Racist By Default

Racist By Default

We must take responsibility within our own hearts.
We must end this savagery.
Dismantle this system of lawful terrorists and reinstate our own power.

We must end this. Not with riots but with righteousness.

White silence is a luxury. And it spells death & Complacency.


Our Bodies Do Not Forget

Our Bodies Do Not Forget

To commune with our bodies has become a courageous act, because of the sheer magnitude of unaddressed pain stored within.

You see it’s become much easier to be out of your body rather than in it.

Namastaying your way far away from reality by breathing your way into lucid dreamscapes and omming your chakras into colour coded configurations is a fun way to distract yourself.


Staying Awake in End Times, Please Don't Give Up.

Staying Awake in End Times, Please Don't Give Up.

It is so fucking excruciating to feel the suffering on this planet and to not let it take me under, to not let this sick fucking destruction and evil drown and overwhelm me.

Most people won't even dare feel the uncomfortable reality of the annihilation we are facing.

It feels so out of our control, so completely out of our hands.

What the fuck can we do?

What is the point in trying anyway?


Spirtual Shamers & "Conspiracy Theorists"

Spirtual Shamers & "Conspiracy Theorists"

In some of the "conscious communities" it’s cool to shame "conspiracy theorists".

The moment you open your mouth about some deep truth there will be a spiritual saviour ready to slam you down and shame you. Ridicule and mocking will follow.

I'm not really sure why. It clearly upsets their chakras and clique code.


Nice Girls Don't Birth Revolutions

Nice Girls Don't Birth Revolutions

I am an angry fucking woman. My rage fuels my creativity.

I refuse to sweeten my voice because you find it unpalatable.

This shit needs to change

And it won’t be done by a woman that is minding her tongue.


Your Bruised and Battered Soul Turns Me On

Your Bruised and Battered Soul Turns Me On

Soulfulness is a quality that is developed, it evolves.

The soul is weathered like an old sailor, sea washed stubble and calloused skin, like the sinewy braids of muscle on a lumberjacks arms.

It is made from the repetitive struggle of the muggle world.

The erotic endurance of rising from the ashes repeatedly,  a motherfucking phoenix of phenomenal perseverance.