Sarah was my first name. I laid her to rest with love. She carried me across. She held the weight of fibromyalgia, body-dysmorphia, cluster headaches, hives, bulimia, IBS, PTSD, insomnia, nightmares, and more. She lived inside a body that never stopped screaming.
She was the “good girl” who openly wanted to die.
She dreaded mornings. She wanted to stay asleep.

So I killed her.
And in killing her, Joy rose.

That’s the funeral I wrote. That’s the self‑slain woman at the center of my work, the one who willingly let her old self die so something truer could live.

I live in Omaha, Nebraska. I’m a disabled veteran of the Air Force. I stay home with my husband and son. The safety lets me unpack myself.

🔥 Why I Create

I earned a quiet life. I could stay hidden. But others still live in silence, self-hate, grief, and rage with no where to go. So I share rage rituals. I dig with my rake into the dirt of my lineage, pulling up grief that was buried alive. I record mirror work. I do magick protection rituals. I bury my ghosts and make music of their eulogies. That’s the FVNERAL of my False Selves.

The crow is my witness. She circles the field. She never looks away. She carries my scream.

This music helps me every day. If it helps one person let go of the version of themselves that no longer serves them, the sharing was worth it.

💧 What the Little Girl Wanted

When I was small and people asked what I wanted to be, I never said it out loud. Inside my head I thought: “I just want to make a splash in the world.”

I had no idea the splash would be a kitchen, a mirror, a voice seed, a crow on a wire. Seven albums in a year. Strangers crying to a song I wrote. A toddler meowing like a kitty while I write lyrics.

That’s a splash. A ripple. A wave that started in the dark and kept going.
A splash is just a drop that keeps moving.
Little one inside, is happy.

🧰 The Tools

I write music for myself. First. Always. The songs are things I need to hear, things I’m working through, things my inner child needs to be told. I write for the woman I want to become.

I use Suno as my wand. If someone hadn’t told me about Suno, I would never have written music again. I live the stories. I shape every feeling. Then I let the tool give it a voice I could not produce alone. I seed the vocals from my voice, and can create the most ideal soundscape I want. Right at my finger tips. Instantly.

I wrote lyrics in high school. Then a hard drive crashed. I lost everything. I joined the military. Trauma took over. I never wrote another song.

Suno gave Sarah a voice.

I can merge any instruments I want. I keep a long list like: prepared piano, bowed psaltery, musical saw, udu, rusted metal, glass bottles, cowbell, etc. I mix sounds together until the world in my head becomes a world in my ears.

I was a hairstylist, a makeup artist, a photographer, a videographer; partly because I wanted to control the whole picture. Suno is the first collaborator that never pushes back. It just says yes. I don’t have to compromise my artistic vision, or wait on others, or take suggestions. I can just do it my way, right away. I’m a picky scorpio and hermit. This is honestly my dream way to make music. I like having control over the whole picture. And I can do this at home and still spend my days with my husband and son.

Over the last year I refined the voice in Suno until it sounded the most like me. I record a clip of my own voice as the seed. The tool learns my tone. Then I build from there.

I do dream of a vocal coach someday. I dream of singing these songs live. But for now, this is how the music gets out. My inner child is grateful.

The Guilt About Messages, Comments, Unfollows

I sometimes feel guilty about the comments and messages I cannot reply to. People write to me with kind words and questions. Some have waited months. I have not replied partly for my mental health, partly because I am spending time with my family in between all my rituals and songwriting. I appreciate every single person who has left me kind words, even if I have not been able to reply yet.

I used to reply to every comment and every message. But it became too much screen time. I was on my phone and computer way too much. My family time was suffering. My presence with my son was suffering. I had to pull back.

There is also the anxiety. When I started sharing, I did not expect anyone to actually listen. I was making music for Sarah. I was leaving breadcrumbs. That was all. But then people started listening. A lot of people. It is beautiful and it is overwhelming. The more messages and comments I got, the more I pulled back. I did not mean to. I am in a weird season.

The isolation is real. The deeper I go into this work, the more I let go of people pleasing. The more I change. The more I heal. The more I shed old versions of myself. It has been isolating. I do not have many friends anymore. My relationships dwindled as I stopped performing and started being real. That was necessary. But it also means I am often alone with all of this. And then suddenly, thousands of people are listening. Thousands of people are looking.

The AI criticism is part of it too. Some people unfollow when they learn. Some leave comments: "AI trash."
Others say "Why not learn to sing?" "Why not collaborate?"

Sarah has a voice now. She never could before. That is worth every dropped follower. Every unfollow. Every criticism. Every comment that stings. Maybe I do get vocal training one day. Maybe I do collaborate. Maybe I do learn to sing. And maybe I do not. Either way, I am proud of what I have made.

If you are someone I have not replied to, please know I see you. I feel your kindness. I carry your words with me. I just cannot always respond. It is for my mental health right now.

Thank you for being here.
Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your patience.
I am just a crow on a wire, learning to fly.

May you know that your words land even when I do not reply.
May you feel my gratitude even when I am silent.
May you know that you are not alone in your isolation.
May you trust that the ones who stay are the ones who matter.
May you be gentle with yourself in seasons of pullback.

🗣️ Crow & Ghost: My Internal Theology

In my songs, Crow is my ideal self; the witness, the source voice, the one who never flinches. She carries Louise Hay’s soft steel, Crowley’s will without cruelty, Abraham’s alignment without hustle. She speaks the truth I am still learning to believe.

Ghost is my false self; the survival pattern, the voice that learned to deflect, escape, smother, control. She kept me alive. Now she received a funeral.

This framework came from years of on and off study:
Louise Hay (self-love as medicine),
Aleister Crowley (true will as direction),
Abraham-Hicks (alignment as allowing).

And more recently: John Bradshaw (the false self),
Pia Mellody (boundaries),
Gabor Maté (the body as witness),
and most recently Lavinia Brown (inner child reparenting).

The Accidental Arc (How the Albums Chose Themselves)

I planned none of this. I just kept walking.

GORGEOUS: the scream, the excavation, the first time I named what happened. I needed to be angry. This whole album comes with a trigger warning. It dissects my experience on sexual assault, religious marital abuse, PTSD, suicide ideations, escort work, how I hurt others, and more. It is not light listening.

INTERLVDE & BYRDS: the pause, the breath, my nervous system learning to move again. They arrived while I finished FVNERAL. I cannot just bury. I have to breathe and play too.

"I'm learning to lighten up along the way."

FVNERAL of False Selves: 22 ghost eulogies, 4 gates, 1 seal. I used the Major Arcana of the Thoth Tarot to walk me through the burial. Released on April 8, the day Crowley received The Book of the Law. It felt like a wink for me.

Crow Family: inspired by Lavinia Brown and adopting "external safe others." The mother who holds, the father who ignites, the child who plays. After the funeral, I called in the family I need now. There are also brother, sister, and lover in this crow family album.

Adore the Sun: from Liber Resh vel Helios. The four Resh adorations (dawn, noon, sunset, midnight) and the Song of Adoration from the Stele of Revealing. Released on Mother's Day. The day I honor the mother I am becoming. Each song begins with the original text and then my interpretation of it.

OLD BONES: the excavation. The songs about my parents. The pinches. The lectures. The hand in the car. The pretty gets raped. The cowgirl up. The forgiveness that does not erase the ache. That album was me digging up what I buried so I could finally let it go.

MIRROR, MIRROR OFF THE WALL: the daily return. 17 songs about climbing the emotional ladder from depression to gratitude. The album that says: "I see you through it all. I love you anyway. That's all." This is my most streamed album. The title track alone is creeping up to 90,000 streams on Spotify. People find this song first, then stay for the rest of the catalog. It still surprises me.

None of it was planned. The songs just came. They arrived when I was ready to receive them. I followed the whispers.

Where I Am Right Now

That was a lot of albums in a short time. My body needed a rest. My mind needed a rest. So I am in a still season now.

I am working on the website. The store. The seeds. I am planting words and hoping they land somewhere kind. I am spending more time with my family. More time with myself. More time in the quiet.

I came into music angry. Now I soften. I practice. I return. I am learning to be a hermit who shares. To be present without performing.

I found Lavinia Brown in the middle of a meltdown with my son. I cracked open and realized my inner child was jealous of how freely he feels. I am learning that when I get triggered by his behavior, it is because I was never allowed to act that way. The little girl inside me still waits for permission to be loud, to be messy, to be seen.

So my direction is reparenting. Learning to be the parent I want to be for my son, and for the version of me who moved eighteen times before she turned fourteen. For Sarah.

Deflector is learning to yield her own wand. I walk with my own will now. We will see where that takes me.

I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep chipping at magick, at mirror work, at the next song. Mostly I’ll keep learning to soften. To stay. To let the crow voice speak louder than the ghost.

Who knows what will come next. I’ll stay open.

🪶 Why Loui Crow

Loui is not my legal name. It’s my artist name, the self I stitched together to finish the songs Sarah could not. A name with a beak, with wings, and enough room for my rage and my love.

Loui Crow is the witness‑self who guides me (Joy) through the wire, naming ghosts, breaking hinges, and returning me to my own light.

The name holds two teachers:

Louise Hay taught me that speaking love to myself was medicine, not vanity. She gave me a dictionary for pains I thought were random or un-curable. She showed me my body was not my enemy; it was a map to my mind. She is where I learned rage and self love are both okay and beautiful.

Aleister Crowley taught me that naming the wild self stops it from haunting the door. Magick, in his world, was choice in motion. The beast is my drive, my want, my pulse, tamed by nothing but truth.

“Are you riding the beast? Or is the beast riding you?”

One gave me permission to love myself. The other gave me permission to wield myself.

💌 The “Life‑Changing” Thing

People write to me. They say my music changed their life. They say I saved them.

I receive these messages with an open heart and a strange knot in my stomach.

Here is the truth: I write the songs I need to hear. I record the rituals I need to practice. I share the mirror work that helps me stay in the room with myself.

My music is changing my life. Every day. That part is real.

But I worry sometimes that people think I am more than I am. I am not a guru. I am not a teacher. I am a woman in a kitchen with two mirrors, a toddler, a cheerio probably stuck on my foot, and a fire hydrant of songs.

If my words land in someone else’s ears and help them breathe, that is a gift. I receive it with both hands. But I did not manufacture their healing. I just shared my own. They are doing their own work too. They are showing up too.

So here is the only promise I can make: I will keep writing what I need. I will keep sharing what I learn.

Why I Share The Breadcrumbs

I share because Louise Hay shared first. Because Abraham and Bashar spoke into the void before anyone knew their names. If they had kept their learnings to themselves, I would not be here.

My husband Justin showed me the Book of the Law. He taught me the LBRP, plant‑based eating, the Thoth Tarot. He held me through years of unraveling my trauma. He is a unicorn. The most patient man I have ever known.

He practiced magick for ten years in complete silence. No partners knew. No friends. No one. I was the first person he ever shared with. That trust changed my life.

We spiraled out from there.

He also came up with FVNERAL. Last year we held literal funerals for ourselves. We were both deep in identity crises. He came up with the concept, and called himself STARLON. He buried Starlon too.

I keep a soft spot for Starlon. This crow will carry out the funeral, just in case anyone else has false selves they want to shed.

We molt and grow every day. We are allowed to change. The hard part can be over. The good can come now.

STARLON thrives.
Crow thrives.
We can all thrive.

His breadcrumbs became my breadcrumbs. Now I leave mine for the other byrds.

So I understand when someone says my music changed their life.
Someone's breadcrumbs changed mine too.

Peer to peer.
Crow to crow.

Crow above me,
truth within me,
light where I walk

Make art in the mess.

🐦‍⬛ Crow Blessing

May you become the witness you always needed.
May you share before you are ready.
May your ghosts walk you to the gate but never back inside.
May you look at your reflection and never flinch.
May your shoulders remember they do not hold the sky.
May your jaw unlearn the habit of bracing for impact.
May you rest without earning it.

And may the next version of you arrive gently,
feather by feather,
breath by breath,
whole enough to stay,
wild enough to rise.