Regeneration

REGENERATION

Spring 2021

Letter from the Editor

Dear Reader,

Thank you for supporting our work throughout the past year. Despite the uncertainty and concern brought by the pandemic, our staffers spent countless hours writing and creating to spread the message of Black unity and liberation. I greatly appreciate the collective effort and drive coming from our staff, and I owe the contents of this magazine and it’s success to them.

I’d like to extend my gratitude to UCLA Student Media Director, Doria Deen, and the Communications Board for their support, advice, guidance, and camaraderie. As the year culminates, I am honored to congratulate our senior staff members on their graduation! It was an honor working with them, and I know they will continue to bring creativity and greatness into the world. As my first year as editor culminates, I move forward with more knowledge, more guidance, and more inspiration to continue the legacy of Nommo Newsmagazine. I am honored to spend another year as editor and eager for the prosperity and growth of our work. I hope that our words resonate with you, reader, and that you enjoy the beautiful work presented in the coming pages.

Leilani Fu’Qua Editor-in-Chief 2020-2021

Nommo News Magazine is published and copyrighted by the ASUCLA Communications Board. All rights are reserved. Reprinting of any material in this publication without the written permission of the Communications Board is strictly prohibited. The ASUCLA Communications Board fully supports the University of California’s policy on non-discrimination. The student media reserve the right to reject or modify advertising whose content discriminates on the basis of ancestry, color, national origin, race, religion, disability, age, sex or sexual orientation. The ASUCLA Communications Board has a media grievance procedure for resolving complaints against any of its publications. For a copy of the complete procedure, contact the publications office at 118 Kerckhoff Hall @ 310-825-9898

Nommo celebrates the energy of resurgence and rebirth in our Spring Issue, Regeneration. Taking the form of a literary magazine, the Regeneration Issue focuses on Black people’s relationship to Earth, environment, and reimagining the past and future through the lens of Black literature and art. Stylistically inspired by the Afrofuturism and Afrosurrealism movement, this issue interacts with artistic and literary content from the past, including poetry, music, folklore, and Black experience in order to reshape modern understanding of our connections to Earth and existence. Too often, the ways Black people interact with their environment is influenced by colonial and capitalist narratives that become internalized and perpetuated in our daily lives. This issue pushes for a reconsideration of those terrestrial connections within its pages, as we remain critical and curious of how the works of the past influence the future, and how the works of the present reflect our past. The existences of slavery, redlining, environmental racism and capitalism are generational and persistent, and we must not be ignorant in realizing their continuous impact. By reconnecting with our roots through recollections of the past, we remain dedicated to reimagining a future where Black people live harmoniously and at peace with our Earth.

Contents

A Door to Uncertainty

Roots of the Industry Plant

Dawn Richards Reimagines New Orleans

From Sirens to Serenity

Notes on Earth in Lucille Clifton’s Poetry

Reshaping the Black Life

The Woman with Fire for Feet

Featured Staff

Leilani Fu’Qua | Editor - in - Chief

Kristal Ombogo | Layout Editor

Allison Scott | Senior Writing Editor

Mary Sutton | Writer

Hannah Mashresha | Writer

Kamea Taylor | Writer

Natalie Baltimore | Writer

Lauren Brazile | Photographer

a door to uncertainty by Mary Sutton

once a world where an open door was a welcoming gesture, now a world where a closed door tells a cautionary tale. new rules keep us away, but it is an old fear that keeps us locked in. after all, we lived in a vast suburbia where everyone was familiar, everything was fine, and everywhere was safe nowadays, anything outside of that is strange.

it feels wrong to say that… “born in different places, stuck on the same boat, going the same direction,” when the truth is that we are stranded. we have been stranded for so long, stuck on a deserted island paying parasites for survival while predators watch over us, policing our every move as they withhold the solutions to “unprecedented” problems.

countless times have we tried to escape and our success, while significant, is subtle in comparison to our most fatal failures. at least to some, but not to me, because for every few people we lose to the cold, someone ignites a fire. for every few people we lose to the heat someone finds an oasis. for every few people we simply lose, someone wins. but is that enough? for now, maybe, but as the ocean continues to rise, how much time will we have until our island is submerged in these dark and mysterious waters? only time will tell, and so far, i feel seasick as shoulders brush up against me in 10 foot aisles, the stench of chemicals in my tangled hair. the front door keeps sliding left, then right, then left, and everything is strange.

roots of the industry plant by Hannah Masresha

You’ve heard this label thrown around. You see an artist rising to fame. You look in the comments. You scroll and find the inevitable comment disregarding their talent and prospects to characterize them as an industry plant.

The exact definition of “industry plant” is ambiguous. Urban Dictionary says it’s an artist who creates a “pseudo organic” following by presenting themselves as “home grown.” Other’s claim the artist doesn’t need to claim they’re home grown, if they rose to fame being heavily backed by record labels -- they’re an industry plant. Although the concept of an industry plant isn’t inherently bad, it’s thrown around like an insult. It has a similar connotation to “undeserving” or “privileged.”

It’s an attempt to tear down and invalidate the successes of an artist.

The blurred lines between who is an industry plant makes it Twitter’s new buzzword. When H.E.R. recently won her GRAMMY, Twitter went wild, calling her an industry plant because her father is famous. On top of H.E.R, Willow Smith, Lizzo, Chance The Rapper, and Lil Nas X are some Black artists who have constantly been labeled as industry plants. To counter the hypocrisy of the label, artists have challenged the negative connotation behind being an industry plant by admitting it themselves. In April 2019, Lil Nas X publicly tweeted “hell yeah i’m an industry plant and what ya’ll gone do about it.” Within a single tweet, Lil Nas X completely shattered the agenda of the internet to try to “expose” that he and other artists are industry plants.

The problem lies at the expectations this internet agenda holds for artists. There exists a false narrative that an artist is “relatable” only if they paved their own path to fame. In today’s time, paving your own path is virtually impossible, and artists like Lil Nas X are unafraid to call out this imaginary utopia. A major music label will always be behind your favorite artist. Those who blame the artist for fulfilling their dreams, rather than music labels for monopolizing the music industry, is the exact effort of the big companies attempting to hide under the radar. The finger needs to be pointed at the system, not the people.

This rings true especially when this industry plant label is targeted at a Black musician. If you’re Black in the music industry, the cards are already stacked up against you. For music fans to criticize and invalidate any Black musician when they receive appraisal for their music, whether it be through awards (which we are already at a disadvantage with receiving) or sales, is a low blow. Belittling Black artists for their appraisal should be rerouted to uplifting them in an industry where representation is sparse as is.

As we head towards the future of music which will continuously be evolving and growing, there needs to be a reconsideration of whether the “industry plant” is as serious of a matter or if it targets a specific demographic. Or, we can place our worries on more important topics, because in the end, music is just music, and Black artists should be appreciated for sharing their music as a marker of Black culture.

dawn richards reimagines new orleans by

The New Orleans-born and raised musician Dawn Richard pays respects to her home in Second Line. Second line parades in New Orleans are an embodiment of Black celebration through music and dance. There are no choreographed steps for participants but rather mere dancing for the sake of being present in the community.

Second Line was produced, engineered, choreographed, danced, and written by folks from New Orleans. Richard’s choices in the creative direction were incredibly intentional to ensure a record that would do New Orleans justice. Second Line is a beautiful collection of soundscapes and visuals that showcase the importance of cultural production within Black spaces.

Richard says that the album is “post-apocalyptic New Orleans.” The album cover features an “android” illustration of a Black woman in gold armor. Traditionally, second line music has a foundation in improvisation, the iconic New Orleans style brass bands. Yet this album is quite progressive—it’s a fusion of electronic dance music, funk, grime, and any genre you can think of. These broken genre boundaries epitomize Richard’s refusal to be confined to a single label. Second Line comes together perfectly when considering the album’s intentions and this sentiment of “genre-blurring.” Her use of “electro-revival” in contrast to traditional second line jazz works beautifully to highlight Black women as the images and the sounds of the future. Richard says, “So the world wipes away, and the first image you see are these Black girls.”

Allison Scott

“Bussifame” is the album’s most popular track. It begins with Richard’s mother narrating. She explains what a second line is, saying, “a second line is a dance where everybody is happy, and they’re doing how they feel.” It starts with a consistent flow of high hats and an iconic synth progression. The music video features Richard and six majorettes in gorgeous indigo amidst this “deserted” world. Movement to the beat of the music is central to second line. With the importance of New Orleans culture central to the theme, I thought the connections between dance and geography were remarkable. In dance and movement, the feet connect the rest of the body to the earth. The earth is grounding and gives us strength. At the same time, the rhythms and vibrations we create with our feet echo through the lands we travel on. Second line is the heartbeat of Black New Orleans culture and communities because of this intersection between the dancing and the music. Richard’s choice to use an all-New Orleans native creative team for this project comes full circle. The concept itself demands an authentic and vibrant understanding of the culture. The album’s focus on a more electronic or dance sound also reflects how the landscape is constantly evolving, especially for Black folks.

Black communities hold on to rich traditions while also allowing these traditions to remain in the cultural production process. Richard’s previous work speaks heavily on her experience in the music industry as a Black woman and feeling “boxed in” by her color. The album speaks to this wholly while also touching on the unique Black experience entirely.

from sirens to serenity by

Mary Sutton

Ispent the majority of my childhood moving around San Diego, California, and in the last 18 or so years, I’ve experienced the different environments that it has to offer.

I lived in several nice neighborhoods with resources nearby and I currently live in one called Rancho Peñasquitos, a white suburban area in the northern region of San Diego, where I’ve grown accustomed to daily walks and weekly trips to nearby shopping plazas when I’m not on Zoom. My previous residence was in Skyline, a predominantly Black and Brown neighborhood in southeast San Diego categorized by a lack of resources, fifty-year-old houses, and a surplus of city noise.

I made many good memories during my time in Skyline, but I often compare it to living in Rancho Peñasquitos, which brings me to question the differences between the two areas and how they came to be.

According to the United States Census Bureau, San Diego has a population of 1,423,851, making it one of the largest cities in the United States, with many residents of Latinx descent.

Following the Latinx community is the Asian population (mainly Filipino), many of which moved here for the military. Black people make up the third largest nonwhite population in the city at around six percent. After the war, the racial demographics of San Diego’s neighborhoods changed during the White Flight, a period in the mid 20th century when the white populations of urban cities moved into suburban locations.

This created a race spectrum in San Diego in which the African-American, Latino, and Filipino populations concentrated in the lower regions of San Diego, while the white residents moved up north. High schools are a prime example of this impact.

Schools in the southeastern portion of the city contain mostly nonwhite students, the dominant ethnicities being Latino, African-American, and Filipino. Niche, a website that reports on the quality of schools in the United States, has an average rating of B- for the major high schools in this region, with an average C+ for academics. By contrast, many high schools in the northern districts are predominantly white, and according to the same source, they have an average rating of A+. Additionally, schools in Southeast San Diego lack funding for extracurricular activities and renovations that high schools in the northern regions have, which is evident from the lack of performing arts activities and unique elective classes.

Racial demographics is not the only indicator of the impact of segregation, however; dining, entertainment, and recreation are factors affected by the socioeconomic divide. In Skyline, for example, the neighborhood is mostly made up of fast food chains, discount stores, and small parks, unlike Rancho Peñasquitos, where there are many shopping centers and sources of entertainment. It is fairly difficult to travel through the area, as well; the houses rest on a cluster of hills and the roads often have potholes or cracks in them. In comparison, the neighborhoods in the northern and western parts of San Diego rest on smooth land, and hills are more likely to be part of a large park or hiking trail (another trait that Skyline

lacks). This makes Skyline a considerably undesirable place to live in, even if the area is generally less expensive than its suburban counterparts.

Another environmental factor that puts the communities of Southeast San Diego at a disadvantage is city noise. When I lived in the southeast, my house was about five miles away from the San Diego International Airport where loud airplanes flew in on a daily basis and provided a frequent distraction when I did schoolwork. Other sources of disturbance were the sirens of police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks, which were common in Skyline due to the high level of criminal activity in the region. Crime statistics from the Automated Regional Justice Information System (ARJIS) reveals an estimate of 1,955 crimes reported within the first quarter of 2021 in the major communities of the southeast; that’s nearly 20 crimes a day. Alongside the majority nonwhite population and disproportionate amount of resources, many San Diegans consider neighborhoods like Skyline to be unwelcoming compared to more peaceful neighborhoods like Rancho Peñasquitos.

Talking about Southeast San Diego might bring up bad memories for those who experience the negative aspects of the area, and for those living in other parts of the city, they might associate it with its poor reputation. In 1992, an LA Times article titled “Councilman Has Had It Up to Here With ‘Southeast’” chronicles an intense interview with former councilman George Stevens, during which he criticized the media for generalizing southeastern neighborhoods under a “disrespectful nickname.” But when I think of those communities, I try to think of all of the amazing things that came from them, including notable athletes like Normal Powell—an NBA player and UCLA alumni who graduated from Lincoln High School—and my favorite Mexican food spot (shout out to La Taqueria Imperial!). It also gave a home to my mother’s side of the family, many of whom pride themselves on having come from such an infamous region, so I feel no shame in appreciating places like Skyline. I also recognize its flaws, however, as I sit in a house in one of the safest and most serene neighborhoods in the county.

As I plan ahead for the next school year, I wonder how I’ll react to the similar, yet completely new environment of Los Angeles. Will I fit in better with areas like Beverly Hills and Bel Air, or will I feel more at home in communities like Crenshaw or Gramercy Park? Either way, it is evident that San Diego and Los Angeles share many traits, the most notable being the negative reputations of their southern regions. If there’s one thing I learned from living in Southeast San Diego, however, it’s to recognize the “worst” parts of a city as they try to make the best of a bad living situation, and appreciate the amazing things they produce in the process.

notes on earth in Lucille Clifton’s “Good Woman: Poems and A Memoir 1969-1980, 1987”

by Leilani Fu’Qua

The art of poetry is its ability to trace experience through time and space, to communicate emotion within the bounds of language. In her vibrant poetry, Lucille Clifton tells the story of earthly connection, humanity, property, history and love through the eyes of a modernist. In her collection Good Woman: Poems and a Memoir 1969-1980, 1987, Clifton’s taut writing creates a distinct narrative on the connection between Black people and our Earth, from the culmination of man’s curiosity to displacements and migrations. The seven poems selected here follow this narrative and relate largely to the modernist and Afro-surrealism literary and cultural movements.

The hallmark of the Afro-surrealism movement is it’s focus on the present and ability to capture the truth of lived Black experiences. In the discoveries of fire, Clifton channels the spring energy of resurgence, connecting the astronomical to the human. The theme of creation alludes heavily to the lore of Prometheus and seizes a mundane storytelling style, where Clifton prioritizes the skin and the rocks over the destructive capacity of fire. Here, fire symbolizes a newness of life and encapsulates the transformative qualities of earth and men. Clifton returns, with her audience, to a state of innate awareness and communicates through the early creation tale.

Clifton’s poems on earth and nature resonate with the Black experience, exhibited in her investigation of climate change in earth. This lamenting poem reminisces on the planet’s beauty and fertility while grieving it’s loss. A greater commentary on

the detriments of capitalism and development is provoked through Clifton’s tone, emphasizing the devoid and former states that have been replaced. In being property once myself , Clifton wrestles with concepts of ownership and environment, which remains a heavy topic in the growing global climate. Black and Indigenous connections to land persevere through the displacement and genocides of our peoples, and Clifton establishes these connections through symbols of physical decomposition and earthly reincarnation. Clifton makes it clear that the lands and oceans we inhabit are marked with the blood and death of Black and Indigenous people in the bodies broken on and song

Lastly, Clifton expresses sentiments on feeling connected or disconnected from her Afrikan heritage. In i went to the valley, Clifton writes about generational discord between Virginia and Afrika and her own struggles, reminding readers of the importance of embracing Blackness in gratitude for the earth and the soul. As Spring concludes in Los Angeles, I find myself returning to let there be new flowering and embracing the transformative power of nature and love. Clifton’s poetry embodies a unique Black experience which transcends the written word and resonates with readers. As Black people seek connection with their roots and continue questioning colonial narratives of Blackness, an outpouring of nature-centered work rises from the ashes of displacement and erasure histories. Like nature, I return to Clifton’s works as a part of a cycle of change and reflowering, reminders of growth from the past and progress to come.

iii.

being property once myself i have a feeling for it, that’s why i can talk about environment. what wants to be a tree, ought to be he can be it. same thing for other things. same thing for men.

iv.

the bodies broken on the trail of tears and the bodies melted in middle passage are married to rock and ocean by now and the mountains crumbling on white men the waters pulling white men down sing for red dust and black clay good news about the earth

v. song

sons of slaves and daughters of masters all come up from the ocean together

daughters of slaves and sons of masters all ride out on the empty air

bridges and hogs and dogs and babies close their eyes against the sight

bricks and sticks and diamonds witness a life of death is the death of life

vi.

i went to the valley but i didn’t go to stay

i stand on my father’s ground not breaking. it holds me up like a hand my father pushes. virginia. i am in virginia, the magic word rocked in my father’s box like heaven, the magic line in my hand. but where is the afrika in this?

except, the grass is green, is greener he would say. and the sky opens a better blue and in the historical museum where the slaves are still hidden away like knives i find a paper with a name i know. his name. their name. sayles. the name he loved.

i stand on my father’s ground not breaking. there is an afrikan in this and whose ever name it has been, the blood is mine.

my soul got happy and i stayed all day.

let there be new flowering in the fields let the fields turn mellow for the men let the men keep tender through the time let the time be wrested from the war

reshaping the Black life by Kamea Taylor

From comic books to film, Black superheroes have been used to propel the Black Diaspora within Western Society to promote Afrofurturists work that reflects the Black experience.

The Black community has long desired the inclusion of the community to reflect and see themselves in the same situations as their white counterparts. In creating these new avenues and dimensions for exploration, the reimagination of superheroes of African descent gives hope to the kids that yearn to see themselves in Sci-Fi films.

Marvel and DC Comic characters like Black Panther, Luke Cage, Storm, and many more have contributed greatly in bringing Black stories to the forefront within those alternate realities. These imagined worlds, futures, and superheroes prove to display Afrofuturism to introduce the success and royalty of Black life.

Marvel’s Black Panther is one of the best examples of the Afrofuturist narratives that allow its audience to see Blackness through a refreshed lens. In looking and examining the past, and dealing with the unresolved issues around identity and race within the diaspora and beyond, we are simultaneously looking into the future.

Set in the fictional African country of Wakanda, this inspires the Black youth to examine Black identity, struggles, and culture through science fiction rather than history books. The frequent portrayal of advanced technology and scientific advancements born from the uncolonized, unconquered Wakanda further propels Blackness to be essential to the faith and hope of the Black community.

By reversing the colonial stereotypes of African countries viewers can imagine that Black future can be built on equality while the injustices

and disadvantages stemming from racism are overcome. Though fictional, it explores the history of the African diaspora in a way that will enable children to see the futures of African influences are just as viable and revolutionary as the West and Asia.

This wholesome expression of the African diaspora makes the concept of Afrofuturism mainstream and brings the agency of Black life into a comic book film.

The women especially within Black Panther break the spectrum of beauty in casting beautiful, dark-skinned women to which are not universally uplifted in Western media. While T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) is the star of the show, the film reflects the power of these women in African societies (also a major part of Afrofuturism) using his royal guard, the Dora Milaje. Okaye (Danai Gurira) leads the guard dressed in elaborate armor, and is trained in martial arts and traditional spear fighting. Shuri (Letitia Wright), T’Challa’s sister, is practically the Steve Jobs of Wakanda, and his exgirlfriend, Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o), is a highlyskilled spy who’s also convinced Wakanda needs to make itself known for its technological prowess. Such portrayal embodies Black women as multifaceted but also rewriting history for ourselves.

As said in Jonita Davis’ article, Rita Woods, author of the recent Afrofuturist novel Remembrance, defines this depiction as “taking [history] back, and rewriting it. Not only are we writing our past, but also a lot of those stories that are steeped in our tradition, our storytelling tradition, our myths, our gods, our religion.”

“We are the protagonists,” she adds. “We are the stars of our own show, not killed off before the ending.”

the woman with fire for feet by Natalie Baltimore

“We desire to bequeath two things to our children. The first one is roots; the other one is wings.” — Sudanese proverb

“While the grass is green, it sees no life”

“Then life we shall give it”

Upon the green grass grew men. Ghosts and spiders and humans. All unruly and confused. They squinted at the blazing sun above them. Hungrily, they began to do the basics for survival: they hunted, they fished, and they started to build their homes. Each man does all of the work to himself, for himself. Little did they know that the spiders could build homes the best. Their long and numerous limbs could weave and create better than the rest. Neither did they know that the humans were best for hunting. Brute force and ability to anticipate the fearful food’s next steps gave them the advantage of seizing food.

The ghosts soon realized that their allure and transparency bent and refracted the water to where the fish thought they were still swimming until their gills closed in as they swam themselves towards the ghost, right onto the shore. As the sun began to set and the day came to a close, each man had only a small portion of what they really needed. The spiders had half of a house, the other half unbuilt from time wasted trying to get food. The humans only had food, but no house to protect themselves. And the ghosts had fish and poorly built houses.

Soon only the dim light of the moon covered their field. The cold wind pierced their hungry bodies.

“We have no light to finish building our house.” Said the spiders.

“We have no heat to cook our food.” Said the humans.

“Nor heat to cook the fish.” Said the ghosts.

In the darkness, the night listened to the men with its ears and carried on the message.

“The night says they have no light and heat.”

“Then we shall bring them fire.”

“They also have no wisdom.”

“Then we shall bring them a woman.”

The green grass glistened in the night as a woman with fire for feet approached the men. Their eyes stared greedily at her feet. They looked so intensely at her blazing legs they did not even know if the woman was a ghost, human, or spider. Tugging at her, the spiders fought to bring her closer to their houses, they needed to see their work as they finished. The ghosts swiped at her to capture her heat to cook their fish. The humans grabbed at her to heat up their food. They soon understood that the woman that they all needed could not be everywhere at once.

She slowly raised a foot engulfed in flames and then quickly let it drop with a bum. She then raised another foot and let it drop with a tak. Now surrounded by all of the men, she began to dance. Wide, wild yet calculated, swinging her arms as the beat from her fiery feet fills the air. The men stare in astonishment as her body looms and jives around the field. As the night passes the men begin to understand her dance. The sun rises and the spiders now know to build the houses for everyone, the humans to hunt for everyone, and the ghosts to allure fish for everyone.

And so it went on like this for a while. Together they ate and lived. Together they watched the woman light up the night with her dance.

One night, just as the sun was about to take over the darkness, something blue crawled into the village. The villagers, men and the woman stared curiously as it approached. It was a man, but neither a human, ghost, nor spider. Like a spider, the blue creature had many eyes and multiple limbs. It was slightly transparent like the ghosts, and had muscles like the humans. Eventually its crawling stopped, and it lay in the middle of the village fast asleep.

The blue creature slept the whole day while the spiders built, the humans hunted, and the ghosts fished. Even at night, while the woman danced and taught, the blue creature slept. It had stayed in the same spot for so long that the villagers started to get used to it.

Soon enough, the following day the men went about their work. Upon their return they noticed a new home was built. Only it was not a home, rather it was oddly large and completely empty. Confused, the ghosts and humans looked at the spiders for answers but were met with equally unknowing faces. Their many eyes shifted to the blue creature, who was seemingly still asleep in his spot. With shrugs the men began to eat together.

That night, while the woman danced the blue creature began to audibly wake. Its eyes fastened to her dance. He hated the beat. He hated the way her hips swayed. What he hated most were the men who listened and learned. That night, in the not-so-house that he built, he dug a whole and whispered all of his hatred into it.

The following morning, the men went their way to work. The blue creature entered his not-sohome and found that his whispers had grown into a large and beautiful tree. As he approached the tree the whispers got louder. The branches dangled ideas. He plucked one, and kept it.

With his ability to allure like a ghost, he convinced the woman to join him into his notso-home. With his many spider-like limbs, with one hand he caressed her face and tried to make her smile, while his other arm reached around

her and locked the door behind them. With his human-like strength he forced her there for the rest of the time until the sun had set.

That night the men ate and gathered around to watch the woman dance. The blue creature sat with them and watched her intently too. The woman’s feet were not fiery as before. Rather they were now dim. Her bums and taks were softened. Her movements had slowed. Her dance taught them the unhappiness she felt, the suffering she had experienced throughout the day. Understanding her message, the men had banished the blue creature before her dance had completed.

“You can be happy now. The blue creature is gone” the men told the woman.

With tears in her eyes she pointed at the notso-home that still stood tall. She then pointed at her stomach. They immediately understood. Although the blue man was no longer there, his not-so-home had stayed, and a part of him now lived within her. Forcibly, her baby would now be half-blue man.

Sometimes the men would go into the not-sohome and exit with a plucked idea from the tree that made them like the side of her baby that was half-blue man.

“The grass… it is no longer green”

“Yes, it is brittle and dried. It has been stomped on so much that it now blends in with the sand.”

“The child. Shall one foot step into a grass that is blue.”

“And the other step into grass that is orange.”