sean michael moreno


Some shots of my New 52 Action Comics Superman Cosplay. I'm SUPER happy with the new cape. It turned out SO good, and the way it whips in the wind was so amaze, you don’t know. It was so much fun to rock, and I can’t wait to show it off at Dragon*Con next month!

Hope y'all digg it! :D


Costume: durnesque-esque and thatseanguyblogs
Photo: durnesque-esque
Model: thatseanguyblogs


Of Mountains and Lions
A poem by: Sean Michael Moreno
for Sarah (durnesque-esque)

Today… I helped a lion.
I know, yeah, that sounds funny, 
like why, why was I with a lion, right?
N why choose static, n not flight?

Allow me first to defend
this step I didn’t take, 
coupled with benevolent wonderment
because all the doubt will be asunder rent.

Take, if you will a moment
to imagine this brilliant scene
where a tired lady, and a mopey bard
found themselves with their eyes starred

Where together they stood, 
but still separate they were, 
because fierceness and ambition are not
the same as confidence and belief. Forgot

did they, in this moment, here.
Standing still, and uncertain
but bearing, both, the burden of love not
known. To them, were their passions for naught.

Now, awkwardness rendered clear, 
our star-crossed goofballs lay the scene
where I’m the mountain, and the lion is she.
Addendum: Things of sappy kind, here, be.

TODAY… I helped a Lion.
Or rather she helped me help her.
With proximity came our clarity, 
and in stillness we accomplished rarity

Together we found our love
because our love found us together
and in that discovery our lips made one, too
or, ours met, and hearts became one, not two.

In truth, she had initiative
and moved first to acquaint our lips
but I played the Don Juan in this our tale
In that I was swept, and swooned, e’en as I regale

So I suppose I was more quarry
than Quartermaine in this story
but I helped, as I stated, my lion, today
I promise these are true facts, so listen I pray

When she kissed me, her heart stopped
for a second, like mine did, 
and in that moment I found her alone.
An awkward way for your kisser to be known.

I pondered this in that time
that half-second of sensory fail
where action hadn’t quite registered
but my mind had a short hour to think

What makes a lion shudder?
What could make my huntress meek?
Then I realized that I’m a mountain
But, in moment’s, a mountain of dust.

Why couldn’t a lion at times
be a mouse, if stone crumbles?
So it hit, right as the first kiss parted…
She was afraid of being disregarded

But not just in general.
She loved me, so she feared me.
But more than that, she was afraid of 
losing herself again to some un-love

So I did what anyone
would do in my fortuned place:
I requited the bold kiss of my girl
It took me long enough to, yeah, I know

But I kissed her. I love her.
I knew in a kiss that I did, 
and in mine, my girl has her fire again.
See, like I said, Today, I helped a lion.

I gave her the confidence
to know that she deserves
every ounce of love the world, over, can fork
much less the love of one huge, silly dork

so with that my tale ends,
but ours here begins.
Through each other, we know our full strength
and will be bold for one another for some length

Because this love we’ve found is
forever, the kind we have can’t die.
A mountain and a lion must together be…

Because this mountain must run… and his lion should see
every ounce of what she is and will be.

Our tale continues, but
this short one closes shut.
We’ll seal that chapter as we have every other
with a long overdue kiss, and smile to melt the sun.

For this mountain walks, and his lion can rest

For they both are loved, and their tale has just begun.


© Sean Michael Moreno 2014

(Forgive the crappy angle of the video, I’ll probably reshoot it when I fix or replace my webcam.)

Hope y'all enjoy!

New followers like nobody's business...

Sooo… Now that I’m sitting at almost 15k… And was at 14.3 last night… I’m gonna go ahead, and do this action:

Hey, folks.
I’m Sean Michael Moreno-Carroll. I’m an actor, a fighter, and a massive nerd with a quick wit, an unending amount of sass, and more ambition than you can shake a stick at. I also have a horrid panache for pissing off tumblr folk by having the unfortunate gift of insight, and an unyielding lack of interest in softening blows for the sake of misplaced comfort.

With that crap outta the way: If you’re still in, awesome. Beyond all the rage-monster, duty-bound, super heavy shit, I’m actually stupid fluffy and happy-go-lucky… Which is most of the time… If you go through my blog there’s more positivity and hope flying around than there is “SEAN SMAAAASH!”… If that makes any damn sense at all…

Anyway, I am 27 years old (28 on November 25th), I’m a believer in the power of intellectual discourse, the sanctity of challenged and challenging thought(s), and the necessity for knowing one’s world, its histories, and one’s own place therein.

I am an Actor, both on screen and stage… I have an agent, I’m union, I’ve worked professionally since 2010, and I’ve done everything from commercials, to multiple seasons on a national series, to industrials, to straight plays, to Shakespeare festivals, to Renaissance Festivals… It’s what I trained a good portion of my life for, it’s what I love, and it’s what I studied in college.
I also draw, paint, sculpt, write, sing (poorly), and dance.

I’ve studied stage combat since I was a wee lad. And have grown up in it, and with the SAFD (Society of American Fight Directors) because my more adulty peers (rennies who did fight stuff) were awesome, and thoroughly better parental figures than my Mom was.

To that previous point, I also grew up at Ren Faires! Which, if you were/are shocked by my frankness and colorful vocabulary, then that’s is the thing you get to blame for my broken give-a-fuck-er… But you also get to thank it for my endless imagination, stupid humor, and sense of honor.

That all said, I should just lay this one thing aside… I’m sorry you followed, and I’ll do my best not to deal the full breadth of my sarcastic bullshit in a day, but I will also try to do cool things that don’t hurt souls on the regular.

All in all, I’m just some jerk of an art nerd who lives in a constant state of his own mental flux. I also know a LOT of history… A ton. Because reasons…

I also game more than any self-respecting adult should, because fuck you, that’s why.

Console, PC, board, D20 anything ever, cards, warhammer… You name it, I have spent too fucking much money on it. And I’m not ashamed of that fact. Not one bit.

Gamer Tag on XBLive is Darth Panda1127.
Hit me up if you want, but I reserve the right to ignore you. No offense. I’m just a social recluse when I wanna be… Which is usually.

That pretty much sums me up. If you want more detail, READ. That’s pretty much the whole point of this whole… Blog… Thing…

Anyway I love your respective faces, and I hope to hear from/make you happy/challenge you to feel and be better, soon.


Decided to throw up a video of me doing my Patrick Warburton impression.

Hope y'all dig it!


A poem by: Sean Michael Moreno
© Sean Michael Moreno 2012

I wrote this a couple years ago, because it was sort of my way of taking power and pride back from years of being looked down upon for being a mix, a mutt… a “half-breed”… It was my way of saying that humanity, being a person, being who you are is far more lovely, far more beautiful, and far more important than fitting into a certain “breed” of human. Race does not define you.

So maybe I’m not perfect,

And neither are my words.

While we’re at it,

I’m not special,

No greatness in me stirs.

There’s nothing to be cherished,

And not a single shred of hope.

But that’s just an image some have,

The edge of a burning rope.

Some may see this life as fleeting

Sure, they watch it as it burns,

But I am the flame upon it,

You’re the rope for which I yearn.

This heat inside me scalds you,

And boils up the life within,

While I burn my licks unfold you

As I reach inside your skin.

Each second brings me closer

To the center of your world,

You’re unlacing yourself around me

Together we are unfurled.

Some may think this is just physics,

Just science with a flare

I say this is creation,

Name the theory if you dare.

There’s gargantuan emotion,

And deep impact, to be sure,

Audibly, it’s concussive,

Though, I’d say that’s mostly her.

You see, I would not say that I am perfect,

No, alone I’m just a spark,

But so long as you are with me,

We burn perfection in the dark.
-A Poem By: Sean Michael Moreno 
©Sean Michael Moreno 2012


I wrote this a few years back after watching a bunch of movies with damn hot sex scenes, running though Game of thrones, and Spartacus in a weekend, and being like, “Damn, I want that.” So I wrote this… Never shared it before, so yeah. Here ya go Tumblr: my only ever attempt at a sexy poem. lol

Hope y'all enjoy!


So… Did a fight today at the A-Town Throw Down that I was pretty pumped about. Quick, stupid, fun, and funny. :)

All things I love in a fight.

Choreographer: “M.J.” Johnson
Actors: Sean Michael Moreno and Britain Willcock
Weapon: Single Sword

Sat down the other day to draw, and thought I’d draw Sarah (durnesque-esque) as Wonder Woman, but I wanted to draw her in her own unique variation of the costume, as befits her level of bamf. After a few hours of messing around, I cemented the style, and pose, and started working on details. A few days later: Boom. Under-drawing done! I wanted to have her mostly covered, and well armored, so I gave her an armored bodysuit, and left her arms exposed for greater ease of motion. I’m pretty happy with the overall design, an I’m excited to get to work coloring her. :)

By the way, This is the design she was talking about in that answer the other day. I hope y'all like it, and I’ll post pictures of the color progress as go.



HOKAY, I promised an update! Here’s the deal, kids:

If you don’t know me, just started following, or just want a refresher…
I’m Sean Michael Moreno. I’m a 26 year-old SAG Actor, Actor Combatant, and absurdly huge nerd. :)

^That’s me.

You might know my amazing girl, and I better from this:

And if you watch BET, you might know me as my character “Hot Sauce” on “The Game(thegamebet)

That’s me on the left. In the middle is my boy Pooch, and then my buddy Kobe.

Now that all that’s done. ON TO THE IMPORTANT STUFF!

I get in to the airport (O'Hare) at oh-my-god o'clock in the morning on Friday, and will be heading straight to the con area. Soon as I get there, I’m gonna figure out what the ever-loving crap to do with myself until check-in… Probably eat delicious food-things, so if you spy me near the overflow hotel in the wee hours of the morning on a mission to stuff my face, feel free to join me for breakfast. It might look like this: Once that’s all taken care of, and my face has been thoroughly satiated, and I’m all checked in, there will be rehearsing for a couple of my panels. It will be boring, you won’t want to watch. (read: It’ll be awesome, and hilarious. You would love it, but you should totally wait for the panel)


^Just like that.
I’ll be, as previously mentioned, running 5 panels. I’ll get to that in a second. I’m there Friday through Sunday, and will be chilling and taking in all the awesome that will be DashCon. Don’t hesitate to come say hey, give a high-five, get a photo, tell me you love me, ask me to kiss your baby, or generally make me feel like a rock star. (don’t ask me to kiss your baby) I will be cool with all of these things. That said, here’s what’ll be happening over the course of the Con for your favorite… me…?  

I’ll be rocking appropriately nerdy video game attire most of the day, BECAUSE…

At 5pm in NIRVANA B&C I will be rocking out Hidden Treasures: Video Games You’ve Never Played with my AWESOME P.I.C. Kelli.

9PM in SCHAUMBERG D I’ll be killing Video Game Plots with my boy Jacob (I’ll probably change into a suit, because…)

from 10-10:30pm, Sarah(durnesque-esque) and I will be at DashProm generally being awesome, and dancing like crazy people, before we have to depart to go prepare for our…

STAGE COMBAT DEMO and Q&A @ 11pm Where upon Sarah, and I beat the #$%& out of each other in fancy clothes for YOUR AMUSEMENT, and answer questions about it afterward! :D

Following that we will most likely HEAD TO THE HOTEL BAR to chill with a beverage before heading back to our room, because we’re old.(read:Awesome) 


I’VE GOT NOTHING TO DO! So I’ll be chilling out in my new and improved Action Comics Superman attire, being super ‘n stuff with Sarah who will be rocking Street Clothes Wonder Woman (Awwwwww yiss), until it’s time for…

BRAAAAAAAAINS!! @ 3pm in Nirvana A, where my fine compatriot in zombie slaying, and survival, Madeline, and I will discuss the finer points of the undead menace.

After that I’m home-free until Sunday, so I’ll hit the Poetry Open Mic at 5pm in Utopia A&B, and throw down some slam, and most likely be roaming the show rooms, and supporting my lovely lady at her panels the rest of the day, before calling it a night. ^ ^


It’ll be the last day of the con, and so I’ll be pirating like a boss, until my just after..

My PERIOD DANCE panel 12:00 Noon in SCHAUMBURG A. Where we’ll be doing a series of various dances, and generally being awesome.

Once that’s done, I’m calling it a day, changing into civvies, and heading to the Airport.

I can’t wait for the Con, and I hope to see all of you there!

Much love!

They say that a moment is a flicker,
a silent half-second between fate
and nothing.
They say that a moment is a flicker.

They. They say that love will be fleeting
that chivalry’s depleting,
that this moment… that you… will not last.

They say that muses are fictional,
that fires are purely physical,
and that faith is for the blind, deaf, or dumb.

They call it class, and intelligence,
claim science as their relevance,
and expel any doubt as ill-logic

Well that’s cute, and all pretty,
but frankly, it’s shitty.
and my proof? It’s called truth.

So, now here’s my sermon.

I met her dancing before the sands
but I saw you some time far, far after.

And within me, until that day, cried angles,
who wept, like Hephaestus, to all angles,
for their love was being denied.

Such orchestration, and divine situation
was implemented to show us… us.
But the blind cannot see, all is dust

And air given shape, but denied the full scope
of its grandeur. Still though, we try.
We try to find our lost half with no hope.

But I met her dancing before the sands…
formed… from clay in the wake of big bangs,
or designed, like the rest of man kind…

We toil to be part of this cosmic mod art
abstract shapes in the void of the cosmos,

But I met her dancing before the sands
formed in my eyes… was this visage
this creature, the image of worth

She danced not on beaches, or earth of a kind
but with the air, and the ether,
with all heaven beneath her…

Divinity in mind and in body…

But I met her dancing before the sands
formed in my eyes, and I cannot deny
the truth that unfolded before them.

Closed, was their state,
yet, twisted by fate,
I saw her… I saw her… I… saw. You.

And I met you dancing before the sands
were dropped in my eyes,
but after sleep had claimed their attention

and it’s there, in some dreamscape,
some fate-hijacked sleep-scape,
that I found you, my muse, my desire.

I met her dancing before the sands…

but now that I’ve seen her, and you’re her
A believer I’ll ardently be.

Because only blind, deaf, or dumb eyes could possibly see
the diamond God’s brought here to me.

…And I met you dancing before the sands.

I Met You Dancing Before The Sands”
Written by: Sean Michael Moreno (ThatSeanGuyBlogs)
©SeanMichaelMoreno 2014

"Stand Better" or "A Rant on Names and Prejudice"

I will most likely catch flack for this, because nobody likes when people detract from easy issues to point out the harder ones, but I have a huge issue with individuals who get inflammatory about “people not knowing how to pronounce your name, and not caring enough to try,” and assuming that it’s solely a Black Amercan issue, when their name is made up BS. There are better things to take issue with. Far, Far better things. Since we’re here, though, I’ll explain why: It’s not a solely Black issue, much less a Black American issue… It’s an ancient fucking issue, and the modern iteration is a damn farse, and the least important part of the civil rights struggle as a whole.

My Grandma’s name is LaVoin. She’s whiter than white. Her mom was trying to be fancy during the depression when she was pregnant with my grandma, and decided to name her something “French.” She didn’t know anyone french. She picked something she decided was, and, surprise, nobody knows how to pronounce her name. French language rules would dictate that her name be pronounced “LaVwan.” Nope. Her name is supposedly pronounce “LaVoyn.” That is a made up frigging name. Don’t care how it’s spun, it’s ignorance, and neither her mom, nor she herself had the right to be pissed at someone for not pronouncing it correctly. I love my grandma, and I love my family, but It wasn’t a real name. How the shit was anyone supposed to know. She cannot be pissed. One has to be logical, and she is. I’ve never once seen her get pissed, but I’ll tell you this: every telemarketer that called back in the day expected to get a soulful black woman, and got my old Arkansas born, farm-raised Grandma. The best was when it was a black lady on the phone for whatever democrat politician was trying to wrangle votes, and when my grandma got on the phone, and they found out she was white, they promptly hung up. Yay, targeted, politicized racism.

My name is Sean, which is the more modern bastardization of the Irish Gaelic name Seán. The characters mostly remained the same, and very rarely does one see the fada above the a in the name today outside of Ireland, and even then… eh (for the record though, that sucks. Thanks England. Fuckers.) That said, I have far more a right to be pissed that the average moron doesn’t understand that Shawn and Shaun are the English and American Anglicization of a name they decided didn’t matter enough to figure out the actual spelling of, because God forbid someone’s name not adhere to their nation’s grammar and language rules. Every time some idiot looks at my name, the accepted correct spelling (albeit due to English fuckery) of the Irish Gaelic name, and calls me “Seen,” it’s irritating, sure, but when I correct them, and they say, “that’s not how it’s spelled,” or, “well it looks like Seen,” they are not only insulting my intelligence, and my own understanding of my own damn name, but are affirming, and furthering oppression set down on an entire nation that is still suffering and held to the dirt today. The Irish were forced to renounce their own language by the English, and when they fled to America during the potato famine, were met with equally disgraceful prejudice. The Irish were held in the same regard as blacks, Latins, Chinese, and Native Americans, which is essentially what bred the tense hatred between these groups in the early years of American history, and why there’s still tense holdouts for prejudice in those communities. The only thing that gave the Irish a leg up was that they were never slaves, they spoke English closer to American English than any other oppressed demographic, and they didn’t scalp people… If you want a brief history lesson on how fucked up the English were to the Irish, watch “The Wind That Shakes The Barley.” It’s a drama, granted, but it’s pretty spot-on.

The point I’m making here is that my name isn’t made up, yet I’m met with horribly disrespectful commentary bordering on anti-irish prejudice almost daily, and more often than not, by people who would leap at the opportunity to shame me for little more than having lighter skin, without ever knowing a thing about my actual heritage. That is some deeply seeded, painful shit. I have a distinct right to be furious with each ignorant douche bag who jokingly says “seen” as a means to bother me, but I was taught to act with grace, because another person’s ignorance is not my downfall, but theirs. Still though, if I were to point it out I’d get scoffed at, and laughed at just the same. That, THAT is prejudice.

Now, let’s take a name like “J’.” Anyone know how to pronounce that? How about “La-A?” No? They’re “Japostrophe” and “LaDasha.” These are not names. African is not a language, and saying that a name is “African” is as disrespectful to the continent and every country in it as saying that all people from Africa, or the middle-east are black. Hell, calling it an “African-American” name is disrespectful as shit, because after 300 years of this country’s existence, the presence of an individual’s family line here, and their citizenship to this country makes them American. Not African. Further, if one can trace their family’s lineage to a specific country, phenomenal, but if they, in fact, can, then that individual should identify as Kenyan-American, or Moroccan-American, rather than be so damn ignorant that they call themselves “African.” Don’t feed the ignorance of those around you with your own. Have some damn pride.

Being considered a first generation Panamanian-American, with my Father being a legal immigrant who just got his citizenship after almost 30+ years working and living in this country, and having raked himself up from nothing to the great man he is today, I have no problem telling people to fuck off with their misplaced racial bullshit.

I have felt the sting of prejudice growing up as a boy with the last name Moreno in Texas where being of any form of Latin heritage makes one Mexican, illegal, and related to everyone from the entire continent of South America, the isthmus that is Central America, and half of the Caribbean. It has informed me, not identified me. Allow me to further explain that statement with the fact that I’m a “half-breed,” and barely that. My mom is white as white can be, and both parents are mixes of most of the countries in Western Europe, and the Mediterranean. What does that get me? Disdain from all sides. An inability to identify with either side, because neither side sees me as good enough to allow me to be a part of their club. Degradation because I’m not “pure.” Whites, Latins, Europeans… Doesn’t matter. They’ve all, each group individually, as a whole, dismissed me. What has it taught me? THAT I AM MORE THAN THE DEMOGRAPHICS THAT WON’T ACCEPT ME.I’ve the benefit of having great education, amazing companions, and a highly inquisitive mind which has taught me, and shown me that not a single soul on this planet can put me in a mold that will hold me. I am greater than the sum of their lables. Want my heritage? Pick up a map. I’m the western hemisphere. Pick a country, I probably have family history there. Fuck off.

My name is Sean Michael Moreno-Carroll. I was named Sean, because my mother holds our Irish heritage very close to heart, but was not knowledgeable enough to place the fada over the a. Michael, because of the Archangel, and because it pulls from both sides of my family, Jewish heritage on my dad’s side, and French on my mom’s, and because it was the name of a family friend. Moreno, pronounced Mo-ray-no, isn’t even my family’s name on my Dad’s side, but that’s a story for another time. Long story, short: I’m not related to anyone with that last name outside of my immediate family. My last name should be the Greek name Alias, which we’ve lost the Grecian spelling of. The name Moreno was kept, because religion is a bitch at times. Carroll is my mother’s maiden name, and it’s the Anglicization of my family’s Irish clan name, O'Carroll. It’s hyphenated at the end, because in Latin-America, and in my family, in particular, we hold names almost sacred, and the mother’s name is added on to the child’s paternal surname in our culture as a sign of respect, and deference to her part in the family, and in recognition of her family itself.

See, names… Names are all we have, and when one’s name has history, has a story, has depth, then they have a right to defend it so fervently. When their name is nothing but ignorance given form, they have no right to scold others for not knowing that Lemon Jello is pronounced “le-mawn-gel-o” rather than the food item it actually is. When some person tells me that Sherika is an African name, I will scoff at them, not because they’re black, but because it is a word only in Arabic, not “African,” and their name is the Anglicized, ridiculously transcribed version of the word meaning “parrot.” They’re probably going to tell me it means something like, “flower” because their mom told them so, and they’re are too daft, or too lazy to go find out for themselves.

Sean is the Irish Gaelic for “the wise,” or more directly, “old." Please, tell me the country of origin, and the language for the name LaShonda. I’ll help, it’s from the United States of America, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing. It’s not African, and any individual claiming such has no right to pollute the beauty of names from countries like Zimbabwe, or Egypt, or the various tribes there-of (that have been fucked enough by English, French, and Dutch colonization and empire-building, without being degraded by ignorant relatives an ocean away) with their made up crap, and pass it as racism when someone says their fallacy of a name incorrectly. No action has more hurt the fight for civil rights in this country than the horribly misguided movement to separate Black Americans from the rest of their peers by making up false names, and creating absurd movements like Ebonics. Yes, reclaim heritage, no, don’t do it by making shit up. Calling out fallacy isn’t racism, it’s truth. If Black American political leaders of the last couple decades prior to today wanted a sure-fire route to discredit their people, they found it. White, racist politicians and policy makers the nation over have been laughing their way to office ever since on the backs of people too blind to realize they were being marginalized.

It’s racism when one degrades the traditions, ideologies, and practices of an entire people based on ignorance, misgivings, and xenophobia. Mocking an entire continent by deciding some throwing together of random English sounds is African is, in itself, unintentionally discriminatory, and cultural appropriation at best, and blatantly racist at worst. 

When one decides I’m Mexican, Cuban, or anything other than Panamanian because of one of my last names, that’s racism. When one assumes I have no place in these discussions, because my skin is "lighter than other people’s from there,” that’s racism. When one comes to my table, and claims their righteousness, and pisses about their misrepresentation due to someone not pronouncing their name correctly, when their name is the least ethnic thing about them, I will call them on their shit, and I will tell them to sit the fuck back down, and rethink how they’re going to “represent their people”… Clearly, they don’t even know what the hell that means.

If an individual wants to fight racism, they need to start acting like a human, rather than a color. Until we can look past this petty shit, and look to educate, rather than inflame and rage, we should not stand, because we’re part of the problem. When one fits the stereotype willingly, they’re doing little more than affirming the disrespect of those spouting lies about the rest of us.

We must be better, if we want this shit to end. Be smarter, be better educated, more well mannered, less inflammatory, and more strategic in our allocation of rage. We need people, you, in this fight, but nobody needs someone misplacing their rage on things they know nothing about, and have no place discussing. Racism is so much bigger than just skin tone, and it’s so much broader than just in this country. For God’s sake, get educated, and understand that, yes, prejudice toward Black Americans is rampant, and unacceptable, but it is not the issue. It is one of a number of massive, horrible societal crimes perpetrated by the global community as a whole. The most rampant, most violent, most widely perpetrated, and most pathetic of those crimes being sexism. The next in hierarchy is classism. Next is true racism. Finally, at the bottom of the heap is American “racism,” where we’re content to only yell about how Black Americans deserve better, but when the chance comes to make a change by running for office, or voting, we do nothing. Stand. For fuck sake, do something that matters. Make art, make waves, educate, inform, aid, love, but don’t just yell.

If we fix the bigger issues, the others will have a precedent, and they will have to fall in line. Even then, however, this is one country. One.This isn’t going to fix itself in a day. We must be firm, be strong, be unwavering, but we cannot afford to pick fights we have no place barging into. If we serve each other, we will get far further than if we piss and moan. Tantrums get nothing. 

There are PLENTY of people this doesn’t apply to. I’m not talking to them. But please, when the subject is injustice, when what’s at stake is lives, don’t make the issue so petty by making it about names. This is a symptom, not a problem. The sooner we face issues, rather than talking points, the sooner we fix this fucked up world of ours.

With that all said, I admire the passion we have as a generation, and I love each of my peers, because we are the generation that never had a chance, and still we persist, but I want better for us than sinking into the same patterns of our predecessors. We deserve better. So do our kids.

Let’s do better than our parents. Let’s be more than what the generations ahead of us expect. Let’s be legends.