conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Beautiful Scars about Kilee's, Beautiful, Scars with the genre: Self-Help, Motivational
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "Kilee's spirit shines through her every word. 'Beautiful Scars' is a down-to-earth primer on how to let our hearts define us, not our scars." - J.R. Martinez, actor, U.S. Army veteran, bestselling author and burn survivor "It took me many years - decades even - to embrace my fire, my scars, my story, my gifts - the way that Kilee has naturally done in just a few short years. 'Beautiful Scars' is a reminder that we don't always get to choose the path we walk in life, but we can always choose the manner in which we walk it. Kilee, a heartfelt thank you for the reminder." - John O'Leary, national bestselling author of "ON FIRE: The 7 Choices to Ignite a Radically Inspired Life" and inspirational speaker "Kilee's 'Beautiful Scars' shares her story of hope. In one single moment, a tragic accident almost took her life and put her through months of physical and emotional challenges. Despite these obstacles, Kilee's beautiful and joyful spirit demonstrate to all that there is life and hope after serious tragedy. This book is an encouraging story for burn survivors and anyone surviving trauma." - Julie Peetz, executive director, Burns Recovered
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Beautiful Scars about Comics, Publishing, Beautiful with the genre: Comics & Graphic Novels, Graphic Novels
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Durwin S. the author is an illustrator, comic book creator, designer, digital artist and educator. He has produced work for DC Comics, Oni Press, White Wolf Publishing and Wizards of the Coast and has written textbooks for TwoMorrows Publishing. He created Bonds for Image comics and is co-creator on Beautiful Scars for Archaia Comics. E. Guin Thompson is an illustrator, cartoonist, designer, dimensional artist and educator. She has created illustration work for clients including DC Comics, Upper Deck and others. She is co-creator on Beautiful Scars for Archaia Comics and has several solo projects in development.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first four paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Beautiful Scars
  Glenn Gould had once lived in the hotel. He set up a piano and a little recording studio in a suite in the old tower. His spirit was everywhere in that place, representing a bygone era of polyester and suede, the sexual revolution, mad bastards in grey suits and hard liquor. He was not one of them. He was one of his own. But his ghost hung around the pool, where he appeared dressed in winter coat, scarf and boots, sitting on a chaise longue in the July heat. His loneliness owned the place. I could feel him down every hallway. He wouldn't share his genius with me or inspire me to create. Somehow the weight of his madness brought out my own madness and cued up my addictions. I had the means to get heroin and cocaine delivered directly to my hotel room by downtown dealers. I discovered that if you spend enough money, often enough, you can get people to drive anywhere for you, even North York.
  I drank the mini bar and watched movies on the TV while chasing dragons and knocking back blow every night. I crashed around seven every morning. I wouldn't eat for days at a time and then would gorge myself with bad food. I gained fifty pounds in three months, and I had to go over to a Don Mills mall, where, without trying anything on, I bought myself some cheap suits to wear around the neighbourhood. The cuffs on the pants would hang over my boots, and the sleeves rode high on my forearms. Sometimes I would park my Crown Victoria over at Bob Bannerman's Chrysler/Dodge/Jeep dealership and drink wine and do lines of coke until the sun started to come up.
  I'd walk past the office windows of the marketing department, the radio department, the sales department, staggering along the length of the sprawling one-floor complex until I reached the president's office, where I would stand and look in at him through the window while he talked on the phone. I'd push my face against the glass and act out some ridiculous routine for him, crack him up and continue on to the front door, flash reception my security card and dive onto the couch in my studio. I'd go back to sleep until my recording engineer, Jeff Desil, arrived and turned up the work we had done the night before.
  We'd spend the day overdubbing on the tracks, then by mid-afternoon we'd start writing another song. We were in the centre of a corporate environment but we had been given total freedom. Nobody told us what to do or when to do it. Somehow, through all my few hits and many misses, I had ended up in an amazing, leave-this-fucker-alone-and-let-him-do-what-he-does position. By nightfall all kinds of musicians would roll though the studio, as well as the inspirational company of drug dealers, bikers and wildly drunk women who'd dance on the coffee table in the middle of the studio when we hit on a groove that was agreeable.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: three more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: So many familiar faces, some Janie had not seen in years, the faces of her neighbours and family in Quebec. But those who had been in Brooklyn for a while, some who had been born there, spoke in a Flatbush accent. Mohawk was the native tongue in that little ten-block area. It was spoken in the bars and on the job sites, but a lot of parents spoke only English to their kids, a trickle-down effect of residential schools, where the language of their ancestors had been punched out of them.
  They poured out of three-storey walk-ups and into the streets, flooding the sidewalks, the grocery stores and the famous Mohawk watering hole the Pow Wow. West took Janie there to show her off. He was reckless and the locals took notice. Word was spreading about the Lazare girl, the daughter of Chief John Lazare himself, who had suddenly disappeared from the River-View. The same eyes and ears that spread word and kept secrets back home in Quebec were kept open on one another in Brooklyn.
  Janie was getting restless. She'd escaped the reserve and was in one of the world's great cities, but she was stuck with ol' Rudy West poking at her, crowding her and showing her off. She must have felt sick about her misjudgment, but she was saved somewhere into the second week of her time in Brooklyn. From back in Kahnawake, West's mother called him up and told him firm, fast and straight that word had spread, the family was looking for their daughter and he'd better send Janie back right now.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: From back in Kahnawake, West's mother called him up and told him firm, fast and straight that word had spread, the family was looking for their daughter and he'd better send Janie back right now.. She must have felt sick about her misjudgment, but she was saved somewhere into the second week of her time in Brooklyn. She'd escaped the reserve and was in one of the world's great cities, but she was stuck with ol' Rudy West poking at her, crowding her and showing her off.
  Janie was getting restless. The same eyes and ears that spread word and kept secrets back home in Quebec were kept open on one another in Brooklyn. Word was spreading about the Lazare girl, the daughter of Chief John Lazare himself, who had suddenly disappeared from the River-View. He was reckless and the locals took notice. West took Janie there to show her off.
  They poured out of three-storey walk-ups and into the streets, flooding the sidewalks, the grocery stores and the famous Mohawk watering hole the Pow Wow. It was spoken in the bars and on the job sites, but a lot of parents spoke only English to their kids, a trickle-down effect of residential schools, where the language of their ancestors had been punched out of them. Mohawk was the native tongue in that little ten-block area. But those who had been in Brooklyn for a while, some who had been born there, spoke in a Flatbush accent.So many familiar faces, some Janie had not seen in years, the faces of her neighbours and family in Quebec
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: My grandsons Hawksley and Levon. You guys are still young and are already challenging the world around you. I hope I'm still here thirty years from now to see the beautiful wild men I know you'll become. And hey, Jesse Dore, you are an inspiring family man. Thanks for that, buddy.
  Ray Farrugia is my oldest and closest friend, the godfather to my children and my musical partner for the last thirty-five years. He's seen me through some of my darkest hours and celebrated and cheered me on throughout my life. I could never imagine going through this without you, Ray. Same with Colin Cripps. There's a complicated guy who leads with his heart every time, and lucky for me, he's taken the lead for me many times.
  Aaron Goldstein patiently listened to my stories on stage for the last nine years and inspired me to keep on talking and talking and talking.
  The people who Hanna Clayton, Jayne Scala, Grace and Aaron Goldstein sat with me in my office and lovingly listened to me talk and transcribed my ideas.
  It's a job that no one else could do and one that comes with great consequence because those ghosts and prisoners are standing around me now all day, all night long.