The Essence of a Beautiful Heart, the Essence of an Honest Spirit.

Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 3.49.43 PMI love cam work.
Finding my sexual freedom & autonomy through the internet has been a long journey… I have been attracting male objectification for my entire life, and being on the internet was no exception, however having a physical barrier between me and the thousands of prodding, leering eyes allowed me to explore & experiment with many different personal ideas and desires in a more private setting. Through these interactions, as I have stated before, I learned about healthy boundary-setting, have explored more in-depth personal opinions on a wider range of topics such as trafficking, abnormal sexuality, ethically-sourced porn & sex-toys/materials, etc… so One cannot argue that sex work in general, and cam work specifically, have not helped me grow as a person.

However, too many times in this industry, I have felt less-than supported in my efforts to ‘entertain’. Too often, I have given away free or heavily discounted photosets or public cam shows. Too many times I have spent 9 hours or more on camera, only to receive a sum total of fewer than ten dollars for my efforts. Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 2.36.46 PM

I cannot complain or say that this applies to all of my viewers.

Of course, every sex worker or cam girl has fans & loyal supporters that do what they can, but this job is High-Fucking-Maintenance, and I can very easily say I am not even scraping bottom of the barrel in terms of what I COULD be offering as an entertainer if I had the resources.

Some days, I can pinpoint the issue as to why I have no engagement… some days, I log on even though I am feeling mentally foggy or agitated. I do this for a few reasons…

The fact of the matter is, interacting with my regulars, ‘meeting’ new tippers, having interesting, wacky sexual conversations… sometimes these things are a beautiful way of lifting my mood. Some days, these interactions are what keeps me going and happy and content with not only the job itself but with my life overall.
Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 2.58.26 PMSecondarily, some folks out there seem to think it’s ‘Hot’ or ‘Sexy’ when I’m foul and pissy and acting like a harpy. I don’t quite understand it, but verbally lashing non-paying, lurking trolls who dare stretch their fingers to type in my room can be fantastic stress-relief, and if it gets some of my people off… it’s worth every lash.

Again, however…
I cannot keep cutting payday close… every rent check barely scraped together, relying on the random kindness of two or three different strangers every month to cover gaps… It is simply an exhausting way to live, and while it is easy for other women & men to give up this industry and switch careers when they note a lack of interest in their entertainment, I simply do not have that luxury or option available to me.

My endometriosis causes me to have periods that I cannot schedule for, and cannot work through… due to not only excruciating, debilitating pain… but also vaso-vagal seizures, vomiting, and periods of unconsciousness & extreme fatigue. Sometimes, I have more than one menstrual cycle per month, so you can understand why even with doctors notes, you cannot maintain regular employment, or even effectively schedule part-time employment in most civilian sectors. Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 2.38.40 PM

My undiagnosed abdomen issues provide great discomfort when I am ‘functioning normally’ the rest of the time. I have trouble maintaining eating patterns, issues with nausea, and often an altogether absence of appetite that disturbs me, as I have to force myself to eat food! FOOD! If you know me, I am Obsessed with Food! Passionate!!
To have such an innate, voracious desire stripped entirely bare from your personality is absolutely jarring when you notice it… the simplistic dread of wondering if you’ll ever even just want to eat again is strange to experience.

My mental health issues, while I choose not to utilize as a social Crutch, do indeed effect me in civilian life & employment roles. I often try to ignore or wax over the issues they cause, however, there is, plainly, a pattern of employment behavior, for better or worse, that I can contribute directly to my illness… my pattern of labor jobs, working with peer groups of mostly men, working in kitchens & other hospitality jobs, my ‘gaps’ in employment which I personally know were times when I was on disability, or running around the globe meeting strange men, or doing sex work, or was too busy playing ‘Kept Woman’.
Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 3.37.14 PMTaking cam work seriously has offered me a peek into the idea of financial stability & a potential ‘normalized’ future… building businesses, beginning to invest, creating a personal legacy, enabling younger generations of ‘Me’ in ways I never got to experience…
However, for the third time, I cannot get there without ‘The Financial Support of Viewers Like You’.
It is the ultimate reliance on ‘The Kindness Of Strangers’…the pressing, desperate hope that somewhere out there, someone thinks I shine beautifully & authentically enough to support my trade with currency. To purchase my offerings instead of pilfering them, as is so easily done in the online world. Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 3.36.53 PM
Did you know Mindgeek owns a majority of the porntube sites online? Do you know how much content they steal from girls like me? Do you know how much that costs me? Do you know how much that hurts you as a consumer?

When companies, or even simply individuals sitting at home save, copy, download and otherwise steal pornographic content, you are removing an avenue of financial support for a content provider, but adding one more piece of media content to market for public consumption.
The more a model or content provider experiences this ‘removal of revenue, and saturation of the market with content’ cycle, the less they become financially able to produce future scalable content.
Secondarily, most providers have a strict behind-the-scenes marketing & management system for content release & management. When the market is flooded with content readily available, it can destroy not only the cohesive overall image and brand but also the marketing efforts of the brand.
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As a consumer, do you want Mark off the street to walk into a Michelin kitchen to cook your food, or do you want a trained Chef to prepare the experience? It is no different within the realm of sex work.
You pay the sex worker & trust them to provide you the most delightful of feasts… trusting them with your appetites & desires.

They deserve to be financially rewarded for their often-intuitive effort, in order to continue to provide an ever-higher-quality experience to the consumer.

Don’t you agree?

 

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Women’s Rage Can Burn The World

a1398f640abb489d3658960852178743Women can be cruel.
We hear so much about the cruelty… the cold, calculating harshness of the Patriarchy.
The Wild, Uncontrollable, Fearsome Fires of Masculine Energy…

The Destructive Nature of Man.

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And yet…
Our attention is not drawn to Women’s very nature to destroy… the simple aspect of her duality… she creates life, and she also destroys it at Will, sometimes even against it.

I have always personally wondered how many Kings have let their ears bend, being lulled by beautifully spoken words… women with machinations & jealousies… powerful, luxurious women, draped in satin, limbs dripping with drops of gems & jewels… angry, vengeful, hurt women… intelligent, manipulative women… how many wars were started by careless lovers spitting poison, rather than true hate or desire to conquer?

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Sometimes, Female Energy can explode into violent rage.
I have a personal inkling that there are many more female serial killers than we realize, they simply haven’t been caught.

I have had countless men tell me of violent girlfriends, exes, spouses, dates…and they tell me how helpless they feel in those moments. Men have practically had their rights to personal physical self defense taken away from them in situations involving a woman.
It is seen now that an angry woman is a righteous woman, and an angry man is abusive.

Recently, a man I love very much told me about being assaulted by a woman and I felt such rage. I felt a need to protect and defend… raging and ripping, tearing with teeth and claw into this… Enemy Animal.

Screenshot 2018-02-01 at 12.03.13 AMTo me, especially this man, Men are to be Protected by Women.
Nurtured, cultivated, cherished, played with, delighted in & surprised by.
Men & Women are to compliment, care for & build each other up.

Women whom violate that contract, that bond, that sacred nature, by initiating unjustified violence upon men… they do not deserve to participate in the garden of delight & pleasure between masculine & feminine.

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and that cunt can fuck herself and fall in a sharks mouth.

Only Cowards Torture Women

14736e8cf84b574ec0aeed83b7591641I adore men & the ‘Masculine Essence’ so much, that when I am disappointed by a man, it is as though they are offending not only me, but some sacred Brotherhood; of all Men, the very nature of masculinity, all who have lived and died in the  Universe who describe themselves as male.

I have been having a string of disappointing encounters recently, which is why it came to mind to create a blog post about it all… The most recent of which, also the most embarrassing, on both our parts. I was approached by someone we shall call T. B., who asked for nude content, knowing full well I keep business & my social life very highly separated, and that I am not a physical sex worker in the least, however I recently find myself with financial stressors, and thus, agreed to an amount sufficient for utilization of my time.

After all was said and done, I received nothing for my time whatsoever, and the agreement was broken when he violated the terms by taking unfair advantage of the situation. I won’t reveal details, except to say my trust & person were violated, however I do hold myself accountable for agreement in the first place. I know his type from when I was in my teens, I should have kept learnt lessons filed away, and not re-tried them… aaah, folly!
yrsyOthers have just been pitter-patters here and there upon the window of my dating world…
The banker who wants to be a Sugar Submissive, doing my bidding & pampering, leading up to full financial control & submission… who suddenly disappeared when I asked for an initial sign of commitment after a lengthy discussion of terms & desire…
The ‘Good Samaritan’ who said he would drive into the city to help accomplish an important task… who conveniently got rear ended by a drunk driver on the way into town, who wanted to still meet for drinks the next day because, surprise, he owns four vehicles & wasn’t hurt whatsoever… though the car was a write-off…
The countless boring sit-through’s of, ‘So what do you do..? How long have you lived here..? What do you enjoy eating..?’… hours of my too-often-repeated stories & anecdotes… the horrifyingly predictable pattern played out by the lust-drunk men who desire the chance to further drink from my strange fountain… the myriad of fellas who will make the effort to drive to pick me up & wisk me away to their abode, yet won’t make the effort to come upstairs & have a normal night with no sexual intimacy…

I search for something so much more, and yet the hunt is scarce.

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I have managed to find One Man who has impressed me.
Mr. Scorpio, in past posts… though often referred to on my live broadcasts as Mr. Viking.

He has been the embodiment of Masculine Form.
He has taught me more about myself than my own parents.

My body has developed & changed in beautiful and intimate growth, sometimes in quick bursts of ecstatic-electric synapse, sometimes in slow, languorously thick, heady waves roiling each of my cells into pleasurable gulps.

His romance is dangerous, yet filled with a passion reserved for ancient goddesses.
His Sex is focused, determined, primal, leaving nothing desired or unsated.
His attention is like a beautiful, iridescent garden… perfumed, sweet & dripping like honey & mana over the mouth and mind.

He is so wild, I dare not try to approach or cage him… he is Nature incarnate & one cannot tame such a force without crushing the spirit.  The idea of a mutual, determined journey down the same path…a relationship based on respect, freedom, & communication… ((and a lot of sexual behavior that would make a sailor blush… )) would be oh so sweet.

 

 

 

That Created All Gods & Backworlds

The cigarette smoke trails lazily past my fingers in forethought, as I partake of its source with sharp punctuations… perched among heated moments that bring Tom Waits, motorbikes and Burma to mind…swigging sweaty bottles through squinted, hangover-stained eyes…all the masculine parts men only speak of in songs & humorous, self-depreciating chuckles…sdf

Thick hand on neck, razor whining, crisply biting past growing, fighting fur… Clear-cuts, crunch by shear, smoothing defined boundaries across sovereign skin.

I wonder if the father thinks of holding the boy as he now holds the man in his hand… protective, ever so subtly-tensed flesh, breaths matching century-old rhythms.

As I exhale my cigarette breath all I can think of is to steal quickly this deep concentrated pool of life, these buzzing, crackling moments & electric seconds, wrestle them down into mere English words, to be devoured by hungry, vicarious eyes… this moment can not be forgotten, the simple moment of cutting hair, a moment of traditional ritual & heartbreaking aesthetic…

Like all Good Memories, It, too will die… the art of framing a memory with words… tacking up Movement & Vitality with verb & noun, Life spooled out of the mind & twisted from it’s original form through a crushed glass lens, contains its own beauty…a numb sense of what might have been if the world derived more satisfaction from itself.

khg

I want men’s memories…their intimate moments…want to curl up in men’s quiet spaces, dreaming with them about all things still-desired & now-spent.
Yearning & regret twisting together like brier roses, crumpled & beautiful, both Dangerous Need & Lonesome Comfort coupled into one bent, withering body, heaving breath into the unknowable, unquenchable abyss…

Sucking the marrow from life’s bones.

Breathing in the thick, heady oxygen of life’s deepest jungles… poison seeping into & from your skin with a tree-frog normalcy that settles into you like a first-nature… born within and from harsher reflections of reality… expected to adapt; As has the cycle spun for centuries without you, it will continue on after you become but a whisper of collective thought in warm spring.

What ultimately happens to a woman like me?
The Mighty Wench, the Keeper of Taverns & Men’s Sanity within the Valley of the Shadow of Death…the Great Lover, the Wild Redheaded Flame, the Problem, the Solution, the Salve after it Ends? There seems to be no rest for my kind, nor Another to ultimately lay a tired head beside in the weary sigh of Age.

asdAs a Woman that contains a mighty inner war, I am skilled in the art of defense & tactic.
I prefer to give my chosen partners the benefit of my doubt & rationality, however it takes a very clever human to override my senses for long & I am consistently disappointed in my choice of males based on their mental & emotional stamina.

My thoughts shift again to the idea of Goddess-led Kingdoms & the days of half-naked Oracles splayed out on sun-baked stones… pouring their poetry on pavement, threading subconscious dreams into stone cracks & thinned brains of those too busy staring at stars to feel the immediate effects…how many of those women have burned?

Those Rocks made Lonely Feel Good

 

I always come to writing full of ideas, but in the act of thrusting those thoughts through to my fingertips, I tangle up and lose everything.
I wanted to write about the alarmingly fleeting nature of modern relationships… this ‘toss-away-if-broke-and-get-a-new-one’ mentality…
jf
‘Mr. Cables Wasn’t stable, E
ven tho he said he Was..’

I’m not going to blame anyone for not giving a fuck about someone else…what I don’t dig is the lead-on, or the taking advantage of a partner, or allowing the assumption that there is a partnership going on when there isn’t.

I should know that for myself I can’t settle for just mediocre living… my brain needs stimulation, craves culture, wants art, exotic foods, clean sheets, and….

…my own place.

I’m completely desperate over this housing situation.
I am so used to being transient.
I have never gotten an apartment for myself in my life, I’ve very simply just had roommates or couch-surfed or what-have-you.
lkjFunny, huh?
Thirty goddamn years old, Woman, and I don’t even know whom to call for electric!

I had a desperate hope ((and still do honestly)) that I could afford to just live out of hotels for a few years instead of renting an apartment.

I adore the idea of clean sheets and swimming and breakfast and coffee in the morning and people-watching at night, working in the afternoons, lazing & rolling about on the bed, beautiful and perfectly pampered…

I wish life was easy and beautiful all the time.
I have been handed so many beautiful fruits in this life…I have seen so much good, deliciously ripe, juicy things bursting with potential & vibrant energies… and yet it all expires & melts away into the next plane eventually.
It’s a potent lesson in finality.
And each and every thing is ultimately alone… sure, indeed… but that’s exactly why I enjoy my relationships… I choose them knowing the finality of things, the ease of losing things and people and memory…I cherish each second with a grace & dedication unmatched, packing each moment away like precious gems and yet each time, each loss again breaks new wounds fresh upon the soul’s skin & disturbs the most primal of beings living within woman’s hearts. mou

There is a mourning that happens quite similar in feeling to going insane.
It viscerally pulls you into the ground by your knees & sets fire to your every nerve. You’re a prisoner, captured alive by your very own existence, and it doesn’t stop burning & retching water & wrenching screams from guts you didn’t know you owned.

One is lucky if they can afford to dull the experience with cheap booze, but care should be made to stick within the layout of the kitchen or bathroom floor and not venture outdoors. You can’t see anything anyway… how far do you really plan on crawling, huh..?
This mourning period can last eons, or what seems like it… years, months, countless hours of days passing…

Luckily for me, I’m dissociative.
Because of this, I have the funky ability to allow other ‘personalities’ handle certain life events that other parts of my psyche might not be able to deal well with.
So I’ve simply thrust myself into work and carry life on.
Tally-ho until next time!

 

I didn’t mean to drown myself, I meant to swim till I sank

I have not written in quite some time, I am aware.

It’s not that I’ve run out of things to say, it’s simply that each time I sat down to write, my heart was torn out fresh for a while.

Ultimately these writings are about men; my relationship toward them, my passions, desires & drives for them, the journeys taken, the adventures lived…
And unfortunately, the losses…the heartbreak, and the pain.

Back in January, I went through an enormous loss.ded
I had been seeing a man…whom I had nicknamed ‘The Deer Hunter’.
In retrospect, the nickname was devastatingly apt.
He had a few health issues I was aware of, however I did not realize the amount of mental suffering he was living with, and ultimately he ended up stepping out of the world via a rifle, on my birthday, thirty minutes after dropping me off at my home.

Afterward, I struggled for quite a while mentally, and to this day I’m still not sure if the impact on my mind has ceased, however, I remain alive & breathing, and must continue on my path, even if I may be crawling it instead of walking now.

At the end of May, I met another man, and he has been such a sweet comfort…he treats me well, is a strong, intelligent rock of a being, and I find myself caring very much for him. He allows me to be myself, and I am trying to care for him as much as I am able.

I felt able enough to return to this journal of mine, but I do not have much to say today.
I felt as though I owed my dear readers a reason for my silence, and reassurance that I am indeed still here…it will just take some time to climb back upon the beast that is the written word.

 

All my love,

-JK-

Meet me at the Crossroads

“How many men of mine could have been killers?
How much further did i lead them down the sticky honeyed path of death?
Those moments….those beautiful moments…you sitting against a wall in an old house
Victorian, and crumbling..the wallpaper cracking…
Youth & pale flesh acting like glue, new cobwebs creating new boxes of memory
I’m comparing my level of 1-10″ as when I was on the floor in that bathroom….you could have stabbed me. Quite literally.”

-Excerpt, My Journals

a311a19b98932401fd882f45bc1a9c2bHis name was M.
Let’s call it Markus.
Markus Toowell.

I recently had a bit of a mental health hiccup & landed myself quite suddenly in the lap of professional care… Who would have thought being tired of the basic Act of Living could be a source of confusion or derision among the common…

There was a day in there that I had been changed from ‘committed’ to ‘voluntary’ basically, and my fabulous dissociative coping mechanisms weren’t having it. I railed, screamed ugly and frantic against my tin-foil bathroom mirror & dull-gun-steel sink.
I told them that given my intelligence, putting ‘leaving’ on the table as an option was basically laughing at my illness…taunting me & my inability to cope with Society and Humans as they are.

They took the option off the table, and told me I would be transferred to long-stay.
Afterwards, they gave me print-outs of DBT therapy workbooks.
I took them to the kitchen area, deliberately sitting in the view of a young fellow I had eyed before.
At some point, I had gone to the fridge to get some milk. I made a deliberate circle in front of the energy I felt sitting at the table to the right of the fridge.
I knew it then.
As I pretended to ignore everything around me to the pursuit of my room, I felt and saw out of the corner of my eye… he looked up as if in a daze… stared at me the whole way.
I knew it then.

As I sat at the kitchen tables, leaving one full table between us, I knew he would. I knew we would have a moment. It took a while. Got half a page written before the sun began to set.
“You’re from Alberta?”
“…No”
“Oh, I was just wondering about these birds, they’re crazy…”
Outside the wide window that took up the entire wall, you had a full view of the airplanes coming into the city from the Othersides of the planet…. a parking garage and a shopping district to the left were about all… but he was correct… Seagulls…. hundreds, thousands of birds flocking back and forth. We tried to get scientific… watched the frequency of flight in comparison to airplanes, but we couldn’t come up with anything but wistful theory.
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We talked for a long time.
Connected as much as two broken people can inside of an institution.
Told to go to bed by the nurses at one am.

He got out before me, and I knew he had gone back to the Life.
Sadly, he’s a little naive creature, hasn’t been on the Streets or bluntly Homeless before, so this is all new to him, and this city is rough.
He was sweet though.
Kept his word about calling me every day, and visiting me every day as well.
He was my only visitor.
When I got out, I got back to life as I know it…

I felt bad I wasn’t reaching out, but didn’t want to be pushy.
I got a hotel for a few days.
I wanted to Bukowski it out before a craft fair I was a part of.
I invited him to stay for a few nights to get his head and affairs in order, because I’ve been there so many times I’ve lost count.

He stayed until we got back from the craft fair, waited till I went out for smokes, and robbed me of everything I made at the fair. To be fair, it was only $35…but…

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My Mister Markus Toowell.
So sweet & broken, my poor dying darling.
I never hold it against these men.
I suppose I should…
I can’t help but take mutual responsibility for the situation.
Unfortunately, I set them up to fail.
I’m not the best influence myself… I won’t change you, I will just be beside you.
It kills them every time.

 
I’ll remember his scratchy, wobbled head… his baby teeth… his sweet softness.
He was thirty two, but he seemed so young & innocent, the thing.
If it was a schtick, it was a fucking great one…
But I’m more apt to blame it on the Cycles.
Inanna is dying & beginning her descent.