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.

 

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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 –

 

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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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