TastyTrixie.com

Archive for the ‘money’ Category

I’m on the 16th day of a 90 day thing. Not a diet or a cleanse or a new pharmaceutical regimen. No, not rehab either. But I think by the 90th day it might appear that way.

The reason I’m (vaguely) sharing this is to ask people to be as patient with me as I’m trying to be with myself instead of telling myself I don’t have time or that something good is taking too long or I’ve been healthy for four days so it’s time to go back to “normal” already! It’s definitely cutting into my routine because I’m going to a support group of sorts every single day, or twice in a day if I skip a day.

I told my sister about it and she could barely believe it: “Wow, that’s A LOT of leaving the house for you, Trixie. How’s that going for you?”

So yeah, as people who are close to me know, I don’t have a lot of stamina for interacting with people or even just being around them much (even though I *love* people!). Or even just leave the house much, as my sister pointed out. I’m able to do these meetings, though, because I know how long they last and there is a structure to each one and guidelines for behavior. And because I get so much out of going, even when some of the meetings start out and I’m like, “oh my god how the fuck am I going to sit through this?!?” and then every single time IT IS WORTH IT.

*****

The really big thing that’s happened in the past couple of weeks is that I’ve asked people for help. One is for help with the above stuff and the other person is for help with stuff YOU are interested in, stuff that has to do with our porn sites! This person is super DUPER awesome. We’re gradually going to tell you more about this person, and this person may tell you more and more, too. If you’re lucky! Most of the work she’s doing is behind the scenes, back-end stuff but it will free Delia and I up from having to do it (or in my case just sitting around being afraid of doing it. SO MUCH of it).

While two weeks in is too soon to get people (me included) looking around for grand results, I do already feel immensely relieved and things look (and feel) a lot simpler than they were in my agonizing, trying-to-do-it-myself, totally-confused-and-overwhelmed brain state. We’ve exhausted ourselves over the past ten years thinking that first we had to “get rich” to hire someone to help us, insanely getting the cart WAY before the horse. Delia’s been working her ass off on cam for the past few months so tell her “thank you” for making the money to help attract the work-time of this super duper new friend of ours! And thank you to all of you who buy shows with her and memberships from us!

For most of three days this week doing taxes and other money stuff consumed me. It shouldn’t take that long – I’m a moderately organized person, but not AS organized and on top of things as I should be to make quick work of filing (yes, late). Mostly my brain is just easily overwhelmed so I have to split myself into a couple of different characters: the inept, freaking-out person doing the taxes and the kind-hearted special-education teacher coaching myself through it all, breaking everything into manageable chunks, giving myself little pep talks after mini-breakdowns.

I also checked our credit reports and in general did everything as thoughtfully as I could. I know most people hate doing their taxes, but even though some aspects of it are challenging for me (and I don’t exactly look FORWARD to it like a trip to the beach) it’s always a kind of special time of year for me. I would even call it mildly spiritual. It’s the time when I assess a bigger picture than the most recent day’s, week’s or month’s unexpected financial traumas and give thanks for the money we’ve made and people who enjoy our work enough to pay for it, not just last year but in all the years that have gone before.

Finding out we owe almost $20,000 to the IRS (including payment plans we’re still on from the past) in addition to all of our credit card debt (WAY more than $20k) was also a spiritual opportunity and experience. I managed to apply lessons I’ve been shown to live in the present moment and realize everything is okay right now, even great. Our debt is just a nonsensical, meaningless series of numbers in terms of the now. We have the means to MORE than meet all of our basic needs and to keep doing our jobs and many other things we love to do. You might call it the brain’s way of protecting its host’s desire to continue living, but I call it profound and magical.

I do not call it denial, though. I spent hours simply looking at the numbers of how much we owe, making realistic goals for decreasing our debt by focusing more on the positive aspect of trying to increase how much credit we have available to us, and feeling genuinely excited that we can not only make significant dents in our debt, but even get out of it someday and experience more freedom.

The main reason I am able to feel positive and hopeful is Delia, though. Many weeks of late she has pretty much doubled our income by webwhoring for hours and hours upon hours while still updating her site every week. I pretty much drained her bank account to pay down our credit cards a wee bit (wee relative to the amount we owe, NOT wee looking just at the dollar amounts paid).

Anyway, I’m sorry for the interruption to sexy-time and updates; I did think I’d get the taxes done faster this year, but no such luck. I know I sound really calm about it, but I didn’t have anything left over to get anything else done. Yesterday I woke up at 5 am after only four hours of sleep, probably because my insides just wanted me to fucking FINISH already so after tossing and turning for awhile I just got up and aside from the money stuff I was too much of a zombie to get anything else done requiring brain power or eye focus.

We fell asleep around midnight laughing at a Simpson’s episode (Homer vs. Dignity) we’d already watched once at dinner, but it was so funny and apropos (“when the Simpsons once again have financial problems, Mr. Burns pays Homer to play pranks on others and humiliate himself in public”) we watched it again. I so relate to Mr. Burns and would love to have my own prank monkey! If Delia keeps working her ass off like this, someday she might be able to afford to buy me one!! I would love to throw her money at some poor schmuck while forcing him to writhe on the floor of a public restroom in a diaper. Yesssssss . . .

Dear BarackObama.com: I’m physically revolted by your “meet the president backstage!“, Michelle wants you to “sign Barack’s birthday card“, etc. spam.

GROSS.

Seriously, he’s the PRESIDENT.

I voted for him, that doesn’t mean I’m a panty-throwing groupie or histrionic fangirl gluing glitter to homemade sparkly-heart cards I send to him weekly with my diary entries attached.

*****

I think I should raise my pay-to-play rate on cam. I’m one of a small handful of English-speaking American blondes with hairy cunts on that site and stay busy at the standard $3.99 / 4.99 a minute rates. My bush is a TREASURE. What say ye, camgirls and fans?

*****

Note: I know, I still need to edit and post that Obama dildo video for members from way-back-when in which I type out a letter to him before sticking his likeness inside my great wet hope. Here are some free picture samples from the gallery:

Blue State Trixie & her Obama Dildo

I think hemorrhoids are totally patriotic, don’t you? Like, fuckin ALL AMERICAN!!

Anyway, what I’m TRYING to say is that maybe I *am* a fangirl . . . just stop embarrassing me with those weird emails inviting me to go on tour with him (FOR A PRICE) or whatever! It’s such a fucked-up pimp-like thing to do to the man. But thank you for reminding me that even the most powerful (according to the myths) man in the world is the subject of degrading and misleading marketing campaigns even worse than the ones webwhores are featured in.

Speaking of that, why is my current fave camsite promoting a big porn paysite on their front page? The worst part is the big porn paysite they’re promoting is known far and wide within the internet porn world as being unethical and fucked up – one that good webmasters refuse to promote because they own(ed?) a bunch of tube sites filled with stolen/pirated content. Oh well. Just one of those little compromises we deal with (trust me, THIS particular one is TINY compared to other shit that goes down in the camworld). At least I don’t have my wife writing to everyone in the fucking country telling people to sing me happy birthday or whatever. I *hate* that song!

*****

P. S. I really am blonde and hairy — the Obama gallery is from many moons ago.

All morning I’ve been thinking about fucking nineteen year old boys. Not any specific one, just a regular lineup of lithe little hard-muscled confused-yet-focused horny boys with motor hips and little curved dicks that don’t stop.

It’s because last night I ran across a video of Carol Cox with just the title of “Fucking a 19 Year Old”. I’m well aware of Carol Cox and that she fucks lots of people on her site and has lots of videos out there, but in my head it’s not something I crave to watch. Only by random surfing would I click and watch that, which is what makes it so out-of-the-blue to get so “inspired” by the awesomeness of it, just her smiling while this kid grunts his hips into her. No music, just those flesh-slapping fuck-sounds. No bullshit overproduction . . . it made it very voyeuristic, especially because I can imagine her husband Danny standing there behind the camera watching this kid who is decades younger than he is, fucking his wife.

We watched A Single Man the other night which had many beautiful young men in it and more than once I said out loud, Oh my god . . . I can’t even imagine being AROUND guys that age again. The chatter! The idealism! The way they think all these things they think and feel are NEW and mature and WOW!!

But somehow just watching Carol lying there having a torso of teen muscles pumping into her it made me realize it IS possible to have the cock without all of the talk. And I’m not a big old meanie, I probably would find a few of them charming in other ways, too.

Maybe all of the effort of lining such things up and getting hotel rooms and kids flaking out would be worth it — after all, it WOULD be a lot easier to shoot than us trying to shoot ourselves, which makes things more technical than we’d like them to be AND uses up both of our “talents” for only one piece of content. It really would make more sense for us to be regularly fucking other people for our sites.

I know, I keep saying it but keep hesitating. I don’t like all of the planning and rigmarole and relying-on-other-people involved in endeavors like that, especially living in an out-of-the-way place as we do; it’s really expensive and time consuming to get together with people away from home (and there’s no way we’re inviting strangers to our house to fuck us). Plus I am pretty sure (but not 100%) that Carol Cox and her husband actually do pay the guys featured in her videos – it’s a lot more professional than the way it’s presented in the fantasyland of the porn site (and I mean that in a GOOD way). We honestly can’t afford to pay other people for sex. OR waste time picking them up in bars (plus I hate bars, anyway).

But then I think how nice it would be to make something hot to look at just by lying there and enjoying some hormone-crazed fuck-machine of a teenager. Making him pull out and shoot big loads of spunk all over my tits. Thinking about this gives me very pleasant feelings.

Of course, I’d like to make them “audition” with a slightly-humiliating interview and videotaped jerk-off session first. I want to ask them questions and hear their voices shake while their impatient pricks twitch in their pants.

I look forward to the time when we have a stable of reliable boys (and/or GROWN men) like this to shoot with whenever we want to. I’m just not sure when, if ever, we’ll invest the time in finding and grooming them. Are you wondering why I’m more focused on shooting with men than women? Or why I’m emphasizing younger men as opposed to more age-appropriate lays? If so leave comments and maybe I’ll blog about it. Or just answer in the comments.

*****

God, I want someone to choke me. The RIGHT way. While I’m on top. Very few people have the touch or the right arm-length or understanding of how to not do it scary. It’s the pressure applied UP that I like to lean down into. I love the way it adds a tense time limit and everything slows down. Next time I find one who can do it I’m going to make him wear gloves, making it too difficult to get my pussy as far down on it as I suddenly want it to be. Because I’m held away. Just the tip.

*****

Delia has a hot semi-local who MIGHT shoot with her, but just the length of time of email back-and-forths and the guy’s lack of certainty about being on tape makes me think again that maybe it’s not worth the effort and bullshit. Of course I understand people’s reservations about being in porn, I just don’t have time to waste with their uncertainty or enough money to motivate them to treat it as more than just a fantasy they want to hot chat about late at night with no intention of following through. Oh wait, I asked Delia about that guy and apparently he’s actually ready to go, Delia’s just been waiting for the right time to schedule something. That’s exciting, right?

*****

Now I officially have two personal ads semi-written but not posted anywhere.

There’s another opportunity to worship women’s feet in Seattle on Thursday, September 9th (day after tomorrow) but this time I won’t be there. Hope to catch you at the next one! I’m *sure* you’ll have fun without me, though.

My end of summer beach feet with sandy, wrinkled soles.

I sort of promised myself that I’d only commit to another Foot Night if I had time to a) make peeptoes.com active, and b) schedule a few truly private sessions on top of the party to make the trip out there worth the investment of time and money. The times I’ve gone I was relatively busy but really only made enough money to cover the expense of the long drive + ferry ride and the cost of my pedicure and cheap shoes. It’s hard to be practical and say no to a foot party, though, when I love interacting with guys who are on the floor beneath me, pleasuring my feet!

Also, it’s just a lot more profitable and cost effective for me to stay home and do private shows on cam which I’ll be doing quite a bit more than usual to help pay for the cabin rental. It’s a good way to hook up with me (AND my feet, if you so desire): trixie.cammodels.com

Speaking of camming more often, Delia is available even more often than I am: deliats.cammodels.com

Nipple slip? I'm about to flash my big naturals on the beach!

Check out more preview pics from this beach gallery full of boobs, upskirts and toes!

Have you noticed us getting up earlier and going to sleep sooner on our cams? That’s (partly) because starting September 3rd I’m going to get up early to head over to the cabin we’re (good news!) officially renting to do off-cam no-internet work sans distractions. Normally I quickly grow disgusted with a morning-person routine, but now it seems totally different knowing there’s a purpose to it.

It rained heavily on Thursday. If I hadn’t gotten up at seven in the morning, excited about the possibilities of such early rising once the cabin time begins, I’d have never known there was any blue sky to be had that day. I’d have missed seeing this moon:

Blessing Bestowed from the West

There’s a place – a real live place – where women artists can apply for residencies. Actually, there are lots of places like that, where those kinds of people can get free lodging in inspiring locations to focus on their work, but the one I’m thinking of is SUPER DREAMY . . . fucking storybook-land perfection in terms of its tiny private artfully-crafted houses (each resident has one all to herself) and woodland setting.

Most shockingly dreamy of all is the way the women are catered to; the small handful of residents (women, all of them!) have a chef who prepares crazily wonderful dinners for them every night. There are pictures proving how thoroughly stocked the kitchen is with racks of zillions of containers of spices and rows of carefully labeled provisions and specialized pots and pans used to make what appears to be an ABUNDANCE of food every night just for these six or seven women. Meats and comforts and fresh green things and berries and sauces and fanciness and desserts and lots of colors and textures on big plates and side dishes.

On top of all that, the chef ALSO prepares individual baskets for each resident full of her favorite foods to help sustain her throughout the day while she works in her perfect little house. And there’s a garden full of plants someone else tends that each resident gets to pluck and cut flowers and leafy things from. FOR INSPIRATION AND SHIT!

I know that being there wouldn’t be actual utopia, but it does provide a model to ooh and aah over. I think it’s awesome that a very teeny-tiny percentage (wish it were more) of talented women in the world get to experience opportunities like that, to be told that their own self-directed art is so valuable as to warrant a few days . . . maybe even a whole month(!) . . . of concentrating on nothing BUT the work she most wants to do and that she will be sheltered and reliably fed to delicious excess if she likes so she can take care of her work while someone else takes care of her basic needs with sensual generosity.

Same time as picture above, but looking 80 degrees to the south.

What an exquisite fantasy! But it seems so decadent, like I know that I personally could never warrant such treatment. It’s a nice daydream but it actually makes me nervous to think about having such a giant privilege bestowed upon me. I’m nervous enough about the idea of renting this cabin, feeling like I need to prove that I “deserve” it. That I’m worth blowing more money on when I already have so much.

And then I remember that my grandma made my grandpa dinner every night to his specifications. Dished it up and brought it out to him. It wasn’t fancy, but she SERVED him. And every day she fixed him a box lunch even on the days when he was only working in his garage out back, a one minute shuffle away from the back door. I know times have changed, but when I was growing up I never fucking once saw a man prepare and serve a grown woman food. NEVER ONCE outside of restaurants (which I rarely saw) and pancake breakfasts at the Masonic Lodge where it was a wonderful novelty to see the men with aprons on, coming out to the long tables to pour coffee and bring us our hotcakes.

It wasn’t just my family that was like that. Most people my age and older grew up seeing men (and children) waited on at home and women NOT.  I suppose gender-blind egalitarianism is the ideal I should desire (and I do in some ways) but part of me needs to experience the balance of intimate privilege tipped dramatically towards women to undo what I learned by watching. I wasn’t brought up to BE that kind of woman who waits on men — not at all; I wasn’t taught with words to do it  — but that’s what all the women in my family DID to one extent or another and the men DID NOT. You have to be crazy to think that kind of learning is something you can just erase with your intellect when you grow up or even along the way with words of “you-go-girl” encouragement.

Looks promising upwards and eastwards

Even though I never grew up wanting to be a woman who takes care of a man, once I outgrew the entitlement of childhood I came to FEEL that having someone take care of me wasn’t something I deserved or could expect the way a man in my grandparents’ and parents’ generations could and that the only way to live my life just-so, to my specifications, was to live alone. I didn’t think this on a conscious level, but I think the past ten years (and then some) of webwhoring have involved more conscious efforts to recognize and reconcile this conflict; I want to work — to do MY work and do it MY WAY — and have someone else take care of the housekeeping and cooking. For my work to be the most important thing I do and everything else to be relegated to the distraction pile which I should be able to demand someone else pick up and put away. To believe that my work is so important that I should be angry and frustrated when I do not have the tools or environment to do it properly. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT MEN OLDER THAN I AM GREW UP EXPECTING AND DOING. And so what if their work wasn’t important or they would bankrupt the family with their business schemes? You didn’t fucking criticize the work, jobs or dreams of men. You just didn’t unless you wanted to be the evil villainous bitch in the story.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have as many places to do my work alone as my grandpa did: a garage, a basement, a toolshed, a closet where he kept his Black Velvet and other private treasures, and a windowless office he hardly went into that nobody else was allowed into that was always at least 15 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. My grandma didn’t have any place in her house that was her own like that, just like my mom didn’t have a special place in our tiny house for herself like my stepdad had a whole room for his model train. And if Grandma fucked up some shit in the kitchen Grandpa would go ballistic on her ass. So I guess maybe I SHOULD feel guilty about wanting all that man-privilege since being an abusive asshole came with the territory. I don’t know. But on Friday morning I’m going to work alone in the cabin AND I CAN HARDLY WAIT!!

Also? I’ve drafted a new personal ad for a slavey-houseboy type. Not putting it up for awhile though as that’s a whole time-consuming process in itself. I also keep wanting to blog more about how going to college totally distorted my idea of money and assessing the worth of an investment in myself, perhaps making me approach financial risk-taking in a more “manly” way than I would have otherwise.

More morning moon pics to come?

*****

So. I don’t anticipate members and fans seeing a noticeable change in focus on our sites because of this and will probably see more exciting stuff on cam rather than less since we have to cam more to pay for everything. One of the good things (in terms of “earning” my cabin keep) is it’s already making me more disciplined and focused in how I prioritize things, clarifying what needs to come first (which is really REALLY challenging when you have boatloads of everything to do and have an easily-overwhelmed mind like mine). Right now at the top of the list is simply getting ahead on shooting and getting updates lined up, so that’s what I’m going to get back to work on right now.

I often fantasize about having a windowless closet with a narrow cozy built-in bunk to sleep and daydream on. Where nobody can see me, cut off and curtained-in by dark, heavy layers of hanging clothes. Or of being in a fantasy sleeper-car on a train on a comfortably narrow berth, dark wood paneling all around with chugging train sounds and gentle rocking. Or of being in an even-smaller, quieter version of this cabin, this time with a built-in little bed. No electricity, no webcams. Or of having my bookwormhole.

Sometimes I close my eyes in bed and time-travel back to the best drugless, not-sick sleep I ever had. I went on a women’s retreat with a bunch of gals I really didn’t know. Upon arrival I half-assedly engaged in the crafts they’d set out, then went to the cabin. There were a handful of these cabins on the lake, a BIG lake with no motorized boats allowed. QUIET. The other women complained about the cabins – the uncomfortable bunks something they were only tolerating for the coolness of the Retreat. In the middle of the day while the cabins were completely deserted I climbed onto my little wooden shelf, nestled down into Delia’s perfectly awesome sleeping bag, faced the wall, and fell asleep for hours. Undisturbed, unseen, far removed, not missed. I absented myself from everywhere else except my private cocoon.

I got up for a late dinner, and that night slept again in a completely heavy, renewing, needy, guiltless way. Even with the women sharing the cabin with me, I felt alone with my earplugs in and my lack of intimacy with them. There was a woman on the shelf above me, two shelves holding a woman-each perpendicular to my head, and two shelves parallel to me across a tiny open space. I was the first person to go to bed, and the last one to wake up. I liked having the shelves of women around me, being in a small hibernating hive, quietly together without any of them knowing me. Not talking.

I was reading Strangers on a Train that trip. I accidentally left it at the lodge so I never finished it, but it was good to have it when I did. A sugar daddy sent it to me off my wishlist so I feel a little guilty over losing it, but my possession of the memories of that trip are so clear the book is still one of my treasures even though I don’t have it anymore.

*****

The opportunity to rent a small cabin/shed space came up this week, synchronous to a handful of needs/desires/opportunities converging on me/us. It’s the kind of thing I would never seek out because I don’t think I deserve it, but under the circumstances and upon careful thought and discussion we both recognize we’re way overdue for what it will offer. It is just THE THING. It’s not in a remote location — in fact it’s on very shared space minutes away — but because we’ve been there and know the person really well who’s renting it I’m familiar with the setting, comfortable with the people who might be around, and aware of the benefits of its location. I haven’t actually been inside this cabin on the property, but I’m going to check it out soon.

Yes, I’m worried about how we’re going to afford it, but the with the house and the cabin/shed we’ll be paying the same amount we were paying for rent on individual houses before we moved into this place with its cheaper rent. I’m pretty sure it will be worth the relatively small investment in terms of providing space and opportunity for more creative content creation for our porn sites, too.

It’s not a done deal but if it works out I will be healthier with a space to be solitary and invisible, to write without obligation or interruption (I know, we don’t have kids and we work at home, but there are SO MANY INTERRUPTIONS mostly named THE INTERNET and webcams and too much space with all of it messy with cables and overwhelming work things everywhere), to sleep with complete cozy abandon, and most excitingly for our fans this might give us the kind of space and convenience we need to have more sexual adventures with other people. I will have someplace to go if Delia wants someone over for fooling around, and vice versa (though I mainly anticipate fooling around with mySELF, dreams, and pages and pages of watery blue words). We’ll have a convenient place to go away together, away from work. Because working at home with 24/7 voyeur cams on you means never getting a break unless you leave, and when we leave work I want to relax, not wander around a mall or drive hours to see a movie, or blow money to sit on uncomfortable chairs in a restaurant, or wander around in the woods being scared of cougars wondering how we’ll get home when our car breaks down (I still need to blog about that).

I’m also really excited about sharing the dreaminess of a little place like that and the things I do in it. But not having to share it WHILE I’m there.

I’m grateful to a number of people and strangely-timed messages for helping me decide to seize this opportunity. Two of those people are Heather and Libby, so thanks for the inspirations.

Last night my wanker played a major part in one of my dreams. We met in real life in a waterfront hotel room with furniture around the edges and a large amount of space in the middle. He was chuckling and delighted when I made him put on women’s clothes: shiny low-heeled patent pumps, almost-frumpy suiting (loose pencil skirts, blouses and polyester jackets) and wigs that all came from my own (imaginary) collection.

Crossdressing is not his thing, but he looked very cute, donning one outfit after another, handing money over to me with each costume change, and not at all as silly as I expected. I was surprised and excited both by how coyly he looked at me in his lady garb through the strands of fake hair hanging over his glasses AND by the stack of twenties growing fatter and fatter in my hand.

I walked across the room — quite a distance — to count the money with my back to him, looking over my shoulder to shoot smiles of encouragement at him. Just as I noticed with pleasure that he’d made a handwritten notation on each $20 bill — his name, the date, and a charming code indicating his humiliated status in relation to my status of financial and sexual dominance — the dangerous wharf gang boys were about to bust in to disrupt me taking control of two new modem/router combos I desperately needed for my networks. They intended to sell them on the black market. If they would rough me up for this pedestrian technology I knew they would rest this thick, hard wad of personalized cash from me in a second and I just couldn’t bear to part with it.

The hotel was located in the same building as a weird FedX/UPS warehouse. Before I knew it I was running through the warehouse between forklifts trying to sign shipping receipts and get my modem/router combos before the wharf gang boys did. I don’t know what happened to my money, but I think I saw my wanker walking away from me down a shady dirt road in a red skirt.

I’m guessing it was about $5,000 but I’m not sure since I’ve never held that many twenties in my hand before in my life and I couldn’t concentrate to finish counting them in my dream.

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.

*****

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.