NOTE: I’ve figured out what this post is actually about. When I encounter pain/suffering/frustration, the only way I know how to deal with it, is to sexualize it. I believe that sexuality is the place where the most essential parts of our humanity are made manifest, and therefore, the seeking of sexual pleasure is a sacred purpose. Pain is one of the most fundamental things that we feel, almost primarily I think, because no one else can ever truly understand an other’s pain, it is something we are left to deal with by ourselves. Pain and orgasm are the two places where we are reduced to our most essential, and so while they are on the opposite ends of the spectrum, they sit along the same spectrum.
I think sex-work or adult-work is like working in a hospice or in the social services or as a teacher…not every person who does these things is “called” to it, but some are. I’m one of those individuals who feels “called” to make the kind of art that I do, and so I tend to romanticize the mystic saints (who were unapologetic in their sexualization of God and Christ), and the desire to sacrifice or completely abandon oneself to something greater than one’s own person.
Madame Rosebud frequently invokes the terms “spirituality” and “goddess” in reference to her work as a burlesque dancer, and I realize now, that in a way, I very much identify with what she’s getting at.
Let me start by saying I have NO IDEA what this blog post is about. But if you keep reading you get pictures and stories about nuns and demonic gangbangs.
I’ve been in Florida. I don’t really like the sun. It’s a different culture here. Here I’m “pale as a ghost.” And here a woman of 30 who looks like saddle bag with huge dermal implants in her bone rack frame is considered a ravishing, straw haired beauty. Even better if she’s got a cigarette dangling from her mouth and glittery stilletos on while she’s shopping at CVS on a Tuesday morning. Probably for a pregnancy test and some laxatives.
Typical Florida girl:
In NYC I’m considered a little “golden” or “tawny”, both references meant as vague insults really. Pale is the gold standard up North, or int he alternaverse or whatever.
I can’t help it. My mother is French, from the part in the south where you walk to Spain and speak a weird language that isn’t really French and the men don’t flirt with you so much as eye fuck the shit out of you…I digress.
So I’m like olive but also this fucked up delicate pink English rose BULLSHIT that I got from my father’s side. It also makes me like porcelein and delicate and sensitive…they also made me part ginger.
What I can’t get over is that my adoptive father is part Native American. He’s Hopi like these people:
So, like my whole life him and my mother never had a zit or a sunburn or a fucking rash and they could wear whatever fucking fabric they wanted and wash it in whatever and just look deeply tanned and beautiful.
Every picture of my mom is her in a bikini sunbathing or riding a horse in the beating sun.
I can’t show you actual pictures because I don’t want to violate her privacy, but this is basically what we’re dealing with here:
I show her bottles of sunblock and she looks at them like they come from some alien world. Usually while I’m itching a rash of hives I got from walking from the riding arena to the tack barn at the ranch. Or maybe while I’m layered three shirts deep to make the walk from house to the corner store for more fucking cetaphil for my delicate skin!
Turns out I had a bad allergic reaction to something this week. This is par for the course. I know, so sexy. If something isn’t making me break out, its giving me some skin eating bacteria or something.
I was in bed for days, my skin, the largest organ of my body, completely betrayed me despite all of the love and care I give it. (I’ll admit, sometimes I wash my face with dish soap. I just can’t be bothered with a fucking beauty routine. I’d rather be fucking or jogging or writing or updating my twitter.)
I’m not to go near the sun, or eat nuts, or dairy, or gluten, or anything too salty, or spicy, or citrus. You know, I should just die basically.
I’ve lost five pounds already.
I feel a little battered. My eyes are red and swollen. I look a little defeated I must say, but in a weird way I like it. I haven’t been able to wear makeup for two weeks, don’t want to agitate my skin. But its been getting better, so I was able to put on some red lipstick today. I kind of can’t live without it really. So I was happy.
Some pictures of me with the instagram. More like the same picture with different filters. It’s weird being blonde because without makeup I can’t really give myself eyes. So its just lipstick and my sickness.
Seeing myself this way reminded me of pictures of Saint Rose of Lima. She was a famous young religious in the beginnings of Lima, Peru, not long after the Spanish had conquered it from the Inca. She was so afraid of sinning, and so in love with God, that she wanted to suffer for him badly. She wanted to punish herself for any pleasure she might feel because Jesus had suffered so much for her.
It was once said that she constructed a bed of broken glass for herself to sleep in at night. When a priest asked her if it made her loathe to go to bed, she said: “Oh, God, just the thought of it makes me shiver so.”
That was dedication. I want to make an erotic short about her and that priest. One thing at time.
There were other saints with more bizarre proclivities. One used to shove hot coals into her cunny to keep herself from masturbating to fantasies of being taken by Jesus as a lover.
I’m really into the mystics and all of their ecstasies. I write a lot of stories around nuns and other types of women who throw themselves so fully into the sensual experience of marriage to a deity.
Like Saint Catherine who is frequently depicted in the throws of orgiastic religious fervor.
Even in Brittany in France they have Katherine the Damned. She’s depicted in calvaries all along the countryside of Finistere being ravaged in a demonic gangbang. IN 3D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I guess my fetish for this stuff shows through no matter what. When I posed for Holly Randall awhile back, there was some talk on the message boards about wanting to see me dressed as a nun. Like a real one, not a fetish one. I’ll have to explore this tired theme, because like schoolgirls and dirty old men, it just doesn’t seem to go away.
Bitchez is crazy yo.
Teh hotness of Lara Stone as a nun:
To be frank, its probably just because I’m part lesbian. It’s like being part European makes you kind of sexually deviant or being part not-American makes you sincere in a way that Americans can only find bewildering and hilarious.