⦽ PADDINGTON⦽
⦽ MANSIONS ⦽
Any of you who have had the good fortune to know me for any length of time i.e. more than 2 minutes or more than about one paragraph of my writing, may find what I am about to say next pretty unbelievable but here we go.
Most of the time I hate seeing actresses getting nude in movies or on TV.
I am actually really quite prudish when it comes to this, not because I do not like to see their beautiful nubile young bodies & do not gain sexual arousal out of it, because I do, but rather it just makes me feel prurient, and I FEEL she is being exploited, just to get more people to watch the programme/film in the first place, and then to carry on watching all the way though just with baited breath, cock in hand, hoping she will whip them out again. And usually she does not. They flashed her tits, or her arse, or her pussy, just once, so now they know they have got a captive audience all the way to the end.
And that young actress maybe only had to expose herself for five seconds, long enough to titillate and captivate us, but now for the rest of her life she has to see her naked tits/arse/pussy on the internet, all over the internet. For her family to see, her mum & dad, to see, her kids to see, now or in years to come when they grow up. And all just for a five second quick thrill for us viewers, she has a lifetime of exploitation on the internet for which she will not receive any remuneration at all.
Most of the time it was so unnecessary for her to actually take her top off. We really did not NEED to see her breasts at that point or any other point. I think if directors want to have his actress take their clothes off he should just make a bona fide porn movie, and go all out, and I would no doubt absolutely enjoy it without reservation. There is a time and a place for everything.
And yes I am hypocritical, for whichever actresses HAVE whipped their clothes off in mainstream TV or cinema, yes I do hunt down those photos/gifs/videos on the internet and enjoy them. But I think it is wrong that they were no doubt pressured into doing it in the first place. It is not that I am being a White Knight, just I hate the directors so cynically exploiting the male lustful gaze and using the girl’s tits in order to make more money for himself.
In a similar vein, I have a deep and abiding love and affection for prostitutes, ‘ladies of the night’, have fallen in love with many of them, but I really do not like these forums where men write up their ‘field reports’ and go into absolutely explicit blow by blow detail of EXACTLY what they did together. I think, even with a prostitute, what happens behind the closed bedroom door should be private between the two of you. It is abusing the girl’s privacy to tell the world exactly what you got up to. You can say she was beautiful, and offer a physical description yes, but it is not gentlemanly to describe the sex acts themselves.
Like singers, pretty much all songs are about sex, but it is much better even in today’s lurid age to use euphemism, “I want to kiss you” is better in a song than “I want to fuck you”, even though we know kiss is absolutely a euphemism for fuck. Tove Lo had a great song called Habits about a sexually free girl not shy of looking for sex but told in a euphemistic way, but after that she started releasing one song after another whieh absolutely luridly started talking about her body parts & what she was doing with them, and it just came across as cringingly embarrasing and vulgar. If she had sung the same songs but used euphemism in every instance of the vulgar explicitness they would ALL have been better songs to my mind.
Yes, I love pornography, I love prostitution, I love sex dancers. But I also think it is all the sexier if one maintains a discretion about it in most cases. No, I dont always abide by this myself, but I think it is better when I do. I write about these things but I like to do so in a kind of romantic way. Like Marlene Dietrich looks magical in all those von Sternberg films because he blurred the screen. He put a filter over the lens when pointing at her. It is not all mechanical, Slot A/Tab B, even with a prostitute, or even watching a porn film, even watching a stripper, it is better if one brings emotions & affection & tenderness into the description as much as the act itself. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I think American porn is the WORST in the world. It is vicious, it is nasty, it is violent towards the women, the men fuck the girls like they actively want to HURT them. I much prefer European porn, as it seems to me it is so much erotic, the women are worshipped as erotic goddesses and it is all the more arousing for it. Most of the time the men never even take their tuxedos off. In British porn the men just look pathetically grateful to be getting any at all, like they can’t believe their luck.
There was some talk recently, some ‘online chatter’, accusing me of faking being a degenerate, and I said I hoped people DO think I am faking it and that I am really a church mouse spinsterish fellow, as that will just cover me even further. Knowledge is power, so if people REALLY know you they have power over you. However, if people THINK they know you but really have got it completely and utterly wrong then they are always going to swing & miss, they are NEVER going to be able to hit their target. If you're rich, dress poor. If you're happy, look worried. Constant misdirection. Always give your enemies false signals so they jump to wrong conclusions & therefore make the wrong moves. Like that 'covert narcissism' article I was reading a while ago. Out & out peacock narcissists are easy to spot & deal with; covert narcissists are much more dangerous. If I am thought of as a great degenerate & then I say, for example, that I hate it when actresses get naked in films, I am accused of being a fake! A phoney! You’re just PRETENDING to be a degenerate on Twitter! But you're looking through the wrong end of the telescope. I'm saying in real life I'm a very happy degenerate, but if you passed me in the street you might take me for a miserable tradcon. I am a covert Borgia rather than a grandiose Borgia. And this is partly from natural morbid shyness and partly deliberate misdirection.
In my heart and in reality I am a grandiose Borgia but in real life I live like a church mouse or at least I like people to think I do. On Twitter and in my books I'm honest. In real life I'm a liar. This is the 'double life'. Just like strippers and whores, they create a boring cover story to hide what they really do. I'm the same. Another reason why I feel so comfortable with strippers & whores.
Like Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Ernst Graf, Zorro, etc. etc etc. Boring tradcon by day to throw people off their tracks, superhero at night. The great Champagne Pup made a jocular comment this week, ‘True autism has never been tried’ and my instinctive reaction to that was ‘That is EXACTLY what my life has become’! I was in therapy on & off from 1996 to 1998, and I discovered it was something called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy which involves basically making you change your thinking so you can fit in with boring normal people again and be JUST LIKE THEM! Imagine. The horror. I chafed against this from day one to day whatever it was I gave up on it. I wanted to be myself to the nth degree and I finally concluded that was the way to rescue myself from my malaise, my despair, my whatever you care to call it. I lost approximately the first 30 years of my life to depression, fear of life. And then in 1999 I went for the first time to Europe, on a Grand Tour which blew my mind, and in that extremest of anomie and solitude and isolation I realised something important, which I now realise can be summed up as “True autism has never been tried”. I decided I would be autistic to the nth degree and exult in it. I would flaunt my autism in the pondlife’s faces. I would provoke provoke provoke them with my rampant autism and autism for me is always synonymous with auto-eroticism. The autistic man who cannot connect with people/girls around him will, surely?, always be drawn to strippers, pornography and prostitutes, won’t he? Or is that just me? To my mind autistic people should always be the biggest sexual freaks. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for!” I have seen little other evidence of it I must admit. Maybe it IS just me. So, yes, from 1999 onwards I have turned myself towards ‘True Autism’ & that is my creed, and I thank Champagne Pup for only now giving me a name for it. I have actually coined another name for it— YELLOW PILL. Novalis wrote to Caroline Schlegel in January, 1799, “You have to create a poetic world around yourself and live in poetry.” I would say you have to create a pornographic world around yourself & live in pornography. This is the essence of my conception of ‘Yellow Pill’. Some 'Yellow Pill' truths: 90% of women you meet in a brothel you will not want to sleep with even if they said it was free. 90% of strippers you see you'd rather pay them to keep their clothes on. 90% of porn films you see in a porn cinema are so bad you won't even get an erection. So why on Earth keep bothering? It's like sifting mud for gold. Every now & again you will find a gold nugget, & that makes it all worthwhile. Then 'Yellow Pill' for one night becomes 'Gold Pill'. Looking back at my first three books I see now I was always depressed, in pain, cut up, feeling completely skinless and naked; things only start to change when I start drinking a lot near the beginning of the 3rd book, and commence a series of three visits to Munich and three visits to Berlin. After that I start to have pleasurable, thrilling, dramatic experiences, I open up like a flower, and start to bloom and blossom and flourish. I have broken hearts and tears and rages, but I am starting to have real experiences; I am really starting to grow, and it was allowing drink into my life that was the catalyst and the fuel for that. It was the combustion engine. If the pressure society put me under was the Bessemer Furnace that produced my writing, then alcohol was the combustion engine that got me moving and going places and doing things, which started to banish depression behind me like shedding a black cloak. I find it interesting to look back and analyse my own books, (of course I do! I love myself. I am completely self obsessed and inward looking) as if reading the books of someone else, and working out what kind of person was he, and how did he change over the years he writes about? The excruciating pain that lacerated my soul screams out of Autismus, Lotta, and the start of The Cold Icy Air of the Mountains. It is only when I start drinking more, and through that find the courage to start doing more naughty, sexual things on my travels in Europe, that the pain starts to be replaced by pleasure, and the incredible large-bosomed floozies of Berlin and Munich, and I start to come into myself. By the end of the third book and start of the fourth I am actually tired and wearied of all this pleasure and want something more real and substantial! The fifth will see me finally, after a long struggle (a 3-year struggle when I wrote not a word), having this something real, but after a year of marriage to a woman deeply loved, perhaps starting to regret this longing, and thinking perhaps be careful what you wish for! And indeed trying to wriggle my way back to the pleasure without substance of the previous few years. The sixth book I think will see me completely free once more and living a life of mindless pleasure once more, and that is where I am really up to now. As I always say, it is the strip clubs and the brothels that taught me how to live. First in Soho in London, then to Munich Schillerstraße and Berlin Stuttgarter Platz. In Vienna I never actually did very much; from 1999 to 2013 I only ever had sex with one lady of the night; it was only in the first months of 2014 that Vienna started to come to life for me, with the discoveries of the Fortuna and WSK kinos. Every day I do not see a stripper dancing naked on a stage feels like a wasted day. Every day I do not drink feels like a wasted day. I've decided I do not want any more wasted days. Yes, it will lead me soon to an early grave. So be it. Let me try to finish what I can. Breathtaking bravura. That is all. The breathtaking bravura of the way I live my life. The breathtaking bravura of a beautiful nubile girl getting up on a stage & starting stripping for the first time, and loving it. Can any man really understand the COURAGE, the GUTS, the BALLS, the BREATHTAKING BRAVURA of a young woman getting up onstage in front of a room full of men (& women) & stripping stark naked for a pound in a pot for the first time, & every time thereafter? Or the exhilaration? I have tried sobriety. For 5, 6 sometimes even 7 days at a time, on a regular basis, & I tell you honestly IT DOES NOT WORK FOR ME. They just feel like 5,6,7 completely wasted days of my life I've just slouched miserably to my grave for no enjoyment in return to show for it. No. I have decided—pretty much now—I will be respectable Dr Jekyll only as long as I have to be in order to earn the income I need to survive, but AT ALL OTHER TIMES I will be Hyde.
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