Category: Junior Literary

Content Warning: addiction and dependence, drug culture

Dr. Feelgood, Kickstart My Heart, Same Ol’ Situation, Livewire, and my personal favorite…Shout At The Devil.

I have heard a few Motley Crue songs I didn’t like, but they are one of my favorite ’80s metal bands. Hair metal was crazy, not gonna lie. Def Leppard, Iron Maiden, Dokken, Ratt, Guns N Roses, Warrant, Whitesnake, Aerosmith, Twisted Sister… I could go on forever.

The point is, all of these bands were crazy. Ozzy literally bit the head off of a real live bat onstage (granted he didn’t think it was real.) The drugs mixed with the booze, toxic masculinity, money, lack of restrictions, and groupies shouldn’t have made the band that much wilder than the rest of the popular hair metal bands of the ’80s; but these guys went nuts.

One time Sixx dared Ozzy to snort a trail of ants… and he did it. These guys were the baddest of the bad. And while there were a lot of bad times for the band, the things they did were memorable.

To watch my idol play guitar in his prime? No brainer.  I can just see it now… leather pants, fishnet sleeves, leather jackets, hair that’ll catch fire if a lit match is twenty feet away. I’d be jamming backstage cheering on Tommy Lee while he’s drumming spinning in the roll cage. Or watching Vince be almost attacked by groupies onstage. Or idolizing Mick Mars as he does complex guitar solos while scoffing at his immature bandmates.

Sure, there were some bad times, really bad times. Like when Razzle died, or Vince’s daughter died from cancer, when Nikki overdosed and everyone thought they were going to lose him forever, and my personal favorite (sarcasm) the band replaced Vince with Corabi. Thank goodness it wasn’t for long because it wasn’t working. Finally, they (with Vince not Corabi) made amends and started playing together. They got sober over and over again and it didn’t seem to work. But, after Vince came back, sobriety seemed to stick for them, and they continued to perform until their last show in 2015.

Since the ‘80s, rock hasn’t really been the same. In the ‘90s, grunge was all the rage. Self hatred, deprecation, and broodiness seems to be the style of millennials. Because the last time they were happy was the nineties. Early 2000’s was about more of the same thing from the nineties but mixed with a bit of screaming and pop. Now, we mix Ozzy with Post Malone.

The glory days are behind us.

maybe i should stop trying to make everything symbolic. it’s just snow. it’s not the universe’s way of telling me that something or someone is fading from my life, it’s just snow. it’s just a dirty puddle in the middle of my parents’ driveway that my sister’s car used to hover above, and it’s just an angry result of our ongoing climate crisis. nothing else,

and i wish that i could keep speaking those things into existence, but there’s always going to be a part of me that dies a little bit inside when i see the pinecone on my bedside table. it’s not a physical reflection of the final trip home before everything went to hell; it’s just a pinecone. it is prickly, not even pretty, and sometimes it hurts my fingertips when i go to pick it up, because it’s… a pinecone. i avoided them as a kid, and now i can’t even bring myself to dispose of one properly, because it’s symbolic,

but i should stop making everything into something it’s not. i should stop seeing memories in the window of my local trading post, because it’s just a gas station. it’s my first stop on the way back to school, and it’s my favorite place to get breakfast from in the morning; it’s not the first place we went in my hometown, it’s just a trading post. i keep telling myself that,

but there are still tire tracks in the dirt beside my house, and i don’t think they’ll come back any time soon after the next good rain. i’m sure my sobbing didn’t help the impressions such a small car was denting in my driveway, but i couldn’t help it. while i’ve been trying to reduce my metaphors to something less philosophical, i don’t think you can withdraw philosophy from the idea that the physical representation of my suffering contributed to the permanence of it,

but it snowed last week. and i haven’t been back home, but there are two parts of me right now. one of them is hoping that the weather has preserved all that’s left of a vehicle’s presence. the other is hoping that the melted tragedy takes the tire tracks with it, because it cannot bear to look at them any longer.

      Last week, the southern United States was hit with an unusual winter storm.  Although Mississippi was not struck as harshly as places like Texas, we still got our fair share of icy roads, power outages, and boil water notices. On Sunday, we were invited to return to school five hours earlier than usual for the sake of avoiding the weather, but once sleet began to fall, all students who were not already more than half way to the school were directed to turn back. We were left with half as many students on campus and even less staff members. (Special thanks our faculty! They were amazing through all of this!) Bored, cold, and with some extra downtime from having virtual classes, the teenagers here did what any art school students would do; we walked–well, slid–around campus and had a photoshoot.

This photo was taken outside of the SLC on the first day we had a full blanket of ice greeting us each morning.

After a failed trip to Dollar General, which, like most stores, was closed at the time, I snapped this outside of the Johnson Institute on my way back.

My senior Maleigh and I had a photo op outside of the Phoenix.

…the rocks were slippery.

Here is our grade-A photographer in action.

We attempted to slide down the ramp with trashcan lids. Not our finest moments, but we made it work. Sorta.

 Had to take a snap of the frozen news paper. You know, for the aesthetic. I’m sorry, let’s just move on.

Gardening Club has a small garden outside of the SLC, and unfortunately, our green friends got frozen over. A couple of distinguished birds (they’re decorations, but don’t tell them that), got to catch a glimpse of the gorgeous scenery. 

The breathtaking view from the top floor of the SLC. From one of the tallest buildings in Brookhaven, you can see the rooftops of the dozens of stores and restaurants in downtown. I am still in awe of this.

Warning: Spoilers for Danganronpa V3

For a long time I would always be obsessed with things.  I thought it was just a thing I did but apparently it’s a symptom a good amount of autistics go through.  Hyperfixation is defined as: a condition that creates interest and develops it consistently in humans for something or someone.  

My newest hyperfixation is this cute little bastard.

For those of you unfamiliar, this is Kokichi Oma from Danganronpa V3.

His character is very interesting, he loves to act all evil but in reality he’s just a mischievous person who really is a good person after all.  I actually did a short character analysis video I will link here.

Everyone seems to dislike him throughout the course of the game because he lies; but in the end he sacrifices his life to try to save them all.  His plan was perfect, it just happened to be messed up by the other characters.  

It is the saddest thing to me that even as he is about to die and it is harder for him to breathe because of Maki’s poison arrow.  He reveals how he’s felt all along and Keebo is the only one who believes him.  The fact he was painfully dying of poison and his real tears instead of the over theatrical ones he does as fake, proves the fact this is the truth.  Also, why would he save Kaito and Maki and choose to sacrifice himself if he was truly evil?  

Here is the video of Kokichi’s last words.

So yeah, not evil.  He was just lying to execute his plan and save himself pain.

He secretly good boy.

Thanks for having common sense, Keebo.

unfortunately, this blog will not encompass the lyrical masterpiece that is the fifth track of rascal flatts’ “feels like today” 2015 album; it will actually be about the tragedy that came from a former racecar driver’s dream: big machine records (and the cuffs they keep their clients in).

scott borchetta founded big machine records in 2005, but not before he approached taylor swift in a cafe in nashville, offering her a place on the roster of the record label he was about to begin. taylor swift was the first person signed with big machine records, and 15 years later, this decision proved to be two pivotal moments of her career at once. 

first, the basics. ownership of creative property is a little bit tricky, especially in the music industry, so:

1. artists own all of the technical components of their music – the lyrics, the instrumental, and everything in-between. they are theirs to use as they please, because they created these specific aspects.
2. record labels own anything that was released under their label name: any recordings and remixes that say “big machine records” are legally owned by big machine records, and they profit from the royalties.

what this means for taylor swift:

1. everything she’s written from her debut album through reputation is hers. she owns the lyrics and all of the technical components.
2. big machine records owns what is called the “master recordings” of these albums – every track that’s played on the radio, signed to a movie or tv show, or streamed on a service.

anyone who doesn’t live under a rock is well aware of the ongoing feud between kanye west and taylor swift, but… what you may not know is kanye’s association with a man named scooter braun. kanye and scooter have been friends for a while, and scooter even worked for kanye there for a time, but even after the employment was terminated, they remained industry friends. based on all of the context clues, it’s safe to assume scooter and taylor don’t get along well, especially not where kanye is involved.

for quite some time as her career has skyrocketed, taylor has wanted to buy back her master recordings from her original record label. in 2014, she brought this proposition to big machine records, and they gave her an ultimatum: they will grant her immediate ownership of her master recordings…. if she signs a contract to stay with the label for 10 more years. this doesn’t seem like a half-bad idea, until you do a little more digging.

at the same time taylor’s proposal was being considered, big machine records was up for sale. taking into account her place as a prominent artist, it would not benefit taylor to sign 10 years of her future to a buyer she doesn’t even know. she declined the offer.

as it turns out, who else would end up buying the label but the infamous scooter braun – the one who teamed up with kanye to ruin taylor’s career before? and in that moment, every master recording that taylor swift had produced under big machine records lied in the hands of someone who had previously tried to ruin her career.

as the powerhouse woman she is, taylor decided to tell her fans exactly what happened and exactly how she would handle it. thus, the announcement of her re-recordings. 

taylor swift will be re-recording all 6 albums: debut, fearless, speak now, red, 1989, and reputation; though not in that order. if all goes well, these releases will be treated as the master recordings, so not to give scooter braun any recognition for taylor’s success. they will also be released as “taylor’s version” of every song, and the existence of any other version will be promptly eliminated from loyal fans’ minds.

until we meet again… on april 9th… when i cry listening to white horse – taylor’s version.

“Basketball players don’t cry.”

What makes people think just because I play a sport means I can’t have emotions?  Basketball players cry a lot, at least this one does.  I cry over being bullied, I cry over my life situation, I cry over my crush not accepting me because they’re studying abroad next school year.  Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just can’t stop the tears from flowing. 

Truly, I have always been an emotional person, a crybaby most would say.  The truth is people need to stop running from how they feel.  Oftentimes growing up my father would tell me to “Stop crying or he’d give me something to cry about.”  That is the toxic behavior that instills into people making them think they aren’t allowed to feel emotions.  Emotions are not a bad thing. They aren’t the problem. The problem is the people who refuse to acknowledge their emotions and simply call a person weak for showing them.  In reality, it shows strength to let yourself show emotions, to be vulnerable.  Stop telling people with depression to just go outside, you wouldn’t tell that to someone with cancer, would you?  People with disorders such as depression can sometimes not have very good control of their emotions.  If you always feel numb and nothing, you would want to feel something, at any cost.  

Society has made up this allusion that you must always be happy all the time when in reality this is not possible.  If you were never to experience sadness, you would never know the thrill of excitement.  No one likes feeling upset, but hiding that pain does nothing but hurt you more.  

Now I’m not telling you to hit someone because they stole your french fry, but you have the right to tell them to stop doing that.  

So let’s all just be a little kinder and consider each other’s feelings.  Just because you don’t get upset and someone who ate your sandwich doesn’t mean you can eat other people.  I know that is a dumb example but the point still stands.  Trauma has clawed at some of us; even simple mentioning of simple words triggers us to have flashbacks.  Some things are sensitive topics for people, for example, I get upset when people flaunt food I can’t have because of my restrictions.  I miss being able to drink coke so don’t chug one right in front of me, it’s super disrespectful. 

(I had a burst of inspiration to write a short sci-fi story about robots, so I decided to turn it into my blog posts for the time being. I ADORED writing this so I really hope you enjoy this as much as I did. 🙂 It hasn’t really been revised or proofread, so don’t make your first judgements so harsh!)

The walls of the facility creaked and groaned, as the tiles of the ceiling let go of the hands of their surrounding brothers and fell into the toxic water below. The bubbling sludge grabbed hold of their fiberglass bodies and dragged them into the burning swamp, turning its white glass fiber strands into drowned, black ash. The two HopperWare licensed robots stood and watched as the vomit colored water devoured its meal of company acoustical ceiling tiles in giant swallows. 

“Ah,” Uttered a tall, slender robot with bright yellow plating, “it looks like this place is in much poorer condition than I thought.”

“Really, Chisa?”  A shorter and more buff red robot said sarcastically. “For someone who was apparently designed for analysis and navigation, it really seems like you’re lacking in that field.”

“Oh, and what were you designed for again, lifting things?” Chisa snapped back, her rounded head spinning towards the two orange eyes of the labor robot. 

The two watched as the facility continued to eat itself up, and the pale green overgrowth on the walls that almost painted the entire room shook from the wind coming in from the holes in the ceiling. 

“Wait!” yelled a robotic voice from behind. As the clanking metal footsteps grew closer, a medium sized blue robot caught up to the other two and instantly rested its hands on its knees. “Sorry, I got lost.”

The larger red robot let out an automated chuckle and gave a shove towards Chisa. “Looks like someone wasn’t doing their job very well, huh Chis?” The navigation robot narrowed her large, yellow eye at this. 

“I’m sorry, just let my fans catch up for a bit.” The blue robot panted, his metal suit design opening and closing vents on his sides. “I wasn’t built for this.”

“How about you do your job, then, 15?” The yellow robot looked at the construction robot, “Since you’re just oh so good at it.”

15 let out a machine-like grumble and opened up the plates to his side to reveal two forklift arms. “Get on, David.” 

The blue robot turned his attention to 15, who stood looking pretty silly with his two regular arms protruding from the same sides the forklift ones were. With a little hesitation, David lowered himself onto 15, who lifted him up and walked closer to the sewage pit.

“This is humiliating.” Muttered David, his glasses-like eyes turning downwards.

The three HopperWare robots, after traveling through every floor, room, and tunnel of the HopperWare testing facility, finally stood facing one of the last chambers.

The yellow one, marked with black text around her neck spelling out “CH154” stood cross-armed at the gap. Her main body was made of grey metal, but her more vital parts were covered by bright yellow plating. Her hands weren’t as intricate as the other two’s, as she only sported two fingers and a thumb on each wrist; just enough to grab and open things, but not much else. She was tall, slender, and feminine, and it seemed as if the designers got a little too excited while designing her hips. She had one yellow eye installed in her dome-like head, which allowed her to rotate her vision 360°, but nowadays she used that function more for dramatic effect.

The red one, recognizable by his short stature and hefty body, hoisted up the blue striped robot with its forklift arms. His wide structure and multi-tool filled hands were a rusty red along with the rest of him, excluding the reflective orange stripes running down his torso and back. There were several pieces of graffiti on his body, and the most notable were a large, stylistic yellow 15 spray-painted on his back and a phallic symbol resting on his shoulder in permanent marker. His head was angled and sporting two orange LED eyes, along with a smile and a tongue sticking out in black and red spray-paint. 

In his arms was the first model of the tax-accountant robot David, who’s hard metal shell resembled that of a blue suit. He had semi-human features and anatomy, with bright lights inside his glasses serving as his eyes, which looked much like a smart anime character’s would when they’d push up their spectacles with a smirk on their face. Besides that, his face was blank other than “design pending” graphic on his cheek. He was average height, lightweight, lanky, and not built for long walks or journeys, as his main challenges would be doing math and fetching things from around an office. 

The three continued to stand at the edge, before 15 let out a question that had been running through his circuits for a while now. 

“Hey, math boy.” He said as he looked down in his arms.

“Yes?” David responded

“What’s the chance I’d be able to throw a 100 pound object across this pit?” 15 asked.

“Well, it depends on the aerodynamics of the object and the way it’s shaped, but with your strength and specialty it shouldn’t be that difficult.” David replied.

“I see…” 15 started, “here we go then!”

“Wait, WHAT?” exclaimed the lanky blue robot, but his question would not be answered. Before he knew it, he was lightly tossed into the air by 15’s forklift arms before being caught by his main ones.

“No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NOOOOOOOOOOOOO—” David yelled as he was hoisted into the air and then launched across, and his screams grew distant before a CLANG reverberated off the walls. A variety of expletives echoed through the room before “I’M FINE! THANKS FOR THE WARNING!” was belted from the other side.