Note Inconsistant

So Inconsistant

I feel guilty, having cut the ribbon, so to speak, on a new blog, only to be ridden into silence by, well, you know, life. The hours stack against me.

There's a lot of puerile shit out there, I have to admit. Not to say that there aren't free and inspiring voices doing their thing, but holy crap, boys and girls: a blog is not a diary. Re-read your stuff. Edit. Ask yourself "does anyone want to hear this?"; actually, everyone, ask yourself that same question before you launch into a tale about anything. Verbal or written. A bad story is other people's time, wasted.

That said, I've been fermenting. This is where past and present begin to bleed together. Inconsistent can apply to time as well as space.

Any hopes

I may have had of easing back into a life of public-text have been surreptitiously quashed.

Thank you, everyone. It's nice to be back, and equally as nice to be harangued to bare my kit for the masses.

Unfortunately, no ass-shots to be displayed, as of yet... or anything else, for that matter; but who knows what the future may bring? Let's see if I can get back into the swing of blogging first, shall we?

In the meantime, I promise to talk about sex a lot; possibly even freaky, strange sex.

Imagine what fun we'll have.

Back In Print

I still have sex. Just not for money.

In fact, I’ve had a great deal of sex this past month. So much that I briefly considered naming this--my follow up blog, my sequel--Lost In Fuck, thanks to an indescribably apropos remark from a very random lover.

And what I realized while I was coming home, worked over and worked in, my body a haven of figurative track marks, half-moon divots and hickeys, that whatever I had been up to as a prostitute, and all those explorations that led me into climates distant as well as personal, rooms so little and far away; places so strange and extrasolar: that I hadn’t left any of it behind. I am basically still a hooker, just not a working one; and in some real sense, I’ve sucked the mystery right out of sex. With my choices. My choices, I think,  could pull an engine through a tailpipe.

I’ve been fundamentally altered. For good or for ill.

And there’s no one else I can tell about this.

What have I been up to?

Rediscovering a private life that includes no one but myself has been an adventure. Going back to school and *cough* working have been another. I’ve been desperately trying to hold onto that pioneering spirit and sense of self what allowed me to take up prostitution out in the more regular world, but it’s been terribly terribly hard. Minutiae drags. And the world is designed to involve you in its petty mechanisms. I mean, public transit? Public fucking transit?!?! Just fuck off.

I live alone again. I have an apartment solitary and sacrosanct, stocked with alcohol and books. Well, the alcohol doesn’t stay around for long, but the books, the books are here to stay. Lately, I’ve decided to tackle all of Salman Rushdie and Clive Barker.

If I hadn’t been writing while I was Working, I don’t know that I would have assimilated sex-work so well into my psychogenic cosmology; but, if I hadn’t had readers, I’m not sure I would have come out in the end nearly so well at all. It’s the privacy that drives you crazy; the compartmentalization, and the loss of perspective. My past has become fractured: there is what happened, and what can be disseminated, apart and alone, in those rooms; and never the twain shall meet. Now that I am back among friends, OLD friends, I’ve realized that the fracture I engineered, the first time I decided to take sex for money, that that’s not something you just place behind you: here it is, running right down the middle of me, along with nearly every story I have to tell about my time away. Just as our society is not assimilated, nor am I. Taboo precludes compos mentis, as they say. Well, as I say.

Welcome to the new blog, by the by. Thanks for joining me here. Although my old one had a much clearer purpose, this one… this one might turn out to be quite interesting.

And may we all live in interesting times.