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generoustalelight · 4 years ago

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CORNUCOPIA

he was hiding in the back alley of his favorite restaurant. he was holding the knife drenched in blood, both of his hands are on the shaft making it more grotesque. he's restless, shaking and nervous, he's both scared and confused. he left his friend inside the restaurant, he totally forgot that he's with someone, because frankly, he doesn't know what to do anymore.

he's still standing from the far left of the big red door, his back facing the wall. on his right is an industrial garbage bin. he's thinking of ditchng the knife in it, but he's too conscious. he thought that that would be such a dumb move. then his eyes shuttered, he's still breathing heavily.

his hands losing grip, he felt that his whole system is deteriorating, his mind's crumbling.

someone tapped his shoulder, waking him up, it was very sudden, all his senses are heightened, he thought to himself, 'im dead meat', he doesn't care anymore. the moment he turned to his left, his eyes are met with a pair of hazel marbles looking from the deep ends of his soul.

the boy in front of him is neither aloof or frightened by all the blood. the boy's just looking beyond all his demons and doubts. it was a transition. they've been standing there for a good minute, and no one's saying a word.

he hardly noticed the boy's light skin complexion and the soft kisses of the freckles from both of the boy's cheeks. the boy is the same height as him, medium built, jet black hair, wearing a black pants and a plain white shirt. the boy's face is a perfected masterpiece, he was captured for a second, dazed by the unearthly beauty.

the boy double tapped his shoulder again, bursting his bubble, opening his eyes to the murky alley that they're in right now.

"come on,'' the only word that transcended between them, keeping him warm and safe, setting the emptiness, of every sense, enveloping his fragile self. the boy's tone is suggestive. he immediately dropped the knife, smothered the excess blood against his dark blue jeans. he forced a smile. he prompted a big sigh and sandwich his face with a loud slap from both of his hands. he continued smiling, though it is visible that some nerves on his face are still hurting, in addition his cheeks are blushing hard.

he held the boy's hands like he knew him for the longest time. his hands are shaking but the hands of his new found companion is reassuring enough to calm him within a snap.

he woke up, on an unfamiliar large brown couch, from his deep slumber. the whole room is a mystery for him. the flat is mildly lit. the walls are blank off-whites. adjacent to the couch is a turned off 32 inch flat-screen television. right of the television stand is a japanese calligraphy, wherein for him is an unknown beauty even though undesirable, that inside a black-gold accented expensive frame, and infront of it is a circa '70's vintage copper telephone. it is standing atop an ivory colored wooden mini-table. a breeze is blowing lightly on the draped white sheet of curtain behind him. on the far left side of the room is a division and what seems to be a room, the crease of the room's door and the floor is casting a light. a light that signifies life condraticting to his dead face, full of questions and irritatingly nonsensical insights.

he got up and walked toward the room. he grabbed the knob, it was cold, and before he knew it, he's already in front of the boy. the door is wide open. he's stunned. for a quick second, he thought that this entity in front of him is not human, that this must be an angel suggesting that there is peace at the end of every tragedy. the boy in front of him held both of his shoulders, exerting force, pushing him not too hard, making him move backwards, back to the couch, he wasn't able to object or to raise any reaction.

the next thing he knew is that he's already sitting with his hands clasped together. he's bowing down for some reason that even he, himself, cant seem to find logical or worthy of announcing on the open.

what he don't know is that the man beside him is already staring at him intently.

"what's your name?", he then looked up to check the source of the voice. all of the blood on his body rose to blush his cheeks. he don't understand why's he feeling this way. just by this boy's pure and innocent gaze, he was already falling into a deep rabbit hole, and he likes it.

"my name's leo, you?", he added.

"kian," after replying, a long pause pressed the air, and word after the other fought its way through, "my name is kian," his voice is shaking, he's anxious.

leo let out a chuckle. kian looked at him puzzled. he's thinking that maybe he's laughing because of the awkwardness his voice has exhibited. he was now shy, he cant seem to use words to defend himself from drowning into this pit of embarassment full of hand grenades that can be triggered by any word possible to man.

"why were you laughing?," his nervous tone never left him.

"nothing," leo replied, "why? did it bother you? don't worry i just find you really interesting , and hilarious!' he answered after pausing. his voice is very masculine, its as if like god had adjusted all the vocal chords he has and made it to fit his physique.

"no, i was just wondering," kian answered.

"so can you tell me now what happened?," leo asked.

all of it consumed kian, all the unfamiliar feelings has started creeping up. he was very scared, you can see it in his face, he seemed empty. the aura of the room shifted and made a dark turn. he started caressing his own arms. he's already crying softly, his sobs are suppressed, kian don't want anyone to see him weak or powerless, he's already stood his ground and became a man on his own.

"it's ok, everything's ok," kian reminding himself that no matter what everything will turn out fine. it's a sad scene. he's hugging himself tight, curving into a ball, shutting down slowly by slowly.

leo reached for him, like a light venturing into the depths of pain, the hug is a warm affectionate cleansing touch. all the noise in kian's mind have been voided, they were proved invalid at the moment. pain is peeling from the wounded flesh of a weak child. a heart of the soldier is being salvaged amidst a war. leo mended everything that's wrong. kian is safe, kian's on the nest of serene. leo's arms guarded him from all the worldly things they're dipping into;

ANOTHER PROSE.

I'm broken hearted.

everyday we are given a chance to change, change for the better, we always had the hand to throw, landmines to walk on, and choose what we really wanted for ourselves.

ANOTHER PROSE.

in the same parallel universe,

the last switch is all that's left, the doctor is still clueless whether to press it or not, the bright red tint of the you-know-it-will-destroy-earth button is the most tempting fuckery ever created and made available to human.

it is an excerpt of a game show that will decide the fate of the world, the humanity, and yourself.

presenting, the game show master, an anti-christ ex-convict that was nominated because of the perfect apathy to inject to the world. he has a commercial face, clean and crisp, perfect for television. his charm is incomparable. definitely the definition of sophistication; a godly incarnation of class and elegance.

he has the perfect voice to entertain millions and billions of people. he's a very likable person omitting all the vile things he did. his persona is on a different level than any mortal that has walked on the planet.

he starts every episode with a close-up. a full walkthrough of his gorgeous face. the light will flicker. red to blue to yellow to white to red to violet to yellow to red to white. the exchanges of the colors is prenotioned to hypnosis ergo to condition the cognitive.

the whole set of "the game show" is themed intergalactic, it is overly futuristic, few of the prop design are high-technology devices that can only be imagined by tens and thousands of lightyears away. but it is evident that they still attempted to capture the mediocrity of the simplest things like the buzzers, the lights, the clappers, the audience seats and the camera, it feels like a crazy-fusion of a 1980's tv show and a tv show set on a fucked up future. the set is worth a fortune, the luxury and the euphoria, and whenever they send invites it is like willy wonka spreading the golden tickets again to lure children and children-at-heart to devour life's essence. everything about it is enchanting.

the whole premise of the programme is surrounding the trials and tribulations of all the strands of beings on earth. just thought of it as the most inhumane thing you could possibly see or hear.

usually each episode is presented by the game master and a guest female assistant that will stand by as a symbol of sex and weakness. this will attract the male viewers, to make them feel powerful and more dominant. it never happened that the female guest would appear twice, it was speculated that after an episode the female guest will be brought to the game master's house, allegedly they were drugged into this, and that they were raped and tortured to death. the whole fiasco is ignored by the masses, the black market created a movement to cover up the whole thing.

today, tons of casting and auditions for the role of female asisstant for the game show has been commenced. all the top female actresses, models, pageant royalties and all the kinds and types of women in every nation of the world competes on an extensive screening for the spot. all of these girls aspiring to be slandered, this is the american dream.

going back to the one in a million chance of destroying earth, the doctor is now torn if he really wanted to save his whole family, he's thinking that all this is for his son that meant everything to him, and for his wife that gave meaning to his life.

on the other hand, he's thinking of the bribe that the game master has set him up with. the bribe is made of a lengthy letter from his mistress, an album of all their intercourse, a video, and his mistress herself strapped in an electric chair. not really a bribe, but a threat, the game master promised that he will let everything out, every nook and cranny of his dirt.

the facade of the doctor is quite amusing he's smiling while he's looking at his family sitting on the audience bawling their eyes out, hoping that the doctor would turn out to be sane and fully aware of the right and wrong, the morale, the rightful, the ethical. while, they are clueless of the failing mental health of their father- figure. his hair is turning white, riddled with stress, he's slowly dying while masking his breathing to a relax and calm tempo. he's bid farewell to himself.

life is unfair.

the doctor couldn't decide, he don't want to toss the dice. he don't want to come clean, what he decided is to end everything then and there. 'he will not be a man', that's what he has decided. he mentally prepared wrapping his balls into a thin foil full of gun powder ready to be set on fire in front of everyone, on international television. but don't worry, of course he wouldn't do the latter because it's much easier for him to slit his wrist with a shard of glass from the table that he shattered with his fist, while tapes are rolling, bleeding his life force, in front of his family, while his son is watching the whole thing bare, realizing that his hero is taking suicide as ananswer. nevertheless, their lives are assured to go down form here on, they will be shamed and ridiculed by everyone, they will hate each other and they will die hating on themselves. the world wins.

in the same alternate universe,

1st scene

the first shot includes gem with a pink back drop. gem is wearing a white shirt with scribbled letters, embossed. the soft pastel vibe of everything in this scene is so innocent and clean. her shoulder-length hair is braided, placed on just above her right collar bone. she's holding a bottle of water, with the word 'safe', printed on it. she has put down her for-colorblind glasses, put it on the stool just beside her, she wasn't sitting, she's just resting her right hand on it to support her weight.

the second frame is a sharp cut of gem's eyes and up. the rest of the screen is just a blank pink canvass that screams softness.

she looks annoyed, tired even. she's anxious that this might take a while. her mother's away for just two days, and she's thinking that this is her punishment for not going with her on the camp.

gem is staying in the room for approximately an hour now. the ventilation is not bad, but it's not good either.

gem is strictly instructed to stay in the room, not do anything, and she can't go out until further notice. she don't know why is she obeying these lunacy. she just thought that when she was forced to sleep through ammonia, that this is her farewell to her mother and all her pending chores, as well as the boring life of high school. she accepted everyhting then and there.

she didn't try to escape or object to any of it, she's out of energy, and she don't want her glasses to get caught up with the commotion and be the cause of its sweet destruction.

gem thinks that she's on an abandoned building and she thinks that the room that she's staying in is the only one who has a full renovation. she can smell the faint odor from the newly painted walls, and she reckon that it's still wet, since the dripping form the floor is gradually filled with a pink puddle of paint.

you can see gem trying to fight the ticking of the clock, she's trying to beat the unbeatable, she's trying to sabotage time.

gem heard the heavy footsteps of the men walking toward the room. or is it the same hooligans who've abducted her? she immediately acted as if she has fainted, she fell on the floor without hesitation, her body felt the impact. she's a great actor. her insides are screaming hallelujah-fuck-you. she then sensed the presence of the people who barged in, unannounced. they lifted her up, they clutched her limbs. gem is scared, these people are slimy, their arms are gooey and it smellt like rotten fish and tomatoes. her eyes are shut, she don't want to open them, she's already guessing that whatever it is that she will see, will forever scar her and give her nightmares.

gem, is different from everyone, NO SHE'S NOT. end scene.

2nd scene

inso is a native japanese from hokaido, venturing into the concrete jungles of brooklyn, new york. he's the strangest thing to ever walk in the asphalts of the pioneering city. he's always wearing that combat boots that is honest to god, bigger than him. he always carry his bright yellow duffle bag with all his belonging in it, his round cobalt blue tinted shades and his oversized grey trench coat completes the hobo man inside of him.

inso did not know the english language, he never knew how to read or write in english. his mother's tongue is pure in all his means. he never communicated to anyone until his ninth day in the city, he never really talked per se. it was only with a hotdog stand vendor that he first initiated a non-verbal conversation; at first the man was clueless what was it with all the flailing and waving of inso's hands. he thought that this flamboyant beggar has a loose screw, and is just trying to piss him off, until inso pulled out a dollar and started handing it over to the man preparing all the hotdogs. he then pointed to the regular hotdog-in-a-bun, the hunger is evident in all his next gestures. he's holding his dear life to the railing on the hotdog stand, the scene is comical and hilariously exhausting, and that's the story of his first hotdog, and how he did not die of starvation.

inso has been working in a bowling alley where he was recommended by the same hotdog vendor that he met. he's studious and an outstanding overseer of the whole place, inso manages the bowling alley; he attends to customers' on their hours of stay. he's in charge of the maintenance, the rolling pins, the bowling balls, the neon retro signs, the snack bar (even though he's just sally's assistant), the welcome rugs, the tiled columns, the light bulbs, the bathroom, the toilets, the glass doors, the tables, the gums sticking beneath the tables, the drinking fountain, the bowling gloves, the back of the bowling alley, and the red back door.

he's been living in the bowling alley for almost two months until he's decided to move out to get an apartment. within the span of two months he learned how to speak in english, but not fluently, and definitely not with his accent gone. he started taking a bath on a daily basis. he started eating normal food, like a normal human being, and fully left the hotdog diet. he can now save for his future, to plan for his own house, to start his new life, his days are better.

everything's turning out fine, or so he hoped.

on the way to work inso was stopped by a road block, in front of him, a whole street on a riot, garbage and blood and a dead body lying comfortable in the heated up cement, even the path walk is closed, the crowd is wild on murmuring and added gibberish on the scene of the crime.

police investigators and press are there, covering for the whole event. police tapes are tied from one light post to another and from the metal gate of the blue apartment to a tree from across the street.

inso is forced to walk on the alley located beside the city boutique. even though it is early in the morning, the darkness from the alley way is menacing, scaring him not to take that trail. but he remembered that it's almost 10 in the morning and he has to get in the bowling center as soon as possible.

inso is hugging his duffle bag, removed his glasses, and scurried over the alley, but not an inch away from the main road, he was struck by a hard thing on the head. he remembered that the last thing he saw was a metal baseball bat pointing to the ground. it was pointed towards the ground, stained by blood, he thought that it came from his head. the blow from the back of his head fully paralyzed him and shocked his nerves, he was lying on the ground helpless, no one can hear him, no one will hear him.

inso heard a truck door being opened, he deducted the latter because of the metal rustling noise it made, the heavy footsteps of the men walking toward the alley, alarmed, he tried to get up immediately his glasses are shattered . he's basically on a vegetative state now. he can see his duffle bag being searched and emptied by two men, wearing a flat- ironed suit and high-end slacks. they lifted the whole bag and threw it after. their faces are covered with traditional japanese masks, big eyes and sculpted fangs. his eyes are closing on him, and the last thing he saw he passed out is his home.

on-break

as i grew older, i also realize that i am slowly losing all my white shirts.

i have 10 white shirts when i was on 1st grade, i always wore a white sando beneath my plain white shirt beneath a crisp-and-clean white polo tucked into my above-knee khaki shorts. i go to school with that and a pair of shiny black shoes, carrying my red power rangers bag. i also wore white whenever i'm home, i just loved that color when i was young, it feels clean, it looks clean, it is like a canvass ready for all the scribbles i can make.

when i was on 3rd grade i only used nine, my tenth white shirt became too tight, or maybe im becoming too big, well the point is that it never fitted me anymore. i am really eager to learn about the kid-spirit of our elementary school, that's why i would go ahead and abandon my polo to explore the psyche of my peers, and also to explore the garden behind the sixth graders, and find some worms, and ants, and plants that retreats by the slightest of human touch. i became a lot bigger, it feels like all the knowledge i gather helped me grow faster.

the following year my mom replaced all my white shirts, she noticed how fast i grow physically, and replaced it with eight new ones, same color, same fabric, same price range. this time she bought eight pieces of large to extra large white shirts, just to make sure we have that allowance. the eight new shirts felt comfortable and familiar.

i've had one of my new shirts pulled out of my closet, i wanted to dye it with different colors, like that one shirt with blots of red, blue, green, and yellow and orange, all over it. I have seen it in an art show on the television,"Art Angel". this part of my childhood is where i've started experimenting. i'm trying to understand myself, i'm trying to look at trends, that can never better me, my friends are becoming greedy and they've stopped talking to me. i'm left with seven shirts, and a flamboyant one, late grade school.

one of my shirt's got wrecked when i got in a fight outside school, there was this stupid boy on my class who kept bothering me, and kept provoking me to start this petty fight with him, afterschool, just because he thought that i find him irritating, which is accurate, and that he thought that this problem can be solved by a traditional-outdated fist fight. i never acknowledged this barbarian, even though by that time i let him have it. when i got out of class, i removed my white polo, because i need to get this home white and clean.

i waited for him at a nearby lot, for this to get over with, as soon as possible. he showed up and he had some friends come over to speculate. as soon as he got there you can definbitely see his face is all red and you can easily decipher that he was properly fueled with hatred before going on here, he ran towards me and grabbed me by my shirt, my shirt, mind you this is one of my favorite shirts, i immediately pinned him down, i exerted all my force with my fist struck a blow on his vertbrae as explosive as i could.

i heard him groaned, and all the spectators jumped on me, they were punching me while on ground, kicking me with their spiked shoes. after three minutes they left me, my shirt is ripped. i fucking hate this soccer gang.

white shirts remaining: six

a couple of years later, i replaced two of my white shirts with two black staple tees. black is now my new favorite color. it just represents my brand that time. an emotional teen, bad personality, bad attitude, mediocre fashion.

at the time, i feel troubled, even though i certainly know i am not. i seek attention so hard i can barely read which character i wanted to play, what i am, and what i wanted to be. black just represented the void that i am feeling on that critical days of my adolescence. i still wear my white shirts, just not that often.

peak of my adolescence, one white shirt became the bearer of the intensity of my raging hormones. end of phase.

the last three white shirts that i have is burried beneath all the garbage that i have in my closet. i realize that i cannot wear them anymore, or rather i dont want to wear them anymore. my white shirts reminded me of the innocence that i have back then. but in all fairness, everything that i have right now is something i owe to those white shirts that help me and watched me grew up. i realize that as one age nothing can be permanent but most importantly I've learn that time will change you and will eat you up alive, so as soon as now grab that white shirt and wear it with pride.

3rd scene

gopshi is an indian national that grew up in america. as soon as you see him, you'll assume that he's fluent in speaking his national language. his skin is fair and deep. his eyes are a mix between almond brown and happy, a pair of expensive marbles. gopshi's hair's a shiny jet black, it's length is proper for a boy going to a prep school on whales. his teeth are porcelain white, he's not short, but not really tall.

gopshi was adopted by a couple that intends to save everyone by every means that can result to death, both philantrophist, seeming to tour the world for world peace.

gopshi, has three brothers and four sisters, each of his sibling came from a different race.

there is, sana, a japanese girl that was adopted when she was six. her parents are both unknown by the time of her adoption, even though she was legally adopted and brought out of japan. her foster parents have to fight the yakuza's just to take full custody of her. sana is a smart kid, finished reading and disserting all books varying from ancient literature, scientifical theories and related researches, computer programming, art, philosophy, international languages and so on.

next is, lance he's a british lad that was abandoned when he was six moths old, lance has the charm of kings and emperors, lance is the very best public speaker there is. no one knows where did he get this gift of eloquence, but on thing's for sure, lance can convince, persuade, question and overpower anyone, by only using his words. lance has also a strong morale compass and is very passionate in valuing one's perspective of a certain matter. he's very composed and reliable and he's the most likely to rule the world one day

then there is, arnauv, out of all the adopted children arnauv is the most distant to everyone. he's very secretive and always incognito. arnauv loves planes. he's really interested on aeronautics, and you will know it, you can always see him at somewhere high, he's either seen sitting on the ledge of the mansion's roof or at the top of their humungous tree. arnauv has always been like this. he's s walking question and it was paired with his appearance, he has a platinum blonde hair, crew cut, his eyes are blue, his skin is pale and lips are salmon pink. he's the most good looking out of the bunch, but his timid personality makes it seem like he's untouchable he only has one friend and it is his brother key.

key is african. he's everyone's friend, having experience the brush of poverty at an early age. he was adopted when he was ten, rescued from child trafficking bust and brought to the house. key is the kindest, he's polite and respectful. key stands with people on their shines and storms. key has a very high EQ. he's fond of animals and plants, he cares for the living things and their betterment. key's charm relies on his honest gesture and kind words. the only flaw key has is his naivete, he can be easily manipulated because of the trust he give to everyone. but his strength lies within the goodness of his heart that everyone seems to fall for. everyone seems to love him, regardless.

next in line is phirayatta, or as they call her phir. phir is from thailand, she's a miracle child of the king, but wasn't really acknowledged because of the controverisies of her biological mother. the king didn't really wanted phir, that's why when she was little her father wanted her to be assassinated, the king has hired, murderers, assassins, executioners and hitmans all over the world to end her. but, the catch is she won't die. phir was cared by the world. no one can harm her. ever since she was a little girl multiple attempts of murders have failed in causing her death, which lead the king to abandoning her. it is when she was adopted. phir has the gift of luck.

sinai is the youngest among all them, she was brought in the house by their foster parent sinai has a unique rich skin color, neither pale nor, deep, her complexion is changing, but most of the time it's blue. every feature of sinai seems normal, except her skin. with no words sinai was introduced to the family, their parents never really talked about sinai's ancestry or race. sinai was just always the happy pill, she's impulsive, and jitterey, she's naive because of age, but she's tactical and reliable. sinai's information is unavailable as of the moment.

then we have sky, sky is the last israeli on the planet. the whole country of isarael has been annihilated. it has become the enemy of the world. there is a long war that happened involving the said country and the new world. the government has decided to put an end to israel's existence by dropping nuclear missiles to its territory, all of israel has turned to ashes and dust. after three years, the philantrophists visited the ruins of israel and to their surprise there roams a child barefoot, hiding and binging on the shadows of the ruins. her eyes are as green as an emeralds. sky's real name is unknown. sky was raised to be like a normal child, a dream israel, her old country, would dream to have.

5th scene

dear you,

let this be known.

"i would carve my heart just so that it will still fit your hands."

hi, i am just a nobody but i really hope you're reading this, i truly wish that you're taking time to insert this to your crunched up schedule, not minding the hassle that this might cause, and not really minding to whom this came from.

well, this is just another letter, one of the thousands i have already sent you. this is very likely with the same weight as the other writings you've already received. this has the same feels, with the same undying message. but what seperate this from all letters you've already got is that i know that this is such a stretch, because, lucky you, this will be the last one.

hi again, i just wanted to say that i love you. and for god's sake i am devoting my life to every sense of that phrase. sacrificing all the truth there is just to show you how sincere i am.

i really do love you. i love you so much that i am actually losing my sanity, i love you so much that i can promise that your name will be my last words, i love you so much even if you would hate me, i will still love you unconditionally. i love you so much that i'd ignore my joy, for your own pleasure. i will love you even if i know that its the cause of my depression.

i would carve my heart just so that it can bleed your color.

very rare that i will forget how you actually smell, how your gaze has the immense effect on me, how you taste from the navel up, the sensation of your kisses, how wonderful your lips taste. i will never forget how you grasped my wholeness and swallowed all me. i love your dirt and riches, and lunacy.

i love you so much that i wanted you to know i am always by your side. looking from afar. breathing the same air. counting every move you make, noting every person you encounter on a daily. i am just an inch away in grabbing you and making love to you. i am just insanely in love, i could die any moment. i am itching form holding you here in my arms i will never let you go, i am dying just thinking of devouring all the good things that you are. i wanted to end you, i wanted to make you happy, i will make your everyday as remarkable and thrilling as possible. i will not stop loving you, i will not stop thinking of you, i cannot stop thinking of how can i murder you, in your sleep, while you're floating from acid, waiting for me, or so i believe.

i can still remember all the good things we've shared and all the good times we've had. we're much truthful, we're kinder, we're gentler for the world. we're polar opposites but everyone can clearly see how totally inlove we are with each other. we have set aside our differences, we are respectful and understanding. we've let ourselves change each other's hearts. we became the best versions of ourselves, we've helped each other grow and learn each and every day we're together. we trusted each other that we will not draw blood, or hate, or envy towards one another. we're so inlove at the time we forgot that evil do exist, we're so inlove we forgot about sinning. we're so inlove we never thought of our failing, of our falling, of our flailing. we're never able to prevent it, that's why we bled too much. that's why i am so close in losing my life, that's why i never had imagined another world that you're not beside me.

i would carve my heart so that you would have two, and you can destroy mine, happily.

i am very sorry that this is so sudden, but i am ecstatic because finally, finally, i have finished carving my heart, but why am i still alive, love? why am i still breathing? why am i still here?why are you not moving? why are you not breathing? why are you bleeding? love, where is your heart?

6th scene

I don't know if I like hospitals or not.

I can't remember all my encounters with hospitals thats why i have a minimal amount of knowledge in regards to the latter. I just used to think that its a place for sick-dying type of people. Its generally a sad place for my young self. I can't remember how all the hospitals that I've been to looked like visually, but I can clearly remember how they've smellt. It smelled like used cotton balls that's dripping of alcohol for sanitary purposes of some sort. It also smelled like clean flasks and glass tubes and new aluminum door knobs. I based the smell of death to that same smell of a familiar hospital.

When I was young I can clearly remember that I really wanted to be a doctor. I can't remember what kind and why, but, I just strongly feel back then that I should be one.

on-break

DISCLAIMER: This is a subjective opinion about my third team on my first job. All the statements and opinions that will be made on this narrative, is strictly personal and does not reflect the truth on the subjects. Every team mate will be given a pseudonym to protect their privacy.

Let's start.

Skyflakes. has a personality of a white, thin, salty papery biscuit. one of the nicest person in our whole team. skyflakes has greeted me once, i never greeted back. the greeting ended there. we rarely talk, but once we were forced to do so because of a common work-friend. skyflakes is very preserved. i never hated skyflakes, but i am uncertain if the feeling's mutual.

Moon. moon doesn't get me at all, shocker. moon is like my counter part on an alternate universe, the receptiveness on moon's personality never worked for me. moon pretended that i am an open book that can be easily deciphered. I totally murdered moon's psyche by literally knowing everything that the workplace has expected on me, including moon's assumptions. but i liked moon very much, i don't know if it is because of the pretenses or is it because i am fascinated by the fact that i can toy with moon's feelings.

Strip. is a so-so character. strip realize everything that i talk about but it is very often that strip talks to me about them. strip is an open letter that you can read on a twitter page of an angsty adolescent

4th scene

let's talk about the creation of the keyboard, where did it really came from. do you think it came hand-in-hand, a plus-one, a done deal package together with the first computer? do you think the first known computer is as useful as it would be if it will come with a ready made keyboard? who invented keyboard? who decided that this piece of 3D plastic boxes of numbers, letters and symbols should be called as it is? is the word keyboard technically acknowledged.

7th scene

this is an account of all the things i would've done if the world will end tomorrow, assuming i have exactly 26 hours to live before the world will meet its fate for some reason.

for the first two hours i would try to murder whoever will talk to me about their own itenerary in this situtation. just ki

8th scene

words are fascinating. words made me love the world, even though it's unbearable. words found me, more than i found them. it is introduced to me as a friend, as someone who i can turn to. someone that can always take me to perfect places. someone i can truly trust. someone that i can whisper my secrets to, someone that can be my secret, someone that can share secrets with me. then it grew on me. it became a parental support, it guided me. it helped me. it taught me things. it straighten my back, words released me from slouching, from boredom, from restrain. it molded me to the person i am today. it made me realize things, i've ingested it and its essence. i mimicked it like a whole stage full of actors. words are just releasing the good and the beautiful, without shying away with its ugly and distastefulness. words are flexible, they can make or break, it can be a weapon for sympathy and apathy, it can end or start war. words fly and swim and they climb, they will run if needed and walk for intensities.

0 notes

junker-town · 7 years ago

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Trash Or Nawl: The 10 trash albums of the year

Welcome to Trash Or Nawl, a weekly column to help you weed through the Internet Muck. To do that, I’ll be breaking it down to a helpful binary: Is something trash? Or nawl? Topics here will involve sports and whatever else the hell I say is sports or sports adjacent. I’ll do my best to make sense of what's going on each week, but the thing to remember is no matter what I say, most of these things are still trash.

You might say this is simplistic, and hell yeah it is. This is how I make sense of the chaos. Professional grade hating restores power to my powerless stupid fan hands. I give a middle finger because I've given up clapping.

Trash or Nawl criteria: We will pick a topic. We will breakdown why or why it isn't trash. You can agree, you can comment or tweet your disagreements. Or we can fight. Really, it's up to you.

Good morning, hopefully y’all are hungover too. Today on a special edition of Trash Or Nawl, I’m finna discuss why y’all decided to make and praise these garbage ass albums. A lot of the blogs kept saying these tapes were fire, so we found out. Please enjoy this rare moment of where I put my Diddy hat and matching fur on.

“The inability to tell the difference between good pop and trash pop is the sign of a music philistine.” — My editor, Nate Scott.

With that in mind, I’m bout to fry tf outta all of the music Nate likes. [Editor’s Note: I don’t even like two-thirds of these albums and I’m not sure why I’m allowing this article to run, but whatever. Happy Holidays everyone.]

Lorde — Melodrama

I’m so muhfuckin tired of you internet people tellin me that Lorde, who basically only makes music that belongs on FIFA video game soundtracks, is making good music. This is some bullshit. Last night, I thought I was bangin out some whiskeys and was ready to party and tried out this wannabe Avatar background music. Woke up in a daze, night ruined.

And don’t you give me that “you a hating ass asshole I love Lorde” bullshit. I was gettin busy when “Royals” came out just like you were. And then whatever the hell “Green Light” is came on and ruined it. Lorde gon’ stop whisper singin’ on these tracks.

[Editor’s Note: This is one of the albums on this list that is objectively Good, and you need to understand that Tyler is just doing this to get a rise out of me and you.]

Also idk who told Lorde that this pop art album cover was litty, because this some diet Pablo Picasso ass shit. Ain’t fuckin wit it.

Haim — Something To Tell You

What the actual fuck is this? Most of these artists also just sound the same: like some weird version of whatever ‘80s movies made for white people were. Like, this easily coulda been the opening music for Pretty Woman. “Want You Back” doesn’t even make sense to me. Do you have a fear of forgiveness? Are you too proud? Are you blaming yourself?

We gotta stop telling our kids in grade school they can do anything they set their minds to because then we get shit like this. Seriously tho. I’m tired of the re-incarnation of Hall & Oates making pop music. I listened to “Founded It in Silence” five times by accident before I realized it was playing and not just my heater making noise.

Feist — Pleasure

Before “Pleasure” finally came on, I thought I got an album that didn’t have any music on it. Then when the song started and I spent the next minute not knowing what was actually said. The guitar was dope tho. Can’t hate on that. That fuckin guitar was dope as hell. But if I actually hear the word “pleasure” anymore in the way I have on this album that makes me think I’m in a Brooklyn dive bar with some round glasses ass hipsters wit they stupid turtle faces, I’m finna fight someone.

This album makes me feel like I’ve taken a lot of acid. I’ve never even had acid. Someone send me acid so I can know how I’m supposed to feel for listening to this album. [Editor’s Note: Please do not do this.] But, still. Can’t lie. This guitar is real real dope. Especially on “I Wish I Didn’t Miss You” but that ain’t gonna cut it, fam.

Charly Bliss — Guppy

I can fucks with a lil bit of some good rock music. But this fake ass Paramount [Editor’s Note: I think he meant Paramore but it’s a lot funnier as Paramount so I’m leaving it] sounding ass band wasn’t poppin. The drums was litty tho. New Indie Rock loves to do this thing where it remakes music that was born in the 80s but also the 90s now too. I felt like this coulda been played in Bring It On when Kirsten Dunst was hype because some bro made her a mixtape with his I’m Really Doing Something In Life struggle stubble. Also: Go Clovers.

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Guppy wasn’t as bad as Lorde and Haim and Feist, but I just felt like someone was crying to me for 30 minutes. It also isn’t Future, Kendrick, SZA, John Legend, Migos, Badu or anything resembling it. Shit. This ain’t eem Plain White T’s “Hey There Delilah” level litty. [Editor’s Note: (Long, sustained sigh)] This ain’t making me pick up a guitar. Yeen head noddin to this. I can’t keep lettin y’all whine on a track and say you waxin poetic. I fuckin refuse. Empire wouldn’t even play this on they show.

Jason Isbell — The Nashville Sound

This is purely here because in a world where we’ve decided we ain’t fuckin with blatant white supremacy and nationalism (lol, this won’t last), I am triggered by a song titled “The Last Of My Kind.” Also, Isbell getting mad because folks laughed at him in college as a justification for this song is highkey highkey highkey the same reason people comment on Breitbart.

Photo by Rick Diamond/Getty Images for Country Music Hall Of Fame & Museum

He also made a song called “White Man’s World,” which, lol, y’all never really need to keep asking why folks don’t listen to country if this what y’all keep giving us. #WokeSZN #Resist #DumpTrump

[Editor’s Note: All the sportswriters of the world who are obsessed with this dude, please know that I had nothing to do with this section. Jason Isbell is great. Jason Isbell is the best. The Beatles? Beethoven? Fuck em. There is no one better than Jason Isbell, except maybe Bruce Springsteen, who I think you all also love for whatever reason. Please, for the love of god, don’t yell at me on Twitter.]

Margo Price — All American Made

A lot of you On The Internet Money Makin Whites love Margo Price. So because of that (and because OG Willie Nelson was making an appearance) I turned this on expecting non-pretentious and pompous ass country bangers I am accustomed to. Y’all told me this. Y’all told me she was the shit.

Welp.

Somebody call Deputy Raylan Givens and whip up that good wild west bullshit because Margo sound like the soundtrack to Justified. Margo dropped some bars that say “a little pain never hurt anyone” which is a whole lie because I promise you I was reeling from this weak shit.

OG Willie was dope tho. Don’t worry about that.

Taylor Swift — Reputation

Y’all knew this was gone be here.

First of all: IF CARDI B WASHED YO MIDDLE OF PENNSYLVANIA ASS ON THE CHARTS THEN YOU SHOULDA KNOWN WE FINNA GET THAT ASS UP OUTTA HERE BOI.

**re-adjusts collar**

I’m sad Future had to be dragged onto this album, but I know he owe Rocko a few Brinks trucks so I understand. I don’t know what Taylor keeps doing with these albums, tho. She’s always gonna get a few body rolls from me just because Future was featured here on some childish ass beats. But, y’all can’t expect me to think it’s pawpin for Tay Tay in the year of our lord 2017.

Photo by Dia Dipasupil/Getty Images

The New York Times, however, wants you to know this was super hot fire. Smh.

Katy Perry — Witness

Listen dog. I used to get it EXTREMELY LIT at high school mixers to some Katy Perry. Ain’t nobody gonna ever tell me Katy Perry wasn’t the white T-Pain at one point in my life. Left Shark is the hero this world needed at a time we didn’t know it. But the song “Swish Swish” which includes a line saying “Swish Swish Bish” featuring Nicki Minaj is one of the worst things created in a year full of some of the worst things ever.

The thing I didn’t expect: Nicki Minaj was actually the second-best thing about as much of this album as I was able to tolerate. Quavo yelling “KATY PERRY,” harmonizing with her in autotune, rapping many random “ayes,” yelling his own name, and randomly saying “Bon Appetit” on “Bon Appetit” is the best thing. [Editor’s Note: This is actually correct.] I need you to notice, the good things here have nothing to do with the person who made the music. If Space Jam and an elevator had a child and it grew to become a singer, it would make this album.

Macklemore — Gemini

Skylar Grey SANG her ass owf on this tape for “Glorious.” But Macklemore following up her vocals with “I’m feelin glorious, the crib lookin Victorian, you know we been goin in, since we hopped out that Dolorean, I’m gone, things are just things, they don’t make you who you are, can’t pack up a UHaul and take it wit you when you gone, we posted on the porch my family glasses to the stars, my grandma smiling down on me like OUU THAT BOY GOT BARS” is the most sickening thing I’ve ever had to take part in.

I don’t know if I’m more mad that another Macklemore album came out or the people who keep letting Macklemore let another Macklemore album come out. The sad part is: Macklemore actually gets some really fire ass beats. But we keep getting some fake ass Eminem verses because nobody gonna tell Macklemore either 1) he can’t rap that well or 2) he can’t rap that well about happy go lucky shit all the time.

Photo by Andreas Rentz/Getty Images

Mack also steps on Kesha’s angelic vocals on “Good Old Days,” Yachty’s assumed piano playing in “Marmalade,” and Offset’s ad-libs on “Willy Wonka,” which is just unconscionable. Also every single song on this tape except “Ten Million” had a feature. He reverse J. Cole’d himself. What world are we living in.

DJ Khaled & Friends — Grateful

I’m mad at Khaled for several reasons:

I followed him on Snapchat in anticipation to this album

His bit is lowkey tiresome at this point

Asahd is the most handsome baby in the world, which brings envy from my being

The album has 23 songs and is an hour-and-a-half long

The album was no where near any other Khaled bangers out

Khaled hyped this shit up for no good damn reason

That being said, this Khaled tape is probably the best worst tape of the year. “Shining” with Beyonce and her lil’friend is a fun song, and Qween has never made bad music. You’re welcome, Shea Moisture Twitter. “Wild Thoughts” still got me thinking about Havana fwiw even tho Bryson Tiller is the corniest dude alive next to Big Sean. “I’m The One” had me trine buy Bieber Merch and loudly singing said song at many functions. “I Love You So Much” was some cute Disney shit. “On Everything” had me jumpin on people’s couches.

But literally the other 80 percent of the tape is hot ass garbage. Which is super disappointing because a dude with the most Jordans in the world, prettiest baby alive, 18 mansions, superstar friends, and a call log that would envy the Lord hisself should be able to do marginally better than this.

Most times I think Khaled’s music is only good as an audio soporific. Sometimes that’s okay. Not this time. I’ve been deceived. To make up for this: Khaled plz send me some sneakers, Bellaire Rose and Jordan sweatsuits and all will be forgotten. [Editor’s Note: Khaled, don’t do thi... Actually, you know what? Khaled, do this. And throw in a sweatsuit for me.]

We’re good, Khaled. Because at the end of the day: You still better than Lorde.

If you disagree with these verdicts, comment below. As stated earlier, you can agree, comment, tweet through your frustration or fight. Really, it’s up to you.

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