jack powers

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Well, fuck you too, Hussie.

I’ll tell you guys how this is possible, and much more importantly, why we should actually care!

As everyone should remember, Lord Jack was possessed/infused with Lord English’s “crazy, ridiculously destructive magical energy” by looking into Lil Cal’s eyes. The same way GAMZEE was possessed/infused with Lord English’s personality, immortality and power when HE looked into Lil Cal’s eyes

Which was something that Alpha Rose even foreshadowed in her book, the Complacency of the Learned

So if Vriska even bothered to look into WHY and HOW Lord Jack got his powers, she’d also realize why Gamzee turned from an endearing, bumbling clown to a “quaking, incoherent madman”

Which is almost exactly how Karkat described Gamzee’s transformation

Oh, how the parallels keep showing up!

And yet there are STILL people in the fandom who consider locking him in a fridge with decomposing corpses a “fair punishment”! Who won’t even consider the possibility that Gamzee MIGHT BE a victim of circumstance (or in this case, a crazy evil puppet) rather than an villain exercising his free will

Here, have Jane eluding to Gamzee’s innocent/regret here!

And how could Gamzee get to make amends, when he isn’t even allowed to SPEAK? 

Hussie’s just fucking laughing at us Gamzee theorists now…

It’s All One Thing #26: Memorial Labyrinth

It’s All One Thing #26: Memorial Labyrinth

Jack Powers,
in the form of an urn
all dark and wonder colored
which somehow still contained
his ashes,
fell upon the stage floor
and then his portrait
seemingly in accord
escaped its fastener
on the draped back drop
and thumped that horrible
sound a picture frame
makes when it falls
but also did not break
and both urn and picture
were quickly returned
to their places of honor
maybe even glory
a…

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MAN ON THE FLOOR

By Jack Powers

I remember my thirteen-year-old self walking through my
     sister’s freshman dorm as the girls yelled, “Man on the 
     floor! 
Man on the floor!” and I, not yet a man but hoping, looked 
     for any excuse to fetch forgotten items from the car
or just stand in that hallway soaking in that mix of fear, 
     annoyance and flirtation. My idea of a man then was 
     probably my father’s 

paycheck-earning, pipe-smoking, golf-ball-whacking,
     bourbon-swilling silence or James Bond’s unstirred cool. 
     No, it was probably 
just playing football, basketball—and baseball until someone 
     learned to throw a curve. And girls—Courtney Carron, in 
     particular that fall, 
and dreams of getting a hand under her tight shirt. Even over 
     the bra would have had me standing taller for a week. 
     Once my dad, 

after a hot afternoon of golf and a cart of cold beers, broke a 
     rib mowing the lawn when the mower overheated and
kicked back into his chest. I’d been hearing the mower roar 
     and stop, roar and stop, watching my father search 
     through the grass 
before screwing something back in and restarting, but I didn’t 
     know until afterwards that the mower was out of oil.  

So when my father tiptoed around the house, saying, “I’m 
     fine,” through   gritted teeth, I wanted to shout, “Just say 
     it hurts” and 
“Just say you’re an idiot.” Of all the things I’d sworn I’d do 
     differently than him, my ability to admit my idiocy has 
     never developed. 
I’ve learned to apologize, but—there’s always a “but” as I need 
     to explain why every stupid thing I’ve ever done 

seemed like a good idea at the time and I wonder if the girls 
     were really yelling, “Idiot on the floor! Idiot on the floor!”
The first year I taught, I wore sneakers to school because I 
     didn’t have any adult shoes. My boss suggested I take 
     charge of the class more: 
use a point system, assign seats and buy some shoes. But I 
     didn’t want to make the class any more oppressive than it 
     already was 

so I threw her a bone and bought semi-comfortable shoes that 
     weren’t too dorky. The shoes seemed like one more part 
of the disguise I was sure they’d all figure out someday. They 
     say everyone feels powerless; the last to know they have 
     power 
are those who have it. Is that true for the clueless as well? 
     What clues have I missed? I think of Edie years ago 

calling me an asshole. I had to agree. “But,” I wanted to 
     explain, “I’d spent years dreaming of that night—
when we climbed into your parents’ car in that dark garage 
     and laid the seats flat, when I was finally inside you—
I wasn’t thinking about Kerry arriving from LA in a week—” 
     but Edie didn’t want to hear it. And I didn’t try to 
     explain. How could I? 

The day before he died, my father awoke in his hospital bed 
     and said, “Everything in Springfield is just like it was—
Dreisen’s Fountain, McDougal’s Grocery. The whole street is 
     the same.” “Did you see anyone there?” I asked, 
not sure if it was dream or dementia. But my father’s eyes had 
     turned to the wall. Sensing the end—hoping really, 

because the next stop was a nursing home he’d made clear he 
     never wanted to see—I went to get my family from the 
     lounge.
All I could hear was the squeak of my semi-adult shoes on 
     linoleum in that hospital hall. Stroke and dementia 
had softened my father, made him kinder. He seemed to 
     appreciate us all more. “You’re a better father than I 
     was,”

he said one night after he’d watched me coach Will in some 
     peewee basketball game and if he wasn’t my father 
I would have hugged him, but I needed a stroke myself to 
     break the habits of our long history. “Thanks” is all I 
     could sputter, 
not “The rules have changed. You did your best.” In class, a 
     student said, “You forget 90% of your dreams 

in the first ten minutes you’re awake.” What percent of my 
     dreams did I forget by age twenty? The list of failings 
my thirteen-year-old self nurtures increases by one. Some 
     Septembers the freshmen boys’ attempts to saunter down 
     the halls 
are so uncertain, it’s as if the ground is shifting. I want to 
     shout, “Man on the floor!” to embolden their strides 

if only for a moment. I think of having yelled at my own son, 
     now probably back from school and rooted 
to the couch and his computer, and I cringe at how much I 
     sounded like my own father: sarcastic, impatient,
wanting the problem solved now. When I open the door he’s 
     already glued to his laptop eating Chex Mix. “Sorry,” I 
     say. 
“What?” he says, trying to keep one eye on me and one on the 
     screen. “I’m an idiot,” I say. And he flips it shut 
and says, “What?” Before I can say, “But …” the dog starts 
     barking and    barking. I don’t know what he’s trying to 
     say. 
I kneel on the floor to calm him, but his barking grows more 
     frenzied, his furious tail sweeps magazines off the tables.  

The dog picks up a toy and begins a high-pitched whine that 
     sounds like singing. My son is asking, “What are you 
     doing?” 
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what I say, just what I do. 
     The dog keeps singing. My son’s brow furrows in 
     confusion and concern.
But I can only lay back on the floor, close my eyes and slow 
     my breath as if I could fall asleep and wake up and start 
     all over again.

[Courtesy of RATTLE]

Poem by Thomas Gagnon

Poem by Thomas Gagnon

Recalling A Vigorous Verse-Maker

You had declined for I could not measure the time,
felt like thousands of thousands eclipses of the sun,
your flow of words become few words and then
muteness, a titan of Assisi devolved
into a sparrow without a song.
I think of your tough elan,
your steady, sure wave of passion.
With a persistent flow of assertion
you persuaded me to a place I had passed over,
a…

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It’s All One Thing #30: A Haiku Steam for Jack after the St. Francis Workshop

It’s All One Thing #30: A Haiku Steam for Jack after the St. Francis Workshop

The hawk hardly flaps
a wing as the crow pecks up
from below above

All tender tendrils
leaves open at once blossoms
and the dark wet Earth

The weight of Spring rain
coats the huddled leaves
with a clear, bright sheen.

The cherry trees from
Japan you planted blossom
but you are in jail.

Inside my eyelids
the vortex looses me
in spin far within

Too early the morn
that finds us blinking in this
g…

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1509

Jack has enough credits to graduate and wants to leave Degrassi and go find Imogen, Jack is devastated after learning Fimogen got back together. Jack is comforted by Miles who she then kisses, leaving them both shocked. Zig keeps getting caught masturbating by the Matlins, Maya tells him he needs a girlfriend.

1510

Lola is under hot water, when Hunter and Arlene go to the school board. Lola could very well be expelled for how she treated Arlene. Frankie turns to alcohol to cope with learning the truth about Winston.

1511- Degrassi Takes Manhattan Again.

A Degrassi alumni is making a motion picture, and Zoe and Tristan both want to audition. They are joined by Zig, Maya, Tiny, Miles, Jack and Frankie, and travel to New York.

1512- Degrassi Takes Manhattan Again.

Zoe and Tristan don’t know how to tell Eli, that Clare and their son are getting in the way of filming the movie. Zig and Maya finally get together, while Jack confesses her feelings for Miles realizing she might be Bi. Tiny catches Frankie using alcohol to cope, and promises to help by being there for her.

1513

Under pressure with his class presidency, Jonah relapses back into his old addictions. The school board reaches a decision and expels both Lola and Winston from Degrassi.

1514

Frankie and Tiny have grown close However Tiny just wants to be friends,for Frankie’s safety. Frankie gets her parents to help and they let Tiny move in. The Hollingsworth brothers go on a double date, which turns into Miles and Hunter showing off to see who can impress their girlfriend better.

1515

Shay confronts her father after learning the identity of her long lost aunt, Ms. Grell. Shay feels lied to by all the family secrets. Jonah steals money out of the schools fund to buy drugs.

1516

Zoe is offered the lead role on The Cupid Journals a new british romance drama. Zoe says goodbye to Degrassi and all the friends that she made. Tristan’s health takes a turn for the worse and he must leave school. Tristan, Maya, and Zig are surprised by a visit from their old friend Tori.