About the Artist:
Mauve is a self-identified freak of nature who knows nothing but the fact that they were placed on this Earth to create. Avid fan of alternative music scenes, outrageous and often obscene queer agendas, and the intersection between them both. A transy, pansy, all-around transsexual who can’t wait to see what the future holds.
Link: Sapphicdude.tumblr.com
Be Not Afraid:
It is difficult to come to terms with the (idea? fact?) that despite our best efforts, our desperate call for an answer to it all has been, and may forever be, only met with an echo. We as people seem to be stuck in a very one-sided, I’m-in-love-with-the-idea-of-you type of relationship with the universe. They’re not gonna pick up the phone (is it even ghosting if you never connected in the first place?) and they won’t be leaving read receipts on your lengthy paragraphs. You have to find your own fulfillment with yourself.
Proud Pansyboy!!:
The guitarist responsible for introducing me to the term “pansy” only meant to be associated with the term in a sort of “so what?”, spectacle kind of way. Perhaps it was a bit of a reclamation on his part. Definitely a special kind of call-out to those specific macho guys in the audience so insecure in their own sexuality that they’ll find any reference to homosexuality threatening. I’m happy to report that I myself am proudly and unapologetically a flaming pansy. I’ll take this term and run with it through the fields, along with all the other lavenders, carnations, violets…
musicgasm:
Some call it adrenaline, others a “concert high”, I just say euphoria. Euphoria when I can immerse myself in a piece, a performance of music so deeply that it stays buzzing with me long after I’d heard it. When I can be silent the whole car ride home and just think “This is it. The reason I’m here. God that was amazing. I’m so sweaty and everything hurts and I don’t care.” Becoming one with a crowd, almost entering an entranced, meditative state with your gaze locked on someone up there screaming their heart out, playing ‘til their fingers bleed, it feels close to godliness. I can be myself in purest form, bending and crowing with the throng.