☾ What did it feel like? ☾

They Come for the Magic May 12, 2025

Song Mood: “The Past Is A Grotesque Animal” by Of Montreal

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A charm to protect your art, your heart, and your path forward.

The rich don't create culture—they buy their way into it. Then they start to mold it, gatekeep it, twist it to fit their brand of hollow importance. Art, comedy, sex, magic—none of it’s safe. If you don’t play by their rules, you’re out. And if you do, your soul gets drained dry in the process.

I’ve lived this. I fell in love with someone I thought was a whirlwind of beauty, chaos, and truth. I didn’t know she came from old money. I didn’t know she saw the world as something to own. At first, she cracked me open in all the right ways—polyamory, magic, sex, softness. I was in it with her. But it was never enough. There was always a need for more—more attention, more control, more pain.

I remember the night she walked into an all-Black poetry jam, got on stage, and read a piece about Sailor Moon. It was bold. I loved her for it. I thought: this is what it means to show up as yourself. She placed third. I thought it was a win. She saw it as betrayal. The judges were rigged. People were out to get her. She used slurs that night I didn’t know she even knew. I saw a side of her I never wanted to see.

From there, everything changed. She became bitter. Cruel. And when she couldn’t get to me, she went after our other partner. Her wounds turned into weapons. She killed my love of performing. I stopped doing comedy. I stopped sharing. I started hiding. And still—I loved her. I probably always will.

And it doesn’t end there. Another one: Nyx. She runs that rope-play church in the West Bottoms. Another rich girl who wants to cosplay power, twist people around her little finger, then cut them loose if they don’t fall in line. I didn’t. So she tried to break me.

But this isn’t just about my heartbreak. This is a warning—for anyone out there creating, connecting, opening themselves up to magic, art, sex, truth.

The rich will make you feel like you’re not enough. They’ll show you their vacations, their tools, their spaces, and make it seem like you’re behind. But none of that makes them better. It just means they have money. And money can’t buy soul. It can’t buy depth. It can’t buy the grit it takes to actually live.

Trust your instincts. If something feels off, it probably is. Maybe they think working a job is beneath them. Maybe they brag about shortcuts, avoid discomfort, never truly read or learn—just consume. Ask where they went to school, where they shop, where they live. See how they treat service workers. Notice if they play class warfare with you, quietly, constantly.

And if you see it—walk away with your power intact. That’s the real magic. Because they will always have people orbiting them, hoping for scraps. But you? You deserve more than crumbs. You deserve respect. Depth. Magic that isn’t bought and sold.

You don’t need their money. You need your soul intact.