I watched the attendants open the plane doors and then I sat for 30 minutes while we waited for someone to let us all go. The price of a glamorous life. I’ll pay it. I don’t care. 

My ability to leave any and every situation should be studied. I’m sure there’s a few old friends, lovers and enemies alike who would describe me as “flaky” but I prefer “truthful” or “quirky”.

How To Alchemize Pain:

Step 1: Accept the fact that your heart is broken.

“What the fuck is everyone’s problem?” I ask as I munch on wet fries.

“They have to live in Brussels,” Ben says.

The shows really do go crazy out here but damn.

My breakfast consists of two sour gummy worms, a ginger shot, a single Biscoff, and a green tea. We are heading to the studio, ready to spend the whole day locked the fuck in. My album is coming together. I feel like screaming. I feel like praying. I feel like having an orgasm. But not yet.

Two thotty girls in pink tube tops and black spandex shorts riding in the back of a neon man-drawn caravan. I’m on the second floor of a double decker bus sitting by the window and touching up my lipstick.

My artist tent is filled with dragonflies. I watch them wing around like satellites, floating to the very top. We’re somewhere at the edge of Germany. The festival is in the middle of a giant, open field and the air smells like cut grass and wet earth. We are driven through tall, shoulder height corn fields to get to the stage. It’s quite charming if you’re into that kind of thing. Unfortunately, I am not.

The woman behind the cash at Billy’s tells me I look sexy. I laugh with my whole chest. I thank her and do a little curtsy. I’m decked out in head-to-toe all black leather and lace for my BBC6 Live Session at 9AM on a Wednesday morning so yeah, she’s right.

We’re in the studio and I’m whispering the words “pussy pink princess” into the microphone.