I really enjoy sex. It's one of my favorite things about being alive … sucking my wife @DeliaTS's cock & excited to get on it.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) September 21, 2014
Kinda sad our windows weren't open when I came (twice) loudly. Afraid the neighbors will think I'm not getting any at summer's end.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) September 21, 2014
Note to members: I’m sorry you didn’t get to spy on this on our voyeur cams – OUR SLEEPING ALCOVE LIFECAMS ARE DOWN because our old spycam machine running XP seems to have bit the dust, and our nightvision set-up is pretty particular to it, plus we need to replace our relatively-old router (last troubleshooting step in our internet connection becoming very in-and-out / unreliable). We have somebody building us a homemade firewall instead of getting a new router and I haven’t bought all of the necessary components because these are not the only machines I’m trying to carefully shop and budget for – my main machine which is also old ALSO came grinding to a halt and with us working from two different homes now we’re rethinking and redesigning our set up and how we work so I don’t want to blow money and time without some careful thought.
I’m rethinking and rebuilding pretty much everything I do right now . . . it’s probably going to look like nothing for a few more months but it will be worth it in the long run.
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) September 22, 2014
Delia was totally entranced by this Flicker outside the window of our sleeping alcove:
I could not do anything to distract her from observing the bird, but I did have fun trying:
We have Flickers around here (Western Washington on the . . . fuck, I should have a page to link to for this) pretty much year-round. Sometimes they go crazy hammering on our metal roofs.
I’ve gotten to hear & be in the company of lots of inspiring, challenging, hard-working, good, knowledgeable & amazing women.
Now I’m home & tired.
EXACTLY THE KIND OF THING I NEED TO GROW AND THRIVE AND UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M DOING SOMETIMES. Without having to commit to a school schedule or one narrow path or a single school of thought. And accessible to the public.
I have a ton of work to do . . . and am beginning to see more clearly that I am capable of doing that work AND MORE, with a vision and to standards I’ve been dumbing down for years. But that’s cool, because it’s all coming together at the right time. I feel clearer and more confident than I ever have about the possibilities and directions I want our sites and my work and our projects and our daily lives (work lives, creative lives, physical lives, sexual lives, LOVE lives, spiritual lives) to go . . . and more realistic about how much help and time we need to accomplish that.
Part of why I’ve been crazy isn’t just because I’m bipolar. A big part of it is that I haven’t fucking EMBRACED that shit.
A big part of why I’ve gotten crazy is that I’ve been isolated trying to survive running ourselves ragged to cater to shitty low-quality oppressive norms and standards and expectations, and hamstrung because of that instead of BLOWING THAT SHIT UP AND SHOWING PEOPLE HOW FUCKING BEAUTIFUL (and goodness- and beauty- and pleasure-filled) OUR LIVES CAN BE . . . and leading by example.
Today I got to listen to a brilliant woman talk over our heads at miles a minute (but at a steady unflustered pace) without wasting time to breathe for an hour while she showed us a billion fucking amazing ideas and pictures and possibilities and connections and relations . . . and when it was over (and some damned fool added his absolutely stupid two cents THE WAY THEY DO) and someone else thanked her for sharing her brilliance (okay I was that person), they were gifted with her relief and her bizarre self-doubt. Because even (especially) someone like that sometimes wonders if maybe she’s just full of shit.
I haven’t used my freedom and defiance and entrepreneurial visions enough to seek out the art and wisdom and experiences and guidance and connections and inspiration from allllllllllll the seemingly disparate sources and voices and places I’m driven to look to OVER and OVER again be reminded of what is fundamental to our health and vitality and JOY and safety and pleasure in life. I’m weirdly good at synthesizing shit that other people don’t put together in the same breath or dance or picture or story, and making and strengthening connections between those awesome things, and turning them into humble pictures and promises and encouragement and examples and challenges and maps of DREAMS that can come true for people.
It’s all coming together.
I know I sound crazier than ever, but . . . I’m not. And I know that because I’m listening to people and admiring people who talk and think like that AND THEY ARE MY HEROES.
I am ready to be one of my heroes, too. I am ready to be patient with myself like I’m driven to win a five-year bet. I am ready to suspend other people’s disbelief. I am ready to RUN AS FAST AS I CAN AND LAUGH HYSTERICALLY AT THE PRIMAL THRILL OF IT. I am ready to fail without shame.
I am ready to be crazy in all of the very best ways possible.
I am ready to believe I am a child of good.
I no longer have to worry that I’m going crazy*, or going to go crazy.
I know for sure that I *am* crazy. And I always have been. And I’ve survived and picked up a lot of tools and knowledge along the way. AND I CAN KEEP GETTING BETTER. Without struggling SO HARD. Without being so hard on myself. And on other people, without meaning or wanting to.
It’s not just the medicine that’s making me feel better about myself; it’s just helping put things in a more sane, rational, realistic perspective. A lot of things are coming together to help me remember and celebrate who I am and what I have to offer and who I want to be and what I want to and can do and am good at.
Which doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention to how shitty I’ve done with a lot of that stuff (example: I suck) or not seeing how much better I can do. Now I just feel more hopeful about my ability to behave in ways that are in line with my values. I’m just fucking glad I haven’t done shittier and more terrible things over the years or more often to people I love. And even people I don’t love or even like.
*re: the word “crazy”: I know a lot of people who struggle with depression and other mental illnesses (understandably) do not like being called “crazy”. I personally feel like it’s an appropriate and useful word for some of my behavior some of the time, and the thought processes (or total LACK of thought processing) behind some of those behaviors. I don’t think I’m crazier than a lot of people who think they are totally normal and who are accepted as totally normal, and think a lot of my behavior is EXCELLENT relative to lots of normal non-crazy folks. Feel free to leave comments offering other perspectives on this for people to read, though, and I am open to being schooled on this.
I was worried it might be too long and tiresome for me (example: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, which had moments I appreciated but overall . . . I kinda recall being irritated with it and just wanting it to end) and/or make me cry a bunch so I wasn’t at all prepared for how funny it would be; I hadn’t watched any trailers for it so other than a vague description I read weeks earlier and forgot, everything was unexpected except for the recognizable Wes Anderson touches. I tend to enjoy movies a lot more when I have no expectations and I just get to be delighted by everything without anticipating so much.
I fucking loved the concierge (Ralph Fiennes as Monsieur Gustave H.: the STAR) – why does he feel like the first bisexual movie hero I’ve ever seen? I love his indiscriminate flirting and the theatricality of his love. I felt like he’s one of the best sex worker characters I’ve ever seen in a mainstream movie even though that’s not exactly what he is. Actually, he IS, but he does so many jobs in addition to that, which is probably exactly why he feels like one of the *best* sex worker characters I’ve ever seen. That and the combination of service- and performance-oriented love/work done to high and exacting standards, elevated to syrupy poetic art within a set of boundaries that are completely self-determined, and unrecognized and disrespected by normal people . . . normal people who frame HIM as a criminal and fraud (there’s a little bit of Anna Nicole Smith‘s story in here) for how love and fucking and money and performance are all mixed up in his work when the normal majority are the oppressive violent crooks who shit on everything that’s good.
The whore in this story is the one with the strongest moral compass who demonstrates how to acknowledge when he trespasses against someone, immediately learn from it and mortify himself with a sincere apology, and who, without hesitation, is prepared to do what’s right. The system sucks and you need to be ready to steal what needs to be protected and flee to safety and hide out. The people making and changing and enforcing the rules are VERY BAD.
You get people on your side with sweets and love, because it’s good but also because you might need to call in some favors someday. And you laugh the hardest at people who suggest you are straight — A RIDICULOUS NOTION! When he takes care of you, HE IS FIERCELY LOYAL TO THE TASK.
Anderson’s visuals are so witty they transcend camp, but his dialogue isn’t quite at that level. That’s why it’s good he has Ralph Fiennes, a stage pro who moves with aplomb and speaks his lines so trippingly they sound like they’re funnier than they are. -David Edelstein
Well, of course. Delivery always means more than the actual words. The timing and pace of everything was perfect. That’s not just the actor, that’s casting and directing and having a fucking vision, so that criticism stinks of bullshit to me (probably because Lightning Allie is right that I’m all about the gestalt of a thing/book/experience, even if I don’t know how to use it in a sentence).
And there were trains and suspenders! And ALL OF THE COLORS!! And decay and magic and LEATHER and wool and black feathers and Harvey Keitel’s twitching titty-muscles. It felt like Tim Burton crossed with the Coen Brothers. With less music. So it should probably feel unnecessary and overdone but it wasn’t. I want to watch it again and again. With blood in my mustache.
There’s a moment with Willem Defoe that’s going in my top ten favorite physically funny movie moments (right next to another one of Defoe in Shadow of the Vampire and a tiny forlorn physically humorous moment in Edward Scissorhands) that I will probably wind up replaying over and over and over again when I need relief.
I bought The Grand Budapest Hotel on Amazon so we can watch all of the exquisite jewel-box details over and over again in high definition.
I didn’t even think of looking for the full moon last night.
I failed to exercise / run myself out. I failed to do things in the morning that remind me what’s important, and that it’s all going to be okay, and the list of things that help me be less of an asshole.
I forgot promises I made, and how important they are to me, and how easy it could have been to keep them.
I forgot how blessed I am with plenty of love, and that I don’t have anything to be that scared of.
I forgot how impossible it is to be enthusiastic or celebratory when you’re really depressed. I forgot that it’s okay that I don’t know everything, and not my job to figure it all out. I forgot that I’m fine with “fine”.
I licked and sucked and kissed and eroded the hints away that I intended to see as reminders of what is really fundamentally important and needed the most. Mind-altered by the mouth-feel and flavors on the surface.
I hate how easily I can forget all of the profoundly good things I’ve been taught. All because I want to be fucking babied & romanced, and the embarrassment & raw need of it make me hide my head in a bag with a scribbly monster face that I forgot to cut eye-holes in to see straight out of.
Love is an exercise. Love is a practice. Love can be freedom from selfish fear if I can make myself a channel of peace. If I can not make myself anything and just let everything BE.
Love is my teacher, and I want to repeat her class forever.
Polyamory is the realization when you drop off your wife somewhere, that if it were your new uncertain romance instead of someone you’ve loved & lived with for 12+ years, you’d get out of the car and hug them goodbye. So I got out of the car and hugged & kissed her goodbye, and doing that gave me a just-like-new smile all the way home .
Spending the night at someone else’s house often means … well, it doesn’t often mean anything because it doesn’t often happen.
I think that / last night was only the third night I’ve slept over at someone else’s / a love interest’s home in the past twelve years / since Delia & I moved in together.
I just told Taurus this information, that last night here at his house was only my third time in over ten years … and he invited me to stay again tonight for my fourth.
At one of my favorite places:
I spent a lot of today masturbating.
And I spent a lot of the past week turning a corner in my mid-life crisis. Now it (finally) feels like a mid-life catalyst for growth and positive change.
I’m very happy and grateful for all of the help and love and trust people have given me.
You know there’s a lot of mental illness in your family when in filling out a family mental health history, you totally forget about your uncle who chased his wife and kids around with a butcher knife before trying to rat poison himself and then wound up institutionalized.
Not enough blanks on the form to fill it all in.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating/misleading a little, because the people I’m more closely related to who took up most the the spaces didn’t do as violent of stuff, or weren’t violent at all.
Actually, it’s really wrong of me to write something like this AT ALL because MENTAL ILLNESS DOES NOT EQUAL VIOLENCE. Most people who have (or have had) mental illness(es) aren’t violent. And there are plenty of people who do violent things who are perfectly mentally healthy and fit by society’s standards.