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Archive for the ‘religion’ Category

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.

Fantasy list of what I might do if I had a month free with no distractions or obligations, and enough money to do it/them:

• *rent a cheap studio apartment in Portland (OR) and do nothing but live nights, anonymously wandering around listening to live music and frequenting titty bars.
• *make music. Maybe learn the software and stuff to record pornolicious soundtracks using my keyboard (and figure out what extra electronics and stuff I need to make it better). Maybe take drum lessons. Maybe learn to play that harmonica CBM sent me. Maybe go to open mic nights. Maybe sing a lot.
• *go to all kinds of different churches, try out different modes of worship, read and journal/think about spirituality.
• *walk to the library every day, read papers and magazines and books and books and books and books and books and books and books and books.
• *go to every single museum, attraction, or whatever possible in Washington state. Study maps. Drive all over hell.
• *take care of my body every single day in as many different ways possible EXCEPT sexual excess: cooking and eating right, taking long walks, breathing deeply, stretching, dancing, and taking all kinds of classes: tai chi, hooping, belly dance, boxing . . . whatever’s available
• *completely immerse myself in learning about one particular issue or cause, blogging/talking about it, and volunteering my time to it.
• *write for 30 days. Whatever I want. Without showing anybody on a daily basis.
• *watch/”consume” porn, fuck and masturbate a lot and get the review portion of Trixie.com off the ground.
• *do phone sex again, but for many hours a day without trying to do anything else (no worrying about looking cute on cam, no doing camshows, no public blogging, no trying to figure out if the person is a member or not . . . just anonymous phone sex).
• *Do some creative work (maybe just making one or three full length pornos that we could sell on DVD and actually be proud of) that takes a long time without WORRYING about the outcome or whether we’ll have enough money to do it right or having to do any of the other daily/weekly repetitive grind stuff we do that interrupts the flow of things that could take 2 to 30 days.

******

Two things to note: when I fantasize about taking time off it never involves regular socializing. It’s always stuff I want to do in a reclusive fashion, without phone calls or parties or meeting up with people in a chatty way. Also, when I dream about time away, it rarely means time away from work or being productive, it usually just means time away from the way I’m *currently* working so I can try a different kind of work or more focused productivity. I fantasize about having routines and ritualizing work but not to the extent where I lose the freedom to pursue it with the kind of continuity that doesn’t exist when you promise yourself to wake up at a certain time each day. I fantasize about not having to “check in”, about being isolated in a way that doesn’t allow anyone to look over my shoulder or judge my progress. I fantasize about full immersion in an experience devoid of distractions and mundane concerns. I fantasize about thinking and feeling and realizing ideas and absorbing/fondling new ones. I do not fantasize about interacting with people even when realizing my fantasies would necessarily involve SOME interaction. In my fantasies I assume these interactions will be limited, structured, and not come within a mile of overwhelming the real experience which is something I have with myself (and Delia in some of the fantasies, who I think of now as a part of myself, not someone I “socialize” with).

Yeah. Pretty much all of my fantasies about taking time off of work or having more of something good lead right back to fantasizing about doing MORE work, in a different and/or better and/or as-yet-experienced way. On the other hand, my idea of what “work” is, particularly what my job(s) in life are, are extremely broad. I have a certain level of faith that everything I desire to do will ultimately be productive in a life’s-work way.

Normally I love fall, but it took so long for winter to go away this year that I’ve actually been apprehensive about letting go of the summer. Fortunately, we’ve had an extended Indian summer. Last week I *thought* it was over one night when I found myself craving heat, but this week it’s back. Sunny yesterday, sunny today . . . and clear for viewing the full moon last night and crone moon tonight.

It’s also been spider season with one lady in residence in our line of vision from bed in the corner of our sliding glass door:

Spider Lady & Half Moon

She’s been there every day and I know we should get rid of her big egg sac or we’ll have shitloads of spiders in our bedroom, but I haven’t been able to do that to her. I love seeing her there at least once a day and/or night. It doesn’t seem like the best place to have a web with us sliding the door open and closed and some of her anchors being attached to it. But I guess there’s no spot to weave a web that is completely invulnerable.

Lamp-lit spider on web.

Our dog’s much better after her trip to the vet’s. The x-rays didn’t show any arthritis but part of her spine had some degeneration, probably from aging in an area of past trauma which Delia thinks must have been from a time when she was a young dog and made a quick break out of the door of their house straight into the side of a moving car on a busy road, bounced off said car, then ran back inside never appearing any worse for the wear.

There have been times in the past nine months where Nico has seemed so old and uncomfortable and tired — and she IS old. Fourteen, I think. Everyone thinks she’s a puppy because she’s a runt of a husky and looks so young, up until recently when you see her walk, especially watching her from behind and her whole hind end just takes so much awkward effort to move. SOMETIMES. But if she’s excited? She’ll still bound and bounce and run around the house like crazy, even though, to me, her yips of excitement sound tinged with pain. I don’t think anything but the most debilitating pain can stop a husky from doing her husky things, so when we started noticing her having real problems has been at night when she can barely lie down and whimpers/cries like a squeaky wheel, circling around and around before painfully lowering herself down.

Anyway, the vet put her on prednisone, a steroid, which seems to be helping quite a bit. We took her on walks in the woods the past couple of days, which she loved even if she’s slowed down a lot since I met her and Delia seven years ago. Now her pace is really pleasant and companionable. She still runs ahead a little bit, but there are times when she actually walks right beside us, or takes breaks so she’s always close by.

Watching her yesterday on the trail looking so much better than she has in a couple of months I thought about how long it took for my dad to die and how unprepared I was for that. How there were so many times where I was impatient for it to happen already, for all of us to be put out of our misery of waiting, and then having days where he was present and I was so happy he was still around and it didn’t seem possible he was anywhere NEAR ready. At least, not nearly as ready as I recently had been. I feel that way a lot with Nico where I can’t help contemplating the convenience of her death one day when she seems uncomfortable, lethargic, and droopy-faced, then feeling overjoyed the next with how well she’s doing — how alert and happy she is, how it’s so not time yet — how YOUNG (for her age) she looks.

My ninth grade (and seventh grade) English teacher did something pretty fucking progressive and unheard-of for kids as young as we were in a public school: she taught us a section on Death and Dying. Practical planning stuff about funerals and wills, the Kubler Ross stages of grief, and of course literature like some story about a brave young man  with a brain tumor (title escapes me, but not the memory of how much I disliked that book) and one I’m forever grateful for being exposed to and having TAUGHT to me (not just read on my own), The Plague.

I remember all of us talking about what we wanted to happen to our bodies after we died and everyone laughing when I said I wanted to be dressed up like the Chiquita Banana Lady and thrown into the woods to rot and be scavenged by animals. Since then I’ve changed my mind, partly because I loved my dad’s funeral including seeing him all dressed up in his coffin that we picked out with special things tucked in to go with him, including stuffed animals that were ours, but that he kept after we outgrew them. I was shocked by how much I did not want his eyes to be plucked out for harvesting; I’d assumed he was ineligible for donating because of his glaucoma (which he was, but they weren’t aware of it so the question was posed to me anyway) and I was just totally unprepared by the topic even coming up even though of course we are all listed as organ donors, but MORE unprepared by how viscerally opposed I was to having his body — especially his eyes — taken out of him when I’d been looking into them MINUTES before that.

So. Aside from it being illegal to throw costumed dead women into the woods, I realize people have emotional, albeit irrational, attachments to the bodies of loved ones and I’ve even become attached the IDEA of my own dead body and perhaps want a more traditional type of ritual to accompany me to my final resting spot. Plus I’m extremely fond of coffins.

I asked Delia if she knows if people can come to our house to put Nico to sleep when the time comes so she can be at home and we can bury her. Delia said she’d prefer to take her to the vet’s. When I heard that I experienced another one of those irrational, emotional reactions (especially since Nico is really DELIA’S dog, not mine) of not being able to bear the thought of taking her to a place she’s afraid of and have to die there. I know it’s over fast, but having done that (thankfully only once and with a kitten we’d hardly had for any time at all) the drive there is just too fucking sad and crying your heart out in a clinic standing around in that sterile setting is just not the ideal to me. I am so glad my dad died in hospice where we got to hang out with his dead body for a few hours afterward (I probably wouldn’t have understood it before, but that is incredibly comforting and helpful, not to have to be seperated physically from each other right away), but obviously a seventy year old parent is pretty different from a fourteen year old pet.

We’re all smart enough to know that television and movies are inaccurate and unrealistic, but I personally never realized how much until my dad took years to die, and then again especially during the days and hours surrounding his actual death. I felt and still feel very unprepared for the process of death by aging and protracted illness. My mind is still boggled by the concept that all of us, if we are lucky, have to watch our parents die. I don’t feel like I was taught to expect that or how to process that even though I’ve probably been given more tools and experiences to deal with that than most post-baby-boom American kids have. I’d had friends who lost parents way too young and I knew it was devastating to them and in some cases they even talked about it a little, but not nearly enough to ever intimate exactly how huge that loss was. I and my dad were not too young, it wasn’t a tragedy, and it’s still hard and has taken SO LONG. I mean, it’s still not over for me. I’m still shocked by the revelation that death is never over or never not coming and that it’s VISIBLE and active for So. Many. Years. I’m trying to accept that with Nico . . . even to use her as practice and I am flummoxed at how ill-prepared I still am . . . how disbelieving, impatient, sad, and scared I am in spite of feeling that’s not really in my nature. I feel like I’m the kind of person who should be able to embrace aging-towards-death gracefully, with serenity instead of blubbering.

I don’t even know how my mom has handled the past thirteen years, seeing her own dad’s decline and death, living with and taking care of my dad/her ex-husband (they continued to have a fond and extremely helpful dysfunctional relationship even after his death), packing up the house she grew up in and moving her mom out of it and into first one home, then another, and now a third offering an even higher level of care. I really do not fucking know. I don’t think she really knows either, but I know it’s a lot harder for her than she’s gotten help for, and my distance from her doesn’t help. What I still idiotically fail to GRASP is how this is THIS LARGE a part of life. Because tv never taught me that and even though my family has always talked openly about these things and plans for when we die, I still can’t remember exactly what I’m supposed to do with my mom’s ashes and I still can’t believe that IF I AM *LUCKY*, I will live through many more loved ones’ deaths. I read so many young adult books about death — GOOD books about a girl whose dad was shot about a kid with Lou Gehrig’s disease about drug addicted kids . . . about pretty much every kind of unanticipated death you or someone you know could have but not so much about the deaths we all aspire to without any proper planning.

What is the life span of a spider? I have no clue. I am still trying to brace myself for the day this season when I look out the window and in the cracks around the sides and she’s not there and doesn’t come back.

A PECULIAR IDEA

I’d like to bone up on my bible verses so I can randomly quote scripture during my masturbation shows. This would be comical, provocative, mysterious, surprising and bizarre — all of the ingredients for great entertainment. Plus I already have quite a headstart on the memorization of bible verses having attended Awana, vacation bible school, and a couple stints at a “Jesus Camp“like camp as a pre-teen.

Actually, it’s been on my to-do list for quite some time to create some bizarre revival-style monologues on video for my site, mixing crazed redneck Christianity with fiendish descriptions of all sorts of sexual perversions, alternately inviting worshipers to repent AND participate in said fiendish sexual scenarios, either with me or in my presence as the cultish lunatic minister. It’s a project I’m so fond of, however, that I’m hesitant to do it unless we have the time and money to do it with higher production values and more writing and rehearsal than usual. Not that anyone is clamoring for this type of content, but *I* would love to play that part AND to watch something like that so . . . someday.

*****

I just ripped a fart that actually BURNED whilst exiting my bunghole.

*****

In about an hour I’m leaving for a hair appointment to bleach more blonde into my tresses. It seems just plain wrong to me, considering that the stores just put Halloween candy up on the shelves and I really want to go darker again, but whatever. I’m starting to enjoy switching it up and am thinking that next time I will try more red before going dark again. WWJD?

TWO THINGS YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT TRIXIE

A couple of things you might not know about me:

1. I don’t like those blue m&m’s. I liked the old seventies colors. Red looked so pretty with the two colors of brown. Blue is ALL WRONG.

2. I believe that space colonization will save humankind — that ONLY space colonization CAN save us. It’s not something I think about often so it’s not like I’m revealing some bizarre secret of mine. Or wait, maybe I am. This is something I’ve believed for a long time, maybe because the space station was such a big deal when I was a kid. Still, it wasn’t something I had any detailed exposure to — it just slid into my belief system.

Why does this nugget of belief appeal to me? I don’t know — probably because science barely-fiction captured my imagination somehow from an early age. I’m not very literate in the sci-fi genre in general, but my dad bought enough graphic sci-fi stuff (a huge Buck Rogers collection in giant-book form which I never read, but leafed through every so often, a couple of captivating books with spaceship blueprints, and a subscription to Omni) that it wiggled into my consciousness as something real. Star Wars was the first movie I remember seeing, and that in a drive-in theater with my dad after a fight with my mom so it made a big impression on me. I didn’t study or immerse myself in science, science fiction, or technology but I saw and read enough that was so beautiful, believable, provocative and richly detailed that it planted seeds in my brain.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t like Star Trek: not very beautiful, believable, or richly detailed. My first exposure to Star Trek was the original series during reruns and I was too little to understand its provocative content, only to recognize its visual inferiority to Star Wars and the other pictures I saw. The only thing I liked about the original series were the short dresses on the hot chicks. Of course, in the past couple of years I’ve become a Next Gen fan but it didn’t contribute to the formation of my belief system, only reinforced it.

I think space colonization is part of my faith; I have faith that a few smart, persistent, creative people will save us and we will endure thanks to scientists and technology. When I say “we” I don’t mean “I” since I believe this will happen after I’m dead and gone, but not by much. The idea of space colonization comforts me even though it’s completely irrelevant to my life and even though it will be fraught with tragedies and scary things.

I suppose I like knowing that the struggle will go on and that there are new frontiers to explore. Or maybe it comforts me to imagine that people in general won’t become too much more advanced than I had a chance to be any time soon. I can’t believe Firefly only lasted one motherfucking season because that show perfectly captured what I think a lot of us imagine as the not-so-distant future of humankind.

Honestly, I don’t spend a lot of time specifically thinking about space colonization as a cornerstone of my belief system. I have, however, spent quite a bit of time over the past few years reflecting on science fiction in general as the best contemporary vehicle for exploring spiritual, moral, and ethical issues. Science fiction is one of the most authentic ways I feel like I can “get religion”. It’s not fixed or as dogmatic as science itself so there is still room for faith (and when I say “faith” I mean faith in something — ANYTHING — wiggly and uncertain, not faith in any of the gods of religions we’re so familiar with today), and it’s not completely insane or irrational (again, like so many of the religions we’re familiar with today). There’s room for soaring idealism in science fiction, and for bitter cynical social commentary. I love it.

Anyway, even though I don’t give daily deep thought to space colonization, I guess I do feel pretty anxious about this planet and sad about what we’re doing to it. The amount of destruction I’ve seen in my short life, and the carelessness people have towards the “environment” leads me to believe (another part of my faith) that we aren’t going to be able to live here naturally much longer without lots of artificial intervention. Much of what is most beautiful will be utterly fucking destroyed — any of it that’s saved will be via small-scale Jurassic Park type measures.

I didn’t grow up in a city. Many days I actually got to wade in creeks, see big trees, smell clean air, enjoy darkness at night, have complete privacy/solitude . . . things like that. I’ve spent all of my thirty three years loving ferns and moss and the smell of rotting wood.

I didn’t grow up in a city, but I grew up close enough to the city of Seattle to see major MAJOR changes in western Washington every single year for the past thirty-three. It’s nothing against cities, because I love those too, but we are mowing good things down and paving over it so fast and furiously and on such grand scale that you have to have your head stuffed straight up your cornucopian ass to not recognize that we’re shitting all over the planet; it cannot sustain these levels of “growth” and resource-rape. I wasn’t raised to be an “environmentalist”; my grandpa was a logger and most people I knew were pretty conservative and hostile towards “tree-huggers”. Really, my sentiments are fueled only by the gift of sight — you have to be fucking blind to not see the destruction and life out of balance.

So. I guess I comfort myself with the fact that science will create new wonders, preserve and transplant some old ones, and life will go on. It really breaks my heart, though, imagining the world introduced to my nephew (or my own children if I ever have any) and trying to show them as many things as possible before they’re bulldozed down. If my own lifetime has been marred by observable decimation of natural resources and beauty I can only imagine how depressingly ugly and destructive the world will become over the next three generations. And hey, it’s not all about “nature” — privacy and solitude are becoming relics of the past (or at least luxuries only the very richest of the rich can afford). If I ever have grandchildren I’m pretty certain their notion of these concepts (privacy and solitude) will be reduced to tiny fragments of what they should be.

It makes me fucking shudder, but I thank my lucky fucking stars to be alive in this time and place rather than somewhere else, or sometime long ago, or sometime in the near future. That brings me back to faith; who or what should I “thank”? Science fiction hasn’t answered that question for me yet so sometimes I fall back on the old-fashioned stuff because really, I do need to give thanks even if it’s primitive, superstitious and nonsensical.

For those of you living in a pop-culture bubble without the thrill of reality teleporn, here’s a highlight to enjoy featuring a woman who appeared on “Trading Spouses” — she wound up in the home of an ungodly new-agey type of chick and decided to rip up the check for $50k that the show producers gave her:

See the movie on Crooks and Liars.

I feel so sorry for her poor family. And my GOD — isn’t that the essence of child exploitation? To humiliate these kids in front of millions of people, leaving them torn between their love and devotion to their parent and the horribly embarrassing confrontation with thousands of people on the internet and elsewhere talking about what a FREAK your mom is . . . THAT is exploitation. How can a kid possibly consent to that? And how are they compensated? Oh . . . their dance classes are paid for? Good lord. I’m not saying it should be illegal, I just think it’s far worse than porn. Where is the DOJ’s war on reality televesion?

P.S. make sure to check out the ebay auction too, if only for the catchy ditty.