Kern Carter's Blog, page 81
November 5, 2021
November 4, 2021
Editor Picks — Our Favourite Posts On CRY
Slight change to how we’re going to do Editor Picks. We’re not timeboxing it anymore. Where we would previously choose our favourite posts from the week before, we’ve decided that time is nothing more than an illusion…kidding.
From now on, though, we’re choosing the pieces that resonate with us most, regardless of when it was published. It could’ve been this week, last week, or last year.
That said, let’s get into it:
KernMy favourite post is “The Girl Who Made Me Read” by Gustavo Mendez. This is a love story—with books, with literature, with life—and you know love can be turbulent so expect some bumps as you read this story. Favourite excerpt:
I feel broken, worn down, damaged. Rage spills out, it hurts us both, but still Carmen helps me. I meet her daughter, she meets mine. She works so I can quit the call center. I get a part time, go back to school. She tells me to prioritize myself, pushes me to pursue my goals. Whenever she can, however she can. She’s an angel. She’s my angel.
I’m in love again.Safia
I really enjoyed reading “When People See More in You” by Jayson Kristopher. It’s a story of the internal battle that many writers face as they meet the crossroad between pursuing their craft all in or focusing on another career that guarantees paying the bills. This was my favourite excerpt:
It’s been ten years since I decided not to pursue writing and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought, “What if?” Thankfully, I never stopped writing. My google drive is filled with colorful stories just waiting for the right canvas, and there isn’t a notebook in my presence that doesn’t have scribbles of prose, openings, and poems. I’m a writer; I always have been and sometimes, I need some reminding.[image error]
Editor Picks — Our Favourite Posts On CRY was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Why I Left The Study Abroad Program JFK Attended
Prestige fogged my windshield glass, blinding ambition flashed images in my rearview mirror, and denial prevented me from moving forward.
Sunday Morning
Photo by Chris Liu-Beers on UnsplashIt started on a Sunday morning.
That feeling, that slow-burning feeling. The emotion that — depending on how the next 24 hours went — would either encapsulate the seats of seraphim or the iron-clad bars of hell.
I breathed. An action of trying to feed my body, nurture the only thing I was capable of controlling, of feeding, of growing. I breathed and as the oxygen filled my brain, I felt it grow too. That’s the thing about toxicity — it feeds off the good.
There was a long list of things I had to do today — buy some groceries, get another extension, and most importantly but least desirable — check that he was okay. The sick leading the sick, the blind leading the blind, the barely capable leading the completely incapacitated.
There was a knock on the door, I answered it.
The dog's bowl was empty, I filled it.
My pot plant looked dry, I watered it.
And all this time I waited. I waited and watched. My very eye sockets almost turned around to catch a glimpse of the internal. The internal that would so greatly affect the external.
The light from my window refracted. Reflecting a million possibilities and a million things I was capable of. I just hadn’t known it until now. I didn’t have to go to the grocery store, I could do something more meaningful. Something that would once and for all show the world what I was truly capable of. I could help the world. I could lead the people. I could help the world.
“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”. The two percent of my brain that was aware of reality began to plead that some higher being would listen, hear me, and once and for all silence the voice in my head that was telling me that I was in fact it.
“Oh God! Oh God!”… I am God.
“Oh heaven, oh Mary”… I am in heaven. I was born of Mary
“Lexapro! Degranol! Lithium!”…I was too much of a God for them to handle. They were trying to silence my powers, mute my greatness with things meant for the truly unwell.
I had to see him today. I had to heal him. I was a God, he was just sick
[image error]Sunday Morning was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
