When I was 17, I went to a concert.
Not just any concert.
It was a metal concert! I loved metal a lot. There was a band that I didn’t particularly listen to but I liked anyways. Anyways, I knew they were big, so I wanted to see them live at the Forge in Joliet.
Except, the name was DYING FETUS. Can be triggering to some people.
I was 17! And the worst part??
I wore a corset.
THATS SO OFFENSIVE. Why would I even do that to myself? Wearing a corset to a concert and the name being about pregnancy issues. A CORSET. Something around my waist that suppresses the stomach.
I am pro birth control, but birth control by corsets is something I should’ve thought about before wearing one to a concert.
I mean, why would I even go to a concert by Dying Fetus? The idea can be worrying for women who are pregnant. I really hope it’s not the case for women who want to have children. Healthy childbirth is important. I know it’s just a name and not that serious, but as a woman having a healthy opinion about childbirth is important. There are multiple sides to a story depending on which side of politics you’re on. I don’t believe in being public about my opinion about politics.
I just believe corsets have a long-standing tradition of women’s suffrage and wearing that to a Dying Fetus concert was a big movement. Other than being superstitious about it, it’s still a movement.
I hope that everyone can enjoy a concert by someone that they know without the uncomfortable feeling of a corset. I looked very good, but it was very uncomfortable.
I personally don’t go to them anymore. That many people around me does feel strange. I’m a loner.
That’s all.
Published by kacynskitessa
Mabon and 104 I am the Mabon girl.
I was born on September 22, at the turning of summer into autumn. And every year on my birthday, my mother raced. Her racecar was pink. Her number was 104. She raced not only for the thrill of the track, but for breast cancer awareness—turning a racecar into a moving symbol of remembrance, strength, and hope. So while I was celebrating another year of my life, my mother was carrying a message around the racetrack. Pink against mud. 104 the car was painted. An engine roaring beneath the September sky. To me, those races, wearing hot pink; became part of what my birthday meant. Other people might remember birthdays through candles or balloons. I remember mine through the sound of racing. Through my mother. Through that pink car. Through 104. And through the strange beauty of being born at the beginning of autumn—the season of harvest, balance, transformation, and letting go. Mabon reminds us that life is made of cycles. The track taught me something similar. You don't stay in one place. You move through turns. You cross lines. You begin again. My mother raced for awareness, carrying something bigger than herself around the track. And I grew up carrying her story with me. Maybe that's why the image feels so powerful: A mother racing beneath her daughter's September birthday sky. A pink car representing awareness. The number 104 marking its place on the track. And a daughter watching, growing, changing, becoming. Every year, the girl became older. Every year, autumn returned. Every year, the wheels turned. And the story continued. I am the Mabon girl. My birthday is September 22. My mother raced. Her car was pink. Her number was 104. And somewhere between the harvest and the racetrack, I learned that life isn't about staying still. It's about knowing when to hold on— and knowing when to turn the wheel.
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