Monday, July 22, 2018 10:44am

Garment District


Dear You,

I’m so happy it’s gray and slightly drizzly this morning in NY. It makes it so that I can stay in and finally write to you.

I’m skipping my morning pages so I can write to you right away.

I’m back at B’s place in Manhattan. He left last Friday (same day I left for Hudson) for California. So I have his 3000 sqft pad all to myself, it’s insane. Whenever I’m here I feel so incredibly lucky that I have such generous friends that make me feel abundant even when my bank account would say otherwise.


I can’t tell if it’s an abundant mindset or that I’m delusional, but I spend money like I have money..

But it’s very specific.

I like to spend money on taking care of myself (I eat well and I love my tea and supplement).

And I like to spend money on artists, healers, and rad small businesses.

When a shop is put together with love and thought and is perfectly curated,

And everything that I pick up with my hands and examine closely makes me smile or inspires me, there’s no holding back, I have to get it. All.

But it feels like I’m doing something right (or maybe that’s the dopamine high)

Like I’m s happy to be able to support someone doing something good or neat.

Anyways, that’s how I justify spending money like a crazy person.


My gosh how did I get I get on this tangent? I was supposed to catch you up on the weekend. It was INCREDIBLE.


Should I go out for a walk outside to get lunch or should stay in and make a hot drink concoction (yes, B has a vitamax here, and I got some almond milk, protein powder, and coconut oil at Whole Foods the night I got in and I brought my maca and mucana pruriens with me).

Hot drink it is.


Ooo yummy, not bad for not adding any spices to it..


I realize I do this thing where I can’t make plans until I can see it in my mind or feel it in my body that that’s what I should be doing.

Maybe that’s why I usually don’t tell anybody that I’m coming to town or that I’m in town.

That’s also probably why I was anxious to contact people to interview for the doc a week ago.


I try not to make any plans more than 24 hours ahead.


I like to leave space open.

For magic.


That’s the theme that keeps popping up:

Leave space for magic.


I feel so excited because I have all this space in my day.

I’m trying to calm my mind down from all the buzzing energy of this past weekend..

All the while I’m organizing “interviews” with my friends today. I have a feeling they may or may not happen, it’s all up in the air (which is how I like it) since P3 is getting back form Fire Island this morning.

I texted P3 telling her about the interviews and times and locations, and told her since it’s our first run, it’s more about just learning how to set up all the gear and figuring out questions to ask then getting it perfect and right.

I even made it more flexible by saying if they’re feeling tired, we can save the interviews for next time and I could just hang with my friends and turn on the camera and do a low key brainstorming sesh or something.


Whoa. As I’m writing this I can feel my energy is super depleted..


3 nights of 4-5 hours of sleep.

And I gave it my all yesterday.


Being surrounded by 14 hearts on the mend.

And I didn’t do any visualization of a white shield protecting my energy


I’m so drained.


Maybe today should just be recovery day.


I hope we go from 3 interviews planned to none.


I want to rest and wonder..


And maybe not see anyone.



Leave space

For self.


Sorry you, I lost my energy.

Can’t write anymore.

Will catch you up on this past weekend.

At some point.

Tuesday, July 24th, 2018 10:07am



Dear You,

Gosh, I have so much to tell you since yesterday. But it may have to wait.

A long nap changed everything

I see tracers, my head feels funny.

I had no appetite yesterday.

I couldn’t even finish my glass of kombucha.

That;s very strange.

I think the iboga is still doing its work in me.


I woke up at 7:50am this morning even though I went to bed at 2 and told myself I can sleep in. I feel super awake and alert.

In my morning pages, I knew that I need to WhatsApp U and tell him this:

The power is in the truth and the beauty is in seeing how it gets transformed into myth.

He’s been feeling aimless about our novel project, Secrets of a Sacred Prostitute.

The “novel” idea was his idea. He wants to to weave stories he collects from my sexworker friends into a novel.

I never really cared for novels. I just want truth.

I want truth that blends into myth.


Just thought about the Long Discourses of the Buddha

How it was stories of his wanderings and teachings, told orally, recorded at some point, and now it’s in a book.

Supposedly it all happened


I texted S, my best friend from 3rd grade, that I’m in town and we should do dinner or breakfast.


Oh, as of last night, around 9:44pm,  the Pervette documentary has moved from ideation to creation.

D was the perfect first pervette to interview.

P3 was amazing.

Her DP (and friend from college), J, was awesome. And I think I have a crush on them.

Everything flowed.


I’m gonna meet with A today at 1:30, then J for my energy healing session at 3, then Y at 5 for a mini shoot and hangout. And maybe S for dinner.

I feel like I should zip out the door and go to the Met and catch the Heavenly Bodies exhibit (recommended by the sister of the the guy on the plane sitting next to me).

I have tons of energy.

My head still feels light and strange.

I’ve been getting downloads ever since Saturday.

It started when I was laying on the hammock underneath the tree staring out into the pond.



Do I have time?

Not sure.

I can zip through it, Jules and Jim style, or was that Band of Outsiders where they raced through the Louvre?

Anyways I really like the idea of going to the Met by myself, right now.

I gotta go.



Wednesday, July 25, 2018


Dear You,

This is all written at a later date..


I got to the airport slightly earlier than I usually would (which is last minute). I did the weirdest thing.

I got a Swatch watch.




Thursday, July 26, 2018 12:12pm

Berkeley – Round Table


Dear You,

I’m home. Jesus. There’s so much to catch you up on.

I woke up this morning (to the crazy bird pecking on the window) feeling like I had a lot to do. So many people to respond to. Sessions. The Goddesses photoshoot tomorrow. And to top it off I have a writing assignment due. Tonight.

I’m supposed  to write about a shimmering moment..


The year was 2000. It was freshman year of college at UCLA. I think it was my second or third week into my first quarter. I remember being homeseick. I was still adjusting to living in the dorms. I missed my mom.

I was overwhelmed. There was so much to do, homework, making friends and exploring the world without parental constraint. I felt free.

But I also felt my identity unravel. I used to be the valedictorian at my high school. Here there were tons of valedictorians. I could read ancillary text and try my best to have some edge over everyone in class, but it felt useless. Just the required material I was covering was dense and beyond me. It felt like it was many levels beyond high school. And for the first time, I wasn’t ahead, but behind.

I had enrolled in a general education cluster. I remember wondering, even after I had enrolled and was in class, if it was a good idea. I only did it because I like the name, Perceptions and Illusions.

Our assignment was to read the introduction and the beginning William Wordsworth’s The Prelude. It was dense and way over my head. And I had no idea how it related to perceptions and illusions.

The class was held in a newish lecture hall. The lights were dim except for that of the powerpoint. It felt like I was in a movie thratre with tables that I can lift and pull out from the side of the seat. I sat in the back, just in case I wanted to leave.

The lecturer was an English grad student, I think. They were lecturing on what we supposedly read.  I remember reading but not fully understanding what I was reading.  We read some passages together as a class. Goethe was mentioned.  Something about the frame or framing? There were certain words that sunk in , but I can’t remember what is was now, but I do remember thinking, even though this is way over my head, there is something very powerful here. Not quite into my head, but into my body.

In that dark hall, staring into the passages that were on the powepoint, I felt something. I felt the words. I felt myself pulling the words from the passage and lecture and weaving it into something for myself. I was somewhere between half following along and half making meaning out of the words for myself.

It was the strangest thing. To be lost in class but feel amazing because what I did get was what I wanted. If I had to guess, I was probably absorbing 30% of what was being lectured. The rest was all me making sense of it.  But I can’t even tell you what we were discussing or what I was thinking because I can’t remember. All I remember was what I was feeling. It felt like an a-ha moment, even though I didn’t even know what I was a-haing about.

I got up and left before everyone else did. I’m not even sure if class ended or not. I was walking back to the Hedrick Hall, my dorm, or maybe to my next class. The path I took was through a quiet woodsy area with tall eucalyptus trees. I stopped at a tree, stood on its roots, my eyes were glazed, I wasn’t looking far or near. It was still early, about mid morning, the sun was shining through the branches. And in that moment, I felt something I never felt before. I felt beauty around me. I felt a lightness in my body. Everything about that moment was perfect.

It was the lightest feeling, In my body, in my head. I was in awe of that feeling, that I’m so happy. I’m so grateful for this feeling that I have never felt before.  What is this?  I have never felt this before. It was pure bliss.

And I remember my mind being completely empty except for these words:

The point of life is to write, and leave something behind.

That is how you make meaning out of your life.


I remember thinking that this message that’s coming through is the snswer to my existential crisis. I’ve been wondering why are we are? We live, work hard and then we die. What’s the point?

And there it was.

Leave something behind. A book.

Oh my god.

The point is to write.


I stood there trying to bask in that warm glow for as long as I could.

I wanted that feeling to last forever.  But it eventually it waned and I started walking in the direction of the dorm (or my next class).

Only much later (like 5 years later) did I describe the feeling to my boyfriend at the time that I think I felt enlightment. I didn’t really know what enlightment was but I was pretty sure that if it had a feeling, then that was how it felt. Because I felt light. Coming through me. I felt complete bliss on the verge of ecstasy. My mind was completely clear.  There was no knowing, just feeling. Or what I knew I was what I felt. And what I felt was that this was it.  Write a book.


You would think that from that point on, I started writing. But I didn’t.  I had no desire to write. Writing scared me. It was too vulnerable. And for the longest time I felt like I had noting to write about or share. And furtermore, if I did write something,  people can see what a crappy writer I am.

I just lived my life. Made some choices that were different from most.

I was 18 when I had that a-ha. I’m 36 now, half a lifetime later, I’m finally ready.

To write that book.



I decided to not submit that. And rewrote “My Secret” (the first thing I ever wrote for Pervette)



I saw how for simplicity sake I said I was at my mom’s house, but I was actually at my sister’s house. There’s a whole story behind that house. That at some point I’ll get into.


I also made a point to talk about the swimming pool out back. I think that was to let the reader think that I grew up middle class.


I was slightly anxious about all the things I had to do, it felt like I had to get back to 50+ people. But then I wrote out my morning pages and the words,

Okay no worries, no anxieties, everything will flow

I had the door to the bedroom open and the cool air combined with my pen flowing put me in a relaxed state. Lemon water, meditation, and I’ve been at he computer non-stop writing, and reading…

M gave me access to her google doc of the London Times piece about the Breakup Bootcamp. Oh my god. It was so good..



The one part that she wrote that’s not true:

I wasn’t hospitalized because of my eating disorder. Actually, my hair fell out and I poohed blood for 4 months.. Oh well. I didn’t feel like telling her to change it. For the editorial piece, it seem more simplistic and dramatic and less TMI to say hospitalized then pooh blood.




I can’t believe I’ve been at the round table all day.. I need to get up. Get out. But I gotta read my Dare to Memoir-mates’ writing assignment and comment.


I also need to shower and get ready fro my 7:30 session with with S2.


I wish I had at least a whole 3 days free, with no plans, so I can just write to you, and catch you up on everything I haven’t told you, which is a lot.


Did you know that catching up is just telling stories?


A bird flew in and was flapping around me for a food few minutes, then it flew out. I wonder if it was the crazy bird?


Should I eat more or masturbate?


I think I’m gonna make some tea, masturbate, do laundry, shower, then eat, read/comment on classmates writing, and then go to the dungeon


It’s so beautiful outside it hurts to be inside.


(yes I did all of the above as I said I would)


S2 arrived with fresh salmon he caught in the bay yesterday, a gallon size bag of blueberries, freshly picked heirloom tomatoes and a giant watermelon from his garden


He was reading that I was broke and so he thought it would be nice to see me and help me out. He’s such a sweetie.

He said it helps to follow me on Pervette. It makes him feel connected.


Maybe this is my way out of the hundreds of conversation threads that I can’t maintain..

If I keep on writing to you, I don’t have to write to everybody


He says he needs to take notes and ask me about the things that I mention that he doesn’t know about. I wonder if he’s talking about the supplements I take or the schedule 1 drugs.



What I put inside me: Lemoon water, walnuts, dried apricots and fresh blueberries and watermelon She left, walnuts, yucan crackers and coconut oil and MCT oil, MoonJuice cumin and chard crackers, green smoothie I made with romaine lettuce, avocados, mint, and monkfruit sweetener, tea I made with Moonbeli Calming Adaptogen, royal maca, mucuna pruriens, ginkgo biloba, and rosemary mint; hickory brussel sprouts, moon cheese puffs, beauty food collagen protein bar lemon pie, 2 egg tacos wirth avocadoes and hickory brussel sprouts and cassava flour tortilla, lemon water (I stayed inside and foraged for food here, surprisingly there were lots of fresh food in the house left by Her and P)


Friday, July 27, 2017 9:11am

Berkeley- Round Table


Dear You,

I just realized I went to NY and back without tweeting about it. Feels nice to be incognito.

I used to do this thing when I travel where I would tweet that I’m somewhere like Tokyo at the very end of my trip to create the illusion like I just got there and so when I got back home everyone still assumed I was abroad. And I had a week or two where I didn’t respond to anybody.


Now I just respond at all. In general.


I hope you understand. My modulations. I go from slow and no contact with the world to

manic connection and creation.

when I get manic, I can either spend that energy on writing or creating

or responding to you individually

please don’t take it personally if I choose the former


I love how Q writes to me and says at the bottom

be well colette

don’t answer this e-mail


I love it when she writes to me


what you’ve been writing—
and the quality of your writing
amazing AF!
don’t stop.
keep going.
don’t be afraid.
you’re beyond that now.
I’m so grateful for our connection
I wanna tell Q
that I ate 6 Hu chocolate bars when I was in NY
It was my fuel
And my obsession
I thought of her
Every time I indulged
. costs 2500 costs 1500
jesus christ. turns out the suffix -trix is quite valuable.
It was M who told me the oter night that I need to park that domain
Do I need it? Am I just collecting valuable domains? Or is this a future sister sites to pervette?
I need to create a wishlist
I just created a working Wishlist
I’m going to NEMA today to do a photoshoot with my friends.
We’re moving out of our penthouse corner unit high-rise in mid-August. I figure I gotta do at least one photoshoot there.
I think it’s kinda crazy that I never took advantage of that space.
It’s the Goddess shoot because we look and feel like Goddesses when we come together get naked and look demure and sexy for the camera.
And I do believe that a lot of my friends are Goddesses.
I see it.
But they have to see it first.
It’s gonna be a hyper social day with 4-6 ladies in one space.
It’s also the Full Moon.
What time does Rainbow Grocery close?
Great. That’s my escape.
I gotta pick up almond milk and apple cider vinegar and produce before it closes..
I feel like I need a month all to myself to build out pervette properly
It feels so janky right now, with its dead ends
I masturbated first thing this morning
And now I need to again?
But I gotta go into the city..
We all micro-dosed on the shrooms and lion’s mane.
On the drive home, at the top of Grizzly Peak, I caught the Full Moon. It was so huge and hanging so low and close to the cliff. I kinda wished I pulled over.
I’m out of spoons.
Saturday, July 28th, 2018 9:53am
Berkeley – Round Table
Dear You,
Do you know how you can tell if something is off (or not) inside you? Try writing with pen and paper quickly filling up a page (like you would do with Morning Pages)  and then you stop and examine your handwriting. Does it look fluid and nice or is it inconsistent and choppy looking?
Mine was sloppy and choppy. I think it was because of my mom’s call last night. She was upset with me. I let her down. And I can tell that she was slightly traumatized by it and now she thinks this is how it’s going to be, when she needs me, I won’t be there.
Do you also want to know how your inner world looks like? Whether you got your shit together or not? If you’re at home, just look around you, especially your kitchen. Is it put together? Everything in its place. Or does it look like you’ve been making messes and haven’t had the time to clean up after yourself?
My kitchen looks insane. Avocado shells, maca, mct oil, coconut oil, squeezed lemons, cutting board that has been used multiple times and never washed, a frying pan with egg remants in it, half a plantain banana, overripe peach hanging out. You can tell that I have used every appliance, the toaster oven, vitamix, the frother in the espresso machine. It looks as though I made egg tacos, a green smoothie, lemon water, a hot chocolate protein drink with all the fixings and toasted some yucan crackers. And there’s something definitely rotting in the trash or compost.
Downstairs I have an open suitcase still unpacked from NY, a giant camera bag filled with cameras and lenses (how many times have I lugged that crazy heavy camera bag this past week? To SFO, to Hudson, to Brooklyn, to JFK, to NEMA. 5 times), a big bag of Her sheepskin (for the shoot) and my my bag of shoes and outfits also for the shoot. I need to meditatively clean and fully unpack today. Or else I’ll constantly feel like I’m a mess.
I need to tell A that I can’t make it to his pool party today.
I have a session with L at 3.
A Facetime meeting with D at 9, who’s 15 hours ahead of me in Bali.
I need to put a fraud alert on my mom’s credit bureau accounts, possibly my stepdad’s as well.
I need to chime in to the Breakup Bootcamp Whatsapp group. Send them a Mark Nepo poem that feels relevant.
I should schedule a call with A re our collaboration. I would love for her to make a ton of veils for Pervette Pleasure Party.
Oh right. I’m throwing a party, or a sexworker get together. I think it might be August 19th.
Can I replace the word sexworker with pervette or sacred intimate? I just don’t like the word “worker” next to sex. Way to make something sexy sound unfun.
I also don’t like saying that I’m broke. How about “starting at 0?”
At some
Dad just called, he asked if I’m at home. I said yes. Is P there too? I told him he’s not, he’s in Florida at a friend’s wedding.
He always calls on Saturday at 10:30am. He always ask if I’m with P. I can sense that he’s concerned about my relationship with P. P’s never around when he calls. Because I’m rarely with P on Saturdays (since he comes home on Sundays or Mondays). I know he’s gonna freak the fuck out when I tell him that we’re selling the house. I don’t think he’s gonna understand when I tell him that it’s actually a good thing for our relationship to be financially disentangled from each other.
Why do people assume that the more fiscally enmeshed you are with someone it means that you’re more committed or in love? I mean I kinda get it. But really, I don’t get how that’s how the norm. I guess it’s prolly because I’m not interested in having a baby, that’s why I don’t get it.
I just think it’s a cleaner relationship with no potential resentment buildup if we’re not providing for each other. There’s always some implicit expectations when you’re providing for somebody. Like I put a roof over your head, the least you can do is drop off my dry cleaning. P did it with me. I did it with Her. I know how this goes. No thank you.
He tells me that someone won the Mega lottery in San Jose or Santa Clara. 50 million.
Go pick up a Powerball lottery today if you’re getting gas today.
You know what I love about writing to you? It’s a very soothing ritual. I can feel my tension getting worked out as I write to you.
You have no idea how many times I think about writing to you in a day. Probably 17-33 times. Anyways I’m so happy I started this ritual. I wish I did it sooner.
That’s always a good regret to have: I wish I did it sooner.
I wish I did it sooner. So I can share with you all those pivotal life-changing moments in real time.
But it’s okay, there’s something in the female brain that allows for us to recall the emotions of an event more vividly then men. Which means if I do write to you about those pivotal moments, that emotional charge will still be there.
Does this mean that women are possibly better autobiographical storytellers then men?
What’s weird is that I never write to you about the very memorable magical  moments that happened. Like the breakup bootcamp this past weekend. Or the photoshoot yesterday. Because I know I won’t forget that. And also there other witnesses who can help me recall those moments.
It’s as though I’m quickly writing to you what I think is fleeting, like my thoughts and feelings.
And the anxiety that I sometimes feel is that I won’t have enough time to tell you everything that matters.
I got accepted to another weeklong vippassana retreat with Gil Fronsdal (my hero) and Paul Haller. It’s in late October, early November.
I wonder where I’ll be then?
I can tell that my friends feel sad for me when I tell them that we’re selling the house. Because it is a very magical house. I spent 3 years pouring my love into it. I can hear it in their tone. They’re confused, I don’t sound as sad as I should be. I don’t know how to feel anymore. I’m just looking for clues from the universe of where I should be. I take it as a sign that I should be making the most of my time here.
All I know is that since I moved in here, I really nested. I became domestic. I hibernated, or cocooned. I stopped working like I used to. I stopped social media. I went inward. I contemplated. I went deep into plant medicine. In fact this house become a medicine home.
And it was in this home that the seed of pervette was planted.
And it was in this home that I threw a birthday party, or 3, and realized I have a power. I know how to bring people to together and create a space where we can play.
Somehow I feel like the selling of the house is like the end of this cocooning phase.
I keep on thinking that once I leave here, it marks the end of a transformation. Like I’m finally ready to spread my wings. And take off.
I keep on thinking about how I want to tell you about Old Me vs. New Me
Old me used to be a workaholic. E-mails, sessions, photoshoots. Repeat.
20 hours of sessions a week was the average.
Old me was really good at being on top of things. Especially e-mails, the life line of Domme work.
Old me would always try to book and take as many sessions as possible. It’s good money, why would I not?
Old me knew how to save a ton of money like a good Asian girl would.
Old me had a very set schedule. And saw almost everyone like clockwork.
Every Sunday, I would see R at 10:30. P at 12:30, A at 3:30.
Every Tuesday, I would have dinner with D1.
Every Thursday, I would have J come over at 6:30 and we would fuck for 25 minutes.
Old me rarely wanted to travel and break away from her money-making routine.
Old me was pretty content with the way things were.
Old me was sometimes lonely after a long day of sessions.
Old me sometimes felt aimless.
Old me thought she had life figured out.
New me is quite different form Old Me.
New me doesn’t care about making money to save it.
New me doesn’t have the energy to take sessions to make money to save it.
She’s gone from 20 hours to 2 hours a week, average.
New me has no desire to keep up with her emails.
She’s actually 4 years behind.
New me has no set schedule.
In fact, New me tries to avoid making plans as much as she can.
She wants to keep things open, for herself, so she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants.
Plans are like chains, she can’t be tied down.
I realize New Me is just Little Me.
She’s the little girl who wants to play and create.
She’s constantly checking in with herself, asking
How does I feel? What do I want?
She does what she wants. Unapologetically.
She’s the wise one who knows how to take care of herself, first.
She only makes half plans, just a means to keep moving forward, but she’s not tied to them.
She keeps her days open and flexible.
She has lots of friends who want to play with her
Any crazy idea she has, they’re all game.
She has a big project she’s very excited about.
She thinks she has a chance at changing the world
It’s really simple
All she has to do is teach people how to play
With each other.
Because she thinks something happened
when we started growing up
We forgot
That the point
Is to play.
Because it’s all play.
Everything is play.
Told A I can’t make it to the pool party.
Suggested affirmation from the Many Moons workbook
I now give myself the gift of rest.
My rest is radical.
My rest is resistance.
My rest is revolutionary.
Just Amazoned 4 used books on courtesans. There aren’t that many good books on them.
Can you tell. I’m on to something..

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