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Terayn Kare Essentials Mobile App
Greetings to all my loyal visitors. Evankha Terayn & Terayn Kare Essentials is going mobile. The company and I would appreciate it if you would complete our App Preference Market Research Survey for us to build an app that is user friendly and meets the needs of you all and us combined. Thank you. It takes about 3 minutes or less to complete.
Words I Never Said (January 201X)
I’ve had these thoughts not too long ago.
🕉♊️
I’m not mad at you,
nor will I ever be.
You gave me memories, experiences that I will forever cherish.
You gave me your time, which to me is more valuable then any stone this earth has ever produced.
You impacted my life in a way which will cause me to never go back to the old me.
You are forever a part of me.
As am I of you.
However, between infatuation and friendship I’m not sure where to place this.
I feel as though we often try too hard to merge the two.
The line becomes blurred and things rush into something that may not have been meant for one another.
Everything happens for a reason. I will never doubt why I met you.
My only job is to understand your presence in my life.
The answer will help me along my path, whether your still walking…
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Farm to Community Pipelining
Greetings all, much is to gain; through knowledge, research, and experience. Evankha Terayn will begin featuring different individuals who make an impact on the communities in various ways. In many ways these features are to connect different folks in different industries with the people. Young Farmer Justin Walker is the first. I ask how to take put a bit of time and visit his link: https://www.gofundme.com/justinwalker
It is our duty to bring notice to folks who do well for the people. As well as his back to help ensure we can continue to see the necessary changes occur. Visit the link and please share it as well. There is a goal and it our duty as people who eat daily to help him reach it.
Explain It
How do I explain this?
How do I explain that?
How do I begin?
How do I begin to explain to my young nieces and nephews…
My adolescent female and male cousins……
And my unborn children…
Rape Culture and coldblooded MURDER of innocent children.
Not only physically but…, mentally and spiritually.
Or even the hard reality that the external architect-designed a blueprint for success that gains one the world all the while systematically leading the rest to failure at the physical level.
(look in not out but within-you are the foundation the strength-with their technology they wouldn’t be building-they still deny who really built the pyramids)
Haha back to the topic at hand.
Prejudice-Bigotry & Discrimination-Sexism
See by age 8 the harsh reality I faced-racism, by 11 rape culture, and prejudice by 15, which, mayy seem obscene but since I just said, I… encountered bigotry in my early adolescent years.
Prejudice (break it down) it means to prejudge-the reason irrelevant much.
Bigotry and Discrimination are the, more appropriate terms but speaking in so called layman terms, racism (there is no such) but know when it comes to race and people.
The laggers made it up.
They had to slow you down but it wasn’t enough
So they cripple others to catch up and move up- Now do you see why they call it race?
Sexisn. Yes it is a form a of discrimination but right now it’s standalone. To my nieces, female cousins and unborn daughters-grands and beyond-you the givers of life don’t let him, him ir him tell you different. Without her, he can’t exist. Without her, (he) can’t exist. Without the womb there is no man. The eggs came before the chicken-to my nephews, male cousins and unborn sons-don’t you ever forget it.
Innerstand etymology. The origin of words and use the language properly.
To the young man children let the names Emmitt Till, Trayvon Martin, & Michael Brown…keep that fire lit within. You have the right to live. You are the strength, the backbone. They wouldn’t do some much to break you and shape you if they didn’t see you as sharper. Iron sharpens iron, no need to entertain Plexiglas.
They don’t give a damn about you, cast you off in sin then claim you to be the gin.
Young woman children whom will grow to be women, uplift your brothers-he is your physical strength and you his mental strength. Intertwined you both exceed beyond measure, together.
Young woman children let the names Deshauna Barber & Sarah Baartman resonate within-when it comes to beauty, loving the skin your in, and standing firm for what you believe in. Silence is golden but silence your soul never or be apologetic for knowing and acknowledging the voice you have. (Rest in Power Sandra Bland. Thank you for your diligence Angela Davis and Assata Shakur)
Young man children whom will grow to be men, love your sisters and support them because she balances you. It’s not a competition between you, it’s a collaboration.
She is the brain and he is the spine, she is the knowledge and he is the strength, she is the wisdom and he is the courage. Complimentary. It’s more spiritual than it will ever be mental and more mental than it will ever be physical.
Financial and social I need not mention, anything of good essence brings in both in surplus…Law of Attraction.
Scales & Measurements
To Heal A Nation. Everything depends on the scale at which you measure it. -Sabali Amoré = Peace Love
So Be It
It’s sad this shit does not shock me anymore.
It does not move me.
It effects me, NOT, anymore.
You really want to know why the sense of family is fucked in this nation?
It’s because mothers are quicker to tell their daughters fuck you but slow to say I love you.
It’s because fathers and sons have become too homophobic to show each other love because “men don’t do that,”
love but never show it,
never let them know it;
then wonder…why,
their children turn to the streets.
It’s because LOVE is something that disappears from within the homes early on,
so the streets is the only place left to seek it from…
But if you…
learn to love yourself,
codependent-never on anyone else,
you’ll see you yourself,
is all you need to be with.
Hopefully that within
radiates without
and the,
universe gives you a return on your investment,
but if not…
So be it.
On coping with writer’s block (or the lies we tell ourselves along the way)
Thanks 😉😃
I haven’t written for a very long time.
I joined a creative writing class a while ago to help me through my ‘writer’s block’ – can you call yourself a writer if you don’t write? – and I managed to produce a total of 500 words over the entire four-week course. A paltry amount by any standards, though the course itself was brilliant.
One of the suggestions from my fellow writers was to write about why I don’t write. I’ve been thinking a lot about the reasons I don’t write lately so this seemed as good a place to kick off my writing again as any. And also address why I call myself a writer in the first place – a hard sell in the writing void of the last few months.
In my professional life, I have been a public relations consultant, a journalist and now, an editor. Words…
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Joy & Pain
“Nothing last forever, pain is for the moment…”-Woodn Aquarium. A little over seven years ago I couldn’t have fathomed this to be true. It was a saying definitely worth at least hearing or knowing back then though. At that time I needed to know I wouldn’t always feel as if someone pulled my heart out of my chest while it was still beating, made papercut like incisions, and then broke it when the inevitable happened. I lost my hero, my best friend, a King that treated his wife as a Queen, and his daughters and sons as princesses and princes.
Let’s rewind to the months leading up to the most devastating event in my life. It was a pleasantly warm day in late spring of 2006 during the first week of June. I had just completed my freshman year of high school. That school year, I made the Junior Varsity Women’s Basketball and Varsity Track & Field teams. I struggled with math but I came out victorious in the end with a 96 on my final. Through all of that success nothing could prepare me for the storm that was brewing ahead; the untimely death of my father on June 8th, 2006.
A few months earlier, either in January or February, an odd looking fellow with a white, pinstriped, oxford-like shirt and blue work pants was bringing in our home two racks: each of them were filled with about thirty-six mini oxygen tanks of a chrome color with hunter green tops and an orange, oversized, rusted one as well. Also, placing a sign on the outside door stating, “NO SMOKING, OXYGEN INSIDE.” At that moment I knew things were not going to be as they once were, but I never suspected my dad would turn for the worst. He had been in and out of the hospital all my life so I just looked at this as another mini obstacle. You see, my dad was a Vietnam Veteran. He was one of the many soldiers affected by Agent Orange when our oh-so-smart government thought it would be wise to use a chemical that was known to cause harm, just to clear the jungle-like areas so the soldiers could see their way through clearly. Anyhow, my dad was never the type to let anyone see him sweat, in pain, or upset. It’s almost like he had no emotion from the outside looking in. When we went out places, he would drive and have his oxygen with him, but he would never take it out of the car. Time continued to pass. As we got closer to his expiration, he did something one day that subliminally let me know time was winding up, but I didn’t think much of it. He took his oxygen tank out of the car with him into the store. The clock was still ticking.
On June 6th, 2006, I had completed my freshman year two days early. June 8th, 2006 was the official date for all of Scotland High’s schools to be released for summer break. My school was set up like a college with multiple schools within the main high school based on the student’s interest. Finishing mandatory exams early was just an incentive. On June 7th, I spent the entire day with my dad. We talked, we laughed, we joked, he gave me much of his advice and wisdom; and most of all, he let me know he loved me and that I needed to learn my history, as he always did tell me to do. That was a very special day. It was our last one-on-one day together. The very next day my dad and my mom spent their time together. We also got in a little family time. My parents and I.
It’s June 8th, 2006, a little after noon. I am in the kitchen sitting in a bar chair with a back on it, my mom is behind me about 3 feet and to my right about 4 feet ironing her shirt. My dad is standing to my left, by my heart as I like to put it, talking to me and joking about how my neck had started getting small because I had lost weight during track season that year. We all had a great laugh. I looked my dad in his eyes and observed, I noticed his face had gotten a little plump; he looked a little lighter than usual, and while breathing, even with his oxygen tank, he was gasping and trying to force air into his lungs. Inside, that tore me up because I knew his time was coming, but I was hoping just maybe he would be spared and take a turn for the best. Haha, wishful thinking and hope keeps us all going. As the day went on, night eventually fell upon us. I was in my room on the phone with a friend when around about 9:37 p.m. my mom came to my room and told me she was about to take my dad to the hospital and asked me did I want to go. I put my call on hold then responded with no, not knowing this would be a trip with no return. My mom exited and I resumed my call. Then, something hit me and I told my call I would call them back I needed to go talk to my dad. I entered my parent’s room and my dad was laying on the bed breathing as if nothing was wrong but I could still see it. He held it together as strongly as he could. I asked my dad if he wanted me to pack his overnight bag just in case he had to stay overnight. He said yes. I packed his bag, I hugged and kissed him on his cheek and told him I loved him along with that if he had to stay any length of time, I would come stay with him in the hospital until he got out since I was out for the summer. He responded with, “Okay booboo and I love you too.” I told my mom to call me once they got to the hospital so that I would know everything was okay, she said, “okay boobear.” After that my dad got out of bed and I seen them off.
I called my friend back while time passed. After about two hours, I noticed I hadn’t received a phone call from my mom so I called her. No answer. I called again. Still no answer. I let it be. Still laying on the left side of my king-sized bed at the time speaking with my friend, I heard footsteps coming toward my room so I told my call to hold on. As the hand touched my room door, an instant chill came over me and my cousin walked in. Her aura gave off compassion and grief. I picked up my phone and told my call I would call them back again. As soon as I got the words out of my mouth, my cousin said, “Baby, your dad didn’t make it.” Like a chain reaction I rolled from my back to my right side and cried like a baby.
Looking back over the night my dad psssed, I remember a look on his face that he could not mask. It was a look that told me he wasn’t returning this time. He gave me the same look of compassion and grief that my cousin gave when she entered my room. I assume he just chose to leave me with hope, because when you lose hope you slowly began to lose the life within you. Many days I could not eat and many nights I cried myself to sleep wishing he was there. Knowing what I know now, he couldn’t be here because this was already predetermined as a milestone in my journey. Without this happening, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I also can say, I wouldn’t have made the mistakes that I made along the way but I had to learn on my own. I miss my dad dearly but I’ve realized only our physical bond was broken and our spiritual connection will forever live on. Energy never dies it transforms.
To Hell & Back
Which would you anticipate to unearth? Would it be traces of roses, lilies, tulips, candy and fruity trails, and aromas of cleanliness all around; or old food odors, hairballs, used tampons and sanitary napkins, toothpaste, urine, and blood stains? Of the two particular scenarios given, the latter is likely NOT to be your guesstimate for the plethora of possible findings in a women’s dormitory. I’m here to show you that it, and the bathrooms in it, can be one of the filthiest places known to man on a college campus. Let’s take a walk through one on West Carolina T&M University’s campus. The dorm of terror for today is Curray Hall.
As we approach the heavy glass doors to enter Curray Hall, observe the glass covered in fingerprints and drink splatters. Notice what seems to be a huge, red, smudged letter “F” or a plus sign on the left door—which does not open for some unknown reason. It appears it could either be blood or bad paint. Regardless, it looks quite disgusting. Notice as you are now entering the door the scent of garlic, old pizza, and rotten fish is permeating through the air with force directly into your nostrils almost instantly. As you turn to your immediate right you see a trash trail coming from the lobby due to the trashcan overflowing so ferociously with food containers. The large, mid-wall to ceiling mirrors are covered in fingerprints, hair grease, and food smears from people eating and touching them. The carpet is covered in food and drink stains as well.
Continuing your entry into the dorm, now arriving to the hallway of the first floor, you notice it is covered in flyers—for parties most of the young ladies will not attend—and hair balls. You think to yourself these hair balls are roaming through here like tumbleweed in a desert. Ahead of you as you turn left making your way towards the stairwell; there is a trail leading to the bathroom. It is a golden-like liquid fluid. What do you believe happened? Someone apparently did not make it to the bathroom before releasing their bodily fluids? Correct! Upon closer observation you witness that the golden-like liquid is urine. You’ve finally reached the stairwell. Our next stop will be the basement.
While you’re going down the steps to the basement inspecting everything, you see a path of underwear traveling in both directions, up and down the steps. Are they dirty? Or are they clean? That’s a mystery you choose to leave as an absolute mystery. Carrying on down the steps halfway, you look up and see that the glass on the ground-level door has the same red marking, this time with the letter “L” on it, as did the main entry door. Persisting on your journey, you are now at the basement door. Open it and walk in. Located in the basement are the snack room, laundry room, and kitchen. After walking about fifteen steps into the basement, you direct your attention to the first room on the left which is the laundry room. You walk into the given room: there are three chairs to your abrupt left, a few paces up from that is the card swipe machine for using the washer and dryer, a little further is the oversized sink used for soaking/prewashing and/or washing delicates, straight ahead on the back wall are four dryers, three that work and one that doesn’t, and against the right wall, next to the dryers are four working washers. You decide to take a closer look in the oversized sink and find that someone was soaking a pair of white with lime and teal flowered underwear. The garment contained fecal marks and blood stains …EWW! Thoroughly disgusted you step back into the hallway, walk about ten steps, and enter the kitchen.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, you see it has three microwaves, one on your right and two on your left, a thirteen ounce trashcan about thirteen feet away from you on the right, and a closet across from it on the left. Your senses tell you the kitchen has a foul odor and has been left in an uproar. Traces of overcooked popcorn, ramen noodle bags, and crumbs are everywhere. The counters are so filthy you avoid getting too close to them so that they couldn’t touch your clothing during your inspection. The floor is horrendously covered in thick coats of what might be ketchup, mustard, collards, and barbeque sauce. You begin to approach one of the three microwaves with intentions on opening it. The initial scent your nose detected a few moments earlier appears to be getting stronger; therefore you cover your nose before opening it because you fear what you may discover. Upon opening the door of the microwave, an aroma mixture of onions, garlic, guys’ sweaty gym soaks, and garbage truck juice hurdled out of it. The appearance is worse than the scent though. You examine the glass tray and there are various foods that splattered and popped, as well as water that appears as though it has been stagnant for so long it has started to grow mold in the microwave. Now that is a shame. You decide to skip the snack room due to now being in complete repulsion.
Walking up the steps to the 3rd floor, you see that all the windows on your way up are covered in the same red, smeared, letters that were on the main and ground-level doors. The letter on the first floor window was an “O,” on the second floor window was a “V,” and the third floor window contained an “E.” Reflecting on the letters, you realize it makes out the phrase “F LOVE.” Thoughts? Someone bitter or heartbroken had to do that. Haha, you are pretty funny.
You’ve finally reached the third floor and decide the bathroom should be the first of your last two stops due to all you’ve seen thus far. Entering the bathroom, you feel an uneasy sense of relief because you didn’t know what to expect. It feels nice and warm with traces of candy and fruit trails in air from the soaps belonging to those currently showering. All that ends as your smell senses catch a whiff of a garbage-like odor rippling lightly below the scent of a cucumber melon and a midnight pomegranate body wash. Walking into an empty toilet stall, there are urines stains all on the toilet seat in this first stall. Looking into the next stall, dried blood stains on the floor and toilet seat pop out at you.
“How in the hades did blood stains get on the floor of all places?”
Avoiding the other toilet stalls; you walk over to the empty shower to see where the garbage-like aroma could have been seeping from. Deciding to turn on the shower, you angle the shower head down so you won’t get wet and turn on the water. Stepping out of the shower careless you almost step in some random fluid on the floor that you did notice when first approaching the shower; it seems some nice, young lady has urinated (and it contains blood in it) in an area the water doesn’t reach. Okay, while you stand back and observe, the smell of garbage and fecal matter becomes more prominent as the water from the shower beats down into the shower drain.
“It has to be something wrong with the drainage system; no one actually smells like that.”
Nonetheless, the longer you stand here you inspect how the water starts to puddle up. That’s not the drainage alone though. Letting your eyes roam the shower, you see those tumbleweed-like hair balls, a razor, and a toothbrush. Weird combination, but it happens. You turn the water off and exit the bathroom shaking your head.
Curious to know what the inside of at least one of the rooms look like after seeing the other travesties of a women’s dormitory, you reluctantly knock on a door labeled as 304. While waiting for someone to open the door, you quickly scheme up a story for why you want to view the room. Not thinking fast enough, a young lady opens the door sooner than you expect:
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I am doing a story for The News of Us on dorm life for men and women, and I am curious to know if you would be so kind in accommodating my need of viewing the inside of a woman’s dorm room and their cleanliness?”
“Mmm, sure I don’t mind, my roommate isn’t here but come on in.”
“Thanks.”
Glancing across the room, it appears the two young ladies balance each other out at first look. Straight ahead, there is a neatly-made bed, clothes neatly folded, and no trash lingering around that portion of the room. On the opposite side, as you step in closer to see the room entirely; you note that the roommate’s garbage is running over and the stench isn’t one to love: her bed is messy with her covers sprawled all over the bed, laundry that is clean has just been tossed on the bed, and on the floor dirty laundry resides right in front of her closet where her laundry basket is located. *Hears key jingling in the door*
“Alright, that’s enough, you’ve got to leave.”
“Okay thanks for your cooperation. I believe I have seen enough to understand the struggle that lies within a women’s dormitory.”
A women’s dorm can either be the cleanest or filthiest places on campus and in the world. The worst part of it all is knowing that it is a dorm filled with only women. Not all of the women within the dorm are unclean, but the few that are make the rest appear to be just as horrid.
Evankha Terayn™ 