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I'm not shy when I'm naked
April 29, 2005
Through conversations with a variety of people, I’ve gleaned that its assumed that because I’m an exhibitionist with sex firmly entrenched in my life and mind, I’m also an extrovert. This is not so true, though I’ve gotten more adept at social interaction in the past few years. At heart, I’m a nerdy introvert.
I don’t think that being an introvert is a bad thing necessarily, and its a result of a few different things in my life. I have a lot on my plate, and most of the pleasure I get in my life (aside from the naked time) comes from having my brain stimulated and doing awesome and interesting work. As a result, often when I’m dragged out of my brain cave and into the wild world of socializing, I get irritable because I could be at home getting shit done (I know, I need to fucking relax) and also because I can’t hear a goddamn thing because in my youth I was too punk rock to wear earplugs at shows. But anyway you cut it, in big scary social situations, I’m usually stressed out about talking to people. It’s stupid, I know, because once I get talking I have no problem making conversation, but initially there’s just so much awkwardness.
And now you’re thinking - what, this coming from the girl who just regaled us with tales of wrestling in fake blood? There’s an exception to this social awkwardness business - I’m much less shy when I’m naked. It’s my natural habitat and there’s a sense of power and joy I derive from being naked or showing some skin.
But, another twist in this story is that I don’t respond favorably to Mardi Gras-type situations in which strange drunken men are encouraging me to bear my breasts for beads - that makes me downright bitchy and very unliekly to oblige. Choosing to show my goods without creepy coercion is definitely a satisfying thing, but the pushiness of others is not to be rewarded.
My joy in nakedness is strongly linked to the joy I have in being Dacia. I was trying to explain this to Jane last night, and she quickly shot back at me with, “Well, what’s the difference between being Dacia and being your legally named self?” And the thing is - there isn’t much of a difference - Dacia doesn’t transport me to some other plane of existence where I play a role that isn’t me. The marked difference seems to be that as Dacia, I have a much easier time answering the question, “So what do you do?” while when someone at school asks me the same question, I find myself hedging around it and being vague.
But anyway, being naked is good. And I’m damn happy that my life consists mostly of getting dressed to go get naked somewhere else.
Posted by Dacia at 09:36 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack
Blood and guts
April 28, 2005
Sure, this sex stuff is pretty cool and all, but I’m beginning to think that my calling has more to do with the joys of blood, guts and gore after last night’s wrestling in fake blood at the Troma fundraiser. Sex and violence, bitches, that’s where it’s at.
One of my favorite things about last night’s ridiculousness was that the guys in the bands that played preceding the all-girl blood wrestling were at least as naked as me and my fellow wrestlers. I like equal opportunity nakedness, as opposed to dudes doing the dude thing, and then - nekkid chicks. Or maybe I just like ogling men in nothing but saran wrap.
I can babble on about this forever, or I can just get to the pics:
Fellow CityKittie model Blu and I were first up - and to get the crowd jazzed up we did a little onstage stripping of clothes, complete with shenanigans. Hey, if I’m going to have to take my boots off anyway, I may as well get some encouragement from the crowd.
What’s better than girls rolling around in fake blood? The answer can only be: cleavage.
I’m not really sure what’s going on here:
Blu and I watch the wrassling and catch our breath. I’m wearing my brand new latex bra and underwear set - you have not known sweating until you’ve worn rubber underwear.
And last but not least, a gratuitous shot of my ass:
Jane, trusty friend that she is, took the above pictures and was on nipple taping duty.
Posted by Dacia at 10:12 AM | Comments (10) | TrackBack
Wallflower
April 27, 2005
Ok, so maybe combining a sex party with my first day out of Brooklyn in 10 days was not the best of ideas.
I could have told myself that before going to Jefferson’s party last night, but I still wanted to go, for a two reasons: (A) I like being around naked people, especially if they are fucking and (2) I wanted to see my damn friends and practice that whole “being social” thing. Immediately upon arrival, I realized that I just wasn’t feeling right in my body or my brain.
I hung out, drank some soda, caught up with people, watched naked writhing on various beds, and then put on my socks and shoes (the only items of clothing I removed in the course of the evening) and decided to go home.
As I walked to the subway, I realized that the thing is – I really miss having sex with someone I like. I mean, I like the folks at Jefferson’s parties plenty, but not in the crush kinda way, or in the way where I think about them a whole lot and wonder what’s going to happen in our futures. Although I wasn’t having tons of sex in my relationships, I was enjoying what sex there was with people I saw as coherent parts of my life. Casual sex was way more fun when I had non-casual partners to go home to and balance it out.
Posted by Dacia at 11:44 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
Birthday sex
April 25, 2005
Today I turn 25.
Today I won’t be celebrating with partnered sex - instead, I’ll be having lengthy and repeated solo sessions, topped off by a sushi dinner with two of my dearest (and former sex partners), Jane and James.
In many ways, its been a sexually and emotionally disappointing spring, in which I’ve realized that I really have to rely on myself to make things happen, ask for help when I need it, but not necessarily expect things to come around in good ways. Ok, that sounds way worse than it was meant to - but whatever. The point is, self-reliance and fulfillment of my own needs to the extent that that’s possible are key features of my present and future life.
So for today (though things will likely be very different tomorrow, as its an every-other-Tuesday), I’m the giver and receiver of birthday sex. Not to mention chocolate cake, which I have conveniently located right next to the bed for my post-coital enjoyment.
Posted by Dacia at 12:01 PM | Comments (20) | TrackBack
Taking sides
April 22, 2005
Ok, I’m back among the living. I ate something that I had to chew today, and announced proudly to Jane as I ate my (what else?) ham sandwich: “Look, I’m chewing!” Mouth full of course. I even had both the desire and the ability to masturbate - road to recovery, I tell ya. Now that my brain isn’t bogged down by fever and I’m not saying insane things to Jane (sorry honey), there’s something that I’ve let lie for a while that I feel like I need to write about.
A few weeks ago, at the bi-weekly sex party I go to regularly, there was an incident that has since been blogged about by others, but I’ve been publically silent about. There’s been some slinging of shit both publically and privately between all sorts of people in my circle, and I’m not going to name anyone’s names here or link anyone’s blog - because I don’t have to and I don’t want to. Those involved know who’s who, and others who’ve been reading the interconnected blogs know what’s up. For those who don’t have the faintest idea what I’m talking about, that’s okay too, because I promise this will be thought provoking regardless.
Basically, what happened at this party was that two of my friends (I will call them Boy and Girl) were playing with a bunch of people in one of the bedrooms while I was in the other enjoying being with another pile of people. From my vantage point, I heard a lot of ecstatic moaning from Girl and then “Ow that hurts! Take it out!” - several second pause and a much more panicked voice- “That hurts! TAKE IT OUT NOW!” followed by sobbing and Girl running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. I lingered in the bedroom with my friends for a while, sort of stunned and not sure what to do exactly. After a while I headed into the other bedroom to find out what had happened, everyone’s faces were pale and freaked out. They said the incident had involved a speculum, and that Boy was in the kitchen, so I headed there to see how he was - he was shaken and confused, and wanted to head into the bathroom to see how Girl was doing, which I didn’t think was a great idea just then. Other friends stayed with him while I went to the bathroom, where Girl was with the friend who’d come to the party with her. I brought her some water, sat and held her for while and listened to her, and then steered her and her friend into the bedroom she hadn’t been in before, shooed out everyone who was in there, closed the door and gave her a massage. Girl has written extensively in her blog about this incident, Boy has not mentioned it - as is each of their right.
I’ve been silent, but I’ve been listening. Other people who were there have been silent. Silence, certainly, is one of the things that permits/encourages instances like this to arise again and again in our culture - which often turns a deaf ear to a sexual woman’s right to set her limits and say no. I am no supporter of the squashing of someone else’s boundaries into the realm of unconsensual badness, this much should be clear.
So why haven’t I been railing against Boy? I’m not sure I have a perfect answer to this, but it lies in my discomfort with being against a person, someone I care for. What happened that night was fucked up. It hurt and freaked out a lot of people - none more than Girl. I’m not disputing that, and I’m not disputing anyone’s perception of the events. I’m not making excuses for Boy.
But when one of my friends hurts another friend - it’s tough to negotiate being supportive without playing the age-old game of taking sides. I’m afraid I don’t know precisely what that looks like. I’m usually good at being constructively critical and supportive, but in the realm of sexual assault, it feels like an entirely different ballgame. And beyond that, I have my personal limits of sanity and giving. There’s only so much I can do and say before I have to recognize my limits - and if that sounds selfish, then maybe it is, but I do need to keep my own shit together before I can do thing one for anyone else.
Posted by Dacia at 03:55 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
Bitch and moan
April 21, 2005
For fuck’s sake: I’ve just spent the last four days in bed (not in that hot way) with a strep throat and a fever. I also have an infected nipple piercing that won’t get better because the rest of my body is all fucked up. This has caused me to miss the final days of two classes and fall behind of everything else in my life, since all I’ve been good for is taking cold showers, watching movies and eating popsicles and jello. Thank goodness for Jane, who has been feeding me lots of red jello, red sorbet and trying to push red cough drops on me. Yes, my love of the color red extends into my taste in foods.
Today (knock on wood, its not even noon) I feel like a person again. Maybe sometime soon I’ll get to go outside and experience what I’ve been told is the most fantastic weather we’ve had so far this year.
Posted by Dacia at 06:11 PM | Comments (1)
Spread-leg rampage
April 14, 2005
On Tuesday, I arrived at
After a refill on my margarita, Todd and I made our way to a bedroom. Since we were the first ones in the room, we turned the lights on and left them that way. We were followed pretty quickly by Tevin – I’d broken him in and welcomed him to his first party a month or so back. Though he’d played with both Todd and I before, Todd didn’t remember his name, which I thought was hilarious – when you’ve fucked as many people as either Todd or I have, names become a bit of a blur, never mind knowing an exact number of sex partners (this is how you spell s-l-u-t).
After a reintroduction, hands and mouths got busy and I coyly told Tevin, “You know, Todd mentioned that he hasn’t had enough cock in his life lately…” These problems have a way of working themselves out: I wasn’t able to finish my sentence before Todd had his lips wrapped around Tevin’s cock.
Todd had stepped back to admire the lovely angle of penetration, and Tevin, apparently amazed, pointed to our point of connection and exclaimed to Todd, “Dude, that’s all her.” I was vaguely aware that they were talking about the amount of come I was producing, but too busy coming to really pay attention.
Todd tagged Tevin out and began a rollicking session between the two of us, while Tevin took his hard on elsewhere. I finished Todd off with a combination of a slobbery blowjob and a spit slick handjob. He came loudly and expressively, leaving me feeling accomplished and totally dripping in spit, come and sweat.
From across the room, Todd laughed, “That was an explosive orgasm. Good luck staying inside of her if she has another few of those.”
Since I was already so outrageously hot and bothered, I was coming in a handful of thrusts. Todd wrapped an arm around my waist and braced himself against my cunt muscles, refusing to let his cock get squeezed out of me. I think he’s got my number.
Posted by Dacia at 11:29 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Birthday blood bath!
4.25.05
Birthday Blood Bath at Tromapocalypse!
Come help me celebrate my 25th birthday by watching me wrestle the ladies of CityKittie in fake blood, and not to mention - states of undress. On Wednesday, April 27th, come on out to Galapagos in Williamsburg to Tromapocalypse, a fundraiser for Troma Films’ Tromadance Film Festival. This is probably your only chance to see me without glasses, so get your ass to Brooklyn!
Posted by Dacia at 05:30 PM
Terrorism
April 13, 2005
Here in New York City, the specter of former mayor Rudy Giuliani is being raised. Today it was announced that a state appeals court has upheld city zoning laws used against adult businesses. This means that the 60-40 loophole, which meant that adult businesses could operate in residential neighborhoods as long as no more than 40% of the store was devoted to adult materials, has been killed. Basically 60-40 meant that many porn stores would stock the rest of the store with kung fu movies or more often bizarre, dusty overstock copies of the same obscure/bad/cheap movie over and over again. So we’re back to adult businesses being barred from residential neighborhoods. Quoth Mayor Michael Bloomberg: “New Yorkers won’t have to push their strollers past porn shops, have topless bars for neighbors or have to worry about peep booths in the back of their corner magazine store.”
Did I mention this is effective immediately? That puts dozens of strip clubs (including biggies like Scores), porn shops and the like in violation and, most likely in short order, out of business.
Now that some of the 9/11 hysteria is subsiding, there’s a resurrection of a not unfamiliar terrorism sweeping the land. The anti-sex brigades are marching, I can hear them.
Sex is danger. Watch out.
Posted by Dacia at 11:56 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Questionable context
April 12, 2005
Last Friday night, I was lying in bed with Todd* drinking red wine, eating chocolate cake and watching porn - all things that are pretty rockin’ on their own but way more awesome when combined. It’s been a while since I’ve watched porn with someone else. When I first started to watch porn it was always with someone else (either friends or my boyfriend) but then I got possessive of my time with my porn. Nowadays, I find it hard to get all hot and bothered while watching porn with someone else - blame my inability to concentrate on one thing. I can’t get totally into the porn because there’s a warm body next to me (that I want to fondle) and once I start getting into the body the porn noises start to get distracting. One of the other things that I’ve found funny about watching porn with other people is that I get really defensive when my viewing buddy doesn’t like scenes that I’m obsessed with.
On the other hand, it’s really interesting to be let into what someone else thinks is hot. Todd, cinephile that he is, brought a stack of movies with him, and after we watched Mario Bava’s terrific Black Sunday (arguably very hot in its own, undead seventeenth century witch kinda way) we switched over to smut. He’d brought along a hentai movie and warned me that there was a lot of rape and violence in it - I thought I could handle it, plus I’ll watch almost anything with tits (almost). And what do you know - it was hot, and since he left it at my house on Friday night I’ve enjoyed it (wink wink nudge nudge say no more) numerous times.
The flick, Oni-Tensei, is nothing short of ferocious. It involves a Japanese school girl who is forcibly tattooed with a demon/ogre on her back that comes alive and rapes the women the schoolgirl comes in contact with (including a nurse, a nun, and the detective on the case, who is impregnated by the demon). It’s intense - intensely hot. I wasn’t doing a whole lot of processing while watching the film, what with the brain powers reduced to thoughts of “must. get. off. aiiieee! repeat. more.” However, I’ve been thinking about it a lot when I don’t have my hand down my pants (which is to say, during the last few hours while I’ve been in class).
A common anti-porn claim is that the softcore stuff of Playboy or dare I say SuicideGirls is like a gateway drug to harder, scarier porn and eventually acting out violently against women and children; that after a while, “regular” porn isn’t enough and carnal cravings become more hardcore and spin towards violence.** I know that a few years ago I wouldn’t have had the stomach for Oni-Tensei - I would’ve found it blatantly sexist and downright frightening. And actually - these things are quite true about it. But there’s a divide between what I like politically and what I get off to, which I don’t necessarily think is a bad thing. Maybe the reason I allow myself to really appreciate Oni-Tensei is because its a cartoon - no flesh and blood women were harmed in the making of this film.
So - the appetite for destruction. Does it get more intense as time goes by and I get more jaded and more debased? That’s one way of looking at it. Another way to see it is that I’ve become more open minded and adventurous in what I find hot, because I’ve been exposed to such a wide array of sexualities. So I’m getting off to scenes of forced sex and extreme violence - does that mean I should be taking a serious look at myself, or enjoying the fantasy?
*Yes, its true, I’ve been seeing Todd one-on-one outside of the biweekly orgies. We’ve been fucking, its been great, I haven’t been blogging it. I feel like I’m cheating on you, having hot sex behind your backs. Actually, I feel no remorse, because I’m having the sex.
**I have this on my mind partly because of the death of Andrea Dworkin - who thusfar has been eulogized best by Susie Bright - check it out here.
Posted by Dacia at 01:47 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Shut up, brain
April 11, 2005
The inside of my head is a crowded and noisy place. It’s annoying.
However, while my brain is overactive, I don’t necessarily have an overactive imagination. The best example of this is in the realm of sexual fantasies: I don’t really have any. The reason for this is that once I think up something that sounds like a hot thing to do, I get that gleam in my eye and I set about making it happen. When I jerk off, I usually think about stuff I’ve already done and would like to do again - or I substitute porn for thinking and enjoy the voyeurism thing.
That doesn’t sound very interesting or escapist, I know. But since I spend so much time in my own head on a day to day basis, sex is a time for me to get out of my head - and into my pants. Sure sure, I know the brain is the biggest/best sexual organ - but in my life, I like to use sex to shut my brain up.
I’m really into being fully present in sex these days - which maybe explains why I’ve been less keen on being schnockered, and don’t really use a fantasy life to get things rockin. I like to be there, in the moment, brain thinking only about sex. To clarify: thinking about the sex that I’m having in the moment - I think about sex in some form all the goddamn time, but it isn’t usually my personal sex. Maybe I’m so keen on presence because it wasn’t so long ago that I wanted nothing more than to escape my body and my brain - now I (mostly) enjoy living inside myself. To get present within myself has been a long fucking road - but now that I’m here I can push that envelope too.
I love those moments of presence - allowing my body to experience what’s happening, allowing my brain to concentrate solely on what’s going on with my body. But the best thing is a step beyond that - its is in the going (or should I say coming, har har) somewhere else. I start out with body and mind very intent on bodily sensation, but I end up somewhere else. I don’t know where I go - sometimes I feel like my brain is folding in on itself, sometimes I feel like I’m floating outside of myself. The key is not to overthink where I go, but to just go that way, soak the sheets and feel my spine tingling all the way up through my face. I don’t need fantasy to get me there - I need something to happen to my body, and my body leads the way to making my brain quiet, and then all melty.
Posted by Dacia at 06:38 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Pieces of awesome
April 10, 2005
There are a pair of articles over at Clean Sheets about sex bloggers (including mentions of yours truly, Jane Vincent and Melissa Gira) and $pread Magazine. The bit on $pread is an interview - and damn those ladies are smart.
Recently I’ve been very amused by the search terms bringing folks to my blog - the top searches all have variations of my name in them, and more often than not are things like “audacia ray naked” or “dacia fuck party.” Sweet.
In other news of awesome press, Rachel Kramer Bussel’s column this week features the very fine (and by fine I mean both smart and boobilicious) Ellen Friedrichs, with whom I used to share a corner of an office, many baby carrots and IM conversations about office gossip.
The Sex Worker’s Project at NYC’s Urban Justice Center has just released Behind Closed Doors, the first-ever in-depth report in the
And in pornoland, two hot alt porn titles have just hit the stands: Burning Angel.com - The Movie and Eon McKai’s latest, Kill Girl Kill.
My favorite thing about the Burning Angel dvd (other than the fucking) has got to be the postcard for it. In the message section of the card, it says “Dear Mom, Guess what? I just watched this real cool porno. It had totally hot sex scenes and interviews with my favorite bands. I think even you would like it! Tell everyone I say, hi. Love, _”
And that’s my public service announcement for today. Linkity link link link.
Posted by Dacia at 04:28 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Cock negative
April 09, 2005
How many times have I heard someone say that cocks are ugly? Too goddamn many.
Sometimes the ugly cock comments are in the context of sexual situations and the implication is that cocks aren’t nice to look at but they are useful. Other times its in the context of visual culture - cocks don’t make for pretty art.
This is stupid, body-phobic bullshit of the first order. Furthermore, it’s linked to a bigger, more interesting thing: in this patriarchal, cock-centric society, there really isn’t enough loving attention paid to the cock. Before this seems like a preposterous statement, let me elaborate a little. Some may argue (and not without potent fuel) that the entire sex industry is built around the desires of the cock, that its an industry that kow-tows to the cock. And while in many respects this is certainly, irrepealably true - what’s happening mostly is more along the lines of “Is that a wallet in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
I’m not exempt from this - I’m a sex worker, for fuck’s sake. But I wonder a lot about it, the old “battle of the sexes” and the way it gets amped up in the realm of commercial sex. There’s a lot of conversation about and support for (and sometimes gritty battles) women who are involved in sex work, but other than your basic forums for dudes to exchange info, give each other advice and gossip about providers, there aren’t places where men can go for support and honest conversation about sexuality without commercialism getting wrapped up in it all.
But this isn’t just about sex work - though that’s the easiest and clearest example of what I’m talking about. This is about cultural swing, feminism, men and women. It’s about the negativity about cock - the ways that cock is contained and avenues for conversation (not about dick-growing pills) about sexuality are not opened to men. Because: cocks are ugly, men rule the world anyway, and there are plenty of outlets for male sexuality.
Posted by Dacia at 05:20 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Porn pride
April 07, 2005
Yesterday, after holding a conference on What to Do About My Pubic Hair (which you may remember was harshly butchered a few weeks back) with my doppelgangers, , I spent some time doing prep for a solo girl shoot. Although I really want to have some friggin hair down there again, we decided that the post-wax growth was just looking too scraggly, so there had to be some shaving into a landing strip configuration. It will grow back, it will grow back - patience I must have.
After my resentful grooming session, Jane went along for the ride as my escort - this shoot was actually the first one I’ve used an escort on. Although using an escort (a friend to hang out and make sure no creepiness ensues, and then eat sushi with afterwards) is highly encouraged (especially for naked stuff) I typically use the check in system instead, which is what I do when I’m working: give Jane the photographer’s name, address, phone number and time frame of the shoot, call when I get there, call when its over or if its delayed. It was interesting to have another person in the room who wasn’t involved in the shoot, plus I appreciated the help in straightening the seams on my stockings, which I generally manage to get horribly crooked. More than that, it was fun to have Jane as a witness to the photographer himself - when we left the shoot, the first thing Jane said was, “There’s a guy who really needs a good person to talk to about sex.”
It wasn’t a full on bad shoot though it easily could’ve been – it was just kinda sad, as it was pretty clear that the photographer didn’t want to be shooting porn. He kept making disparaging “jokes” like “Look at me now, getting paid to ask girls to spread themselves open for me” and saying things like “Let’s just get through this. It’s not like the artistic merit of these pictures is important at all.” Now, I may be just a dumb porn girl, and a hooker to boot, but fuck, man – I love what I do, and I take pride in it. While I’m not so misguided to believe that more artistically produced “erotica” (or whatever the fuck you want to call it) inspires solely pants-on aesthetic appreciation, I heartily believe that it’s worth taking pride in porn, and making stuff that is sexy in both content and form.
I know I’m extremely idealistic about this – especially because the whole bottom line of porn is to make a buck on representations of hotness, and it’s been proven again and again that the crummy stuff sells. However, I think that one of the advantages of the mainstreaming of porn is that the quality will begin to improve as the industry becomes less closeted. However, I do fear that as porn pushes into the mainstream, it will become increasingly difficult to make good indie porn with diverse bodies, looks and good safer sex practices. I don’t want to see the alt porn disappear, I want to see it grow into something even more awesome – and something that could actually make some degree of financial stability possible for the folks who make it happen. The porn preacher is in, bitches. Maybe later I’ll get up on my handjob evangelist soapbox.
Posted by Dacia at 10:08 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Damaged goods
April 05, 2005
Recently, while sitting and having tea with one of my sex worker friends, we bitched about dating, stupidity, et cetera. She related a story about a recent failed date; when she told her date that she is a professional dominatrix in response to the “what do you do?” question, he had an immediate follow up question, “don’t you think that limits your ability to interact with men in a healthy way?” His own answer of course was embedded in the question itself. When she told him that actually she has a very healthy outlook on both men and relationships, he could only say, “I don’t see how that’s possible.” Date dead in the water.
It’s easy to get overly defensive about this kind of accusation and assert - goddammit - it’s possible to be okay despite (and sometimes, because of) being in the sex industry. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this dude’s feelings on the subject weren’t really about my friend, they were about him. This is the tricky part. My initial interaction with a man who claims to want to be my friend or date (hahaha) is naturally one of eye-narrowing suspicion, based on the question: “is this dude psyched on the porn girl/wanton slut/hooker fantasy or is he actually listening to me talk?” If we get past that, there are usually walls that I didn’t build.
These walls are scary ones - ones that I have no control over. Because of the way my life works, I know that I need to be more communicative, open and reassuring than other girls when I’m dealing with a relationship - I accept that. However, there is definitely a line between being open and giving - and giving so much that I don’t have anything for myself. Reassuring someone that work and love are different things? Sure, no problem. Altering my life to an unhealthy degree to prove myself to someone? Fuck that.
Those walls, the ones standing between me and other people, the ones I didn’t build - they are to a large degree part of a cultural imagination that has nothing to do with me. Yes, I’m _ - insert any number of dirty sex things that has a negative connation. But I’m (mostly) happy and damned cool and giving and opened-hearted. Whose damage is that?
Posted by Dacia at 03:48 PM | Comments (63) | TrackBack
The value of things
April 01, 2005
Recently I’ve been thinking about money a lot, specifically what things in my life I’ll do for money, what I’ll do for love, and how/when to combine the two. Yesterday I was asked the innocuous question “what do you do for fun?” - I drew a bit of a blank. The honest answer is sleep, masturbate, fuck, and lay in bed eating chocolate cake and watching movies with Jane. The more expansive answer is that I’ve set out to make everything I do in my life some degree of fun.
One of the major elements of happiness for me has to do with nakedness. Today one of my friends asked what I’ve been up to this week, and I realized in the telling that mostly what I’ve been up to is being naked, and getting dressed to go be naked somewhere else. I get naked for a bunch of reasons - for money, for relaxation, for fucking, for art, for smut and for dancing around my apartment to the Ramones. All damned important in my mind.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not what you would call a cutthroat capitalist. What this boils down to is that in the land of getting naked in front of a camera, I’ve been doing a lot of TFP (time for prints) work, which basically translates to getting naked for free for near strangers and then getting cool sets of photos to use for whatever purpose I deem appropriate. So I’ve been pondering whether I should get more intense about being paid for modeling work - and the answer is yes and no. I’ve started to build a pretty awesome portfolio (which you all will be seeing soon, I promise), so the TFP work has been good for that, but also I love the collaborative effort I’ve started to get going with the photographers I’ve been working with. In some ways, adding money to the equation seems to cheapen that - generally only the older and more established photographers can pay, and I really love working with young, cool, edgy artists with cool ideas and good senses of humor. My body is a commodity - one that I chose to share, rent out, etc at my will.
But in a life where I’m genuinely interested in making all my work fun - will all my fun end up turning into work? For instance, I refuse to get a webcam, because first of all I already spend enough damn time in front of my computer, and second of all I’d feel awful about camming for free and I don’t really want to make camming yet another sex business venture. It’s good to love what I do, but I don’t need to market every waking, titty-shaking moment of my life.
Posted by Dacia at 11:46 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
