#so like..... i am in the process of literally rehabilitating this person to figure out how to find connection thru

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[soranis-sunshadow]

Why Hordak didn’t become a good law abiding citizen once he got stranded on Etheria

A lot of people argue that once on Etheria, Hordak was free and as such, he could have chosen to not be a warmongering tyrant. To that I would argue that he was never free of the brainwashing and indoctrination that had been literally programmed into him and that dictated that his only purpose in life is to serve Prime, like a good little clone.

Hordak’s conquest of Etheria was what Hordak thought Prime would want from him. He thought that by doing this for Prime, he would be seen as worthy of being kept alive despite being defective. It wasn’t as much of an actual choice as it was following his pervious programming to the only logical conclusion: Bring things into Prime’s Light. It was a mechanism to reinforce the conditioning, not cope with it or to free himself from it. Hordak never coped with any of the abuse that was heaped on him.

 If Hordak had ever wanted to conquer the planet and be the leader of a military dictatorship for the power and glory of it, then why was he so ardent to give it all up and return to Prime where he was essentially powerless? Why return to  the side of a being that sees you as livestock? Hordak seems more interested in building his portal and going home than he is in running the Horde or its military operations. Even when physically away from Prime, Hordak is still devout. His physical separation didn’t instantly make him an atheist. The reason for which he was thrown out to begin with further accentuated his zealotry. He needed to prove himself to his god, Etheria was merely a trial, a chance at repentance. All of the suffering he submitted himself to was a trial so that he may become pure, according to Prime’s doctrine.

He had been looking for a way off Etheria and out of Despondos for decades. That’s how much he cared about ruling the planet. So much so that whenever Light Hope opened any portal, for any reason, he went to investigate. That’s how he stumbled upon baby Adora.

 He had thought Prime had come for him and opened a portal form the other side. Hordak had been investigating the opening portals on the planet’s surface. Eventually he figured that Prime couldn’t come for him (he never considered that Prime wouldn’t) so he would build a portal and opened it from his side. He desperately wanted to go back home, back to Prime’s Light. (to the horrific life he had before as a brainwashed acolyte of Prime)

As far as making the choice not to hurt others, @cruelfeline wrote about it better than i ever could she also expanded on his lack of choice here.

If I were to put it in my own words, I’d say that Hordak lacks the moral framework to see his actions as wrong. Conquest and hurting the natives of planets are things Prime has always condoned and demanded, to him, these things are good. I know it sounds like I’m condoning his actions, which I am definitely not and why on insist on reparations for redemption, but Hordak didn’t really have the moral framework to understand that his actions are evil.

 He was never taught any moral framework other than Horde Prime=good, everything else=“must suffer to become pure”, (including little brothers).

Within the moral framework in which he was created to serve and  his understanding of how the world worked, Hordak was a “morally good” person.

As bizarre as this notion is for us to consider from our human point of view because he’s a warmongering religious zealot leading a military dictatorship, but according to the rules of the world he had lived in and the Galactic Horde society, Hordak was being good. He was worshipping and serving Prime, taking territory in his name and doing everything that, in terms of the society that Prime had created and Hordak was created in, made him a good clone. He was even overzealous in proving  that his defect does not take away his ability to serve Prime, that though he had sinned by being made broken, he can still repent and be good. As far as the only morality he has ever know stands, Hordak is “morally good” and an upstanding servant of Prime.

In a world without Prime, Hordak has no motivation to hurt anyone.

He doesn’t need to chose to be good, he needs to be taught what good is to begin with (with lots of therapy and support and companionship). This is a long process that in actuality might take years. Unlearning Prime’s moral framework and learning a new and ethical from a human standpoint one is not something that could’ve believably happened onscreen in the small amount of screentime he had in season 5 (2 minutes tops’). In all likelihood, Hordak will have to undergo rehabilitation after a lifetime of trauma, abuse and slavery-from-birth. What has been done to him and what he has done in the name of his god will always be things that mark him.

I think that after the series he is finally in a place to start this rehabilitation, and as far as willingness is concerned, he had always been willing to let people in. So long as those people were the ones to approach him first - he doesn’t actually know how to initiate any sort of relationship (friendship or otherwise), again, this is not something Prime taught any of his clones.

 He is willing to make the step and to change, and he is willing to learn from Entrapta. He has been presented to be willing to follow whomever showed him even a modicum of kindness and companionship, even after kicking his ass, ripping away his prosthetic armor’s power source,  humiliating him then threatening him with Prime displeasure upon arrival, he still let Catra in. 

That is how willing he is to let people in. That is how desperate his actually is for any form of companionship.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hello! I have difficulty with indicating my Hogwarts house (by Sorting Hat Chats system), and I need help.

At childhood, I used to think about myself as a Ravenclaw, because I was understanding their values too literally. I am a very curious person, especially in my chosen fields of interest which are biology, astronomy and physics, I am talented in visual arts, and I can spend hours watching birds or ants, analysing their behaviour. My dream job is marine biology, I really dream about working with wild penguins and seals and other marine fauna. Also, as I am an ENTP, it's easy for me to understand complex logical structures and work with them.

But later, Pottermore quiz sorted me as a Hufflepuff, and after going deeper into the topic, I realized that this house represents me better on a deep level. Sorting Hat Chats made me even more sure, because while I am a curious and rather clever person with a bit of "this nerdy Vulcan guy" vibe, my morals are heavily based on loyalty, equality and fairness (which goes a bit further than just people and basically include all life forms, no matter if it's known by modern science or not, but in general it is exactly what I am at a deeper level). Also I consider Gryffindor as my secondary, because I am known among peers for my hot-tempered personality and extreme sense of justice, and a flaw of saying things before thinking about them.

But here comes a problem that being a Huffledor don't actually cover up my curiosity and mostly science- and art-based hobbies. I don't feel Ravenclaw as my primary, because while I am better in logic than feelings and relationships, I still don't feel like I base my morals and values on some sort of logical system - I even feel that logical chains I operate with are not actually constructed by me, but already exist in nature and I have just figured out an already existing pattern - it feels like the universe is a logical, but fluid, constantly changing crystal that randomly shows different facets of itself. Also I feel that my morals are actually isolated from this logical chains, like they exist in my head but not heart. And it's much easier for me to give up on my scientific views than my view on people when given new argumentation - I would not feel guilty for changing my scientific image of the universe, but I will feel VERY guity if I would follow logic and betray people because of it.

Being a Ravenclaw secondary also seems doubtful, because I don't feel like I collect knowledge in some way... And that I learn this knowledge at all, actually. I am curious, but I am more of a person who would spend time catching lizards in the bushes rather than sit and learn Ancient Greek. And even if it's just theoretical stuff from the book, the whole process of it is more about randomly catching interesting patterns - I wasn't looking for them, but they were the ones who found me. Also, in a really stressful situation, I noticed that I tend to act more like a Gryffindor than Ravenclaw - instead of trying to figure out useful "tools" from my head, I try to act directly and overpower the problem. Yes, I use knowledge and logic, but it's definitely not about Ravenclaw's having a plan B.

But on the other hand, Ravenclaw models are described as people who gather knowledge because of it's usefulness, but not because of curiosity, while I do so because I just find something interesting - and my friends often say that my mind is very suitable for science, especially "field science" like expeditions or working in zoos and animal rehabilitation. At the same time, I know that if I would need to make a choice between people (or justice) and science, I know that I would give up on science and choose people, but it will make me feel really sad.

I know exactly that I am not Slytherin (regardless of being an ENTP who are stereotypically seen as snakes), but other three houses seem to be mixed in a very weird way.

Your description of a Ravenclaw model is only for Ravenclaw Secondary Models. A Ravenclaw Primary Model would allow you to operate while you construct belief systems and frame the outer world through logical principles, but you would toss it aside in serious situations and go with humanity first. You could be a Hufflepuff/Gryffindor with a Ravenclaw Primary Model.

[bubblemintkitten]

Luca/Tan - Home. 7 of X

Word count: 1351

Time didn’t really fly by, but after a few months at the rehabilitation clinic he was ready to move back home. Luca had learned a bunch, some of it was practical stuff he would need to make his days easier and some of it was theoretical stuff which would lessen the chances of him accidentally injuring himself by doing something wrong.

Tan had kept him updated on things he had set up back home. Like the ramp outside, which would make it a whole lot easier for Luca to get inside. Or the rails in the bathroom. And how he had pretty much rearranged all the furniture to make it easier to get around with a wheelchair.

Tan had even planned out where a standing frame would fit, so that Luca could get a little while bearing his weight through his lower limb bones every now and then. That would lessen the risk of his bones turning brittle, as he no longer was able to walk around on his own. It would also be good for his circulation and would preserve his range of motion. Plus it would mean that areas that would be under constant pressure when he was seated would get a rest.

 *             *             *

 “I bet Duke will be glad to have you back home…” Tan grinned on their way home, “He was really odd at first when you were in the hospital… But he seemed to understand it the day I brought him by the clinic for a visit.”

Luca nodded in the passenger seat, “Going to be nice seeing that furball every day…”

Tan nodded, “It’s going to be good to have you around again.”

Luca nodded, “Yeah. I’ve been longing for this day…”

Tan grinned, “Me too.”

“And it’s going to be interesting to see if I can cope with this here at home…” Luca looked down at his lap, his right hand was nervously rubbing at his lower thigh, “I mean, at the clinic I kinda always had training wheels on… If I messed up or had something I didn’t figure out I always had someone in the same situation to ask, or a professional…”

“Hey, you’re going to do great!” Tan slowed a bit and looked over, “We’re going to ace this thing together.”

Luca smirked, “Promise you won’t think I’m mad at you when I’m really mad at myself?”

Tan chuckled, “I promise to have patience with you. I’m not going to give you too many free passes though…”

“Yeah, thanks…”

“-And I will try to figure out if it’s me you’re mad at or if it’s just a shitty day for you before I snap back…”

“What more can a guy ask for…” Luca grinned.

Tan nodded, “I don’t think I asked you earlier when I picked you up, but… How do you feel today?”

“Pretty good.” Luca shrugged.

“Like, a no pain day? Or?”

“Tingling.” Luca hitched up one shoulder, “Not really pain or anything, but I feel something that’s not really there… It doesn’t bother me too much.”

“That’s good I guess.”

“Yeah, compared to what it can be, this is pretty much bliss.” Luca chuckled a bit.

“Had any spasms lately?”

“Just small ones…” Luca shrugged, “Haven’t had bad ones the last week or so…”

Tan nodded.

“But, that can change any time…” Luca shrugged.

Tan nodded, “When is it usually worst?”

“Varies…” Luca shook his head, “Sometimes it’s worst when I’m sitting, other times when I’m laying down.”

Tan nodded as he made one of the last turns before they would see their home.

 *             *             *

 “Alright, they should be here any second now…” Chris grinned, “Make sure you get into your positions.”

The rest of the team and a few other friends hid behind the couch, inside the kitchen, everywhere it was possible for a grown person to hide away.

Chris was hiding in the kitchen, holding Duke so he wouldn’t jump Luca before he had even had the chance to enter the house.

 *             *             *

 “Do you need help up the ramp?”

“Nah, I’ve got this…”

“Okay, then I’ll just get the door.” Tan grinned and checked his phone on the way up the stairs.

Luca nodded as he pushed himself up the ramp, “You build this thing?”

“Hondo helped me…” Tan nodded.

“It’s a good ramp. Not too steep…” Luca grinned, “And good platform on top, I can swirl around up here without worrying about accidentally going down the stairs.”

Tan nodded and unlocked the door.

He let Luca pass by him, then he stepped in as well.

“I guess Duke must be sleeping…” Luca shrugged.

But as if on cue Duke exited the kitchen, not only wagging his tail, but his whole body.

“Oh, hey Duke-boy!!!” Luca grinned as the golden retriever halted in front of him, still too excited to keep all four legs on the ground as once.

“Come up…” Luca grinned as he patted his lap and the golden climbed up, still wagging every part of itself.

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah.” Luca nodded, hugging the dog, “It’s a perfectly good idea.”

Tan chuckled and snapped a photo of Luca and Duke, before he switched the lights on. Which was the signal to the rest of the party.

“SURPRISE!!!!”

“WELCOME HOME!!!!!”

Luca gaped as he tried to process all the people popping out of seemingly nowhere. “You guys… Wow…”

Duke climbed down as  the people who just had jumped out came closer in order to hug Luca and welcome him back home more appropriately.

“Guys, this is such a surprise…”

“We’ve all missed you.” One of their elderly neighbors smiled.

“Yeah, and we all wanted to celebrate that you finally made it back home.” Hondo said, slapping his hands together.

Luca nodded. His eyes were stinging and he knew that he shouldn’t trust his voice if he wanted to avoid crying at the moment.

After a hug or two, he manned up to choke out “Thanks.”

 *             *             *

 Hondo had brought gumbo, Annie and Deacon provided various types of food and snacks, Chris had made sure there was cakes (which her aunt had baked), and Street had gotten hold of booze for those who hadn’t brought any of their own.

No one went too wild, and the atmosphere was awesome.

The last people left around 2 a.m.

 *             *             *

 Luca was still awake when Tan came back from the walk with Duke. He had spent the time Tan used to walk Duke to get ready for bed, and to get up in it.

He felt the bed dip under Tan’s weight, and pulled a satisfied breath.

“Thank you…” he smiled.

Tan smiled back, “Did you have fun?”

Luca nodded, “I did. -And I think I needed it as well…”

Tan nodded and settled in on his side, facing towards Luca.

Luca was on his side, facing Tan as well.

“Hey, it’s been literal months…” Luca chuckled, “Why don’t you come a bit closer? Let’s just be close for once…”

Tan nodded and moved closer, wrapping Luca in a long awaited embrace.

He looked up when Luca chuckled and twisted a little, “What? You’re not ticklish…”

“-I am now…” Luca laughed as he buried his face in Tan’s chest, “My midriff is super sensitive. It’s like it’s making up for everything I can’t feel further down…”

Tan chuckled, “Well, that’s a new one…”

Luca nodded with a tired sigh, “Yeah.”

They laid like that in silence for a few minutes, before Tan started running his hand up and down Luca’s back.

“That feels really good…”

“It’s not tickling you?”

“Dude, you would’ve heard me laughing if it did…” Luca answered, pulling Tan a smidge closer with the arm he had wrapped around his waist.

“Just making sure.”

“I’ve missed this…” Luca admitted, barely suppressing a yawn.

Tan nodded, “So have I…”

Luca smiled and his breathing evened out, until Tan almost thought the blond had already fallen asleep.

“I love you….”

Tan smiled and placed a kiss on Luca’s forehead, “I love you too…”

[aleapoffaithfiction]

IX.

"If one must fall into love, to give up and dive headfirst, knowing that  everything can change in a heartbeat - there must be an upside." ― Rebekah Crane

“The scar isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It’s pretty thin and with a good skin serum, it may be able to heal up even more.”

Though she isn’t here in the physical, my mother immediately called me on FaceTime to be at my doctor’s appointment over the phone. She’s yet to miss any of them no matter where she is and today is no different. She even instructed me to flip the camera so she could watch intently as every staple was removed from my ankle area. We’re officially transitioning into the physical therapy aspect of things. It’ll be a slow but steady progress with that, but this is the part I’ve been waiting for since I left the operating table.

The post-surgery pain distracted my mind from the mental ridicule about the nothingness in activity I’ve experienced in the following weeks but I’ve dealt with more insecurity than I’ve dealt with in quite some time since then. Even in staring at this scar, I’m slightly being tormented with it. Injuries are a part of life, especially when you earn your income doing something that has a higher percentage of leaving you injury prone, but you damn near feel like you’re invincible until life throws that curveball your way. It’s been difficult to watch my team continue to work towards what may end up being their worst season ever while I’m sitting around my house watching. All of the well wishes and even a surprising call of encouragement from coach and John Mara were much appreciated, but more than anything else, I’d rather be there.

“Yeah, the doctor said it’s looking good.”

“I already e-mailed you three of the newer people we’re going to bring in for the rehabilitation process. I sent out proper scheduling for the chiropractor and the biomechanics trainer too, so all should be well within that area. Once you’re just about to full capacity in terms of strength, you can implement the yoga and pilaties back into your usual workout routine.”

“I can’t wait.”

“I know. You’ve been patient son. You’ve been more discipline with this than I thought you would be. I figured that I would have to do a lot more yelling but you’ve spared me and I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, momma.”

“So, what are you getting into today?” The house is empty, but mostly in preparation for the crowd that will begin coming in tomorrow with the exception of Ben. He’ll be in town sometime this afternoon.

I’m hosting Thanksgiving this year, not only because I’m actually home for the holiday, but also because the team has a home game instead of an away game the very next day. So, I figured why not do something that everyone can enjoy so that’ll I’ll have time to catch up with not only my family but plenty of the teammates who I consider to be genuine friends of mine. Chef Renee intends to handle all of the main course and momma promised to make the desserts.

“I have to stop by the GQ party, but you already knew that. After that, I’m just chilling.” I’m hoping the chilling factor will include the woman who has taken a permanent residency in my thoughts. I haven’t been with her in a couple of days and to say that I miss her would be an understatement. I usually have no issue with having contact with people via the phone, because it’s the typical way of communication for just about everyone within our age group, but with her, it’s just…different. I want the face to face communication. I prefer to bask in the infectiousness of everything about her while we’re sitting in the same room together. While it’s nice over the phone, it’s comforting and crazily feels like this perfect sense of normalcy in person.  

Waking up in her bed the morning of my birthday felt like all was right within the world. Our limbs were loosely tangled with one another, while her relaxed exhales warmed the side of my neck. She’s a bit more of a wild sleeper than I am, but most of her shifting seemed to only be attempts to find the perfect position to remain in throughout the night. Because her body is so used to the early mornings she has throughout the week, she briefly woke up around five thirty and left the bed to go to the bathroom. I know this because though she attempted to be careful, she woke me up by lifting the bottom end of the covers to make sure my ankle was properly resting on the three pillows she propped it on top of for elevation purposes. My playful “ouch” startled the hell out of her and she whacked me with the blanket before returning it back to its proper positioning.

What may have been the best part about it is us not going back to sleep right away. Instead, we laid in bed with cups of chamomile and lavender tea while further deep diving into the past and present aspects of our lives to aid in creating extensive knowledges about one another. With mixtures of morning and tea breath, bare faces, hints of crust in our eyes, and hazy eyes from yet another wave of drowsiness washing over us, we shared an intimacy that I’ve never shared with anyone else. It was just us, in such a vulnerable and raw form, accepting one another without the masks and occasional flamboyancy we put on display for the consumption of those who couldn’t care less about our emotional states. For just a while, our eyes spoke what our mouths did not as our penetrating glares met one another until we drifted off to sleep yet again. There was something about that, that seemingly generated this oneness between us that was uncanny and yet made sense.

“Just chilling huh?” Her eyebrow flew up in the way that all women’s do when they’re either curious, about to ask a million questions, or intend to catch you in a lie. If anyone can catch me in a lie before it can even come out of my mouth, it’s my momma. She claims it’s my facial expressions and the way I can’t help but to widen my eyes with an uncontrollable smirk. My bluffs are too obvious.

“Yeah, what else would I be doing?”

“You’re rarely alone, especially when you’re supposedly just chilling. You run that house like it’s a frat house more often than you’re in it alone and yet it seems like you’re starting to enjoy when no one is around. I’m not stupid though. Someone is around. How’s Sarai doing?” I nearly choked as a bit of my own saliva trickled down the wrong portion of my throat in a sudden response to her question. This is what I mean when I say that she calls my bluff. Right now, she’s just doing it to fuck with me because she’s getting some kind of amusement out of it but for the most part, she’ll leave me be for as long as whatever’s happening isn’t something negative or a potential public relations nightmare. The media hounds me for even a hint of what they consider to be “out of line” so I can only imagine what were to happen if I were out here literally living the life of a carefree, entitled, wild guy.

“Sarai’s good momma.”

“That’s all? Just good?”

“Yeah, she’s good.”

“So, what’s up with you two?”

“You all packed up for your flight tomorrow? I can’t wait until you make that red velvet cake. I’m definitely cutting that as soon as it’s done. I’m just warning you now so that I won’t get in trouble later.”

“You’re not cutting anything until we’ve all had dinner, and don’t switch the subject on me.” The loud groan that filled the examination room was automatic.

“Ma.”

“What? I’m not asking you any extremely private questions because Lord knows, I don’t want to know anything that deep. It’s a general question.”

“It’s not.”

“Yes, it is, especially for your mother.”

“We’re figuring things out.” And that’s truly what it is. It’s what I suggested we do while we spoke with one another in my driveway and it’s what we’ve been trying to establish and work through since then. I’m not in a mental limbo where I’m trying to figure out exactly what I want out of my connection with her. This isn’t some random fling I’ve started up for the sake of temporary entertainment that I’ll be either be bored of or have no time for within a few weeks or maybe even months. I’ve had just a small number of encounters with commitment but I’ve had my fair share of “situationships” that went on to crash and burn before they were able to turn into something more. I can admit that I am to blame for a lot of that because I haven’t been actively seeking anything long term. In the back of my mind, I always assumed that I’d know when a woman in my life is meant to be something more than someone who I associate myself with occasionally.

I’ve always made my moves based upon physical attraction much like most of the men within my field do. There’s a ton of shallowness involved in the process and I’d be livid if someone dared to approach my daughter with that mindset if or when I have one. It wasn’t until Sarai that I hesitated and even scolded myself just for having the thought to approach her. I laughed at myself for the audacity and summed it up to it just needing to be admiration from afar. After she spoke up for me, I told myself that I needed to thank her and I made it my mission to do so but deep down, I knew better than the lies I was feeding to myself. I’d reached a point of wanting her more than I wanted anything else. I’m still at that point, but it’s intensified to a need. I just wonder if karma has shown up to give me a taste of what I’ve done to women who didn’t deserve it. Why do I want the woman who views me as forbidden fruit?

“I like her, I like her a lot if that counts for something.”

“I like her a lot too.” Sometimes that feels like an understatement.

“I know you do, son. It’s been quite clear for a while now. Did you invite her over for Thanksgiving dinner? If she’s not spending time with her own family, it’d be nice to have her.”

“Yeah, I told her about it. She’s heading to Brooklyn to spend the day with her mother and sister, but she told me if she doesn’t leave from over there too late, she’ll stop by.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah, it should be cool.”

“I’m going to go because I have a bit of running around to do. Please be careful at that party and make sure your walking boot is secure. Enjoy it though. I’m proud of you.” GQ honored me by putting me on one of Men of the Year covers. They titled me as “Hustler of the Year” alongside Kevin Durant who is “Champion of the Year”, Gal Gadot who is “Wonder Woman of the Year”, Colin Kaepernick who is “Citizen of the Year”, and finally Stephen Colbert who is “Bad Hombe of the Year”. I certainly wasn’t expecting it, given the circumstances of what happened and the predicament that I’m in now, but I’m appreciative of the recognition.

“Appreciate it momma. I’ll be alright. I’m not staying that long anyway.”

“Okay. So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Alright, later.”

As soon as she ended the call, I stuck my phone down into my pocket and carefully hopped down from the examination table. For as long as I have on the walking boot, I don’t have to have as much dependency on the crutches anymore, so, I dragged them along to the receptionist desk and picked up the card for my next appointment.

For the first time in quite a while, I actually drove myself into the city and that personal freedom gave me the urge to leisurely stop at a couple of stores.

“Anything in particular you’re looking?” I wandered off to the women’s floor of Bergdorf Goodman minutes ago and slowly strolled around looking for nothing in particular. Annie, is who she introduced herself as when I asked for help downstairs, and she’s either been alongside me or trailing behind me since then. Though she’s yet to acknowledge it, she’s aware of who I am. It’s more than likely why she’s so eagerly walking my black ass around this store and pointing out things with price tags that have four to five digits on them.

“This bag here.” Sarai was wearing one of its kind in black the night she came to my house. My nosiness got the best of me while she was in the shower after we were settled at her place. While glancing around her walk-in closet, I saw yet another bag of the same make but up in a navy shade. It’s safe to say, they’re among her favorites.

“Ah yes, that’s the Chanel Boy Bag. It’s a popular model. Is there a particular color that you’re looking for?”

“No.” I don’t know what I’m looking for.

“Well it is fall, so maybe a nice brown, green, maroon, or black will due. This one over here is one of the newer ones. It’s pure python skin and one hundred percent leather. It’s the perfect blend of blues that can work with just about everything. Because of the python skin, it’s one of the more expensive versions of the bag. It runs about six thousand, one hundred dollars.” High end bags are usually something I spoil my mother with during holidays or at those random moments when I want to show her how much I love her with something materialistic. I don’t always know whether she likes them or not because she showers me with hugs and kisses in excitement and appreciation no matter what. I’m no expert at this. I do know it’ll look good on her, but everything would look good on her so that’s not saying much. Hopefully, she’ll like it.

“I’ll take it.” Though my shrug was nonchalant, a wave of nervousness washed over me as I anticipated what her response would be. I’ve grown to know how independent she is and most of all, how proud she is of her profession. It’s admirable and I hold her in the highest regard because of it, but I’m hopeful about her being able to accept nice things from people who care about her. Everyone deserves that from time to time.

I couldn’t and didn’t leave without making sure to grab something for my momma and Jazzy. With my pops and I both wearing the same shoe size, he can raid my closet for whatever he prefers.

On the way back to Jersey, I couldn’t make it all the way home without a stop at Five Guys and lastly the gas station. I’d been living life on the edge with a nearly empty tank since I left this morning. I was running too late to stop to do anything.

“You doing another crutch of shame from Sarai’s crib?”

Khan, Blackjack, and Aris immediately greeted me in the foyer as I closed the door behind myself. I didn’t bother awaiting Mowgli because he had no intention on approaching me unless I called for him. The sound of Ben’s voice didn’t surprise me because I’d given him a key a while back just in case his flight arrival times ran into time frames when I’d be out of the house. Per his usual, the jokes are starting already. He’s been talking about the supposed “crutch of shame” ever since I came home early that afternoon on my birthday. No matter how much I emphasize that nothing of that sort happened, he’s still running with the shit.

“I’m coming from a doctor’s appointment bitch boy.”

“Is that what you’re calling it these days? She’s your doctor?”

“What are you talking about? I’m really coming from the doctor.” I couldn’t help but to chuckle at how much of a dumbass he was purposefully being.

“So, what did the doctor say?” As he appeared in the hall, he held a half of a sandwich in one hand and his iPhone in the other. I know he didn’t make that shit himself because it’s too neatly put together, which means Renee is either here or has been here at some point since this morning.

“It’s looking good to start physical therapy.”

“Good. I know your ass is happy. Now you can finally stop moping and bitching about sitting around and doing nothing.”  

“Call of Duty, movies, and eating wasn’t cutting it anymore. That shit got old real fast.” I found myself sitting in the theater pulling all-nighters playing that game because I didn’t have shit else to do. I’d skim through Netflix and Amazon Prime trying to find something that’ll grab my interest enough to watch it. I ordered movies that I either watched only for a couple of minutes or never turned on at all. I bought books that I’ve yet to read. The trip to New Orleans is what stopped me from going insane in here. I’ve always had a hard time sitting still and though I’m learning to appreciate down time a lot more given the life I live now; I still need to feel active.

“When you starting?”

“Within the next two weeks.” While I brushed my hands over Khan’s head, I reached and did the same to Blackjack. I haven’t been as attentive to them as I usually am since the injury. I can’t risk the weight or the strain of any style of play just yet but I’m going to incorporate them into this physical therapy process in some type of manner. If I can’t be out there on the field juking anybody, then Khan and Aris will be my practice.

“We still hitting up that GQ party tonight?”

“Yeah. I’m not trying to be there too long though. I kinda just want to chill tonight.” And I am, when he falls asleep. I swear he’s narcoleptic because he can fall asleep anywhere and at any time. By the time we get back here, he’ll nod off somewhere in the house and I’m out.

“I feel you dog. I’m not really in a partying mood either.”

“You? You’re not in a partying mood?” As I moved towards the kitchen, the dogs were in tow. The candy fiend within me kicked in as soon as I got close the house.

“You say that like I party all the time.”

“Nigga, you live at the club.”

“With you. I be partying with yo’ ass.”

“I haven’t been at the club since my ankle broke and you still out there partying. Don’t blame me.”

“Aye, I’m a bachelor. I’m just trying to live my best life.”

The pack of Twizzler Sours were my choice and I opened up a bottle of Gatorade to wash them down with. My next move was to sit up on the counter and text Sarai the picture of my ankle and the scar I took at the doctor’s office. She asked me to keep her updated this morning and I’m keeping my promise.

The toughest warriors always have battles scars that tell their stories. You got this babe.

Babe? I’ve graduated from Beckham to babe? I’ll fucking take it.

Doc says it’s looking good. I got the greenlight for physical therapy.

“I wish you were in my shoes for just a second so you can see that dumbass smirk on your face. I’m going to have to dap her up the next time I see her because she has you tripping. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have it this bad.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m not gon’ front. We all know she’s bad. You’re getting to know her beyond anything outsiders will ever know though, and based upon the way your barely walking ass is floating around here, she has to be something special.”

“She is.”

I’m glad to hear that. I can’t see you within this moment but I know you’re smiling because you’ve been waiting for that. Just take it step by step. By the summer time, you’ll be tearing up Quest Diagnostic Training Center at OTAs and mini camps.

I’m damn sure looking forward to that. Now that the injury talk has died down, the media has transitioned to speaking about contract extensions and my commentary about not only wanting to be the highest paid wide receiver in the league, but eventually the highest paid player overall. I meant and stand by what I said. I’m confident in my talent speaking for what I deserve no matter what the opinions of any pessimist are. I’m not necessarily pressed or stressing myself about whatever is going to happen with that particular situation. I’ll let my agent handle it and we’ll discuss matters when it’s necessary. Right now, I have an overall comeback to continue preparing for.

I’m looking forward to it baby. What are you doing tonight?

“And you’re short about her too. Yeah, you really are about to become one of those niggas.”

“One of what niggas?” I’m not short about her. I share a lot of myself with the ones who I cherish and with the world. I’m a human being. Sometimes I need certain things that are just for me and right now Sarai is exactly that. It’s not that I don’t want to boast and brag about her, because there are times when I’m damn near ready to combust and blurt out everything about her that makes me tick in a good way. I’ll get there. I know I’ll get there, because I have a tendency to become like a ray of light who wants to shine my happiness on everyone whenever I’m in that mental space. Sarai isn’t someone or something you hide, but for now she’s someone I’m cherishing like a rare pearl found in the deepest crevice of one of the oceans.

I have an event tonight. It’s one of those things when you wish that the people you made plans with forgot that plans were made.

Well, I guess I’ll be chilling for sure, but with Ben.

I have an event too. It’s kind of obligatory. I’m not that interested in going, though.

“One of those niggas who ups and disappears when they have a girl. You know how that shit be. One minute, you and your niggas are chilling heavy and out of nowhere one of them just disappears because some chick dun’ put a spell on him and now he’s lost in the sauce. You already pulled the disappearing act. One minute we were all sitting at the table playing a round of spades and about to take Patron shots to bring in yo’ birthday and the next minute yo’ ass is gone without a trace.” I had to laugh because technically, that is how it happened. I probably should have said something, especially when all of those text messages came in when I turned my phone on in the morning. Shit, the fact that I turned off my phone alone caused me to not be able to hear the end of it for a couple of hours. Unlike everyone else, Ben’s the only one who knew where I disappeared to.

“My girl? I thought you said that I can’t get her.”

“Occasionally, people pull off the impossible. I don’t know what you’re pulling off though. We gon’ see.”

I guess we’re both being forced out of the house. Are you sure you’re okay with attending an event? Will you be able to sit down?

Her concern with my ankle has yet to falter. Not only does she ask about how I’m feeling daily, but she also sends over tips and damn near scolds me like my mother whenever she assumes that I’m being stubborn and not doing the right thing for it. When we’re together, it’s propped up on pillows while she warns me to never get up as she fetches whatever it is that I or we need. I warned her that coddling it isn’t going to make me stronger and her snappy response was that applying early pressure and forcing a speedy recovery will only set me back to day one. The look in her eyes was all I needed as a warning to shut my mouth.

I should be able to sit. I’ll be fine, nurse.

“You keeping it casual or you getting suited up tonight?”

“Suited up. Jason dropped off this maroon joint that I’m feeling. I’ll probably keep it seasonal and throw on a turtleneck under it. Maybe do an Amiri boot with it or a pair of Tom Fords.”

“Oh, you getting dressed, dressed.”

“It’s a GQ party.”

“And? They’ll be lucky if I don’t wear what I have on right now. Fuck all of that.”

“Get your jet lagged and dirty ass out of here.”

Maybe you’ll call me later on, whenever you’re free? We don’t tape a new episode until Friday due to the holiday, so timing isn’t really a factor. I should be up to answer.

“Ain’t a motherfucking thing dirty on me. I washed my ass this morning.”

“I can smell your breath from here.”

Once I carefully slid off of the counter, I discarded the empty Gatorade bottle and began to make my way out of the kitchen. Though what I’m wearing sounds finalized, I need to go over it and whatever other options I have one more time just to be sure.

Absolutely. I’ll call you later on.

And since she’s off, I’ll find a way to see her tomorrow.

I’ve never understood why they call these types of events parties. Even with the music blaring to the point of filling me from head to toe, there is absolutely nothing engaging about it. Though I’m not in any predicament to hit a dance floor, I couldn’t if I wanted to because there isn’t one. There are no crowds of people huddled around one another, battling it out to the latest dance crazes that have hit the internet. There are none of those infamous plastic red cups that either contain soda because you’re trying to keep it light for the night or some type of alcoholic concoction that your friend put together that’ll eventually have you on your ass before the night is over or when you wake up the next morning. No one’s carelessly sweating all into their favorite party attire from their closets. None of the women are using their fingers to slick pieces of their hair out of the way, because they no longer care about looking good for the sake of attracting the attention of guys, they’ve taken a liking to around the neighborhood or campus.

It’s situations like this that make me miss LSU; the days when everything was authentic and damn near carefree. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m constantly being reminded that what I love to do and am currently doing for a living is a business. More than a reason for anything else, it’s why I do my best in being authentically myself no matter who is peeved or offended by it. Since my second year with the team, I’ve always emphasized self-preservation before anything else to the rookies because the business side of this shit will suck the life out of you and leave you high and dry with no remorse whatsoever. I can admit that my wide receiver status comes with a lot more celebrity than the large majority of the men I go to battle with on Sunday nights. Much like I’ve used it to my advantage in furthering my brand, so has the NFL, so it is what it is. At this point, I’m consciously working towards drawing back because all of this is a part of my life, but I’m tired of it feeling like it’s my whole life.

“Wonder Woman bout fine as hell.” It’s like the tenth time Ben has said that shit. He was even able to finesse a couple of photos with her as I stepped off to the side to have a conversation with KD.

“You see dude with the salt and pepper hair right there?” I peeped him lingering behind her since we arrived. He was far enough to allow her to shine and yet close enough to make his presence known.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“That’s her husband. You ain’t bagging that.”

“You think I give a fuck about her husband? I’ll still give her the business if she let me. Oprah too, I don’t give a fuck about Stedman. Jada Pinkett. Angela Bassett. Auntie got an ass on her. I think the only married women I’m not touching are Michelle Obama or Beyoncé and it ain’t even out of respect for the marriage. It’s because their husbands got shooters.”

I couldn’t hear my own laughter over the music but it was loud enough to make him instantly join in. Only his stupid ass.

“Odell?” My eyes shifted to the right of me as whoever called my name took a seat on the couch. Jasmine. I haven’t seen her in a while. Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone in a while, but her? It’s been way more than just a couple of months. Our last encounter was somewhere in L.A. during the off season. It might have been at some random house party thrown by someone in Drake’s crew. It was either there or at Playhouse over on Hollywood Boulevard. We didn’t have much of anything between one another other than an agreement to fuck around behind closed doors if we were in the same city and time permitted it. What was once a mutual decision shifted into expectations that I couldn’t meet so we fell back from one another, or maybe it was just me who did the falling back. Given that she does print modeling, I’m not surprised to see her here tonight. She’s been working hard at trying to raise herself up in the ranks in the high fashion world, but I think it’s her height that’s working against her more than anything else. She’s give or take maybe five three or five four with heels on.

“What’s up Jas?” The hair that once cascaded down her back is now cut to just above her shoulders and there seems to be some sort of a rose vine style of a tattoo now decorating that area. She’d watched me get a tattoo once and it sparked what now seems to be a new found love and hobby for her.

“Nothing much. Just grinding. How are you?” She didn’t have to directly say it. Once her eyes met the boot donning my foot, I knew the context of the question.

“Getting better day by day.”

“It’s been a while. I thought you prefer to escape the cold and come out West when you’re not playing? What’s keeping you East?” Two things: the surgeon and specialists are all based in New York and Sarai Nazaire.

“The doctors I have to have follow up checkups with are out here and I’d rather not have to keep flying back and forth. I’ll just wait it out until I’ve gotten to the point when I can go an extended amount of time without having to be in their offices. I’m enjoying being home though. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve actually gotten to enjoy my house.” And that’s the truth. Usually when the season ends, I’m on the first flight out to L.A. whether I’m flying private or not. Being a Louisiana native, the cold isn’t my thing and even with the years I’ve spent here thus far, I’m still not used to it. I’ve made a lot of friendships out on the west coast too.

Being home has given me plenty of time to reflect and most of all, be settled. I’m not settled in L.A. and I’ve never wanted to be that out there. From the time I opened my eyes in the morning, I’d be on go until I fell asleep again at some ridiculous hour in the am yet again. I thought being home would give me this sense of feeling washed up, but instead it’s granted me a regularity that I’ve been seeking and yet didn’t know to acquire.

“But you are coming to L.A. at some point to train, right?” Her eyebrows rose in curiosity. A shrug was the initial response to that.

“I don’t know. I’m definitely rehabbing here. So, I’ll see what happens when I’m in the clear to run on a field again. Nothing is set in stone though.”

“I don’t think I can ever live out here. As soon as I stepped out of the airport today, I nearly turned back around. It’s too damn cold.”

“Yeah, it’s nippy.” I mean, what did she expect? It’s damn near the end of November in New York City.

“I’m out here for the week to shoot with Jeremy Scott.”

“That’s dope. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Congratulations on the cover. Hustler of the Year is fitting for you.”

“Appreciate it.”

What I thought was going to be a short-lived conversation turned into her deciding to remain by my side as if she were the third missing amigo to Ben and I. Though her topics of discussion felt casual, the gestures against my clothed limbs weren’t. Out of boredom, I kept count of the number of times her hand grazed the arm and leg nearest to her. The only thing she hadn’t done is set up a time and a place for the two of us to meet once we walked out of those doors separately tonight. More so for her own sake rather than mine, I hope she doesn’t muster up the boldness she can have every now and then. It’s not happening.

“You’re not drinking.” Her breath reeked of alcohol. Maybe she’s been smelling her own far too much to notice only the scent of cranberry juice oozing from mine.

“Nah, I haven’t been drinking much since this happened. Initially, I couldn’t drink because of the medication and now I’m just chilling on it until I get my body back right. It’s a disciplinary habit.”

“Remember that time we got drunk at The London in Beverly Hills? By the time we woke up in the morning, my panties were draping from a lamp shade.” Yet again, her hand grazed my thigh. Ben quietly grew fed up with the unrequested company on the opposite side of myself and swiftly moved about the place to mingle amongst those that he knows from the two of us hanging around certain cities. He’d bailed on me, but not without making it more than obvious that he was doing exactly that. Jasmine wasn’t fazed in the slightest by his slick commentary about me needing to carry a fly swatter with me for moments like this.

“Uh, I.”

My glared panned past her and in an instant, my breath became hitched in my throat at the unexpected. The hand that I raised to tug at my collar, eventually slid up and washed over my whole entire face as my frame transitioned into a furnace like blaze. Though I couldn’t hear her laughter, just the sight of her smile illuminated the room in only a way that her aura could. While standing alongside Chad Johnson, she stretched her arm out in the direction of a male standing before her and their hands interlocked for a shake. As her eyebrows rose, yet again, another fit of giggles spilled from her lips and my body shifted, creating a space between Jasmine and I. Like me, she wore a turtleneck, but hers is an entire long-sleeved dress hugging every curve and accent of her ridiculous frame. Its shortness was a bold lack of concern for the brittle air outside and yet the sight of her milk chocolate legs stole not only my attention but that of many others who glanced at her every couple of seconds. She commanded all eyes on her without ever moving from one spot, radiated beauty in its rarest form, and unnerved every fiber of my being without speaking a word to me. If I weren’t on one of those covers, I’m not even sure whether she’d know or care that I’m here.

“Excuse me, Jasmine.” Droplets of the contents inside of my glass splashed onto the table I dropped it on before I made a dash for Ben. He’d been posted up in a corner speaking with Jordan Clarkson for the past couple of minutes.

“I know. I know.” As his eyebrows flew up, what is usually laughter that instantly makes me laugh along with him, turned into something so fucking annoying.

“You good?” What kind of question is that?

“I’m good.” The greeting I shared with Jordan was barely there, because my attention remained locked on the opposite side of the room. He’d yet to let go of her hand and although she was no longer laughing, she seemed to be doing her best to remain composed as he continued to bestow his flattery on her. I know he’s flirting, because he’s being given the same exact facial expression every athlete who visits the show receives whenever they try their hand at wooing her. Her smile is forced, with just a slight curve. Tonight, her lips are painted a crimson red shade. It makes the manner in which they’re pressed together that much more visible. There’s a side of her that always attempts to at least save the moment from being embarrassing by playing along while slyly blowing off the person in the process and then there’s the other side, who will professionally check you before the commentary can either get out of line or shift the segments of their show into places they have no business being in. I’m not sure what happens in a party setting, but she’s being polite nonetheless.

“What are you doing?” I could hear Jasmine speaking near my ear and yet I couldn’t bear to look at her. As Chad threw his arm over Sarai’s shoulder, she finally turned her head and captured my line of view. I could feel my lips arising into a smile, but hers did not. The glance was treated as something random. As quickly as she looked over is as quickly as her head shifted back into position to be respectful to the man speaking to her. Like a mime, he turned his head to figure out who or what she saw and it was then that I could put a name to the side of his face as he walked away from her; Mychal Kendricks. It’s the middle of the season, what is he doing out here?

“Excuse me.”

My feet were in accord with the erratic portion of myself that tends to rub people the wrong way despite whatever honest intentions I may have. Like the fiercest magnet, I’m drawn to her in a way that I can’t quite explain and I continue to find myself doing things like this; either putting myself in a position for potential embarrassment or tossing aside every sense of cool that I know I have just to become completely lost into hers.

“Oh shit. It’s that pretty boy wideout who ain’t prettier or faster than me.” Chad immediately drew me in for a hug before I could respond. We’re not close friends or anything of that sort, but there’s a high level of respect between he and I, because we’re cut from the same cloth of being misunderstood. His skill and agility were taken for granted by the league and I don’t believe he was given a fair second chance. Whenever we cross paths, he always makes sure to drop a couple of gems for me to take along with me on this journey and every once in a while, he’ll shoot me a text message or two with work out advice to continue increasing my stamina.

“Boy ain’t nothing pretty about cha.” The Nola drawl oozed out with my words as we shared a laugh.

“How you looking, big dawg? Give me something for a segment; a Friday hot take or something. You in therapy yet?”

“On my way. Just got clearance.”

“That’s all I need. I’m about to throw some extra sauce on that shit and start telling the people you back.”  

Even with us being inches away from one another, I might as well had been a gust of wind that blew over in their direction and would eventually fizzle away. She holds the supposed forbidden nature of what is mutual between the two of us in a higher regard than she does what is undeniable.

“You remember Sarai, right? Ya’ll did the interview.” Within one shift, her upper frame twisted enough to slightly face me.

“Odell. How are you?” Like she’d done Mychal, her arm extended towards me and I latched my own onto hers. The perspiration within her palm moistened mine while the faint trembling radiating from her core further rattled my own.

“I’m well. It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.” My thumb grazed over the smooth skin. Like a trigger, she awakened parts of me that have been neglected for some months now. For the past couple of weeks, it’s felt like I’m dragging through a scorching desert losing every bit of liquid within me and the only one possible of quenching my thirst is within reach and yet so far away. It’s like a torturous tease and yet a test of my willingness. How much do I need it? How far am I willing to go to have it?

“I might be prettier than you, but this queen right here is a better at everything. I just sit on the panel with hope that I’ll be able to fill her shoes one day. Right, Sarai?” While rolling her eyes, she playfully nudged him away from her and stuck up her middle finger just enough for him to notice it.

“I agree.” I would have agreed whether she was standing here or not.

“You already know I tell everybody you’re the best. I’m a firm believer that somehow, women are better at everything than us.” He has a point. There are no other creatures on earth who know how to make a will or a way for everything like women do. They’re the true pioneers of making something out of nothing. That’s exactly why men are in the positions we’re in today. It starts at home.

“That’s progressive.”

“Oh, congratulations on the cover, big dawg.”

“Appreciate it.” Shit, that dress is fitting. It damn near looks like it was sewn onto her.

“Photos?” Our group photo was short lived. It turned into just a couple of shots between Sarai and I as Chad’s talkative nature continued to be in full swing as he stepped off inches away to throw himself into a conversation with someone else. I’m sure the Don Julio he’s drinking is playing a major part in it as well.

“What are you doing?” She spoke through clenched teeth and slowly withdrew my arm from her waistline. The professional distance returned and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Talking. Is that a crime?”

“You already know this cannot happen.”

“What can’t happen?” I closed the gap. Her enthralling scent worsened the tightening in my throat.

“Beckham.”

“Beckham? Stop playing with me.” A smirk danced along my lips. I didn’t expect her to be tenser than I am, and yet here we are.

“I’m not playing.”

“I can’t speak to my favorite sports analyst at a GQ party? I’m not asking you to kiss me or anything like that, although I’d like to. It’s just a conversation. So, today you mentioned something about the Celtics possibly being able to win the Eastern Conference Finals? We both know that’s a lie.”

“What I said was, the Celtics have a better bench than Lebron’s Cavs do, which may give them an advantage to apply some pleasure. I never said they were going to win. Lebron is still Lebron at the end of the day. I’ve always said for as long as he’s in the east, he’ll be the King of the East. The whole entire conference has to go through him to make it to the finals and it hasn’t happened the last seven years. It’s not likely to happen this time around either. This will be his last year in Cleveland though. I firmly stand by that.”

“I doubt it.”

“Reputable sources are telling me otherwise.”

“Ah. There’s that source word that all sports reporters love to throw around. Who exactly do ya’ll be speaking to? I’m starting to believe that it’s a word used to make a story sound like it has more validity to it, but ultimately, there’s no truth behind it.” I can’t stand whenever something is either quoted as coming directly from me and I never said it or when an analyst claims to have spoken to someone within my camp. My question is always; who the fuck is this person? I have good standing relationships with a few, who are able to reach out for with questions or for information that I may or may not want to share, but with those that I don’t? The source word instantly rubs me the wrong way.

“My source is Lebron, himself. Any other questions? I’ve built up enough repertoire within the industry to be able to have close connections like that.”

“Any NFL close connections?”

“I know a few agents and people throughout certain front offices.”

“Any players?”

“Nope.”

“None at all?” My snicker wasn’t condescending. I really am amused.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t look like it to me just a couple of minutes ago.”

“He claimed to be a fan just like you did. I’m sure the woman who’s been sitting alongside you tonight and who is also currently waiting for you in that same spot, is just a fan too, right?”

“She’s no one.”

“Oh okay. Well you and no one have a goodnight.”

She left me with no chance to respond. I knew not to follow her as she made her way to the bar, despite the extreme urge to do so.

For the first time, in a long time, I feel like a lost boy who doesn’t know what it takes to get the full attention of the girl I like. These are the conversations I’ve never had with my father. He’s never stopped living the glorified college days when it comes to how he conducts himself with women. He and my mother split before I could ever remember them being together and every woman he’s been with since then have felt like temporary fixtures within his life who he bailed out on right after they birthed him sons. As soon as I was drafted, I’ve sensed how he vicariously lives through me and with that has its moments of bad advice. I can’t share this with him. He wouldn’t know what to do with it. Like any man trying to navigate life, I’m just going to have to figure out as I go.

“Shit, it’s fucking cold.” The mumble followed the chattering of my teeth as I stood at the top of the steps. Sarai left the party about a half an hour before I did and she did so alone. She left Chad to continue to be the life of his section and slipped out of the door without much hassle or notice. It was up to me to get Ben’s drunk ass home and he passed out on the couch after raiding the fridge for left over siracha hot wings that’ll definitely have his stomach fucked up in the morning.

“It’s two thirty in the morning.” And yet she hasn’t removed anything with the exception of the pumps she wore on her feet. Everything is still as perfectly placed as it was when my eyes first landed on her some hours ago.

“Well, good morning.”

“Only booty calls and police show at people’s doors this time of the morning.” While she leaned against the doorpost, I used the top of her banister for support. Though I haven’t been standing out here very long, there’s a slight ache in my ankle that’s only intensifying the more I stand on it.

“I’ll be whichever one you want me to be. Either way, it sounds like a good time waiting to happen.” I had to. She walked right into it. Despite how hard she tried not to; she couldn’t help but to join me in chuckling.

“What’s in the box?”

“A gift for you.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“I know.”

“It’s not Christmas either.”

“I know.”

“So, what’s the occasion?”

“I like you.”

Her head tilted and in the earthy hues of her brown eyes held parts of her story that I’ve yet to explore but will need to. There’s nothing malevolent or malignant and instead a purity that needs to be safeguarded at all costs. People go on and on about pretty blue eyes or alluring green ones, but there’s something about the deep chocolate of Sarai’s that’s unrivaled in beauty. Maybe it’s the glimmer or the way her lashes flutter whenever she blinks. Maybe it’s the way they tease you with bits of her soul and tells you her thoughts without her ever having to say anything to you. They twinkle like the brightest star and yet have a depth that seems to lead to a heaven that I can only wish to be a part of. I want to know and be a part of all of her.

“And it’s Thanksgiving Eve, technically. So, I’m thankful for you too. Is that a good enough reason?”

“It’ll due.” She finally stepped aside to grant me entry into her home and I walked along the hall I became familiar with when I spent the night here. Though my house trumps her in sizing, it doesn’t stand a chance in a battle with hers when it comes to the décor. Sarai’s place looks like something out of an interior design catalog and the fact that she did it all herself makes it all the more impressive. While it seems to be far too much space for someone living alone, it fits her and is representative of what she deserves. Plus, she has an elevator. I’m slightly jealous of that. I’ve been crawling up and down the steps in my house for two months now.

“You haven’t changed your clothes or anything. What were you doing?”

“Watching Shameless. I’m behind a couple of seasons. I’m trying to catch up, but I never have the time to binge watch anything.”

“Shameless?”

“It’s a show about a fucked up family, with fucked up friends and neighbors, living in the southside of Chicago. Everyone on the show ain’t shit.”

“In a funny way or a super deep way?”

“Both.” I placed the Chanel box on the coffee table. Rather than sitting on the love seat, I lifted her legs, took a seat on the end of the sofa, and placed them over my lap. “Where are your crutches?”

“I don’t need them anymore.”

“You should still elevate it and be careful with the pressure.”

“I will, nurse.”

“Good.” She’s gotten so used me calling her that, that she plays right into it now.

“At the party, you saw Jasmine sitting next me. We were never in a relationship but we did have something going on at one point. It’s been over for a while. I haven’t even seen her in months. So, when I say that she’s no one, I mean it.”

“Did you think I was jealous? You don’t have to clarify that with me. It’s okay. I’m not against you being around other women.” I’m not even sure how to take that.

“I didn’t think you were jealous.” She had no reason to be.

“At some point, this faze that you’re going through when it comes to myself is going to fizzle away, and you’re going to want some normalcy in terms of a connection with a woman. So, you should continue to mingle with other women, so that your options are there when you do head in that direction.” My eyes lowered at her words

“This faze?”

“You and I can never be normal. We’re literally stuck at a standstill with our emotions being the only aspect of it that can go beyond this. This is what we have; random middle of the night visits and text messages. We’re something no one can know about. You want that?”

“I want you.”

“In this way? At a standstill? As a dark secret?”

“In every way.”

I drew her left leg over and lean over to meddle myself between her thighs. Our kiss was potent as our warm builds meshed together. The weight of her worries ceased and the potential disappointment budding within me was no more. She drew me closer to defy her own words and laced the leg I was once holding around my waist in a fury identical to mine.

“I want a fair chance, Sarai.” The warmth of her lips delicately grazed my neck sending my head into a spiral.

“Beckham, it doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense.” Why is she the only one who my instincts can accept? The only one who makes sense.

“There are rules.”

“Rewrite them, with me.”

Her gaze held mine and yet there was no hesitance or regret. She had no words for me. Her lips were what affirmed her willingness to take this journey with me.

[atdelilah]

as per request: HEY THERE DELILAH WHAT’S IT LIKE IN ASHMONT CITY anyways what’s poppin y’all, it’s ya girl jalynn, back at it again with ya new girl delilah whom i based off of a mixture of the gotham city siren gang (aka catwoman, harley quinn, and poison ivy)!! i’m very excited to throw her at yall

i guess the easiest way to dive in is to just explain her backstory so here goes:

she is the youngest of two girls, and her parents own/run the biggest catholic megachurch in the state so. she’s rich, she has an image to live up to

as expected, that plan flops

her older sister, abigail, very much fits the “good christian daughter” mold, but delilah is just way too curious, and asks “why?” in the middle of church service way too often to even get close to fitting that image

yes, our girl has had problems with authority and being told what to do from a very young age

naturally, her parents were hating this very, very much and this is how the seed of a very bad relationship with your parents is born

but on the bright side! delilah and her sister were close as could be, two peas in a pod when they were kids!! they were basically polar opposites in terms of personality (delilah being the kid who will ask “why?” every time you speak vs abigail just respecting authority because what else was she supposed to believe?)

that was basically how her early childhood went. her parents wanting her to be more like abigail, delilah being like “okay anyways”, and abigail being angel girl that her parents loved the most

so then comes middle school (a tough time for everyone), and stuff in delilah’s life is either hitting the fan, or taking root so it can hit the fan later

the first thing to hit the fan: her relationship with her parents. at this point, delilah figured out that no matter what she did to be her own, her parents would never stop wanting her to be a clone of abigail, so honestly? she just stopped caring about their opinion altogether

they already were set in their belief that she was disappointing, and annoying, and just too much, so why not just do what you want anyway? that’s delilah’s thought process

she just blatantly started ignoring their rules, really. she started questioning her faith in more targeted ways, she started finding ways to sneak out of the house, and went out of her way to break her parents’ “no dating” rule

also it’s important to note that delilah went to an all-girls’ k-12 catholic school and she HATED it. she snuck out because she just wanted to hang out and go to normal schools like all her rich, non-catholic neighbors. plus her mother worked at the school, and delilah took any opportunity to just do the exact opposite of whatever her mom asked of her

basically, delilah liked finding ways of reclaiming her autonomy and personal identity because her parents’ worked so hard to try to take it away from her! it’s at this point where we see her begin to do things simply because they make her feel powerful and independent! middle school, am i right

the biggest downside to this is that it starts causing problems between her and her sister. with delilah being in middle school, and abigail being in high school at the time, it’s already obvious that problems would arise just due to the differences in age. but the differences between the two only became more evident as they got older; abigail was constantly ready to go tell on delilah, and delilah was always taking jabs and saying abigail didn’t have a mind of her own. arguing was a regular occurrence. the sisters still 100% loved each other, for sure, but it’s a tough age phase they’re going through, plus there’s just no such things as siblings that don’t argue.

now we’re in high school, another horrible and weird time for teenagers across the nation, but especially for our girl delilah

her parents are so beyond sick of her at this point, really. the only reason they haven’t completely cut her out is because it wouldn’t look good if they did r.i.p

delilah stopped going to church altogether, she’d gotten busted on her escapades multiple times (not that she cared, really), and the “no dating” rule was just.....so beyond ignored

the seed had been planted when she was in middle school, but when she got into high school, delilah just completely embraced how pretty she is. boyfriends, girlfriends, flings, sexual partners; you name it, she was doing it. she didn’t really know she was gaining a lil’ heartbreaker reputation because honestly? outside of the whole power trip it gave her, she was really just having fun ahdgashdgsdj

( small disruption to say drug tw here )

big downside to high school: in the midst of her constant sneaking out and rule-breaking, she fell into some things and people that she shouldn’t have, and by her senior year (17/18 years old) she’d developed an addiction to a small variety of drugs

like any addiction, it did have big effects on a lot of aspects of her life. her grades (which she generally took pride in) were slipping massively, and all of her relationships (friends, romantic, familial aka with her sister) were falling to points that were nearly beyond repair

abigail, being the big sister she is, was extremely upset about the whole situation and basically convinced their parents to check delilah into rehab and they were on board with the plan, not because they cared about delilah’s wellbeing, but because the way she was spiraling was a liability to their image in their eyes

so now delilah is 18, she’s graduated from that k-12 all-girls school (no longer at the top of her class), and is promptly checked into rehab, we love this for her! but she absolutely hates the whole thing, so .

she didn’t hate the literal getting off of drugs, but what she hated the most was that she felt like she’d proven her parents right. to her, it was one thing to let them just assume the worst about her; it was a whole different feeling to actually give them something as big as this to root their assumptions in.

but that (plus the underlying desire to not worry her sister) was enough for her to take being rehabilitated very seriously. she did what she had to do and was out by the beginning of the next school year! probably one of the first times in her life she actually followed instructions from authority figures, honestly. but she told herself she was doing all of it because she wanted to, not because she had to.

also just something to add, it was in rehab where delilah got super into poetry and reading and classics!! it’s not like she had an abundance of things to do at her disposal, so she picked reading as a hobby to pass time but ended up being really into it. it was one of the first times where she felt like she had a purpose in life outside of living to fuck with her parents asjdhaskdjha

fast forward, we now have senior year college girl delilah!! she’s 3 (going on 4) years clean off everything she was addicted to!! we love this for her determined queen

she’s also worked really hard to rebuild her relationship with her sister and they’re back on very, very good terms. she’d do anything for her sister, period

but delilah is still delilah, she’s still a lil heartbreaker, she’s still hard-headed as ever, and she’s still got a variety of other things to learn about and grow through but i don’t wanna talk all about it here and make this longer than it already is asjdhakjsh onto the next part!

personality!

+ independent, dedicated, passionate, sensitive but lowkey she’d rather die than admit it or show it

- stubborn, prone to isolating herself mentally/emotionally, self-sabotaging, good liar but she considers this more of a skill to use here and there

100% will do anything for the people she loves......now that list isn’t necessarily long but. once you’re on that list, you’re On that list

the investigation.....

okay so basically delilah is 100% anti-daisey

she didn’t really know daisey too well growing up and didn’t really care to asdjkhasdkjh but they were both in rehab at the same time so they officially met then

but daisey enjoyed picking at delilah’s little insecurities and also talking shit about her sister, and like the picking on her was like "eh i don’t like you" but talking shit about abigail? l m a o

basically if delilah hadn’t been so determined to be on her p’s and q’s in that rehab center, she woulda beat daisey’s ass, and that’s point blank period

plus delilah just didn’t like daisey’s attitude or anything even aside from how daisey treated her specifically, like just the way she treated others turned delilah off of her

so yeah when daisey turned up missing delilah was just like that....is not my problem 😗

when daisey turned up dead delilah was like damn 😗 sucks to suck r.i.p though

i’m not saying delilah killed her or anything but i’m just saying. delilah’s got a short temper and probably had to be held back anytime daisey said anything funny about abigail (which was all the time bc like. it’s daisey)

and the whole killer on the loose sending messages thing creeps her out but like. she’s very much a go with the flow, look at the big picture kind of girl so she’s just. trying not to let it phase her too much

connections!

y’all already know i’m not picky about anything just throw an idea at me and we can make something shake

and i think that’s about it? like this, or hmu or anything if u wanna plot i’m really excited for all of ur characters to talk to the kid!! also can u guys guess which gotham city siren i pulled the most inspo from (admins not allowed to guess bc u guys already read my app)

[mslaurynhill]

I’ve remained patient and quiet for a very long time, allowing people to talk, speculate, and project, while keeping my nose to the grindstone fighting for freedoms many folks aren’t even aware matter. The arrogance of presumption that allows someone to think that they could have all the facts about another person’s life and experience, is truly and remarkably... presumptuous. 

People can sometimes confuse kindness for weakness, and silence for weakness as well. When this happens, I have to speak up.

I apologize for the delay in getting this posted, I was late in hearing about it. I understand this is long, but my last interview was over a decade ago…

‘Addressing Robert Glasper and other common misconceptions about me (in no particular order)’

By Ms. Lauryn Hill

-It’s not completely informed, but he’s entitled to his perception. Context certainly helps though.

-You may be able to make suggestions, but you can’t write FOR me. I am the architect of my creative expression. No decisions are made without me. I hire master builders and masterful artisans and technicians who play beautifully, lend their technical expertise, and who translate the language that I provide into beautifully realized music.

-These are my songs, musicians are brought in because of the masterful way that they play their instruments. I’m definitely looking for something specific in musicians, and I absolutely do hire the best musicians I can find. Not every band had that particular ‘something’ I was looking for. That doesn’t make them bad musicians, just different than what I needed in that particular moment.

-The Miseducation was the first time I worked with musicians outside of the Fugees who’s report and working relationship was clear. In an effort to create the same level of comfort, I may not have established the necessary  boundaries and may have been more inviting than I should have been. In hindsight, I would have handled it differently for the removal of any confusion. And I have handled it differently since, I’m clear and I make clear before someone walks in the door what I am and am not looking for. I may have been inclusive, but these are my songs.

-I have come across the occasional musician who thinks they already know what I want, feelings and egos can be easily bruised when you tell them they actually don’t. I am never trying to intentionally hurt anyone’s feelings btw, but when people insist that they know you and don’t, you may have to be equally as firm to demonstrate otherwise.

-I am paying for a service, and looking for something SPECIFIC, which isn’t up to someone else’s interpretation or opinion. I have my own idea of what works for me. That shouldn’t offend. 

-And I definitely don’t like to fire anyone. It did take me meeting a lot of people over a number of years to find the right musicians, but my current band has been with me for a long time, the newest members probably 2/3 years, some as long as 7/8 years now. I was looking for a similar natural chemistry with new musicians that I’d had with the Fugees and Miseducation bands. I’d literally grown up with some of those musicians. That isn’t easy to find.

-In 2008, I had only a young man helping me and my Mother, after disbanding my former support staff. No idea why any musician would have had knowledge of what I was being paid, not sure what he’s saying is accurate. Don’t have the details or recollection of cutting the band’s pay in half. If fees had been negotiated and confirmed without my knowledge, I may have asked for them to be adjusted. But I would never just cut a musician’s pay arbitrarily unless I had a legitimate reason. There are artists who do cut pay though, James Brown was notorious for docking musicians if they did something he didn’t like, I’m sure there are others.

-It was necessary for me to reestablish trust and cultivate a new environment. I was looking to challenge myself artistically. I was also openly challenging music industry norms. I’d left ‘the machine’. With ‘it’ went some polish, but the cause we were fighting for, creative integrity, was worth far more than a little polish to me. 

-When you’re a popular artist or public figure, people can sometimes forget that you’re hiring them to perform a service, and that you’re not the one there to entertain THEM. I didn’t scream or yell. Maybe I didn’t provide the experience that a musician may have wanted or expected during that time, but I was straight-forward, direct, and about the business at hand. 

-Making my art is a labor of Love, but it’s still labor, and can be labor-intensive at that. If a musician was looking for a cushy job filled with the same trappings I was purposely weaning myself from, we wouldn’t have been on the same page anyway. Make no mistake, addiction is a common snare laid to dismantle the integrity of artists. My environment, at that time, operated more like a rehabilitation clinic than an after-party.

-I don’t think most people, perhaps not even some celebrated artists, are aware of the battle it takes to be an artist and remain true to what you really think. I don’t even ‘practice’ small talk, so I’m never confused with someone who can be seduced. There are traps all around, what could look like a successful career in entertainment today, could be an addictive lifestyle of convenience attempting to control you tomorrow. I set the tone with every band that working for fame and accolades is a different walk than fighting for personal integrity and making art that doesn’t compromise itself for money.

-I’m confused as to why such a principled musician, who thought I ‘stole’ from his friends, would show up to work for me anyway. 🤔 If that was hypocrisy or opportunism instead of genuine interest, it would further explain why an artist would feel the need to put his or her guard up.

-No matter how incredible the musicians who play with me are, MY name is on the marquee. The expectation to make it all come together is on me. The risk and the financial losses are on me. Hence, MY VIBE, though not the only consideration, is the priority. Few people actually know what this road is like, but many want to judge and comment, having never done it. Try doing what I’ve done yourself. If nothing else, you will gain some insight into and respect for my process.

-During the time in question, I also believe I was playing a lot of new music with controversial content. FOR ME, rehearsal was about readying myself for the battle I knew I was entering into for simply not allowing a system to pimp me. If I was on edge, I had good reason to be.-Perhaps my seriousness and militancy in the face of tremendous resistance was misinterpreted as meanness, or that I was unloving or uncaring, when my true intent was to protect. I wouldn’t be the first Black person accused of this. I don’t think of Harriet Tubman’s skills as those of a hostess, but rather her relentless dedication to helping people who wanted out of an oppressive paradigm. #IGETOUT

-People also unwilling to ‘play the game’ might have found that environment refreshing. Straight talk isn’t devoid of Love, it’s just devoid of bullsh#t.

-And just to clear up an old urban legend that somehow people still believe, I do not hate white people. I do, however, despise a system of entitlement and oppression set up to exploit people who are different. I do loathe the promotion and preservation of said system at the expense of other people, and the racist and entitled attitudes it gives rise to. The lengthy history of unfairness and brutality towards people of color, especially Black people, has not been fully acknowledged or corrected. The expectation is for us to live with abuse, distortion, and deliberate policies, meant to outright control and contain us—like we're not aware of our basic right to freedom. I resist and reject THESE ideas completely. Like many Black people, I work to reconcile my own generational PTSD. I do my best to Love, pursue freedom in body, Spirit and mind... and to confront. To repress everything  in the name of 'getting along' is to deny our right to healing. It's an ugly, distorting and complicated history at best. We've been shaped by it for better or worse. I just choose not to pretend that it's not there in order to maintain public approval and gain economic advantage. My true white friends and colleagues and I discuss these schemes and machinations, and the distrust that people of color would naturally have toward such a system and towards those who agree with it. We don't run from those conversations, we run into them, which is why I can call them friends and colleagues. Within these relationships I can be my complete self, and not a splintered individual/soul repressing the truth about generations and generations of abuse.

-There were lots of issues both personal and in the world of entertainment during that period that needed resolve. I was definitely going through a significant transition. I no longer felt safe.

-There’s an entire album about that, it’s documented and called Lauryn Hill MTV Unplugged. For some, the Unplugged album provided useful insight during dark times, gave important context on some real but hidden issues, and helped people going through personal struggles, because I’d exposed myself in such a raw and vulnerable state. -Who are you to say I didn’t do enough? Most people are probably just hearing your name for the first time because you dropped MINE in an interview, controversially. Taking nothing away from your talent, but this is a fact. 

-The Miseducation was my only solo studio album, but it certainly wasn’t the only good thing I did. 

-I was also a member of the Fugees, another groundbreaking, multi-platinum selling group, who bridged social and cultural gaps, and were ambassadors of hip-hop all around this planet. We laid important groundwork upon which an entire generation of artists and musicians still stand. We broke through conventions and challenged limited world views every time we played.

-The song To Zion gave encouragement to women during challenging pregnancies. There are children who were given a chance at life because their Mothers experienced moral and emotional support through this song. -What about the image of Black women in hip hop? When exposure and sexualization of the Black female body was the standard, SOMEONE stood up and represented a different image entirely, giving a generation of young women options and alternatives of self-representation. #AMNESIA 

-And let’s not forget that I am a mother of 6…

-Not only have I been instrumental in pushing forward the culture of live music in hip-hop for decades now, but I’ve been traveling with and employing a large band for many years, despite the economic challenges in doing so. Others have followed in my footsteps, seeing the value of live music.

-Show me an artist working now who hasn’t been directly influenced by the work I put in, and I’ll show you an artist who’s been influenced by an artist who was directly influenced by the work that I put in. I was and continue to be a door opener, even if the blind don’t see it, and the prideful are too proud to admit it. I lived this, you watched this and heard about it. 

-97.9 The Box, feel free to not play my music if you agree that ‘I haven’t done enough.’

-I never told anyone not to look me in the eye, that may have been something someone said assuming what I wanted. However, I would understand why an artist would say that. It’s about reaching a level of vulnerability while making or playing your art, and not wanting to worry about being examined while you’re in that process. -There are plenty of people, I’m sure, who THINK they know me. This can happen when you do anything that people Love or feel they can relate to. Their perception of me, however, doesn’t make it my reality. Sister Act II is a movie. Rita Watson is a character I played...in a movie, for those confusing that with real life.

-And yes, Ms. Hill was absolutely a requirement. I was young, Black and female. Not everyone can work for and give the appropriate respect to a person in that package and in charge. It was important, especially then, for that to be revealed early. 

-I adore Stevie, and honor Herbie and Quincy, who are our forebears, but they’re not women. Men often can say ‘I want it done like this’ and not be challenged. The same rules don’t always apply for women who may be met with resistance. When this happens you replace that player with someone who respects you and the office you hold.

-My approach to making music is non-traditional, possibly non-linear, and more a product of my heart, soul, and experience gained through doing, than something I was taught in a formal school setting. Not much different than the genre of hip-hop itself. 

-I never held myself out as some accomplished guitar player, I play to articulate better to seasoned players what I want. It’s an instrument I learned without any real lessons or instruction. I play in an unorthodox manner and use it as a writing tool. Couldn’t or didn’t tune my own guitar? That sounds like an assumption. 

-I take rehearsal seriously, I take performance seriously, I take my art seriously. My particular preparation process suits me. To each his or her own. My goal is to feel confident and free on stage. 

-I don’t think my process is for everyone, which is why band selection is so important. It’s not just about how well someone plays, but also their attitude. I’m not offended when people say it’s not for them, no more than they should be offended when I say this doesn’t work for me. 

-Auditioning, btw, may have nothing to do with how good a musician is. If a musician isn’t accomplished, he or she wouldn’t have been called. An audition or meeting could be about whether we vibe well, whether they understood my particular musical vernacular or direction at the time. I could have a jazz beast on keys, who couldn’t necessarily play reggae or some other musical style I also incorporated into my performances.-My sound is eclectic, I’ve been influenced by a wide variety of music. Like language, music isn’t always easily translatable. Someone could be a great player, but lack the ability to capture the feel or groove of a particular style. 

-I’m attracted to musicians that are open and excited to try new things. When people think they already know what needs to be known, and aren’t interested in exploring what I’m into, that’s fine, but it doesn’t work for my band.  

-A fair weather band is a complete impracticality, a liability even. I’m expected, through my art, to pour out the depths of my soul. Some days that’s easier than others. If the crew of people supporting me aren’t built for that walk, they shouldn’t be there. #Realtalk. Some people vibe well together, some don’t. It’s ok. Ignorant patriarchy is a b#tch though, I could speak volumes…

-My standards are too high, and my process too idiosyncratic, not to work with people who really want to be there. When I don’t have that, I keep searching until I find them.

-I remix my songs live because I haven’t released an album in several years. There’s a ton of backstory as to why, but there’s no way I could continue to play the same songs over and over as long as I’ve been performing them without some variation and exploration. I’m not a robot. If I’d had additional music out, perhaps I would have kept them as they were. I didn’t, so I revise and rearrange them according to what I’m feeling in that moment. This way, my performances are heartfelt and authentic, not me just going through the motions. I can’t imagine why that would be a foreign concept to anyone who appreciates jazz. 

-And the myth that I’m not allowed to play the original versions of my songs is...a myth (anyone who’s seen my current show knows this).

-There can also be an energetic or emotional transference when I perform, and it can be heavy/weighty at times. As an artist, I’m tasked with bringing a different vibration into the space that transcends this. Not an easy gig but an important one. I can imagine there are people who value this process and don’t mind waiting a little if it means experiencing something inspired.

-Me being late to shows isn’t because I don’t respect my fans or their time, but the contrary, It can be argued that I care too much, and insist on things being right. I like to switch my show up regularly, change arrangements, add new songs, etc. This often leads to long sound checks, which leads to doors opening late, which leads to the show getting a late start. This element of perfectionism is about wanting the audience to experience the very best and most authentic musical experience they can from what I do.

-I reject being pigeonholed or pinned down by someone else’s uninformed concept of me. I’m my own person, free to explore my potential like everyone else.

- Where I am in one chapter of my life isn’t necessarily where I’ll be in the next chapter. I reserve the right to be an honest artist in those moments and not a fabrication, fake or phony version of myself, because that’s what someone else likes. 

-I don’t owe anyone self-repression. Some fans will grow with me, some won’t and that’s ok. 

-Life is to be lived, it’s not a full-time performance you put on for others, so people won’t have bad things to say about you in interviews. 

-Hip-hop was born through people who didn’t necessarily have traditional musical training, the best tools, and in some cases even instruments, but found a way to express themselves despite that. My art exists because it has a will to exist, like hip hop. 

-The album inspired many people, from all walks of life, because of its radical(intense) will to live and to express Love. I appreciate everyone who was a part of it, in any and every capacity. It wouldn’t have existed the way that it did without the involvement, skill, hard work, and talents of the artists/musicians and technicians who were a part of it, but it still required my vision, my passion, my faith, my will, my soul, my heart, and my story.  

[lubbuthedigitalnomad]

IT IS WEIRD TO BE “RICH”

Hello from Kathmandu, Nepal! I hope you are happy and healthy.

The following is from the new book-in-progress.

Some folks have accused my writing of occasionally being “too real.” That is very understandable. Many of us have been steered away from real all of our lives by the wool that is constantly being pulled over our eyes — so not everyone is able to recognize, much less deal with, real. Sometimes real really hurts. That doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Other folks think I have been too upbeat and happy during this whole past year of disease, political manipulation of economics, and other assorted disasters. They think I have not been real enough. This little piece will likely put an end to those complaints. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Be well. Love, Tenzin

And, to those of my friends that worry about folks with wavering emotions, please don’t. I will be back to cheery by next week. I promise.

p.s. If you find the reading at all enjoyable, please — it literally takes only seconds — click one or more or all of the highlighted backlinks following this paragraph. This simple process is completely without risk, cost, or difficulty. All it does is bring you to the site that is highlighted. Each click is a big help in pushing Fearless Puppy up in the Google rankings. Whether you browse the sites or close the windows immediately, your help has been delivered. Thank you!

FEARLESS PUPPY WEBSITE BLOG

FEARLESS PUPPY ON AMERICAN ROAD/AMAZON PAGE

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IT IS WEIRD TO BE “RICH”

I spent several teen years begging on the streets for survival and much of my adult life working for causes that didn’t return appreciable, if any, paychecks. I’m not complaining! Much of it was fun and all of it was educational. There were decades of adulthood spent sleeping on other people’s floors or spare mattresses. I often drank the beer, ate the food, and smoked the weed of benevolent friends — and was always the poorest person in any town that I entered. My work, as well as my life, has been more “dependent upon the kindness of strangers” than was Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire. Friends were always happy to be part of the work that was getting done. I was always grateful for the help that allowed me to do the work.

Of all the culture shock that I should be feeling here on the opposite side of the world from my homeland, the part that jars my system the most is being a rich guy. Of course, it’s altogether relative. With $445 a month of so-called Social Security income (and just a bit of savings), I would be living well below poverty level back in America. And, although I am a rich guy among some people here, I certainly am not one as compared with the Tibetan community that occupies much of this neighborhood.

Tibetans make up a good portion of this Boudha Stupa area but less than nine percent of the population of Nepal. Much of the remaining ninety-plus percent of indigenous Nepali people, and even more so the non-Tibetan and non-Nepali immigrant groups, are not as financially fortunate as the Tibetans seem to be.

This is certainly true for the labor force that works within but lives outside the Stupa area. They work in restaurants, shops, construction, and have carts in the streets from which they sell fruit or vegetables or kitchen utensils or Q-tips or anything else that can make them a few rupees profit.

Many people came to Nepal from India to enjoy greater opportunities. They became well respected members of the community. Many others came because begging and other street hustling rackets are more productive here. These folks are the most annoying and aggressive operators. They train their children to be very cute, pitiable, and profitable. They are raising career beggars. These street and tin shack people are a large financial step below the local workers. In America, the street people and I would be in a very similar financial situation. Here, I am considered wealthy.

Oddly enough, the amount of money I have is not what immediately influences their decision. They have not seen my bank balance. What they have seen is my skin color.

During pre-corona-scare years, the street people got used to having many tourists from Europe and America visit Nepal for a week or two. They have seen so many foreign vacation dollars fly by and around them that many locals think everyone white is rich! Relatively speaking, they have a point. Anyone that can afford the price of the plane ticket to get here actually is rich, compared with the folks on the street that are trying to live off of what trickles down from the visitors.

Many street people are polite — but some beggars (and street merchants) can be rudely aggressive in their efforts to widen that trickle. The hardcore beggars ask and don’t stop asking if you say “no.” They keep talking to you and often tug on your sleeve as they follow you up the street. Some bark “Money! Money! Money!” in your ear for a length of two or three blocks. Others very loudly interrupt while you are in mid-conversation with friends. They continuously caw in your ear like a crow on crack. Their hope is that you will give them some money so they will just shut up and go away. These folks have, what we would call in Brooklyn, a “crawling up your ass” modus operandi. In most of Brooklyn, these people would get the shit beaten out of them very quickly.

Myself, and the fellow beggars I have known in America, always realized that once a prospective contributor says “no,” our time is more productively spent moving on to a new and hopefully more receptive target. The Indian/Nepali beggar hasn’t yet figured out this little point of practicality — and shows no concern for any points of street etiquette.

As a guy who, besides personal panhandling experiences, spent four decades begging money for environmental groups and assorted charities, it is extremely bizarre and unsettling for me to be hit on a dozen times a day by folks that are trying to shine my sneakers, or extort money in exchange for them just leaving me alone. An invasive and aggressive persistence is only an asset in rare situations and occupations. Begging is not one of those — and even legitimate, dedicated, altruistic soliciting for a very worthy cause has its limits.

And there are certain variations of aggressive persistence that need to be ended immediately. The perpetrators need to be punished (if you believe in that sort of thing) and mandated into rehabilitation facilities.

Most locals that give to street beggars contribute five or ten rupees. During my first four months in Kathmandu, I would give a twenty rupee note to everyone that asked. I’d pocket fifty of them at a time, hand them out until they were gone, and then go get some more. I like being helpful, twenty rupees is only about eighteen cents, and it kept me in a friendly state of mind on the street. Some of these street folks looked like they were doing fine. Others were obviously missing parts of their body or mind. Others were alcoholics. Whatever their story, it seemed that if they were out there asking, they needed to be helped. Many homeless people worldwide suffer as much from the inequities of economic systems as they suffer from personal bad luck, bad habits, or bad decisions. There is a big difference between a humanely based war on poverty and a government instituted war on poor people that is based in a cold, perverse economic policy.

I like, respect and often defend my fellow street peeps. Some are more fun to be around than others, but they all remind me of just how slim and temporary that line is between material wealth and material poverty. Street experience taught me a long time ago that plumbers, carpenters, single mothers, innocent orphans, even doctors and professors, can end up sleeping in an alley right alongside junkies and alcoholics. Half the world is only one bad break or decision away from being street people.

Early in the fifth month after my arrival here, a young and attractive woman was begging near the Stupa. One side of her face was severely black and blue. Out of the corner of my eye, I barely noticed the man hovering about twenty feet away, darting glances at her. I gave her thirty rupees instead of twenty. I later learned that she was intentionally beaten by that hovering man, in the hope that the signs of abuse would evoke more sympathy and higher contributions from tourists and local working folks. There was no way to know if the man was her husband, pimp, boyfriend, or owner.

I don’t give anything to any Kathmandu street people any more. It’s about more than just the aggressive, annoying thing. Many of the horrible things seen in the Slum Dog Millionaire movie actually happen here in real life. It may be a lot more widespread and severe in India, but some of the same cruelty exists in Kathmandu as well.

I feel badly about not helping those of my street brothers and sisters that are regular people in legitimate need, but there is no way to tell which folks are on the level and which folks are part of a beggar’s cartel — or something that is much more abusive and disturbing. I have to step on my natural instinct to help, in order to no longer support the many levels of social and individual pain trying to grow stronger on these streets.

Our US government’s savage actions and TV’s exaggerated imagery have fostered quite a bad international reputation of the American people. But, as is true in most countries, individual citizens are often a lot nicer than their government. American people can be generous. We can be quite compassionate and forgiving as well. This is especially true of Americans that have had some training in and experience with real forgiveness and compassion. But if I ever again see a young woman with a black and blue face, and a man hovering close by with his eyes on her begging hand, I might just screw up, forget what Buddha taught me, and kick the living fuck out of the guy. He not only beat a defenseless woman. He also iced the heart of a warm man.

About the Author

Doug “Ten” Rose may be the biggest smartass as well as one of the most entertaining survivors of the hitchhiking adventurers that used to cover America’s highways. He is the author of the books Fearless Puppy on American Road and Reincarnation Through Common Sense, has survived heroin addiction and death, and is a graduate of over a hundred thousand miles of travel without ever driving a car, owning a phone, or having a bank account.

Ten Rose and his work are a vibrant part of the present and future as well as an essential remnant of a vanishing breed.

Follow him on Facebook, Doug Ten Rose

Travel Adventure Books can be an excellent gift to your friends and family, buy from Amazon.com

#traveladventurebooks #keepreading #kindlebooks

Many thanks to our wonderful friends at the Pema Boutique Hotel for their help and support.

The books Fearless Puppy On American Road and Reincarnation Through Common Sense by this same author are also available through Amazon or the Fearless Puppy website, where there are sample chapters from those books. Entertaining TV/radio interviews with and newspaper articles about the author are also available there. There is no charge for anything but the complete books! All author profits from book sales will be donated to help sponsor an increase in the number of wisdom professionals on Earth, beginning with but certainly not limited to Buddhist monks and nuns.

If you missed the Introduction to the new book that will be titled Temple Dog Soldier, or would like to see several chapters of it that are available for free online, go to the Puppy website Blog section. This is a book in progress. You will be reading it as it is being created! Just like you, I don’t know what the next chapter is going to be about until it is written. As the Intro will tell you, this is a totally true story — and probably the only book ever written by and about a corpse journeying completely around the world!

[motherboxing]

rape tw

SPEAKING OF therapy it has been important for me lately to not only grieve what I lost to the actual abuse and sexual violence I experienced at the times that it happened, but to grieve and be angry about how deeply this has affected me and how deeply I was failed by a lot of people, institutions, etc. 

Here’s the thing! Traumatized people are sometimes difficult. Traumatized people show up late to appointments sometimes. Traumatized people can’t always go to every class. Traumatized people sometimes miss deadlines. Traumatized people freak out about things that sometimes seem incomprehensible to others. Traumatized people can be angry in ways that are hard for untraumatized people to relate to. Traumatized people cry for no reason sometimes. Traumatized people overshare, or they withhold information that might be important because they don’t feel safe, or they do both of those things at different times, sometimes. Some people, certainly, are just unreliable flakes, but the difficulty in terms of just basic day-to-day functioning that trauma causes is real. It’s a giant fucking weight tied around your neck and you just kind of have to learn to work around it, and you literally just cannot expect most people to understand that that’s what you’re doing!

I have a really hard time extending compassion for myself. I often feel like I am LETTING my trauma MAKE me inconsistent, needy, overly dramatic, a bitch. I have been told directly the following things, many times: being raped is no excuse. It wasn’t even really that bad, you just can’t deal with some minor hardship so you call it being ‘traumatized’. You’re just making excuses. You’re just trying to avoid taking responsibility for things. It doesn’t matter. It SHOULDN’T matter. Some of these things were said to me by people who were being super abusive to me at the time! Some of these things were just said to me by garden-variety assholes. The message that the world at large sends to victims of abuse and rape is this: it was your fault, if it even happened at all, and now you’re ruined, and being ruined is also your fault because you’re a weak piece of shit.

Collectively, as a society, we do nothing to help rehabilitate victims of abuse and rape. I want to say that again: Collectively we do NOTHING TO HELP REHABILITATE VICTIMS OF ABUSE AND RAPE. Even in Canada, where I can go to a doctor for free, therapy still costs money, and can be hard to access. Systems that do exist to provide some conditional support for victims are byzantine and dehumanizing, violating in and of themselves. Rather than try to help victims heal, we punish them for being hurt. You want to talk about rehabilitation and sexual violence and the criminal justice system? Let’s talk about what percentage of incarcerated women have been victims of sexual assault. I want you to reframe your whole approach here, away from the assumption that specifically in cases of sexual violence, the perpetrator is the one who is criminalized and the victim is supported by the criminal justice system. Do you think victims of sexual violence are NOT criminalized? If so you are wrong. Trauma, especially complex trauma, exacerbates poverty. Conditions of poverty cause a lot of shit that gets people locked up. Abusers weaponize the criminal justice system against their victims all the time. This is not abstract. The ways that we punish and exploit victims even as we deny their (our) trauma are systemic, they are institutionalized, and they have a body count.

This is a heavy thing to realize, when you’ve been raped. That on a systemic level, the world does not care. That people can and will try to destroy you - not just physically, but on the very level of your soul, they will violate you and leave you with a howling emptiness inside you that will consume you alive and by and large, people really just kind of want you to shut up about it and go away. Even the people who love you will do this, sometimes! But beyond that, the world does it. You can watch a man who raped a thirteen year old child become the president of the united states, and people will yell at you for having to cancel a coffee date because you couldn’t get out of bed.

Some people think that one of the biggest predictors for if a person develops PTSD after a traumatic event is what kind of support they get afterwards, if the people around them acknowledge what has happened and actively try to help them deal with it. It’s not just rapists who cause PTSD. We all do it. We do it through neglect. Through punishment. That is violence. It is abuse.

I struggle with explaining this, because it feels so big to me. But it is a grief and a sadness that I’ve been processing, lately. I want to do something productive with it that will help someone, somehow. I don’t know what that is yet, but when I figure it out, I hope it’s good.

[allenmendezsr]

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[pumpkincalnee]

biomechanics and women’s health

I haven't posted in a while because "times [but mostly things in my life] they are a-changing". What I mean by that is that I have a bunch of exciting things I'm trying to get involved with that are still centered around my various beloved themes, including:

community

women's health... and now, a throwback,

biomechanics!

Let me catch you up. Once upon a time I was a confused undergraduate trying to narrow down the vast world of supposed choices to figure out my next step post-college. I knew I had splashes of talent in various areas, but that I was also relatively unskilled overall in a whole larger host of things, making me not a great candidate for any job (at least that was the opinion I had of myself). I remember I came to a point where I narrowed the choice down to two respective options:

go to graduate school for biomechanics. Specifically comparative (non-human) biomechanics, but with the desire to see if I could follow in the footsteps of those inspiring people who learn from nature and then connect that learning to something in the human world (e.g. the tensile strength of sharks' skin as a model for bulletproof vests, or the boxfish's shape as a model for the most aerodynamically stable (and ugly) car), or

go to physical therapy school. Essentially PTs are the biomechanists of the medical world (so in this analogy an orthopedic surgeon would be more like a biomechanical engineer). This therapy path would allow me a more direct way to give back to the people and help others.

As you may know, I ultimately chose physical therapy, and then ended up leaving it about halfway through the program because the physical contact (manual therapy, measurements, etc) with patients was not conducive with my skin condition. This  ultimately made physical therapy less than an ideal career for me.

So then, the deluge. How am I full circling back to the idea of biomechanics (though not necessarily comparative this time)? Well, first I started working in the field of women's health a little over two years ago, which has since led me to undertaking the process for a prenatal and postnatal coaching certification (I actually just finished this past week and am officially a certified prenatal and postnatal coach!). I am also tying that field of knowledge to a few other movement-related initiatives, including the current co-creation of a course for single mothers of color (but I'll go into more on that when it's further along). I also am in the process of figuring out if I have the time to set up and lead stroller/carrier friendly walks in a local nature reservation.

While in the midst of these various endeavors, I also ended up finding Katy Bowman, a biomechanist and movement educator known for her Nutritious Movement company, which builds on her nature-based movement ideologies/passions. She believes in modifying our every day human environments (along with many movements we do) to better promote health and wellness, because movement-optimized environments require us to move better by their very nature. An example she gives is not having a couch in your home. This then requires you to do more squats (if you end up sitting on the floor, or chairs of lower heights), and forces you to move your hip, knee, and ankle joints in greater ranges of motion. The no-couch life also facilitates less sitting time by virtue of there not being any comfy furniture to sit upon, thus increasing your NEAT which helps your body even at the cellular level.

As I delved more into her material, I realized I had found someone that encompassed that overlap in my interests that I didn't know existed; she is not a practitioner of health or medicine therefore not subject to the insurance whims, nor is she just an academic  stuck talking only to other academics/writing scholarly papers while being removed from the direct societal implementation. Bowman also intersects nature with the manmade world, bridging the choice I was stuck between (loving the idea of physical rehabilitation and the like while having a passion for being involved in natural environments, but unsure of how to make either a thing). Even more excitingly, after some light searching I discovered she too has a masters (in health studies, while I'm health sciences, but close enough) so I know it's possible to straddle the academic world even in a health-esque field while not being a PhD or MD.

This is endlessly inspiring to me because now I'm starting to think it isn't impossible to focus on prenatal and postpartum women and work with them and their babies/ young children to create lifestyle changes and increase our movement, while doing it all in nature. Though I'm not fully sure of the direction I'm going to end up going to get it started, all in all, things are looking to be very promising in the near future.

I have also used Bowman as an entry into foot health (using her book Whole Body Barefoot), subsequently contemplating the health of my own feet on a more regular basis. Since I left the category of a nulliparous woman (a woman who has never given birth), I've been thinking about how my body alignment changed during pregnancy and how now I still often feel joint laxity and generally less in-tune with my body. This has resulted in me walking more duck-footed than I had previously. I am testing out her suggestions to improve my foot (and global postural) health presently, but honestly ,uch of her program is just good practice for regaining balance and better alignment generally (like doing calf stretches and one leg standing balance exercises). I'm already noticing that I am more able to abduct my pinky toes further since starting. My personal goal is to retrain my feet to be able to wear minimalist shoes (or shoes that alter the natural foot mechanics the least). This includes working my way to comfortably wearing shoes with no heel lift (which normal even sneakers and many types of sandals have).

Before that book, I also read Bowman's book called Diastasis Recti: The Whole Body Solution to Abdominal Weakness and Separation. Though the content is obviously useful for postpartum moms, the condition of diastasis recti (DR) can impact men and nulliparous women too.

In this book Bowman talks about how our modern lifestyles put a lot more pressure (force) on our cavities (diaphragmatic, stomach, and pelvic) and so to combat that we need to make environmental changes in our lifestyle. This includes actions like sitting less in the day and returning to using our bodies to move more (rather than always having appliances and tools to help us).

The point isn't to remove all modern conveniences entirely if it's not possible in our lives, but to balance out those convenient factors so our bodies have a chance to regain better mobility and functional strength while we continue to go about our daily lives.

The most crucial exercise Bowman suggests as a takeaway from her book is better rib engagement. This is done by drawing our ribs down and back without just sucking in our stomachs. We need to get our ribcage muscles and joint attachments to be less stiff because it impacts our ability to use our arms in their full range, and can cause issues if we move our pelvises with our ribcages all the time. Anyway, the book is definitely worth checking out to hear Bowman explain all of this (she does a much much better job).

The last thing I read by Bowman was a paper she put out about Movement Ecology. She addresses movement in multiple avenues, highlighting how we as a species gravitate towards decreased movement, which means more than just decreased exercise. She investigates movement as a broader topic, looking at how our daily activities and the environment around us help move and change our bodies in multiple ways, including at the cellular level (e.g. literally deforming our cells as when we lay on an object and our cells flatten). It's cool stuff!

The fun thing about Bowman's work (and I'm just talking about the books/papers I referenced in this post, so foot health techniques, diastasis recti prevention, and movement ecology practices), you can already come up with a fairly comprehensive program for prenatal and postpartum mothers to help them stave off lifestyle-related aches and pains, and regain more function respectively, while building foundational blocks of strength and mobility. And that's what I'll be playing around with next with my own routines.

On a tangent, I wonder how much of the severity of my topical steroid withdrawal would be alleviated  if I moved more?

[olympus-summit]

The Turns Sure Do Table | Nemesis | Re: Menai, Elliott, Mina, Shinobu, Charon, Atropos

[CW: References to Dehumanization + Objectification]

"...I'm glad you had that realization, Menai. No matter how it came about. You are a person, and you always have been. I know how... I know." Nemesis' stomach turns a little, those memories may not have happened to him, this body might never have been subjected to the experiences that haunt his nightmares, but they're all still there in his head. He knows exactly what it's like to feel like less than a person, to know nothing beyond being treated like an object. It's that feeling that makes this all that much more horrific for him. 

The Titan Administration had copied their consciousnesses without permission, without consent, and had manufactured them for a single purpose. Had made versions of them however many times just to use, to be tools for a puppet government, only to be disposed of - quite literally, judging by the Exit Bay incinerator - once they'd served that purpose. As if they were no different from the bag of trash they'd seen burned to ashes in that awful room. It was so sickening, such a deep violation, that even after a few hours to process it still makes Nemesis tremble from sheer rage all over again. Appalling couldn't cover it. There weren't words for what this was. No matter what Charon and Elliott might say, seeing that room alone was enough to break him a hundred times over, which can only make him wonder how many different versions of him spent their last few seconds of life in instant, horrific realization. 

[End CW]

He shudders. But he keeps breathing, slow and regulated, and he stays standing, as steady as anyone could hope for. The panic attack he'd suffered in Charon's control room won't be the last time he falls apart under the weight of all this, but right now he's intact. Right now he's done what he remembers doing so many times before, he's picked himself up, brushed himself off, and braced himself to weather whatever comes next.

Nemesis, like Evren before him, may falter and break, but at the end of the day he's still fucking here. If Titan had actually understood who he was, they would have destroyed his goddamn cartridge. 

It seems like further progression isn't going to happen until the matter of Prometheus and Epimetheus' trial is settled, although Nemesis personally feels like it already should be. But he listens, to Menai because he empathizes with them, despite everything. And to the rest, because Mina asks them to and he still has respect for her, and because Shinobu wants answers and Shinobu deserves to get whatever the hell they want. He listens, lips pressed tight together, gaze hard and harsh. 

And then when it seems like Charon's finally done, Nemesis picks up the large and small owl dolls and goes to set them on Elliott's and Menai's tables respectively. It feels purely symbolic at this point, but this crowd seems to value symbolism a lot.

"The option you assumed we'd pick." He echoes flatly, staring at the flames in the center of the room. Nem's voice stays low, simmering with an icy, constrained kind of anger. Cold is how revenge is best served, after all. There's disgust in his face as well, when he turns towards Elliott again, and for a second it almost seems like the light of the fire is still reflected in his eyes. 

"Of course. Because you've always had such a low opinion of us, all of you. As if any of you had any right to judge. Every time, every time we thought we had the option to spare someone, we took it. We spared Nezumi, even though most of us didn't even fucking like him. We tried to spare you, even when we thought you were guilty. Every chance we've had, the majority of this council has tried to avoid further death, even when it meant taking a risk for ourselves. We're not monsters just because we argue, we're not terrible people just because we get upset and angry. Don't get me wrong there are definitely some pieces of shit in this group," (He doesn't look away from Elliott, but it's safe to assume he's referring to rat boy quarantine.) "But on the whole? We've actually done pretty fucking well. Even when we didn't choose the 'right' motives, we were always trying to choose the ones that would cause the least loss of life. We organized a system of voting and while the debates got heated and sometimes personal, we still stuck to it. We tried to help each other with the motives where we could. Mitsu gave Rusty the immunity item. Everyone was posting advice and suggestions in the chat about how to cook eggs. We tried to choose presidents based on who would benefit most from potential perks. We picked you because you said your life was at risk and we wanted to protect you, even those of us who barely knew you. Regardless of how much we argued, we all still worked together. Sure we might have griped at each other, but at every turn when someone asked for help, they got it. Considering the outrageous pressure and stress you put us under, we could've done a lot worse, sorry if that's not good enough for whatever unrealistic expectations you had for how groups of people react to extreme ongoing trauma."

Nemesis pauses, and turns, looking at Charon, at Menai, then up at the three Fates above. Any sympathy he might have had for the aspects of the horrifying situation that they all share and for Claire's speech is mitigated by not just the suffering they'd put the rest of them through, but by one other, simple matter: the Tunnel of Love. More specifically, the fourth motive. Where were those people now? The ones who had been made in the images of their loved ones, the people made from incomplete and biased memories, made just to serve a purpose, just to be used as a motive to push them all towards murder. Were they somewhere else on the ship, some still inaccessible or hidden pocket? Had they been dropped off in their respective countries of origin, despite being displaced from time by a hundred years, with no one and nothing familiar, without even a full set of accurate memories of the people they were supposed to be? Or had they all been shown the Exit Bay's function firsthand? Nemesis can't put anything past the Fates, or Charon, or even Elliott and Menai. Not at this point.

But he doesn't ask, because the thought of it makes him too sick for him to be ready to hear the answer, no matter what it is. There is no good answer. Instead, his gaze lingers on Claire, and he slowly opens his mouth to speak again.

"Hey, remember that time you came into the gym... you saw me dropping the barbell, and you kind of jerked forward, like you wanted to catch it? I didn't know what to make of it then, but later I thought, you know what? Someone who sees another person struggling and whose first instinct is to help must have at least a shred of decency left in them somewhere. There must be at least a trace of empathy built into them. That's why I started saying maybe we should consider your motive, before. Why I said you might care. But right now, all I have to say is... a shred isn't enough. A trace isn't enough. Caring isn't enough, if it's not enough to let you know when to stop, when to try something else, even if you're not as sure it would work."

He takes a breath, crosses his arms, and sits down on his throne again. 

"I can't speak for everyone of course, I'm not gonna try and do that after I just called Izar out on it. I want to hear what everyone else thinks, too." 

A lot of people aren't speaking at all, and he can't even blame them. Hangyu, Mingxia, Rusty, Setsuna, Tenko, even Nezumi has been weirdly, uncharacteristically quiet - not that he's complaining on that one. If Nezumi never said another word in his presence ever again, Nemesis would be perfectly fine with that. And what about Leland? He's been silent, too. How does he feel about all this? Did he know? That thought produces such a visceral sense of betrayal that Nemesis shoves it aside, over into the mental box labelled 'To Be Dealt With Later' because right now he just can't. 

"For my part, though, I meant what I said. I do not support any more executions. And I am beyond sick of listening to excuses and justifications, I don't know about anyone else but listening to you all explain why you just had to torture us, for our own good, and how you thought it was the best plan is only making me angrier. We were scared and hurt and confused, and yet you judged us harshly just for getting into arguments, as if that's somehow worse than the decisions you made based in panic. And then kept right on making. As far as I'm concerned you should all be incarcerated. I have no idea how any external justice system would deal with any of you, but we have a jail cell on board and I don't see why that can't do in the short term, until we figure something else out. In Silicon we have - well, had at least, I don't exactly know the current state of things - rehabilitation centers, but I think you six need more than a good therapist and some career training."

Six. Atropos, Lachesis, Clotho, Charon, Elliott, Menai. He's not including Mina in that group, not right now, she doesn't share the same culpability, she was the only one who tried to stop things, the only reason this shit didn't keep going even further. He's still got a lot of mixed feelings there, only getting more mixed as she expresses affection for the others, but he's not going to lump her in just for that.

"This is all stuff we'll have to figure out. That and what we're going to do about the state of global politics. I have some ideas there - whatever we end up doing we're going to need consultants, and access to information on current affairs, just to start with - but first things first. We need to finish with this fiasco, and deal with the Titan Administration."

The matter of fact way in which Nemesis lists these necessities is probably a result of Evren's memories of being a pillar of government infrastructure. While this whole scenario may suck especially hard for him, he's ironically probably one of the better options to have present to deal with it. Nemesis knows how to govern, and more importantly he knows how to rebuild and how to progress.

"So, how exactly do we wrap this up so we can move forward? You need us all to make our votes for Elliott and Menai official? How do we vote for the Full Council Override? Because I definitely want us to take the reins back as soon as possible." He pauses and looks over at Mina and KIT. "Actually I might feel more comfortable if you could explain, if you know how this place functions, since they skipped giving us the How-To Manual." 

[muschiosa2]

‘Addressing Robert Glasper and other common misconceptions about me (in no particular order)’ By Ms. Lauryn Hill

I’ve remained patient and quiet for a very long time, allowing people to talk, speculate, and project, while keeping my nose to the grindstone fighting for freedoms many folks aren’t even aware matter. The arrogance of presumption that allows someone to think that they could have all the facts about another person’s life and experience, is truly and remarkably… presumptuous. People can sometimes confuse kindness for weakness, and silence for weakness as well. When this happens, I have to speak up. I apologize for the delay in getting this posted, I was late in hearing about it. I understand this is long, but my last interview was over a decade ago…

-It’s not completely informed, but he’s entitled to his perception. Context certainly helps though.

-You may be able to make suggestions, but you can’t write FOR me. I am the architect of my creative expression. No decisions are made without me. I hire master builders and masterful artisans and technicians who play beautifully, lend their technical expertise, and who translate the language that I provide into beautifully realized music.

-These are my songs, musicians are brought in because of the masterful way that they play their instruments. I’m definitely looking for something specific in musicians, and I absolutely do hire the best musicians I can find. Not every band had that particular ‘something’ I was looking for. That doesn’t make them bad musicians, just different than what I needed in that particular moment.

-The Miseducation was the first time I worked with musicians outside of the Fugees who’s report and working relationship was clear. In an effort to create the same level of comfort, I may not have established the necessary boundaries and may have been more inviting than I should have been. In hindsight, I would have handled it differently for the removal of any confusion. And I have handled it differently since, I’m clear and I make clear before someone walks in the door what I am and am not looking for. I may have been inclusive, but these are my songs.

-I have come across the occasional musician who thinks they already know what I want, feelings and egos can be easily bruised when you tell them they actually don’t. I am never trying to intentionally hurt anyone’s feelings btw, but when people insist that they know you and don’t, you may have to be equally as firm to demonstrate otherwise.

-I am paying for a service, and looking for something SPECIFIC, which isn’t up to someone else’s interpretation or opinion. I have my own idea of what works for me. That shouldn’t offend.

-And I definitely don’t like to fire anyone. It did take me meeting a lot of people over a number of years to find the right musicians, but my current band has been with me for a long time, the newest members probably 2/3 years, some as long as 7/8 years now. I was looking for a similar natural chemistry with new musicians that I’d had with the Fugees and Miseducation bands. I’d literally grown up with some of those musicians. That isn’t easy to find.

-In 2008, I had only a young man helping me and my Mother, after disbanding my former support staff. No idea why any musician would have had knowledge of what I was being paid, not sure what he’s saying is accurate. Don’t have the details or recollection of cutting the band’s pay in half. If fees had been negotiated and confirmed without my knowledge, I may have asked for them to be adjusted. But I would never just cut a musician’s pay arbitrarily unless I had a legitimate reason. There are artists who do cut pay though, James Brown was notorious for docking musicians if they did something he didn’t like, I’m sure there are others.

-It was necessary for me to reestablish trust and cultivate a new environment. I was looking to challenge myself artistically. I was also openly challenging music industry norms. I’d left ‘the machine’. With ‘it’ went some polish, but the cause we were fighting for, creative integrity, was worth far more than a little polish to me.

-When you’re a popular artist or public figure, people can sometimes forget that you’re hiring them to perform a service, and that you’re not the one there to entertain THEM. I didn’t scream or yell. Maybe I didn’t provide the experience that a musician may have wanted or expected during that time, but I was straight-forward, direct, and about the business at hand.

-Making my art is a labor of Love, but it’s still labor, and can be labor-intensive at that. If a musician was looking for a cushy job filled with the same trappings I was purposely weaning myself from, we wouldn’t have been on the same page anyway. Make no mistake, addiction is a common snare laid to dismantle the integrity of artists. My environment, at that time, operated more like a rehabilitation clinic than an after-party.

-I don’t think most people, perhaps not even some celebrated artists, are aware of the battle it takes to be an artist and remain true to what you really think. I don’t even ‘practice’ small talk, so I’m never confused with someone who can be seduced. There are traps all around, what could look like a successful career in entertainment today, could be an addictive lifestyle of convenience attempting to control you tomorrow. I set the tone with every band that working for fame and accolades is a different walk than fighting for personal integrity and making art that doesn’t compromise itself for money.

-I’m confused as to why such a principled musician, who thought I ‘stole’ from his friends, would show up to work for me anyway. 🤔 If that was hypocrisy or opportunism instead of genuine interest, it would further explain why an artist would feel the need to put his or her guard up.

-No matter how incredible the musicians who play with me are, MY name is on the marquee. The expectation to make it all come together is on me. The risk and the financial losses are on me. Hence, MY VIBE, though not the only consideration, is the priority. Few people actually know what this road is like, but many want to judge and comment, having never done it. Try doing what I’ve done yourself. If nothing else, you will gain some insight into and respect for my process.

-During the time in question, I also believe I was playing a lot of new music with controversial content. FOR ME, rehearsal was about readying myself for the battle I knew I was entering into for simply not allowing a system to pimp me. If I was on edge, I had good reason to be.

-Perhaps my seriousness and militancy in the face of tremendous resistance was misinterpreted as meanness, or that I was unloving or uncaring, when my true intent was to protect. I wouldn’t be the first Black person accused of this. I don’t think of Harriet Tubman’s skills as those of a hostess, but rather her relentless dedication to helping people who wanted out of an oppressive paradigm. #IGETOUT

-People also unwilling to ‘play the game’ might have found that environment refreshing. Straight talk isn’t devoid of Love, it’s just devoid of bullsh#t.

-And just to clear up an old urban legend that somehow people still believe, I do not hate white people. I do, however, despise a system of entitlement and oppression set up to exploit people who are different. I do loathe the promotion and preservation of said system at the expense of other people, and the racist and entitled attitudes it gives rise to. The lengthy history of unfairness and brutality towards people of color, especially Black people, has not been fully acknowledged or corrected. The expectation is for us to live with abuse, distortion, and deliberate policies, meant to outright control and contain us — like we’re not aware of our basic right to freedom. I resist and reject THESE ideas completely. Like many Black people, I work to reconcile my own generational PTSD. I do my best to Love, pursue freedom in body, Spirit and mind… and to confront. To repress everything in the name of ‘getting along’ is to deny our right to healing. It’s an ugly, distorting and complicated history at best. We’ve been shaped by it for better or worse. I just choose not to pretend that it’s not there in order to maintain public approval and gain economic advantage. My true white friends and colleagues and I discuss these schemes and machinations, and the distrust that people of color would naturally have toward such a system and towards those who agree with it. We don’t run from those conversations, we run into them, which is why I can call them friends and colleagues. Within these relationships I can be my complete self, and not a splintered individual/soul repressing the truth about generations and generations of abuse.

-There were lots of issues both personal and in the world of entertainment during that period that needed resolve. I was definitely going through a significant transition. I no longer felt safe.

-There’s an entire album about that, it’s documented and called Lauryn Hill MTV Unplugged. For some, the Unplugged album provided useful insight during dark times, gave important context on some real but hidden issues, and helped people going through personal struggles, because I’d exposed myself in such a raw and vulnerable state.

-Who are you to say I didn’t do enough? Most people are probably just hearing your name for the first time because you dropped MINE in an interview, controversially. Taking nothing away from your talent, but this is a fact.

-The Miseducation was my only solo studio album, but it certainly wasn’t the only good thing I did.

-I was also a member of the Fugees, another groundbreaking, multi-platinum selling group, who bridged social and cultural gaps, and were ambassadors of hip-hop all around this planet. We laid important groundwork upon which an entire generation of artists and musicians still stand. We broke through conventions and challenged limited world views every time we played.

-The song To Zion gave encouragement to women during challenging pregnancies. There are children who were given a chance at life because their Mothers experienced moral and emotional support through this song.

-What about the image of Black women in hip hop? When exposure and sexualization of the Black female body was the standard, SOMEONE stood up and represented a different image entirely, giving a generation of young women options and alternatives of self-representation. #AMNESIA

-And let’s not forget that I am a mother of 6…

-Not only have I been instrumental in pushing forward the culture of live music in hip-hop for decades now, but I’ve been traveling with and employing a large band for many years, despite the economic challenges in doing so. Others have followed in my footsteps, seeing the value of live music.

-Show me an artist working now who hasn’t been directly influenced by the work I put in, and I’ll show you an artist who’s been influenced by an artist who was directly influenced by the work that I put in. I was and continue to be a door opener, even if the blind don’t see it, and the prideful are too proud to admit it. I lived this, you watched this and heard about it.

-97.9 The Box, feel free to not play my music if you agree that ‘I haven’t done enough.’

-I never told anyone not to look me in the eye, that may have been something someone said assuming what I wanted. However, I would understand why an artist would say that. It’s about reaching a level of vulnerability while making or playing your art, and not wanting to worry about being examined while you’re in that process.

-There are plenty of people, I’m sure, who THINK they know me. This can happen when you do anything that people Love or feel they can relate to. Their perception of me, however, doesn’t make it my reality. Sister Act II is a movie. Rita Watson is a character I played…in a movie, for those confusing that with real life.

-And yes, Ms. Hill was absolutely a requirement. I was young, Black and female. Not everyone can work for and give the appropriate respect to a person in that package and in charge. It was important, especially then, for that to be revealed early.

-I adore Stevie, and honor Herbie and Quincy, who are our forebears, but they’re not women. Men often can say ‘I want it done like this’ and not be challenged. The same rules don’t always apply for women who may be met with resistance. When this happens you replace that player with someone who respects you and the office you hold.

-My approach to making music is non-traditional, possibly non-linear, and more a product of my heart, soul, and experience gained through doing, than something I was taught in a formal school setting. Not much different than the genre of hip-hop itself.

-I never held myself out as some accomplished guitar player, I play to articulate better to seasoned players what I want. It’s an instrument I learned without any real lessons or instruction. I play in an unorthodox manner and use it as a writing tool. Couldn’t or didn’t tune my own guitar? That sounds like an assumption.

-I take rehearsal seriously, I take performance seriously, I take my art seriously. My particular preparation process suits me. To each his or her own. My goal is to feel confident and free on stage.

-I don’t think my process is for everyone, which is why band selection is so important. It’s not just about how well someone plays, but also their attitude. I’m not offended when people say it’s not for them, no more than they should be offended when I say this doesn’t work for me.

-Auditioning, btw, may have nothing to do with how good a musician is. If a musician isn’t accomplished, he or she wouldn’t have been called. An audition or meeting could be about whether we vibe well, whether they understood my particular musical vernacular or direction at the time. I could have a jazz beast on keys, who couldn’t necessarily play reggae or some other musical style I also incorporated into my performances.

-My sound is eclectic, I’ve been influenced by a wide variety of music. Like language, music isn’t always easily translatable. Someone could be a great player, but lack the ability to capture the feel or groove of a particular style.

-I’m attracted to musicians that are open and excited to try new things. When people think they already know what needs to be known, and aren’t interested in exploring what I’m into, that’s fine, but it doesn’t work for my band.

-A fair weather band is a complete impracticality, a liability even. I’m expected, through my art, to pour out the depths of my soul. Some days that’s easier than others. If the crew of people supporting me aren’t built for that walk, they shouldn’t be there. #Realtalk. Some people vibe well together, some don’t. It’s ok. Ignorant patriarchy is a b#tch though,

I could speak volumes…

-My standards are too high, and my process too idiosyncratic, not to work with people who really want to be there. When I don’t have that, I keep searching until I find them.

-I remix my songs live because I haven’t released an album in several years. There’s a ton of backstory as to why, but there’s no way I could continue to play the same songs over and over as long as I’ve been performing them without some variation and exploration. I’m not a robot. If I’d had additional music out, perhaps I would have kept them as they were. I didn’t, so I revise and rearrange them according to what I’m feeling in that moment. This way, my performances are heartfelt and authentic, not me just going through the motions. I can’t imagine why that would be a foreign concept to anyone who appreciates jazz.

-And the myth that I’m not allowed to play the original versions of my songs is…a myth (anyone who’s seen my current show knows this).

-There can also be an energetic or emotional transference when I perform, and it can be heavy/weighty at times. As an artist, I’m tasked with bringing a different vibration into the space that transcends this. Not an easy gig but an important one. I can imagine there are people who value this process and don’t mind waiting a little if it means experiencing something inspired.

-Me being late to shows isn’t because I don’t respect my fans or their time, but the contrary, It can be argued that I care too much, and insist on things being right. I like to switch my show up regularly, change arrangements, add new songs, etc. This often leads to long sound checks, which leads to doors opening late, which leads to the show getting a late start. This element of perfectionism is about wanting the audience to experience the very best and most authentic musical experience they can from what I do.

-I reject being pigeonholed or pinned down by someone else’s uninformed concept of me. I’m my own person, free to explore my potential like everyone else.

- Where I am in one chapter of my life isn’t necessarily where I’ll be in the next chapter. I reserve the right to be an honest artist in those moments and not a fabrication, fake or phony version of myself, because that’s what someone else likes.

-I don’t owe anyone self-repression. Some fans will grow with me, some won’t and that’s ok.

-Life is to be lived, it’s not a full-time performance you put on for others, so people won’t have bad things to say about you in interviews.

-Hip-hop was born through people who didn’t necessarily have traditional musical training, the best tools, and in some cases even instruments, but found a way to express themselves despite that. My art exists because it has a will to exist, like hip hop.

-The album inspired many people, from all walks of life, because of its radical(intense) will to live and to express Love. I appreciate everyone who was a part of it, in any and every capacity. It wouldn’t have existed the way that it did without the involvement, skill, hard work, and talents of the artists/musicians and technicians who were a part of it, but it still required my vision, my passion, my faith, my will, my soul, my heart, and my story.

[quirkcounselor-asuka]

[Case number: OP-0090126-337 Examination recording number: 1 Physician/Psychiatrist: Asuka, Ayumu Recording date: Thursday, October 24th Recording time: 6:00 pm]  @ua-todoroki 

[It takes an especially long time to process Todoroki into the building. He's registered in and a number of people bustle him around, getting signatures, fingerprints, pictures for his ID card. It's a rather homey building, comfortable and soft in a way more reminiscent of a retirement home than a counseling building. Eventually, he's brought into a cushy little room, lined with couches and other furniture.

Barely seconds after he's brought in, Ayumu hurries inside, closing the door quickly behind them.]

AYUMU: Todoroki-kuuuun!! It is very nice to meet you, yes, please get seated and we can get started in a second!

[Shouto's underwater through it all.

He doesn't really hear what he's being told. It gets muddled and lost. He mindlessly does what he thinks he has to, goes where he guesses he's supposed to. His slowness isn't thoughtful, it's the opposite. He can't think and it's making everything worse, like the waters found a way into his head somehow.

Eventually, he's finally somewhere that feels more... solid. Or maybe he was told it was. He's not sure. His head slowly perks up at the sound of a new voice and he looks around for a seat, eventually pulling the closest one closer and sitting.]

SHOUTO: ...

[Finding a desk, Ayumu sets down a small stack of papers they were holding, huffing and sighing with curious delight as they attempt to straighten them for a moment. Then, seeming to decide that they're bored of that, they spin around to look at Todoroki.]

AYUMU: Hello! I'll be your main counselor here, my name is Ayumu Asuka, you can call me - well, whatever you like! I don't really care. This experience, all of this, is about you and what you want. You're pretty much the boss here, okay? I'm just here to be your guide during this journey!

[They sit down on a chair, drawing it closer to Todoroki and smiling brightly.] 

AYUMU: Do you have any questions? For me, about me and my work, maybe about the process? Or anything, you can ask about the sky if you really want to.. Up to you! Today's more an introductionary day, anyway, so~

[He watches and listens with a blank expression and dull eyes, not able to bring himself to actually care about what they're saying or doing.]

SHOUTO: ... I don't know. [He shrugs.] Barely know what's happening.

AYUMU: Oh! This is your first day of your villain preventation course! It's a form of rehabilitation but, like, before you're convicted of any crimes, pretty much.

[They smile at him for a moment.]

AYUMU: Do you know what day it is? Are you aware of who and where you are?

SHOUTO: ... Great... [He mumbles, dropping his head.] Yeah.

AYUMU: [A small nod.] You weren't looking forward to this day, I take it.

SHOUTO: Why would I.

AYUMU: It doesn't have to be a negative experience, Todoroki-kun. It's an opportunity to change and learn, that could be a very good thing!

SHOUTO: It's villain rehabilitation. [He snaps.] Do you know who my father is.

AYUMU: [A blink.] Of course I do...?

SHOUTO: He's going to kill me for this.

AYUMU: [A tilt of their head.] Literally or figuratively?

SHOUTO: ... [He drops his head further.]

AYUMU: ...? [They wait patiently for a moment.]

SHOUTO: ... I don't know.

AYUMU: If you're in danger, you can be protected...

SHOUTO: N-no... [He shakes his head.] No it's fine...

AYUMU: Hmmm... [They lean back to retrieve some of their papers from their desk.] Does asking for help scare you?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.] ...

AYUMU: Well, you're obviously scared of something. Your father, obviously... [They drop the papers into their lap.] If you want to talk about him, we can. Or we can move on!

SHOUTO: [Another shrug.] ...

AYUMU: [They smile vaguely.] Mmmmmhm...

AYUMU: ... Do you consider your father to be the worst person in your life?

SHOUTO: Yes.

AYUMU: Worse than any villain?

SHOUTO: ... Yes.

AYUMU: [They sit back, almost looking impressed.] Huh...

SHOUTO: What.

AYUMU: Have you interacted with a lot of villains before? I know you've been involved in a few cases, as a hero, as... et cetera...

SHOUTO: Yes. I have. ...

AYUMU: Any of them make a lasting impression?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: ... Like?

SHOUTO:  ... [He thinks for a moment.] Um... there's one.

AYUMU: Yes...? [After a second.] Oh, you don't have to name names if that makes you more comfortable!

SHOUTO: ... It's fine.. he.. [He shrinks.] He's targeted me.. directly... for a while... it's not really....

AYUMU: ... Not really what?

SHOUTO: I don't know... public... part of my job...

AYUMU: ... What does that mean? I'm a little confused...

SHOUTO: ... He's been stalking and harrassing me.

AYUMU: [They frown at that.] Oh... That's terrible...

SHOUTO: .. It's been going on for a long time.

AYUMU: About how long?

SHOUTO: ... Months. I don't know. At least six or seven. Maybe more. Can't remember.

AYUMU: [A sad nod.] That's really terrible... I'm so sorry.

SHOUTO: It's fine.

AYUMU: ... Is that the worst of it, then? This villian and your father?

SHOUTO: ... What do you mean..

AYUMU: I mean, when you think of the evil you've encountered in your life, would you think of those two especially? Have they made the biggest impact on you?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: And have you ever felt like you've... changed?  Perhaps after everything that's happened to you... Do you ever feel like you’ve been affected in ways you can't really stop?

SHOUTO: ... [He nods, slowly at first.] Yes...

AYUMU: Like how? No judgements...

SHOUTO: ... I'm a sex addicted maniac.

AYUMU: Maniac? That's an interesting word to call yourself...

SHOUTO: Is it.

AYUMU: Why do you use it?

SHOUTO: Because it's what I am.

AYUMU: [They pout at him a little.] 'Maniac' implies you're out of control, all over the place... Is that how you feel?

SHOUTO: Yes.

AYUMU: Would you say that's why you're here?

SHOUTO: Yeah.

AYUMU: I see! [They nod thoughtfully.] Have you ever thought violently on top of that? Or acted out on violent thoughts you've had?

SHOUTO: Why do you think I'm here.

AYUMU: [They grin cheekily at him.] I think you're here because someone made you be here. And because you're a sex-addicted maniac, apparently. You can be crazy about sex without being crazy about violence, can't you?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.]

AYUMU: So would you consider yourself addicted to violence? Or no? Maybe it's more a means to a end, or maybe... [They gesture a little.] More of a guilty pleasure, something that feels almost as good as sex. Any of these sound close?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah. Kind of.

AYUMU: Which one?

SHOUTO: The last one... I guess.

AYUMU: Reeeeally? Huh... [They nod thoughtfully.] Is that why you want to be a hero? Because you still want to be, right?

SHOUTO: I do. But that's not why.

AYUMU: Oh, good! Well, I'm glad that's not the reason, haha. Why do you want to be a hero?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs. Again.] Because I can't see myself doing anything else.

AYUMU: Sooo.... it's not that you want to be, it's that you feel you have to be?

SHOUTO: I guess.

AYUMU: Hmmm... [Crossing their legs, they start going through the papers on their lap.] What feels better to you, saving people or sex?

SHOUTO: .. Um. [He knows the answer.] ... I... uh..

AYUMU: [They smile a little knowingly but otherwise stay silent, letting him fumble.]

SHOUTO: ... I don't.. know. [He looks away.]

AYUMU: Of course... [They nod a little.] Must be hard, confusing.... you're obviously dealing with a lot...

SHOUTO: ... Yeah...

AYUMU: You're not alone in this, okay? [They smile.] I promise. There are plenty of heroes with bad thoughts or impulses, or have even done some wrong in their life. But that doesn't mean they can't change. Do you want to stay like this forever?

SHOUTO: [He grits his teeth.] No. I don't.

AYUMU: [They go :O] ... Then don't you think maybe it's not the worst thing in the world that you're here? Besides the dad thing, I mean.

SHOUTO: I shouldn't have to be here.

AYUMU: What would you rather?

SHOUTO: I'd rather be fine on my own.

AYUMU: Yeah, I bet we all would rather that, huh? But on your own, well, you're some sort of maniac, so...

SHOUTO: ... [He sighs. >:/]

AYUMU: [>:3] I'm just saying, you're here for a reason. You might have had reasons for doing what you did, really good ones, but you still did it and that's what landed you here. I don't really know if you get that?

SHOUTO: I get why I'm here.

AYUMU: [They just pout at him in response.] Then why be so difficult?

SHOUTO: Because I don't want to be.

AYUMU: Huuuh... That's just going to keep you in a place like this longer...

SHOUTO: I can get better anyways.

AYUMU: Oh, so you actually plan to? Get better?

SHOUTO: Yes?

AYUMU: Well! That's a relief to hear! [They clap once.] Sometimes it's hard to tell with you what you're thinking and feeling. You're very closed off. Have you been like that your whole life?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: Why, do you think? Does it feel safer?

SHOUTO: I guess.

AYUMU: Is there anyone you've ever really opened up to...? Maybe in your past or maybe one of your friends?

SHOUTO: Kind of. [He shrugs.] Not a lot.

AYUMU: Would you rather it be a different way? Or are you more... content with this sort of arrangement?

SHOUTO: I don't know. I guess I wish I could.

AYUMU: [They smile softly at that, tilting their head a little.] Why don't you try a little? Maybe you can reach out to someone in your life, tell them a little more about yourself? It doesn't have to be about the bad things...

SHOUTO: I don't know what I'd say.

AYUMU: Well, what do you like?

SHOUTO: Um... [He blinks.] Sex. ... [He looks away, knowing that shouldn't have been the first thing out of his mouth.] I read sometimes.

AYUMU: [They try (and fail) to suppress a little giggle.] Of course... What do you like to read?

SHOUTO: Manga, when I can get it.. Books are good, too...

AYUMU: Oh? Maybe you can reach out to your classmates, see what they like to read? That could be a good conversation starter...

SHOUTO: Maybe.

AYUMU: Or maybe something else... Anything else. Even sex, if you wanna start with that, if that's easier for you... [They nod.] I think to start you really need to learn to reconnect with the things around you. With people, good people, with society... You know! Get more of a sense of what's normal for people...

SHOUTO: ... Yeah. [He looks down, suddenly sad.] I've never connected with people well, though.

AYUMU: ... No? [Expression falling, they look at him for a moment, trying to think a way past his predicament.]... What about your classmates?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.] Not really. I mean. I guess. Sort of.... but it's never really felt... I dunno. Real.

AYUMU: Really? What would make it feel real to you, then...? Do you know?

SHOUTO: ... No.

AYUMU: ... I see...

SHOUTO: ... I have... a friend.. um... he's kind of like me, I guess. Maybe that's the closest.

AYUMU: Oh? Wanna tell me about him?

SHOUTO: ... I dunno. He's been missing. [He frowns.] He's not really like me at all. I guess he just gets it.

SHOUTO: [:(... Frowning now, they nod in understanding.] ... Well... that makes sense, then. It helps when they understand what you've been through, right?

AYUMU: ... Yeah.

SHOUTO: Well... You have group therapy next... [They look at his schedule.] With a bunch of people your age who are dealing with some of the same things... Maybe you can reach out to them if you can't reach out to your classmates?

SHOUTO: [He shrugs.] Maybe.

AYUMU: Good... I'd really like you to. [They perk up, a childish happiness on their face.] Next time I see you, I want you to be able to tell me about a new friend you made! That's your homework for the week, okay?

SHOUTO: ... Okay.

AYUMU: I also want you to write down any violent or "villainous" thoughts you might have during the week... Maybe about your father or that villain you mentioned, or any bad instances that stick out. We'll talk about that. Try and find some positive thoughts or experiences for every villainous one, ones that you can connect more to being "heroic"! We'll go over all that next time. Sound good?

SHOUTO: ... Yeah.

AYUMU: Good! If you do them both, you'll get a nice reward! [They wink.] Otherwise, I'm sending you off to group, now... Unless you have any questions about today? Any of the things we talked about?

SHOUTO: ... No, I don't... [He starts to stand.]

AYUMU: [They stand with him, smiling to themselves.] Good! Then I'll be seeing you soon, Shouto-kun~ [They give him a little pat on the head, ruffling his hair around.]

SHOUTO: Yeah. [He gives a forced smile at the pat and then steps away to leave.]

AYUMU: [Satisfied with that, they start to return to their desk.] Don't forget everything I've said, Shouto-kun! Good luck!

[literateape]

Punishment vs. Rehabilitation: Reprogramming Our Functions

By Mike Vinopal

This is the written version of what was originally performed during Literate Ape's monthly artistic debate series, BUGHOUSE! on November 6, 2017 at Haymarket Pub and Brewery's Drinking and Writing Theatre. Listen to Mike Vinopal's piece along with all the other performances from November's BUGHOUSE! here and view the accompanying video for his piece here. 

I think most people agree that there is good in this world. But not all. 

However, I am certain that we all can agree that bad shit exists in this world. And furthermore, I think that we all can agree, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that bad shit also happens to exist in our worlds.

It doesn’t make you bad, but think of it like a neurotoxin. Everyone can handle a certain level of it, but you need to be able to flush your system of it from time to time. You need a functional release valve on that pressurized chamber we call a consciousness. Things upset you, you eventually let them go, you feel better. If you’re fortunate, traumatic experiences you have are minimal, daily stress is manageable, and your bad shit levels remains in relatively low proportions.

But fortune can be a cruel thing.

If your bad shit levels are off the charts, you’re suffering. Your mind is festering, soaked in neurotoxin. So soaked in fact, your release valve doesn’t even seem to be working. You feel broken. And sometimes you need guidance to put the pieces back together better. Take the broken, take the bad shit, and when you use the pieces to make something new, you build something more beautiful. Something more solid.

Punishment or rehabilitation? Well we all know about punishment. But rehabilitation, less people actually know what it is because it’s a lot more complicated. So I’m gonna break it down in laymen’s terms and try to use some simple words and visuals. How 'bout this?

Let’s use music to represent bad shit. 

Take the theme from Psycho. 

Violins? There’s no doubt in anybody’s mind it sounds violent. But you gotta listen closely to find the beauty in it. You zoom in.

Rehabilitation is adding new ideas to the mix as you listen and learn about a human.

Let's add a drum beat to the mix as a new idea. And slowly, through this process, a person can identify the bad shit and start to remove it.

And some of it, you don’t delete, you need to keep. You just need to move it around, process the pain, and make adjustments within. 

We can dissect another section of the waveform and place it carefully in the mix as a new layer. The music begins playing and continues looping like a hip-hop beat as the monologue transforms into a spoken-word piece, rapping poetically.

This is rehabilitation! Creating an individual who is more internally in harmony, now less prone to breaking rules in our society! 

Punishment makes more bad shit in the brain, the bad shit builds up, makes you go insane. Forming new habits through rehabilitation, training the brain for better solutions. 

For instance, how about this, you wanna punish a criminal? I understand we gotta hold rule breakers accountable. But punishment alone won’t improve the future. The sentence has to have a rehabilitative nature. 

After paying their debt to society, they’ll come out with skills to manage anxiety, maybe something changed their philosophy. Opportunity for education and therapy? Seems fair to me. 

No matter the root of corruption, we can always reprogram our function. 

Think of the children in conditions unimaginable, with a quality of life that is unlivable, you can’t imagine how miserable!

Their whole life experience has been punishment, and some don’t even know where their parents went, so their brains are filled to the top with the bad shit—no cause to them.

They couldn’t choose where they were born. They didn’t pick this life, this form. Maybe for some their only true hope is, getting caught up with drug running and dope shit, banging and violence, thieving and silence. Silent because they can’t talk through their trauma about their daddy or about their mama. 

'Til they run short on luck, or stop giving a fuck and give up. Get themselves locked up. Delaying the pattern, the circle that’s working, round and round for that person. A pause button a cause, a chance to break the patterns of the past, a chance to improve upon their flaws. A chance to process shit at last, breaking down their walls. And as the walls fall...

Maybe they can find a new beginning in it all. 

Or maybe that’s irrelevant—we all got things we’re fighting with. But there is no hope in punishment. That’s no second chance you’re giving them. You’re not sending the message that this is a blessing that you want them to be better. Only thing you’re achieving is depressing, treating them like a lesser, like an animal. 

As far as animals go, we’ve even figured it out for pets, but the courts and corrections facilities for humans, have barely figured it out yet. Solitary confinement? Putting prisoners in the hole? Isolation from other humans should never be the goal. Have you no hearts? Have you no souls?

"Violence and sexual predators," you say? It’s the bad shit in their past that made them this way. Want to treat them like animals, you’re going to breed more animals because all of us living and breathing mammals are highly susceptible, always impressionable, formed by experience, no matter what year it is.

And it’s hard for them to take responsibility, when most of their life has preceded so so shitily, can’t help but see themselves as victims, hitting women 'cause his daddy did, and hit him too while he was at it. 

We take for granted certain securities when were living life in the majority but it’s so much more to me, more than skin color, more than culture, more than socio-economic status. It’s the bastards running the planet, profiting off prisons, lining their pockets, crushing the spirits of millions of nonviolent offenders. One nation under a spiteful God, remember?

We need to be providing empowerment and teach not to be victims of circumstance, try to give them a chance, try to show them a path, may be a little guidance in the process of getting through it, setting goals to follow through with, someone telling you, "You can do it!" Sometimes that’s all that gets you through it!

Let’s start with art, doesn’t really matter what your mediums are, you can paint, play guitar, you are your life’s own star. And we need art and music and whatever your outlet is, jottings in notebooks, sketches on pads, typings on laptops, iPhones, and iPads. Expression’s the only therapy, that truly seems to set folks free, to get the bad shit out of their physical body, and hope to fill it, with the good shit, maybe even eventually, giving back something to their community.

Rehabilitation. No matter the root of corruption, we can always reprogram our functions.

Be sure to check out all the Literate Ape podcasts and I will see you at the next Literate Ape event.

[theliterateape]

Punishment vs. Rehabilitation: Reprogramming Our Functions

By Mike Vinopal

This is the written version of what was originally performed during Literate Ape's monthly artistic debate series, BUGHOUSE! on November 6, 2017 at Haymarket Pub and Brewery's Drinking and Writing Theatre. Listen to Mike Vinopal's piece along with all the other performances from November's BUGHOUSE! here and view the accompanying video for his piece here. 

I think most people agree that there is good in this world. But not all. 

However, I am certain that we all can agree that bad shit exists in this world. And furthermore, I think that we all can agree, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that bad shit also happens to exist in our worlds.

It doesn’t make you bad, but think of it like a neurotoxin. Everyone can handle a certain level of it, but you need to be able to flush your system of it from time to time. You need a functional release valve on that pressurized chamber we call a consciousness. Things upset you, you eventually let them go, you feel better. If you’re fortunate, traumatic experiences you have are minimal, daily stress is manageable, and your bad shit levels remains in relatively low proportions.

But fortune can be a cruel thing.

If your bad shit levels are off the charts, you’re suffering. Your mind is festering, soaked in neurotoxin. So soaked in fact, your release valve doesn’t even seem to be working. You feel broken. And sometimes you need guidance to put the pieces back together better. Take the broken, take the bad shit, and when you use the pieces to make something new, you build something more beautiful. Something more solid.

Punishment or rehabilitation? Well we all know about punishment. But rehabilitation, less people actually know what it is because it’s a lot more complicated. So I’m gonna break it down in laymen’s terms and try to use some simple words and visuals. How 'bout this?

Let’s use music to represent bad shit. 

Take the theme from Psycho. 

Violins? There’s no doubt in anybody’s mind it sounds violent. But you gotta listen closely to find the beauty in it. You zoom in.

Rehabilitation is adding new ideas to the mix as you listen and learn about a human.

Let's add a drum beat to the mix as a new idea. And slowly, through this process, a person can identify the bad shit and start to remove it.

And some of it, you don’t delete, you need to keep. You just need to move it around, process the pain, and make adjustments within. 

We can dissect another section of the waveform and place it carefully in the mix as a new layer. The music begins playing and continues looping like a hip-hop beat as the monologue transforms into a spoken-word piece, rapping poetically.

This is rehabilitation! Creating an individual who is more internally in harmony, now less prone to breaking rules in our society! 

Punishment makes more bad shit in the brain, the bad shit builds up, makes you go insane. Forming new habits through rehabilitation, training the brain for better solutions. 

For instance, how about this, you wanna punish a criminal? I understand we gotta hold rule breakers accountable. But punishment alone won’t improve the future. The sentence has to have a rehabilitative nature. 

After paying their debt to society, they’ll come out with skills to manage anxiety, maybe something changed their philosophy. Opportunity for education and therapy? Seems fair to me. 

No matter the root of corruption, we can always reprogram our function. 

Think of the children in conditions unimaginable, with a quality of life that is unlivable, you can’t imagine how miserable!

Their whole life experience has been punishment, and some don’t even know where their parents went, so their brains are filled to the top with the bad shit—no cause to them.

They couldn’t choose where they were born. They didn’t pick this life, this form. Maybe for some their only true hope is, getting caught up with drug running and dope shit, banging and violence, thieving and silence. Silent because they can’t talk through their trauma about their daddy or about their mama. 

'Til they run short on luck, or stop giving a fuck and give up. Get themselves locked up. Delaying the pattern, the circle that’s working, round and round for that person. A pause button a cause, a chance to break the patterns of the past, a chance to improve upon their flaws. A chance to process shit at last, breaking down their walls. And as the walls fall...

Maybe they can find a new beginning in it all. 

Or maybe that’s irrelevant—we all got things we’re fighting with. But there is no hope in punishment. That’s no second chance you’re giving them. You’re not sending the message that this is a blessing that you want them to be better. Only thing you’re achieving is depressing, treating them like a lesser, like an animal. 

As far as animals go, we’ve even figured it out for pets, but the courts and corrections facilities for humans, have barely figured it out yet. Solitary confinement? Putting prisoners in the hole? Isolation from other humans should never be the goal. Have you no hearts? Have you no souls?

"Violence and sexual predators," you say? It’s the bad shit in their past that made them this way. Want to treat them like animals, you’re going to breed more animals because all of us living and breathing mammals are highly susceptible, always impressionable, formed by experience, no matter what year it is.

And it’s hard for them to take responsibility, when most of their life has preceded so so shitily, can’t help but see themselves as victims, hitting women 'cause his daddy did, and hit him too while he was at it. 

We take for granted certain securities when were living life in the majority but it’s so much more to me, more than skin color, more than culture, more than socio-economic status. It’s the bastards running the planet, profiting off prisons, lining their pockets, crushing the spirits of millions of nonviolent offenders. One nation under a spiteful God, remember?

We need to be providing empowerment and teach not to be victims of circumstance, try to give them a chance, try to show them a path, may be a little guidance in the process of getting through it, setting goals to follow through with, someone telling you, "You can do it!" Sometimes that’s all that gets you through it!

Let’s start with art, doesn’t really matter what your mediums are, you can paint, play guitar, you are your life’s own star. And we need art and music and whatever your outlet is, jottings in notebooks, sketches on pads, typings on laptops, iPhones, and iPads. Expression’s the only therapy, that truly seems to set folks free, to get the bad shit out of their physical body, and hope to fill it, with the good shit, maybe even eventually, giving back something to their community.

Rehabilitation. No matter the root of corruption, we can always reprogram our functions.

Be sure to check out all the Literate Ape podcasts and I will see you at the next Literate Ape event.