Reclaiming My Creative Voice: A Journey

“I wish I had a romantic view of myself
I wish I could see myself through the eyes of a lover”

Prologue: the Work

The artist scrolls mindlessly
On the sea of dopamine, content, and information
It has become the hunt for the object of which she is the seeker
It is that moment of magick
Where the void calls but that sliver of motivation
for the craft does too,
And you seize it,
squeaking out just a drip of the lucid juice.
Now the self doubt enters stage front
The temptation to say “perhaps that’s enough for today.”
That’s when the guilt sets in.
Even if not a single other eye lies upon my work
May i at least still produce works.
Maybe profundity lies between the lines
Cast by a desperation to do good.
Maybe I’m mad
And the work won’t amount to anything
But at least the work was done.
The artist pauses. Much has transpired,
But the page or canvas is there at every turn, their presence remains constant,
A friend to whom we still visit, or the lover we just cant quite get away from.

April 25, 2025

Reckoning

In which it is time to revamp the blog- to give her a proper place, and a proper name. In which it is time to paint and see myself as a lover through the record lens that is and that has been my life.

As I sift through my stacks of tattered journals, commonplace notebooks, and disorganized slews of Word documents and phone “Notes”  I realize: I have plenty to say. And sometimes, I even manage to say it well.

Right now, I’m in a place of reckoning. I’m reevaluating my relationship with work. Reconnecting to my dreams. Asking myself what I’m doing, how I’m living, and most of all—why.

Because somewhere along the way, I forgot.

 The Dreams that went Undone

 What I set out to do—to eat, sleep , and breathe art, making a living off of my creative works—got buried under the weight of jobs I could barely hold and standards I could never quite meet.

When I dropped out of college in 2015, I unknowingly set my own goals and creative hunger aside and started surviving. Working for others. Helping them build their empires while mine lay dormant.

To Care and to Collapse 

After much trial and error with finding a proper job, I discovered caregiving. I enjoyed it. It was beautiful, rewarding, and spiritually fulfilling. It still is. But these days it feels like more of a means to an end. Dealing with domineering personalities in management and clients that at times challenge my spirit; struggling to maintain work life balance; the emotional weight of providing excellent care; I struggled and still struggle frequently with burnout- having to leave jobs on average a little after a year only so I could stamp another gap in employment on my resume just for a period of rest. Even now I  feel the threat of burnout creeping in upon me.

And I ask myself why I am doing what I do-why I show up, clock in, give and give and give—As meager as it is for the nature of the work, I find that my answer is that I am doing it for the income to support myself. 

Then I remember my dreams- my goals which consisted of much much more than just money and survival- They were big. Bold. Lit by starlight and dripping with decadence.

The craft called to me like a siren. I answered to her for a time, majoring in creative writing. I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to end up, but I knew what I wanted and I was aiming for the stars.

Flesh for Fantasy

In 2020, I launched a fledgling creative project that started strong—but came with a lot of hard lessons. This venture was my OnlyFans. It was an appealing option during the first year of the pandemic, when the platform exploded in popularity. It was an exploration in both the bounds and limits of expressing my sensuality in a creative manner. And it worked for a while.

But I had no experience in that world, no roadmap, no grounded vision of what I wanted it to be—and I had lost sight of what I wanted for myself. I was experimenting. Learning what it meant to create in a hyper-digital age of opportunity. It evolved into blog-style posts on Facebook and webcam modeling via Chaturbate—a fusion of sensuality and art.

It was promising. It was profitable. But it was also a lesson in boundaries. Again, a lesson in burnout, and in what I could and couldn’t give;  a lesson in what was good for my mental health as well as lucrative to my business and livelihood and what was not.

I lost sight of the mission, because I hadn’t fully found it yet.

Slow, Steady, Sovereign

I am not feeling the sense of panicked urgency that I normally would feel. Where a past me would have quit her job already and dove into this project headfirst without a plan, I find now that there is a calm inner knowing of what I must do and how I must proceed. I am in no hurry. I am not quitting my day job in order to pursue this but instead opting for a slow and steady effort free of pressure. After much time, insight, and experience, I know how I would like to proceed and I know exactly what I want as a creator. I also understand that I have all of the time in the world.

About this Fool’s Journey

May this blog be a proper chronicle of my life. Where I will share musings and wisdom, trials and beauty, passions and pain. A sacred space to grow, to unravel, and to take you with me on my Fool’s Journey.

I look at my past work and feel the echo of all my former selves—words that poured from me like milk and honey, blood, shit, and sweet nectar. Am I an edge lord? Yes. Is my prose the purplest of purple? Absolutely. But my art is exorcism. I write to keep the energy flowing, to keep it from stagnating. No matter how cringe, I must create—or I will die.

I don’t care anymore. The cursed era of creative constipation is over. A new day is dawning.

 Eradicate the censor. Fuck the fear, I am a provocative, highly sensitive person. I am a raw, throbbing nerve. I am 100% turned on or nothing at all. I am vulnerable and real.

I’m here to do the devil’s work, to speak my Peace, to share what I’ve learned, what I’ve lived, and to bleed my creativity across the page.

and I can feel the ideas pulsing through me like a hard cock, oozing with pleasure and decadence; a cosmic tease with maybe a bit of pain. This is it. This is resurrection. This is climax. 

I am here to be a beacon—of light, of shadow, of authenticity.
To liberate myself.
To inspire others.
To break free from the vices, the noise, the 9-5, the grotesque grind of modern dystopia.
To reclaim my attention. My body. My art.

This is not just a blog.
This is my altar.
May this work speak to the wild ones, the wounded artists, the sacred rebels.
To the mystics. To the edge lords.
To anyone who still dares to live out loud.

 Welcome to the Work.