š„ No Kings. No Masters. Just Big Money Energy. š„
On rage, reckoning, and reclaiming the American dreamāone sovereign dollar at a time.
Some Americans are wrapping themselves in red, white, and blue and accessorizing with a little red hat.
Iām wrapping myself in rage.
Not performative rage.
Not fleeting outrage.
Not another swipe-through story.
Iām talking about rage with a backbone.
Rage that is holy.
Rage that refuses to look away.
Rage as a sacred response to injustice.
Because today is also the 250th birthday of the U.S. Army.
The birthday of a felon currently occupying the highest office in the land.
And what will forever be known as #NoKingsDayāa line in the sand, a declaration of independent thought, and a full-bodied refusal to kneel before empire.
I grew up in Alaska.
Far from the capital.
Far from the myth of āmainstream America.ā
There were no fireworks on the Fourthāyou canāt light the sky when the sun never sets.
The 4th was family.
Food.
Quiet joy.
Not performative patriotism.
But still, I remember that small thrill.
That flicker of pride.
That belief that maybeājust maybeāthis country was built on something noble.
Life. Liberty. The pursuit of happiness.
Separation of Church and State.
A government by the people, for the people.
I believed that once.
I donāt anymore.
The most recent election forced me to confront the brutal truth:
We had the chance to elect a qualifiedāoverqualifiedāBlack woman to lead us.
A constitutional scholar. A seasoned public servant.
Someone whose very presence would have signaled a new era has begun.
And instead? We handed the mic, the office, and the nuclear codes to a man whose claim to fame was scripted drama and several sexual assault allegations.
A walking warning label.
A reality star turned national nightmare and global jokeāagain.
Not only did he incite an insurrection in 2020āheās since pardoned the very traitors who stormed our Capitol.
And this week? Heās stomped all over statesā rightsāseizing control of the California National Guard to suppress protests.
The gaslighting is generational.
The cruelty is being coded into our systems.
And every day, we are being asked to normalize the unacceptable.
And I wonāt.
This isnāt democracy.
Itās dictatorship in a red tie.
And hereās the part that still gets me:
I knew one day I would write about the difference between Big Dick Energy and Big Money Energy.
I thought it would be cheeky.
Clever.
A little spicy and a lot of fun.
I didnāt know Iād be writing it in a Lilith-sized rage, on a day when fascism parades down Pennsylvania Avenue and women, children, queer folks, and communities of color are under direct attack.
I thought weād laugh.
Instead, Iām roaring.
Because Big Dick Energy is insecure power.
It stomps. It shouts. It suppresses.
It confuses domination with leadership.
It trades wisdom for bravado.
It commands because itās never been invited.
Itās the desperate flex of someone who was never told no.
A man so fragile, he has to criminalize dissent to feel strong.
Meanwhileā
Big Money Energy is power with depth.
Itās strategic. Intentional. Generative.
Itās quiet power.
Itās sacred power.
Itās sovereign as fuck.
It doesnāt just make moneyāit makes impact.
It doesnāt posture or paradeāit provides, it protects.
It builds businesses that fund liberation, not oppression.
It invests in diversity, equity, and inclusion.
It funds movements, nourishes communities, and throws dinner parties where we plot liberation over wine and spreadsheets.
It is money made with purpose.
Held with reverence.
Moved with soul.
Big Money Energy is not afraid to be generous.
To be strategic.
To be seen.
Itās the kind of power we need now more than ever.
Itās not just a vibe. Itās a weapon of mass reconstruction.
Let me be clear:
Iām not interested in being āAmericanā if it means abandoning compassion to protect or comfort.
I donāt care how many flags you waveā
if you support policies that harm the most vulnerable,
if your faith demands my silence,
if your patriotism ends at your front porch,
then we donāt stand for the same thing.
I want a country worthy of its people.
And until then?
I will build my own.
Client by client.
Dollar by dollar.
Policy by policy.
Prayer by prayer.
You want to make a difference?
Make moneyāand make it count.
š£ Fund abortion access.
š£ Hire brilliant, diverse voices and pay them well.
š£ Build equity into your pricing and your payroll.
š£ Create trauma-informed companies that honor humanity.
š£ Divest from oppression.
š£ Invest in joy.
š£ Turn your profit into protest and your business into a blueprint.
This is what sovereign profit looks like.
And lookāI know.
Itās tempting to check out.
To scroll past.
To tell yourself youāll care later.
But what if your business is your resistance?
What if your receipts are divine documentation of rebellion?
What if your ability to receive is the very thing that breaks the cycle?
Because capitalism isnāt going away.
But what we fund within it?
Thatās ours to choose.
I will keep showing up.
With my smartass mouth.
With my spreadsheets of sedition.
With my team of sacred rebels.
With my nervous-system-regulated rage.
With my joy.
With my grief.
With my Big Money Energy.
Because America wasnāt supposed to be a kingdom.
And I refuse to live like a subject.
Reflection + Rebellion:
š„ What does āfreedomā mean to youābeyond slogans and schoolhouse rock?
š„ Where are you still trading comfort for compliance?
š„ Where are you afraid to wield your voice, your money, your rage?
š„ What would shift if you trusted your power instead of shrinking from it?
š„ Who will benefit when you decide to rise?
PS:
There are no kings here in Shanehās World.
No crowns. No masters.
Just sovereign beings.
Building empires of empathy.
Throwing parades for each other.
Funding revolutions in real time.
Profit is protest.
Big Money Energy is the uprising.
And #NoKingsDay is a holy beginning.