This is a love letter to my closest friends.

It won’t seem like it at first, but stay the course.

Life is morbid; it’s a series of traumas – some small, short and sharp; some so poignant and altering that they cut you off at the knees, immediately cauterising the wounds so you continue breathing even though you wish you hadn’t. We have no choice but to collect these experiences like tiny treasures we don’t want, hoisted on our backs like our most valuable possessions. We keep these in chests, with many locks interwoven in heavy chains, down deep.

Some of us are lucky enough to bear witness to these tiny treasures and are able to continue to tell our stories.

I share anecdotes often, based on my collected treasures. They’ve been branded into my psyche and occassionally the resulting burns scab up and itch. It’s when they itch so terribly that the load becomes unbearable, I speak out the trauma so it leaves temporarily, escaping from my lips and into the atmosphere, dissipating like smoke in the air.

The people closest to me know that my most successful coping strategies are…well, them. I talk about my treasure. About the things that brandish blades into my oesophagus, the things the bury themselves into my temples and furrow deep behind my eyes.

About the feelings of abandonment. About the hurt that I’ve caused through reckless words, careless actions and bouts of mania – and the guilt. There’s always guilt, whether reasonably applied or not; since I was small, I’ve carried the sins of those that came before me even though I know I have never had any ownership – eventually those that came before will die and I continue to live in the hope that the guilt will be buried with them.

About the day more than a decade ago, I found out my closest friend had died.

About the faltering relationships I once held so close as a child, that have been irreparably damaged.

This is salvation. This is reprieve.

And in that there is lightness. I discovered through many years of being medicated and being in therapy that the most effective way to deal with the itch was to talk.

And I talk a lot. I make this assertion knowing that every single person that walks a similar journey has different coping mechanisms.

They’ve shifted the burden from the hip I carry mine on, to their shoulders to even out the weight of it all – this is perfectly acceptable, I don’t pass judgement on those whose coping strategies differ from mine.

I’m grateful for the safety that enraptures me when I’m hand-in-hand with my friends as they delve mindlessly down the path of the labyrinth that is me, to find the chest where the treasures are kept – because I asked them to accompany me on an odyssey.

I am grateful for those that ventured down, down, down with me where my treasures reside, braving the ghouls that hide in the darkest parts of me looking for excuses to start wars, to pick the locks and let the treasure tumble unceremoniously to the floor.

I’m grateful that once the chains are untangled and the locks are discarded and set aside, and the lid groans angrily as its lifted and the treasures are discovered, exposed and shared – that they stay.

That they stay and help me heave the treasures back into the chest, wiping beads of sweat from their brows and smile while I return the chains and locks to their rightful places.

That they stay and drag me screaming back from oblivion to the fire to warm my cold, dead hands.

That they stay and crawl with me towards the tendrils of eternal sunshine.

I love you.

I am forever grateful that you will always help me to find the light.

Prying open my third eye.

At the age of 16, Tupac Amaru Shakur became the New Afrikan Panthers National Chairman – the youngest person ever to hold the distinction.
His mother Afeni was once apart of the infamous Panther 21, spending time in prison for her role in the plot to blow up the NYC Police Dept.
He spent most of his childhood on the run from the FBI as they tracked his Stepfather Mutulu Shakur who was on the Top 10 Most Wanted list for domestic terrorism.

His Godmother is Assata Shakur who is also wanted for domestic terrorism, now a political asylum seeker in Cuba, one of 90 US asylum seekers who the US Government offered in 1998 to lift the Cuban embargo in exchange for extradition.

The Bush administration in 2003 put a $1,000,000 reward on her head during the revival of domestic terrorist targeting, at the start of the so-called ‘War on Terror.’ This has since been increased to $2 Million.

His Godfather was Geronimo Pratt, a high-ranking member of the Black Panther Party who was targeted by COINTELPRO (an acronym for COunter INTELligence PROgram), a series of covert, and at times illegal projects conducted by the FBI aimed at surveying, infiltrating, discrediting, and disrupting domestic political organizations.

The police officers that Tupac shot, a crime he was acquitted of? Their gunfire was returned by Shakur after they shot at him unarmed. He was acquitted as it turned out both officers were intoxicated at the time of the incident and the gun used to shoot ‘Pac was actually taken from an evidence locker. He was shot twice during this incident.

A person who went by the name of Haitian Jack (an FBI Agent, as identified in those of Shakur’s FBI files available on public record – a fairly substantial portion of this file has been suppressed as a matter of national security) attempts to extort Tupac before being publicly humiliated by Shakur – introduced him to a woman who would go on to accuse him of rape and assault. This would be another crime he was acquitted of – after 11 months of being incarcerated, he is freed when the prosecution produces evidence that proves his innocence claiming it has been ‘misplaced’ during this period.

Tupac was not simply a gangsta rapper. He was a philosopher, a man born into a life from which he planned to pursue uprising, with an obvious, clear social consciousness and political agenda – with the respect of many black nationalist groups within the United States. The Shakur’s were practically black royalty.

Our Government agencies worldwide are fighting amongst themselves using all available mediums to keep you uninformed and spoon-fed, to place neurological biases in in your brain that mean you will stop questioning anything, stop being curious and distract from any ideas of uprising to anarchy.

Don’t believe everything that you read. Don’t be distracted by bullshit.

THINK. ASK. QUESTION. EVERYTHING.

Let the tofu onslaught begin!

After making the incredibly limiting decision to forgo my usual decaf latte during a late night visit to a cafe and drink a 20oz Caramel Macchiato from Starbucks instead, I lay listlessly awake at 1am and had a crazy idea.

It’s not a new idea, as a quick Google search will indeed tell you, but friends – it was new to me.

As a prolific and avid user of social media and with friends in various communities throughout the internet, I am constantly being bombarded by horrific images and statistics explaining the detrimental effects that the meat processing industry has on our eco-system, the disgusting practices of mass pork production, the horrors of caged hen farming – usually this information comes in the form of an article shared directly on my Facebook feed, coupled with a video or image of this poor practice – reddit is a huge source for statistical information and BuzzFeed is sure to give you a quickfire education.

I am acquainted with a large number of people who proclaim to be either vegan or octo-lacto vegetarians. Mostly, they’re passionate people who are concerned for the well being of animals. And, that is totally cool.

But sometimes, it gets a bit preachy. I suppose that is why I take a lackadaisical approach to explaining my decisions to consume meat, poultry and animal byproducts. There isn’t a reason as to why I eat meat; I choose to because I think it is delicious. I am a huge fan of beef. I’m the guy cooking an entire eye fillet on the barbecue in the Summertime.

I do try to alleviate my guilt as a meat eater though as an apologist for the mass production of meat for my consumption, by purchasing meat, eggs & poultry from ethical farmers, local businesses to help booster the economy…but, I digress.

This intrusive thought I had a 1am? Well, I thought it would be a great idea to accept the Animal Liberation’s challenge to commit to a vegan diet for a 30 day period.

I know, I know. The general consensus is that I’m crazy. Most people have not been able to understand my motivation or reasoning for deciding to take on this challenge. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure why I want to do it, other than to be able to view the world for a short period of time through the eyes of my animal activist friends.

A concern that was highlighted to me over the past week also after socialising the idea with a few colleagues was that I would starve. I will make it implicitly clear that I am for all intents and purposes overweight currently, so there are some significant and positive health benefits that could also be realised through this experiment.

I think that there is this huge misconception about vegans, with people who are not acquainted with this ‘fringe’ of society (if you will), that they’re are this glum group of folks who subsist merely on flavourless tofu, almond milk and lentils. Funnily, during my search for meal plan inspiration I came across some amazing foodie blogs written by vegans, which shows that they are as passionate about dining as we carnivores are about a cut of beef actually being served rested, medium rare – if not more so.

I’m excited to be sharing my experiences through this process with you all. As a meat eater, obviously I am not trying to sway anyone in any direction – however as a curious person, I figured I would do some research on why choosing a vegan diet is a positive change. Check out the infographic below sourced from PETA.org – it makes for some pretty compelling reading!

Peace, Love & Chicken Grease,

Charli x