I’ll be making an unscheduled stop in Chicago during this American tour. I will not be DJing. If you’re gonna fuck with my city, you gotta fuck with me. I’ll see y’all in the street. Chicagoans, if you need help, if you’re organizing, if you want eyes on something that I or my followers can help with drop it in the comments. I’ll see you soon. Stand strong. 💪 #fuckice #chicago #housemusiclovers
George Carlin once said that life is a series of dogs. This is true. I have had many and loved them all to pieces over my life. Regretfully, our beloved Beezermania dog finished her time in our lives last night. She was no ordinary dog. She was in the New York Times. She had a news feature in RA when she found a toy bunny on the street and adopted it. She had a passport, lived in three countries. She even went to Berghain (the outdoor bit). She barked when someone she liked showed up at the door. Tremendous salute barks, goat jumps. It was pure joy. Vadim used to make her chicken soup from scratch for dinner. She was a great after party dog. She is preceded in death by Lulu (her patient mentor) who also lived to 13, our old albino hedgehog, Keiji, two cats named Grandpa many other untold numbers of critters that Vadim brought home unwisely. She received excellent care, and her exit was as graceful as her life. She was the definition of a good girl. Some Mesoamerican cultures considered dogs essential to life and death. Some believed that you died, any dog you had loved and cared for waited for you to guide and protect you through the afterlife. I told Beezer when she was going to sleep last night that I would be over there someday too, expecting her so she has be on look out for me. I heard once: a lady always knows when to leave. Miss Beezer sure was a was a lady.
Attention New York: we’re getting the band back to together. No prisoners. No requests. Too far gone, and no way back. See you at Timewarp with my love, Mike Servito. -Godspeed, TBM
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Sometimes when a bone breaks, it must be rebroken to heal. I think I did that. It’s been a long month. America was beautiful and sad and lonesome and not at all lonesome, but the opposite. I saw horror and beauty— that even the American Horror Machine couldn’t kill. I’m leaving half empty and half full. I can’t see my husband’s seat on the plane. I know he’s here. I still feel like I could die. He won’t see this either. And that’s ok too. Im sure of a few things: I know music, art, bravery, a big mouth, a big heart, a broken heart, tenderness, and a belief that we must fulfil the promise of our particular destiny are the only way forward. So America, the beautiful, I leave you with this. Fuck the president. Fuck the fash. Fuck the future. The only thing that is real is love and who we are right here and right now. Do what you have to do to live. Stand with your neighbor, even if it means standing between some GI Joe loser and that neighbor. Right now, you get to decide what kind of person your descendants and the people that knew you when you lived this short but wide life, get to brag about, or what dreadful thing you are doing they’ll feel deep quiet shame about. My ancestors bequeathed both. I don’t plan on fucking around on this particular issue. I know every second counts. Every hug counts. Every time you notice pain and decide to help heal it. Every time you make straight what was crooked. Every time you take the hit that could have gone to someone weaker than you. Who are you now? A warrior of love or an embarrassment. I am not perfect. But even my anger is a kind of love right now. I’m grateful to be angry. I’m also grateful to be filled with a love so wide and deep it’s like an ocean. Sometime gentle waves lapping onto the shore and sometimes too much love,massive crashing tidal wave pulling me to sea. And then for a while I just have to swim. Back to the world. I will miss you til the next dance. There will be many and soon. Til then, America is a riot. And the rest of you fucking lot are on notice. I’m coming home and if you forgot, I am now and always have been on the side of the angels. And we have swords and falling first doves.
Austin today. Chicago Monday. We have work to do. #fuckice🖕❄️ #chicagogram #danceparty
Im so weird about videos at events because a lot of people are looking for the biggest crowd shot, the viral moment. We killed art and bought content. I have no interest in that sale. I am interested in intimacy at a spiritual level if the room is 500 cap on a Thursday night or 25,000 people. We are supposed to minister through music. See not just joy, but the bittersweetness that brings people to try and work through something much deeper. I love @djeclyps THE END, but not just THE END. He is never looking for the confetti or the angle that makes you look the most glamorous. He finds love in his lenses. And that connection, love is not just adoration, it is recognition and an almost psychic gravity that pulls you where you need to be, who needs to be seen, and whispers the next song—“this one will be medicine. There is a heart waiting for the right song to heal it.” And that’s what he sees. That’s me. That’s my ministry. And every single one of you is perfect, loved, my daughter or son or child, sister, brother or sibling. We belong to each other and in a time of great violence, dance is a radical and physical demonstration of nonviolence and love—if you let it be. See you in a few hours Austin. Bring me your broken hearts, your joys, your fear, your fierceness, your fury. It’s all safe with me. And if I the wind blows right…We all get free together. I still believe. 🕊️m🕊️ Seismic Dance Event 8. Volcano stage. 20:00 Austin, stand up. I still believe.
