Lana I Love You

After realizing the gravity of what I’m about to do, put my ultimate idol in jail, ruining everything he’s built, I’ve spiraled. The scheming, plotting, revenge, near death, numbed me from it all. This isn’t how I envisioned it going with Mick Jagger, but I’m the only one who can stop him. If I don’t he’ll hurt someone, he’s a psychopath. He’ll be more careful, the people after won’t be able to catch him. I tried my hardest, he left me no choice. The Rolling Stones created me, made me a revolutionary, saved my life, tried to take it. Their music is how I healed.

Lost.

I didn’t know where to turn. Then I remembered Lana Del Rey. Thank you almighty God for blessing us with the Goddess of Sadness. Her discography is my sustenance, as was getting my nails done (which always makes me happy). I’m starting to think people who don’t understand she’s one of the greatest artist, poets of all time are soulless. Like how do you not get it? Have you not lived? Loved and lost? I love you always Queen of Coney Island. Via: LDR. Gallery

We Miss You Charlie Watts

As you know I can communicate with the dead, we are infinite souls here to experience time. Unless you’re in hell, you don’t get the luxury of guiding, helping, protecting, or interacting with the material world, nor your loved ones. Charlie Watts has been helping me since his death, I felt guilty thinking I released his soul, because earlier that day I messaged Mick Jagger I never wanted to see the Stones play. I don’t want to get into that story. I kept wondering why he was helping destroy his band, then it came to me. He hated Mick, til the very end, tolerating him for the love of fans, music, and mostly Keith Richards. How could it be? I started looking at pictures of them and most times Charlie’s body language is closed off to Mick, he’s barely touching him back, stands next to him as little as possible and just isn’t into him. Keith Richards knew.

Mick doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but Mick, asking me for money for Charlie’s funeral three different times. He’s a vain, abusive, cruel, bimbo, psychopath. Putting him in jail where he will die is going to stop him from targeting other people. Charlie I’m sorry you tolerated this painted up tart most of your life, you were loyal til the end and like Richards not a domestic abuser. Thank you for knocking him out and helping me. Til the end Mick just thought of him as his drummer (read https://ultimateclassicrock.com/charlie-watts-mick-jagger-punch/). You put up with that white trash culture vulture for us. We can’t thank you enough. He used his death to abuse, take advantage and get attention.

For the lawsuit email where Mick incriminates himself adding more jail time, go to my facebook album: Mick Jagger Is A Psychopath. Unlike Mick I cried for two weeks straight, couldn’t eat, or sleep I was so devastated by his death. Via: Showgan14

Mick Jagger Abuses Women For Fun

And if you save yourself
You will make him happy
He’ll keep you in a jar
And you’ll think you’re happy

He’ll give you breathing holes
And you’ll think you’re happy
He’ll cover you with grass
And you’ll think you’re happy now

You’re in a laundry room
You’re in a laundry room
The clues that came to you, oh

And if you cut yourself
You will think you’re happy
He’ll keep you in a jar
Then you’ll make him happy

He wasn’t playing at a fantasy, he wasn’t joking. He painted the bruises on the bondage model himself. Google his history with women, especially Marsha Hunt and Marianne Faithfull. He’s a psychopath and hurting women is his outlet. Now it’s time to pay the price, I’m his karma. I’m not these submissive undignified bimbos he’s produced trash children with. Via: The Guardian

Being Safe Is My Priority

After my last experience safety is literally my love language. Being attacked by someone who claims to love you in the most malicious way has altered what I seek in a relationship significantly. On one hand I’m too traumatized to want one, I’m literally scared of being abused again and just want my freedom. On the other hand I just want to feel safe and am dying to find my twin to be it, plus true love is all I want. Seeing as I get confused, that I’m having episodes, having the universe use my vacation as the confirmation takes away a lot of stress. I have never been scared of the person I was dating until Mick Jagger. I never want to see him again, or speak to him again, putting him away for the remainder of his years is fated. When he dies the world will be a safer place. He hasn’t just groomed women to see his abuse and torture as acceptable, he’s groomed the world. The level of cruelty he possess knows no end. Ronnie Wood is also a domestic abuser and I’ll be sharing it later, no wonder he’s a spineless follower. Both of them including Genc (I never even dated you fucking freak) & Binn Jakupi will pay. These men are boys who abuse women and make the world unsafe for us to be humans with our own desires. That ends with me. Which of these is most important to you? Via: Doodled Wellness

We Know Who Had The Better Kids

Period. You can argue which is the better band, but The Beatles produced better fucking people. Meanwhile The Stones kids overall partook in stupidity following after Mick Jagger’s entitled, stupid, racist, mediocre, talentless, white trash children. Out of loyalty. Now look, you didn’t hold them accountable like real friends do and everything’s gone to shit. Let me know when they do something worth noting, besides feeding off their parents legacy, with me being the only one contributing. Oh wait they did contribute, by destroying everything they worked for. Now all of you look stupid, had fans and friends been holding these people accountable instead of encouraging them to continue, they wouldn’t be where they are now. How stupid do you all look and feel? Via: Paul_McCartney1942Liverpool

The Stones Are A Coven

The Rolling Stones never pretended not to be a coven, an extremely powerful one at that. That’s why ugly Melanie Hamrick had to do black magic, selling her soul to satan with her coven to infiltrate it. Now her karma’s arrived. Mick Jagger was indeed right, I do have more powers, that’s why as queen witch I took theirs. My favorite part of the tour is every time Mick post I’m contacted about the investigations. Why? Because he’s incriminating himself as a domestic abuser. Thanks to it I’ll be a multi-millionaire, sans baby, with a restraining order. He’ll have ruined his legacy and I’ll be iconic. The one that got away, the one who destroyed the band that created her. Sex symbol and feminist legend.

And if the lawyers reading this, belittle my intelligence again, you must think I’m dumb. You’re not the first lawyer I’ve outsmarted, ask Miss Lily’s how that went. Thanks for the evidence when I sue the shit out of everyone, play with me again. That’s why I dragged you to silence. Law was my backup profession. Athena’s Roman counterpart is Minerva, it’s also a specialty.

My favorite part about the tour is now the government knows where to find this psychopath. I saved your life, now I look at you and can’t wait until the Jagger’s die off and they do. Make no mistake Melanie is going to jail, she committed perjury, a hate crime, murder, attempted murder, rape, attempted rape, stalking and harassment. L’wren Scott is getting justice. Furthermore, I’m sure I can get Mick on a criminal charge for stealing my money and telling me to be a call girl. That’s a sex crime. Karma’s a bitch ain’t it? Blessed be. Now he’ll watch me raise my own family, while his dies off, once I get over my PTSD. Between “good guy” Chris Evans and everyone else, I can’t trust people aren’t horrific human beings. Soon I’ll see beyond my trauma. Which Stones song best describes the predicament they’re in? Photographer: Anton Corbijn

Sir Paul Sitting Pretty

Sir Paul McCartney sitting pretty, knowing I’m about to cancel culture The Rolling Stones. Also that his kids are superior. I can literally hear him saying “See, told you we’re the better band.” Can you hear him? Via: Paul McCartney

Jack James, Me, The Beatles And The Stones

Before I go into why the Woods are my favorite Stones family (in tomorrow’s article), restoring my faith in the band, I must tell this one. After winning my lawsuit against Miss Lily’s I got a part-time gig at a pizza place in Park Slope, Amorina. I was the phone slash delivery girl, organizing all the take-out and pick up orders. The staff like the restaurant was small, and run by an insane woman named Ellen. Italian, hot tempered, miserable (cuckquean) and out of her mind. This bitch woman literally held my last check of $500 hostage after I quit. Mind you, I left due to an underserving tirade, which she was known to do. Her own daughter commented her mom was off. She’d just snap out of nowhere, then act like everything was normal. As she’s refusing to give me my money, I’m making plans to attend my missing friend Robbie’s memorial. When I started the job he disappeared, causing me to leave in tears one shift. She’d been with me through this traumatic ordeal and didn’t give af. I had to pull up to her restaurant TWICE to get my money. Unhinged. At least she apologized to the staff after I read her ass for being bogus af.

This is where I met Jack James, a beautiful, tall, chiseled musician/model hailing from Texas. He loves Elvira, made me laugh until I cried, and like myself is a classic rock whore. We were kool and the gang until we started reppin our sets. A rivalry older than Bloods VS. Crips-The Beatles or The Stones, which is the better band? He barely let me speak, making his opinion fact before storming off. An attack akin to stepping on someone’s motherfucking kicks. Indignant was an understatement! Affronted I harbored this resentment until I got him back for his Harry Styles boa dig (a slight tiff that turned into a WMag social media post, with designer Marc Jacobs inserting himself). I never said I was above it, I’m petty. Being a Stones fan is a lifestyle. In my eyes he came for my entire existence! The Rolling Stones influenced me more than anyone, ever. Without them I’d literally be dead. Their music was the only thing that kept me alive my first year at Emerson College. Deep in the throes of addiction, nothing but cocaine, coffee, and cigarettes as sustenance, I lived on the verge of two worlds. I became skeletal in frame, going from a Double D to a D (boob weight never regained); my friends remarked I was on a different drug every time they saw me. My friends told me verbatim I was going to die. It was that bad, I just kept cutting straws, snorting lines and doing me. While the Stones had always been my everything, it was that year I needed them most. Just one more song to keep me going. My ringtone was Cocksucker Blues (the tour rehearsal version), that’s how dependent I was on the music.

Don’t get me wrong I fucking love The Beatles, LOVE. Had Jack let me expound my answer would have been this: you can’t have one without the other, it’s symbiotic. One’s rooted in pop, the other in blues, yet they’re both rock bands. The Beatles who invented albums and music videos (easily the most musically innovative band of all time) sing about what they wish the world to be, The Stones sing about it’s actualities (both groups have range, this is the same generalization of you can bring the Beatles home to your parents, not the Stones). For those using sales as a determinate, name one Stones song you can play for children? I was singing Yesterday in elementary school. The Stones have more soul, I can dance to their music, it’s hood relatable for the ignorant who think rock is white people music (black people created rock n roll), they’ve always credited black people, they created the template for the musicians lifestyle (sex, drugs, rock n roll), they created the “bad boy,” they broke gender, fashion, and race barriers/norms, challenging the status quo at every turn, changing the cultural landscape. The Stones dressed in drag when it was illegal, influencing everyone from the Chili Peppers to Nirvana to do so. I’m a revolutionary, because The Rolling Stones made me one. But, but, they need The Beatles, it’s the Yin to their Yang. You can’t have one without the other, nor do we want to. It’s the perfect musical balance.

Cut to now and gorgeous Jack is literally in a band with Sean Lennon’s wife Charlotte Kemp Muhl, and I dated Mick Jagger. You can’t make this shit up. You truly, genuinely can’t. So next time Naomi Campbell decides to lie for two white men appropriating our Caribbean culture for profit (Genc and Binn Jakupi), before Georgia May Jagger, her equally idiotic siblings and affiliates make assumptions (based on race), do make sure it’s someone who isn’t well connected. Should I continue on how many people grew up with me, displaying you’re liars and racists or…? Who did Melanie Hamrick know before raping Mick & murdering L’Wren Scott? Exactly. Jack, Daddy, are we the guardians of rock n roll? FYI he also loves the Rolling Stones, don’t come for him. Via: Jack James Busa Insta, Uni_Loonies & Riley And John

The Rolling Stones X Maneskin

Michael didn’t have to back me up on this band. I know it was their dream come true. Thank you to The Rolling Stones for doing this. It means so much to me, their insta page tripled due to the exposure given. Music is everything and when you’re a Stones fan it’s a lifestyle. This is very romantic and the first proper action taken towards change. I still can’t believe you did this. All he needs to do next is give me money and have the same trust in me I had in him. Opening for the Stones is huge, I’m high as a kite from joy. Maneskin looked cool af in those American flag jumpsuits. Congratulations guys fucking priceless. Spread joy and love.Via: Maneskin Official & Maneskin Ig

Why I Say Play Brown Sugar

Brown Sugar isn’t a glorification of slavery, or the objectification of black women with connotations of slavery, it is a historical account of how the African hyphen American came to be. Emphasis on the hyphen. Black is black I thought until going to Europe, blanketing the ethnic rainbow of us all.

“They’re going to love you over there, they rarely get to see African Americans.”
“What do you mean? They have black people in Paris…” I questioned and answered, while puzzled. An amalgamation of emotions all at once.
“Yeah Africans.”
Between reading Kindred and my Parisian experience, as if absorbing the former that year prepared me for the latter, I learned the distinction.

Whereas some doubts have arisen whether children got by any Englishman upon a negro woman should be slave or free…’be it therefore enacted and declared by this present Grand Assembly, that all children borne in this country shall be held bond or free only according to the condition of the mother.’ With this decree, the colonists were breaking from English legal precedent, the only precepts they ever known, the ancient order that gave children of black women, the vast majority of whom were enslaved, as their property for life and for ensuing generations. It invited them to impregnate the women themselves if so inclined, the richer it would make them. It converted the black womb into a profit center and drew sharper lines around the subordinate caste, as neither mother nor child could make a claim against an upper-caste man, and no child escaping from a black womb could escape condemnation to the lowest rung. It moved the colonies toward a bipolar hierarchy of whites and nonwhites, and specifically a conjoined caste of whites at one end of the ladder and, at the other end, those deemed black, due to any physical manifestation of African ancestry.”

To be African American means being both the English slave master and the raped African woman. Brown Sugar tells the story of our creation, we are the embodiment of both, the epitome of duality. We are condemned and belittled by Africans for having tainted blood due to European lineage, whilst being told to go back to our country by hateful/ignorant whites. This is our country though, we built it.

“At the end of the day my line can be traced back to a warrior, yours to a slave master,” my African friend told me.
“My ancestry can be traced back beyond the slave master to a warrior too, the only difference is I don’t know where [or who]. Oh that’s right, you helped sell us. You’re part of the problem, why I don’t know my family history,” a venomous response.

Our argument started when I told her to read Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi, a novel that illuminates the split. She felt it was beneath her, believing herself better than me because her line was pure, no white weakness, never a slave. Except we were enslaved, as in forced, kidnapped, tortured. And if you want to talk warrior, we exemplified it. Did we not come here bound and illiterate? Are we not free from the chains that literally shackled us in a strange New World? Did we not make room for you to be in America? Beneath you? We are nothing short of miracles capable of the extraordinary. And look at the art we birthed from our blues, from music to fashion we left nothing untouched. We hyphens are the culture. I could not believe while I saw us as black, she saw me as black and lesser, because being black is to be distinctly African-American, not African. Unless you’re in America, then you’re black by force.

Everyone always tries to put black women down while stealing our aesthetic. Except our beauty was so coveted from the jump, they had to make laws to justify their lust, creating a whole new “race.” Black women aren’t just a swipe left on Tinder. ‘Brown Sugar’, which the majority of listeners believes praises Marsha Hunt and hot black women in general, is a reminder of that. It also limns the significance of black women’s influence in rock n’ roll as muses. Yes, it’s horrific, but it’s accurate and part of our narrative. The Rolling Stones aren’t singing about their ideal world, but the real one, that’s why it makes you uncomfortable. Banning the song from shows is an erasure of history specific to the AFRICAN-AMERICAN experience, our genesis. We get so little respect and do the most. My African friend only solidified my post Paris hyphen awareness.

I was fawned over by white Europeans and side-eyed by Africans who did not embrace me. How could they even tell the difference? Endeavoring to walk in their shoes I saw for the first time the glaring contrast in our complexions and features. I realized how ignorant I was, how American, how brown my skin is with it’s red undertone. This is how they knew. Like it or not hyphens, we are the coalescence of the master and their victims, an epigenetic hot mess. If black Alice in Kindred didn’t save redheaded Rupert, the slave owner, she would’t exist. He too was an ancestor. That’s why I say play Brown Sugar, it’s the story of our roots. Let it make you proud of our strength, as we reconcile being born from both the things we love and hate. Let it move you to action as we dismantle the paradigms of oppression, but don’t rob us of the truth. Via: The 60s Bazaar