body I have and the way they make clothes for it. (I’m getting better though, I just got a binder by gc2b which I’m eagerly awaiting in the mail any day now!) Anyway, I’m comfortable with “she” as my pronoun - in the same way RuPaul is called “she” when in drag, even though he’s “he” when he’s just Charles, right? It’s like the same way I don’t care when someone gets my name wrong the first time they try to pronounce it. ... I don’t care what you call me, just as long as you see me. 20 years later and I’m still friends with Maria, who many of you will know as the mermaid Co-Owner of Cute Nail Studio - otherwise known as the Gayest Nail Studio in the city, state, possibly the country. I hope she knows how proud I am of her and how eternally grateful I will forever be for getting me out of Westlake. It was like she tossed me a big gay lifesaver when I needed it most. In the end I think the key is not being afraid, especially now, to talk about those things. Especially during Pride when so many different flavors of queer (and non-) come together to celebrate. Don't be afraid to talk about your own pathway, the unsureness you still might have, and the childhood experiences that made you realize you were born just a little weird. Stick together so that you don't feel isolated and don't settle for feeling like a group of one. REACH OUT to you brothers and sisters and siblings of no discernible gender and tell them you love them. Love people as an act of defiance. Walk tall with your strong sense of self.

#pride #gender #genderfluid #transgender #gay #lesbian #bisexual #androgyny #controversial fashion #vulnerability

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quon210-blog · 6 years ago

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The EMO Reality of Being a Teen and How it Relates to Social Media (Revised)

It hurts me to say it but being eighteen years old is not how I pictured it would be, and I know that I am far from being the only one to feel this way. Now that I think about it, none of my teenage years have played out like anything I saw depicted in some of my favorite teen shows such as Zoey 101, Saved by the Bell, and Degrassi. If I’m going to be honest with myself, I don’t see my 19th year being the one where my life suddenly becomes like a TeenNick show. The media creates shows with characters that revolve around perfect identities, and it presents to teens a life they would want. I know from experience how easy it can be to get sucked into the enticing worlds the media constructs, and I know all too well how hard it hurts to realize the real world doesn’t work that way.

The real world isn’t just some joy ride; it also has hardships, many of which happen during adolescence. Emo teens are familiar with the hardships the world can impose on them, whether it be school or the many boredoms of life. They were among the first to develop an urge to disconnect from misery. The introduction of social media provided the means for disconnecting.

One of the few things that is correctly portrayed in most of these outlandish, teenage shows is the infamous social class system that we all know and love. No matter the school or the time period, there will always be your jocks, your cheerleaders, your nerds, your weirdos, and your unclassifiable kids (those who seem to just not fit into any group). Whichever group one falls in greatly influences their views on life and themselves.

A key aspect of being a teen, is trying to figure out who you are and learning to embrace what makes you different from everyone else. This is most definitely easier said than done—I know some adults who still haven’t solved this puzzle yet. I feel as though emo teenagers amplify this aspect because they have a deep awareness of their feelings. There is a reason they sit at the bottom of the popularity pyramid. They are the ones who feel the most outcasted within reality because they are aware of how mundane and cruel it can be; they see the flaws of the world and themselves. This causes them to be labeled as “freaks” or “weirdos” by other “regular” teens.

A combination of teenage angst and isolation makes emo teens feel confined by the normality of reality. In Andy Greenwald’s Nothing Feels Good: Punk Rock, Teenagers, and Emo, he reveals that the AOL chat rooms and other early forms of 90s social media provided a way of freedom from this confinement (271). The early internet offered something that could fill the void in the hearts of emo kids caused by the many disappointments of reality. There was finally a place that could provide “both community and self-definition” (Greenwald 271) for most of the emo kids who felt isolated in the world and unsure about who they were. AOL message boards showed emo teens that there was a bigger world out there, a world filled with other people who like the same music and shared similar perspectives as them. AOL set the foundation for sites like Makeoutclub and LiveJournal to build upon. These sites gave teens a means of escaping the cruel reality around them, allowing them become part of a community where they could be whoever they wanted to be (Greenwald 273). Teens no longer had to be a “freak” when they could hop on the internet and suddenly become a punk rock connoisseur or a Dashboard Confessional analyst. Teens could now create multiple personas and experiment with the ideas of who they wanted to be to the world.

They could now turn their lives into a TeenNick show through the power of profile creation. This was the spark that would lead into the wildfire that social media is today. The idea of creating personas to escape the truths of the world spread rapidly. It wasn’t long before sites like Makeoutclub spread beyond angsty teens to band members, label heads, and regular adults looking to immerse themselves into a reality different from what they were used to (Greenwald 275).

The growing number of teens and adults wanting to create profiles and build community ultimately lead to the large social media platforms we have today, such as Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat. Just like Makeoutclub and LiveJournal, the sites today are packed with people trying to escape their surroundings and become part of a virtual reality—an idea that emo teens were among the first to epitomize. But most of the world has become obsessed with showcasing the “best” version of themselves to the world. A version of themselves that sits far outside the truth. Social media has become less about community and more about competition. Competition to see who can make the best persona. As time progresses, this idea may become more and more skewed, but at its root will always be the emo centered idea of detaching oneself from the cruelty of reality.

Works Cited:

Greenwald, Andy (2003). Nothing Feels Good: Punk Rock, Teenagers, and Emo. USA: St. Martin’s Press. p. 320. ISBN 0-312-30863-9

Picture 1: https://www.bloggstudio.com/expectation-disappointment-are-related-to-each-other/

Picture 2: https://www.emaze.com/@AFRFQQLO

Picture 3: https://fixate.io/multiple-persona-disorder/

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blackkudos · 7 years ago

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Afrika Bambaataa

Kevin Donovan (born April 19, 1957), better known by the stage name Afrika Bambaataa, is an American DJ from the South Bronx, New York. He is notable for releasing a series of genre-defining electro tracks in the 1980s that influenced the development of hip hop culture. Afrika Bambaataa is one of the originators of breakbeat DJing and is respectfully known as "The Godfather" and "Amen Ra of Hip Hop Kulture," as well as the father of electro funk. Through his co-opting of the street gang the Black Spades into the music and culture-oriented Universal Zulu Nation, he has helped spread Hip Hop Culture throughout the world.

Early life

Donovan grew up in The Bronx River Projects, with an activist mother and uncle. As a child, he was exposed to the black liberation movement, and witnessed debates between his mother and uncle regarding the conflicting ideologies in the movement. He was exposed to his mother's extensive and eclectic record collection. Gangs in the area became the law in the area, clearing their turf of drug dealers, assisting with community health programs and both fighting and partying to keep members and turf. Donovan was a member of the Young Spades. He quickly rose to the position of warlord of one of the divisions. As warlord, it was his job to build ranks and expand the turf of the young Spades. He was not afraid to cross turfs to forge relationships with other gang members, and with other gangs. As a result, the Spades became the biggest gang in the city in terms of both membership and turf.

After Donovan won an essay contest that earned him a trip to Africa, his worldview shifted. He had seen the movie Zulu and was impressed with the solidarity exhibited by the Zulu in that film. During his trip to Africa, the communities he visited inspired him to stop the violence and create a community in his own neighborhood. He changed his name to Afrika Bambaataa Aasim, adopting the name of the Zulu chief Bhambatha, who led an armed rebellion against unfair economic practices in early 20th century South Africa that can be seen as a precursor to the anti-apartheid movement. He told people that his name was Zulu for "affectionate leader." Donovan formed The "Bronx River Organization" as an alternative to the Black Spades.

Inspired by DJ Kool Herc and Kool DJ Dee, Donovan began hosting hip-hop parties beginning in 1977. He vowed to use hip-hop to draw angry kids out of gangs and formed the Universal Zulu Nation. Robert Keith Wiggins, a.k.a. "Cowboy" of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, is credited with naming hip-hop; the term became a common phrase used by MCs as part of a scat-inspired style of rhyming. In the documentary film Just to Get a Rep, the writer Steven Hager claims that the first time "hip-hop" was used in print was in his Village Voice article where he was quoting Donovan who had called the culture "hip-hop" in an interview.

In 1982, Donovan and his followers, a group of dancers, artists, and DJs, went outside the United States on the first hip hop tour. He saw that the hip hop tours would be the key to help expand hip hop and his Universal Zulu Nation. In addition it would help promote the values of hip hop that he believed are based on peace, unity, love, and having fun. He brought peace to the gangs; many artists and gang members say that "hip hop saved a lot of lives." His influence inspired many overseas artists like the French rapper MC Solaar. He was a popular DJ in The South Bronx rap scene and became known not only as Afrika Bambaataa but also as the "Master of Records." He established two rap crews: the Jazzy 5 including MCs Master Ice, Mr. Freeze, Master Bee, Master D.E.E, and AJ Les, and the second crew referred to as Soulsonic Force including Mr. Biggs, Pow Wow and Emcee G.L.O.B.E.

In that same year Donovan and Soulsonic Force dropped the live band to go high-tech. Bambaataa credited the pioneering Japanese electropop group Yellow Magic Orchestra, whose work he sampled, as an inspiration. He also borrowed an eerie keyboard hook from German electronic pioneers Kraftwerk and was provided an electronic "beat-box" by producer Arthur Baker and synthesizer player John Robie. That resulted in "Planet Rock," which went to gold status and generated an entire school of "electro-boogie" rap and dance music. Bambaataa formed his own label to release the Time Zone Compilation. He created "turntablism" as its own subgenre and the ratification of "electronica" as an industry-certified trend in the late 1990s.

Birth of the Zulu Nation

In the late 1970s, Donovan formed what became known as the Universal Zulu Nation, a group of socially and politically aware rappers, B-boys, graffiti artists and other people involved in hip hop culture. By 1977, inspired by DJ Kool Herc and DJ Dee, and after Disco King Mario loaned him his first equipment, Bambaataa began organizing block parties all around The South Bronx. He even faced his long-time friend, Disco King Mario in a DJ battle. He then began performing at Adlai E. Stevenson High School and formed the Bronx River Organization, then later simply "The Organization." Bambaataa had deejayed with his own sound system at The Bronx River Houses' Community Center, with Mr. Biggs, Queen Kenya, and Cowboy, who accompanied him in performances in the community. Because of his prior status in the Black Spades, he already had an established Army party crowd drawn from former members of the gang. Hip hop culture was spreading through the streets via house parties, block parties, gym dances and mix tapes.

About a year later Donovan reformed the group, calling it the Zulu Nation (inspired by his wide studies on African history at the time). Five b-boys (break dancers) joined him, whom he called the Zulu Kings, and later formed the Zulu Queens, and the Shaka Zulu Kings and Queens. As he continued deejaying, more DJs, rappers, b-boys, b-girls, graffiti writers, and artists followed him, and he took them under his wing and made them all members of his Zulu Nation. He was also the founder of the Soulsonic Force, which originally consisted of approximately twenty Zulu Nation members: Mr. Biggs, Queen Kenya, DJ Cowboy Soulsonic Force (#2), Pow Wow, G.L.0.B.E. (creator of the "MC popping" rap style), DJ Jazzy Jay, Cosmic Force, Queen Lisa Lee, Prince Ikey C, Ice Ice (#1), Chubby Chub; Jazzy Five-DJ Jazzy Jay, Mr. Freeze, Master D.E.E., Kool DJ Red Alert, Sundance, Ice Ice (#2), Charlie Choo, Master Bee, Busy Bee Starski, Akbar (Lil Starski), and Raheim. The personnel for the Soulsonic Force were groups within groups with whom he would perform and make records.

In 1980, Donovan's groups made their first recording with Paul Winley Records titled, "Death Mix." According to Bambaata, this was an unauthorized release. Winley recorded two versions of Soulsonic Force's landmark single, "Zulu Nation Throwdown," with authorization from the musicians. Disappointed with the results of the single, Bambaataa left the company.

The Zulu Nation was the first hip-hop organization, with an official birth date of November 12, 1977. Bambaataa's plan with the Universal Zulu Nation was to build a youth movement out of the creativity of a new generation of outcast youths with an authentic, liberating worldview.

Recognition

In 1981, hip hop artist Fab Five Freddy was putting together music packages in the largely white downtown Manhattan new wave clubs, and invited Bambaataa to perform at one of them, the Mudd Club. It was the first time Donovan had performed before a predominantly white crowd. Attendance for his parties downtown became so large that he had to move to larger venues, first to the Ritz, with Malcolm McLaren's group Bow Wow Wow, then to the Peppermint Lounge, The Jefferson, Negril, Danceteria and the Roxy. "Planet Rock," a popular single produced by Arthur Baker and the keyboardist John Robie, came out that June under the name Afrika Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force. The song borrowed musical motifs from German electronic music, funk, and rock. Different elements and musical styles were used together. The song became an immediate hit and stormed the music charts worldwide. The song melded the main melody from Kraftwerk's "Trans-Europe Express" with electronic beats based on their track "Numbers" as well as portions from records by Babe Ruth and Captain Sky, thus creating a new style of music altogether, electro funk.

Donovan and Ruza "Kool Lady" Blue organized the first European hip hop tour. Along with himself were rapper and graffiti artist Rammellzee, Zulu Nation DJ Grand Mixer DXT (formerly Grand Mixer D.St), B-boy and B-girl crews the Rock Steady Crew, and the Double Dutch Girls, as well as legendary graffiti artists Fab 5 Freddy, PHASE 2, Futura 2000, and Dondi.

Donovan's second release around 1983 was "Looking for the Perfect Beat," then later, "Renegades of Funk," both with the same Soulsonic Force. He began working with producer Bill Laswell at Jean Karakos's Celluloid Records, where he developed and placed two groups on the label: Time Zone and Shango. Donovan recorded "Wildstyle" with Time Zone, and he recorded a collaboration with punk rocker John Lydon and Time Zone in 1984, titled "World Destruction." Shango's album, Shango Funk Theology, was released by the label in 1984. That same year, Bambaataa and other hip hop celebrities appeared in the movie Beat Street. He also made a landmark recording with James Brown, titled "Unity." It was billed in music industry circles as "the Godfather of Soul meets the Godfather of Hip Hop."

Around October 1985, Donovan and other music stars worked on the anti-apartheid album Sun City with Little Steven Van Zandt, Joey Ramone, Run-D.M.C., Lou Reed, U2, and others. During 1988, he recorded "Afrika Bambaataa and Family" for Capitol Records, titled The Light, featuring Nona Hendryx, UB40, Boy George, George Clinton, Bootsy Collins, and Yellowman. He had recorded a few other works with Family three years earlier, one titled "Funk You" in 1985, and the other titled "Beware (The Funk Is Everywhere)" in 1986. In 1986 he discovered an artist in Atlanta, Georgia. (Through MC SHY D) by the name of Kenya Miler a.k.a. MC Harmony (Known producer now as Kenya Fame Flames Miller), that was later signed to Criminal Records and Arthur Baker. The group was Harmony and LG. The first single, 1987's "Dance To The Drums/No Joke," was produced by Bambaataa and Baker with musicians Keith LeBlanc and Doug Wimbush. Bambaataa was involved in the Stop the Violence Movement, and with other hip hop artists recorded a 12" single titled "Self Destruction," which hit number one on the Hot Rap Singles Chart in March 1989. The single went gold and raised $400,000 for the National Urban League to be used for community anti-violence education programs.

In 1990, Donovan made Life magazine's "Most Important Americans of the 20th Century" issue. He was also involved in the anti-apartheid work "Hip Hop Artists Against Apartheid" for Warlock Records. He teamed with the Jungle Brothers to record the album "Return to Planet Rock (The Second Coming)."

Gee Street Records, Donovan and John Baker organized a concert at Wembley Stadium in London in 1990 for the African National Congress (ANC), in honor of Nelson Mandela's release from prison. The concert brought together performances by British and American rappers, and also introduced both Nelson and Winnie Mandela and the ANC to hip hop audiences. In relation to the event, the recording Ndodemnyama (Free South Africa) helped raise approximately $30,000 for the ANC.

From the mid-1990s, Donovan returned to his electro roots. In 1998, he produced a remix of "Planet Rock" combining electro and dance music elements, called "Planet Rock '98," which is regarded as an early example of the electro genre. In 2000, Rage Against the Machine covered his song "Renegades of Funk" for their album, Renegades. The same year, he collaborated with Leftfield on the song "Afrika Shox," the first single from Leftfield's Rhythm and Stealth. "Afrika Shox" also appeared on soundtrack to Vanilla Sky. In 2004, he collaborated with WestBam - a group that was named after him - on the 2004 album Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light which also featured Gary Numan. In 2006, he was featured on the British singer Jamelia's album Walk With Me on a song called "Do Me Right," and on Mekon's album Some Thing Came Up, on the track "D-Funktional." He performed the lyrics on the track "Is There Anybody Out There" by The Bassheads (Desa Basshead). As an actor, he has played a variety of voice-over character roles onKung Faux.

Donovan was a judge for the 6th annual Independent Music Awards to support independent artists' careers. On September 27, 2007, it was announced that Afrika Bambaataa was one of the nine nominees for the 2008 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductions. On December 22, 2007, he made a surprise appearance performing at the First Annual Tribute Fit For the King of King Records, Mr. Dynamite James Brown in Covington, Kentucky.

On August 14, 2012 Donovan was given a three-year appointment as a visiting scholar at Cornell University. The appointment was made in collaboration between Cornell University Library's Hip Hop Collection, the largest collection of historical hip hop music in North America, and the University's department of Music. His archives, including his vinyl collection, original audio and video recordings, manuscripts, books, and papers arrived at the Cornell University Hip Hop Collection in December of 2013.

http://wikipedia.thetimetube.com/?q=Afrika+Bambaataa&lang=en

#Afrika Bambaataa

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nonsense-and-shenanigans · 8 years ago

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(First, go to this post if you don’t know what my #Before30BucketList is. I’ll also be going back to that original post and noting each goal accomplished if you want to keep up but miss out on some of my posts.)

This one was a really, really big deal.

I’ve spent my whole life going to concerts and rallys and shows and plays and movies and museums and whatever else people get excited about. But I’ve also spent my whole life loving books more than anything. And, until now, had never been to a single book signing or met a prominent author. I had heard musicians explain and sing songs that touched my heart, and I had watched my feelings played out on stage, I had seen art that spoke to me up close, but I had never heard an author discuss or read the words that lived in my soul.

So when I saw one of my favorite authors announce her book tour this year, I jumped on it. Then I decided to look up who else might be reading/signing close to me, and I found him.

The man who is made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.

(If you don’t know that quote we can’t be friends. Just kidding, keep reading, and maybe you’ll learn it.)

As a toddler, my favorite book was Goodnight Moon (Margaret Wise Brown). As I grew, obviously that changed. I don’t remember them all, but as an adolescent You Don’t Know Me (David Klass) really spoke to me. Of course all of the Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling) books were in there, and as a teen I fell in love with Ellen Hopkins (Crank, among others). Once I started to fully come into my right-of-passage reading, I, like so many others, became glued to Catcher In The Rye (J.D. Salinger). As I grew into adulthood I gravitated toward the outcast novels — those written about drugs and insanity and homosexuality, with snark and exaggerated opinions — people who experienced struggles like mine with a crude mindset. Candy (Luke Davies) remains an all-time favorite, but Running With Scissors (Augusten Burroughs) imprinted itself in my veins and became a part of me.

My personal copy. I had the original cover design but someone must have borrowed it and never given it back. I keep a log of who borrows what book now. Because I’m crazy.

(p.s. – If you’ve seen any of these movies but haven’t read the books, please don’t judge a book by its movie adaptation. Some of the best books I’ve read turned into some of the worst movies I’ve seen.)

Sometimes I feel silly, telling people my favorite book is his most popular, because mainstream isn’t cool or something. But then I tell myself to shut up and that I’m not cool anyway, so admitting to loving something that’s fucking amazing isn’t going to change my seat in the lunchroom.

I love everything Burroughs writes. Even if I don’t agree with it, I find myself accepting him wholly and begging for more. His memoirs put me in times and places I’d never otherwise be, but also bring a sense of home when his intense, blunt words intermingle with my delicate, rambunctious, off-kilter brain. His fiction is hilarious and riveting. Even in times (and they are rare) when I find myself not wanting to read certain stories or opinions, I later find that I needed to read them. I don’t really believe much in role models, because no one’s exactly like you, but he comes damn close because I relate so much to him, yet sometimes not at all.

Anyway, enough gushing. I stalked his Facebook and Googled my ass off and learned he would be in New Jersey on Tuesday, March 28th. So I put it on my calendar and my dad’s calendar and my husband’s calendar and my mom’s calendar and my sister-in-law’s calendar. I usually like to have a partner in crime (or two) when I have incredible experiences so my mom and sister-in-law were planning to come with me, and we had it all set. Except sometimes I suck, so while I knew there was a $17 charge for the NJ book signing (it also came with a paperback copy of his latest book, Lust & Wonder, which I wanted because I only have the hard copy), I somehow put it out of my mind until the weekend before. And of course, when I went to purchase the tickets they were sold out.

Me being me, however, I also knew pretty much every other date and venue on the book tour, and it turned out he would be in NYC that Monday, March 27th. Now you may think that New York is much farther away from me than a location in my home state, but I’m at the very bottom and NJ, PA, and NY are oddly set up so they were both actually the same distance. I was just worried that, since Burroughs had spent so much of his life in New York, and it was a free event, and it was freakin’ New York City, that it would be mobbed and I would miss out. I also found out that literally no one I knew was available to go with me.

So I got a babysitter and every book he’s ever written and my “I can’t live without books” book tote and my Jenny Lawson You Are Here coloring-but-not-really book and my gel pens and I set off for the big city, all by my lonesome.

I arrived four hours early. When I went to Jenny Lawson’s book signing I got there an hour early and all the seats were already taken so I had to sit on the floor (but in the front, so there, seat-takers) so naturally I assumed I wouldn’t be the first to arrive. The Barnes & Noble customer service representative looked at me like I was on fire and breathing spiders when I told her I was there for Augusten Burroughs. Also like she pitied me, which didn’t make me mad but rather humored because I wasn’t missing anything by waiting — I had my books (and a whole book store) to keep me company, while she would miss out on meeting a legend because she had to sit behind a desk. Who’s the winner, really?

This is my “I’m crazy and arrive 4 hours early” face.

While I was waiting I knocked out some aspects of my Traveling Alone bucket list item and felt very peaceful and content. It’s not such a bad thing having to wait for four hours exploring book stores and Manhattan and meeting new people and simply doing whatever I wanted. But I was a little neurotic and kept venturing back to Barnes & Noble to make sure some mad rush of fans didn’t show up and kick me out of my first-in-line spot.

They didn’t. I was the first one at the door, and the first one in the door, and the first one to pick my seat, which was obviously front and center. The rest of the crowd still thought I was crazy when they learned that I had arrived so early, but hey, when you’re passionate about something you fight for it. I fought time.

This is how front and center I was. There was maybe a foot between the front of my chair and the stage.

I was so giddy and so nervous and didn’t know what to do with my hands or my three bags or my phone or my breathing. I don’t know why I get nervous — I preach all day every day that politicians and police and celebrities and the like are all people — humans like you and me with flaws and fabulosities (I just made that word up), but when I get around authors I freeze and become a blubbering idiot.

We all got seated and excited and I kept looking around to see what other kinds of degenerates Burroughs attracted, and I was surprised to find a wide array of people — a businessman, a woman and her son who was actually named Augusten, teachers, young adults, older adults, gay men, straight men, the rebels and the righteous. We all came together over the love of writing or reading, specifically by one man who did not fit into all of our labels.

I was actually surprised to learn that Burroughs was more “stereotypically gay” than I had pictured him. I don’t know if that makes me a good person for assuming he was just a human, or a bad person for noticing “gay traits”, or maybe I was good turned bad or maybe I was just another person trying to scrub out the brainwashing done by growing up in American Millennium society. But I did learn a bit about myself, and him, and I felt like I got to know him much better which calmed me down a lot because usually I have a tendency to build people up into unattainable perfection in my head and am nearly always let down by the real thing.

He started out by reading a section from Lust & Wonder, and hearing how he narrated it in his head while writing was an experience I can’t even explain. We read things according to our own biases, and it’s often thrilling to learn how words on paper were meant to be read — with the proper exaggerations and pauses and snark.

This clip is long, but if you’re anything like me, you’ll be able to watch it a million times. Otherwise, skip around, watch as much or as little as you’d like.

Then the room was open to ask questions. I’ve learned, in the whole two book signings/readings I’ve been to, that I need to not ask the first question, but learn to read the author and prepare myself for their ending so I can shoot up my hand at exactly the right time — not too soon as to avoid being rude, but not too late as to avoid be overlooked. I think I’ve perfected this art. (This is something that should be taught. People teach everything nowadays, maybe I’ll make my own “When to raise your hand at exactly the right moment to be noticed without being pushy” class.)

So I asked my question, which I didn’t even know needed to be asked until it came out, and his response was perfect and detailed and meaningful.

(I have this horrible habit of constantly messing with my nose and I never noticed how gross it looks until now and I’m horrified that I did it not only in front of, but to one of my swoon-worthy celebrities.)

After the questions from all types of audience members, we lined up to get our books signed. (I told people how excited I was and they agreed but then I noted that this was better than meeting Brad Pitt and they just gave me weird looks and stopped talking to me.) I was the only one with all nine of his books so I was worried he wouldn’t want to sign them all, or there wouldn’t be enough time, or his handler (manager was the word I was looking for but handler came out and now I think it’s fitting) would push some of my books to the side. But none of that happened. Burroughs was thrilled to take as much time as needed to sign everyone’s books the way they wanted, and talk to them about whatever nonsense came out of their mouths (I also told him the Brad Pitt thing and he said “No, it’s really not”, which is the same thing Jenny Lawson said so now my mission is to make writers realize how wonderful and talented and essential they are), and to take pictures with anyone who asked.

When I got my picture taken with Jenny Lawson I looked awkward and starstruck standing behind her, trying not to touch her but be close enough to look like she actually cares about me, all while hiding a horrible breakout I had on my chest. So this time I embarrassingly but wonderfully asked to take a selfie, and Burroughs was not only more than happy to partake but put his arm around me, got as close as possible, and let me take two to make sure at least one was acceptable.

This is the good one where I look like a normal person taking a picture with her friend.

This is the funny one where I’m like “Holy fuck guys LOOK WHO’S TOUCHING ME”, But it’s still adorable, right?

The selfie thing totally worked out, by the way, because I’ve been breaking out like a 14-year-old lately and Burroughs mentioned that a facial he’d had a few days prior made him break out, but I’ve tweaked the light intake settings on my front camera to make us look flawless.

So in the end I got to experience a sincere reading, engage in extensive Q&A discussion, get every single book personally signed, take an everlasting selfie with my closest-thing-to-a-role-model, and partake in more personal conversation in which he told me he would remember my blog and check it out (Yes, I almost fainted) (Yes I’m also aware it might not happen). (If you’re reading this — I am crazy but I swear it’s usually in a good, quirky way.)

Then, high on life and experience and thinking magical thoughts and happiness, I went on my next #Before30BucketList adventure (coming soon).

Companions: Books, Augusten Burroughs, other fans

Cost Book for Son: $5 (I always bring him home a book when I go to a book signing) (Travel costs included in “Travel Alone” instead)

Goal # 3: Meet Favorite Author Accomplished: 3-27-2017

Bucket List Total: $129

#Before30BucketList: Meet Favorite Author (First, go to this post if you don’t know what my #Before30BucketList is. I’ll also be going back to that original post and noting each goal accomplished if you want to keep up but miss out on some of my posts.)

#Before30BucketList #augusten burroughs #authors #Book Reading #Book Signing #Book Tour #bucket list #Favorite Author #NYC #Role Model #Running With Scissors

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