vincentstlouis

[vincentstlouis]

We all live by specific rules and laws. We abide by traffic laws, we go into stores when they’re open and leave when they’re closing, we follow the guidelines of our workplace, our children’s school, and our society at large. These structures, no matter how small or how big, are….

READ MORE HERE:

[vincentstlouis]

Pride works in direct opposition to internalized oppression. The latter provides fertile ground for shame, denial, self-hatred, and fear. The former encourages anger, strength, and joy. To transform self-hatred into pride is a fundamental act of resistance....

People who have lived in shame and isolation need all the pride we can muster, not to mire ourselves in a narrowly defined identity politics, but to sustain broad-based rebellion. And likewise, we need a witness to all our histories, both collective and personal. Yet we also need to remember that witness and pride are not the same. Witness pairs grief and rage with remembrance. Pride pairs joy with a determination to be visible. Witness demands primary adherence to and with history. Pride uses history as one of its many tools. Sometimes witness and pride work in concert, other times not. We cannot afford to confuse, merge, blur the two.

By Eli Clare

*photo comes from the Matthew Shepard memorial in Laramie Wyoming. For more on Matthew Shepard, click here:

[vincentstlouis]

`The springtime for earthly trees occurreth once every year, while the one for human trees appeareth in the Days of God …’

~Baha'u'llah

[vincentstlouis]

🌹Feeling inspired by these beautiful words of Bahá'u'lláh. . During this time when everyone is facing challenges, I felt inspired to compile a number of songs on the theme of solace and upliftment from all my albums released over the course of the last 20 years. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This compilation album, ‘Songs of Solace’, includes The Long Healing Prayer, the prayer for natural disasters, prayers for protection and assistance, and prayers to be recited during times of difficulty. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ My aim in releasing this album now is so that you can share it with friends who are going through difficult times. We all need words of comfort and these songs were specially chosen to bring solace, protection and healing. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ LINK in BIO to listen/download the album. . . . #bahai #musiciansofinstagram #musicianslife #musicianforlife #worshipmusicians #elikamahony #elikamahonymusic #composerlife #songsofcomfort #prayerforprotection #bahaiprayers #songsofsolace #spiritualmusic #prayers #upliftingmusic #bahaimusician #bahaifaith #bahaiquote #bahaullah #bahaiquotes #bahais #wordsofwisdom #worldcitizen #quoteoftheday #inspiration #inspiringwords #upliftingquote #spirituality #bahaiwritings #bahaiquoteoftheday https://www.instagram.com/p/CAP1lg_ALc8/?igshid=1gfim9slaitv6

[vincentstlouis]

“The Blessed Beauty often remarked: « There are four qualities which I love to see manifested in people: first, enthusiasm and courage; second, a face wreathed in smiles and a radiant countenance; third, that they see all things with their own eyes and not through the eyes of others; fourth, the ability to carry a task, once begun, through to its end. »”

— Stories of Bahá’u’lláh

[vincentstlouis]

Researchers found the female body was better suited for endurance activity “which would have been critical in early hunting because they would have had to run the animals down into exhaustion before actually going in for the kill”.

Scientists said the hormones oestrogen and adiponectin – typically present in higher quantities in female bodies – play a key role in enabling women to modulate glucose and fat, which is critical for athletic performance.

[vincentstlouis]

Sam stood up from the table.

Beth stood up as well.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

Sam shrugged and smiled meekly. “You know…I don’t really know.”

Beth’s eyes washed across the small quaint kitchen.

“I could make you something to eat.” She suggested.

Sam gazed down at the floor thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’m very hungry.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Sam, began to head for the door.

“You know,” he said, looking up into Beth’s bright eyes, “I think it might finally be time for me to go home.”

Beth smiled and a tear spilled from her left eye, “That sounds nice.” She said, and briskly wiped it away.

“Why are you crying?” Sam asked.

Beth gave an embarrassed giggle. “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

Sam took a deep breath. He felt completely positive that if he focused his energy, he could make the leap home right now. No, not here. He thought. I want it to be outside.

This caused a laugh to climb up to the back of his throat. His mind was filled with the sudden absurdity of the previous thought. What in the world did it matter if he took the leap here in Al’s kitchen or if he took it outside? Beth had seen his facial expression change and her’s did likewise.

“What is it?” She asked.

Sam shrugged again and took a step toward the door. “I think I just need some air.”

Beth nodded and smiled. “Air sounds nice.”

She followed Sam to the front door, which he opened, and then he pushed open a metal screen door. The hinges protested loudly. A blast of thick swampy air hit him in the face, followed quickly by a cacophony of insect sounds.

“Whew” Sam said, stepping out unto the porch. “It’s hot.”

Beth carefully guided the screen door closed behind her. “Not hot” she corrected. “Muggy.”

Sam smiled and repeated the word thoughtfully. “Muggy.”

Beth leaned against a column beside the front porch steps. “You can see the future?” She asked thoughtfully, looking up at the countless stars in the sky.

Sam followed her gaze into the celestial heavens. “Something like that.” He replied.

Beth sighed. “So you know when this stupid war will be over and everything is gonna go back to normal.”

Sam laughed in spite of himself.

Beth’s eyes shot down from the stars and aimed directly for him. “What’s so funny?” She asked.

Sam waved a hand at her. “Oh nothing.” He said. “The war will end.” He replied. “But nothing will ever go back to the way it was.”

Beth nodded thoughtfully and bit her lip. Her gaze returned again to the stars. “Nothing ever does.” She replied.

And then, Sam felt it. The tingling crawling sensation. Every atom of his body put to motion. The fiber of his being turning to light at the Quantum Level.

But NO, he thought. This was wrong, he thought. He had not directed this Leap. He had not wanted it. Something was pulling him. He was out of control again. The world turned to white and he felt his existence shifting. The familiar, damnable pulling that he knew so well.

But I thought I had mastered it, he thought. I thought I had control.

The image of the world began to burn into the white around him. Existence dissolved into form, into being. The white faded and color rushed forth around him. The tingling abided and he felt himself once again embody a shape—a humanoid shape. He felt the gravity of his being, felt the sensations of possessing hair and skin and bones. He tasted something in his mouth, something sweet. Sweet iced tea?

His ears were assaulted by the sound of a church organ, slowly droning away. A baritone voice accompanied it, singing a hymn all to familiar to Sam, for he had often heard his mother sing it while cooking in the kitchen, back home on the farm in Elk Ridge, Indiana.

“When burdens press, and seem beyond endurance.

Bowed down with grief, to Him I lift my face.”

Sam’s vision came into focus. He sat in some kind of living room, nothing immediately familiar to him. The walls were wood paneling, and there was a large gold rimmed clock on the wall opposite him. Directly in front of him was a large old fashioned Black and White Television with rabbit ears. A buxom woman in a flower print dress was on the grainy screen, singing into a microphone.

And then in love He brings me sweet assurance:

My child! For thee sufficient is my grace.”

Sam looked to the left and saw a Middle Aged looking gentleman sitting in a recliner, only separated from the couch by a cherry wood end table adorned with a small lamp. Steel blue eyes peered through a wrinkled face at the screen, but Sam could almost immediately tell that these eyes were not watching the screen, they were looking through it. The man was far away inside the recesses of his own mind.

Sam put his hands down on the brown leather couch and stood up. He walked over to the wall to the left of the TV and clock to where some photographs were hung in gilded frames. They were of no one he had ever seen before. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the frames and knew at once he was no longer Sam Beckett. Sam instinctively touched his head. It came away greasy from some kind of product.

Sam looked back to the middle aged man. The man’s expression had not changed one bit. From his vantage point Sam could see down a hallway where there was an open door. From the slight view of the wall inside the room, he could tell it was probably some kind of bathroom. He headed right for it and was gratified to see that he was right. Almost as soon as he shut the door to turn around and check out himself in the mirror, movement caught his eye coming from the bathtub.

Sam looked and saw the hologram of his friend. His partner. The man whom he had shared so many of his journeys through time. Al Calavicci stood beside him. He wore an offensively bright Hawaiian t-shirt, and the hand that held the Handlink device also held his trademark cigar. His face was worn and haggard—full of concern.

“Dammit Sam! Where the hell have you been?” Al asked.

“What do you mean?” Sam replied, “Where the hell am I?”

“Ziggy’s been trying to find you for over thirty six hours and we had nobody in the imaging chamber. We thought you were gone!” Al said, chewing his cigar.

Sam looked at himself in the mirror. He was inhabiting the body of a young man, High School age, perhaps 16 or 17. He was handsome, strong jawline, and wore his hair back in some kind of 50s Greaser Style. He wore a white t-shirt with suspenders and gray slacks. Sam blinked and shook his head, not wanting to believe it.

“I was just in your living room, Al. I was just with Beth. I was telling her…”

Al’s face tightened. “With Beth?” He asked. “What the hell are you talking about that you were with Beth?”

“I was with Beth.” Sam repeated. “I could control my own leaps. I was in my own body. It was me. It was my birthday.”

Al frowned. “You must have been dreaming,” he said and looked down at the Handlink.“Your last leap was as the young Elvis Presley in Memphis, Tennessee. You helped a young woman named Sue Anne…”

“I know all that!” Sam snapped. “After that. After that, I leapt into myself. It was my birthday and I was back in Pennsylvania.”

Al began shaking his head but Sam persisted. “And you were there and you were a bartender. I came in and ordered a Shlitz.”

“A Shlitz?” Al cocked his head to one side.

“And all around me was everyone I had ever helped. And Gooshie was there. And…Stawpah.”

“Stawpah?” Al repeated.

“Yes, but then, you were also there. Not just you who was the bartender, but actually you.”

Al rolled his eyes. “And you were there, and you were there, and you were there, and Toto was there too!” He waved his hand, cigar smoke coiling around his head. “Sam, can’t you see that it was a dream?!”

“No, it couldn’t have been!” Sam cried out and then stopped, remembering that he was inhabiting the body of someone else, somewhere, in some strange house. It was unwise to attract attention.

Al sighed. “You’ve been MIA for a day and a half. Ziggy must be on the fritz. And now you say, that you could control your own leaps? And you went to visit my wife? Beth?!”

Sam jabbed a finger at Al, “Exactly! Your wife. Only, she wasn’t your wife anymore before I leaped to her. I told her you were coming back from Vietnam and to wait for you, and then she…”

Al shook his head, “What in the name of Jesus, Joseph, and Mary are you talking about??!”

Sam put his hands on the sink. “It doesn’t matter,” he said after a long pause. “I’m telling you, for a split second, I could control my leaps. I was tying up some loose ends, and then I was on my way home.”

“Sam” Al’s tone made Sam turn his head to look back at him. “Are you sure this wasn’t a dream.”

Sam thought for a long time. Then he shrugged and sat down on the toilet. His body briefly flickered through the leg of the hologram of his friend in the close confines of the bathroom. “I guess I can’t be sure.” He said finally. “But it didn’t feel like a dream. And you are married to Beth, am I right?”

Al smiled, “Happily!”

Sam shot up from the toilet, “Then it couldn’t have been a dream. I did that! I fixed that!”

Al frowned, “Fixed what?”

Sam waved a hand at him, “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. The important question is, where am I? Who am I? And why do I no longer have control?”

Al looked at the Handlink device in his hand. “That’s three questions Sam.” He replied.

Sam looked in the mirror again and inspected his face. He did not look at all familiar.

Al read the data off of his hand-link. “I’ll have to ask the pencil pushers back home about everything you’ve said,” he said, “and it appears Ziggy is still having a bit of trouble because the data I’m getting back is completely wonky.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised, “What do you mean?”

Al shrugged, “It’s hard to explain. Ziggy says that your name is George McFly. You’re a senior in High School and this is Hill Valley California, Thursday November 10th, 1955.”

Sam smiled at himself in the mirror, “That explains the hair.”

Al ignored him. “After that I have nothing. No probabilities for the future whatsoever. The data keeps changing. Information keeps appearing and reappearing like the ticker at the stock exchange or something.”

Sam frowned, “Perhaps George McVy…”

“Fly” Al corrected him, “McFly, like the insect.”

“McFly,” Sam continued, “Perhaps George McFly is on the verge of something really meaningful in his life.”

Al chewed his cigar some more, “Everyone you leap into is on the verge of something really meaningful in their life. That’s the whole reason you are here.” He slapped the Handlink and squinted at it, “But I’ve never seen data fluctuations like this. And I can’t help thinking that is has something to do with you going MIA for thirty-six hours.”

Sam frowned, “Perhaps me gaining control over my own Quantum Field caused the fluctuations.”

Al tilted his head, “I guess that’s what we have to figure out.”

Sam looked in the mirror again, “Okay. What do we know about George McFly.”

Al shrugged, “His father Arthur saw heavy combat in World War I and was honorably discharged as shell shocked. His mother Sylvia works as a secretary at a Studebacker dealership and takes care of Arthur and George. He’s an only child.”

Sam frowned, “And no clues as to why I am here?”

Al shook his head, “Without any sort of hard data probabilities, I got nothing.” He said, “I don’t know if George is gonna fall out of a tree. Get hit by a car. Meet the love of his life. I got nothing.”

Sam turned toward the door. “Well, maybe I can find something out.”

Al nodded. “Maybe I can too.” He said, “But Sam?”

Sam turned back to the hologram of his friend.

“Be careful” Al warned, “Don’t get lost this time.”

Sam nodded and the hologram disappeared.

Sam slowly turned the knob of the bathroom door and stepped back into the hallway. The church singing on the TV had turned to the loud shouting of a preacher with a strong Southern accent. Sam looked to the right and saw a bedroom door opened a crack. He pushed it the rest of the way and saw what was undoubtedly George McFly’s bedroom.

The room was relatively small and straightforward, reflecting a certain modesty of a mid-20th century American home. It was adorned in blue and white wallpaper, with a simple bed, a dresser, and a desk piled high with what looked like comic books. Sam moved in and began leafing through them, some he recognized from his own childhood. SciFi fare, one of the many bricks that built his love for science and led him down the path to be a Quantum Physicist and eventually a time traveler.

There was “Space Adventures”, “Space Man #3”, “Fantastic Story”, “Weird Science”, and one of Sam’s personal favorites as a kid: “Wally Wood Strange Tales of Science Fiction”. Beneath a stack of notebooks, Sam saw a hardcover book. This he picked up, inspecting the title, “How To Win Friends and Influence People”. A pang blossomed in Sam’s chest. “Not a very popular guy are we George?” He said to himself.

Sam was about to leaf through the notebook when he heard the sound of a door—probably the front door to the house—opening from down the hall. There was the rattle of keys, the thud of the door closing, and the sound of high heels on a tile floor.

“I got the cookies you like Artie!” A woman’s voice exclaimed. “McNary’s had them Buy One Get One Half Off! GEORGIE!! OH GEORGIE!!” She called.

Cautiously Sam/George peaked his head down the hallway and saw a middle-aged woman he recognized from the living room photographs. George’s mother was tall, shapely, and attractive with Lucille Ball orange hair and red red lipstick. A cigarette dangled from her mouth as she set two paper bags on the kitchen counter. Her green eyes caught sight of her son and she said, “There you are! Come help me with these!”

Sam obediently sidled across the living room, passed the preacher on the grainy black and white TV, and stood beside Sylvia McFly. She handed him a metal tin of Saltine crackers. “George, are you feeling okay? You look….strange.” She said, taking a long pull off of her cigarette.

Sam shrugged. “I’m fine.” He said quietly.

She frowned and took another drag. “Well, don’t just stand there, put those crackers up.” She said.

Sam looked around the kitchen and approached a cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Sylvia asked, looking at him perplexedly.

Sam didn’t know what to say.

Sylvia pointed to a door beside the large lead refrigerator. The cigarette pressed between her fingers wafted smoke towards the ceiling. “The crackers go in the pantry George.” She said.

Sam pressed George’s face into a smile. “Oh right.” He said quietly.

Sylvia rolled her eyes and retrieved a carton of eggs from the bag. “Some young man outside told me to tell you something.” She said. “Do you know someone named Marty?”

Sam opened the pantry door and deposited the tin of crackers on one of the paper-lined shelved. “Um. Yes, I think so.” He replied and then turned to see the woman who was supposed to be his mother heading toward the fridge with the eggs.

“Well, he told me to tell you that if you change your mind about the dance, to meet him outside of Lou’s Diner after school tomorrow.” She said, depositing the eggs and then closing the fridge. She looked her son square in the face. “Were you planning on going to a dance?”

Sam’s mind raced. Could this be it? Could some kind of school dance be the pivotal moment in George McFly’s life that he was sent into this body for?

“Um..perhaps.” Sam replied.

Sylvia pulled out a large head of lettuce and turned back to the fridge. “Well that could be exciting,” she replied, “I just thought it was strange that you didn’t tell me about it.”

Sam shrugged. “I kind of just found out about it.” He answered.

Sylvia deposited the lettuce into the fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of milk. “Well I think you could have a great time.” She said, turning toward a cupboard to grab a glass. “It would do you good to get out of the house, and your nose out of these comic books you’re always reading.”

Sam forced George’s face into a smile. “I guess.”

She poured a glass of milk and returned it back to the fridge. “Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked.

Sam shrugged. “I just have a lot on my mind I guess.” He replied.

Sylvia stubbed her cigarette out into a glass ashtray on the counter and smiled. “I know how that is.” She replied, “Why don’t you go get your shower and I’ll figure out something to eat.”

Sam nodded, “Okay,” he said simply.

“How does Baked Chicken and Green Beans and Mashed Potatoes sound?” She asked.

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Sounds…amazing.” He answered.

“Coming right up” Sylvia said, and took a big sip of her milk.

Sam turned and headed back to the bathroom. A place in this strange house he was already acquainted with.

⏪️PREVIOUS

CONTENTS

NEXT ⏩️ (coming soon)

[vincentstlouis]

INTRODUCTION

Why?

Why make a fan fiction of “Back To The Future?” Why mash up “Back To The Future” and “Quantum Leap”? What gives me the right? The sheer audacity?

Well…..

This project is a companion to another project, that being “Back To The Playlist”, which is a collection of playlists inside a profile on either Apple Music and Spotify. This little labor of love combines my love of music and one of my favorite things: Time Travel.

I love all things Time Travel. From Stephen King’s “11/22/63” to “Quantum Leap”, to of course “Back To The Future”. The 1985 original film was the very first movie I remember my parents renting from a small rental store called “Video Video”
 in Jacksonville Beach, Florida. Seeing “Back To The Future II” in the theater is one of my earliest memories, and I can only recall in spurts, which is odd considering that the third film I remember seeing in the cinema vividly, despite them only being released mere months apart.

I began “Back To The Playlist” as “RadioVSL” in 2018. I included some “Back To The Future” imagery in the playlists from the beginning, but the focus was really about showcasing the popular music of every decade, in every genre, from the beginnings of recorded music until today. After more than three years of meticulous playlist curation, my engagement from Spotify and Apple Music listeners remained at a solid nil.

In 2023, I decided to try and boost engagement by rebranding “RadioVSL” as “Marty’s Music”, and leaning into the “Back To The Future” troupes. My engagement did increase. In fact, it doubled! I went from 6 followers on Spotify (most of whom were family and friends) to 12!

Some time in early 2024, me and my longtime creative partner Padraig Graywolfe began to chart a path forward for multiple creative endeavors. This resulted in the creation of “Mary’s Gate Entertainment”, an umbrella organization for several projects that include original music, storytelling, podcasts, social media, etc. After careful inquiries into internet trafficking, we concluded three things.

We had a lot of “brand competition” to someone on YouTube called Marty Music. This, seemingly very nice individual, teaches people how to play guitar. I myself have used some of his lessons and think he is very informative and good at what he does.

We determined that it was probably difficult for a passerby (in the internet sense) to decipher just what the playlist profile was. Is it just a BTTF fan? What exactly is it?

We determined that maybe people weren’t all that interested in curated playlists at all. Maybe people just want to make their own playlists.

Well I can’t do anything about C. And there is probably a lot of truth in C. But as for A and B, we came up with the idea for the name “Back To The Playlist”. That name pretty much says it all. It’s a musical time travel adventure.

Okay, okay, what does this have to do with this fan fiction? Don’t worry…I’m getting to that. I decided that these playlist profiles were never going to make me money. They were always going to be a labor of love. They were always just going to be a hobby. I was determined to set them up, make it look the best it can be, and make it be as immersive as it can be.

This is where the fan fiction begins. I wanted a way to connect some of the playlists to some kind of “thing”. I needed some kind of connective tissue, running through the whole thing. This fan fiction is the result of weeks and weeks of deliberation on that. My imagination just kind of ran wild, and this is what I came up with.

Yes—-I threw EVERYTHING at the wall. And no I’m not ashamed.

My goal is to bring in the “Back To The Future” fans, the “Quantum Leap” fans, the time travel fans. Come for the story, stay for the playlists, imbibe in the rest of the many many many creative projects that are to come. I’m looking forward to it, and I hope after you read this project, you will be too.

I’d also like to mention another fan fiction project that I started here on Tumblr…way way way back in 2010. It’s called “Haddonfield”, and it’s based on the Halloween movie franchise universe. After David Gordon Greene and John Carpenter began writing the scripts for “Halloween” (2018) and I found out pretty much everything I was writing was being retconned, I abandoned the project. Working on this project however has breathed new life into my motivations for that one, and I’d like to just say that there’s some good things brewing in this head of mine for that as well.

Peace, love, joy. Be kind. Enjoy the journey.

Your friend in time.

Vincent St. Louis

April 14, 2025.

⏪️BACK TO CONTENTS 🕐

NEXT ⏩️

LISTEN TO BACK TO THE PLAYLIST:

CHECK OUT HADDONFIELD

WHO IS VINCENT ST. LOUIS?

MARY’S GATE ENTERTAINMENT

[vincentstlouis]

Black Girl With a Pearl, 2018

Photographer: Jenny Boot

Model: Norah Namuddu

@Jennyboot_photography, a take on Johannes Vermeer’s Girl With a Pearl Earring.

[vincentstlouis]

Gravesite of women’s voting rights activist Susan B Anthony at Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York

via 💛🤍💜

[vincentstlouis]

Red Army Musician

German Arkadyevich Semerov (ca. 1970s)

[vincentstlouis]

[vincentstlouis]

telling people that the nazis were socialists is holocaust denial by the way

[vincentstlouis]

That’s a shame…oh well

also

[vincentstlouis]

[vincentstlouis]

People have always known that fire was special. Long, long ago, before people made matches or candles or even made houses, people knew that fire was special. There was the great fire in the sky, the sun, which made the earth warm and made night into day. And there were the smaller fires that people made, fires that cooked their food, and kept them warm, and brought them light.

People honored the fires, because fire was special. Fire was more than human. Fire has power: it can create and it can destroy. It can bring light and it can burn. It can create and it can destroy. Fire can be wonderful, and fire can be terrible. We have to be careful with fire.

And so, people thought that fire was something sacred and holy. Some people even worshiped fire, and said that fire was a deity, like a goddess or a god. Other people said fire wasn’t actually the deity, but just meant that the deity was there.

No matter what they believed, people all over the world gave fire a special place in their religions. They had fires in their homes, of course, to cook food and keep warm, and they also had sacred fires in their temples. They set sacred lamps on their altars. They lit sacred bonfires outside on the hilltops and in the groves. They placed sacred torches near the graves of those who died.

We still do this today. In Washington, DC, near the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, burns an eternal flame that never goes out. In churches at Christmas time, many Christians light four candles on an Advent wreath. During the eight days of Hanukkah, Jews light the eight candles of the menorah. At Diwali, Hindus set small lamps all around the house.

And when Unitarian Universalists gather, we light a chalice. This is our sacred fire.

By Elizabeth Harding

[vincentstlouis]

“…as the old saying goes: if you teach a man to fish, he will feed himself for a lifetime. But if you just give him a fishing pole, he’ll have to teach himself.”

Zechariah Barrett

Happy Hump Day fuckers.