Hello from Tokyo.


Its been a crazy year. The first few months were the scariest. I lost everything and ended up overseas, got stuck, got pimped out, was physically assaulted in the middle of a restaurant the one time I ask to call the police they tell me “we don’t call the garda here”, got kicked out of hotels, raped, and robbed. But I’m still here. Still writing. Still taking photos. Does that bother you? Good. The bitch is back.

I’m writing stories but I think I’m saving these for a graphic novel or memoir…finally going to start charging for this grief porn!

I’ve been in Tokyo for two weeks and being here has finally solidified my decision to buy land and build a home for myself. I don’t give a shit if I’m too young to think like this I’m so tired of all of the factors that go into being a homeless sex worker and also being a guest in someone else’s space. I just can’t take it anymore. HOME! HOME! HOME! ITS FUCKING PROJECT HOME TIME!

When I do get set up I think I’m going to maybe webcam but other than that I’m trying to transition into something new and out of sex work altogether.

I’m excited to get my hands dirty on my own plot of land. To watch the moon from my porch and feel connected to something real again.

Thanks for still reading.

p.s. if you miss porno me check out Girls Out West and my latest girl/girl scene as Sahara.


lazin in the foothills

Video coming soon!














piss poor update and a half to be continued when I feel like writing…

Dear Internet,

Where did we leave off?

I was in Tucson broke and homeless living out of sheds, school buses, and broken down RVs. I took all of the money I scraped together dancing at one of the worst clubs in that town to take a train to LA, sleep in an airport for a day or two to get hassled by the cops for looking like a terrorist to get drunk as hell before getting  on a plane back to Australia, a place which has turned into somewhat of a financial promised land for me. Australian customs gave me a hell of a time, they went through all of my luggage, every single thing and even read my journal and medical papers I had with me. I happened to have a copy of Laura Augustin’s Sex at the Margins which lead to more questioning and me being lead to a small white room where I was questioned for over an hour about my mental health, line of work and family situation. I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what the lesson here is…

Not fun. So to all the people that bug me to keep a journal or record of events because my life is oh so interesting, fuck off, reality says its just more evidence for customs officials, cops and whoever else to condem, arrest and prosecute you with.

I whored for four months there, took some time off visited friends in Sydney, went to a wicked festival, made some bad porn, took some OK photos, scored a one page spread in People Magazine (Australia) , then went back to work. Finally after a few bad nights with men that were beyond any help I could give them and a coworker stealing from me, I impulsively bought a plane ticket to Dublin. After being in the air for twenty two hours I finally landed in Ireland, my first time in the UK in over ten years since I lived in Scotland. I stayed with a friend there for a couple weeks where we basically fell back into our familiar relationship.

We met in honors classes in freshman year of highschool and she’s still one of my bestest buddies even though she has zero respect for the work I do, she’s been there when I needed her and I’m so grateful for our relationship and I love her to death. We went to the Dublin Writers Museum, saw Oscar Wilde’s statue, walked around St. Stephen’s Green and then took a bus ride to the Cliffs of Moher over in Galway.

She took me to her giant corporate office where I saw the otherside: what would have happened if I had maybe graduated from highschool and gotten a “normal” job. I didn’t like it.

But maybe I don’t like anything, maybe I’m just a disagreeable bitch that will never find a place, job or line of work that makes me happy. Her office cafeteria made me anxious, giant crowds of twenty something IT dorks milling around…reminded me of the one year of highschool we went to together. No thanks…

Leaving Dublin I flew to Asheville, NC and then Hot Springs to check out a little piece of land that I found on the internets but unfortunately it was too vertical and under an HOA anyways. Boo. So the hunt continues…

I left Asheville by bus and then Charlotte by train all the way to Florida where I left my car almost a year before (long story which may someday make an interesting chapter in my fictional memoir). My trail daddy flew down from NY and we drove to Ocala National forest to camp with some other hiker trash (RYDER!!!) and then onto Amicalola Falls State Park where I left my little spaceship of love, again, to go hiking on the AT.

This time we did the approach trail, which is pointless and I recommend it to no one. Walking up stairs does not count as hiking to me, training perhaps, but not hiking. The second day I took a zero because it was freezing cold and there was ice on the trees and I was feeling like a pouty princess. I was already ready to give up and I couldn’t believe that I had dragged myself out there again. But then, a girl with pretty red hair and bright blue eyes came into the shelter and we started talking. This was her first attempt at a thruhike and she said she cried when she saw her first white blaze because she was finally making a lifetime dream of her’s into a reality. She had always wanted to hike the AT and now she was finally doing it. I felt like the biggest most cynical ungrateful cunt in the entire world in that moment. We became friends, her hiking partner gave me a swig of whiskey and later on when I ran into her she told me I had nice boobs. I didnt know what to say, I get so tongue tied around women I’m attracted to its silly. Not to genderize (not a word I know) things but at this point in time I would like to date a lady. Although I *love* the cock, I’m craving something else…

So the next morning I got my ass up and hiked to Woody Gap camped for a night and then hiked into Neels Gap. Memories memories memories and as Teen Wolf put it I saw ghosts of ourselves from three years ago hiking, sweating, smoking and laughing our asses off all over the place. During the second day when I was freezing my ass off I ran into a lady hiking southbound that I met in 2010, she was so nice and gave me the gloves off her hands and an extra hat she had. I started sobbing after she hiked away because it was such a nice reminder of the kindness and brother/sisterhood you see on the trail. People look out for eachother out there like no where else I have seen, and yes that sentence sucks grammatically please feel free to correct it in the comments…lol

At Neels Gap I stayed at the hostel and got drunk and met a nice boy that I hiked with for a couple months till Virginia where I ran into Timon and G-Hippie doing trail magick and joined them on an  aqua blaze of the St James River then we joined up with another crew and attemped to canoe the South Fork to the Shenandoah (part of which I did three years ago). This time we borrowed canoes and kayaks from a local dude…


up close & personal


Check out my latest video on I Feel Myself, ‘Up Close’, watch me play with myself and bring myself to several climaxes and ejaculation.

Writing coming soon and possible private blog in the works…meanwhile I am traveling, stripping and on the hunt for a small piece of land to homestead. Hoping to hop on webcam soon!

Lots of  love and thank you for the emails making sure I’m still alive <3

nice cock

In the world of animal totems Roosters are supposed to symbolize the birth of the day, sexuality and pride. This still is taken from my latest video on IFeelMyself.com where I had a funny encounter with some nice cock. Click the link to join 10% off the membership from that link! Enjoy!

somewhere over the rainbow


“We’re gonna party like its 1999!” her text says. I reply and say I was only 12 in ’99 and definitely wasn’t into parties. I was too busy reading Harry Potter and escaping my erratic childhood. Although maybe if I had known places and people like this exist I would have been up for the adventure.

A day or two later I find myself at a festival dancing my heart out with thousands of other hippy raver whatevers and with my very own manic pixie dream girl, a term I just learned. She really is magickal and whimsical and in this case I am totally the brooding male character. But thats ok. Because she is going to save me…I kid…


We’re stomping and smiling and looking into each others eyes, I watch the flashing lights illuminate her face, the glitter, the rockstar hair cut and I feel so damn lucky to be here right now.


It takes me a couple days to adjust from work mode to this mode. I don’t know if I ever actually left work mode or if I just kind of taste tested freedom for a sec. But for the first two days I have nightmares about work I’m hiring another girl to see at work and feeling guilty about it and then the next thing I know I’m letting a stranger do all kinds of things I wouldn’t normally let them do and am left with a feeling of guilt.

Remember this scene from Waking Life? http://youtu.be/s0TvZRcwz4I

“Its bad enough that you sell your waking life for minimum wage…and then they get your dreams for free.” Yeah.

The music is so loud, which is where the name Doof comes from. Because it literally is like doof doof doof doof doof. For days. The DJs work in shifts to make sure that there is an unending rhythm of bass to dance to. Because thats what we came here to do.

A man stumbles up to us and drops his bendy glow stick thing on the ground, picks it up and sways back and forth whilst trying to focus on my face, “Will you tie this around my neck please. I hate it but please tie it around my neck.” Sure I say picking it up and the Lady Bird asks why he hates it. “Its not sustainable.” he says and I laugh out loud right in his face. “Look at where we are! Is any of this sustainable? The only thing thats sustainable here are the shitters!” He giggles and walks away.

I go to a workshop on Sacred Geometry which is one of those subjects that really interests me and just as “KrystalEyes” as she calls herself is explaining a spiritual experience that she had when she was eight years old I can feel the LSD start to kick in…

“I sat there wondering how many people all over the world were eating…then I thought I wonder how many people are…kissing!” She giggles. “and then I wondered how  many people were thinking the same thing and I was instantly catapulted out of my body and into the void…”

She said that experience led her to Sacred Geometry which gave her a mathematical real life scientific explanation for why we’re all connected. Because…shapes. I get it but I don’t, it seems like a hella fascinating way to plan out a property or build a temple though, using recurring shapes and geometric patterns. I’ve often thought that the banner for my blog looked interesting, the shape of my aereola and nipple juxtaposed to a sunflower…maybe that’s why. Shapes. I didn’t take geometry in highschool because sophomore year was the lucky year I spent in Scotland in boarding school in a town that’s right out of a fairy tale and they were already learning trig.

As we’re dancing I picture people in my mind and try to send them my high, again. A little trick I’ve tried to perfect over the years because why not spread the love. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. We’re all so connected and then not. I find it hard to pick the flow I want to be apart of because theres so many little strings that are attached to me and stretch out over the infinite and they’re all reverbing.

He books me for two hours and says we’re going to have philosophical conversations. Awesome. We lay in bed staring into eachothers eyes, he tells me he loves me and asks me what the meaning of life is to which I reply Orgasms. A philosophy I’ve held dear since I was 16. After our time together is up he books for another hour.

And here I am all the way across the world again crying. Again. Because I don’t understand why. When I was freaking out after accidently dosing myself, one of my fairy godmothers calls in almost perfect timing, just after nine. She said that sometimes some people are there just to open the door and then walk away. But you haven’t walked away, you’re still there holding the door open by the handle watching me, I’m one foot on the inside the other foot over the threshold and we’re still here in this moment that may extend into infinity for all I know…and you’re still looking me right in the eye and saying, “Yes you too sweetheart, I’m thinking the same thing.” I wish it never happened.

wild is the wind

What is there left to say?

I write all the time in my mind, some of it makes it to paper, some to this shitty laptop I’m using and sometimes it makes it to the internet. But I am always writing, the internal monologue never stops.

These days I’m a bit hesitant about the reality of what I post and from where. Blame the man. And the woman. And the other genders involved. There were many. I assure you.

SO here is a story.

The truth is stranger than fiction, so they say…or is there some truth in fiction?


One morning I decided to go for a walk. Not just any morning. This was a cold and rainy morning, thick heavy clouds rolled in from the East and brought with it big gusts of wind.

Something strange was in the air. I decided to visit some cliffs nearby, in order to get to the cliffs you have to cross a golf course and of course whilst crossing the course all I could think about was making love in the huge expanse of grass, perhaps the sprinklers turn on at night, and the stars…oh the stars. Sex outside is nice, sex with the wind is nicer and the possibility that someone may be watching is even more provoking.

When I get to the cliffs I watch a sea hawk dive and fly back to one of its roosting spots. Then I notice something else…

What appears to be a girl walking towards the edge of the cliff.

She stops. Then she begins to remove her jacket.

I pull out my camera and start taking photos…

She takes off her top and her shorts. Then she stands on the edge, completely naked.

I think she notices me for a second, so I stop and turn away.

Then I say, fuck it and decide to talk to her…

I climb to the top of the rocks where she’s standing and by the time I make it up there she’s dancing…with a long red scarf…

Do you know, she asks, what goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?

Damn…a riddle…I hate riddles I tell her…

That is alright, lets play another game, she says laughing…

A forgiving sphinx, a rare find…

What do you want to play?

She lets go of the red scarf and it floats into the wind and down towards the sea…

She stands there completely nude before me and giggles and then walks towards the edge of the cliff, sits down with her feet dangling off the edge…

“There’s not a kingdom on the earth,
That I haven’t traveled over and over,
And though I know not whence my birth,
Yet when I come, you know my roar.
I through the town do take my flight,
And through the fields and meadows green,
And whether it be day or night,
I neither am nor can be seen…”

What am I? She asks before jumping off the edge. I run to see where she may have gone, but there is nothing apart from big blue waves crashing against the rocks.


The sphinx also has a blog, check out Rainbow Rooted for travel photos, hoop videos, food and more.


deadly beauties

veronika decides to die

Veronika Decides to DieVeronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


A lady in a bookstore recommended me this novel after I read the Alchemist and was looking for something similar, but when I read the title and the summary I felt like at the time (suffering from major depression) that I wasn’t ready to read something that seemed a bit heavy.

Hearing of the fact the Mr. Coehlo was committed against his will a few times in his youth intrigued me and gave me greater interest in reading it. How he interwove his own experiences into the story was creative.

I loved the overall analysis of the mental health system and what it means to be insane.

View all my reviews

the last altar

before things went under…

The wicked envy and hate; it is their way of admiring.
Victor Hugo