Expression Through Bad Poetry:

Hi Hi Y’all…

Returning home is always a tough battle for me, so I think I need to express my feelings through some pretty bad poetry. It is an example of some of the longer more thought provoking poetry in one of the next works I’m editing: Confessions Of A Teenage Poet. Don’t worry though, the book is a mix bag of dark, humorous and some just plain silly.

My Mother Is Abusive

My mother is abusive-

it’s not her fault.

She never intended to be-

Life just had environments

And Conditions.

My mother reminds me of pain-

And shame, rejection and rage.

She never intended to-

That I’m sure of,

But that’s how it’s been.

My mother doesn’t see-

I think we live in two realities.

She never meant to say the words,

But natural reactions come out

And the damage is done.

My mother once walked in-

On me being molested.

She never asked me what happened,

What was happening,

But she asked them.

It was natural

For me to be the ‘wrong’.

She intended to say

I was shameful

And embarrassing for her.

When I told my mom

About the rapes

The first response was-

“It’s not my fault.”

“You never said anything.”

When my health declined

And I had to learn

How to be disabled

I was over dramatic and excuseful.

Her pain was real.

When I gained weight

I was truly failed.

She wanted me to feel shame

For not being what the world ‘intended’

Or what she did.

My  mother often says

That growing up

Means changing everything

About me and what I want.

I mourn in silence.

I don’t think

Se’s a bad person.

I think she has so much

Love in her heart.

But it’s a heavy pain.

My mother is abusive-

Because she has helped

Me form these scars.

I Love You, Mom.

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Alyssa Lies – Jason Michael Carroll

 

So Much Work… Please Stop In :

Hi HI Y’all!

I have been giving up on the few precious hours of sleep I could possibly have to send you so  many updates this weekend and this upcoming week. SO MUCH. Just to give you the general rundown there was the addition of STARWARS and Soul Eater to the Fan Fiction page. Plus, DC Comics Outlaws was updated~~~ AND the super secret forced podcast I was made to do started this Saturday ( on the crowsnestco.blog ) For early access to any of these I shall remind you it’s just 1$ on a month on my patreon (https://www.patreon.com/ilknight )… Which you will notice had been updating like craaazy~ And will continue to do so as I have already ready to post stuff for Chronicles: Slaves of Desires and Confessions of a Teenage Poet which haven’t seen the light of day anywhere yet. So first access will be a thing for sure!

Please enjoy guys~

I.L. Knight

P.S. I’m actually working for a company that’s looking for bloggers, writers, illustrators and editors if y’all are looking. Just DM me~

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Busy Man – Billy Ray Cyrus

Patreon & More :

I’ve spent hours on the computer today. I wouldn’t be surprised if my eyes started bleeding from how much computer work I did… Most of it is on the back end BUT

Lordy, there has been so many updates on my Patreon….that isn’t even about if you love anymore. For one dollar you can literally see so much. So. go. please. see. it’s a dollar.

AND… Know somewhere in the back of your mind that COMING SOON =

The Crows Nest Co

&

Knights Publications

The Crows Nest Co is a site that will hold quite a few podcasts on it and the FUTURE MERCHANDISE OF SO MANY THINGS YOU WILL WANT TO BUY!

While Knights Publications is going to be the stop you will want to make if you intend to self publish!

I.L. Knight

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Money, Money, Money – Mamma Mia

Flash of Inspiration :

Hi Hi Y’all.

It turns out being over tired and hungry are a powerful creative force. Somehow, I came up with an entire draft for a new DC Fan Fic series, but strangely based on John Constantine. I’m posting the idea draft to see if anyone is interested.

Draft

I.L. Knight

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John Constantine’s Superhero Origin

Semi – Productive When Sick :

Hi Hi Y’all…

*cough cough*

So, I am super sick today and have not left bed. BUT I tried to be productive about uploading to make up for things. Here is an update flood!

First, we have three new chapter of American Horror Story Fan Fiction!

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Second, we have an old long poem I forgot to add to the site!

The Pyre

Third, we have a chapter update for my Marvel House of M Reprise.

Marvel Chapter 4

Lastly, we have my first drafts of the first three chapters of my Originals Fan Fiction.

Chapters 1 2 3

That’s probably, most likely, maybe, going to be the most you get out of me this weekend.

*Cough Cough*

I.L. Knight

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Alone – Marshmello

I Know It Seems :

I know it seems like I’m open,

Like a house with no doors

Or a window jacked open.

But that’s simply not true.

It’s simply a joke.

I’m nothing but closed

Like a house with no windows

Or a door bolted close.

I present myself simple,

Because simple is best.

Simple clothes, simple goals

Just a little simple less.

At the end of the day I’m simple no less,

But a girl waiting wanting to be blessed.

NF wanted therapy,

Joyner wanted change,

Lil Dicky just wanted to change the game.

But all I wanted was my life to change.

For it no longer to seem like a losing game,

Or a session that’s ended with more therapy

And not a thing of gain.

I know it seems like I’m open,

But all I am is a eulogy unopened.

I.L. Knight

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Therapy – NF

Ruining My Happy Place:

Whelp, I moved houses. And this new house has been super great, it fits every box for a warm happy home that is conducive to living a new chronic life. An added bonus: it is next to the Japanese gardens in my town. It is a great place I love to just sit in silence and like find some time to myself and be around nature. It is a happy place for me in a town that has historically not been so happy for me.

AND THEY RUINED IT. THEY FUCKING RUINED IT. THEY RUINED IT FOR ME SO BADLY I CAN’T GO BACK FOR AT LEAST A YEAR, SO I CAN GET OVER HOW THEY FUCKING RUINED IT.

First, my grandmother went around the gardens complaining how the price of entrance and how it was a money trap. Which she emphasized when she saw the mini shrine statues where people were leaving change as offering for luck. When I tried to explain they are mimicking what is done in Shinto shrines SHE LAUGHED AT EVERYONE. I may make fun of a lot of people, but even I try to respect spirituality… It got even worse when she kept taking water from various water stations in the park only to constantly spit it out and insult it… THEN END THE TOUR BY SAYING LOCAL PARKS ARE FREE AND PRETTIER….

My Aunt decided to remark in her loud New York voice and persona at every single person who passed us and politely asked us to lower our voices. It is a majority silent garden where people come for peace. THERE WAS NOTHING RUDE OR OFFENSIVE FOR WHAT THEY WERE ASKING. I mean everyone in our family was quickly walking through the gardens anyways without looking. What was there for you to stop and talk about.

And there is my mom. My lovely, sweet All-American, blonde cherub of a mother. I WILL NEVER ALLOW YOU IN A PLACE THAT IS IMPORTANT TO ME AGAIN. Forget trying to share common interests, forget having a simple basic conversation with your daughter. Forget all of that! No matter how much you are frustrated with me, UNJUSTLY FOR A WEEK STRAIGHT OF TORMENT I MIGHT ADD, you don’t say stupid fucking cunty shit.

First, you call me dirty, disgusting and belonging in the woods in the morning, because I changed from washing my hair from everyday to every other day or every two days. A thing that I was doing, because I NEED TO FREAKING HEAL MY HAIR THAT IS DAMAGED. Oh no, you don’t stop the day there. You enter my peaceful refuge and in the middle of a crowd of plant appreciating people yell that I am fat. That my trainer, who by the way if you listened your daughter at all in any conversation is there for helping me regain atrophied muscle and mobility, is failing because I look like shit. OH AND LET US REMIND OURSELVES HOW I AM A BITCH, UNWORTHY, MONSTER, COLD, LAZY, STUPID, ETC…. person in front of this now gawking crowd of people. Then follow me off into a side path to scream at me for not meeting your ideals as the perfect fucking daughter.

And even after all of this. I still feel like crap, because you know what. I entered a state I haven’t been in years! I blacked out for a moment. I didn’t see anything or know what I did. I only know that I felt myself falter and try to regain my balance. But I could tell what I did, I gave you a light kick to the back of the leg to shut you up.

Something I can’t even take satisfaction in because, (1) it is wrong to lift your hand to anyone in that manner, (2) it occurred in a state I was not in control of and (3) YOU DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING SHUT UP. No, the only thing that happened is me self reflecting in the car ride home. Remembering the one and only ever time before this something like this has happened…

I was around thirteen. Our problems had been escalating the last year or two with your insanity getting worse and my general emergence into puberty… Bullying in school was getting worse and I myself was sinking deep into something I wouldn’t yet have a name for. I was in the kitchen making breakfast as I did every day for you, even if I knew you were going to not eat it and throw it out anyways. What the fight about I can’t remember. But I will always remember that feeling of blacking out and coming back into yourself only to see a surprising a result. A result that you instantly wish was satisfying, but has the complete opposite effect. At the park, it was kicking you. Back then, it was the sight of egg dripping down your face. I had cracked them on your head… A surprisingly creative thing though.

My favorite place was ruined for me though the moment I made that connection. It would be a place where I was brought back too one of my worst memories. A time when I was so out of control, because of my feelings, I literal lost myself. It made me realize it’s not just pain, hurt, guilt, sadness I have for my family. There is a large boiling cauldron of resentment that doesn’t want to just stay in the pot anymore.

I kind of wonder now… with another place leaving my list of safety zones where I can go to escape everything. Where can I go to calm my mind or get rid of a migraine…

I sort of wish Ukiyo was as true as the stories. I could bend down right by the edge of a pool of water and reach out towards a reflection…Where I went or what the place was didn’t really matter. It was just disconnected, separate, more realistic than a fantasy, but still yet a fantasy.

It would be a completely different world… wouldn’t it?

I.L. Knight

 

 

hotaru-no-hikari

Japanese Instrumental

 

 

*The picture has a cat in it o(≧∇≦o). This almost a perfect recreation of what I wish for my retirement.*

Les Misérables :

I think I was sort of lucky. G-d was giving me a sign I need to put more effort into my social life again. A friend I met a first year, who I haven’t talked in like three years, messaged me to tell me she had an extra Les Miserables ticket and would love to catch up. If that ain’t a sign for something I don’t know. So it was fun. Let’s give a crack of review.

Here are the entire list off the cuff nicknames I have for the first half:

Why You Gotta Mashup

25 sec A Song A Thon

Rush Rush Baby

Character Ain’t Singing That Now

Glee Version

I Am Seriously Not Getting Invested

A Spin On A Classic Ain’t Always Great

We Know Les Mis Is Long. Ain’t Need To Be Short

To put it shortly, as much as it is impossible to do bad at Les Miserables there version stopped me from getting invested in it the way I should. That being said… The second half was completely different. No longer were they shortening songs and trying to only sing parts of songs. We got the full songs. The epic moments of a failed revolution and love…I could finally start getting invested again.

To absolute delight I got my On My Own Moment. It was all I was waiting for the entire night. It has been my favorite song since I was a kid (tied with God Help The Outcast of course). It was also a song I had forbade myself to sing in three years, because of my last memory attached to it. It was an ironically scenic night, a beautiful black lake, a nice open bench, a clear view of a sere starry sky, and the perfect amount of breeze when I heard the song. No matter how bad my voice was I just had to sing. There was pain. A new meaning of the song attached to a very unhealthy love. It made me committed to not have that memory when I left for college. I was after all committed to not having anymore attachments. It was wonderful. Thank you to the talented cast.

Also, thank you to production. You allowed me to become absorbed enough to cry my eyes out at the enviable tear rendering, heart piercing moment, of the death of our beloved Jean Valjean in the church. I was never that big of a fan of Cosette (let’s be real I wanted Eponine to not die and find love, because her life turned out much worse than Cosette’s). However, you have to love that moment. The way the story comes to fruition and finds it denouement. It made me cry for something wonderful for once.

I think the best part of this play came after though. As a rare Montreal night became something even more special. The nice silence of a late night in the city. The rare moment where the snow in Montreal is high enough and clean enough to sparkle as if embedded with crystals. The perfect cold breeze to uplift you as you walk the three blocks home. The conclusion of walking with a song you haven’t heard in three years. There was the perfect serenity to On My Own. There was no recall of sadness or an attachment. It was just a warmth I had when I first listened to the song.

I think tonight was wonderful. It was like someone pressed a refresh button on me and said you know what you can be productive and learn.

This is the power of plays. Of Les Miserables.

I.L. Knight

eponine

On My Own – Lea Solanga

On My Own – Movie Version

A Topsy Turvy Day :

Here’s the thing:

 

I can’t help, but write about my health. It’s one of those things that becomes an all consuming void…pride? Relationship in your life? Still, after 2 years I somehow have not managed to accurately explain it to anyone. The frustration of it all. It’s invisible, you know! You are a child about it, you know. You look fine. You must have anxiety? Must not be able to handle the stress in becoming an adult in a modern world? You’ve adapted your mother’s issues. Damn it all, man. Damn it all. How do you explain something that no one will ever be able to see. Except, when you have black circles under your eyes from extreme lack of sleep during a flare, or a rash from your skin deciding it likes to have temper tantrums. Even then. It’s all fixable with some magic cream prescribed by a doctor. The wondrous marvels of modern medicine.

Anyways, I’m not here today, not present in some form of anchoring, to rant about the invisible pain in my life. Well, not that specific pain or any pain to be exact. I’m strangely here to talk about something good. Shocking, I know.

Tuesday, I faced a massive amount of apprehension about walking back into a school environment with an unsupportive Uni and professors who seemed to hate me for taking a medical leave due to becoming unable to walk properly. Hence, the equally invisible frustrations. Anyways, back to the point. I somehow did it. I survived the anxiety, left an hour early to walk up a giant hill at eight in the morning all without having time to do my morning stretches. I was a fat robot who struggled for an hour to get to a class I didn’t even know I could do. I mean, I was totally out of it. I had stayed up till 4 am the night before to do the readings I was supposed to do for the first day of class. It was a riveting set of film theory on studio films and how it applies to the development of cinema in China. News flash, it was another sense of fetishing the ‘Oriental’ as somehow being a child like country that white people loved to look at as enticing. A conspiracy of a Lolita reenactment going on as some sort of expected lens. Feh. White people. Although, it isn’t really fair of me to say that…considering even my insistence on a Jewish ethnicity can’t cover up the fact my bastard of a father I’ve never met before is as white as you can be. A good old U.K./French mix that made its way to Canada to only end up as a wannabe redneck in South Carolina. Apparently, a yellow pick up truck and a lucrative business in drugs was quite the enticing offer back in the 90’s.

Man, I’m really rambling on about all of this. I don’t know its like something is stuck in my head. Tuesday, was good though. I knew the professor very well. Three classes checked off on the list and it wasn’t hard to guess what his rambling was leading too. I had already learned he loves analytical metaphors, over zealous vocabulary and a hint of alliterations. Not that it is necessarily a bad thing if you have a writing style like mine: unorganized, spastic and completely dependent on the poetics of another fucking person. He’s a pretty great professor. Maybe that’s why the success in the class could only make me feel good. Not special. Not self assured. Not anything other than good. I had simply taken a step back into the stress pot of education at a pretentious Uni I hadn’t completely faltered on my first day. Yep, this invisible suffering outwardly bitchy female was doing good.

But Wednesday man, this day has been more than good. I fucking got away with only doing half the readings, falling asleep during the film screening and being completely silent during the actual lecture. I even saved enough coffee in my cup after 4 hours to be able to walk home. Ah, I hadn’t mentioned yet. I went to bed at 4 am on Tuesday. A friend I really need to keep at a distance due to her all consuming ability to extend everything to be about her self and her timeline made sleep impossible that night… I’m sure you are wondering, if you actually take time out of your day to stop by to this blog, how then did I seemingly do more than good? Well, not only did I never have this professor and she most likely heard terrible things with my somewhat destroyed reputation within my department, we managed to have a delightful conversation after class.

Part One a refreshing acceptance of the fact students can have disabilities or problems that you can’t necessarily see on their fucking face all the time. Even managing to ask what I might need during the year to make class actually be put on the same level as everyone else for me. Riveting, I tell you. Absolutely a fresh experience. Well known Unis’ often suck monkey dick.

Part 2 though is where I somehow managed to hit the nail on the head. I asked her about a simple sub point of a debate I had once back with the Professor from Tuesday about the difference between Modernism and Modernity. I told you over zealous and pretentious vocabulary works every time. Although, I happened to not agree with the insistent pop up of the word modernity everywhere. In case you don’t know the difference let me explain. Modernity is like a transitional movement where a culture or location goes from sort of point A to a point B. The transitional frame is colored in the ideals of Western industrialization and Western dipshitting around the East. Got to make people wear suits to reflect that they have officially entered into a ‘modern’ society. Modernism is not that. It is like the distinct choices one makes most likely within modernity to reach this point of ‘Modern’. An example would be the person moving from traditional work attire to a suit in order to display the new status of the individual within the society. Wow, even I think I sound smart reading this back… Too bad I’m not.

It was a total rip off, in a sense, of the fact Tuesday’s professor is crazy about the ideal and on Tuesday I watched the film Shadow Magic which is about the emergence of film in China. Told through fictional lens of course. Naturally, then I could pull out some off the cuff analytical bull crap about the locomotive movement of the story displaying an upward movement within society was actually a display of modernism and not modernity. The guy was going from the country side to an upcoming area of Tokyo. Now wore a suit to work and over the film was shown with foreign goods increasing around him as the plot went on. Modernism. The decisions made by a character within a transitional point of a narrative style of film.

I mean, the side readings were also annoying as hell. Western critics and their fetishing of the ‘Orient’ literally looks as the introduction of early film in Japan as some unique cultural experience. It’s really not that unique. Not for the people there. Think about it. Traditional forms of entertainment started as some form of silent moving spectacle that was than enhanced by a spectacle of music and a narrator to draw attention back to the silent spectacle in the background. So now the ‘silence’ was coming from tiny squares. No need to cause some pure film debates within society over it. Media changed not your cultural standards. And saying it was being used to police the environment? Please, whether it is the modern NHK or back in the age of Imperialism, Japanese authority has always used popular media to persist structured ideals within the common populace. It’s not even a unique Japanese method. Most states do it. Making an emphasis on how controlling it is, because now the films had more directly stated organized structure of social mannerisms versus cultural ideals isn’t a great argument. It’s annoying. It’s being over analytical to the point reaches several moments where people need to shout at you to just stop. An apple can be an apple. It doesn’t need to be a solid Cider or a solid juice…. My analogy sucks. Never mind.

Damn. I really did leave that class on cloud nine though. It was like someone handed me direct proof that I can actually do this. That brain fogs and a struggle to be the student you used to be was not an inhibition. Oh no. I was right to take this challenge upon myself. I was a fighter destined to grow beyond my family and past life experiences. Even if I couldn’t remember when the dynasties were or the names of the movies I’ve seen I could still recall the beating heart that made me fall in love with the Asian continent. A lack of words to portray it or not. My ties to the continent were a life link in the blood and in the marrow. I couldn’t help, but smile on my way home. Try to call every single one of my relatives and tell them I got this, while I felt the light breeze of an enjoyable cool Montreal winter day. The world was alive and full of colors and I had hope to be apart of it all. To not just exist anymore, but to find a way to live. I know it was awkwardly optimistic of me. I didn’t even mind that much that the same friend showed up twenty minutes late to our appointment at the office of student disabilities and then made us go to her coffee shop and suddenly tell me at mine that she didn’t have time, because she actually had a class. Strangely optimistic. I normally don’t get over things in the way of my morning coffee.

Here I am. In bed. Still, slightly feeling the remnants of this wonderful Wednesday and of the new Boruto episode this week. Still, a part of me knows that my struggles have just begun. That a large part of me will remain invisible and un-understandable. That I have a higher statistical chance of not meeting this challenge and finding acceptance of myself than actually succeeding. I most likely won’t get the summer internships I need, because of my Uni being a dick and money makes the world go around. Study Away? FEH. Who will get approved for that. And god forbid if I try to lose the weight from NOT BEING ABLE OT MOVE FOR LIKE 4 MONTHS.

Fun fact. Did you know there is like no fat people in Montreal. Not even among the foreign students? Yet, here I am getting looked at because I am now one size away from having to shop at obese stores and all you can look at me is like I AM FUCKED UP AND EAT TOO MUCH. News flash. I gained my weight from a dead metabolism. I actually don’t eat that much and struggle to move. Yet, I can’t scream it at the top of my lungs. I’d sound insane. And in public. I am a good southern girl. I smile as best I can and not be caught with the matches. However, do trust that I definitely have those matches. As the same friend mentioned through out this point does lovingly refer to me as being a bitchy cunt who is a horrible human being. Well, it was my joke in the first place. Can’t necessarily blame her for that.

Here’s the take away of all of this:

  1. I am still strangely optimistic; although, it has returned to be mixed with extreme apprehension.
  2. I forgot I have no classes on Thursday, so maybe I can catch up on sleep and go the gym. *snicker*
  3. I still desire a semicolon tattoo on the side of my wrist, because I am fucking idiot about trends when it comes to messages. Especially when they are ‘poetic’.
  4. Intj are actually the coldest people in the world and Intp are the warmest robots…. I am Intp.
  5. All hail Slytherin and HP rps.
  6. I have legitimately no real friends in Montreal and should probable commit on improving myself for once.
  7. Can you fail a paid community French class?
  8. If I get to Asia I will definitely feel worse about being fat. Partly because I’m American and that can be an annoying stereotype to be labeled with. I already have to fight hipster and weeboo, because of dumb people.
  9. I don’t know anything in life. Not really.

So, before I go to sleep I need to watch the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Because some article informed me Jewish women were wonderful representatives on female representation and anti-discrimination within Hollywood at the Golden Globes. I didn’t even see the award show. Although, I saw Natalie Portman’s quip. Fuck yea. Ani ohev et Israel. You kind of cause a lot of problems, but you gave the Jewish community Natalie Portman. By the way did you know the Jewish comedy lead actress isn’t Jewish? I mean, she sort of looks more Jewish than the Jewish actresses that get cast more often than stereotypical Jewish images, so I get it. You can be a MOT that brings the hammer at the Golden Globes.

I fucking love crude comedy,

I.L. Knight

P.s. I have listened to Joseph King of Dreams and The Prince of Egypt way too much today. I might have to re-compartmentalize my internal angst.

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Demons – Imagine Dragons

 

** The singer is my brother in Chronic Illness warrior training. Respect.**