Country: United States
January 15, 2017
08/13/2019 10:09 PM
* // journal entry 001.
sometimes i think that this world is doomed because it breaks my heart to admit and see how much healing needs to be done. sometimes i stop myself from facing the truth of where i am or what this world has to offer regardless of negatives or positives. i want to know that there will one day truly be peace. and i know in some spaces, that can be done.
why does corruption exist? that’s what i really ask myself every day in the face of all this petty bullsh*t american politics. and then i expand my view out even further and i think about how, in comparison to the entire planet, the little greed and vice that i’ve seen... is benign.
could you imagine me, in the face of blatant corruption? i haven’t experienced anything so dense myself and i’m already mortified enough. even just knowing.
it startles me the depth of how horrid the pockets we have in untouched countries. countries suffering from a severe lack of foundational love and sense and togetherness.
i’ve never been so affected. i’ve barely seen or known any explicit trauma at all. and if you can see it..
if you can know it...
then you have to fight back with love.
you will win.
at this healing game of love. use the system to your advantage. all severity surrounding the immediate sincerity and lack of caked on rancor. leave that all at the door.
would i have been able to survive the anger and malevolence? would i ( eye-- or rather-- the pureset part of me ) be able to survive?
sometimes i wish i was faceless. that way you’d look beyond me, beyond my ego, beyond it all and to the heart of it. bypass the self.
i know it’s hard to. but there are larger things in sight.
i have to fight and battle against being derisive. i want to change the path, the expectation. i shouldn’t be feared. i don’t want to be.
i just want to love. finally. intrinsically. love.
08/13/2019 09:19 PM
* // drabble 002.
He puts his phone down, minutes after posting on Instagram. Restlessness still ebbs at his form as he lays there on his bed, motionless. Rumpled white sheets are strewn about his body as he stares, burnt umber mixed with ultramarine scintillating back and forth within his gaze, brewing it into the chestnut hazel that he's grown familiar with when looking in the mirror. His arms are resting behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling, ruminating, one hand coming down to run along the front of his figure, down his chest.
It feels nice to be alone, beyond the thick of it all.
He thinks this once his gaze has shifted over through the floor length windows of his Miami office, just beyond his bed and his television set mounted on the wall. The balcony door suggests a sense of privacy in the midst of all his music sourcing and DJing. They're only here for album press business.
He's had a brief moment of casting eyes along the sea line and horizon, but it just brings him too much space for introspection and the weight in his chest prevents him from lingering too long on the vastness and beauty that encroaches him every time he casts his energy outwards towards the sun. His mind five steps ahead of his actions, he already knows he's going to turn on his computer.
It's been one of those night.
He sits up, face rubbed over by his hand, cycling up into his short sandstorm tresses. Hair coarse with remnants of product, the ocean, stale alcohol, and intercourse. A sigh escapes, sheets tossed and legs swung over. The sound of bare feet scuffing against Milan vitrified off white ceramic floors is the only thing that can be heard. Out turned feet fall as he makes his way towards his computer, but then stops. He could step up onto the hardwood step the leads towards the marbled office enclosure. But instead, he shifts back towards his opened closet on the other side of the room-- remembers where he's stashed his new laptop.
Backpack retrieved, he's seated now ( lovechair ), silver laptop on his lap and thumbnail caught between bicuspids. He signs on, but it takes longer than usual. He has to double check his secured network, find his pre-programmed rootkit, assure his signal is bouncing from multiple internet towers first. But it doesn't deter him, the added protection for his safety. It's worth it, he muses, thumb brushing over his bottom lip now as he pulls up the desired website in question. Soon enough, the keys begin to clack.
Click to continue.
04/12/2019 10:37 PM
* // filming -about a week ago- vlog series.
Tucker: What do you want to achieve, you know, with being famous?
Colin: What do you mean what do I want to achieve?
Tucker: You know! Come on, tell them about what you were telling me last night.
Colin: Ah, dude... Making me show my feelings and sh*t. -Laughing, embarrassed and looking off but then runs his hand over his chest and looks back at the camera and shakes his head.- I just wanna love, man. I just wanna make music and vibe with people and have a good time. I wanna travel. I wanna see the world. Meet new people. Invite people in and bond. With anyone, mind you. I don't care who you are or where you come from, but if you f*** with my music, then I f*** with you. It's what I went to school for, it's what I want to give back to the world because music is f***ing healing, man. Music is such a crazy and unique way to be real with people on a level that's so far beyond just speaking to one another. Why else would it be so controlled? There's standards put in place, admittedly to weed out the try hards. But ultimately, if you believe in what you do, if you're good at what you do, and you have people around you that keep you grounded, then you're solid. I will never not tell someone to go for their dreams. I will never not tell someone that it's f***ing possible if they're passionate and honest in their hearts about it. I'm here to let them know that they can, and I'll do whatever I can to encourage them to take the reigns over their sound and make a statement.Like believe me, if I wanted just to rake in the benefits or power, I would work at some sh*tty corporate office job. Or banking, I'd be a f***ing banker or something. -A big laugh and a snort now as he holds onto his shoulder.- Like, I was an intern at a law firm. I f***ing hated it. I just love playing music, I love being entertainment, but I also like using the attention I get to spread a bigger message. I don't want to just be a distraction from the pain of the sh*ttiness on this planet. I want to make the type of music that wakes you up to it. I f***ing hate how depressed we all are, and how fractured our society has become. I don't f***ing deserve what I've gotten as a musician. At all. And I know that. But I'm white. I'm young. And I'm male. So, the world pays attention. And that kind of privilege is the kind of sh*t that I don't f*** with. I don't f***ing matter. At all. What are you looking at me for? Anyone, regardless of what they look like, who they are, where they come from, should be able to express themselves and be heard through music. They should be able to f***ing do it. No matter what. These standards make us feel like we can't just bust out and be ourselves and love people all the f***ing time. All I want is for the world to look over at the person next to them, and really focus in on the love and care they have for that person. Don't take that beautiful sh*t for granted.As for me, I grew up poor. Like dirt f***ing poor. So yeah, getting money and having the ability to do this is really f***ing new to me. It gets the best of me sometimes. It's f***ing wild what money opens doors to, and not in a good way. That's what's f***ed up about this entire system. It's comprised of competition, and jealousy, and keeping people divided so we don't pay attention to what's really going on. It pushes people to do all kinds of things that they normally wouldn't in order to play the game. And I f***ing hate that part of Hollywood so much. I grew up with rich kids that were completely destroying their Teslas in car racing for the f*ck of it and not like taking a minute to appreciate where they are or what they have. That's what I want to achieve. Is to unite people together. Whatever it takes. And I'll f*cking die trying, I don't care. -Big goofy laugh.- F*** it, right? Tucker: -Follows in with laughing from behind the camera.- Can someone die from too intense of a bass drop?
Colin: -Busts out laughing loudly.- I don't know man but you best believe I'm gonna f***ing try! That's it! Content right there! That's what I want to achieve!
04/11/2019 12:44 PM
* // saint paul interview.
Saint Paul’s seated in the room, just watching the interviewer. He’s got his features covered, figure silhouetted with angled lighting. Leaning back in his chair, he’s wringing his hands together. His thoughts are scattered, all over the place, and he needs to get them out before he forgets them. Hands run down his pants and he’s only a little nervous. It doesn’t show too bad, but he still takes a minute to take a breath. Flexes his palms on his thighs. He’s here. He’s able to be here.
Is it hard for you to keep a secret as to who you are?
The interviewer prompts him directly. No small talk, no bullsh*t. They’d talked previously about what type of interview it would be, already. He’d done so on purpose. Saint Paul didn’t like to be in one place for far too long so the more to the point, the better. The more intensity and visceral, the better.
He has a voice changer attached to his mouth, just under the mask he’s firmly wearing. “I mean, yeah. Especially because of who I really am. I think it’d blow people away. It’s not really expected,” he replies, slowing his voice down, too. He takes extra care to round his vowels differently. To pit the words in the back of his throat lower to change the timbre of how he speaks completely. The perks of secretly being a singer, amirite?
“Let’s just say I’m putting everything in danger for this. Everything. But it’s worth it to me to get people to wake the f*** up and change their lives. This is the person to person contact, man. What I do reaches people—but it’s cycled through Hollywood, through the media, through the expected ways of acting. It’s not real. It’s real, but it’s not real enough. I do what I do out on these streets to connect with people. And to get them to look beyond the bureaucracy, to understand that they can win the game. And take over. But I can’t be the only one to do it. I can’t be the only person that’s gonna rise up. So. Here I am,” Saint Paul recites, moving to slam his fist into his other palm. “Getting people believing. Getting people fired up to start a new world. One that isn’t full of bullsh*t and lies.”
Do you ever get frustrated?
“Hell YEAH I get frustrated, man. Do you know how much I want to yell at people nowadays to get off their f***ing phones and interact? But I can’t do that to people. It shocks their system too much. It’s too real. So I have to like coax people in and I think doing this art, making these kinds of messages is a way to tickle at it without overwhelming people. I want people to get a little taste and then f***ing explode on their own time. It’s not my place to tell someone how to experience inspiration and something bigger and more.” A beat. “Outside of yourself. Finally, you know.” And then a couple of honest laughs. “It can be done. And it can be awesome. You just gotta let it happen, you know. You can't force it. No way."
The interview ends soon after that. He's been looking around every time he isn't speaking. Always on the alert, always keeping an eye out. To make sure he's not about to get caught. Maybe he's overly precautious but he's not one to mess around when it comes to this. He knows how serious the messages he's been putting out into the streets are. The last thing he needs is secret service on his ass.
"Are we done. I have to go," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. The interviewer wants to ask a few more questions and Saint Paul gets up. "No, dude, I'm sorry. I have to. It's been too long. We'll get another minute soon." A gloved hand reaches out and bumps the proffered fist. He pulls out his phone to call his ride and makes his way out towards the back entrance. The cameraman with his camera follows close behind after that. He's putting a hand back against the camera’s lens, obstructing the view and murmurs Sorry, dude, you just can't get the plates of the car. You need to stop filming. And it all crackles to static, and then cuts out to black and ends.
Trust your instincts.
[ This blog post is private ]
04/04/2019 02:20 PM
* // drabble 001.
never admit any fault.
i look around, letting the objects of my surroundings sink in. the shadows of black are caving into the bookshelf, carving out pieces of it and then casting along the books. it turns into backdrop, though, fading out the moment my eyes focus on the condensation that slips down the side of the clear glass cup of water on the desk before me. it's sunset, the room already dimly lit in anticipation for later. they're prepared for a long interrogation. if you can even call it that.
the sound of the deep fluorescent light rings overhead as i breathe in and out evenly. i'm levelheaded and calm. even if my heart is pounding in my ears.
i know what i want.
i know what i'm doing.
i look up towards them and wait patiently for one of the three to speak. never admit any fault. that's what diego always said. and when it comes down to it, i'm not at fault, anyway. they are. they just haven't realized it yet.
so i smile and lean back into my chair a little bit. i pick up the glass of water and sip as i wait. i wait for them to open their eyes. i wait for them to see. i wait for them to get it. i wait.
i set it back down on the coaster.
i then fold my hands back in my lap as i let my leg jangle.
it's excess energy, nothing more, the frustration at this generation boiling in my bones. how do you get anyone to give a f***ing sh*t about anything outside their own selves?
maybe i'm a little nervous.
the secret service is questioning me about the hidden messages forums are claiming my music has.
what? the lessons in self worth and the abolishment of fear?
we can't dare to actually be fearless.
it has to come at a cost. or else we end up questioning...
we can't dare rise up and take action against a system that propagates owning things over the soul of a human being.
over grasping onto something real. a person, a being, a life.
not just any living thing though.
our own species.
really committing to the unity, the bond, the connection we are able to make with one another.
combining your soul with another person and truly giving a sh*t. about everything. and everyone. and carrying the weight of that responsibility and not running from it.
we're not taught about how needed that is now. we're not encouraged to do it. it's not something fostered in youth of our every day, no.
my leg stops jangling.
the man in charge walks in, a senior detective.
i lean my head back, catch his dark green eyes and he acknowledges that i know all about how this world really works. and it scares him. i don't want to scare anyone.
i just want to love.
"sup boys? i just had the best hot dog in town, you guys should definitely go check it out," i tell them.
GRAB. SMACK. THUD/SLIDE.
it comes in quick, the brick wall on my back when i'm thrown and the lack of oxygen in my lungs. the paralyzed nature of my whole physique causes me to moan out hard to try to contain it. i try to avoid it, to not feel it, to hold myself together. it's too much, though. too much for me to handle anymore and i grip at my chest to push myself beyond that euphoric threshold of pain. the more i make myself go there, make myself experience the gasping agony of getting the wind kicked out of me, the more i roll about. tears produce in my eyes and i wheeze out the noisy strangled pain.
it doesn't take me long after that to really start breathing. to get my rhythm going again.
i sit up slow, breathe in easy.
it's gasped, i know, but i turn my hands down flat onto the ground and push myself up.
dust myself off and walk back up.
i take a seat. and cross my fingers in my lap.
i know what i am.
and they can't do damn thing about it.
never admit any fault.
04/04/2019 01:45 PM
* // statistics.
Full Name: Colin Ford.
Nickname(s): Give me some
Date of Birth: December 31, 1989.
Zodiac Sign: Capricorn.
Place of Birth: Freeport, Maine.
Ethnicity: American. Scottish & French.
Sexual Orientation: Straight.
Romantic Orientation: Straight.
Language(s) Spoken: English, French, & Spanish. He spent a year in Argentina in high school due to a foreign exchange program.
Accent: He has a weird drawl to his words. It's like a weird northern east coast thing.
Face Claim: Andrew Taggart.
Hair Color: Dirty blonde, light brown.
Eye Color: Blue green.
Build: Dad bod athletic.
Distinguishing Characteristics: His massive underbite, LMFAO.
Positive Traits: Direct, loyal, straightforward, honest, supportive, strong, kind, charming, patient, relaxed, lighthearted, playful, spontaneous, fearless, adventurous.
Negative Traits: Reclusive, self depreciating, angry, anxious, impulsive, intense, seething, indignant, judgmental, arrogant, depressive.
Goals/Desires: To use his music to uplift and show people what it really means and how it feels to be fully awake. His music is his therapy. In his eyes, it's the solution to opening people up and getting people together for the right reasons. And to spread awareness of how the system of governmental oppression works. And that while we are trained to believe in a lulled sense of security, we really aren't all that secure at all.
Fears: Becoming inevitably consumed by the system.
Hobbies: Swimming, painting, traveling, playing the drums and guitar, singing, surfing, skateboarding, snowboarding, skydiving, swimming with sharks, hang gliding, taking pictures, snuggling with his dogs, writing, thinking about aliens, thinking about the universe, transcendence. Getting drunk and passing out with Cheetos on his lap. Secretly leading an underground cohort of anti-capitalists to fight against the government.
Quirks: He's literally the embodiment of a quirk.
Likes: Woke people. Artists. Creative discussion. Existential conversations.
Dislikes: Capitalists. Economy. No, that's a lie. He doesn't mind that. He hates how weak humans are that they allow a system of governing controls people, instead of the people taking ownership of it and controlling it themselves. Using it as a tool, instead of a means of finding worth.
Father: Mark Taggart.
Sibling(s): Melanie Taggart (Younger sister). Carter Taggart. (Older brother).
Pet(s): Buddy Taggart. Rolf Taggart. Stanley Taggart. Shelly Taggart. (All dogs).
Lucas Taggart (Older cousin).
Hogwarts House: Slytherin.
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