HULLABALOO // thoughts on nakedness and revolution from the women’s march on washington in downtown la

Cover photo by Samantha Lopez

My body does not exist to be soft for anyone.


Photo by Colleen Callahan


To not feel shame is a form of revolution.


To feel shame and exist loudly in the face of it is a form of revolution.


To reject fear of rape, ridicule, harassment, and abuse – despite great volumes of evidence both personal and statistic validating this fear – is a form of revolution.



It’s a strange thing to inhabit a body that is presumed to belong to someone else, to have it claimed repeatedly and casually by utter strangers; to learn that my pussy belongs to whoever feels like grabbing it, and that my reproductive organs are to be divided up and shared among legislators –




To understand what safety feels like is a form of revolution.


I heard 3:33 perform at Junior High, my favorite Los Angeles DIY art space, the day before Trump’s inauguration. I was taken by her serene performance of an often jarring soundscape. You can hear more of her wonderfully bizarre, eerie, joyful, triumphant originals and mixes on Bandcamp



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