SHAY LAREN: MY BLUE VALENTINE by JM Darling

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Joking aside, it’s quite obvious that Ela Darling possesses some sort of other worldly quality (that is a single ingredient in the many qualities that make up her beauty) than inspire references to characters like Galadriel or Venus or faeries. But what’s especially magical is that it isn’t an affect. When you’re with her you do definitely feel special.

On my own time I meditate on the nature of leadership, charisma/attractiness and what makes up that intangible quality. One of those gifts is, I think, to effortlessly take the emotional temperature of those around you and, when you want to, meet them where they are. So being in someone’s presence who does this feels like a little gift. Ela possesses this, I feel. She’s really special.

Here are a few photographs of her we took the other day.

Un Bisous Americain from The Darlings on Vimeo.

UPDATE: This film just won “Best Honorable Mention” at the CineKink Film Festival

For my friends who read this, you may know I’ve had a colourful past (growing up in 60 countries on a sailboat, multicultural family) and a complicated father (pirate, one legged Brit) so this little gem may come as no surprise:

When I was about 13 my family and I (myself, my parents and 3 of my sisters) essentially camped in a Danish forest and later bayside for a couple years while my father and I built a boat from scratch. We chopped down trees. Built planks. Created a hull, masts. Caulked seems, pitched tar, sanded and varnished what seems like endless hours of wood. It snowed alot. There were tents and canopies to stay dry in. There was no lavatory, we used the woods or a bucket. In the winter it was dark by 3:00pm. But in the summer I’d steal apples and lentils by the sack for us to eat and the local Danish girls werent afraid of skinny dipping in the local lake at night. My sisters went to the local school during the day while Dad and I would work. Think little House on the Prairie meets Mosquito Coast.

Some people would say this was a pretty sweet existence: Huck Finn/Swiss Family Robinsonesque and to some degree that’s true. Other people who know this story don’t quite agree as the man who lead this expedition, my father, was complicated.

In trying to explain him to people I invoke a few things: a) he was raised by disciplinarian alcholhic Australian circus folk who kept a swatch (for beatings) above the door. b) He was forced to work by age 6 tap dancing for the allied forces in Europe. He never went to school a day in his life, couldn’t spell but spoke 8 languages (of which he taught me 4). He was dashing and good looking in an Errol Flyn sort of way (his hero) but regularly took to beating my mother and myself. He wouldn’t beat the girls, using me instead since he wouldn’t beat a woman (excpet mum). This was tempered by long bouts of melancholia in which he regretted his actions ( the violence, chronic philandering) and cried about his lack of a relationship with his Father. Much later in life he was dual diagnosed as bipolar schizo effective, but no one knew what the fuck that was then. People just called it “old school”. He loved saying he want to the “University of Life” and that he was taking me with.

As a kid though, I worshipped him. He taught me to sail, build, hustle and charm gals. When he wasn’t in a rage he could be genuinely warm and loving. One time on a dare we drove from Holland to Spain nonstop  (2 days) and rewarded ourselves with sangria and a swim in the Mediterranean. I digress.

It had been his birthday approaching and I saved all my money one summer to buy him a gift-one of those beautiful multi tooled shiny red Swiss Army knives. He loved this knife and announced, repeatedly, that no one was to ever touch his beloved new possession. He was to say this often. I assumed that it was because it was a gift from me. But I was mistaken.

In the middle of a hot Danish summer while he and I were caulking planks, he announced he was starving. So eager was I to keep him happy, without a moments notice I dashed over to the small spread of bread and liver pate to make him a sandwich. The whole thing was done speedily as the tar I had set was setting and needed attending to. There was nothing to spread the pate with and I saw his army knife laying nearyby and used that. This whole event happened in a matter of seconds. While spreading the pate he saw me with the knife in hand and yelled: “Joshua!”-I knew instantly that this was because he didn’t want his knife touched. Startled, I dropped the knife and it fell, sunken into plate of  liver pate. I knew this would be bad.

Without missing a cue he was striding over for what I assumed was a smack so I shouted in defense: “I was making you a sandwhich!” to which he replied “I said NEVER touch my knife!”. I shouted back: “but -I- bought it for you!” He said: “doesn’t matter, lad”.

Then he picked up the knife and, drove it into my hand.

It stood there, standing straight, almost comically between my thumb and index finger. I’m looking at the scar now. There was no doctor for miles.

Now, it may be that I’m plain stupid and forgot (as I often do) to not heed a warning. The truth is,  it was a genuinely impulsive moment to try to make someone happy.

Alot of you may react in horror about the psychosis and this man, and yes, he was truly no saint. How I later came to kick him out and deal with those years is another story.

In all this Dickensian drama you’d think there was some large life lesson to be gleaned, but the most practical application, for -me-, something I need to keep reminding myself: is that no matter who much you love someone or they you, or how noble your impulse, if someone say’s ‘don’t touch my stuff’, just don’t fucking touch it.

And that’s why I’m a pornographer.

The end.

Love,

Josh

Love, JMD

It’s hard to describe the unique phenomenon to both be both an insider and outsider to this country at the same time. Growing up an “international” (Brit Dad, Filipino/Chinese/Russian mother) on a sailboat sailing to over 60 countries taught me to blend in real quick, especially if it meant I could be around pretty lasses on stable shore. I did visit the States in small pockets of time, a year here and there and did some schooling here too once.

I had a few years of schooling in the US. In Florida. I had a best friend, Kent, we’d romp around sandboxes and play Star Wars.  I was head over heels in love with his sister Heather a couple years older than me. The three of us would carouse in the pool, play Star Wars (I was always jockeying to be Han to her Lea but ended up an Ewok or whatever Chewbacca was) as well as racing through the steamy Flordian woods. She was dark haired and ivory skinned and would call me to join her up in a tree to eat an icicle. Roger shared his vast toy collection and got me in the Cub (Boy?) Scouts. I think. They don’t have this in Bay of Biscaye, just waves and death.

Heather however was blossoming quick, being a couple years older and caught the attention of a blonde blue eyed apple pie strapping boy. They were soon going “steady” and I was crushed. No one knew of course and it would only a given that Kent and I were asked to guard the house while they kissed on the roof. We’re all friends right? I immediately hated this.

I played my one and only game of baseball that summer (still don’t get it). One of the kids accidentally batted a ball through someone’s window and, without warning, the irate owner bolted out and immediately spanked the boy over his knee and left without warning. The whole incident happened so fast everyone was dumbfounded. I took the lead in righteous indignation, seeing an opportunity to posture:

Me: “If that was me, I’d take this bat and BASH him!!! (referring to the spank giving adult). “Like this!!”

And without thinking, I swiftly and deftly demonstrated by swinging down the baseball bat smack down onto Heather’s head.

I didn’t mean to do that…

All I remember is screams, some blood and then a posse of 6 boys pummeling the life out of me. Then blackout.

When I woke I was along on a bloody, empty baseball field Heather and Kent bringing me me to.

She knew I hadn’t meant to hurt her and lifted me to my knees. Turns out I was more hurt than she. Three of us hobbled home to her house where she lied and told her father she fell off her bike, I think.  I just remember those siblings getting in more trouble than me and that’s not too good, is it? sorry…

I sailed away for good at the end of summer but the flavors of sunny summer, free spirited youths and American innocence have always romanced me. I’ve come back as an adult to experience America. And a few American beauties.

Sovereign is a mercurial actress, easily morphing from the vampy vixen you all know her to be, but just as well into the most precious, open hearted, vulnerable beauty.

Click on the pictures to enlarge, they’re enjoyed better that way.

Happy Fourth of July, friends.

Just took a walk with Coco. We saw some stuff. It was great.