Irony.
21 days ago
What’s hilarious is that it’s my other blog, the one with the politics and literary criticism, that the hospital net-nanny thinks is pornography. —It’s nice here under the radar.
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What’s hilarious is that it’s my other blog, the one with the politics and literary criticism, that the hospital net-nanny thinks is pornography. —It’s nice here under the radar.
Comment [1]
Scoping the world of online serial fictioneers (not for me, no; for a friend, honest), and I encounter this:
As for filtering, we aren’t filtering much. If you write a novel, the pages have to be linked together. If you are writing short stories, you need to be able to provide an index page with only stories. Beyond that, if it’s a story (ie. not erotica), we’ll list it.
Hmm. I see. Hmm.
Kudos to NBC for providing an in-depth photo gallery of hand signals as used in women’s beach volleyball. —It’s explicating such little-known aspects in such fine detail that web journalism excels at, don’t you agree?
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Apparently, there’s now a LiveJournal feed.
I find myself wondering whether a turn or two of the ol’ grindstone might not squirt out some extra simoleons. Since some extra simoleons might well prove useful in the days ahead. And so I mention idly, in passing, as it were:
Well. You put it like that—
(You may respond, if you like. If you do respond I might even be arsed to figure out why the comments aren’t displaying properly. No promises, mind.)
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Porn stars are plastic versions of us for a reason. By becoming iconic, they disappear as human beings. In porn, we can slip inside them, be them, if but for a moment. The unhappily humping couple on Tell Me You Love Me was too real. And that’s the moment we fall into the Unporny Valley.
If we could only hold on to this moment in time,
I’d be so much better off in your pretty world than I’ll ever be in mine.
“You make a fine pornographer,” she said to him; “You have mastered the mathematics of lust, but I feel yours is still the utopia of burlesque shows and what-the-butler-saw machines. There is progress to be made here, but…” (Forgive the emphasis. It’s in the ink, you see.) “…something is missing from your equations and catalogues. Perhaps you still need time to understand what that something is before you unleash DeSadeland on the hoi polloi.”
I am not back because I never left, not in any way that’s meaningful to me. And on the one hand it seems like the world has never needed something like this enterprise more than it does now, and on the other? I am tired, and there is so much else to do, and the pose grows old.
Grant Morrison thought the comic book he wrote in the mid-’90s would be a spell to help bring on whatever new age was coming. Looking around from within the midst of what he thought would be the end, I’ve got to say: next time, mate, send a bloody telegram. Eh?
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A little later, remembering man’s earthly origin, “dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return,” they liked to fancy themselves bubbles of earth. When alone in the fields, with no one to see them, they would hop, skip, and jump, touching the ground as lightly as possible and crying, “We are bubbles of earth! Bubbles of earth! Bubbles of Earth!”
—Flora Thompson, Lark Rise to Candleford
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Sisters. Twins. Lesbian sex. NEVER seen the real thing.
I’ve seen girls having sex that claim to be twins because they slightly resemble each other. NOT real sisters. I’ve seen real twins in sexy poses with each other, staring at the camera. NOT having sex. I’ve even seen real twins in porn videos, with other actors or actresses. NOT even touching each other.
I’ve seen every single form of dancing around sisters having sex, from subtle to shameless. Even in this thread, you won’t find the genuine thing. Everyone here is deluding themselves with these psuedo-media.
Why, oh WHY can’t we find REAL lesbian sisters?
—Solaris, Forum Newbie
Consider the common male fantasia about female twins, who carry out perfect multiple conjugations. “[I]magine how excitedly I looked forward to a session with Linda, one of the vivacious Thompson twins,” writes a pornographer-cum-psychiatrist. “Double dipping, double fun, I thought with a grin.” Linda has “perfectly symmetrical little breasts,” a peaches ’n’ cream complexion, and “another one exactly like her” back home. The shrink is aroused by a symmetrical and exponential sexuality, redoubled when Linda tells him: “You see, Doctor, twins are not like other people. We’re deeply bonded, exactly alike and inseparable from birth. To have another human being—the mirror image of yourself—constantly around at the age when your sexual feelings begin to surface… And all your erotic feelings are being felt at the same time… by another person who looks, talks, acts, eats and dresses like you! The possibilities are endless!” (Aristophanes had imagined some of the possibilities, in the Symposium: “After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and threw their arms about one another eager to grow into one.”) These are young women, barely seventeen; in the daydream Linda lays before the shrink, she and her sister come together under the sign of Castor and Pollux, “scared to death of thunderstorms!” Lucy dives into Linda’s narrow bed, where the two huddle tightly together for security. (“...so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.”) The young women become the lovers they were meant to be, probing “with fingers that were born with the knowledge of what turns each other on!” and on. This is mutual diddling, it is lesbianism, it is incest, it is compassionate sex; the man imagines himself twin-packed between the sisters in a most reassuring and, ultimately, most Platonic love. (“For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of intercourse, but of something else which the soul desires and cannot tell, and of which [the soul] has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.”)
—Hillel Schwartz, The Culture of the Copy
On the day of the shoot, we began filming at nine in the morning. We had decided beforehand that we would shoot the erotic bed scenes with just the two of us first before any of the talent arrived, because these scenes were the most sexual and provocative, and we wanted as few people on the set as was necessary. At this time in our career, we had not yet simulated the act of actual sex with one another. We had licked tongues, pretended to go down on one another, and had been in a few erotic stories from the Playboy TV scripts involving the twin fantasy, but we had never in our entire career simulated fucking each other, as we had written in our script. The actual act of simulating a sex act with one another with a strap-on, was way over the edge of what anyone had ever asked us to do, and subconsciously we think that is why we must have written it into the script. Our first intention was to bring the twin fantasy to life in an artful and beautiful way. The twin fantasy has been around for years, and we were determined to push the envelope even farther than it had ever been pushed before, while bringing a new erotic edge to how it had been previously perceived.
We had worked together long enough in our sexual profession so that we were comfortable with creating artistic illusions of twin sisters being lovers, but at the time, this was even a bit over the edge for us. We had been bombarded with the twin fantasy ever since we set foot into the industry, and we had now written a story that was meant to provoke everyone’s twin fantasy.
The bed scenes were not as difficult as we had anticipated, and we had a blast doing it. A few hours later, the other fifty dancers, actors, and performers whom we had cast began to show up for the rest of the shoot. We were happy with the large turnout, which was more than enough talent to capture our vision.
—The Porcelain Twinz, Our Life in the Sex Industry