Flashback Friday: To the 80’s

I loved the 80’s. I loved the movies. I loved the music. I loved the culture.

It was just an amazing decade (probably biased by my growing up in it/90s). This morning on the ride in, I had it tuned into my “flashback” station which plays 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s.

This song popped up and I was overwhelmed with nostalgia (which led to me crying, but that is a whole other story not for this post). This was probably my favorite song, and it happened to be in one of my favorite films, Pretty in Pink.

This is making me want to binge watch 80’s movies this weekend.

Prompt: Passport – 30 Min. of Writing

via Daily Prompt: Passport

The hustle and bustle of the blinding white room assault his already raw senses. Eyes squinting to keep out the light that seems to be coming from every which way, he shuffles forward behind a seemingly endless line.

“Passport,” a gruff voice intones from somewhere to his left.

Risking a wider glance, the man twists himself slightly toward it. “Excuse me?”

“Your passport, sir.” The disembodied person says a little softer, the edge gone.

“I …” The man pats his body, searching for anything that might be on him and comes up empty.

“No,” the entity slowly steps forward and it appears human except for the extremely large pearly white wings at his back, currently pressed into his frame.

The wings look like they are made of thick, ten inch feathers, that cascade down the length of the tall figure, the very tips brushing the floor. The curved cartilage of the top wingspan appears strong and unbreakable, and the man can’t help but stare in awe, reining in his desire to reach out and touch them.

“Am I … is this a dream?” He asks so softly he doubts the figure can hear him.

The entity before him takes a step forward and the aura around him engulfs the man, relaxing him immediately.

“No. You have died, sir. This is the receiving line for entrance into the best after party this side of the universe,” the angel jokes.

The man looks on stunned, his mind immediately reeling from the revelation and then quickly shifts to the other horrific truth. His family. His family has lost him and he has lost them. An ache begins in his chest and spreads outward, overwhelming him.

The second they enter his thoughts, he is whipped away and appears randomly in a room he recognizes well. It’s his bedroom at home and he is lying in the center of it. His face looks so serene as if he is only asleep, but the people around him are reacting quite differently.

His eldest daughter is bent over the side of the bed, tears streaming down her face as she repeats over and over, “I love you, Daddy. I love you so much. You have suffered enough, go in peace. I love you, I love you. I already miss you so much.”

His middle child, the one most like him, sits stoically at the edge of the bed beside her, holding his hand, whispering the same words.

His baby, the youngest of his three is lying alongside the man, hugging his body and crying so hard he gently rocks the bed.

The ache in his chest grows, and he turns to look for his wife, who is at the foot the bed, sobbing and speaking in their native tongue. Her loving words and pain seeming to travel through the veil and striking his heart full force, so harshly he actually gasps out loud.

A loud whoosh and he is back, standing before the angel, the male features softer. “There will be time for that, but now we must get you processed. I need your passport.”

The lump in his throat makes it difficult for him to speak, but the angel notes the confusion on his face and adds, “I must see your soul.”

“How .. how do I show you my soul?” The man’s raw emotion in every word.

“Just, open up. Let me in,” the angel prods.

The man’s eyes widen slightly as he feels the slight pressure all around him. At first he tenses up, but the words ring through him and he begins to let go. Let go of the shell that encases his soul.

A blinding light encompasses both of them, forcing the man to slowly close his eyes, a warmth beginning in his toes and working its way upward slowly until he feels like a star on fire.

“You lived a good life, Manuel. You honored your wife. You loved without question. You worked hard but took pleasure in the small things that mattered. You gave selflessly and reared three beautiful children with hearts that match your own. Your small sins have been greatly outweighed by your overabundance of virtues and you should be happy and proud of the life you lived, Manuel. Your children and wife will have a long road ahead of them, but you have given them the greatest gift they will ever need to battle their grief. Love. Unconditional and powerful. You can rest in peace that they will be okay, and one day … before you even realize it… you will see them again. You were and are loved.”

The angel steps forward and places a large hand upon Manuel’s forehead. Closing his eyes, the angel opens his magnificent wings and wraps them gently around the man known as Manuel.

The peace fills Manuel immediately, followed by that loving warmth. The angel whispers gently, “you can now rest in eternal peace, Manuel.”

(The above is dedicated to my father, who passed away June 9th, 2016 at 3:53 PM. I love you so much, and miss you every single day of my life. It hurts so much sometimes that you are not here by our sides. I do not think this ache will ever ebb away).

Review: Iron Fist S1E1

“Snow Gives Way”

In the very first episode, we are introduced to most of what will probably become the ‘main’ cast. We have the lead, Danny Rand (played by Finn Jones), returning home to New York. His first order of business is heading straight for his father’s company and seeking out his father’s old best friend, Harold Meachum (which he quickly finds out passed away six years prior).

Problem is, everyone from his past believes that he and his parents are dead from an airplane crash fifteen years ago. Not only is he faced with disbelief from friends he always felt were like family, he is faced with constant judgment by all of those around him.

Dressed simply in dirty sweat pants and a rumpled shirt, he also seems to find comfort in walking around barefoot. This immediately makes the world view him as a homeless man and he is treated as such from the get-go, even though his demeanor is nothing like that of a homeless person (as represented by the gentlemen we later meet in the park when Rand encroaches on his spot—the man is the only one to treat Rand with kindness because he too assumes Rand is like him; homeless).

We meet the Meachum’s, Ward (Tom Pelphrey) and Joy (Jessica Stroup), Danny’s childhood friends and now the ones in control of his father’s company. Both openly face him with skepticism but Ward with outright hostility (which makes perfect sense since the ‘real’ Danny owns 51% of the company).

While Joy can see the resemblance of a younger Danny, Ward absolutely refuses to believe it and thinks it’s some competitor company attempting to sabotage theirs. Doesn’t take much for Joy herself to agree with her brother, and both treat Rand with cold indifference, which he accepts with disbelief and sorrow.

It is clearly not the homecoming he had been expecting. He can’t grasp why they can’t believe he is being earnest (he has a very innocent nature about him—which I see becoming one of his superhero weaknesses).

We also meet Colleen Wing (Jessica Henwick), the martial arts sensei of a small/struggling dojo in a shady neighborhood. It is weird how he is quickly tossed into her life and this felt really odd. I think they could have developed that a little better and made it a bit more smooth.

The episode is definitely slow as it is setting the stage for what I have a feeling will be a few running themes; power struggle, misinterpretations, sense of belonging ( and lack of), living in the past while attempting to move forward, the ‘hand’ in the shadows, the internal battle that Danny will face on a daily basis of biased views from both sides of the spectrum, his constantly having to prove himself to those around him, his almost annoying innocent naivety (like he is still that child that disappeared 15 years ago) which I am sure will get him in trouble often (not ‘getting’ how the world is, but valid in how it ‘should’ be).

I feel like the dialogue in the first episode was definitely strained. This can happen with a first episode though and I have seen it in a lot of shows. Doesn’t mean the show will be bad. I can say that the second episode greatly improves on this (still strained, but better).

The few fight scenes in this first episode were bad. I was really not impressed. It felt very sluggish and almost robotic. As an ‘expert’ raised and trained for the last 15 years by a ‘Master‘, it does NOT show. Sadly, this did not improve in episode two, but I am hoping it does as the show progresses. This show is about martial arts so hopefully, they put more effort into the choreography/training for these scenes.

For being the very first episode, I felt it was definitely more on the ‘meh’ side, but I decided to go ahead and watch the second one, which had improvements. I’ll post a review of that tomorrow.

30 Min of Writing – Prompt: Fortune

via Daily Prompt: Fortune

My mind is abuzz with excitement, heart racing and thunderous in my ears.

The gown looks perfect. Each dip, sway and twist of the silk fabric molds to my body’s natural curves to look both salacious and classic. The deep green material bringing out the emerald flecks in my honeyed irises and managing to make my garnet locks pop.

Tonight’s ball will be the talk of the town, and this gown will put me in the center of it. A gleeful smile spreads across my porcelain features as I practice craning my long neck to expose the low bust line without seemingly on purpose.

The clomp of hooves on gravel and loud neighing as the horses are pulled to a stop out front prevents me from admiring my reflection any longer.

“Arabella, the carriage here. Let’s go dear,” my mother calls down from down below. Her deep Irish accent still heavy, even though she has lived in England for over a decade.

I quickly snatch up the black cape off my bed and swing the heavy fabric around my shoulders, tying the straps near my neck as I hurry out of my bedroom. I take the stairs slowly, as the last thing I want is to topple down them and break my leg on one of my biggest nights.

My mother and father are waiting patiently in the foyer, each dressed impeccably. Father is his best black tailcoat and vest, pinstriped trousers and gleaming white dress shirt. A top hat in his left hand and cane in his right. Mother, equally breathtaking in her velvet ensemble that is a tad more modest than my own, with a higher bust line and covered arms, but it too hugs her generous curves.

Our butler Jeeves opens the front door as we all scurry out into the chilled night air and pile into the carriage; me first and father last. As the carriage jerks into motion, I stare out at the black night and attempt to rein in my excitement. My entire skin feels electric and even my toes tingle.

“You look lovely, Arabella.” My father’s gruff voice fills the entire cabin of the carriage with its power. As a man of wealth, he is used to being heard and relishes in it.

“Thank you, father. I rather like that red cravat. It matches mother’s dress perfectly.” I give them both a wide smile. “Which, by the way, mother, you look stunning.”

She brushes her hands along the dress’s folds and shoots me a strained smile. “Thank you, dear.”

Mother isn’t too pleased with me. After I turned down a marriage proposal from an American entrepreneur, she has been giving me the cold shoulder and silent treatment all month.

I find I rather like it.

I go back to observing the darkness as if it is the most fascinating thing in the world.

It takes the carriage almost thirty minutes over stoned roads for us to reach our destination; Lord Williamson’s estate.

Lord Williamson is quite possibly the most eligible bachelor in England and I am going to snag him for myself.

A man of immense fortune, it is not going to be an easy task as the vultures will be swooping down around him all night, and so I have to be the one that stands out. Intriguing enough to grasp his attention and then keep it.

A smile tugs on my lips as my mind plays out a scenario of how I believe the night will go.

(And then the thirty minutes ended—and it’s rusty since I haven’t written in a few weeks, ugh).

World of Warcraft

Finally hit 110 on my paladin today. She is my second 110 in Legion. Took me a while because I leveled her from 1 – 110 with no BOA’s. It was fun though and I managed to complete a lot of the zones I need for Loremaster. So, two birds – one stone.

One of the things I love about my paladin, is her class hall. I have played a shaman, a hunter, and a monk and so far, paladin’s class hall is definitely my favoite. Here are just a couple of pictures.

 

Once I hit 110, and now that patch 7.2 is out, Khadgar gave me a quest for a scenario to unlock the new isle, Broken Shore. I have to admit, the scenes were crisp and even beautiful, but the alien invasion feel to it made me mentall go, ‘really?’. It felt like that scene in Avengers and shit is about to hit the fan that would become the Battle of New York. All the big ships come in and hover around and I swear these suckers kinda look like them.

But was an an easy enough solo scenario and it unlocked the isle for me. It’s pretty much like Tanaan Jungle from Warlords of Draenor and Timeless Isle from Pandaria, so I am only doing world quests until I am exalted, because gear I am sure will be worthless. We’ll see.

Here are a handful of screenshots from the scenario’s opening sequence. Really loved how Dalaran looked in the light before the ‘darkness’ came. It was a decent cinematic.


I dont know whether to be sad or content, but in one night I signifcantly brought up my iLvl. Granted I purchased two pieces of gear, but four of my other drops ugraded to warforged … insanity.

Tired of all the Feces

Some of the best writing comes from the deepest pain. Often I don’t know if I can truly express the agony warring inside of me, but then I just sit still and type, and a plethora of emotion comes out via my fingertips.

I don’t often share it. It’s too dark. Too deep. Too personal for the world to view and judge.

The world is good at that. Judging. Everyone sitting up high on their golden pedestal (myself included sometimes).

We have a lot of that going on right now with our current POTUS, and it is coming from all sides. Every side is slinging the shit across the line, hoping to hit their mark. And here is my judging moment: It’s sickening to see a world full of GROWN ASS ADULTS, many OLD and WISE enough to know better, acting like 2-year-old bratty children. POTUS included.

In a world with so much more going on, everyone is so focused on the dung at the bottom of the shoe, instead of just wiping it off on the grass and focusing on the crisis that is our world. Battling RACISM, HATRED, persecution of beliefs … and seriously we can get into space but we cannot figure out how to solve WORLD HUNGER? What is WRONG with us? What is WRONG with the people of this world that cannot take a step back or jump down from their mighty pedestal and say … wow, I could be a better human today.

It doesn’t have to be huge. It can be as simple as a, “Thank you” or holding the door for someone you normally would just let close on their face. Something as easy as letting someone who’s been sitting at a stop sign for twenty minutes looking for a break to get in, cut you off and not blare on the horn and throw your middle finger up. It could be making a small donation to charities that actually OFFER relief to those suffering (here are some that actually do what they claim to do). To those without a roof tonight. To those without a home. To those without a computer and unable to read all the barbaric and inhumane barbs constantly being expressed by grown ass adults (okay, maybe on this point, they are better off).

Stop throwing around statements like “fake news” as if it is a racial slur. We are living in a world with so much information at our fingertips. Stop being lazy and watching or reading only one or two news networks, and find out for yourself the TRUTH. Don’t just sit by blindly and believe all the hokum being said by someone of power JUST because they are in power. Then USE that information to actively, intelligently and in a USEFUL manner, fight against the hate, racism, world hunger, etc. Don’t just hop on the internet, load up Facebook or Twitter and just regurgitate the hate right back… how is that at ALL helpful?

Just … everyone GROW UP already and lets us be productive, effective, intelligent and HUMANE people. We can do it. It’s just one little step each day that you can to do to become that better HUMAN being.

Heartbreak

One of the harshest realizations is when you recognize that you mean absolutely nothing to someone who means the world to you… has been the world to you.

A call came through to me at almost 6PM yesterday. It may have been you, but I don’t know because I fumbled with my phone in my anxious nature, and accidently hit the volume button which immediately ended the call, which I am almost positive you felt was a slight and that I ended the call before it even began on purpose, but it is untrue.

And yet, this is life. One misunderstanding after another. One misinterpretation of what we believe are facts, but are just lines after lines of “Oops’s and Shit’s and Fuck did I do that’s”.

Moments of greatness or futures can be completely changed by the simple accidental press of a button. Had I answered, would we have fixed this and moved on happily ever after? Or would we still be on this path of self-destruction, taking all those around us with us? Each one of us blaming the other for the end of a ten-year friendship. Each one of us pointing the finger, without possibly knowing the full facts of the matter.

I feel lost without you, but now it has become a matter of pride. More than 32hrs have passed and not a single contact has been made. Am I really that easy to just let go of? Did I really matter that little? Perhaps you never really felt what you claim to have felt.

Heartbreak is never easy, especially when you think the other is going through it as well … but what if it is only you? Suffering in silence, breaking down in your own little world with no one to hear or care one iota. Does the heart not break a little louder?