Backstage, dressed as Hamlet

I made the art I wanted to make. I went home at the end of the night when there was a home to go to. There were hours and days for making love, but I spend my mornings happy and alone. My voice, the imaginings I tend, ideas wrestling to be articulate — these are the demons keeping me up at night shifting stones, divining numbers, picking apart the sticky matter which is life. Bread digests and leaves me empty again.

Once upon a time I was a farmer. Each day I rose at 4 am and swam in the ocean alone. Naked and salty I watched the sun rise and headed back to less solitary land in time to take fistfuls of dirt and a hoe in hand. This soil we stand upon is made from our bodies. Matter of our existence, dark Earth we return to. It is our burden to share, and our only task is the whispered word, “tend”.

My worth was measured in string lengths given to the God of Stories. What right I have to speak is the same as yours, the breath of having become. Chosen temple, My Stage, I offer all that I have: Word and Action. Until I crumble into dirt once more I will mutter in tongues foreign to unnatural law. This is my dedication and my oath. The body is meant for war, a heart placed center anchors our need for peace, and my head navigates human’s unearthly tradition of spitting lies in order to control, teaching folly, and profiting off harm to a universal law.

I am no holy, no clean minister walking one town to the next. I am complex rhythms. Mosaic of worms and light, terrible genius, struggling and eternally short. I will be gone in a moment, remembered or not, so I offer this now: it matters not, my intent. What nurtured or destroyed all the other worms-in-light was my “doing”. I skipped ugly. I danced fevered with soul. I fell times, tripping others in the tangle of my angled limbs. I vow to rise each time though, salty and naked, knowing more deeply the many faced force of Grace.

I made the art I wanted to make. I went home at the end of the night when there was a home to go to. There were hours and days for making love, but I spend my mornings happy and alone. My voice, these imaginings I tend, ideas wrestling to be articulate — these are the demons keeping me up at night shifting stones, divining numbers, picking apart the sticky matter which is life. Bread digests and leaves me empty again.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.


My dashboard garden is back and I’m so happy to watch these beautiful creatures grow!

I feel really great in my body these days. I wish I’d known sooner what hormones could do for me. The experience of enjoying my physical body in the mirror and under my own fingertips rather than feeling trapped in it and persistently worried about how I look IS AMAZING!!! Seriously, I had no idea daily life could be like this. I think T is lifting a lifelong fog of depression and anxiety off of me and I’m very thankful for it.

To everyone who ever point blank told me to my face that “they just see me as a girl”, or “I just seem more femme rather than butch to them”, or that “I just look better when I dress girly”, or that “I’m not a tomboy b/c tomboys don’t wear dresses”, or any other reinforcement of the female femme ideal — which is already constantly crammed down my throat by the rest of the world (and to which I don’t usually choose to interact with face to face): You are a huge reason I didn’t get here earlier. I need you to know that. I need you to know that not because I want to tell you you were wrong, but because I want you to consider the weight of pressuring others to be as you wish them to be. It hurts to be told you can’t be who you feel you are. It is a painful lifestyle to persist holding a line you’re told to hold which feels wrong, and some of us are good enough at holding on, that we really need friends and to have role models who see us for who we are and who give us permission to let that line go.

I sincerely apologize to anyone if my words or actions have ever made them feel small about their identities or wrong about sharing themselves with me. It’s never been an intention of mine. I haven’t always understood as much about how my words affect each person I’m speaking to, and I know I’ll make mistakes in the future too, but I want to know when I do. I want the opportunity to reconsider the meaning of my actions. I want to be better than my mistakes.

I roundly thank everyone who has seen me and believed me and accepted me as I’ve journeyed and evolved and learned to articulate myself over the years. Without you I would still be desperately wanting things I didn’t feel I deserve to get (which is on me, but you all really helped me out a lot).

As I write, acknowledging this feeling of happiness I’ve been feeling since starting T, I want this moment to be a reminder to consider the impact of our very human desire to label others — especially to their faces — with labels we’re comfortable with rather than the labels someone else tells you they want to be labeled as. Almost every single bit of information we take in in this world is gendered, racially loaded, ableist, and constructed to tear our individualities down for the benefit of a privileged class. We can (and must) change that by considering one another not as objects, but as individual creatures with vibrant internal worlds which we will never be privy to the full intricacies of without asking first, without believing the answers we receive, and without caring to wonder more deeply about who we’re interacting with in the first place. When someone tells you who they are (and who they are not), consider believing them immediately before questioning what they’re saying. Consider asking questions about how that works if you aren’t sure you understand. Consider trusting people who gather the courage to tell you something about themselves.

Love from my glowing, growing, vibrant garden inside, and as always —

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature (Crea)

Please support my work at Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

I, Creature

This Creature is coming out… An Imp in all my glory, Cat dressed in people clothing, purring and biting tempestuously as I see fit…

My new name, bestowed upon me this weekend by The Baroness, is Crea, short for Creature. “Creature” is how I introduced myself to her, after considering she appreciates titles. Until now I’ve put off settling upon a salutation, as searching other’s solutions to this quandary, I’ve only come up empty handed. During a workshop on manners with Baroness at La Domaine, we were set the task of introducing ourselves to one another and then to her, and there it was, just waiting to be said: Creature.

  • Creature Karin
  • Creature
  • Crea

In the delicious Old Guard world of protocol, orientation dynamics, and servicing order, Mistress and Master won’t work for me. They slip on like lies, and I don’t prefer royal reference in my descriptor. Though I enjoy being called Sir, part of what I get out of it is that it pains some people to say (grin) directed toward my bumps and curves. I revel that it roots down as a loving caress from those who see me wholly, but Sir simply won’t sit up straight as a casual moniker amongst friends or if asked about within its longform reality — Mister, Monsieur, Monseigneur. Not I.

Creature fits. I am Creature. Big and small, submissive and Dominant, curious and playful, impish, imaginative, passionate, volatile, never properly perched as I quietly watch game in the room whilst picking out my targets, or occasionally melting in the teeth of a larger animal myself.

I like Crea as a nickname, but call me Creature in your introductions please. Call me from my cave to your field of sunlit possibility, call me to your fire, your primal bed for wrestling, call me with your perversions, your dreams, your confessions of desire, fear me in the forest which is my home — yet be unable to resist reaching for my soft fur and sparkling eyes. I, Creature, see you…

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature (Crea)

If you like my blog, please check out my Patreon Page and support me. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist

~Thank you.

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