at the risk of being
labeled calculating, I still
liked being seen.
at the risk of being
would you like to play a real slow game?
at the risk of being
labeled calculating, I still
liked being seen.
but i’m a martyr for this,
needs an audience
or else it’s just plain masochism
lonely and caustic
without the gentle recompense,
the moist poultice,
the final amends:
the touch of her
after she laid her.
all cathedrals use pain as payment
and my crucifixion,
while self inflicted;
is just as baneful.
my bloodletters will wash
the splashes from my feet,
take their time
with each laceration;
*excuse my gendered language. I am only telling my narrative of my life as a cis woman with mostly cis men*
As we speak, I am locked out of my account. This is the fifth time this has happened. I posted a screenshot of a man’s email to me; a copy and paste email he has sent to multiple women in the area. This email included no private information and nothing personal. His PUBLIC work email was listed. I posted this because this man has emailed me FOUR times asking to work together. Each time I have said no.
File this under my umbrella file: rape culture.
The first time I told him no, we had an extensive drawn-out conversation over email about fetishization and the use of terms to denote my whiteness–snowbunny, BBC, etc. This person denied using any kind of racialized or fetishized content. When I clicked his Many Vids I just saw the tags over and over: “BBC” “Interracial” and “Asian” for the one non-white costar he worked with. “Asian” in the title. “Asian” in the tag, in the description. This was his exact quote: “Actually if you see my post DONT have labeled remarks such ass: white, BBC, interracial, etc.” Which he had many. He had no content with anyone else but white women.
File this under my daughter file: gaslighting.
He sent me THREE MORE EMAILS and I finally replied telling him I said no and to take me off his mailing list. His reply: “I didn’t see your response.” I posted this on my twitter merely to point out that men are highly coercive, rejection sensitive and can’t take no for an answer. He retaliated by reporting the post and my header which caused me to get locked out of my account losing access to my livelihood. AGAIN.
File this under: targeted harassment.
While he continues to do this as a hobby…. While he continues to do this as a hobby, he pushed my account into darkness–a place where I make my only living. Something I have always done for survival. I won’t legitimize that comment with a trauma tour through my life but I am doing this for survival. Touring the sex work industry, they are easy to spot:, often RTIng as many women as they can to get their attention. They hope to get their attention, commenting on every post. Hope you’ll retweet their dick pic. Hope you’ll comment back and laugh at their joke and soon it’s fucking and frolicking on and *off* (that’s the key) camera. Often being able to hold onto one or two good references; someone they didn’t use or manipulate to go on to manipulate dozens. Similarly to photographers, they consume female bodys in an effort to create more and more product neglecting editing in their lust to shoot more content. When contacting references, we hear back “yeah he was a little handsy, just have good boundaries” or “he kept insisting on being nude the entire time and getting overly close to me, just have good boundaries” or “he made me cuddle with him after” “kissed me after the shoot” “harassed me over text following our shoot.” We are told have good boundaries. He told me, “I’ll shoot you nude for sex if you dont have money :).” We are told to stand strong. “He kept putting off sending me the content we made. It’s been six months.” We are told we invited it. “After the scene was done he climbed on me and kissed me.” We are told we should be thankful we are not homely. “He asked me to cuddle after. I didn’t know what to say. He was really insistent.” Catalog what we were wearing. “Well it’s a porn shoot, what do you expect?” “Well it’s a nude shoot, what do you expect?” Well, he’s a man, what do you expect? We are told to get over it.
We are told our Twitters are locked for telling other people about it.
Any time we try to post about a predatory encounter, we are threatened. Both by the platforms that hold our entire visibility in their massive AI pocket and by the men we are calling out. By the men that simply see it trolling their way through dozens of profiles aimlessly looking to “take down” a woman. By the men that don’t like us and have been waiting. Like little barracudas stumbling upon a slow school. And when they post themselves shirtless in their avatar or header, they are protected. When they DM us, dick pics, they are protected. They can hurl insults in our DMs, post pictures of us without consent (there was a facebook group for a longtime calleds “Girls being sluts in bathrooms” where men uploaded pictures without consent. That Facebook group lasted but saying “Men are trash” will get you banned”, they can harass you day after day creating new accounts to do so and Twitter will let it stand. All of these experiences I’ve had. I’ve received dick pics over Instagram and they sided with the predator. I’ve reported men for targeted harassment for making an new profile that was clearly targeted at me and they sided with him. I have reported men’s profiles that say “Rape all women” and it has stayed. I’ve reported men’s profiles that do nothing but chastise women and they stay. We have Andr*w T*te. We have what’s-his-face telling folks to report strippers. We have the red pill party. We jhave four-chan, lue links, Reddit and Gamer Gate.
They can have the words “bang me” in the header and it’s fine. They can post their torso hinting that they are touching their own dicks all day long but I can’t post myself fully covered depending on the material of the dress. Depending on the pose. No boobs, no sideboobs, no ass. Just the provocation. Just the hint of sex is all it takes. Just the idea that nipples lay below the bra-line somewhere buried. Just turning to a certain angle and they can make out our hip shape and that’s enough to get you banned. But you can still see yourself circulating on the web. It’s a sure bet you’ll have tons of content stolen and leaked on the web. I have had men make almost minute long previews of our shot. I have had a person post HALF OF THE POLAROIDS (about 7) of me sucking their dick on their TL without any thought to ask me if that was ok. I have had men post my entire pussy on the TL in graphic detail, up close without asking if it was ok. Because they need the exposure.
Because they get off on the exposure. Because they don’t need the money the same way. Because they are doing this for status. Because they think this is fun. Because they are entitled to do anything they want with our content (including refusing to give it to me, as one local content creator did). Because leaked images of penises will never be as harmful in society’s eye as leaked images of pussy. Because a male porn star is applauded. Because they want to be applauded. Because they want to be exposed and they want our full attention.
Posting about them, posting about our experience, we are silenced. Reported. Surveilled. We have no recourse but to keep whispering to each other over text, in conversation. Why was the Amber Heard trial publicized? Do you even remember what started it? Amber alluding to abuse without naming a name until Depp dragged her through the mud good and well dead from it all. And i’m not here for this “mutual abuse” talk or to take sides, I am here to point out that when someone tried to share their experience of abuse, they were sued for millions of dollars, forced to stand trial for all of the world to judge them and still could not discuss her abuses publicly in the end. Silence was the punishment. The money was just the piss on the fire. Some facts of the case (https://www.nbcnews.com/pop-culture/pop-culture-news/johnny-depp-amber-heard-defamation-trial-summary-timeline-rcna26136: )
Heard writes the op-ed for The Washington Post at the heart of the defamation lawsuit. In the op-ed, she writes: “I became a public figure representing domestic abuse, and I felt the full force of our culture’s wrath for women who speak out.”
Heard’s article mentions her experience with abuse from her childhood to adulthood. It does not include Depp’s name.
At the crux of the article, Heard asks for support for women experiencing domestic violence.
“We have an opening now to bolster and build institutions protective of women. For starters, Congress can reauthorize and strengthen the Violence Against Women Act,” she writes.
Depp sues Heard for defamation, claiming the Post article was a ruse for Heard to gin up positive press for herself. Depp also claims she is not the victim of domestic violence but instead the perpetrator.
Depp seeks $50 million in damages.
Because they want to villainize us once they can’t consume us anymore.
I begin to charm him and
he lets me tie his wrists together.
I lick his thigh
grow up big
admired for aesthetic,
pruned to look pained,
with some self-seeking worship;
most every limb
most every limb
kept smaller than it
The card of the summer is The Moon. Usually we celelbrate the sun during this time but this year we need to go deep and dark. Don’t be afraid to access your inner demons. They will free you in the end.
“I hurt. I keep that scream in and at what pain.
at what repeal of salvage and eclipse.
army unhonored, meriting the gold,
I have sewn my guns inside my lips.”
–gwendolyn brooks, Riders to the Blood-red Wrath
you can shake your fist at any
foaming coast but her
break remains unscathed,
waves unmoved by anything
but tide, but
lunacy like you and
you are barefoot:
some pedestrian gesture of
worship. bare faced,
palms up in moving
shrine. dressed in silver
locket and white.
perched on toes,
avoiding the shells and
ghost crabs that litter the beach
you’re wild and roaming
the line seeking to slice
yourself, your guilt,
your crippled little wrists.
steal the scissors from his girlfriend’s
what’s it like to be a hypnotist?
take a seat.
notice your veins rock,
glisten with munition.
life’s a seething blade
and you wear yours deep
in your lungs.
hum for a bit and then
write it on the page.
have them sing it back
watch your toes curl in the sand
before you start wading.
have them say it out loud and
you are seeking
redress. you are
seeking long due
turn of fate.
you are seeking
that snarling bitch,
that sudden wreck
that laid you.
“a consequence of female self love is that the woman grows convinced of social worth.”
The Beauty Myth, naomi wolf
“don’t be afraid to be this luminous
to be so bright
so empty the bullets pass right through you
thinking they have found the sky
as you reach down
press a hand in this blood-warm body
like a word being nailed to its meaning & lives.”
–Ocean Vuong, Ode To Masturbation
Happy Spring Equinox and welcome to Aries season! This is my favorite time of the year–when everything is just starting to open and blossom, days are longer, meandering about town through parks and fields is the norm. Is expected of all of us. Is required. And just in the distance, a constant dog bark.
My 9th house holds Aries which means I’m an independent, fiery, optimistic, make-my-own path, free to be who I am kind of person who defends the right of others to be who they want to be also. A forward thinker. Assertive. Wants everyone to be authentic and tell it like it is. I encourage you to look at your chart to see where your Aries falls: https://astro.cafeastrology.com/natal.php or google what “9th house) means.
Every season, I come up with 4-5 affirmations, starting a new one each week that coordinates with the energy of the season and where that particular zodiac falls in my chart. It’s a little too nebulous to explain entirely but I find that coming up with goals for each season, each year, each month, each week to really satisfy the constant moving Virgo brain of mine facilitates a deeper inner healing while remaining true to my analytical nature. I love dawdling through the hallways of philosophy and personal growth.Making lists, setting goals, checking in with my lists and planner every morning really helps me. It may not work for everyone but it’s a suggestion that today you spend time ridding yourself of some of the baggage, bad habits and negative thought patterns winter brought on. My goal for spring is to remain buoyant, optimistic, nourish myself and be more tactical in my approach to life. Be more intentional with my direction in life. My goal for this week is to appreciate the small pleasures in life: the cat’s nose on my hand, the taste of Yerba Mate, the sun shining through the cherry blossoms.
The card of the season is The Queen of Cups–fruitful, artistic, intuitive and kind. She is a prophet of sorts. Empathic with boundaries. Giving without self sabotage. If you are looking for a ritual, I encourage cleaning out everything that is no longer needed and donating or trashing. Lighting a candle to Brigid and Hekate. Setting a spring intention and burying it in a plant or jar outside, maybe with seeds or garlic cloves, and watering it daily. The act of ritual is an act of devotion to self preservation and intention. Ninety percent of success is just from simply believing it to be true. If you don’t have a backyard, invest in a plant. If you don’t want to invest in a plant, invest in a corner of your room and set the intention in a jar and add a coin to it every day. By Autumn Equinox, see how much you’ve gotten and prepare for the harvest of the bounty. And if you don’t believe in any of this bullshit, just book me cuz you know I’m not.
Also,my old twitter was suspended. My new account is CatarinaKush. As always, I am accepting monetary contributions and gifts to apologize for the untoward closure of my money-making account. I am also excited to soft announce I will be starting my own business in the herbal and healing realm and am always raising funds to help fund my store and training starting in fall to slowly transition to a different line of work. Lists and payment apps at allmylinks.com/catkush
If you’re waiting to book, now is absolutely the time. I have many plans to get deep in,
get the gold,
get solidly out.
“I swear to God. I swear at God. I won’t mention what He does to me. I lack nothing I need unless you count everything I want.” –Kaveh Akbar, Calling a Wolf a Wolf
The first journey I ever had, full journey, not the day I sucked on grapefruit all day to potentiate my mushroom chocolates with my best friend freshman year of college, frolicing through the woods at 10 pm watching our hands disappear into the bark. This was deeper, illuminating bits of me I was terrified to see. When I was 25, a man I had been dating three months told me he was moving to Boulder and asked me: do you want to do something new with your life or do you want to stay here and get drunk all the time? Like a gun to the temple, God, that’s a no-brainer. I was impulsive, freshly off house arrest, freshly undressed and growing my hair back after I shaved it in a black out. Adjusted my black bob wig, and said
“Sure. Sounds fun. But I have to ask my probation officer.”
I had lived in Virginia my whole life and was quite literally drowning on a daily basis. Third arrest. Second ultimatum received by a man (stop drinking or else). First time I ever considered the word “addiction” had more personal meaning to me than just something that runs in my family. Maybe a little more close to my chest than affecting those I cared about. The state cared nothing about whether I went to Colorado. I merely had to continue to get my paper signed saying I was attending AA, which I was, and then would resume downing jugs of wine when I got home, purple shit eating grin and no fucking clue where I was or what I was doing but always waking up in the middle of some imminent consequence. They said I had to go to AA. They didn’t say I had to participate.
My ex and I decided to have a big send off and go to Bonarroo, the huge music festival in Tennessee, and though I had quit drinking for my boyfriend, maybe four weeks by then, I told him I was going to have one last festivity. I blacked out immediately upon arrival and remember wearing my iPod at some point while Deerhunter was playing, texting my ex and telling him I was lost. Ended up watching The Wizard of Oz alone and fighting with my boyfriend over text. Undeterred, we bought a bag of psilocybin the next day and I decided to be the bigger person, since I had done this before, and take more than my ex and lead us on our journey.
Cut to me lying on the ground in the middle of the walkway. Cut to me staring at the Ferris Wheel mouth wide open. Cut to me asking him if he can see the scary faces too. Cut to someone high fiving us and offering us a stuffed animal. Cut to me watching a grasshopper slowly walk across the grass as Florence and The Machine played in the background and I heard a voice somewhere, a whisper. I turned to my ex and said “I’m an alcoholic. God told me I’m an alocholic and I don’t care what you do but I’m never gonna drink again.”
Cut to me drinking two beers the next day and poignant. Reflecting on the taste and the way it never seemed to hold me long. The way it enraptured me only in longing, but in actualizing the euphoria faded away. Cut to me throwing out my pack of cigarettes the next day, the ride back. Cut to me never drinking again. Cut to me never smoking cigarettes again. It’s been 12 years since I drank save one time when I drank a THC tincture to get high shortly after my dad died. I felt like he wanted the vodka the THC had been soaked in and I felt no real regret stumbling up the stairs, mumbling this isn’t terrible but it’s definitely not for me. I don’t even think about drinking. I don’t pine for it and if you would have told me that one day I’d tell you I don’t think about alcohol at all, I would slap you in your smug lying face feeling this some subtle acerbic judgement of how I spend my time.
“All I do is think about alcohol. All I do is think about not drinking alcohol, then drinking her again.”
They say you shouldn’t start the story in a boring way but capture the person first. Or exert expertise. Show rather than tell you have the sincerest understanding of subject matter. You are qualified. You are above all entranced by the dance between medicine and drugs, the fine line we draw based on how society has learned to handle the substance, and the depth of each compound. That it contains pieces of God and that it contains pieces of hell. That it is both addicting and freeing. Since that journey, I’ve had many more journeys; psilocybin, acid, thc, kratom, and most recently and even more potent for healing, MDMA. I have experience guiding people through these substances and with them, on them as well. I have experience mixing medicines. Mixing medicines with herbs. Taking too much and having a hard time, a bad time, a panic attack. Taking a small amount and merely seeing the sun shine through a branch and connecting the branch to the cardinal that usually means the dead is nearby. Feeling intuition take over my spine. Feeling the sun on my clavicle. Feeling the levity of death in life.
I am happy to offer medicinal journeys to people. I am happy to offer my expertise for those who want to journey on their own. I am excited for this new path I am on and to also continue using herbs and supplements to heal as well. Incorporate my herbalism training. Incorporate my reiki certification. My social work experience. Even my doula training. My years of helping and caregiving for the elderly. And my years of being stuck in a labyrinth of shadow, reaching. Learning every nook of myself. Learning the properties of the Earth and the medicine she offered me, almost baneful at times but in the right dose, clarifying. The poultice and the wound often come from the same exact place.
This is merely an introductory post. I am excited to elucidate these journeys more but TL:DR–I am offering guided MDMA sessions and select guided Psilocybin journeys as well. I will share more about my journeys with each. Above all else, please
“just say yes and step into the consequence.”
–kaveh akbar, calling a wolf a wolf