YOUR ADVAITA SUMMER JAM!
Yes, it is true that this is the plaintive scorched-earth howl of a woman hanging, by her cracked and pitted and doubtless painted-black fingernails, on the edge of a vast precipice, but at the same time it is also the ultimate wail of the bhaktin yogini — "Oh my god!" — offering up to and outright demanding that God take both her passion and her rage. At some point in the process, the offering and its intended result become one and the same, the means become the end, and Ida Maria surrenders, and not without a fight, the idea, the underpinning illusion, that she is the captain, piloting from the bridge, the cruise-liner that is her life. "Oh you think I'm in control/ Oh my god/ Oh you think it's all for fun." She is not asking questions here. This is not a comfortable process, nor is it a pretty one.