I Am Britney, Too

I grew up in a very nice house in Bel Air. I say Very Nice and not Mansion, because I used to drive the ex-CEO of MTV’s daughter to school and that $12M house was NOT like ours… probably 4x the size, but 1/10th as cozy. So I considered my house ‘better’.

I lived out my first 18 and previous two years in the 90077 area code, on a feeder street to Mulholland drive and near spitting distance to The Getty Centre. It was an ‘older’ style brick house, which means it was maybe built in the ‘50s? I went to Crossroads High School, and Jonah Hill (when he was a Feldstein, still) warmed my volleyball team’s bench. Charlie McDowell was almost my best friend until he three-way called me with my other buddy and… we’ve all seen Mean Girls. That shit was invented at Crossroads. Max Winkler got in trouble his first year from coming back to school after lunch wasted and puking in the art room sink. Hiro Murai was my best buddy until I destroyed him in X-Men vs. Streetfighter on Playstation and he unplugged the system part-way through a 5th trouncing. I had really low self-worth and this was maybe the one thing a dumb white kid from the Hills had on a badass Japanese dude whose dad wrote the score for the Nagano Olympics. I tried to support him through the divorce in college, but he wasn’t so open about being open. The telling early signs of the Golden Muzzle and Golden Handcuffs.

One of my best friends then, David Crist, died in a motorcycle crash about 6 years back and it wrecked my idea of life. Suddenly I was meeting Shaman and listening to Alan Watts.I have a hunch the work I’ve been able to sort of manifest since, with relative ease compared to a lot of Slower people, is thanks to David.

When I started to really buckle down with my Spiritual quest: to become a Life Coach, Shaman and Holistic Counselor, I was thrust into some very profound ‘depth work,’ unaided by any sort of plant medicine, and fully to do with opening one’s perception to ‘what is,’ based heavily on Carl Rogers’ varied and profound research regarding “presence”. It was, unsurprisingly, a new concept to me. Having sustained an art practice, I’d like to thank an indefatigable imagination for the ease and unparalleled capacity I seemed to have for ‘seeing’ and ‘knowing’ the energies, conflicts and sensations that would arise spontaneously on my body. The first and most remarkable of these was a very solid, very intense and almost terrifying ‘collar’ around my neck, which connected to a sort of energetic ‘neck brace’.

Now before you go judging or calling bullshit on ‘stuff appearing on your body’ in an unseen realm, read some A.H. Almaas and tell me you aren’t part of his equation somewhere. The guy is beyond brilliant and has mapped these psychic ‘phenomenon’ in detail, the same way Jung started talking about “The Human Shadow” and then a bunch of Woke people in the 80s began to understand, notice and see it not only in themselves but with others. I doubt you’d find anyone who would argue that there is a conceptual ‘shadow’ the same way we have a literal shadow (sometimes). For all intents and purposes, depending on your ‘station’ in life, I am proposing here that we wind up with a lot of other kinds of unique pieces of ‘equipment’.

For this piece of writing specifically I want to focus on some miraculous knowings that have come as a result of the courage, audacity and now growing concern around the ‘secret reality’ that Britney Spears has been facing under Conservatorship. For those of you that have not seen The NY Times documentary, “Controlling Britney Spears,” the writing is on the wall: She was ‘bugged’ and tracked by her Security Team against her will and without her knowing. This is the End of Control as we have known it in our era, I would like to hope and propose. And here’s the kicker: we know why ‘they’ do it, and it’s all about Gold.

Some myths, legends and stories die HARD. And no one in our Western Society now is treated, considered and expected to be like Royalty, than the Rich and Famous. But see, this is what was special about Britney! She didn’t actually ‘see it’ that way. She saw work, art, dancing, music, joy and celebration as the ‘point’ of what she was doing. If we are going to trust the obvious facts that have come out — that her VOICE is trustworthy — then we must take all of that at face vaule. Her actions reinforce this. As, for 13 years none of her money was ‘hers’, and it didn’t stop her making some of the most incredible and intense music of the era. “Piece of Me” was the breakthrough, as she quite literally (through metaphor) starting giving away to the public what she knew was being blasted and taken advantage of by her father, and a Fame System I will refer to here on out as “The Machine”: herself.

When everyone starts painting expectations and requirements upon us, it is very hard not to get swallowed up by it. We don’t need to look far for any MORE examples of wealthy people loosing their minds (Kanye), looking totally wrecked (Charlize Theron) and dead behind the eyes (Jonah Hill’s Instagram) when the cameras aren’t hungry and begging for a ‘performance’. (In some rare instances, like Jim Carrey when interviewed during Jim & Andy) there’s actually a multitude at once: the actor, the role, and the inner decay. Lies and false guidance through the teeth. He gives us resentment, for having ‘done to him’ with that role what he actually wanted all along: a total obliteration and loss of “Self”. Jim’s Enlightenment is a bitter pill, not to be taken without a big glass of “The Tears of A Jester”. (I’m a witch and know this shit, so don’t even bother fighting this point).

I saw my own ‘Golden Collar’ and noticed it was a sort of protection when it manifested initially, but then, when I finally was welcomed by Patchamama to have my first experience with Ayahuasca, it came into even more blazing clarity: My parents were holding a leash…connected to it. I wept in shock and rage, understanding that somewhere I had been ‘trained’ like a dog, to be the sort of ‘version of’ a person I had become. What was this all about? I wondered. I told my Shaman Mentor Wendy Mandy about it, and she confirmed, “Oh yea, I saw that from day one. I’ve been dodging that lead all over the place.” But really, she was just holding it closer to her own home… as the first True gift I received from her included the following words, “You are doing such a massive job Protecting [our home] I can see you need some protection as well.” A dog house, or thicker lead, for the dog, I wonder now in hindsight?

How the fuck does this relate to Britney? Maybe you can tell already. IF we, as the Sons And Daughters of Wealth do not recognize or acknowledge the Supremacy of Father (the State, our own parent, or God of the Church), on goes the brace. As both Britney and I began to ‘liberate’ our own psyches from the madness of the Common World, so to did this get clapped on. We get a sort of ‘short leash’ or ‘longer leash’ when we are small people, and I believe this is were most All Western-raised children of my era share a commonality. If you’re a ‘good boy’ or ‘good girl’ you get more lead… if you’re bad *Yank* back in the Gilded Cage of your bedroom, where you are GROUNDED. “Bad doggy! No treats.”

Yes, we are trained like animals. This, then is what passes for, or becomes the Justice System’s (in concert with the Mental Health System’s) JUDGEMENT: Are you able to look after yourself? Care for your xyz needs? Does puppy know how to pee outside and pretend the abuse it is dealing with is not CRIPPLING, or will it keep being a ‘nuisance’ (problem, tearing around the house, shredding upholstery, in need of re-training)?

This is the process whereby I came to learn and understand how indeed society has stressed us all within an inch of our lives. I wound up in a Golden Rehab Clinic (PCH Pasadena) last summer after a short-lived run naked through the Wild Hills of Topanga Canyon, in California. I was keeping up with my own needs of personal and emotional liberation, and cast off not only my social mores, but all of my clothing and favorite slippers (I got them back later) in the process. I dreamed myself opening portals and daring the neighbors to pass through them with me. And then found a bottle of water on the ground and drank it… it was hot…I pretended it was bleach and I’d been poisoned by a nearby old lady. I told a paramedics that showed up that a woman threw a rock at me and hurt my neck. Then I ran. I ran like my life depended on it. A sweet old man saw me and said, with arms out “Don’t worry! I won’t let them do anything to hurt you.” Part of me wishes I had stopped there and then and let him be nice to me. But I was Wild with Rage and Mysticism…so under a gate and into the hills I ran. Over stones and branches and bugs and dead drying leaves of early Summer.

After turning into a fairy, and then a tree, and then shouting something about how “this is what you do when FUCKING JESUS shows up in your back yard?” I was being chased and run down by my brother-in-law, and then a helicopter, and then a firetruck, and then four cops. My main goal after allegedly throwing rocks “at” them (I was, in reality, passing them magic artifacts of a dying world at high-speed. They were far away so I had to throw hard.)… was to slide down the mountain with them attached as far as I could. And I did. Then they hog-tied me and shoved a ton of shit in my nose that felt and tasted like semen. It wasn’t ‘rape’ but Lordy does our Law and Order system LOVE to emulate sexual abuse when it is in a process of supposed ‘deep protection’! For the record, it took me about 18 months to manage out of the PTSD of that one happening. I have a very good friend whom, with patience, love and consideration didn’t even know he was helping me untangle from those knots. The Golden Handcuffs started to appear here…but I’d slipped out of those enough times not to fret as they got stronger and heavier in the months later.

Inside the Golden Rehab Clinic, I met a woman I’ll call Shelly, who is in her late 50s and got picked up for smoking weed, playing loud music and dancing with some crack-heads or stoners outside of a Home Depot. Turns out Shelly’s dad was worth tens of millions, and by the time I left a few weeks later for a satellite, she was in Conservatorship. It was my first direct experience with the term, and I had to be educated. It was harrowing, and I saw the writing on the wall for myself then: Be a Good Boy and Play Nice again, or else what is presently an emotional/psychological pickle of gastronomical proportions could very quickly become a Legal One.

Would my parents put me under Conservatorship? At the time I had very little proof to the contrary, as the terms of Golden Rehab were simple but utterly trapping: take a step out of the clinic, and you are discharged without being allowed to return. I knew dad was stumping up $30k+/month for this place. So my options are: “Be the guy who shits on $30k of Star Quality High Class Rehab and runs for…what?” Or let yourself be Grounded for Several Months. (By that point, my parents had not yet gone to empty my apartment, negotiate for some sort of lease break which was told two different ways to me by the landlord and my father, and taken the car). It was an outrageous ploy, this place. They sign you up for 30 days. Then on day 25 tell you that they are Highly Encouraging a second month, “hardly anyone is given support to discharge after 30 days,” I recall my PM explaining, “it’s usually 2–4 months before people have Fully Recovered.” I did my best to trust and respect this woman Kim, but in my expressed mistrust of her grew as I suspected she was working between two ‘hands’: her boss’s and my father’s… I was somewhere else, to the side. A bargaining chip maybe, for Proving The Requirement of Payment and/or Services Rendered.

I was screaming at my father on the phone and stomping around the ground the night I left. Our conversation, as I recall it:

“I’m leaving! This place is a SCAM and I’m not going to let my entire life be swallowed by this experience”.

“You can’t leave” he said.

“Yes. I can. I am.” I responded.

“What will you do? You can’t be homeless, and you can’t go back to your apartment,” he confirmed.

“Yes. I can. I am still on the lease right now. I can go back, get my car and fill with what I need for a life on the road.” I explained.

“You can’t have the car. I won’t let you. And you’re not welcome back on the property.” He threatened.

“I spoke to [The Landlord] on text yesterday. I can go back, I’m still on the lease for the month.” I paused, and understood he, my Father, could probably stop this all with a phone call. Or else who knew what was really the case? I’d been lied to by so many people my entire life, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. “You know what, I don’t care. I’m walking.”

“Where are you walking? You can’t be homeless.” He said.

“YES I CAN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Ok, so I can’t be homeless, I can’t get my car, I can’t walk, I can’t I can’t I can’t. What are you seeing?” Maybe he saw a paraplegic drooling with a Dunce Hat on. But only one of us has spent the last year healing, analyzing, sharing and using this experience as a learning tool for the Planet. So…what does that tell you, dear readers? Oh yeah, he runs a multi-million dollar company, and I’ve got a car with some magic and art in it… I almost forgot who’s got what to gain from what kind of results to this.

“You have to stay or else I’m not supporting you anymore.” He finally threw the gauntlet down. Daddy’s Conditional Support it finally came to light, is based on… Compliance!

“Fine. Don’t. I’m done.” I left with a sneer at the woman who said I ‘had to’ speak to the man on the phone before I left. Which was not in the paperwork. So, this place has something to lose when I go walking. And THEY are the ones that required, in the first instance, that he and I speak at all before I removed myself. “We are telling daddy on you if you exercise your rights and free will to leave!” That is NOT in the paperwork… and it broke their own rules and stipulations. I was, it was made very clear to me, NOT in charge of this experience. The Man Paying the Bill, was.

I left with a couple massive fucking bags packed with my shit and walked about 15 blocks. Ate a pizza with my dad’s credit card to see if it was still working (it was). But that was the last thing it worked for. Then I called my friend, we’ll call her Josie, and wailed to her, staring at the moon, tears streaming down my face in a primal outcry, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS WORLD?!”

I’m no Britney Spears. I wound up finding some ways to make just enough inroads with my family to be seen as ‘non-threatening’ and to challenge their perceptions of me. Last summer I asked my father, sincerely, to write me out of the Will. He rejected the idea, but the request still stands. The point I wanted to make clear with that request was: I AM NOT IN THIS FOR “YOUR” MONEY, old man! I am in this because I fucking love you somewhere and don’t want this world’s poison making something like “Conservation” of another human being a “normal” move. It is NOT linear. It supplants linear thinking which would be the simple, “I care about this person and want to know what is wrong” with a line from a textbook that says, “Oh see here dear sir, him/her/them/they are ‘SO Far Gone’ not even professionals can say they are OK.” The DSM has helped any kind of Requirement to Undercut the Trustworthiness of an indvidual come and slap you in the face. It has helped the Law, and Rehab Clinics espcially, set up a straw man of your ‘worst Nightmares’ and let the Outside project whatever we want on to it. I dare risk to say it even seems to encourage mistrust and antagonism. Turns out our collective idea of Sick, Deranged etc. is a fairly low bar, all things considered. I bet a Carlin, and certainly a Warhol or Basquiat would NEVER make it past ‘suicidal tendencies’ in a Ward these days.

(Aside) let’s not forget how the 12 steps are still based on Religious stricture. The Bible’s Hellscape, to me, is comprised of individuals inside whom a part of themselves has been so awfully ‘demonized’ so as to become a walking fever dream just waiting for some Depressed or Socially Disfunctional son or daughter to show up in drag one day…. and then… we have The Devil Incarnate, ladies and gentlemen: The parents who let a system imprison, label, inject, drug, discredit, and vilify their children.

And still, I am Britney, too. See, because I still am living in fear and doubt as to whether, given certain moves or actions or behaviors or thoughts on my part, I won’t wind up in Conservatorship. If my parents wanted to make a case, I’m about 3 days of outrageous text messages, emails and Instagram Posts away from giving them, the courts and whatever Mental Health Twats exactly the proof they would require to call me out as any number of labels that resemble, rhyme with or translate as “unstable and unable to look after himself.” It’s not a question of whether I ‘can,’ it is a question, ultimately, of whether THEY like the way it LOOKS when I do. As I do. It’s a way they are obstructing, obfuscating and trying to kill out of us, one terror, cuff or gilded Cinder Block at a time.

The one I’ve been fighting my own inner battles with recently is the Golden Muzzle. There’s shit you just can’t “Say” because it will Get You In Trouble. Who, on this planet, are we even trying to protect anymore!? Ourselves? The source of our Money? It’s not the source of our Wealth. Nature is the source of our Wealth: food, oil, trees, rocks and water…. without this stuff we are all DEAD. Like, true death. So the Saying of this, I see helps support a New Reversal I see as the solution to all of this mess.

The true curse and pain here, as with Britney, is the fractious relationships between Fathers of the Patriarchy and Children of Freedom/Androgeny. I’m gay, I’m bi, I’m a tranny and I fight for this right to be shown ‘as’ every single goddamn moment of every day. The thing that I believe sets me apart from many/most of my compatriots, brothers, sisters, cousins, mothers, fathers, uncles and aunts is that I am trying to weave a thread of healing in and amongst ALL of my members of Family: kin, tribe. If there is an artistry I demand of myself to master, it is this one: We Are All In This Together. NO EXCEPTIONS.

Looking at what’s gone on with Britney, I was livid looking into the eyes of Jamie, her father, and the litigators very clearly learning how to undermine her own trustworthiness and authority over the Public. Fucking Jay Leno calling her ‘Crazy’ almost made me want to see his head on a chopping block. NO, I did want that, no ‘almost’ about it. Here’s the odd part: inside the eyes of those men, and in the tin and structure of their words, I see and hear a Dying Machine that is feasting off of the rewards and results of the Young to stay alive. It seems threatened, terrified, pulling very very desperate moves that break hearts (their own) and are so blatantly vile and sinister, no amount of Lawyerness, Legality, Politicking and Smear is going to make them LIKEABLE. Nonetheless, the second you’re in the hot seat, there is nothing you want on Your Side more. Cutthroat, when it is working on YOUR interests, is remarkable. It moves, it slices and dices and gets the GOLD!

What makes me so excited is how my brothers and sisters are Learning how IT works, and starting to use its tools to help it die: In support of Underdogs and The Voiceless. It is wonderful. But and, what my training as a Shaman has taught me is that the best, Ultimate healing of wounds comes when the two opposing forces, finally come together and join hands. And I would go so far to propose, as I do in my heart, Britney’s Final Battle will be to forgive, support and re-program her father for the new world we are all building together. For all of it’s vile, sputtering rape, alcoholism, and whoring, Our Father’s World was the one that shocked us enough out of our Collective Slumber, and helps us feed this New Now with the right stuff: love, heart, warm hugs, considerate listening and empathy: all the missing ingredients that Dad probably never got enough of… or else was shown how to weaponize by an Inherited Conartistry, to say nothing of Slavery, Colonialism and social Outcasting. (“Better them than us!” I imagine he still thinks, whenever an article on the growing Homeless Army in Los Angeles drops).

I don’t know if my father will even read this. And maybe I’ve just signed my Next Social Death warrant. Fuck it. We gotta start taking risks or else we’ll never know what is or actually IS NOT possible. I don’t trust them to tell us anymore. So far, not much of it has panned out as Real, unless someone around me starts in on me reinforcing their misconceptions. Maybe it was true once and isn’t anymore, so I don’t want to use the word “lie”. But I do know my mother let many of those pass through her teeth to my childhood ears… and so it is Very HARD to tell what is real, true or not.

Regardless of this I want to drive home an idea I had today, which I thought was *Brilliant*: What if, instead of putting any sort of pressure on Britney, or ourselves, to out the whole nasty side of the Illegal Surveillance, and start talking about Spy Moms (the next article I’m writing), we instead see about getting all of those horrid cutthroat lawyers and fathers to actually put all that weight and steam behind something we are all coming to love and care about more and more: The Planet? Imagine Britney’s dad and law team sequestering the CEO of McDonalds or Disney to see how Outrageous THEIR behavior has been? If anyone needs containments akin to the powers of Conservatorship, it’s Bezos and Musk, no? Those two together are running a goddamn muck and I’m not convinced either of them are in good mental health to look after their own interests, let alone the requirements of their local ecosystems and the health of Earth. Can we start this motion please?

Conservation, after all, is what we do to our ‘favorite’ natural resources, isn’t it? Well, where’s the WWF for Billionaires and Trillionaires?

#ConserveGates #ConserveMusk #ConserveBezos #ConserveMcDonalds #ConserveStarbucks #ConserveDisney #ConserveYourDad

Love,

Felix Cooper, 2021

Artist & Healer: Dartmouth BA, Slade MFA, Four Winds Energy Medicine