Thoughts

On your los angeles

I just came back from spending the weekend at Coachella. I had an all-access artist’s wristband, gifted to me from the hot drummer I’m currently fucking whose band was playing the festival. It was my first time at Coachella and easily the best weekend of my life.

It’s funny, when I woke up in the late afternoon on Monday, I immediately thought of you. I proceeded to sift through your archives, first reading every post you had written about Coachella, then scrolling through all your old musings. (I still am.)

I started reading your blog when I was a 14-year-old attending Palisades High School, dazzled by your style and dreaming of a time where I would be old enough to experience the LA playground the way you had. I’m 22 now, and ever since I left my parents house at 20, life has been a constant flow of wild and introspective events. I know my Los Angeles and yours are different. But I’m so excited for this one, and I can’t help but feel like you had something to do with this feeling.

Thank you for your steady influence through all these years. Thank you for answering a question I sent you when I was 15 and had just lost my virginity. Thank you for involuntarily being the super cool big sister I never had. You’re amazing, and I hope you’re well.

 

This made me smile. I’m so happy for you. I’m also a little bit envious at the thought of being twenty-two and backstage at my first Coachella. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it, but you’re right — what I miss and what you’re experiencing aren’t the same thing. That’s why I know better than to go back. I’d be looking for something that doesn’t exist, and I’d find something that belongs to someone else now.

That’s okay, though. My time was mine and your time is yours, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I’m just honored that you thought of me. Really. That feeling you’ve got, I know exactly what it’s like. It’s so pure and beautiful, and for you to feel like I had something to do with it means the fucking world to me.

This past year has been one of the most difficult and transformative of my life. I haven’t been able to share myself like I used to, and I haven’t been able to give your questions the attention that they deserve. I’m sorry about that. I appreciate that you’ve all been patient with me, and I want you to know that I still read as many submissions as I can. I plan on coming back. I know I keep saying that, but bear with me.

In the meantime, thanks for scrolling through my old stuff. Thanks for sending me new questions to answer. Thanks for thinking of me every once in a while, and thanks for sharing it with me.

Stay wild.

 

 

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Thoughts

On being capitalists

We are not all capitalists. The vast, vast, vast majority of us are labor. We work for a living. Why are you lying to these people? Kellyanne, is that you?

 

When I say we’re all capitalists, I mean it in the same way that we’re all 60% water. If you are alive in America today, then you are a product of late-stage capitalism. Your personal beliefs are irrelevant. Your socio-economic status is irrelevant. Your politics are irrelevant — you are a tiny little piece of capitalism, and you don’t have a choice.

This isn’t about your freshmen level Marxism or your anarchy tattoo or anything else you’ve built into your identity that you think separates you from the system. If you’ve got access to the internet and the occasional cheeseburger, then calling yourself labor is just a distinction without a difference.

That’s not me being pro-capitalism or fiscally conservative or anything else so grotesque as to be worthy of the name Kellyanne. Fuck that. I’m all for infusing the American experiment with as much socialism as possible, but I also have a grip on reality, and I recognize that a deliberate refusal to accept the fundamentals of our economic system is just a left wing version of willful ignorance, and I fucking detest willful ignorance.

Sorry, kid. I’m with Nancy Pelosi on this one: “We’re capitalists. That’s just the way it is.”

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Best-Of Advice, Thoughts

On walking the low road

“To engage with them at all is to walk the low road”. Coke I have been with you since 2010 when I was fresh out of high school. This brings a tear to my eye. We don’t move forward or have our own ideas challenged without engagement. You haven’t lost a reader, I will never allow myself to be in an echo chamber like you are creating for yourself. I started disliking what you have to say for a couple years now, but recognize the value in hearing what someone I disagree with has to say.

 

You’ve missed my point entirely. I detest an echo chamber. I need to be challenged by people with opposing viewpoints. I long for the dialectic, and I am desperate for worthy adversaries.

You don’t need to tell me that we don’t move forward without engagement. I’m with you 100% on that point. The problem is that the Trump-loving religious/alt-right has degraded into an infantile, reactionary horde of the cruel, the ignorant, and the stupid. When I say to engage with them is to walk the low road, I mean it.

Trump and all his little Trumpkins simply aren’t capable of joining the rest of us on the high road, and by the rest of us, I don’t just mean liberals or Democrats or those who think like me. I mean anyone with the capacity for rational discourse. I mean people who can rub a few words together and form an original thought. I mean folks who aren’t actual fucking neo-Nazis.

There was a time in this country when the political right was represented by some genuinely brilliant bastards. They were privileged pricks with their heads up their asses, but they were articulate and well-schooled, they were worldly, and they could defend their political views with thoughtful debate using legitimate lines of reasoning.

Take William F Buckley Jr. for instance. That dude was one of the most gaping assholes of the 20th century, but he was smart as a fucking whip. His positions were loathsome, but he knew what he was talking about, and his arguments were exquisite. Say what you will about Buckley’s opinions, but the man didn’t just walk the high road; he fucking paved it. Is there anyone in Trump’s camp articulating the conservative world view at the level of someone like William F. Buckley Jr.? Fuck no. Even Buckley himself thought Trump was a monster.

Take Henry Kissinger as another example. He’s one of the most evil motherfuckers to have ever walked the earth, worse even than Dick Cheney, but he was dangerously intelligent and he knew his shit. He was the very definition of a worthy adversary on issues of conservative diplomacy, and when it came to public discourse, he always walked the high road. Is there anyone amongst Trump’s nominees who has half the brains of Henry Kissinger? Fuck no. They’re all Kissinger-sized scoundrels, to be sure, but with the added indignity of being a bunch of lackeys, lickspittle, and know-nothing corporate goons.

Over the years, there have been a number of right-wing thinkers with whom I have vehemently disagreed, but I still followed their work, because I knew they were making the very best case for the other side — magnificent assholes like Thomas Sowell, George Will, Bill Kristol, Charles Krauthammer, David Frum, and occasionally even David Brooks — but their voices have been drowned out by idiots of such magnitude that I can barely stand to keep listening.

The death of the eloquent conservative voice began during the era of Reagan and finally reached what I thought might be rock bottom during the era of George W. Bush, but things have gotten cartoonishly worse since the rise of Donald Trump. It’s gotten so embarrassingly bad that even Glenn Beck has taken a step back to wipe the shit off his shoes. I’m sorry, but when the likes of Tomi Lahren and Alex Jones are considered legitimate news sources worthy of citation, you can’t deny that there’s nothing left but low road, and you can fuck right off if you think I’m going to walk it.

I refuse to engage the opposition at so low a level, and I refuse to normalize Trump’s administration by dignifying its mouthpieces with any kind of legitimacy. They are simply not worthy of my validation. They are not worthy of yours. If you can’t see that, maybe wipe that tear from your eye and start paying attention.

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Thoughts

On coachella 2017

I feel like you’ve mentioned going; do you have any feelings on the guy who owns Coachella being an anti-gay, anti-climate change piece of shit? Hope you’re well and you had a banging new year.

 

Yeah, I’m done with Coachella. Not because of Phil Fucking Anschutz, though. I’m done because the law of diminishing returns started setting in the year that it became two weekends instead of one, and I know that it won’t ever get any better than Arcade Fire at the Outdoor Stage in 2005 or Daft Punk at the Sahara Tent in 2006. Coachella isn’t that festival anymore, and I’m not that person anymore. That shit was a decade ago, and things change.

Still, you should go if it’s that time in your life, and regardless of what you think of Coachella, it’s a bit silly to suddenly act all woke because you learned that AEG belongs to a rich white bigoted asshole. Phil Anschutz deserves every last inch of bad press he gets, but let’s not kid ourselves. The world is run by rich white bigoted assholes — especially now, and especially the entertainment world. If we started boycotting everything owned by rich white bigoted assholes, we literally wouldn’t have toilet paper to wipe our asses, so don’t let the bastards ruin your good time.

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Thoughts

On not being the least bit surprised

Has Trump surprised you at all thus far? Deporting criminals, refusing a salary, backtracking on the Obama care repeal. All good things thus far. Have you decided to hate him no matter what he does?

 

I hate Trump for the grotesque monster that he is. I never expected him to actually do half the stupid shit he promised to all the hateful mouth-breathers who voted for him, but don’t start cutting him slack just because he hasn’t set the building on fire.

Refusing a salary is just a Presidential-level humblebrag. (Notice that he’s not donating it to charity.) He isn’t backtracking on Obamacare as much as he’s just handing off the repeal to a Republican controlled legislature, and referring to undocumented immigrants as criminals to be deported is a page right out of Hitler’s book.

And of course, let’s not forget that he just appointed a white nationalist as his senior advisor and a sycophantic twerp as his chief of staff. No, none of this has been a surprise. This isn’t goodness or restraint. All we’re witnessing is the bluster and bravado of the campaign morphing into a machiavellian exercise in conniving and self-aggrandizement.

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Thoughts

On knowing better

I was one of those Jill Stein voters. I hated Hillary. I hated the DNC for their betrayal. I hated that Native American protesters were being brutalized over oil while we all stared at our television screens and laughed at Trump. I hated that the corporate media ignored John Podesta’s back-handed scheming. I was starting to see the Democratic party as the death of populism.

But I’ve been doing some reflecting over the past couple of days. I really wanted to believe that half the country had reasons besides racism to vote for Trump – that the kind of economic pain that establishment politics inflicted on rural Americans would make them choose anyone but a Clinton. I wanted to believe this because I know two Trump voters who are very important to me – my parents.

For twenty-three years, I’ve given my parents the benefit of the doubt. I tried to be understanding when my mother would say “people just want to be with their own kind.” I struggled for words when they told me that Muslims are inherently hateful whereas Christians are inherently loving. I even held my tongue when father told me that slavery wasn’t always bad. In spite of all of this, I really wanted to believe that I was raised my good people. I wasn’t. My parents are white nationalists.

Looking into the abyss that is now our world’s future, I realize I had it all wrong. The real problem isn’t the DNC or the corporate media or the Clintons or even third parties. The real problem is that people like my parents still define our culture. I don’t know what to do with all of my confusion and anger. All I know is that I don’t want to go home for Thanksgiving and I want Hillary back.

 

Yeah, go fuck yourself.

Before the election, I said that people like you were worse than Trump voters, because you knew better. I meant it then. I mean it now. You knew better, and yet you still threw away your vote on an unqualified, symbolic candidate. Now look what you’ve done.

You are worse than everyone who stayed home on election day. You are worse than the uneducated white men in swing states who tipped the electoral college. You are worse than your parents.

You are the actual worst.

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Thoughts

On more resistance

People have lives and jobs and families. Your underground resistance movement is fucking cringeworthy and a massive waste of time.

Why can’t you accept this as a victory for the anti-establishment? I realise you’re too far into it now to turn back but you really are looking at Trump’s win the wrong way.

 

If you think this is a victory for the anti-establishment, then you don’t understand how the system is built. Trump is a racist, misogynistic, hyper-privileged white male billionaire-by-birth — he is the living embodiment of the establishment.

We all have lives and jobs and families, many of which are now in peril because this grotesque monster conned his way into the highest office in the land. If you think it’s a waste of time to resist his rise to power, then by all means, return to your knitting and try not to cringe yourself to death, because the rest of us have our lives and families and jobs to protect.

(And for those of you who don’t have such shitty attitudes, stay tuned. I’m doing my best to organize something very real.)

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Thoughts

On the possibility of a little fundraising

I know you’re super busy, and while we are a secret treasure, we aren’t your priority. But…Forums?

Also, You should have a go fund me or patreon.

 

Okay, yes. You guys actually are my priority, but it’s not evident at the moment, because I’m super busy writing all sorts of stuff for magazines and blogs in advance of the book release. (Don’t think I’ve forgotten you.)

Also, yes. I still might want to do some kind of forum thing, but more than that, I’ve never really had a professional designer build me a really hot shit version of the dearcoquette.com website, and I would love for that to be my next big project after the book. (A forum of some kind would probably be folded into that redesign.)

I was able to cobble together this (pretty decent) website solution after getting kicked off of Tumblr, but it was only meant to be temporary. Naturally, a year has already flown by, and what was meant to be a quick fix has turned semi-permanent. I don’t want that. I want a hot shit website.

Now, the problem is that doing it right costs actual money. Quite a bit of money. Money I don’t have. (Contrary to what some of you think, I am not a rich girl.) In fact, just yesterday I had to pony up a bunch of cash I wasn’t planning on spending to keep the site running smoothly, because my traffic continues to grow and grow. I know that’s a good problem to have, but the money part is still a problem.

I’ve looked into Patreon as a potential crowdfunding source, and it looked cool enough for me not to dismiss it outright. What do you guys think? If I put together some kind of campaign to raise enough money to build dearcoquette.com into a really kick-ass website, would you be willing to donate? I dunno. It feels weird to even ask, but it’s not like I’d just be pocketing the money. We’d all get to benefit from it.

So, yeah. Hit up the comments section and tell me what you think. I’ll be super curious to hear your thoughts.

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Thoughts

On staying wild

Coketalk (sorry I still call you that, but it’s really what first comes to mind when I think of you)–I proposed marriage to the man I love in the wee hours of this morning after staying up all night. The day before we went to Clearwater beach and took acid to celebrate our first anniversary. We actually don’t have a specific “date”, we have a two-ish week period in between the night we first slept together and the night I told him I loved him and if he wasn’t okay with that to get out of my apartment. At 3 a.m. After he insulted my favorite band. For some reason, he stayed. For some reason, I let him. I guess it’s because he loved me or wanted to love me and that was enough for then. That was enough for me then, too. But this morning he said yes and then realized what the fuck I actually just did and got scared. I was as supportive and apologetic as possible because its kind of a fucked up thing to do to someone, isn’t it. But I just didn’t worry about if he was going to change his mind. It didn’t matter. His answer didn’t fucking matter. It’s only been a day. He could change his mind tomorrow. But we were married today, in our hearts and heads and synapses between nerves and blood and hands. We were married the second I started crying after he realized I was serious and kissed me, we were married when he almost backed out, we were married that night over a year ago when I said “I love you” not because I wanted him to feel loved but because I was such an absolute wreck of a human that I couldn’t stand the thought of him being in my life if he couldn’t deal with ME–me in my head, real me, the actual feelings and thoughts that make up my own reality. And quite frankly, it’s not fair to me OR him for me not to be 100% authentic and that’s what our entire relationship has revolved around. Since that night when I told him I loved him the first time it’s been a slow crawl, sometimes a race, sometimes a drag and a hell of a lot of fun to get to where I am: a changed woman, in control of her life, master of her own Universe, at peace with her parents and sexuality and inevitable death, in love with a man who had a crush on her in 7th grade (for real. Long story) who I know could disappear from the Earth tonight by accident or from my life in the morning by choice…and who I’m okay with loving even despite the cautionary tales and the knowledge that we are just monkeys born in 2016 with the privilege of using language and toilet paper and WiFi (alternate reality: God wants us to fuck and make love into oblivion and make thousands of babies and reward us for our good karma with happy, fat lives? We’ll never know the difference either way, so why not enjoy right?). Because really, Coke, it was a marriage of myself. To life itself and to me for as long as we both and I shall live. Amen. And thanks for being a big, necessary part of it, you crazy fuck. Love, love, love, me.

 

I’m happy for you. I’m happy for him. I’m happy for everyone who reads this and understands.

Keep up the good work, and enjoy whatever comes next.

Stay wild.

 

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