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Archive for the ‘altered states’ Category

I’ve had a suspicious amount of clarity and excitement and storybook-shivery-fantasy-happiness since I woke up. Like everything is imbued with so much magic and possibility that I’m pretty sure there will be a major drop here in a few hours or tomorrow.

Fingers of clouds grabbing the blue sky to the south

Maybe it’s a weird altered state from having an allergy attack this morning bringing a feeling of deja vu I’m-a-sick-child-home-from-school-ness or brain rattled from sneezing and blowing. Maybe it’s the weirdness of the season or just the sun and how much new age music I listen to making me think I’m in my own fucking fairy tale. But I imagined calling the backyard kitty and him coming and it giving me this extremely pleasant feeling, but grossly exaggerated. A feeling not just of a one normal cat coming, but of a cat that I have a special telepathic bond with and a rainbow menagerie of all different kinds of spirit creatures would also come to cluster around me as I stand on the front step of the cabin.

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I didn’t actually imagine that or believe something like that would happen, but that’s the weird FEELING that I have inside me. Like I FEEL like that’s about to happen, all that and more.

My life, now with more spaceships and winged coyotes.

It makes me nervous.

I just used some of my webcam money to subscribe to one of my favorite radio programs ever, Hearts of Space. Nevermind the ill-advised acronym (so typical of nerds to make a hilarious mistake like that, god love ‘em).

Since our porn business operates on a subscription basis, it’s interesting to research other subscription-based internet products, their price points, and comparing the offerings. I loved reading the HOS: WHY PAY? page. Like porn, music is something you can get free online in a million places. Even when people don’t ask you to justify charging for it, many of us feel we MUST explain it (I’ve been criticized by adult webmasters for the times when I’ve disclosed similar information and confronted those questions when maybe I should leave them alone). It’s inspiring to read the way Hearts of Space explains some of their business approach (and costs outsiders don’t comprehend without being taught) because it’s so firmly rooted in a clear vision, one that I know DELIVERS an experience I’ve never gotten from any other radio programming. There is a certain personality, there are seductive, hypnotic voices I’m attached to, and there is a well-planned journey offered by HOS.

HEARTS of SPACE PRODUCER STEPHEN HILL’s CAREER seemed to take a sharp detour in the early 70’s when he abandoned his architectural career and opened a recording studio. . . . In retrospect, Hill realizes he never really left architecture. He simply became a sound architect who learned to build his castles on the air. “Architects create environments with physical materials.
I do it with sound.” - Stephen Hill

It’s also interesting to observe my own thought process in deciding what kind of subscription to get: I chose the $13 a month all-access plan because I don’t feel like I can shell out the money for a year even though I know it would save me money in the long run. Also, The internet radio channel only (no archives or playlists) probably would’ve been good enough for me, but if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to try to figure out how to upgrade mid-month. Out of laziness/a desire to be efficient with my time and not necessarily need or probable usage, I chose the more comprehensive membership. I know people go through similar though processes when deciding which membership plan to get for our sites.

Hearts of Space is an inspiring model of how to create and sustain and love a “product” that’s not personalized for each individual listener but still manages to feel intimate even though it’s mass-delivered and not even live (except maybe one hour a week, I think).  It speaks of a void and manages to fill it –inside of me and outside of me — at the same time. I’m fascinated by people and groups who design and deliver stimuli producing what appears to be a relatively mundane experience (compared to, say, a roller coaster ride in a theme park or a provocative theatre piece, etc.) that manages to infiltrate people’s lives by being constantly accessible in private, demanding little of them but providing addictive stimulation. A little like a favorite diner or coffee shop. Something offering sustenance you could get elsewhere, but elsewhere just wouldn’t be QUITE right. I believe there’s something about the earnestness of the proprietors to deliver an actual EXPERIENCE they’ve envisioned in rich detail and feel in their own bones that makes Hearts of Space , some bookstores, a couple of Indian and Thai restaurants in Tacoma, and some porn sites exceptional.

I love music and I love feeling distant connections to people, but it’s impossible for me to listen to voices or most music and WORK at the same time. “Space music” offers me the kind of escape and transcendence I long for. It’s a spiritual salve for me that allows me to imagine journeying into a meaningful peaceful nothingness of wind and colors and stars and the smell of ozone. It gives me a lot of the feeling I get from imagining my ideal forms of church or prayer or sanctuary or space travel. It’s like having a lucid flying dream. That’s totally worth $13 a month to me. “Greetings, space fans . . . “

There’s a vibe on Hearts of Space that I’d like to infuse my own site with – that I’ve always wanted to be there and have maybe succeeded in transmitting some of the time (not the SAME vibe, but a quality or peculiarity of vibe). I think it will be helpful to listen to HOS on a daily basis to remind myself of the possibilities and how personality and vision and voices (even in very limited doses, more often without words) can combine in powerful, seductive, and soothing ways. How to make transportation out of your aesthetics and values to take people to a place they recognize as one where their belief systems make perfect sense. Or freewheeling careless nonsense. Where you look around and feel yourself and even though nothing has changed, you’re like, “THIS is it, what I was trying to remember that was bothering the tip of my tongue.”

Like, fucking psychic alignment, man!

Click here for an older post about new age music, porn and more.

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I know, you’re all like . . . post some porn, woman!! Are you losing your mind?

I can only answer in a predictably crazy way by insisting that no, I’m totally on the verge of genuine SANITY, motherfuckers!! Seriously, like, all is about to be REVEALED!!

I’ll try to post something porny and down-to-earth for you soon, mkay? I’ll TRY.

I am always trying. I don’t know if that’s apparent or not, but it’s true.

How long can I feel this super groovy? I hope a looooong time! The memory/deja vu/hopeful-excited-magic feelings I mentioned last week are still here and I feel GREAT. So great that I’m almost worried that I’m losing my marbles and trying to figure out what to attribute these good feelings to.

Is it the B vitamins? The D’s? The pressure being lifted from IRS after being forced to resign myself to accepting and even embracing whatever bad things might happen? Our deliciously mild winter (that could fuck up the winter olympics in Vancouver if the Pacific Northwest doesn’t get more snow)? Getting rid of DirecTV and reading more and enjoying each other more? Our new sound therapy machine with the delta wave inducing sounds (I usually dream so much that I don’t get deep dreamless sleep: a symptom of low serotonin levels/depression)? Is it that I’ve lost some weight? Is it going to twelve-step meetings? Is it just that I’m reading more and I FUCKING LOVE TO READ?!?

I don’t know, but IT IS GOOD! So I’m going to try to enjoy it and not worry that there’s something wrong with me. Goes to show how unhealthy I’ve been for so long that when I feel terrific for more than three hours I think maybe the sky is falling.

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I picked up my new weighted hula hoop today for more high jinks on the spycams! I also have a bollycardio dvd that we rented which I’ve only gone through once and am looking forward to doing more of. It’s jolly/silly camwatching goodness.

Speaking of camwatching goodness, we enjoyed some fucking yesterday and I hope our voyeurs did, too.

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On Friday and Saturday we had a great visit with my sister, brother-in-law and nephews which contributed to my heightened sense of awareness and positivity. Hanging around a three year old and an easily-delighted baby with a huge grin and dimples is like bathing in a clarifying happiness. Music sounds better, everything looks newer and more interesting and mysterious, and I have an excuse to read books aloud that were read to ME when I was little.

And hey, on top of that there is all of this boundless LOVE. On top of just loving those little guys to pieces, the amount of unconditional love I get from them is totally amazing. I’m forced to love myself more just being around them, in part because they do not see flaws but also because I want to always model un-self-conscious confidence to them; they make me love  myself more.

Maybe that’s what’s going on with me lately . . . better brain chemistry. Getting better sleep. Getting rid of the television — maybe having more oxytocin like from being around my nephews and my sister, but also from cuddling Delia and really being TOGETHER in bed instead of just staring at the tube all of the time. Maybe I’m just being flooded with a lot of girl juice: the loving, bonding chemicals, not necessarily the sexy ones.

Cuddling never used to help me fall asleep — it was more something I liked to do for a few minutes BEFORE unsticking bodies and going to sleep on my own side of the bed. Bizarrely enough, I’m actually finally starting to understand how great if feels to fall asleep nestled up to Delia. If I get in her armpit with her arm around me and my nose on her upper tit, I now get an instant jolt of SOMETHING I’ve never had with anybody else. Seriously, it’s some kind of a drug injection that I do think has something to do with oxytocin. Whatever it is, it’s BLISS. Tranquilizing and emotionally/sensually stimulating all at the same time.

It’s still sort of weird and foreign to me so I mostly continue my years-entrenched habit of nestling into my own don’t-touch-me space to sleep, but I think I’m going to try to get more of that business more often. I might need to work on my initiation technique though which consists of awkwardly trying to lift her arm up and demanding she “let me in”.

I’m so excited that the days are starting to get longer even though it’s still the middle of winter. At least we’re over the hump!

After going years and years without getting a cold, I finally came down with one. Delia had it first and I thought I was going to make it unscathed so I could keep bragging about how I’m super-immune, but alas, not this time. My head is all stuffed up and achey, ears plugged, throat sore and dry, nose chapped & plugged then alternately running . . . and weirdly, I’m kind of enjoying it. It gives me bodywide memories without a lot of pictures of years past, like the feeling of being a kid home from school with grandma bringing me chicken noodle soup in bed. Of having stacks of library books filled with exciting stories and every single one of them new and nothing cliche. I know it sounds cheesy, but I’m pretty sure these feelings are of freedom and excitement or enthusiasm for the future, that whole “ignorance is bliss” sensation of being a kid. Not that being a kid was BLISS for me (I wouldn’t relive my childhood or teenage years for a million dollars), but there were elemental emotions that are hard to experience as an adult. Somehow having a head cold is giving me tastes of them.

We also got rid of DirecTV / our DVR. We’re about a year overdue for that cancellation and after just a few days I already feel more in-the-moment. We’re going back to our method of just Netflixing stuff we want to see. It’s amazing how much of a difference it makes just not having to fast forward through the commercials; I get so much more relaxed so much more quickly that I don’t feel like watching much. And not constantly worrying that the DVR only has 18% space left and we’re going to MISS something or something will be ERASED . . . what craziness.

Since I know you’ll ask: I continue to resist watching tv via the internet (ex. hulu) for a number of reasons, partly because we don’t have a good interface between our pc’s and our tv (and there is no way I’m going to sit at a computer and watch “tv” — I spend enough hours at the computer for work). Also, most of our bandwidth is eaten up by our 24/7 spycams and all of the work-oriented uploading we have to do. We bought one episode of Gossip Girl on itunes and couldn’t get the pc-to-tv connection to work right, had to waste that time downloading, etc. It just wasn’t relaxing and felt like MORE WORK.

Also, I really need to stay away from ads. All of the stuff competing for my attention on the internet literally saps my brain’s strength. And any food advertisements? Those fuck me up so bad – I have no willpower over burger commercials late at night. It’s like a switch is flipped inside me and I have to eat SOMETHING . . . ANYTHING when the television or any kind of monitor presents me with suggestive and colorful mouth-watering food pictures.

So yeah . . . I pretty much spent today in bed with my cold and my period. My members-only update is going to be late (I was hoping we might shoot a stuffed-up-and-sneezing blowjob video, but I’m not sure if we can pull that off . . . I’ll see how my symptoms progress tomorrow; I know some of you are going to be like, “WTF?? Why would I want to see THAT?”, but that kind of stuff is fetish gold AND it makes me horny).

I masturbate differently in webcam shows for a large group than I do for myself or for private shows.

During group camshows I have a whole hour to draw out the experience. I put on a little makeup and usually wear something that allows me to do upskirts – little nighties, slips, miniskirts, etc. If I have enough time, I love wearing hosiery, especially opaque thigh high socks which is what I wore today: long, tight, stretchy, dark brown socks under a hippy-style sundress with a smocked top which is great for showing off my cleavage and tits.

Because I’m not being paid by the minute to fulfill requests by viewers, the “action” in my group shows is aimed to please me (and, incidentally, other people who have my particular tastes), all slowly paced to fill out the hour. I’m not super-entertaining, I just slide into a groove and enjoy looking at myself doing things I wouldn’t otherwise do: smiling at myself in the camera, and just making myself do shit that makes me hot, like exposing myself in taunting, mostly-softcore ways. I get very mesmerized by myself, like when I show myself (and everybody else) my creamy thighs parting to expose my hairy cunt with that beautiful contrast of the dark socks. I don’t know what it is about that contrast, but it’s fucking irresistible to me. I can watch myself do that over and over again.

We had more time than usual between shows this month so it’s been about three weeks since I enjoyed one of these long sessions; doing these long shows every other week or every three weeks is perfect for me because, without knowing it, I really build up a desire for them. My clit’s had a break from extended time with the hitachi magic wand and it’s been awhile since I really took a good look at myself.

Today I decided not to shower, putting my dirty hair in pigtails instead. It’s been four or five days since I had a shower and maybe only two baths (last night and some other time) during that time. For three days I wore the same pair of sticky, hot-smelling panties. My bush is getting really filled-out again, and every time I go to the bathroom I sniff the crotch of my underwear and play with my cowlicks that come together and curl up where my lips meet. The musky smell of pussy-hair steeped in cunt-sweat is part of what I love about not shaving.

Anyway, it smelled so good today during my show, I just kept petting it and bringing my hand up to inhale, over and over again. Deep breaths, totally drugging myself on that woman-sex smell of myself. I fucking could not get enough of it, smelling it, and watching me on the monitor, stroking myself with my light-pink clit poking out between my dirty-blonde fur and those SOCKS pulled up on my thighs making everything in the middle look so fucking naked and whorey.

I remember the first time I ever rode on Highway 1 through Big Sur, not being able to get enough of that hot sage smell. It doesn’t smell like pussy exactly, but it’s addictive and elevating, like ascending to heaven and being on some other unearthly level in between the ground and meeting God’s secretary while He’s away. I feel the same way about the smell of my musky bush, like if I were to immerse myself in it far enough I would wind up in some other place of knowledge and luxury and a decadent form of peace.

Today while I inhaled I realized the scent on my fingers reminded me a whole lot of crayola crayon wrappers. Not exactly like that, but similar. I always wonder where that Really Perfect Pussy smell comes from, like what the secret recipe is for it to be that perfect all of the time. Was it steeping my hair in dirty underwear so long? Was it the hot apple cider and cashews we had before bed? Was it the flax seed and evening primrose oil? Was it having PMS? Was it the mingling of a favorite lotion with the cunt smell to create a perfect pussy-church combo?

I came three times today with one of the orgasms augmented considerably by the call and response of me being ridiculously horny for myself and crooning, “oh yeah” to myself right before Jimi Hendrix said “oh yeah” at the beginning of Red House. Then . . . brilliant guitar and that was all she wrote.

*****

Right after my show I still felt a little hypnotized. I took a powerful piss, then stumbled into the bedroom where I felt a hot gush of liquid burst through my cunt. I reached down to touch it and came out with beautiful, crimson blood all over my fingers with more than enough left over to streak down my right thigh. I haven’t had such a dramatic start to my period in years.

Yesterday we did a bunch of housecleaning with special attention on two of our most important rooms: our bedroom and the parlor where we do all of our indoor-exercising and sun-catching. After a week of smelling not-so-fresh places (the thrift stores, our van, the smokey-smelling motel room with the “no smoking” sign) it feels so good to be able to walk through our house and have it smell like lavender and other fresh things.

All I want to do is walk around in our house, picking stuff up, folding laundry, stretching, lighting candles, and daydreaming. That’s not all I *have* done, but that’s how I feel. Like right now I want to take a small container of polished rocks into bed and just pass them back and forth with Delia, inspecting their colors and feeling their contours, holding them up to lamplight, listening to dorky new age music.

I feel great. Maybe it’s the four anti-inflammatories I took for my period cramps today. I don’t know. But it’s pretty fucking rad. Maybe it was the sunshine we had the past couple of days and the exercise we got with it shining on us. Maybe it was being able to get work done even while I had to spend time on hold with the phone company. Maybe it’s all of the clarifying and focusing I’ve been doing lately.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think maybe I’d been hitting one of these sweet pussy pipes too hard. Or not. Since 40% of the few times I’ve smoked it’s given me major anxiety attacks. Yes, few enough that I could count each of them and calculate the percentage. And right now I feel nothing but peace.

Yesterday I walked across a field with my eyes closed. After the heavy grounded feeling of walking in wet sand for almost an hour, walking blind on hard-packed dirt with sunburned grass felt like flying with the wind in my face, blowing my hair around. Or floating, at least. The only other people in the field were three black-robed figures sparring with each other using long sticks. With my eyes closed they sounded like three people playing football. The field was so big it was easy for me to avoid walking into them even without the benefit of sight.

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We’ve been having some private stress around here (on top of the published stress of trying over and over again to get pregnant) so yesterday Delia canceled her show and we *finally* went to see The Dark Knight. I wasn’t nearly as excited going into it as I was Batman Begins and didn’t feel the same attachment to this one, maybe because I preferred the more solitary focus on Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins and the whole emphasis on creating and finding an alter ego for himself. The imagery in Batman Begins was also darker and more appealing to me in a sort of Robert Louis Stevenson way than Dark Knight, which everyone keeps describing as “darker” than BB but really was just more hideous, brutal and scary. Yeah, the humour was darker and everything felt more tragic because of Heath Ledger’s potent brilliance, but that diverted so much attention from Christian Bale that it wasn’t really about Batman or anybody except for Heath Ledger’s Joker. Oh yeah, I do love the whole commentary on human nature being a dual thing of dark and light, I’m just saying that it didn’t speak to me on a deeply personal level the way Batman Begins did.

As I get older, it’s harder and harder for me to watch movies without being bored and annoyed by what seems like derivations from other movies I think are “better” or strike me as more original just because *I* happened to see them when I was younger and was first introduced to certain themes. There were a lot of familiar elements in The Dark Knight, but it really was awesome enough that it didn’t annoy me, especially since I recognize that there are *no* original ideas (plus, having no familiarity with comics or specialized movie knowledge I KNOW I’m completely ignorant of where some of these things “originated”). I felt like I recognized stuff from In the Line of Fire and freaky cross-dressing a la Silence of the Lambs. Since I know nothing of the comics and never even saw Jack Nicholson’s Joker, I couldn’t help totally associating the smile/scar with the Black Dahlia, especially since I just picked up another book (with the ghastly pictures) about the case.

Anyway, I loved the magic trick with the pencil and lines like “whatever doesn’t kill you simply makes you… stranger.” Favorites aside from Heath’s performance? Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Rachel Dawes was SO much better than Katie’s — LOVED her, and the chase scene/shootout with the semis. We also loved the political commentary on whether or not the threat of terrorism justifies spying on people, etc. Still, I don’t feel compelled to see this one more than that once in the theater (unless we could see it in IMAX). I really wasn’t prepared for the violence, and of course it always annoys me when there’s no swearing in a movie but there’s plenty of freaky brutality (I could not hack the part at the end when the dogs and Batman were being beaten with the pipe) and it gets less than an R rating; just having the knowledge in my head that our government is prosecuting people for “obscenity” even for just writing taboo stories and that they refuse to let COPA die makes me resentful when I see how violence in movies is embraced in America as totally acceptable for young people to watch. I can’t watch this stuff without thinking, “so THIS is okay for thirteen year olds to see but the sight of my clitoris will scar them for life?” Whatever. It’s not that I want kids to see porn or that I don’t appreciate a movie without swearing or that I think violent movies should be boycotted, it’s the nonsensical double standards that drive me up a wall.

So does Christian Bale’s alleged assault of his mom and sister ruin my appreciation of his acting? Ummm, no. Just like a president cheating on his wife has absolutely zero to do with whether or not he’s a good president, whether or not Marky Mark is a homophobe or a racist has nothing to do with my enjoyment when I watch Boogie Nights or Entourage and I still think PYT is a fucking awesome song whether or not Michael Jackson is a pedo. Given the rant I just made, it probably surprises you to hear that I don’t relate to people who can’t enjoy a celebrity’s work because of their crimes and supposed personal flaws (which may or may not be true, but we will never know). It’s not that I don’t enjoy juicy gossip about famous people, but it’s just another form of entertainment to me that is separate from whether or not I enjoy their actual work. Like, is it really a surprise to Christian Bale’s fans that he’s a freak? The guy wanted to starve himself to 100 pounds only eating an apple and can of tuna a day for The Machinist; were you really not aware that he’s fucking mental? Apparently, because I’ve been reading whining from women who think they can’t adore him anymore. YOU ARE WATCHING HIS MOVIES, NOT DATING HIM!

So yeah . . . sometimes I can separate things. Other times? Not so much.

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In addition to taking the night off for a movie, I also made emergency reservations for a three night stay at the beach next week, so our Sunday, August 10th and Monday, August 11th shows will be canceled. We will do some shooting while we’re there, but mostly we just need to get away. Yes, we have a beach here, but Puget Sound and the Strait aren’t the same as the actual ocean. I didn’t know it until Delia told me, but the timing is perfect because we’ll be out there for the meteor shower. She also just happened to order some things from REI before we made these plans so it all fell into place perfectly since the days I happened to find open rooms and camping spots weren’t my first pick before I knew these things, but just happened to be after the REI stuff will arrive and during the meteor shower.