Doctor Strange, basing more on the MCU version of him. I’m curious about what’s beyond our reality, but would do anything but risk any damage to it if it can be helped. Plus, Wong would be right there to check me if I did, since he’s currently the Sorcerer Supreme, thank goodness, lol.
There are so few people in the world that are in positions of power that don’t deserve multiple punches in the face.
Sure, violence is not the answer, but it seems to be the language they love to speak.
They’re waiting for the right type of people to strike back as more of us fall by being risen against their will.
They will do everything to have more of our blood on their hands while looking like saviors of a dying breed.
Because no amount of money in the world can protect any of them forever.
And speaking of money, it’s a shame how many people are still running around believing that as long as someone’s opinion of them doesn’t affect their bank account, they can do and say whatever they want.
Walking around parading what they earned by investing in everything but empathy, accountability, and morality.
People that would rather watch other people’s pockets instead of their their own mouths until they say the wrong thing to the right one.
And as entertaining as it would be for a silver tongue devil to be shut up with the strength of a Golden Glove, it feels good to be the harbinger of a horror movie created by the rich who think we’re all rooting for them to make it to the end.
Anyone that has and still does can join them.
Because it’s going to be up to the best of us to rewrite the script so that there will be no sequels, no reboots, no reunion specials. No more Jumping the Shark when even their own people want them to be jumped.
And if that does happen, may popcorn be the only thing not on the recall list when it all goes down.
End scene.
I remember the morning.
I was in my room, unemployed and unsure where my next job would be. Turning the TV on hoping for some sort of relief.
There’s no need to explain what happened next, except confusion and uncertainty. Hoping this was somehow stock footage of the last time this happened, until proven otherwise.
Desperate attempts to call or receive calls. Schools closing early. No one to really talk to about what happened or how to even feel.
Expressing deeper feelings weren’t exactly practiced in the family. So at that time, I was not the one to know how to regulate anything that wasn’t positive or joyful for myself or others.
So I was quiet.
Observant of others trying to hold it together, trying to gauge how to express my feelings. Still unsure about how to react, or how to console anyone expressing their anger and confusion, because I didn’t know how to do it for myself.
Maybe I tried, I don’t remember too well.
But I do remember the increase of patriotism. The desire to remain hopeful in the power of humanity that showed up not only after the dust settled. They showed up as it fell.
In a city often known for giving tourists and residents the same loud and abrasive energy, these shouts were different.
Now, they were not only cries for help. There were replies that help was here. It was always there. And if not, it was on the way.
25 years later, and I finally allowed myself feel that repressed sadness, confusion, and fear.
Not that I was incapable all this time, but there is a heavier significance about that day, and the days after.
Maybe because of family ties within the city, or even a family trip to Tower 2 during the summer of 2000, hoping to come back the following year to view and walk into Tower One.
Or maybe because it’s all of that, combined with feeling the collective weight from even the most zany and hilarious friends ready to take arms against those responsible.
But we all got through it together, in our own ways. No matter how any of us were able to show up or speak up, we had each other then as much as we do now, in a new world that has haunting parallels to this one.
There’s a quote going around from a movie stating “the horrors persist, but so do I.”
Critics and deniers considered, so do we. So does any of us who felt and still feel the pain that day.
And without question, so does New York.
K.P.
“If it hurts you, it’s about you.”
That’s a line I believe I heard back in 2019, conveniently when my mental health journey really kicked off.
Every year since then, there’s been an example of that from myself and from others. I’ll speak my peace about a person, and they deflect and turn me into a problem. Often it’ll include something they’ve been inspired to say about me since they can’t be the only one being judged for something.
Some only got one chance before I maintained distance. Others, you do that enough times to a person, the person risks what I did for too long. Keep it inside, feeling as if your options are scarce, at best, to talk about them with either a trusted ear, or a steady (and affordable) professional.
You endure the label of being soft by people who are too fragile for even constructive criticism that they’ll treat like a personal insult. A threat on their life, even.
For me, I reached a point where my usual artistic outlets were not enough. Newer ones in costume designs and prop making were enhancements of drawing out my pleasures and pain.
All because whatever I really wanted to say could hurt the people that love my silence, which in turn could get me hurt. Not physically, at least, not since being a minor. But I knew that I could do more than random acts of escapism in a pre-social media world.
There was an attempt to start a consistent blog in 2019, as well. I aired out a few things that were in my heart, but they were nothing more than a blueprint for what I had the time to create in 2022.
This very page.
And so, after hundreds of written posts, an uncalculated amount of videos, and more than a few book ideas related to all of it, I look back and can say that I’m proud that I started this journey.
That, even as personal and public events were happening, this was, and still is a place to decompress and air out what’s come to mind mixed with what’s been on it for decades. This includes topics and events I can’t speak to towards people that would want my 45 year-old self to “stay in a child’s place” about.
At this point, it can and will lead to actions speaking louder than the words I wish they could have internalized, versus doing anything that would have us criminalized. Because it’s one thing to have the intellect for accountability. It’s another to lack it when the allegedly quiet ones like me learn to turn that pain, and our own accountability into purpose.
And if that action hurts them, good. It’s on them to regret it, not for me to nurse it like I have.
K.P.
How long have you been somewhere that you grew out of before you finally found a way out, or they found a way to get you out?
For reasons that are confidential, I was released for my job on the 21st, a Friday. After nearly three and a half years, my body didn’t fully feel the effects of the loss until Monday.
But after that and other matters were taken care of, I took advantage of the free time to do a lot of cleansing which I either never had the time for, or didn’t make time for.
And when I say cleansing, I don’t just mean in the physical level. There were energies and mentalities that were a mix of non-work related matters, and the fact that I knew in my heart that I had outgrown the place. I wasn’t the only one feeling that way, but that’s their stories to tell.
Options on where to go had been presented in ways that were helpful because of the job. But the work that I have been doing on myself with this blog, various avenues of support from the trustworthy, and just overall not giving up on myself which included allowing myself to rest, all of it is key towards the better place that I always knew I belonged.
Now as I say all of this, there is little to no bad blood with the people there. They had a job to do, and so did I, even on the way out.
The closest I could come to saying anything rude about some members is that I was aware of pending investigations with those unrelated to me and my status. But that’s their fight, that’s their burden, and that’s their karma.
The same could be said for the events leading to my departure. But taking it in stride and with respect for myself and the former associates spoke more about my character than any notes about my time there ever will.
As for what’s next? Something better, something fitting to the decades of creative skills I’ve attained, mixed with the ones that started and rediscovered when this blog began.
There were many good, enjoyable, and educational moments throughout my time with them. But deep inside, I’m sure enough people knew I was meant for more than what the place could, or would have wanted to offer.
It also took me to realize that, as well, and stick with it, as I have in various ways.
Because of that line of thinking, that’s what made me say the following to a friend: “Quitting meant that I found something. Getting fired means that something found me.”
There are ways that can be expanded on on a case-by-case level, but it goes back to what I said before, that another friend even felt glas that I took this transition in stride.
It’s not without the anxieties that can come up and down before the next position. Some of them inspired by those who have their own financial insecurities before harping about my own.
This time, however, feels very different.
This time there’s experience, assurance, and faith that this will be the last time I ever have to face this kind of event. Because before, those 10 months before being hired by this last position, which were also the catalyst for me starting this blog and my mental health journey, I was in search out of desperation. Now there’s a matter of clarity towards my destination. One that I thought I didn’t deserve or didn’t believe was within reach.
That’s not the case, anymore. I can and will only go up from here.
K.P.
None of us know how much time we have left to be better than the person we regret living as.
As long as you started out loud for people to see, hear, and feel, few would be bold enough to take that from you, especially after your time’s come.
Anyone that does will be outnumbered and revealed to be the inspiration for your changes.
But it feels good knowing that while you are still here, there will be the people that will speak well of your name without you being in the room.
And that alone is a good enough reason to start while you are still here to be better.
K.P.
The funniest thing I’ve noticed about my time of not writing as much on here, that I can be in conversations with different people and say things that are reflective of what I’ve said on here, and what deserves to be here in an extensive or basic form.
Here’s one example, stemming from an issue one friend is having about a person they disconnected from, but wishes to reconnect despite having alleged ties to a group that my friend also walked away from.
“We have reached a point of mentality where the less cloudy and negative the analyzation is towards a person, the safer a connection they may be. We don’t deserve to be around idle threats the way we were raised to be “comfortable” with. And the more people like that understand [that] with someone, the wiser they can look by staying away by any means.”
So, even though I may not have been up on updating the blog like I used to, the work is still being done. Not just in myself, but with others that are open to listen and even advise when I need it.
I need to do better with keeping a collection of these type of quotes to help prompt future entries. Not that I don’t have enough to go off of.
K.P.
Last Saturday, August 1st, was the four-year anniversary of this page, and I meant to say something even then.
So, I’m going to make up for it right here by first asking myself a question:
What do I have to show for it?
Given that this October will be 10 years since I first went to any counseling, and still seeing the one that I first met back in 2021, more was done within the past 4 years than I ever could have expected.
In no particular order:
Created my first web series in over a decade that doubles as proof that I may have been quiet, but always paid attention to the toxicity around me, and in me.
Learned emotional regulation that never would have been taught from anyone that proved they were above that.
Completed a Harvard course that made me a better writer, and proved to myself how passionate of a student I can still be.
Gained respect for asking serious questions towards snap behaviors that I inspired, but may never know the reasons I did.
Helped others understand their own emotions without jeers or deflection that reflected my history of receiving those reactions.
Found better safety in digging deeper into myself, learning more of why other’s instability triggers my own.
Relearned hard lessons on the benefits of a slow burn connection, and to never ignore the red flags waving within them.
Acknowledged the red flags that I also waved, falsely looking at them with red tinted glasses like I did with the others.
And, among other notable facts, most of all…
Successfully recorded a minute and thirty-eight seconds of proof that I was never the crazy one. It’s the most damming of the collection, anyway.
I know this looks similar to highlights on a resume, but too often this is labeled as “doing the work,” so it fits.
It’s going to be interesting to see how certain people or groups will take the news that I’ve been doing this in plain sight for so long. While a handful have done it while I managed the page, it clearly didn’t stop me.
Meanwhile, others will only be able to do so much at the risk of exposing themselves as the inspiration for the inner work that couldn’t stay in forever.
And as much as I’d love the chance to have my experiences lead to a lasting and satisfying career, that’s going to take more than just knowing the right people and submitting the perfect CV.
It’s going to take me putting reclaimed time into sharing details of those mock bullet points.
It’s going to take not getting in my own way any more than I already have.
It’s even going to take reminders that I can still have the type of fun that I’ve been having in-between and during these lessons.
Because it takes a bold and artistic mind to legally fight the way I was meant to. And even with the many that I know that have turned their pain into passion and purpose, no one is going to do it the way I have, and will continue to.
Welcome back, me. That’s going to be some interesting stories to tell tell, just like before.
Kingston Priest
The following series is for entertainment and educational purposes, only.
In closing, to the fellow black folk that read this and know of a Spot in your life or scope, y’all can do what you do with them.
Not all of them are going to be on some Candace, Clarence, the Hodges, and especially Kanye type talk. But we got a lot more in common than roping us in with those people, especially in matters of music and intimacy tastes.
As for the non-black folk that made it this far, mostly the white ones, a longer message.
The chances of feeling guilty over the examples are yours to feel, as much as they are ours to remove ourselves from and continue to heal from. Black folks are more observant of your behavior than you think. How we respond to it, and even how long it takes for us to respond to it will vary.
While historically, some of you did better once you knew better, the rest of you feel entitled to play in our faces.
Adopt our culture.
Learn our songs.
Marry our women.
Kill our men. AND women.
But especially since 2024, it’s been beautifully displayed that this fight to show us respect is between your own people. The ones who see us as equals. The ones who see color, and fight for that equality. The ones who can read and respect why they can never go to the “cookout,” and hopefully enhance their own.
We have a lot more in common than ridiculing the Spot for going outside society’s stereotypical expectations for being Black. Because even our allies and accomplices understand that being black is an honor and that we come from greatness.
And deep inside, the Spot knows that, too.
And you’ll know when they know, especially once they switch daps to handshakes with you, if anything at all. Because at the end of the day, their black fist in the air is more important than the clapping and tap dancing they have done for you.
Kingston Priest
(Updated August 4th, 2026)
The following series is for entertainment and educational purposes, only.
Link for Part 1.
Here are few examples that I’ve lived through.
There was a side topic I overheard at a party regarding spotted lantern flies destroying crops in most of New Jersey, one season, and how there were full rallies about culling them to save the crops. During the talk, one of the men of the group shouted in jest that “flies lives matter,” which rang uncomfortable echoes of “Black Lives Matter.”
Another involved a live group chat, where the white host had expressed his disgust about people’s opinion towards a tiktok duet that he made with me, using the word “woke” in the way that has been turned it into a diet version of black slurs. The live feed was interrupted before anything could be said about it.
There was another time prior to both of those examples, through with a different group, where another white male stated the following. “Rock music: invented by blacks, perfect by whites.” It got a huge round of applause and laughter from everyone but me, the Spot, who risked a lot expressing anger that will be brought up later.
While there are plenty more examples I can draw from, for now, let’s look at the outsider’s view of the Spot.
To most black folk that view them from the outside, there can be immediate judgement that they are the “Oreo,” a sell-out, or worse, the “coon” of the group.
But that judgement can also be made from the whites within said group. Statements like “you’re the whitest black person I know” can come with a condescending tone and laughter from one side, while another can state that with sheer disgust that you betrayed your race.
Either side will have its reasons to say it to their intended target. The Spot can be talked down for listening to one rock song by a white artist, and the “court of public opinion” may not acknowledge the black roots of the genre. Or hopefully do so without mirroring the example I spoke of earlier.
Spot can have romantic interests outside their race, specifically white, and the same “court” refuses to see how love can and has existed throughout all races. They can exist without a hint of exotification, and without the threat of adding to historic tragedies related to mixed race events, be they romantic, platonic, etc.
Personal experiences tied to that last part have varied. One former connection would often parade his black wife’s presence online by stating that she was black. It was usually said after addressing an unrelated matter towards someone insulting his character.
Another had a time where he saw a black woman grocery shopping at his old job and finally saw any of them as being only worth sleeping with, despite the closet racism within most of his own family, and allegedly in himself. He then had the nerve to ask me if I could ask my then-girlfriend if she could hook him up with one of her friends. In short, it didn’t happen.
Next: Part 3
