How To Love When You Don't Know How To Love.

That title tho, jarring af. Love is such a fucking weird concept, but we can barely draw on it now, so that's for another time. What we're talking about is our personal experience in love and relationships or something like it after our heart has been pulverized. Our trust has been exploited and heavily manipulated from birth to pretty much now. How are we even meant to function after that?

We breathe shallow, look sideways and we never know which way is up. But what if we never knew love without conditions? Manipulation? Guilt? Pain? So much pain.

Well, we do. Our friends have offered us nothing but unconditional love in even the hardest times, when they couldn't understand. When we're at our most difficult, when we shut them out, when we snap, and boii, do we snap pretty fiercely.

But sometimes our friends just don't cut it.

They're perfect, but they just don't undo years of psychological trauma or trigger you in the same way romantic relationships do.

I think for the longest time we settled for the bare minimum because we didn't feel like we deserved any better, we put up with the most demeaning piss-take relationships. We swallowed lies, we took punches, we were taken advantage of in some of the worst, most demeaning ways and then we blamed ourselves for mistreatment. We still do sometimes.

If these things keep happening to us, who's the common denominator? It's us. It must be us. It's time to pack up what's left of our hearts and start again. Next time, we'll be better.

We'd often been told to spend time on our own. Really get to know ourselves before we become apart of someone elses life. Their blind advice couldn't be any more fucking irrelevent. You can't just learn this shit on your own.

In fact, when we were alone, we were the happiest we could have been. Life was grand, we were thriving. It's not until a relationship creeps up on us that our lives turned upside down, we questioned everything we knew and rode the rollercoaster out not really knowing where this would lead us. Not knowing how to set boundaries and accepting that the bare minimum was probably still too good for us. It lead to inevitable heartbreak, guilt and self punishment.

But we learnt, we slowly learnt.

We started seeing people, seeing a lot of people. Going on a lot of dates. Our psychologist encouraged going on a lot of dates, to learn how to set boundaries, to figure out what we wanted. That this rapid fire and sifting would be good for us... And it was. And it hurt. And it was confusing. And we learnt. We learnt and it was worth it.

She said we're very mature for our age and quite exceptional, but we're emotionally immature with relationship blind spots. This put us in an interesting position. That we'd probably have to do a lot of sifting to find someone with good intentions who was just as exceptional and a little closer to our age so we weren't as vulnerable.

More lessons, more rollercoasters and in the end we met them in the most serendipitous way it was if it had been orchestrated by the angels themselves. Perfect, standing there, waiting envelop us in pure love and adventure.

But there were still questions and there were still loose ends... Next week.

Here's some less personal but just as revealing content!

Youtube! Saatana

Facebook! Saatana Lee Rose

Twitter! @therealsaatana

Instagram! @saatanaleerose

Snapchat! bigtittys666



Stay bright, keep your shoes tight, your titties firm and your dicks in place. I'll find you when I need you sparkle kitten.

-Saatana Lee Rose xoxo

This dream fucked me up nice and good.

Heylo bitchachos, do you ever not love yourself so hard and then have a dream that resonates to your very core and just makes so much sense and then you're all like, 'Thanks bby Jesus for the solid, I owe u!'

I had thought about that before I went to bed, I went into a sort of lucid dream/meditation state. I can't clearly say which. Is there really a difference? More on that in the next life.

I'll often look at my wonderfully catastrophic, artful, spontaneous life and wish I was plainer, neater, smaller, more a e s t h e t i c. My bedroom is a wonderful example. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better, efficient, motivated and loved more if my bedroom had a more minimalist and neutral pinteresty plain feel to it?

But I simply can't bring myself to throw out the feather boa's dangling from my light (which were actually kind of a hazard when I was alone, tipsy, burning a giant neon sparkler at 5am last Saturday.) I also don't think I could bare to eliminate either the flamingo or the disco ball fairy lights because let's face it, both of those things are outrageously whimsical. What would I do without my framed tattoo sketches I bought at that Op Shop when I was 18? Or my Kurt Cobain art? Or the piles of Rock n Roll autobiographies and tarot cards next to my bed? 

I'm not proud of that small part of me that wants to tone myself down. In fact, I'm ashamed of the very notion. But shame never got me anywhere so let's just live with it, okay homie?

Not that it's cluttered, when I tidy, it looks clean, neat and organised and my dissatisfaction only comes from some deep seated little seeds of hatred of myself. Sometimes, I feel like these things inspire me. Sometimes I wonder if I need a plain space to create and these things keep me stagnant (but fuck that noize, surround yourself with art and beauty.)

Anyway, the dream:

I was in what looked like an art class. But I was in a plain white room. There was a semi-circle of people around me, each evenly spaced from each other, painting. They all had the same or similar sized and shaped canvasses. Their paintings were different, however they were all using different shades of white to paint, some whites had a slightly grey or pink tinge. Like this.

And then it was as if I zoomed out in third person on the full room to reveal me, at what would be the base of the semi-circle. 

I had an enormous canvas with an extravagant smattering of colors splayed across it like fireworks and a palette full of vibrant paints.

But I was sat before my canvas crying, absolutely balling my eyes out because I couldn't do what everyone else was doing.

That dream was probably pretty self explanatory.

Live big, doll face.

From my Trash Luxe shoot w/ Treanda Seaburn...

Makeup : Treanda Seaburn Makeup

Jewellery : @messymeow.create on IG

Oi, here's some linkz n shit if you wanna see what else I'm up to heyyy.

Youtube! Saatana

Facebook! Saatana Lee Rose

Twitter! @therealsaatana

Instagram! @saatanaleerose

Snapchat! bigtittys666

-Saatana Lee Rose xo

Btw your sugar daddy dedicated his autobiography to me.

The Doubt Monster Part II: More Of A Journey

So, you may or may not have read the classic 2015 blog post banger 'The Doubt Monster.' This one's a fuckin' journey (DOOON'T STOP BELIIIIEEEEVVIING) because it's something that hasn't been banished with the publish of a blog post or a single sane declaration of 'you have no power over me.'

#Labyrinth.

Not to say that these things haven't helped immensely, I just think it takes more love and time and process. Obviously. Just like anything else worthwhile.

I'm not entirely sure where this is going. Let's just bloody roll with it shall we? 

I'm also not entirely sure why I'm writing about this either. Maybe it's so you don't feel as alone on your personal endeavors and battles against the mythical beast. It could also be just a healthy release of oversharing on the internet. Lawd knows I do a lot of that. Links below.

Come to think of it, all of my creative endeavors are my Personal Jesus.

And I really wish it was something I just had to overcome. Like, I went to that first audition and it was as if the heavens opened up before me and in the most magical way I was never scared to audition for anything again.

No.

That's not the case and the path is not a straight goddamn line and my LIFE IS A FUCKING ROLLERCOASTER EXCEPT I'M BLINDFOLDED AND DON'T KNOW WHETHER THE EXHILARATION AND ENJOYMENT EXCEEDS THE SHEER TERROR AND PANIC OF MY MERE EXISTANCE AND EVERY CHOICE I MAKE INFLUENCES THE DIRECTION OF THE RIDE AND IT WOULD BE EASIER TO JUST SIT BACK AND TRUST THE UNIVERSAL PULL AND NOT CARE BUT I CARE AND I SCARE MYSELF. SO. MUCH.

Atleast that's just how it feels sometimes. And what about stagnancy? Stagnancy is a fucking demon. A relentless beAST hellbent of tearing enormous shards off my soul and then screeching into the abyss IT created.

I guess I just thought it would be some grand event I'd overcome and that would be the end of it. Or maybe I would just pickup some momentum and not feel my feels.

Again, no.

I'm coming to accept myself as a person who picks up enormous momentum and moves mountains and triumphs doubt for days, weeks and even months. Then slows, grows potentially stagnant, depressed, messy, frayed at every end and doomed for however long that will last. Then there's lots of little ups and downs within that which can be nice.

I don't want these periods and episodes to represent dark periods in my life anymore. I feel like a lot to do with the negativity is me rejecting it. Is comparing myself to others. Is wishing I could maintain a perfectly consistent line of progress.

I often think of these times when I compare myself to others. Appreciating and admiring their manicured, minimalist lifestyles. An effortless stream of progress and sanity. Even the creative types.

Sure, it can be delightful to romanticize creative madness. From a distance it makes my heart swell and soar. But have you lived it? When you feel the smallest niggling feeling, where'd it come from? Why's it here? What's it going to lead to? Why do I feel so numb? Then a single thought sparks dynamite in your soul and a single buried memory turns into pages poetry and possibly 4 songs, but you're left heaving on the bathroom floor at an ungodly hour with hot tears streaming endlessly down your face and more memories to lock away carefully in the darkest folds of your heart. Honestly.

Back to stagnancy? Or have we unlocked a creative whirlwind? Both? Neither? Let's see.

Of course that's where you find the best bits and if you're like me, that's the best therapy.

Sometimes it feels like my only purpose.

The torture, the pain, the unanswered questions knocking on my door at the weird hour are for the that.

They're key influence in creating and manifesting brilliance. But they don't serve me when I have that interview the next morning and I hadn't slept. They don't serve me when I can't talk to anyone and the people closest to me feel rejected and shut out because I can barely put my feelings into a single thought let alone a string of words. They don't serve me when life calls.

But they do serve me.

For now, I want to accept the dark parts, the slow hours and dance with my little devils. I know they're harmless and I know the most harmful part of myself the punishment for not doing better, feeling better, acting better, being better.

Maybe if I can accept it. The stagnancy will be a period of regeneration and growth. I'm bound to feel depressed and crazy anxious at some point. We all are. But I don't think it has to be the focus anymore.

I just found an image that has given me so much resolve. Maybe it can do the same for you. Not much is worse than smashing your head against a wall with a single thought repeating, 'I thought I'd already learnt this? Why does this keep happening?' Be gentle with yourself, stuffs just fine.

For more oversharing, see below.

Youtube! Saatana

Facebook! Saatana Lee Rose

Twitter! @therealsaatana

Instagram! @saatanaleerose

Snapchat! bigtittys666

Stay bright baby cakes, I miss you, I love you.
You'll see more soon.

Saatana Lee Rose xxooxxxox

I stopped hating myself. How?

Hello Sun bebe. How's thangs? how's life? how's thangs? You want an update? Imma give you an update. All aboard the self help train! Because that shit is dope.

You know what I find so incredibly odd? When people will brag about pulling ridiculous hours at work on minimal sleep. Would you like a medal for not respecting your body? Or when people will almost brag about how long it's been since they've had a social life because they have been working almost non-stop for the passed month and a half? CONGRATULATIONS! You haven't been able to maintain a proper work/life balance which is extremely unhealthy and detrimental to long term productivity, what the fuck's up?!

What about those who were struggling with their mental illness, but still able to 'get shit done?' and 'just push through it.' Sometimes, I feel like you can still move on with your life whilst embarking on a journey toward healing and wellness. But there is a difference between perseverance just sinking deeper and deeper into your mental unrest under the guise you are overcoming it. These scenarios are found in all scenes and not just the workplace. You see it with study, with partying, people pleasing, parenting, bloody everything mate.

I just don't know why this culture self abuse is so celebrated? It's nurturing a society of people who are unable to show themselves the slightest bit of compassion and kindness. It's funny, because when I began my own healing, one of the first things I had to do what look into a mirror and tell myself, 'I love you' and then evaluate how that made me feel and my personal reaction.

So simple. The first time I did it, all I could think of was how unconvincing I was and how I couldn't feel anything good or bad? I scolded myself for not having a stronger reaction and for being too good of an actress, being able to tell myself, 'I love you' too convincingly without actually feeling it. I was mad at my lack of reaction as well, that I might have been disconnecting, but I couldn't be sure and that indecisiveness made me mad as well as the fact that I didn't feel like I could trust myself. Why the hell can't I trust myself? What kind of person am I? Am I even I person? What am I doing here? I should die.

Such a tiny little activity was able to tell me so much. It didn't dawn on me until much later that my reaction to the mirror exercise was criticism! Literally all of those thoughts could be deduced to me being overly critical of myself! I felt elated as I continued on my little healing quest, I was able to discover that the thoughts I think now were just adopted from my parents shit and how to move through that etc. Read 'You Can Heal Your Life' by Louise L Hay for a zesty hands on approach to your own healing. For real, I've been able to deal with soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much through reading this + my life is 120000% better. I started losing weight, I started making more money, I improved my living circumstances dramatically, moved through childhood trauma, an eating disorder, anxiety, depression, ADHD and removed SO MANY of my creative blocks and SO MANY more things that are personal AF, but lets be real, I'll probs dish on all that on youtube or this blog sometime soon. Shit's like $10 on Amazon.

Another thing, I was reading 'The Power Of Now' by Eckhart Tolle. Haven't finished it yet, but when I was reading about staying present and the activity involves you basically listening to the voice in your head, your own mental chatter.

The second I did this, the craziest shit ever happened... The voice just stopped.

Then I became pissy. Well if the voice has stopped now, what the fuck am I supposed to be listening to? This went on for a couple of days until I read the next chapter which said the voice is meant to stop and you're meant to find inner peace...Oh shit whaddup.

There was never a need to be so abrasive. I'm finding that day by day I do not need to be harsh with myself. There is no need for such excessive seriousness. Which is weird for me to say because everything is kind of a joke to me, but there's also the pendulum swing or the coin flip where I had been so severe and chastising with myself and my actions.

I used to be a lil bit scared of this whole gentle self love biz. What if I fall into complacency? How will I get anything done?

Then I remembered teachers I had from high school and the ones who were the most loving, kind and gentle really got the best out of everyone, same with bosses, managers, parents, the whole bundle.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is there is no need to hate yourself. Absolutely no need for self criticism and for self punishment. Because at the end of the day whatever happens, happens regardless of how you think or feel about yourself so you may as well make it worth your while? The baby amount of approval you get from your peers is not worth the long term self hatred, suffering and punishment you're giving yourself. It's not helping you and you're fucking your work in the long run.

In the sake of keeping things authentic, do you know how much self loathing i experienced while writing this? I feel like it's not funny, unhelpful and shit. But I just need to do my thing and trust it's what needs to be written right now because I'm rad and if I was any kind of food, I would be gravy because I'm the literal fucking best and so are you.

I feel like I've only really skimmed the surface of my own experiences and all of my thoughts on this. But yolo.

I've also started a vlog channel if you wanted to sus that out and see how my New Years went because you care about me and my schenanigans. That's right, spellin' it with a 'sch' now. Git used to eht.

Also some of my socials!

Youtube! Saatana

Facebook! Saatana Lee Rose

Twitter! @therealsaatana

Instagram! @saatanaleerose

Snapchat! bigtittys666


-Saatana Lee Rose xoxooxx Keep it real, schnit tits.

Enlightened AF.

I'll start from the start and the truth is that I was exhausted. Working as crew, lugging around heavy equipment and waiting around in the sweltering Northern Territory sun for the passed few of days for my fellow students had taken it's toll on me mentally and physically. Given that I had also been up for the majority of the previous night writing, I awoke the next morning burnt and moderately disgruntled. But I staggered my way through the hot, heavy weather to meet with my crew.

Today I was a director and the filming of my assessment piece was upon us and although I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about the fact that I had been given about a quarter of the time to shoot my assessment piece (like, what the fuck?) I was excited and rose to the occasion.

As I began to check the equipment, it was hard to ignore the fact that one of my actors/crew members had failed to show. Ten minutes turned into twenty minutes and twenty minutes turned into half an hour. My patience had dissolved and our schedule was tighter than a nun. To say I was pissed off was an understatement. I raced to his dorm room and he agreed to meet me at the lecture room in ten minutes.

He failed to show.

At this point I feel it's important to note that I am really not always this ill tempered. Sometimes my fuse is short and my temperament is wild. Majority of the time, everything feels like a sort of game and life is somewhat fun and overflowing with whimsy.

Actually it's always at either of the two extremes. Rarely in between. But that's for another blog post. Love it or leave it, San Diego (Sometimes I like to pretend that I'm Ron Burgundy.)

Anywho, surprise, surprise, my piece o' shit friend never showed and I retreated to the bathroom to chill the fuck out. I splashed my face a couple of times in the mirror and gave myself a pep talk so miserable and self pitying that I'll need at least 17 sessions in therapy to forget how petty it was. Then, it came to me. A quote that I'd come across multiple times in my life on facebook or whathaveyou but had never utilised out in the wild...Something had clicked.

I think maybe Bruce Lee said it. But who could be sure?

'Notice that the stiffest tree is most easily cracked while the bamboo or willow survives by bending in the wind.'



The odds were against me and I think by this point I had well and truly lowkey lost my patience. I was trying not to openly blame people for what was happening. After all, I am still a firm believer in taking responsibility for everything that happens in life. Simply because when you blame people you're literally giving them power over your life. Ain't nobody got time fo' dat [sorry...(Notsorry)] To calm down and adjust to the circumstance seemed like the best option. I gave thanks for the people that had showed to help me and decided to film a badass royalty free KPOP video instead. My love for KPOP and Korean culture in general is undying.

It got experimental to say the least.

Point is, I remembered a quote. It came in useful. I could choose to blame other people and stay pissy and ditch my project altogether. Instead I decided it would be more useful to calm down and make the most out of the situation.

Lesson learnt... bend with the wind bitches,

If you want to keep up with my glorious and majestic life, here's some links!

Youtube! Saatana

Facebook! Saatana Lee Rose

Twitter! @therealsaatana

Instagram! @saatanaleerose

Snapchat! bigtittys666

Love & Light & Starshine & Petals & Kicking life's ass (but in a good way.) xo
-Saatana Lee Rose, bitch whaaaat?

Rudimentary Ramblings and David Bowie

What did David Bowie mean to you? That sounds like something your 6th grade teacher would give you to write about over the weekend. Albeit a rad 6th grade teacher, but a shitty, generic statement nonetheless.

So it seems as if friends, friends of friends and relatives old and young had been pushing me to write in a journal. The suggestions were seriously coming at me hard and fast, heh. The very idea of writing in a journal seemed really stupid.

I've since realized that journals are fucking rad and this negative connotation was only because I could never maintain consistency and would become easily frustrated with the very notion of a journal under the idea that unless I could maintain journalistic perfection, it was not worth an ounce of my time. Weird?

Actually this is starting to sound a lot like this blog and also everything else in my life. Brb, just need to put myself into therapy. Jks, I'm already in therapy.

Anywho, a journal can be a place to write all of your deepest darkest fantasies (Becoming a Vampire Wizard on an estate of vicious unicorns); keep track of your goals; log your dreams; hash out issues with your innermost self or write all of those great comebacks that no-one got to hear because it was too late [see: Wit of the staircase (oh, snap! Jack White.)]

I think you get the point. But in case you don't, I'm trying to say that you can write whatever the dickens you want in a journal and generally it stays private (Unless you're 11 years old and your younger brother guessed your password to your password journal... Fuck outta my face, Baillie.) Once I let go of my perfectionist ideals, journal-ling has almost become a therapy. Lawd knows I need a lot of that! jokes, jokes. But only kind of.

Flipping through it's pages I wondered if there was anything I should share with the world wide internet? Much like this blog and my youtube chanel, I do believe this is a 'just because you can, doesn't mean you should' but I'm going to anyway.

The only changes made in this were grammatical.

This was really hard to type without altering my words to sound wittier, funnier, smoother and more interesting. But I'm trying to keep things nice and authentic here. Is this embarrassing? A little.

The day was Monday. I was 2 minutes and 39 seconds through the song 'Within You' by David Bowie. I received a call from Amy. She asks what I'm doing and if I know Bowie? I was holding back the urge to bite back, 'What the fuck do you mean? Had I not played his music on endless repeat throughout the duration of our shared residency? Had you not been present for our endless one-sided discussions of me talking at you, informing you of every way in which I found I could relate to him and found comfort in our personal parallels and synchornicities? What about my bath time Hunky Dory tradition? Or the endless stream of interviews calculating the ways in which we were familiar?'

There was no need to sass a bitch out like that, so I said simply, 'Yes of course, I'm listening to the Labyrinth soundtrack right now and seriously contemplating getting the Jareth haircut for about the fifth time in my life.'

She told me he died...

I immediately dismissed it as a hoax. She replied with, 'Well, it's all over the internet.'

I pull the phone away from my ear and do a quick google search and sure enough, about 2 hours ago.

I manage to squeak out a panicked, 'I'll call you later.'

I hung up and couldn't breathe. Hysterical, I searched my brain for reason, but everything was a cluttered mess. I realize now that it was an unwillingness to accept not only the event that occurred, but also the dramatic effect it was having on me. Before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my face and there was nothing I could do about it.

The following moments proceeding this phone call are what has baffled and dizzied me to a state of absolute exasperation.

Not only am I completely floored by the event itself, but what struck me is the absurdity of how personal it all feels. I've had friends die. Living, breathing humans that I have had real life interactions with. Exchanged words with and shared a history. Friends whose deaths never really shook me, in fact you could say I was quite unaffected upon hearing of their passing. Call it cold hearted or overly accepting. The truth is I will never know why? But I just didn't give much of a damn. 

But this felt overwhelmingly... personal. I tried to fight back the tears, but it felt dishonest. What's the point in living if I can't live honestly? It may seem overdramatic, but this was what my mind was processing.

I had been rearranging my room. It was in a total state of disarray. Books and clothing were stewn across the floor. Posters, postcards and an assortment of decorative jars, bottles and incense lay in chaos across my bedsheets. I sat on a small corner of my bed and gazed out of the window. For the first time in a long time, my surroundings perfectly represented my inner emotional workings.

I recall reading assortments of poems, songs about the suns cruelty when it had the audacity to shine despite a persons grim, caustic mentality. But no, the grey sky, thick clouds, heavy rain and chaotic bedroom were entirely appropriate. For this, I am grateful.

Dumbfoundedness was replaced by overwhelming grief but before I could become fully consumed I began to rationalise and remind myself that I have things to do and can't afford to be weighed down by the heaving emotional burdens that come with being in a state of mourning. For the next few moments, I waver between being absolutely distraught and accepting. Exhausted and motivated, horrified and content. 

I am reminded that this life is not the be all and end all and try to think of death as a sweeter release. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Almost instantaneously as if by magic, the clouds parted and the grey was replaced with magnificent gloomy purple yellow haze. I felt content and alive. Once again reminded of my own mortality and the ticking clocks of the people around me. I am grateful and almost honoured to have been alive at the same time as such a brilliant, true visionary and that I was left with a gift that felt so utterly personal to me and only me. Despite his worldwide adorations.

Almost with a sense of urgency I check Gerard Ways twitter with the knowledge of how touched he would be by these circumstances. Who I could trust to express what I was experiencing. To provide to rhyme to reason, if you will. 

'I love you forever David Bowie' ...Perfect.

Not having the energy to cook dinner I head to my car. I am overwhelmed by a sense of excitement. Although his journey on this plane has come to an end my creative pursuits have just begun. This side of the sky is glorious. Smokey purple, yellow and I see a bright rainbow, a good omen.

Although I'm still momentarily teary and my face is showing a moment where I am inconsolable, not only due to devastation, but because I can't talk to anyone about it. How can I explain mourning someone I never even knew? Especially without sounding immature and a little fangirlee. 

I feel like it hit me on a deep and totally authentic level that only really applies to me and me only. As if he wrote the words and sang the songs and evolved throughout the ages for me personally. Even though the majority of this occurred before my birth. The sky consoled me with its rainbow and light, sheer magic.

I still remember driving in the car as a child listening to Starman on the radio. I was captivated and payed special attention to the whimsy in the lyrics. Songwriting changed.

tasty

So personal, haven't even 'grammed this shit!..

Thanks for reading, kiddos! Means a lot. I don't know why I shared my word-for-word journal entry. My brain just said I gotta.

-Saatana Lee Rose (yo Daddy's role model, tell him I said he can keep my hairpins, I have no use for them anymore...) xoxoxoxooxox Love me.

A Stranger Gave Me A Psychic Reading In An Airport...

Let's take it back, all the way back to a few months ago, shall we? I was leaving the Territory earlier than normal (For those that don't know, I was participating in fly in/fly out study, hollaaaa) and a friend was driving music equipment from Sydney to Melbourne and asked if I wanted to come. It was less than a week before we had to leave. I was down because I'm basically the most spontaneous motherfucker on the planet. Like you have no idea. I'm so spontaneous. My parents actually wanted to name me spontaneous originally because I was born 2 weeks overdue. No fucks given. Just so super spontaneous like that, ya dig? Ugh, so spontaneous. Anyway...

The title pretty much sums it up. I was going through security check in an airport when a delightful stranger took it upon himself to compliment my fully sick rainbow hair. I then noticed his alarmingly vibrant Turquoise type of shirt (one of my top ten fave colours) and told him how I really felt, 'THANKS! I LIKE YOUR SHIRT!'

Apparently it was a golf shirt. Didn't know what a golf shirt was, still don't know what a golf shirt is. I think it's a shirt specifically for playing golf? But I thought people did that in Polo shirts. Wait, are those just for playing polo? This is blowing my damn mind.

Before I continue, there's a couple of stories that you probably should read so the next bit hits just that little bit closer to home.

1. Music was and is everything to me. When I'm feeling really great, really shitty or literally anything in between, music is there. It wasn't until I had a dream that I was telling Gerard Way (yassss) this until I realized it. But because I was made to deal with things as a child that I didn't have the coping mechanisms for, I'd repress a lot of my emotions. Music was a device that allowed me to process the feelings that I had no coping mechanisms for. In an instant, it can change my mood.

2. At 6, my Dad bought me a guitar. I was eager as a beaver and became rather infatuated, even a little bit fixated on this device. I wrote songs, I played them on guitar. From a young age I'd always wanted to be a forensic scientist. Playing guitar put me in quite a predicament. Could I be a forensic scientist AND a guitarist? Fortunately my Dad said yes. I played one of my songs for my Mum and had told her I wanted to be a forensic scientist guitarist. She told me guitarists move their fingers more or some bullshit like that. I'm strong, but I'm sensitive as fuck (shh, secret) and I was crushed. Sure, she had good intentions. But she was young, I was her first child and her delivery was poor at best. I put that guitar down and never picked it up again. Still kept at writing lyrics.

2.At the tender age of about 14, I was at a gig and had an alarmingly unique experience. I've always heard of people having these experiences, but I'd never come to imagine I'd experience this to the same magnitude. In the middle of the concert, it was as if I'd been transported to another dimension for just a moment and I was overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling. I suppose I can try to explain it. It was like instinct, a deep knowing, right in my core that I needed to be on that stage, in that industry. I was still experiencing hella doubt, so I decided to put the feeling down to a heavy involvement in the industry, probably dating musicians.

Fun Fact: I have pretty much exclusively dated musicians (not intentionally.) Another fun fact: Musicians are fucking crazy. The last guy I was seeing, seemed super normal, corporate, sane and (apart from the tattoos) not very creatively inclined. It was nice. He said his first tattoo was a music note and then it began. Turns out, he was in bands when he was younger and spoke more and more about getting into music again. I was partly excited, partly, 'God dammit, another one?!' Turned out he had more issues than Vogue, Cosmo and US Weekly combined. And then some.

3. I did do music as a subject in high school, I had sung in front of assembly in primary school and participated in the school choir. But the idea of music was still absolutely terrifying. Playing it scared me. I'd tell myself I wasn't good enough, that it was basically too late to learn (what the actual fuck.) I basically ruled it out for myself for all eternity because it was so damn terrifying.

4. When I find myself with a predicament knocking around in my skull, I do tend to toss that shit up to the universe. Something as simple as asking for a sign, I find it can bring me clarity. A sign always comes. It has never lead me wrong. It is always absolutely undeniable. Like that time I was seeing the guy (mentioned above) and he was constantly cancelling on me, lying to me and leaving majority of my calls/texts unanswered (like a lil bitch.) I knew I was being treated shitty. I knew I deserved better. But I'm still aspiring for self worth. I was approached by a man, in a bar, after a Steel Panther gig. I told him I was seeing someone, this man looked directly into my soul and asked, 'But where is he now? He does not deserve you!' Even though this man was unduly intoxicated, he had a point. I asked for a sign after this interaction and written in on the wall in bold CAPS, 'DUMP HIM!!!' Pretty direct, amiright? Ask and you shall receive. (Still didn't dump him by the way, still kept entertaining his silly little boy antics.)

Before I embarked on the roadtrip which was to became a whimsical, mind boggling experience of pure magic! I was doing a wee bit of thinking about where I am, where I wanted to be and what I wanted to be doing. The idea of writing, recording and performing music still whizzed around my brain from time to time. I had gathered pages upon pages of songs I'd carelessly written. I started to attempt poetry, which always became another song. I threw the question up into the stars, 'What about music?'

After that delightful little golf shirt interaction, we continued to pass through security check. That's when the fun really began.

He asked me if I played music. I told him that I used to (I also used to play the clarinet. Giggity.) He suddenly entered into an almost trance like state and his style of speaking was very, very direct. He told me to get rid of my self doubt. He said that music was my gift, that I'll bring a lot of people together with my music and to start believing in myself. I was told that I needed to share my musical talents with the world. He then began describing who I was in my friendship groups and my bedroom decor (to pinpoint accuracy) for confirmation.

If I can recall correctly, he said his name was Josh and that he travels the world praying for people. He said that he felt like the message was directly from god and that it was important for me to know and the reason he was drawn to me as I was walking past was because he'd seen music notes all around me.

Pretty magical, right?

Do you want to know the best part? He didn't ask for my phone number or make any sly, sexual passes afterwards. My friend, who had witnessed the whole thing, was instantly skeptical (and rightly so.) I mean, you could look at a person with rainbow hair and an alternative fashion sense and assume that they're pretty into their music. But the fact that he didn't really stay around seemed like he hadn't any ulterior motives in mind. The way he described not only who I was in my friendship groups (quite specifically) but also physical decorations I had on my walls.

Think what you want to think. I'm quite a spiritually inclined person and when I asked for a sign and received this shit, I feel like there's just too many synchronicities to ignore. I also found it interesting that he said he saw music notes around me and just the night before, the person I was seeing had told me about his music note tattoo and the friend I was travelling with also had a base clef tattoo. It was like I literally had music notes on the people around me (no, I'm not reaching.)

Another synchronicity! Once aboard the aircraft, I told my lovely friend that had witnessed this entire encounter about my notebooks full of songs. She reminded me that she'd studied music and offered to help me with the musical aspect of the songs.

Now we meet once a week to work on a song. Was it absolutely terrifying showing my personal writing to a close friend? Yes. It was evening worse singing in front of her and it was absolutely terrifying recording that signing. But we're nearly finished. it's raw and I can't wait for you to hear it!

In the words of my baby, Bowie, 'I don't know where I'm going for here, but I promise, it won't be boring.'

Have you been attempting something that scares you? I do hope so. If not, what's stopping you? The 'Doubt Monster'?

I never took a photo with him, but you can see photos of us at Bondi and me cartwheeling in front of parliament house in the wee hours on the night @saatanaleerose

Just a couple of dope bitches doing dope shit with their lives xo

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There was also a lot of footage from that roadtrip that I've been editing. I'll leave a link when it's up on my channel.

Until next time, stay bright, shiny lil cupcake.

-Saatana Lee Rose xoxxo Keep on keeping on. Keep on doing you.