Mass Fan Fiction Updates Continue :

Hi Hi Y’all

As promised, here is the next flood of updates for the fan fiction/ web novels on the site.

Harry Potter: Reformated + addition of three new character profiles -> Autumn & Mina , The Beauty & The Crow / The Story Of Dragons

Chapter 2 in the new Legend Series !

The Originals: Reformatted the messy draft to give you a proper Chapter 1

AND

Orginal artwork from the amazon @Eymbeeyo will be on that series page soon!

LASTLY

An idea for a web novel has been updated on the site: The Otherworld Crazed Witch Isn’t Crazed At All with its first Chapter!

I.L. Knight

9fd

Wolves – Selena Gomez

 

Back Pain & Why Tattoos :

Hi Hi Y’all,

I know more and more I talk about chronic illness. It’s not meant to just be a purge, a kvetch or a notice for recognition. Lately, my flare up have just been getting worse and longer. All the advice doctors gave and the awkward hard to explain moments just seem worse. More then ever, I am just tired. So very tired…

A friend of mine is coming up to visit me in April and I am so excited to have someone see where I go to University and be an understanding friend. I had been debating when ( and more importantly) where to get a back tattoo I have always wanted.

When I was a kid I was obsessed with Yakuza movies, samurai movies and ronin movies. I loved the traditional colorful tattoos on them and the values that seemed to come with them. As I got older, learned more about what it meant and how it was perceived I didn’t want such a large piece anymore. For awhile, I thought about abandoning the idea completely.

Then I got my diagnosis and I started to reconsider. What eventually solidified the desire to get the tattoo was this increasing problems. My drugs are increasing and surgeries that seemed far off seem sooner and sooner. More and more I feel like I am missing out and that I’ll miss out on things even more in the future. Weighed down by everything around me and having it all be unseen is taking a bigger toll on me. I can do less then I used to at the moment and no one really sees it or understands it. More and more I have to come to terms with being seen by the average person as a ‘disappointment’.

It’s these things that make me stop caring about some of the things I used to. If I feel like life is short and changing so much for me I have to at least do the things I enjoy? A giant back tattoo or some crazy visual representation of all my problems probably won’t do much for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stick to aesthetic and feel as if I did something to show it.

My back has two curves and a tiny hump on my neck. At the top of my spine there are signs of bones thinning and possibly going to fade away. As you got to the bottom of my spine fusing has started, my hips are out of place and my legs are now two different lengths. None of this can be seen or understood unless I give up and say I want to walk around like Quasimodo so people notice me. That is always going to be the reality of my back. Anything from now on won’t be seen.

I like small minuscule and thin lined tattoos. Normally, I don’t want color and just want simple black. I’ve known since I was small I would want tattoos that represented ideas that meant a lot to me in life. Knowing this it isn’t hard for me to know what sort of tattoo I’d get on my back.

At the top of my neck, I would want in thin black lines Vegvisir. Vegvisir is one of the most popular Nordic charms. It wishes for the person to never lose their way in storm and bad weather even if the path is unknown. I don’t think there is anything more symbolic of everything going on then that. However, there is one more reason. My great grandma’s mother was a Swedish Orphan. She had come to the U.K. and met a Spanish Jew. They married and moved to the U.S. Apparently, unlike her husband and the efforts she put into now being Jewish and raising Jewish kids she never gave up her belief system. She was very very very Christian. I’m talking crosses and bloody Jesus pictures everywhere sort of Christian. Yet, there was one thing that my great grandma remembered seeing even when she didn’t know the name of it until I told her: Vegvisir. In a legacy where only food and some old myths managed to be passed down, my great grandma could vaguely in her dying times remember seeing Vegvisir as a child. Now how could I argue with that? Jewish or not, my great grandma read me Nordic myths as I was growing up, joked how if it was true Odin was 100% cooler than Zeus, and how we were meant to be tough because it was just in our blood. I’m traveling rough waters right now and maybe that means it isn’t just about being Jewish, but remembering all beliefs that helped create me.

Underneath Vegvisir is the real highlight though. Running in small thin lines will be the I Ching and its 64 changes. For a person of my aesthetic and weirdness (and love for Asian culture) what is better then 64 line patterns each symbolizing a different part of early understanding and divination? Nothing. Seriously, nothing at all. My life is certainly one of change and phases, of fortunes and dis-fortunes, and of joy and sadness. These line patterns will follow the crooked path my spine takes all the way to my tailbone. Maybe it will seem funny to some, but to me it’s a little part of the truth. And when these inevitable surgeries come, the scars appear on my back and the fight through new types of pain begins, I have marks of it all. Little lines that exist as part of scars and as part of the journey.

Going through all of this has taught me that living behind a mask is no longer something I’ll really be good at again. My body demands of me the truth. It demands that I grow past the angry cynical jaded girl I was when I was young and try to find the joy of life. It tells me that it will not tolerate lies and will only tolerate truth.

Don’t I have to do it then?

I.L. Knight

P.S. Odin really is way better. Norse > Greek everyday <3

Vegvisir

118bb4986d85cdbd2a7772c617d3b31d

I Ching

61tgwP5WRbL._SY679_

Pagan Folk Music – Vegvisir

Am I Missing Out? :

I had just finished locking up the store I work out at night and I was passing the collection of fellow students in the lobby of my building. They were dressed up for no reason, laughing, chatting, and wondering what last minute plans they should make. For the first time in awhile I wondered if I was missing out.

I spend a lot of time trying to remind myself of the positives that have come with my life changing so drastically and so quickly. I have grown up, became a more understanding person, learned a new sort of strength, learned to love myself, learned to take it slow and learned to to speak out when I feel like someone should. I do all of this because it’s too easy to get pulled into the bad. No one wants to get stuck in a swamp of negativity.

However, I don’t think I am reminded of the bad. Maybe, I think I am reminded of the sad part of nostalgia. When I see them I am reminded of how I remember being. There were a lot less fears and a lot more risks for the joy of adventure. I could stay up as late and as far as I needed too to keep the thrill of it all going. Everything around me I wanted to experience. It’s so different to how I am now.

Now, I am a person who fights anxiety and fears about leaving my home to be a part of the world again. I am a person who makes lists on what I’ll need and where I can find things in case of an emergency. The odds are weighed before every move I make because it feels like that is the only way I can live. The silly little things I used to laugh about feel like scheduled in hassles.

I have gotten over not being able to remember how I used to be. It’s natural for people to change. Seeing people my age though like that reminds me of parts of myself I didn’t know I missed. I never thought I would miss being foolish, or jumping before I looked where I was going, or making mistakes because I had no idea what was going on or loving to be outdoors to feel the wind on my skin. I was someone who wanted to experience it all and dreamed of going everywhere. When did this change? When did I think that it was okay?

I know I am a different person and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Seeing them though reminds that I have let myself miss out. I have become so wrapped up in trying to stay on task, do things well and manage the unmanageable illness that I forgot to just do the things I like about life. I’ve been forgetting to live. I was letting the pain get to me more then I realized.

I think next weekend I am going to go to archery. Maybe I’ll go to the dog park near my apartment or to a cat cafe in the city. Maybe I’ll even just go for a walk.

I think we need to enjoy life again. What’s the point of being a warrior unless you are fighting for what you enjoy?

I.L. Knight

tumblr_n2quv2kUXm1slyj6ko1_500

Traveling Song – Ryn Weaver

 

On Confusing Heritage : Getting Reacquainted

So seeing that Jason Momoa video also kind of reminded me of an interesting point. Jason Momoa’s step daughter Zoe Kravitz (can’t do accent for some reason) is of mixed heritage. They all are. Zoe’s mother, Lisa Bonet, comes from a Jewish mother and an African American Father. While Lenny Kravitz comes from a Jewish father and an African American mother. Jason Momoa himself is Caucasian and Hawaiian. Putting aside the obvious sub point that most people make that mixed kids are beautiful it reminded of something more personal.

You see, Zoe Kravitz admitted growing up she didn’t have connection to her African American heritage and identified as white. Now, she is interested in reconnecting with that side of her roots. Personally, I think it is a wonderful move on her part, because it is a part of who you are. But it also confuses me. Lenny Kravitz identifies as Christian when it comes to religion. I’m pretty sure Lisa Bonet identifies as spiritual, drawing from all walks of life for inspiration and understanding. But I don’t understand 100% of that decision.

People only like to admit being of Jewish descent in situational moments like this, when they aren’t religiously Jewish in some article. However, the religion of Judaism is separate from the ethnic background. It seems like although raised within the Jewish religion they gave up on their ethnic dies. As Lisa Bonet and Zoe Kravitz are technically by Orthodox standards ‘Truly of Jewish decent’ due to their matrilineal line. So why then is there this seemingly disconnect with that part of their heritage? Sure, in America the Jewish community is looked down upon by other Jewish communities for a lack of spirituality, but we do embrace our ethnic ties in some ways.

It makes me think about my own family. Where things are a little confusing, because it was some secret that wasn’t supposed to be brought up that we weren’t ‘truly of Jewish decent’ based on our religious affiliation. You see my grandmother’s heritage gets very mixed as you go back. You draw in many european and asian ethnic groups such as: Spanish, British, Swedish, German, Mediterranean, a few different Eastern European groups and my favorite the apparent Cossack Russian. I mean my grandmother was only Jewish, because her Swedish Grandmother married a Jew of Spanish/British decent. Her mother then married a Jewish man of seemingly German, Russian and Middle Eastern descent (all Jews claim the traits of their Middle Eastern ancestors sticking within them). My grandmother married my grandfather who was ‘truly Jewish’ by his Austrian and Polish descent. My mom in her rebellion married a Canadian of Scottish, British and French decent (from what I know). Yet, with all of this somehow I was still Jewish. Being Jewish was so hard core pushed on me I found little ways to reject it. I defined it only as my ethnic background, I didn’t go to hebrew school and certainly didn’t join in the community service groups. Temple was an only Yom Kippur thing, because I believed in fasting. Jewish was my ethnicity. It was the only thing I could embrace: not being white. I wasn’t like them. Now, I look back on it like I was even more stupid then people told me.

A couple of years ago, I went to Taiwan to live in a monastery to explore my growing interest in Buddhism. The experience was the best thing in my life so far when it came to becoming a person. It’s funny, the more I involved myself in the community the more I would read books on other Jews who explored Buddhism. One of my favorite authors is a woman by the name of Sylvia Boorstein. Who asserts her Jewish beliefs through Buddhist daily life practices. It was fascinating. The dots of this not connecting until someone who lived with me made an awfully racist comment about Jews. Suddenly, I was compelled to take up arms that I was a Jew and would not tolerate that. Then he pointed out that most of us aren’t ‘truly of Jewish descent’ by our own standards. And gosh dammit, why was he fucking right. Two things happened in that moment: (1) somehow I understood what Sylvia Boorstein was talking about and how I was rediscovering the Jewish religion through the lens of Buddhism and (2) I truly cared about my ethnic ties. It wasn’t just I am not white anymore, because in truth I was.

How could I miss that? I am so far from the Jewish stereotype people still ask me what I am doing for Christmas. Even liking Adam Sandler surprises people. I had to take a hard look at myself, because I lived my whole life by not being another white person. In truth, I don’t think anything I ever did up to that was about the Jewish religion. It was just my cultural upbringing. Then I remembered it wasn’t the only part of it. You see there was a trickle down effect of the smallest things that clung to my family like a desperate plea to remember. Times of Swedish dinners passed down by my great-great grandmother, stories of Norse gods and Russian fairytales, Yiddish and German in the household, and nights going to hockey games because I was Canadian. Looking back on it now I find it funny. It was like I did exactly what young Zoe Kravitz did. I embraced something because that was the environment at the time.

I truly respect her choices when it comes to exploring her heritage, but it still confuses me. It’s like a part of it seems to be overlooked. How could you do that? I mean I had to admit to myself I was a white person. I was mixed, by everyone’s standards. No one said anything about it, because I was pale. Only saying I was annoying, because I suddenly realized I want to identify as mixed. Like the right was not mine to say.

Their comments just made me place more importance in reconnecting to the heritage that was still passed down. It was a part of me that I had to now embrace and accept. I just don’t understand why in her interview with the press that never seemed to come up. Both African American and Jewish ethnic ties are her makeup. Seriously, she runs a high risk of health problems, because of us so it might be wise to know that.

Wonderful choice, but a choice that makes me feel slightly wrong and empty. It was another person not realizing that Jews are an ethnic group and Judaism is a religion. They don’t always go hand in hand. Why not think about that too? I try to now. I left my sheltered South Florida bubble. I wish more people would too, because at the end of the day it’s not about religion. It’s about recognizing who you are and accepting it as a joyful thing. Ethnic descent is a part of that.

Zoe Kravitz brings up my own confusion. Even though I know nothing about her personal journey. She could feel connected to it by all means. Yet, I am confused. If you seemingly deny it then I am just another American talking about not ethnically being American, because my great-great-great-great grandfather was Irish. I mean, ethnically no one is American except actual Native Americans. But I get the whole it’s kind of hypocritically, because we are so patriotic about our countries some times… But I don’t think I am a part of that. Parts of of these ethnic ties did survive in horribly understated cliché ways.

I am figuring out what I am separate of my religion. The food I eat, the stories I am told as a child, the music I listen to in the background, the dances I saw my family dance aren’t about religion. They are the backbones of culture itself. So while I am figuring out this confusion and watching others try to figure it out let me try to have changing opinions of others who may have similar confusion. Maybe let me have a temporary tittle of ‘mixed’ even?

Life is confusing enough now a days. Why make someone else’s life harder by being like that? I just want to figure out what it was like for my grandmother to Move from Sweden to the U.K. How did she bring British culture and Spanish culture into our lives. How did Russian stews survive, a barely spoken European language or a fondness for fermented fish and Lingon berries become an iconic part of who I am. It’s not much. It really is only a trickle down effect.

But in all the confusion I have as a person, I grasp on to it as a lifeline to a steady foundation. It is a part of me…. So Jason Momoa, the Kravitzs and anyone else out there struggling with confusion. Hold on to the confusion, because its changing viewpoints will help you grow I think. You are not one thing or two. You are just the combination of all sorts of things. And you will have a solid foundation at the end of it all.

I am still trying to find answers, but now I understand just a little bit more of myself… Thank You my dear loved ones (´・` )♡ .

I.L. Knight

67eb1e4ac9085ae9f03ca8d255a6fd47--manga-girl-manga-anime

German Cradle Song

I am Building My House – Joe Crone

In The People’s Republic of China – Ella Jenkins

Accidental Racist – Brad Paisley Feat LL Cool J

The No-Pants Day Phenomenon

Today’s my first ever No-Pants Day. I know this, because both sound and light are apostles of the Anti-Christ and my head feels like an animated movie scene where the Looney Tune is going up and down on the concrete, because of an uncontrollable jack hammer. Unlike my No-Pants Day phenomenon it has been awhile since I’ve had one of these… Still, I’m not writing to dwell on the desire to bash my head through the wall. Oh no. You see for the strangest of reasons I find this No-Pants Day phenomenon somewhat exhilarating. So much so, for the first time in ages I want to write again. 
My first thought is back before all of this. Before the self discovery. The existential crises. Before the physical pain and before the utter recognition that I have descended into the realm of madness completely. I used to be a runner. Not a good one, but I was still one. I used to love to fight as well. One strike. One moment of clarity returned to my scattered mind. That was taken away from me. “Momentarily” of course. Still, I was in shape and I hadn’t even known I was.
I thought I was chubby. My biggest insecurity: legs. All I wanted was the Heroin-Chic/Mod/P Pastel Goth type of body frame. But no matter the actions I took I couldn’t change the fact I had muscular athletic legs. Mother Nature’s choice of body frame was set. My insecurity was worsened by the fact of my over conscious recognition of being un-balanced. Asymmetrical. Short, curvy frame, minuscule features, legs and arms that are “occasionally” different lengths, because of joint issues and detrimental Pride issues. How could I love my legs? I wanted legs with not just a thigh gap, but nothing on them. I wanted tight jeans and over sized tops. All I wanted at the time was to look somewhere between drug addict and tough. Silly I guess. But people are silly. In the end, I still don’t really like my legs.
On this No-Pants Day I feel the occasional rub of the legs touching and I want to be shot in the head. It’s awful. The feeling of skin rubbing against skin…is a crime. Like someone is poking me with a hot rod. But still. I haven’t put on pants. I once went twelve days without pooping and had to be hospitalize. During that time I still fought for the right to wear pants. So hard in fact that I had won against both the doctors and my own discomfort. 
Honestly, I am writing partly due to the shock of it all. Why not wearing pants is a phenomenon that after months of pain makes me feel something again. I wanted to laugh… but that’s still gone. It seems like I really don’t have that option, so I tried crying. But that didn’t work either for me. And what seems to be working is on my bed with a fuzzy blue blanket, a blue gel pen, a yellow paper lined notepad and an old TV one season show playing teen drama in the back ground (The Tomorrow People). Sound… Egh.
A year ago I wanted to write a book. A sequel of sorts to a book I’ve yet to finish. The first was to be called Eating Matzot Under the Bodhi Tree. It was a collection of things resembling essays when all my new problems began. I was on the taster course and wanted to find inspiration again. Turned out I had the chance to leave the continent for the first time and go to one of the places I’ve dreamed of: Taiwan. It was pretty fantastic. Although, when I returned I soon developed a bitter regret of sorts as an after taste. I immediately wanted that feeling to be a sequel collection. An after to returning to the real world or real problems down the mountain.  The name… Finding Valhalla. Totally different sounding right? I’m sort of awful like that. But it had the feeling. I could feel the bitter regret. 
Right now, I’m wondering if something like a strange exhilaration of wearing no pants is something that would be a part of that sequel collection. It’s not like in the two years since I had the idea I’ve really written anything for it. The problem with bitter emotions is it stops achievement and emotional inspiration. Hard to write with that dilemma. Yet, now I am? Isn’t something like this perfect then? I should have a moment of recognition for the phenomenon of No-Pants Day?
Finding Valhalla was sort of a different kind of Ode for me. Being in Asia with a group of foreigners made me think a lot about my ancestors. How I’ve always perceived myself as Jewish and part of a bubble like community of South Florida. But that wasn’t all I was. A part of me grew up with passed down Swedish traditions. Very little at this point. Most of it centering around food and random stories…Yet, just as lingonberries are apart of my breakfast no matter their mark up price, so was the idea of Sweden. 
Then I thought about school. When we learned about the Greek Gods for a year and everyone had opinions. I didn’t really have that attachment. I wanted Odin. Why is it only the Greeks and Romans? There exists so many others. And they all seem to teach different things! When I was very tiny and wasn’t watching old Yakuza flicks I read mostly Norse and Russian myths. What I discovered was an unhealthy enjoyment of Baba Yaga and a weird morality lesson from Valhalla. Within those pages I got a sense of understanding of my place.  What I’m supposed to feel in my final moments. That’s how the name and idea of bitter regrets connected for me. Not only was I no longer doing anything more then existing I seemed to lose sight of my personal path towards Valhalla. Especially, since warfare (even if I probably couldn’t exist within that society at this point) wasn’t how the world operated anymore.
This No-Pants Day phenomenon makes me double back to that. That feeling of striking out. Like I’ve swung a hammer against my own personal foe and have landed a scratch it will remember. Bitter regrets? Yea, I have plenty? Insecurities about my legs? You better believe it. Unending battle against finding my place in a world that is increasingly difficult for highly intelligent but conditioned to be a nervous dog within society? Yep, still in full swing. But somehow…Even if I haven’t really done anything and am I pain I feel as if I’ve swung my sword for the first time in ages. Like I get better end then Biorn did by almost getting to the point where I have the choice of running away from Judaic-Christian Fatality. 

 

This moment aside, I will certainly not make this habit. I intend to still be a pants sort of person…
I.L. Knight
kuroko-no-basket-3328271