I am named after my 3rd Great Grandmother. When delving into her details I have found some quite interesting rabbit holes and I am convinced she is gifting me with information to pursue.
I found an obituary for her husband that I believe she wrote. The obituary details his leadership in the Confederate Army and ends with this:

• After the War, they (he and the Mrs. ) became members of the First Baptist Church of Atlanta in 1866. They never placed their membership elsewhere. Both of them became students of Emmanuel Swedenborg’s writings and enjoyed the wonderful spiritual and intellectual uplift which such study gives to a seeker after true religion.

Wow! If that doesn't start a few things! Baptist AND Swedenborg. I'd love to know more. I can document with a handwritten paper when they joined the church (what a treasure), and raised their children and served there until his death in 1920. She died in 1928.
She was a teacher and operated her own school for girls, preparing them for college and careers. I'd truly believe her work helped women progress and be granted the right to vote.
She wrote a short story late in her life that is fiction , but includes verifiable facts about her family growing up, and her parents being baptized by their oldest son in the river. The story talks about a rich, full life and ends (without credit), but I believe it was commonly recognized, of a poem called The Sleep by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. This poem seems to reference Psalm 127:2. He giveth his beloved sleep. Wasn't Browning a follower of Swedenborg?

Hi, i’m basically just going to dump my senior year into this post.. it’s super long… going into my senior year in the fall, I had a boyfriend since junior year at 16. it was kind of messy when we got first started dating, because he was one of my recent friends ex-boyfriend of like two years . with the things he would do to me, i thought i deserved it because of how shitty i felt about myself for what i did. I was really confused because I thought I “loved him”, but some of the things he would do to me I knew weren’t okay or normal. like some examples are that he spit in my face in the middle of an argument, he choked me, several times, he would stay outside of my house when I tried to break up with him, and when I would park, he would come out from the side and choke me and tell me that I was making a mistake by breaking up with him. he also burned me with second degree burns and i made up excuses for him afterwards, telling people i had bandages on my arm because i dropped hot food on myself. And after every abusive thing he would do, he would end up “love bombing” me. like he wrote a 4 page story about us, wrote very long poems about why he loved me, and always talked about us getting married etc. take in mind he also cheated the first month in with the ex from before, and i should have left then but i ended up breaking up with him 10 months after when he choked me the week before. that’s when i knew that how he treated me wasn’t okay. i never told my friends about any of it while i was going through it. after the break up he wouldn’t stop calling me and following me. i was in a parking lot, a 30 minute drive away from him with my friend, who goes to another school, when i callled him to leave me alone and have a mutual, peaceful breakup (that’s all i wanted) he showed up in about 15 minutes after i turned off my location and tried getting me out of the car, but my friend ended up getting out herself and telling him that he needed to leave. i was so confused on if i should break up with him or if i was being dramatic. so the next day in class during school i made a pros and cons list (it ended up being all cons). i was also researching , questioning if what he was doing was wrong. i never listed out everything he did to me before, it was all jumbled in my head so once i wrote it down, i knew that it was abusive. the next day, somehow my document got flagged by Ai for the school and my counselor called me in and said he had to report it to the police department and call my parents. i was an absolute mess, i couldn’t stop crying and i begged my parents to not do anything. he also checked the cameras in school, and he told my parents that my ex was following me around all week and i hadn’t even realized it. so that night, my parents took me in the department, and because i was a minor, they decided to press charges. i was so angry, hurt, sad and when i tell you, the following weeks i begged them to not get the police involved and just “talk” with his parents. that didn’t happen. so i got interviewed and the police recommended that i filed for a DV restraining order. i felt so shameful and i knew that it would effect my social life. i blocked him on all socials after, and he ended up coming to my house while my parents were home and calling and texting them for 20 minutes trying to get inside the house. saying he needed to “see me” . they called the cops but he left and then the cops ended up going to his house and interviewed and served him. during the restraining order process, we went to the court about three times which is pretty abnormal for a RO. Because we were trying to make accommodations for him to still be able to go to school, but he ended up lying on the affidavit and his lawyer was like, illegally representing our principal, and the school ended up expelling him for that reason. the principal ended up, calling my parents to tell them that he got expelled, and he said that going to a private school was a privilege not a right. And during this time, people started to know why he wasn’t at school anymore, and I go to a very small school, and I heard that some people were saying that he never “seemed like the type to do anything like that.” I never talk about the situation with anyone, except for my two closest friends, I don’t tell anybody details, so everything was known by telephone or by his friends. i don’t like to talk about the whole situation with anybody because I feel like that’s a bad look on my part if that makes sense? Fast forward to spring, him, and his ex started hooking up again, and she left her boyfriend for him, but she keeps going back and forth between her two exes and i can tell it’s probably still toxic. she also doesn’t believe me. sometimes I think that, maybe the reason that she doesn’t believe me, is that if she does accept it, she might have to recognize that some of the behaviors that he’s done to her aren’t acceptable, and might fall under abuse. and prom is coming up, and his best friend hosts the huge after party every year, which basically the whole senior grade is invited, like 70 people. But his friend didn’t invite me, and invited him. And I’m trying to not let it bother me, but the fact that he’s going to be there with the whole grade just kind of hurts me. while he is at an after party for a school he doesn’t go to anymore, im gong to be sitting at home. and also every single one of my “friends” are going. and some people are saying that they feel bad for me and others will say in response “she did it to herself” which makes me really upset, because I never wanted anything to get out in the first place. And also another one of my closest friends always plays neutral in the middle, and that upsets me too, but I don’t really ever say anything about it. when i mean “neutral”, he will hang out with the ex, sometimes the ex will try and invite my friend to go hang out with her and my abuser, and I don’t know why it upsets me, but it does… i just feel like it’s accepting his behavior and invalidates everything . I also texted the best friend who is hosting prom, and I have never been confrontational about what happened, but I said what he did was shitty to do. And he told me basically summed up, that I was the one that got the restraining order on him and that my ex wasn’t a “criminal”. and I guess in the end, it’s good that the charges went through, and I have a restraining order, because if I never had any of that, people around me would think I was the girl who cried wolf. people at my school never talk about it to my face, but I know that they talk about it behind my back. also, two months after I got the restraining order I ended up talking to a guy at a party that I’ve kind of been in love with since i was 14, and he asked me what happened to him and said “you’re crazy”. which I know isn’t anything too mean, but I just feel like that implies the view of a lot of guys in our grade towards me for the whole situation. Also, sidenote, that night, when we were hanging out, I remembered what it was like to have normal interactions between a boy and a girl in a relationship, and it just felt really nice for one night. i just kind of hate the position I’m in, and I wish none of it ever happened, and I feel so emotionally, detached, and like I’ll never really find genuine love. Which I’m not looking for at all right now. but I have to prep myself before I walk into school everyday and through out the day I ask God to give me strength about 30 times . And I don’t really know how to feel better. i’m 18 now and going to be graduating soon, and but sometimes it’s just really hard. I don’t really know why am posting this, but I feel like I just need some guidance or something.

Hey there, I'll try to keep this short.
My ex and I were together for 5 years. I broke up with him in March. The reason for that was because after about 2 years of our relationship, my boyfriend simply stopped being the romantic and caring person he was in the beginning of the relationship. We wouldn't kiss (only small pecks), we wouldn't have sex (the last time we had sex was 4 years ago), he would rarely compliment me, etc. I felt bad because I never changed, I have always been very romantic, and at times I'd feel I was the only one actually trying to show love.
Yes, I did talk to him about this. Three times to be more precise, in the beginning of 2023, in the middle and in the end. He would always explain to me that unfortunately, he was not in a place mentally where he could provide me with the attention I needed, but that he loved me a lot and did not want to lose me and that he was treating that in therapy. He even told me he would understand if I left because I deserved someone that could give me what I needed, he also told me his therapist said "Your partner is being way too patient with you."
Even though I was not feeling loved, I stayed because I thought this would pass and I care so much for him, I could see he wasn't doing that on purpose. And besides those details, we have a great relationship. We never fought, I know he loves me, and I love him. It's a great connection.
However, after more than a year feeling unwanted and unloved and seeing no changes, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't feel loved, so I decided to break up. After the breakup, my ex has immensely changed. He started writing me poems, he started complimenting me, he bought us promise rings, finally came out to his parents (yes, his parents didn't know I exist), and is promising that he has now healed in therapy and can finally give me everything he ever wanted to but couldn't.
I'm extremely confused. I don't know if this is for real, or he simply freaked out because I did the unimaginable and broke up (he never thought I would do that, he said), or if I should give him another chance.
Have any of you ever gave a person another like this chance and it worked?

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My friend Yan is putting on a comedy show at Cloud & Spirits this Thursday. Tickets are limited; go check it out I promise you'll have fun.

THURSDAY - MAY 16

Tapered Expectations XXI: "Above the Clouds" - A Standup Comedy Event @ Cloud & Spirits @ 7PM Acquired Taste Comedy is back at Cloud & Spirits with another signature Standup Comedy Event. Catch a carefully curated selection of the area's funniest comics along with a special musical guest at a breathtaking cocktail bar in Central Square!
Red Sox vs Rays @ Fenway Park @ 7:10PM
Asi Wind’s Magic Show @ The Wilbur @ 7:30PM Being one of the most-watched magicians in the world, Asi Wind presents a new show where he pushes the limits of belief even further with unbelievable mind-reading and astonishing magic.
Candlelight: A Tribute to Adele in Concert @ Temple Ohabei Shalom @ 7PM / 9PM
Marc Martel & One Vision of Queen Concert @ Symphony Hall @ 7:30PM The Pops will rock you when Marc Martel brings the iconic anthems of Queen to Symphony Hall.
Diana Ross @ Wang Theatre @ 7:30PM See the iconic and legendary Diana Ross perform the hits that have defined her career.
Cooper Alan @ Paradise Rock Club @ 8PM With Thomas Mac
Lords of Acid @ Brighton Music Hall @ 6:30PM
Ben Beal @ City Winery @ 7:30PM

FRIDAY - MAY 17

Bruins vs Panthers @ TD Garden
Madeleine Peyroux @ The Wilbur @ 8PM
Neil Young & Crazy Horse @ Xfinity Center @ 7:30PM
Wild Child @ Paradise Rock Club @ 8PM
Soen @ Brighton Music Hall @ 8PM
Tye Tribbett and Friends @ Orpheum Theatre @ 7:30PM
Galantis @ Big Night Live @ 9:30PM
Hermanos Gutiérrez @ Royale @ 6PM
Tinlicker @ Royale @ 10PM
Buck Meek of Big Thief @ Crystal Ballroom @ 8PM
Anders Osborne Trio @ City Winery @ 7:30PM

SATURDAY - MAY 18

Watertown Porchfest @ Watertown @ All day
Revolution vs Philadelphia Union @ Gillette Stadium @ 7:30PM
Dancing on the Charles @ Marsh Post #442 @ 3PM Montreal deep house DJ Fred Everything headlines this marathon outdoor dance party, running from late afternoon into the night.
Ales & Tales @ Stone Zoo @ 5:30PM Walk on the wild side while enjoying local craft beverages. This popular beer tasting event is a favorite among animal and beer lovers alike!
Kite & Bike Festival @ Franklin Park @ 12PM This Boston tradition brings families together to enjoy picnicking, kite flying, bicycles & music.
Ongoing - Artisan Market @ Rose Kennedy Greenway @ 11AM
Kevin James Comedy Show @ Chevalier Theatre @ 4:30PM / 7:30PM
Jimmy Failla Comedy Show @ Shubert Theatre @ 8PM
‘Encanto’ in Concert @ Symphony Hall @ 2PM Disney’s Academy Award-winning film comes to life in a concert event, featuring the entire feature-length film with a full orchestra performing the score.
The String Cheese Incident @ MGM Music Hall @ 7:15PM
Robyn Schall Stand Up @ The Wilbur @ 7PM
Sorry Papi @ House of Blues @ 9PM
James Arthur @ Roadrunner @ 8PM With Forest Blakk
The Music of Talking Heads & More for Kids @ Paradise Rock Club @ 11AM *Presented by The Rock and Roll Playhouse
Orgy + COLD @ Brighton Music Hall @ 8PM
Gimme Gimme Disco @ Big Night Live @ 5:30PM
Arty @ Big Night Live @ 10:30PM
The Messthetics and James Brandon Lewis @ Crystal Ballroom @ 8PM
Chris Smither + Peter Mulvey @ City Winery @ 7:30PM

SUNDAY - MAY 19

Celtics vs Cavaliers @ TD Garden
Kite Festival @ Revere Beach Kick off beach season with a fun day for the whole family complete with build-your-own kite stations, professional kite flyers, live music, and other activities!
Ongoing - Open Market @ SoWa @ 11AM One of the largest open-air farmer and artist markets returns this summer season!
‘Dropouts’ Podcast Live @ Paradise Rock Club @ 7PM Come see internet stars Zach Justice, Tara Yummy & Jared Bailey discuss latest hot topics, celebrity gossip, and personal dramas live!
Electric Callboy @ MGM Music Hall @ 7PM
Deko @ Brighton Music Hall @ 7PM With Yameii
Mk.gee @ The Sinclair @ 7:30PM
Guppy @ The Rockwell @ 7:30PM
Big Bad Voodoo Daddy @ The Wilbur @ 7PM
Compaq Big Band @ City Winery @ 7:30PM

ALL WEEKEND

FRIDAY & SATURDAY - Amanda Seales Stand Up @ Laugh Boston
FRIDAY & SATURDAY - Zach Brazao Stand Up @ Nick’s Comedy Stop @ 8PM
SATURDAY & SUNDAY - ‘Bluey’s Big Play’ Show @ Wang Theatre ‘Bluey’s Big Play’ is a brand-new theatrical adaptation of the Emmy award-winning children’s television series featuring new music and new character adventures.
All weekend - Jukebox The Ghost @ The Sinclair @ 8PM
All weekend - Nantucket Wine & Food Festival Enjoy food and drinks tastings, seminars, brunches, and parties as the annual festival uncorks the island for the summer!
All weekend -’Hallyu Hits: Korean Films that Moved the World @ MFA See the best of Korean cinema including ‘Oldboy,’ ‘Parasites,’ and ‘Burning.’
All weekend - ‘Spring Experience’ Ballet @ Citizens Bank Opera House LAST CHANCE - Explore Boston Ballet’s dynamic and captivating Spring program composed of three masterful ballets featuring classical and modern dance elements.
All weekend - ‘BABYBABYBABY’ Dance Performance @ Calderwood Pavilion This contemporary dance production taps into the feeling of falling in love and reflects on the human impulse for connection and intimacy.
All weekend - ‘A Strange Loop’ Musical @ Wimberly Theatre Winner of Pulitzer Prize and a Tony Award, Michael R. Jackson’s blisteringly funny masterwork exposes the heart and soul of a young Black artist grappling with desires, identity, and instincts he both loves and loathes.
All weekend - ‘Jersey Boys’ Musical @ North Shore Music Theatre LAST CHANCE - Featuring legendary hits, this award-winning musical tells the behind-the-scenes drama of the international sensation boy band The Four Seasons.
All weekend - ‘Toni Stone’ Play @ The Huntington Theatre The Huntington’s season finale is a beautiful, rich portrait of a trailblazing woman. Follow the inspiring and life-affirming story of baseball legend Toni Stone.
All weekend - ‘Romeo and Juliet’ Play @ Calderwood Pavilion Brought to life by Actors’ Shakespeare Project, Shakespeare’s most famous duo return in a flurry of forbidden love, exhilarating fight scenes, and tragic fate.
All weekend - ‘Mermaid Hour’ Play @ Arrow Street Arts LAST CHANCE - Fast-paced, funny, and heartfelt, ‘Mermaid Hour’ follows two parents and their trans teen kid as they all seek to understand who they are and who they wish to be.

ONGOING

Ongoing - Immersive Disney Animation @ Boch Center Step into the art and legacy of Walt Disney Animation Studios and celebrate the music, artistry and animation from the creators of Frozen, The Little Mermaid, Big Hero 6 and many more.
Ongoing - Musical Shows @ MoS Planetarium Museum of Science puts on special experiences adapting the music of Pink Floyd, Rihanna, Beyoncé, and The Divas to immersive visuals in the Charles Hayden Planetarium.
Ongoing - ‘Firelei Báez’ Exhibition @ ICA One of the most exciting painters of her generation, Báez explores the multilayered legacy of colonial histories and the African diaspora in the Caribbean and beyond.
Ongoing - ‘Wordplay’ Exhibition @ ICA Highlighting the rich interplay between imagery and text, the exhibition showcases how contemporary artists have played with words to animate and expand their art practices.
Ongoing - ‘Hallyu! The Korean Wave’ Exhibition @ MFA Enjoy an immersive and multisensory journey through Korea’s fascinating history, and celebrate its contemporary vibrant creative force.
Ongoing - ‘Dress Up’ Exhibition @ MFA Through more than 100 works from the MFA’s collection including 20th- and 21st-century clothing, jewelry, accessories, illustrations, and photographs, this exhibition explores adornment and its role in the creation of a look.
Ongoing - ‘Comrade Sisters: Women of the Black Panther Party’ Exhibition @ MFA This exhibition brings together 27 powerful photographs by Stephen Shames that feature the women of the Black Panther party and showcase their crucial work for the movement.
Ongoing - ‘Thinking Small: Dutch Art to Scale’ Exhibition @ MFA Featuring 15 intriguing objects from 17th-century Netherlands such as paintings, prints, silver medals, and books, this exhibition compels viewers to reconsider their relationship to the world around them.
Ongoing - ‘Raqib Shaw: Ballads of East and West’ Exhibition @ ISG Museum Shaw’s images of magic and mystery combine Western artistic tradition with ornamental elements derived from the Japanese, Persian, and Indian cultures that he vividly remembers from his youth.
Ongoing - ‘Picasso: War, Combat, and Revolution’ Exhibition @ Harvard Art Museums The exhibition explores the dictator Francisco Franco’s Spain, imagery of death, struggles of good and evil, political and artistic revolution, and issues of desire and capture.
Ongoing - ‘Our Time on Earth’ Exhibition @ Peabody Essex Museum This traveling exhibition from the Barbican Centre in London celebrates the power of global creativity to transform the conversation around the climate emergency.
Ongoing - ‘AI: Mind the Gap’ Exhibition @ MIT Museum MIT Museum presents its latest riveting, interactive exhibit exploring the tremendous promise, unforeseen impacts, and everyday misconceptions of AI.

I have recently found a book full of them and they made me laugh. My parents and teachers always encouraged me and said I had a real talent, but reading over them they were awful! Full of unnecessary and flowery words I’d found in a thesaurus and forced awkward lines to make the poems rhyme… One stood out though, the earliest one I’d found written when I was ~7yrs old. I thought I’d share it here:
How to catch a star
I thought I might go to sea And pretend I was drowning and call for help; But the star ignored me; And floated higher in the sky. Perhaps I might ask my friend, If I can borrow his bird and ride up to it. But once the bird was high it stopped there for a day And then drifted to the ground

TLDR uBPD Mum wrote her twin daughters a birthday poem but sent it twelve days late, full of innacuracies and with a request to visit one of them. The request is for a fictional exhibition in a specific date range. She forwarded her original message to the other twin without to editing out the visit request or making an attempt to cover the fact it was written for the first twin and sent to the other as an after thought.
Context A birthday poem sent to me an hour after it was sent to my twin sister. It was also 12 days after our actual birthday, neither of us heard from uBPD mum on the day (I've asked her not to contact me but she thinks that my sister & I are 1 entity so even though my sister is still in contact with her, mum treats her like she is not). My sister (Twin1) trained in fine art in the city she now works in. She is not currently making art so has no idea what exhibition uBPD mum refers to in the poem. I have marked lies/inaccuracies with an * I've asterisked the line about being a proud mum and gran because if she was so proud, why does she make no mention of wanting to see her 2 grand sons on this trip to the city to see my sister at her exhibition? She hasn't seen her grandsons in at least a year despite visiting near by their city in our small country twice last year. She didn't even tell my sister she was in the area until my sister phoned to wish uBPD mum happy birthday on her birthday February this year.
Poem
Twin1 and Twin2 38 today * That's just not possible no way Where has the time gone Times flies sadly that's so true Doesn't seem that long ago when Myself and Twin2 went to the zoo.
You were and are my sunshine of Hometown on Gala My beautiful twin daughters living in bonnie Hometown Bay A prouder mum I could not be how you both excelled and now you both have your own family You get to experience the love and joy like I had and still have as I reflect on my wonderful family tree When you hurried home excitedly to show all the things you had lovingly made for me
You were always caring and sharing Even at such a young age so helpful too. Remember girls I was on the phone to uBPD Gran When you flushed Twin2 nappy down the loo I was panic stricken and mortified when the neighbour below said it had flooded her too.
I loved my plants* .it was a not easy to maintain with two Mischieves monkeys who tipped them upside down . It was funny but I also did frown Before you knew it we were back to laughing and getting along Happy again and full of song
Love shack was your favourite tune I loved that song too you could sing it to the moon Love shack baby love shack Oh to hear you sing that song would bring It all right back
The time we all got such a fright Twin 1 When you accidentally bumped into a light Well lamp post * Out of the three of us who was startled the most?
You were fine ,you got a war wound scar Was it the left or right side I can't remember I think it was your right eye It was so long ago at the time you were very shy
Twin 2 walked into a gate * I was dumstruck only seconds too late* You got a scar on your eyes too By then I was beside myself and did not know what to do !
Almost in the space of a year You each have a scar by your eye Which side they are on your eye is unclear Now you parents yourself you know what I mean How quickly things can happen Even when your close by to the scene
Bless the wee lady above is in Hometown She used to shout girls you whoo seconds later it was raining milkyways all over you I could only chuckle when I realised I too Along with uBPD dister we went to our neighbour for our daily rations of sweeties too * And to this day I believe my mum never knew.
Remember when you got up early and Oh my you got hold of the butter I think I was in a flutter Butter in the rods of the Wendy house it was everywhere If I recall righghtly it was in your hair.
You used to trick people switching places * Sometimes you did trip up on your laces You tried to fool me but that was not so easy * However tricking your pals and strangers was easy peasy.*
The things you have done this uBPD Mum and gran could not be more proud of you You won a camera for your ambulance picture Twin2 you designed the school logo in highschool too Is there no end to your talents You both excelled and followed your career Which I never regretted not being able to As th minute I knew I was expecting I always prioritised you* and am a proud mum of twins with 5 wonderful grandchildren too*
The trips we went to beech and picnics with aunt The endless pictures are wonderful memories of happy times with you I still have her special multi coloured umbrella Where we often seemed shelter under it too
So many more memories this is some of them I just want to ask you Twin 1 can I come with my friend M or F and see your exhibition* city between 23 rd and 29 th Sept I love seeing all that you can do and have done
Your pictures in the cafe The story about wellies and where they travelled from faraway I believe it was Canada And you made a wellington cast Now it's a focal point for tourists and everyone to see.*
I often look at the screen you both made me made before I moved country All the gifts over the years cards and mementos each one speaks words to me When you gave me the picture and chair for my birthday .
That incredible exhibition in the gallery when you made a clear curtain and even there there is a story
I understand if you say no don't come .I hope and pray one day we will all Be together again surrounded by my family.Until that joyous day comes remember I carry love in my heart for you all eternally❤️

Edit: If you are going to comment on the length of this post, please don't. This is not a simple snark but rather an actual critical think piece about feminism and Taylor Swift.

Introduction

Pertaining to Taylor Swift, "Female Rage" has deviated from its intended meaning after Swift debuted a new performance of The Tortured Poets Department during the Eras Tour. Now, according to Swift's use of the phrase, female rage is interpreted as public backlash against Swift's dating choices rather than as a response to the broader injustices against women and women's rights. This post examines Taylor Swift's flawed feminism, philanthropy, branding, and the controversial trademark petition for the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical". Swift's background as an entertainer, indeterminate politics, and alignment with capitalism over feminism pervades her legacy, again threatening her public tolerance as not just an individual but as a brand.

Once Upon a Female Rage...

If you were cognizant in the early 2010's, you've heard countless jabs at Taylor Swift in the media. Magazines, radio, or online. Music critics did not take her seriously as a songwriter; parents put a woman on an unrealistic pedestal as the ideal role model for their children; she dated too much and used men as lyrical fodder. No matter the story, it inevitably spread, conjoined with everyone's respective opinions, and you'd be left to wonder, "Why does everyone hate this girl so much?"
Taylor's target demographic has always been young or adolescent girls, more so when Swift herself was one. She made music that spoke to the awkward misfit, cultivating a para-social relationship with fans on MySpace, then later twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, where Taylor posted relatable vlogs showcasing the life of a homegrown American girl. Taylor had a delayed public "growing up" and, compared to her female pop contemporaries, Swift never "gratuitously sexualized her image and seems pathologically averse to controversy" (and, apparently, never even had a sip of alcohol until she turned 21). She was more than happy to spin this narrative to allude to an inherent moral superiority above other women in the industry (Better Than Revenge, heard of it?), engaging in the very slut-shaming that she herself endured (the Madonna and Whore archetypes). The victim complex arose with the need to prove Taylor as a different type of pop girl. Based upon her holy and clean image, Swift had been dubbed "a feminist's nightmare", and that "[To Swift] other girls are obstacles; undeserving enemies who steal Taylor’s soulmates with their bewitching good looks and sexual availability." Feminism and Tennessee-Christian country values don't exactly mix, it seems.
Years later, Swift befriended Lena Dunham and thus experienced white feminism osmosis, where Dunham taught Swift that real feminists defend rapists, makes insensitive jokes about rape and abortion, and prioritize all-white casts. Swift then declared herself a feminist in 2014, saying,

"Becoming friends with Lena – without her preaching to me, but just seeing why she believes what she believes, why she says what she says, why she stands for what she stands for – has made me realize that I’ve been taking a feminist stance without actually saying so."

I suppose the male-centric songwriting subject that permeates Swift's discography contained covert feminism and that we just didn't see that. Perhaps, the "Bad Blood" song and music video were written only in jest and not about poor Katy Perry, for Swift, as a feminist, would "never make it a girl fight" or tear other women down (though all Katy did was date your terrible ex-boyfriend and allegedly steal three backup dancers from your tour). In 2013, Swift said, in response to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler's joke towards her serial dating, "There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
There was that time in 2015 Taylor said that Nicki Minaj was "invited to any stage [she is] on" (as if Taylor expects to have access to every stage, award, and platform that Nicki might not otherwise have as a black female artist...yikes!) in response to Nicki's criticism of the white + thin VMA nominations. Later, Nicki responded with confusion, as Swift continued, "It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot..". Of course, this 'beef' was 'squashed' when Nicki performed with Taylor at the VMAs, with Nicki quite literally only having 38 seconds of stage time without Taylor. Maybe all that parading around with a legion of famous white women - similar to the way Taylor might've done with her numerous 1989-era handbags - was in fact a stance against gender inequality, and that this display of "girl power" should be enough to constitute Swift as a feminist icon.
Even while Swift says that Dunham informed her feminist outlook, she dances around the exact contents of those beliefs: "what she believes, what she says, what she stands for" is not exactly insightful towards what beliefs Swift might have inherited. Taylor never broaches women's rights topics such femicide, FGM, forced pregnancy & marriage, sex trafficking, women in slavery, women's financial and political oppression, women's educational rights, women's health, or women's autonomy, so we can assume she only gives a fuck about "girls supporting girls" (whatever that fucking means).
Despite some questionable (and sometimes vindictive) behavior, Taylor as a young woman did not deserve every media lashing that she received. We cannot deny that most headlines and criticisms perpetuated a misogynistic rhetoric which has plagued Swift for a majority of her career. Acknowledging events such as the development of her ED, her sexual assault trial, "Famous" lyric and MV depiction of Taylor, and the explicit Twitter deepfakes, for example, as both disgusting and unfortunate things that happened to a young woman in Hollywood does not negate the fact that Taylor is mostly a performative feminist.

Get Your Fucking Ass Up and Be a Philanthropist, It Seems Like Nobody Wants to Be a Philanthropist These Days

In 2013, Taylor Swift cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the Taylor Swift Education Center at the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, Tennessee. The donation amount - $4 million - was the largest individual artist gift ever donated to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which is, of course, mentioned on Swift's website. The two-story facility features three classrooms, an instrument room, and an interactive children's exhibit gallery. Swift also performed at "All for the Hall" charity shows and has donated numerous artifacts from her career (such as notable guitars, tour costumes, etc) to the museum.
This was over 11 years ago, and it is still the only notable philanthropic contribution Taylor Swift has made.
For a woman of her net worth and stature, and a woman who recognizes the difficulties for women in film and music, you would think that Taylor Swift might establish a scholarship program for women to study the arts or something. Perhaps Swift might even consider becoming a member of organizations that support female artists, or one that supports LGBTQ+ causes (since she is now proudly an ally), yet she remains superficial with her graces. Broader philanthropy, such as donating relief aid to Palestinian women or women impacted by violence and discrimination will probably never receive any financial support from Miss Swift because then she'd be using her money towards philanthropies involving anyone but white entertainers.
She even says herself in Miss Americana, "My entire moral code as a kid and now is a need to be thought of as 'good'." Well, she's certainly thought of as good, though her actions say otherwise. She's more than happy to do a vaguely altruistic song and dance for a clip-worthy interview quote and mass appeasement, then fuck off to one of her mansions on a 20 minute private jet flight, rather than actually contribute to anything pertaining to the causes she has endorsed. Yet, far too many people continue to give a woman such as her their money, time, and energy, and she hoards these resources to herself.

I Like Some of the Taylor's Songs, But What the Fuck Does She Know About Feminism?

Swift continued with her self-proclaimed feminist campaign, positioning herself as a political activist and LGBTQ+ ally in the Miss Americana documentary. The primary focus of the documentary consists of the sexual assault trial, Andrea Swift's cancer diagnosis, Taylor's ED and body dysmorphia, media scrutiny, and, largely, finally speaking up about her politics publicly, mostly her opposition to the 2018 Tennessee Republican senate candidate, Marsha Blackburn, and Blackburn's beliefs. Swift says, following a scene discussing her experience during the trial,

"I just couldn't really stop thinking about it. And I just thought to myself, next time there is any opportunity to change anything, you had better know what you stand for and what you want to say."

We must ask ourselves, though: when has Swift ever spoken up to change anything? Okay, pulling her entire catalogue from Spotify because they didn't pay their artists enough and similarly pulling her catalogue from Apple Music are changes that she leveraged due to her revenue potential and power, but they are not pertinent to the average woman's rights. Moreover, these are issues that directly impacted Taylor's income, which was enough reason for her to protest in the first place. Swift has sold the most units for a female artist in first week sales, is the first female artist with 100k monthly Spotify listeners, is the first female artist to win the Album of the Year Grammy 4 times, and is the first female artist to do X, Y, and Z, all while being inoffensive and family-friendly to boot. The actual Taylor Swift seems unwilling to compromise the brand of Taylor Swift by contributing in meaningful ways to feminist causes, especially if it is for women outside of America and Hollywood.
The reason political anthems such as "The Man" and "Only the Young" of the Lover era feel disingenuous and corporate is because, well, it is. Taylor has taken every opportunity to advance her career or public image at the expense of other women. What is truly genuine to Taylor's outlook on other women is vying for male attention, taking down female competition, and vocalizing feminist injustices only if they directly impact her and her money. Some will argue that it's satisfactory for a woman with such a huge platform to even TALK about feminism, but that just isn't enough. It's even less impressive when you candidly look at the scope of her feminist lens: "If I was the man, then I'd be THE MAN", or "I really resent the ‘Be careful, buddy, she’s going to write a song about you’ angle, because it trivialises what I do", and, of course, "We all got crowns". Feminism, but only when it happens to me. It gets worse when you look at Taylor's track record of copying other famous women and removing other female artists as potential threats to her pop prowess.
It's good for PR to align yourself with certain blanket feminist and political beliefs, therefore good for branding, therefore good for ticketing and merchandise sales, therefore good for business. And Taylor Swift is a business.
She's not a feminist. Taylor Swift is a capitalist.

I Can't Pay Those Sweatshop Workers a Livable Wage or Benefits! How Else Would I Make My Billions?

Recently, Taylor's team filed to trademark the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical" after Taylor said during Paris N1 of the Eras Tour,

"So you were the first ones to see The Tortured Poets at the Eras Tour...or as I like to call it, 'Female Rage: The Musical'."

This trademark petition was filed last week on Saturday, and news comes about just as numerous unofficial fan-made merch designs have cropped up with this phrase plastered on Fruit of the Loom basics. I'm of the opinion Swift's team motioned for a trademark so that they can send out cease & desists to all those that make knockoff merch, which disrupts potential sales for Bravado, UMG's choice merchandising company; however, since it was filed earlier, perhaps Swift has bigger plans with the bizarre use of the gendered phrase. One Swiftie referred to the phrase "female rage" as "a funny Eras Tour joke". Could it be a possible fourth version of the Eras Tour Movie? Whatever the reason, the motion to capitalize off of such a concept is disgusting, but not unsurprising, for a woman that profits on her vain feminism.
Swift, through her company, TAS Rights Managements, has also trademarked over 200 phrases, including "1989", where she owns the property rights to this calendar year on keychains, phone cases, sunglasses, stationary, bags, beverage ware, clothing, entertainment services, your subconscious, and, of course, Christmas ornaments.
The vapid consumerism in Swiftie culture is, frankly, disgusting. Bravado's sustainability statement is non-existent, the quality control is abysmal, and the materials they use are horrible. The materials, such as acrylic and polyester, are made from petrochemicals. This means they are non-renewable, shed microplastics, and are quite toxic in production. The manufacturing process to make all of those lazy-rushed Eras Tour logo graphic tees is a huge blow to environmental well-being. Apparently, though, Swifties don't give a fuck. They sell out products in seconds and either have to face the manufactured scarcity or buy from a scalper that resells for 200% of the already ridiculous retail price. This doesn't include the environmental impact of vinyl records, CD, and cassette production, of which Taylor produces many variants that sell unsustainable amounts.
If we're talking about women's rights violations, why is no one acknowledging the women that work in the inhumane sweatshop conditions that have to pump out fugly t-shirts and hats? The millions of plastic microfiber dander they are inhaling, or the toxic dyes that touch their bare skin? Are they being compensated fairly for their skilled labour and are they in safe working environments? Do these women have minimal bargaining power, and do they have authority over their worker's rights? Is Taylor Swift female raging at their injustices? Does Taylor Swift ever feels bad that her wealth was built on the backs of women of color, disadvantaged by the demands of the global economy and garment industry? Do you think she ever says a little white feminist prayer for them before she goes to sleep at night?
What's even crazier is not that Taylor herself doesn't care, it's that Swifties don't care. There CANNOT BE ethical billionaires. You only make a billion dollars if you are exploiting other human beings for capital gain. Based on public perception of the possible "Female Rage: The Musical" trademark, it seems like Swifties are already asking for merch with this phrase. "If Taylor made it, I'd buy it." Oh, cool. So not only do you champion Miss Swift's avarice and billionaire status, but you also are unashamed to admit to your blind consumption of her music and merchandise, no matter where they might originate in production or sincerity. Just as Swift takes and takes and takes, Swifties' consumerism of Taylor Swift cannot be quelled.
The tortured artist's most vulnerable and sincere poetry...available now in 21 different versions!

I Am Tortured Poet, Hear Me Whinge

Look - even if Taylor's intention is to characterize TTPD as more "tortured" and "angry", the main thread of the album is "I was ghosted by my decade-long situationship with a controversial indie boy and my fucking stupid fans wrote a 'Speak Up Now' open letter prompting me to drop him" anger, which is adequately expressed in the lyrics and performances. The extent of Taylor's "female rage" on TTPD is on tracks such as "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?", which contends with relentless media scrutiny; "But Daddy I Love Him", where Swift firmly states she'll date whoever she likes no matter how "Sarahs and Hannahs" may react; and "The Albatross", a track mythologizing her reputation and the consequences of dating her. Of course, these coincide with deep psychological wounds that formed during Swift's early years in the media, and so, from her feminist perspective, these subjects tackle the misogyny and double standards that she faced.
Yet Taylor Swift still has no grounds to be claiming that TTPD best exemplifies female rage and therefore she, in the context of this album, is female rage incarnate. As the daughter of a stock broker and mutual fund marketing executive, Taylor was born into wealth and allowed privileges like trips and subsequent relocation to Nashville all so that she might get a record deal. Her father even invested at least $120,000 into the then-fledgling label, Big Machine Records, which ensured Taylor's place with Borchetta after leaving her dead-end development deal with Sony. The fact that her parents were able to buy her a fucking brand new guitar for Christmas and pay for music lessons says so much about the financial security and safety of her childhood.
Money is privilege and protection, and despite Swift's experiences with misogyny and loser boyfriends, she does not know what female rage is.
Her rage is derived from her frustrations with her obsessive fans pulling the moral superiority card on Taylor in response to her rebound with Matty Healy. That's literally it. She's just pissed that the monster she created is no longer obediant, it's become a feral, sovereign entity that depletes the world of its natural resources and thinks it is more intelligent than it actually is because it's mommy has started to talk to it with big words. Apparently, 'illicit', 'elegy', 'nonchalant', and 'precocious' are considerably big words for the oafish monster, and I find it strange that this level of literacy is present in a group of fans that allegedly have GPAs of 3.5 or higher, but I digress.
Taylor Swift has never been one paycheck away from destitution. Taylor Swift has never experienced racial discrimination. She may have instances of gender discrimination, but she possesses the ideal white, blonde American beauty standard and therefore reaps the benefits of being a conventionally attractive woman. Taylor Swift has sufficient social capital. Taylor Swift is a billionaire woman prolonging her victimhood though she, as a woman, has mostly had control over her image and music (unlike her contemporaries). Taylor Swift is NOT entitled to be championed for her "female rage", nor should she be. Taylor Swift has never even been the struggling artist, for fuck's sake. I don't give a fuck if she's trying to fill the empty lunch tables of her past. Taylor Swift purporting herself, her unpolished album, and her lukewarm feminism as a musical bleeding with female rage is asinine.

Sigh Try and Come For My Job, Poors

Out there in the world right now is a 23-year-old woman, a recent college grad, who works as a barista. She has to wake up and get ready to go into a minimum wage job because she cannot get a job in her field. She doesn't have healthcare benefits or sick time, so she has to go into work no matter how she's feeling. All day long she is berated by vicious customers and creepy men, and, exhausted from being on her feet, she knows she has to go home to her shitty roommate that never does the dishes and her roommate's shitty dog. To comfort herself, she considers getting a treat, but thinks against it when she remembers that matcha lattes cost $15 and they taste like milky dirt. She knows that she needs to buy groceries this week, and so the woman resolves to go home, but notices that her gas tank is low. She goes to put gas in the car, but the pump stops at $27.86 because that's all that she has in her checking account. The woman, bereft and reeling, sinks into the driver's seat. "Well," she thinks, her head in her hands, "at least I don't have Taylor Swift's job. I just couldn't imagine."
Fame is somewhat of a choice. If at any moment Taylor feels that she is misunderstood, misconstrued, or overwhelmed by public opinion, she can LEAVE the public eye - Lord knows she has the retirement fund and residuals to do so. In "I Can Do It With a Broken Heart", the TTPD song about meeting the demands of your career-zenith mega-tour while in the relationship trenches, Taylor ends the song by rambling,

"You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart...you know you're good...and I'm good, cause I'm miserable, and no one even knows!...try and come for my job."

Yeah, obviously we wouldn't know, you recently passed the billionaire threshold and are the most famous and in-demand performer in the world right now. Taylor Swift makes an estimated $10 to $13 million dollars A NIGHT on the Eras Tour. Furthermore, the Eras Tour movie grossed $261.6 million globally, (which, as the producer, Taylor takes home 57% of the ticket sales) not counting the streaming revenue from Amazon Prime Video and the estimated $75 million deal that Disney paid to have it on Disney+. We're not even considering the income from cheap plastic popcorn buckets and drink cups plastered with colored squares in her Era-specific likeness.
It's funny. Taylor Swift often said that being famous wasn't hard, that she "isn't complaining". I'm sure it is difficult to always have to present in a good mood, else you'll end up misrepresented in the media, and I'm sure it's invasive to virtually have no privacy or semblance of anonymity. Still, Taylor Swift shows up each night of tour and performs. For a majority of her career, she has penned her sad songs while on the road. Most of "Red", her breakup album, was written in the thick of the Speak Now World tour. Now, some Swifties say they almost "feel bad" for attending the Eras Tour with Swift's revelations in this song, that they have had a 'dimmed experience' upon hearing Taylor's misery whilst performing. Despite the fact that Taylor said that "this was the happiest she's ever been" at Gilette Stadium in May, the lyrics "boohoo, woe is me, smile for the cameras and make the fans happy!!!" are jarring for Eras attendees.
While Taylor Swift was making double-digit millions a night in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and feeling miserable, Ana Clara Benevides Machado passed away due to heat exposure. The concert promoters, Time For Fun, are now the subject of a criminal investigation due to their lack of adequate hydration and safety. Taylor Swift cancelled the Sunday show that was to follow and offered VIP tent tickets to Benevides Marchado's family, which was a kind gesture, but perhaps incongruous to the incident of which they were offered as consolation. Everyone grieves differently, of course, but I'm not sure attending the very show at the very same venue that my daughter or sister passed away in two days prior, where the singer CONTINUED the show despite her death, would be healthy for closure.
There was no female rage at the show as Swift never saw Benevides Machado pass out. There was no female rage towards the disregard for fans as humans while Swift elected to proceed with her Brazil tour dates despite the country being in historic heatwaves (at risk of overheatting herself). If Taylor Swift was so shaken by touring with a broken heart or a fan's passing, she wouldn't have added an additional North American leg of Eras just two months after the Matty breakup. She's brokenhearted but willing to mend the cracks with your money and move onward with her worldwide female rage induced pillaging.
No matter what happens, even if you die at a Taylor Swift concert, Taylor collects a big fat check and flies away. She doesn't know you as anything other than a conversion rate or earning potential despite what her nearly 20-year long parasocial relationship with fans might otherwise indicate. She knows that, while some Swifties are without disposable income, they feel obligated to spend on a "48 Hours Only!" exclusive vinyl variant instead of necessities because they are so entrenched in Taylor Swift's intoxicating celebrity, they'll prioritize materialistic fandom before their needs. This is good enough for her because this means she can expand her real estate portfolio and finance her cat's lavish lifestyles. They're worth an estimated $100 million dollars. Her three cats could pool their net worth and solve world hunger.
While you and I might be denied bereavement leave and barely surviving the current political and economic climate, Taylor Swift has to, instead of gets to, perform for stadiums at full attendance for three nights in a row across the globe. You and I might be replaced by AI at our longtime jobs, but Taylor Swift is threatened with losing more and more money each time you listen to a "Stolen Version" of her songs. If we don't buy every variant of all of her albums, then who is going to pay for the fucking cats?
It is tone deaf to spend as she spends and lives as she lives in this economy, but this is her reality. She was able to donate $100,000 to all of her tour truck drivers, and that's wonderful, but it leads me to wonder about the ethos of the 2020s where one woman can hoard such life-changing amounts of money. Remember in 2014 when she gave a fan $90 ($120 in today's money) to get Chipotle because she had no fucking clue how much it cost? This is a 34-year-old woman who is increasingly out of touch with the reality for working class people and women in general. Normal everyday adults must wake up and go to their thankless jobs, and yet Taylor Swift, despite all her riches, incessantly references the lows of her life and career as a public figure and entertainer to farm sympathy and drive sales. And still, the corporate women have latched onto "I cry a lot, but I am so productive! It's an art!" as their cubicle battle cry.
Do you think that, from up in her private jet, Taylor Swift gazes at the world through her poetic, tortured eyes, and thinks, "All the little people, in their cars, walking, going about their lives...all those girls that don't support girls...do they know that I've made an album about female rage?"

Conclusion/TLDR

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your critical insights towards this entire ordeal: TTPD, the trademark, the implications of it all.
TLDR: Taylor Swift is a bad feminist and is delusional to think that the TTPD eras set exemplifies female rage at women's injustice.

Possible spoilers up ahead so read with caution!! Also would love to hear others opinions in the comments!
One of the worst things about engaging in this fandom no matter the platform is people seem to really misunderstand what the show is about. It is called Ginny AND Georgia not Ginny VS Georgia after all. The show is about their relationship and how even though yes they are both flawed, and one a literal murderer, they are both sympathetic in their own ways because it's all down to what they've been through.
Like ofc Georgia who lived her whole childhood being abused in every way by her parents would not really understand why Ginny needed emotional stability too. Her best parental figure as a kid was that woman from the Blood Eyes gang who saved her through the use of violence, so it's not shock she instilled those values into her kids too (doesn't make it right like she definitely needed a lot of therapy before actually being a mother but she never got that opportunity). This is also why the season 2 scene of her going to therapy with Ginny was so important (even if it was super invasive) because it's her starting to realise that she hasn't really been a good mother and that loving Ginny wasn't enough to protect her from other types of harm. It's like the first step in her trying to be a better person and get help. This is also why she killed Tom, Cynthia had done something great for her by helping her get rid of Gil (to an extent) and seeing her so broken up about Tom gave Georgia a way to show her kindness back in the only way she knows how. She was literally crying whilst doing it, she wasn't doing it because she's a sociopath or whatever people say, it's just all she knows. It's really sad when you think about it and I hope she gets a lot of help and gets to be happy in the end.
Now as for Ginny, I get that since we've seen first hand how much Georgia struggled (the abuse, not having food, the husbands ect), it's so easy to think she's being ungrateful given what Georgia went through trying to keep her safe and she was doing her best, but unfortunately the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And part of what Georgia did is find ways to disguise all the ugly parts (the dance parties to cover up Gil at the door, the pretty face paint to cover up her bruises, creating fry-yay since she had to miss the actual holiday) which definitely saved Ginny to an extent she just didn't know she had to do more because as a kid she didn't even have physical safety nevermind emotional safety which is why she never really realised how her other behaviours hurt her so much (like moving away and not ever giving her the chance to have friends). And this explains a lot of Ginny's annoying behaviour - which luckily she is getting help for - like cheating on Hunter and just being a bad friend in general she's never had actual meaningful relationships outside of her family before so of course she's not going to be the beat at maintaining them. And obviously she won't ever think about the actual consequences of things because Georgia moved her around so much she never really had to live with them before. And as for the poem, yes it was definitely harsh to us knowing why Georgia acts the way she does, but she's a child who has been through a lot too. Neither of them really know how to express their feelings in a healthy way (just as most teenagers don't god knows how many times me and my friends argued over the stupidest stuff but now we are all older and most of us have had therapy we are so much better off), but that doesn't meant Ginny was trying to hurt her. She has had so many feelings in her for so long and she was trying to get them out and have Georgia understand but she just took it the wrong way.
It's genuinely heart breaking watching 2 people who clearly love each other so much just completely misunderstand each other to the extent they continuously hurt each other.
Now don't get me wrong I'm not trying to say you can't dislike them, I mean it's all about personal preference, but we need to stop acting like to like one you have to hate the other because they aren't enemies. Can we please stop pitting them against each other?? Lets all be team Ginny AND Georgia <3
Anyway would love to hear if anyone has any other thoughts to add to my rant!!
TL;DR Both Georgia and Ginny have had bad childhoods in different ways which cause them to act terribly sometimes. A lot of Ginny's problems were caused because Georgia was never really given the chance to learn how to be a good mom, and Ginny in trying to express this often hurts her back. However this is part of the show, it doesn't mean we have to hate one to like the other. The beauty of it is how 2 flawed people can love each other so much but if they don't know how to comnunicate well, they will always hurt each other. I'm team Ginny AND Georgia.

You will be surprised to know that if a child does not get his nourishment through his mother's milk, if he is not fed with his mother's milk, then his life-energy remains weak forever. He can be fed milk in other ways also, but if he does not regularly receive the warm touch of his mother's heart, then his life becomes frustrated forever and the possibility of his living long is reduced forever. Those children who are not fed on mother's milk can never attain to much bliss and silence in their lives.
The whole younger generation in the West, and gradually in India also, is becoming filled with great rebellion. The deepest reason for this, the root cause, is that Western children are not being fed on mother's milk. Their respect towards life and their relation to life is not full of love. From their very childhood their life-energy has received many shocks and they have become unloving. In those shocks, in the separation from their mother, they have become separated from life itself - because for a child there is primarily no other life than his mother.
All over the world, wherever women are becoming educated, they do not like to raise children close to them - and the effect has been extremely harmful. In tribal societies children are fed on mother's milk for a long time. The more a society becomes educated, the earlier the children are separated from their mother's milk. The sooner the children are separated from their mother's milk, the more difficulty they will have in experiencing peace in their own life. A deep restlessness will prevail in their life from the very beginning. On whom will they take revenge for this restlessness?
The revenge will be taken on the parents themselves. All over the world children are taking revenge on their parents. On whom else will they take revenge? They do not know themselves what kind of reaction is happening within them, what kind of rebellion is arising within them, what kind of fire is arising within them. But unconsciously, deep within, they know that this rebellion is the result of being separated from their mother too soon. Their hearts know this, but their intellect doesn't. The result is that they will take revenge on their mothers and fathers; they will take revenge on everyone.
As soon as he is born, a child is immediately separated from his mother. His second source of life-energy is related to the heart of his mother. But at a certain point a child will have to separate from his mother's milk too.
When does that right time come? It does not come as early as we think. Children should remain close to their mother's heart a little longer if their love and heart are to develop rightly throughout their life. They are forced to separate very early. A mother should not separate the child from her milk; she should allow him to separate on his own. At a certain point the child will separate on his own. For the mother to force the separation is just like taking the baby out of the womb after four or five months instead of allowing him to come out after nine months. It is as dangerous for a mother to separate her child from her milk before he himself decides to give it up. This effort of the mother is dangerous and because of this effort the second center, the heart center, of the child does not develop rightly.
While we are talking about this I would like to tell you something more. You will be surprised to hear it. Why is it that all over the world, the part of the woman's body towards which men are attracted to most is the woman's breasts? These are all children who were separated very early from their mother's milk. In their consciousness somewhere deep inside a desire has remained to be close to a woman's breasts. It has not been fulfilled - there is no other reason, there is no other cause. In tribal societies, in primitive societies, where the children remain close to the mother's breasts long enough, men have no such attraction towards the breasts.
But why are our poems, our novels, our movies, our dramas, our pictures all centered around the breasts of women? They have all been created by men who, in their childhood, could not remain close to their mother's breast long enough. That desire is left unfulfilled and now it starts arising in new forms. Now pornographic pictures are being created, pornographic books and pornographic songs are being written. Now men harass women on the streets, throw stones at them. We create all these stupidities and then later on we complain about them and try to get rid of them.
It is very necessary for the child to remain close to his mother's breasts long enough for his mental, his physical and his psychological growth to take place rightly. Otherwise his heart center will not develop properly - it remains immature, undeveloped, stuck.

It is a man, old and scraggy. He wears a jacket that lays over the red plaid button shirt and blue jeans. He wears an old baseball cap and a pair of glasses. He yelled something to Dad, holding his hands up like he was pleading, although we couldn’t hear it over the truck engine. They talked, but we couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“Hey, what are they saying”, I asked, while petting Matt’s hair, calming him. The old man then put his hands down and came close to Dad in a cautious way. They seem to start having some kind of conversation.
“I don’t really know, hopefully, something good”, Mom answered. They talked for a little while, with daylight beginning to disappear, giving us a sense of dread, and making me more worried about what weird creature was going to show up. Eventually, the old man turned and pointed toward what I think is the northeast. They then shook hands and walked back to their respective vehicles. “What’s going on”, Mom asked as Dad got into the truck.
“Well, our new friend here invited us to dinner at his farm”, Dad replied.
“Does he have supplies?”
“Well, he says has supplies for us to make the journey.”
“Should we even trust him? We just met h-”
“Relax, he’s just an old man, living alone at his farm, feeding his cows. What could go wrong”, Dad countered. The old man then entered the truck that was running and drove slowly, expecting us to follow him.
“Alrighty then, but we have to be cautious”, Mom said, with her suspicions of the old man. We then followed the old truck along the dark, frozen road. It just feels like something is going to show up along the road, but nothing happened. Matt did eventually stop crying, but he is still upset about the Joe escape thing.
“Where are we going”, Matt lamented, with the prior series of events in mind.
“I guess somebody is offering us dinner”, I answered.
“Why can’t we just go home?”
“It’s only going to be a stop, like a hotel. After that, we go to our new home, I guess”, I said, taking another look at Matt and cradling to comfort him. “It’s going to be okay.” I stared out into the darkness. I looked to the sky from the window and I faintly saw something in the clear, dark sky, lit up by the waning moon. They were brilliant, green auroras that defy the bright moon, dancing across the sky like ribbons in the wind. The truck eventually took a right-hand turn into another road, with us following suit. I can see a bright, orange light emerging from a patch of tree. When we passed by, it seemed it was a house, at a farm, burning in a massive flame.
“I guess those people aren’t so, uh, lucky”, Dad said, taking a quick look at it before looking at the road. Passing by, we went on and continued to follow the old man’s truck. We passed onto another intersection until he turned into a driveway to what I believe to be his farm. Going into the driveway, I can see an old house, along with a dilapidated farm further away, barely visible by the headlights. The old man parked by the house, where there were a few other trucks there. We parked alongside the truck and we got out into the cold, near-silent night.
“Welcome to sanctuary, where all are welcome”, the old man bellowed. This is the first time I’ve heard his voice. Matt was the last to get out of the truck, slowly and clumsily climbing out of the truck.
“What’s your name”, my Mom politely asked the old man.
“Oh, I guess your husband didn’t tell ya. My name is Steven, but you can call me Steve”, the old man said, with some crackling in his voice. “I am very proud to host a dinner for you and your family”, he continued. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Oh, my name is Janice”, Mom replied, quite pleased at his politeness.
“Hello, Janice, and what are their names”, Steven asked, pointing to me and Matt.
“That’s my daughter Kate and my son Matt”, Dad said to Mom.
“Oh, what wonderful names for a couple of beautiful children you have”, Steve grinned. “Come, it is dangerous out here.” We followed him to the house, which looked like it had seen better days. He entered through the double-set door, the first a solid door and a screen door behind. Entering the house, it smelled like what you’d expect, old man. Looking onto the floor is made of glossy wood and walls with cracks, likely caused by the earthquake. It is dark in there, lit by candlelight from many candles, yet it’s fairly warm here. I don’t know why we went into the house, but Dad was right, Steve is just a lonely, old man. Matter of fact, there seems to be nothing wrong here, other than the cracks in the walls. “Sorry, the power went out. Had to resort to the candles. I knew my wife would come in handy”, Steve explained as he took his coat off. “Oh, supper will be ready right away. Had to use the fireplace to cook. Also, can you take your boots off?” We took our boots and set them aside. We went into what seemed to be a living room, with dusty old-style furniture.
“So, where do we sit”, Mom asked.
“Oh, well, follow me”, Steve commanded, leading us to the dining room, with a long, wooden table and six wooden chairs, along with their corresponding old-fashioned plates, glasses and cutlery, lit up in the candlelight. We noticed that everything on the table was covered in a thin veil of dust. “My apologies, the recent shocks dropped a bit of dust on the table”, he explained as he noticed us looking at the plates and moved into another room nearby. “Take your seats if you like.” We all settled onto the chairs, and blew off our plates of the dust settled there.
“When will we eat”, Matt impatiently said.
“Once Steve comes out with the food”, Mom answered. Matt sat there with a tired look on his face. Dad seemed to be in a better mood than before and it looked like he wanted to start a conversation.
“Hey, should we talk about something”, Dad asked. I then see Steve with a bowl and a silver plate.
“Here we go, may not be much, but at least it’ll fulfil the soul”, Steve said, smiling when he served us mashed potatoes and meatloaf. “So, shall we pray?” That came unexpectedly, as we are not too religious, but we were in his house and gave us shelter and food.
“Sure, we can do that”, Mom said and we all bowed our heads and put our hands together. Steve cleared his throat
“Thank you, Lord, for this good food to feed the soul in these hard times. I shall pray, in the name of the Lord and Jesus Christ, that these hard times shall be over, so we can get on with our lives. Amen.” We raised our heads and grabbed whatever food there was onto our plates. “Oh, there’s no gravy, so we have to deal with bare potaters and meatloaf.”
“Oh, not to worry. Thank you for the food”, Dad thanked Steve. We began to eat the food once we got it sorted.
“So, what brings you here”, Steve asked.
“Well, there is an evacuation order in effect for this area, so we had to go to Regina”, Dad explained, with Steve taking in every word. “So, we came from Strasbourg, we tried going south towards Regina, but we hit an obstacle in the way and we had to take another route, leading us here.”
“And we encountered a few odd things along the way”, Mom added.
“Huh, interesting. What do you guys think is going on”, Steve inquired.
“By the things we saw, we have no idea. Dinosaurs, devil dogs, hell pigs, the whole deal. I shouldn’t forget the earthquake. They told us a pipeline leak caused by the earthquake”, Dad clarified to Steve.
“Hmm… is that so”, Steve wondered. “Wonder what I think is happening? The Rapture is happening. Do you know how the Bible tells us of the end times? Good people sent to be with God and his kingdom, the rest here to suffer the Hell unleashed by Satan.” By this point, he was beginning to rant, but we couldn't stop it as we all began to feel tired and powerless. “So, the Devil will send his demons in the form of these illusions so that they can torment the sinners. It is happening, it is-” Steve manically continued as I drew towards blackness and his voice becoming less coherent. My vision is now all black.
I saw those same lights, but more rapidly than before. I then emerged onto the same clear sky, but something felt different. I can smell something in the air. I can smell what seems to be chemicals in the air. Looking down, I was terrified. Dark, grey rock in the shape of ropes and folds, similar to those I saw of lava flows on a volcano in pictures. This went on as far as the eye could see. I can see no tree this time, just the cooled lava everywhere. I then walked, feeling every bump and crag. I thought I walked forever until I heard a rumbling sound and woke up.
I am in total darkness. It is cold and it smells like cow manure. I tried to move my hand, but it seemed to be bonded behind my back by a rope. I tried to move my feet, but they were also bound by rope to the legs I tried to speak, only to realise my mouth was agape by a cloth in my mouth. I heard shuffling nearby but I could not see. It was then shone in light when Steve entered the door, holding a candle, revealing all of us in the same situation. I then can see what we are in. We are in that same wooden dilapidated barn we saw earlier and seems to be more damaged than the house, wood creaking can be heard.
“These sedatives are more effective than I thought. Maybe I should use them more often”, Steve smoothly explained, like he’s some kind of agent and began pacing. “Wonder why you are here? Well, I wondered the same thing to myself, why didn’t God take me to his heaven? When I first heard of the government telling us of those evacuation plans, I thought it was that, a leaking pipe. I began to notice things I couldn’t believe myself, at least at first. Earthquakes, weird creatures showing up, people disappearing, the whole spiel. I connected the dots. The Rapture is happening, for sure, but why me? Why was I the one left here on this Earth”, Steve calmly ranted, pacing around the barn, but it seemed to sound crazier and angrier the more he paced. “I thought I had lost my way. I’ve been unfaithful to God and his son. But, I realised that God always has a plan and he left me on this Earth to serve a purpose. I wondered what my purpose was until I had a moment.” He then stopped in place and calmed down. He turned to look at Mom with accusing yet crazed eyes.
“I’m supposed to keep the sinners here in line, to earn a place in God’s kingdom, or suffer in Hell. I know you are a sweet woman, Janice, but your treachery with Satan is over and I am going to do what’s right.” Mom then looked at all of us, with assuring eyes like that of an innocent yet caring mother we all know knew. I began crying and trying to speak through the cloth, but I was helpless to watch by. “Forgive me, Father, for what I am going to do.” He then pulled a knife from his pocket and plunged it into Mom’s neck with no mercy. I looked away once he did that, trembling, with tears pouring out and my vision glazed and I fell limp. I could see my brother tearing up, but he did not look away. I can hear Dad behind me, with his screams of agony and anger covered by the cloth. It felt like I was in slow motion, taking in every moment.
I then heard the chair, screeching as Steve dragged the chair containing Mom’s lifeless body towards the door, leaving behind a trail of blood. I couldn’t bear to see my mother like this. I shut my eyes very hard and hoped it would go away. The door then shut, leaving us alone with a candle, fearing what would come next. I stared at the candle, seeing it dance in the flames like a woman dancing in the darkness. Is this how it’ll end, I thought. End up dying to this sick man? My Mom was killed in front of me. I sobbed with that thought, then I began to think about the inevitable death of me. I hope there’s something after I die. Maybe I’ll see Mom again.
It was silent for a while, nearly no sound other than our moans. Dad seems to be fidgeting at the back of his chair, rocking it slowly. Looking past him, I shuddered at the glistening pool of blood, where Mom was last alive, could be my fate. I then see Dad release his arms from the back of the chair and remove the cloth from his mouth. He silently stood up and bent down to untie his legs from the chair legs. He then went to me and removed my cloth.
“H-h-how did you do that”, I silently wept, fearing that Steve would show up at the door and kill us all.
“My binding is loose. The old man probably took a liking to me”, Dad whispered. “I should remove your binds.” He untied them, releasing me, doing the same for Matt. “Now, we need to be quiet.” We then walked, quietly, along the painfully creaking wood in the near dark, following the blood trail, glistening in the candlelight. We cringed and dreaded each sound we made and watched the door in case it began to creak open. A few silent steps later, we made it to the door and we slowly opened it so as not to make any noise. What was revealed to us is nothing new, other than the blood trail continuing in the snow directing towards the back of the barn. “Okay, Kate, Matt, you guys run to the truck.”
“What about you”, I sobbed.
“Don’t worry about me”, Dad responded, giving me his keys and forcing them into my hand. “If I’m not back in a few minutes, leave. Don’t look back, take care of your brother, okay? I love you, no matter what happens.” He then kissed me on the head and ran to follow the blood trail. We quickly walked towards the black truck, stranded there for maybe hours. Getting closer, freedom is getting closer. When we got to a fair distance to the truck, I heard footsteps behind me and, the next thing I knew, I was knocked over to the ground into the hard snow on my face. A hand turned me over to give me a glimpse of a crazed Steve, his eyes wilder than before.
“Oh, yes, trying to escape”, he bragged. I looked at him, frozen in fear, like a deer in headlights and he caressed my face with his bloodied blade. “You do have a pretty face, but I’m afraid you are just one of Satan's creations, made to pull me to lust.” He then raised his knife in the air when a familiar side emerged, out of the blue.
Joe came and bit him in the arm that was holding the knife. Steve screamed in agony the moment he realised what happened. He shook Joe off and stood up to stand his ground. I stood up as Joe hissed and walked around the crazed being he wounded, not in fear but in aggressiveness. “Is this one of your pets, demon”, Steve screamed as Joe came in for another attack, but Steve countered that with a slash to the snout. Joe then ran away, whining, into the darkness. This sequence of events gave me the chance to enter the truck on the driver’s side. I had some trouble starting it, besides this is my first time driving a truck.
Steve menacelily walked towards the when Dad came barreling and tackled him to the ground. Dad was on top when he went limp. I finally put the keys in the engine turned it on and backed out, with memory serving me the instructions on such a vehicle. Steve pushed Dad’s body and stood up, but by that time, we left the farm.
“Turn back, we have to get Dad”, Matt cried, but I was very emotional, accepting what happened. I felt that, without my parents, I feel… useless.
“Dad’s dead”, I screamed at Matt and he began gagging uncontrollably in tears. I began to feel sorry for him. “Sorry, I, I don’t know.”
“It’s okay”, Matt sniffled. “I guess Mom and Dad are dead anyways.” It was silence for a few more minutes, tears welling in our eyes.
“Hey, our parents are in a better place”, I said, trying to make the situation positive.
“But we are stuck here, without them? Don’t we deserve to go to a better place?”
“Don’t say that”, I huffed and I paused for a bit. “I know we are in the, uh, right place now. Let me tell you something, once we get to Regina, I will take care of you, no matter what life throws at us.”
“What about Joe”, Matt asked.
“He’ll be fine. He probably found his girlfriend already.”
“Hey, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“I, uh, I don’t have one. That I know of”, I spoke, bringing me back to Sam, remembering that she’s the only friend that I ever knew, and I left her. Without her, I felt alone, no one would ever relate. I began to tear up. “I don’t have any friends. I am alone,” I sobbed.
“What do you mean? I’m your brother!” I looked at Matt, and smiled, happy that he acknowledged that we were in this together.
“Thank you”, I thanked him. I slowly stopped on the road, just to hug Matt hard, crying my eyes out. We then heard what sounded like an elephant in front of us. We looked up to see a walking snow-covered brown fur wall with four pillar-like legs in front of us. Its curved tusks gleaned in the light and the eyes reflected in the light. The furry trunk waved around like a searching snake from a tree. We both knew what it was.
“Hey, look at that, a woolly mammoth”, Matt said, excitement running through him. At this point, we weren’t surprised.
“Yep, that is a woolly mammoth”, I added. The mammoth turned to us on the road, seemingly confused about where it was. It looked at our truck and seemed to growl, like an elephant. We are starting to realise this thing is becoming aggressive.
“Uh, should we move”, Matt asked. I remembered hearing something about standing your ground in case of an encounter with an elephant. I hoped it would work for a bigger, furrier version of one.
“No, we have to stand our ground.”
“But, it’ll attack u-”
“Trust me!” I then honked my horn and it backed up. It then rushed, then stopped, a mock charge. Eventually, it moved out of the road, disappearing into the darkness. We sighed in relief.
“That was close”, Matt sighed. I then continued to drive in the night, headlights leading the way. The road is bumpy, as noticed by every ditch and peak we hit, but surprisingly, Matt was fast asleep. I began to get comfortable driving and used to the road by that point. It was silent for a while until we hit a smaller intersection. That is when the truck shut down, completely and stopped. I tried the gas many times but with no effect. There is no light, nothing. It is near-darkness here, shone only by the moonlight.
“Shit”, I yelled, desperate to turn the truck on without much success. Matt woke up, confused.
“What happened”, he yawned.
“The truck turned itself off. I can’t get it back on”, I fretted and at that moment, Matt was just as panicked as I am.
“Why?”
“I-I don’t know. One moment, we were driving, another it just-”, I quavered, when I heard something rustle in the distance. We stood still, hoping whatever it was didn’t find us. I looked around, hoping to see something in the moonlight. I then see a long, walking animal. It looked like some sort of alligator at first, except for a dinosaur-like head. Once I strained my eyes to the darkness, my fear levels rose as I could see it walk on its hind limbs, with its forelimbs dangling nearly touching the ground.
It was wandering around on the road when I heard a near-crocodilian growl at Matt’s side of the truck. Another of those creatures appeared, seemingly looking into the window like a hungry bear, giving us a chance to see its scaly head. Its exposed alligator teeth gleaned in the light like knives, but more terrifying was the eye. Its serpentine pupil shone brilliantly in the light like eyes in the dark. It then ducked down, gave a hiss, and moved towards the other one. A few more showed up and formed a group.
“What should we do”, Matt asked. “Should we stay?” I looked around, hoping for another way to escape them without them noticing. I further strained my eyes and mentally mapped out the area. There is a cemetery on my right-hand side, a grain bin storage yard on my left and a series of trailers on the other side of the highway, which is ahead of us, from the storage area. There, I see a series of white, storage buildings, something we can go to and wait it out inside.
“Okay, so slowly open the door”, I instructed Matt. The click of the doors opening cringed us. We looked at the group, but there was no response from them. We then, as slowly as we could, opened the door and stepped out. Still no response. Matt then quietly ran to the other side, towards me. “Okay, we are going into the storage yard and go to the other entrance”, I said, pointing to the other right-hand corner. I wanted to get as far away from these things as possible before making a safe crossing. “Then, we cross the highway on the other side, run into the buildings and stay there for the night. Are you ready?”
“I guess”, he whispered, looking at me in fearful doubt.
“We are going to do this”, I whispered back. We then silently ran over, having to rely on our night-adapted eyes, to the corner, walking past the bins. We made it and nothing behind us so far. “We’re good so far.” We then crossed the road and noticed nothing. We noticed a tanker truck, leaking some sort of fluid across the road. I easily recognized it as fuel, based on its distinctive, sickly smell. I wouldn’t be worried about it if it weren’t for a collapsed light pole that is somehow still flickering with electricity near the area where the fuel would be flowing. We quickly avoided the fluid when I froze to see the group of the walking alligators, running towards us. “Run!” Matt tried to run, but one of those things appeared and clamped its jaws at the back of his neck. He yelped in pain and it took him down to the ground. “Matt”, I yelled, helplessly watching as the creature tore into him.
Matt reached out his arm before the others came to him, then a flash of fire came. At this point, I knew what happened, but I couldn’t even think before it exploded. It blew me towards the building, far away. I was knocked out for a few seconds before I regained consciousness, groaning in pain on the ice. I noticed something especially painful just below my chest. I reached towards the area with my hand. I pressed on it, more painful than ever and raised my hand, only to see blood, brightened by the fire. I realised I was wounded, maybe by shrapnel made by the explosion.
I looked toward where the truck was and all I saw was a blaze. Those things weren’t there, at least. I also noticed something else, too, there’s no Matt. I tried to look around for something, some sort of sign of my brother within the fire, but I saw none. I then wept, realising I had failed. I have failed to keep him safe. I have failed to give him a better life. I failed him as a sister. I could’ve done better. The thoughts poured in as tears glazed my eyes. At that moment, I failed to look around me.
I noticed a dark thing beside the blaze. I thought it was Matt, preparing to greet him back, even though I knew he couldn’t survive the explosion. The image became clearer and clearer as I noticed it was one of the walking crocs that, glazed by the fire, was coming towards me.
“Just kill me”, I screamed, preparing to painfully die to meet my maker. The creature was about to attack me when something large, silent as the wind, came charging and clamped down its massive jaws, filled with conical teeth on the hapless creature and raised it. The crocodile struggled before going limp with a crunch within its strong jaws. The big, dark and scaly monster that it is towered over me and is as long as a bus, possibly longer. Its large legs are a contradiction to its small arms that hide beneath its scarred, bulky body.
It turned to look at me with an oddly bird-like expression, revealing in the firelight numerous scars from battles I could never know and looked at me with its beady bird-like eyes, breathing out wisps from its nostrils like a dragon in the cool air. I recognized it as a creature I know too well, a T. Rex. I breathed heavily and sickly, looking at the thing, nearly expecting me to drop the body and go after me. Instead, it simply walked away, carrying its bloody prize with it, and steadily retreated into the darkness.
I then lay down in agonizing exhaustion on my back, thinking of the next step of action like I'm on a suicide mission I would never come back from. I looked in the direction of the graveyard and had one thought. I guess I am dying. a graveyard will do. I struggled to stand up, noticing my blood-soaked clothes and felt a broken left leg. I grasped my wound, limping step by step and enduring the sharp pain while shaking in the cold. Every step I took, I remembered all the memories, good or bad, that I had with my parents. My brother. My friends. My family. I eventually reached the cemetery and slouched at a tree.
“Guess I’m joining you, guys”, I said, speaking to the snow-covered gravestones, only to hear something. A familiar sound of chirping emerged and, lit by the blaze, it was a sight I can hope for. “Joe, what are you doing here”, I depressingly cheered as Joe went to me and curled up in my lap as if he were a cat. I noticed the new-found scar he had on his little snout, but I paid no mind as I petted him. “I guess you came back. Thank you so much for what you did”, I thanked him, not expecting such a loyal creature would be with me, comforting me, to the end, like what my mother used to do when I was a newborn. I heard another noise, this time a deep rumble.
I thought it was another earthquake coming, but it got louder the closer it got to me, becoming more animalistic only felt small vibrations I barely felt. Joe stayed put, oddly enough, as T. Rex, different from the first one, came. It walked towards us until it stopped short of us. It began to produce a low-pitched, bird-like purring, attracting Joe. I realised something, that this T. Rex is Joe’s parent. He joined the rest like him, whom they showed up and all chirped around.
The grown Rex then brought its snout closer to me, not to kill me, but to look at me. It did not reveal its teeth and was still purring. I put my hand out and its nose came close to it. It rubbed it against my hand and started to pet its cold, scaly skin as it breathed through its nose and put it on my chest. I rested my head on it before it pulled away. It gave out a hiss, but I knew it wasn’t that of a threat, but more of a thank you for bringing its small, sometimes immature, child home.
That gave me relief, as it felt like I at least did something for once. They walked away, along with Joe, towards the darkness amongst the gravestones in the cemetery. I glimpsed one last desperate look at Joe before walking beside his parent. I looked up at the sky and I could see all the stars, twinkling, and the dancing green auroras. I began to feel limp and felt the cold embrace of death coming over me, tears pouring out of my eyes. The sky then grew brighter and brighter, the stars faded into the light and I could see my family welcoming me to a new home. It then slowly went black, darker than a cave.
You would think this is the end of me. It wasn’t, or else I wouldn’t be writing this right now. I eventually woke up in a hospital in Regina. I was told I was rescued by a team that transported me while I was in a coma. The doctors said I was very lucky to be alive, as the shrapnel narrowly avoided my vital organs. After that, I was adopted into a new family, but I was only with them for a couple of years before finding a new job and moving out.
As for Sam, I don’t know what happened to her. I would like to think she is safe, somewhere else. As for my family, I think of them all the time. I was in a depressive period right after that. Eventually, over the years, I accepted that they were gone and went to a better place. For Joe, I would like to think he is all grown up, like his parents, and becoming the king of the jungle. I hope we meet again.
As for the evacuated area, it wasn’t some pipeline rupture that caused an evaluation, but an anomaly, with the exact reason not known. There are excuses for the claims of weird stuff going on in there, from disease to chemicals, to eventually a previously unknown geological event, but I saw through it all.
You may ask how, it's because I've been there. Take it or leave it, this is the story I have. As the decade came by, cover-ups were made to hide it, even walls were put around it. Since the incident, the exclusion zone grew from a mere 80 kilometers in diameter to 460 kilometers in diameter, emptying entire cities of the likes of Regina and Saskatoon. I had to move to North Battleford, by the recommendation from the same government covering it up, making me think that time will tell before the floodgates of truth open.
The anomaly didn’t have a name initially, however, over the years, everyone agreed on one name in particular: The Saskatchewan Anomaly.

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relatively, relax, release, relevant, relief, religion, religious, rely, remain, remaining, remarkable, remember, remind, remote, remove, repeat, repeatedly, replace, replacement, reply, report, reporter, represent, representation, representative, Republican, reputation, request, require, requirement, research, researcher, resemble, reservation, resident, residential, resign, resist, resistance, resolution, resolve, resort, resource, respect, respond, response, responsibility, responsible, rest, restaurant, restore, restriction, result, retain, retire, retirement, return, reveal, revenue, review, revolution, rhythm, rice, rich, rid, ride, rifle, right, ring, rise, risk, river, road, rock, role, roll, romantic, roof, room, root, rope, rose, rough, roughly, round, route, routine, row, rub, rubber, rude, ruin, rule, run, running, rural, rush, Russian, sacred, sad, safe, safety, sake, salad, salary, sale, sales, salt, same, sample, sanction, sand, satellite, satisfaction, satisfied, satisfy, sauce, save, saving, say, scale, scandal, scare, scatter, scenario, scene, schedule, scheme, scholar, scholarship, school, science, scientific, scientist, scope, score, scream, screen, script, sea, search, season, seat, second, secondary, secret, secretary, section, sector, secure, security, see, seed, seek, seem, segment, seize, select, selection, self, sell, Senate, senator, send, senior, sense, sensitive, sentence, separate, sequence, series, serious, seriously, servant, serve, service, session, set, setting, settle, settlement, seven, several, severe, sex, sexual, shade, shadow, shake, shall, shallow, shape, share, sharp, she, sheet, shelf, shell, shelter, shift, shine, ship, shirt, shock, shoe, shoot, shooting, shop, shopping, short, shortly, shot, should, shoulder, shout, show, shower, shrug, shut, shy, sibling, sick, side, sigh, sight, sign, signal, significant, significantly, silence, silent, silver, similar, similarly, simple, simply, sin, since, sing, singer, single, sink, sir, sister, sit, site, situation, six, size, ski, skill, skin, skirt, sky, slave, sleep, slice, slide, slight, slightly, slip, slow, slowly, small, smart, smell, smile, smoke, smooth, snap, snow, so, so-called, soccer, social, society, soft, software, soil, solar, soldier, sole, solid, solution, solve, some, somebody, somehow, someone, something, sometimes, somewhat, somewhere, son, song, soon, sophisticated, sorry, sort, soul, sound, soup, source, south, southern, Soviet, space, Spanish, speak, speaker, special, specialist, species, specific, specifically, specify, speech, speed, spend, spending, spin, spirit, spiritual, split, spoil, sponsor, sport, spot, spray, spread, spring, square, squeeze, stability, stable, staff, stage, stain, stair, stake, stand, standard, standing, star, stare, start, state, statement, station, statistical, status, stay, steady, steal, steel, steep, stem, step, stick, still, stimulate, stimulus, stir, stock, stomach, stone, stop, storage, store, storm, story, straight, strange, stranger, strategic, strategy, stream, street, strength, strengthen, stress, stretch, strike, string, strip, stroke, strong, strongly, structural, structure, struggle, student, studio, study, stuff, stupid, style, subject, submit, subsequent, substance, substantial, substitute, succeed, success, successful, successfully, such, sudden, suddenly, sue, suffer, sufficient, sugar, suggest, suggestion, suicide, suit, summer, summit, sun, super, supply, support, supporter, suppose, supposed, Supreme, sure, surely, surface, surgery, surprise, surprised, surprising, surprisingly, surround, survey, survival, survive, survivor, suspect, sustain, swear, sweep, sweet, swim, swing, switch, symbol, symptom, system, table, tactic, tail, take, tale, talent, talk, tall, tank, tap, tape, target, task, taste, tax, taxi, tea, teach, teacher, teaching, team, tear, technical, technique, technology, teen, teenager, telephone, telescope, television, tell, temperature, 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weather, web, website, wedding, week, weekend, weekly, weigh, weight, welcome, welfare, well, west, western, wet, what, whatever, wheel, when, whenever, where, whereas, whether, which, while, whisper, white, who, whole, whom, whose, why, wide, widely, widespread, wife, wild, wildlife, will, willing, win, wind, window, wine, wing, winner, winter, wipe, wire, wisdom, wise, wish, with, withdraw, within, without, witness, woman, wonder, wonderful, wood, wooden, word, work, worker, working, workout, workplace, works, workshop, world, worried, worry, worth, would, wound, wrap, write, writer, writing, wrong, yard, yeah, year, yell, yellow, yes, yesterday, yet, yield, you, young, your, yours, yourself, youth, zone.

hi, i'm currently looking for help finding the poem (and full transcript) "reading the road map" by bert almon. i found a bit of it on tumblr, and it's available in the university of toronto library, but i can't sign in because i'm not a student, i can't find it anywhere else since all other websites are blocked or not working. i attached the small bit i've found below, in case it's any help.
thank you lots!

I went out to see the comet a little fuzzed ball of light but it was Venus that moved me brighter than I’d ever seen her since an early morning in the 50s my family lost on a highway in the middle of the state on a trip from a new home
My parents in the front seat struggled with the rattling...

It is a man, old and scraggy. He wears a jacket that lays over the red plaid button shirt and blue jeans. He wears an old baseball cap and a pair of glasses. He yelled something to Dad, holding his hands up like he was pleading, although we couldn’t hear it over the truck engine. They talked, but we couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“Hey, what are they saying”, I asked, while petting Matt’s hair, calming him. The old man then put his hands down and came close to Dad in a cautious way. They seem to start having some kind of conversation.
“I don’t really know, hopefully, something good”, Mom answered. They talked for a little while, with daylight beginning to disappear, giving us a sense of dread, and making me more worried about what weird creature was going to show up. Eventually, the old man turned and pointed toward what I think is the northeast. They then shook hands and walked back to their respective vehicles. “What’s going on”, Mom asked as Dad got into the truck.
“Well, our new friend here invited us to dinner at his farm”, Dad replied.
“Does he have supplies?”
“Well, he says has supplies for us to make the journey.”
“Should we even trust him? We just met h-”
“Relax, he’s just an old man, living alone at his farm, feeding his cows. What could go wrong”, Dad countered. The old man then entered the truck that was running and drove slowly, expecting us to follow him.
“Alrighty then, but we have to be cautious”, Mom said, with her suspicions of the old man. We then followed the old truck along the dark, frozen road. It just feels like something is going to show up along the road, but nothing happened. Matt did eventually stop crying, but he is still upset about the Joe escape thing.
“Where are we going”, Matt lamented, with the prior series of events in mind.
“I guess somebody is offering us dinner”, I answered.
“Why can’t we just go home?”
“It’s only going to be a stop, like a hotel. After that, we go to our new home, I guess”, I said, taking another look at Matt and cradling to comfort him. “It’s going to be okay.” I stared out into the darkness. I looked to the sky from the window and I faintly saw something in the clear, dark sky, lit up by the waning moon. They were brilliant, green auroras that defy the bright moon, dancing across the sky like ribbons in the wind. The truck eventually took a right-hand turn into another road, with us following suit. I can see a bright, orange light emerging from a patch of tree. When we passed by, it seemed it was a house, at a farm, burning in a massive flame.
“I guess those people aren’t so, uh, lucky”, Dad said, taking a quick look at it before looking at the road. Passing by, we went on and continued to follow the old man’s truck. We passed onto another intersection until he turned into a driveway to what I believe to be his farm. Going into the driveway, I can see an old house, along with a dilapidated farm further away, barely visible by the headlights. The old man parked by the house, where there were a few other trucks there. We parked alongside the truck and we got out into the cold, near-silent night.
“Welcome to sanctuary, where all are welcome”, the old man bellowed. This is the first time I’ve heard his voice. Matt was the last to get out of the truck, slowly and clumsily climbing out of the truck.
“What’s your name”, my Mom politely asked the old man.
“Oh, I guess your husband didn’t tell ya. My name is Steven, but you can call me Steve”, the old man said, with some crackling in his voice. “I am very proud to host a dinner for you and your family”, he continued. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Oh, my name is Janice”, Mom replied, quite pleased at his politeness.
“Hello, Janice, and what are their names”, Steven asked, pointing to me and Matt.
“That’s my daughter Kate and my son Matt”, Dad said to Mom.
“Oh, what wonderful names for a couple of beautiful children you have”, Steve grinned. “Come, it is dangerous out here.” We followed him to the house, which looked like it had seen better days. He entered through the double-set door, the first a solid door and a screen door behind. Entering the house, it smelled like what you’d expect, old man. Looking onto the floor is made of glossy wood and walls with cracks, likely caused by the earthquake. It is dark in there, lit by candlelight from many candles, yet it’s fairly warm here. I don’t know why we went into the house, but Dad was right, Steve is just a lonely, old man. Matter of fact, there seems to be nothing wrong here, other than the cracks in the walls. “Sorry, the power went out. Had to resort to the candles. I knew my wife would come in handy”, Steve explained as he took his coat off. “Oh, supper will be ready right away. Had to use the fireplace to cook. Also, can you take your boots off?” We took our boots and set them aside. We went into what seemed to be a living room, with dusty old-style furniture.
“So, where do we sit”, Mom asked.
“Oh, well, follow me”, Steve commanded, leading us to the dining room, with a long, wooden table and six wooden chairs, along with their corresponding old-fashioned plates, glasses and cutlery, lit up in the candlelight. We noticed that everything on the table was covered in a thin veil of dust. “My apologies, the recent shocks dropped a bit of dust on the table”, he explained as he noticed us looking at the plates and moved into another room nearby. “Take your seats if you like.” We all settled onto the chairs, and blew off our plates of the dust settled there.
“When will we eat”, Matt impatiently said.
“Once Steve comes out with the food”, Mom answered. Matt sat there with a tired look on his face. Dad seemed to be in a better mood than before and it looked like he wanted to start a conversation.
“Hey, should we talk about something”, Dad asked. I then see Steve with a bowl and a silver plate.
“Here we go, may not be much, but at least it’ll fulfil the soul”, Steve said, smiling when he served us mashed potatoes and meatloaf. “So, shall we pray?” That came unexpectedly, as we are not too religious, but we were in his house and gave us shelter and food.
“Sure, we can do that”, Mom said and we all bowed our heads and put our hands together. Steve cleared his throat
“Thank you, Lord, for this good food to feed the soul in these hard times. I shall pray, in the name of the Lord and Jesus Christ, that these hard times shall be over, so we can get on with our lives. Amen.” We raised our heads and grabbed whatever food there was onto our plates. “Oh, there’s no gravy, so we have to deal with bare potaters and meatloaf.”
“Oh, not to worry. Thank you for the food”, Dad thanked Steve. We began to eat the food once we got it sorted.
“So, what brings you here”, Steve asked.
“Well, there is an evacuation order in effect for this area, so we had to go to Regina”, Dad explained, with Steve taking in every word. “So, we came from Strasbourg, we tried going south towards Regina, but we hit an obstacle in the way and we had to take another route, leading us here.”
“And we encountered a few odd things along the way”, Mom added.
“Huh, interesting. What do you guys think is going on”, Steve inquired.
“By the things we saw, we have no idea. Dinosaurs, devil dogs, hell pigs, the whole deal. I shouldn’t forget the earthquake. They told us a pipeline leak caused by the earthquake”, Dad clarified to Steve.
“Hmm… is that so”, Steve wondered. “Wonder what I think is happening? The Rapture is happening. Do you know how the Bible tells us of the end times? Good people sent to be with God and his kingdom, the rest here to suffer the Hell unleashed by Satan.” By this point, he was beginning to rant, but we couldn't stop it as we all began to feel tired and powerless. “So, the Devil will send his demons in the form of these illusions so that they can torment the sinners. It is happening, it is-” Steve manically continued as I drew towards blackness and his voice becoming less coherent. My vision is now all black.
I saw those same lights, but more rapidly than before. I then emerged onto the same clear sky, but something felt different. I can smell something in the air. I can smell what seems to be chemicals in the air. Looking down, I was terrified. Dark, grey rock in the shape of ropes and folds, similar to those I saw of lava flows on a volcano in pictures. This went on as far as the eye could see. I can see no tree this time, just the cooled lava everywhere. I then walked, feeling every bump and crag. I thought I walked forever until I heard a rumbling sound and woke up.
I am in total darkness. It is cold and it smells like cow manure. I tried to move my hand, but it seemed to be bonded behind my back by a rope. I tried to move my feet, but they were also bound by rope to the legs I tried to speak, only to realise my mouth was agape by a cloth in my mouth. I heard shuffling nearby but I could not see. It was then shone in light when Steve entered the door, holding a candle, revealing all of us in the same situation. I then can see what we are in. We are in that same wooden dilapidated barn we saw earlier and seems to be more damaged than the house, wood creaking can be heard.
“These sedatives are more effective than I thought. Maybe I should use them more often”, Steve smoothly explained, like he’s some kind of agent and began pacing. “Wonder why you are here? Well, I wondered the same thing to myself, why didn’t God take me to his heaven? When I first heard of the government telling us of those evacuation plans, I thought it was that, a leaking pipe. I began to notice things I couldn’t believe myself, at least at first. Earthquakes, weird creatures showing up, people disappearing, the whole spiel. I connected the dots. The Rapture is happening, for sure, but why me? Why was I the one left here on this Earth”, Steve calmly ranted, pacing around the barn, but it seemed to sound crazier and angrier the more he paced. “I thought I had lost my way. I’ve been unfaithful to God and his son. But, I realised that God always has a plan and he left me on this Earth to serve a purpose. I wondered what my purpose was until I had a moment.” He then stopped in place and calmed down. He turned to look at Mom with accusing yet crazed eyes.
“I’m supposed to keep the sinners here in line, to earn a place in God’s kingdom, or suffer in Hell. I know you are a sweet woman, Janice, but your treachery with Satan is over and I am going to do what’s right.” Mom then looked at all of us, with assuring eyes like that of an innocent yet caring mother we all know knew. I began crying and trying to speak through the cloth, but I was helpless to watch by. “Forgive me, Father, for what I am going to do.” He then pulled a knife from his pocket and plunged it into Mom’s neck with no mercy. I looked away once he did that, trembling, with tears pouring out and my vision glazed and I fell limp. I could see my brother tearing up, but he did not look away. I can hear Dad behind me, with his screams of agony and anger covered by the cloth. It felt like I was in slow motion, taking in every moment.
I then heard the chair, screeching as Steve dragged the chair containing Mom’s lifeless body towards the door, leaving behind a trail of blood. I couldn’t bear to see my mother like this. I shut my eyes very hard and hoped it would go away. The door then shut, leaving us alone with a candle, fearing what would come next. I stared at the candle, seeing it dance in the flames like a woman dancing in the darkness. Is this how it’ll end, I thought. End up dying to this sick man? My Mom was killed in front of me. I sobbed with that thought, then I began to think about the inevitable death of me. I hope there’s something after I die. Maybe I’ll see Mom again.
It was silent for a while, nearly no sound other than our moans. Dad seems to be fidgeting at the back of his chair, rocking it slowly. Looking past him, I shuddered at the glistening pool of blood, where Mom was last alive, could be my fate. I then see Dad release his arms from the back of the chair and remove the cloth from his mouth. He silently stood up and bent down to untie his legs from the chair legs. He then went to me and removed my cloth.
“H-h-how did you do that”, I silently wept, fearing that Steve would show up at the door and kill us all.
“My binding is loose. The old man probably took a liking to me”, Dad whispered. “I should remove your binds.” He untied them, releasing me, doing the same for Matt. “Now, we need to be quiet.” We then walked, quietly, along the painfully creaking wood in the near dark, following the blood trail, glistening in the candlelight. We cringed and dreaded each sound we made and watched the door in case it began to creak open. A few silent steps later, we made it to the door and we slowly opened it so as not to make any noise. What was revealed to us is nothing new, other than the blood trail continuing in the snow directing towards the back of the barn. “Okay, Kate, Matt, you guys run to the truck.”
“What about you”, I sobbed.
“Don’t worry about me”, Dad responded, giving me his keys and forcing them into my hand. “If I’m not back in a few minutes, leave. Don’t look back, take care of your brother, okay? I love you, no matter what happens.” He then kissed me on the head and ran to follow the blood trail. We quickly walked towards the black truck, stranded there for maybe hours. Getting closer, freedom is getting closer. When we got to a fair distance to the truck, I heard footsteps behind me and, the next thing I knew, I was knocked over to the ground into the hard snow on my face. A hand turned me over to give me a glimpse of a crazed Steve, his eyes wilder than before.
“Oh, yes, trying to escape”, he bragged. I looked at him, frozen in fear, like a deer in headlights and he caressed my face with his bloodied blade. “You do have a pretty face, but I’m afraid you are just one of Satan's creations, made to pull me to lust.” He then raised his knife in the air when a familiar side emerged, out of the blue.
Joe came and bit him in the arm that was holding the knife. Steve screamed in agony the moment he realised what happened. He shook Joe off and stood up to stand his ground. I stood up as Joe hissed and walked around the crazed being he wounded, not in fear but in aggressiveness. “Is this one of your pets, demon”, Steve screamed as Joe came in for another attack, but Steve countered that with a slash to the snout. Joe then ran away, whining, into the darkness. This sequence of events gave me the chance to enter the truck on the driver’s side. I had some trouble starting it, besides this is my first time driving a truck.
Steve menacelily walked towards the when Dad came barreling and tackled him to the ground. Dad was on top when he went limp. I finally put the keys in the engine turned it on and backed out, with memory serving me the instructions on such a vehicle. Steve pushed Dad’s body and stood up, but by that time, we left the farm.
“Turn back, we have to get Dad”, Matt cried, but I was very emotional, accepting what happened. I felt that, without my parents, I feel… useless.
“Dad’s dead”, I screamed at Matt and he began gagging uncontrollably in tears. I began to feel sorry for him. “Sorry, I, I don’t know.”
“It’s okay”, Matt sniffled. “I guess Mom and Dad are dead anyways.” It was silence for a few more minutes, tears welling in our eyes.
“Hey, our parents are in a better place”, I said, trying to make the situation positive.
“But we are stuck here, without them? Don’t we deserve to go to a better place?”
“Don’t say that”, I huffed and I paused for a bit. “I know we are in the, uh, right place now. Let me tell you something, once we get to Regina, I will take care of you, no matter what life throws at us.”
“What about Joe”, Matt asked.
“He’ll be fine. He probably found his girlfriend already.”
“Hey, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“I, uh, I don’t have one. That I know of”, I spoke, bringing me back to Sam, remembering that she’s the only friend that I ever knew, and I left her. Without her, I felt alone, no one would ever relate. I began to tear up. “I don’t have any friends. I am alone,” I sobbed.
“What do you mean? I’m your brother!” I looked at Matt, and smiled, happy that he acknowledged that we were in this together.
“Thank you”, I thanked him. I slowly stopped on the road, just to hug Matt hard, crying my eyes out. We then heard what sounded like an elephant in front of us. We looked up to see a walking snow-covered brown fur wall with four pillar-like legs in front of us. Its curved tusks gleaned in the light and the eyes reflected in the light. The furry trunk waved around like a searching snake from a tree. We both knew what it was.
“Hey, look at that, a woolly mammoth”, Matt said, excitement running through him. At this point, we weren’t surprised.
“Yep, that is a woolly mammoth”, I added. The mammoth turned to us on the road, seemingly confused about where it was. It looked at our truck and seemed to growl, like an elephant. We are starting to realise this thing is becoming aggressive.
“Uh, should we move”, Matt asked. I remembered hearing something about standing your ground in case of an encounter with an elephant. I hoped it would work for a bigger, furrier version of one.
“No, we have to stand our ground.”
“But, it’ll attack u-”
“Trust me!” I then honked my horn and it backed up. It then rushed, then stopped, a mock charge. Eventually, it moved out of the road, disappearing into the darkness. We sighed in relief.
“That was close”, Matt sighed. I then continued to drive in the night, headlights leading the way. The road is bumpy, as noticed by every ditch and peak we hit, but surprisingly, Matt was fast asleep. I began to get comfortable driving and used to the road by that point. It was silent for a while until we hit a smaller intersection. That is when the truck shut down, completely and stopped. I tried the gas many times but with no effect. There is no light, nothing. It is near-darkness here, shone only by the moonlight.
“Shit”, I yelled, desperate to turn the truck on without much success. Matt woke up, confused.
“What happened”, he yawned.
“The truck turned itself off. I can’t get it back on”, I fretted and at that moment, Matt was just as panicked as I am.
“Why?”
“I-I don’t know. One moment, we were driving, another it just-”, I quavered, when I heard something rustle in the distance. We stood still, hoping whatever it was didn’t find us. I looked around, hoping to see something in the moonlight. I then see a long, walking animal. It looked like some sort of alligator at first, except for a dinosaur-like head. Once I strained my eyes to the darkness, my fear levels rose as I could see it walk on its hind limbs, with its forelimbs dangling nearly touching the ground.
It was wandering around on the road when I heard a near-crocodilian growl at Matt’s side of the truck. Another of those creatures appeared, seemingly looking into the window like a hungry bear, giving us a chance to see its scaly head. Its exposed alligator teeth gleaned in the light like knives, but more terrifying was the eye. Its serpentine pupil shone brilliantly in the light like eyes in the dark. It then ducked down, gave a hiss, and moved towards the other one. A few more showed up and formed a group.
“What should we do”, Matt asked. “Should we stay?” I looked around, hoping for another way to escape them without them noticing. I further strained my eyes and mentally mapped out the area. There is a cemetery on my right-hand side, a grain bin storage yard on my left and a series of trailers on the other side of the highway, which is ahead of us, from the storage area. There, I see a series of white, storage buildings, something we can go to and wait it out inside.
“Okay, so slowly open the door”, I instructed Matt. The click of the doors opening cringed us. We looked at the group, but there was no response from them. We then, as slowly as we could, opened the door and stepped out. Still no response. Matt then quietly ran to the other side, towards me. “Okay, we are going into the storage yard and go to the other entrance”, I said, pointing to the other right-hand corner. I wanted to get as far away from these things as possible before making a safe crossing. “Then, we cross the highway on the other side, run into the buildings and stay there for the night. Are you ready?”
“I guess”, he whispered, looking at me in fearful doubt.
“We are going to do this”, I whispered back. We then silently ran over, having to rely on our night-adapted eyes, to the corner, walking past the bins. We made it and nothing behind us so far. “We’re good so far.” We then crossed the road and noticed nothing. We noticed a tanker truck, leaking some sort of fluid across the road. I easily recognized it as fuel, based on its distinctive, sickly smell. I wouldn’t be worried about it if it weren’t for a collapsed light pole that is somehow still flickering with electricity near the area where the fuel would be flowing. We quickly avoided the fluid when I froze to see the group of the walking alligators, running towards us. “Run!” Matt tried to run, but one of those things appeared and clamped its jaws at the back of his neck. He yelped in pain and it took him down to the ground. “Matt”, I yelled, helplessly watching as the creature tore into him.
Matt reached out his arm before the others came to him, then a flash of fire came. At this point, I knew what happened, but I couldn’t even think before it exploded. It blew me towards the building, far away. I was knocked out for a few seconds before I regained consciousness, groaning in pain on the ice. I noticed something especially painful just below my chest. I reached towards the area with my hand. I pressed on it, more painful than ever and raised my hand, only to see blood, brightened by the fire. I realised I was wounded, maybe by shrapnel made by the explosion.
I looked toward where the truck was and all I saw was a blaze. Those things weren’t there, at least. I also noticed something else, too, there’s no Matt. I tried to look around for something, some sort of sign of my brother within the fire, but I saw none. I then wept, realising I had failed. I have failed to keep him safe. I have failed to give him a better life. I failed him as a sister. I could’ve done better. The thoughts poured in as tears glazed my eyes. At that moment, I failed to look around me.
I noticed a dark thing beside the blaze. I thought it was Matt, preparing to greet him back, even though I knew he couldn’t survive the explosion. The image became clearer and clearer as I noticed it was one of the walking crocs that, glazed by the fire, was coming towards me.
“Just kill me”, I screamed, preparing to painfully die to meet my maker. The creature was about to attack me when something large, silent as the wind, came charging and clamped down its massive jaws, filled with conical teeth on the hapless creature and raised it. The crocodile struggled before going limp with a crunch within its strong jaws. The big, dark and scaly monster that it is towered over me and is as long as a bus, possibly longer. Its large legs are a contradiction to its small arms that hide beneath its scarred, bulky body.
It turned to look at me with an oddly bird-like expression, revealing in the firelight numerous scars from battles I could never know and looked at me with its beady bird-like eyes, breathing out wisps from its nostrils like a dragon in the cool air. I recognized it as a creature I know too well, a T. Rex. I breathed heavily and sickly, looking at the thing, nearly expecting me to drop the body and go after me. Instead, it simply walked away, carrying its bloody prize with it, and steadily retreated into the darkness.
I then lay down in agonizing exhaustion on my back, thinking of the next step of action like I'm on a suicide mission I would never come back from. I looked in the direction of the graveyard and had one thought. I guess I am dying. a graveyard will do. I struggled to stand up, noticing my blood-soaked clothes and felt a broken left leg. I grasped my wound, limping step by step and enduring the sharp pain while shaking in the cold. Every step I took, I remembered all the memories, good or bad, that I had with my parents. My brother. My friends. My family. I eventually reached the cemetery and slouched at a tree.
“Guess I’m joining you, guys”, I said, speaking to the snow-covered gravestones, only to hear something. A familiar sound of chirping emerged and, lit by the blaze, it was a sight I can hope for. “Joe, what are you doing here”, I depressingly cheered as Joe went to me and curled up in my lap as if he were a cat. I noticed the new-found scar he had on his little snout, but I paid no mind as I petted him. “I guess you came back. Thank you so much for what you did”, I thanked him, not expecting such a loyal creature would be with me, comforting me, to the end, like what my mother used to do when I was a newborn. I heard another noise, this time a deep rumble.
I thought it was another earthquake coming, but it got louder the closer it got to me, becoming more animalistic only felt small vibrations I barely felt. Joe stayed put, oddly enough, as T. Rex, different from the first one, came. It walked towards us until it stopped short of us. It began to produce a low-pitched, bird-like purring, attracting Joe. I realised something, that this T. Rex is Joe’s parent. He joined the rest like him, whom they showed up and all chirped around.
The grown Rex then brought its snout closer to me, not to kill me, but to look at me. It did not reveal its teeth and was still purring. I put my hand out and its nose came close to it. It rubbed it against my hand and started to pet its cold, scaly skin as it breathed through its nose and put it on my chest. I rested my head on it before it pulled away. It gave out a hiss, but I knew it wasn’t that of a threat, but more of a thank you for bringing its small, sometimes immature, child home.
That gave me relief, as it felt like I at least did something for once. They walked away, along with Joe, towards the darkness amongst the gravestones in the cemetery. I glimpsed one last desperate look at Joe before walking beside his parent. I looked up at the sky and I could see all the stars, twinkling, and the dancing green auroras. I began to feel limp and felt the cold embrace of death coming over me, tears pouring out of my eyes. The sky then grew brighter and brighter, the stars faded into the light and I could see my family welcoming me to a new home. It then slowly went black, darker than a cave.
You would think this is the end of me. It wasn’t, or else I wouldn’t be writing this right now. I eventually woke up in a hospital in Regina. I was told I was rescued by a team that transported me while I was in a coma. The doctors said I was very lucky to be alive, as the shrapnel narrowly avoided my vital organs. After that, I was adopted into a new family, but I was only with them for a couple of years before finding a new job and moving out.
As for Sam, I don’t know what happened to her. I would like to think she is safe, somewhere else. As for my family, I think of them all the time. I was in a depressive period right after that. Eventually, over the years, I accepted that they were gone and went to a better place. For Joe, I would like to think he is all grown up, like his parents, and becoming the king of the jungle. I hope we meet again.
As for the evacuated area, it wasn’t some pipeline rupture that caused an evaluation, but an anomaly, with the exact reason not known. There are excuses for the claims of weird stuff going on in there, from disease to chemicals, to eventually a previously unknown geological event, but I saw through it all.
You may ask how, it's because I've been there. Take it or leave it, this is the story I have. As the decade came by, cover-ups were made to hide it, even walls were put around it. Since the incident, the exclusion zone grew from a mere 80 kilometers in diameter to 460 kilometers in diameter, emptying entire cities of the likes of Regina and Saskatoon. I had to move to North Battleford, by the recommendation from the same government covering it up, making me think that time will tell before the floodgates of truth open.
The anomaly didn’t have a name initially, however, over the years, everyone agreed on one name in particular: The Saskatchewan Anomaly.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this or what I hope to gain from it. There are many things wrong with me, and it feels overwhelming.
Here are some preliminary things about me to get as much context as possible. I'm 20 years old. I'm turning 21 in July. I'm Indian-American. I will graduate college half a year early in December in a subject I hate. I'm currently on anti-depressants (a small dosage).
At first, I thought my depression was just stress about the future or my obsession with a crush. I barely know him, and he’s more a character I've created in my mind. He’s probably straight. A losing game. I know I’m destined to be alone. I’m superficial and plagued by insecurities about my body that nothing can fix.
I’m not smart enough for STEM. Forget being average—I’m not even competent. This leaves me feeling like I have nothing else. Whatever small talent I have in writing seems useless because I lack the strength, willpower, and discipline to achieve anything significant.
Moreover, I hate my parents. I've realized that I've let their burdens unfairly affect me, and I feel guilty about this. I'm still grappling with whether this guilt, or even this hatred, is valid.
I’m always confused and tired, and sharing these feelings with others makes me uncomfortable. I have a therapist who makes me feel heard, but I don't think I've been improving through our sessions.
I've stopped being able to enjoy anything anymore. Writing poems helped for a bit, but now I get drained even thinking about doing anything. I wish time would stop. I wish my brain could just shut the fuck up and turn itself off.
I just don’t know anymore...

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this or what I hope to gain from it. There are many things wrong with me, and it feels overwhelming.
Here are some preliminary things about me to get as much context as possible. I'm 20 years old. I'm turning 21 in July. I'm Indian-American. I will graduate college half a year early in December in a subject I hate. I'm currently on anti-depressants (a small dosage).
At first, I thought my depression was just stress about the future or my obsession with a crush. I barely know him, and he’s more a character I've created in my mind. He’s probably straight. A losing game. I know I’m destined to be alone. I’m superficial and plagued by insecurities about my body that nothing can fix.
I’m not smart enough for STEM. Forget being average—I’m not even competent. This leaves me feeling like I have nothing else. Whatever small talent I have in writing seems useless because I lack the strength, willpower, and discipline to achieve anything significant.
Moreover, I hate my parents. I've realized that I've let their burdens unfairly affect me, and I feel guilty about this. I'm still grappling with whether this guilt, or even this hatred, is valid.
I’m always confused and tired, and sharing these feelings with others makes me uncomfortable. I have a therapist who makes me feel heard, but I don't think I've been improving through our sessions.
I've stopped being able to enjoy anything anymore. Writing poems helped for a bit, but now I get drained even thinking about doing anything. I wish time would stop. I wish my brain could just shut the fuck up and turn itself off.
I just don’t know anymore...

A short Zuihitsu poem I strung together for the monthly prompt, "New and Old".
Morning. Monday. The sun peeks between the cracks of my window blinds, spilling out onto my floor. He’s tentative – he’d rather not wake me too strenuously, but I have to get out of bed.
A boy wanders under a freeway – aimless, he is – with his little brown eyes surveying the rubbled ground. It’s dark and noisy and clammy down here, but a flash of silver jumps out to grab ahold of his flashlight and yank him its way.
I haven’t forgotten anything, have I? Keys, coat, wallet; I’m always on a time crunch even when I’m not.
Drive to work: upbeat, perfervid, vivacious.
The fork the boy picks up is antique, ancient, like it’d been dumped straight out of a tear in time into the wrong era. It tries to speak to him and tell him all about its endeavors, but the rust coating it muffles its voice.
I’m wearing a new suit today; I bought it a little while back, although the saleswoman wasn't so sure I could afford it. Well, I proved her wrong – and as I traipse into the office with as much vigor as I can muster, I wonder if any of my colleagues will comment on it.
My old suit was tiresome and down-at-the-heels. It pioneered for a great while and served its purpose grand and supplemental – I rescued a dog in it, I was promoted in it, I tore a hole in it.
“I mean, it’s corroded–
No one has a lick to say to me about my new suit, but I linger patiently for it anyway – an offhanded quip or a, “hey, nice suit”. I spend the day waiting for something that doesn’t want to arrive.
Had to get that hole stitched up, by the way. It was a whole lot of trouble. I’d hired this old babushka to do it, but she wouldn’t stop giving me dirty looks, as if I did something to offend her. Maybe I looked at one of her thousand cats the wrong way, or pushed open the door to her abode too loudly.
The boy carries his fork all the way home like a lost kitten. He steals – borrows, more accurately – his parent’s tools so he can polish it up all mutton-fisted. For hours upon end, he scrapes away at the rust, fleck by fleck, until the fork's voice isn’t so stifled.
Drive to home: dreary, tedious, toilworn.
–and what’s so great about a used-up fork, anyway? You might as well throw it away and buy a new one, you know? I wouldn’t go through all that trouble.”
As soon as I’m home, I take off my new suit. I place it in the wash. Run a cycle; squeaky clean. I crawl into bed.
His parents remark about the fork that night when the boy uses it to eat dinner. He should sell it off at a pawnshop, they’d simultaneously said; he’ll fetch a good price for it. He argues otherwise. It’s pretty and besides, finders, keepers!
Anyway, I ended up throwing out that old suit. I grew weary and bored of it.
Morning. Tuesday. The sun bulldozes through the cracks of my window blinds, pouring out onto my floor. He’s unabashed – he wants me to know loud and clear I have to get out of bed and wear my suit again.

OKAY OKAY new day new story also atp I'd like to call this the not so lucky chronicles of nvm too big of an intro already soo here goes the story ehm ehm
12th was over and I was doing neet entrance preps (repeat) so basically wasting an year jus cause I couldn't face my ex [whole another story]
Apo angne irunn kure avumbo I meet this girl from kasargod and start talking away and she was like proper "bro" material like angottum ingottum ookal and it went ahead very smoothly.
Until AADUJEEVITHAM happened like I was watching the movie and was bored to death so I started texting her and somewhere around the interval she said "ente ponn vazhee...." istg my brain stopped braining for a second like maybe it's the way she said it or maybe it was me having hallucinations like najeeb did but everything changed after that
We started flirting and suddenly the cringe and corny lines felt like poems....angne kure naaal poi until one day I was like "she is too adipoli like what If some other idiot figures that out" and I asked her if I could ask her out....Apo she said "ask me neritt"
That wouldn't have been a problem if she was actually near but apolekum classes were over and she was back home and since her favourite movie was thattathin marayathu I collected all the vinod-ism in me and booked a train ticket to kasargod
And when I reached there I called her to let her know I'm there but she said she was out with her fam so I'd have to wait like 3 hrs before I go to her place soo I watched VARSHANGALKU SHESHAM and ohhh did I fall for "Madhoo pakaroo" and the line struck a string in my heart ayoooo😭
Angne full romance pidich I went to her place at like 10 pm (after the movie was over) and otw I had the dumb idea to ask a random naatukaran [evdeya etta ee ______ sthalam] and he was like "Nee eth naatina entha ivde" me being the idiot I was said "njn thrissurna friendine kaanan vanatha" [when she asked me not to talk to the people there]
Pinne onum parayanda njn avde RSS ayi when infact i didn't even know what it meant 😭
Random naatukaran : nee RSS aleda Me : ala etta njn CBSE ayrnu🥹 (In full confidence) [my name being of a Hindu deity and the place I was from in thrissur didn't help support my case]
Angne I was taken to the police station out of suspicion enitu since they didn't have proof and my only known associate was her...avlde uppa had to come to get me out and the problem was he was proper orthodox conservative dad and he didn't even know I existed....soo that didn't go well at all and my parents were called to take me back home.
Out of all the people that heard my story only one policeman was kind enough to understand the kind of idiot I was for coming all this way just to ask her to be my gf but he said "ninak vidichadh anel ninak kitum"
Long story short her dad shipped her to thodupuzha and since then no contact. Last I heard they were planning to get her married off soon after a year
And the way back home I was legit crying to this song not cause I put myself or my parents through this but cause "I COULDNT SEE HER" like she was my iravinte thozhi
And like I never got into a train or ever went to kasargod kannur or kozhikode after that thanks to the police also telling me "jeevanode kitiyath bagyam"
And then till now vere onilekum poi chaadila Like I keep waiting for call ipo varum naale varum kinda thing
Angne my friends seeing me be like this took me to idukki with em we had a blast and while coming back home we had board a train from aluva to thrissur (relatively short ride)
And since we were late we had to get into a sleeper and then walk our way to general but the doors to the general were closed (the ones connecting sleeper and general) so we had to stay back with some passengers
And this lady with a kid starts talking to me and she introduces me to her daughter who was also doing neet and they were going to kozhikode and this girl jus keeps talking to me like she knew me for decades and when we finally stopped (we ran out of casual questions to ask) I put on my headphones and madhoo pakaroo starts playing
She hears it and says it her favourite song (ik ik ithu matte padam ale moment njnum atha vijariche) so I give her a piece and we listen to it apolekum my stop arrives and she gets off too get to the general compartment with her fam and before going I look at her thinking [instagram ID choikano?] And for a moment it felt like she was waiting for me too pakshe I jus turned over and walked away
With a lot of sadness but while wearing a smile and I get out to the bus stand and start crying like without even thinking where I am and my friends come and hug me and I tell em "ipo njn okay ayada" [like they were convincing me to move on from the issue and her after the kasargod incident and be like "nee okay avada ithu vidd"]
Whoever she was acted as this closure I never got from the KSG girl and also ended my ptsd with the song the place and the train
I wouldn't ever understand why I never took a chance to ask her name but ig that's how things are sometimes...I was at the right place at the right time
I guess maybe I was destined to forever fall in love with people I couldn't have maybe there's a whole assortment of impossible people waiting for me to find them. Waiting to make me feel the same impossibility over and over again - [I read this somewhere]
And maybe I'll grow to regret not asking her all this but for a moment she said everything she had to say with her eyes and like someone said "the eyes chico they never lie" and if she didn't mean anything by that look
Maybe the way my eyes interpreted it was the point of difference hence my eyes were the one speaking the truth of my heart
Lesham cringe anenu ariyam pakshe angerr paranjapole premam enum painkilli aan 😌🥹
[Shubam]

One of the things that I feel is connected to the emotional neglect from my parents is being stalked by multiple people over the course of my life.
Just recently I received a raft of poems from a co-worker that was fired 10 years ago. Among other things they describe how he remembers being circumcised as an infant and it made me realize how many times these kinds of unwanted communications continued after I felt I'd ended a relationship with someone.
I think the weird lack of boundaries and lack of attention makes me more likely to endure attention from unhealthy people that another person might push away earlier.
Does anyone else feel this way? Do you have stalkers? Do you stalk?

I don't see a thread about it, maybe I missed since I just recetly joined, and I need to vent, so I hope it's ok.
In the first days and weeks after the oct 7th my instagram have been blasted with religious figures and preachers trying to use the tragedy for their own sake. Just of the top of my head - people blaming the music festival goers for "dancing around a budha statue", people claiming that the shabat saved a couple of religious communities near the gaza border, people burning tank tops for being non-modest, etc. And one thing that have flooded my feed was a campaign of religous parents of a party victim calling for people to light shabat candles and keeping shabat because "that's the mitzva their daughter loved the most". Now, i don't know this partygoer, maybe she loved shabat, but it was a nature music festival in the very day of simchat torah (which happened to be shabat as well), someone who grew up religious and went there chose to distance themselves from jewish traditions, so I think it's more likely she didn't love shabat so much anymore, and that her family chose to remember her as the tzadikah she maybe was before leaving religion. And she wasn't the only one. There were many ex-jews in that festival because this kind of parties is kind of popular among ex-jews here in israel. You must've seen some of those "tehilim for iluy nishmat Moshe" or "keep shabath for Sarah" (fake names of course). I've also seen tweets of Haredi journalists about Yeshive buchers that were killed, ignoring the fact these boys left religion and suffered negligence from their families and friends. These stuff angered me to my core, in the first week I wrote some sort of a poem to post on facebook as a protest but ended up keeping it to myself, out of leftover fear in my agnostic mind that there may be a god and they may have a twisted kind of humor
But today this anger rose up again, it is memorial day in Israel so my feed is once again filled with victims faces and stories. One of the festival massacre victims was a good friend of my sister (and my whole family through that), i didn't really talked to her that much since high school, but i do know through social media and through my sister that she left religion and had an intense journey to find happiness and meaning in this world. So when I saw that the memorial projects for her had religious quotes about "god's glory across the earth" and how "god only puts you through tests you can overcome", and spreading Birkot Hashachar with her picture, all those feelings came up for an epic meltdown.
And yes, i'm obviously reflecting my fears or at least connecting to these victims through my own personal experience, I can't really assume stuff about someone I don't personally know. but Last week I found out my dad is in deep denial about me (he thinks I wouldn't eat a cheeseburger, Let alone pork), so i keep thinking, if I died in oct 7th or in any other way, would this be the way people remember me by? Prayers and psukim from tehilim and other stuff I don't believe in? Did I run away from religion and conservative values just for my realtives to erase everything i was by building a beit midrash in my name? Because I know they would. I don't have a family of my own yet and friends don't have the socially accepted justification to protest acts of religion of grieving parents.
I don't know why it bothers me so much, i'm very skeptical about an afterlife so why would I care about something that happens after i'm dead, but for some reason my living self can't stand the thought of my death being used to spread religious values. Would these ex-jew victims have felt the same if they knew? Is there even a way for me to fight for their memory as secular individuals without just inflicting my own believes and basically doing the same as the religious spreaders?
I don't realy have answers, as I said, it's a rant, I needed to share and it seems like the right place. Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes, it's the first time i wrote something this long in english.

hi... just a lil vent session ig. idk if this is considered ok to post here but was having a mental breakdown and had some flashbacks :/

1. when i was 7 years old, my mom read my diary. was horrible, it was a birthday present and i was going thru some very emotional stuff for a 7 year old. anywayz, she explained it as "a blessing" and that she "could finally understand" how i was feeling. yeah that was rlly traumatic and she never let me keep a diary again bc apparently the stuff i had in there was "inappropriate for a 7 year old". i was never the same again.
2. i had an enemy in primary school. at the time, i was really getting into poetry, and had a bunch of notebooks full of it that kinda doubled as my journals. well that day, i wasn't in sch and i happened to be sitting next to his best friend. during grp work, he looked thru my stuff. istg i cried so hard when i came back to sch bc i thought that at least he was a decent human being (bc thats what my parents told me: boys will be boys).
3. same guy again, two years later. going thru an exam paper so the teacher makes us sit in register number order, and coincidentally he sits at my table. i had left my notebook in a file and pushed my file to the very back of underneath table. come back, file is at the front, elastic holding the book closed is twisted (not flat like i left it) and so is the ribbon bookmark. the next day, this girl interrogates him, and here are the reasons why he looked thru my stuff again: (a) "I don't like her" and (b) "I wanted to see if she wrote anything bad about me". sure, boys will be boys, but leopards can never change their spots. i complained to the teacher, but nothing was done. rest assured i wrote an extremely violent poem abt him later. (My fists will not meet your face for I actually respect personal space.)

so yeah. idk if im allowed to post this here but ill post it somewhere else as well. spread the trauma, am i right? 👍 thx world