It feels so good to be free

Also known as: Why I ain’t gonna slap a bitch

“you don’t want no problem, want no problem wit’ me”

To be free, to be free, to be free… liberation… *sparkles*. You know, all this talk about Trump, all this talk about how bad the world is, who is oppressing who, who wants to be oppressing who…. blah blah blah is how I really feel about it (not that what I feel is any more valid or important than what anyone else is feeling, ha). But really y’all, what is the end goal/result of all this? I understand getting caught up. I understand wanting — needing — to let all of the deathful energy that enters our bodies leave in some way or another, whether that be through writing about it or crying about it or allowing it to manifest itself into something ugly hidden in your expression.. but you know what feels really good? What feels better than cathartic grief? To be free. It feels soooo good to be free.

I’m not saying that I have the key to freedom or the secrets to happiness; what I do know is “being more free” is a blueprint that I have set for myself in my own life, and that every inch freer tastes so, so sweet. Here is what being free feels to me now: it feels more aware, like I am more alert to my movement on the surface of the earth. It feels more joyous because my joy is decreasingly dependent on all the shit that don’t really actually matter — like whether your roommates are uncomfortable with the type of music you listen to, or whether that guy over there thinks you’re cute (because we as women are taught to value this shit even when we don’t personally find a particular man attractive), or whether your boyfriend is meeting gorgeous women in his new city, or whether your brothers are making the right financial decisions in their youth (etc., etc., etc. i.e. bullshit). It feels more joyous because when you are freer you know deeper what truly matters to you — what would matter to you if you were staring your own death in the face in this exact moment. Would Trump’s ass matter to you then? I think not.

It is not that on my deathbed I would suddenly find irrelevant the suffering of peoples on this earth or the oppressive effects of more imperialism, more capitalism, more hate, more suffering that we are seemingly going towards, no. It is that when you are faced with your own death it is the moment in which the complete honesty of your life is revealed — and would you be happy with what you saw? If I died tomorrow I know I would be happier knowing that I danced all crazy by myself in the middle of the street today than not. I know that I would be more satisfied having known that I chose love every time, or at least gave my best effort, instead of the easy temptations of the ego or the addictiveness of power and control (it is important to note here that choosing love must include choosing love for yourself — always).

Think about something that bothered you today, or a decision you have had to make. If you knew your life was coming to a close, what would matter to you really in those moments? For me, being free is living in harmony with life and death in a perfect balance. It is impossible to always balance the two — as we are only human — but it is the effort to do this that engages us in our vocation towards humanization. Assuming that full humanity is what we are after, we must accept death into our lives if we are to respect our own time on this earth and remain in solidarity with those who are closest to death, or already dead.

To put this into words that make more sense, here is the way I perceive it: I did not choose to inhabit the body, class, gender, color, country, citizenship, privilege that I do. I did not choose my oppressions either, they have chosen me. If I want to be more fully human then I need to understand the value of my own life alongside the lives of every other living thing on this earth. This means that I understand that I am no more valuable than any other life on this earth (because death is the ultimate equalizer), but also no less valuable, because I am alive. How do I then, live in accordance with this knowledge having not chosen (at a very fundamental level) which position I occupy in the matrix of all living things? I do this by accepting death as a reality (not in a “I’m going to die one day” sort of way but a someone is dying right now and it happens not to be me sort of way), and in turn living with respect to the fact that it just happens not to be me.

This, to me, is the best way to live in solidarity with those who are closest to death: it is to live my life as if I am them, and to live as if I was given a pardon at death’s door. Let’s imagine it this way: you are a child, from some poor country, no one even knows your name, you are mostly “irrelevant,” and lets say about to die at the hands of an abuser who is attempting to traffick you (insert any oppressive situation you want here really). If that child, in that moment, instead was granted by the universe the ability to live in your body instead of dying unnoticeably, what kind of life would they lead? Do you think that, if granted life at the brink of death, that you would not gulp it in like fresh water in the desert? Do you think that, if you switched places with someone who was differently oppressed than you, that you would care about the same things?

To be free is to live as if we are dying; and when we are dying, being hateful towards others because of who they voted for, or because they do not understand and have hurt you, being hateful towards yourself because you are not x pounds or because of some arbitrary-ass “credit score” — those things maybe start mattering less. I am not saying that things are not all relative and that the issues we have in our lives are invalid. I am saying: if the point of all of this is not to live freer and therefore closer and fuller in our humanity, then what is it? Living our lives truly hand-in-hand with death is to give honor to ourselves and to the lives of all living beings. If you are not doing that then all of the things we are saying and doing are null; the struggle itself cannot be our lives, living has to be our lives. And when we live with death in mind, we live freer and fuller, and damn… does it feel so, so good.


humanity is suffering from a self-love problem

What is more tragic than wasted potential? I don’t know! Tell me!! Please god, tell me, because I am feeling really fucking tragicked-out lately from noticing all the lost fucking potential everywhere I fucking look – its like, people really don’t give a shit do they; we are actually settling for less as a collective species and are OKAY WITH IT!!!! (wtf is going on yo). It takes meeting a lot of different types of people to understand that there is so much that we have to offer as human beings – so much creativity and inspiration and intrigue and love – and it also takes meeting a lot of different type of people to understand that the basicness fucking abounds, yo, and it don’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

And what a fucking tragedy that is because, for those of you who are reading this now (and myself who is writing it), we are alive NOW, our own life-track has already started, and we aren’t getting back any of the time that we have passed. And because we are alive that means that death, our physical death, is now inevitable; we are not the yet-to-be-born who can perhaps spend their idle time not worrying about life on this (decreasingly) green planet, who can sit in waiting hoping that things will be a little less wasted-potential-y when they finally arrive. No; we are here already, and hopefully we are not stupid enough to take for granted any time that we may have left in our own infinitesimal lives. After all, people die everyday, and one day that will be you, and me.

So we must ask ourselves: are we really going to wait until we are on our deathbeds to fully appreciate what it was to live, to have our life play out in a loop in our heads while we count all the regrets that we had and all the “should-have-dones?” Are we really going to wait until we have cancer to start selling meth to support our families??? (Yes, I’ve been watching a lot of Breaking Bad lately) – the point being that, there are all these great lessons to learn and we learn them too late, there is all this gratefulness to be had, and we are having it too late.

And how do I know this? I know this because, well look a-fucking-round you, there is so much wonder in this world and there is so much more that we are just letting lie dormant for lack of love for ourselves and conviction that we can be (that we are) better than this. We are better than this. Do you not believe it? Just as any Oprah-approved advice would tell us, happiness begins and ends with the self, self-love is the key to happiness, and dare I say: freedom. When you love yourself you are free, free from every source that would tell you otherwise, that would tell you: you are not actually good enough as you are or worthy of love simply by being a part of the human community; you/we/ are not worthy.

Why are we all falling for this shit? And what makes us think that happiness is actually attainable through accumulation and control and power over others (and even ourselves)? The biggest myth of all time and we are just accepting it because seemingly we actually don’t think we deserve any better individually, or collectively.

The world is not the way it is now because it has just always been like this and oh well what can you do? We are the world now – the world is made up of us, and it is the way it is because of us. Everyone jumps at the chance to show that they “really care” but none of us actually do (do we). Or else things would not be like this. There is more capital in the world now than happiness. There is more power in the world than love. (I’m not even sure of this last statement actually but, could we really be sure of the inverse either?) How tragic is it that, instead of allowing ourselves individually, and therefore collectively, to flourish, we take the less-expensive but shittier version of things and choose power over happiness and oppression over love? We would rather entertain ourselves with empty notions of fulfillment than actually be fulfilled? WHY, PEOPLE?? This is the greatest tragedy we are committing as human beings – to ourselves – and damn if it ain’t the most tragic shit you done ever heard —

Imagine if we had more love for ourselves as a collective species of humanity. Imagine all the music and all the movement and all the creations and all the real, actual happiness that we could experience. We could see new colors. This is all we are missing out on by being co-conspirators in our own collective imprisonment. It is not enough to say that you care and still not love yourself and your humanity enough to not allow yourself to be free. FREE YOURSELF: of judgement, of self-hatred, of oppression, of death. Don’t fall for it!!! Life is too fucking present for us to continue succumbing to the temptations of death. Stop selling yourself short: be brave, stand up for yourself and others – KNOW WHAT WE DESERVE – and let love enter your soul and equalize your being within the universe. We only have so many years left on this planet, and even less years of our own lives – why are we still wasting our time?

for Kesha




love is devastating. Not devastating sad, like “oh, I broke up with my lover, I am so devastated,” no – devastating as a feeling to feel, if I could even call love a feeling more so than an energy; love (the only word that seems fitting) is an energy that makes me feel as if I am made of tissue paper, held together by the delicate pressing of hands, fragile in my composure and at times falling apart at every seam. The falling apart part only happens for a moment, a really fleeting spatter of seconds in space where life and death are one in the same and it must be what it feels like to die – at least if all that “life flashing before your eyes” stuff is true. Love makes me feel as if I am barely being held together; that my physical body is just a clever scheme that gives the illusion of together-ness but is really just this mass of atoms that don’t actually ever touch and are only held together by chance. When love devastates, I feel as if my atoms are about to break apart, the contents of my self to be strewn in with the others.

so interesting (yet relevant) to juxtapose love and death side by side… perhaps it is love that is the opposite of death and not life. After all, how much of our living selves are walking death? Love as energy awakens the parts of us that have yet to animate, so love is the real yang of death, not life. (But did we already know that?)

I usually write from the vantage point of death: in the deep well of my most intimate and painful remembrances of it, I write about love as a way to quell my grieving and to do something in those moments where everything seems to come together and compress into a tiny little stone of exquisite incomprehensibility in my mind.. like love, those moments are fleeting, but powerful in their ability to make me feel completely incapacitated. Perhaps in those moments we are truly one with the world, and existing fully as human atom-masses on our beloved space-speck called Earth; perhaps in those moments we get a chance to experience a different part of our consciousness, or even, our whole consciousness..!! Could you imagine? What it must feel like to access your entire range of consciousness and feel synergy with the universe as an organic being? It’s like being taken apart only to be put back together again, but this time with the memory of the slight exposure of our insides to the outside. Or perhaps it’s only a matter of having dopamine on the brain, but I’m going to go out on a universe-synergy limb and say that there is more to it than just “science.” I take drugs to science my brain into accessing different consciousness, but love is the elusive drug of the universe which breathes oneness into us if we are blessed enough to even experience a moment like that in our lives.

And perhaps that is why love can feel as devastating as death can to the soul. In those pebble moments that render me incapable when I grieve I am in the most unison I ever am in with the universe, and in the corresponding pebble moments when I am lovestruck I am also in unison at my highest level.. so maybe love and death are not so different from one another, or at least they exist in dialectical suspense: no light without dark, no love without death. If we do indeed live our lives within ourselves right before we die, then it isn’t a far suggestion to expect that in the moments when we are on the highest frequency of living – when the hit of lovedruguniverse rushes into our veins in fleeting specks of time – that we are experiencing the side effects of death. We die in our love as we live in our death.

Today I felt love and oneness with the universe, and I felt like I was dying.