Burn My Dread P3d

[Cherish Asleson]

Thisact of lighting money on fire is an allegory for the stock market where billions of dollars can vanish if the market dips. Dread came singing "Money to Burn" in a tune that I later found out can be traced back to the rag sellers of early urban America. We discreetly followed him as he walked in front of the New York Stock Exchange and lit the first bill. He asked the public if they too had money to burn and a few volunteers burnt their own bills. I joined in with a limp dollar bill which would not light successfully probably due to the fact I had it in my palm for a few minutes. That was anti-climactic but the event otherwise was not. The act of burning money, which is federal property could or could not be deemed illegal and no one knew exactly what was to happen if and when the police got involved. In fact, bail was set aside if imprisonment occurred. What was fun for me was listening to the reactions of the viewers. I had my sketchbook with me and wrote down some quotations. "Why don't you give that money to charity? Or those affected by BP" one British woman said. "He's burning perfectly good money, they better fucking arrest him" said a man in a designer suite on his iphone. And the classic "What's going on?" One man came up to me and simply asked "Why is he doing this?" A lot of people just walked by, probably in a rush and thinking, "Eh whatever, it's New York." Even a bike tour passed through.

The performance lasted for a good 30 minutes until the cops interfered and formed a circle like sharks around Dread asking him to stop. The best part was they really didn't seem to know exactly what to do as it's not everyday they deal with people burning dollars in front of the Stock Exchange. They had to call the authoritie's authority. A very scary lady cop told people they were blocking the walkway and to move. Really though the cops in their circle were blocking the walkway but that's not something you can tell them. The authorities did their thing and gave Dread a ticket for "disorderly conduct". Dread left with his bucket singing "Money To Burn" which was a great way to exit the scene of the crime, that is if it is deemed a crime. Witnessing this event was amazing and I loved the piece. I think it made enough of an impact to those on Wall Street although their minds are like brick walls. The fact that the press did not arrive and that it did not become more of an issue I think was better than it becoming a huge ordeal. Dread made his visual protest and was able to leave respectfully. Afterwards we went to lunch and it was an honor to dine with the artist, his family and Franklin Furnace staff.

On the train ride home to Yonkers I drew in my sketchbook on the page for press information that never happened.

At the same time I was sketching, a song which I think may have been The Roots was playing on shuffle on my ipod and one lyric spoke out to me. "When there's nothing else to burn you have to set yourself on fire." I thought it was a great line to sum up the day.

To check out Dread Scott's other works and to learn more about "Money to Burn" please visit his website at To view the video of Money to Burn click here. Thanks for reading the Franklin Furnace Blog, please become a follower if you have a blogspot or google account!

Before I go into this, I want to offer an important caveat here: I have an anxiety disorder, for which I am in counseling. I do not currently use anti-anxiety medication, though a) I might at some point, and b) maybe I should? Anyway, nothing in this post should be construed as in any way questioning the use of said medication or any other medication. We all live different lives and cope with our struggles in different ways. Do what you gotta. I support you regardless.

If you, dear reader, are anxious or depressed or struggle with ailments such as mine or otherwise, please know this: if we know each other or if we have never met, even if we never will, whether we be friends or the farthest from, we are together in this. I love you and support you and I wish you all the best.

This post has been a long time in the making, including 100+ hours of video-gaming in which I played perhaps one of the least likely games one might expect an anxious person to play: Persona 3 FES, which is principally about saving the world from an impending doom whilst desperately building relationships with the damaged people around you, and also about depression and dread.

Also note that this blog post is not intended to be a dissertation on this masterpiece of a game, which would no doubt consume volumes. I suspect I could write a whole book about Persona 3, and if one already exists out there, I would like to read it. ?

As you play Persona 3, you come to realize that however much you grind and however powerful you become, you will always live at the mercy of time. Days pass at an unstoppable pace, sometimes in short bursts that begin to feel like gut punches. You need to use these days to develop your 20-odd Social Links, and the game intentionally makes it extremely difficult to do this.

In the Persona games, your starting Persona and the Personas of your companions are, generally speaking, some figure from mythology or folk hero from history. They all hold some particular significance to that character, representing some deep urge or impulse within them. To some extent, this is true of the main characters, too, who start with particular Personas but (generally very quickly) end up with a different Persona, since they are able to hold multiple Personas.

But the worst thing happens: Nyx acts first, and lashes out with the power of Death, inflicting over ten times as much damage as you could stand even at your strongest. (Seriously. You can, at most, have 999 HP, and this attack does 9,999 damage.)

Fine. Ok. There are Personas that can bring you back with a single HP after an insta-kill attack. This is explicable in the mechanics of the game. Maybe the Universe Persona gives you this power. Hope endures. Hope persists.

Just as the doomed hero of Persona 3 cannot ultimately defeat infinite despair and survive, so too can humans never truly overcome the sickness unto death, as Kierkegaard puts it: the knowledge of and necessity to face our own mortality.

It is the knowledge that I have only so much time that pushes me to live. I have only so much time to tell stories, to spend time with those I love and cherish, to leave a legacy of kindness and compassion in the world.

When Satoru came to, he remembered nothing but pain. A burning sensation piercing his body, pushing him forward with the force of the hit. Falling, he remembered falling past the clouds, past his fellow divine as he blacked out.

He woke up lying in a pile of bloody leaves with his legs twisted up underneath. His head was throbbing under the weight of stress. Satoru made to move his wings before he froze. Wings. With a shaking hand, Satoru reached behind him to grasp at-

Satoru was going to die here, him, one of the greatest Seraphim to attend to His needs. Unable to fly and fallen from heaven, he was doomed to suffer on the mortal plane until someone-or something-put him out of his misery.

Ryo flew a circle around the castle giving Satoru the chance to take in the massive structure. Reinforced walls and towering spires gave it an intimidating appearance. Crimson flags rippled in the wind at every corner and spike. As the dragon descended down in a massive courtyard, guards emerged from the doorways to line up in formations to greet the king. Satoru pressed himself closer to Suguru, nervous about the sudden appearance of so many unknown humans. His wing swept over his back to cover his face as he peered shyly over. Suguru dismissed the guards after their welcoming chants with a wave of his hand until only two people remained.

The people in question approached Ryo and Satoru gently unfurled his wing to examine them closer. They were young men, one with black spiky hair and the other with soft pink. The man with black hair was dressed in an elegant garb befitting a noble while the other was wearing traditional guard armor, but with a black and crimson band around his bicep.

The guard led Satoru through the castle, chattering about the interiors and the people and any topic that crossed his mind. Satoru did his best to pay attention to the conversation but he was distracted taking in everything around him. Everything was so new and different and Satoru was endlessly curious about how humans lived in this imposing structure. Yuji led him down winding corridors and colorful mosaic windows before stopping in front of an elaborate red and gold door.

There was a basin of water on top of one of the tables with clean towels. Unable to see his wound, Satoru gingerly cleaned his body, trying to avoid aggravating his back. He tried to dab some water over the missing wing but the fabric caught on the injury, causing Satoru to gasp in pain. He would have to wait for Suguru.

Opening a dresser, Satoru tried to choose what would be easiest to put on. As he expected, none of the clothes had holes for wings. But he found a soft pair of pants and a shirt that he tore the back open. Just as he finished slipping his arms through the garment, there was a soft knock at the door.

The next day, Satoru went out into the garden only to see a lifeless stump with blossoms scattered on the ground. The birds were missing, clearly migrating to better branches and sweeter fruits in the garden. Without the tree, the clearing was cold and dull.

Satoru tilted his head in curiosity, wondering why they looked so flushed. That must have been another human custom he was unfamiliar with. He touched his lips, tracing the outline with his fingertips. Suguru would know what it meant.

Love? Satoru knew nothing of human love. But if love was Suguru holding him like this every day, then Satoru would give up more than just this. He would tear off his other wing, if it meant that Suguru would never let go.

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