Before God, There Was The Pussy
AI Process/Open Source Software: HUMAN, Google Flow Music (Lyria 3.5), Claude.ai, ChatGPT, Perchance.org – DAW: Audacity 4 (alpha), OS: Linux (Ubuntu 26.04)
I know what you’re already thinking.
Because before you’ve heard a single note, before you’ve wrestled with a single lyric, you’ve already had to make a decision. The title asked something of you. Maybe it offended you. Maybe it made you laugh. Maybe it made you curious. Maybe you almost walked away.
Good.
Art that asks nothing receives nothing.
This album isn’t about sex. It isn’t pornography dressed up as philosophy. It isn’t an attack on faith, on men, or on anyone who finds the title uncomfortable. If that’s all you hear, you’ve mistaken the doorway for the house.
This is an album about origins.
Every one of us entered this world through the body of a woman. Every emperor. Every refugee. Every saint. Every atheist. Every billionaire. Every child who never made the history books. Before passports, before flags, before property lines, before kings crowned themselves, before priests claimed certainty, before anyone spoke the word “God,” there was a heartbeat beneath another heartbeat.
That isn’t ideology.
It’s biology.
Everything else came later.
The word in the title has spent generations being weaponized, commercialized, laughed at, feared, censored, and used to diminish the very source of every human life. I chose it precisely because of the discomfort it carries. Not for shock. For revelation. If one ordinary slang word can empty a room faster than violence, greed, or war, perhaps the problem isn’t the word.
Perhaps it’s what we’ve been taught to fear.
This album is my attempt to reclaim that fear and ask a simpler question.
What if the first sacred place wasn’t a temple?
What if it was a womb?
The songs unfold as a single conversation. They move from the first homeland before nations existed, through biology without hierarchy, through the mystery of gestation, into our cultural obsession with controlling women’s bodies, and eventually toward a vision of humanity that remembers dependence before dominance. Along the way, sons speak. Mothers lead. Kings fall, not because men are the enemy, but because domination itself has mistaken power for wisdom.
There is an important distinction here.
This is not a reversal of patriarchy. It is a rejection of hierarchy.
Those are not the same thing.
The Kingdom of Mothers imagined here is not one where women become better kings. It is one where the throne itself becomes unnecessary.
If there is theology in these songs, it is a speculative one. Not a denial of God, but an invitation to remember that every idea of God has always depended upon someone first giving birth to the person imagining Him. That doesn’t diminish the divine. It reminds us that the miraculous has always been closer than we were willing to admit.
The final piece of this journey ends with the voice of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, whose 1892 speech Solitude of Self still echoes with astonishing clarity. I wanted the album to conclude not with my words alone, but with one of the great voices in the long struggle for women’s full humanity. Her presence reminds us that this conversation did not begin with me, and it will not end with me.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you.
You didn’t have to agree with the title.
You didn’t have to agree with me.
You only had to stay long enough to listen.
Because before all the names we gave ourselves, before every nation, every religion, every empire, every argument over who belongs and who doesn’t…
…there was one place where every one of us belonged.
Maybe remembering that is where we begin again.
– JJ
Text to song prompt: Dark ambient / ritual / slow-building
Lyrics:
Before the border
Before the flag
Before the word for ownership
Before the hand could draw a line
and say this is mine
There was water.
Before the tower
Before the throne
Before the law was carved in stone
Before a man could name the world
There was a heartbeat
under another heartbeat.
The first cuntry had no borders.
The first home had no door.
The first nation was a body.
And we all belonged there before.
No king was waiting
No army stood
No god had written down a rule
No one had learned the art of taking
No one had called possession good.
We came through darkness
We came through blood
We came through something older than us
And every empire built its walls
around a memory it could not trust.
The first cuntry had no borders.
The first home had no door.
The first nation was a body.
And we all belonged there before.
Remember where you started.
Not beneath a crown.
Not beneath a flag.
Not beneath a father’s name.
You began inside someone.
And that
was enough.
Text to song prompt: Progressive electronic / biological pulse / increasingly complex
Lyrics:
Two cells meet
and the ancient machinery turns.
A language older than scripture
writes itself in silence.
Chromosome.
Signal.
Division.
Differentiation.
A possibility opens.
The body begins its becoming.
Not male.
Not female.
Not yet a story.
Just life
learning what it will become.
XX
XY
two paths from one beginning
two expressions of the living code
one species
one ancient rhythm
one extraordinary divergence.
And somewhere in that divergence
a body becomes capable of carrying another.
Not because it is weak.
Because it is astonishingly complex.
Not because it was designed to serve.
Because life discovered
how to make a sanctuary
inside itself.
XX
the ancient grammar
XX
the architecture of becoming
and every son who ever lived
came through the body
of someone else’s daughter.
Do not confuse difference
with hierarchy.
Do not confuse specialization
with supremacy.
But do not erase difference
just because power once exploited it.
There are bodies
that make room for life.
There are bodies
that enter that room.
And there is no shame
in knowing the difference.
Text to song prompt: Dream-pop / orchestral ambient / maternal without sentimentality
Lyrics:
There is a room
no architect designed.
No window.
No ceiling.
No key.
A room that grows
as someone grows inside it.
The walls are alive.
The floor is alive.
The house itself
is breathing.
Before we knew the word for mother
we knew warmth.
Before we knew the word for love
we knew shelter.
Before we knew the world
someone’s body
was our world.
No photograph remembers it.
No language reaches that far back.
But somewhere beneath memory
the body keeps the record.
The rhythm.
The fluid.
The dark.
The extraordinary patience
of being made.
And then:
Light.
Air.
Gravity.
Noise.
A hand.
A face.
A world.
We call it birth
as though something ended.
Perhaps something opened.
The womb does not imprison life.
It prepares life
to leave.
Perhaps that is what power
was always supposed to mean:
Not keeping something beneath you.
Making something strong enough
to stand without you.
Text to song prompt: Raw alternative rock / industrial bass / sensual but non-explicit
Lyrics
Say it.
Pussy.
The word they made dirty
for the body they couldn’t stop desiring.
Pussy.
A joke in the locker room.
A curse in the street.
A commodity in the marketplace.
A battlefield in the bedroom.
Wanted.
Feared.
Shamed.
Bought.
Controlled.
Call it what you want.
It was here before your language.
Before your church.
Before your army.
Before your government.
Before your little mythology
about who gets to rule whom.
There was flesh.
There was blood.
There was a body
capable of becoming a doorway
for another body.
And somehow
we made that obscene.
Praise the pussy.
Not as property.
Not as prize.
Not as permission.
Praise the pussy
because life passed through here.
Let the word remain ugly
until we understand
why we made it ugly.
Let it remain uncomfortable.
Let it stare us down.
Pussy.
Not weakness.
Not insult.
Not commodity.
The oldest threshold
is not ashamed of you.
Text to song prompt: Dark folk / trip-hop / female vocal with choral undertones
Lyrics:
They told her blood
to disappear.
They told her desire
to behave.
They told her body
it was sacred
when they wanted worship
and filthy
when they wanted control.
They covered her hair.
Covered her breasts.
Covered her legs.
Covered her mouth.
Then uncovered her
on a billboard.
They called her holy.
They called her whore.
Sometimes
in the same afternoon.
The body they feared
became the body they sold.
The body they worshipped
became the body they controlled.
But the body remembers.
It remembers bleeding
without permission.
It remembers carrying
without applause.
It remembers pain
that no government
could legislate away.
It remembers pleasure
that no priest
could confiscate.
And eventually
the body says:
Mine.
Not yours.
Not his.
Not theirs.
Mine.
The body they feared
has finally learned its name.
Text to song prompt: Minimal piano / sensual soul / gradually becoming defiant
Lyrics:
You may love her.
You may want her.
You may spend a lifetime
learning the geography
of her laughter.
But she does not belong to you.
You may sleep beside her
until morning forgets your names.
You may know every scar.
Every silence.
Every strange little constellation
on her skin.
But she does not belong to you.
Desire is not ownership.
Access is not entitlement.
Love is not possession.
You don’t own the doorway
because you were invited through it.
You don’t own the garden
because something beautiful
grew there.
You don’t own the ocean
because you learned to swim.
And you certainly don’t own
the body that gave you welcome.
She does not belong to you.
She belongs to herself.
And perhaps
that is the beginning
of love:
Not I have you.
But:
I see you.
Not you are mine.
But:
you are.
Text to song prompt: Piano / post-rock / male vocal answering the previous tracks
Lyrics
I came from her.
There.
That’s the sentence
I was never taught to make
large enough.
I came from her.
Before I became a man
I was a body
inside another body.
Before I learned competition
I learned dependence.
Before I learned conquest
I was carried.
Before I learned the word weak
I needed everything.
And she gave me time.
I am not diminished
because I came through a woman.
I am not less
because my beginning was surrender.
I am her son.
And if manhood means anything
let it mean this:
I will not confuse strength
with domination.
I will not call possession
love.
I will not mistake violence
for courage.
I will not build my throne
from the backs of people
who carried me.
I came from her.
And I am not ashamed.
Perhaps masculinity
doesn’t need to disappear.
Perhaps it needs
to remember its mother.
Text to song prompt: Afro-ambient / ceremonial percussion / expansive ensemble
Lyrics:
What if leadership
began with listening?
What if power
meant making room?
What if the strongest person
was the one who could say:
I was wrong.
What if borders
were measured in responsibility
rather than territory?
What if children
were not future workers
but present human beings?
What if the old
were not discarded
when their productivity ended?
What if the earth
were not a warehouse?
What if water
were not a commodity?
What if feeding someone
was considered political?
What if healing someone
was considered heroic?
Build me no empire.
Build me a future.
No throne.
No golden monument
to one man’s name.
No history
written only by conquerors.
Let leadership become
the art of leaving
more life behind
than you found.
This is not a kingdom
where women become men.
This is the kingdom
where power changes meaning.
Text to song prompt: Industrial rock / enormous drums / apocalyptic
Lyrics:
The father-king is dying.
Listen.
Not the father.
Not the man.
The throne.
The old machinery
that says:
Someone must stand above.
Someone must command.
Someone must own.
Someone must win.
Someone must bleed
so someone else can call it glory.
Let the father live.
Let the father-king die.
Let the son grow
without becoming his father’s weapon.
Let the daughter grow
without becoming her father’s possession.
Let men stop proving
they are men
by hurting somebody.
Let nations stop proving
they are powerful
by destroying somebody.
Let civilization stop calling
its symptoms
its achievements.
The tower is trembling.
The sword is rusting.
The flag is burning
at both ends.
And beneath it all:
Earth.
Still breathing.
Still waiting.
The death of the father-king
is not the death of men.
It is the death
of the idea
that domination
is destiny.
Text to song prompt: Psychedelic folk / shoegaze / organic percussion
Lyrics
We were clever.
We learned fire.
We learned iron.
We learned numbers
and names for stars.
We split atoms.
We crossed oceans.
We built cities
that glittered from space.
And somehow
we forgot how to stay alive.
So take me home.
Not backward.
Forward.
Past the machine
that eats its own children.
Past the market
that prices the rain.
Past the empire
that measures forests
by what they can become
after they’re gone.
Return to the garden.
Not Eden.
Earth.
The garden isn’t innocence.
The garden is responsibility.
Seed.
Soil.
Water.
Death.
Compost.
Birth.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Nothing survives
by taking forever.
Everything survives
by becoming something else.
Perhaps that is the lesson
the womb has always known.
Life does not preserve itself
by remaining unchanged.
It survives
by making room.
Text to song prompt: Grand piano / choir / gradually overwhelming orchestral finale
Lyrics
Every soldier.
Every saint.
Every tyrant.
Every poet.
Every king.
Every prisoner.
Every atheist.
Every believer.
Every genius.
Every fool.
Every man
who ever said
women were beneath him.
Every woman
who was told
she was less.
Every child
who ever opened its eyes
and wondered where it was.
All of us came through her.
Before the argument
there was the body.
Before the doctrine
there was the heartbeat.
Before the border
there was the womb.
Before the word enemy
there was dependence.
We were all
once helpless.
We were all
once carried.
We were all
once someone’s impossible future.
And perhaps
the oldest human truth
is the one we spend
our whole lives forgetting:
You were never self-made.
You were made.
You were carried.
You were fed.
You were born.
And somewhere
in the beginning of you
there was a woman.
Not an abstraction.
Not a vessel.
Not property.
A person.
A body.
A universe
temporarily large enough
to contain yours.
All of us came through her.
Remember.
Text to song prompt: Sacred psychedelic rock / gospel choir / massive final movement
Lyrics
Now say the word
without lowering your voice.
Pussy.
Not insult.
Not joke.
Not commodity.
Not conquest.
Pussy.
The word beneath the word.
The body beneath the shame.
The threshold beneath the mythology.
Praise the pussy.
Praise the body
that can bleed
and continue.
Praise the body
that can carry
what it did not create alone.
Praise the body
that can transform itself
to make room.
Praise the body
that has been called dirty
by people who began inside it.
Praise the body
that has been worshipped
by people who wanted to own it.
Praise the body
that said:
No.
Praise the body
that said:
Mine.
Praise the body
that said:
Yes.
Praise the body
that said:
Come here.
Praise the body
that said:
Leave.
Praise the body
that made life
without needing permission
from kings.
Praise the pussy.
Not because women
must become superior
to men.
But because no human being
should ever again
be taught that the source
of their own existence
is beneath them.
And to the men
who hear this:
You came through here too.
You don’t have to kneel.
You don’t have to worship.
Just remember.
The womb was never your servant.
The woman was never your property.
The feminine was never your enemy.
It was the beginning.
And perhaps
the future begins
when we finally understand
what the beginning was telling us.
Not domination.
Generation.
Not conquest.
Creation.
Not possession.
Relationship.
Not the throne.
The threshold.
Praise the pussy.
Praise the first cuntry.
Praise the first sanctuary.
Praise the body
that made room for us.
And when the final empire falls
and the last monument cracks
and the flags become cloth again
and the names of kings
are swallowed by weather,
something will remain.
Water.
Blood.
Earth.
A heartbeat.
A body
making room.
And life
beginning again.
Recitation: Solitude of Self
Source: Solitude of Self by Elizabeth Cady Stanton
Creator: @Audio-Books
License: Public Domain
Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s famous speech “The Solitude of Self” is completely in the public domain and can be read in full through archives like the Library of Congress or Teaching American History. Delivered on January 18, 1892, to the U.S. House Committee on the Judiciary, this address defends women’s natural rights by focusing on individual human autonomy.
The audio recording is sourced from LibriVox.org, public domain, per LibriVox’s public domain dedication.
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