Loui Crow

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Loui Crow FVNERAL of False Selves. I write songs that carry me home. Music, magick, rage, mirrors, and the little one inside. Leaving breadcrumbs. 🤲🏻🐦‍⬛
(1)

10/11/2026

Type 111 if you say SORRY too much. 🙋‍♀️

Skunk (Unexisting) 🖤

I've spent a lot of my life apologizing for existing. Saying sorry before I even know what I'm apologizing for. Wanting to disappear, wanting to hide my face, wanting to take up as little room as possible.

This song is a conversation with that part of me.

I'm a disabled, stay-at-home veteran and mom. I write music for myself and my inner child. Things I'm chewing on or that I need to hear.

My album ANYMALS: Conversations with the Little One Inside is a collection of conversations with different spirit animals, each representing a different part of my inner child and the ways she learned to survive.

Skunk is the part that wants to disappear. The part that feels like a burden. The part that needs somebody to stay with me while i decide if I even want to be here.

I wrote the lyrics, use Suno to bring the music to life, and seed my own voice into the process. I also painted this cover with my left, non-dominant hand. I've been experimenting with making art in ways that let the little kid in me have some fun again, even when things come out crooked.

I'm sharing this one for anyone who's ever been told they say sorry too much. And for anyone who's ever felt like their existence didn't matter.

The song is streaming now as part of ANYMALS on music platforms, and the full lyrics are on my website.

If you made it this far, may you find one little place today where you can put your shoulders down, leave your face uncovered, and take up all the room your body needs.

A little ANYMAL is close, keeping watch over you.
🖤
"Some days I forget I have a boundary.
I'm remembering who I was
before I was told who to be.
I still say sorry too much."
Skunk stomps.
The real fight is you against you.
Your self hate is the old story.
Sorry is the apology for existing.
Sorry is a wall.
The one you built to keep yourself small.
The part that still believes you don't matter.
Little one, that voice isn't yours.
It was given to you.
You don't have to keep it.
When you catch yourself saying sorry,
don't punish yourself.
Say this with me if you want.
"I am not sorry."
"I am not sorry."
"I am not sorry anymore!"
[CHORUS]
You don't have to want to be here.
I'll stay anyway.
You don't have to want the ground.
We'll lock the door anyway.
Skunk is not sorry.
This space is yours.
I'll keep you safe,
even from yourself."

10/10/2026

"The Pentagram is Slightly Crooked"
Apparently this is a skill I'm learning in multiple dimensions.

I've been practicing the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (LBRP), often with my husband, and over time I've developed a personal companion ritual I call the MMRP, or Mom Magick Ritual of Protection.

I'm still learning. My practice changes as I learn. Sometimes I understand something with my head long before I figure out how to feel it in my body.

And that's a big part of why I love ritual.

I can spend hours thinking about an emotion. I can trace it back through my life, explain why it's happening, recognize the pattern, and understand exactly what I want to do differently.

Meanwhile, my shoulders are somewhere near my ears, my jaw is clenched, and my nervous system has apparently missed the entire conversation.

So I give my body something to do.

I stand up.

I touch my forehead and chest.

I turn toward the four directions.

I draw stars in the air.

I speak words out loud.

I feel my feet on the floor.

Sometimes the lines are crooked. Sometimes I lose my place. Sometimes my thoughts wander off halfway through and I have to bring myself back.

That's part of the practice, too.

While writing my album ANYMALS, something interesting started happening. The animals in my songs began finding places inside my ritual.

Coyote became my guide in the East, connected to Air and the part of me that keeps finding a way through. The survivor. The one who gets up anyway.

Porcupine became Fire in the South. My protective part. The one with the quills. The one who sometimes reacts before she understands what's happening when im defensive or prickly with others. I've spent a lot of time being ashamed of that part of myself. Now I'm learning to ask what she's trying to protect, and whether there's a gentler way to do it. "The sharpest thing you carry is the second look."

Seahorse became Water in the West. The part of me that panics, freezes, spirals, and gets overwhelmed. Sometimes I need a way to stay with a feeling while it moves through me. "This is just a feeling, the feeling will pass."

Skunk became Earth in the North. Boundaries. Territory. The exhausted little animal who needs a safe place to exist. Skunk reminds me that sometimes grounding looks like planting both feet on the floor and staying in the room, even when every part of me wants to crawl under the furniture.
"I will not abandon you, even when you want to disappear."

And Crow?

Crow ended up in the center. (She didn't appear in this album but she does in my ritual now.)

At my center, Crow, I witness.

That might be my favorite part.

Because I have all these different emotional parts of myself, and they can be incredibly loud. One wants to fight. One wants to hide. One wants to run. One wants to be loved. One wants everybody to look at her, and another one is absolutely horrified that anybody might.

They're all living in the same body.

The ritual gives me a way to meet them.

I'm learning that protection can mean listening to the part of myself that's frightened, instead of immediately trying to silence her. Sometimes it means giving the angry part a boundary to hold. Sometimes it means letting the exhausted part rest.

And sometimes it means standing in my living room drawing a crooked star in the air and trying again tomorrow.

The animals are personal additions to my practice, rather than traditional LBRP correspondences. I still practice the traditional ritual, too. The Hebrew words and my English words have started living alongside each other in my head. The meanings keep unfolding.

I'm sharing where I am, rather than pretending I've arrived somewhere.

This painting feels connected to all of that.

Two strange little faces with spiral eyes. A pentagram between them. A lot of tiny marks made slowly by hand.

I keep looking at the faces and wondering whether they're looking at each other, looking through each other, or looking at different parts of the same person.

Maybe that's why I like them.

I made them with my own hands, while I'm learning how to use those same hands to draw a little more deliberately during ritual.

For now, this one tells the truth about where my hand is today.

I have absolutely no idea how many people read these long descriptions. 😂 Maybe somebody gets all the way down here. Maybe these words just sit underneath a song while somebody paints, cleans their kitchen, or stares out a window.

I like leaving them here anyway.

A little record of what I'm working through.

The music, the painting, the animals, the rituals. They keep becoming different ways of having the same conversation with myself.

I practice what I can hold.

And some days, what I can hold is a crooked star.

🎧 This song is also part of "Bone Radio", my playlist of strange little instrumental experiments for painting, reading, creating, or just having something unusual playing in the room. You can find the full playlist here on my YouTube.

The song is called "The Pentagram is Slightly Crooked"

10/09/2026

This is just a feeling. The feeling will pass. 🖤

Sometimes I need to stand in front of a mirror and remind myself of that.

Seahorse is my spirit animal for panic attacks. She's the part of me that stays with the frightened little one inside when everything starts feeling dangerous. When my body reacts before I understand what's happening. When I want to disappear, when I feel exposed, when every little thing feels enormous.

Panic can make a monster out of every reflex. And afterward, there's sometimes another wave. The shame. The embarrassment. Wondering why I reacted that way, why I got so scared, why I became someone I barely recognized.

That's the raw part of this song for me.

Seahorse is a conversation between that frightened little one and the part of me learning to stay with her. To see the fear, the flailing, the ugly reactions, and still recognize the creature underneath.

"The monster is the wave, not the ocean.
The shame is the undertow.
The ocean stays."

My new album, ANYMALS: Conversations with the Little One Inside, releases on all platforms TOMORROW, October 10! 🖤

Each animal is a different conversation with a part of myself. Coyote, Seahorse, Porcupine, and Skunk. Fear, protection, survival, boundaries, and all the strange things I do trying to feel safe.

There's another layer woven through the album, too. It's built around my personal adaptation of the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (LBRP). Seahorse carries Gabriel, Water, and the moon, with the waxing gibbous moon as part of my personal symbolism. Skunk carries Uriel and Earth. The other animals have their own places and correspondences within the ritual.

You can listen to the songs as little conversations between animals and a frightened child inside. And if you're into ritual, symbolism, or ceremonial magic, there are extra layers tucked into the music to explore.

I'm a disabled veteran and stay-at-home mom. I write my lyrics, and I use Suno to help bring the music to life. I seed the vocals with my voice. I make these songs for myself, as a way of working through my own mind, and I share them in case something resonates with somebody else.

My website has the lyrics, the stories, the little breadcrumbs behind the songs, and the full tracks to listen to.

ANYMALS arrives tomorrow. 🖤🐴🌊

The panic is a wave.
The wave is the way.
Seahorse, stay steady.

10/08/2026

These are the animals I call into my MMRP, my personal protection ritual inspired by the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (LBRP).

Each grew from an emotion, a survival response, and a conversation with the little one inside.

Coyote, before me. Guide me.

Raphael, Air, East. Coyote knows hunger, hurt, and survival. He's been the hunter and the hunted. He helps me find my feet and choose where to go next.

Seahorse, behind me. Steady me.

Gabriel, Water, West. Seahorse knows panic, shame, and the urge to disappear when everything feels too big. She reminds me that steadiness can exist while the water moves.

Porcupine, to my right. Protect me.

Michael, Fire, South. Porcupine knows anger and fear, when the quills come out before I've had a chance to look again. She guards the tender place underneath and helps me choose which fights are mine.

Skunk, to my left. Ground me.

Uriel, Earth, North. Skunk knows exhaustion, feeling unwanted, and wanting to disappear. She holds the space while the little one decides whether she can stay. Sometimes grounding is simply putting my feet on the floor.

Coyote, above and below me. Carry me through.

My personal connection to Metatron and Sandalphon. This is Coyote after the fall, gathering the bones, carrying what remains, and learning to walk again.

Crow, at my center. I witness.

My personal connection to Adonai at the center. Crow watches the fear, anger, panic, and old reflexes. She gives me a moment to see what's happening before choosing what comes next.

These animals also live in my album ANYMALS. Each has a song, with Coyote returning for a second. Crow remains at the center, quietly witnessing. She has her place in the album, even without a song of her own.

You can listen simply as music. The ritual, symbolism, and conversations with my little one are woven through it for anyone curious to explore further.

ANYMALS releases October 10. 🖤

You can listen already on my website, where you'll also find the lyrics and a full breakdown of my MMRP.

This clip is the animal invocation, adapted from the part of the traditional LBRP that calls upon angels. The full ritual video is on my YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok pages.

Take what feeds you.
Leave the rest for the birds.

If you made it this far...

May the parts of you that learned to survive discover what else their hands can do.
May the little one inside get a turn at playing.
May your quills protect the tender places.
May your eyes have time to look again.
May your feet remember the ground belongs to you, too.
May your boundaries make room for the life you're building.

A little crow's on the wire, keeping watch over you.

10/06/2026

I’ve shared versions of this practice before, and it keeps changing as I do. This is the version I’m practicing right now.
☆
My ritual is deeply inspired by the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, or LBRP. I still practice the it often with my husband. I’m a practitioner sharing my own practice here, rather than a teacher presenting this as a traditional form of the ritual. I’ve taken an architecture that has meant a lot to me and slowly built something personal inside it, using words, movements, images, and symbols that my own body responds to.
For me, it’s a grounding, centering, and protecting practice.
🦨
I have a racing mind. I dissociate. I live in a body with fibromyalgia, PTSD, and migraines. I can get anxious, overstimulated, reactive, angry, scattered. Sometimes I feel ten feet outside myself before I realize I left the room. 😂 Having a physical sequence to move through gives all of that somewhere to go. My hands have something to do. My feet know where the floor is. My attention has directions to travel. I draw the circle, call the directions, come back to the center, and locate myself again.
🦔
The newest part is the animals.
"Before me, Coyote, guide me.
Behind me, Seahorse, steady me.
To my right, Porcupine, protect me.
To my left, Skunk, ground me.
Above and below, Coyote, carry me through.
At my center, Crow, I witness."
🐦‍⬛
Those animals came into my life through writing ANYMALS, and eventually they started finding their way into the ritual practice too. Each one has become a way for me to talk to a different instinct, reaction, wound, defense, or little part of myself. Porcupine has her quills. Seahorse has the current. Skunk has territory. Coyote keeps moving. Crow witnesses.
🐦‍⬛
ANYMALS is also deeply woven through with my relationship to magick and the LBRP, but you can walk into the music knowing absolutely zero about any of that. Underneath the symbolism, these are conversations with the little one inside me. They’re songs about panic, anger, hiding, protection, survival, tenderness, fu***ng up, coming back, and figuring out what our instincts are trying to do for us.
If you know some of the ritual language, you may catch another layer hiding underneath.
ANYMALS comes out October 10.
☆
There’s also a song version of my MMRP already streaming. Sometimes I perform the ritual. Sometimes I put the song on and let the words hold the structure for me. Both the ritual breakdown and the music live on my website.
This is simply where my practice lives today. I’ll probably keep changing it as I keep changing. That’s part of why I share these versions as I go.
And if you made it all the way down here, may your feet find the floor when your mind runs ahead of you.
May whatever protects you remember how to rest when the room is safe.
🖤

10/06/2026

"You were never too much. You were just a kid."
Mirror, Mirror, Off The Wall

10/06/2026

I haven’t been posting as much lately. I’ve been writing a lot, making an album, painting, and spending a lot of time figuring out what I actually need to hear when I look at myself.
A lot of the affirmations I’m using lately are growing out of the animal songs I’ve been writing and the conversations I’ve been having with the little one inside me.
This set came from Porcupine.
🦔
I am worth protecting.
I am learning new ways to protect myself.
This boundary is alive.
🪞
Porcupine is about the part of me that learned to put the quills up fast. The part that can feel discomfort and prepare for danger before I’ve even had time to turn around and look. I wanted to write something for her that respected why the quills grew in the first place, while giving her another choice.
That’s becoming a lot of what ANYMALS is for me. Panic. Anger. hiding. survival. wanting to disappear. getting something wrong and coming back afterward. All these little animal parts of me doing jobs they learned a long time ago.
☆
There’s magick and ritual woven pretty deeply into the album because that’s part of how I made it, but you never need any of that language to enter it. Underneath all of it, these are songs I needed.
Songs for the kid I was. Songs for the woman standing here now.
☆
ANYMALS comes out October 10. Porcupine is playing here a little early. 🖤

The full songs and lyrics are also on my website.
🤲
If you made it this far, may the tender parts of you find gentler ways to stay safe.
May your softness remember it has a say in who gets close.
May your quills rest when the room is kind. May they rise when something precious needs guarding.
May your reflection feel a little more familiar today.
May you stay for the second look.
🦔🪞

Louicrow.com

09/26/2026

I painted my own album cover.
This entire painting is done with my left, non-dominant hand, using my son's leftover paint.
I've been painting a lot lately, picking up something I left behind a long time ago. I painted and drew constantly when I was younger. For a while as an adult, I painted, made jewelry and affirmation decks and other handmade things, had an Etsy shop, and spent my weekends selling at farmers markets. Then we moved. I had a baby. Life changed shape, and somewhere in there I stopped painting.
My son is getting older now, and I have more room to create again. He loves to paint, too. And I hate throwing perfectly good paint down the sink, so when he's finished, whatever is left on his palette becomes mine.

Whatever paper, canvas, cardboard, or other surface I can find, I'll paint on it.
It started as a tiny practical thing. Use the paint instead of washing it away.
Alongside mirror work, this has become a huge part of my inner-child practice lately.
I've been experimenting with all kinds of rules. Sometimes everything is drawn and painted with my left hand. Sometimes I draw left-handed and paint right-handed. Sometimes I switch back and forth. I actually used to draw and write with both hands when I was little, before school eventually made me choose one. So there's something strangely familiar about giving my left hand the pencil again.
And there is another reason I keep doing it this way.
I compare myself to other artists.
I can compare myself right out of making anything at all. My husband is a tattoo artist and an incredible artist, and heck, I can even look across the room at what he's drawing and suddenly decide my own hands have been formally dismissed from the arts.
Giving the work to my left hand takes some of that away.
I already know the line might wobble. I already know the anatomy might get strange. I know it will come out crooked or messy or completely different from the picture in my head. The assignment becomes make it anyway.
And somehow, once "good" quit being the entrance fee, I've started making more art.
I ordered a few canvases, and I am ridiculously excited to keep going. I'm planning more versions of the animals from this album: Coyote, Porcupine, Seahorse, Skunk. Different poses, different paintings. And there will be plenty of other animals and plenty of other paintings, too.
At this rate, if I keep going, I have absolutely no idea how much longer I get to call my left hand my "non-dominant" hand.
This little skunk became the cover of my new album, ANYMALS.
The album is five songs written for the little one inside me and the insecure, frightened, defensive, messy parts of myself I have spent a lot of my life fighting. I gave those parts animals. There is the part that survives being left for dead. The part that raises its quills before it knows what is reaching for it. The part that panics when it is seen. The part that apologizes for occupying space and sometimes gets tired of existing. And the part that gets hurt, licks its wounds in the dark, and keeps walking.
These animals bite, hide, panic, stink, defend themselves, make mistakes, and survive.
So do I.

Painting the cover myself feels important for another reason, too.
For a long time, I wanted anything I made to look better than I was actually capable of making it. I wanted clean lines, accurate anatomy, the right proportions. I could see exactly where my work fell short of the picture in my head, and comparison could take care of whatever confidence survived after that.

I'm getting tired of requiring perfection before I let myself participate.

I like seeing my own hand in this. I like the crooked places. I like the brush marks. I like knowing the colors came from paint my kid left behind. I like being able to look at something imperfect and know I actually sat down and made it.

Right now, that means more to me than getting it perfect.

I'm excited to paint my own artwork for my music from here and see where my hands take it. I'm learning to loosen my grip on perfection, make the thing, share the thing, and let people see parts of me that feel vulnerable while they're still alive and unfinished.
The song playing over this time lapse is Skunk (Un-existing) from ANYMALS.

I write the lyrics. I use Suno for vocals and instrumentals. I seed it with my own voice as part of my process. I'm a disabled veteran and stay-at-home mom writing songs largely because I need them.
I started sharing my music last year, basically posting songs into the void.
Somewhere along the way, people started listening.
That still blows my mind.
Every stream, person who reads the lyrics, person who recognizes themselves in something I wrote... I still have moments where I look at it and think, holy schnoly, there are actually people on the other side of this.
So I'm going to keep making things.
ANYMALS comes out October 10.
Until then, the full songs and lyrics are already living on my website for anyone who wants to hear them.

09/22/2026

"The moon is half light, half dark.
This is the moment of decision.
Do I disappear... or do I stay?
The little one inside says:
'It's easier to hide. The world is so harsh.
I am skittish. I jump at every shadow.
It's exhausting to exist.
I don't even want this ground.'
Skunk says:
"I know that feeling.
Some days my tail drags just because I have to carry it.
The voice doesn't leave.
It just gets quieter.
And then it speaks again.
But, I will not abandon you.
Even when you want to disappear.
If you can't find a reason,
let me be the reason you stay."

☆
🦨 From “Skunk (Un-existing),”
an upcoming song from ANYMALS.
The full song + lyrics are on my website.

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Omaha, NE
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