Can't Hold The River Podcast

7th Ward Swamp Opossum

Ethnographic Fiction, journalism, zoology, botany and who knows all else in time. cantholdtheriver.substack.com

  1. Jun 2

    BloodMoon

    This body of work has been manifested with support from LOUD Queer Youth Theater and Bulbancha BeHolders. Donate to LOUD Queer Youth Theater and Follow LOUD on Instagram Blood Moon By Keyshia-Pearl DeGruy When; Generations after the War of the Fallen. Where; White Bison Bayou: an outskirt of New Silver City; a metropolis criss-crossed by canals, bayous, woodland, farm land, and urban settlement. Characters; * Sam BlackBird (he/him); A prominent young war captain of the Oba Shaas. * Quil BlackBird (he/him); A younger cousin of Sam BlackBird. * RakShah BloodMoon (she/her); An elder wolf woman, over 100 years old. Her hair is silvery white, her eyes are blue and black, and she wears deep crimson. * Shaastaa BloodMoon (he/him); Chief of the BloodMoons. * Silver Lynx (they/them); The Scorpion Healer. * Shonii Blood Moon (she/her); The Blood Moon Princess. * Naanii Khaalii (she/her); The 444 Phoenix of Protection. * Sabaa Lusaa (she/her); The current Black Wolf and 777 Phoenix of Polarities. * Kasaii (they/them) ; A Teshiikaana Warlord * Prince Nooka (he/him); The current Sky Fire Prince, aka Pitch Black Wild Cat. * The Big Falayaa; A Warlord of the Underworld * O-Maal; The Emerald Moccasin; Keeper of Okwaa-Tii-Kaa * Khaalikii Yaaknii (they/them); A shaman and keeper of the Star Swords of Niikanaatkin. Chapter One Sam BlackBird assumed the world’s favor as he approached the great lodge of Shaastaa BloodMoon. He was accompanied by his cousin; Quil BlackBird, and other warriors of the Oba Shaa order. He was dressed in worn armor of navy, black, gold, ivory, and brown; same as his comrades. They were intercepted on their way by warriors dressed in black, ivory, and crimson, with tattoos of the same colored inks across their bronzed and brown skin. They carried long bows, guns, machetes, and decorated spears. They were keepers of the BloodMoon Lodge, loyal to Shaastaa BloodMoon and his family. They told Sam Blackbird that he would not travel any further with his weapons, nor with the full host of warriors at his back. Sam found this strange and affirmed that he’d sent word to Shaastaa BloodMoon weeks earlier that he was coming. He did not understand either why Shaastaa would demand he leave his weapons and his company behind, as he never had before. Shaastaa was a godfather to Sam who’d spent much time across his life at the lodge as an honored guest. He asked the BloodMoon warriors for an explanation but they gave none, insisting that if he wanted to continue, he’d do as he was told. Sam was weary of what awaited him; a trap perhaps? But he’d come a long way, and he did not want to seem too cowardly or suspicious of the chief, whose favor was necessary for Sam’s long pursued objective. He disarmed himself as was asked, and left his weapons with his warriors. Only Quil Blackbird, his lieutenant, was permitted to continue with him to the lodge. The Great Lodge of Shaastaa BloodMoon was situated atop a ridged bluff of a bayou tributary. It was early winter, and the grass was short or sparse over red clay soil, and the trees were shedding their leaves. The bayou water was low, and animal activity was minimal. In the sky above the lodge were many black and turkey vultures, and some red tailed hawks. There was the soft chirping of small song birds as Sam was led toward the earthen mound at the center of the lodge; at its base were garden beds, walk ways, and smaller houses and other structures. Farther inland was the broader community connected to New Silver City, however the lodge existed at the edge of woodland within the borders of the Narrow Land; a corridor of wilderness and water ways stretching from the edge of the Mountains to the North West, to Bulbancha in the East. There was a stairway up the mound to the entrance of the Bloodmoon temple; roofed with arching mastodon tusks and bison bones over a large dome. Sam noticed a tusked deer grazing near the base of the stairs; the species was a steed of warriors from the Sun Tribe. He took a deep breath of anticipation, glancing at his cousin Quil, wearily, before following the BloodMoon warriors up to the temple’s entrance which was guarded on either side by two statues of snarling silver wolves, as well as two very real soldiers with crossed bladed long weapons. They uncrossed their blades to let Sam and the others pass through. The first sight upon entry to the temple was the BloodMoon banner; a large tapestry hung from the ceiling depicting a black bison, slashed and bleeding, surrounded by a pack of white wolves against an all red field. Sam was led further on, to the main hall of the temple where there were many present. The heads of the BloodMoon families, as well as other house, clan, and tribal leaders of what persisted of the BloodMoon Confederacy had come to witness. Among the assembly were healers and warriors; both active and veteran. There were dream seers, builders, hunters, conservationists, storytellers, agriculturalists, doulas, and hospice and death keepers, and other guild masters. Ahead and at center, sitting exalted on a raised dais was the Great BloodMoon War Chief; Shaastaa. Shaastaa was a large man dressed in fine robes of crimson, black, and ivory. He was adorned with jewels, crystals, ivory, silver, and gold on his wrists, fingers, around his neck, his ears, and various piercings across his brows, nose, and lips. His skin was etched with black ink tattoos. He wore a high hat, fashioned with arching green and black and patterned pheasant and rooster feathers. Some of Shaastaa’s teeth were capped in gold. In his youth he’d been a renown warrior who achieved security for his people in the cross cultural war games which persisted as an alternative to all out war across the southern territories since the degradation of the Star Fallen Empire. As he was then, in his senior years, he preferred the stability of the lodge over the rigor of battlecraft. To the left of Shaastaa was his grandmother Rakshah BloodMoon, and his daughter Shonii BloodMoon. Shonii’s amber eyes glanced briefly into Sam’s own, and he felt at once calmed and aroused in his spirit. Shonii was the gravity of his heart’s compass; the reason for his journey to the lodge. But strangely, there was a foreign warrior to Sam’s left, kneeling before the BloodMoon Chief. Shaastaa beckoned Sam forward across the distance and he took his godson’s hands in his own, affirming his expectation of his arrival, thanking him for his punctuality, and asking him to have a seat at the front of the assembly. He sat as instructed and Shastaa asked the foreign warrior to sit as well, before he was introduced to the assembly. The man was not very tall, though he was dense in his build. He was bronze skinned with dark brown eyes and jet hair cut low in waves. He wore a black ao dai suit of fine and embroidered silk. He was adorned with gold. Around his neck was a starburst gold amulet. His name was Nooka, and he was the Skyfire Prince; the second son of the Sun Chief who ruled at the Sun Palace in Bulbancha. Sam hadn’t needed an introduction though; he’d encountered this warrior before at a tournament some years prior. He was known among warriors as the Pitch Black Wild Cat; both for the consistency of his black attire and his mystical ability to transform into such a shape, as well as that of a raven. Nooka glanced at Sam with even eyes that one could discern no particular emotion from before he looked at Chief Shaastaa and inclined his head with respect. Finally, Shaastaa began to speak on the matters at hand; He addressed firstly, the long term betrothal of his daughter Shonii and Sam BlackBird. The BlackBirds were a longstanding close ally of the BloodMoons for many generations. Sam’s uncle, Dante Blackbird was present at that very assembly, as a commander of the warriors stationed at the lodge, and a chief guard of Shaastaa. Sam BlackBird was the son of the BlackBird chief, who commanded the BlackBird army which controlled a vast territory on the great plains. Shonii BloodMoon was born when Sam was about ten and as early as then, Sam’s family and the BloodMoons had been coordinating toward the eventual marriage of the two of them. Many of the smaller tribes and clans that comprised the confederacy were in support of this marriage alliance and had been planning accordingly toward the future. Still, though Sam had the favor of his people, Shonii’s hand was not simply promised to him. Across his early life he trained and studied extensively in horse keeping, cattle herding, bison conservation and prairie ecology, diplomacy, and war craft. When he came of age he was initiated into the order of Oba Shaa to serve as a steward of the bison, cattle, and mustang herds the confederacy depended on both economically and culturally. He was also defender of the Narrow Land and their expansive territories. At the present moment, Sam was thirty-one years old, and Shonii was twenty-one, and he’d been serving as an Oba Shaa for over 15 years. He’d finally developed his confidence and stature as the most prowessed warrior in the region. He claimed the rights to a great herd of mustangs and cattle, and he’d contributed significantly to the preservation of the remaining bison herds so sacred to both his people and to the BloodMoons. He’d sent word to Shaastaa that he was ready to formally propose to Shonii and begin the course of their engagement and support Shonii in her transitions toward marriage. The vast territory that was Shonii’s dowry; the great pine forests, the coastal water sheds, and the southern plains west of the Atchafalaya Basin would be inherited by Sam BlackBird’s children, and the BloodMoon and BlackBird lineage would be merged, securing generations of security and peace for their people. Everything seemed according to that long term plan which had spanned the course of much of Sam’s life… but there was something strange in Shaastaa’s e

    7 min

  2. 07/23/2025

    The Omega Episode Five; Earth Sun

    Earth-Sun  Have you ever fallen so deep into sleep, that when you woke up, you had to remember who, why, when, and where you were? That was the sensation, of opening his eyes to the grey air of his bedroom, lifting his head from his arms that were folded over the white cloth of his prayer altar, where he kept his journal, pictures of his family, friends, and ancestors, holy water, candles, crystals and other trinkets. His ears were ringing and he touched his chest, like he was catching himself from falling from a high height. A sudden knock at his bedroom door was startling… his hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there…strange.  “You good?” The voice was familiar, and nostalgic, like it had been a long time since he’d heard it… His mind was still making sense of what it could see, smell, and hear. He must’ve taken too long to answer, because the voice proclaimed its intention to enter, and the door was opened.  “What are you in here doing?” Jaheim asked, as he stepped gently into the bedroom, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.  “I was praying…” “For two hours?” “I… I fell asleep…” Jaheim took a deep breath,  “Did you decide?” He turned around to look Jaheim in the eyes…recalling then, the meeting held between himself, his father, Jaheim, Jaheim’s father, and the Gong Chichumba. He was all the way back there? On that pivotal day. He could not yet answer the anxious Jaheim. He stood shakily, and went to his dresser mirror…he touched his face, his arms, and his chest…he was not transitioned… he braced against the top of the dresser, as the flood of visions coursed in his mind, of the years of life he’d experienced, all reduced in that moment to a dream? He felt nauseous. He could still hear the whispers of that other dimension, the smell of stagnant water still strong. He felt strange all over, hard of breath and shaking his head…maybe this was the dream? Strange trick of the universe? Was he dead?  Jaheim, sensing that his lover was in a quiet distress, stood, to place his hand on a shoulder. The touch was like rain water after drought and there was a sharp breath, before he exhaled,  “Jaheim…what, what is my name?” At that, Jaheim had turned his face up at such an odd question at a pivotal moment,  “What is your name? D…D…” Jaheim’s hand lifted, as he processed the strange sensation of not being able to recall his lover’s name… “I don’t know…I…I can’t remember…”  “Neither can I.” Nameless admitted, hopelessly, and he struggled to take exhausted breaths, as he flopped back onto his bed. He was overstimulated, trying to make sense of what hadn’t been a dream… he’d just been in a different world, a different time, and now he was inside of the past…a man stood before him whom he’d grieved ...a man his own sword had slain… Not a dream, it had not been simply a premonition…he was, all he’d been, in that parallel dimension…as he was now, merged with this self, cast back in time, to reconcile the past with the prospective future.  “I don’t understand, how can we not remember that?…” Jaheim asked, perplexed and worried. He glanced once at Nameless’s altar…at the candles that were lit, at the journal that was open with a pen resting on the pages. Jaheim went to check the journal, and the ones previously filled. He checked for any place where a name might be…he found only the absence of one where he was certain it should’ve been.  “What happened…did you do something…what could you have done in the last two hours… I don’t understand.” Jaheim said again. Nameless, still breathing through his overstimulation, placed an uneasy hand on Jaheim’s arm,  “And I don’t think you will… at least not for a while…not until I've reconciled everything myself…”  “What about what we talked about? What should I tell Steel Skull?” Jaheim asked, ever fixated on that task at hand. He wanted that reassurance so badly. He wanted Nameless’s agreement to the challenge. He wanted to know that he could remain a Spy-Boy, without sacrificing his love.  “I can’t answer that for you right now…i want…i…i need you to leave.” Nameless said, and Jaheim, concerned and wanting to remedy Nameless’s disorientation, struggled to abide the request, but Nameless insisted,  “I cannot be responsible for you…not for your mind, your heart, your body, or your strength…until I at least reconcile all that I am owing to myself. I know this is sudden…or, maybe it’s not… look, just, don’t burden yourself, trying to make sense of me…you won’t.” As the words left his mouth, Nameless felt himself go faint. His body was weak, sweating and overheated, dizzy… he would’ve hit the floor if Jaheim hadn’t caught him. Jaheim called Daviida, who realized that just as Jaheim, he could not remember his own child’s name. Whelmed by grief, and at a loss for energy, Nameless shed tears at the sight of worry in Davidaa’s eyes. He suffered nausea and hallucinations…seeing all manner of demonic figures and shadows in his room, trying to pull him back to the realm he’d been delivered from. His vision blurred and his words slurred. He was hounded by the curses of sinister entities through the veil and he endured the flashing of memories…he could smell the tinge of blood and felt the shadow of rot all around… he was vaguely aware of his father’s voice and his hands, trying to pull him back. But Nameless was not truly free from the danger of the other place. He could not see her, but he could feel the presence of Naaktii in the shadows. She still possessed his name, and no teleportation of his soul would so easily sever that tie. He was still in danger… He did not have the sword Onyxis anymore. He did not have the body he’d grown accustomed to. He felt called back to that place though, and he resisted with all his might. Everything became blurry, and once again, Nameless lost himself to the darkness. …… Sabaa Daviida was restless with worry. His son was stricken with a sudden and strange illness. He’d been fine that morning of their meeting with the Gong Chichumba, but something happened between getting back home and when Jaheim checked on his child, whose name, no one could remember. Daviida had asked Jaheim directly what had happened, had he done something, said something to trigger his son so terribly? Jaheim insisted that he’d done nothing, and that Nameless had simply succumbed to some force.  Daviida contended with a chest tightening guilt…they’d pushed Nameless too far…they proposed too great a challenge and he’d been spiritually overwhelmed… Daviida felt lost and beside himself. His son was in and out of consciousness, refusing water and food for several days. His room was shrouded in a veil of static and darkness. Daviida tried everything; holy water, incense, candles, prayers to banish evil…but none of his own power seemed to have any effect. He called on support from another Hard Head, an older warrior who was a proficient oracle and spiritualist. In his youth, when he still fought, he’d been known as the Mockingbird Brawler, and where he lived was kept by many of the feathered songbirds. His name among those who knew him well, was O-Paa Ko, and he dressed in grey, green, ivory, and gold. He visited Sabaa Daviida with a chain of shells in his hand. He wore rings on his fingers, and his hair was cut in a low gray fade. He entered Daviida’s house, and sensed immediately that there was a disturbed presence in the house… the air was saturated with static and buzzing…  O-Paa Ko was not rushed. He sat with Daviida for a spell, though Daviida was anxious to see his son treated, O-Paa Ko insisted on a game of dominoes, usually played with loud outbursts and competitive squabbling… but this game was calm, not purposed to victory, so much as calming of the nerves. O-Paa Ko lit herbs and inhaled and exhaled medicinal silver smoke. As his buzz settled, he said that there were many battles being waged across dimensions, over the fate of this nameless child. He prayed over the space and lit frankincense, wafting the smoke over Nameless. When O-Paa Ko touched Nameless’s hand, the young Sabaa tensed, and groaned in a drowsy discomfort. O-Paa Ko felt a surge of dark energy. He breathed in deep and instructed Daviida to brace his spirit in case of any projections. He spoke to Nameless, evoking bravado through an intentional and inherited power of speech, as he took his hand in his own.  “Know that we are here in peace, and support. We are loving, and caring for you. Whatever entity has taken hold of your spirit, we intend to free you from it. Help me, to understand what has happened,” O-Paa Ko tightened his grip on Nameless’s hand, and reached for Daviida’s with the other. The Hard Head Oracle inhaled deep, and he saw a flash of light, and felt the sensation of saturation, and he saw a story materialize through the veil. He witnessed the course of events in a parallel dimension, where Nameless agreed to what was refused, in their own world, only days prior. He saw the fish woman; Naaktii, steal the name. He saw the death of Jaheim, and the conquering of the Temple of the Mysteries, the fall of the Gong Chichumba, the rise of the army of the dead, and the sword; Onyxis. When the visions were coursed, and the portal closed, O-Paa Ko breathed back into his present moment. He looked at  Daviida, and they shared a knowing revelation; they were blessed, that in their universe, Nameless had the strength and sense, afforded to him by immense pain and grief, to refuse the challenge proposed by Jaheim and Daviida. They were able to diagnose the sleeping sickness, however, they reconciled their combined inability to cure it. They had no way to retrieve the name that was lost. Daviida suggested finding the fish woman called Naakt

    12 min

  3. 07/07/2025

    The Omega Episode Four; The House of Zion

    The Ruin of Khadiijah  A warlord’s son was raised to inherit the rule of a great city on the Great River called Zion. To Rule Zion was to maintain a powerful position in the great war class of the Gokhaan Empire. It was assumed that this noble son would naturally grow into the likeness of his father, as his father and grandfathers before him and function as a greater warrior than all before him, and perpetuate their dynasty forward. But, the son of Ulugaa Khaan had always felt in himself…different from the identity projected onto and expected of him. He did not resonate with roles and functions of manhood, the standards of strength, the rigor of warcraft, or the destiny of husbandry to an honored wife. He felt more suited to feminine pursuits and situations of life. He gravitated to the women of his father’s court, not with sexual intent, but in admiration and familiarity. He found solace in the company of his female attendants, cousins, aunts, and female elders. He enjoyed their stories, their customs, their fashions, and he emulated them. There were many, including his parents, who tried to change him, with force. They wanted to shape him up, to be the great inheritor of their family’s legacy to command a great army on behalf of the Galactic Empire which had seen his lineage seated to power over the Indigenous of those river lands…but there was no budging in his truth, despite his father’s insistent disapproval. He did not join the men of court in athletic training, nor compete in the war games the Ghokaans were so known for. He was well into marrying age, and the lord’s court, and all the war clans of that Empire became so alarmed…who would be War Lord of Zion? Produce heirs? Lead their armies? This child of their great general had absolutely refused masculinity and the projected roles of manhood. He adorned himself with makeup and women’s clothes, he refused to have relations with women or participate in male rights of passage. He insisted that he may or may not have been a woman, but  he was  certainly no man, of that he was absolutely sure.  She, then lived, as Khadiijah, as a feminine, for years, with no desire for power or rule, or the authority afforded to her if she so chose manhood. She lived as she was, all the way to the passing of her father, when she was in her early thirties. Suddenly, the matter of his succession was the crisis of a century. The Shujaa and Ghokaan clans were absolutely divided, behind whether or not Khadiijah, as she’d named herself, should inherit the mantles of War Lord of Zion, or if the rights should pass to her younger brother, Nkuruk Khaan. The warlords were at odds, and near up in arms, some of them arguing that, if Khadiijah chose to walk in femininity and womanhood, then it was a mockery to their traditions, to make her their monarch, and others argued that, though Khadiijah was different, and these circumstances were particular, that she was still a better candidate for the rule of Zion, than her brother Nkuruk. See, Khadiijah was not a warrior, but she was very intelligent. She’d studied at university with cosmic scholars and she knew many languages, mathematics, literature and art. Khadiijah was a great diplomat and tactician, and she was full of charm. But the Ghokaans were stuck in their ways, and so loyal to their concepts and parameters of manhood, that they could just hardly bear to see such power passed to someone like Khadiijah. The thing about her brother, Nkuruk, was that he was a warrior, he was a man, and he was certainly enthusiastic to court women and make sons. More than anything, he aspired to the power which Khadiijah disassociated from. Nkuruk was arrogant though, and reckless, with a deficit in sense and patience. The Ghokaan Lords threatened mutiny across the empire if Khadiijah was given rights to her father’s status and authority. Khadiijah’s supporters threatened retribution…the empire was on the verge of civil war, and Khadiijah had to make a decision…a very difficult one. She knew that if she accepted the throne, that war would ensue, and her people, common people with no determination on the matters of Ghokaan High Court, would suffer most for it all…and they would hate her, for her inability to fight on behalf of their suffering or remedy the chaos, inevitable either way. She may have been a better ruler if she chose to accept the mantles, but at what cost? To others, and herself? If Nkuruk was chosen as the War Lord of Zion, it might mean doom for her line’s dynasty by her brother’s inability to sustain it…but at least, the country might be spared from immediate and sure war. And furthermore, a deeper truth was that Khadiijah just didn’t want to be a General, she didn’t want the power or the responsibility and in the end, she did not sacrifice her peace or her identity, for the sake of the world. It was a controversial decision, and some judged her for it, though no one judged her more than she judged herself, for choosing herself; for being selfish. But that was the path she chose to take, away from the power. It was a scary thing, to leave the palace and her family, all she knew, to make space for her brother, with no assurance that he would be just in his position. But she channeled courage, despite fear, and met a destiny that was all her own, and not projected or imposed by anyone else.  It was years after Nkuruk had inherited the throne from Khadijah’s forfeit. He’d already had a child by his first wife, from before he’d become warlord, who he named Bo Khaan. With that first wife, he attempted to have more children, but they struggled to see the infants to term, and at the end of one pregnancy, he lost his first wife. Nkuruk then announced his desire to remarry, and the great noble houses all came forward and  presented their most beautiful daughters to the Lord of Zion. A scholarly house, that of Salisaii, presented the daughter of one of their warriors for choosing. Her name was Hekima. She was beautiful and very soft, and she possessed a passion for knowledge that all agreed would make her an adept wife. Nkuruk demanded that it be this woman he married, but Hekima had her reservations…she did not desire marriage, or the weight of Gokhaan nobility….but her family pressured her to not dishonor them, to fulfill her duty for the greater good of their house. She did not love Nkuruk, but they proposed that by the power of her status so near him, she could enact change to the world in a way many people only ever dreamed of. She agreed then, and they were married. Nkuruk and his court had hoped that a younger woman would fare better in producing heirs, but the years proved barren for them. Nkuruk grew frustrated with Hekima and mistreated her. He would flaunt his affairs with concubines, and have little shame for the children he had with them. He would embarrass Hekima publically and ridicule her shortcomings. Hekima found solace in her studies and her spirituality, and sought respite from Nkuruk’s ways at the sanctuary of his sister, Khadiijah.  Khadiijah lived away from the palace, in a house she’d manifested on the other side of the river which coursed through Zion. She’d taken the resources she was left with, and had a home built for herself, and there she studied metaphysical arts like alchemy, manifestation, magic, and rootwork. She called the place The House of Zion, and it became a sanctuary for misfits; orphaned children, disabled people, battered women, men of softness, and people like her, whose identities existed beyond the gender and sexuality binary. Lady Hekima had gone to the House of Zion, to sit and talk with Khadiijah, who was herself an intellectual. This particular time though, there were visitors to the House of Zion, from down river, from Kovaango. They were warriors, like Hekima had never seen. Women, fems, and gender fluid beings who wore mantles of gold and silver with tattoos on their skin, gold caps on their teeth, and hair worn in intricate and bold styles. They wore armor that accentuated their athletic figures. Hekima was fascinated by them, and she talked to their leader, who was a warrior named Kolaa. Kolaa told her about their life at the Temple of Kovaango. When Hekima heard of their reality devoted to freedom, fearlessness, and adventure, she was filled with sudden despair…she’d never known or imagined such an option as freedom…she could’ve chosen something other than wifehood and service to the empire? She couldn’t bear to see these women go without her. Hekima appealed to Kolaa to take her with them. Kolaa hesitated, looking at Khadiijah. Khadiijah had reminded Hekima of her husband, and his notorious possessiveness and jealousy. Hekima was sobered by this, but still, she asked Kolaa to give her some time, before she and the others from Kovaango departed. Kolaa, who sensed chaos, felt the wiser thing to do was to say no, but she also knew that it was not the way of her or her kind, to leave those in need behind. She told Hekima she would have three days to figure something out.  Hekima went back to the Palace of Nkuruk, and she spoke forwardly. She said that they had failed in their attempts to have children, and that Nkuruk did not love her, and neither did she love him. She asked for divorce. Nkuruk had scoffed at her, asking how she thought it would look, for a man of his position to be divorced by his wife? He waved her foolishness away dismissively. She pressed on, speaking her desire, to be free, to explore and study the world, to be more than just a wasted thing at his court…the war lord still refused her, and then threatened her, saying that if she left without his consent, that he would have her captured and publicly executed for treason.  Hekima knew Nkuruk’s words were not a bluff, and that he might even take some satisfaction from her insubordination, just to have a fair reason in the eyes of

    25 min

  4. 06/25/2025

    The Omega Episode Three; The Battle of the Kovaango

    The Battle of Kovaango  There was a temple in the Delta of the Great River, standing over the marshes ahead of the sea. It is a sanctuary for waterfowl of many kinds. The marshe protected and isolated the temple. The keepers of this structure were spiritual warriors whose ancestors were long standing in the region. However, the land was under the jurisdiction of the Ghokaans. The Ghokaans were a league of warriors from an extraterrestrial world. Their empire spanned the galaxy. Those who ruled over Earth oversaw the Southern River Lands from the capital of Zion, north of the Delta temple, which was called Kovaango. The Empire and the Temple were at odds however, and a bitter conflict boiled.  The rains had brought flooding which had kept the temple safely isolated from enemies for an entire season, but the rains eventually lessened, and the waterways dried, making the wilderness less treacherous and easier to travel across. The Ghokaan commanded an army of Shujaa; warriors of earth, to campaign against Kovaango for over a decade, and they were now encroaching on the temple with intent to conquer. The Ghokaans were not characteristically bloodthirsty as much as they were insistent upon dominion, of those they deemed lesser, and their leaders had manipulated the factions of subject shujaa  into participating in this effort to rule over the keepers of Kovaango, who were seen as feral and unchecked by any authority. They were branded as witches who were easy to use as scapegoats for any misfortunes or struggles which befell those ruled by the empire. They marched across the delta to the perimeters of the Temple of Kovaango, where they laid siege to it, steadily starving the temple keepers out until they were forced into the open. The queen among them, was named Kolaa. In days long passed, she’d been honored by the very warriors who laid siege to her sanctuary. She held out for as long as she could, but it was clear to her that there would be no soft end to this siege, and after much council and deliberation, it had been decided that if the temple could not be saved, then at the very least, her enemies would be given a fight their descendants would never forget. Kolaa sat before a shrine dedicated to her God, the spirits of nature, and her ancestors. She prayed with a breath of incense, to the spirits of the delta, promising to fight to the last breath to protect the land and the waters, but that ultimately, its fate beyond her would be according to the most high’s will, and beyond this ritual of preparation, she forgave herself for what she could not control. Kolaa felt sadness for the course of those last years; the betrayal of the Ghokaan Warlord, Nkuruk. She remembered life before the war and missed it. But no tears fell, and her heart was steady with immunity to the fear of battle. Kolaa had placed around her, five daggers, each unique in shape and composition. In front of her was a bowl of sacred water, and the cloth she used to soak up the water, and wipe over the daggers. The daggers were magical; legendary changing spears as carried by many of her kind. These were particularly sacred because they belonged to her four daughters, who each entered the shrine room near the setting of the sun which shone ochre light into the space. From outside, Kolaa could hear the ruckus of the army which surrounded the temple. Each of her daughters came to sit around her in front of their own spears. They’d been raised in this temple and had each been born as incarnations of spiritual might, all divine in their nature. Her eldest daughter, black haired and fierce eyed, was Kalaafiia. Kalaafiia was the protector of her mother and her sisters, a general and the defender of the temple. Her colors were red, black, and ivory. Her element was fire. Kalaafiia was an incarnation of Warcraft, which protects peace and secures harmony.  Her second daughter was Owuro Dalaanii, whose birth had attracted every white bird in the delta to that temple. Owuro was an incarnation of faith. Her colors white, black and silver, and her sacred animals were the white ibis and egret. Her body was as the temple itself, and her strength was the tranquility of its halls. Owuro’s element was air.  Third of Kolaa’s daughters was Kalaanii, incarnate of truth, and aligned with water, for water and truth are alike in nature, both fluid, coursing, and nourishing to life. Kalaanii’s colors were gold, blue, and green and her nature was soft and reserved, tuned to the responsibilities of honesty, which must be kept by one who is strong enough to bear, but also to defend it. Kalaanii was the most mutable of her sisters, but she was the fiercest when provoked. Her father was an old spirit of fresh water, who ruled over the delta for many eons before giving stewardship to the keepers of the temple.  Fourth and youngest of Kolaa’s daughters was Oyin Ewe, the incarnate of home, for in their heart resided the power of fertility and the sanctuary of ancestral power. Their colors were green and black, and they knew the secrets of bees and the art of growing things. All four sisters sat with their mother as she blessed their spears and placed each in a daughter’s hand. Kolaa was a mighty warrior and medicine woman, whose waist circlet was emblemed by a scorpion as a mark of her placement in one of the most esteemed factions of Miino scholars and healers. She wore black, as a signifier of her status and her warrior prowess, of her eldership and her ferocity as the black leopard of whose form she took, inherited from her mother’s people who maintained shapeshifting abilities and command over the forces of nature. With their combined strength, the five warriors sitting at this shrine were some of the most powerful in all the world, but even still, they were facing  an army, whose caliber had always matched, and perhaps even surpassed at times, their own. The Ghokaans and the Shujaa were just as old, just as disciplined, just as layered with divine blood as their feminine and submissive counterparts. Kolaa held no resentment to them as a whole, knowing the demands of war and allegiance to tribe and nation to be complex, and that many warriors fought as a duty, and not always personally. Nkuruk had grown powerful, and his control  of the Shujaa army had been many years in the making. Many Shujaa had not been able to choose peace, and those who did had been met with punishment inflicted upon their families, tribes, and communities. Kolaa embraced each of her daughters and spoke courage to them. Kalaafiia and Owuro had known some tranquility in their lives, but the younger Kalaanii and Oyin had been raised with war perpetually in the air, prepared since birth for the fight of their lives. Kolaa wished she could have raised them with softness and tender care, but reality had demanded her stern love. Her tender touch at that moment, had sent a shudder through Oyin’s body, and suddenly, the danger outside was realer than ever. Kolaa turned to her second eldest, Owuro Dalaanii, who was most emotional to the upcoming battle, for the secret she’d shared with her mother, only just that morning. Kolaa touched her daughter’s face, assuring that she had a plan for what troubled Dalaanii so. The sun eventually set, and Kolaa sent her teary-eyed daughters to rest and waited for dusk to become starry night. She knew it unwise to walk as a woman, so she took the form of a black leopardess, and crept stealthily to the temple’s perimeter where the Ghokaan and Shujaa army had surrounded it, their campfires lighting up the landscape all around. Most of the men were foot soldiers or officers of fluctuating rank. Nkuruk had spared no expense and had sent his very best to seize the heart of the fertile delta he wished to bring into his fold. Her leopard form moved through the shadows, unseen, dangerously deep into the camp of her enemies, until she reached the tent of a Shujaa she knew well. The two guards in armor stepped aside without a word, and she slipped inside without announcement, because the Shujaa, sitting alone in meditation in his tent, had been expecting her arrival. He opened his eyes as Kolaa transformed back into her human form. He bowed his head respectfully, “From Jah.” “From Jah.” She said back, and Sabaa Daviida, a high ranking warrior of the Bone Clan; a Hard Head, gestured for her to sit. He rose to pour her some herb tea, but she turned it away, insisting that this meeting would need to be quick. Daviida was not the commander of the army, but he was of the deadliest of its warriors. His tribe dedicated themselves to the veneration of the dead, and the care of the dying and elderly, as well as service to the Gong Chichumbas of the Okaliqii ethnicity. His people were masters of the art of burial and rituals of passage and spiritual cleansing. Despite his reputation on the battlefield, and the fright manifested in his enemies at the sight of his bone armor, off the field, Daviida preferred quiet, peace, and diplomacy. It was this capacity for softness which had attracted her daughter’s heart to this man. Owuro Dalaanii and Daviida had met in war negotiations, and through a series of exchanges across years, had realized that they were tragically in love with each other, despite their loyalties to opposing factions. Kolaa could barely believe the secret her daughter shared with her at dawn. She could see in Daviida’s eyes that he was troubled by the inevitability of battle as well, but he could not reveal himself as Owuro’s lover, or he would be marked as a traitor and condemned to death, and worse, dishonor.  “If you’ve come to ask me to persuade these men away from sacking the temple, then you are here in vain. I’ve done all I can to sway this war from your doorstep, but when Nkuruk offered you a truce, you refused...there’s nothing I can do.” Daviida said and Kolaa replied,  “The Ghokhaan’s offer was hardly acc

    24 min

  5. 06/11/2025

    The Omega Episode Two; Nameless

    Showdown at the Temple of the Mysteries  “I demand justice!” Malik Akamaa snarled pointedly at Sabaa Daviida, before turning his eyes to the Gong Chichumba; Steel Skull, who sat his great seat in a private room of the Temple of the Mysteries. The Okaliqii Chieftanf, well into his sixties, had been a leader of his people for decades… he’d witnessed many strange things… After all, those who served him were the Hard Head warriors of the Bone Clan… there ways were intimate with the dead and the dying… he knew, the veil was thin in Bulbancha, and that there were many instances of supernatural occurrence across its past and present. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the abduction of Daviida’s son by the fish woman after the death of the  young  Bone Clan Spy Boy; Jaheim Akamaa, Maliks prodigal son. Steel Skull, as the others, could not recall the name of Daviida’s child…not even Daviida himself could find the syllables on his tongue…out of reach like the haze of a dream one can’t remember.  Malik Akamaa had requested this council meeting of the heads of the Hard Head Houses. His grief had burned into wrath after realizing that Jaheim was not defeated fairly, but by means of witchcraft.  “I understand that you are in pain Malik, but your anger is misdirected.” Daviida said, steady eyed. He was the most martially prowessed of the warriors in service to the Gong Chichumba, and he did not shutter at Akamaa’s roar…he did empathize however. “My anger’s course is clear Sabaa…your son…killed my boy, with a curse on his blade… and then disappeared to some rancid corner of hell to escape penalty ... your own house must be held accountable… someone must pay…or else…” The council tensed, and Steel Skull breathed in… he’d not interject too early, seeing if Daviida; The Bone Collector could calm his long standing brother in arms down on his own.  “I was not aware of…” Daviida pursed his lips, unable to recall the name he’d given to his own child, “of my son’s treachery. I would never have allowed the battle to ensue… Malik…I loved your son, like my own…I trained him…”  “Your sentiments are not of consequence to me. Jaheim was my own… no matter how wrapped up in your image he was…He was mine…” Malik’s eyes welled with hot tears and he croaked out, “you encouraged your…your spawn…to think they could be something they were not, and my son paid the ultimate price…”  Steel Skull processed the clasping tight of Daviida’s fist, and was just about to speak, to settle the space, when there was an anxious knocking at the council room’s door. Steel Skull nodded to the stationed guards to check who it was, and as they opened it, the sound of alarm bells and horns sounded from the sentry posts of the Temple. The messenger relayed, and Steel Skulls' temple guard crossed the room to whisper news of trouble. Daviida and Malik stilled their negotiations of violence, to await Steel Skull’s clarification…Steel Skull’s eyes passed over both men, before he sent his guard and the other to stand on the other side of the door. Before the guard left, he retrieved a weapon from an altar, and placed it in Steel Skull’s hand. It was a bladed club; ancient, from the time of Helottah and Nahinii. The Chief looked at Malik Akamaa;  “Enough of your quarreling Akamaa… your wish for violence is about to be granted.” The warriors of the council began to hear the commotion of battle from across the temple. Steel colliding and men crying out as they fell. Steel Skull, who’d been the guardian of this great structure at the edge of the River for decades, was spiritually attuned to its energies. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, allowing his mind to absorb a vision of what was coming. His heart began to race, but he maintained composure,  “Prepare yourselves.” Was all he said, and the council of seven warriors drew their steel and formed a protective barrier between Steel Skull and the door. Daviida and Malik went to either side of the chief, their differences aside. “What’s coming?” ‘Daviida asked, as they heard violence erupt in the hall outside the door.  “What do you think?” Steel Skull said, before all got quiet… Steel Skull watched as blood pooled past the bottom frame of the door. The door was pushed open then, and in walked two warriors…their armor was ancient, and their weapons were old and chipped with rust…but wet with blood; still sharp. They looked like they were supposed to be brown skinned… but they were a strange greenly-grey. Their eyes were ghostly…they smelled of rot… Steel Skull could see more of them were out in the hall… he heard screams from other areas and outside… There was a troop of these ghoulish warriors… a chill went up his spine, when the grey skinned soldiers stepped aside for the entry of a warrior in ivory gator leather, jade and onyx armor, with a horned war helm. He carried a sword that Steel Skull had never seen in person; only pictures…but at its sight, he knew its name, even as he’d forgotten the name of the damned one who carried it. He understood then, that this army of the dead was controlled by the wielder of that sword, called Onyxis; the Soul Reaper.  Even the mighty bone collector’s hands shook, as he witnessed for the first time since the battle under the bridge, his son, dressed in different armor than what he’d been dragged away in, carrying a sword of grief and ruin. “You…” Malik was the first to break the silence, “you kill my son… and now you dare to desecrate this temple? Have you no shame? No trace of honor in your heart … I’ve known you since you were a child… the clan did not raise you this way…” Nameless glanced at Malik, dismissively, as if his words were nothing more than some distracting noise. He looked ahead, not once even meeting Daviida’s pleading eyes… he raised his sword to Steel Skull. “You,” When Nameless spoke, Daviida shuddered, because his voice was so unlike what it was before…there was an echo of something else in it…Daviida shed tears, but tightened his grip on his machete, “are in my way. Move.” Nameless addressed the Gong Chichumba with not even a sliver of ceremony or respect. He was not flirting or negotiating. His command was simple, direct, and absolute.  “Why… Why are you doing this? Why do you bring the dead into this temple…why do you kill your own… What demon possesses you?” Nameless released a chuckle, rooted in some foul space of the Underworld… Steel Skull’s ancestral memories were triggered by the sound…he glimpsed a flashing of a scene…of a crawfish armored warrior; a Choupic, dying in defense of a young Prince, fighting a massive scaled beast with slitted yellow eyes. “My own…” Nameless said…. “My own, forced me to earn that which was unattainable…content to steal the keeper of my heart from me…to leave me with my shattered pieces and put myself back together…I may have dragged the blade through the Spy Boy… but it was you, Steel Skull, you in your own stubborn pride, who would not allow us to be as we were…. Now, I am changed, now I am strong, stronger than all of you… Maybe I should thank you…” Nameless chuckled, but the Hard Head warriors remained stone eyed… “Move.” Nameless said again, with finality. The Hard Heads maintained their positions…for five, four, three, two… steel sang. Nameless moved with a quickness that was not natural. Swords clashed, briefly, and blood was spilled…the smell of iron was in the air. One, two, three, hard heads were incapacitated…. But not killed. They screamed out in agony as limbs were cut, clean. The ghoulish warriors of the dead army stepped impassively out the reach of the spilling blood. Nameless was making a show of strength, it mattered little to him if these warriors lived or died.  He fought two more, before Malik Akamaa dared to charge him with a cry of vengeance…. Nameless did not spare him…putting him out of the misery of his grief. His last opponent was Sabaa Daviidaa.  “Move.” That one word… all he offered his father who struggled… Daviidaa was whelmed by this terrible reconciliation, he’d chosen Steel Skull before….he chose Steel Skull now… he said nothing of it, but somehow he knew, Nameless was thinking the very same thought. Daviida did not move, and steel met steel. The Bone Collector was mightier than the others, not as easy to conquer…but alas, Nameless’s sword came singing… but Steel Skull cried out,  “I submit!” The blade of Onyxis stopped just at Daviida’s throat… “No, Chief…” “Silence…” Steel Skull spoke, exacerbated…grief shaking him…he threw down his weapon, and shook his head…the mighty Gong Chichumba of his generation, brought to tears… “Some traumas….” Steel Skull spoke to the unspeakable… the death of Daviida by his own son’s homicidal steel…in his defense… Steel Skull could not deny what Nameless had said…it had been his own willful refusal, to let the young men marry, simply, that had manifested such bloodshed…such possession… he continued, “are not to be endured…not on behalf of my survival… we are in the heart of darkness…so dark that i submit… I have no means of resolving it…” Steel Skull met Nameless’s empty and remorseless eyes,  “The Temple of the Mysteries is yours… your father and I will not stand in your way.” Daviida, full to the brim with emotion, wanted to insist on his own death, rather than face the dishonor of this defeat, but Steel Skull, with the last of his authority, cast a commanding look at the Bone Collector… Daviida, ever loyal, conceded his ego, to abide by his chief’s wishes.  The other hard heads were seen out, but their limbs and their weapons remained in

    16 min

  6. 05/17/2025

    The Rigor of Loving Patience

    Get full access to Can't Hold The River at cantholdtheriver.substack.com/subscribe

    16 min

  7. 05/17/2025

    The Omega Episode One; The Spyboy

    Green Gar  There was a community of fishermen, who lived along the winding of a black water bayou…. They grew their black hair thick and long, and covered their skin in tattoos of the same pitch. They were strong in their hands and their arms, from casting nets, pulling lines, rowing canoes, weaving, and mound building. They caught perch, bass, catfish, choupic, gar, turtle, crawfish, snakes, gators, waterfowl, deer, black bear, grey-fox, raccoon, rabbit, opossum, and squirrel. There was a crawfish farmer, who they called Flying Frog; the father of Silver Kite, the most beautiful and desired woman in a generation. The men of their community; fishermen, builders, hunters, warriors, all sought the hand of Silver Kite in the spring. They offered her seeds, gold, land, titles…even the sons of the Sun Chief came all the way from the Skyfire Palace in Bulbancha to meet her, and seek the favor of her heart. But none of them knew that Silver Kite’s heart already belonged to a quiet fisherman named Green-Gar.  He sought honor nor glory, riches nor power. He didn’t pray for sons, or work for legacy. He was simply and talentedly, a fisherman of the greatest skill. He could go to the water, and it was as if the fish were drawn to his hook the way they would bite. He never once went to the water and left for home hungry. He was one man, who never sought Silver Kite’s affection, and perhaps, that was exactly why she chose him. She would seek him out in secret from her father, to find him at the bank of a river, a lake, or a bayou, fishing contentedly. He’d let her sit with him, and she would happily exist in the silence with something to occupy her time. Sometimes he’d ask her questions…silly and random prompts, always unserious and so out there…but they were always questions she liked to answer, questions that made her laugh. He could always make her laugh without the most effort. Green-Gar had her heart, and she had his. He began to miss her dearly when she wasn’t with him when he fished…and he missed her in the night, when she wasn’t beside him. But of course, with so much attention on Silver Kite, their love could not remain so secret forever, and one day her father was alerted to the affair between them. He was furious, how could his daughter, treasure of their community, give herself to a lowly vagabond fishermen like Green-Gar? He would not understand, he tried desperately to marry her off to the man he thought was most suitable, but Silver Kite was smart. She went to their chief and she demanded that if she was to marry someone, then she should at least decide the terms. She proposed a challenge, cleverly with Green-Gar in mind. Every suitor would have a full day, from sunup to sundown, to catch the largest fish in their waters, and present their catch for measurement. Whosoever caught the largest fish, would earn her favor. The chief agreed, and Silver Kite shared the news with Green Gar, sure that if anyone could be victorious, he would.  So, two mornings after, the suitors; warriors, row men, builders, and fishermen alike all gathered on the black water bayou in their canoes. They were sent off at dawn, to venture as far as they could, with a reminder to be mindful that to win the challenge they’d need to be back at the starting line by sun down. Green Gar went out, to a secret lake that only he knew, where a very large gar liked to swim. He started the day, a bit arrogant, casting his line in expectation of an easy victory. He waited, and the sun ticked, ticked some more, to very far indeed across the sky. He began to shift his position across the lake, nervous then. Not a single fish had bit his lure. He looked into the water and was amazed to see that the waters there were stocked, as usual, wth many perch and bass…but they all seemed to deliberately ignore his bait. He cast his line again and again, and was aware of the sun’s coursing toward the western horizon. He would not be able to stay there for too long…he waited some more, before he decided to try and hastily find a last minute place to try to catch something. He was just about to oar his canoe, when he heard a voice…it shocked him, because he thought he was alone, it said,  “So quick to give up, Fishermen.” Green Gar looked all around and saw no one. He called out,  “Who’s there?”  “Do not fear me,” The voice was pitched like a hissing song, and next to his canoe, the water rippled and his boat rocked. He reached for his knife, and guarded himself, before a form rose at the head of his canoe, steady from the water, as if standing on its surface. The creature looked female, but was distinctly inhuman, with fish frills and scales, gills, and patterned spots across perch toned skin. Her eyes were slitted like a snake. Green-Gar shook as she leaned against the canoe, tipping it slightly and he held on to its side. The creature laughed a guttural noise from her toothy mouth, before she said,  “Oh you sweet thing,” she lowered herself back into the water, and swam around the canoe to reach him, and he shifted to the other side as her head peaked over the side. She looked into the canoe and tsked her forked tongue,  “Tsk, tsk, tsk, you have no catch, and the sun is falling down…your beloved will be won by another…” Green-Gar asked the creature, who he assumed was a spirit of the water, perhaps of the lake, how did she knew about that? “I am Naaktii, I know many things…I could help you, to get what you want.” She said, and Green Gar said,  “I don’t need help.” Naaktii laughed aloud, “The fish avoid your hook like the plague and you say you don’t need help…perhaps not, maybe you will get lucky, and catch a great beast of a fish before it's too late…” Naaktii began to sink back into the water, and Green Gar registered the split second limit of his time to decide… “Wait!” He called out and Naaktii’s head peaked back over the side of the canoe,  “Can you really help?” He asked, and Naaktii smiled, and nodded her head.  “For a price.” She said, and Green-Gar listened to her demands of exchange…they were strange to him, and he was suspicious, but he had no time to think, he needed to get back to the rendezvous in order to win the challenge…he agreed to what Naaktii asked, and she smiled before she sunk into the water. All was quiet for several long minutes, before suddenly, the water spirit returned, hauling the largest gar fish Green-Gar had ever seen into his canoe. After its massive form was flopped into the boat, she sent him off, with a reminder to keep up his end of the deal. He agreed, and went back to the rendezvous, to the astonishment of everyone, with the massive king of a fish in his boat. By the terms of the challenge, Green-Gar was announced the winner, and was bestowed the honor of marrying Silver Kite.  Green-Gar lived with Silver Kite for many years, under the impression of Green-Gar being the fair winner of the challenge. But the cost of Naaktii’s aid was to be paid, at the height of every full moon. The fish woman would wait at the shallows of the lake, and Green-Gar would go to her, to compensate her for his wish granted. Naaktii, who was eternally lonely in her water world, demanded that Green Gar spend every full moon with her in her lair, and treat her as the wife he had on the land. Green-Gar would endure this for no less than twelve moons in a row. Every full moon lessened to every other, and then every other third, once a season, twice a year, and then, never more. Green-Gar’s children with Silver Kite grew, and their community prospered. He waited and waited, anxiously, for Naaktii to come seeking justice for his absence, but she never did…it was suddenly as if that exchange between them had never happened at all, that he would never see the fish woman again. Years passed, and Green-Gar’s eldest son, Yellow Perch, grew up strong to the blessed year of sixteen, and he fell in love, as his father did, with a woman of their community and plans were made for them to be married. All seemed prosperous as it had been, until suddenly a drought struck. The rains stopped, the bayous shriveled, the fish and game disappeared, the fishing community was plunged into hard times. Prayers and rituals were initiated to bring back the rain and the animals, and the wise folk of the community went down to the waters that remained, and that was where they met Naaktii, who admitted to her part in drying up the waters, as revenge for Green-Gar’s promises long unfulfilled. When the people learned of Green-Gar’s treachery they didn’t hesitate to find Yellow Perch, and deliver him to Naaktii, who held the young man ransom until Green-Gar brought himself in shame to the lake, and willingly offered himself up in exchange for his son, and an end to the drought. He apologized to his people, and bid his family farewell, before he followed Naaktii into the waters, never to be seen again by the dwellers of land… Doriaan and Jaheim Sabaa Doriaan was the youngest child of Sabaa Daviida; The Bone Collector. The Sabaa’s were a mighty house of the Bone clan; whose warrior faction were Hard Heads. These were the guardians of funeral rites and processions, builders of shrines and altars. Sabaa was specifically a house of male oracles and diviners. The lineage of Sabaa was ancient, and Sabaa Daviida was of it’s mightiest incarnations. He’d fought in the civil war which had brought the Kovaango Delta into the hold of the Ghokaan Empire. According to legend, his ancestors had once possessed the legendary Onyxsis; an ivory handled sword, which would own the soul of any warrior foolish enough to challenge its edge and lose. In his youth, he’d served as the Hard Head Spy Boy, but had since transitioned to Wild Man; primary protector of the Big Chief in war, ritual, and ceremony.  Sabaa Doriaan was the child of Daviida and

    13 min

  8. 04/22/2025

    The Sovereignty of Softness

    Production: @2wounit Model/Muse: @malaanii777 Photography: @thecreativemuva Styling: @rainmenne Makeup: @chanellmmakeup Hair: @christinammichelle @nolabeautys_la SPECIAL THANKS TO RAINA MENNE/ NaNa Kailiwai for support in more than just styling, but in friendship and development! I love you Sissy! Get full access to Can't Hold The River at cantholdtheriver.substack.com/subscribe

    1h 1m
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About

Ethnographic Fiction, journalism, zoology, botany and who knows all else in time. cantholdtheriver.substack.com

Information

  • Creator
    7th Ward Swamp Opossum
  • Years Active
    2023 - 2026
  • Episodes
    43
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © Jarrad DeGruy-Kinnard
  • Show Website
    Can't Hold The River Podcast