so i get a bunch of books on BDSM for ideas of where to go next with my life, and i'm going to hurt the independent book business myself by returning pretty much the lot of 'em because white people always always always have to fucking cut things up and put them in little boxes with labels and arm bands! the fucking arm bands.

george carlin was so right.

and when i say "white people," now that i'm in california, i also count black people. black people in america were made by white people. punch me if you want but it's fucking true. you can't be free when you live in constant reaction to another in order to define who you are.

maybe i'll change my mind tomorrow. fuck it. i'm tired of watching what i say when it doesn't mean shit, anyway. it's what we do how we live etcetera, fucking etcetera. all the rest is distraction.

like all this fucking "coming out."

any real cowboy knows this is all just prancing in front of the mirror feeling pretty good about yourself because there's no one COMING OUT. if you do this human shit right, every fucking moment is "coming out."

so white people have written books about "i'm a top with a bottom sensibility at the supermarket and a top in the shoe store..." what the fuck is this shit?

yes, part of the insanity of living spontaneously and freely, is bouts of insanity as you come up against all that you thought you or the world was.

and it feels safe once you think you've hit another scary age when you think you're supposed to know more of who you are by now, so you glom onto the "i'm a top who bottoms from louisiana."

fuck you.

who can fuck that?

who has the time?

this is why i don't date.

i don't listen to a fucking thing anyone says. and everyone's so glad they've got a little lunch box of goodies to present to the person across from them.

i want to meet someone and assume you can fucking throw away all that you thought you were and see what the chemistry of something new makes.

i'm not a fucking pair of shoes or an ottoman to settle down with.

not yet, anyway.

there isn't enough money in it.

and that's back to money.

i realized after a long morning talk with james yesterday, why i ultimately can't ever, ever fuck for money.

if that's what you're doing, fine. that's your story and where you've gotta go and what you've gotta learn.
i've no judgement at all. in fact, i send you affection and best wishes because the better you are at what you do, the more they will see themselves and their vulnerability, as well as the wasted POTENTIAL of all this magic, and they will try to stab you with a fork to discredit you.

it's human nature.

the art of twisting the dark side is all there is for me because that's how i'm still here.
it's too easy for me to lick my own cynicism back to life.
but i fight cynicism so hard. it's cancer. it's that black cloud of death you will over yourself when you're too fucking weary to figure out how to go on.

and for those of you who sit there and go "awww" about the sex work thing, i'd bet both of my tits that you haven't figured out how to not be a whore to your deepest dreams and desires and who you are.

thing is, i've been looking for a mentor on how to live free for my entire life. people only have corners of the corners on it. i think the most free people are the ones who're living under bridges with smiles.

and i haven't seen them, either.

but when you cease to see the fucking point of all this "success," it's scary, because there's less and less hold on you to pretend, to behave, to even CARE about the fucking towels with holes in them and then who are you?

you're dreaming of falling in a fucking heap at the feet of The Snakefucker so you can bark like a dog?

and then you read a book to find out what the fuck that's supposed to mean, but there's no "god" in it. just more arm bands and labels, and that's so not sexy to me.

to me there's no daytime. no cubicle difference.

and that to me is how to not ever be a prostitute. to live in cubicle by day doing things for other people for money so i can go home and hope to feel alive for a few moments.

i want to live this way in every moment or i feel like a sell out prostitute.

i've refined the art of saying "fuck you" to an immediate sexual tingle.

i'm strung out on "fuck you." and i know that as a woman, it's not cute to be like this. only if you're a guy.

but i don't care.

i've seen too many gorgeous examples of defiance from james, jeffrey, brad,  dorothy, and of course my father.

we never lose. that's so silly. we never lose because we don't want what you all want.

and that's why i don't yet know where i am. i'm at a new level of fuck you freedom that is trippy.

success? those porn videos are more successful than any art i'm seeing out there today (with the exception of a few die hards still in it).

but i'm seeing more confusion, life, drama, rawness, and discovery than in any fucking corporate-backed indie crap. and that's most everything.

like warhol said he preferred central park on a rainy day because he had it all to himself, the darkness is like that. rainy days in central park. you have it all to yourself to run around and see what's there.

that's how you find the holy in the sleazy or dark or undiscovered.

that's what a good trophy wife figures out. how to not trade up because you don't have to. no. not when you take the time to think and survey and see the man who may not be the most charming in the room. but the strong, quiet one who's watching for his move like bogart in casablanca. the man who's patient, strong, sure of himself. willing to take it on the chin and move on.

then that's not trophy wife hunting. then it's turned on itself and become love. love as a verb. to find the secrets in someone and help bring them to the light so that we may all continue to "come out" as ourselves every day.

that's why there's holiness in the sleaze. like jerking off past the pain for another level of intensity, you have to go past what you know in the darkness to manifest the light.

(i have no idea "what" i'm saying exactly, but it feels right)

it's terrifying.

it's terrifying to think you've discovered that you're finally gay or into BDSM or whatever, only to realize it's just another adventure. another side of yourself.

that's how spanish people are different. i mean spanish in all smears of the word.

blacks are more like whites. they want what white people have and now only have their influence.

our colonial shit enabled us to have more of our families and histories and keep our lands in our hearts (i think puerto rico is no longer a "place" to my father, but in his heart now. he can't go back. it's over. but he loves it and would actually die to keep it from becoming a state).

and the colonial model of conquest is why i can't even see things so black and white. new boss will always be same as old boss with that routine.

it's how i see Feminism as a form of colonialism that took me from my father.

white women want to fuck my father like he's a new centaur for them to CONQUER and break.

you can't break a fucking centaur! why would you even WANT to?

that's what most "old world" spanish women KNOW.

the moment you conquer the gods, you're alone with your thumb up your ass like my longtime movie star crush, jack klugman, in that twilight zone episode where he beats the best pool player, jonathan winters (LOVE HIM!!!!), at a game, and ends up all alone twiddling his thumbs as The Best. The Legend.

don't take down the best when you wanna always be curious enough to still wanna fuck the best!

that's the old colonial assimilate and kill model.
it's not the model that sits back in wonderment at how gloria could dance like a goddess.
it strives to dominate and eradicate her.
and the magic that she brought with her.

how can you not hate yourself for killing kittens?
and how can we not all be in this self-hating/other-hating/omni-hating culture?

but i don't know about kids now and what they know. things change faster than i ever imagined and also take LONGER than i ever imagined.

but white people are afraid of what they can't see or understand.

i'm half white and more white than even jewish people from california (that's pretty fucking white).

but i see that there's so much magic "being white" closed me off to.

i see that keeping me from my father, like the legal system does with fathers, was a form of that assimilation thing where they took indian kids off to school off the reservations.

i see that Feminism in practice was about breaking men, making them submit to "female superiority."

what crap.

and yet it's all true. play with it in sex. not life.

the lesbians leaving the vaginal folds to fuck men are a tiny sign i've made up. a sign that we're finally realizing that something's missing without men in our lives in their full splendor.

we can't make children on our own.

but we also can't live without them, nor do we want to.

the best ones are "sexy" in the full vibrance of the meaning: they enable us to forget our former selves and let go and play and see who we are now and let go. they give us the strength to not freak out and leave the room in tears.

and the best women do the same.

we have all prostituted ourselves for plastic versions of ourselves and all that we thought we wanted.

that's what scares me. i don't need or want money when i'm like this. i can always say fuck you.

and that's why i feel like i'm finally art now. in my being.

i won't let you fuck with me and who i want to be.
i won't submit for plastic shit. for your shitty reality.

but i will submit for a beautiful beating or a rousing fucking.

i will only fuck for transcendence now.

i said that when i had a vision, a quick glimpse, of what just might be possible.
sex and self discovery doesn't have to be like a game of miniature golf.

(it's more like opening the box in hellraiser and getting slashed within an inch of your life, if you do it on deadline. no time for whistling past graveyards in art.)

i will also only do art for transcendence.

nothing but the packs of gum are for sale.


and that's how i've lived on purpose since i was 8.

i could take the beatings with a straight face from my mother and not cry.
it makes everyone madder.

i see it in the world.

it's terror to come out as yourself every day. that's the real work.

because even the new group to whom you now thought you belonged,
they have arm bands and rules.

rules that may one day need to be rebelled from.

and that is what i'm about now. learning how to let go of my own "fight" and work more in tandem with a complimentary energy.

i always have, though.

because the other reality is that with all these fucking words and labels white people put on everything they feel queasy about doing so they feel safer, the other reality is that according to your regular american way of living, i'm a total fucking submissive with the men in my life, and i fear that anything i say will sound like phyllis schlafley.

i guess it started with lisa robinson even though she's not a guy. she was 1 or 2 years older than me so that was enough.

but she started the paradigm:

lisa was the rock steady smart, long-view one.
no cheap bar girl (like me), she was the kind of woman who'd enter a room and know which man was willing to work on for MONTHS.

and i'd tell her what i wanted to try next, and she'd make it happen. i'd forget all about it, and she'd have it in mind and grab scenarios/opportunities as they came up. she "directed" me and things, and kept me safe even during the most adventurous childish years of our lives.

and jeffrey hicken is like that. that's why i call him my art husband. when i met jeffrey in his office, when i was trying to freelance my art, i couldn't leave.

it was like instant True Love, and he's been the boss of me ever since.

people talk to me when we're working, like i'm in charge. but when they leave i look at jeffrey and ask if we're gonna work on it or not.

as with lisa, i tell jeffrey my crazy ideas. he thinks for a moment. then he spits out this line of direction that already has an arc in his head.

i have to totally let go of any of my hard end visions and check in with him.
if he says no, i move on.

sometimes i might argue when i see something more definite, but he's pretty much the boss.

and at home, james is more boss than ever before after i lost it on The Snakefucker.
i knew i was on new ground, out of my mind, and i needed to make my deadlines and focus harder than ever.

fuck. i'm still running on that adrenaline. powerful shit.

-----(I've deleted a section here and photos from the post because i'm slowly leaning towards more privacy)

but i will tell you that i saw how perfect art, love, control, and submission is with EVERYTHING. and i saw how my men had helped me envision something worthy of walking into as i get older and more myself.

they've helped me re-invent and invent myself time and time again and finally i could see it in art.

and that's what art is about. showing us the possibilities for ourselves as a people.

and that's why you have to see art and love and romance in the sleazy, dark, hidden.

because the truth is that capitalism and money will only ever truly allow the safest bets.

it takes human superheroes to go insane and go after the impossible and take us all there.

we can't really make babies without men.
we can't see ourselves without men.

it's time to stop drugging them into submission in schools.
they were meant to run around and hump sofas and love and show us ourselves.

we're dying for killing off our men.
for colonializing and beating them down and assimilating them into "us."

this is why even seeing charlie sheen on "two and a half men" while turning the channel (i've never seen the show. i can't take comedy like that without bleeding to death---and yes, seinfeld was funny, but that such a pinched asexual man ever had any such girlfriends was so hard for me to get beyond), but it's why seeing such a man on the show was like watching a bear get paraded around by the ring and made to dance.

and it's why i hope sheen succeeds where mickey rourke wasn't able to make it. cripes. they're just short of putting mickey rourke in a dress now.

snapping was the best thing for charlie sheen. to me it was a sign that he's a whole lot fucking smarter than anyone wanted to give him credit for (but of course!--they must discredit anything that threatens their stronghold on a reality).

and this is the most interesting time of our culture in a long time, because what you thought was "good" is "creepy," and who you thought was black are white and vice versa.

the movie charlie sheen's in, isn't one that anyone edits and shows you. it's the one happening NOW. watch now for what's really the best part. we know how screenplays turn on pages and points. watch reality for the real and truly edgy and surprising turnarounds, red herrings, and denouements.

he keeps getting up and going back out. and look at where he comes from to see the quality of the rage. he comes from papa sheen (nee, estevez), the one who made pedophile meat out of us little girls with little girl who lives down the lane with jodie foster.

fuck he was crazy mad hot and i was like 8 years old.

anyhow, you can't have a little flaming liberal estevez brother trying to do good with his work, and not have a quality to your own rage that is really your job in the family.

it's all out there.

fuck, the release valves for the family must also be discredited or all hell breaks loose.

just like in real life.

and that's how we all recognize each other.

a lot of us don't make it.

anyhow, we're the leaders now.

we've all been the canaries, covering the corners of our coal mines.
now,
it's a time when we have to all go blind and count on our gut feelings.
fuck, we splash in feelings for fun!

and during such times, all former troglodites and sewer rats must stand and share what talents they know to help us make it.

we must go insane and question what we assumed was gospel.

the moment you feel yourself reaching between your legs when you think about how you want to live your life, then you've got it!

and the tragedy is when we keep this realization to ourselves and don't teach others to radiate it outward.

there is evidence of our disasters. the prisons, the poverty and imbalance.

but there is also
inspiration everywhere.
this is what art and movie stars are about.
it's all a reflection on ourselves and where we're going, or where we want to go.

i realize that i have to stay in it as much as i can to help others find their words, too.
find the lines around what we're doing and where we want to go.

for oliver and for my sister's little boy, Alexander Xavier.

i've always wanted a son of my own, so i'll just have to imagine that they all belong to me.

e