A Foolish Punk Rawk Girl’s Journey

A Foolish Punk Rawk Girl's Journey.png

  • The Fool – There once was a girl, with a smirk on her pretty little face. When she was mischievous, the sliver of a smirk turned into an enormous grin, and when she behaved, it was placid. One day, a stupid drunk asshole smacked the beautiful smirk off her face and ran away like a scared little rat. The girl vowed to smack him right back, just as soon as she could find him. Her friends kept telling her that she could do anything she wanted, and the whole world could be hers! But she just wanted revenge.
    • The Magician – Her switchblade was dull, but the junkie on the corner pointed her in the direction of a guy who could fix her up right. The moonlight glinted off the dull blade as she strode up to the front door of a house off the main road. To her surprise, a wrinkled man with kind eyes and thin, long, grey hair answered the door. He seemed unimpressed, but ushered her in. Despite his wrinkles, he seemed young. There was an unusual pep in his step and a twinkle in his eye. The girl tapped her foot impatiently as he whittled away at her small blade on an archaic whetstone. Sparks flew off the blade and she wondered if he was intentionally taking longer because she was in a hurry. Her tapping stopped and her tense shoulders released. Immediately, the wizened wizard finished and sent the punk rawk girl on her merry way, without another word.
    • The High Priestess – With freshly sharpened blade in hand, she set off to track the scent of her nemesis. She spit in disgust at the thought of him. Her delicate skin still stung from the blow. Her ego was even more bruised. As she walked down the dull, empty streets, a bright sign caught her eye. “Psychic” was lit up above a lavender door with silver and gold stars painted on it. It seemed out of place on the gloomy grey day. Palming her blade just in case, the girl slipped inside the dark store to the ironic sound of bells alerting the psychic of her presence. The girl found herself in a room with a solitary mirror and nothing else. Her plain reflection shown back at her. Despite the piercings, tattoos, and bright green spiky hair, her face was plain, with bags under her eyes, and a disgusted look plastered permanently on her face. The girl tried to smile back at herself but it only turned into a frown. “What you seek is seeking you,” a gentle woman’s voice seemed to come from behind the mirror. The psychic revealed herself and asked her to sit, but the girl could only stare at her own reflection as the woman stared at her. After some time, the girl left without a word, and again the woman called after her, “What you seek is seeking you!”
    • The Empress – The girl shook off the uncomfortable feeling from the psychic’s place and pondered how she let herself be drawn in. She strode deeper into the heart of town and the sky grew even darker. It began to rain. She stopped at a hotel and decided to stay for awhile. It was a seedy joint that allowed you to stay by the hour, but the girl just hopped up to the bar and grabbed a drink. The bartender was a beautiful young woman with a huge pregnant belly. Her face was round and friendly. The girl almost wanted to smile as she ordered her whiskey and coke. Miss Prego poured her a generous shot and gave her a wink as she set down the glass. As the storm raged outside, the girl wrapped her worn army jacket tighter around her, hunching her shoulders and sipping her drink. The bartender kept the drinks coming and even brought her a side of fries. After 4 whiskey-cokes and a couple of hours, the punk rawk girl was mellowed out and sufficiently content.
    • The Emperor – The rain stopped soon after, but the girl decided to stay contentedly in her little corner. The alcohol had made her sleepy and she faded in and out of consciousness. As she drifted off to sleep, an older gentleman walked into the hotel, sopping wet. In a booming voice, he demanded to know what she was doing in here. The man wasn’t looking her way, but the girl immediately straightened and pointed to herself, “Who, me?” The old man continued his rant barking at her (or at no one in particular?) to get up and get dressed and help him. Her rebellious nature cursed and resisted as she did what she was told. She softened her hair and changed her outfit.
    • The Hierophant – As she emerged from this transition, the old man was nowhere to be found. “Why do you want revenge?” A different old man! Her initial reaction was to spit back, “Why wouldn’t I want revenge?” but something made her hold her tongue. She opened her mouth but no words came out. The old man talked about the truth of revenge and bitterness, as a reflection of the inner state of mind. Surprisingly, the punk rawk girl didn’t react, but softened her stance and listened.
    • The Lovers – Dazed and a little enamored with the unconventional wisdom of the two old men, the punk rawk girl emerged from the bar looking like an entirely different person. Her hair was now a platinum blonde and fell in soft curls around her face, and her white t-shirt and jeans blended nicely with the minimal make-up. More than just changing her look, her demeanor was kinder. Across the alleyway, she spied a couple leaning in close, noses touching, unaware of anything around them. The air around them seemed to glow green and pink. The girl felt at peace and the revenge within her gave way to a subtle feeling of contentment.
    • The Chariot – The feeling quickly faded as the couple suddenly broke their intimate gaze to stare straight at the little punk rawk girl. Police sirens began to wail and the couple dove behind a dumpster. Before she could grasp what was happening, the couple reappeared, grabbed the girl by the arm, and pulled her into the back of a black and white sedan. Breathing heavily, the man yelled at the driver to move faster. Then, softer to the girl, “See, you can’t leave your goals to fate, little one,” he said. The old spiky haired girl within her would have already pulled the switch-blade out and demanded an explanation, but for some strange reason, she understood what he was getting at. She nodded as he said, “The wheels of fate turn as they will, but occasionally you can steer.”
    • Strength – The punk rawk girl decided to take charge. “I’ll get out here, thank you.” The couple smiled, as if to say, “Excellent choice, my dear.” The girl found herself on the edge of town, bordering a beautiful forest. How beautiful the trees were, the wildflowers were bountiful, and the sun was rising in the East. She followed a path into the forest and it wasn’t long until she came upon a man on the side of the road. He was bloody, beaten up, and curled into a ball. She wasn’t even sure if he was alive. Surely there was something she could do for him. As she walked closer, she recognized him as her nemesis, the same fucker who had her traipsing around with blood on her brain. For a moment, instinct kicked in, and her hand reached for the blade – to finish him off if he wasn’t already done for. Then a spark of a thought, “Better to leave him to rot in pain.” But the instincts were quickly replaced with compassion at the suffering creature before her, no matter his previous crimes.
    • The Hermit – As a rule, if he came to, she would leave immediately. She just wanted peace from the entire ordeal. It was exhausting, the energy it took to be angry and violent. But she tended to him, gave him water, and dressed his wounds. How had she come to be so filled with compassion? The answer to this question did not seem as surprising as the answer to the inevitable follow-ups – how had she been so vile and violent in the first place? The answers didn’t matter now. The ensuing peace and contentment, the resolution to the conflict was all that mattered.
    • The Wheel of Fortune – Later that day, the stupid, drunk asshole – who was now just a sober, beat-up schmuck – finally woke up. When he shook off unconsciousness and looked at the girl, he freaked out and ran away. As he stumbled off, though, he dropped a pair of dice. A little relieved to be rid of her patient, the girl picked up the dice. They were not numbered, but each side featured a different, strange symbol. Curious, she gave them a roll. On one, a crescent moon appeared, and on the other a bright, shining sun. The opposite rolls made the girl smile. As she grabbed the dice to put them into her pocket, however, she noticed the sky dim and the forest grow darker. Dusk had come much too early, it seemed. But as she looked to the sky, she saw the setting sun in the West, and a slight sliver of the Moon in the East.
    • Justice – The girl continued on the path under the purple sky and vowed to go as far as she could before it got truly dark. Wolves started to howl, and crickets began to hum, as the Earth settled into the night. But the girl kept walking and turned her flashlight on only after it was pitch black and she couldn’t see a thing in front of her face. As soon as her light came on, she squealed at the sight of another bloody being. It was him! This time he was really dead. It looked like a bear or wolf had mauled him good this time. Maybe those were his lucky dice. Maybe now they would help her survive.
    • The Hanged Man – The asshole’s death had been less pleasing than she thought it would have been. It was almost bittersweet. She lacked the will to feign concern for his soul, but lacked also the vengeance she once had to feel pleasure at her previously sought justice. Now what? She felt like an uncomfortable clean slate. Everything was in order, but there was something off about it. As she stepped along the path, her mind wandered, brow furrowed. The punk felt a tug at her ankle that shook her out of the dream state. Before she knew what happened, she was upside down, hanging from a tree trunk by one foot, dangling from a rope. A trap. How typical. Maybe her luck wasn’t changing after all. And as she swayed back and forth, watching her shiny platinum locks flowing the breeze, she believed in her heart of hearts that something beautiful was about to happen.
    • Death – “Oi! Whatcha doin up ayr, lurv?” A friendly voice from down below. “Ay’ll cutcha down, no prob’m!” A slash, a breeze, and the cold hard ground right on the noggin. Black. In the sea of darkness, a light flickered in the distance. The friendly voice echoed over and over in her head as the punk girl lost consciousness. She dreamed of a far away kingdom where she was the queen. Her benevolent nature exuded on the throne and her people loved her. In the hazy image, she felt true and real, but beneath the confident exterior still lie the small, frail green-haired girl who was always on the defensive. She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t even hidden. She was there, united fully with the majestic queen in all her glory. The little punk rawk girl shared in the glory.
    • Temperance – When she came to, the first thought was there was a queen inside her now. Oh, but damn her head hurt. The queen was screaming to get out. The two sides at war within her were vying for power. The rebellious punk inside her knew she was losing, but felt the validity and necessity of all her resisting. Her resistance had marked her survival. A dead queen couldn’t accomplish much. So, the inner queen forced her to pick up her emaciated, broken body up off the ground, and begin walking. To where, she didn’t know. She only knew couldn’t remain where she was.
    • The Devil – The path was getting dark again. How long had she been out? She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. The hungrier she got, the more the emptiness inside craved something more. She remembered bits of drunken nights and flirtations with whatever drugs were available. But most of all she craved the touch of another human. The touch from that drunken asshole. Not the violence or the abuse. She wasn’t that fucked up. She craved the tenderness and love, and even the worship he conveyed to her through his hands. It was true. As much as she hated him, she loved him even more. Was it really love or was it something else?
    • The Tower – As dusk fell over the forest, the path opened up to a walkway lined with torches. It led up to a single, tall tower. She could do nothing else but stare ahead and walk straight up to it. Her hair began to frizz. Beads of sweat pooled on her forehead. The tower was on fire. She could not help but keep walking. The path stayed straight ahead and so did she. Everything inside her wanted to turn away but she wasn’t able to even avert her eyes from the flames licking high into the night sky. Up the steps, through the door. Squinting through the smoke, she climbed higher and higher. The brick walls began to tumble around her, but the stairs stood strong. The ground shook. The steps spiraled up and up. The top of tower came crashing down. Still, she walked. She walked until there were no steps left but a few crumbling bricks and there was nothing between her skin and the cool, night air. She exhaled and dove off the edge, head first.
    • The Star – Splash! Lucky, this tower had moat. If the tower had been a dream, the icy water woke her up. She stood, again staring into the distance, but this time at a bright light illuminating the sky. In the pool of water, her reflection stared back at her, beautiful as ever, her porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight. A deep peace and content settled over her. There was nowhere to hide from the bright star and there was no need. Here in all her splendid, exposed glory, she was loved for who she was. Then, she cracked the biggest smile of her life. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so at home in her own bare bones body. But she didn’t care. What mattered was now. And right now, she was the brightest light in the multi-verse.
    • The Moon – Feeling refreshed and invigorated, the girl stepped onto the lawn strewn with debris and walked away from the tower. The moon had risen high into the sky, a big bright spotlight on the world before her. The forest and the grass glowed a dark green, but little shadows dotted the landscape where the moon’s light did not touch. She felt drawn to one such area behind a rosebush. She was not ready to be seen in all her naked, splendid glory, without the aid of make-up, dyed hair, a permanent scowl, and her switchblade. Even the rags of her clothes had fallen off in the dive from the tower. Who was she without all of the ornaments?
    • The Sun – She pondered and contemplated all night until the purple-orange sunrise began to peak over the edge of the forest. Her worries faded with the darkness, making way for hopes and dreams and aspirations. The warmth of the sun settled the queasiness and uneasiness. She stepped out from the shadows and into the light. Her hair dried quickly in the heat. She was still naked, but cared less. In the morning glow, she saw the beauty of the world around her. The edge of the forest was dotted with hundreds of wildflowers in every color. The green grass reflected the light of the rising sun. The fallen tower was now just a pile of rubble next to the sparkling moat. Finally, as the sun grew brighter, the dark sky faded into light blue and white, puffy clouds.
    • Judgment – From the clouds emerged a figure. The girl had to squint and shield her eyes to see. A bird? An angel? Then, a flash of light and a booming voice, “You cannot continue to be the little girl, when you are now a queen.” By the time her eyes adjusted, the figure had disappeared. After the last couple of days, nothing would surprise her, least of all being called a queen. It was just a matter of fact, now. She had a choice whether or not to accept the role, of course. There is always a choice. But she knew by now that the more she resisted, the more she would be persuaded.


  • The World – At last, as she walked, her kingdom came into view. She surveyed the tiny kingdom in the valley, pondering its fate now the king was dead. And maybe that stupid, drunk asshole had driven her to madness, but he had also driven her to radical change and growth. Or did it really have nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her, and only her?

    THE END.

    If you’d like to learn more about how to read tarot, check out my online tarot course!



Cassie Howard is a business consultant for badass women entrepreneurs and one of my personal business idols. She gives no fucks, is consistently engaging on social media, and she makes a fuckton of money doing it. Cassie is not shy about anything, much less her introduction into the online business through being a cam girl.

To give you a little peek into Cassie’s world, one of her most recent emails was entitled: “Everything I know about business, I learned from porn.” She makes bold statements like this frequently and has the knowledge to back up her bait!

Listen to my interview with her here:https://www.patreon.com/posts/8530719

Connect with Cassie:
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Curious C*nt Podcast – Ep 5: Making Money Online: From Cam Girl to Business Badass

Interview with Alisia Leavitt


Writing is an essential part of my life and always has been, but up until the last couple years, I had always been afraid of sharing my writing. I was so afraid of being wrong, saying what’s already been said, or people judging me.

Thank fucking God I’ve gotten over that shit, right?! I have embraced the very real fear of calling myself a Writer and taken the leap of faith despite that fear. At the beginning of this year, I began working with a writing coach and mentor, Alisia Leavitt to keep moving on, keep creating, and continue down this path of writing that I has been so freeing.

Alisia is a huge part of the reason my writing has gotten better and my attitude towards writing has been one of acceptance and confidence rather than fear and self-loathing (which tends to happen with us creatives). Alisia is offering her Write to Rise Masterclass again beginning in January and I highly recommend joining this group. I sat down with Alisia the other day to pick her brain about the writing process and overcoming common writing fears.

Check it out:

Read more about the Masterclass and register here: lovealisia.com/masterclass

My deepest fear: A disclaimer


Once upon a time, there lived a great master who had an apprentice. One day, the master invited his pupil to tea. The master himself poured tea into the student’s empty cup. After the cup was filled, the master continued to pour piping hot tea into the cup and it began to overflow. Tea spilled over into the saucer and onto the table.

“Master, what are you doing? My cup is full.”

“Yes, it is. A cup cannot be filled unless it is empty.”

This is not a new story. It’s not the first time it has been told, nor shall it be the last. It is, however, an important lesson for each of us in just about every aspect of life. Draining oneself of all expectation and presumption allows new ideas to be considered. This is not to say that everything must be accepted without question. On the contrary, an open heart and mind allows for more careful decision and deliberation. It allows for the transmutation of old thoughts and beliefs into a more complete view of life.

I have always loved writing and splattering my guts onto an empty page. However, it has mostly been in the comfort of my own home without exposing my innards for anyone else to see. It’s safer this way, you see. No one to judge or criticize. No one to point out that my thoughts are cliche’ or have already been written in a much more eloquent, profound way. Or worse, no one to tell me that I am flat out wrong.

Because that is my deepest fear: To be wrong. How could I be so daft as to overlook an important fact or not consider another facet of life? How could I not have carefully weighed all the options and formed a thought so unbiased and whole that it would be loved and accepted by everyone that reads it?

The truth is, that my thoughts and opinions will always be biased, depending on my mood, the time of day, where Mars is in the sky at the moment, whether I’ve done my yoga practice yet or not, what the weather is like outside, and if my feet are cold. Not all my thoughts and opinions will be loved and accepted by everyone. Some may even say that I am wrong.

It has taken me 31 years to come to terms with this. Although, I have accepted the possibility of being wrong, here is my remedy for overcoming my deepest fear: The Empty Cup, the cop out. With this disclaimer, I am free to say whatever I please and you have to at least consider it because if you don’t, you’re committing the worst offense imaginable (on this blog) – arriving and reading with a full cup.

Sometimes we are the teacher and sometimes we are the student. Our amount of expertise, experience, and intellect notwithstanding, because even the most learned among us still have lessons to learn. And even the most uneducated, dithering fool has lessons to teach.

If I have something to say, I will say it. It will be authentic, from my heart, and without regard to what anyone else thinks. It may be simple, but profound. It may be complex, but meaningless. But it will be mine.

So here is my empty cup, fresh and clean out of the dishwasher, presented to you. Here I am, ready to learn, ready to fall, and ready to get back up again.

I don’t care if I’m wrong. I don’t care if what I say has already been written. I don’t care if you like it or not. These are my words and I will write them with purpose, with abandon, and without apology.