You just wait. I’m going to be the biggest Chinese Star in the world. – Bruce Lee

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Good evening. My name is Kendall F. Person, creator of The Neighborhood and host of A Star is Born. It has been a while since the Artists – also known as the 2015 Best Performance of the Year Nominees – have taken to the underground’s biggest stage, so we wanted to give them plenty of room and freedom, to deliver the type of performance, worthy of a Star Turn.

Each Artists was given the same 3 tools: Voice * Images & Words. How they spun their tools, using only their imagination and their craft, was completely up to them. Summer Rose lost her voice, but I think you will find she was crafty in how she made up for the loss. No particular order – VOTING BOOTH LOCATED AT END OF PRESENTATION (VOTE UP TO 3).and now I will get out of their way.

A Star is Born: Round Four – Star Turn

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Being able to express yourself in an art form is such an amazing feeling, especially when people start to enjoy seeing it – Summer as Indestructible 

Indestructible

Indestructible

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Ever read a short paragraph from a good article, done with words that seem to melt together to form a hint of perfection; An almost astonishing symphony that leaves you wanting more; One word after another slowly unveiling the pale grandeur of the ever twisted, yet sane human mind. This same words could be turned into moving pictures, but this words seem to be perfect the way they are; words with no intentions to describing a tangible universe. It’s just mere words strung together in perfect harmony. Something I refer to as “cool” creeps in; “I was born to do this”. But at the end of the day I discover that; life would always be demanding, regardless the wishes and big dreams we keep gathering. Whether you are a widely successful writer, an aspiring author or just a man with a dream.

At every junction leading to the post of “happiness”, it’s easy to figure out we are just ordinary inhabitants in a society that requires us to keep building for the “them” more than the “us”; A society that always wants ‘positive’ results even when it clearly runs in the hamster anti clockwise wheel of productivity;a society where one job can never be enough; and the individuals within its confines, pick as many job as possible, so as to they all could flex the muscles of that overrated fiscal power, which ultimately makes our dreams and passion slip down that priority list.

I ask myself; Shouldn’t I accept that process of growth, that time span; where I evolve into complete beauty; that magnificent masterpiece ; celebrated by not just myself but by the world around me. That point where we see all instant gratification as useless ‘cos there is always work to do. I don’t think I can possibly come to appreciate what matters to me, if I don’t spend much time with with it. I am just hoping you share in my “silly sentiments”.

It’s a fact; there would always be the hard and ugly times, the tragedies and unlucky days, the pain and bitter melancholy that defines our different moments. But the wise ones use this period to create ‘alone time’, even in the most crowded of places. Building defined articles and essays with every piece gotten; unknowingly answering questions of a deprived few; this writers do have dreams of their own, they look for a future that would be completely defining; so they face their business squarely.

In those little alone time; we bleed and cry and demolish and rebuild with only what’s available. As a writer, I figured life is an experience, more like a journey; so I take my time to be clear about my dreams, not getting carried away by the fact that his present day existence is an inspiration to people he has not met and might never meet.

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Perspective

What it boils down to is perspective
A personal point of view
In a world of interpretation
Individually, we get to choose

Head down that beaten path
Fail to look left and right,
And you’ll be knocked on your ass
Cause it’s never black or white

Veiled in the obscurity I can see
A world of mystery and intrigue
Gaze beyond your instincts, I plea
Please rid us of the evil insanity

Might we observe from another angle
Catch the light, so that it can shine
Brightly, illuminating all its beauty
That implores in the restrictive confines

Then it would seem almost apparent
The eye of a storm respects her space
Never to drown the pink petals inherent
Serving her with dignity and grace

In the wrong light she’s badly perceived
Within the realms of what we each choose to believe

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“Mrs. Lemke, you need to rest.”

“No.” I whispered as I stood above my baby.

An unnatural shade of blue light splashed over his tiny body and reached out to the ends of the room. Nothing escaped it’s grasp.

“Rest, please,” the NICU nurse pleaded, “he’s alright.”

My voice was edgy as I snapped, “Then why the fuck are we here?”

Convinced I wouldn’t be sleeping, she left the room quietly.

I moved my chair up to the tiny clear box that held my son.

I sobbed as I sang to him and held his hand.

His body was covered in wires and the doctor had placed blinders on him to protect his eyes from the phototherapy.

Alarms blared, filling the room with tension. I quickly checked, my son’s vitals were stable.

The alarms were coming from the monitor of the little girl next to us.

The nurses flew into the room and began working on her.

They finished administering medication to the other baby and carried on as if nothing had happened.

It was time for my son to eat, they said. The nurses began shutting the lights down, plunging the room into darkness.

He was delivered to me as we sat by the nurse’s computer and they prepared a bottle of pumped milk for him.

As I held him, he opened his eyes to look up at me. They were a darker shade of yellow than they had been when we arrived.

“I thought this was supposed to get rid of the jaundice?” I motioned to the lights as I became hysterical.

The nurse, Patience, came up behind me and held my shoulders as I wept.

“It will.” She said, “It just takes time.”

I sat there for hours, rocking back and forth and staring at my 3 day old baby.

This couldn’t be real, I thought. How could this be real?

The sun rose outside the window, penetrating the room with light.

I stood by the window and watched the rest of the world keep moving, without us.

I don’t remember much of the following days or when we were discharged.

I know I fought for him, and I know he survived.

But part of me didn’t.

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