Navel Gazing with the Stars


I am so incredibly uninterested in subscribing to non-inclusive dogmatic bio-domeing communities/events/organizations. Even if they do in fact happen to be changing the world for the better.

Regardless of positive chance, should we go forward in a narrow-minded way with, I would bet my life that the change will be temporary and transient. Many of the methods I see getting to this change are still running by the same consumptive dominant paradigm narrative and often are passively patriarchal/heteronormative. Thus not embracing the emerging diversity in the world that is begging to be seen.
Despite all the hard work and good intentions I fear this route will eventually land us in a place very similar to where we currently are. We the generation of people knowing something is needing to be shifted.

Yet still sitting on our thumbs waiting for the next Guru, Messiah, Mommy/Daddy, Profit, Teacher, whatever. When it’s so clearly not one man or woman that is going to, or even would be able to catalyze a lasting change. It is the great collective of us, working through our woundings, and going forward to share a broader vision for peace, healing, and a sustainable world. Not just for us well off, north americans, and not just for 3rd world kids in UNISEF commercials – but for everyone.

Yeah it’s a tall order, and yeah I will likely only see the seedlings of this new world in my lifetime. If I am lucky. But it’s not about what we see in our lifetime, it’s about the wake we leave to make sure the work doesn’t dissipate after we’re gone.

I think it’s naive to believe in absolute inclusivity in all situations. I do believe that knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom is knowing that it doesn’t belong in a fruit salad. That said, I see far too many people and groups often unconsciously hiding behind the veil of how “woke” they are, and really not doing much to help anyone, or change anything, save the causes they have put themselves in the centre of.
No Human/s should be in the centre of anything, we should all collectively be holding space for that centre, for that change, for the better world far beyond our time in these bodies.

This will be uncomfortable at first. and many people tend to confuse discomfort with intuition. At first often the two feel the same, save one is driven by fear, and the other is driven by primal wisdom. We may never fully “get” each other, and if the fullness of that understanding never arrives it should enough to know that we each have our unique medicines to offer the world. If we are all offering the same medicine to the same people over and over again, it becomes nothing but a self indulgent spiral. Like any abused medicine, it becomes a drug. We become addicted to a twisted waking dream, fiending for our next manic fix of epiphany. Navel Gazing Junkies.

Being woke is hard, the best of us are only half way there. But encapsulating ourselves in the spiral of spiritual bypass, the “I don’t see colour” mentality, the “equalism” sans reconciliation mentality, bio-doming intentional communities, the all talk but no action activism, the untethered free spirit – yeah, that shit is easy. These narratives are all signs of a destructive circle of hollow progression.

Most of the people suffering these afflictions come from a good intentioned place, hell I’ve been there time and time again. Many people attempting, and desiring so hard to be living right now in the better future; the one of which the work has not been yet done to create. Desire is utterly intoxicating.
The work calls for all peoples to come together: all races, classes, ages, sexualities, genders, and so on to band together. It requires us to do the work of mending our differences, and agree on a shared vision of a world we want to build together. As many of us can concur, the vast majority of integral change happens outside of the comfort zone.

Perhaps though, we start in the comfort zone. We start in our connected communities, with the people and causes we feel safe with. That is healthy, and ideal for planting a safe firm foundation together. But do so with the intention of branching out once that foundation of trust is strong enough, once your morphogenic field is potent enough to withstand the pressure of your shared discomfort.

Once that is in-fact the case, branch out, offer your medicine, your gifts, and your experiences to new peoples, and ask in return for theirs.

Fucking unify. Unity, is damn important. Acceptance begets understanding, and even if that never comes the understanding that diversity is key to change should be enough.

I said that living in the dream is easy, what I meant is right now living in that dream is easy. But if we are lucky, and the lot of us reach a ripe old age, one day our great grandchilden are going to ask us

“when you were my age, did you know what was happening?

To which if we are honest, most of us will reply “yes”

” So what did you do?” they will ask.

And the answer to that question is not in the future, you are living that answer right now.
The future as we know it doesn’t really exist, it is always “now”, influenced by “then”.

And when our “now” is when these children approach us speaking of “then”, I hope to the gods that we have lived with integrity, and that we are able to provide a damn good answer for them.

– ac


Art by Tara McPherson​


the heavy hearted ache


Today I write with a heavy heart, as the internet has reminded me (right on schedule) that the world is really fucked up – and in a plethora of ways.

Our world, our us, our humanity. What does that word even mean? Humanity.

I have grounded myself into a place where I will not let the narcissistic self loathing of our times consume me, I will not let it convince me I am so tiny that I cannot make a difference; that I should just simmer in apathetic and easy complacency.
More and more I am coming to realize that what is “easy” is not simple, and what is simple is far from easy.

But it hurts so much, and somedays I yearn to feel that apathy, I crave to understand the languish places of which so many of us have landed. The state of being that allows people to live each day in a place where heartache has been abandoned.
Because damn this pang is raw, like a thousand indignant marchers grabbing my at throat, despite the lack of recollection of why they had began marching to begin with. Like the tainted oxygen surrounding us leaving my breath short, my own womb mirrors that of our Earth’s – rumbling, twisting and lurching with sediment.
The pang is raw with consumption; a woman trespassed and sold, a pig tagged and bled, water bottled and resold. As if the culprit could see any difference between the three.
Eat. eat. eat.

We live in a time where eye contact is shunned, connection to our adversaries, our lovers, our food. Shunned. The intimate courtship of love, sex and death – a fading art. A sin even.
For years we arrive and depart from inside each other, thrusting in and out. Flesh against flesh, in a desperate reach towards feeling anything at all. Uncontemplative copulation, contact without contact. Climax without Orgasm.

I see anguish, hatred, war, and poison. I see suffering, in a world that advocates killing but refuses to acknowledge that death exists as anything but an affliction. I see all that is natural, all that is us, being crucified and resurrected, wrapped in plastic and artificially manufactured by emaciated milky eyed children younger than my own.
And then sold back to us; lacquered, sterilized. For our safety.

That blasted blanket statement of a word, Safety. I do not feel safe in this world, and I would be brazen in assuming that neither do you. Yet I harbour such a huge fucking adoration for this little blue marble, despite that ever-present same ache threatens to consume me. When I saturated in it’s darkness I cannot help but imagine and skirt on understanding the actions of political self immolation – because this fire under my skin threatens to ignite. The fire of passion, what a fearsome tool to behold.
I am angry, and I am scared, I am in pain but more so than anything I still am so damn in that love. With you, with all of this, or rather what all of this could be; and if I could I would turn it off, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wouldn’t work now. A tidal rush of intensity breaking down the makeshift dam of indifference. Wild hearts do not take well to being confined.

So I cannot go on, yet I continue on because anything else would be a lie – tiresome and meager. I am broke but not broken, I am female bodied but not weak, I am invisible in the eyes of the government but prominent in the eyes of my peers, and this pushes me to go on, even though by all means of logic I cannot.
Logic, safety, ache. These are all subjective. And every day for the past week the eagles have been circling my house, a bat sputtered around my home in graceful disarray, and a finch died quietly in my hands. I watched my daughter sing joyfully on stage, my house later this evening will be filled with the laughter of like-minded loved ones – loved ones that also ache, that also cannot go on – but will anyhow.
As long as I can live in a world with eagles, bats, singing and like-minded hearts I will have love.
This is not the nonchalant white picket fence do nothing as the world burns type of love, nor is it the violent extremist rubber bullets and homemade bombs type of love. It’s a love that doesn’t exist in-between them, but in-fact beyond them, not despite them but because of them.

In response to the times we are in, something beautiful and furious has arisen. Something in you and I that may stand to redefine revolution as a whole.
So I have love, and it tends to the colossal loneliness, the crippling doubt, and the fear of that lingering encompassing ache.
This love whispers to me

“You ache? Good, you are fortunate for the reminder of the state of things. That that ache and make it your power, take that power and make it your gift”
-but damn, some days; somedays are harder than others.

So what is Humanity? Some would say adolescent, destructive, tantrum prone, regressive by force. Call me radical, foolish or idealistic but instead I -in the spirit of my “Post-Jadedness”- choose to ask “what it could be?’ and to see what it IS in smaller circles – That is what utterly enchants me and keeps me going on and on and on.
It is the beauty. That of which we are collectively and individually capable of – And to be in service to beauty’s progress is a damn fine place to be; ache and all.


art credit:



Shush Woman, they said
Shut out your words, for they will burn you
Shut out your enduring power, for they will ignite you
Shut out your judicious truth, for it is not within your ownership to dictate
Shut out your precious integrity, for it’s pyre will swallow you whole

There was a time, rooted deep in our blood & bones
where free speech, led to blistering heat
There was a time, in the ghost of our grandmothers
where free speech, led to compound fractures
There was a time, penned into the eyes of our Mothers
where free speech, led to shameful demotion
There is a time now, in these spaces where we settle
where free speech, threatens to send us tumbling back
to the days of shamefulness, trespassed bodies and fire
So much fire

So shush Woman, less they see you

Shush Woman, I say
Forgive yourself for being beautiful, for it is not all that you are
Forgive yourself for enjoying sex, for the archetype “slut” is only an abstraction
Forgive yourself for crafting thought, for the world needs your voice to thrive
Forgive yourself for loving so profoundly, for it is what you were built to inspire

Here is an opportunity, to repurpose our wounds
where the bipolar inferno could marry us all to the unseen
Here is an opportunity, to write a new story
release the fickle paradise and quivering clipped bridal wings
Here is an opportunity, to put a close to our internal warfare
The targets on our backs painted with whispers, surmised antiquated
Here is an opportunity, to unify & embody our strength
A community cutting through the trauma and the chains, stating
“we’re worth more than this”
so much more

So shush Woman, less they learn with you

There is no victory in sacrificing ecstasy for sanity
So burn dear Woman, let your fearful rage transmute to fierce love
Awaken the Wild, the untamed passion
set forth the flame of which resonates saturated in the throes of heartbreak – and take back the element of which was used to slight you
and perhaps then;

A conjunction in the form of an exhale
our celebration of imperfect but ardent progression
a notion of familial kinship
seeing each other, from womb to tomb
A Family – Bred of Flame
Not of Blood –
– But of consecrated devotion, and authentic love
– Born of Freedom
and perhaps then
without the encapsulating fear or hatred – we can finally rest with ease

– AppleCat

Art Credit: Christian Schloe Digital Artwork –

untitled # :v

dystopia_by_ezorenier-d7w37sw (1)

unified by strife
contentious bloodshed,
bound hands, quell loves flow

war, you’ve taken me
countless centuries, lashing out
please hold me, once more

forgot to love, starving
starving, forgot how to chew
this home on tongues tip

pulling down heaven
hallowed ground, beneith our feet
see here, not elsewhere

seek to stop running
desire the present unveiled
together, we’re home

– AppleCat

art credit:

The Ambiguous Nature of Integration: Why I need Feminism


“Though her soul requires seeing, the culture around her requires sightlessness. Though her soul wishes to speak its truth, she is pressured to be silent.”
― Women Who Run With the Wolves

I recently made a post referring to myself as a Feminist. Said post proceeded to stir a bit of conflict in regards to an assumption of what “feminist” meant and my personal identification of the word. I was compelled to go deeper in to the ambiguous nature of integration.

I need to be honest here, this was the first time I have consciously called myself a feminist through public media, and in doing this I felt a great hesitation.
This statement along with the post was an underlining expression of choice to “out” myself. I had made it because I felt safe in my circle and assumed that they would understand my own connotations and not jump to derail the matter at hand because of their own projections and wounding.
I was wrong.

Know this, I have never publicly stated I was a feminist before because until a few years ago I never fully understood or accepted A: my own femininity or B: the history of violence, repression and degradation that Women have had to consistently live with for hundreds and hundreds of years.
But I didn’t want to identify as a victim, I didn’t want to put my own gender in to a box that identified their entirety as a victim.
In doing this though I missed a very important point, through out history we have been persecuted (believe me the irony of the etymology of that word “HIStory” being used in this context is not lost on me), and for me to spend a good portion of my life not recognizing that personal and collective trauma and instead choosing to sweep it under the rug has had dire consequences to me.

For example: I am only now coming to terms that I personally have had inflicted upon me both sexual and physical abuse – some of it was buried by my own PTSD, and the rest I justified with excuses that characterized the occurrences as “my fault” – because if it’s “my fault” then i have control of it. If it’s “my fault” I don’t have to be the damsel tied to the train tracks, the waif crying helpless on the side of the road – thats not me; so why would I need feminism?

Why? Because like it or not I feel that grief, and that anger – not AT men but at circumstance – and at the culture that allows me to spend my every day in fear of being hurt, manipulated, raped or killed. Every fucking day, it’s become autopilot to so many of us that we don’t even notice it anymore.

A not so brief example: I never listen to my Ipod with both earbuds in, I never walk close to a shrubbery, never enter a parking lot, playground, or walk too close to a parked car or back ally at night. Why? Because if you do, there is a chance you’ll be robbed, assaulted, raped and maybe killed if you struggle. It’s embedded in us so deeply that we don’t even shudder at these thoughts, that is the norm.
If we did venture to these places then it would be “our fault”.
This is what the culture has us believe, this is what we convince ourselves – to feign the illusion that we are in control. This is what we’re told by Women within their own denial when they hear we have been hurt and it presents them with an uncomfortable mirror.

Behind the tattered veil of so called civilization there is a War on the Feminine in our world, and many of those against us are in fact Women. Woman who are tired of being weak, battered and small choose instead to take the side that has convinced them that’s what they are.
Not men, but abusers. Whom as we all know come in all shapes, genders and forms, and many don’t even know what they are inflicting, and upon whom.

The ancestral anger is exceedingly palpable, but more so I feel what lays beyond it once properly expressed and acknowledged. Anger and grief are healthy emotions, but when they are not felt and dealt with skillfully they mutate into wrath. Wrath is chaotic, it is what the radical pro rape mens groups are drenched with, which is also what the angry violent “feminists” are soaked with. It’s the same destructive hatred, directed towards anything and everything that it perceived to have hurt them or may hurt them.
There is anger and pain in our history and being told to “get over it” is what’s causing it to fester in to wrath.
No one, -man or woman- will win that war.

“Male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism. But in fact they are perpetually passing into one another. Fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. There is no wholly masculine man, no purely feminine woman.”
— Margaret Fuller

I didn’t want to identify as a feminist because most of my life I spent being close friends with men.
I saw them bullied, beaten and sexually abused and having no one to talk to about it. I watched them be told to suck it up, or that all men want sex regardless of the context, or plain and simple be told they were liars because they should be strong enough to fend off any abuser.
If the culprit was male, then the victim was scared to come across as a “pussy” or a “fag” that couldn’t defend himself. If the culprit had been female then the victim was bullied by his peers because “getting laid is getting laid” and berated because he couldn’t fight off a girl. Further perpetuating that Females are the weaker sex.

I love men, so much – I have such a grand appreciation for divine masculinity that I once almost completely relinquished my own gender on account of the abuse I saw inflicted upon the silent and victimized masculine.
I see the pain of the masculine and it’s rooted in the same wounds of the feminine – the same history unacknowledged, the collective trauma that defines Women and Victims as second class citizens. We need Feminism to create a safe place for all Genders that have been hurt – we need to heal together or the segregation will continue to destroy us.

I am a Feminist and I love men, I want to live in a world where they can be soft hearted, kind, and even feminine without having to feel weaker for it. I want to live in a world where Men and Women alike can feel safe to express their fears, insecurities, and traumas. AND RIGHT NOW, a redemption of the Feminine is needed to make a safe place for the reclamation of what it means to be a Man in this new emerging paradigm.
True feminism is not the adversary to Men as a whole, it’s the catalyst to change that will allow us to heal together and move in to a new space where harmonious integration is actually a possibility.

Why do I need Feminism?

Because I need to trust Women again, because I see my Mother, and her Mother and her Mother’s mother and so on all suffering from the same wound that has landed in me. I see my whole life effected by trauma that hasn’t been spoken to from fear of being labeled a radical angry feminist.
I see being angry as a learned defence mechanism – because being angry is the only way we can feel sorrow whilst still feeling powerful. I see years of broken relationships with women, a lack of trust, a completely lack of sisterhood, a longing of which we no longer have a name for – so we become Catty, and say things like “I’m not like those other girls” – as if abandoning our gender so nonchalantly is something that would make us better people.
I need feminism because we need to trust ourselves as women and our sisters without tearing them down. AND that has nothing to do with men, nor does it hold any threat to any man of whom is confident in himself.

I need Feminism because I can’t say Feminism or speak about wounding that has occurred to Women without a Man (or Woman) speaking as by me confessing my wounds it is somehow a threat or discredits the wounds of another gender. I need to live in a world where I can say “I am hurting” without someone else taking offence to it as if I didn’t see their pain. There are not enough years in my life to speak to every individuals anguish, that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel, see and ache for each one of them.
I need to live in a world where it is okay to excavate the history of which may cause some to feel discomfort.

I need Feminism because I am only now in my late twenties coming to realize that which has been done to Females – having it barely touched upon in public schooling.
Only in this last year I learned that the classical period of witch hunts in Europe and Colonial North American ran from 1450 to 1750; resulting in an estimated 100,000 executions. Thats over 300 years, for some perspective in the realms of time – Canada it’s self isn’t even 150 years old yet.
I learned also that Woman who were in connection by blood or friendship to any accused witch were sought out, tortured, and in turn often also accused of sharing that same “sin”.
As such Woman stopped connecting to each other, they severed their friendships, their deep feminine bonds, for fear of their own lives.
This is something I know now is still very much a prominent wounding in our society. Women are just learning that it’s okay to not be small, and that it’s okay to try and reclaim the understanding of Sisterhood that we were robbed of so long ago.

And again, this has nothing to do with men, nor does it hold any threat. In-fact in a world where women were not trying to find their Mothers, Sisters, or Female connections through their spouses or brothers – Imagine the profound lightening of the burdensome load that shame, guilt and constant failure Men experience.

I cannot even fathom the worlds vast expression and beauty if the Feminine as a whole felt safe to be allowed in it. The Feminine laying in both Men and Woman alike – what could our world be if there wasn’t a constant war ground situated inside of our psyches and our collective consciousness.
Feminism is not Anti Masculine. It is the Feminine’s attempt to rebuild and meet the Masculine in their unified power. Beyond the individual crisis there is so much more of the story that needs to be adhered to.

I love Men very much, I am learning to Love Woman as I should have been taught by the Women that came before me – at no fault of their own, they too were withheld that same Human right. In learning to Love Woman, I will be a better Lover of Men. And vice versa.
Feminism is the recovery of what it could look like to live in a world that Loves without Fear.

One day, we may not need Feminism anymore. One day we may be able to see each others beauty as it is without the prewritten stories of gender or weakness. But that day is not today.
– AC

“There can be no Peace on Earth as long as there is War in Love.” – Dieter Duhm

Art Credit:

Re-Remember Remember

Screen Shot 2015-11-05 at 11.44.36 AM

Re-Remember, Remember…

I am
callous by default; entering deeper gentle by nature
A restless heart; longing to break the sound barrier.
My bones, they ache for adventure.

I, as an ageless spirt; grind it’s jagged teeth against myself. Threatening a weathered but skilled sense of patience.
Prring whilst carving it’s unspeakable name on my insides;
in lieu of sustenance
An antiquated eye; sees far beyond my two fresh eyes;
composed of the most frail
and organic tissue;
in comparison at least
A somatic pang
sleepless soul twitched

Hearing clearly the bass line my ears are deafened by, the front lines we stand upon, the lines of which I am unwilling not to cross.
Hungry for what time has bound in tribulation.
A pain hits; those jagged teeth bared again against my flesh. Threatening mutiny.
My body jump starts to make way; for ruthless philanthropy; savage intellect through keen observation;
and opposition
to inane yet sedating bullshit
Comfort at a price.

We are birthing innovation; I see you
see this
I see you; I see what you can do; I
sea me, drenched in salted potential
sun dried; again I wait

In anticipation of our embryonic show down.
Remember remember re-remember……..

Art Credit: Randal Roberts

Love without Fear

Whatever your lifestyle, whatever your gender or race, whomever you pray to, however you choose to express yourself: we are all in this together. And we are all being damaged by the same outdated narrative in love.

By publicly acknowledging our generations of woundedness we are not admitting defeat or weakness, we are not pointing fingers or laying blame – in fact it’s quite the opposite.
By choosing to speak we are breaking the spell of continued social projection. We are creating a space to house an understanding that each of us is not alone, that this empathic field of consciousness beyond blue screens is not in our heads. By being authentic and vulnerable we are strengthening the awareness of deep relating.

While we’ve been on the front-lines of shattering our own existence; we know it is wrong, but we carry on in fear that no other story awaits us. We fear the destitute poverty we cling to -the bones we chew ragged- are all that there is.
We have near forgotten how to act together – how to take a leap into the glorious unknown.

This is in our Psyche, bound as she is with her beloved Eros – it is suppressed but NOT lost.
We wrote the stories and myths to serve as breadcrumbs, a way to remind ourselves how to recall the road to home.
There is a blind leap to somewhere new, but strangely familiar. Somewhere past the darkness.

Fortunately -along with the flesh and sinew- love is all that we are, and it can be our greatest gift; if wielded skillfully and without fear.
Loving: a skill that should be taught.
We are living in a time where apprenticing ourselves to the scholarship of love is a vital step to support a sustainable future of humanity.

Through this, as a collective I believe we can heal our world.

Easier said than done? Of course it is.
What that has ever been worth a damn hasn’t been fated to struggle?
When was the last time you achieved any sort of epiphany with ease; an “Aha!” moment that formed you on a fundamental basis that didn’t bring you to your ragged knees?

We are not inherently cowards as Human beings, that tiresome shit is learned behavior via a polluted culture and a broken environment. At our core we are Warriors of Love. Fearless if we learn to be as such.

It’s time, lets go.

Roots: Sex, Music, Activism, Love


These are the seeds I sowed; ones that spark, Sexuality, Creativity, Activism, Love, Understanding and Spirituality.

Just notes for now.

*3 Years old: My nights are lulled to bed by classic celtic folk songs, Enya’s sweet blend of cosmic future sounds and ancestral lullabies. I remember something, I don’t know at the time that I am remembering; but I feel it. The childlike contentness with not understanding, but knowing deeply regardless; cradling me to sleep

*4 years old: I cannot stop staring at my Moms Cassette and Vinyl inserts. In particular Guns and Roses “Appetite for Destruction”; which features a drawing of aliens, a post apocalyptic dystopian world and to my fascination a very vulnerable very nearly naked woman. I stare, in private and am absolutely entranced. My first memory of a realization of my desire for women (and considering the context perhaps kink)

*5 years old: One year later another pseudo obsession arises; I cannot stop listening to the NIN “Pretty Hate Machine”, Madonna “Like a Prayer” or “Catching up with Depeche Mode” Cassettes. It just can’t be done.

*Six Years old I hear Moonlight Sonata for the first true time, this is my first fundamental memory of getting goosebumps when I heard a song. After this I was hers, music had laid it’s groundwork in each vein in my heart and there was no chance of removal without utter dismal termination.

(Fun fact, wrapped around the tree of life on my arm are the notes to said song)

*Seven years old: My Mom goes with her boyfriend to see Les Miserables, she brings me home the soundtrack and I fall in absolute love. Again I listen and listen and listen, the words to each song now deeply and permanently imbedded in my mind. The heart and soul and anguish of Victor Hugos story, exaggerated by song and theatrics! My little Revolutionary soul ignites, and merges forever with my already prominent love of music.
And suddenly I have this unyielding desire to write….

*Eight years old: My unadulterated adoration for Freddie Mercury of Queen has grown to a peak. His Operatic vocals mixed with theatric rock and roll grab me by the throat and force me to dance.
A delightful mixture of my early love of Rock and Theatre. My first crush, or rather an idol of sorts. My first experience with the ever prominent theme in my life of being attracted to talent and uniqueness, so much so that I would bark at the top of my lungs “God damn it he’s Bisexual with a preference to men, and one day I will marry him!…. he can have a husband too, that wouldn’t bother me.” (Also my first experience with the irritation of the media world depicting Bisexual individuals as solely gay, or “Transitioning”)

One summer day in my Moms Buick I sat in the passenger seat dancing away to “Radio Goo goo”; the song ended and my Mom broke the news to me that Freddie Mercury had passed away; I sat stark and quite, and then it all came pouring out. I cried, a lot; I cried because his chapter was finished, I cried because his music would flow out new no more, I cried because his soul had faded away in to the next life. I grieved, and with that; I knew death.

*Nine years: old I discover Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (Smashing Pumpkins) and Purple (Stone temple Pilots). Absolutely in rapture I proclaim with great jubilation

“Holy FUCK!”

*Ten years old: I find Prodigies “Fat of the land”, paired with Ministry, and Crystal Method I note; Whoa Industrial breaks, Whoa BASS; I remark they sure can do a lot with Computers and sound.
My first love for Electronic Music blossoms……

Reasons why hurting is okay


Worth, defectiveness, self doubt.
I hurt.

I hurt because my mind knows the truth surrounding infectious self slander but my heart narcissistically begs to differ; or perhaps it’s the other way around-

-or perchance -more likely- it’s neither at all; and these voices of disesteem are not even our own; installed inside of us like software.
It is easy to disregard ourselves as a nuisance, to succumb to the seduction of uselessness; especially when admitting your strength is as terrifyingly comital as it is.
Addicted to the mentality of being children to no one, loved deeply by none. Rebels rejecting a purpose.

I hurt; because I see the ghosts of our pasts possessing us in the present; our co-dependant partnerships with them, seemingly closer bound than our chosen kin. This is a twisted symbiotic relation void of true intimacy -only devastating consumption.

I hurt because I am growing, for it pains so considerably to become; as it is so lonely during the act of learning to be alone. I hurt because I am scared of who I will become, but am no longer able to sit idle in an bud un-blossomed;

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” – Anaïs Nin

I hurt because I yearn for family, for community and for the type of change that will shatter the worlds conceptions of what we are truly capable of. I hurt because I can’t be angry anymore, only relentlessly devoted. This is daunting in the most magnificent of ways.

I hurt because I love, I love so fucking hard that sometimes I feel it overflowing from my heart and filling my lungs. Asphyxiating me if I make attempts ignore it. Flooding to where all I can breath in and exhale is absolute veneration and faith in humanity. This passion will not be extinguished; believe me I have tried many a time.

I hurt because on occasion I still worry “Am I Wrong? Radical? Crazy?”

I hurt because I believe in a new world, a culture that is withholding it’s self from being born. These people at times, their self hatred matches my own; the doubt and defeat spreading like mycelium.I hurt because I know it’s apocryphal; I know I will live that same love until my last breath; even if it ends up meaning “nothing”.

Perhaps one day it won’t be so frightening.

I hurt. It hurts good; I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“The ultimate self-absorption of our age is the self-hatred of our age. The belief that nothing we can say or do can help but screw things up even worse.” – Stephen Jenkinson

Art Credit: