#broke and ain't got a dime

[rustbeltjessie]

The past week (the good, the bad, & the miscellaneous):

—One of my uncles is in very bad health, and if he doesn’t get the proper treatment soon, will probably not make it. That’s bad enough on its own, but it has also brought up a whole slew of family drama, which…well, I won’t get into specifics because they’re not really mine to tell, but it sucks.

—The oldest kiddo is doing great with his ADHD meds. He’s better able to focus on schoolwork, he listens better, and he has actual reciprocal conversations more often now. (Like, yesterday, we got into a conversation about AI art/writing, and he had some very well-thought-out opinions! I could tell he wasn't just regurgitating things he'd heard; he'd actually put a lot of thought into it.)

—I've gotten a little sad about the fact that I probably am ADHD, and possibly also autistic, or whatever (there’s definitely some neurodivergence in there), but never got any help when I was a kid/young adult. Because AFAB kids tend to present differently and mask better, y'know? All I know is I had an awful lot of school reports that were like: "J. is really smart, but doesn't follow directions well" or "J. does well on everything, when she decides it's something she wants to do." And then when I reached the age of burnout everyone was like: "But you are so smart! You're just not trying hard enough! You're just lazy!" How much better could I have done, especially in college, had anyone noticed that I was trying, that I was fucking struggling, and it wasn't just laziness?

—Speaking of college, I'm still researching universities I might want to attend when/if I go back for another degree.

—There's also a chance we may be moving sometime in the next year.

—And I'm putting some serious thought into how I wanna proceed with Bone & Ink Press. I want to keep it going, but it has long been untenable the way it's currently going. See, the thing is, I never wanted it to become what it became, a semi-legit publishing house with perfect-bound books and royalty payments and the like. I wanted to do small print run zines and chapbooks. So I'm going to finish up/publish the New Wave anthology, and then the three other titles I have on the roster, and then after that...I think I'm going back to its roots.

—The youngest kiddo had his first online class in astronaut science this morning. He loved it so much, and wants to continue with the rest of the course. Now I just gotta scrounge up some money to pay for the rest. (The first class was free; the rest cost money.)

—My dentist appointment went okay. It was fast and relatively painless. I have two small cavities, and have to go back in a month to get them filled, but they said everything else looks good.

—After the dentist, I had a bunch of errands to run. Normally I enjoy running errands but today I just wanted to get home and relax and also, everyone in town was driving like a jackass, so it took an extra long time to get from one stop to the next.

—But I did see two cuties while out and about. There was a hot middle-aged skater dude in the grocery store. (I know he was a skater because I saw him get out of his car, and it had Santa Cruz, Independent, and other skateboard-related stickers on it.) Downtown, I spotted a beautiful 20-something goth person; they looked appropriately eldritch in a long-black coat and big black boots.

—And while in the checkout at Walgreens, I saw this mom come in with two kids. One of the kids was a goth/punk teen; they shuffled into the store with their shoulders all hunched and a scowl on their face. Amazingly enough, the song that was playing over the sound system at the time was the Siouxsie and the Banshees cover of "Dear Prudence," and the teen recognized it, and for a split second, their scowl turned to a half-smile. And then they went back to scowling. It was perfect, because that is the era of my life which constitutes the bulk of my new zine.

—Speaking of the new zine: it's done, and I am glad it’s done, and I’m pretty pleased with it, but I am also fucking exhausted. To paraphrase something I wrote in my journal in 2009, after finishing a zine: I have completely overdosed on punk rock and stories from my own life. So now, I must cleanse myself with different kinds of music and different writing; namely, fiction and poetry. (Even when my poems are based on my real life experiences, which is often, writing them doesn't deplete me in the same way that writing prose memoir does.)

—I've felt pretty on top of my shit in general lately, but I am somehow flat broke again. Despite all the freelance gigs, side hustles, budgeting, etc. I mean I had to buy more printer ink and paper to complete this zine, so there's that. Then there's the fact that no matter how much we budget, our monthly food money always runs out 5-7 days before it gets refilled. Oh, and then there's the dentist thing. My health insurance covers some dental stuff, but not all, so I gotta pay the rest out of pocket. My dentist has a payment plan, but I had to make a down payment and have another bill due when I go back for my fillings. Shit. Anyway, if anyone wants to order some of my stuff/hire me for stuff, now would be a great time.

[burntsag3]

Crush.

I owe you a black eye and two kisses, tell me when you wanna come get em.

Chapter one: dime a dozen…

You hadn't been home in four years four guilt-stricken, hollow-bellied years filled with your mother's voicemail prayers and too many nights pretending the city noise was enough to drown them out. Mason, Texas hadn't budged an inch in your absence. It still moved slow, like syrup struggling through a rusted screen, too thick to breathe and too sweet to spit out.

The air smelled like sun-scorched cedar and old secrets. It felt like judgment. Like people still thought you didn't belong here.

Your dad talked the whole way from the bus station, voice warm with pride and nostalgia like he hadn't noticed the way you barely looked out the window. His truck was too loud, the radio too soft, and his words came in a stream you couldn't dam if you tried.

"The Millers-yeah, Joel, he's been doing some construction. Him and Tommy. Got themselves some contracts down by the river. Gutted the old Crawford place, turned it into somethin' near pretty."

You turned your head at that. Joel Miller. Your dad's best friend since back when they wore high school jerseys and beer-stained grins. Joel, who'd carried you on his shoulders at the county fair when your feet got tired, who knew how to fix everything from a busted radiator to a broken heart. Joel, with his sawdust hands and voice that dragged low like a dog's growl. Joel, who held you when you cried after Sam split with you before prom-squeezed you to his chest and rocked you slow, saying nothing, just letting the warmth of him chase the cold out.

You'd had a crush back then. Stupid, girlish. A flicker of warmth when he'd spin you by your arms in the yard like you weighed nothing, your laughter tangling with the wind. A blush when he'd call you "sweetheart" in that slow, honey-dripped drawl that made everything feel like it mattered more. You told yourself it was harmless. You were just a kid.

But you weren't a kid anymore. And Joel Miller wasn't harmless and soon enough you'd learn that.

You cleared your throat and nodded, the movement small, like if you did it too hard it might shake something loose inside you. "Oh-that's, uh... that's really nice, Dad."

Your voice sounded foreign in your own ears, caught somewhere between politeness and something warped you hadn't yet named. You didn't look at him. Just let your gaze drift back out the window, squinting behind your sunglasses like they could shield more than just the light.

The fields rolled by, flat and dry, dotted with brittle fences and oak trees that stood like old ghosts along the roadside. A vulture spun lazy circles overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked with no rhythm, no reason. Your dad didn't catch the pause in your voice. Or if he did, he ignored it the way he always had when things got too close to tender. He just kept talking, one hand loose on the wheel, the other gesturing like he was painting memories onto the windshield. You let him. It was easier than saying what you really felt. Nostalgia and sickness at war with each other.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly too aware of your thighs sticking to the leather, your chest rising a little faster.

Your first semester all those years ago in Houston had taught you a lot. How to lie better. How to dress like you didn't care. How to bite the inside of your cheek so hard it kept you from crying during lectures. But it hadn't taught you how to stop remembering the way people had treated you here, like a weird object they could have, Joel had never been that way...or at least he had never showed it.

The truck bumped over a pothole, and your dad chuckled like it was a joke, you broke from your spell. "Damn roads still ain't been fixed. Joel tried talkin' to the county 'bout it, but you know how that goes." You just nodded and leaned your forehead against the window, where the glass was warm like skin, and the sun made everything outside look a little unreal. You closed your eyes for a second. Just a second.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Your house was nicer than some of the others, cleaner, taller, bones still strong under the Texas sun. A classic-style American home, white siding with green shutters that hadn't faded yet, the flag pitched out front like a promise you never made. You hated it on sight.

Your mother had clearly gone overboard with the decorations. Plastic wreaths clung to the porch railing like limp flowers at a gravesite, and a massive vinyl banner stretched over the entryway in bold, celebratory letters:

WELCOME HOME, BABY GIRL!

It shrieked against the silence of the street, a bright, saccharine thing trying to paint over rot. You stared at it from the curb, your suitcase wheels catching in the gravel, and felt something sour crawl up your throat.

Your dad let out a laugh beside you, warm and clueless. "Ain't she somethin'? Your momma had that thing made special. Thought it'd make you smile."

You didn't smile well internally, outside you did tight but convincing enough to make your dad ruffle your hair, you hummed, reached up and pushed your sunglasses higher on the bridge of your nose, like maybe they could blur the edges of it all. The heat pressed against your skin, thick and wet. A cicada screamed in a nearby tree like it couldn't take the stillness either.

"I'm gonna get your bags," your father said, already rounding the truck, keys jingling in his pocket.

You didn't move. Just stared at the porch where the wood creaked softly in the breeze, where the swing swayed like someone had just left it, and imagined him sitting there-Joel boots planted wide, arms crossed, waiting.

He wasn't, of course. But the image wouldn't leave you. Not now. You wondered how he'd aged the last time you saw him youth still filled his eyes, hopeful of a life after divorce he's biggest worry being Sarah.

You stepped up, the boards groaning under your feet. Your mother flung open the door before you stepped could knock, arms wide, face flushed with joy and that same, persistent sadness she'd worn the day you left.

"Oh, baby," she said, pulling you into a hug that smelled like lilac lotion and casserole. "You're skin and bones. Look at you."

You let her fuss. Let her tuck a strand of hair behind your ear like you hadn't grown past needing it. The welcome mat read Home is where the heart is, but you weren't so sure yours had come back with you. Maybe not ever. Either way, you ventured deeper into the house, dragging your suitcase like it was something dead you hadn't quite buried. The air was cooler inside, but not by much just enough to keep the walls from sweating.

You passed through the front hallway and slowed at the picture wall. It loomed like a shrine, cluttered with frames in mismatched golds and whites, all jammed too close together, like your mother had tried to freeze time in one tight, perfect row. Grainy photos of you grinned out in frozen light-there you were at dance recitals in sequined pink, ponytail tight and high. There in a cheer uniform, eyes smudged with sweat and mascara, caught mid laugh at some long-forgotten game. And there again, puffy-eyed and tight-lipped in your senior prom dress, your smile cracking at the edges like old paint.

He took that one Joel.

You remembered. He'd fiddled with the focus too long, said something like, "Hold still, sweetheart, you'll thank me later." And you'd tried to smile for him, but it had felt like lying. Behind you, your mother's voice drifted like steam from a kitchen kettle, too much and always too sweet.

"You've changed that hair so many times, baby, I swear I hardly recognize you. What's this now, dark brown? No more highlights? I liked the highlights. You always looked like a movie star with that blonde in." You didn't answer a hum satiated her enough as your eyes continued gazing at the wall, She circled you like she was inspecting for damage, clucking her tongue.

"And so skinny! I hope you're eatin' somethin' up there in the city. Lord knows what they serve up there-rabbit food and stress, that's all. You used to have those little cheeks, remember? And that blue sundress I loved on you-what happened to that?"

You kept your eyes on the photographs, letting her chatter buzz around your head like a June bug too stubborn to die. Each photo held a version of you that didn't quite feel real anymore. You were all angles now, sharp where you used to be soft. The city had stripped you down to your bones and kept the pieces for itself.

"I made lemon bars," your mother said, suddenly chipper, patting your arm. "Joel's comin' by later. Said he'd drop off that saw your daddy lent him. Isn't that funny? Just like old times."

Your stomach twisted.

You nodded once, still staring at your prom photo. Still remembering how Joel's hand had rested a little too long on your shoulder when he took the picture. How his thumb had brushed skin, and how you'd swallowed hard and told yourself he didn't mean anything by it and he hadn't but to you It had meant so much.

You weren't seventeen anymore. And this wasn't going to be like old times. You followed her to the kitchen, the scent of baked sugar and scorched lemon zest curling through the air like an old memory you didn't quite trust. The counters were already crowded devilled eggs in crystal dishes, plastic wrap clinging to bowls of potato salad, the sacred casserole dish perched like a crown jewel in the centre of it all.

"Don't touch those," she said automatically, without turning. But you were already reaching, fingers snatching a still-warm cookie off the cooling rack. You bit into it slow, letting the butter and brown sugar melt on your tongue like a confession.

She scowled at you out of habit but didn't press it. Just kept arranging her little kingdom of Tupperware and serving platters like if she got it just right, maybe things would stay whole this time. "So, uh..." you started, your voice cracking like the cookie in your hand. "Joel. How's..."

You didn't finish it. Didn't need to. You took another bite, letting the silence stretch itself thin.

"He's good," she said, glancing up just long enough to catch your eyes before looking away again. "Busy. He and Tommy picked up some kind of big job out near Kerrville. Long hours, but you know Joel-he don't complain. Just gets it done."

You sighed and swallowed "Jeez what's that an hour out? long way to go." She stirred the tea pitcher with a wooden spoon, the ice clicking softly like bones in a glass.

"And Sarah?" you asked, quieter now.

A pause. The kind that meant she was measuring her words like flour.

"Sarah's doin' fine. She's up in Austin now with her mama. Senior, you know she uh she wants to be a Music major or somethin' close. She doesn't come home much, but Joel brags on her plenty. You'd hardly recognize her tall now, gorgeous like her mama."

You nodded, but something pinched in your chest. The last time you saw Sarah she was wearing braces and stealing sips of wine coolers behind Joel's shed, asking you if it hurt to kiss boys. Now she was a woman, like you were. Like the world had moved on and just left parts of you behind to sour in the heat. Your mom turned then, leaned on the counter, her gaze sharp now under the softness.

"You askin' 'cause you're curious, or 'cause you're still carryin' that silly little crush?"

Your heart thudded once. Loud enough, you were sure she heard it. You almost forgot how close you and her used to be that she could read you so well.

You shrugged, lips twisting around a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Just curious." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she saw too much. "Well, far as I know, he ain't seein' anyone. Not seriously. Joel's... Joel. Keeps to himself. He's still got that old place, still keeps Sarah's room like she's comin' back tomorrow. You know how he is."

You did. That was the problem. The screen door creaked faintly somewhere in the house. A dog barked two yards over. The sun dipped just low enough to smear the windowpane gold.

Your mother went back to her lemon bars.

And you stood there with sugar on your fingers and his name lingering on your tongue like a secret you weren't done telling.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Your room was how you'd left it, mostly.

New sheets now-white linen with soft blue petals scattered across the coverlet like they'd fallen there naturally, like your mother hadn't spent hours trying to make the place look fresh, clean, untainted. But everything else had stayed behind, untouched by time, like the room had just held its breath waiting for you.

The boy band posters still lined the wall above your desk, curling a little at the edges, eyes airbrushed and smiling like they knew a secret you didn't. Your bookshelves were a mess of cracked spines and dog-eared pages, heavy with the scent of dust and adolescent obsession. Titles half-remembered pulled at your memory: dog-eared vampire novels, feminist essays from your first angry phase, highlighter-pink poetry that bled into the margins.

Your cosmetic tray was still perched by the mirror. A plastic tube of old mascara, cheap Bath & Body Works perfume Warm Vanilla Sugar, faded now to something more like regret and that crusted bottle of sugar cookie lotion you used to slather on until your skin felt sticky and sweet. You picked up the eyelash curler, the rubber long worn smooth, and turned it over in your hand like an artifact. A girl used to live here.

You weren't sure if she still did.

You sat on the edge of the bed and tested the weight of it, listening for the familiar groan of the old box spring. One leg wobbled, same as always weak from where you and your ex had stumbled against it during one of those breathless, heat-drenched afternoons. No parents. Just a house full of ghosts and bad decisions.

You remembered the way he'd kissed you then eager, sloppy, with hands that shook a little like he was scared of you and thrilled by that fear. It hadn't lasted. None of it had. The boy. The heat. The need. It had all slipped away, like every other thing that once felt urgent.

You leaned back on your elbows and stared at the ceiling.

And just like that, you thought of Joel again.

Of how quiet he could be. How full of presence he was without ever having to speak. Of the way his hand had rested on your shoulder that prom night, solid and warm, his thumb brushing bare skin like it had a mind of its own.

Downstairs, the sound of guests had already begun to swell-a slow, rising tide of voices coated in honey and heat. Your father's laugh boomed over it all, loud and proud, the kind of laugh that belonged to a man who hadn't had to leave this town to feel important. You heard him say your name once, then again, like he was spinning your return into a story for the neighbours. His voice softened when he said it, pride slicking over the guilt you hadn't talked about yet.

There was the clink of that special Southern glassware-thin, delicate stuff rimmed in gold, usually buried in a cupboard behind your mom's grief. You hadn't seen it since that church luncheon the summer your grandma died. But now it was back out, trembling faintly on the kitchen counter, catching light like it knew it didn't belong in everyday hands.

The screen door creaked again. Another guest. Maybe two. You thought of how you'd want them to perceive you and You immediately went to your suitcase, hands already rifling through the half-folded clothes like salvation might be buried somewhere in the denim.

It was all wrong.

Jean cutoffs that felt too short now, like they belonged to a version of you who still chewed gum and flirted with lifeguards. Ruffled shirts in soft pastels, all thrifted charm and delicate lace-too sweet, too girlish. A romper you remembered wearing in a rooftop bar last summer, wine-stained and sun-drenched and miles away from this house, this heat.

Your hands froze on a ribbed tank, something cropped and easy. You could already hear your mother's voice if you walked downstairs in it-"That what they wear in the city now? Lord."

You sat back on your heels, the suitcase gaping open like a wound, and pressed your palms into your eyes. God. What were you doing? That ever-haunting feeling of wanting to belong to people you hated was so scary. You stood and took in a deep breath, steadying your hands like you were about to do something brave. Or foolish. Or both.

The closet creaked as you opened it, that familiar, tired groan of wood and metal. It still smelled like dust and old fabric softener, like years of Sundays and school mornings and secret afternoons when you tried on clothes just to feel like someone else.

Mostly it was skinny jeans and church dresses now. Floral prints. Long sleeves. Stuff your mother picked and stuffed in there after you'd gone. Pieces meant for someone sweet and modest. Someone who didn't leave. Someone who didn't dream of bigger things.

But deep at the back, where hangers had long given up and fabric had gathered in quiet folds like forgotten breath you saw it.

The milkmaid dress. White cotton, short hem. Puff sleeves with little ribbons at the cuffs. You remembered buying it with your babysitting money at sixteen, hiding it under your mattress because your father would've said it was too much, too grown. You never wore it in public. Just in your room, once, with the door locked and the air thick with imaginary sin, you pretended to serve Joel sweet tea in it, you go pink with embarrassment at the thought.

Now you pulled it out, let the hanger drop to the floor. It still smelled faintly of lotion and dust and something sweeter-like longing preserved in linen.

You slipped it over your head.

The dress settled like it belonged to you. Still clung to your waist. Still skimmed your thighs. The neckline was square, just low enough to make you feel a little reckless, just high enough to pretend it wasn't on purpose.

You looked in the mirror. This wasn't the girl from the prom photo. Or the one with braces and books underlined in pink. This was something else. Someone else.

You pressed your hands flat against the dresser, stared at yourself, and with one final breath you pushed the door open and silently descended the stairs.

Your house was already flooding with people-neighbors clutching casserole dishes, old teachers you barely remembered, the girls you used to sit next to at football games, all of them loud with familiarity and heat. The kind of crowd that smelled like too much perfume, too much beer, and not enough space.

But he wasn't here yet.

And you were starting to feel it-that creeping itch at the base of your spine, the slow boil of nerves. You hadn't come down in that dress for them. You hadn't painted your mouth soft red for your third-grade math teacher or let your hair fall loose for Mrs. Donnelly, who still called you sweetheart and asked if you had a "nice young man" waiting back in the city.

You smiled, nodded, laughed when it was expected.

You let old friends hug you too long, let their eyes rake over your dress with something like confusion. "You always were the pretty one." "You look so different." "City life must be good to you."

You bit back the urge to run your tongue along your teeth and ask them what exactly they meant.

Instead, you sipped on sweet tea so cold it made your teeth ache and kept glancing toward the door. But eventually, he does show-somewhere between your fifth lemon bar and your third forced conversation about marriage.

You weren't even listening at that point. Some neighbor's daughter had just gotten engaged, and everyone was talking about rings, about men who worked in oil, about how good it was to "settle down while you're still sweet."

You smiled. Bit the edge of your lemon bar like it might give you an excuse not to answer.

Your tongue was already raw from the sugar. Your cheeks ached from smiling. Your skin itched from the dress, from the heat, from everything that wasn't him.

The party had swelled and thinned, the way summer evenings always did. A slow exhale of people slipping outside-toward the string lights and folding chairs, the citronella candles and the promise of one more drink before the night ended.

You escaped inside under the excuse of helping.

The kitchen was warm and a little too bright. You moved like second nature-stacking empty plates, scraping crumbs into the sink, running your fingers over the sticky countertops like you hadn't already cleaned this house a thousand times. The lemon bars were down to broken edges. The sweet tea was sweating through its glass pitcher.

You didn't hear the screen door creak.

But you felt him.

Joel.

He was behind you before you could turn around, the sound of his boots soft but steady against the linoleum.

You kept your back to him, heart thudding.

"Don't tell me you came all the way back here just to clean up after everyone."

His voice was lower than you remembered. Rough like gravel after rain.

You turned slowly, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

He stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, a beer in the other. The kitchen light hit his face from the side-caught the lines carved deep into the corners of his eyes, the soft gray at his temples.

You shrugged, but your smile didn't quite land. "Somebody's gotta do it." He huffed a little-just a soft sound from deep in his chest-and moved to lean against the opposite counter. He stood there with one ankle crossed over the other, beer dangling from his fingers, looking at you like there wasn't a whole room of people outside waiting for him to come back.

"How are you?" he asked.

Simple.

But not really.

It was the way he said it-quiet, like he didn't want anyone else to hear. Like it was a question only meant for you, tucked into the space between the hum of the refrigerator and the clink of glass in the sink.

You glanced down, brushing a crumb from your dress that wasn't there.

"I'm fine."

Joel let that sit for a second. He scratched the back of his neck, where sweat clung to the edges of his hairline, the way it always did in late May, when the heat wasn't just hot-it was close. Intimate.

Then he spoke, voice low, almost wry.

"You behaving up there in Houston?"

Your mouth twitched, just barely.

He was teasing, but not entirely.

You reached for a plate, started stacking it over another like you weren't thinking too hard about the question. "Define behaving."

That earned a low chuckle. Rough, like it came from somewhere deeper than humor.

"Mm," he hummed. "That's what I figured."

You looked at him then, really looked-broad chest crossed with sweat-darkened fabric, forearms tanned and dusted with faint scars, the kind you only get from years of working with your hands. He wasn't looking at you like a girl anymore. That was the part that had your throat dry.

"Lotta trouble in a city like that," he added, eyes narrow now, playful but watchful. "Whole world out there full of boys who don't know what they're doin'." You crinkled your nose. "Don't I know It." You wiped your hands on the tea towel, slow and deliberate, like you needed something to do. Like your fingers hadn't started trembling just a little from standing too close, saying too much.

Then you reached for the pitcher of lemonade, the glass sweating in your grip.

"I'll take this out," you said, not looking at him.

You stepped past, close enough your bare arm skimmed the fabric of his shirt. Warm cotton, sunbaked and worn soft with age. The smell of him caught you mid-step-earth and sawdust and that faint, steady scent of skin that belonged only to him.

Joel.

It wrapped around you before you could stop it, hit some nerve in the base of your spine that lit up like wildfire.

You kept walking.

Didn't look back.

But you felt it-that pause behind you, that hesitation. Like he'd turned his head to watch you go. Like maybe he was still standing there, fists clenched on the edge of your mother's countertop, jaw set with the kind of restraint it took men years to learn.

Outside, the night had turned thick and golden. The string lights in the yard buzzed softly overhead, casting warm halos on the grass. The air smelled like honeysuckle and overcooked barbecue.

You handed off the lemonade, smiled when someone thanked you, nodded politely when an old teacher asked if you were "still seeing that nice boy from prom."

But you weren't listening. Your eyes would drift towards Joels and sometimes you'd catch him looking at you.

You'd never kick that damn crush.

[fartemis-crock-a]

5 songs to describe artemis

tagged by: @threadpull & @halfghcst tagging: anyone who hasn't done it yet <33

run your mouth - gavin adcock

Just say some firm words, make sure you're damn heard And that it cuts 'em deep and leaves 'em feelin' low And if you live like this, make sure that you don't miss Your opportunity when you gotta go

charleston girl - tyler childers

I don't know if it's the wine or the coke That makes her sound like her jaw is broke She's workin' hard to make some sense, but she ain't got a dime

cocaine jesus - rainbow kitten surprise

When you find an old picture of us ------ And you clear away the dust ------ I hope you miss me sometimes

porch light - josh meloy

Breakfast in the morning from seven to nine But we just can't seem to wake up in time Grab a cup of coffee and we're off to hit the road Now we're runnin' on fumes, no time to kill ---- Breakin' my back just to make a couple bones

whitehouse road - tyler childers

Get me drinkin' that moonshine Get me higher than the grocery bill Take my troubles to the highwall Throw'em in the river and get your fill We've been sniffing that cocaine Ain't nothin' better when the wind cuts cold Lord it's a mighty hard livin' But a damn good feelin' to run these roads -- I got people try to tell me, Red Keep this livin' and you'll wind up dead -- Rotgut whiskey gonna ease my pain And all this running's gonna keep me sane

[p4nn11c]

Listening to: 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘎𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘰

01:43 ━━━━●───── 03:50

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know, whenever you are around

Can't speak, I can't speak

I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know, whenever you are around

Can't speak, I can't speak

I know what your boy like, skinny tie and a cuff type

He go and make breakfast, you walkin' 'round naked

I might just text you, turn your phone over

When it's all over, no settlin' down

My text go to your screen, you know better than that

I come around when you least expect me

I'm sittin' at the bar when your glass is empty

You thinkin' that this song's comin' on to tempt me

I need to be alone like the way you left me

You start callin', you start crying, I come over, I'm inside you

I can't find you, the girl that I once had

But the sex that we have isn't half bad

Text say that it's not fair, that's code for: He's not here

And I'ma flirt with this new girl and I'ma call if it don't work

So we fuck till it come to conclusions

All the things that we thought we were losin'

I'm a ghost and you know this

That's why we broke up in the first place

'Cause

I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know, whenever you are around

Can't speak, I can't speak

I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know, whenever you are around

Can't speak, I can't speak

It's late-night Thursday, I know that you heard me

But you don't want the same thing, mm, well, two can play that game

So I'm chillin' with my girlfriend, but she not my real girlfriend

She got a key to my place, but she not my real girlfriend

Stupid, so dummy, say the wrong thing and wrong girls come runnin'

I'm paranoid that these girls want somethin' from me

And it's hard to make a dime go one hunnid

And my dude freakin' out over a worse fate

She on time, but she late for they first date

'Cause he went and tried out a new condom

Slipped off in a threesome, good problems, right? Wrong

Askin' 'em if she'd wanna play games

We the Super Smash Brothers, but none of 'em you

I miss the sex where you kiss whenever you through

Sixty-nine is the only dinner for two

I was wrong, but would you have listened to you?

Uh, you were crazy, I got a heart, but the art of choking's

Only thing girls want when you in that smoke and light

I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know whenever you are around

Can't speak, I can't speak

I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know whenever you are around

Can't speak, I can't speak

So we're done? This the real shit?

We used to hold hands like field trips

I'm a jerk, but your dude is a real dick

I read his posts on your wall and I feel sick

He ain't cool, he ball and all that

But he just a fake nigga who blog in all caps

You couldn't wait to date

I'm goin' straight for your thighs like the cake you ate

I give a fuck about the niggas that you say you ate

You know that I'm the best when I'm a-fake-tionate

I'm the best that you had, face it

J. and Keyshia are related, racist

I give you money, then you burn me (Bernie), then you made off (Madoff)

She ain't a killer, but she'd fuckin' blow your head off

I know he wonderin': What the fuck you hidin'?

That we dated like raps about Bin Laden

Ayo, fuck this, are we datin'? Are we fuckin'?

Are we best friends? Are we somethin' in between that?

I wish we never fucked and I mean that

But not really

You say the nastiest shit in bed

And it's fuckin' awesome

[baenxietydad]

10 Albums Mu-yeol Discovered in 2025 That He Thinks Everybody Else Should Too

And his favorite song from each of them

link

(Yeah, maybe a lot of it is weird for a 44 year old man to fuck with, but his taste in music is actually deeply cool, and he talks about music with the Youths he worked with at Pixie's, so he's keyed into the randomest stuff. Spends a lot of time in the depths of Spotify with one earbud in while at work at Moon Market.)

cw: drug mention (weed, shrooms, acid), Noah Kahan

Upstaged! - Katie Lynne Sharbaugh -- Omaha

And I know you're away and out achieving something Found your own saving grace, and she's cute as a button And I'm still a basket case But that's the life that I picked You're not the one that got away You're just the only, "What if?"

Because who doesn't have a "What if?" Mu-yeol sure does. Rip to his longest boyfriend in Seoul, Ji-ho. He ain't dead , they just broke up after two years. Lore to be unlocked later, maybe. Wouldn't you like to know weather boy

Live on Red Barn Radio I & II - Tyler Childers - Charleston Girl

I don't know if it's the wine or the coke That makes her sound like her jaw is broke She's workin' hard to make some sense, but she ain't got a dime

"Is this song about me when I was 19" Mu-yeol 100 percent joked. 1999-2001 were wild years. He's getting into Tyler Childers now since meeting Franny through Hatter <3 and Linnet from Pixie's <3 he likes banjos <3

How To Make A Master Peace - Master Peace - Start You Up

Oh, come on and tell me what you gonna tell me I know all the excuses, I used 'em all before So don't try and deflect me, you said I was your baby I still got all the texts that you sent me and some more

He found this artist on a playlist of new UK releases on Spotify and he really liked what this song was doing musically, he like the guitar, drums, and melody a lot. If he knew this song when he HAD situationships in his 20s, he'd've related hard. Now he's just like "Banger"

Tunnel Vision - Beach Bunny - Tunnel Vision

Tunnel vision leads me to the next decision Maybe I had chose these lessons at different time I don't trust my own opinions And my intuition's terrible at telling left from right I never see the signs

One of the best songs Mu-yeol's heard this year, next question. That funky guitar solo after the choruses, the thing the drums do to accentuate "I! Don't!" hell yeah

What A Relief - Katie Gavin - Casual Drug Use

It's a little unnerving how fast I'll fall back in To fixing my issues with casual drug use But I'm not gonna lose it 'cause we're not going to get Wherever we're going, right this moment

"Haha, is this song about me when I was 19?" Again. Tho maybe lowkey now because Mu-yeol does hit the dab pen, and like twice a year does shrooms or acid lmao. Anyway, it's a banger

Preacher's Daughter - Ethel Cain - Strangers

Found you just to tell you that I made it real far And that I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did While you were torn apart, I would still wait with you there

Um, ow???

Brother's Blood - Kevin Devine - Brother's Blood

Night after night On each chuckled prayer Such sweet relief A fistful of hair And each desperate try for elusive peace And every endless night And each wasted week All that dialogue doubling back on me All that tangled talk All my growing needs It's my brother's back It's my father's arms It's every twisted fact in my sorry heart My sorry heart, my sorry heart

The album was a recommendation from Won-shik, Mu-yeol's younger brother. He heard this song and texted him "just one thing. FUCK you." Mu-yeol listened to the album while making dinner while Hatter was closing up downstairs, and Hatter walked in to one tear just down his face and he was like "Oh I'm fine, I just have to kick my brother's ass for making me listen to this one album."

Hatter's well aware of Mu-yeol and Won-shik's habit of sending each other emotionally devastating songs to listen to.

Stick Season - Noah Kahan - Orange Juice

You said my heart has changed and my soul has changed And my heart, and my heart That my face has changed, and I haven't drank in six months On the dot See the graves as you pass through From our crash back in '02 Not one nick on your finger You just asked me to hold you But it made you a stranger And filled you with anger Now I'm third in the lineup To your Lord and your Savior

This song makes him think about how he changed completely when So-yeon died and how bitter of a person he's been since, really makes him just lay there and go "damn."

Sound of Music pt. 1 - JANNABI - 사랑의이름으로! (May the TENDERNESS be with you!) ft. KARINA

The thing called simplicity It's the purest face of truth A smile that never wavers Is something we're proud of May the tenderness be with you

"Jannabi never misses" a quote from Mu-yeol, actually. He absolutely made Hatter listen to Jannabi, including this song

I Don't Know How But They Found Me! - Jensen McRae - Let Me Be Wrong and Massachusetts

He couldn't pick one favorite on this album

Something twisted in my chest Says I'm good but not the best When I was young, that knocked me out But nothing really shakes me now

"Hey, this album right here? Just gave me 1000 emotional damage" Mu-yeol absolutely said to Hatter. He made him listen to one or two songs from it probably and pointed out HOW GOOD some of it was while Hatter just nodded along

As long as I live, I'll remember the names Of your favorite beers and your video games

...

Pick up your phrases, now I say, "It's aces" But it always sounds so fake I wonder if your tongue is turning over Anything I used to say

...

At least I'm treading water and not about to drown I'm not trying to find you, babe, you're just around Everything reminds me of you, even now

Massachusetts makes him think about So-yeon, Ji-ho, his old friends in Korea, and lowkey it reminds him "oh yeah, I will absolutely outlive my current partner, wow, ouch" and how as long as HE lives he'll just uselessly remember all of his favorite things just like So-yeon and Ji-ho, and it just really hits him in the feelings.

[knotintoxicated]

if ideas are a dime a dozen,

why the fuck do people wan em?

so quick n easy I just ask a kid,

but ideas aren't how I watch people place bids,

got a lotta words, but can flesh back it up?

I truly don't know, my mind is a rut,

If lying to you makes it a little sweeter,

close your eyes, take your hope, just fuckin beat her,

boom,

another mistakes been made,

I don't wanna talk I just wanna act my age,

my timelines in shambles,

my specs are all wrong,

i truly hate,

this little love song,

ideas are a dime a dozen,

some how I know ya fucked ur cousin,

it ain't about the smile,

it ain't about the face,

it's all about how you act, when you get high,

the ground starts to fade,

ya mind starts to dim,

there's bangin in the doors,

as anxiety pours in,

I hate the way you taste,

I still want seconds,

Burning hot sand,

and a day for the reckonin,

My eyes are covered,

my mind is sewn shut,

if I keep on living,

it's just about luck,

I'm not in control,

my life has no reason,

the spiral gets deeper,

everything has a season,

I don't hate you,

My life is blue,

I see everything incorrectly,

let me figure out the human zoo,

Ideas be a dime a dozen,

and I go broke because I want em,

somebody who don't got my problems,

maybe you can fuckin solve em...

[jpd82]

When am I ever going to find work?

I'm feelin hurt

On red alert

And on edge

Thoughts race in my head

Broke until dead

But instead

I have these nightmares in bed

That wake me when I sleep

Can't get back on my feet

I feel defeat

Sleeping on the street

That shit runs deep

And creeps

As dark black painful memories

That damage me

And leave me broken

So now I'm smokin

At least 2 packs a day

Even when I ain't getting paid

And I can't seem to save

2 nickels and a dime

And find

This ryhme

Don't make much sense either

And not a big believer

In people they're deceivers

And when I'm in need

Applied to everything on Indeed

No one responding to me

So can't really see

The point in keep trying

Inside I'm dying

On applications I'm lying

Food stamps I'm relying

Living off a broken system

Just wanted someone to listen

Not to the qualifications I'm missin

But the person I really am

And I can't fuckin stand

AI giving my resume the eye

And automated disqualification

So on technology I'm hatin

Constantly debatin

Of just throwing in the towel

I'd like to buy a vowel

A U inbetween an F and CK

Every damn day

I've been feeling this way

From facts as cold as the street

AI makin humans obsolete

When I'm just trying to pay these bills

But they will fill

All open positions

When I'm in transition

With the decision

To gank shit from the store

Cuz at my core

I don't care anymore

Cuz the truth of the matter

Shit just keeps getting badder

Like climbing up a ladder

With no ability

For stability

Now I got the agility

To keep hoppin fences

When the court mentions

A warrant and a sentence

Why I'm defensive

Cuz living's too expensive

And apprehensive

That it's offensive

Not to have anything

But I'm a human being

With the feeling

I'm stuck in the gutter forever

Whether I try to better

Myself or not

Caught in a cycle like a clock

Got me hot

All these problems I got

It never stops

Locked in a box

Real talk

Something sad to admit

But I didn't pick

This life or to be born

That form

All this negativity

That circles me

Hurt to see

That I can't afford to be

Or even exist

Now wish

My wrist was slit

Trying to climb out this pit

And it's this desperation

That causes separation

Between me and myself

My mental health

Is about as good as my wealth

When I need help

But I can't get any assistance

There's only resistance

To my persistence

To find employment

Not in enjoyment

Now deployment

Of survival mode

These streets are cold

Not just in faremheight

But cuz there's no light

At the end of this tunnel

As I stumble

And everything caves in again

I can't pretend

This suffering will have an end

[groovetrill]

I'm a player and I'm playin' jus' the bass

I'm a player and I'm playin' jus' the bass

You see I made up my mind when I was seventeen,

I ain't with no marriage and a weddin' ring,

I be a player fo' life so where's my wife,

Prob'ly at the rehab stuck on the pipe,

'cause she must be smokin' and I'm not jokin'

Too Short baby comin' straight from Oakland,

Got way mo' bitches than I ever need,

I put that on a big fat bag of weed,

'cause I can give you a bitch who wouldn't give you joint,

Bitches ain' shit and now I made my point,

So you can light that weed,

While I spit this rap,

And tell you 'bout a player from way back,

I was only fourteen when I first got my dick sucked,

Now I'm grown up and I really like to bust nuts,

Gittin' freaky in the right situations,

You wanna rap well that's a nice occupation,

To git pussy when you want 'n how you want it foo'

'cause I was fuckin' ugly hoes back in high schoo'

I used to fuck young-ass hoes,

Used to be broke and didn't have no clothes,

Now I fuck top notch bitches,

Tellin' stories 'bout rags to riches,

'bout a pimp named Shorty from the Oakland set,

Been mackin' fo' years 'n ain't fell of yet,

So if you ever see me rollin' in my drop top caddy,

Throw a peace sign and say hey pimp daddy!

'cause I never would fron' on my folks,

I slow down and let the gold diggers count my spokes,

Bitches come a dime a dozen,

So don't get mad when I fuck your cousin,

Your two sisters, I even fuck your ex-bitch,

Short Dog in the house with some player shit...

I'm a player and I'm playin' jus' the bass

I'm a player and I'm playin' jus' the bass

I'm a player and I'm playin' jus' the bass

I'm a player and I'm playin' jus' the bass

[nel-world]

HI

don't rush be prepared breadth , don't throw away at end ,tall space…SING ON VOWELS sing full line .. sing forward/ got forward dont close mouth

BREATH FOR MORNING A HUM M L AmarillOby mor neENg- dont drop' 2341 tall space one word , n is tongue click / dont close jaw….. use by to get height for morning morneeeng ( stay on vowel , dont drop sound, dont fall on pitch at end) short morn eeeng long breath UAp from San AntONe 2341 N CLICK up tall sound

AmarillOby O sound tall BREATH Everything that I got 2341 aaaigot one word short long wverything ( thing keep up) breath/sneeze Is jUst(up) what I've gOt aa aa on 2341…KEEP OPEN SPACE THRU OUT got is higher note just is higher note

When that SUUN is high (sun same notes as just) In that Txaas skyy(tall) .. take breath short short long ( Texas sky) GOES DOWN--------------- I'll be bUCkin'(TALL SOUND) at the cOUNty(OU TALL) fAair( OPEN A SOUND) 2341

Amarillo by mornin' 2341 AmarillO AI'll(OPEN/ two notes ,l comes at end) be there ( SING O LONGER)

2341 2341 2341 2341(FASTER)

They took my saddle in HEuyston Broke my leg in Santa Fe 2341 Lost my wife and a girlfriend Somewhere along the way 2341

BREADTH But I'll be lOOkin'(open) for eight When they pull THAt gate ( same notes pull high PULL THAT GATE GO DESCENDING, that is only half note lower LIKE TEXAS SKY SKIP PATTERN)----- And I hOOOpe(STRESS) that JuUdgeain't blInd 2341 -- DONT CLOSE JUDGEAINT (CONNECT) sing one line

Amarillby mornen' Amarillo's Aoon(TWO NOTES) mI mInd ( MIND TALL) (go lower note) 2341 2341 2341 2341(FASTER)

KEY CHANGE BREATH FOR MORNING Amarillo by mornin'2341 (step up higher notes) nening Up from San Antone 2341 Everything that I got 2341 breadth Is juuust what I've got on 2341 - dont go to st too soon

AI ain't got a dime ( higher pitch) breath got a dime goes up But what I've got is mine ( higher pitch) got is mine goes down aI ain't(forward) riich (just one note up rich to aint) But Lord, AI'm free ee 2341 ( I ain't rich But Lord, AI'm free dont break)

Amarillo by mornin' 2341 Amarillo's where aI'll be

Amarillo by mornin' 2341 Amarillo's where aI'll be

[itsnothingbutluck]

Hugh Laurie - You Don't Know My Mind Lyrics

Walking down the levee with my head hangin' low Looking for my mama but she ain't here no more Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

She won't cook my dinner, won't wash my clothes Won't do nothing but walk the road Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

My breakfast on the table and my coffee's getting cold And mama's in the kitchen getting a sweet papa talk Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

Sometimes I think my baby's too good to die Sometimes I think she should be buried alive Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

I wish I had a nickel, I wish I had a dime I wish I hadn't give myself a fabulous time Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

Look at you mama, see what you got it done You got my money now you broke and run Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

You made me get mad and you made me get sad The going gets tougher than you ain't never had Baby you don't know, you don't know my mind When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying

[bookedrevenge]

"Not yet." He's been avoiding Valka and Heron both, bitter and ashamed that this is what he's become. If he were them, he'd drive a stake through their heart and call it mercy and he'd want them same from them. But he's got shit to finish before he can get there.

Reid gives him the information that he's been seeking and he reaches for his wallet to grab enough bills to cover both his and the kid's drink. If he wants to stick around and drink more, it'll have to be on his dime. But understanding flickers in Reid's eyes and Book meets his gaze evenly. "Ain't got years." He shakes his head slowly.

"Don't get all weepy on me yet, Halstead," he rolls his eyes. "I'm not just gonna roll over, but there's two ways this ends. Her head or mine. She's got however many centuries and a vampire wife compared to my three weeks? You can do the math."

It's far from a perfect plan, but any way he squares it, he comes out with the shit end of the stick. The best case scenario is he catches them by surprise and takes one or both of them out before they see him coming. Or at least enough of a mark to make them think twice about it. Whatever it takes to leave his daughter the fuck alone.

"She wants me, not her. She took her to get to me. And I ain't putting her through that again." He doesn't know why Narcisse let him go, but he knows in his gut that it's not anything more than borrowed time. Whenever that end comes, he doesn't want to be anywhere near where his daughter could be caught in the fallout.

He tells himself that this is the way that it has to be. A clean break is easiest, before more memories could be made for them to lose. Before the façade shatters because he can't control his emotions or his bloodlust. He might hold out for a week, a month, half a year? But he knows himself and knows that he will inevitably be a disappointment in the worst way. Isn't it kinder not to pretend like he can be someone else?

"You said you wanted to protect her. Tell me a better way I can protect her than by leaving her the fuck alone? She ain't gotta watch me die. Don't ask me to sign my kid's death sentence because you think she needs a fuck like me around. Ten minutes ago, you were ready to take my head off because I'm a shit father. Don't tell me you changed your mind."

Book has had too long to come to terms with his flaws. He's stared them in the face and carved them deeper because for years, it was the only thing that kept him alive. Something broke in his brain when people believed that he was capable of destroying his own family like that. Out of jealousy. The kind of devastation that makes no sense for a human, but the prosecution had only used that to portray him as a monster.

So he leaned into that image. Other inmates skirted around him for the most part, while some tried to prove something to themselves by challenging him. He was punched and threw punches in return, got thrown into solitary and started the cycle all over again. If that's what they believed, then he would rise to the occasion. None of that changed when the Brotherhood pulled strings to get him out of prison. The damage had been done, and the only people his innocence mattered to had been dead. So he spent the next decade becoming the monster everyone accused him of being and that blood remains on his hands.

"If you got another suggestion, I'm all ears. But you and I both know I ain't built for this. By some miracle I make it through, there will come a day that someone's going to need to put me down for everyone else's safety. You really want that on her shoulders because she thought she needed someone like me?"

Reid files the names away like there's never been anything more important than this. He knows the bookstore. Can't recall visiting. But he's walked past it a hundred times at least. Driven past it even more. Book's either fine with Reid running headfirst into the lion's den, or he has more faith in a dead man to make dust of monsters than he'd ever believed. He doesn't need to know how the French work, but the dramatics of mutilating woman, and turning hunters has his teeth on edge. It sounds so much like his dramatic Sire, minus the fucking French of it all.

But it still feels dirty giving Anika up, even if it is to her father. He has to trust Book's never approaching her with his hunger still raw and unchecked. This cannot be a death sentence, and if he hesitates too long, imagining that Book's her executioner because his fatherhood overruled his monsterhood, he'll never give over the information. And instead, he'll make sure they both meet the sun.

"Lighthouse Motel, off I-5 towards Portland. Room twenty-two."

The longer he stares at a once-great hunter, the more the tells show; Book shouldn't be this. He's not built that way. Reid hadn't been either; his sisters are the daughter that Book's enduring for. The cracks widening in their impenetrable armour. Reid had seen the threat of it, before, in a dingy alleyway when the hunter had caught him running. When he'd looked at Reid full of grief, and understood what duty looked like. When instead of a bullet to the heart, he'd been provided an ultimatum as a form of hunter mercy. Reid's yet to deliver on it.

Maybe this is how he does.

Reid remembers telling Book he hadn't switched sides just because he'd died. That he were raised with hunter morals that wouldn't bend. Adamant not to be a turncoat. He doesn't know how much truth is left in that statement, because he sees more than monsters now. He drinks like them, thinks like them, feels nothing like they do when he can't stomach the guilt. And yet, he still desires plenty of them dead.

"You talked to Valka?" Heron? And he wonders how that would go. If Valka's stronger than the pair of them. Not chit chat, just the Boston-style fuck off. Before making ashes into tattoo ink.

For a moment, when his old mentor speaks, Halstead doesn't know what he's talking about. There's something he's supposed to read between the lines, and can't. Not straight off the bat, anyhow.

"You survived, monster or not." Reid's not sure if the pause he gives is enough that he's locking away the hurt, in the carefully contained mess of his humanity. But even in death, it means something. But they aren't men to linger on softness, or heavy hearts that they know cloud their judgements. "Careful Book, you almost sound sentimental, man."

But he can't play off all of it because there's something else.

Book you fucker, is this goodbye? He's going to meet the sun? All that bullshit sounds like a poetic way to say he can't stomach the bears, or the blood. Reid's teeth cut his lower lip when he wrestles with a moment of annoyance. Better that, than acknowledge the pain of the reality that Book's really going to do it. His lip heals as fast as it comes, but he tries to understand. Tries. (Though, he does. Because Reid knows all he's done in death and has racked up more self-hatred, than anyone will ever know)

Death can be a kindness.

Reid downs his beer, pushes it away, flags for something stronger. Then, catches the bartenders eye, and asks for the bottle.

"You got plenty of years now to fix all that." Whatever mistakes that haunt him. Reid can't say he won't attempt to reason with the old hunter. But then, it hits him, like a hot pan searing his chest. He swivels back to Book. Reid's been on a roll with his selfish streak. He isn't going to stop on account of him. "Don't do what I think you're thinking. If not for me. For her. Don't do that to her."

[pantrasr]

Watch "Gucci leave me along .. 😫 #americanbully" on YouTube

Retarded broke dumb dead beneath me never been shit to society itsseklf and it's very well spoken reyarded muthafuckas try me to the dummy in campaine 20 retzrded bitch look at you you the same as dreaka and I got all my money from Kevin gates tetardrd broke dumb think you reminiscing on something and ain't fucking retardrd broke dumb deaf stupid never been shit to society itsseklf looking muthafuckas and to the dumb muthafuckas in yaws makeshift movie loyalty reyarded broke dumb dead retarded muthafuckas read it to yawsrlfs muthafuckas the game is to be sold not told yaw dumb ass fuck see my avon stats and the teas fucking tetarded muthafuckas and to the guilty on Martindale rwtardrd bitches I ain't changed why yaw muthafucking bullshitting and to the retarded muthafuckas muthafucking period the date is September 16 the not the 15th and I got a few dollars on a debit card left and some paper money and at least 12 dollars in quarters and not to mention all my knuckles and dimes yaw call yawsrlfs drug dealers and shit yaw that goddamn stupid I'm selling Avon living off my co check taking care of my mom and me and doing even better than before I whipped a few muthafuckas asses goddamnit I been shot strapped etc again and still don't give a fuck broke dumb dead stupid retarded muthafuckas try me I get 50 dollars a month in food stop this time every mouth if you know what to purchase on WIC retarded bitches since yaw think yaw got kids and don't call your food nations healthy grocery card and see retarded bitch no I canceled that one fucking retarded bitch second wasn't even activated dummy I canceled that one and it's on the emeway tetarded deaf dumb broke stupid beneath me never been. Shit to society itsseklf broke muthafuckas try me no

[jazzy-beats]

“Never”

I would, never violate the codes of the streets

And I would never make a promise, that I know I couldn't keep

And I would, never testify, cop out for a plea

Or surrender information on my boys to the police

And you could, never catch me on the block without a strap

And I would, never pull it out unless I'm bouts to black

And I could, never forget my homies dyin' for they scratch

Forever pourin' out liquor for 'em, God send me back

And I'll, never shed tears, my heart is like a stone now

Never thought I'd live to see 21 look I'm grown now

Never say never they tell me all the time

Cause never means it's forever, but it's never crossed my mine

And I'll, never go broke, I promise I'm a shine

Never come short on my issue, I'm on it every time

And I'll, never be passive, you better gimme me mine

It's my money, and I want it, every motherfuckin' dime

No I, never forgot all my struggles in the past

And I could, never forget how to hustle for my cash

And I will, never forget how I felt when I saw Brad

Take that first breath and from then, I knew I had to mash

And it could, never be said I went out like a hoe

Never been punked, I'll never let it slide, never let it go

Never ever, never ever ever no

Get on my level hoe, or get a shovel hoe

It's never any question for my manhood I get down

I'll never switch, never snitch, never sit down

I'll never hesitate to squeeze a n**** six rounds

I'll never squat to take a piss, who's the bitch now

I never ran, I never will, I ain't never scared

It's in my bloodline, the realest n**** ever bred

And that's some of the realest shit that I done ever said

And I can die but through my lyrics, I ain't never dead

I'll never disrespect my momma, never disrespect her momma neither

I'll never turn my back on Jesus

I'll never get caught off in the system, cause I believe a

Man that follows man, ain't no man, and I'm a leader

Never go turncoat my n****, I could never trade

I'll never cross my homies out, that I ain't how I'm made

And I never had not one regret, on how I was raised

I'm from the ghetto, where I slung and rapped it every day

Never knew no other way, this ain't gon' never change

Never gon' bite my tongue, FUCK what n**** say

100 with myself I swore to God I'd stay the same

And when I finally got my paper, I was on my game

I'll never talk a n**** down, do yo' thang dawg!

Never hate a dude for tryin, that's insane dawg

Get yo' motherfuckin' money, that's the thang dawg

Too many homies dyin' young, feel my pain y'all

—Scarface

https://youtu.be/Odcxmpt7yKU

[breezingby]

Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone Everything that I've got is just what I've got on When that sun is high in that Texas sky I'll be bucking at the county fair Amarillo by morning, Amarillo I'll be there

They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe Lost my wife and a girlfriend somewhere along the way Well I'll be looking for eight when they pull that gate And I hope that judge ain't blind Amarillo by morning, Amarillo's on my mind

Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone Everything that I've got is just what I've got on I ain't got a dime, but what I got is mine I ain't rich, but Lord I'm free Amarillo by morning, Amarillo's where I'll be Amarillo by morning, Amarillo's where I'll be

George Strait - Amarillo By Morning.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Rock & Rule" Part Two of Two

You know, love's not what you think

Love is anything you make it

How can I let you feel my love, feel me, and still feel free?

I may not have the answers now. So what?

They keep this place locked up tighter than a hummingbird's tweet.

By the way doll, who're you?

They just don't understand us new women.

After all, every now and then a girl's gotta get out and dance, catch my drift?

I do it every Saturday night! Let's go!

With your funk and my spunk, we don't need much time to find some real hot action!

We're on our way to the Twilight Zone!

My beast; their nightmare.

Magic? Magic, shmagic!

You bumming out on me?

Let's get out of here before we get caught.

No one can send it back.

Raising a real demon could be real bad for your image.

The liability costs would be enormous.

Wars have been started for less!

When I want your opinions I'll give them to you.

We're in the clear.

Oh yeah, the ladies will love this.

You never told us we were concerned.

Aw, are you gonna tuck us in, too?

I was just beginning to like ya, ya little scumbag.

I know she hangs around an uptown club.

You got to listen to my side of the story now.

It was not my fault that night at all those cops were supposed to be on the take; I am on the level!

Now we're even, fink.

Now we're even, right?

Follow them, yes, but don't interfere.

Oh boy! Mutants in the foyer of the club! Isn't it neat-o!

Eww, watch your step!

You let mutants in and it spoils everything, know what I mean honey? They just don't know how to dress.

I got uppers and downers, inners and outers, screamers and shouters, and things that make you go sideways

I know that I see you, and I'm hoping that you feel the same.

Come on and dance

I don't even have to know your name

Hey, come on, there's a booth over there.

Anyhow, he's kinda cute, but this guy had just gone too far so I told him he was a real waldo and I broke his fingers.

This is no time to be lying around!

This could be trouble.

Just keep an eye on them.

Sit tight honey, check this out, they're playing my song!

Whatcha looking for? The girl of your dreams?

Please deposit another dime, your three minutes is uuuuuuuuuup!

Get off the street!

What a pleasant, and unexpected surprise.

Perhaps we should invite him on up for a spell?

There there, come to daddy.

I've got everything I need.

I want everything too

It takes time

Okay, it's showtime.

Look, forget it. I won't sing.

I offer you fame, riches, and a crack at the top, you refuse.

I'm very disappointed.

What are you doing to them? Stop! Stop!

Our word is good enough for me.

You could have killed them. You, you're totally crazy!

Shall we see them off?

How are you boys doing?

I promise, I'll get you outta this.

You're working with the best now.

Survivors described the destruction as "evil," "spooky," and "wow, bad karma, man."

And it smelled just like cleaning fluid, and all it made me do was wanna, like, wax the floor, so like, can you tell me, like, is this concert for real, or is it just another rip off?

I need more power?

I will raise this demon, I will not fail again. Its power will be mine.

I know you love the thing I've got.

You've never seen the likes of me

You think he's acting but he is not

I'm the match, and I'm the pyre

I'm the power seldom used a lot

I'm the big bad thing that makes you shake.

You will worship me, of course

I'm the oracle

I'm the conduit

There is no question that I am it!

He looks so cool, but he's hot

Can you tell the difference between good and evil?

Gosh, we're here.

Hey boss, boss, wake up!

There is no longer black or white, good or evil. We've evolved beyond that.

We all must have our own personal view of right and wrong.

Is what we are doing evil?

'Evil' spelled backwards is 'live.' And we all want to do that.

So until next week, boys and girls, goodbye, and be good!

Destiny has revealed itself.

Take me with you wherever you go.

We can cancel. Nothing else matters. Just us.

Let's go away together.

Fiji? Disneyland? Fantasy Island?

You're a very clever girl.

I've enjoyed your little game but tonight the game is mine.

I like you, and I like this town

You guys just blew the whole show!

Your hometown puts a smile on my face

More! Boost the power, now!

Whoa, that's enough. Too much!

I just had this crazy dream where you were a real nice guy.

Get serious.

Ooo! My head feels like an eggplant!

We've got to rescue her.

I've had it with the hero business.

It's true. I saw them together. I've had it.

Everybody! Freeze!

Oh no! We'll never make it!

Aw, shit.

Whatever it is, it's evil.

DESTROY THEM ALL!

We ain't evil, are we?

It's our one desire

This song sends love through

Look! Something's happening! It's going back!

No! No No! They can't stop you!

Don't go! Please don't go!

You can't do this to me!

How about that show!

You get the greatest show ever!

Let's hear it for these kids, and hope that this never happens again!

[growingupautie]

StoryTime: All That and a Bag of...

At my previous job, I and a coworker or two would often grab lunch at a local restaurant. Usually, it was just me and one other guy thought. Sometimes we'd go to the pizza place. Sometimes the Chinese place down the street. There were a few good spots but we went to them all the time so they got pretty boring. Isn't it funny how when you finally have access to almost any food, you end up feeling like nothing sounds good and taking it for granted?

One day, most of my coworkers were busy, and my go-to guy told me he had errands to run. I drove by the Chinese place we usually go to and parked my car. But as I got out, I saw the Subway next to it and decided that since nobody ever wanted to go there, I would do that instead. I closed my car door and felt someone watching behind me. It felt like they were ready to make their move and ambush me with something but there was a distinct lack of a feeling of ill-intent.

I started to rush off toward the entrance as I hear from the watcher behind me "HEY! Hey man! Can you uh...I don't get paid for two weeks and I just started a new job...Can you buy me lunch and I'll pay you back?" I look back and see an older man in his late 30's sitting in his beat-up work truck wearing a neon work vest frantically awaiting my answer. "Uh..." I said, not really wanting to interact with anyone that day but feeling like I was long overdue for a good deed. "Sure, man...Come on."

He said "Are you serious?! Thank you. Oh, God. Thank you. God Bless you." and he leaped out of his truck, and threw the door shut running toward me. He held the door open for me and said "I'll pay you back. I promise." When I do things like this for people, I don't really want to be paid back and as I told him, it "wouldn't be much of a good deed if I did." He thanked me with an oddly frantic nature and seemed to almost get teary-eyed.

I thought to myself about how rare kindness must be to him if that small amount elicited that response. Then I realized that it most certainly was to me, and that's about the same amount of kindness it would take to move me as well. "I haven't eaten in a few days..." he told me. "I just started this new job, and I'm in a bad way until I get paid." He added. As his words hit me I said with a somewhat heavier heart. "Well, you're eating today, man. Get whatever you want.

The person in line ahead of us turned around and mean mugged him, and looked at me as if to say I was being scammed. That the guy was just in it for a free meal. Honestly, He could've been right in that moment for all I knew. But the truth is, I didn't care. I'd rather it be a free food scam than any other type because it's still a good deed done in the name of goodness.

But at the same time, I felt like this guy was either legitimate or extremely exaggerating his actions to seem that way. Either way, I didn't care. And because of that, the joke would be on him if he was lying. He ordered a 6-inch sandwich, and I told him to make it a foot long if he hadn't eaten in so long. He almost broke down again but snapped out of it, and changed his order.

He added chips and a drink to it, but only after I insisted. Further taking away the idea that this was all a scam to get free food. He picked his sandwich and drink up and looked like he was ready to walk out. "Do you mind if I eat with you?" he asked me. I was taken aback. Most of the time when I had bought someone lunch over the years they either doubled their order, left as soon as it was ready, or both. "Uh...Yeah, man. Sure." I told him.

We went and sat down and he thanked me again frantically for the food. Then he pulled the sandwich out and started literally scarfing it down in front of me. And I mean scarfing. And for a brief moment, I thought to myself "Who eats like that?" until it clicked in my head that only someone who hadn't eaten a meal in a long time would... I immediately felt horrible. "How long has it been?" I asked. "Um...Been a few days. Maybe Saturday?" It was Tuesday.

"I'm sorry, my brother. I didn't realize how bad it was." I told him as tears burned in my eyes burning my nostrils as I was overcome with emotion. He told me he understood, and I did more than anyone else did for him. I explained my stance on doing the good for the good and he told me again he would pay me back. "No, my brother. I never expected you to. That's the whole point. His eyes welled up more than they had before as he kept eating.

"My wife left us..." he said. "us?" I asked seeing what I was assuming was his wedding ring on his necklace and worrying about his answer. "Yeah, me and my little boy. She left us, and went to Louisiana." (I believe) he told me. "She took almost everything with her leaving me broke, and without any way to provide for my son." He took another bite and continued. "I just started this job, and it pays good. But I ain't gonna see a dime until next Thursday."

I asked him when the last time his son ate was, and he told me he had been going without so he could feed his son. I believe he said he could only afford ramen and hot dog weiners and was making his son that. I had always wanted to be a dad and I didn't really have the best examples growing up. At that time I was questioning ability to be a father.

Kandace and I were either planning to or trying to conceive, at the time and all I could think was being in a situation where I couldn't afford to take care of my son and what that must be doing to him. Much less foregoing food for himself to do what little he could. Thinking about it now as a father makes the emotion so much worse but at that moment it nearly broke my heart.

He didn't ask me for money. He told me he was going to find a way to get some groceries. That he didn't have anything to sell, but he would find a way. He nearly finished his entire sandwich by that time, and I asked why he was eating so quickly. He told me he had spent 30 minutes of his 60-minute lunch break asking people outside to buy him lunch so he didn't black out at work with no food.

In that moment...I had had enough. I wasn't going to put up with a situation like that that I had the power to change. I packed the rest of my sandwich up to take to work and said. "My brother. I know you don't have much time left but can you follow me to the Grocery store real quick?" He said "uh..sure" unsure of why I would ask him that. He followed me over to the ATM directly inside and upon realizing where we were said "I...No, my brother. You've already helped me enough."

"My brother..." I told him. "I don't trust these humans out here to help you, and I'm not going to let a hard-working single father and his son starve. It's just not going to happen." He started actually crying at that point and I did all I could not to do the same. I pulled out what I could afford to give him.

The number is not important, and I can't remember anyway, but it's not as much as I wanted to give him. I told him that I hoped what I gave him would get him through to payday and he hugged me (After asking.) I told him they would be ok and that we was an amazing father to sacrifice for his son like he had. The kind of father many kids unfortunately never had. I knew he needed to hear that and I'm glad I said it.

He kept trying to tell me he wanted to pay me back. And in the end, I finally told him how he could. "When you are on your feet and can afford to. Find someone who needs help like you did, and help them." I said. "That's what I'm doing now, and that's why I'm doing it. I continued.

As an Autistic adult, I came from a place where nobody would hire me, and no matter what I tried to make money, I fell flat on my face. I have been plagued with bad luck most of my life and have often felt cursed, so when I finally get on my feet and out of the bad times and see someone struggling to do the same just like I did, my first thought isn't to judge them or tell them to pull themselves up. It's to help them up.

He was a single dad with a new job trying to do right by his son. He was pulling himself up. But he needed help. Sometimes when people help themselves up, they still need a hand. And in a world of apathetic "not my problem" attitudes. Be that hand. Be that hand in spite of the judgmental onlookers, and naysayers. Yes. Guard yourself against being used, and abused but do what you can afford to do to help make their world, and by extension the rest of the world a better place.

And wherever you are, my brother, if you are by some random happenstance reading this. I hope you and yours are as well as me and mine. Thank you for being a shining example of fatherhood in a time where I was questioning my ability to be one.

-Nathan Alan McConnell

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