I have never believed my work was meant to change the world in the clean, cinematic way people like to imagine. No swelling music. No tidy arc. No victory parade where the dust settles and everyone suddenly agrees on what justice looks like.
What I do is quieter and louder at the same time.
I do this so the world knows it cannot change me.
That distinction matters. It always has. Empires don’t fear reformers nearly as much as they fear people who refuse to be reshaped. You can bargain with someone who wants approval. You can pacify someone who wants inclusion. But someone who says no and keeps saying it … someone who won’t kneel, won’t soften their language, won’t make their anger polite enough to digest … that person is dangerous.
When Jesus said, “If someone strikes you on the cheek, turn to him the other also,” he wasn’t preaching passivity. That line has been laundered by power for two thousand years because power loves a quiet Christ. A meek Christ. A Christ who tells the oppressed to accept their bruises with a smile and call it virtue.
But that was not the Christ walking through Roman streets.
Turning the other cheek in that world was a public refusal to be humiliated. It forced the oppressor to confront their own violence. It was dissent without permission. It was noncompliance dressed as restraint. It was radical.
Christ was not passive. He was ungovernable.
And that’s the lineage I stand in.
So yes … stand up for something. Create noise. Create trouble. Make them uncomfortable. If the truth you are telling doesn’t cost you something, you’re probably just reciting approved slogans. If the power you’re confronting still likes you, you haven’t confronted power at all.
Make them hate you because you challenge the validity of their bullshit.
Then make them hate you more.
Not because you crave their attention, but because you refuse to lie for their comfort. Because you won’t sand down your language to fit inside their polite cages. Because you won’t pretend cruelty is policy or that bureaucracy absolves moral responsibility.
Hunter S. Thompson understood this better than most. Liberty, he said, has to be defended … preferably with a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and a raised middle finger in the other. Not because drunkenness is noble, but because reverence is a trap. Tyranny survives on ceremony. Dissent survives on irreverence.
So listen to me.
Keep your head up.
Keep your eyes forward.
Fuck the patriarchy.
Fuck ICE.
Fuck the military-industrial complex.
Fuck supremacy in every form it slithers into the world wearing a clean suit and a practiced smile.
There is no such thing as “necessary cruelty.” There is no such thing as “acceptable domination.” There is no version of supremacy that doesn’t rot everything it touches.
And no … I don’t want to be remembered as agreeable.
I hope that when I die, the people who disagreed with me celebrate my death. I hope they feel relief. I hope they feel the silence and mistake it for victory. Because that means I mattered. That means I stood in their way. That means I forced them to reckon, even if only with their own unease.
Fuck ’em.
My goal has never been to be loved.
My goal was never to be safe.
My goal was to be unaltered.
And if the world learns anything from me at all, let it be this … you can bruise a person, blacklist them, mock them, shout them down, erase them from polite company … but you do not get to rewrite them.
I am still here.
Unchanged.
Unowned.
Unapologetically unaltered
