Blue Monologue

Part of the problem comes from a lack of understanding of LGBT identities. Before the 19th century, there was little to no awareness of LGBT identities, and even in the present, misconceptions are extremely pervasive. Same-sex attraction was classified as a mental illness in the United States until 1973 (apa 1). Censorship in media—LGBT characters are often inherently viewed as more “adult” than other characters—has also been a problem. While some characters were able to slip past censors in early years, the Motion Picture Production Code, a law created to censor films, quickly ended any references to LGBT characters. More commonly known as the Hays Code, the code policed subjects considered to be too inappropriate for audiences, including “sex perversion, or any inference to it” (Motion 3). Yet even after the code was no longer in effect—it was only in effect from 1930–1968—the issue of LGBT representation prevailed. Allen Young, a gay activist and writer, comments, “When I was a young person…the words ‘gay’ and ‘lesbian’ we're almost never in the media. It was like we didn’t exist…if there were any gay people in the media, they were usually either villains, or portrayed as clowns, or tragic figures” (Young 1). The lack of positive, diverse representation that non-LGBT characters received was not granted to LGBT characters. Although

The horn has already sounded and I’m still running. I can feel my blood pulsing in my ears. The sounds of useless advice feels the air. I continue to run. I come across a cave and ran into it. I gasp in shock and as I walk into a lab filled with mindless people editing videos. A film crew rushes at me and says, “If you were able to be in Divergent, which character would you be?” I shake my head in confusion. I attempt to back up slowly, but they grab me and place me in front of a computer and yell, “Edit!” The slam the headphones on my head and everything becomes a blur.

When I was a little boy I accidently became inductbly know I save the city.The people now call me Cation Blue.When im saving the city I wear blue cause its my

“The gun is too old, it’s going to misfire,” mused Stanley as he fingered the trigger of his pistol. It was a small and weak gun that had been in his possession for many years. “I’m too nervous, I won’t be able to pull the trigger, let alone aim this thing,” he thought to himself in horror, his apprehension wreaking havoc on his nerves.

So the FCC won't let me be or let me be me so let me see

I wish I could pull myself away, But you’re almost as bad as nicotine. You’re a drug that I fell into, And can’t drag myself out of. I just can’t quit.

The sky is terse as if it were painted cobalt blue, a hymn to life. I'm walking with uncertain steps to the TLC, wrapped in a woolen cloak like a witch fallen victim of her own spell. It's one of those days; a tiny homunculus of the caves, survived the ice age, is relentlessly punching my right eardrum. The view is blurred, and I can barely walk straight and conceal the anguish that overwhelms my reason whenever the damn caveman gets out of bed on the wrong side.

Jamal woke up in a dark, dirty, damp place. He was in a room with another unconscious or perhaps sleeping man. Suddenly a light turned on and two men in suits stood the entrance of the room. One pointed at Jamal and said, “The kingpin wishes to see you.” They left the room and Jamal followed. They entered a hallway filled with similar rooms, not a trace of sunlight in the whole building. Then they entered a massive room with hundreds of miserable people doing slave like work. They were manufacturing illegal narcotics and it appeared to be against their will. He kept following the two suited men until they reached a massive, decorated door which they opened. In the room was a throne made of dollar bills and a tall, muscular man rested upon it.

Damp orange leaves stuck to my shoes as I trudged my way toward the back entrance of the school. A chilly wind whooshed past me, spraying my face with vapor. It felt good, almost numbing. Shoving my hands into my jean pockets, I then began to think of the red book. A tingle of warmth spread throughout my body as I recalled the way my fingers had glided over the embossed gold design on the cover. The gold always seemed to glitter when it touched the light; it was worthy of admiration, praise. As if suddenly slapped across the face, I came to my senses. Daydreaming about a book, especially one that was that was supposedly inherently evil, was not normal behavior. That was such a random thought, think about something else Jared, I scolded myself.

The only sound I could here was Zac’s footsteps going down the stairs. It wasn't to long after he quietly came rushing up the stairs.

Perhaps I am not drunk enough to get this sufficiently down on paper, but I am here now, come back to something which only I must endure on my own. I listen to your songs and feel as though they may be an insurmountable hill that I shall not ever find peace upon again. And oh, how they once brought me comfort and knowledge. But if only I could have had just some parts of you, the music would have been one of the best. From your songs and albums I have learned more of you and your enormous soul and love than had you ever spoken the feelings aloud. Then from the cacophony of your heart’s truth set to tune, we stumbled upon a few melodies with which to call our own- songs invented purely for the two of us. Now, in the aftermath of what has been real, I cannot fathom to listen to the Yellow Songbirds no more. In all of it and for what ever must come next, I am afraid that I will never be able to hear some things again without a shiver of pain and remorse.

“Sister Catherine! You have failed!” A voice boomed aloud as the a chair hung in midair with a frightened nun that sat on top. Without a warning, whatever was holding the chair in place was gone, and it crashed onto the floor. I quickly covered my eyes to hide from the horrific sight. The woman was surely dead and I did not want to see what was remained of her. Alice, a friend I made on my trip in France, started to scream and cry. I pulled out my phone to call the police while trying to drag Alice away from the scene. I told the woman on the other side what had happened and in no time, the sirens of the police were heard.

My life was flashing before my eyes, I was realizing what was happening death was coming. Cold and stillness filled the room while the feeling of death started to overtake my body it was a different feeling but it had to come. My limbs felt heavy and I thought real slow everything was slowing down. Just then something odd happened like nothing I ever thought some sound came into the room an annoying buzzing creature.

Just give me a chance, She said as I packed my things, But I already did 4 times, don't you remember? I won't blow it again, She said with her fingers crossed,

I can hardly think of a worse place to be tonight. Once again, I have to endure the company of a fawning bunch of pretentious pricks, quaffing on complimentary Cava and talking bollocks. Don’t get me wrong, I have a deep appreciation for the arts and especially photography, I’m a photographer myself, but the stuff on display here looks more like a bad sixth form art project to me. In all honesty, I’ve seen more artistic promise from my six-year-old, than this bunch of clueless bedwetters. The exhibition brochure they’re passing around boasts a collection of some of the finest talent in British contemporary art today, so I should being feeling privileged, but you know what? I’m not, and what’s more, I couldn’t care less for