For around 10 years, I lived in a limbo of anxiety and self-doubt. I understood that I was weird. I got that part. And I also understood that it wasn’t always a bad thing. But I still had no idea how to live with it.
I moved to Berlin and realized I was an alcoholic. Yes, I know how that sounds. Why would I come to such a realization in a city where avoiding drugs can be quite the challenge? I don’t have an answer. It just happened. One day, I woke up, found an empty wine bottle I had hidden the night before, brought it to my husband, and confessed. He had no idea. I was good at hiding it.
That moment is one I’ll never forget. It was hard: scary, first of all. I felt exposed. Broken. Ashamed. Lost. But also liberated. I didn’t feel strong at the time, but now I can’t ignore how much stronger that truth made me. Not all at once, but day by day, it’s started to feel like a superpower.
That’s how I traded one addiction for another. I don’t need substances if I can be honest. Alcohol was just a tool to numb the pain of not being accepted for who I am.
(CW: marketing, strong personal opinion, suicide, war mentions)
In the more than a year that the shop has been in existence, I’ve received enough complaints that the whole concept is simply disturbing, confusing and above all that the user has to wonder who is Oxxxymiron, or who is Marina Abramovich, or if they know both, some are even more confused and annoyed that I’ve dared to name them in one place. Since this distracts them from the product, they leave the page before buying. What a shame.
We live in an age of reactions and post-reactions. People see what they want to see. I have to explain myself if I want my message to remain clear. So… If this project is close to your heart in any way and you need clarification, here it is. Please read carefully. Words underlined in rainbow are links.
Wax play store update
It was always and foremost an artistic project. The performance is still going on as this is being read. Making money with this shop was never the main objective. Although all the candles I produced sold out almost immediately, that’s the main reason why the shop is empty today: I don’t have the time.
So what’s the point of creating such a mess if I don’t even make money from it?
Because I could and felt obliged to do it. And that’s still the case today. No regrets. Only advantages. I still can make candles any time I need them, so I have the product for myself. I can always make some extra cash with it if I need to. I have amazing collaboration tool. I can go on and on, but here is the cherry on the top of my cake of reasons to do what I did.
Even if you find this page and this idea utterly disturbing and never buy my candles, all I need is for you to wonder about one of the names I’ve mentioned. The power of art will do the rest.
Technical part. How to get the candles
For now, the only way to get them soon is through Gene’s Mycelium, we have a unique batch that we made in Portugal this winter and we will be giving it away to the fan base first.
Please don’t send me offers based on making money from my ideas. If you need candles in large quantities and of any quality, I’m not your dealer either.
If you want to make your own candles or collab on this topic, email me, I need help and I can teach you.
For wax play performance requests, check out this article.
Ideological part
Now let’s get to the part where I try to explain the connection with the names. And trying is the key word here. Those who are not ready to understand will always find a reason to be offended or whatever.
Why Marina
If our planet had to choose the art ambassador to send to an assembly with other civilizations, I wouldn’t think of another candidate. If she says no, she will probably propose a suitable alternative. So we should ask her anyway.
Her work embodies the curiosity and honesty I’ve found hard to embrace in myself. She’s not afraid to do so many things that others can’t even imagine. She understands this world so much clearer and, what’s particularly important to me, she shares it with other people. She is one of the bravest and most selfless artists.
If the Kremlin’s investigative committee wasn’t campaigning for him, I’d never have listened to his music. But I did and now I’m hooked. I listen to a few songs in the shower almost daily and it helps me deal with my anger.
This is the only artist i bought a ticket and went to a live show since pandemic. If you know me you should know how much it speaks for the artist.
I know all the lyrics aren’t accessible to English speakers, but if you want to try it, do. It’s hard to recommend where to start, but below are links to songs from different years that I listen to particularly often.
The last call (2010) is an officially extremist song about school shootings. Oida (2022) the re-assembling set in my store was inspired by this song. This one is fresh.
This whole mixtape I would recommend to play extra loud if you have some russian speaking neighbors. Solid character test.
How dare I
Because I want to live in a world where we’re not afraid to say: you inspired me to create! Where we treat each other first and foremost as human beings with feelings.
I understand how privileged I am to be able to simply allow myself to create a product that is not designed to be sold to all. I also understand the confusion. Even the attacks and demands.
I am grateful beyond words for all of it.
I wouldn’t be who I am today without the artists I mention on this site. If any of them ask me to remove their name, I will.
Please don’t take offense on their behalf though. Here’s an open letter to the creators and influences mentioned on this page or likely to be mentioned in the future.
Here is a gallery of photos from the candle making session in Portugal.
This post is the hardest I’ve written so far. However publishing it seemed even trickier. I’m glad I made it though.
WHY at all?
I’d like to be very clear with my agenda behind making this story public:
I’m not seeking revenge or punishment for people who were involved with me. I think they did their best.
I’m not trying to shame the nation of Norway. I’m not considering myself in a position to judge here and my point is far deeper than nations.
I’m not asking for pity or attention for myself here either. I’m okay now, unlike many. I’m telling this story exactly because I feel the power to. Because I’m still alive.
I also know that people will see what they like to see. I can only give you my honest perspective of this all. Not much more.
This story is told to share the feelings behind the events. Feelings have no concept of right and wrong, they simply exist.
So do I. This story is also a compromise with myself. I’m alive to tell it and see where it brings us all.
I decided to assemble the events in a timeline so my perspective can be seen better. But first I want to put all the cards on the table for people who don’t know me at all and give another set of warnings.
Please stop reading if my words trigger you and ask for help. Send me an email if you have no one else to talk to, but allow me up to 48 hrs to respond.
About me and my message
I’m a hyper sensitive person, recovering alcoholic, who has only been living a mindful life for the last couple of years. While my own suicidal thoughts are slowly going away I have stronger intention to share not only my drinking story and episodes like this one but leave one message to all sensitive souls who feel like it’s just too much for them:
it’s okay to feel what you feel.
The world is broken, not us.
Now let’s finally get to the story.
DAY 1. noon – and first 5 people
“What a cute doggie” – I said to my husband right before the moment that cute doggie ran to my direction and technically ruined our next 5 days of vacation. Not trying to blame the dog here. Just wanted to mention this detail to express my level of not being ready to have issues with my weed at that moment.
(I admit, That was naive behavior. I wanted to see what I wanted to see. Maybe this is why this all happened to me in the first place. The universe has a habit of giving me harsh lessons.)
The first group of people who processed us were the customs police of Kristiansand. They asked me to move the car to a special box where I handed over all my… drugs. I had two rolled joints with tobacco in my purse and a bag of weed in the luggage.
Of course they still did a full search for more drugs. They stripped us naked in separated rooms, I had to wait extra for a female to do the procedure. All our belongings were dropped on the floor out of the car. I remember at least 5 different people involved. They were all polite to us, offered water, and when I asked how bad and how long it would be for us, they somehow told me both that it might take from a couple of hours to a full day but not much more.
We all understood that the crime was not a real crime.
There was no victim
At that point I felt rather safe.
Once the search was done they told me that now foreign police will come and talk to us. We were allowed to collect our stuff and put it back in the car. This is where the safe feeling started fading. I picked up my pillow from the not-exactly-shiny metal bench trying to not think what else had touched that bench before and almost puked.
“I could have just not taken that weed with me. Or not kept it so open. Why do they treat me like a criminal? They sell this stuff over the counter just a few sea miles away.” – All those thoughts in my head were slowly turning into anxiety.
Afternoon – and another 4 people
Foreign police didn’t come. Instead, it was a couple of regular city police officers who said that I had to come with them and they delivered me to the foreign police office. When I asked what was happening to me, they said they didn’t know, but it should not take long.
“Is it all my fault I’m going to be stuck in here? What do they want from me?” – I started panicking when they told me that they are not going to put me in a cell and made it sound like it was the good news part.
I explained my previous experience and background. The people seemed to be trying to be nice to me. But they also didn’t know shit. They had no idea what would happen to me. Nor did they know what to do. They assumed it wouldn’t be too bad. But then I could see how this not too bad started fading away behind the frustration. I was still a criminal to them. A foreign criminal.
It was a hard day not just for me. I could sense the frustration for everyone.
At the end of the day they said I had to come back the next day at 12. And the day after. And another day. Until they figure out what to do with me.
This is where it turned into a nightmare for me
They did this to me in Russia. I had to visit the police daily and sometimes they would totally not accidentally hit me with a door or just simply into the stomach. I knew this should not happen in Norway. But overall I wasn’t sure what I could know anymore. I started thinking about death.
This was all my fault. Again. I’m an addict who can’t survive sober. Why should I even try to survive? I realized that I had a pocket knife in my waste bag. It just ended up there after the search.
I started wondering if killing myself in a police station would help them reconsider their ideas if I committed a crime or not. This was a strange moment when I had those thoughts they actually finished explaining to me how they don’t know what will happen next. They simply had to go home. They also could not see what was wrong with my panic about coming back tomorrow and the day after.
I mentioned the suicidal part btw. This may have played a role in them allowing me to not show up for anything on Sunday but I’m not sure.
We had a hotel booked not far from Kristiansand. A fancy one of course. I knew I needed help and thought somehow the people in the hotel would know what to do.
I was very straightforward at the reception: I said, I have a mental health crisis and very strong suicidal thoughts. Can I talk to someone? Can you help me find a hot line?
They did give me a number. But no one picked up there. I survived that night because my husband was there for me. I don’t know if I could have done it alone. But I for sure realized that night how bad alone can be for people like me.
Day 2 (+3 new people involved)
I woke up and started crying. I almost could not talk. Felt frozen. Wanted to die.
I clearly remember how I was also wondering if killing myself on the main square of this town was better idea? Rather quickly I decided that it was not. Other people didn’t deserve to see it.
In the meanwhile we arrived back at the office where things went from not too bad to no one can tell what was happening.
What started there was absolutely unimaginable. For me. For everyone else first it seemed like a normal day. Of course, again completely new people met me at the police station. New shift I guess. But it was 3 of them at once, and one was always standing around the entrance with arms crossed on the chest.
Language torture (+1)
They came up with the text that would inform me about my rights and they had to deliver it to me. Guess what? They brought a Russian speaking person to read it (on the phone, but still +1 more person involved) . And I’m ready to bet, this person worked for the investigation committee in Russia before. I just know how they talk. I had hoped I could forget that.
This is where the real torture started. They first didn’t even understand what they did to me. Part of my mind was still telling me – they can’t beat you up. But what’s the difference? I already wanted to die.
The text was ridiculous. Well. Now I know. They were telling me what kind of crime I had committed and that the punishment would be expelling me and also cancelling my residence in the EU.
The cruel part is that at the moment I didn’t know how impossible this was. I mean they could expel me, but not cancel my residence. However in the moment the trick worked – they scared the shit out of me.
They almost made me believe that I committed a crime.
At that point they kindly allowed us to leave. Of course still holding on to my passport and expecting me to come back on Monday at 12. For what? The next step. What kind? No one knows.
They were all very confident that they were simply doing their jobs. However I can’t not leave a remark here that they also multiple times called Czech Republic “Czechoslovakia”. Since my residence in from Czechia.
Not sure what else to tell here.
day 3. Waste of fuel
The next day they called me and told me that they decided to stop the case because they actually realized that they can’t cancel my residence. So they also decided to not kick me out.
I was of course happy to hear they finally did what the first people processing me expected them to do on the first day. They will fine me and leave in peace.
Honestly – even a fine I consider unfair and stupid. But it’s not the topic. At that point I was happy to pay the fine and be free.
BUT
They still had my passport and we drove 200 km away from Kristiansand. The police people knew about this. All of it. That we had a boat booked in Stavanger with 4 others a long time before the pandemic. That we were going to be on this boat and then drive back EXACTLY through the same town.
So I thought maybe we could pick up my passport on the way back. Since they already wasted 3 days of my vacation and also so we didn’t waste fuel driving back and forth for reasons that no one can explain in short words.
What do you think?
Of course they made me drive. I felt like this was a personal thing for someone there. If they can’t ruin my life, at least ruin one more day of my vacation.
Day 4 (+1)
Of course it was one more new person involved. Maybe it was the same person who talked to me on the phone the day before. But still. The total count of people that were involved with me and my weed was by then at 14.
But this is it. Now, after more than 6 months I haven’t even received a fine. I guess they got the part that they made me pay with my time and health.
14 people for 4 days were highly paid to do things described above for the sake of safety of their fellow society members.
Here we are. No call to action. Thanks for reading. Feel free to ask questions below or via email.
Photos for this post are kindly taken by Lars, a Norwegian photographer that contacted me on Fetlife shortly after I got back from Norway I have nothing but an amazing experience meeting and working with him
The text below I sent to my lawyers in response to their “I hope everything went well” on my return from the outdoor performance that I call now the hammer message (that I went to deliver in person to the city of Prague’s police drugs department. Click here to read the message text)
“Everything went perfectly, I couldn’t have imagined it any better. I arrived barefoot with my poster hanging from a hammer, and I stood in front of the drugs department for almost 3 hours.
I hadn’t managed to prepare the Czech translation properly and had only used the text in English. So I expected very few people to understand my message. Maybe tourists, and they were really funny, some tried to give me money and realized that wasn’t the point.
However, I’m proud and impressed by the way people reacted to my message. I’m proud and impressed by the way the police treated me. I didn’t feel threatened, but many of them approached me. They also took photos from the windows. They smiled. One of them called what I had done a performance art and asked me if it was right to call it that. One of them said “Good luck”. Nobody spat in my face. Nobody told me to leave.
So I intend to come back with a version of my message in Czech and a slightly different structure of it.”
How did I feel after?
Calm. As if I’d done exactly what I had to do. I think that’s what you call being fulfilled. I wrote most of this the next day, but I decided to give it more time to see if I still feel that way later.
Yes, I still do.
I also feel grateful to myself for allowing this experience to happen. I think I’m still decoding what I learned that day. And for sure I’m still processing the feedback.
Here’s a first glimpse of what I have to share.
1st half-hour
In the morning, the traffic wasn’t calm and I sensed a lot of anxiety in the driver. I told him I wasn’t in a hurry and when we arrived he was calmer than before. I suppose I took some of his anxiety with me.
I arrived at 9:08 AM. I was full of anxiety, but it wasn’t mine.
(I left home wearing flip-flops, but in a taxi, I immediately took them off and put them in my bag. Touching the ground with my naked soles was somehow calming me down.)
The first hour was the slowest, the easiest on my mind, and perhaps the hardest on my body. I chose the spot, took my hammer out of the bag, put the poster on it, and started to meditate on my breath to slow it down. I looked at the buildings, the trees, the windows, the cars, and the people.
I recognized smells and heard sounds, but above all, I concentrated my mind on a single task.
To stay as far away from judgment as possible. Just to observe and be there. I only wanted to bring the message. I was the message.
The first people to interact with me were tourists. They tried to give me money. A coin.
I wasn’t prepared for that at all. I didn’t accept the coin. They insisted a bit. Not verbally. They spoke German in front of me, assuming I couldn’t understand them. While I was thinking about what I could say to them in German, they left.
My body tensed up after that. The longer I stood there, the more uncertain I felt. I wasn’t cold, even though I was dressed very lightly, but I was frozen. I could feel different levels of anxiety from outside, absolutely everyone around me was more or less anxious, whereas in my mind alone I felt peacefully numb.
I saw a lawyer arriving late to an anxious client, people waiting for an appointment without knowing what was going to happen to them, people arriving and parking anxiously, forgetting things in their car, typing something on their phones.
All kinds of anxiety were somehow presented to me there
How do I know that? Anxiety has a particular smell for me. It’s slightly bitter. I wish I could explain more.
At the time, I found it interesting to observe the extent to which anxiety allowed others to notice me. For example. The most anxious didn’t see me at all.
The construction workers smiled at me a lot. They were the calmest people I’d encountered there. And I started to smile back. And almost immediately I felt my body become lighter and stronger. That was the key.
I started smiling at windows, at people in cars, and even at grumpy faces.
When the first two people who obviously worked in one of the buildings came up to me and nodded, I smiled at them, probably like an idiot. They were standing in front of me and really reading my text, line by line, both of them.
I was ecstatic to have the chance to observe them so closely, but I also felt that my main aim at the time was to make them feel as comfortable as possible when reading my text. I tried to give them space and not stare at them all the time. It wasn’t easy. I was curious to see their reactions.
The second half of the hour
The later it got, the more people there were in the street and the more overwhelmed I felt.
My original idea was to change places every 30 minutes or so. But when I got to the second place, some lady came and told me I wasn’t supposed to be there.
So I moved 30 meters and realized I was in front of the drugs department. The universe had spoken. I changed my plan and stayed there for the rest of the time.
2nd hour
After 10 o’clock, the street really came alive. More clients and lawyers. More cars. More tourists. More anxiety.
I smiled at the windows and noticed that I was being photographed.
A lady from a nearby Kostel came up to me and said that we should find God together in church. I replied that I had already found God who had told me to be exactly where I was. To do what I was doing. I didn’t even feel weird saying that. I meant it. I still mean it.
The lady didn’t like my answer. She looked at me disappointed and walked away mumbling something unclear.
3rd HOUR
After 11 o’clock, I had to move back, closer to the wall of the building, so as not to disturb passers-by. Once or twice I had to ask people who stopped to read my message not to block the whole street. I knew I’d need a break soon. But the situation was getting more and more interesting.
I found it particularly fascinating to observe again and again how some people seemed to be eager to tell me what they were thinking, but when someone else approached, they stopped talking and walked away. As if they could only speak with me when no one else was close.
I left just before midday. At first, I thought I’d take a break and come back. But my body sent me a few clear signals that the show had to be over with that. And my mind agreed that we should come back with the message in Czech.
I think that was the most important thing I realized that day. It’s definitely the language I want to learn and speak.
Why did I do this?
I think that was the question that was asked the most that day. Not only from the people in uniform but also from strangers. Some asked me if it was personal. Had they done something for me? Or a friend of mine? One Canadian dude really tested my patience by asking me to tell him whether I was for or against the police.
I continued to say that I was there to serve art and love. And to point out that we don’t prosecute for tools like hammers, but we do for other tools like drugs.
I felt like someone had to do what I did
We don’t have to be stupid squirrels. We have god-like technologies and tools already and acting rather medieval when it comes to regulating them. This can change. We just have to stop acting as if we know what’s right and wrong. We don’t. Not yet.
It was not an act of protest. Neither did I try to support anyone.
To be completely honest – I had no clue why I was doing it until it was done. Until I was there.
Now I know
Or let’s say I know more than before. I needed this experience to understand my own strengths and weak spots even better. It was quite a therapy for me. Especially the feedback I received after.
Now I know I’m not alone for sure. I always thought so. But now I really know.
I’ll share more on this topic soon. Thank you for reading this. If you like what I’m doing consider supporting my work.
Update. It’s 13:06 (25.07) I got back home and washed my feet, and now my plan is to briefly write down the things I want to share here and then I need to take some rest.
I’m impressed. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I had no idea how kind this city is. Thank you, Prague! To everyone who stopped, who looked me in the eyes, who took pictures, who asked questions, to those who smiled, and especially to the grumpy ones.
I love you.
I know, my message was long and confusing. I’ll try to change it next time. Right now I have a lot of tension in my body because I was holding a hammer with my story hanging on it for almost 3 hours. But I never felt that free. And now I know a little bit more about how to phrase myself better. I know it’s hard to understand my motives. It’s okay.
I didn’t go anywhere else. I thought I’d sit down, have a break and continue for another hour or two. But my body was not ready to do more. I can’t say it was my easiest performance. But it wasn’t hard either. I don’t know how else to tell you this. I felt like I was doing exactly what I had to do.
…
The text below is written by me today so I could print it and personally display it tomorrow in Prague’s city center. I plan to start here at 9 am and be there for 3-4 hours at least. I’ll keep my location updated. If anyone wants to come and talk to me or take a picture together. You are very welcome. Also, feel free to help me by sharing this post wherever you feel like. Thank you.
Dear people of Prague, I’m standing humbled and grateful for the right to share my story with you. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not here to protest, and certainly not to judge anyone. I’m just a girl who sells herself on the internet and is happy to do so. Not really the judgment material, right? Good. That’s my goal.
I’m here to say: thank you, Czechia.
Also, I believe in you! Especially today!
I believe that those whose duty is to judge today would do well to be very careful and remain human.
I know we can. If anyone still can – I believe it’s you, the people of Prague.
I am grateful for the free air I breathe here and I want to return the favor with the most precious thing I have: honesty.
The ability to be naked. Not just physically. But also spiritually.
This is a dark story about drugs and suicide. If you are feeling triggered, don’t read on and ask for help.
I want to share what I’ve learned and what I think about drugs as someone whose classmates used to celebrate the end of the year with heroin.
I was born in 1986 on a piece of the old Silk Road, russian territory, technically, but five times closer to Mongolia than to Moscow.
As far as I could find out: I’m half Dutch and half Ukranian if the linguistic and geographical characteristics of my origin are anything to go by. English is not my native, but the preferred language I speak at home.
I’m a hyper-sensitive queer female, a former project manager, marketing strategist, and web developer who gave up on corporations and is only willing to serve art and love.
My cousin died from drugs at the age of 25. I started smoking weed at around the same time, when I was 13, at the same time as I tried alcohol and tobacco. But I mostly developed addictions to alcohol and tobacco. I only smoke weed now, for the last 1,5-2 years.
I’ve tried to live sober. I can, technically. I did a lot of therapy and still do. I help other people to stop drinking now and find a lot of support in it. Living in Berlin I found a lot more souls like myself and I’m glad I’m not alone anymore.
I just have one problem – from time to time I just can’t see the state of the world and feel like burning myself in the main square just to hit the lucky bingo. Put me out of my misery. And give you a reason to think that maybe everything isn’t going so well inside people like me.
When I smoke certain strains of weed, I can forgive myself for not being perfect. For feeling what you call “too much”. I can self-reflect and understand myself better. That’s why I moved to the Czech Republic. I feel a bit safer here than anywhere else to be that kind of addict.
I gave up smoking cigarettes only at 26 or 27. Alcohol addiction stayed with me until 32. I smoke weed for a few years now. I’ve never done anything I regret after being stoned. I can’t say this about alcohol.
Legal drugs are the worst. Because they are everywhere. Because people keep offering you a drink even if you try to ask them not to.
I’m sure I could easily live a sober life in a sober world.
But do we have one?
We have to understand that the issue is not THE DRUGS AT ALL.
The issue is the escape that more and more people are craving.
Desperately.
To just break out from this cruel and harsh reality, we are all trapped in. Just for a brief moment.
This May I went to Norway for vacation. I tried to bring weed with me. I was not hiding it. I just could not imagine this could cause any issues for me. I was stupid. So I was processed by the police there for 4 days and that caused me a mental health crisis. At least 12 people were involved.
12 people. for 4 days. were dealing with one suicidal girl and her few grams of a plant that is growing on our planet probably longer than we exist.
Is there logic?
Why do we not ban tools like hammers and knives, but do this with other tools like drugs? How do we select good and bad drugs?
Why do some people in the police believe that it’s a good idea to shake those kids selling the wrong drugs on telegram instead of looking at the other end of the mess?
Is it just me seeing this as a very safe way for police to do their jobs technically but also only treat the symptoms and punish people who are the most vulnerable in the whole chain?
Could it maybe be different if we try to protect the weakest? Not to punish them further for being vulnerable in the first place?
Again. I’m just a girl who sells her body on the internet and advocates for art. I’m no one to judge. I just have questions. Or let’s call them thoughts to share.
I don’t have the answers either.
I’m not talking only to the Czech Police here. I’m addressing everyone in the system all over the world who has a human heart.
I’m only here to say that I think we can find our answers faster if we try to hear each other before we judge.
Thank you for trying to hear me out.
Thank you for being a place I want to live FOR and AT.
If you’re still reading this and want to ask me a question, please do. In-person if you still can. Or by e-mail.
Your Mistress is still a criminal according to the local standards. Still, since the bureaucrats can’t really ruin my life due to my marriage with an EU citizen, I’ll only get a fine for bringing my dangerous “narcotics” to this safe county.
I’m utterly exhausted emotionally, but I also feel like it wasn’t just happening with me, it was happening FOR me. So I could eliminate illusions concerning our state of development and awareness.
On Monday I met one more person who was put on my case and I still can’t wrap my head around the idea, that more than a dozen of people were involved in dealing with me and my 5 grams of herb that is growing on this planet perhaps longer than we exist.
Anyways. This probably will seem ridiculous but I feel grateful for this experience. Not to Norwegian police, don’t get me wrong. To myself. For how I managed to handle this crisis.
It’s not the first one for me. And not the last one, most likely. But it’s the first time when I almost immediately shared my feelings here and almost immediately I received support.
Now I’m returning to the original plan of having my sailing vacation and freezing my ass out in this beautiful and windy coldness.
Here are some pictures from my phone so you can also enjoy the landscapes, alpacas and me doing nothing on the boat.
I decided to show you my day today. As close as possible.
You can watch me working on my website and waxplay project. Naked. All the tips collected today will go to helping Ukraine or in my case specific Ukrainians.
But money is not the main goal here. I feel the need to do this for a few bigger reasons. I’ll explain them on the way.
Now let’s start with the show. I plan to be online until 9 pm Berlin time with 30 min breaks every 1,5 hours.
All updates appear here below.
let’s go!
11:32 As usual the first attempt to broadcast failed. I’m restarting my laptop and I’m online now.
11:44 The first statement here today was originally meant for one specific person, but I think it might be useful for a lot more people to hear it.
You have an absolute right to do what you want in this life and not what old white people in suits want you to.
Your life belongs to you. The world belongs to you. Not the other way around.
Artists have superpowers. They can process pain and anger into something else. Something beautiful.
Did a small workout with a broomstick and sent some work emails.
The next round will be in the kitchen: I’m not sure if I want to make candles or cheesecake first, but you will get more action for sure.
12:59 Off for the first break. See you in half an hour
13:45 back for the next live round. This time we are in my kitchen and we start with candles.
14:34 Looks like I have a forced break. I’ll restart the system and come back
14:45 Small candles are in the fridge, I’m staying online a bit longer to finish UV reflective tips for big candles.
15:32 I’m tired and having another break. We will continue with the kitchen business in half an hour.
Here we are 17:27 current POV
Cheesecake is canceled due to the lack of mascarpone in the nearby supermarket but I’m almost done with the set of candles.
I miss Sil so much! On the other hand, this experience alone is valuable as hell. I received a lot of silly compliments, a bunch of new followers on different platforms, and got used to the camera even more.
This was the good stuff. Now let’s get to the answers I promised you earlier.
20:28 I ordered pizza, wrote a few more emails, booked a ticket to Berlin for this weekend, edited and published a post, wrote another email, finished a few more candles, and now checking my list for today.
21.03 As usual, not done with all the tasks. But it’s normal for me.
I’m a bit exhausted so it’s time to say good night to yall and relax.
Thanks to everyone who joined me today and those who helped me to feel real!
I think part of me would prefer the subject of this post not to be made public. It’s not a sexy story, but it’s as real as all the filth and wax that hasn’t yet been cleaned off my floor since last night.
So I’m sorry, dear reader, but in order for this blog to present my true self, we need this dark and nasty story more than ever. The part of me that wants to remain ignorant will have to go fuck itself. Not in a good way.
Why do I have to mention the war?
Feel free to call it compensation. Where I was born, you can’t talk about the war, you risk up to 15 years in prison for such a statement. (A month ago, when I wrote a draft of this article, the figure was 5 btw, they are catching up).
And since I am not there, but bear some guilt and responsibility for what is happening today, I simply have no choice but to exercise my privilege to speak out.
I am not trying to be a hero. It is my survival instinct combined with common sense. Let me explain. My survival strategy is to turn the pain and horror I feel in this world into something else, which usually involves other people cooperating, sharing, helping each other heal, etc.
Part of me wants to apologize and explain, to tell you that I voted in all possible elections, but it didn’t change anything. We were all convinced that the situation would not get that bad. We all lived our lives. And it wasn’t enough.
Sharing this with you doesn’t change much immediately. The therapeutic effect of this article starts later. Let’s first look at what is behind the guilt and sadness I feel.
I feel the legacy of this rotten empire inside me. It’s a weird mix of feelings, but the worst part is that I can feel that the hate creates more hate in all of us. Myself included.
One morning I was laughing and I swear I felt joy when I read news from Russia where one of the assholes who was telling people that covid isn’t real and that Putler is a messiah, was hospitalized because of covid. And I wanted him to fucking die.
I feel uncomfortable with it, but it’s true. Waiting for one particular person to die was pretty acceptable to me, but when it comes to two of them, I’m not sure I like the trend.
Then Sil showed me a flyer from the church in Lviv where they used the font “dead Russians” for Christmas mass (featured image) and I started laughing again. Loudly. Joyously.
What the hell is this?
I try to vent this frustration the same way I vent shame. I check. If it’s really mine. Or has it stuck in my throat because I CAN feel it?
Should it be mine?
I don’t know the answer.
All I know is that it’s healthier to survive this madness by talking about it. Rather than multiplying the hate.
And that this is the opposite of what oppressive systems want.
Talking, thinking, asking questions, having your own opinion, these are privileges that I have the right to exercise. Even if it doesn’t change anything in the immediate future. Even if someone might be offended. I feel like I’m betraying myself if I don’t address this in my blog.
The best I can offer is: trigger warnings will appear every time I bring up a topic like this.
I don’t claim to be the source of ultimate wisdom. I’m just trying to understand my own feelings. And it seems that sharing them with others helps me not to drown in the darkness I feel.
I know that the war in Ukraine is not the only war on the planet. And the worst thing is that we only realized in February that the war had started much earlier, in 2013, and the biggest victory of the propaganda is that the whole world only noticed it last year as well.
What I also know (as a manager and entrepreneur) is that in order to solve a problem, we must first identify and understand it, which means thinking, talking and asking questions.
Once we have identified the problem and its origin, we can solve it. Not earlier.
My problem was that I was afraid to express myself and felt too small to matter.
I never questioned if I should do something to help Ukraine, but at first, I didn’t know what to do exactly. I was helping refugees in private and felt as if I had no right to brag about it.
Some days, this ability to help helped me to survive.
I still can’t stop this war, but I try to do something every day. I reorganize my work so that the money from my projects goes to support specific causes or people in Ukraine.
I also wrote an article about 15 kinky brands from Ukraine because I think they are really great and also because I want to invite everyone who is looking for fetish outfits to combine fun with a good deed.
More information on how to help Ukraine right now is available here.
This one is intimate. I’m giving you the view that only my husband could enjoy, and he said he very much enjoyed it, along with his morning coffee, back in my old flat in Berlin.
So I suspect some of you might enjoy it as well🙂.
For the exhibitionist inside me, my balcony in Berlin was an excellent place to get some relatively safe exposure on a daily basis.
And nude yoga was an excellent recharging practice for me. I still remember the cold wind on my private parts. It felt so nice! And right now, I’m really missing that feeling.
I did this more than once, but only once I filmed myself. Later I had no idea what to do with this video, not for the whole year.
(CW: nudity, self reflection from march 2022 written a year after)
Let’s begin with the reflection session results this time. I started with taking pictures. I tried different angles, but the look from the bottom seems to be one of my favorites.
In the process, I decided to spank myself a little. Mostly to make that slow-mo video, but also to get a reminder about the sensations that I give to others. It felt good.
Another video was originally just to choose some snap-shots from, but I like how real I am there.
Now let’s get to the story I have after reflecting on March 2022
Pain and pleasure essentially are the same thing. Sensations. Sometimes we forget about this fact. But it’s all in our heads. I had a painful butt for a week in March, and I enjoyed every day of it hurting just because it was my decision to get that damage.
We humans are very funny creatures indeed. Every time I sat down I was feeling the pain, but I liked it, and even now, after almost a year I feel a lot of positive emotions about that pain. No memories attached, really. It just felt good.
It was a roller coaster month otherwise. I had absolutely incredible experiences, and the darkest moments of this year as well, all mixed up.
I started Patreon, but kept writing in russian, and even though I already understood that it had to stop, I kept following the old program. I guess I was just not able to not write about some things.
On the positive side – I got better at finding adventures for my ass. I met Ari and started using Fetlife. More of my fantasies became actions. For the first impact play workshop, I chose to go for a switching session, and not only tried all popular spanking devices that are offered by Let’Z Fetish Academy at Kitkatclub but got a nicely bruised butt with exactly the same choice of tools back. The results you can see below.
But this was my fun life
My real life continued falling apart. Most of my income directly involved russia. I had a European franchise business there, I was consulting on marketing and business strategy, basically, I was a bridge between the modern western world, where I lived and consumed information, and the post-Soviet purgatory, that had just opened the gates to hell.
Balancing those two lives brought me questions.
Which one is real?
Which one should be real?
Can I make a living out of blogging about all this?
The concept of the blog I had before seemed like a setup to failure. (I had about 8000 followers of russian-speaking audience on Instagram, where I was posting about keto food and open marriage experiences, but that was more of a side project for me to digest emotions and feel seen.)
What do I have to offer? I knew I like to be seen, and I like to interact with an audience. I was craving the excitement of playing with them, and being in control of the game. I fantasized about the attention of many. Not necessary to like me. But to notice me. Acknowledge me Feel something. But fantasies and reality are not easy things to connect, so I’m glad I believed in myself enough to follow the art of small steps and explore what it brings.
launching Patreon was not a spontaneous desigion. I blogged already for a few years (in Russian of course) on InstagramI liked blogging, but I didn’t want to be trapped in one platformThe adventures of my ass continued, I was crazy to share that experience with other, my audience in the blog I had back then wasn’t ready to see the next pictureThat’s not how popular Instagram content looks like. At least from the perspective of the majorityHere I’m celebrating the launch of Patreon and still trying to ignore the language issue I’m trapping myself inMoments of sadness are there too, but I keep planing adventures, just with a sad facecat recovered after covid and went into siren mode screaming at the door every day. So I took him for a walk along the wallthe bruises are with me for the rest of the monthI start playing with different cameras and my head start generating ideas for cam showsSharing the lovers with other lovers turns out to be extra fun. But not without dramaone of the sunny mornings, when I woke up and started writing a text right awayThe world is falling apart, but at least I’m taking care of myselfGene is just being fabulous and always there to help with my dramaAm I a pimp now? Do I like this idea? Fuck yesMe and the cat looking into the future with hopetelling Gene about my pimping career and bruised buttHard to explain why this picture makes me smile, but it does and it reflects the mood I had in March 22, so here it stays
