Tears stream down my face as I sit cross legged and cross eyed in a room full of others doing the same. We’re all dressed in white and we’ve been doing Kundalini Yoga Teacher Training all day for the past three days. This is our last exercise for the weekend before a monthlong break.

It’s a short, “sweet” exercise my trainer smiles, radiating with an intoxicating yet unassuming grace. She guides us gently through the whole process, watching over us as she speaks: “begin in your most beautiful and regal meditation posture.”

Precise and Prescriptive

We sit patiently as she explains an exacting series of mental, third eye focuses and the silent mantra that we will be repeating throughout the meditation. “Now, draw your eyes down to 1/10th open, your gaze is on the tip of your nose.”

Most meditations and even exercises in Kundalini are done with the eyes completely closed, but as I’ve progressed to training I’ve come to enjoy this one. It has a remarkable disarming and balancing effect, allowing for a lot of clearing – and that’s just what I’ve come to know through my own, very brief experiences so far.

“The eyes focused at the tip of the nose causes the optic nerves to cross at the third eye. Thus it is easier to bring your mental focus to the Third Eye while the eyes are directed at the tip of the nose. Both the pineal and the pituitary glands and the area between them are stimulated by this eye posture, which has the effect of breaking old habits and creating new ones.”


Taking Aim at Deep Pain

I get excited as I feel my mental defenses begin to shut down.

She then leads us through some corresponding Third Eye excercises, how they will be interspersed with breathwork and finally begins the meditation prompts. “Deep breath in, suspend the breath and bring to mind an encounter or incident that happened to you.”

My mind immediately rushes to one of my earliest traumas, something that has impacted my life greatly and haunts me daily. A memory I don’t care to think about that has also somehow still weaved itself into the very fabric of my heart and mind.

“Really?!” I hear a desperate whisper from somewhere inside of me but there is no stopping to listen, I’m locked into the meditation. The rhythms of the practice’s mantra and Third Eye patterns, the enchanting drishti (eye gaze) and my trainer’s reassuring voice all working together to help me unlock these very deep pains that just minutes before I had no awareness of.

Trusting the Process

We repeat the sequence. That’s when the tears start, flowing uninhibited from my eyes – yet somehow my gaze remains fixed and strong. I’m sweating, profusely, but I’m trembling like I am cold. I can’t even think much about these things though – my entire mental plane is consumed by the prompting of my trainer.

“Visualize and re-live the actual feeling of the encounter.” More tears, more sweat, more trembling. Repeat.

We are lead on a powerful journey, step by step. Switching roles with the Other in our encounter and remembering the experience from their perspective.

Rediscovering the Past

It was a shock. I wasn’t experiencing my expectations or assumptions about my Other’s perspective at all, I was experiencing their stress, their distractions and their fear. They had no awareness of how their pain was affecting me in the memory at all.

We complete the meditation by repeating the internal codes of sacred geometry and vibrations in silence again before we continue on to forgiving the Other and our Self. The cycling finally ending with our focus on “letting go of the incident and releasing it to the universe.”

We then go through the steps of closing out our practice for the day, but I’m still crying. I get a picture of the meditation from my trainer and thank her for the impactful weekend, she asks if I’m okay and I smile, still crying as I nod and say “yeah, just -” while motioning erratically around my head. She nods back silently and I am comforted to know she too has experienced the rewriting of her own history.

Healing with Patience and Joy

I sit on my mat, and cry some more. Another student comes up to ask me something and then realizes I’m processing and respectfully tells me we can talk another time. I smile genuinely at her too, as tears still fall from my eyes.

I returned to my regal posture as the room buzzed around me with everyone preparing to leave. Breathing long and deep I set my intention to clear the rest of my process so I can actually get home and another meditation we learned this weekend comes to mind.

This meditation incorporates celestial movements, mudras and arm movements in specific patterns, with a mantra that you recite outloud. It takes me an instant to decide to do it mentally so I don’t call attention to myself.

It’s a fun meditation for children to do in stressful times. Within maybe a just a few brief minutes I was beaming again, the tears completely gone.

“The mind become a monster when it becomes your master. The mind is an angel when it is your servant.”

Yogi Bhajan

“You know: nobody’s perfect. Not their hair, not their teeth, not their nose. Not perfect. Pretty damn close? Maybe some people… some of the time. Still, like everything in life, it’s always give n’ take… You’ll think that one thing is important, only to find out you were wrong to ignore another all along…”

Miss Valentine sat straight in her chair, despite appearing completely relaxed. Her hair, obviously a wig, was cut bluntly at her jawline with a striking angle. Arguably blonde it somehow also gave the impression at times that it was holographic. The upper half of her face was veiled by something of a high-tech amber screen – almost like a helmet visor without a helmet – yet somehow her green eyes were still piercing through with every word.

“We all make mistakes along our way.” She finished, smiling deviously.

“Miss, I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with the question?” The interviewer asked after a long pause when it was obvious V. had nothing more to add.

“Everything darling, it ALL has to do with everything.” Miss Valentine replied, reclining. She seemed very amused to be so outside of her usual element.

With the young reporter obviously perplexed, she couldn’t possibly take it easy on him now. Though, the thought might have crossed her mind if he hadn’t opened his trap. The shmuck, “what would you like to tell our lady friends at home? In particular, I’m sure they’re curious about how you always manage to have the perfect sexy look despite your hectic celebrity schedule! What do you say Miss Valentine? Help the girls out.”

She grimaced a smile thinking about it before continuing: “how did you think that I was going to respond to that question? You or whoever wrote that think I’m sexy?! Really, sir, is that your way of hitting on me for your viewers? Well buddy, just so you know, simultaneously undermining and insulting my gender while presupposing that my attractiveness signals my willingness to mate won’t get you anywhere with me. Toss the damn cue cards and ask me some real questions. If you dare.”

Miss V. moved while she talked, posturing her long body with her shoulders back against the oddly deep chair, arms and legs open – she looked like an animal at times, like now – in contrast to being incredibly elegant and fantastic. Even her white bodysuit was tailored with subtle yet powerful geometric risks; pointed shoulder cuffs and a deep plunging v-neckline atop boxy pant legs, slit all the way up her freckled thighs. Of course, she donned her signature dirty combat boots too.

Her intoxicating and confusing presence was juxtaposed nicely by the now obviously meek, safely mass-produced culture whore in the chair opposite. I’m sure it wasn’t his fault, the pressure to conform must be insufferable on a show this large. He doesn’t have a chance trying to get V. to play along though.

“It’s alright dear.” V. leaned forward again and reached toward the visibly shaken reporter to stop his incessant shuffling. “I know you didn’t write that question, so – here, lets have a looksie -” he seemed to be begging and pleading with someone in our invisible audience, his eyes glazing over, looking out into the bright studio lights. No one did anything to stop V., so she went ahead and snatched the cue cards right from his hands:

“If you could dine with any former celebrity, dead or…fuuuck no – uh… here we go:” She tossed all but one of the cards to the ground in a momentary frenzy, and then handed it back to the shocked man.

“George, may I call you George?” She continued, knowing full well that she was talking to Steve McDowell on his popular celebrity segment for an successful international network.

Steve clutched at the cue in his hands, looking down before nodding.

“George, are you sure you want to ask me that question?” Miss Valentine smiled, waiting for him to look her in the eye again.

He coughed and sat up, the blood had returned to his face and he began to glistin with excitement. He leaned forward toward her in his chair, looking at her again and again, then back down to the card – and finally cleared his throat:  “Miss V., what’s your biggest secret?”

The following is part of a short story series written by mayryanna while she studied Creative Writing in University.

I’ll never forget that morning. It was uncharacteristically cold in the house when I woke up. Cold and quiet. I could hear the faint murmur of my brother’s computer in his room and what sounded like the news on the television down the hall… but no movement, no interaction, and no familiar voices.

     ‘Where is everyone?’ In my groggy, just-woken state the concern wasn’t high on the list; the thought trailed in and out of my mind without much effort. I made my way down the hall to the kitchen, catching the newscast on our smart-tv out of the corner of my eye. It seemed too chaotic to be anything affecting our country, though they were listing off items that seemed usually American; I heard a shaky voice, “… smart TVs, tablets, smartphones, and of course computers…” I was too concerned that my brother had eaten first and robbed me of all our favorite cereal though, so I let the electronic commotion drone on without a glance in that direction.

     I was pouring a bowl of sugar and starch cheerfully when I heard commotion for the first time – someone was rushing into the house. I turned toward the living room again; trying to look past the television to the door to see what was going on, still too tired to be worried. A hand abruptly stopped and spun me back around mid turn –

“NO! Elisa, NO!”

     It was my grandmother’s voice, and she was frantic. The uncharacteristic worry and pain in her voice sent shivers through my whole body.

“G-grandma?! W-what what’s going on?!”

     I could barely get the words out as she buried my face in her blouse.

“Oh thank god, thank god, oh thank you god!”

     She was weeping and holding me so tight I thought I would die.

“Grandma what’s wrong, please tell me… are you ok?”

     I pulled and pushed away from her trying to look her in the face, when I finally saw her eyes my heart instantly filled with dread.

“Grandma?! What happened? Are you ok?!”

     She fell to her knees, bending toward my feet, whaling now.

“I-I… I thought you might all be gone!”

     She finally cried out. I had bent over too, caressing her hair like she had done to mine so many times before when I was upset, but the words were startling.

“What do you mean grandma, what do you mean gone? No one is gone!?”

     I began to try and look around, she must have somehow known, she immediately rose up and grabbed my face:

“NO! Elisa you can’t!”

     Her forcefulness and fear terrified me and I began to cry,

“Grandma I’m sorry, what’d I do?! I’m so sorry!!”

     She took me in her arms again and I could feel her breath returning to normal,

“baby girl, baby girl, shh-shhhh… It’s going to be okay, you haven’t done anything wrong, everything will be okay – I’ll take care of you, I promise, we’ll be okay…”

     I was the one sobbing now, ‘why is she saying she’ll take care of me?! Where’s momma, where’s daddy? Where’s Tommy?!’ I started to feel angry,

“Grandma stop! You’re scaring me – I want momma, where’s my momma?!”

     I began to pull away again, I wanted to run out of the kitchen, I needed to find my family. She was holding tight but with my small body I wiggled free and turned to run into the living room. I’d almost made it around the corner – I could see my mother’s hand on the chair, my father’s foot in front of the couch, and then my eyes met the television screen.


     I woke up at grandma’s house feeling sick in my head. My eyes hurt. Everything was fuzzy… no, everything was glowing. I knew where I was because of the smell: cinnamon and bleach, it could only be grandma’s. My eyes tried desperately to adjust, I could hardly make out my familiar surroundings through the angelic fog that had seemingly overcome my vision.


     I cried out, I heard my voice tremble as I remembered what had happened that morning. ‘How did I get here? Where is my family?’


     I cried out again in agony and began to cry.

“Here, here baby!”

     I felt my grandmothers delicate hand resting on my back as she came to my side. I tried opening my eyes, but the tears had made the glow worse rather than better.

“Grandma what’s happening? Where’s momma? What happened to me?!”

     I was desperate for answers and shaking with fear – or perhaps it was the weird sickness that had come over me, I couldn’t be sure.

     Grandma sat silently next to me, caressing my hair; I could hear that her breathing was sad and labored.

“Grandma please, please tell me something…”

     I began to sniffle, calmer now but still upset. She sighed deeply before answering,

“I don’t know baby. I wish I knew, but I don’t. I turned off the TV because it only seems to be getting worse and no one seems to know…”

     Her voice trailed off. I sat up and began to rub my eyes.

“Grandma, why can’t I see?!”

     I sounded scared, and I was.

“Don’t do that baby girl, just stay calm. I’m not sure what exactly caused all this… It’s probably too soon for anyone to know…”

     Grandma’s voice went off again and I could feel her retract her hand from my back. I reached out toward her but had to fumble to find her hand in her lap,

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.”

     She acknowledged my words by squeezing my hand.

“So… What happened to my eyes… it was caused by whatever is happening to other people?”

     I could hear my voice crack, it felt like my throat was closing up as thoughts of my family flashed before me,

“are momma and daddy and Tommy going to be ok? Did they get sick like me?”

     Grandma began to weep, it was horrible. I’d never experienced such immense sorrow from anyone before and I still could hardly see her. She pulled me close to her and tried to regain her composure. Through her gasps and biting her teeth she finally managed,

“I’m sorry…”

     Suddenly, I knew. I knew before she could get the rest out. I buried my head into her chest and we cried together – my eyes stung but I didn’t care, my family was gone and there was no explanation.

     We sat in grief together for hours.


     It was days before we could manage to eat again. I spent my time by the window, dazed by the glow, relearning how to see the world. There were no people walking, no mail came, and no cars were driving around. It seemed that our town had become like a ghost town, a term I now knew I had never even been able to imagine to its extent of emptiness. After the third day animals began to appear in the streets; after a week I saw what used to be friendly neighborhood dogs killing each other for their meat.

My eyes slowly regained their sight, but to this day I still see things through the glow of that horrid morning. When we finally turned my grandma’s old ‘big-box’ TV back on all of the channels were completely dead. I would click through the static for hours hoping to find some sort of answer, only to return to staring out the window, waiting for signs of the life I once knew.

     After about a month, I stumbled upon some static that wasn’t completely white noise – I could hear voices, faintly. I burst from my seat,

“Grandma! Grandma!!”

     I yelled as I ran down the hall toward her room. I got to her door and told her to come fast, immediately turning to race back out to the television.

“What is it dear?”

     She came down the hall a minute later to find my face pressed against the TV.

“Grandma, grandma! There are voices! Human voices – through the static, I can hear them!”

     She rushed over and we both held our breath for a few moments. As another semi-audible voice came through she grabbed my arm,

“Elisa, go get the old antenna out of the attic.”

     I was on my feet before she could finish – I raced down the hall and with one jump I had the rope in hand to pull the stairs down from the ceiling. Everything seemed like a blur, I was moving on autopilot as my mind rushed with hope. I needed answers.

     We fiddled with the antenna for what seemed like hours, trying and failing repeatedly to get what ever it was and who ever it was to come in clear enough for us to make some sort of sense from it. Finally, as I was again slowly manipulating one of the metal stems, I heard Grandma say,


     I froze. It was a man. It was a newscast. It was information about what was going on – I hurried over to my Grandmother’s side and we sat staring into the dancing grey screen.

“… for those of you who may have just tuned in, you are already aware that the world as we knew it came to an end twenty five days ago…”

     I looked at Grandma just as she looked at me, ‘the world?’

“What you may not yet know is why…”

     We both immediately turned back, our hearts pounding.

“Unfortunately… we don’t have many answers. What we do know though, is that this was caused by the internet.”

     I began to feel sick but could look away,

“Any and all people who have accessed the internet, through any variety of medium, have perished.”

     Tears began to stream down my face though I still sat calmly, breathing steady to hear through the remnants of static.

“It seems that this horrible vanquishing force enters through a person’s eye gate as they look upon a screen connected to the internet. Unfortunately, due to the inability to revive the consciousness of those who have, we have little information about how or why, or even what could possibly be causing this mental… and therefor physical… entrapment.”

     Suddenly I realized what had happened to my eyes – I had almost been trapped by the internet too,


     I began,

“How?! Did you save me?”

     I felt her hand on my back but she didn’t turn.

“We will bring you more information as we find it. We are unsure at this time how many have survived. If you are seeing this and have the ability, please contact us via land-line telephone…”

     She finally turned,

“Elisa… Do you remember anything? After you looked at the screen at your house, what happened?”

     I sat for a moment trying to remember,

“No grandma… everything went white, that’s all, and then I woke up here… I’m sorry, I don’t know…”

     I began to cry a little harder.

“Shh-shhh, no it’s okay my dear. It’s okay. So, since you don’t know anything, this will be our secret…”

     Grandma spoke with a seriousness that made me feel sick again, I sniffled,

“okay Grandma… I won’t tell anyone, but… Why?”

     Grandma smiled to comfort me,

“you don’t know anything, you can’t help them figure this out if you don’t know anything right?”

     I nodded,

“but they don’t know, or maybe won’t believe…”

     She stopped and stared back at the static,

“this is a crazy time my love, and crazy times make people do crazy things… Just remember, it’s our secret, okay?”

     I sniffled again and sunk into her side, looking toward the static again,

“yes Grandma.”

Below is some exploratory scifi fiction writing I did in college. The premise is survival in a dystopian world, years after a global crisis that centered on the internet itself beginning to entrap and kill those using it:

My heart pounding in my throat already, I can’t stop to catch a breath, I have to keep moving; if they catch me, that will be the end of ‘me.’ Weaving through the abandoned ruins, I must leap over the various corroded remnants of a world too quickly forgotten: a tricycle covered in overgrown plans, the decaying corpse of a wild dog, the rusted out fender of a once glorious Mercedes – nothing but trash getting in the way of my escape. Fortunately, I’ve had some practice at this; I know where I’m going.

     I duck through the broken window of one abandoned home and wait to watch the patrols rush by through another murky pane. This deep into the Dumperbs it would be hard for their hounds to catch my scent amongst the decay, especially if I round back. I sat breathing for a moment before I knew it was clear to get going again. I took a quick glance around, ‘no relics here,’ and was off.

     In the past eight years running has become the ideal form of transportation, if by ideal you’re taking into account the lack of ‘man-power’ to keep oil and gas pumping and cars moving as well as the fact that the Old World Decay made it difficult to bike. I was the fastest runner I knew. Of course, I used to only be able to compare myself to Grandma which made it easy. After she died I had to venture out into the world and soon my talents were tested against the other Bitch Brats. Taylor was the only one who could keep up, but somehow I still managed to pull ahead at the last second and beat her in every race. Running had become a way of life. We ran from the wild dogs, we ran from the patrols, and we ran for fun – I guess really, running had become the way of life for us.

     I quickly found the stash of relics I’d hidden in the debris and started back towards our Shelter. From the outside in it didn’t look like much – in fact, it looked just like everything else: horrible, decrepit, disgusting – but that was the point. It began with one home where we’d found a secret living space in the basement and over the course of the last 7 years together, the Bitch Brats had created an underground palace. Aside from running and finding relics, digging to expand our fortress was really the only other thing we could do to occupy our time. We’d even managed to connect to another home that had a large greenhouse and huge privacy fence; the fresh food at our table rivaled that of the Global Jury.

     It was different the first four years or so, everyone was still scared enough to mind their own business. We would go to the supermarkets and stores, to the abandoned homes in the area – where ever we thought we might find something we’d need – and just take stuff. No harm, no foul. That was before the Global Jury made looting illegal again.

     They claim it’s for our safety, but we’ve been getting along just fine; we don’t need their compound and rules to survive. So what if they want to reestablish ‘civilization,’ they certainly didn’t ask us. How the hell does some random group of women get the idea that they can just take control anyway? Granted, we Bitch Brats take control, but of ourselves… and only others if they happen to threaten our way of life.

     Once I made it through our booby-trap-esque security system I breathed a sigh of relief to be home again,

“Ladies, I’m home!”

     I let out a long billowing howl and waited not long before I could hear their replies through the corridors, Taylor was of course the first to reach my side,


     She exclaimed as she plowed into my side, nearly knocking me and my bounty onto the ground. I’d only been gone for a couple hours, but since our ranks had been picked off one by one until it was just us four, we no longer took any homecoming for granted.

“Oh hey Tay-Tay!”

     I let out a growl and playfully bit her ear. I could hear Tracy and Alleah in the corridor approaching fast and looked back up just in time to see their crazed smiles approaching full speed,


     They cried in unison and as they hit me and Taylor, we all went down together. Hitting the ground we laughed and rolled until I remembered what I had found in the Dumperbs,


     We all froze,

“What is it Leelee?”

     Alleah, the youngest and sweetest of us all asked sheepishly, her curious eyes already wondering toward my satchel.

“Don’t be mad…”

     I began and the girls immediately scattered,


     Taylor looked at me enraged, the other two clamored behind her terrified.

“It’s no big deal, it doesn’t even work…”

     I tried pushing a dust-packed power button again to no avail.

“Get it out of here, this isn’t ok!”

     Taylor looked as if she were going to burst a blood vessel.

“Are you going to take it out of here?”

     I asked deviously; I knew that none of them would touch anything that could potentially access the internet.

“Are you kidding me?! If you don’t get it out of here I’m going to beat you!”

     Tay was fuming now, but I didn’t care – she might be older, but I was the clever one.

“What then? You’re going to take it out of here after I’m bruised and bloodied?”

     I smiled slightly, I didn’t want her to get too mad but I couldn’t help it.

“Seriously, I am going to kill you!”

     She stomped away, the other two close behind.  Alleah turning her head just before rounding the main corridor. ‘Whatever… it can’t hurt me if I don’t turn it on…’ I turned the old smartphone around in my hands and sat staring at it – had I not pried it from a skeleton’s bony grip I would have never believed that this tiny device had killed someone… ‘But how?!’ Even if I wanted to mess around with it I couldn’t; it was eight years old, the battery had corroded and the screen cracked from the climate. ‘It’s harmless’ I thought and I shoved it back into my satchel.

I picked myself up and dusted off. I would go put the contraband in my cave before dinner – lord knows I’d be a dead woman if I tried to show it to them. I put it high up on my rock shelf, you couldn’t even see it if you weren’t looking. ‘Why do I even bother?’

     In the main cavern the girls were slow to set out the dinnerware; I could hear Taylor in the kitchen banging anything she got her hands on. I glanced at Tracy and she dodged my eyes; Alleah smiled and then seemed to remember she wasn’t happy and quickly turned away too. I walked past them both unconcerned.

“Taylor, you have to talk to me… Tay. Tay!”


     She turned from our water basin and I was surprised to see tears in her eyes. Taylor was tough; as the oldest I suppose she felt she had to be.

“Taylor, it’s dead. It’s not going to hurt us.”

“It’s not that… I know… It’s just…”

     She turned away again. I went up behind her and wrapped her in my arms tightly. I whispered in her ear,

“What is it Tay?”

“I was grounded… I- I wasn’t allowed to have my phone… that’s – that’s the only reason I didn’t die with the rest of my family… I just…”

     I released my squeeze enough that she could turn toward me; she wiped her face and took a deep breath,”

“Stupid huh?”

     I wiped the last stray tear and smiled,

“You?! Never!”

     We both shared a giggle.

“Look, I’m sorry… I’ll never mention it or anything like it again… I don’t even know why I took it…”

     I began but she soon interrupted,

“No, no… it’s fine… like you said, it’s dead right?! Why should we give it anymore of our lives than it’s already taken? Do what you want with it… next time though…”

     She trailed off,

“Yes Tay?”

     I encouraged,

“Next time bring me one… I want to destroy it!”

     I’d never seen such hate in a person’s eyes.

“Otay Tay, you got it.”

     I squeezed her arm. With that we grabbed the rest of the necessities for dinner and went to join the other girls.

For those of you that didn’t know, I was married once. He was someone I tried to save from himself, and I lost myself in the process. Still, it’s all been for the best, making me the woman I am.

So, here’s an old poem – from a past I barely recognize:

I fell in love with a con man

He was lying the very day we met

Told me twists and turns of detailed stories, only partial truths or complete bullshit

He’d learned the hard way, of that much there was proof, and so I went along hoping every last word was truth

From behind big blue eyes, he swept me away – what can I say, that con man’s words made me want to play his game

The way he loved me was incredible, made me feel like when he held me he was coming home –

Ecstasy soon turning into a bad trip, a deadly rollar coaster, but I still rode with him –

I fell in love with a criminal, a man who’d done what he thought he had to do, and he’d done it far too many times to realize he could choose –

The lies started to bleed and I began to feed on delirium, insecurity overcoming me making me come unhinged

Something about the way he laughed when he was truly happy, the way his eyes devoured my body and the touch of his hands!

I fell in love with a blue eyed devil, a class act playgirl fantasy

I let him lead me astray, keeping his secrets to this very day, despite his most brazen offenses against me –

I fell in love with a con man, how could I have expected any different?

I couldn’t blame him for his sorted past

Or the hurt little boy who was always staring back

I felt his pain, or at least the parts he wanted me to

I fell in love with a con man, and I always knew –

Yea, somehow I always knew, and I still laid myself bare, daring him to make his move and finally prove that the love he said he for me was as true…

Still, I knew… Still it burned, as his fiery heart consumed – all I had…

Ooh, I was conned by the man I loved – I listened and then got learned…

I thought I knew, thought if I could be bad too he couldn’t hurt me the way that he did…

I gave my innocence to a grand larcenist, ooh I watched as he drank me in and what came back out was stronger, but more putrid too…

Ooh that criminal, I’m that Casanova’s fool –

I learned to love from a con man – he taught me to trust and then how to break it bad…

Don’t you dare

Don’t you entertain –

‘Cause even though I may seem sweet and lovely – I can guarantee that you don’t want to play this game –

I’ve been tainted and mamed 

Ooh oh oh oh – run away