Focused topic: Personal & Identity.
Yellow Brick Road https://youtu.be/Qht8_OdNyks [Intro] If we want tomorrow to
Yellow Brick Road
https://youtu.be/Qht8_OdNyks
[Intro]
If we want tomorrow to feel less harsh, we have to show up early—while people are still young enough to be steadied, taught, and protected.
Not with speeches. Not with slogans. With real choices that keep kids from being dismissed, ignored, or treated like they don’t matter.
The world feels loud right now. Everyone’s tense. We keep saying the next generation will do better—so we should build a world where “better” is actually possible.
[Verse 1]
Okay. I’ll be straight about it.
I’m pulling open the old cabinet, taking out the dusty parts, and naming what shaped me.
People judge the sound before the story. They judge the mood before the meaning. They decide what you are before they hear who you’ve been.
So let me roll it back—to being a kid, to the moment I noticed the world splitting people into boxes.
One side of the city. A thin line. A different air on the other side.
Crossing 8 Mile felt like stepping into a new rulebook.
No fireworks, no dramatic scene—just the subtle change in how strangers measure you.
I learned quickly: sometimes you’re invited, and sometimes you’re only allowed to stand nearby.
You hear it in the little laughs. You catch it in the pauses. You feel it when a room gets quiet for no reason.
Wherever I stood, someone could find a way to make me feel out of place.
One day it was a mall—nothing special, just me walking in—
and suddenly I’m aware I’m being tracked like I’m trouble.
On one side, I’m “not from here.” On the other side, I’m still “not from here.”
But every so often, a door didn’t slam.
Call it luck. Call it a break. Call it someone looking away for a second.
I call it moving anyway—because standing still felt like getting erased.
I remember cutting across a patch of grass and stepping over old railroad tracks—
tracks everyone recognizes, tracks that don’t care what name you carry.
Steel, gravel, and repetition.
But to me, those rails were a border.
And every crossing came with the same quiet promise: keep going.
[Chorus]
So come with me—walk the yellow-brick road.
Not to a fairytale, not to a throne—just back through the places that built me.
Walk with me through a small slice of life I once called “home,” even when it didn’t always feel safe.
Come on—walk the yellow-brick road.
Another page, another pass down the same streets.
Because sometimes the only way forward is to look back and name it clearly.
[Bridge]
I wandered so much people tried to make that my label.
Some days I’d lift a hand at the curb and hope a stranger would stop.
Other days I’d borrow a bike that wasn’t mine—ride fast, return quiet, act like it never happened.
I kept a map in my head: main roads, side cuts, and the park as the halfway point.
Then the long walk after dark—because night makes you less visible.
I’d slip into a house like a shadow, trying not to wake the world.
Especially when I’d been pushed out again, especially when home felt temporary.
Around then I met someone with energy like a spark—confidence worn like a jacket.
Another friend was there too, always smiling, always making the heavy parts lighter.
They were handing out flyers, talking up a school show, daring anyone to pay attention.
We weren’t famous. We weren’t polished. We just wanted a place to breathe.
I said, “Come through.” Like it was normal. Like it wasn’t risky to hope.
Someone looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
Then came the line—the familiar one meant to shrink you down.
So I did what I could do: I answered with rhythm.
Not perfect. Not legendary. Just enough to earn my spot in the room.
And oddly, our patterns lined up.
Same bounce, same timing—different lives, same hunger to be heard.
From then on, it wasn’t “me versus you.”
It became “we.”
And we both felt it—somewhere down the line, we’d meet again.
[Chorus]
So come with me—walk the yellow-brick road.
Not to escape, not to pretend—just to remember how a person gets built.
Walk with me through that small, complicated place I once called “home,”
and watch how the story keeps moving.
Come on—walk the yellow-brick road.
Another page, another pass down the same streets.
Because sometimes the only way forward is to look back and tell it clean.
I have friends named Hussein and Prabhakaran as well.
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shared views about the Israel–Palestine situation.
I would suggest, to my ███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████ shared views about the Israel–Palestine situation. In some places there can be social pressure to conform and firm expressions of loyalty, which can make interactions feel tense. That does not mean everyone will act the same way — there are many kind and decent people — but I personally prefer to prioritize my safety and set clear boundaries rather than take unnecessary risks.
: )
I'm completely fine. I have a lot of cash now to pay for my new business. We should do it soon. I am just planning things; I was supposed to speak to JKH today, but they didn't visit. I'll speak to them tomorrow.
Rosie O'Donnell, back when Elisabeth was friends with her.
Rosie O'Donnell, back when Elisabeth was friends with her.
Keren, What David was teaching, before Godfather, before Bibi noticed.
Keren,
What David was teaching, before Godfather, before Bibi noticed.
He kept friends like you close, and people such as Uriah even closer.
And he stayed even closer to opponents at the frontline.
Lehan's Remarks: “Hey Bibi.
Lehan's Remarks:
“Hey Bibi. Have you seen ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████? I find it ██████████ when they savor the fruit and then ████████████████ — it's something I personally find ███████████ and makes me █████████████. I don't want to laugh at or mock cultural habits or have a 'Lawrence of Arabia' moment, but it still feels off-putting to me.”
— Yair.
When many people take their own lives, it is often because they can no longer
When many people take their own lives, it is often because they can no longer bear overwhelming suffering. When I put myself in the bare feet of those hostages, who have been subjected to severe abuse, deprivation and humiliation, I can understand why someone in that situation might see ███████████████████ to continuing to endure such treatment.
████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████ There is a real possibility they would never be released and that the mistreatment could worsen.
I strongly feel this man may have seized an opportunity to resist, and that is when he was killed. I think if you spoke to him now, he might say ██████████████████████████████████████████ in the hands of Hamas captors, and that is a feeling others share.
████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████and they would not have wanted to lose one of their captives.
His 17 children, some of them, if faced with a patient who could not recover, might choose to discontinue life-sustaining treatment. Many hope they will be reunited with him in the spirit world, and he may be better off.
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[Verse 2] Freshman year, first week, hallway like a runway Everybody’s
[Verse 2]
Freshman year, first week, hallway like a runway
Everybody’s brand-new, everybody’s got something to prove
One rumor hits and it spreads like smoke in the lunch line
A logo turns “wrong,” and overnight it’s out of style
I had the clean pair, saved up, felt proud in them
Next day they’re dead weight, tossed like a bad decision
Then a new sound drops—whole crowd shifts their uniforms
Colors, symbols, slogans—meaning I didn’t understand
Me and my friends copied it like it was armor
Wore it loud, wore it wrong, thinking we were in the club
Didn’t clock the side-eyes, didn’t read the room at all
Till somebody checked me: “That isn’t yours—don’t play tough”
Back in a basement later, we talked like we were experts
Acting bitter, acting brave, blaming everyone but us
Truth is we were scared kids, trying to borrow a banner
Just to feel like we belonged for a minute in the noise
Same year, first breakup—heart like a car with no brakes
I tried to flex with words, tried to win by being cruel
I said something reckless, aiming wide instead of honest
And I learned the hard way: a mouth can stain a whole room
So I’m saying it clean now: I was wrong to generalize
No label makes a person, no shade makes you less real
If I ever made someone feel smaller for a cheap laugh—
I regret it. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better then.
[Chorus]
Come walk with me, back down that bright old road
Another turn, another scene, another lesson I was owed
Take a look with me at the place that raised my skin and bones
That little corner I once called “home”
Yeah, come walk with me, back down that bright old road
Same streets, different eyes, same weight I had to hold
Take a look with me at the place that raised my skin and bones
That little corner I once called “home”
[Outro]
Get out. I’m done arguing—just go.
I don’t want this in my house.
Leave. Now.
Out.
How safe do you feel?
How safe do you feel?
Steve's a lot more talkative inside the Tomb Even though I'm not part of the
Steve's a lot more talkative inside the Tomb
Even though I'm not part of the whole Yale community
I'm not particularly involved
That sort of thing
***
I'm going to be fine
***
Sometimes it feels like I'm needed for many things
I find it a bit boring
Can you attend a board meeting with those folks?
I think the Sulzberger family shifted from Judaism to Christianity, though
I think the Sulzberger family shifted from Judaism to Christianity, though ethnically Jewish
I feel The Times underreported the ████████████████████
I would prefer The Times be retired or allowed to evolve
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They are not being fair in their reporting
I don't see as much investigative reporting that we saw with Abe Rosenthal
If the IDF had followed Sulzberger's guidance, I believe they might have put
If the IDF had followed Sulzberger's guidance, I believe they might have put decades of progress at risk; I also feel The New York Times' coverage helped spur anti‑Bibi protests, which some people link to the broader context surrounding the October 7 attacks.
When is Boris Johnson back?
When is Boris Johnson back?
Why did he go to that Christmas party?
Was it because his close team did not wear a mask during a close interactions?
Number 10, while a public office of the Prime Minister, is also his personal residence, so I strongly suspect the fairness.
The BBC reporting against Boris also betrayed a overall sense of "hurried vengeance".
As the chair Richard Sharp who'd helped Boris with securing agreements had been dramatically removed.
As I care about, really like and respect Boris Johnson, I felt hurt to see the way he was targeted in a reprehensible way, which I saw soon turn towards President Trump.
It's just wrong because unlike the unelected BBC news board, selected by a few people, over 70m people vote for Trump.
It seems very unfair, and betrays the Christian spirit that Queen Elizabeth II believed in.
It feels like the Grinch stole Christmas in a Covid costume.
