I love Bernie Sanders. LOVE Bernie Sanders. I've loved him since 2016. I love him still.   He  won Nevada yesterday. That's three  states in a row. Bernie can win. I believed so in 2016, and I believe it now. 

​During this election, I've now contributed twice for a total of $37 dollars. It's the best use of  $37 dollars I can think of. He's a man of the people. His slogan is literally: Not Me. Us. He's the only consistent candidate, the only decent human being  in the race.

I believe this country can improve with Bernie guiding us and inspiring us to be better. Medicare for all is not a pipe dream, it's a basic human right and a real possibility.  Don't believe what republicans or centrists or even what Joe or that piece of trash Bloomberg have to say. It won't be an easy transition, but it's possible, and it's necessary.   

Please, if you're still on the fence about who to vote for, consider voting for Bernie. Do your research. I promise you, he is worth it. 

Here are a few videos you might want to take a look at:

CR

Hi there. I just wanted to pop in and say thank you to the kind gentlemen that replied to one of my essay posts. This was unexpected. I've never gotten a real response on my site before (besides the constant spam), and it came at a time when I was feeling absolutely terrible about myself and my life. Not to say that anything is particularly better now, but I am working on myself, as we all are constantly.   

So I just wanted to thank you, Dan, for my first real interaction on here. It's extremely cool to hear from a fellow Alumnus of UIC.  And congrats to you for winning the same award! If you ever see this post, please reply with a link to your blog! I'd love you read your essay :)

​CR

Thanks again!

A short snippet from my first draft/zero draft:

​      Her mother stared at the ground where bodies lay by Pólemos’ bare, blood-covered feet. She’d been dancing. It wasn’t her talent, but the sight had sparked a sort of joy that she could not contain, and so she’d danced around the dead, celebrating the beauty. “War is not an art, my child, this…” she started, “this is madness.”
      “War is an art,” Pólemos sighed. “Perhaps even more so than Terpsichore’s dancing or Melpomene’s acting. How can Polyhymnia write her hymns without death, Mamma? Without war? I have finally found my purpose. My craft inspires creativity in others. Can’t you see, Mamma? There can be no beauty in this world without darkness, no light without horror.”

-CR

She sat on the shared deck and admired nature’s beauty, the pouring rain, the sun piercing through the gray. Only days ago had she learned what this phenomenon was referred
to as. The Haitians called it the Devil’s rain. She didn’t know for certain why but thought it had something to do with the mystery of it all. How could the sun be present as rain fell? It had to be a miracle or one or nature’s great jokes, or perhaps it was the Devil’s work. But she didn’t believe in the Devil or anything of that grand mystical scale. Yet, she pondered the possibility. Perhaps the rain represented darkness while the sun represented light. They say the Devil is a fallen Angel, perhaps that imagery is what the Haitians were referring to, or perhaps not. Who knew? There was a sort of 
beauty in not knowing for certain. A delightful mystery she wasn’t in the mood to explore further for the time being. Perhaps she’d do the research someday, but for now, the blissful ignorance and the scent of the rain were enough. ​

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  -CR

Captain’s log:
 
​It’s been seven days since the world ended. Seven days to bitch and moan about how it ended. Someone religious once told me that the ends of time would be by fire, and they were right. Fire and Blood. That’s how our world ceased, abruptly and horrifyingly awful. Who knew the end would be so disappointing. Years of progress, years of development, all down the drain because of the two trickster gods that fooled us all. Damn them. Damn them to the darkness to which we now cling. Our souls damned with burning knowledge; knowledge that will haunt us to the grave. It has been seven days since the world ended, and I am not ready to move on. I cling to the anger because it is my only friend, a beast to control as I cannot control the other aspects of this life, this dreaded nightmare I cannot seem to wake from. ​

But, I want to thank the tricksters and their minions for the experience of having this world, without which I may not have become the person I am today.

Just checked on my site since I've been neglecting it for a while, and I'm seeing these weird stats. Why is a post from February 2016 the top viewed right now? Did someone link that post somewhere? I guess it's weird to be complaining about blog traffic, but I just find it strange to see it suddenly   pop up again. Thanks for dropping by here I suppose. :')

01.31.18

A blurry photo of the eclipse around 6:30am

I've come to the conclusion that fantasy is the most difficult genre to write simply because there are no limitations. You have to create limitations and rules, and then you have to remember all the rules you've set. Then maybe you decide to say "screw the rules", and you have to start thinking about limitations all over again. It's exhausting. I don't know what I was thinking trying to take this challenge on.   

​Goddesses help me.