Introduction

This is a long and sordid story, meant primarily for the eyes of the people involved in the situation. After Kiezburn, when I asked the Harlot community to establish an accountability process in order to handle situations like mine better going forward, the Head Slut immediately removed me from the group. Thus, I feel justified in bringing my narrative to the public domain, as I feel a character assassination campaign has been enacted against me, and I need for my side of the story to be heard. If you're curious, read along. A variety of incidents require clarification, so this narrative has become quite dense. Feel free to skip it, although I would greatly appreciate if Harlots and the Kiezburn Accountability team read it in full. Your next issue of Teatime, hot and steamy, will be released in a couple of weeks.

Trigger warnings: mental health, chemsex, a brief mention of sexual trauma, descriptions of physical health issues, bullying

Receipts

Before the Burn

I met Head Slut on Christmas, at the party of a mutual friend. He had cooked some nice food, and appreciated mine. A couple months later, we connected again, and bonded over our mutual interest in cooking, Shibari, and dancing. He was involved in the local burner scene, which I hadn't yet explored in Berlin. I've been burning on and off for nineteen years, but had felt no urgency to start burning in Europe - burner culture was a familiar entity to me, and there were so many new and exciting other communities pulling my attention elsewhere. Nonetheless, when he spoke about the queer-centered, kinky theme camp he was an organizer for, I was very intrigued. He took me to a party hosted by a burner, and I was reminded by how cute and playful this community is. He suggested I apply to join his theme camp: the Harlots. I'm queer! I'm kinky! I began to consider it.

That night we went out to KitKat. We had a good night - he's a great club buddy, with an easy laugh and decent dance moves. At the end of the night, he suggested we go back to his place. I told him I wasn't interested in hooking up with him - we're both sexually dominant, I primarily seek sapphic relationships, and he just isn't my type. With this condition, and not ready to sleep, we headed back to his place. He kissed me a couple times, and cuddled me in a constrictive, tight way that turned me off - it was clear to me at this point that our sexual energies were completely incompatible, and I restated that I wasn't available for a hookup. Nonetheless, it was nice spending time with him - we shared some interpersonal struggles we were going through, and our thoughts about the world. I've only lived in Berlin for a year, and I'm still seeking deeper, emotional friendships. I hoped this might develop between us.

I left in the late morning.

He asked me to come over for dinner another night that week. I was hesitant - it felt like a date, and I knew I wasn't available for that kind of connection with him. We exchanged voice notes in which I shared with him that I was only available for a platonic friendship, and asked him whether he had platonic female friends. He affirmed that he did, while still trying to leave a window open for a future romantic connection for me. I stated, again, that this wasn't in the cards. He seemed receptive. We made plans to hang out again.

Over the next few months we quickly became quite close. Most of my existing community in Berlin comes from the Shibari scene, and I've built a beautiful cohort of sweet and sober-ish people there. But I am a bit of a hedonist, I love dancing, and I hadn't yet made any good friends who wanted to go clubbing with any regularity. Head Slut fit that role well.

It was always fun going out with him, and we began hanging out in the daytime too. Our daytime friendship was imperfect, to me - he primarily wanted to talk about his interpersonal struggles, and expected far more emotional labor from me than he himself provided. I held my tongue as he romantically obsessed over an old friend of his, invited her into the Harlots, and then decided to push her out once she rejected his advances. I did not hold my tongue when he told me the story of a woman who, mentally crashing after taking party drugs for the first time in a long time, wanted to leave his apartment, and how angry he was about her behavior. He told the story in a merciless way with no empathy for her mental context or wellbeing, and mentioned that at one point he told her that if she left his apartment it would damage their relationship. She ended the relationship after this, citing how uncomfortable she felt when he pressured her not to leave. I told him to never discourage a woman from going home, and to have some compassion for people undergoing drug-induced mental distress. He received my criticisms with grace, but did not change the tone with which he spoke about her.

Every interaction he had with a woman he was attracted to seemed a bit calculated, with the goal of sleeping with her and then partnering with her. I'm a bit of a romantic, and initially found it charming how much he sought love - I didn't initially concern myself with the aggressive intention with which he pursued women. Other things bothered me more. He spoke harshly about women's bodies and sexiness, spoke unkindly about aging women, and clearly preferred much younger, submissive romantic connections. I watched a sapphic play partner of mine, who had previously stopped playing with him, reluctantly agree to a spanking on his birthday despite all her body language communicating disinterest. I didn't like it when he'd purse his lips and expect me to kiss him, although I did accept the kisses. I began to be concerned about the red flags I was seeing. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed his company and considered him a good friend. I suppose I have some "boys will be boys" rhetoric in my patriarchal indoctrination that needs re-examining. At this point I had been accepted into the Harlots. The other Harlots all seemed adorable, and I was excited for the burn.

The last time we went out together, I had a wonderful night. At Kater Blau I had a chaotic, poetic flirtation with a beautiful woman who left me half spellbound and fully turned on. His night was less enjoyable - he got visibly angry every time we crossed paths with a woman who had rejected him. When he suggested an afters at his place, I shared with him that I was very sexually riled up from the flirtation with the woman and that I still didn't want to hook up with him. He agreed, and we headed to his place around dawn. At his apartment, he kept pushing me very strongly to take a shower and get into bed with him to cuddle. I had no desire to do this, and suggested we sit on the couch, which he refused. I ended up sitting on top of his covers in his bed as we chatted. He started touching my upper thigh. I reminded him that I was sexually frustrated, had no desire to hook up with him, and told him that I didn't consent to this touch. Instead of removing his hand, he moved it slightly down my leg. I felt uncomfortable, but didn't confront him. Instead I wrapped up the conversation amicably and left.

This was the last time that Head Slut was ever kind to me.

I had signed up for Build Co-Lead and Program Co-Lead. I also got involved with the planning of a witch rave party on Saturday night, and received a Dream Grant for deco. It was a lot, but with burns I like to alternate - participate more some burns, and give back more others. I was looking forward to bringing some gothic diversity to Kiezburn.

My Program Co-Lead, the Elven Harlot, is a gentle, soft-spoken person with a sweet, playful, somewhat ethereal energy. They were completely overwhelmed by a project at their job around the program deadline, and thus I put the program together by myself in the course of a week and a half. It was a huge task, and between that and the witch rave organization, I was completely swamped with communications. At one point I was balancing twenty conversations with strangers per day. It was fun and exciting to sculpt the program, but it took over my life.

My Build Co-Lead was also struggling with a lot of personal responsibilities. We were having trouble communicating, and I feared that my assertive, playful, fast-moving approach to leadership wasn't compatible with his own organizational style. We had a conversation in which we agreed we'd update the Finance folks on our status, and then I communicated a summary of our talk to the Finance chat channel that night. The next morning, I woke up to a voice message from him, expressing anger that I had sent the finance update without checking in with him, although I'd made sure to get his agreement on sending the update during our phone call. Clearly we weren't compatible as close co-organizers, so I began to think of solutions to reduce potential future conflict. Since the Harlots were scaling down this year, and not building the largest, most challenging structures, I thought he could easily handle the lead role alone as long as he had enough people for build. It seemed better if I stepped down as Build Co-Lead. I would still come early for build and just help out as one of the build minions.

I also had learned that the effigy was an octopus this year, and that it would be a collaborative aesthetic process, with each tentacle representing different aspects of the community. I loved the concept and wanted in. I checked with Head Slut about my desire to step down as Build Lead, and he said he supported it. I then notified my Build Co-Lead, reassuring him that I'd still be helping during build. For a few days, he didn't respond. I gave him some time to process before I would announce my stepping down to the larger group. During that time I signed up as a tentacle lead for the octopus, and began brainstorming with the lead artist about an electronics project for the octopus's eyes. Then, my Build Co-Lead announced to the Harlots that he wasn't going to come to Kiezburn at all this year. I realized that I was going to be forcibly re-crowned Build Lead, and that I was now completely and totally over-committed.

I spoke to Head Slut about the Build Co-Lead leaving. Despite my Co-Lead never mentioning me to the Head Slut, the Head Slut said, "It's really unfortunate. If someone else had been Co-Lead, perhaps he wouldn't have left. It's really a shame. I've burned with him before and had a nice time. But you're an unknown."

I was shocked, and hurt. We'd been hanging out twice a week for months. He was quickly becoming a good friend. How was I an unknown?

Cabin Party

I showed up at the Harlots' cabin pre-party a bit wild, after an underground queer rave the night before. I knew I was going to be messy, and kind of wanted to test the waters: to see if the Harlots could hold space for me at my silliest and most expressive, as I wanted to be able to let loose at the burn. I'm an informal performance artist: I design costumes, and enjoy moving and expressing myself as the characters that I've designed. I began pet-playing at the cabin, scampering around the rooms in raccoon ears and a tail. In chaos mode, I naughtily nicked a few Sternis from the hosts' private stash, with every intention of either contacting the hosts and wildly overpaying for my crimes (I was gonna leave a 20€ for 5 shared Sternis), or if the hosts were not amenable, replacing the beers the next day. I didn't realize that villages don't have Spätis and that replacing them on Sunday would be a challenge. A couple Harlots immediately ran to the store and bought a crate of Sternis, which I paid for in full and shared with the group throughout the party.

After a good night sleep at the cabin, I was feeling much more humanoid and ready to do some logistic planning for the burn. Sunday lunch was delicious: the best burrito I've had in Germany. The pre-party info sheet had stated that doing shifts during the cabin party was optional. I am a bit of a workaholic at times, and I had spent at least 40 hours the prior week getting the Harlots' workshop program together, and probably another 40 the week before that. I paid the maximum price on the sliding scale for the cabin, despite only staying for one of the two nights, because I felt financially able to do so and wanted to support the Harlots. I also paid the maximum sliding scale amount for Kiezburn camp fees.

While making my raccoon costume the day before, I'd had a bad hot glue accident, and my hands were covered in second degree burns and blisters. I confirmed with a couple Harlots that I didn't need to sign up for shifts. It seemed fair to me to get to enjoy the party without getting involved in the food, considering how much work I'd put in the prior weeks, and that the party information sheet explicitly stated it wasn't necessary.

After lunch, Head Slut told me to help clean up. I reminded him that I had burns on my hands. He should have been well aware of this, as we had done yoga together that morning and I'd mentioned that I couldn't follow any poses that put pressure on my hands. The blisters were also big and visible on my skin. He began to chastise me in a hissing, condescending voice about sharing the load of effort. I reminded him that I'd put at least forty hours into Harlots work that week alone. He snarled that he'd done over a hundred, which certainly wasn't true on that given week. I said "we all help out in different ways", and removed myself from the conversation.

We had the Harlots main meeting in the living room of the cabin, and then planned to have a breakout meeting for builders. I knew I was going to beg them to let me not be Build Lead, and I was stressed about the conversation. It was pleasant and overcast outside, and there was a huge shaded table on the patio. I suggested that we move the Build meeting outside. Head Slut refused, citing that they were already in the living room and the laptop would be harder to see outdoors. I insisted - it was overcast enough to see a screen, and I didn't really need him to take notes anyways. We'd been indoors during the main meeting for ages. I wanted to hit my vape, feel the fresh air, and enjoy the beautiful patio while we had this challenging conversation. Head Slut raised his voice with me. He spoke to me as if I was a disobedient toddler instead of the hardworking team member who wanted to lead their meeting in a different location. I stood my ground, but I was shaken - now twice in a row, Head Slut had spoken to me with this brittle, hateful tone that I didn't recognize. Where was our friendship? A sweet Harlot I didn't know well was put off by how Head Slut spoke to me, and gently comforted me during the Build meeting.

In the meeting, I shared my situation, my commitments to the effigy, and my feeling of being overextended. I asked to step down as Build Lead, but no one volunteered to take my place. I then said that at least I needed a Co-Lead who had been to Kiezburn and been a Harlot before. The Elven Harlot raised their hand to volunteer.

Since I hadn't been able to help with food, I helped strike the cabin party. Bewildered and hurt by Head Slut's treatment of me, I considered leaving the Harlots, and shared my concern with a couple of sweeties who were also sticking around for strike. They hadn't seen my interactions with Head Slut, but they assured me that he was just cranky in general, and convinced me to stay.

The woman who had resigned from the Harlots at Head Slut's encouragement been Inventory Lead, and no one had replaced her after she dropped out. But I needed to know the status of inventory for the sake of build. I informally became Inventory Lead, reviewing and updating the inventory spreadsheet, identifying missing materials, and setting up a contest to encourage people to help out gathering supplies. I was now leading inventory, the program, and build, far more than any other Harlot. I was also lead for a tentacle and the eyes of the effigy, which were now established as an elaborate electronic make with LEDs, mirrors and microcontrollers. I was co-organizing this witch rave, and facilitating at least two workshops. I was in trouble, and I knew it.

Build Weekend

Build was brutal. I arrived the Thursday before the burn. Due to trouble sourcing materials, the octopus eyes had not yet been built, and my commitments felt more and more impossible. On Saturday the rest of the Harlot Build team arrived. The Elven Harlot, my supposed Build Co-Lead, messaged the group that they had forgotten about a work meeting, and would not join us until Tuesday.

For much of Saturday and Sunday there were only five of us, and both I and another Build Harlot had significant responsibilities to the Kiezburn organization, meaning that frequently only three Harlots were on-site. Heavy storms passed through quickly and aggressively, meaning we constantly had to reprioritize, move things into shelter, and dig emergency ditches to prevent flooding. When it wasn't storming, it was brutally hot. I have dyshidrotic eczema, a condition where my skin becomes irritated due to prolonged contact with water. I hadn't had a flare-up in over a year, but the days of constant sweat and humidity caused me to have the worst outbreak of my life. I developed an itchy, painful, blistering rash on my hands, chest, feet, and thighs, with the worst aggravation on my hands, where some of the blisters started to crack into small wounds. In order to prevent more blisters from developing, I had to avoid getting my hands wet as much as possible. Every moment was colored by an undercurrent of itching and pain.

Friday night, I smoked weed, which honestly I should never do outside of the comfort of my own home, as I find it very disorienting. I had a panic attack and misplaced my phone that night.

Throughout Build Weekend, every time we spoke, Head Slut glared at me, rolled his eyes, and treated me like a disobedient child. He had no sympathy for my stress or my health condition. I never initiated conflict, and tried to keep things light despite my own exhaustion and the struggles of build. When he gave away our unlabeled shovels to an unknown camp and then refused to go look for them, all I said was "bro!" before hauling my ass up and down the landing strip, asking every person I saw about the shovels and ultimately finding them before the next storm. The Tool Haus folks suggested he deserved a spanking, which I thought was funny. At the Inventory Awards, where I planned to hand out personally purchased treats for everyone who gathered materials during pre-build, I planned to name him Naughtiest Build Slut and tell him what Tool Haus said about a spanking before awarding him with a candy bar instead. I was still hoping to lighten the vibe. I complimented his food and tried to make cute jokes. But our friendship seemed to have evaporated into thin air. I wanted to talk to him, to let him know my boundaries around communication had been crossed and to understand what was aggravating him so much. But every time I approached him, he snapped at me, and I didn't know how to broach the conversation from there.

Sunday

On Sunday, I did the dishes after dinner. I could feel my hands getting worse in the dish water. I knew how Head Slut had behaved last time I couldn't wash up at the pre-party, and wanted to get ahead of the conversation, so I approached him and told him about my health condition. He told me that not helping with food was unacceptable, and suggested that I help prep. I explained that handling wet materials of any kind was aggravating, and that acidic things like tomatoes and lemons were extremely painful. He again stated that this was unacceptable. I offered not to eat with camp the next day, and then ask a Harlot with no lead roles to pick up my dish cleaning shift on Tuesday. The shift request seemed fair to me, since lead roles didn't receive a shift credit this year, and it felt like the amount of hours I'd contributed so far was really disproportionate. He glared at me again and didn't say anything.

That night, I hoped to do a solstice ceremony burning resins and meditating. I had left my tealights and a box of witch rave deco in the kitchen when I first arrived on Thursday, and since I'd offered my tent to be used for other personal belongings during the rain, I hadn't yet collected them. Head Slut was in the kitchen, and I asked him where my stuff had gone. "I put it with the other deco in the backstage tent" he said, stomping out, unwilling to show me where he'd put the things. I went to the backstage tent, and my deco box, clearly labeled "WITCH," had been dumped out and strewn together with other deco in boxes and on the floor. I cried while my Harlot friend searched for the tealights. I didn't understand what I'd done to deserve this animosity.

Monday

I did not eat Harlots food on Monday. My Harlot friend thought I was being melodramatic, but they hadn't seen most of Head Slut's aggression towards me. I was just trying to reduce conflict by honoring the agreement I'd made to not eat since I can't physically clean. Monday evening, after eating at the Kiezburn volunteer kitchen, I came back to Harlots' camp. There was leftover salad in a bowl, and it looked good. I was visibly eying it but didn't plan to ask for any. Head Slut and another Harlot were in the kitchen with me. Head Slut offered the other Harlot the leftover salad, and when he refused, Head Slut said, "well then I guess I'll just eat it myself", giving me a sly, nasty side look as he walked away with the bowl. This is an example of how he treated me throughout build - subtly passive aggressive in public, then snarling at me once we were out of earshot of anyone else. It was devastating. On top of the stress of my excessive build responsibilities, the constant pain and irritation of my skin condition, and the exhaustion that we all felt - I was grieving the loss of a good friend who suddenly was treating me like he hated me.

Tuesday

The bullying continued on Tuesday. For example: I had accidentally drank one and shared one of the wrong brand of beers from our large group order. I had forgotten that I had ordered Sternis as a joke reference to the cabin party instead of my usual Helles. At camp dinner, Head Slut tried to frame my beer hijinks at the cabin party and my genuine beer mixup that day as thievery, and said that this concerned him about my ability to respect consent in a kink context. Another Harlot spoke up to defend me, and the conversation moved on, but at this point, it was clear to me that he was launching a manipulative social campaign to turn people against me and get them to perceive me as unsafe.

On Tuesday night I still hadn't found my phone. At 4am, while trying to fall asleep, I suddenly realized that my partner and my parents were surely losing their minds worried about me - they don't understand festival culture and that people sometimes drop out of the online world. At the time of losing the phone, I had made plans to call them all. They're all worriers, and were likely losing their minds. I started weeping, loudly and uncontrollably - about the pain in my hands, about the bullying from my friend, about the stress of my obligations -- but mostly about how I was letting down the people who actually cared about me. I decided to pack up and leave for the night, and find a hotel in Jüterbog to charge my phone. I put on some music to hide the sound of my crying as I got my bag together. A Harlot friend came by after I'd stopped playing the music, gave me a hotspot to email my loved ones (though none of them check their damn email), and convinced me to stay. When I woke up at 10:45 the next morning, I tried to feel good in my body and at the burn. I wanted to arrive. I played one goth song, louder this time, as I stretched and tried to embrace the day.

It was definitely selfish to play music that night and morning. I'd heard something about living room music being okay all night, and at night I played the music at a level that wouldn't gather complaints in a real living room. But I wasn't in a living room: I was in a tent, surrounded by other exhausted people. Harlots, in case it wasn't clear before: I'm truly sorry that I woke you.

Wednesday

Wednesday evening I made fresh squeezed orange juice for the Harlots. I poured a splash of vodka in my own cup, and offered it to anyone who wanted it. I had a non-sexual workshop on flirting that night that I felt woefully unprepared for. I have a fear of public speaking, and I had hoped to prepare notes or slides and practice with my flirting assistant. I considered cancelling, but the Elven Harlot, who had volunteered to be my assistant, seemed enthusiastic, and I really thought I had some good advice to share with the queer community. I feel really passionately about FLINTA* folk empowering themselves to be more assertive in their dating lives while still respecting consent. Let's take more initiative, but not emulate the aggressive pick-up-artist bros, you know?

During dinner, Head Slut initiated a conversation about playing music at night. I wasn't ready for it, as I was hoping to center myself for the workshop. I'm sure I handled that conversation poorly, alternately taking accountability and trying to excuse it by explaining how emotionally dark that night had been for me. I then brought up possible hours that music were okay - I had plans to host a little gothic tea party Friday evening to avoid the madness of Acid Friday, which I wouldn't be partaking in. The Harlots clearly wanted me to never play music again, and suggested no music after 10pm, and quieter than living room volume - even if they weren't at camp. I ended up tearing up again: I already couldn't tie rope, hook up with cuties, or juice oranges because of my hands, and now I felt unwelcome hosting my witchy tea party. I normally never cry, and it felt quite destabilizing.

Nonetheless, people were already started to gather for the workshop, and I hate reneging on commitments. I quickly smoked a cigarette with the Elven Harlot, where we discussed the basic concept of the workshop. I would be demonstrating flirting with them, and wanted them to give or revoke consent based on their true boundaries, and also revoke consent occasionally as a demonstration to show how to handle rejection gracefully. I ran over to the goths, who lent me black nail polish and a sip of absinthe for good luck. Then I ran back to the workshop tent and launched into my diatribe about flirtation.

The workshop went, overall, reasonably well from my vantage point, considering how flustered and under-prepared I was. I wasn't inebriated, having had two half-drinks over the last two hours, but I was definitely emotionally dysregulated. I managed to channel it into a somewhat chaotic, humorous off-the-cuff monologue about flirting. At one point I mentioned that people at clubs will often be inebriated, and you have to be careful about consent. I said that chemsex is a complex topic that requires a deeper discussion, but I gave a brief example of a time I kissed a woman at a club before realizing that she was 22 and inebriated. I refused to hook up with her despite our mutual attraction and her deep desire to do so, because I felt uncomfortable about her ability to give consent.

The workshop time flew by much faster than I'd expected, and I didn't get much chance to pair people off and get them flirting, like I'd planned. Before I knew it, our time window was almost up, and I still hadn't walked through the body language examples where I'd demonstrate deepening a flirtation. I asked the Elven Harlot to choose a setting for our final flirting demo. They suggested KitKat. I agreed, and began talking through ways that I gently get closer to people while asking for consent. They then said, "and we're high, hehe" and made a cute goofy face. I paused for a second - I hadn't planned for this context. But I felt the pressure of time, and continued the process, giving the Elven Harlot compliments, asking to touch their thigh, and then asking for a kiss. We were out of time. I hadn't done the workshop that I planned to do, but at least I had done something.

I needed a breather. I ran back to our private camp with a couple of workshop attendees to juice a few oranges to share. I distributed the orange juice to five people, and at my suggestion one of my workshop attendees offered people my vodka. I chatted with folks for a minute. I mostly heard good feedback about the workshop - people thought it was funny, one person said it was practically stand-up comedy. Some said that there was good info and they felt empowered. Some people wished there was more time for actual flirting, which I totally agreed with.

The Elven Harlot overheard someone saying that they'd been triggered by the conversation about chemsex. Chemsex is naturally a very triggering topic - many people, including myself, have experienced sexual violence while inebriated. I am saddened that my workshop brought those feelings up for someone, and definitely learned something from this feedback - in any future workshops, I'll include a trigger warning if I intend to speak on commonly triggering topics. However, I don't think inebriated sex and kink should be a taboo thing to talk about - people are constantly hooking up while inebriated in Berlin at sex positive clubs. Head Slut does it all the time. I deeply believe that it is not innately non-consensual for two people who are both experienced at cruising and a particular type of inebriation to choose to hook up with one another in low-risk ways while not sober. But if we refuse to talk about it, we won't learn as a community how to navigate the consent and safety implications that can show up - for example, if someone is too high or too inexperienced to give risk-aware consent.

Between my inflamed hands, my exhausted head, and the two drinks I'd had over the last four hours, I was in no state to play at the SLINTA* play party that was immediately following the flirting workshop. I had originally planned to facilitate this event, and wanted to make sure it was going okay for the other facilitator without me. I popped my head in, and laid out some toys to share with the group. I knit for a couple minutes and watched folks interact with one another, but when cuties started flirting with me and asking me to play, I excused myself to work security for the rest of the event.

A side note on lessons learned: an event like a SLINTA play party needs security at a burn, especially since we had the back panels of the tent open for fresh air. I ended up bouncing quite a few wanderers. Also, at environments like a burn, sobriety expectations should be clearly listed at in the description of the event: whether we expect participants to be completely sober or if safe, low amounts of mild substance is allowed. In my personal rope hangouts, I inform people that it is a mostly but not entirely sober space, that a joint or drink is welcome to be enjoyed responsibly, that people should not suspend others unless completely sober, and that highly inebriated people would be asked to leave. I should have included something similar in the SLINTA* party description. Kink community organizing is a tricky task, and we're all learning as we go.

Thursday

The next morning, while brushing my teeth, Head Slut and the Elven Harlot approached me, extremely aggravated. Head Slut started talking to me in a loud and angry voice while I asked to finish brushing my teeth. My mouth full of toothpaste, they aggressively told me that they needed to have a conversation with me. I asked them to slow down, as I was still waking up. I assumed that this would be the Head Slut finding more things to nit-pick about, and asked them if we could have the conversation later, after I drank some tea, ate something, and took a shower. I had finally found my phone, and stayed up late wandering the playa talking to my mother and my partner in the US. I needed some caffeine before I was ready for whatever new drama was coming. They refused, saying the conversation had to happen now. At one point, I matched my voice to that of the Head Slut's, and he immediately accused me of "screaming at him". I said, "no, I am not screaming. We are both speaking in loud, elevated, emotional voices." Seeing no choice, I agreed to speak with them right away. To my surprise, it was the Elven Harlot who wanted to talk to me, and so we found a shady spot away from camp to speak.

The Elven Harlot expressed how much it weighed on them that someone had been triggered by the mention of having sex while not sober. I listened, expressed my empathy for the person, and agreed that next time we should have a list of potentially triggering topics on future events. This didn't seem to appease them, and they stated that they felt that this discussion had been bad for the Harlots "brand," and, by implication, that my continuing to be in the Harlots camp was bad for the Harlots brand. At the same time, they confessed they had a crush on me, which made me uncomfortable - I never would have consented to do a flirting demonstration with them if I had known they had a crush on me. I find them to be gorgeous and compelling, but they're not my type, and they had really left me hanging in our Co-Lead roles. I would never have chosen to give such mixed signals by fake flirting and complimenting and kissing someone who was actually interested in me. We had a strange, awkward conversation in which I simultaneously was gently rejecting them, while also defending myself as they started hinting that they wanted me to leave the camp. I reminded them exactly what I'd said about chemsex, that I had advocated people be alert to others who may have compromised consent, and that they had been the one who suggested we be high during the flirting demonstration. "So we both fucked up, right? And now we can learn from this for next time" I said. "Right…" they said, but they continued to threaten to kick me out of camp. I asked them if we could talk this over with the larger Harlots camp, and they said no. Their thoughts didn't feel continuous - it felt they had concluded that I needed to leave the camp without a proper reason. They mentioned that they'd spoken with the Head Slut, and they had came to the decision together. They also mentioned Acid Friday, and wanting a happy environment. It became clear to me that the Head Slut wanted me gone before Friday, so that he could trip in peace without someone he was in conflict with nearby, and that he'd advocated this to the Elven Harlot, leveraging whatever complex thoughts they were having: guilt about the triggered person, displeasure from being around me in my stress and pain, and perhaps emotional confusion from my fake flirting in the workshop -- but the Elven Harlot was wholly on his side, and wanted me to go away.

The Elven Harlot wanted me to go to Welfare. I wanted to go as well. I was unbelievably anxious and underslept, my rash was out of control, and I had been being bullied for days. The camp no longer felt like a safe space for me unless some constructive conversations happened. I could imagine a scenario where Head Slut took some accountability for his behavior and explained where his anger was coming from so I could also take any needed accountability. I needed him to commit to treating me more kindly so I could feel safe. If this wasn't possible (and I wasn't optimistic), I needed to distance myself from the Harlots camp. I came up with a plan: I would finish doing some self care and center myself, try to hand the octopus eye work over to some of my co-makers, then pack a bag and go to Welfare. After explaining the situation to them and possibly setting up a conflict-resolution conversation with Head Slut, I'd stay in a hotel in Jüterbog for Thursday night. This would give my hands a chance to dry up and heal, and my mind a needed night's sleep. It would be nice for me and surely my camp to all have a little space. Then I'd come back Friday evening, restored and grounded, go dancing away from camp, and on Saturday I'd move my tent to the sound camp woods and focus on preparing for the witch rave. The Harlots that were stressed by my presence would barely have to see me, and could enjoy their drugs. I discussed my plan with a couple Harlots, who seemed supportive. I also mentioned to the group that I felt I was being bullied by Head Slut, which he indignantly denied.

By the time I got my appetite back after these stressful conversations, the Harlots' breakfast was cold, and the goths next door were offering black crepes - how cute! Wanting a moment of joy in my horrible morning, I got in line for a crepe, which ended up taking quite a long time. The crepes were delicious though, gothic and bloody with berries. When I got back to camp, it was clear the Head Slut and the Elven Harlot wanted me to go to Welfare immediately. However, I didn't want to make two trips in the blistering heat, and still needed to pack my bag, get hydrated and drink some breakfast tea - I had a shadow of a migraine, and caffeine and hydration are essential to prevent its onset. I didn't see why I should prioritize their dramatic demands over my own self-care if the concern was actually my wellness. I hadn't yelled at anyone, I had never initiated arguments, I had not violated anyone's consent. I was just having a really hard time.

After crepes, I returned to my tent and began packing my away bag. After a little while the Elven Harlot entered my tent. I told them that I wasn't available for another conversation at the moment, but that we could talk more about the flirtation workshop on another day. They stepped into the tent anyways, blocking the door. I asked them to leave. They said that I needed to go to Welfare. I told them I was planning on it, once I packed and finished my self care. I again asked them to leave my tent so I could finish packing. They told me that if I didn't go to Welfare immediately, that the Harlots were going to kick me out. I asked them if this was a group consensus, or something that they and the Head Slut decided. They said it was not a group consensus, and that they were not willing to discuss it with the larger group. I told them that this was really upsetting, and that I was feeling very emotionally distressed and didn't want to talk right now. I told them firmly that I was expressing a boundary and asking them to leave my tent. They continued to stand in the door and speak to me. Due to my deco boxes, it would not be easy for me to leave from the back door. I have a home invasion phobia after experiencing a break-in, and this feeling of being cornered broke me. I started crying, and shrieked "I thought you were a sex positive camp! I thought you understood boundaries! PLEASE leave my tent!" They finally left. I took some deep breaths, then stepped outside and apologized to them, explaining that my home invasion phobia had been triggered. I was horrified that I'd been pushed to this point - I'm usually relatively emotionally regulated, and I didn't even recognize the voice that had come out of me when I had yelled at them to leave. It was clear that staying in this camp was destroying my mental health, and I couldn't remain there a moment longer. I asked the sweet Harlot who was involved with the Kiezburn infrastructure to use his radio to call the Carebears to get me out of there.

The first Carebear was a sweetheart from Bristol. I had a big task ahead of me - my tent was huge and filled with deco, as I planned to use it as an enchanted darkroom during the witch rave. The Carebear gave me space from the Harlots and even offered to help me pack, although normally Carebears are not supposed to help the people in their care with physical tasks. Her shift ended around the time that the Harlots were coming back to camp after an event. I felt my anxiety rising - I had no desire to speak to Head Slut or the Elven Harlot, so after introducing myself to the new Carebear, I sat in the goth camp for a few minutes, in clear view of the back of my tent, and smoked a cigarette. I saw Head Slut angrily speaking to the new Carebear. After a few minutes, the Carebear hadn't come to talk to me, so I walked back to my tent, to discover four Rangers and Carebears in my tent, roughly and chaotically packing all of my delicate deco and valuable electronics tools for three effigy eyes. I shouted at them to stop, that I had not given them permission to touch my things. They refused to stop, saying that there was a limited amount of time where all four of them were available to help me move. The lead Carebear was treating me like I was being booted from camp because I assaulted somebody - I can't imagine what Head Slut said to him. They then began carting my stuff across the playa. I asked them to stop - I wanted to be part of the decision process of where I was going. At this point, I needed a minute to process, as I was weighing whether I would leave the festival completely. They refused to stop, and a non-consensual parade of my things crossed the playa while I raced beside them, alternately asking where we were going and monitoring the safety of the effigy eyes. Once we got to the sound camp woods, I was given the choice between a location literally on the Mighty Music Miners' dance floor, or an isolated clearing deeper in the woods. I chose the clearing. The Carebears and Rangers unceremoniously dumped my stuff there and left. My tent cannot be easily set up by one person. I was left with no sense of location, no knowledge of the nearest water or toilets, no access to a shower, no power, no charged light sources, and my stuff in shambles. I had no idea where my phone and rash medicine were. Thankfully, two guys who had helped build the effigy eyes set up my tent, and I spent the rest of the evening in the dark, fumbling through my stuff, locating toilets and water, and trying to reorient myself in these windy woods. There was no way I could make it to Jüterbog or leave the festival at this point in the night. At one point, I went to Welfare to get some food and explain my situation. A kind Carebear gave me a pen and paper to take notes. After writing a survival To-Do list, my thoughts lingered angrily on the Elven Harlot talking about the so-called Harlot Brand. I thought about how I'd romantically rejected both the people involved in pushing me out of camp. The following phrase emerged in my mind: "Harlots Burn Witch Because Witch Wouldn't Fuck Any Harlots." I thought it was funny, and the Carebear did too. I then thought back about all the lovely anecdotes I'd gathered throughout the festival, despite my personal nightmare. I had some content, and I knew the Gazette wasn't going to publish another issue. I decided to write a witch's newspaper: cunty, playful and full of riddles. After I finally found my phone and meds with the help of yet another shift of angelic Carebears, I scribbled out the first issue of Teatime on a scrap of cardboard before falling asleep.

The Aftermath

The rest of the week, I didn't feel emotionally safe going back to camp to collect the rest of my stuff. I did try twice. The Carebears had used the camp wagon, which I had insisted on purchasing and had not yet been refunded for, to move me. The first time I went back, an OG Harlot firmly asked me to return the wagon. I felt that I needed it - I had no idea how I'd get my giant load of art and my heavy glamping setup out of the woods without it, and I still needed to transport the effigy eyes to the octopus, which were a hundred centimeter diameter with a heavy wooden frame. It felt like a small bone to throw me, after how deeply I had been inconvenienced, losing my access to the shower, the food, and space in the van back to Berlin. Maybe they would let me hold onto it and find another way to dispose of greywater - one Harlot even had a cargo bike. I proposed this, and the OG Harlot was not receptive. I didn't want more drama. I had purchased it for the Harlots, and I wasn't going to give anyone anymore ammunition for this rhetoric about me being a thief. But I thought I was entitled to my camp fees back, and at this point I was concerned about getting reimbursed for anything. I agreed to return the wagon once I had been reimbursed for it and for my camp fees. The OG Harlot agreed and said she would ask the Elven Harlot to reimburse me right away. I promised to return the wagon as soon as I received the money, and we shook on it. I was never reimbursed, so I kept the wagon, decorating it and pushing it around the playa around serving fresh-squeezed juice. I still have not been reimbursed for my camp fees.

The second time I went back to Harlots camp with a Carebear. At this point Teatime has been printed and distributed, including the cunty headline about the Harlots burning me. Head Slut approached me aggressively, snarling that he wanted to talk to me, until he saw the Carebear and then scuttled away. I didn't feel comfortable after that going on site to look for my things - the Carebear took a look but didn't find anything. My camping fan was missing for the rest of the festival - something I had planned on relying on for keeping cool and giving my hands a chance to dry out. My only comfortable sandals were also missing until Sunday, forcing me to wear boots or sneakers in the heat, which aggravated the eczema on my feet. During the move, my teapot was broken and my tree lamp lost most of its flower lights. The legs of my camping table were never found. The fan, my sandals, and my lovely water thermos only showed up on Sunday - the thermos, brand new and gorgeous, which had been labeled with my name and left on the Harlots' kitchen shelf, was covered in scuffs as if it had been dragged on asphalt. My speaker and computer charger are still missing.

Apparently Head Slut is writing a RAD report against me. I presume this is a pre-emptive strike in anticipation of me coming forward with my narrative. A Harlot friend had read it, and says he has "nothing". His main complaint is that I wasn't self reliant - that I hadn't brought a plate, that my hands were disabled, and that I asked a Harlot friend with a car to do a run for me for medicine and a vape. I did need help this burn - burning is an intense, survivalist experience, and sometimes health issues occur. I have often spent enormous portions of festivals helping a friend who was having a mental or health crisis. Once, at the Big Burn, a flow artist on acid spun his flaming poi into his eye. I rinsed his eye with saline and then ran around the playa until I found an ophthalmologist to examine him. Another time, a woman I barely knew was having a bad trip, and I escorted her for hours to find her shoes and belongings and get her somewhere safe and cozy. Once, I broke a toe at the Big Burn, and only survived because a stranger in a clown suit gave me his magical cane. We want to be self-reliant, but sometimes in this environment we must rely on each other. Head Slut's reaction to my skin condition, and his relentless battering of my mental health, were one of the most ableist experiences of my life. My heart goes out to anyone who struggles with the ableist world on a daily basis, and my eyes will forever be more alert to people being ostracized because they need help with their disabilities.

The rest of my burn was surreal, artistic, and very scary. In some ways it was freeing - I could now engage deeply with my performance art, channel my pain and darkness into creativity and activism without imposing on my camp. I leaned into the raccoon pet play as a source of solace, engaging with the feral, hunted animal I felt inside of me. But I also felt enormously alone and vulnerable in those woods, and had trouble feeling safe falling asleep in my tent. Throughout the burn, I kept thinking of witch burning: of how unusual, powerful, queer, and unpartnered femmes are cast out of societies for the crime of being unapologetically themselves.

They still burn us. I am living proof. Thankfully, I am a fire witch: your flames just make me stronger. Like a phoenix, I have already collected my ashes and risen again.