Category Archives: Soul

I Don’t Hit, Darlin’.

Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-49-04It’s sometimes difficult to talk about experiences.

When Something that you ‘Wish Did Not Happen’ does, you spend years repressing or forgetting, or at the very least, learning how to live quietly in the living room of your mind with it… you become more & more steadily focused on not-dying of ‘Stupidity’ or ‘Bad Decisions’, while it simmers & fidgets & squirms in the chair beside you. Sometimes it’s ugly mouth shatters Reality…. Gawping & Bursting with voiceless noise, screaming, bubbling & drooling, reminding you it still has Form & Name… a shape, & lighting that won’t dim.

When you see a side of yourself that is truly abhorrent… or that you hate because it reminds you of a parent, or when you wish you were more than you are, or feel like a more successful version of you is literally a situation away, or when you stare in the mirror, into your own eyes & it feels like molten lava flowing down your spinal cord… Your head cradled in Live Electric Wire… it can be so easy to ignore, to shut it off, to dumpster-lock it and roll it away into your guts.
Your Guts.
[*]{{{{RepREsSi0N iZ c00L Br0o0Oo…hEHe…}}}}[*]
In turning away, you begin a new circle.
My father was a pedophile, but beyond that, I was abused & assaulted by everyone around me, and I don’t know whether to call it abuse & assault because I was just young, ignorant & uneducated or if I can feel confident in the fact that I feel fucked up by it all & stand by that. My main concern is that I was just as much a perpetrator as a receiver of inappropriate conduct throughout my youth, and that it continues to fuck me up to this day.

So many of my female friends raped each other.d6bc78a0c68957efde1a2621253449b6
I don’t remember if it was consensual.
Sometimes I remember being told to pretend I was this or that character on tv or given a scenario I was supposed to act out. But was I assaulted if I was participating & perversely enjoying myself in these encounters? I remember that very clearly as well…the feeling of my violations being ‘perversely’ erotic… in that it felt wrong but I also enjoyed myself & always hoped it would continue, though fully understanding it shouldn’t be happening in the first place, at the time, of course, not understanding biology & human sexual response, all that… things got confusing.

I had multiple unwillingly sexual encounters, centered in a closet, (If it wasn’t tragic, I would LAUGH, all the shelving constructed by my gay-phobic christian pedophile father, INDEED!) with a girl, due to my stepmother being friends with the mother, and I just ‘learned to do it’, half of ‘doing it’ being complaining & whining about not ‘doing it’…which in retrospect groomed me for high-school… *sips tea*

I remember one particular instance in a daycare, I was playing dolls with another girl, she had a blanket over the dollhouse and was trying to make my doll ‘bang’ her doll.
At first I didn’t get it, but then I started getting embarrassed & refusing, while the girl pretty much threw a tantrum about it. We both got punished for the encounter… I don’t remember how it was explained but I remember the shame & embarrassment about being sexual.

There were a few boys who played ‘show me yours I’ll show you mine’ games, but I don’t remember the encounters feeling anywhere near as sinister as situations with girls or adults have.

I learned everything I knew about sex from V.C. Andrews books & similar sources.
If you are not aware, these books are the equivalent of softcore taboo porn… tons of incest, rape, non-consensual sex, affairs, ballet-school scandals, sexual abuse in foster-care situations, all kinds of stuff that I, at 31 years of age, am now very impressed they actually followed through to publishing. I can’t admonish myself for having access to books with murder & rape scenes… I wanted SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT, and this will be one of the only reasons I am relieved I was a sheltered child, I could have turned out so much worse, but I was taught restraint, above all things… which, I suppose if you’re a psychopath, is a beautiful trait to have command of.

((Shoutout to Books.
Books, words, literature, Those who Dare encrypt Thought Wrought from Ether to Writ, those Savage Nobles, both Living Feverishly Without Time & Scribbling Sweat onto paper…Cheers.))

So… my first boyfriend got down on one 17-or-so year old knee on my best friends basement floor & asked 12-or-so year old me to date him. He was so much older & hotter than anything I had ever seen. I wrote in my diary about him…and I got the proof!!

I ended up kissing him, but then ‘Dumping him’ at the end of the month because I wasn’t allowed to date at that age.

I don’t remember much of a ‘sexual awakening’…
Most girl sleepovers involve contact in whatever shape or form.
(Again, unless they don’t & I just hung out with inappropriate people?!?)
My family once took a trip to visit my stepmother’s relatives & a stepgirl-cousin showed me her boobs but got frustrated when I didn’t know what playboy was and went to sleep.

My first fully-realized, conscious sexual experience that I pursued, began & ended because I thought, in my mind, that if the older high school guy that was preying on my best friend banged me, he’d stop trying to go after her. We ended up losing our virginity to the same dumb loser ‘punk’ who tried too fucking hard… his FULLY ironic profession of ‘They’re sooo Laaaame’ toward grade ten kids & pushing SLC Punk and the most cliche’d dirty & ‘subversive’ jokes on us like it was a life-changing moment was lost on all involved.
Screenshot from 2018-06-30 05-05-27In retrospect, I found out later than his friend Don, whom I had a genuine crush on, also had a genuine crush on me at the time, but kept his distance to be a gentleman & not a freaky pedobear.

Go Motherfucking Figure.

Other sexual experiences rut & bump through my memory like rotted, charred horrors… or worse, broken vessels still whole enough to hide Life within their bloated forms… covered in ancestral algae… the sea of my foggy ocean-mind is restless & deep, indeed.

I’m not sure when I began being attracted to older men, but it was distinct, deliberate, and unrestricted…the lifestyle I led allowed me the freedom to make bad decisions.
The men I chose weren’t desperate or indiscreet.

I tried to seduce my grade nine teacher, but incorrectly.
I secretly loved him from afar & then sprang him with a gift-box full of poetry & love letters at the end of the year, ran, then messaged him later on social media for an answer.
Silly Girl.
He explained it was sweet but inappropriate.
I still wonder if he thinks of me when he fucks his wife.

At 18-or-so I had very much wanted to fuck an Uncle of a friend for a few years at that point. Tip of the hat to him for waiting… unlike others. Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-50-14

We had a beautiful time and I felt an inherent ‘instinct’ for the ‘campfire rules’. (Leave ’em better than you found ’em.)

I was deliberate in my displays of sexuality in my youth, I wanted to ‘Be Seen’ & Taken Advantage Of, but I suppose the real important question would have been ‘Why?’
I still do have related fantasies, but I think the difference is my commodification of it all…

Before, the answer probably would have been close to ‘Because I am Beautiful’… Now the answer is closer to ‘Because I know My Beauty is Valuable To You.’
I am forever questioning what my answer will be at 60.

If at age 31, I see these encounters as violations, but at age 14, 18, 25, I was, if being honest, more predatory in my own mind towards the supposed ‘villain’ than I care to admit…
How does One reconcile that?
Those feelings, all full & jumbled & fueled by youth, by fresh hormone or imagination or lust or irrational ignorance, or what…

That unnoticed fog that separates you from adulthood once you fully cross?
I knew I was Separated once I became an Other, but I never felt my Ecology Shifting.
That’s what causes The Monster.

At age 31, I am nervously uneasy & diametrically opposed to the sexualization of Youth…but when I was That Youth I was begging for it… I suppose the difference, I have pinpointed earlier, is that I learned how to commodify it. And unfortunately if we’re being honest, too late to be of any true use, or to give any sort of leverage in life at the time… ((Is that why they choose us? We’re fucking stupid about economics & reality?))
Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-50-35
Being dissociative is an interesting exercise when you try to think critically.
I personally have 6 passengers in my little car, so trying to come to a solid opinion on anything is difficult, let alone sex.
I also wonder if that’s what contributes to the conflict between ‘abuse’ & ‘did I encourage it’…
I have some dissociations who are not sexually active, some who are basically primal force personified, so can I be ‘both‘ consensual & non-consensual in earlier-aged situations when I was figuring out identity in the body?

I constantly question my voice as a victim because I believe I have it within my human makeup to be a perpetrator.
I see potential victims all around me because I see life through a perpetrator’s eyes, am I like…. CROSSING THE LINE WITH THE EMPATHY SHIT, GURL….or am I a predator in a soft, fuzzy also-bruised-wink-wink body?
Was I a predator at 12?
With My Demure Gracefulness,
My Implicit notes Attuned, & Played…
Plucked & Dressed, for Primal Desire,
Specifics of Nectar… Intent of Pollen…
Nature VS Nurture?
Raised by a Pedophile Instead Of a Lesbian, Good Choice Judge?
Saw Both Mother & Father’s Dicks As a Child, One a Mistake, One a Lazy Reality?
(turned out to be the opposite)
Is It Skewed Vision, I Raised Myself Into a Monster With Fiction & True Crime Books?
Does It Matter?
“Which Way Do You Vote, Anyway?;
What Are Your Thoughts on Gun Control?”
Screenshot from 2018-06-30 00-49-41“Electrify it, Holster it, Project it, Slide.”

I Am & Have Always been the Lolita.
In the last few years I’ve tried to change that… Not allowing certain dissociations control, Allowing others to ‘Take Charge Of The Situation’… I am at a personal split.

I notice the world responding to my Old Woman Self by turning away.

It is always the story of the Prince who turns away the Flower Seller.

‘Old Men must learn the Dance of the Eaten Women.’

He will learn the lesson, but I will have long passed on.
I am the Teacher that leads to the Blessing.
I am never the Garden you settle Within.
I am the respite.
I am the refreshment in the desert.
I am the Weed that refuses to Die.
I am the Cheek in life.
The Wink & the Nod.
I am the Maybe, the Better Not…
The Side-look to the Secret-self Inside You… just before you take Another Drink…
That ‘Last Mouthful…’

Screenshot from 2018-06-30 01-01-05

I watch you.
Don’t let me lose you, Me.


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.
Screenshot 2018-02-20 at 3.38.28 PM
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?


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.


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?

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,


Ecstasy is Achieved Through the Body Itself

3dc0dc1099d0af710dc4614c57cfe344When you are not given any information or knowledge about a thing, you cannot be expected to know or learn it.

This is indeed what happened to my body, my very own biology.
I was not told how it works, what to expect, how to utilize it to its full capacity & potential… so, I was and am unaware of a great deal about my Self & body.

Enter Mr. Scorpio.
I don’t think I have ever mentioned how compatible I am with Scorpio men.
In my life, I have been with two Scorpion-Men, and both have been absolutely revolutionary to me.

This leads us to our current blog post’s main topic – Ecstasy.


Read the word.
It’s shape is awkward & foreign, yet ripe with unlocked juices.

The taste of it on the lip hints of pink gum, bright yellow lemon… the color red.
Seeing in the mind bodies flexing wet-electric, arching in wordless emotion & collapsing, fully rent upon silken sheets in dim rooms.
The definition likening it closer to agony than transcendence.

I am wholeheartedly & thoroughly convinced that I have experienced true ecstasy at the hands of Mr. Scorpio.
It is not the first night we have been together…and I hate to admit, but I’ve personally developed enough of an emotional connection to him that I will not be writing too much about him in this blog… When I care for men, I tend to become protective of their privacy & space, and prefer they kept both in ample amounts.

However, this particular occasion is noteworthy.
I have been exploring the concept of stretching my vaginal muscles & opening recently.
He has been helping.
Last night, we managed to induce the most profound, most mind-altering state I have ever experienced, via the stretching and filling of my body.

The contrasted dance between life-changing pleasure & brain-bending pain was exquisite. I honestly felt like while we were stretching my vagina, we were also stretching the boundaries of the mind & reality as I comprehend them.

I was paralyzed as much by the limits of my muscles being tested, as the waves of new sensation & stimulated nerve rocking me with every gentle thrust of the tools used for my expansion.


It was the truest form of ecstasy, it was nothing like reading the word in books, seeing upturned eyes in movies, nothing. This is one word you must experience in order to comprehend, to learn, to know what it truly means.

It was marvelous, delightful, playful, and deeply personal to me.
I will never forget this man, with his tempered command of the female form… his intuitive, decisive ways of coaxing pleasure from the body…  His165b28ed831eafe12cf77ae5ecf8d3d8 languorous manner, taking time to savor, to relish every bite of the experience…absolutely, a God among men.
Its worth noting as well that I have another layer of appreciation for my inherent sexual nature now, in regards to the idea that I should be unashamed, and in fact, greedy for my own pleasures… that experiencing, exploring, testing the limits & capabilities of my Vessel, my own flesh and bone cage, is not something I should be ashamed of doing.

I am a wild forest, a full harvest with much fruit! Why allow that to go to waste when I can feed thousands from my tables?

Why deny myself the wines of life, why should I not experience a life-altering event, a beautiful, fulfilling moment in time, such as the one I have just had the honor of receiving?

Fuck that, cake & eat it too!
I’m proud of myself for being open enough to have had that experience, and I am forever grateful to Him for creating a safe, comfortable space for it to happen.

I am definitely addicted to this.

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?”
“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.
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…

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.

The Sea does not like to be Restrained

36a827bc5dc37d7f7f24599b6d0246a1I love the ocean, but I don’t know how to swim.

I was put into swimming lessons by my Mother and took to it naturally, but when my parents were divorced, my father never kept them up.

I spent my childhood not more than two blocks from the Atlantic coast, but can remember on one hand the amount of times I have been to the beach there. A lot of coal plants and garbage dumping left the beaches in our area icky and unswimmable, and no one wants to swim in ice cubes anyway.

I always dreamed of the day my skin would feel warm ocean water, and when I moved to the Philippines, I had the luxury of floating and splashing in the Pacific. It was like coming home to a warm, sun-kissed, duvet-covered bed after a long survival trek in Alaska.

One night I was feeling lonely, so I took a bottle of Red Horse and my pack of smokes down to the beach. The ocean at night is one of the most majestic things to ever exist.
You can feel the breadth & depth stretch for miles, surrounding your senses and confounding your thoughts…the sound of ocean waves coupled with silence only night can bring is singular in experience…I sat on the edge of the world with myself, thinking & drinking. I slowly noticed there were lights around me but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from… until I put my hand down to stand up.fb5a4cb6522c9799b4027ababbaa81f4

Another one of my most cherished memories will always be the bright, otherworldly blue of these impossibly small, beautiful creatures.
I sat for what must have been hours, softly waving my fingers through them, splashing with my toes, and feeling connected to something much larger than myself.

Eventually, one of the workers at the resort came to check on me. It’s considered extremely strange for a person to hang out or go places alone, and so it’s not often I had the opportunity to.

Living in the mountains is lovely… old stone has it’s own respectable energy and flow, but I always find myself becoming extremely restless and frustrated with my life when I’m separated from the sea for too long.
The salt runs pure crystal through my veins, and the tides are so strong they command obedience from my body. Who can ignore the ocean?

When I was younger I was obsessed with the idea of living in a house boat.
I would still love to live in one, however I’m less obsessed with the idea of buying one tomorrow, and I would need to hire a Captain… battling with the sea is not something I consider relaxing or useful.

My grandfather was a Captain. I did not meet him, as his ship was lost at sea. His body was the only person of the crew not found. I like to imagine he faked his own death, and that he is still out in the wide world, exploring and travelling with a greedy lust for life.