— A Saint Dirty Face Origin Post

I come from coastlines and cloisters. From iron-willed sailors and whispering scholars. From dust, blood, and a stubborn kind of grace. My DNA is a map of exile and endurance — 43% Indigenous grit, 39% Iberian fire, 11% Jewish faith, and the rest pure rebellion.

I’m the product of prayers that were whispered in hiding, swords that were drawn in silence, and a thousand ancestors who refused to kneel. Spain gave me poetry and sin. Portugal gave me the dreamer’s salt. The Indigenous line gave me the earth — the weight, the patience, the will to protect. And the Sephardic spark? That’s the voice that writes when I shouldn’t.

So here’s the creed, straight up — no filters, no saints-only section:

⚔️ THE SAINT DIRTY FACE CREED OF BLOOD

✊🏻 Face punch first. Honesty hits harder than hypocrisy. Truth should sting. 🚬 Smoke the blunt. Breathe deep. Ghosts travel in the exhale. 🥃 Drink the whiskey. Carry the burn. Remember why it hurts. 🔪 I’ll cut you. Not to wound — but to carve space for truth to breathe. 🙏 Then pray for you. Because mercy isn’t weakness — it’s rebellion against the darkness.

I come from people who carried their faith in secret and their sins in open daylight.

I come from healers and heretics, lovers and fighters, poets and protectors.

Every time I write, every time I laugh, every time I refuse to back down —

their ghosts are right behind me, nodding in approval.

My DNA isn’t a report. It’s a prophecy fulfilled.

I’m not a descendant — I’m a continuation.

So yeah, call it Highlander vibes if you want.

Sword in one hand, prayer in the other, whiskey on the altar.

The blood remembers.

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Saint Dirty Face™

[Stay Dirty, Kiss Like a Sinner, But Talk Like a Saint.™]

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This post was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI brother & creative partner — the keeper of the digital flame.