until i can’t think

red and white wall with graffiti

“Individuals with ADHD often become quickly immersed in one salient emotion and have problems shifting their focus to other aspects of a situation.”

“For many people with ADHD, the brain’s gating mechanism for regulating emotion does not distinguish between dangerous threats and more minor problems. These individuals are often  thrown into panic mode by thoughts or perceptions that do not warrant such a reaction. As a result, the ADHD brain can’t deal more rationally and realistically with events that are stressful.” – some article i found from ADDitude

“nothing is wrong. everything feels wrong. that’s what’s wrong.” on mental disorders (simple explanation), our favorite weez

well.

that doesn’t make this easier.

if anything, it could very well make this.

worse.

worse like groan a little and rock back and forth for an hour because it would’ve been nice to have known *before* all this happened. stare into the abyss and not imagine dragons waiting to take me away because i still have homework worse. scrolling through instagram and feeling overwhelmed worse. so much worse that it feels scary to address the worse because what if it gets worse

i’m trying the breathing exercises and they’re kinda helping, but they just make me feel dizzy and have a bit of a headache. and i already ate so it can’t be that. and i don’t have anyone that actually know know what it means to have a mind with a million tabs open and one sound coming from all of them in unsion

“oh! no! oh! no! oh! no!”

and what do i say to the tabs?

“you’re! not! real! you’re! exaggerated!”

and then what? lie because everything in the world is going

“oh! no!”

and me saying it doesn’t make it more or less true?

i hold no power as to the truthness level of a situation, and that scares me more than the actual situation. i’m not sure what to think about that, and i’m not sure if i *can* think, because then it’s like

realize that everything i’m processing and experiencing will always be received by hypersensitive, maxed up senses,

leading to questioning everything i hold dear and i speak up about being actually important or just important to me,

then leading into panicking as the things and people i love don’t get better and don’t get anything at all and the world and the governments and how itchy my left eye is,

then trying to shut my phone off before yet another cry of how the people who need to listen won’t listen and are just trying to maintain order and calm, and how can i blame them when i’m trying to do the exact same thing, but the difference between me and them is i’m actually trying to change for the better and they only want to surpress the cries,

oh the room is cold now, oh, there’s a bag of groceries where the table is, that’s not right, oh no, a million little things are inscrutably different than how they were yesterday and oh no that is not okay, not okay, not okay!

sometimes it ends in a meltdown and sometimes it ends in long periods of feeling nothing after feeling everything for so long

but everything seems to set me off today, like

all the lovely things friends write and put up and share

and all the mean things the outside does and the bills they pass and the doom they bring to make everything great again! no you’re not you just want you to be great again

and that someone brought me crackers and now i feel priveleged because nobody else asked for crackers

and then lonely because nobody else asked and i feel like i can’t go home and i don’t know where home is

and i know that i don’t know but it doesn’t make up for the fact that i don’t know

i want to save the world. and i also want to save myself. and i have to make peace that having both is okay. that i am okay.

that even with all the unokayness it will be okay, because we’re just humans and everything we see is filtered through the confines of our minds, and that’s why when we’re united it doesn’t feel as lonely as it tends to be, but *why* is so much, why is there so much why

why

why

perhaps… perhaps feeling, and caring is a superpower that… that i can’t control yet? and therefore… and therefore the opposite, to be normal, to be apathetic, is my weakness?

but then…

but then…

when does it stop?

~then i try, try to deny, jo~

mudbloods, but make it worse

flag of Philippines
do i have my own photos? yes
am i still using these unsplash stills? yes
do i have issues? oh yeah

there’s a caste system in everything. the philippines is only one of many countries that employ one.

it starts with what we associate with success and fame and the “It” goal: being white. sometimes this can be replaced with being american on a good day, sometimes it’s just anyone with unbelievably fairer skin. either way, this ingrained goal, despite not actually being stated, is why the skin whitening industry is so successful and why most representation of filipinos is unbelievably lightskinned. or, in nicer terms, “fair.”

then it breaks down into being mestizo, which is a fancy colonizer way to say having mixed blood. if your genes are good and you’re “fair” then you have a pretty secure grip on the societal ladder. if you don’t, at least you have a “fair” parent. having mixed families is, for some reason, romanticised and fetishized, which isn’t cool, but somehow nobody talks about that? anyway.

the more melanin you have, the less you’re seen as equal to the “It” goal, or seen as equal, or even seen in general, and it’s this weird horrible phenomenon of internalizing colonial thinking that’s led filipinos to either:

favoring the system

or

favoring the exact opposite, which spurns anyone who isn’t pure filipino.

enter the anomaly that is having both biological parents mixed themselves, growing up in a different country, absorbing three cultures without really knowing where they come from, and finally, going back to the place it all started, and being unnaturally, atypically, ungodly, different.

enter me.

i don’t say all of this to the old guy sitting on the plastic chair by the street though. his confused reaction at my sudden spout of words would just confirm my point, and despite knowing it solidly for about all my life i’m not ready to hear it from another person. so i don’t say any of that when he says

“are you chinese?”

do i LooK like i want to scream, but i realize that i probably do.

“ah, my dad’s filipino, my mom’s chinese,” i answer.

i’m lying. my biological parents have so many different elements in both their dna, chinese included, that just transferred onto me. genetics people, genetics.

but i can’t bring out a punnet square and clarify to this interesting wrinkled person who eagerly waved at my camera just a few minutes ago, not to someone that probably doesn’t even know what genes are, not to someone who doesn’t know, period. easier for him and me.

that last bit’s a lie too. this sucks.

it’s a cruel world, one in which my skin isn’t dark enough to be oppressed and not light enough to be fetishized, in which i’ll still be asked if i have an accent or where i come from or applauded for having perfect english, in which i am a surprise because i’m not like “the others” but that just makes me an other. is that really much of an improvement?

being a token diverse person in the eyes of those who haven’t yet come face to face with the reality that a person can be so complex in every single sense of the word isn’t the worst thing ever, but it… isn’t fun. and it makes connecting with what little of this culture and of being a person of color i can call “mine”, because none of it seems to be, really.

like i can’t infringe on the specific opportunities for one people group despite not having those for mine either, or go to community centers created for priority neighborhood kids despite growing up one.

i don’t have any happy conclusion, but i imagine hermoine and all those other kids must’ve felt the same struggles in their weird fantasy world, somehow, in some strange way, must’ve related to not belonging. i don’t know much about fantasy worlds, so don’t kill me.

all i do know is we all have a bit of that magic in all of us, especially in the mixed and the barely there and the very much there that it makes no sense to divide ourselves by arbitrary lines that get blurred every single time.

and i wish i could answer this guy when he asks

“where do you come from”

and i wish i didn’t have to answer this question again.

~hey guys it’s me, the biggest disappointment you know, jo~

if we pull out all these causes to fight for

when do we stop fighting?

where do we draw the line?

how do we not lose our minds?

i’ve been thinking– about the way we obssess

over squares on a grid on a screen in our hands

and reshares and likes and opinions

that are worthy of attention but not of this division

like how can we save the children

when you spend your time fighting

over which ones first need saving?

the kid at apartment 128

and the kid being forced to work too late

are still trying to survive as you argue and wait

how can you ethically expect all babies to be born

without suffering in this toxic atmosphere; what was your arguing for?

it goes so much deeper than your 280 word caption

it’s not just an instagram story calling people to action

it’s the person behind the words

it’s the community trying to stop the hurt

it’s a movement crying for a moment of silence

it’s saying that we deserve to have peace and quiet

without fearing for our lives

without wondering if our kids will make it home in the night

is that a problem you worry about as well

that you’ll be grabbed out of your car

and pushed down with your hands

tied behind your back,

pleading for someone to understand

but do you?

can you?

should you?

we are not the same, our problems are unique

yet our pushing against them should make us united, not weak

over trying to fight an online comment

over generalizing a whole group of people

because they aren’t what you thought of

when you hear the word “justice”

when you see the word “lives”

they are seeking the same thing you are

only they have realized

that it is better to be a warrior in a garden

than a gardener in a war

we have lost too much already

we do not need more blood

please think about what makes you feel justified

what you support and what you deny

at the end of the day, we shouldn’t be in this rut

these issues shouldn’t have to

be divided into “me” and “you”

when it can be “us”.

we get the job done

Statue of Liberty
unsplash, amazing. me, not so much.

if i had my words at the time,

if i had my mind collected to answer your casual conversation about the news of the world and the news of the country neither of us have an official citzenship to (yet) but both consider home,

if i’d known how far into your experiences you’d lean, how proud you are of how far you’ve come, who’ve you brought and who you came back for,

if i realized that a person can so easily be shaped by what they consider right,

perhaps i wouldn’t have stayed silent as you explained why you believed systemic racism doesn’t exist.

perhaps, knowing that your mind would not be swayed from your belief that the plight of the people with the same skin as you and i was nothing more than an opportunity presented as a struggle,

that surely, because you came through your experiences successful, proud, and happy, that is every immigrant’s story, that is every person of color’s life if they would only put their minds to it,

that this couldn’t be true because it didn’t happen to you,

that it was merely a shift of blame from personal failure to the system’s,

that all you needed to cure this horrible plague called racism was to merely keep your head up and make friends of your enemies,

i would’ve been more factual, more precise, less sympathetic (because you in all your kind words are surprisingly not),

but that wouldn’t have changed anything, would it?

no, realistically, none of our talk affects what we were talking about,

however.

it affects me.

you speak with pride of your past, of your thoughts, of your opinion. you came from soldier’s guts and the will of your last name. when old dad died in the states, everyone took the papers he didn’t sign and wrote them for themselves and they simply did. it was the family way. to stick together and to grab at any chance whatsoever together.

you were my age when old dad died. you were my age when old mom and your sister had chosen to move for themselves since there was nobody to move for them. you were the first of us to live in the projects, the first to fish around in the dumpsters, the first to try, the first to survive in this country. you helped bring most of the family here. you know this, you say, you know struggle, you have friends, they’ve struggled, that is how life is.

(and you call me the pessimist.)

“assimilation” you say, raising a glass of water, “is something everyone has to do. otherwise, why bother coming to the country?”

this from the person who fears losing the family history, always comments on the new kids being born with english names, insists on learning our native tongue, always prepares a mix of foreign dishes with a side of rice because otherwise that is not a meal, this is coming from a beautiful, kind, unknowing hypocrite. you have made yourself presentable to be treated regularly (and boom, who defines what’s regular? you just admitted it’s not us), but the culture that flows in you is the culture they do not want, and so you say assimilation is good.

i refrain from mentioning residential schools and the similar mentalities even now as you comment, “oh, and the docs said i was a monkey, but that’s just one bad doc, that’s all it is.”

see, you had me til “all” and “just”.

i’m quiet, but not by desire. i need to hear this, i need to know how you think, and it is… it is like every other human who has ever thought. they are strong thoughts, brave thoughts, misguided and sad thoughts, adaptable, survivalist, idealistic, and human thoughts. i have similar ones, and all of them just echo one repeating line:

beating the system doesn’t mean the system doesn’t exist. beating the system doesn’t mean the system doesn’t exist. you’re not supposed to push through an unforgiving system, that system is supposed to help you, not hold you back

you deny this. at this point, it’s rather ironic. no, it’s just how you make the most of this opportunity, no, it’s what you choose to make of it.
and you are right, of course you are.
but you’re wrong when you say that it’s just. it’s not just. and it’s not just. both definitions.

are you so content with pushing to exist in this space that you find the cries of people just like you doing the same thing on a larger scale than you did meaningless? have you accepted that your experience has got to be every other immigrant, everyone other person of color, every other human’s experience, and therefore your outlook on life will be everyone else’s too; to just reach for the grapes that are enticingly dangled above you? to jump and jump and jump even as every time you get closer they’re whisked out of reach? that nobody can check to see who’s holding the grapes and can’t stop jumping and jumping and jumping?

perhaps you grew up to survive a life of striving. you and the hordes of older folk who think just like you, proud in their success, reluctant to see the struggles of others without giving them the same advice you gave yourself.

but i grew up without the same pride of our story, our culture, our skin. because in pursuing the “It” you boast of, we lost what the significance of who we are, and no amount of your mourning for our generation will bring it back. that’s assimilation baby, when you win, you lose.

i grew up aware of the cultural gap among my people, i grew up aware of the cultural ignorance of my people, i grew up aware that i didn’t have a people. i grew up in similar housing, similar dumpsters, not so similar struggles. it’s easier to see what’s wrong when you’re not basking in the glow of your rightness.

it makes conversations like this more painful.

like how can i tell you that our success, the filipino growth, is largely thanks to the brave Black americans whose slurs, insults, and limitations we once shared, and to feel like you have an opinion on whether lives matter is to be ignorant? that even now we have this privilege known as the model minority that hurts everyone involved, us included? that you are proud of something that shouldn’t have been as hard as it was? that we shouldn’t– and we can’t– just push for a right to exist?

i can’t tell you that. that’s something that you need to learn in as much as you have said you know.

“i’m like a puppy” you said. “you can hate me and push me away all you want but i’ll make you love me and annoy you into caring for me, and that’s how we can end racism, by making our enemies love us.”

you grinned and launched into how you started providing for old mom at 17, and i merely looked at you.

no <3.

that’s not how you treat fellow people, fellow humans, like pets. you treat them like people, worthy of care and attention and human decency by existing.

and that’s what your optimism fails to cover. people are not being treated like people, people are being treated like pawns in a game, and what we’re saying is the game isn’t fair.

for someone who insists on seeing the good in people, surely you should see the bad as well.

but i didn’t have words. perhaps i still don’t.

when i do though, i hope you give my words the same weight i have given yours, because your thoughts are important.

and so are mine.

~this immigrant’s keeping us all on our toes, jo~

all lives, blue skin

people gathering on street during daytime

i see you.

i see you, all of you, splattering bright blue paint against the blazing yellow words that cover the same streets that have been washed of its blood red stains.

i see you, white and black and rainbow, walk the streets triumphantly insisting that all lives matter, all lives matter, all lives matter, NO, ALL LIVES MATTER. ALL OF THEM.

you yell this in the face of the very lives you have literally just declared matter. you shake your fist at children who are declaring themselves to be proud of their skin, who are raising their fists and demanding that justice be served. you rip banners, you scream, you shout, you applaud the “protectors, the good guys”, you cry for general importance and to make america normal.

can you not see yourself?

can you not see the anger and fear and hate that passes through the masks you don’t wear, the very visible disease that accompanies the invisible virus we have already lost lives to. apparently your insistence to be heard trumps the need to not be sick.

one of the more passionate of you did. not. stop. yelling.

“YEAH! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND! WHAT DO YOU HAVE?”
“EHH! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND!”

you wave your phone, puff your chest with the words “gays for trump” printed across it, shape your face to personify total derision of the person behind the screen that is recording you, begging you to state your thoughts in peace.

sir, i ask you of all people, is it possible that despite who you are partnered with, that you do not understand what it is to love?

the whole lot of you walk away with blue hands, saluting the blue shirts, just now attributing yourself to colors. you walk in shooting view of the photographers who come to these displays of human confusion to capture it for history, and in this moment that will last for the ages,

you smirk.

when you are noticed, you smirk because you know that you will be seen.

when we’re noticed, we just make sure we are the best representation of who we are and where we come from in case that’s the last time anyone ever sees us.

can you not see?

you worship the ones who will not hesitate to pound people to the ground, to spray tear gas into kids who just happen to be there, who, if suddenly told by the powers that be that their next victims were the all lives matter people, would not hesitate to treat you with the same cruelty that you gleefully advocate for against the people who are trying to put it all to an end.

you choose to get your hands smeared in blue paint. you are not born in an unalterable dark pigment from head to toe, you do not walk out of the door knowing that you will forever be seen not for your mind or your heart, but how much or how little melanin is in your body. you can wash the paint off, you can take the uniform that is stained with the sweat and blood of another soul away to be cleaned. skin is not so easily maintained.

you put on the blue, you put on the power, you choose that, and in doing so, you let your humanness hide under your colors. we are laid raw and bare and brokenly human in ours.

i feel sorry for you.

i am sorry that i have to use words like “us” and “them, “you” and “we”, because it is undeniably certain that you do not want to seek justice, love mercy, or walk humbly with God, with your fellow humans, or even with yourself. and i pity that very much.

let me correct your sign for you.

you are currently saying that all lives matter. what you want to say is “I MATTER! I MATTER! I MATTER!”

that’s the root of it, isn’t it my dude? you are terrified of the idea of anyone else mattering except yourself.

how sad.
how pathetic.
of course you do.

but not solely you.

here is what all lives matter looks like:

arresting the cops that killed breonna taylor. addressing the very obvious inequalities in every aspect of our society. acknowledging the same heart problems that are in you are in me too. dancing in the streets with no fear of being pulled over or being shot at. holding hands with friends and unmaking enemies. no fear. no shouting. peace. joy. a coffee shop that won’t be vandalized or run out of business where people can learn to connect and thrive. smiles on people’s faces. growing bipoc businesses. to walk into a church and not be treated based on the corners of eyes or the color of skin. to know the same love and call to healing from Above is meant for us all.

can you see the possibilities? can’t you see it?

of course not. you can’t even see me. you don’t want to. you want yourself. what you know.

you chant for blue and blindly watch as black dissolves to red.

did you forget that last color runs through your veins too?

~everyone’s pushing, everyone’s fighting, jo~

yearning

low-angle photography of man standing on stone with arms wide-open statue

“i just want to be *Held”

“can you imagine *human touch*”

“i would kill for a *hug*”

the following was taken from the nsfw channel of a chaotic server i mod, which was created for discussing how to write murder and other dark topics but instantly veered from gory character motives to spoilering the desire to be able to interact with humans for comedic effect.

it’s been rough lately.

most of us haven’t gone out in months, myself included. most of us aren’t in the best of situations physically, mentally, or spiritually. most of us are anxious, and sad, and creating messy characters and plots and stupid jokes is how we cope. most of us are vibing. all of us are alone.

someone (who absolutely shredded me to pieces with a connected series THE PAIN) said it best.

“everyone’s baking and protesting, and we’re stuck here yearning.”

11 people instantly reacted with the f emoji.
to, you know, pay respects.

i mean, are they wrong?

i think about that, today, after waking up and showering and getting my favorite shirt and get a meal of crackers and salmon lox cream cheese. yearning. hhhhhh imagine that.

i’m listening to rend collective’s latest album and my chest (as foreign and dysphoric as it feels) is throbbing with… with relating. with singing. with truth. with desire and fear and so much yearing.

i haven’t talked much about faith as much as i have the world in which faith is so desperately needed, not because i don’t believe it’s not important, but it’s been so, so long since i’ve had any kind of community or sense of belonging– and not just with, like, faith, with every single intricate dang part of myself.

(oh hah guess what i’m writing about that talk about projecting babyy!)

and it’s like how can i claim to talk about truth and God and uhm, being a light when i’m literally in the darkness, you feel? but i’m sure you do. it’s july 2020, and we are all tired, and governments are not doing their jobs, and people are broken, and my goodness, how alone we must all be right now.

creation groans, and so we are literally crying for something more, for something real, for something true, to look into someone’s eyes face to face with no threat of disease stopping us, for justice to be served.

there are names and names and names of people who are gone and it’s not right and it seems like everyone is finally waking up and realizing how broken and wrong the world is and we’re yearning, crying, for anything right, and man, i have clue what to make of that. like, i have to take tutoring for algebra, i’m not mentally equipped for answers. i don’t think any of us are.

but we yearn to do something good anyway. but there are people right now chanting and learning and educating and fighting for right and they’re doing amazing and there are a bunch of people signing up to teach me and a bunch of other lost, nerdy kids how to sing, how to dance, how to dream this summer, there’s stars and there’s sun and there’s a spotify playlist that is streaming truth and beauty and goodness and how, how can anyone look at this world and not realize what it could be, what it was meant to be?

my God really made some amazing things, and yes, they’re so messed up now, but even with their serious flaws they’re beautiful. that is wild. that is so wild. can you not feel that?

if the hate that fueled all these horrible people (read: all of us) to do what we’ve been doing for centuries was replaced with hearts, with love, with holy sacred rightness, what would the world look like?

idk man, but it must be… beautiful.

so i’m here now, filled with a violent urge to create. and sing. and write and fight and scream and care. and to be cared about.

it must be only heaven where one can be at peace and to be among peace.

but if, through what i do and who i am and the amazing people i know, just a tiny bit of heaven can be brought to earth, well, it won’t take away the desire or the yearning.. but maybe rather, remind us that we’re not hoping for nothing. there’s something, there always was Something. and that’s faith fren.

i wish i could knock on the door of every person in the server, in my chats, in my neighborhood and tell them that. i only know how much i would die to hear those words said to me.

oh, and also *hug*. that’s very important.

~we are the strong, we are the brave, we are the dreamers, jo~

color outside every line

assorted-color Crayola crayons

i finished outlining today.

hhhhhhh! i did something today!

Starkid Rachael Soglin GIF - Starkid RachaelSoglin ICanFinallyLayDown GIFs

and you know what

it’s… not good.

there’s so many plot holes. i don’t have any of the characters fully fleshed out, the ending is somewhat anticlimatic, it’s messy and it’s me and it may never see the light of day.

and i think that’s like, that’s something that tends to run through every artist’s mind, you know? like instagram ruins our pictures, we miss a few dozen layers on a project, we hear a wobble in a cover of a song, and we sigh because it’s not good, it’s not right, it’s not perfect and it’s just pathetic and sad and us, which somehow makes it worse.

isn’t that sad? to be disappointed in the thing that makes us us?

i guess.

back to the outline. i don’t even know how much of it i’m actually gonna follow, you know? and like, i was battling a pesky mosquito that was attacking my feet while trying to decide the future of an imaginary person in an imaginary, broken world, and–

that’s not good. but it’s not bad either.

creation, as a concept and as a reality, as a process and a finished work, has always been messy. i think the only person who ever properly nailed a piece of art on the first try was God and like, look what happened to that. we just… messed it up. free will and what not.

and so, we’re left with this yearning for beauty and for substance, for validation and for acceptance, we put pen to paper and brush to paint and fingers to frets and we try and try and try and it’s just a little bit off, and somehow i suppose we feel a pang of disappointment that just pushes us to do better.

what if… the slightly off… is… enough…?

i don’t know what i was trying to say after that,

but it was gonna tie in to me looking over what little of a story i have and being like “hey, that’s actually kinda interesting.”

but catch me being coherent, right? ha. no.

can anything be truly perfect? no. people are mean. life is hard. the world is messy. there’s a literal virus spreading around. how can we demand perfection from ourselves when the whole of humanity has been trying and failing for like, at least a thousand years. maybe two thousand.

but yet we still stare at the moon through an atmosphere with a hole in one of its layers, and it’s like “oh, what a pretty moon” even if it’s the same one that’s been around since 2001. and we eat ice cream from walmart and still call it delicious, and who knows how much artificial food coloring is in that? and we look at a kid’s messy wax crayon drawing and we go “masterpiece! this is going on the fridge for at least a week!”

so i’m just thinking, perfection is not the source or the equivalent of good.

even broken humans need grace, right?

but that kinda makes it easier, to create art that is flawed and songs are maybe a little offkey. stories that maybe have problems but also bring a whole lot of comfort.

and i just think that’s so cool

that i can find someone’s hastily written work apologizing profusely for how messy and unedited it is and i’ll read it and i’ll be laughing and crying and saying “HEY COME BACK! YOU DID GOOD WITH THIS I LOVE IT!” and then it’s not just a messy work, it’s a messy, good work, and that makes all the difference.

i wonder if that’s a thing God did, before it all went south. to instill a sense of Good that isn’t swayed by brokenness? yes? no?

maybe?

so, anyway. i finished my outline. and i have loads of expired chocolate and a computer that is dying every second it’s being used, in a world that cries for the thing that i’m now choosing to accept.

good.

it’s kinda cool, really.

~i’m serious, let’s make a list, jo~

favorite discographies

it’s the month of writing. and death. and summer.

and music.

and thus, here we are.

(no i would never be able to take any of the following photos, creds to their site or to imdb)


Rob Simonsen Picture

rob simosen is cool. like, really cool. like life of pi and stargirl and love, simon and captive state cool. i first heard his work in gifted last year and it’s been a beautiful symphony of music since.

favorite recent listen: butterfly 1 (chu and blossom)

ryan o’neal, or as you all may know, sleeping at last, has been the composer of my childhood background music, summers, trauma, most of my life really. the work he’s done over the years is just really inspiring and mindblowing (a bunch of shows, films, and ads, atlas, the sleeping at last podcast, to name a few) and his covers and singles are just… hhh. amazing. i’ve been playing many beautiful things and atlas ii on repeat lately, it’s been great.

track that peeks into your soul: two

you should know who alexandre desplat is, he scored a few magical wizard kid films, and also little women. if you don’t, that’s okay, you’re probably familiar with a lot of his work through just classic cinema and maybe the academy awards. i find that interesting about certain artists; you learn to love their art before you even know who the artist is. it’s really fascinating.

best album to burn midnight hours to: probably little women, that’s a whole trip and a half.

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pinar toprak is a breathing genius, and i find it really sad that the film industry and its eager audience sleep on her work and the work of so many other female film composers. we pay a lot of due attention to john williams and hans zimmer, but toprak scored captain marvel, purl, stargirl, krypton, and a ton of other tracks that’s not being recognized nearly as much as it should, which seems off. anyway i just think she’s neat please check her out and go make hollywood actually try for once ty

track that will knock you into finishing that project: i’m all fired up, captain marvel

 Braille Focus / LeBrun S. Jackson Digital Artistry

tamar-kali has a really cool vibe with her work that i stumbled on listening to the spotify mixes at like, four am one time and it’s really entrancing and invigorating and just. ahh. really great get lost in your head music.

something vaguely different yet familiar: mudbound. like. all of it.

terence blanchard‘s sound in blackkklansmen was so chillingly fun, and harriet equaled if not beat that standard of musicality. i could easily get lost in those sounds for hours. a tale of God’s will and flow are some of my favorites. at this point i’m just geeking out about all of this but then i suppose i have good reason to.

the track that Will force you to stop and go “wow”: goodbye song, harriet

The Peanut Butter Falcon

this one was a collab and i don’t remember everyone by name, but this one is just,, so– idk what the world is, euphoria inducing? clara shared it a while ago and it’s quickly become one of my favorites and then i want to go watch the movie which leads to another rant nobody asked for so i’ll stop right there, but if you ever feel like wandering and being home at the same time, give this a listen.

the “i want” song you’d hear on the radio going to the lake and never being able to forget: running for so long (house a home)

is this a nerd thing to do? perhaps. but i can’t think of a new month or a new season or anything new and exciting without music, and well, these artists make amazing music. so. that’s that.

anyway okay that’s it byee

~time moves fast now, like tires on the road/but i don’t mind it, i always dreamed to go/the long nights over, and i’m starting to believe/i’m not as broken as some made me out to be, jo~

you had a name

dark pathway lit with small light fixture

“I can’t breathe.”

the house is quaking with thunder, and i feel numb inside.

“I was just going home.”

you could’ve gone so many places. you could’ve been going for a walk, or to a party, or to your friend’s house, or on a mini adventure, or travelling across the world, and now… well. you’ve gone.

and you just wanted to go home.

“I’m an introvert.”

hey, me too man. you know what, sometimes i sneak out of the house just to wander down the street and watch the waves for an hour. or on top of the roof to stare at the stars. because then there’s no people, and people are scary, and sometimes people pass dangerous things, like sickness and disease and hate. you get that. you got that.

“I’m just different. That’s all.”

you were a musician. you played violin for the cats at the pet shop. you worked as a massage therapist. you liked music and people and cats and you had a story, you were different and you were beautiful.

and you were black.

that’s the only different thing anyone saw.

“I’m so sorry. I have no gun. I don’t do that stuff. I don’t do any fighting. Why are you attacking me?

why did you apologize? you didn’t do anything wrong. and even if you did have a gun, why would that brand you as someone deserving of the treatment you received, when the very country you were living in has made such a big deal of its rights to tote around weapons? that shouldn’t have convicted you, none of this should’ve happened. they weren’t supposed to attack.

they. weren’t. supposed. to. attack.

Forgive me. All I was trying to do was become better. I will do it. I will do anything. Sacrifice my identity, I’ll do it. 

i don’t understand. i don’t understand why you said that, i don’t understand why anyone has to say that, and why nobody listens to them. i don’t know why this hurts so much, and the not knowing hurts even more.

i’ve said the same words and suffered for years for it. i’ve tried to suppress and hide so many messy, dangerous, human aspects of myself to be accepted, but to beg for my life? nobody should have to do that. nobody.

You all are phenomenal. You are beautiful and I love you.

they forced you on the ground.
they were choking you to death.
they let their cameras slip.
they were not listening.
somehow, you gave grace that they would never have even considered for yourself.
that’s astounding, in every way that hurts.

“”Try to forgive me. I’m a mood Gemini. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Ow, that really hurt.

what was done to be forgiven or punished for? walking? wearing a mask? being black? what was right in this situation that let it go unnoticed for months, that it only got brought back up after yet another person’s death? i mean, what happened to “innocent until proven guilty”? what happened to kindness? why did you say such soft words?

You are all very strong. Teamwork makes the dream work.

teamwork is for goals and dreams and futures, and collectively driving toward good. for sports and games and restaurants and the small gentle things of life. for nerf wars and water balloon fights, for games of tag and hide and seek and going places. teamwork shouldn’t be to attack a defenseless person for simply existing differently from you.

because what kind of twisted dream is it to hurt other people?

“Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to do that. I just can’t breathe correctly.”

every person that has ever existed was born crying for air. to apologize for that… to apologize for one of the first things that… that make us human?

i am so sorry.

i’m so sorry that it took ten months. ten. months. let your name be heard, for justice to be demanded. the world is a horrible place to exist sometimes, even when it knows.

they snuffed out a light, and now they’re mad because everyone’s trying to strike matches for a fire.

your name was elijah mcclain. i’m sorry we forgot.

and… and may the light you left with be picked up. soon.

because it feels so horribly dark.

~the dark comes crashing through, jo~

UPDATE: i forgot to leave sources so you can find out for yourself, and i think that’s especially important right now, so here you go:

petition

sources

everything all at once, i suppose

i have never made sense, i never will, don’t worry too much about it

sick Archives - Reaction GIFs

it’s

MY

breakdown and

I

get to choose the level of teenage angst

*i n h a l e s*

hi! i’m jo! i identify as a moron, allergies include shrimp, dust mites, and the whole world apparently, unaddressed depression Thriving, and you’re watching

*THE SAD TACO TRUCK FIRE CHANNEL*

where nothing, and i can’t stress this clearly enough, nothing, goes right

featuring! war! bloodshed! government invasion of privacy! the beginnings of trauma! my nonexistent sanity! and most importantly, pizza with pineapple on it!

have f u n with That, Kids!


when i die say something nice
wear comfy pajamas and bring fried rice
watch all the instagram stories i set to private
the things i’ve only said in the silence

when i die please gather round
pretend i was a memory you won’t throw out
wipe your tears and blow your nose
forget about it all when you go

when i die if i ever called you friend
do me a favor and for an hour pretend
that the person you came to grieve
actually made any mark in the light of eternity


my pinterest feed seems to worry about me and i admire that very much

like lately it’s been full of angry twitter posts and tumblr rants that cry for the dystopian protagonists to begin saving the day and like, can we handle that rn? nope

so now it has art of fantastical places and edits and happy comics and baking recipes and room inspiration and laugh out loud trashposts and all of this grossly domestic vibe which is super sweet but i wouldn’t ever say that if my life depended on it (nevermind that i just did)

the question is is it pinterest,

or is it the people who i follow that saved me from stressing over another source of bad news

either way, thank you


the following is a snippet of something i sent in to select friends, enemies, and undecided, and i figured it fit with the crack vibes this is emanating, so here you go

"i cannot talk very well. 
especially to big macho guys. 
especially if said big macho guy had seen me successfully hurl a knife into a palm tree and cackle like a stereotypical witch 
(more on that later.)
"a n x i et yyyyy"
"jo:
nightguard:
jo: AGHHH HUMAN"

i figured this out last night watching the storm beat down on the windows and honestly it passes the vibe check

my greatest fear is being irrelevant

insignificance

and i wonder why, you know? is it a mental thing to feel everything more deeply than they’re meant to be? is it just me? could i just inherently not be good enough for anyone to want to interact? will i be doomed to leaving people too stunned to react?

and i don’t know
how would i

what is the point of art if nobody sees it? what is the purpose of a message that isn’t heard? why say anything if nobody listens? why exist if it ultimately doesn’t matter?

and i struggle with reminding myself that things don’t require a useful purpose to be loved, and that is Okay, like how technically nobody needs nutella but the world would be a dismal place without it

and perhaps insignificance isn’t a horror, because then when you do anything nobody can say “but you’re supposed to be meaningful!” because you never were to begin with
so you can just reply, “no, i’m being me” and that’s the best meaningful you can get


so here’s the thing

we’ve saying “black lives matter” seriously for a couple of weeks now and the message has been cried out for literal years

and yet, the overwhelming response seems to be “we Know, Stop Saying It :((”

and that’s frustrating

people being hurt without reason is frustrating. the hurters getting away with it is frustrating. the people who were supposed to help about it doing the exact opposite is frustrating. being ignored and being rejected and being laughed at and being forgotten is frustrating.

so no wonder people shout

just all that to say

harm can be passive


a m i n i p la y l i s t

it would be you – ben rector
so will i – ben platt
battle cry – the family crest
paper rings – taylor swift
king of anything – sara barielles


a self portrait

“don’t we look m a r v e l o u s, isn’t it g a y” – talkfine
(look colors)


oooh some beautiful people did some beautiful things lately:

look it’s weez!

evelyn seems so cool

sarah cracked me up

ahhh clara


and finally some closing notes:

  • it’s summer
  • if you look up june 13 2019 and june 13 2020 on here they’re both drastically different but about the same thing
  • it’s summer!!
  • for independence day everyone should watch hamilton and reconsider their heritage (and also donate to a charity of their choice)
  • look up juneteenth and be still for a moment
  • google baby ducks tripping over their feet
  • call enni a duck in her about page on the 27th (pls i’m not kidding)
  • summer!!
  • remember it’s june love who you love and also respect people’s pronouns
  • do something absolutely horribly stupidly childishly fun that screams summer because yes

⎯  𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 : @𝘱𝘢𝘷𝘭𝘹𝘷𝘦 🔮 * ·゚

~we’re all a little mad sometimes, jo~