An early sunrise stirred me from whatever state I'd succumbed to. I hadn't slept - of that, I was certain - but I'd still woken, from some sort of unconsciousness. Time had passed so quickly through the night. I remember counting the seconds and then the minutes past midnight, willing each moment to slow down, to wait, to stop. But they didn't, and I knew they wouldn't. I know this feeling well.
And even quicker than the night passed, did the remaining hours of morning. It's suddenly 12pm and I'm stood before a courtroom, exploring all of the faces watching back. Some I love, many I loathe, others I look at with nothing but pity, and they're all waiting for me.
I'm not ready. I have to trust my voice and myself, but I don't. This moment is too big for me. But this moment is also not about me. So I stand firm, take a breath, and begin.
"My daughter Rosie died in my arms on May 19th, 2019. It was a Sunday, a few seconds past 8:50pm exactly when she took her last breath. I will always remember because the sun was close to setting, and somehow I just knew that it would be any moment. But how could I ever forget?
It was beautiful outside that night, in ways that I couldn't appreciate at the time. Like with most things these days, I struggle to find the right words to explain what's in my heart and mind. The sky was everything she loved and admired and so often spoke about, in her stories and poems and all of the other ways that she expressed herself. "Daytime retreating into night", "a vivid mess of twilight colours". She could say it better than I ever can.
In the distance, the sun was dipping below the horizon. I remember thinking that it was taking its time, like it was sitting still, like it knew. It felt as if hours had passed where it hadn't moved. I look back now and like to imagine that it was waiting for her.
Her brothers and I were right beside her. We held her throughout, spoke to her, whispered reassurances and promises, did all we could to make that moment as easy for her as such a moment can be. We opened the curtains so she could feel the sunset. After the weeks of pain, her peace was all that mattered to us. And when it happened, it was peaceful. If I hadn't felt her chest still and her heart stop beating, I'd have thought she was sleeping. She just didn't wake again.
I find it extremely hard to be grateful about most things from that time. But pure and vicious grief has taught me the value and importance of appreciating all wins, no matter how small they may be. So while little else, I will never stop being grateful that her moment was what it was and no one can ever take it away, from her or from us. She was surrounded by those who love her the most in this world. She was at peace, and the sun was setting. Her favourite time of day. She adored sunsets, and she chose a beautiful moment to go.
But this should never have happened at all. At the age of 25, she lost her life at the hands of those entrusted to save her. This wasn't a mistake, they happen, and this wasn't one of them. This was deliberate, with intention. They took her life. They broke her, violated her, did all they could to prolong her pain. Recorded it. Spoke triumphantly about defiling her, boasted about it, elated at having the opportunity to degrade her. Then they killed her - the very people who were supposed to save her. If that wasn't enough, they continued to desecrate her character, as if they are the victims whose lives are over. There is a sick and distorted irony there that lives in me and shall never settle.
Until recently, my heart hasn't had the strength to talk openly about her loss. Iwanted to. For her, for her brothers, for Jackson, for her friends, for me. But I couldn't do it. I could never find the courage. Doing so would have meant accepting that her missing, her absence, is final. And how could I ever begin to understand that she wasn't here? That she wasn't coming back? That someone I love so completely and unconditionally has gone through death?
How can someone who is still so very alive in my heart and mind and soul, no longer exist for me beyond those places? Where has her voice gone? Her laugh, her quirks, her wit and mind and love? Her beauty and gentle heart, her warmth and energy and spirit? How is it possible that she, and everything that made her, can be gone all at once?
I'm making my way through a stage of loss where acceptance barely exists. I cannot tell you what it is. I cannot explain it, I can only call it a limbo. Some sort of state, frequenting some kind of unconsciousness where time passes slowly and quickly. A limbo where you toss and turn, unsettled, uncomfortable, uncertain. Where you do not sleep but somehow still wake in the morning to the same pain, over and over, as relentless as it always is. There's no escaping it. Rest and peace are gone. The dread and fear and anger that this loss is forever is as paralyzing as the shock.
Being a father to six sons and one daughter is the greatest thing I have ever been. It's everything I have. My children are the hum and beat of me. But becoming the father of a daughter who's died... I didn't think I could ever survive. I didn't know how to be that man, and I didn't want to be that man. I often wonder how I'm still breathing. How much more of the grief my heart can take.
It's a pain that will never ease. I hurt for her every day. I hurt for her brothers and friends and their broken hearts, I hurt for Jackson and his agony, I hurt for the moments of her life that never got to be. I hurt for being a father that outlived one of his children, I hurt for not being able to protect her or save her, and I hurt from the restless love and parts of our hearts that are always hers, always, but can no longer be given to her. It will never not hurt.
I miss her. I'll never stop missing her. There is so much I wish I could tell her.
But I can't. So instead, I will say to all of you, that today makes the start of a journey for justice that we have spent these last four years fighting for. For my daughter. And for the five other victims and their families who must also live with their own broken hearts like we must.
I have to believe that somehow, she can still hear me. So, to my daughter; we love you more than you could ever know. And I'll keep your heart and love with me every day, til the very moment I can see you again. Until then, my girl, rest in endless peace. Rest in love, and rest knowing that we will carry you forever.
With my closing words, I'll say:
'And after all else is done, then so comes the setting of my darling sun. But I know that she shall rise again."

This is the most plausible answer. I think this is exactly how he did it using facts from sermons, emails, texts, news, interviews, maps, and extensive experience with parasitic Narcissistic sitic abuse. If there is anything that I am incorrect on please let me know and I will recalculate. After typing this up two days ago, I stumbled upon Mica’s father‘s interview, and it completely solidified it to the point where I started violently shaking. I think this is what happened.
I was told Winslow‘s property backs up against that state forest. 200 acres. Right down the road. Now remember. Somebody on his staff was told to go and trim back the overgrowth on that specific property shortly before all of this happened,
I think Mica at some point had conversation with Winslow and agreed to come and talk to him at his property, a “safe place JP wouldn’t know.”, thinking she could trust him. I think mica went to winslows and JP was waiting there for unknowingly.
I think Winslow has JP‘s phone and I think JP has Winslow‘s phone so they’re not gonna ping the towers. All they saw was the license plate they never verified He was actually there.
I think JP and Winslow met at a undisclosed location and swapped vehicles. JP went up to Winslow’s NC property with Winslow‘s vehicle and cell phone, and Winslow went down south with JP cell phone and truck. I can’t quite place the girlfriend, but she is an alibi therefore she is aware that something has happened or is going on. I cannot figure out whether or not Winslow was with JP and she took the vehicle down south either or we need to find out the location of where the girlfriend was and where Winslow was. That could all be found by bank financial records of the days in question. Nobody uses cash in 2024 for an entire getaway.
Didn’t they say he got a new truck? There was something new about the truck? Did he get a new one so it wouldn’t have any of Winslow’s DNA inside of it? If Winslow drove it, his DNA/finger prints on the steering wheel would easily be on the steering wheel. Why else would he need to drive Winslow‘s vehicle if there were indications, he was driving the vehicle. Now remember one of them is a lawyer he knows what they look for. JP‘s and Winslow‘s vehicles both need to be tested for gunpowder residue.
Mica shows up to Winslow’s property, JP is there with Winslow’s vehicle, ambushes her OR Winslow is there too and the girlfriend took her phone and truck south. He already has a plan of where he’s going to take her to unalive her before she arrives. JP drives Mica’s car with Mica in it to the final location parking lot, walks her into the woods kills her, puts her stuff down and walks back to Winslow property through the woods. Girlfriend says she was with him, I think she stayed at the property or she drove a vehicle to come get him after he was done if she was there. either way Winslow or girlfriend somebody picked him up or was waiting or he went back to the property and gotten Winslow‘s vehicle and left. Remember it’s not that far away..
Now, after reviewing the 911 recording again, I do not think it is AI. The biggest reason why I know it wasn’t AI is because if you listen to the fast response when asked for the phone number, there wasn’t enough time to record that and send it at the same time. So she replied too fast. Now, when have you ever heard a 911 operator asking somebody for their phone number? That never would have been written. You still have the type stuff in the AI creators. Also, she delayed pause between every number, how would she have replied in half the time it would have taken to type all of that out. Think about it, he would have had to type a number hit space type a number hit space over and over. In a rush I know I mess up you don’t think he would have messed up? He never would have been able to get that recorded smoothly quickly in the time it took for her to respond. Again, when have you ever heard of 911 asking for your phone number?. I believe he is in the car with her after they just left Winslows property. I believe he’s sitting right next to her in the car and allows her to make the call thinking it’s going to cover up everything and benefit him. She was sending out the whistle to her family and She’s trying to buy time for them to locate her. He knew to turn off the location because she mentioned She turned it on notice how it ended at that?. My point with this is at the end.
Logically speaking if she was purposely driving to that park, she would have known the name to GPS it. She would’ve known the name of the park to give the operator. That’s why she was pausing, probably looking to him to see where they’re at. That’s why she says “yes that’s it” cause he nodded. he had enough time to process what the operator was saying before Mica was able to answer that’s why she was able to reply quickly because the operator was speaking slowly. He heard the first word and nodded. She didn’t know, but now suddenly she knew? If she was going to purposely take her own life, and she really wanted her body found, why wouldn’t she have found the name of the park before she called to give them proper location?
She would have seen oh look it’s a park and read the sign and pulled into it. She didn’t know the sign because she was terrified because he was with her. She just knows she’s in a park.
I would possibly look to see if there was any dirt roads that led to where her vehicle is at back to Winslow’s property. That might be why she didn’t see a sign. I haven’t looked too much into that part but it’s a suggestion if anybody wants to do any homework.
SO That’s why the phone was put on airplane mode so cops wouldn’t track them into the woods at the site of the incident and he would be able to get away in time into the woods without being seen.
Also airplane mode was turned on while in the car, at the end of the 911 call, I think he took the phone put the airplane mode on which is why the airplane mode was put on because she mentioned it out loud specifically, he knew the cops were coming time to MOVE, can’t follow us to the woods though. THATS why there’s no bird sounds, they did it in the car after they got to the parking lot. I think subconsciously she thought knew this was going to happen. Kinda like I told my family this was going to happen, and then it clicked what she needed to do. He brought the phone with them to paint the picture. Why would she turn off her location herself if she wanted to be found? She was already going to enter her life right? She was obviously not going to wait a long time right? Listen to her voice when it got emotional when she said she was going to kill herself. If she was unsure, why did she skip up in the exact moment? She was almost free, she had fought so hard. When you’re almost free, what would make you think she would want to stop now? Listen to me clearly, he was in the car. She needed to send out a dog whistle to the people she had told she she told him she would admit to the suicide if she could have her body found. She knew she was going to die and she knew she needed to make sure her family could piece this together. Therefore the only plausible answer is he was in the car with her. She was emotionless probably because the gun was already on her, the phone was removed from her because she mentioned the airplane mode specifically he thought they can’t trace us out to the woods, airplane mode goes on. He walked out to the woods. He needed Time to get away and couldn’t have them knowing exactly where he was to go to first so he could escape right after.
Now he goes into the woods by possibly dragging her which is why she has a bruised wrist. That might be why she started crying. She might have tried to get away when she knew what was going to happen or that it was happening hence why there’s multiple rounds. This led to possible yanking, and then the gunshot, which is why the fisherman heard the crying. Then it was over. Put her in the water he placed her belongings and Then he walked back towards Winslow‘s property. I want to know if there’s a phone call between mica and Winslow, was this drive scheduled day of or days prior and gave enough time for it to be planned. I believe at that time he got back into Winslow’s vehicle met somewhere with Windlow switched vehicles again. JP going to his home and Winslow going back to his home. The funeral and everything was already preplanned and scheduled due to the fact they already knew what was going to happen and already had it pre-planned and needed to make sure it was swift and left no room for delay. Her family, knowing they would want to see her, he manipulated them into signing the cremation holding her body over their heads. Taunting them via text message blaming them to create the narrative. Otherwise, what would be the big deal of allowing them to see the body without needing something in exchange? He knew they would have questions afterwards. At that time all they had was the 911 call and a body, sometimes you need time to process. You know when something happens and then later on you’re like wait what? He wanted to make sure that body had no stop on the cremation process to get rid of all evidence before thosequestions inevitably came. He got ahead of it so there was no hiccup in delays because he knew he had to allow them to see the body to the public that would be the moral right thing to do. Not allowing them to see the body would be suspicious. He figured out how to make it work for both. He talks about laying with her body four times and trying to raise her from the dead, was this guilt or was it like when somebody puts a deer head on the wall?
Now remember, she has already been predisposed to trust Winslow. He mentions Winslow in an email to her previously, obviously showing that he & his wife were a trusted friend of hers as well. It’s 100% a possibility that Winslow told her to come up and talk where she was protected and JP wouldn’t find them, and Winslow left with the truck and met with JP and they switched. Winslow south, JP north. Winslow had asked his staff to clean up that overgrowth on the property. It being a wooded area, was this done so that the roadway was assessable for the plan? she probably drove down some type of dirt road, and he ambushed her in some manner. North Carolina Woods are dense, therefore easily to hide when she pulls over.
Now, how do I think that JP convinced Winslow to help, I believe JP convinced Winslow , Mica was going to tell on all of them and ruin their lives. This could have been backed up by the fact that all the documentation that she had previously collected had gone missing, and was brought to Winslow to paint Mica as an enemy so this was enough for him to convince Winslow that their future and freedom was inJeopardy. When JP was actually afraid she was going to tell on his abuse and life and ruin him. So they killed her to protect their life.
They said something yesterday about breaking news how they found that the notary was forged? Thats enough for me to draw speculation because it was done by Winslow that he is now in on the dirty dealings. He is a part of the actual dirty dealings against mica He knows something is being done wrong and he is condoning it.
That notary that was done on the power of attorney from mica was falsely notarized. Mica was not present for the notary. There was an article on earlier I was looking at but I was in information overload. I just know It was not legally notarized. This shows that Winslow does not have integrity. How far is he willing to go to protect JP and all of their secrets?
I think she told JP she just wanted her body to be found for her family and she would go without a fight. I believe that it was a dog whistle to her family. The clue they would need to know this wasn’t suicide. She told them and now she needed them to remember. She knew she was going to die and everybody needed to know about the gunshot specifically that she warned everyone about days prior. He didn’t know she told people close to her that that. That’s why her voice broke up when she said she was going to unalive herself. She did not want to die. She just wanted people to be able to solve the crime. She manipulated him into thinking he was going to get away with this because she is admitting to it being a suicide. Not knowing She had whistled what was going to happen, she needed people to listen. She offered up no extra information during the 911 call which then delayed the process hoping they would find her location. She told her dad days prior she’s getting a gun for protection. I think she got it before she drove up there just incase and the bruises on her hand may be him wrestling it from her. Maybe at arrival.
A search and rescue dog can smell from weeks to months after somebody has left the area, and if anybody can get something of his and be able to place him there in the woods, you have convincing beyond a reasonable doubt.
After writing this up yesterday when I was complete, I got super sick to my stomach. I was shaking. I could see it completely out in my head where all the facts completely aligned. I believe tthis is the only plausible theory there is.
What people need to realize at the end of the day the good attention and bad attention is still attention to a narcissist. He is enjoying the intention is getting from this primarily from getting away with it. That’s why I believe he visited her body four times after she was deceased. Because he already had a girlfriend, he already talked about going and getting a hot wife and then after she dies, he does an interview about how she’s the most incredible wife and supportive. He made the obituary about how awesome he thought she was to still collect her validation and the validation he got from being her husband because she was good. She was light and he was jealous of that. He wanted that that’s why he had that position. She loved him so much he claimed and how she was so wonderful he claimed yet she didn’t want him when she had a no contact order and wanted a divorce obviously, he wasn’t that. and if you guys don’t think he groomed her go to the memorial of life sermon and listen to the poem again. Now switch the words, “school” and “church.” And follow the story line.
He killed Mica Miller.

This is the most plausible answer. I think this is exactly how he did it using facts from sermons, emails, texts, news, interviews, maps, and extensive experience with parasitic Narcissistic sitic abuse. If there is anything that I am incorrect on please let me know and I will recalculate. After typing this up two days ago, I stumbled upon Mica’s father‘s interview, and it completely solidified it to the point where I started violently shaking. I think this is what happened.
I was told Winslow‘s property backs up against that state forest. 200 acres. Right down the road. Now remember. Somebody on his staff was told to go and trim back the overgrowth on that specific property shortly before all of this happened,
I think Mica at some point had conversation with Winslow and agreed to come and talk to him at his property, a “safe place JP wouldn’t know.”, thinking she could trust him. I think mica went to winslows and JP was waiting there for unknowingly.
I think Winslow has JP‘s phone and I think JP has Winslow‘s phone so they’re not gonna ping the towers. All they saw was the license plate they never verified He was actually there.
I think JP and Winslow met at a undisclosed location and swapped vehicles. JP went up to Winslow’s NC property with Winslow‘s vehicle and cell phone, and Winslow went down south with JP cell phone and truck. I can’t quite place the girlfriend, but she is an alibi therefore she is aware that something has happened or is going on. I cannot figure out whether or not Winslow was with JP and she took the vehicle down south either or we need to find out the location of where the girlfriend was and where Winslow was. That could all be found by bank financial records of the days in question. Nobody uses cash in 2024 for an entire getaway.
Didn’t they say he got a new truck? There was something new about the truck? Did he get a new one so it wouldn’t have any of Winslow’s DNA inside of it? If Winslow drove it, his DNA/finger prints on the steering wheel would easily be on the steering wheel. Why else would he need to drive Winslow‘s vehicle if there were indications, he was driving the vehicle. Now remember one of them is a lawyer he knows what they look for. JP‘s and Winslow‘s vehicles both need to be tested for gunpowder residue.
Mica shows up to Winslow’s property, JP is there with Winslow’s vehicle, ambushes her OR Winslow is there too and the girlfriend took her phone and truck south. He already has a plan of where he’s going to take her to unalive her before she arrives. JP drives Mica’s car with Mica in it to the final location parking lot, walks her into the woods kills her, puts her stuff down and walks back to Winslow property through the woods. Girlfriend says she was with him, I think she stayed at the property or she drove a vehicle to come get him after he was done if she was there. either way Winslow or girlfriend somebody picked him up or was waiting or he went back to the property and gotten Winslow‘s vehicle and left. Remember it’s not that far away..
Now, after reviewing the 911 recording again, I do not think it is AI. The biggest reason why I know it wasn’t AI is because if you listen to the fast response when asked for the phone number, there wasn’t enough time to record that and send it at the same time. So she replied too fast. Now, when have you ever heard a 911 operator asking somebody for their phone number? That never would have been written. You still have the type stuff in the AI creators. Also, she delayed pause between every number, how would she have replied in half the time it would have taken to type all of that out. Think about it, he would have had to type a number hit space type a number hit space over and over. In a rush I know I mess up you don’t think he would have messed up? He never would have been able to get that recorded smoothly quickly in the time it took for her to respond. Again, when have you ever heard of 911 asking for your phone number?. I believe he is in the car with her after they just left Winslows property. I believe he’s sitting right next to her in the car and allows her to make the call thinking it’s going to cover up everything and benefit him. She was sending out the whistle to her family and She’s trying to buy time for them to locate her. He knew to turn off the location because she mentioned She turned it on notice how it ended at that?. My point with this is at the end.
Logically speaking if she was purposely driving to that park, she would have known the name to GPS it. She would’ve known the name of the park to give the operator. That’s why she was pausing, probably looking to him to see where they’re at. That’s why she says “yes that’s it” cause he nodded. he had enough time to process what the operator was saying before Mica was able to answer that’s why she was able to reply quickly because the operator was speaking slowly. He heard the first word and nodded. She didn’t know, but now suddenly she knew? If she was going to purposely take her own life, and she really wanted her body found, why wouldn’t she have found the name of the park before she called to give them proper location?
She would have seen oh look it’s a park and read the sign and pulled into it. She didn’t know the sign because she was terrified because he was with her. She just knows she’s in a park.
I would possibly look to see if there was any dirt roads that led to where her vehicle is at back to Winslow’s property. That might be why she didn’t see a sign. I haven’t looked too much into that part but it’s a suggestion if anybody wants to do any homework.
SO That’s why the phone was put on airplane mode so cops wouldn’t track them into the woods at the site of the incident and he would be able to get away in time into the woods without being seen.
Also airplane mode was turned on while in the car, at the end of the 911 call, I think he took the phone put the airplane mode on which is why the airplane mode was put on because she mentioned it out loud specifically, he knew the cops were coming time to MOVE, can’t follow us to the woods though. THATS why there’s no bird sounds, they did it in the car after they got to the parking lot. I think subconsciously she thought knew this was going to happen. Kinda like I told my family this was going to happen, and then it clicked what she needed to do. He brought the phone with them to paint the picture. Why would she turn off her location herself if she wanted to be found? She was already going to enter her life right? She was obviously not going to wait a long time right? Listen to her voice when it got emotional when she said she was going to kill herself. If she was unsure, why did she skip up in the exact moment? She was almost free, she had fought so hard. When you’re almost free, what would make you think she would want to stop now? Listen to me clearly, he was in the car. She needed to send out a dog whistle to the people she had told she she told him she would admit to the suicide if she could have her body found. She knew she was going to die and she knew she needed to make sure her family could piece this together. Therefore the only plausible answer is he was in the car with her. She was emotionless probably because the gun was already on her, the phone was removed from her because she mentioned the airplane mode specifically he thought they can’t trace us out to the woods, airplane mode goes on. He walked out to the woods. He needed Time to get away and couldn’t have them knowing exactly where he was to go to first so he could escape right after.
Now he goes into the woods by possibly dragging her which is why she has a bruised wrist. That might be why she started crying. She might have tried to get away when she knew what was going to happen or that it was happening hence why there’s multiple rounds. This led to possible yanking, and then the gunshot, which is why the fisherman heard the crying. Then it was over. Put her in the water he placed her belongings and Then he walked back towards Winslow‘s property. I want to know if there’s a phone call between mica and Winslow, was this drive scheduled day of or days prior and gave enough time for it to be planned. I believe at that time he got back into Winslow’s vehicle met somewhere with Windlow switched vehicles again. JP going to his home and Winslow going back to his home. The funeral and everything was already preplanned and scheduled due to the fact they already knew what was going to happen and already had it pre-planned and needed to make sure it was swift and left no room for delay. Her family, knowing they would want to see her, he manipulated them into signing the cremation holding her body over their heads. Taunting them via text message blaming them to create the narrative. Otherwise, what would be the big deal of allowing them to see the body without needing something in exchange? He knew they would have questions afterwards. At that time all they had was the 911 call and a body, sometimes you need time to process. You know when something happens and then later on you’re like wait what? He wanted to make sure that body had no stop on the cremation process to get rid of all evidence before thosequestions inevitably came. He got ahead of it so there was no hiccup in delays because he knew he had to allow them to see the body to the public that would be the moral right thing to do. Not allowing them to see the body would be suspicious. He figured out how to make it work for both. He talks about laying with her body four times and trying to raise her from the dead, was this guilt or was it like when somebody puts a deer head on the wall?
Now remember, she has already been predisposed to trust Winslow. He mentions Winslow in an email to her previously, obviously showing that he & his wife were a trusted friend of hers as well. It’s 100% a possibility that Winslow told her to come up and talk where she was protected and JP wouldn’t find them, and Winslow left with the truck and met with JP and they switched. Winslow south, JP north. Winslow had asked his staff to clean up that overgrowth on the property. It being a wooded area, was this done so that the roadway was assessable for the plan? she probably drove down some type of dirt road, and he ambushed her in some manner. North Carolina Woods are dense, therefore easily to hide when she pulls over.
Now, how do I think that JP convinced Winslow to help, I believe JP convinced Winslow , Mica was going to tell on all of them and ruin their lives. This could have been backed up by the fact that all the documentation that she had previously collected had gone missing, and was brought to Winslow to paint Mica as an enemy so this was enough for him to convince Winslow that their future and freedom was inJeopardy. When JP was actually afraid she was going to tell on his abuse and life and ruin him. So they killed her to protect their life.
They said something yesterday about breaking news how they found that the notary was forged? Thats enough for me to draw speculation because it was done by Winslow that he is now in on the dirty dealings. He is a part of the actual dirty dealings against mica He knows something is being done wrong and he is condoning it.
That notary that was done on the power of attorney from mica was falsely notarized. Mica was not present for the notary. There was an article on earlier I was looking at but I was in information overload. I just know It was not legally notarized. This shows that Winslow does not have integrity. How far is he willing to go to protect JP and all of their secrets?
I think she told JP she just wanted her body to be found for her family and she would go without a fight. I believe that it was a dog whistle to her family. The clue they would need to know this wasn’t suicide. She told them and now she needed them to remember. She knew she was going to die and everybody needed to know about the gunshot specifically that she warned everyone about days prior. He didn’t know she told people close to her that that. That’s why her voice broke up when she said she was going to unalive herself. She did not want to die. She just wanted people to be able to solve the crime. She manipulated him into thinking he was going to get away with this because she is admitting to it being a suicide. Not knowing She had whistled what was going to happen, she needed people to listen. She offered up no extra information during the 911 call which then delayed the process hoping they would find her location. She told her dad days prior she’s getting a gun for protection. I think she got it before she drove up there just incase and the bruises on her hand may be him wrestling it from her. Maybe at arrival.
A search and rescue dog can smell from weeks to months after somebody has left the area, and if anybody can get something of his and be able to place him there in the woods, you have convincing beyond a reasonable doubt.
After writing this up yesterday when I was complete, I got super sick to my stomach. I was shaking. I could see it completely out in my head where all the facts completely aligned. I believe tthis is the only plausible theory there is.
What people need to realize at the end of the day the good attention and bad attention is still attention to a narcissist. He is enjoying the intention is getting from this primarily from getting away with it. That’s why I believe he visited her body four times after she was deceased. Because he already had a girlfriend, he already talked about going and getting a hot wife and then after she dies, he does an interview about how she’s the most incredible wife and supportive. He made the obituary about how awesome she thought HE was to still collect her validation and the validation he got from being her husband because she was good. She was light and he was jealous of that. He wanted that that’s why he had that position. She loved him so much he claimed and how she was so wonderful he claimed yet she didn’t want him when she had a no contact order and wanted a divorce obviously, he wasn’t that. and if you guys don’t think he groomed her go to the memorial of life sermon and listen to the poem again. Now switch the words, “school” and “church.” And follow the story line.
He killed Mica Miller.

My name is Emily. I'm from the United States and I wanted to end my 20's with a bang, and I'm happy to say that I ended my 20's in Korea.Actually, Korea was not a country that I had much to do with.Originally, I was a person who was immersed in Japanese culture since college.Japanese anime became my friend. There's a lot of interesting things about Japanese anime, like the fact that they depict real places in Japan, and they depict real food, and so I fell in love with Japan, and I even traveled to Japan a couple times, and I thought that Japan was the sum of everything that I longed for.
But then, in my late 20s, I met a friend who would change my life. It was a simple meeting with a long-lost college classmate, Sarah, who had gone on to work at a large firm in New York City, and whom I had shared anime and Japanese food with in my dorm room in college. She told me honestly that she had recently traveled to Korea and was seriously thinking about moving there. Unfortunately, the large company she worked for in New York had recently gone through a business crisis, and she was laid off.
She said that she was confused by the sudden betrayal of a well-known company, and to clear her mind, she went to the airport with the intention of leaving anywhere. She thought she would go to Japan, but when she arrived at the airport, she changed her mind. When she thought back to the places and restaurants she frequented most often while working at the company in New York, she remembered that she often went to Korean streets and Korean supermarkets in New York, and she thought that going to Korea on an impromptu trip was a really good idea, so she chose to go to Korea rather than Japan, which she already knew.
And buying a plane ticket on the spot at the airport was more than twice as expensive as booking a ticket in advance, but Sarah said that she didn't care, because she was depressed after being fired from her job, and she went to the airport to leave, but the curiosity about Korea that came over her made her want to leave right away, even if she had to pay for the expensive plane ticket.
He expressed that although he went to the airport courageously, he knew that the plane ticket would be too expensive, and he thought that maybe he should just go back home again, but his curiosity about Korea came from somewhere deep inside him, and it exploded like a bomb, and he was naturally drawn to it.
Sarah, who likes emotional things like essays and poems in college and enjoys such poetic expressions, but even so, I wondered if it was a little overdone, but when she said that she had been to Korea, I became more focused on her story.
However, I was able to understand why she expressed herself in such an over-the-top way after listening to her Korean stories.
"Korea is an amazing place, the people are so kind and warm, and most of all, the employment system is very well organized. There are many programs and support for job seekers, which is very helpful for people who are in a difficult situation like me."
When Sarah started with this story, I realized that she was really traumatized by being laid off.Now, she had been through a big ordeal and was in the process of recovering from it through Korea, so I decided to focus more on her story."You said you traveled to Korea, so what else did you do?" I asked."For example, what kind of programs were there?" I asked her.
"I happened to visit a job fair in Korea," she said, "where job seekers can get free career counseling and get the training they need." "I got a lot of help there, and it gave me the strength to get back on my feet, and maybe even get a job in Korea." "And most of all, the work culture in Korea is really family-like," she said, "I was impressed by how much my coworkers cared about each other and supported each other."
Sarah said that she was curious about what Korea was like, so she visited a large convention center in Korea and participated in various fairs, one of which was a job fair, and she interviewed with several Korean companies, and the Korean companies were ready to accept her as a colleague if she applied as an American. I also learned that Korea has many companies with global reach, and they are open to foreigners with various experiences, but in Korea, unless it is a large company, people don't prefer them, so if it is a small company, they want foreigners, but there is a sad reality that no one applies.
Unlike in the U.S., where you have to report your performance every week, and if you fall short, you are threatened with termination, Korean companies are definitely not more performance-oriented than in the U.S. They value their employees and do everything together to grow together, not threaten them with termination. In the past, I knew that corporate culture in Asian countries such as Korea was more collectivistic than individualistic, and as a student, I thought that such a collectivistic culture was a bad culture with a high level of disease in Asia, but after experiencing social life in the United States, I heard that the tendency of companies to be extremely individualistic, talking about job insecurity, and treating people ruthlessly, caused me to be fired from a good job overnight, and the future plans I had planned in advance became uncertain, and I even talked about envying the Korean culture that does not have such disadvantages.
Sarah, who has never worked in Korea, but was always afraid of being fired, said that she learned a lot about Korean corporate culture by interviewing many Korean company officials.
She said that she even considered settling down and living in Korea because, besides the culture, there were so many other conveniences and benefits.
She talked about her experience of working in New York, being left alone in the office to get things done because of her performance, having to leave late at night and being afraid to go home, sleeping in the hotel next door, and having to live with the exorbitant rent in Manhattan and the two-hour round-trip commute to work, and how she realized that unlike in the U.S., where it is difficult to see a doctor, she would not have to worry about these things in Korea.
Sarah's story made me even more curious about Korea.The warmth, systematic system, and various charms that she experienced in Korea couldn't help but have a great impact on me.I've been experiencing a lot of stress every day due to the pressure of performance and the threat of being fired, and I've recently been undergoing expensive psychotherapy.I decided to learn more about Korea, and eventually decided to travel to Korea.
Of course, I didn't travel to Korea with the intention of moving to Korea or settling down in Korea, but rather to spend my last 20s in a new country, Korea, and to see a different world than the familiar Japan.
I made my preparations and headed to Korea sooner than I expected, arriving ten days before my birthday and extending my itinerary beyond what I had originally planned, staying in Korea until after my birthday and then flying back to the United States.
The first day I finally arrived in Korea, I started walking around the streets of Seoul.The first thing that greeted me was the warm spring weather in Korea.The sky was clear and the air was crisp.I was told that it is common for Asia to have very bad air quality in the spring due to the influence of China, but I didn't have to deal with that during my trip.
The streets of Korea are very different from the United States, and everything was new to me.There were many beautiful flowers in bloom, and the well-maintained trees were really beautiful.It has been a long time since the common people's neighborhoods in the United States have such beautiful landscaping because of people who destroy these trees and flowers for no reason, or secretly take them and sell them.But this was not the case in Korea.The streets were like a beautiful flower garden.
I was walking down a beautiful street lined with flowers, and I was looking at them, looking at the big big map that was displayed on the screen at the bus stop.I was just curious to see what my neighborhood looked like, so I was looking at the map and taking my time, and a middle-aged woman came up to me and said, "Where are you looking for?" She didn't speak fluent English, but I was so grateful that she was trying to help. I was too embarrassed to tell her that I was just looking at the map, so I told her one of the destinations I was planning to go to, and she gave me direct directions to the place I was looking for, and I was able to get there without any difficulty.This unexpected kindness opened my eyes to the Korean people and warmed my heart at the same time.
I was ready to accept everything in Korea with an open mind.The first impression was very good, I was touched by the kindness of the people.I couldn't ask for anything more from Korea.The food was so fresh and amazing to me.I visited Gwangjang Market, a famous traditional market in Korea.
Unlike a regular restaurant, it was a place where you could sit down and try a variety of food. As a traditional market, it was full of Korean food. There were no pizza, pasta, or burger joints, but I liked it better that way. It was a place where you could see the traditional look and feel curious about everything.
I also tasted foods such as tteokbokki sundae and hotteok.Everything else was fine, but I was a little worried when I first tried sundae because it looked so strange and a little gross, but I decided to give it a try and the moment I put it in my mouth, the rich flavor filled my mouth.Korean food often seems difficult to eat, but when you try it, you can see why it is so popular in Korea.
I stayed at Gwangjang Market for a long time and tried a lot of different foods, especially kimchi and pajeon, which I still remember because of their crispy texture and spicy flavor. I would recommend them to everyone.Experiencing the deep flavors of Korean food firsthand made me fall in love with Korean food.
And then there was a shocking thing that happened to me in Korea.I was having a lot of fun traveling around Korea and everything was interesting, because Korea is really the best place to be, you know, you're running around, you're busy, you're going from place to place, and I had the misfortune of losing my passport, which was really stupid.
I was traveling in Korea, and I got an international call. Someone was calling me from Korea, and when I saw the international call indicator on my phone and realized that the call was from Korea, I had a million questions.
I thought I shouldn't answer the call, but then I realized that it was an international call, and I thought maybe they were calling me because they had some business to take care of. I answered the call, and I was told a really crazy story, because I heard a calm English voice asking if it was Emily, and she introduced herself as a police officer and asked if I could come to the nearest police station.
I thought I had done something terribly wrong, because I had just eaten delicious tteokbokki and sundae, kimchi and pajeon, and I was so happy to eat them, and afterward I was just walking around the streets of Korea, smelling the flowers and seeing the pretty trees.
I started to check my belongings one by one and realized that my small pouch containing my passport and some of the money I had exchanged was missing.
I quickly headed to the police station, which was where I was told to go, and from the front gate, I was controlled as to what I was visiting.
The great thing about Korea is that even for someone like me who doesn't speak Korean, it's not difficult to navigate these government offices. Not all Koreans speak English, but at least the ones I've met have been able to communicate with me in a simple way. Even if they don't speak perfect sentences, they understand most of the words, so I was able to communicate the reason for my visit to the police station.
I had never been to a police station before, even in the U.S., but here I was in Korea, and I was greeted by friendly people.The pouch with my passport in it had my contact information written on the inside, and they said they would contact me with that.The bag was found in a marketplace, and the first person to report it was the stall owner of the place where I had my first sundae.It also had all of my clean, new Korean money in it, which I had exchanged separately.
I was so impressed with how conscientious Koreans are and how good they are that I was able to find the pouch, sign the paperwork, and walk out of the police station.
I went back to Gwangjang Market, and when I got there, the owner recognized me and looked like he was about to say something. I held out the bag and showed it to him, and he smiled and liked it.
I thanked the Korean boss, and we ate another snack on the spot. It was an experience that made me realize how heavenly Korea is.
And like Sarah said, I didn't just want to see how clean and pretty Korea is, I wanted to see what an American working in Korea could do and what life would be like.Through the Reddit community, I was able to get in touch with Americans working in Korea and even met some of them in person.
David, the American I met, works for a company that is not a large Korean company, but rather a small or medium-sized company. As Sarah said, Korea is a country where products are produced for the global market, and many things are actually exported overseas.
However, in Korea, unless it is a large company, every company is experiencing a job shortage, and because of the atmosphere in Korea, where foreigners are not welcome at all, it is not difficult to get a job in a company that specializes in exporting overseas, even if you are in the United States.
And David told me that he put all his passion into the first company he worked for in the U.S., and even made a lot of money for the company, but when he didn't perform, the company fired him without mercy, and he said that he was so shocked, not to mention the feeling of betrayal, that he took depression medication at that time, and it was so hard that he took depression medication, and then he found Korea by chance and settled in Korea, and now he is so happy. He told me that he was fired from his job because of the unrelenting treatment in the U.S., that he found a second chance in Korea, and that he is happy with his life here.
I'm not sure I have the courage to move to Korea right now, but I learned that there are a lot of people like Sarah and David who have been hurt so badly that they end up leaving the country. I'm scared that this could be my future, but I also learned that Korea is an option for me if it happens to me.My trip ended like this: experiencing the culture, food, and hospitality of Korea, and getting to meet and talk to Americans living in Korea, made my trip much more rewarding than my trip to Japan, which could have been an anime trip.
Korea has given me new perspectives and experiences, shattered my notion that Japan is only good, broadened my horizons, and opened my eyes to another gem that is Korea.
I now like to say to my friends, "Go to Korea, you'll see how good it is." Korea has taught me so much, and I will cherish my experience in Korea, which now holds a special place in my heart.
If Sarah goes to Korea and settles down, I will be there to congratulate her and support her in her new relationship in Korea.

one year ago my person survived a suicide attempt.
i thought i saved him!
we made plans to see a favorite band together. he told me he was “moving” the next day. i thought he was talking about suicide but i couldn’t prove it. so i begged him not to. i read him a poem i wrote for him. i knew i couldn’t reason with him so i wrote him a poem. i poured my heart out to him and i let him go.

i said i am your friend always you told me to take a snapshot of the moment and promise it will last forever if we were ever the same person we will be forever love is what you see when you cut the universe open and i said you are with me always love is simple
how do you deal with a flat earther? how do you help anybody who has built an illogical world? i want to be able to say So it goes. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. you are irreplaceable

i let him go and i missed his late night call. i got a morning call that he was in the hospital. he had survived. he was too preoccupied with my poem and goodbye playlist, which he put on so he would feel less alone as he died. his suicide text went out before he completed. 911 was immediately notified and took him to the hospital.
it was the most harrowing day of my life to that point. it was also beautiful and romantic. i saved a friend i had known for half my life. i saved my first love. i saved a life with love and poetry. i felt powerful, like i had pulled off an impossible magic act.
by December i thought we were out-of-the-woods. he even wrote this to me:

You didn’t tell me to stay, but you did stay with me. You didn’t tell me what to do, but you diddo it with me. You gave me agency. Not by enabling me, though you did enable me. You gave me agency by spending your time with me, and time passed. You gave me some time. This is what I want to thank you for... You didn’t try to change me to something else, if you had it wouldn’t have worked. You just stayed with me as I was. Thank you for being with me. I might be dead otherwise… You saved my life. Just with your actions, words, presence, and patience. Just with your love. Thank you for your time and your love.

i dreaded this anniversary. i was planning to visit him so neither of us would have to experience it alone.
he died last month. he died alone. possibly suicide. i may never know. today is also the one month anniversary of his funeral.
i want to feel grateful to have had another year with him. i just feel like something i put my heart and soul into was ripped away. i feel so lost.

“the initial grip of fear, that turns into the unexpected earning for your capture.”
the poetry in here is about survival and surrender. it delves into the complexities of a karmic love. being trapped in a situation, while still being aware of its toxicity. my poems are meant to convey the tumultuous journey of being in love with a narcissist. (your “capture”) the lessons you learn, as painful as they can be, invite you to take a step into the shadow side of love. if you feel at home here, I’m truly sorry. there is a way out. I hope you break free. -with so much love, gillian.
and when you retreat,
i’ll wear this shirt for days.
intoxicating & sweet,
with your cologne interlaced.
breathing in your deceit,
it kind of feels like mace.
denial mixed with defeat.

• i’ve always had bad taste.

i knew you weren’t game.
still i chose to play.
it isn't fair to blame.
believe me, i carry my own shame.
poured myself into your glass,
played the waiting game.
leaking through your cracks,
our imperfections the same.
-i recognize a glass half full, even when it’s shattered.
every summer, we reheat.
you left your roots behind
seasons change, but cycles repeat.
if you see the same tree in the forest twice,
it’s time to face defeat.
must come to terms,
the truth can be bleak.
-you’re lost.
got a god complex,
but you’re not religious.
searching for who’s next.
never fearing Jesus.
sit back & count your checks.
blame your mistakes on demons.
make your excuses.
you’ve got your reasons.
-false prophecy
you remind me of an onion.
make me cry as I peel away at you,
in search for your seed.
but you’re just a facade of skins.
layers of deception,
concealing the truth.
disappointing.
you have no core,
only hollow creed.
-my mother’s disdain for onions.
there’s always been a haze between us.
murky, convoluted, undefined.
more than friends, less than lovers.
simultaneously strangers.
but in this ambiguity, I find solace.
-for grey is my favorite color.
i’ll play bartender,
make you something nice.
your heart in my hand,
gripping your ice.
drain me dry,
leave me hollow & still.
next week you’ll return,
thirsty for your refill.
-whiskey sour
bittersweet.
should have read the label.
“poison”
sitting so pretty on my table.
calling like an offering,
tempting & fatal.
it won’t go down smooth,
leave me unstable.
i tried to resist, i was unable.
now i see that love exists,
but only in fables.
-why do mistakes taste so good?
your lips left a bruise.
just here to distract.
but i admit i’m confused
when you kiss me like that.
aware i’m being used.
still comfortable where i’m at.
position i choose
complacent doormat.
-welcome home
you prefer car rides.
a space to talk, yet evade my gaze.
unable to sit still, restless in your ways.
never one to settle, always seeking the next best fling.
oh, how I long for the days when adderall made you sing.
-my fuel light is on
I broke my own heart,
more times than a few.
i may have lied,
but never to you.
if i faced the truth,
then what’s left to do?
i’m comfortable here,
wasting my youth.
i hate to admit it,
but i know it’s true.
i’m scared of change,
you run from it too.
i won’t forgive myself,
for always forgiving you.
-can you be home sick from people too?
You’re dead to me.
-Necrophiliac.
come on.
i forgave you,
without an apology.
convinced myself it was closure.
started our anthology.
this will never be over.
it’s in our biology.
let’s have a do over.
can you just come fuck me?
-delusional. & i can’t rhyme either.
i’ll read between your lines,
decipher each clue.
search for the signs,
follow your cue.
you’ve spun me around,
think i’ve lost a few screws.
still i rise, dust off the bruise.
maybe i’m drawn to a challenge,
perhaps it’s not you.
denial is my shield.
my safe space, my refuge.
the truth will not prevail
defeat? i refuse.
my final boss,
I aim to subdue.
-sore loser.
my mom said i felt cold.
I always tell the truth.
the words escaped my mouth.
“i get it from you.”
funny, she hugs me now.
never in my youth.
conceal carry my trauma.
play it cool, keep it smooth.
use my words as a weapon.
daddy taught me how to shoot.
-target practice
it’s lonely as a ghost,
been trapped here for years.
lingering around,
mopping up your tears.
do you sense my presence?
can you feel me near?
if I dare make a sound,
will you even hear?
or am I just a whisper?
it’s never been quite clear.
promised to stay beside you,
my love was sincere.
-invisible
afraid to release
what's just a mist.
I must learn to respect
your lack of interest.
hard pill to swallow,
if i could just take the hint.
i hate letting go
of what doesn't exist.
-maybe i’m the problem
chasing you down as you flee,
why look back, just to see?
i’m gaining distance, is this what you need?
only now I realize, I'm your source of glow.
i feed your flame, you need me to grow.
without my warmth, will your embers persist?
or will they die out, because I was your wick?
I can go the distance, even do it quick.
didn’t think I could pass you but, tag, you're it.
so when your lost in the dark,
just look for my light.
for my flames eternal.
vivacious and bright.
-Ruled by the Sun.
you love her like a one-way mirror.
boosting your ego, making thoughts clearer.
she stands before you, but can you even see her?
soon her time will come, to be valued, to be known.
to be more than a reflection, to be art on her own.
-shattered
i feel as though i’m trapped
in a museum.
exhibits of my past.
meticulously preserved & on display.
forced to observe and to my dismay..
no exits.
-i don’t like it here
i am an esteemed professor.
teaching you how to love.
i am a well-traveled guide.
leading you to your full potential.
i am a warrior.
going to battle for your reputation.
i am an artist.
molding you into your greatest self.
i am a generous humanitarian.
donating my most precious piece to another women.
she sees no flaws.
enamored by your beauty.
a saw the hardened marble slab
i chiseled away for years.
only to reveal the beauty underneath for someone else to cherish.
-wasted potential
when we were pretending to be strangers, I loved you from afar.
when we were playing house,
I welcomed you with all my heart.
you left me here, with nothing but a scar.
sad and empty.
headed to a bar.
light up a cigarette.
fill me with tar.
I hope you think of me when you see a shooting star.
-maybe you loved me in a past life
only one day will i realize
the last thing i should feel is surprise
my personality has been downsized
because i chose to compromise
with a man wearing a disguise
your plan was always devised
but I’ll meet you at our spot
-king sized
you can fill your bed with anyone.
but who can fill your void?
you’ll never solve the puzzle
-sincerely, the missing piece.
ravenous for praise.
the apex predator.
you feed on the weak.
but never leave satisfied.
your greedy but insatiable.
devoured your feast
how can you be famished?
-taste me and see me why you’ve been starving
there’s things i wanna say to you.
but i’ll just let you be.
you have a way of always avoiding
-accountability
you’ve got walls up
but i know where the windows are
-can i come in?
maybe you do
love me
but only in the dark
when no one’s watching
-conditional.
i wish i was tired of you.
forgiveness, i can’t escape.
they say patience is a virtue,
but it’s a habit i can’t break.
-if i had a dollar for all the times i should have blocked you
the spot i had for you was soft.
made for you, a perfect fit.
delusion is wearing off.
disgust is starting to hit.
gave it all to you, at any cost.
-should have known it wasn’t permanent.
and just like that,
2 steps forward. 10 steps back.
why do i feel comfortable in this trap?
-i hope you run away and never come back
I don't wish you well, that would be too easy.
I wish you self-reflection.
-internal accountability.
i am the girl that learned
to do everything by myself.
to not depend on others to save me.
to fill up my time, or entertain me.
he said to go where i am appreciated, so i went to therapy.
-i’ll send you in the invoice.
in order to heal a wound,
you have to stop touching it.
-i have dermatillomania
thank you for reading! far from perfect but i took up writing as a way to express myself and it really helped me heal and process my emotions <3 thanks guys

After sixty-seven sessions of Curse of Strahd (read all about it here), it was time for a change. So into the wild we went...
My group is nearing the end of Hither, and along the way I've written summaries of each session ("What Just Happened?"), along with interesting/funny quotes from PCs/NPCs ("Certain Things Were Said"), and a list of new characters introduced that session ("Dramatis Personae").
My intention is to write the summaries for each of the five parts of the campaign in a different format. For the Witchlight Carnival, each summary was presented in verse (my own, no machine learning shortcuts!), using the metre and rhyming structure of various Lewis Carrol poems.
I'd like to share my summaries/poems with you all here, for posterity, and in the hope you'll find them entertaining.
For reference, the players are:

• Holafina (a harengon paladin who has lost three inches of height)
• Skerrek (a kobold druid who has lost the ability to lie)
• Arix (an owlin monk who has lost all sense of direction and is always hungry)
• Jexim (a brash fairy warlock who has lost his diary)
• Sylenos (a beatnik/slacker satyr rogue employed by the Carnival)

NOTE: Lewis Carroll was known to hide secret messages in his poems. I've done the same, revealing the campaign's big twist in one of the poems below. None of my players have picked up on it.

Part I: Welcome to the Witchlight

What Just Happened? (in the style of Jabberwocky)
’Twas twilight when the carnival Did open wide two golden gates, And those with tickets did arrive, Seeking things they had misplaced.
One harengon of curious size, A kobold with a slithy gait, An owlet who possessed two eyes As wide as Annam’s dinner plates.
Yet are we three or are we four? Let’s add vibrations rarefied: A Witchlight hand here to ensure That every guest is Satyrs-fied!
Enter now and taste the sounds, Feel these colours, smell those sights! Kaleidoscopic fun abounds This synaesthesiac’s delight!
Yet where’s the drama? Where’s the tension? Certainly we’ve had a switch (At least in here there is no mention Of that cad von Zarovich).
Instead let’s race a giant snail, Eat candied mushrooms by the pound, Or listen to a gnome assail The tightness of your mother’s gown.
Yet hark! A misadventure glum! Those not heroes please give berth! The best laid plans of love undone By Tasha’s wild unruly mirth
These mirrored halls! This desperate task, To find a luckless paramour A sweet-toothed lass with porcine mask That you could swear you’ve seen before…
’Twas twilight when the carnival Did open wide two golden gates And those with tickets did arrive, Now guided by the wiles of fate.
Dramatis Personae
Arix Specklefoot, a sweet-toothed owlin Holafina, a curiously short harengon Skerrek Tirael, a slithy kobold Sylenos, a cosmic satyr Nicholas Midnight, elderly goblin ticketmaster at the Witchlight Carnival Candlefoot, a mime and not by choice Rubin Sugarwood, a lovesick halfling Ween Sundapple, his laugh-sick paramour Glorange Turple, a poetry gnome
Certain Things Were Said
“I am worried about your ability to sense vibrations that I cannot.” - Skerrek Tirael
“Tymore, goddess of good fortune! Look well upon Shellymoo this day!” - Holafina
“Hate to say it, man, but that gnome really insulted your mother.” - Sylenos
“Snacks?” - Arix Specklefoot

Part II: Lost and Found

What Just Happened? (In the style of The Walrus and the Carpenter )
"The time has come," the Satyr said, "To talk of many things: Of poems—and props—and Jeremy Plum— Of crowns and pixie kings— And why things here keep getting lost— And what this pig-girl means."
"But wait a bit," the Owlin cried, "Before our minds do meet, For some of us are pretty spooked, And I would like a treat!" "No hurry!" said the Satyr, And kicked up cloven feet.
The Owlin and the Kobold Were walking close at hand, They smiled like anything to see The gates of Pixie Land. "If we could only stay a while,” They said, "it would be grand!"
The Satyr sighed so sulkily, Because he thought that Plum Had got no business to be there When all was said and done. (“It's rude of him," the Kobold said, "To try and spoil our fun!")
"Oi, Satyr," said the pixie king, "You've had a pleasant run! Should you be getting back to work?” But answer came there none And this was scarcely odd, because He had real beef with Plum.
Now Arix made a hamster friend Who offered up some clues. The others tried the riding-pug: A pleasant thing to do! (“The pug is fine," the Rabbit said, "But he’s no Shellymoo.”)
"How nice of you to come!” said Plum, "You all are oh-so kind!" Puddlemud said nothing as His teeth began to grind. The Owlin and the Kobold cheered: “That was our FAVORITE ride!”
“A wooden crown," fair Jexim said, Is what we need to come Our way along with golden paint For some un-princely sum.” The others stared, confused, and said: “Now where did YOU come from?”
‘Twas then the party dared approach The famous Mystery Mine Where psychedelic spectacles Broke the Satyr’s mind. (“I really wish,” Zephixo sighed, “You wouldn’t ride while high”).
Next Dirla pulled all kind of things Out of his wagon/portal: Bottles, bunnies, candlesticks, A shining blade of vorpal (Incidentally, there’s a word That kind of rhymes with purple).
“If you put your mind to it And searched for long enough, Do you suppose," the party said, "That you could find our stuff?" "I doubt it," said dear Dirlagraun, And gave a bitter huff.
Then he gave the Harengon The greatest gift by far: A copy of “Gnome On The Run” And bid them au revoir (Morgie would have laughed at that While trying to type slash “R”).
“I do believe,” the Satyr said, “That something is not right, And think we ought to pay a call To Messers Witch and Light.” “I think we ought,” the Owlin said “To first stop for a bite.”
But in their way old Thaco stood, A clown grown grim and surly: “Rabbit! Owlin! Pixie! Skink! You aren’t allowed to be-“ The Fairy interrupted him: “Wait, WHAT did you call me?”
Poor Thaco cried: “Things move too fast! And have since my debut In R-1: To the Aid of Falx From Nineteen Eighty Two! And if you’d seen what I have seen Then you’d smoke bubbles, too!”
Finally he stepped aside, At last the way was clear. The Satyr ambled stealthily With open eyes and ears And pressed them to a wagon large To see what he could hear.
"The time has come," Witch and Light said, "To talk of things galore Of prizes—plans—and kenku pests— and ever so much more— But first we’d better ask inside Those spying at our door!”
Dramatis Personae
Jexim, a puzzled, puzzling fairy Jeremy Plum, operator of the Pixie Kingdom and bestower of silly names Biscuit, a talkative hamster Pinecone, a riding-pug Zephixo, dwarven inventor and mastermind behind the Mystery Mine Ernest Wilde, middle-aged calliope master currently inhabiting the body of his pet monkey Marigold, his button-collecting goblin assistant Dirlagraun, a kindly but inefficient displacer beast, minder of lost children and property Thaco, a bubble-smoking clown who is long past his prime
Certain Things Were Said
"Worried I was, with talk of missing supper." - Arix Specklefoot
"Could you not just purchase a new pair?" - Skerrek Tirael "Not like this, man." - Sylenos
"If you'd see the things I've seen, you'd smoke a bubble pipe, too." - Thaco
"Is this it?" - Dirlagraun "NO." - Everyone

Part III: On the Trail of the Kenku

What Just Happened? (In the style of The Hunting of the Snark)
"Where the heck is our stuff? We just want to know This Harengon ain't getting bigger, Arix has no idea of where to go And lies send poor Skerrek a-quiver!"
"Would you get back to work?" Mister Light cried, Twirling his cane with a smile, "Otherwise find where this kenku pest hides; She's cramping this carnival's style!"
"Well, that was a bust," said our heroes, conferring, "Anyone got a suggestion? If we need to pull strings to get back our things Then there are some folk we should question."
"Time's an illusion, free will a delusion!" Sylenos' mentor decreed, "Get a contusion battling occlusions, Or relax and have some of this…wait, what was I saying?"
Sylenos proclaimed: "A genius flawed!" "A man/dragon ahead of his time." Skerrek looked at his claws; Holafina at paws, And the other two just rolled their eyes
"A centuar I'm not! I just made a bad trade The "Cloppinton's" just serendipitous, Now lend me your aid and you'll maybe persuade These horsies to drop some significance."
Then they took to the skies on a dragonfly ride (Holafina and Skerrek abreast), When you're this high there's just nowhere to hide (And to which Sylenos attests)
Now Skerrek honed on a runaway gnome Who was fleeing the carnage with glee, Holafina struck home and that's it for this poem For the gnome was the kenku, you see.
Dramatis Personae
Mister Witch, a matter-of-fact elf, devoid of pretense Mister Light, a flamboyant elf, luminous and coy Burly, a philosophical, pumpkin-helmeted bugbear Mandragon, a seeker of truth (and not much else) Diana Cloppington, a centaur who is apparently not, operator of the Carousel Northwind, a very forthcoming treant, operator of the Dragonfly Rides
Certain Things Were Said
"There’s something weird going on. For some reason everyone thinks I don’t do anything around the carnival." - Sylenos
"It's true, Miss Cloppinton! We've ALL lost things." - Arix Specklefoot
"Wait, when did we have biscuits?" - Jexim

Part IV: Through the Looking Glass

What Just Happened? (In the style of A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky)
Now hear the Kenku’s strange reply (As Arix struggles to apply Triage to these pixie guys)
Asking questions, getting nought Set her on a different course: High sabotage without remorse!
And what has got her so irate Is what’s she trying to intimate: Zybilna has been quiet of late!
Ignore the rest, and let’s take flight To confront dear Witch and Light (Surprisingly, they’re quite contrite)
To keep the carnival in motion A tapestry of lies was woven: A deal with the Hourglass Coven!
Who take from those who can’t afford Entrance through the Witchlight’s doors Miscellanea adored
So THAT’s who taken all your junk! Time to find these Hourglass punks! Which way to this Feywild dump?
But first we’ll make a brief aside So Candlefoot can vocalise His mermaid love (now legalised)
Now the pair can tie the knot And while we’re passing time why not Ride the fabled Bubble Pot?
Yet ere you all are translocated (Everybody’s breath now bated) Arix must be coronated!
The time of truth has come at last Hesitation as you pass Though the hallowed looking glass
Are you afraid to lose your minds? What lies ahead? What lies behind? What do you expect to find?
Will Skerrek ever fabricate? Or Holafina emulate A bunny’s median height and weight?
Shall Jexim’s memoirs find acclaim? Can Monty locate Bobbitt Fane? (…hang on, that’s a different game)
Does Arix ever find the door? And will Sylenos flee the cause To study unemployment law?
Dramatis Personae
Kettlesteam, a mischievous patron of Zybilna Paleesha, a mellifluous mermaid, now reunited with Candlefoot
Certain Things Were Said
“Sylenos, perhaps in eight years you can come back and find your lost employment.” - Skerrek
“Ask me where the exit is.” - Arix Specklefoot “Where is the exit?” - Mister Light “I don’t know.” - Arix

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.

I am sharing this as an emotional outlet among other siblings in christ 

My Experience It was January 10, 2011. I’ll never forget that date. It was the day my life changed. Also it was the day of the college football national championship. I was and still am a big college football fan (Go Cal Bears!). Oregon was set to play auburn and i was going to watch it with my neighbor two doors down. I had been doing poorly in school, and yeah was a big pot head, still am, but am much more responsible. Anyways i told myself this semester i was going to actually try in school. I woke up at six am to get ready for my day, something that i never do. I went to put on my shoes and i noticed the laces were missing. Immediately i went to my mom and asked where are my laces? She wouldn’t give me an answer and was just acting so strange. Eventually she left the house and as she was leaving two men were walking up our walkway. I figured they were plumbers considering we had plumbing issues recently. They walked in and before I knew it they walked up to me on either side and slammed me to the ground and handcuffed me. I didn’t react as it was, I didn’t expect it for one, and for two when it began I froze, I didn’t know what to do. Once on the ground I started to squirm, I screamed “Please Help me help me I’m being kidnapped! Please!” They responded No use in screaming no one can hear you. I kept screaming. One of them said go ahead get it over with when your quiet it’ll be over sooner. After probably about ten minutes, I realized no use in fighting, they helped me up and walked me to a small suv and put me in the back and put the seat belt on me. This was the beginning. I remember on the way up to Yoncalla Oregon from Sacramento California we stopped at a burger king. They offered to get me some but food was the last thing on my mind. Looking back I wish I had taken up the offer. I remember being by the ashtray seeing a half smoked cigarette and asking to smoke it, they said I couldn’t. After a long drive we got there they walked me in. The whole way I talked about how I’d get away and run away. Well of course they told the staff at Scott Valley. By the way this is the perfect point to say I was sent to Scott Valley School in Yoncalla, Oregon. One of the many so called trouble teen schools. So being told I had threatened to run away I was put on runaway watch. For about two weeks I was forced to sleep under a light. I obviously didn’t get much sleep. Also I always had two higher phase watchers who would stand on each side of me. They had phases there was like five or six I believe. Most were 2 and 1. There were like 3 phase 3’s and 1 phase 5. There was like 20-30 of us at a time. Anyway where do I start. As I write this, with the emotions and ptsd it comes in full force and yet hazy at the same time. Maybe my head trying to protect me? So I was there seven months, thank god thats it. There were people that had been there years. Some of the people there, my god, I don’t know what to say. From a 12 year old who molested his 1 year old brother and put fish hooks in his carpet so his parents would step on it, to kids that were in there later teens who had used hard drugs, kids that had been molested and acted out as a result, kids that just were wilding out period, a lot of different walks. After I got off of runaway watch I got back on it within two weeks. I was in trouble sitting at the essay table while pe was going on. So one of the punishments was writing essays. But anyway there were two other kids at the table, the twelve year old i mentioned above and the only black kid there on the boys side. I looked at them and said if we worked together we could escape this place. They both just dead stared at me. When it was time to line up, the 12 year old went away first, the other kid looked at me and said were gonna get in trouble, that kid is a snitch and is going to tell on you. He was right. I got put on the “wall” because of that. For two weeks when not eating, sleeping, or using the bathroom, I was staring at a wall were a dot was drawn with a piece of paper on it. I would just let my imagination run wild while this happened thinking about home, friends, family, make believe countries governments politics, anything to keep the mind entertained or semi at peace! There was a green jacket my parents sent up for me that was my grandpa on my mothers side. Grandpa Applegate. It was a super cool green jacket with fake fure on the color, it looked like something you’d wear in the winter in Moscow. They said it had too many pockets and I could hide things in it. So they took it away. They put it in the Pod where all of our extra stuff was stored. Well one pod day where we could exchange stuff, there was a different staff member on duty then the one who said I couldn’t wear it. So i got it out and he didn’t know so i got to wear it for a bit. So when the other staff member got back on shift, he saw the jacket. I was banned from wearing a sweatshirt of any kind for a month. When we had outside pe everyday in Febuary to March I would get so cold. When I would put my hands in my shirt I would get another essay. This is Central Oregon, it gets cold that time of year! So some facts about the living situation, you had three minutes for showers and bathroom. You go over that you get an essay. You get more time the higher phase you get. You ever take a shit in three minutes? If done successfully I commend you. I would go five days without shitting because one of the night workers a guy named Johnny would not keep track of time when I’d get up to ask the restroom in the early morning. Johnny was an angel in a sense. Taking an uninterrupted shit was some of the most bliss I could get. Not trying to be gross but when using the restroom even was so restricted, being able to use the restroom not timed felt like hitting the lotto. When we’d wake up at seven am we only had 1 min to get up and make our bed, timed, if we didn’t make it wed get an essay. I’m naming these things as I remember different events, not necessarily in chronological order, but different events that happened. I had a peach fuzz mustache i was so proud of and long curly hair. They gave me a buzz cut and forced me to shave. My dad sent my grandpa Andrews old electric razor. That’s my dads dad. My biggest hero in my life. His name I got tatted on me at 19. I write this at 29. He died when I was 9. Most of the other kids had razors you could charge, mine needed to be plugged in to work, I didn’t understand that. I had never shaved to begin with, so I thought it was broken. I threw it away and put in a request for a new one. My father told them it was a plug in, but it was already to late so he needed to order me a new one. At a group therapy session thing, yeah we did that every day, and none of the people working there had any degrees that could go to the field they were working in. Anyway my writing is not perfect so as I was saying, at a group therapy thing, Jad one of the main guys working there brought up the razor, he said I knew it wasn’t broken, but I just wanted a new one. You don’t love your grandpa youre just a selfish little bitch. Those words still are ingrained in my mind. I know they are false but god damn they hurt. I cried. As I cried he just continued to tell me how selfish I am and im a bitch a pussy etc. William Frederick Andrews was my grandfathers name, as said I got it tatted on me at 19. He was born 1924, in 2024, my first child, a son, was born, William Frederick Andrews II. I call that a moral victory. Crazy how it worked out to be a 100 year difference. Another time it was 420, I cried because I wanted to smoke and he called me out on it in group therapy. He called me a bitch, a pussy, the usual. Weird things happened there, like one time they did a “fire drill” in the middle of the night, we had to go out into the cold in our underwear for five minutes until it was over. There were girls there but they were in a separate area. When they walked by or vice versa we had to look the other way. One of the many reasons it got shut down is there was a case of a student raping another. Apparently the girl who reported it got hounded in group therapy to the point she recanted. Now I could be wrong, but I think I know the person who did it, only one guy from the male side reached level five to the point where he became staff and could go to the girl side for group therapy. I don’t know for sure but that’s what i assume. At one point they were building a new building and they had us digging the ground around it for construction. Yeah they had us do all the cleaning indoors and out doors. If you were bad you could have your school privileges taken away. I had one kid who was a phase above me copy my work. He got caught. He got demoted, and got repromoted before I left. I never got past phase 1. So phase 1 red shirt. Phase 2 green shirt. Phase 3 Blue shirt. Phase 4 and above whatever you want. Like I said a lot of this is not in order. I am writing this in one go after years of talking about it to my loved ones. Put my thoughts to the pen, or keyboard in this case. So they did this thing were it was like a week, where it was the program or some weird name. They would break you down and “build you up” you would get a demeaning name for a week and then get an empowering name. I got the picture that if you were just a weed smoking low grade getting teen, you wouldn’t be ever seen as getting progress, you had to have “admitting to a bad act” of some sort. I made a story about how I let a girl cut me and drink my blood and how I thought about killing my dad. I know, like why would one lie and say that?!, well I figured if I had said I had done that and then shown to be turned good, it would reward me as changed and out that place. Looking back im like what the fuck. But I just wanted out and I was sure as hell willing to lie my way out. So yeah i went by like blood sucker or something like that for a week, but thats not bad. I remember so well one girl who was adopted and had relations with several boys back where she was from, she got sent there for that, and her name for the week was “Orphan Whore”. Also there were other students who weren’t going through the program that were involved with the process. Elon school or something like that where students yell at other students all sorts of insulting shit The end of it I reclaimed my name or whatever and they had me do like a ballet dance kind of weird thing to show rebirth, not that ballets weird, but in this scenario, yeah. I remember there was a day they said the world was going to end, someday in May 2011 some random wacko said, it made headlines as a joke more than anything, but i remember hearing it and hoping it happens because I wanted out. There was a gym there with rafters. I used to dream of hanging myself from them to get out. I dreamed about a car driving into the school and opening a wall up so we could run away. They used to tell us if we ran away there is bear and cougars out there, if they dont get us the cops will, and theyll put us in juvi just to have us sent back when out. They had these things called group essays. If someone did something and it no one admitted to it wed all have to write an essay about how we could have prevented it. One time a kid wiped shit on all the walls in the bathroom, the kid never admitted to it so we all had to write an essay on how we could have prevented it. I remember one time going to use the bathroom there was semen on the toilet seat, lol teen boys sex drive. I just wiped it off before I sat down. One time late at night I was masterbating in my bed. There was 20 of us sleeping in bunks in the same room, the kid who ended up copying my work i mentioned, saw me making some um, sheet movements, and looked my way giving me a dirty look, i just rolled over pretending like i was scratching, oh snap, almost caught. Not trying to be disgusting, teenage boys, find one that doesn’t masterbate, and i’ll give you some ocean beach front property in Kansas. You got weekly phone calls with your parents, you never dared to say what was going on because they were always listening. Letters same, they read them, so no use in saying something, they’ll just read it and throw it away, later my father asked me why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Well… My gf at the time ended up getting a bf after 6 months of waiting, i don’t blame her. Hey it was teenage love so im not hurt, but at the time it hurt because neither of us willingly ended it. She sent me a bookmark to have up there, it had us kissing on it, they took it from me for it being sexually explicit. They banned me from sitting up in bed and praying. I was atheist from 12 to 27 except for that time, i came back to my faith, praying for my exodus. I’m a christian again now, but only after I found a denomination that was open and affirming because I’m bisexual. Thinking about this, my mind can’t explain the pain, the rain of emotional trauma that falls in my cranium. Many times I’ve turned to cocaine, liquor, and suicidal thoughts because of the pain. It fucked my whole concept of everything in life. My emotions, my understanding of control of my own life, my ability to have healthy relationships, just so much. I still have dreams of being back there and wake up with nightmares, I was sixteen then, i turn 30 this year thirty, i have a beautiful amazing wife, a son who is the biggest blessing in my life, like i got it together now, but I don’t still, obvious by writing this. I remember one time getting to get my glasses prescription. They had to take me to town, the eye doctor, i thought about coming to him for help, but I thought if he works with these people, hell just report me to them, not them to authorities. My grandpa applegate, my moms dad, he died of suicide while I was gone, diagnosed with a terminal cancer he took it into his own hands. I never got to say good bye. When his funeral happened I wasn’t brought home for it, no, I was allowed to “write a letter to be read”. I wrote a letter, and it got read and a lot of family members said how deep it was and mature, I till this day have never watched the funeral video, I can’t. Because I should have been there. When I was on the wall, lookin towards the window could get me in trouble, because it was considered plotting an escape. I read in an english class I know where the caged bird sings, it became my favorite poem because I would watch the birds on the outside of the window and see how free they were. The joy of that. I was a juggalo, they banned me of talking anything icp related. I’d hum icp songs in protest, not like they knew them, also still a juggalo, two scoops of whoop. They day my dad came to get me, well I was peeing, and when I got out I saw him by the front door which was not far from the restroom, I ran up and hugged him saying oh my god dad! I love you! I started crying. He took to the place I always heard the workers there talk about a place called the Sugar Shack, a donut shop. Gosh dang good donuts! Then he took me to some cousins on the coast of oregon. Two days being out I was running on the beaches of the oregon coast. The sand in my feet, the breeze, the feeling of freedom. Scotts Valley School was shut down i think in 2016 for child abuse, i will link articles, but damn that place will forever haunt my head. The bats of the cave of my mind. I am married now with a family. I do my best to be a strong individual and provide, but this place has forever scared me and left me feeling weak. I couldn’t protect myself, so now I want to do everything to protect my family and be there for them. Scotts Valley school, I now live in a place called Scott Valley, the geographic area name, all come full circle? There is probably a lot more I could add to this, but for now, I just wanted to write down the bare minimum. If you have read this, thank you. I have found peace in my mind, heart, and soul as much as I can, and I hope those who have gone through similar ordeals can find some semblance of peace in their existence as well. I thank Jesus for keeping me hopeful in times I wanted to die. God bless you all.
https://www.statesmanjournal.com/story/news/politics/2015/12/14/lack-food-among-abuse-and-neglect-complaints-boarding-school/77246394/
https://www.oregonlive.com/politics/2015/12/hunger_vulgar_names_oregon_air.html
https://www.columbian.com/news/2016/jan/07/oregon-threatens-license-of-teen-boarding-school/
https://www.facebook.com/anorexicchild/posts/scotts-valley-boarding-school-in-yoncalla-oregon-scotts-valley-school-starved-th/368786460137878/
https://media.oregonlive.com/politics_impact/otheScotts%20Valley%20Notice%20of%20Intent%20to%20Revoke%20December%2011%202015.pdf
Ps the starved kid in the please eat post is not me

My Experience 

It was January 10, 2011. I’ll never forget that date. It was the day my life changed. Also it was the day of the college football national championship. I was and still am a big college football fan (Go Cal Bears!). Oregon was set to play auburn and i was going to watch it with my neighbor two doors down. I had been doing poorly in school, and yeah was a big pot head, still am, but am much more responsible. Anyways i told myself this semester i was going to actually try in school. I woke up at six am to get ready for my day, something that i never do. I went to put on my shoes and i noticed the laces were missing. Immediately i went to my mom and asked where are my laces? She wouldn’t give me an answer and was just acting so strange. Eventually she left the house and as she was leaving two men were walking up our walkway. I figured they were plumbers considering we had plumbing issues recently. They walked in and before I knew it they walked up to me on either side and slammed me to the ground and handcuffed me. I didn’t react as it was, I didn’t expect it for one, and for two when it began I froze, I didn’t know what to do. Once on the ground I started to squirm, I screamed “Please Help me help me I’m being kidnapped! Please!” They responded No use in screaming no one can hear you. I kept screaming. One of them said go ahead get it over with when your quiet it’ll be over sooner. After probably about ten minutes, I realized no use in fighting, they helped me up and walked me to a small suv and put me in the back and put the seat belt on me. This was the beginning. I remember on the way up to Yoncalla Oregon from Sacramento California we stopped at a burger king. They offered to get me some but food was the last thing on my mind. Looking back I wish I had taken up the offer. I remember being by the ashtray seeing a half smoked cigarette and asking to smoke it, they said I couldn’t. After a long drive we got there they walked me in. The whole way I talked about how I’d get away and run away. Well of course they told the staff at Scott Valley. By the way this is the perfect point to say I was sent to Scott Valley School in Yoncalla, Oregon. One of the many so called trouble teen schools. So being told I had threatened to run away I was put on runaway watch. For about two weeks I was forced to sleep under a light. I obviously didn’t get much sleep. Also I always had two higher phase watchers who would stand on each side of me. They had phases there was like five or six I believe. Most were 2 and 1. There were like 3 phase 3’s and 1 phase 5. There was like 20-30 of us at a time. Anyway where do I start. As I write this, with the emotions and ptsd it comes in full force and yet hazy at the same time. Maybe my head trying to protect me? So I was there seven months, thank god thats it. There were people that had been there years. Some of the people there, my god, I don’t know what to say. From a 12 year old who molested his 1 year old brother and put fish hooks in his carpet so his parents would step on it, to kids that were in there later teens who had used hard drugs, kids that had been molested and acted out as a result, kids that just were wilding out period, a lot of different walks. After I got off of runaway watch I got back on it within two weeks. I was in trouble sitting at the essay table while pe was going on. So one of the punishments was writing essays. But anyway there were two other kids at the table, the twelve year old i mentioned above and the only black kid there on the boys side. I looked at them and said if we worked together we could escape this place. They both just dead stared at me. When it was time to line up, the 12 year old went away first, the other kid looked at me and said were gonna get in trouble, that kid is a snitch and is going to tell on you. He was right. I got put on the “wall” because of that. For two weeks when not eating, sleeping, or using the bathroom, I was staring at a wall were a dot was drawn with a piece of paper on it. I would just let my imagination run wild while this happened thinking about home, friends, family, make believe countries governments politics, anything to keep the mind entertained or semi at peace! There was a green jacket my parents sent up for me that was my grandpa on my mothers side. Grandpa Applegate. It was a super cool green jacket with fake fure on the color, it looked like something you’d wear in the winter in Moscow. They said it had too many pockets and I could hide things in it. So they took it away. They put it in the Pod where all of our extra stuff was stored. Well one pod day where we could exchange stuff, there was a different staff member on duty then the one who said I couldn’t wear it. So i got it out and he didn’t know so i got to wear it for a bit. So when the other staff member got back on shift, he saw the jacket. I was banned from wearing a sweatshirt of any kind for a month. When we had outside pe everyday in Febuary to March I would get so cold. When I would put my hands in my shirt I would get another essay. This is Central Oregon, it gets cold that time of year! So some facts about the living situation, you had three minutes for showers and bathroom. You go over that you get an essay. You get more time the higher phase you get. You ever take a shit in three minutes? If done successfully I commend you. I would go five days without shitting because one of the night workers a guy named Johnny would not keep track of time when I’d get up to ask the restroom in the early morning. Johnny was an angel in a sense. Taking an uninterrupted shit was some of the most bliss I could get. Not trying to be gross but when using the restroom even was so restricted, being able to use the restroom not timed felt like hitting the lotto. When we’d wake up at seven am we only had 1 min to get up and make our bed, timed, if we didn’t make it wed get an essay. I’m naming these things as I remember different events, not necessarily in chronological order, but different events that happened. I had a peach fuzz mustache i was so proud of and long curly hair. They gave me a buzz cut and forced me to shave. My dad sent my grandpa Andrews old electric razor. That’s my dads dad. My biggest hero in my life. His name I got tatted on me at 19. I write this at 29. He died when I was 9. Most of the other kids had razors you could charge, mine needed to be plugged in to work, I didn’t understand that. I had never shaved to begin with, so I thought it was broken. I threw it away and put in a request for a new one. My father told them it was a plug in, but it was already to late so he needed to order me a new one. At a group therapy session thing, yeah we did that every day, and none of the people working there had any degrees that could go to the field they were working in. Anyway my writing is not perfect so as I was saying, at a group therapy thing, Jad one of the main guys working there brought up the razor, he said I knew it wasn’t broken, but I just wanted a new one. You don’t love your grandpa youre just a selfish little bitch. Those words still are ingrained in my mind. I know they are false but god damn they hurt. I cried. As I cried he just continued to tell me how selfish I am and im a bitch a pussy etc. William Frederick Andrews was my grandfathers name, as said I got it tatted on me at 19. He was born 1924, in 2024, my first child, a son, was born, William Frederick Andrews II. I call that a moral victory. Crazy how it worked out to be a 100 year difference. Another time it was 420, I cried because I wanted to smoke and he called me out on it in group therapy. He called me a bitch, a pussy, the usual. Weird things happened there, like one time they did a “fire drill” in the middle of the night, we had to go out into the cold in our underwear for five minutes until it was over. There were girls there but they were in a separate area. When they walked by or vice versa we had to look the other way. One of the many reasons it got shut down is there was a case of a student raping another. Apparently the girl who reported it got hounded in group therapy to the point she recanted. Now I could be wrong, but I think I know the person who did it, only one guy from the male side reached level five to the point where he became staff and could go to the girl side for group therapy. I don’t know for sure but that’s what i assume. At one point they were building a new building and they had us digging the ground around it for construction. Yeah they had us do all the cleaning indoors and out doors. If you were bad you could have your school privileges taken away. I had one kid who was a phase above me copy my work. He got caught. He got demoted, and got repromoted before I left. I never got past phase 1. So phase 1 red shirt. Phase 2 green shirt. Phase 3 Blue shirt. Phase 4 and above whatever you want. Like I said a lot of this is not in order. I am writing this in one go after years of talking about it to my loved ones. Put my thoughts to the pen, or keyboard in this case. So they did this thing were it was like a week, where it was the program or some weird name. They would break you down and “build you up” you would get a demeaning name for a week and then get an empowering name. I got the picture that if you were just a weed smoking low grade getting teen, you wouldn’t be ever seen as getting progress, you had to have “admitting to a bad act” of some sort. I made a story about how I let a girl cut me and drink my blood and how I thought about killing my dad. I know, like why would one lie and say that?!, well I figured if I had said I had done that and then shown to be turned good, it would reward me as changed and out that place. Looking back im like what the fuck. But I just wanted out and I was sure as hell willing to lie my way out. So yeah i went by like blood sucker or something like that for a week, but thats not bad. I remember so well one girl who was adopted and had relations with several boys back where she was from, she got sent there for that, and her name for the week was “Orphan Whore”. Also there were other students who weren’t going through the program that were involved with the process. Elon school or something like that where students yell at other students all sorts of insulting shit The end of it I reclaimed my name or whatever and they had me do like a ballet dance kind of weird thing to show rebirth, not that ballets weird, but in this scenario, yeah. I remember there was a day they said the world was going to end, someday in May 2011 some random wacko said, it made headlines as a joke more than anything, but i remember hearing it and hoping it happens because I wanted out. There was a gym there with rafters. I used to dream of hanging myself from them to get out. I dreamed about a car driving into the school and opening a wall up so we could run away. They used to tell us if we ran away there is bear and cougars out there, if they dont get us the cops will, and theyll put us in juvi just to have us sent back when out. They had these things called group essays. If someone did something and it no one admitted to it wed all have to write an essay about how we could have prevented it. One time a kid wiped shit on all the walls in the bathroom, the kid never admitted to it so we all had to write an essay on how we could have prevented it. I remember one time going to use the bathroom there was semen on the toilet seat, lol teen boys sex drive. I just wiped it off before I sat down. One time late at night I was masterbating in my bed. There was 20 of us sleeping in bunks in the same room, the kid who ended up copying my work i mentioned, saw me making some um, sheet movements, and looked my way giving me a dirty look, i just rolled over pretending like i was scratching, oh snap, almost caught. Not trying to be disgusting, teenage boys, find one that doesn’t masterbate, and i’ll give you some ocean beach front property in Kansas. You got weekly phone calls with your parents, you never dared to say what was going on because they were always listening. Letters same, they read them, so no use in saying something, they’ll just read it and throw it away, later my father asked me why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Well… My gf at the time ended up getting a bf after 6 months of waiting, i don’t blame her. Hey it was teenage love so im not hurt, but at the time it hurt because neither of us willingly ended it. She sent me a bookmark to have up there, it had us kissing on it, they took it from me for it being sexually explicit. They banned me from sitting up in bed and praying. I was atheist from 12 to 27 except for that time, i came back to my faith, praying for my exodus. I’m a christian again now, but only after I found a denomination that was open and affirming because I’m bisexual. Thinking about this, my mind can’t explain the pain, the rain of emotional trauma that falls in my cranium. Many times I’ve turned to cocaine, liquor, and suicidal thoughts because of the pain. It fucked my whole concept of everything in life. My emotions, my understanding of control of my own life, my ability to have healthy relationships, just so much. I still have dreams of being back there and wake up with nightmares, I was sixteen then, i turn 30 this year thirty, i have a beautiful amazing wife, a son who is the biggest blessing in my life, like i got it together now, but I don’t still, obvious by writing this. I remember one time getting to get my glasses prescription. They had to take me to town, the eye doctor, i thought about coming to him for help, but I thought if he works with these people, hell just report me to them, not them to authorities. My grandpa applegate, my moms dad, he died of suicide while I was gone, diagnosed with a terminal cancer he took it into his own hands. I never got to say good bye. When his funeral happened I wasn’t brought home for it, no, I was allowed to “write a letter to be read”. I wrote a letter, and it got read and a lot of family members said how deep it was and mature, I till this day have never watched the funeral video, I can’t. Because I should have been there. When I was on the wall, lookin towards the window could get me in trouble, because it was considered plotting an escape. I read in an english class I know where the caged bird sings, it became my favorite poem because I would watch the birds on the outside of the window and see how free they were. The joy of that. I was a juggalo, they banned me of talking anything icp related. I’d hum icp songs in protest, not like they knew them, also still a juggalo, two scoops of whoop. They day my dad came to get me, well I was peeing, and when I got out I saw him by the front door which was not far from the restroom, I ran up and hugged him saying oh my god dad! I love you! I started crying. He took to the place I always heard the workers there talk about a place called the Sugar Shack, a donut shop. Gosh dang good donuts! Then he took me to some cousins on the coast of oregon. Two days being out I was running on the beaches of the oregon coast. The sand in my feet, the breeze, the feeling of freedom. Scotts Valley School was shut down i think in 2016 for child abuse, i will link articles, but damn that place will forever haunt my head. The bats of the cave of my mind. I am married now with a family. I do my best to be a strong individual and provide, but this place has forever scared me and left me feeling weak. I couldn’t protect myself, so now I want to do everything to protect my family and be there for them. Scotts Valley school, I now live in a place called Scott Valley, the geographic area name, all come full circle? There is probably a lot more I could add to this, but for now, I just wanted to write down the bare minimum. If you have read this, thank you. I have found peace in my mind, heart, and soul as much as I can, and I hope those who have gone through similar ordeals can find some semblance of peace in their existence as well. I thank Jesus for keeping me hopeful in times I wanted to die. God bless you all.
https://www.statesmanjournal.com/story/news/politics/2015/12/14/lack-food-among-abuse-and-neglect-complaints-boarding-school/77246394/
https://www.oregonlive.com/politics/2015/12/hunger_vulgar_names_oregon_air.html
https://www.columbian.com/news/2016/jan/07/oregon-threatens-license-of-teen-boarding-school/
https://www.facebook.com/anorexicchild/posts/scotts-valley-boarding-school-in-yoncalla-oregon-scotts-valley-school-starved-th/368786460137878/
https://media.oregonlive.com/politics_impact/otheScotts%20Valley%20Notice%20of%20Intent%20to%20Revoke%20December%2011%202015.pdf
Ps the starved kid in the please eat post is not me

or an estimate of a date, i guess? a friend is visiting sometime next month and she hasn't booked her return tickets, but the first weekend after she leaves i'll do it. or at least try. knowing the kind of person i am i might chicken out - i'm a coward in every respect of my life - but i think writing it down here and putting it out in the world might help make it a bit more real. like some twisted sense of accountability.
i've been passively suicidal for 3-4 years now but the past few months have been the first times i really woke up in the morning and thought "i should do it today. i could do it today" and it's just kept happening. my life has been steadily falling apart for years - that's too passive, i know i've been the one ruining my own life - and there's nothing left. which i know sounds stupid and whiny and childish as a 21 year old but there's just a sense of finality in my life. i've dropped out of college, ended my relationship, stopped talking to virtually all of my friends, ruined my life in its entirety. for years now it's killed me that you can call it quits in every aspect of your life other than being alive. why is there no fucking — i don't know, no game over or quit button lmao. no way to say "well i gave it a try and it's not for me, i give up!" why is there no other way to do that than killing yourself. i feel like nearly everyone i know was dealing with some sort of mental illness back when the pandemic started and we were finishing up high school. i felt less alone. every single one of them is living the life of their dreams now - loving relationships, dream jobs, ivy league grad schools, whatever - and i'm worse than i ever have been. i tried therapy but nothing helped, nothing worked. the thought of being stuck with myself and the complete wreck i've made of myself, having to live with every failure day in and day out for the rest of my life - i can't do it. i just can't do it anymore and the thought of this defining the rest of my life is unbearable. i'm done. i'm fucking done with this.
the one thing i do regret is adopting a cat in january. my beloved baby girl she's so lovely and so so sweet, but pragmatically i've been gone for the semester so she'll hardly remember me and i know my parents will take good care of her. the thought of hurting my parents is genuinely unbearable though so i'll have to avoid thinking about that as much as i can until it's too late. what else can you do?
what worries me is figuring out a method. i don't want to fuck it up and survive having damaged my internal organs beyond repair, i want it to be clean and i want it to stick. there's a line from a poem i like: "when I die, I will come in fast and low. I will stick the landing." i think about that a lot. in a fucked up way, working out a method will be a fun little project for the rest of the month. or maybe that's a pipe dream and there's no "clean" way to do it and whatever i do will be painful and drawn-out and damage my liver or w/e beyond repair until i finally die. it'll probably be that. oh god
this fucking sucks! my friend is texting me about flying out to see her boyfriend! two of my friends are talking about their new relationships! it's graduation weekend and someone outside my door just chirped "happy grad day" to her friend in the brightest voice! there was apparently an aurora last night that i completely missed + i think it's too cloudy here to see it, i'd wanted to see one my entire life! i found a nice italian spot in the city last month! and none of that matters and i feel worse than i ever have and i'm posting on a suicide watch subreddit about killing myself because that's just who i am and who i'll always be! i'm going back and proofreading this post like any of this fucking matters to anyone other than me, like any of it will matter at all a few weeks from now. in a way that's almost a relief.
i don't really want to do it - it's fucking biological instinct, nobody wants to die - but i have to force myself to. it's like swallowing bitter medicine, honestly that's exactly what it'll probably be. i don't have any other choice

I took a garden gummy and am sitting out in my garage with the beautiful spring weather.
I have a friend who we consider each other soulmates but have not talked since March. I feel like a love sick puppy over here. Just wanting to be friends again. But I get such anxiety when I think about doing it. Like she hates me so why?
Recently I wrote this in my notes app for her. I don’t if it’s a song or poem. But it does go well to a 2010’s emo vibe.
(Part of me really wants to share it with her because I think we’d die laughing over it!)
🤣
“
Boo…
Hi. I literally feel like a crazy ex Writing you paragraph after paragraph text in the notes app Bout being sorry and how I miss you Then I freeze because why express this when I feel like you’ve made up your mind.
Delete delete delete
But then I’m like hell no. Soulmates are forever and I miss the fuck out of you and want you to know that.
I’m sorry going with to SK didn’t work but I’m even more sorry about my poor communication about it before hand. I could have been better and I’m sorry.
There’s so much in my head about the whole situation And us not talking I can’t wrap my head around it with how fast it spins
I miss you. I miss our conversations.
Your voice Your sass The way we can be having a complete crying meltdown and the other one can make us crack a smile.
The fact you’re in SK and I know nothing about your life makes me so sad! I want to know it all
But then again, my communication could have been better but as distance grew so did my anxiety thinking you hate me.
So why bother
Then sometimes I say that out loud and I think How silly Just pick the damn phone up and call her
Soulmates are forever and I miss the fuck out of you
And vice verse There’s been so much in my life that has happened That you’re the only person I want to call And I feel like I can’t
I just really miss you. I hope I’m still your plus one
But if it’s been revoked I understand.
I just want to be friends again. Hear your voice and stories again.
You’re the Beyoncé of my life So this is me coming to you
Your red headed Jay-z To ask for forgiveness.
I miss and love you. No matter the outcome I will always wish you love and support Pure bliss and bright days
My beautiful soulmate.”

I'm In a bad place A bad space I refuse to accept and face The ending of dreams we chased Now God has taken you Leaving me alone I can only contemplate A deal with the devil That i could make to Erase, replace and change The Mistakes we made I'd buy back The times of waste In exchange for another day I'd give my life and more For yours if he'd let me switch Cuz God knows I wish that i didn't miss That one New Year I was with that crazy.... And maybe that time I was being lazy When you wanted to go for a walk And i said maybe later I shed a tear knowing you waited Looking back I don't know why you loved me when I should of been hated You saw the good in me and were patient Lifted me at my lowest Elevated and motivated me Taught me how to be a good man Showed me what it meant to be a father to my child Your love tamed the wild in me You were my best friend and will always be You complete me And i believe we'll be together again in eternity So I'm Eagerly waiting for my last breath With open arms I'll welcome death

Centuries from now, in the year 2364 CE, 57 years after the Choice of Empire—The elected Emperor of the Solar System and his family are massacred by the Sargons, a rival family who seized the throne and created chaos across the Empire. Caleb, the youngest son of the slain Emperor, was saved by the Altas, who were once friends of his family until they mysteriously exiled themselves from the imperium many years ago and remained hidden in an unknown location ever since.
Caleb is now in that faraway place, beyond the reach of the Sargons, where he will live in refuge and prepare for the day when he can have vengeance, justice, and redemption—and possibly salvation.
Burrowed deep within an asteroid in the Belt of the Solar System is a secret community of scientists, artists, thinkers, and engineers led by the Altas. A large hole is tunneled through the face of the asteroid, the entrance to the hidden world within. It was made to look like a human eye.
Its name is the Iris.
[Interlude]
Caleb woke from a deep sleep. The salt of his tears had dried on his face and sweat covered his body. He looked around the room and saw a man who was like an uncle to him asleep on a chair next to his bed: Han Moret, the leader of the Altas.
Caleb thought that Han Moret looked younger and radiant. His hair, once thin, was now full. His body, once frail, was now strong. His skin, once wrinkled, was now smooth and shining.
Caleb got up from the bed and put a hand on Han Moret’s shoulder.
“Han,” he whispered.
Han Moret woke with a start, “Christ!” then smiled when he saw Caleb, “Oh, hello my dear boy.”
Caleb was quiet for a while. “Why couldn’t you save them?”
Han Moret sighed and looked to the ground, “We didn’t have time. We learned of the Sargons’ plans too late. You were in your bedroom and everyone else was in the throne room. Saving you was the only way, all we could do. The best we could do.” He raised his head, “I’m sorry Caleb. I’ll never forgive myself for not being there, for not being able to do more. But you’re here now. We’ll help you. We’ll fight back and win. I can promise you that. I can give you that.”
“How?”
Han Moret grinned, “Come. Let me show you what we’ve been working on all these years. Why I left all those years ago.” He walked to the door and opened it, “Welcome to the Iris.”
Within the asteroid was a colossal garden paradise: waving golden fields and rolling green hills, thick forests and snow-capped mountains, gleaming towers and sprawling villas, vast lakes and flowing streams, smaller suns and lesser moons orbiting each other in the center—worlds within a world.
They walked through a field and stopped beneath a large oak tree.
“Han, this is incredible. How did you do it?” Caleb asked.
“Trillions of builders. Quattuordecillion, actually.” Han Moret raised his hand and an apple fell into it. He took a bite, “Probably more.”
“But there’s only…How many people are here?”
“A couple hundred. 964, I think. No, Arina was born this morning, 965.” He furrowed his brow, “Why do you ask?”
“Trillions of builders, hundreds here?”
“Oh! Right, yes. I see. Come, come. You’ll see too.”
While they were walking, Caleb learned that Han Moret was still fond of long and rambling monologues:
“Isn’t it obvious? Look around us. Well, beyond the asteroid. We seem to be alone in the Universe, but the probability that other life exists says otherwise. So what’s the explanation? It’s simple. We are the first intelligent life in the Universe. It makes sense when you think about it. Our homeworld, the planet Earth, was among the first habitable planets that formed in the Universe after it began, earlier than around 90% of the other habitable planets which now exist! And most of the habitable planets that will ever be formed in the Universe haven’t even formed yet. So, the planet Earth was one of the first habitable planets in the Universe that could support the rise of life and its long evolutionary development into intelligent life, to beings like us. Therefore, assuming that life out there will fundamentally be the same as it is here, and assuming that it only arises in an Earth-like environment, it shouldn’t be surprising that humans developed before others. You see, someone has to be first. There must be a first form of intelligent life in the Universe, before the rest. But it seems like no one has considered that maybe we’re alone in the Universe right now because we are the first and others will come after us, and maybe the others are already in the process of doing so, so we won’t be alone for long. And when those future life-forms ask the same questions as us, “Is anyone out there? Are we alone in the Universe?” we will be there to answer them, to be their aliens, to give them the comfort we never had and accelerate their development like we never could. And this is all the better too, because we’re going to need all the help we can get to do the ultimate thing, since the only reason we exist is to…”
“Han, thank you, that was…enlightening. But what does it have to do with what you were going to show me?”
“What? Oh, nothing. Sorry. What were we talking about? Ah yes, how we built the Iris. Fear not, the answer lies ahead.”
They walked further through the field towards a clearing. And there, out in the open, was a scientific laboratory and engineering workshop, tables and equipment and all with nothing but the sky above and a beautiful world surrounding them.
Han Moret led Caleb to an empty table, “So, here is it boyo. What do you see?”
“Uh, nothing.”
“Ha! Yes, but in nothing there is everything. For from nothing…” Han Moret glanced at the table and appeared to concentrate, then the table grew into a tree “…something.”
Han Moret tapped a finger to his head, “Mind-controlled nano-bots. That’s how we built this place. A one-to-one control of atoms within our local environment, limited to the area in which nano-bots are dispersed and the reach of electromagnetic signals emitted from implants in the brain, also limited by the mental symbiosis between a group of people if they’re working together, and of course the extent of their imagination. Everything within the Iris is touched by the stuff, so everything is under our control.”
“That’s…How did you do it?”
“Trade secret I’m afraid. But here, we call it…” Han Moret slapped the side of Caleb’s head, “…Pleroma.”
“Ow!”
“There! Brain implanted. You are now pleromatized. You can control the world around you, or at least the little bit within your proximate sphere. No worries, the plerons are easily inserted and removed, so no harm, no foul. Go on and try it. Synchronization is instantaneous, but learning how to use it is, well, a process. Your ability to control the world is determined by the strength of your mind—your concentration and focus. It depends on the speed and coherence of your imagination, the complexity and detail of your mental constructions, along with the depth of your knowledge and your intelligence, clarity of thinking, force of will, and, most importantly, very most importantly, the strength of your Self. Meditation helps, as does improving your brain with the stuff once you get the hang of it, but none of that will matter if you are not strong within. Oh, and you can change your body too.”
“Ah, so that’s why you look younger and glowing.”
“Indeed, and thank you. I’ve never felt better, haven’t been sick in years. We certainly look…godly, don’t you think? Although the secondary effects of being able to control our brains and bodies have been far more numerous than we anticipated, mostly socially, very odd and interesting things, but that’s a conversation and exhibition for later. If I may continue, with the Pleroma, the strength of your mind determines your power over the world, so if your mind is stronger than others, then you can overpower them. For example…”
Caleb’s body rose from the ground and hovered for a moment, then returned.
“See?” Han Moret said. “I could feel your instinctive surprise and mental resistance, but alas, I’ve had this stuff longer than you, and my mind is, for the time being at least, stronger than yours, so your resistance was, as they say, futile. The plerons that made their way into your body when you entered the Iris obeyed my commands and not yours, and your body obeyed my mind and not your own. Now, your turn. Try and turn the tree into something.”
Caleb looked at the tree and tried to concentrate. He vaguely imagined things, but was unsure of what to create and how. The tree became a gray mass, then began to violently vibrate and rapidly shapeshift. Colors flashed and textures flickered. Various sounds blasted all at once. It seemed like reality was having a seizure. And then the asteroid began to rumble…
“Woah! Alright, alright! Not bad for your first try. Certainly better than others. You have a powerful mind, no doubt, but not yet a disciplined one.”
Han Moret waved his hand and smoothed the chaotic patch of existence back to an empty table. “We’ll try it again soon. Mastering the Pleroma will require a lot of practice and self-improvement. I can improve your brain of course, if you’d like, it’ll help speed up the process and enhance your basic abilities, but even with a better brain, you’ll still fail to use the Pleroma if you don’t improve your consciousness, your mind—your Self. You must become stronger, Caleb—not physically, but mentally—if you want to master this power over the world. You could have a perfect brain, but if you don’t perfect your Self, then the Pleroma will be useless, as we just saw. You’ll only create chaos in the world and others will be able to control you.”
“Yeah, alright, I understand. But Han! That was amazing. I’ve never felt…I’ve never felt like that before.”
“Yes, but it is so much more than that, Caleb, so much more. You’ve only seen the least of it, the smallest bit. You see, this is why we had to leave the Empire. Weren’t you listening before? I was onto something. We’re going to need all the help we can get, including from other forms of life, if we are going to do the ultimate thing, since the only reason we exist is to prevent the end of the Universe.
For centuries, we’ve known that, given the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the Universe will end in the future, or at least its habitability for life—for us! We know this, and so we have a responsibility to do something about it, to stop it from happening so that life can keep living. ‘We’ are the Universe—just a local collection of its atoms, yes, but an equal part of its whole nevertheless—and we have within us both the genetic urge to survive and a personal desire to not die, so we can say that the Universe itself does not want us to die, or rather it does not want to die itself. Don’t you see? The purpose of our lives, the purpose of the Universe, is embedded within the structure of our existence. But how do we prevent the end of the Universe exactly? We don’t know the answer to that yet, specifically. That’ll take time. But we do know the basics of the answer, and it is very simple: we must control the Universe to prevent its end, and to do that, we must become God.
If humankind is to live forever, and more importantly ensure that there is a world in which we can live forever, then we must gain the knowledge and power to control the Universe so that we can prevent its end. In other words, we must become all-knowing and all-powerful, or at least gain sufficient knowledge and power to ensure that we can have an endless life in infinite eternity, through whatever ways we can. But whichever way ultimately works, we’ll need to create an eternal home for life, and that’s Godhood boyo. That’s the ultimate thing, and the Pleroma is a first step towards that: controlling the world around us with our minds, instantaneous creation by command. It’s a growing up for us. We began as children, born from the God of the Great Unknown at the Beginning, and we must grow up to become God to prevent the Great Known at the End. That’s the only thing when you think about it, our only purpose and the measure of our being, the direction of our progress and the future we’re heading towards: Godhood. If we don’t, then we will have accepted the end of the Universe and the eventual death of humankind, and everything before that will become pointless, the value and meaning of our lives will become forfeit. If we choose to do nothing or say that it’s impossible without trying, then we condemn the generations of the future to ultimate destruction, and in the long stretch of time, we will have annihilated the basic and universal value of human life, and therefore annihilate our own value too. Even if the end of the Universe will happen billions of years from now, or much sooner from some natural or cosmic catastrophe, that’s just a number that seems big to us, so the number doesn’t matter, it could billions of years from now or tomorrow—or today. On the scale of the Universe, what’s the difference between a billion and one, tomorrow and today? If humankind will become extinct in the future, no matter how many years from now, then there will be no point to all of this.
No, we must save ourselves by preventing the end of the Universe and become God to achieve that salvation. What comes after that? I don’t know. But for now, I know that we must spend our days working to achieve Godhood. That’s why we’re here and nothing else matters, except of course to make life worth saving, by making it worth living, by spreading love and creating art and asking questions and filling the darkness around us with light and the color of our lives, to expand outwards until we reach the end and then go beyond it—always onward, always creating, always living. You see, the end gives us our beginning. We begin at the end. God created and God will save, because we will become God to save ourselves. I call it the Anthroteloeschacosmological Principle, the purpose of humankind arising from the end of the Universe. I tell myself a little poem every morning: “The Universe will end / and I will die / if today I do nothing / to save starlight and humankind.” I wrote all this in an anonymous essay a few years back, The Salvation of the Universe…”
“That was you?”
“Yes, and it made quite a stir across the imperium as I understand it, but nary an effect. Typical. Anyways, we must prevent the end of the Universe—by whatever means, at all costs, and within moral bounds. The Sargons knew this and accepted the first two, but they rejected the last. I grew up with them. We discussed it often, along with your father. The Sargons think morality is an obstacle, a human thing that will prevent us from becoming God. They think Godhood is only about being all-knowing and all-powerful, but we Altas think differently. We think morality is essential to Godhood, because being all-knowing and all-powerful will be pointless if we are not also all-good, or at least as good as we can be when we try. Without morality, that wonderfully human thing—determining what is good and evil and then making it so—there’d be no point in becoming God, because there’d be nothing worth saving in the end. We’d just be a heap of atoms that figured out how to perpetuate themselves, like all of the other forms of life in the Universe, except on a bigger scale. But we are not like the other forms of life. No, we are different, and that’s what makes us so special and important. What’s the point of living if not for something, and why are we unique if not because of our morality allows us to say, “This is good and this is bad,” and then use that power to shape the world around us according to our imagination and will, enhanced by our knowledge and technology?
So you see Caleb, this is why we had to leave the Empire. We all know that the Universe will end in the future, but it seemed to us Altas like were the only ones who understood the significance of that fact, what it means for us and our purpose in life, the responsibilities that it gives us. We saw that the plan for existence is embedded in the structure of the Universe, our destiny and fate written across the stars, but when we looked around, we saw that everyone was living their days as if it wasn’t so, ignoring our ultimate purpose and wasting their time on lesser things. We had to leave, you see, to be away from the limitations and distractions of Empire, so we could do the work to achieve Godhood, to take the first step in leaving our childhood to create the Pleroma.
Your father disagreed with all this. He thought Godhood was a silly idea based on old religious notions. And that’s what makes what happened all the worse. You see, the Altas and the Sargons agreed with each other. We were unified against your father in our belief that we must achieve Godhood and that the stagnation of the Empire was preventing us from doing so, and your father was leading that stagnation, so we both felt compelled to take action. The difference between us, however, the vital difference, is that we Altas believe in morality, so we left the Empire to work in peaceful isolation, and the Sargons do not, so they murdered your family to seize power.”
And with that, Han Moret was finished.
Caleb was silent for a while. “But, I don’t understand. If you had this the entire time, why couldn’t you save my family when the Sargons attacked? Why couldn’t you use it to protect them? You could’ve prevented all of this. Why didn’t you share it with us?”
“Because the Pleroma is still in development, Caleb. It still has its imperfections and unknowns. We’ve only worked within the asteroid so far, and only with a small group of people who already had deep bonds and a shared way of thinking and years of training together as the power of the Pleroma slowly progressed, so our learning was limited by the pace of its development. And this was good, since the Pleroma would be apocalyptic in the wrong hands. This asteroid, these people, are minuscule compared to the scale of the Empire, to the true extent of what the Pleroma could reach and do. So, with all of its unknowns, we couldn’t risk deploying it beyond the Iris, and we couldn’t risk revealing ourselves by going beyond it and using it or building transmission relays across the Solar System so we could take long-distance action from here. We had precious little time after learning of the Sargon’s betrayal. And once we were there, in the fog of war, for all we know we could’ve killed your family if we had tried to intervene. Not everyone here has mastered the Pleroma yet, especially to use it in such a complex and rapidly changing atomic environment like war, with life and death in the balance, with its intense mental pressures and emotional reactions and all that would test the mental strength of even the best of us, even me. So, even if I had brought the best of us when it happened, we couldn’t risk trying it for the first time in such a situation, especially with such a close proximity between friends and foes. But we’re improving it and eliminating its imperfections, we’re learning, and it’s nearly ready to be used beyond this little home of ours.”
Now Han Moret was silent for a while. He looked around the Iris.
“I… You see Caleb…” He tried to gather his thoughts, but was conflicted between defending himself against Caleb’s criticisms and trying to proceed with his planned lecture. “With the Pleroma, we can control the Universe, both around us and within us. Everything, everywhere, all the time. And time itself too! Though that’s still in the experimental stages. One fellow tried to slow time by condensing his local spacetime and then went poof and, well, we don’t quite know where he is at the moment, but we’ll find him…hopefully. But with this stuff, we can speak and it shall be. We can create by command and move worlds with a wave of our hand. Dear, I’m getting poetic, but isn’t it so? This is what we’ve been working on all these years. And once we created it, we knew that the people of the Empire weren’t ready for it, so we remained in hiding. Most people beyond the Iris aren’t mentally and spiritually strong enough to have this power without creating chaos, destruction, and death across the Solar System, especially with the Sargons around. But now, with the Sargons in power, with chaos across the imperium, with you here, we think that perhaps it’s time. You have a powerful story Caleb, and you were born into a unique position to sway the hearts and minds of the people to shape the course of Empire and help them. And as your old tutor, well, I have faith in you, especially now that you’ve seen the Pleroma and understand what it can do and what’s at stake. I believe you can do what we could not and prepare the way towards a better future.
What are those quotes from the books I used to read you? ‘A people shall come, and when they say, “Be…” It shall be,’ and ‘Can you lift up your voice to the clouds, so that a flood of waters may cover you? Can you send forth lightning, so it may go and declare, ‘Here we are?” That is this. We are it. Speak your voice, Caleb. Manifest your spirit. Create by command. With this, you can do anything, everything…” he amplified his voice to make it was deep and booming, “…ALL.”
And with the last word, hundreds of people suddenly appeared around Caleb.
A few hours passed and it was night. The suns above had dimmed, sharing their fading light with rising moonlight, creating a new and beautiful natural phenomenon that Caleb had never seen before, what the people of the Iris called a Sunrisset.
They were all in the field, groups of them sitting around bonfires. The ceiling of the asteroid was made transparent so they could see the stars around them. They were celebrating the arrival of Caleb and the simple fact that another day had passed of which they had come to know. Some of the fires were multi-colored, shifting with the mood and intentions of the people around them. Around one of them was a woman singing an ancient song. The flames danced and rose and changed colors to match her pitch and rhythm and tune—and when she finished with a climax, the flames burst into the sky, adding sparks to the stars. Throughout the night, there were fireworks from all directions and mini-supernovae exploding in the sky. Auroras waved above and among and between them. Such was life in paradise.
As conversation mixed with music and song, there was, most of all, a feast. It was the best food and drink that Caleb had ever tasted.
Han Moret gave another lecture, “Food is just chemistry, a unique combination of atoms that interacts with our taste buds to cause a specific reaction in the brain: pleasure. And with the Pleroma, we can have it all the time.”
“Don’t you get used to it though, having the best food all the time? What’s that saying, without the ordinary there’d be nothing extraordinary?” Caleb asked.
“I used to think that, but it’s been years and the food is still great, so no, you don’t get used to it. It’s utopia here boyo, paradise, the land of the blessed, whatever you want to call it, and not just culinary-wise. We can control our brains and bodies on the micro-level, so there’s no disease and, more importantly, no aging. I realize I might’ve buried the lead on that one, but yeah, we’re immortal here too, along with everything else. Godhood again. Everyone in the Alta, anyone touched by the Pleroma, will live forever, or at least as long as they choose and not be murdered by nature, which is all that matters. We can create anything we might need and want, and so we have everything we might need and want. It’s utopia, but it’s not without its problems.
Frankly, utopia is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s certainly better than the past and something that everyone should have, power and abundance and immortality and all, and we’ll help them get there, certainly, but it’s not the final place, not by a long shot. Even with all of this, we have a lot to do and further to go. You see, when all the problems are solved, when you can have anything you want all the time, some people just get bored. Who would’ve thought that heaven would be boring. But it is so. Since humans began on the planet Earth all those years ago, our purpose was to survive and solve the problems that nature laid on us—scarcity, poverty, ignorance, disease—so we could have a brief moment to pursue our happiness before we died. But what happens when our survival is secured, the problems are solved, and we have infinite opportunities to pursue our happiness? Wouldn’t life get boring? That’s what we’re struggling with now. Frankly, utopia doesn’t agree with everyone. There’s trouble in paradise and all. Ah, perfect timing. Look over there. See him?”
Han Moret pointed to a man who was a few bonfires over. He was drunk and stumbling through the crowd. Since the man was pleromatized, he had a literal aura of drunkenness around him and projected a blurred existence beyond his body that wreaked a playful and entertaining havoc on others as he walked by.
“Damn it, Thrax. Not again!” someone shouted.
Han Moret continued, “You see, many people here have chosen to drown themselves in happiness and never resurface, as if that’s the only end and aim in life. Maybe it is, maybe we haven’t found the true meaning of happiness yet, maybe there’s something else, who knows, but with the ability to instantly create whatever we want whenever we want it and cure our bodies of anything, a lot of people have chosen to exist in what, in my opinion, is a false state of happiness. They get drunk and use drugs or just go straight to the source and alter their biochemistry so they can remain in a permanent state of euphoria, and they can do so without harm because the Pleroma prevents damage from constant intoxication and allows them to become sober immediately, whenever they choose, so their productivity remains the same, which makes it harder for me to argue that they should imbibe less. There have been many arguments about it. But it’s undeniably a feat of hedonic adaptation for our species when you think about, being bored in heaven and all. Nevertheless, many people like that fellow Thrax over there seem to never want to end it, their eternal happiness. I don’t know, boyo. We’ve done wonders here, but it’s not perfect, far from it.”
Han Moret was silent for a while and looked lost in thought, “Anyways! Apologies, I’ve strayed from my prepared remarks. There’s more for you to learn. Alright, what’s next? Yes, one of my favorites. Lora! Get over here.”
A wind blew through the camp and a woman appeared in front of Caleb. She looked into his eyes and smiled flirtatiously, then became wind again and reappeared behind Caleb. She tapped him on the shoulder and then rose above the ground and swirled around him, finally landing on the seat next to him.
“Hello, Caleb. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She drunkenly leaned into him, “So, did he tell you about the sex yet?”
“Uh…” He looked to Han Moret, who was conveniently looking elsewhere. “No.”
“Of course not, the prit. An old-fashioned manners man through and through. But my god! You have to try it. Imagine two people are like two atoms and now they’re having sex, but people are many atoms, octillions of them, so sex with the Pleroma is octillion times greater, a grinding cloud of pleasure, a great orgy of the Universe, all between two people, or more if that’s your taste. Does that make sense? Oh! See that electric cloud thing in the sky over there? There you go, some people are having a go at it,” thunder rolled across the camp, “and by the sound of it, having a lot of fun. One night when the elders were away and the kids were in bed, we younger ones—well young is relative now, I guess—but anyways, we wanted to test the limits of the stuff, and man…let’s just say we filled the space and rocked the place a little too literally.”
Han Moret interrupted, “Yes you did. Thank you, Lora. You may go now.”
Lora laughed, then kissed Caleb on the cheek and disappeared, creating a golden streak of light across the camp as she moved to another bonfire.
Han Moret resumed his lecture, “So, as you just saw, when you can control the atoms of your body, you can move yourself around. In other words, you can fly. Now, after hearing this, there is, logically, an obvious question.”
Caleb thought for a moment. “How is the mind not destroyed when the body are deconstructed and moved? Wouldn’t the person die in the process?”
“Correct! That is something we did not know until we tried it, or rather one person. Some crazy bastard just tried it one day and it worked, and from the fruit of such courageous experimentation we learned a lot about the nature and structure of consciousness. We still don’t know everything though. We know it has something to do with the attachment of plerons to neural atoms and the signals that they send to each other across a distance, like a spatial expansion of the underlying physical structure of consciousness, but we’re still figuring it out. For now, though, the important thing is that it works.”
“But isn’t the reconstructed person just a copy of the deconstructed one and not really the original person? Wouldn’t the original person be destroyed during deconstruction?”
“No, it’s them. When you go from body to nebulous state to body again, you can feel yourself the entire time. There aren’t any gaps or skips. It’s a continuous process, from one point to another, and you’re aware of it throughout. You can feel yourself dissolving, then nebulous and moving, then coming together again. And let me tell you, when you’re scattered like that, truly at one with the Universe, it’s liberating. It feels like…” Han Moret searched for the right words “…pure being.”
He continued, “Anyways, we’re nearing the end of the night, so let’s end it with a bang. What do you want? You can have anything you’d like. Some Viking ale?” A horned cup appeared in his hand. “One of those Parisian cafes we toured on Earth?” He tossed the cup in front of him and it became a miraged-like partition of one. “An ancient mosque?” The cafe rearranged into one. “A conversation with the legendary President Takhani?” The mosque condensed into the 22nd century woman. “Or better yet, how about a chat with another me?” The President morphed into another Han Moret.
“Fret not, he’s just a copy of me. Not really me. He’s not actually alive at all. Doesn’t have a consciousness. Just a puppet on my mental strings. Anyways, anything you want. What do you say?
Caleb stared at the fire and the flames slowed. He thought “my family” and must have unknowingly projected due to his intense emotional state, because Han Moret sighed.
“I’m sorry Caleb. I can’t do that…Not yet.”
The copy of Han Moret chimed in, “But we’re working on it!”
“Yes, thank you. We’re working on it, trying to resurrect the dead. So far, we can recreate the bodies of those who have been, but it’s recreating their consciousness that’s the tricky part. As you’ve seen, we can deconstruct and reconstruct the consciousness of living individuals across space while maintaining their continuity of being. The Self isn’t destroyed. It’s reconstructing…Hold on, that reminds me.”
The copy of Han Moret dissolved.
“That’s better. It’s reconstructing consciousness across time that’s the problem. Specifically, it’s reconnecting the consciousness of someone who lived in the past at the moment of their death, the presumed termination of their consciousness stream and Self, to the present that’s proving difficult. We’re trying to connect disjointed time-points between death and now so we can restore a dead person’s continuity of being, their true and original Self. We have the ability to create a likeness of someone’s consciousness, dead or alive, as I just showed, but it’s not truly them, it’s just a copy of them. If we can resurrect their stream of consciousness, awaken them from what would seem like a long nap, then we will have achieved true immortality, and not just for those who are living and yet to be born, but for all those who have been, all of the billions who once existed in the Universe, back in the world alive and well, forever. And we’re close, Caleb, we’re close. We actually made a big step today. Let me show you.” He amplified his voice and carried it on the wind, “Arina!”
A young and beautiful woman appeared. Caleb struggled to think of another word than “perfect.”
“Meet Arina. It’s her birthday, by the way.”
“Hello, Arina. Happy….” Caleb stopped because he recognized the name and remembered his conversation with Han Moret earlier. “Hold on, when I asked you how many people were in the Iris, you said that someone named Arina was born today.”
“And indeed they were. Her. The first of her kind, a fully grown human created by the Pleroma. Instantaneous creation. Now, I can anticipate your train of thought, and yes, the ethics of missing childhood with all its memories and growth and learning are concerning, and we will explore them, but we are in the first days of this stuff, so there will be many questions, and we are ready to answer them. But regardless, we constructed a new consciousness boyo! We did it, and we’re learning. Perhaps we can spark consciousness in animals too, any form of life actually…maybe even non-life come to think of it. But the next step is to resurrect old consciousness, which, as you know, would be the true power of resurrection. Godhood again! I told you Caleb, we’re seeking Godhood here, and we’re gaining a little of it every day.”
Han Moret seemed satisfied with himself and took a deep breath. “Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight. You’ve had a long day and have been shown much. Time for some rest. We Irisians don’t need sleep anymore, but you certainly do. Your body isn’t used to the godly life yet, so…tut tut, time for bed.”
The next day, Han Moret flew himself and Caleb around the Iris. Children passed by in the air on their way to school and nearly crashed into them several times, laughing. After a while, Caleb and Han Moret landed near the edge of a lake.
“See them?” Han Moret gestured to a man and woman in the distance between the lake and the foothills of a mountain. They were in the midst of combat. As they fought, various weapons rapidly materialized and dematerialized in their hands; each strike and block with someone new: now a sword, then a bow and arrow, now an axe, then a spear. They were flying and shifting and moving in a rhythmic flow, using the land around them and pure force as weapons. It was a literal storm of battle, as if reality was at war with itself, clashing shards of spacetime, two gods battling in a field.
“So, you want me to learn how to do that? Fight with the Pleroma to defeat the Sargons?” Caleb asked.
“Fight? No, those two are just bored, so they’re having a little dance. For Earth’s sake, Caleb. Haven’t you been listening? Watch.”
There was a boom in the distance. Caleb looked to where a mountain was, or rather, where it used to be, since it was missing. Han Moret had destroyed it instantly, deleting it from existence.
“With this, all you need is to be in the same room as them and then boom, gone forever in the blink of an eye, with only a thought, without even a fight, without even a flinch. Theoretically, you don’t even need to be in the same room as them. You could be here and destroy them wherever they are in the Solar System with targeted pleron dispersal and sufficient transmission relays. You could do whatever you want wherever you want. But I think the people need to see you, Caleb. They need to see you standing before the Sargons, declaring their wrongs, making things right. They need to hear your words, your plans for the future, and see the awesome power of this stuff, how it will change everything. Because with this, there will be no more war. With this, we become God. We’ll live forever, boyo. We’re free now. What will we do? Ah, so much, so much. There’s so much we can do now! Peace in our time, gods in Empire. A new day in a new age. It’s coming, Caleb. Gods among us because they become us. Are you ready?”
Caleb thought for a moment, then closed his eyes and stood in silence.
After a while, he flashed his hand. And all at once, a burst of wind blew, thunder cracked, and the suns shone brighter—the world shook.
He opened his eyes, “Yes.”

“So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then, when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable.”

Happy Thursday writing friends!

So sorry for the delayed post, friends. I had a bit of a sick day! I hope you like this new theme. <3 Good luck and good words!
[IP] [MP]

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haughty/haugh·​ty/ˈhȯ-tē
adjective

• blatantly and disdainfully proud : having or showing an attitude of superiority and contempt for people or things perceived to be inferior

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My Senior AP Week Reflection - Extremely Long (5 exams, 9 total)
Context:
I took AP Gov, Chem, Lit, and CSA. I have Calc AB on Monday still (I’m a Senior). I got 5s on APUSH, Lang, HuG, and a three in Bio.
Predicting: Gov-5, Chem-3, Lit-5, CSA-4, Calc-3/2 (hopefully the former). This is going to be an extremely long post of a lot of thoughts, so if you want the tldr, paste it into an LLM.

1. AP Chem:

The MCQ could really have been a LOT better, I don’t think I did well on that at all, but I think I did alright on the FRQ; I only skipped one part on the second to last question because I was running out of time. But yeah, everyone says the MCQ was just...not it.
Predicting a 3 for this one. Regrets: I wish I had gone over a bit more calorimetry; I thought I knew it but I was a bit rusty on thermo and also equilibrium. This was probably my worst of the four I took so far. I need a 3 for any course credit but a 4 will mean I place into OChem.
I’m used to answering a lot of MCQs like they’re math questions, so some of those definitely threw me off. But just generally, most people seem to have found the MCQ difficult so I think the curve will be decent this year.
Oh! Also, I should mention that this is my teacher's first year teaching - I think at all - as she mentioned having to shadow others at my school. She wasn't particularly good or bad, just kind of there. Kind of like AP Bio. This is the shortest one; there isn’t much to say except that it was difficult, but I passed.
I just regret not taking it last year because it was apparently super easy (and had an amazing teacher at my school). This was probably equivalent to my AP Bio Sophmore year (3), accounting for how much I studied of course (maybe not as much as I should have). Overall: decent, could've been better.

1. AP Gov:

This was probably my best one, the MCQ was, like, insultingly easy. I took AP Human Geography a few years ago and thought that was the easiest possible exam, but this definitely takes the cake (same teacher btw). I’m probably just used to my teacher’s really bad wording and slightly opinionated multiple choice tests, but this was extremely clear and intuitive in comparison.
Can’t think of any I got wrong, but for the practice I got a few points off the final, this seemed slightly easier. I finished in just under half the time (40 minutes or so). Napped.
For the FRQ, I was pretty much relying on my experience from APUSH last year because we didn't do any in class (weird last minute schedule changes at my school and my teacher ran out of time to practice or really talk about it at all). Even so, I found these a lot easier than APUSH.
A lot of it was either common sense or something I just felt confident in. Humanities have always been my strongest (5 on HuG and APUSH), which is ironic because I'm a STEM major, but these FRQs were just easy.
Had a little under half time left when I finished and spent another 20 minutes looking over it, but I filled out a (kinda cramped) page per question for 1-3 and then an extra 2 pages on that last essay. Looks like I got Question Set 2 (they just released).
I used all the documents (apparently you don't need to, and there's not even a sophistication point??), and argued for social moments, using pluralism and factions from Fed 10 as my counterargument, and talking a LOT about the example of the CRM and MLK with the right to assemble and such.
Protests were already on my mind because I'm going to a UC and I just happened to argue with my parents about this for hours over the weekend, so I got lucky that was my Prompt. Overall definitely predicting a 5, would not be surprised if either I or my friend who I usually compete with got a perfect score (they're going to an Ivy).

1. AP Lit:

I took this one online, and I already got a 5 on Lang so I apparently didn't even need to take it (found out after I submitted college apps and was looking at credit charts lol). Oh, taking it digital, we started about an hour late due to tech problems, which was annoying. But…
I thought it was pretty decent! I really loved my teacher this year (hopefully my friends don't know my reddit account, but if so, yes I'm sorry he's very terrible). Overall just an amazing class experience.
Seriously though, the guy literally has a PhD in British Literature, he's amazingly insightful and I felt like I learned a lot this year; I definitely would not have gained as many skills as I did analyzing poetry without such a good teacher, and even my big prose essay happened to benefit, so it all worked out!
It just so happens that his two favorite pieces of literature are Hamlet and Madame Bovary. I used the latter for the prompt about missing something (specifically love), but Hamlet would have been great for indecision as well. I reused a lot of my points from our final about how when we think we achieve our desires we're never really satisfied, and how Emma was living in a fantasy world of fairy tale romance.
I also went over the blind beggar and how he saw the missing void in her heart, and how discomfited she was that he recognized that which she refused to — all her relationships were never true love — they were always purely sexual and all her spending and debt that she used to fill that piece of her spirit that was missing in marriage and religion would eventually drive her to suicide.
My teacher's honestly a bit Freudian (sorry, it's true!), but Hamlet obviously is probably even easier to talk about though I don't have the energy to plan another essay rn. Anyways, I'm fairly confident in a 5 for this one as well, even if a couple of the poems from the MCQ (dreams?) kinda threw me off.
Luckily, my teacher gave us a decent framework for setting up complex theses, and forewarned us that they'd ask us to connect the literary technique with the theme (literally our final), so I felt pretty prepared for the other FRQ. He suggested that we say something like:
"While on the surface, the poem appears to be about …, it is actually a vehicle for the author to…", or: "While most readers might conclude that …, on further inspection, the author actually...", which I thought was really smart for forcing yourself to think in complexity rather than giving an easy answer. I know it's a tad bit pretentious though!
My best friend is in the other AP Lit class with a different teacher, and his experience was vastly disparate to mine. Sounds like she tried -futiley- to teach to the exam, while mine went the approach of enhancing our overall Literature and analysis skills. I think you can infer which one I prefer.
Anyways, that one really all came down to the teacher, and I can definitely see how this one (especially the MCQ) could've been harder than last year, especially because while Lang was more SAT-like (790/800), this was decidedly not.
It's like, not even the questions that were bad, the answer choices were just such that you had to choose the least bad answer. Oh, and the nature/summertime thing was weird in that it was way too simple to talk about, but I managed like everyone else did.

1. AP CSA:

This one was probably the one I'm most disappointed in myself for. I kind of expected a 3 on Chem (even if I was previously gunning for a 4), but I need a 4 for college credit in CompSci. Over the past year, I had gotten really into ML/AI, the former for my final Bioinformatics project on DNA Methylation, and the latter of which I actually learned JavaScript for. I already knew Python from my own curiosity, though I'm rusty and never took the class or exam.
That being said, I was pretty turned off by the teaching of CSE in general, though I'm not sure if that's the CSA class/exam or a more broad failing of just not knowing how to impart programming and make students want to do it (10 people took the exam at my school; there's a problem.).
Just the methodology of testing for it kinda made me hate it, even though I have a lot of fun coding on my own. The fact that MCQ is all about tracing code and is essentially math, where you're the computer and you're calculating what would be put into the compiler just seems stupid to me.
Regardless, from a student perspective, the MCQ was fine, as in I did well enough on it, not that I think it's a valid way to test, though I have no idea how else it would be. I was running slightly low on time, but I knew I would be, mainly because I hate how tedious it is even if the MCQ is technically easy (which it was).
Anyways, enough complaining. Onto the FRQ! It was...OK? Usually I'm pretty decent at writing code, classes and the like, but I wasn't quite expecting the specifications to be so weirdly worded. I guess it parallels the unclear expectations you receive doing CS jobs irl though, so that's fine. Also, last year was apparently harder?
Oh, I should mention that my teacher is retiring next year, so she was extremely checked out and the whole class was basically self-study on Runestone. I'll admit that as a Senior taking CSA as a 7th period, I found more important things to do than to practice writing code I thought I was pretty decent at, so that's definitely on me.
With that said, I didn't fully finish the last question of the FRQ, and while they weren't overly difficult generally, as in I could figure out the concepts they wanted (like math.random) and I managed to remember most of the syntax I had neglected, I definitely should have reviewed Arrays a bit more, as time was a big issue on this one.
Overall, I'm still predicting a 4 for CSA, but if I get unlucky with the curve I could get a 3, which would suck but still give me some course credit for college, just no exemption. My general review would be that it wasn't bad, it was even decent; the test on average was kinda like the Chem FRQ. That's all.

1. Calc AB:

Obviously, this one is on Monday, so I haven't taken it yet, but I'd like to offer my predictions and thoughts. Math has always been my worst subject by far, but I'm trying for a 3 for college credit, as my Uni is offering a full ride for a month of summer where I can take the rest of Calc 101.
After that, I plan to just take a Semester's worth more of Math (up to Linear Algebra), and then be done. But to do that, I need to place and get a 3. When I took the final practice, I was exactly a point and a half below, so I have some more studying to do.
I should mention that my teacher this year for Calc AB is widely regarded as one of, if not the most, worst/hardest teacher at my school. It's definitely a weed out class, and most of my friends took it over the summer to place into BC with a good teacher rather than suffer my current one.
While I would usually differentiate between a bad teacher and a hard one (my Lit is the perfect example of the latter but not the former), Calc AB is both. I've never felt comfortable asking questions to her, she frequently blows off students, and her attitude just generally makes me hate math even more than I already did.
This year has been a lot of self-study and torture, so I'm really gunning for that 3 to prove her (and myself) wrong. I'm actually taking the class P/F because it does horrible things to my GPA (4.3 instead of 4.66). Anyways, wish me luck on this one!

1. APUSH:

I took APUSH and Lang last year, and while I didn't really feel the need to study for my 5 in Lang, APUSH was my most difficult class that I probably studied for the most, but my teacher Junior year was probably the best I've ever had, or at least my favorite of all time (my current AP Lit might be technically better).
Yeah, my APUSH teacher really encouraged me to push through on that class and sincerely made me interested in US History. He's also probably why I did so well in AP Gov, so I owe him a “Thank You” when I get back. I ended up applying UCs, which doesn't take rec letters obviously, but if I had requested one, he would definitely be it!
Anyways, I know an amazing teacher isn't possible for most people, but I wish everyone luck on their APUSH Exam on Friday; you can do it!! I got a 5 when I worked for it, and you can too!
7-9. Other APs: Bio, etc,
There isn't much to say about Lang or AP Human Geography. I found them both pretty easy, intuitive, and common sense. Prepare, of course (specifically for the course content of the latter), but they're both guarenteed 5s if you put the work in.
For AP Bio, that was the biggest regret of my high school career. It's actually my major (Biology: Bioinformatics), and I got a 3. I just know I was close to a 4, but also that it was partly my fault for letting bad study habits from COVID bleed into the beginning of my Sophmore year, and I never really caught up.
AP Bio is one of those courses where you need to be prepared from the get-go, especially if your teacher has a somewhat lax but competent teaching style. Not to make excuses for myself or anything, but I actually got COVID the week before, missed my AP HuG Exam (had to do the retake), and recovered the day before the AP Bio.
My brain and studying were just not up to par at all, and I'm confident that if I had worked as hard as I did for APUSH the year after, I definitely would've gotten a 4 or even a 5. So, I wish everyone luck as well on Bio next Thursday, and hope you're prepared!
Conclusion:
For everyone else, I'll be lurking next week around this sub after I take Calc, and I'm confident in everyone to do their best! I'll probably turn off my notifs tomorrow afternoon, so if anyone has questions before then feel free to ask and I'll attempt to respond! Congrats if you got this far in the post, lol, and I hope it was helpful!

To Us Who Were Beautiful
November The Cherry Tree Institute of Edinburgh
The ghosts in the library never speak. Perhaps the pounding rainfall trickling down the windows was too heavy for their souls to bear. So, they kept silent. Youthful secrets and dreams spanning centuries have been etched into the dust bunnies of the tomes and crannies, with echoes of the ghosts becoming one with the dust and the scent of cedarwood. They haunted the students, comforted them, lent them a shoulder to cry on, and protected their secrets and insecurities until time immemorial. Hopeless romantics, poets, aspiring physicists, and dreamers… they found sanctuary amidst the pain and stress of what’s to come in this sacred cocoon of knowledge. Even the pounding rainfall felt like a dear friend to them.
Two aspiring souls frequented the library that year – the snow-kissed twin prodigies Magnus and Camilla Laurent, who frantically scrutinized their textbooks and poems together near the ancient arch entrance of the library, right by the tea kettles, ladders, and candle lights. These two not only possessed elegant platinum-white locks and harsh, amethyst eyes, but also stood towering amongst their fellow adult students despite being just shy of 12. Silent and reserved, they commanded resentment and envy, not unlike most scholars at The Cherry Tree Institute, except their youth was a feat to be respected of above all others. The twins knew their strengths, and though they weren’t the best with words, anyone who reviewed their thesis essays, short narratives, and poems would feel a pang of inspiration at the sight of their eloquence. Such as the tale goes.
Young Camilla -- bless her soul -- quite enjoyed the attention and gossip she drew from students and astonished professors, and though she had no use for the popularity, seeing as she had no friends, the validation motivated her to overwork herself until the dead of night just one more time. Magnus, the smirking one with the oval frames and the deep voice, always sauntered just behind his older sister through the university, his expression foggy, yet his gemstone eyes piercing and poised. This boy’s arrogance sat juxtaposed his sensible mind and attentiveness.
And so, the erudite lifted his quill, positioned it between his pinky and middle finger as he always does, sipped his chamomile, scarfed down his cookie, scribbled the finishing touches on his argumentative essay, and rests his leather loafers on the wooden seat beside him. His fingers naturally glide towards his temples and silver brows.
“Hypertension again?’’, Camilla mentions, ‘’Think I may have some ibuprofen in my purse. I asked the canteen ladies if there was a lot of sodium in the rice and fries and there was. Now I think I may get a headache soon.” Her half-opened eyes drifted towards her notebooks and coffee-stained papers, and she breathed a sigh for the first time all night. Excess sodium and sugar hindered the twins’ studying capabilities, but with most of the food being served consisting of bland fruits and vegetables, it’s no wonder why the students turn to junk food for comfort. They cursed their headaches each day.
Camilla, with a slight twitch in her eye, glanced at the quill and papers on her brother’s desk and raised her voice. ‘’You’re finished already? Seriously?’’ Magnus lifts open his eyelids in confusion. ‘’Yes? Lower your voice.’’, he says tiredly.
Camilla softly scoffs, shakes her head, and continues flipping through the atlas beside her. ‘’Beautiful.’’ Her pile of open tomes was several times bigger than on her brother’s side.
This piques his attention. He softly closes his open books and readjusts his frames before speaking. ‘’I know you know, Camilla. What Professor Evangeline said to me today. You could have stayed in the room with me, but you didn’t, you just hid yourself in the corner.’’
‘’Yes, I know.’’, she utters, avoiding eye contact. To which statement she was responding to was unclear. Her eyes almost seem to glisten for a split-second. ‘’Magnus never stops, does he?’, she thought. ‘’Sucking up to the professors just to make me jealous. It’s as if he’s a different person entirely when speaking to them. God… this happens all the time.’’ Camilla softly clutches the back of her head as she sips her chamomile and reads, the bags under her eyes growing ever more prevalent. She didn’t feel beautiful or smart while studying tonight, for some reason. This wasn’t like her. The rain and the joyful pianists practicing a soft rendition of Mariage d’Amour across the burgundy-colored walls and chandeliers of the library ticked her off. More than it should have, at least.
Magnus, seemingly wanting to leave the discussion at that, nodded slowly while swallowing the ibuprofen with the remaining chamomile. His turtleneck was left stained with droplets of tea. This boy can read Camilla’s mind they way she can read the entire row of bookshelves in just a week.
‘’I’m going. I guess you’re not coming with?’’ The sarcasm in his voice was feint but clearly noticeable. When Camilla failed to answer, he softly said ‘’There’s a good reason why you got into this school, and it’s because of what you’re doing right now. You should be more than thankful. Just wanted to let you know.’’
‘’Do you think you’re better than me?’’, she quickly spatted. ‘’…’’
Magnus never once had to work as hard as her to succeed. Not once. But Camilla knew she had no right to complain about her brother when she had been gifted this opportunity to study in the place her beloved historians, authors, and scientists did decades ago, and at such a young age as well. But she had a crystal-clear vision for herself in life, one even clearer than her brother. One of riches, success, envy, admiration, and peace. The twins knew suffering and poverty like it was a dear friend before arriving at this cathedral of wonder, filled with adults who thought and pursued the exact same goals.
‘’Yes…’’, he finally answered with a smirk and a scoff, ‘’Yes, everyone knows that I’m better than you.’’
Magnus stood up and looked down at her with pity and annoyance, his headache still present. Though she was a few inches taller than him, she couldn’t help but cower against his intellectual prowess. His eyes were still piercing purple. Camilla had been known to pass out due to exhaustion on several occasions, but Magnus had never insisted on her resting, not when she’s such a stubborn person. After all, it wasn’t any of his concern what his sister decided to do in her life. He did what he could, and she wouldn’t listen, so why bother? Magnus understood her feelings, but why is she this panicked about this when she’s more gifted than almost every other person here? He huffed an angry sigh collected his belongings, unclear of the expression Camilla was making behind him.
In a bizarrely calm voice, Camilla asked ‘’If I asked you to quit this school for me, would you do it?’’
‘’Of course, I would. If I had enough credits to graduate, that is. I’d choose my career over you any day of my life, Camilla. Sorry.’’
‘’Hm. I had a feeling but, you know, it sucks to hear you say that. Thank you. You’ll be done with this school in a few months anyway. Maybe you should find someplace else to do your homework, since you clearly don’t need shit here.’’
‘’I’ll do that then. We’ll meet in the canteen tomorrow.?
‘’No, I just… leave me alone for a few weeks alright? Our exams are right around the corner. You distract me.’’
‘’…’’ Magnus slowly nods, strolling towards the arch entrance and passing by the studious adults who give him respectful nods. He quickly steps out into the enchanted blue night without his umbrella, suffering from the most extreme headache of his life. Camilla Laurent, with her forehead pounding, – bless her soul – expressionlessly shed a single tear as she gathered more of her missing assignments, textbooks, and coffee, ready to spend one more night suffering in silence… in the haunted library surrounded by ghosts.
The ghosts of the library would hold onto this secret exchange until the end of time itself. For their tragedy will never be known, but their regret will forever be felt.
Epilogue And that was that. Those few weeks turned into a month, that month turned into several, until Magnus Laurent, the youngest student to have ever enrolled at The Cherry Tree Institute of Edinburgh at age 12, was crowned with his bachelor’s degree in Greek literature. Magnus was revered by his peers and professors with the respect he deserved, and he embraced this attention, just like his sister once did long ago. He never did approach his twin, nor did Camilla approach him. They lost contact with one another, and whether Camilla achieved her dream of becoming who she wanted to represent in life or not, Magnus wished nothing but the best for her.
Magnus Laurent would eventually spend his life honored as one of the most captivating authors and poets of his time, winning numerous accolades and inspiring future generations – including those who studied where he once did – to achieve the life he has. His only regret in life up until the end was not apologizing to his dear sister, whom he abandoned to suffer in silence.
Fin~

The Moral Transactions of the Great Salesman Rupert Clif Everton
With solemn reverence: throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king?
I hope to be slightly as thriving as the vulgar. No, I have not aged like fine wineI presume you are a tourist? You walk in two worlds with the same strides. “You’re beautiful” was her reply “That hook has lost it’s worm” was mine. Yet I look at condos on Bethune street mindlessly. Nevertheless, shake my hand and hold a good thought, Our demeanor will cease to rot. I don’t care for southern architecture any more.A simple life is no longer one I can’t endure. I thought I missed you. I am a master perfumistWho can no longer smell the flowers. With an overwhelming force I scale the balconies of skyscraper towers. They’ll say “What an exquisite man he is with a beautifully scented chest.” In truth my hair is thinning, and time, time is winning. I shall not succumb. A cigarette after a meal is like a woman after war. A moment of what we were with the presence of bore, the intensity of the times tangled by the shore. I can no longer punish myself for lost time, I can no longer punish myself for a poor, unreasonable rhyme. I cannot even say what kind of crisis, For it is not until this part of me fully dies… STILL! I request an audience of our souls to greet. Immediately and without wallow.How I strip myself bare for the golden flakes of your lilac flair. The truest crown will always find the right head. My favorite flower will always stain the sheets of my bed. Today I took a six hour lunch to day dream of you with my belly full. What a Herculean task I bring upon myself. I guess it was easy to forget a ruptured mind. Yet moments later I would eat those $1 oysters with you, and yes they made me hurl, YET I would go as far as to lick your pear. I did so as I am a professional gentleman. I’ve heard the winds whisper that “here lyes a throne atop the refrigerator waiting a tilt”. Tonight I will forgive you,Tomorrow I will not fail to remember.There’s no excuse for going in the wrong direction,Unless you’re breathing carbon dioxide for pleasure.Unwillingly, you’re my treasure. The sidewalks are screaming with disdain. I thought I love you meant something else from you. I thought it meant the opposite. How can someone who loved so much, blush, I thought I was dreaming when I met you. How How How HOW can I prepare for blue. I am often crying during violin symphonies I mutter and I stutter;Where I would say ‘worn, torn and yet acceptably mended’. It’s a cold comfort, these flutter associations,Crept ceaselessly, and nulled necessity. Stretch the sky and summon my fixations.If only I can prescribe time as an anecdote to happiness. Imitating some earlier times in our lives. The beach wasn’t filled with damp sand,The chairs were there, the umbrellas too.A flower grow graciously in the sand. And indeed I may have lived on borrowed time.Because, until this part of me can die, I have no belief I will live, nor thrive. So I’ve heard that tragedy is the story of one learning too late. Yet I comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted. More trope than substance, as I bear no compass. I heard whispers that the mind is domineering. I feel like the lobsters while the titanic sunk. Has that peach ever been within reach?No! Eat your apple, she replied. Said the snake to Eve, I deniedFor it is not until this part of me fully dies… I’ve walked Bond Street, I’ve swam in the drinks I’ve drank. There I was pontificating about modern arts,With no remorse of those female hearts. I grow cold. Tragedy is the story of learning far too late. I found myself indulged in lies of love, across a row of neatly organized, originally positioned, well place, silverware. I surely shall never see heavens gate. Can love ever truly wait? I am to blame for reeling out the bait. I have echos to awaken before my time is taken. The white residue commandeers the sparkled mirror And mocks the face in the reflection.‘I control you’. In a distance room, nothing and everything is shared.Save me! I have flared! This crucible moment which sent me off into this life that is peaking me into this life,Which boards about my fear of a turblanced flight. I’m just the loneliest person in the world.Faces made for my fantastic coldness,A defining moment of my dying boldness. A circle closes with a lock and key. I cannot find it. They ask, how does he write a poem. How does he fall in love? How operatic is it all. Cold winds of the dying Fall. We’ve reached the possibility of stalemate, And either of us want to face fate. How easily difficult it is to go on.How easily I find something new to leach on to. I think there’s no one else in the world but you. Dreams of mine revolve of my skin turning blue and of a dream I can but shouldn’t pursue. I am the black swan in the medieval times of Milan. I fall under the command of Xerxes and wake up in the bed surround of nurses. How can a doctor operate without anesthesia? What a sardonic fella that doctor was. Mentions that I seem beset by licentiousness and turpitude. I have amputated my spirit in the name of servitude. I failed to climb the mountains of Magnesia. Comparison is the one that pickpockets joy.I wish it were yesterday. I tell her, you’re in a lava set haze. More trope than substance,And I find myself in the edges of grey’s maze. How I shall I begin again? I am curtain I wept and begged. I am the gazelle in the lions den. Can’t help but continue jerky legged. I wish it were yesterday. This sadness of mine was alone. The twilight closed the book of mine. I am a component of the chilling wine. Those flying birds; I dream I am their clone. My personality is certainly benign. I do not love her now, but maybe I do. Jitters of gifted isolation consume my warmed bathwater. There can’t be one natural human state. My soul is amputated, the endless slaughter. I can no longer escape my fate. I do not think I will even see that gate. Where is my shining castle?
Maybe I drink too much.Maybe I fall on the brink. I feel my liver pulsating. My core is no longer updating.Your love is evading, not aiding. We have slept in the lies of the jaundiced persona. I cannot have a peace and love together. I have seen the Sphnix ruffle and give me a feather,I have see her be the storm I cannot weather. Untrammeled I break you. Unhinged scar your character. Is the universe circular? Do I get I back.. Does my world now go black? I am the gentle end of the heart, yet I am also the pursuant enemy of the heart. The changing whisper of changing times. Oh god, more needless rhymes. I question what and IF paradise can be without you, And how a share sunset is paradise. I have seen moment of hopelessness take control, Grab me by my throat and asphyxiate me. And in that prime, I relish the idea of sharing this time.

I need to preface this with the fact that I am currently loving Hades 2, the first Hades is one of the only games I've ever completed more than once, and Hades 2 has made me in love with it in less than five hours. I don't think the game is perfect, neither was the first, but they're both fantastic games and the second is definitely improving on a lot of things from the first.
Now, with that out of the way. Am I the only one struggling to fall in love with some of the characters in Hades 2? Don't get me wrong, i really like all the characters I've met so far, and I think they're all far more charming characters than many other games can offer, but Hades 1 made me fall head over heels with EVERY single character instantly. Even Thesus, he was so fun to hate...
I know it could be just personal preference; I'm not a fan of the lazy 'mean girl' archetype so Dora isn't really doing it for me, though I love the theory that she's Pandora, the first human. Dusa was a more loveable "non-humanoid" like being. I'm just hoping that Dora wins me over, she just has no real story for the moment, other than some hints about her missing her human body and life.
Odysseus is another example, I like him, but I loved Achilles in the first game, just like many others did. Od isn't doing it for me when it comes to the "mentor" role archetype. I don't see a strong connection between him and Mel. Achilles had his Patroclus story, devotion to Hades, past mentor relationship with Zag, and loyalty to the house, all building him up. Od has nothing really apart from some pretty funny lines, and interesting tidbits if you're familiar with his whole story. I can't really predict where they're going to go with him, and what his arc will be through out the game. It seems like his story is finished. I've beaten Eris, and gotten to Cronos already, and he is no different than he was at the beginning.
Theres many characters I love as well obviously; Moros was a bit strange when I first met him but now he's one of my all-time favourites to talk to, even over countless Hades 1 characters. Nemesis has an incredible design, personality, and story, and I can't wait to see her relationship with Mel grow and change. She is a roller coaster of a person, one moment I love her, the next I hate her. The writers portrayed her perfectly and it really makes you feel how Mel must feel whenever you're talking to her. Hecate is, of course, amazing. There's so much to say about her, and her parallel to Nyx. With the whole "mother figure to Persephone child" thing they have going on. And her design is absolutely splendid.
I also understand there's two major factors dampening the bond the player can have the characters; preexisting mythos, and placeholder art.
The characters in Hades 1 were some of the most famous Greek mythos available, Achilles had countless books/movies made about him, Hades is well Hades, the Minotaur is undoubtedly one of the most famous monsters in western mythos, and even lesser known characters like Persephone and Orpheus were still very popular in pop culture. Hades 2 had to be a bit more creative with its choices, there's very few prople who know of the 'witches' of Greek mythos like Hecate and Circe. Narcissus is famous for his namesake, but very few know that he even exists, and that we took the word narcissist from him. Even Od, as famous as he is, isn't as popular as many other Greek heros. Most people know he blinded the cyclops and named himself Nobody, but very few know anything that came before and after that. I mean, I've read the damn poem-book-thing by Homer and even I forgot about the sea monster. The characters are harder to relate to and admire cause players spend too much effort trying to remember who they are, and a lot of dialogue flies over more "normal" players' heads.
Don't get me wrong, I love the more diverse and unique cast, avd I'm happing the SG team is shining more light upon lesser known myths, but at the same time I'm struggling more to connect with them and their stories. I know that I'm at fault in that equation though.
The other issue is the placeholder art, characters like Icarus and Circe have simple sketches for PFP and characters like Charon and Narcissus are cloaked by the Cloak Of Early Access. The art is one of Hades' strong points, the personality each piece has really sells people on the characters, so going from talking to the wonderful Apollo or Aphrodite, to the sweet but simple Circe is a bit of a shock.
I also feel like there's less side story content so far, but maybe I'm nowhere near enough into the game to touch it yet. Orpheus isn't introduced until a couple hours into the game, and it takes countless runs to even considering reuniting him with Eurydice. But at the same time, that storyline was extremely obvious from the beginning, so was Achilles' one. The characters in Hades 2 are less pivotal. Nemesis has her rival-enemy story going on. Moros is insecure and a tool for the Fates. Arachne is lonely and obviously needs some friends, or a reminder of her past life. But other than that, I can't see any other side content. Dora is rarely talked about by anyone but Mel. Od is just an old retired dude that's finished his story. Circe is just a cool auntie witch. The Fury sisters had much more depth and personality than the Sirens do. And so on.
I'm truly just hoping that I'm NOWHERE near the """end""" of the game, and I'm just barely scratching the surface. I've always struggled with timing. The first time I played Hades I did almost all the side content before I even brought Persephone down to the House cause I was paranoid that it would all be stopped. My second playthrough, I delivered the letters to the Gods before I even got the chance to even start any of the side content.
At the end of the day, the game is early access. It is bigger than Hades 1 so far, but still not complete. I know SG will improve, and the characters will become more fleshed out as the updates keep rolling in. They've said the game has more dialogue now than Hades 1 had at the end, so I'm hopeful. So I'm not complaining or disparaging the game, just pointing out a small thing I noticed. I have spent dozens of hours in Hades 1, and only the in Hades 2, so I'll just let ~Chronos~ Time do its job.
Does anyone feel the same? Or have the Hades 2 characters captured the hearts of many just as quickly as the Hades 1 characters did?

Hello old friend, how have you been? Once so familiar- and now, where to begin.. Distance, time and space, gone from all- without a trace A vision once shared, a life to live, fully prepared, gone now But not forgotten.
Not forgotten.
How could it be, truly, that you and me, were never meant to be when we both believed we were so earnestly.
Youth? Inexperience? Naitivity?
Perhaps it was a wish, a dream that our heart made And then we woke up, too afraid to see the writing on the wall A poem too hard to bear and now, and now were’ fully unaware of the other- too afraid to write, to call, so instead, blinded by the hurt we say nothing at all.
Nothing at all.
I do not regret the nights spent in your arms, the warmth and bliss. The way you encapsulated my world, entranced my mind, completed me with every kiss.
I believed you, truly I did- when you said you never wanted to wake up without me, that you’d never leave me-
And then you did.
Then you did.
My world was ripped apart, torn upside down- I was left grasping for straws, gasping for breath.
I went falling, falling, falling into the pit of despair- how could I enjoy life without you being there.
And then, after a whole long time of hurting, yearning to find you in the wild again, I saw, through it all, the most painful thing I could.
There you were, clear as the day, shining bright as the sun. Happy, peaceful, completed- in the arms of another ‘one’.
At once my world was both shattered and freed, when I realized that you had given to him, gotten down on one knee, asked someone else ‘will you marry me’.
And he said yes, of course he would.
There aren’t many like you, marry you he should. For weeks; No, Days; No, Hours; No- Minutes No. Moments.
Yes, for moments I mourned you. Moments that were both everlasting and never existing.
Moments that cut you from my heart, finally mine for me again, yet here I am with tears streaming, masking the fears, the hunger, the urge, the overwhelming desire to know you again and the wish that I’d never known you at all.
That’s not fair. I know that.
The loves we love help us love the loves that come next. Prepare us for what’s in store, if only to love deeper then because not in spite of our loves before.
Years have passed now, I’ve lived lifetimes between writing this and realizing I no longer had you to miss, and yet-
And yet.
The thoughts, the wondering, the thinking and feeling, the needing and blinking, the writing and typing and erasing and courage working up, only to fall, the deeply wishing ‘Please. Please… just call’....
Time, they say ‘heals all wounds’.
This isn’t true, of course. Some wounds cannot be healed.
But instead, they fill in, and age, and fade, and scab, and their pain becomes less and less until there is nothing left but a drab reminder- of what once was, and all that could have been.
I think that, perhaps, is the most telling of all-
These tears are not for you, not for what I had, but for the life I wanted to live so bad.
So bad.
The dreams that once filled every part of me, the world with you I wanted so desperately to see- I know now, never will be.
I take great pleasure in this, for once, it is certainty.
That life is gone, there is release in the finality.
I do wish you the best. I want only for you happiness, and success, and all the rest- the same wishes that best friends give when it is time to lie each other to rest.
And for me. I hope you can get me off your chest. Clear me from your mind, and too, wish me the best.
Maybe, some day, in another life, there will be another chance, another circumstance where two lovers who say they never want to wake up without the other will not be afraid to give that love a chance.
And then and there- they, they- not us, but they can figure out the rest.
Be blessed.

Dear Friend. Hello old friend, how have you been? Once so familiar- and now, where to begin.. Distance, time and space, gone from all- without a trace A vision once shared, a life to live, fully prepared, gone now But not forgotten.
Not forgotten.
How could it be, truly, that you and me, were never meant to be when we both believed we were so earnestly.
Youth? Inexperience? Naitivity?
Perhaps it was a wish, a dream that our heart made And then we woke up, too afraid to see the writing on the wall A poem too hard to bear and now, and now were’ fully unaware of the other- too afraid to write, to call, so instead, blinded by the hurt we say nothing at all.
Nothing at all.
I do not regret the nights spent in your arms, the warmth and bliss. The way you encapsulated my world, entranced my mind, completed me with every kiss.
I believed you, truly I did- when you said you never wanted to wake up without me, that you’d never leave me-
And then you did.
Then you did.
My world was ripped apart, torn upside down- I was left grasping for straws, gasping for breath.
I went falling, falling, falling into the pit of despair- how could I enjoy life without you being there.
And then, after a whole long time of hurting, yearning to find you in the wild again, I saw, through it all, the most painful thing I could.
There you were, clear as the day, shining bright as the sun. Happy, peaceful, completed- in the arms of another ‘one’.
At once my world was both shattered and freed, when I realized that you had given to him, gotten down on one knee, asked someone else ‘will you marry me’.
And he said yes, of course he would.
There aren’t many like you, marry you he should. For weeks; No, Days; No, Hours; No- Minutes No. Moments.
Yes, for moments I mourned you. Moments that were both everlasting and never existing.
Moments that cut you from my heart, finally mine for me again, yet here I am with tears streaming, masking the fears, the hunger, the urge, the overwhelming desire to know you again and the wish that I’d never known you at all.
That’s not fair. I know that.
The loves we love help us love the loves that come next. Prepare us for what’s in store, if only to love deeper then because not in spite of our loves before.
Years have passed now, I’ve lived lifetimes between writing this and realizing I no longer had you to miss, and yet-
And yet.
The thoughts, the wondering, the thinking and feeling, the needing and blinking, the writing and typing and erasing and courage working up, only to fall, the deeply wishing ‘Please. Please… just call’....
Time, they say ‘heals all wounds’.
This isn’t true, of course. Some wounds cannot be healed.
But instead, they fill in, and age, and fade, and scab, and their pain becomes less and less until there is nothing left but a drab reminder- of what once was, and all that could have been.
I think that, perhaps, is the most telling of all-
These tears are not for you, not for what I had, but for the life I wanted to live so bad.
So bad.
The dreams that once filled every part of me, the world with you I wanted so desperately to see- I know now, never will be.
I take great pleasure in this, for once, it is certainty.
That life is gone, there is release in the finality.
I do wish you the best. I want only for you happiness, and success, and all the rest- the same wishes that best friends give when it is time to lie each other to rest.
And for me. I hope you can get me off your chest. Clear me from your mind, and too, wish me the best.
Maybe, some day, in another life, there will be another chance, another circumstance where two lovers who say they never want to wake up without the other will not be afraid to give that love a chance.
And then and there- they, they- not us, but they can figure out the rest.
Be blessed.

I don’t really know who to share this with. I tried sharing it with my friend and girlfriend and that felt good, but at the same time I always feel like I’m being a burden to them. It’s been 9 months since my dog, Bourbon, passed. He had a tumor that no one knew about that ruptured. I had no time to prepare. I had thought that he just had a particularly bad flu at first.
His loss absolutely gutted me. He’d saved my life, literally at one point and it has since really fucked me up that there was nothing I could do to save his. I cried for four hours yesterday and it feels like people expect me to be over his passing by now. But I was never really allowed to grieve properly either because of college and not even the day after my mom started packing up his things and gave his food away to family members without telling me. I had to keep ahold of his collar and carried it with me for weeks until I got his ashes back because I was scared it would disappear or be squirreled away too.
Sorry this is long. But while I was crying I wrote this poem, so I guess I’m hoping I won’t feel so alone and maybe someone else won’t feel so alone either. It’s titled “Please, Death”
~~~~
Please Death, tell me that he’s okay, That somewhere, anywhere, he’s no longer in pain. Please Death, reassure him that I love and miss him still, Every single day. Please Death, if you could listen for just a moment So that I know he’s in a better place?
Please Death, remember that he loves to lay in the sun And will laze by your side every summer day. (And don’t let him fool you, He’ll bring you his bowl, even if he isn’t hungry at all)
Please Death, remember that he hates the rain. The sun is the best, snow is good to play, but he’d rather stay inside to avoid the rain.
Please Death, tell me that he gets to run and play At the very end, he was in too much pain. Just a reminder: he hated fetch, tug’o’war was his favorite game
Please Death, remind him he was loved in every moment, in every way That if I could, I would still hold him close Let him climb on top of me so my errands he could delay
Please Death, remind him of my promise “Start to finish” I would always say Even when with him in my arms the light in his eyes faded away I meant that promise with all my heart And I will keep it until I see him again in your embrace
Please Death, tell me he feels no more pain That in his belly no more tumors grow, Tell me that he still talks And that he still gives people silly looks A side eye here, a deadpan there (I swear I could read his thoughts)
Please Death, let him tell you about his name How he chose it all on his own In a store, from a phone call From a moment still cherished no matter how small
Please Death, let him roll in the grasses and flowers It was one of his favorite things on soft warm days To be covered in blades and petals With a grin so bright and joyful for his dressing up
Please Death, tell me he is loved still Tell me he is happy Tell me he runs and plays free Tell me I did the right thing for him that day
Please Death, even if I know deep down I’ll not hear what you say Until I also join your embrace Please Death, tell me that Bourbon is okay