BLUNT BREAKS AND THEATER SEATS + WANDERLUST IN THE CATACOMBS OF US
First day of community college, the air tasted like something new, like cigarettes and cheap perfume smashed into the smell of notebooks fresh from the pack. She walked in late, wearing ripped fishnets and combat boots, like she’d fought her way through the summer to get here. Her hair was dyed some wild shade of blue, electric and bleeding into her collar. She sat next to me, threw her bag down like it owned the place, and pulled out a pack of gum she didn’t even chew. She smelled like rebellion, like splattered paint that refuses to dry. And when her eyes met mine, I knew we were going to burn through the kind of time that leaves scars for the better.
Shot by the lens of Mitchell Royel, deep in the gritty heart of the Fashion District. The air buzzed with raw energy—no pretense, no filter. Now blasting through the scene, "LEAN" by Kreayshawn, Jason Legacy & Commotion. It’s chaos and couture colliding, unapologetically electric.
We didn’t start slow—no, we threw ourselves into it, headfirst. Trips to sketchy midnight showings at the dollar cinema, passing nachos back and forth like communion wafers. The alleys we walked down weren’t just shortcuts; they were art galleries, our own secret cathedrals, gritty murals claiming the walls like tattoos we couldn’t afford. But then she got that tattoo, left me sitting in the waiting room while she screamed and laughed and swore all at once. Black ink scrawled forever onto her shoulder while I just sat there, scrolling through playlists we’d never finish.
Bowling alleys felt like home, the crash of pins our applause. Six-hour metro bus rides? Nothing. We were on our way to somewhere, or nowhere, and the metal seats became our altars. Music class was a joke, a background soundtrack to the chaos we ignited. Top row selfies—our crooked halos on display, eyes glassy, grins loud enough to drown out the quiet stares.
She was irreverence incarnate, a perfect storm I didn’t know I’d been waiting for, something raw and jagged but painfully beautiful. And then there was my other friend. The "urban" one, the “working actress” with her slightly condescending laughs and careful questions. When she asked, “What are you wearing?” that one time, it was like a thread snapped loose somewhere inside. I laughed it off, but later, the weight of that simple question was heavier than a full semester’s worth of textbooks. It mapped out a line in the sand I didn’t want to cross. She wasn’t meant for alley-walks and nacho nights. She was spotless, polished, a “soon-to-be” someone that never belonged in my mess.
Something had to give. I split my time like a crumpled dollar bill. The actress took the spiritual stuff, the arts center events, the moments I could fake like I wasn’t breaking into pieces. But my blue-haired storm? She had the rest—the wild nights where nothing mattered except the music and the lights and the way our laughs rebounded off the ceiling.
Years later, we drifted apart, like all careless storms eventually do, sinking into other lives, other loves, and chores that eat at our dreams. I keep my old friend tucked away like a graffiti-ed keepsake I can’t seem to throw out. And that other girl, the actress? By then, she’d climbed her sparkling ladder, gotten where she wanted. She was a star. But me? I stayed here in the in-between. And the one I ran through fire with... no, we won’t be friends again. We can’t. That door burned shut a long time ago. It's too sacred to touch now.
But damn, if she isn’t still one of the most irreverent, messy, beautiful things that’s ever circled the orbit of my life.
Long live the chaos.
Long live her.
-Mitch, ryder, GG Collective
Epilogue: For a long time, we tried to make sense of it all—the chaos, the collisions, the way seasons change us as much as time does. Back then, it felt like we were writing our own hymn, crafted from stolen hours and reckless moments. When you’re young, it’s easy to believe that every spark you ignite will grow into an eternal flame. But the truth is, some fires are meant to burn quick and wild, leaving behind an ash that lingers like nostalgia, like the echoes of a half-forgotten song. Community college wasn’t about the classes; it was about the people who walked into our frames and rewrote the scenes we thought we knew. It was about finding beauty in imperfection, in the mislabeled, in the unpolished journeys we all stumbled through together.
That first day, none of us knew what we were stepping into when she sat beside us. She wasn’t just chaos; she was the lesson. She showed us how to live unapologetically, how to paint outside the lines even when everything screamed for order. Through her, we learned that not everyone fits neatly into the puzzle we try to build. Sometimes, people are meant to upend everything, to scatter the pieces, and force us to see that life isn’t about finishing the picture—it’s about creating it. Even now, through years and transitions, her voice still echoes, like a guitar riff reverberating down an empty hallway. And those echoes? We’ve learned to love them more than the silence because they remind us that not every connection needs closure to matter.
Some chapters are meant to stay as they are—unfinished, sacred in their lack of completion. That’s what makes them unforgettable. Bits of those moments, those people, stitched themselves into us, even as we moved forward and collected new stories. The actress, the storm, the in-betweens—they’re permanent, in ways we no longer need to untangle. Life has taught us that we don’t get to hold onto everything we love, but if we’re fortunate, we carry pieces of it forward. Long live the chaos, for it’s there, in those messy, fleeting moments, that life truly thrives.
30 Tips for Thriving in the Chaos
Stay open—life reveals its beauty in the unexpected.
Trust that every collision is shaping the greater mosaic.
Hold space for endings without needing closure.
Allow the unfinished to remain sacred.
Lean into the lessons of the people who disrupt our patterns.
Celebrate the spark, even if it doesn’t become a flame.
Remember that seasons leave imprints as powerful as time.
Find grace in imperfection—it’s where humanity resides.
Rewrite the hymns of your life as often as you need to.
Community is built in moments where we dare to be vulnerable.
Forgive the mess—creation is rarely clean.
Welcome the storm; it clears paths for new growth.
Walk alongside those who paint outside the lines with reverence.
Seek to understand rather than to categorize.
Trust the echoes—they are teachers in their own right.
Recognize that some echoes will stay longer than silence.
See beauty in the mislabeled and misfit.
Carry forward the fragments of love—we are their vessel.
Turn ash into remembrance, not regret.
Keep writing your story, even when the script feels incomplete.
Learn the art of letting go while still holding gratitude.
See chaos as its own kind of order—a divine balance.
Create without expectation, only intention.
Remember that every chapter serves its purpose.
Be in fellowship with life’s transitions; they are holy ground.
Honor the echoes of those who’ve taught us how to live fully.
Focus on the lessons gifted, not the ones withheld.
Trust that life is building bridges even in its storms.
Surrender to the flow without losing your roots.
Long live the chaos—it’s the language of thriving.