Jan 1, 2021
Day 1: ‘The beginning’
Ruby sun rising. With hope that the new dawn brings. Take a breath and start.
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Belgium
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from South Africa
seen from Philippines
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Italy
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
Day 1: ‘The beginning’
Ruby sun rising. With hope that the new dawn brings. Take a breath and start.
365 Creative Challenge
2020 has been a hell of a ride. But I want to try something different for 2021. I want to get back to my creative roots. I used to write all the time, I wanna get back in that habit.
So, here’s the idea:
I have created 365 (and then some) prompts for me in 2021. The aim is, each day I will pick one at random (except 1. and 365) and I will do something creative with that prompt.
I might write something, cook something, sew something. It might not get completely finished that same day because #life and also my job is going to keep me busy. But the point of it is that I will have 365 days of doing SOMETHING creative.
So, here is my list. Hopefully under the cut. Feel free to follow me on this journey. We’ll see what happens!
Day 31: “Starry eyed in this cosmic ballet.” – Eric Boyd
Fur Elise by The Halloween Machine
January said the most acting he did was when he was watching a TV show with people around him and he tried not to flail or freak out too much. But the way he moved on that dance floor to this song with our fellow dancer, Dana, both of them in pointe shoes, showed a side of him I didn’t know existed or could even fathom. All of his movements were precise and sharp, his limbs cutting through the air like a hot knife, attacking every note, every count. Though it was a fast song, I could still see them taking care to keep their arches perfect and not to have anything even a centimeter off. The intensity of the song translated to his face – bold, fierce, enticing, intimidating – and I couldn’t see a shred of shyness behind this mask. He kept that face despite how complicated the dance was and how difficult it must’ve been to learn. I didn’t know I was holding my breath or that I’d begun to sweat until they fell into a pose as the music came to an abrupt stop.
When we began to clap, January’s face softened while Dana’s stayed intact waiting for Madam Constantino’s critique. He fell into his default stage look, clutching his arms together, head bowed, eyes away from the audience. I managed to catch his eye and he wiggled his fingers at me, smiling a little. I was breathless as ever.
Mirror by Justin Timberlake
January’s back was facing my chest, the two of us staring at our reflection in the mirror as we counted our steps in silence. We’d been stuck at this one particular stanza before the chorus the last hour and there was nothing stopping us from getting this done before we called it a night.
Being constantly this close to him wasn’t so bad either.
He was such a sight to behold when he danced and I found that dancing with him, watching him create and move without more than an inch away, touching him and holding him to the beat of a song, gave me a certain high that made my heart race and my mind fixate on him.
“Okay so, that’s one, two, three, and four, and five, and –” He paused, taking his foot back then spun in place twice before facing me, “– and six, and se-ven…?” He put his hand under my rib, curling his fingers around my outstretched arm then pressing it against my chest. Right over my racing heartbeat. “Is that okay, Jase?”
I leaned in to kiss him and he returned it briefly before laughing. “The audition is this Monday, Mr. Weiss.”
We didn’t move from where he ended and I continued the last count, going into the first count of the next eight.
Champagne Supernova by Oasis
His arms were around my neck, his nose against my nose, his light brown eyes right across my blue ones while my hands rested on his hips. We swayed to the music, already danced out at this point, our ties loosened, our blazers left on our seats, our hair in slight disarray. This was what we were reduced to, the cheesy couple swaying left and right and in a circle when we were feeling up to it to a slow song. We’ve been in more intimate positions both on and off the dance floor but somehow this was my favorite out of all of them. This, the simple, mindless, quiet position.
“My shoes are killing me.” I whispered.
“I haven’t had any feeling in my toes since I started pointe, I’m good.” He chuckled as he brushed our noses together and then pressed a kiss on my lips. He slid his arms further behind me, resting his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Kind of sleepy now though.”
Day 30: “Your name no longer causes waves.” – Anonymous
I’m not in love with Peter Harris. I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love with Peter Harris. He’s my best friend and there was a time when I thought he’d be the first to make me want to give in to being romantic and settle with someone for longer than a few weeks. When I told him, it slowly just went away. The care I felt is the care I feel for my friends and family, only he was new back then. New, beautiful, and straight therefore desirable yet unattainable. I think that combination got my emotions mixed up. A best friend I didn’t know since middle school? Who was really attractive but I couldn’t bone? It hurt so much I thought it was love.
But it wasn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be involved with anyone in that way. I play favorites, sure, but at the end of the day, I’ll get bored.
I hate being bored and I hate cheaters.
Day 29: “Come visit me in my dreams.” – Anonymous
When you’re in a sort of long distance forbidden relationship, every moment with your partner is crucial. As it is a long distance forbidden relationship (what an ugly combination of words), your partner not only is separated from you but is separated from his friends who so happen to be your friends too. Friends have to have a chance to be around your partner even though you so desperately want to hide in your room in your apartment, fucking each other’s brains out and then cuddle. But you don’t mind. You love seeing your partner happy and you love seeing your friends happy.
But there’s so little time.
Once you’re in your room, once you’ve fucked each other’s brains out, you’re tired. You don’t want to be tired. You want to be awake because sleeping meant wasting precious, conscious time together before your partner has to go back to Washington D.C. where his homophobic parents are waiting, thinking he’s with his cousin looking for colleges when in reality said cousin has made these meetings possible.
“Nate?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want to sleep. But god I’m so tired.”
You laugh. “Me too. This body is so fucking useless. You’ve only been awake for fifteen hours, get yourself together.”
“Has it only been that long?”
You look at the clock. Your partner looks at the clock. “Hmm.” You both say.
“Let’s bake something.” You suggest and your partner jumps out of bed in only his boxer briefs. You want to take a picture.
Day 28: “Stars shine, undaunted by pointed fingers” – Pritha
“Dear Mom and Dad,” the caption under the YouTube video read, “by the time you’re watching this, I’ll be out of your lives. I’ve made a decision as an adult to leave because I no longer feel like I’m your son. Instead, I feel like a puppet with broken, useless parts that no matter how many times you try and make me more like you and less like myself, I always end up disappointing you, falling back to my lame puppet form. I’ll never be the son you wanted. I tried. God knows I tried. But I’m done with having my life smothered and stuffed into a narrow path of what you want me to be. I’m done not being able to be myself or even speak in case you’d think I’ll sound too gay. I’m done wanting to please you when you’ve never been considerate of what I need. You always say that since I’m still living under your roof, I’ll be under your rules. Looks like I’m no longer under your roof. Disown me or spend my trust fund, do whatever, just know that I don’t care anymore. Goodbye.”
“Warrior,” stated the big, bold letters, “by Demi Lovato.” And in parentheses, “A Cover by Derek Breaker.”
10,034 views on the first day.
Day 27: “I’m broken, but you’re not glue.” – Erin Esther
I’ve never felt so helpless.
Even after getting custody of my brother, Cody, and bringing him to the States, I don’t think I’ve made things any better for him. He hasn’t slept properly, and whenever he does, he always wakes up screaming like he’s being murdered. He didn’t eat a lot, not even when I bought him a few boxes of Oreos. And he’s asking me to buy him cigarettes, which led to a row and, at the boiling point, he started crying and locked himself in his room for two days – I don’t think he slept then.
There are moments, few of them but enough to be worrisome, when he’d be afraid of me when I said his name out of nowhere or touched his shoulder without him knowing. He’d flail and panic, yelling at me for being a “nosy cunt” before he’d start crying.
I tried to get him to go to a psychologist or even just meet with the counselor at the uni I teach at but he flat out refused all offers. Cody’s adamant he’ll be over it and that he’s simply shaken up with the whole ordeal with our father.
“I’ll be fine.” He would say in a huff, still not eating the food in front of him. “I’m not mad nor am I going mad.”
He’s been saying that for a month now and I’ve got no one to blame but my father and myself. I shouldn’t have left him for this dumb literature professor job in America. If I stayed, I could’ve been there to protect him. If I stayed, he would’ve come out to me first and I would’ve stood with him when he told our father. If I stayed, he wouldn’t be this messed up.
But it’s too late now and no amount of guilt or regret could fix what was done.
Day 26: “Every flower must grow through dirt” – Meghan Elizabeth
People keep asking me, “Adam, are you sure you’re ready?”
The real question is, “Is everyone else ready?”
Once upon a time, Adam Dane Jacobs was afraid. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still afraid of many things like creepy masks, alien abductions, or the possibility that life itself is meaningless but I’m not afraid of being different anymore. It’s funny how last year I was having the worst year ever with all that bullying nonsense and being sad nonsense and thinking I’ll never be interesting enough for people to actually like me nonsense when now I’m walking in the sun with pink hair. It’s funny how I used to think there was no “better” only “worse and worse and worse” just to have that notion demolished the moment I came into terms with being gay and found people willing to accept a little weirdo like me.
The summer was good to me and my hair.
“People are staring.” One of my best girl-friends, Cecilia, whispers but I link our arms together and lean close.
“They’re bound to.” I whisper back.
As we sit in our first class, people slowly realize that Adam Dane Jacobs, mousy brown haired, head-down-nose-in-a-book, ugly clothes Adam Dane Jacobs is now fabulous blond and hot pink haired, head-up-nose-still-in-a-book, new non-baggy-raggedy clothes Adam Dane Jacobs. And a couple of bullies of mine sat a few seats away, glaring at me when I so happen to catch their eyes. I smile back, glad that I haven’t been broken and knowing I’ll never be brought down.