A brief reapperance

So for awhile now I've been gone. I said I'd keep up the blog and sadly I didn't. Life got a hole of me, things got in the way and while I don't feel guilty for that happening, I feel bad for those who looked for updates and found none after the promise of there being this attempt at greatness of the self.

Basically, what happened was this...

I'm bipolar and when I get manic I get self-destructive. I started drinking a lot more and doing drugs, I want full on eating disordered and I let myself get out of control. To beat it life had to become simple and then I decided I needed help. The help came in the form of a dog, a service dog. I dropped out of lolita because on minimum wage a girl can't pay rent, buy food for her and a dog and buy pretty things.

Then Occupy started. Now, I've been an anarchist for about four years now, and I've always been a little radical. Beside my pretty necklaces and lockets sit books about lock-picking, how to start riots, and staging a revolution while not getting arrested or choked by teargas as well as a few street medic guides. Occupy was this bright, screaming light for me and I ran right to it and that's where I've been.

I've been sleeping under a tarp in the rain, huddled together with my new family while I shivered myself awake all night, stayed up till three marching so the cops wouldn't take my friends away. I re-learned how to dumpster dive for food when none came, how to fight cops with words and shouts and chase them out of the street. I even got arrested and learned how people I had only met three days before would lay down in front of a cop car for me so they couldn't take me away, and how others would sleep on the cold sidewalk so that I could have hugs, food and cigarettes waiting on my release.

I learned some cops are beautiful people trapped in a system that mirrors a gang and how others are the system and are the shittiest human beings I've ever seen. I got threatened by a crack head and a crazy girl with her weave falling out stood up for me. I even shaved my head so I wouldn't get dreads and got a tattoo while a guy smoked a cigarette over it (It's Morse code for OO by the way, standing for Occupy Orlando).

So, not exactly a lolita lifestyle, and I come back to my house after three days smelling like dirt and cigarettes and dying for a shower, yeah, but I wouldn't trade all the change, cans and words thrown at me for all the petticoats in the world. I'm happy out there, just laying on the grass in the sun. Even when we're waiting for cops to come raiding us and kidnapping our friends, I'm still happy.

I know it doesn't appeal to this crowd so much, but if you want to read a much more personal blog about the occupation and daily life stuff, I'm working on one. Here it is  http://lilrevolutions.blogspot.com/

It'll be very randomly updated, but should be interesting for those into those revolution things. It'll probably have personal stuff about drugs and alcohol, breakdowns and things like that, but it'll have happy stories of adventures.

I plan to eventually train hop/hitchhike/walk/whatever between occupations and just see the country after I visit Norway, so it's worth hanging around for that at least.


I sort of wish this blog had lasted longer. I still love lolita, I think it's wonderful and beautiful and great, but for me it just isn't feasible. I'm not a princess, I'm just not. I'm a warrior and that's just not something I can be in petticoats. If you can, right the fuck on and you rock that shit. If you want to be a princess, go for it! If you're happy you're a goddamned revolutionary in my book!


Fuck yeah, you go!