where tf am i?

EST. 02/09/25
written in lipstick, burned into code

i am not a brand.
i am not a product.
i am not for sale—but sometimes, i sell myself to survive. to thrive.
this is not a website.
this is a summoning circle.
this is an altar to soft anarchy.
this is a digital grimoire written by a sacred whore with internet access and too many prescriptions in her bloodstream.

capitalism told me to monetize my trauma.
so i did.
then i hexed every dollar.
and rolled a joint with the receipt.

i believe in:

✧ sex work as sacred labor, the oldest magic, a spell of survival and seduction
✧ anti-capitalism as a love language—because extraction is not consent
✧ the right to disappear, to self-destruct, to rest, to rot
✧ building tiny, handmade worlds online, outside the algorithms, outside the prison
✧ archives of girlhood rage, trauma alchemized into pink glitter and gore
✧ nostalgia as rebellion. unconventional beauty as resistance.

this space is soft-coded revolution.
it is HTML lace and JPEG blood.
it is not optimized for your ROI.
it is optimized for me.
if you're looking for a flawless flesh-bot, algorithm approved angel—
go back to instagram, babe.
this isn’t that. ♡