people call music satanic when it stops asking to be understood.

you hear a scream, a distortion, a low growl in the back of the throat—raw expression—and instead of asking why it exists, you brand it evil. as if sound owes you comfort. as if honesty needs to be pretty to be valid.

the only satan here is the one you brought with you. your fear. your judgment. your need to control what other people can handle expressing.

if someone spits what they feel with no edit, no polish, no filter—and you feel threatened—good. it means you’re still relying on the illusion that darkness means danger. that noise means chaos. that feeling too much means something must be wrong.

music isn’t evil. you are. for trying to sterilize it. for trying to gatekeep what freedom can sound like.