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FEARnet Review
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(Never) THE End OF Anything
(Never) THE End OF Anything
Browsing back through this blog, I've noticed a title used repeatedly. The end. “'The End' of Submission” or just “The End,” which should have read, “The End of Porn.” But it wasn't the end of porn. Not for me or for the thing itself.
Recently, I could have written, “The End of Writing About Porn.” At least from a personal essay perspective. Of course, I could tackle the issue of mandatory condoms in porn until the end of the world. The same goes for any other hot topic issue, if or when it arises.
Writing about my own experiences in porn proves increasingly difficult. Because I've used both writing and porn to work through so many issues that I feel there are very few left to be explored through both mediums at once. Porn was sexual exploration, it was getting through school, it was a physical/psychological challenge, it landed me in the hospital, it allowed me to fall in love, and now it's just my job. I'm happy doing it. I feel I'm pretty good at it. And these days it doesn't cause me all that much stress (except whenAIDS profiteers try to shut it down with mandatory barrier protectionordinances that no one will follow... but I digress).
Writing is a way to deal with anything. I still do it all the time.
But when it comes to this blog, what am I supposed to write about? That I had a great (maybe mediocre) day fucking another girl? The biggest male porn star in the world runs a website like that. I think he's got it covered. Also, it's not my style.
Rehashing is boring. Old is boring. When I'm eighty and limping along on my walker, I'll be boring. According to some, I'm already there. However, a friend of mine recently told me, “When you wait long enough, something old becomes new again.” Then she hit me in the back with a leather flogger.
If you're me, or someone who pays attention to me, this is kind of strange. Because I publicly stated that I would no longer put myself in a position to get hit in the back with a leather flogger. At least not on camera. But my friend hit me on camera. She also fucked me in the ass – something I also claimed would NEVER happen again.
Why did I agree to this?
“I think it's interesting that every girl I've ever met in porn who's ended up a dom(inatrix) always started out as a sub[missive]. They know what it feels like to be on the other end of a whip. With guys, this almost never happens. What guy, other than me, do you know who will even think of subbing?” This is me talking to someone. On some set. I'm trying to explain why I'll go through with the shoot.
“Since I've been domming so much lately,” I continue, “I think it's important to remember what it feels like to be on the other end.”
One of the girls I say this to allows me to smack her around a bit, electrocute her, and fuck her in the ass. Then she goes, “I think the reason for doing that is 'empathy.' You already have empathy.”
The shoot director nods in agreement.
“Well, yeah... I guess you're right. I mean, some people already complain that I'm not a mean enough dom. But I take that as a compliment when I see who they're comparing me to.”
Why am I agreeing to sub on camera after a three year break?
Prior to the shoot, I'm interviewed. “I think it had a lot to do with [my friend].” There's some explanation about her convincing me.
Then she goes, “Actually, all I did was ask him if he would do it, and he said, 'Yes.'”
I counter with an explanation. “There was an internal argument in my head.” Like, she was convincing me in my head. This makes no sense.
Some other bullshit comes out of my mouth that I think is more in line with the truth. [Keep in mind this is all on video somewhere. What I'm writing is not verbatim. It might not even be close. I might have also said, or thought I said this, when the tape was not rolling]. “When I think about porn... or not even porn... like fiction... I like the idea of people doing things they're uncomfortable with. Things they don't actually want to do.”
Later in the shoot, I'm submitted to various pain implementation. I'm supposed to ask for it or something, so my friend goes, “Do you like it?”
I answer, “I want other people to like it.”
This is probably closest to the answer. If the question is, “Why did I do the shoot?” It's something old, so the shoot is something new. A treat. Not for me. For other people. Hopefully fans. Or people who want to see me in pain. I'd prefer objectification, because that's more personally arousing. But whatever.
Literally, I am something new. Something different than when I started all this. It's been exactly seven years since I first got tied up and fucked in the ass for all the world to see. Biologically speaking, every single cell in the human skeleton is replaced every seven years. The thin, black-haired “Daniel” who appeared on MenInPain.com is a completely different thing than the “Danny Wylde” of today. I don't like getting hurt today or submitting to hardly anyone. So when I do it, it's something. Something more than a nineteen-year-old-boy going, “Oh, I need some money. What's this on Craigslist? Cool. I hope my parents don't find out.”
The thing with getting fucked in the ass is actually an entirely new experience. Nineteen-year-old “Daniel” didn't like getting fucked in the ass. Neither did twenty-four-year-old “Daniel/Danny Wylde.” Twenty-seven-year-old Danny Wylde, uh... Well, I'm probably not going to try it again because it's just too much effort. Though I guess if I stretch out my ass every day for a week, and then a really cute friend of mine jerks me off right before she shoves a dildo up my ass, and then keeps jerking me off while fucking me, that can be really cool. Like, I can actually stay hard. And come more than once.
I'll scratch it off the bucket list I never wrote.
Anyways, there's no dilemma in this story, nothing to come to terms with, no obstacle to overcome. I guess I just lack finality. That's the point, right? I lack finality and I'm still a whore. Sometimes I'll do things I don't want to do for money. I hope some of you out there appreciate that. Even when I say, “I quit,” it will be the end of nothing.
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New MLNPTV Video
If you've already signed up for the MakeLoveNotPorn.TV beta site, check out our new video. If not, what are you waiting for?
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CHIILDREN January Shows
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Lily and I have two videos up already. We'll be making more soon. You don't have to wait in line anymore for the Beta site. GO CHECK IT OUT! NOW!
And if you're thinking about making your own porn, this site is probably the best way to start.
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Get yours at the FiXT STORE or at any of our upcoming shows! Thank you to Killer Napkins for the design.
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The Case for Consent
Two years ago, I wrote a piece on this blog called, "Ethics Part I." Shortly after, I conducted a number of interviews with adult industry talent and directors. I was to use these interviews to write an essay.
I did write it - two years ago. It's since had a rocky path getting on to any readable platform. Some of the information appears elsewhere (like the upcoming The Feminist Porn Book), though not in this form.
Instead of waiting longer, attempting more drastic edits, and so on, I think it's best to just post it here. I apologize for the wait. But I think it's just as relevant today.
The Case for Consent: An Examination of Ethics in Porn
They are introduced to me like relics from the past: Andrea Dworkin, Gloria Steinem, and their peers of radical feminist, anti-porn activists. To a postmodern spirit like myself, their ideology appears as archaic as the porn it once lobbied against. I'm convinced that however the adult industry used to operate in the 1970's and 80's, it has changed. Because I am here now, and I make smut for a new generation.
My role as a pornographic performer allows me to function with this degree of naivety. I'm able to wrap myself in an imaginary, porn-positive bubble. According to those around me, to those I associate with, the anti-porn agenda is fading into extinction. And that's what I have believed for some time. That is, until I read a book published in 2010, titled, Empire of Illusion.
The Pulitzer Prize winning author, Chris Hedges, appears neither as a radical feminist nor a right wing moralist. In fact, his liberal politics often align themselves with mine. But when it comes to pornography, Hedges depicts a reality I find quite different from my own. He writes this of female performers: “The one emotion they are allowed to display is an unquenchable desire to satisfy men, especially if that desire involves the woman's physical and emotional degradation” (57).
To endorse this perspective, Hedges recounts the testimony of ex-porn performers like Patrice Roldan. In her own words, she tells the author, “'I thought roughness in porn was OK. I would say, “Treat me like a little slut,” or “I'm your bitch,” or “Fuck me like a whore.” I would say the most degrading things I could say about myself because I thought this was what it meant to be sexy and what people wanted to hear...You are just a slut to those who watch. You are nothing. They want to see that we know that'” (62). While Roldan continues to recount her experiences, Hedges makes the following observation: “As she talks of her career in porn, her eyes take on a dead, faraway look. Her breathing becomes more rapid. She slips into a flat, numbing monotone. The symptoms are ones I know well from interviewing victims of atrocities in war who battle post-traumatic stress disorder” (60).
Hedges goes on to describe the misogynistic selling points plastered on DVD box covers, the equivalent of sexual circus acts performed on set, and the seemingly atrocious exploitation of borderline-unwilling participants. He concludes that “The violence, cruelty, and degradation of porn are expressions of a society that has lost the capacity for empathy” (72-73).
After setting down my copy of Empire of Illusion, I find it difficult to write off Hedges' findings. After all, his work cannot be categorized as some fringe manifesto. The themes are emulated in other contemporary works, and captured in films such as the 2008 documentary, The Price of Pleasure. Anti-porn feminists like Gail Dines remain vocal in their disapproval of the entire industry. Even the famed linguist and political activist, Noam Chomsky, has gone on record to say that “pornography is a humiliation and degradation of women”#1.
Outside the realm of activism, popular media carries its own anti-porn sentiment. Lie to Me, a television series that appears on the FOX network, recently aired an episode in which a young woman runs away from home, participates in several porn films, and then contracts HIV. The actress who plays the young porn star recites her line, “I can't live like this anymore,” to which the show's lead responds, “Well, you don't have to, do you? That's why we went to that dump, pulled you out of there, and brought you back here.” The show's message is loud and clear: women in porn are victims who need only to be rescued.
Ex-porn star, Shelley Lubben, runs an organization based on that very notion. According to the website for her nonprofit group, Pink Cross, Lubben's goal is to “reach out to adult industry workers offering emotional, financial, and transitional support to those who want out of porn”#2. Archived on that same website is testimony from women who have already escaped the industry. Former porn star, Jersey Jaxin, claims that during her career in porn, she spent much of her free time holding her roommate and crying.#3 Another ex-performer, Sierra Sinn, writes, “My first scene was one of the worst experiences of my life.”#4
I have often felt that criticism from outside the industry stems from a misunderstanding, a lack of knowledge about what transpires both on and off camera. But condemnation from those who have experienced the very workings of pornography is something different altogether. Such claims conjure up a genuine curiosity. During my five years as an adult performer, I've never once met an industry professional who boasted such animosity. Sure, I've witnessed my fair share of complaints. Everyone I know has bad days at work. Even I can attest to instances of exploitation. However, such experiences are not characteristic of my time in porn. They are exceptions, anomalies, or at the very least, events sporadic enough to prevent me from leaving.
When I hear of ex-performers claiming such widespread abuse, I am genuinely concerned. I want to know what experiences have spawned their pain and hostility. Because I am only one person, and perhaps naive to the suffering that other performers have endured at the hands of the adult industry.
It is for this reason that I purchase Shelley Lubben's self-published memoir, Truth Behind the Fantasy of Porn. But within the book, I find little of the expected pornographic horror stories. Instead, I discover the tale of a woman molested as a child, raped as a young adult, addicted to hard drugs, kidnapped, and then nearly forced into prostitution. All of this comes prior to any involvement in the porn industry. In fact, of her 275 page manuscript, only 23 pages deal with her experiences as a performer.
More startling, however, are Lubben's reflections on her short-lived career. Through the lens of her religious beliefs, Lubben gives claim to demonic influence and Satanic possession. She writes, “With six men penetrating me in every hole and way possibly imaginable, I became sicker and more twisted... Satan himself entered me to give me unlimited strength.” (90). Later, after being diagnosed with “Bipolar Disorder, Impulse Control Disorder, Alcohol Dependence, Depressive Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Lubben recalls the following instance of communication with god: “I would have thought it was Schizophrenia after reading the pamphlets, but the Voice was too nice to me... I knew Who it was. God Almighty had been talking to me for years” (168). Passages such as these suggest a disconnect from reality, and a lack of logical assessment in relation to her own experiences.
While Lubben's account is indeed tragic, her narrative sheds little light on the evils of pornography. Instead, it reinforces the notion that childhood abuse, drug addiction, and mental illness often lead to self-destructive behavior and an array of coping mechanisms.
It would be irresponsible of me to categorize the anti-porn movement by the writings of one woman. But equally irresponsible is it for that movement to characterize the adult industry by the extreme examples highlighted by Lubben and her cohorts. Therefore, I find it necessary to provide a counterpoint to those examples. If one is to understand how the industry truly operates, it seems necessary to go to the source.
Armed with my own knowledge and a compiled list of the anti-porn movement's allegations, I approach a number of performers and directors to get their side of the story. I want to know if their experiences validate claims made by the likes of Hedges and Lubben. If they do, I want to find ways in which these negative experiences can be avoided. Further, I want to discover how porn is currently being made with the safety and consent of performers in mind. Because it is my experience that pornography can be produced in an ethical manner, and even be regarded as feminist. But my experience only goes so far. I want to know what others have to say.
My intent, however, is not to depict some white-washed, industry fairy tale. I know what my colleagues and I are asked to participate in, and it's not often making love. Most every dissenting voice has pointed out how pornography documents rough sex. I don't seek to disagree. In fact, one of the first things I ask of my interviewees is to provide examples.
Pornstar, Dana DeArmond, tells me, “I do a lot of just really hard, rough, high energy sex scenes that include spanking, or face slapping, or choking, or gagging.” Another performer, Ashley Blue, adds, “Choking, slapping in the face, not just grabbing the hair, but actually being grabbed by your hair and being pulled in different directions.” Director, Tristan Taormino, provides perhaps the longest list of acts filmed for her line of Rough Sex movies: “I've filmed scenes for this series where there is face slapping, spanking, flogging, hot wax, knives but no cutting, wrestling, spitting, verbal degradation, psychological play, psychological degradation and dominance, some interesting sort of fetish stuff... I think that covers a lot of it.” It does. And if not entirely comprehensive, it should at least validate my point. Aggressive sexual fantasies exist in spades, and pornographers do their best to capture them.
No one's disputing such content exists. It is the performer's relationship to it that often falls into question. Abuse, degradation, and coercion are the charges aimed at participants of such rough sex performances. So I ask my fellow pornographers whether they've ever degraded their industry peers.
Male performer, Wolf Hudson, tells me he's never done such a thing. “I know firsthand that the person I'm working with wants to be there and enjoys what they're doing,” he says. “I love to talk to models before a shoot. I like to get into a kind of camaraderie. I like to set up chemistry with them. So I get an insight into what they're into; their likes and dislikes. I get a sense that I'm not doing anything that's degrading. And if it is in any way offensive to them, I will stop.”
Dana DeArmond's perception is of a similar sort: “I don't feel like I've degraded anyone. I've definitely, as a dom[inant], made girls cry. But I've felt like it was with good reason. I've felt like it was cathartic, and it was something they wanted to feel. I didn't do anything malicious or mean... I extensively discuss with them what is okay and what is not okay beforehand. I ask them, 'Is there anything you don't want me to say to you? Do you not want me to pull your hair? Do you not want me to call you a whore?'”
This conversational testing of limits is something I'm quite familiar with. It's what pornographers often refer to as discussing their do's and don't's. In rougher scenes, it often comes standard, and is even initiated by a member of the production crew. While it may not ensure that every performer enjoys every filmed act, it establishes guidelines in terms of what's allowed to happen on set. According to some, however, such conversation is not always a fail safe.
Porn star, Andy San Dimas, tells me, “You kind of have a talk with your cast mate before your scene. And you say, 'Don't do this to me. You can do this me.' Kind of your do's and don't's. And this girl, I would never disobey her do's and don't's. But before we got into the scene... she said, 'You can do anything to me. You can beat me up, you can slap me, you can talk shit to me. I like being degraded. I like being tortured.' She was basically giving me this free-for-all... So we get into the scene, and right away I can tell she was totally blowing herself up to be something she wasn't. Because as soon as the scene started, she started throwing up and crying... That was really the only time I felt I physically degraded someone.”
I ask San Dimas whether anyone stopped during the scene to check whether the girl was okay. She answers, “Yeah, we did. But she was the one who was stopping a lot. It was more her stopping than anyone else.” This ability to take a break mid-sex scene suggests a certain degree of performer control. By the same frame of logic, however, so does one's decision to continue. But when external forces are factored in, perhaps such a decision is not always so easy to make.
Male performer, Tyler Knight, recalls a situation in which he worked with a girl he believed to have been coerced. “There's one scene in particular, and I'm not gonna mention who the actual participants were,” says Knight. “But I was one of three people. And the girl effectively burst into tears. It was found out after the fact that it was because she had serious reservations against black people. She was, for all intents and purposes, being manipulated into doing an interracial scene. So I'm sitting here trying to work with a girl who's crying. And I wasn't necessarily pissed at the girl. I mean, hell, she could be a Klan's member. That's her prerogative. I was pissed at the director for knowing the situation, and for thinking that an extra hundred bucks would be the cure for her deep rooted point of view, and that it would make the scene go well.”
The example is a perplexing one. The female performer's racial bias effectively brought on her distress. So if Knight is to blame, his role is simply participating as a black man. But the account lacks a deliberate act, or at least intent, on Knight's part. The only allegation could be that he continued on despite his knowledge of the girl's discomfort. “In a situation like that,” continues Knight, “you have to make a value judgment as another human being. Whether you want to continue the scene or have a little pow-wow and talk about it with the director and the female talent, or just say, 'Screw it, it's not gonna happen.'”
The act of coercion, according to Knight, is a financial one: extra money is offered to a performer in hopes that she will continue on with something she'd rather not. In this instance, it doesn't seem entirely unfair to make the comparison to other lines of work. For example, many employers offer increased hourly wages to those who work overtime in non-pornographic careers. To be fair, it is generally assumed that overtime will not prompt an employee to burst into tears. But illustrations aside, pornographic performers are sometimes asked to do things they don't want to do, and are offered more money to do them. Yes, this is a form of coercion, and yes, it sometimes works.
But is financial manipulation the worst porn has to offer? To find out, I ask my interviewees whether or not they have ever felt degraded or taken advantage of.
Performer, Kimberly Kane, tells me, “Yeah, I guess. There's a difference between knowing that's what you're being hired for though. For instance, Zero Tolerance does a line called Who's Your Daddy? And the whole time you have to say, 'Yeah, daddy this, daddy that.' I don't like daddy play, or brother/sister play, or under-18 play. I'm not into that kind of role-playing. So that, to me, was degrading even as a twenty-year-old girl. Because I'm not into it. I guess it's all a level of what you're into.”
To clarify, I ask whether she was aware it was going to be a daddy play scene prior to her participation. Kane answers, “Yeah. They're like, 'Okay. You have to say “daddy” a lot. Because it's called Who's Your Daddy?, and that's the fantasy, and blah, blah, blah.' And it's like, 'Ugh, God. Alright.'” From Kane's description, her discomfort appears minimal enough to avoid refusing the scene altogether. But she still refers to it as degrading based on the fact that daddy play is not something she enjoys or is “into.”
Still, I press further to ask whether she ever felt degraded or taken advantage of in the more traditional sense. “I've had people attempt to,” says Kane. “I had a situation where I met Khan Tusion, the guy from Meat Holes, [a controversial line of porn films]. I was, like, twenty. And he tried to strangle me. This was not even on camera. This was him strangling me in a bathroom somewhere... I thought, 'Oh my god, I'm gonna be murdered, this sucks. Everyone was right. Porn's so evil.' But he's the most evil person to ever come into porn. He's like that nightmare that every mother and father who's child is in porn is like, 'That's who they're working with every day. It's Khan Tusion.'”
Dana DeArmond has a story about the very same man. “I guess I worked for Khan Tusion for Anal Lick Fest and he tried to degrade me, but I laughed at him... I was very amused that this man was trying to figure me out and decode my brain in so many different ways to try to hurt my feelings... He tried to call me old and insult the way I look, and stuff like that. I was like, 'I'm doing pretty well for somebody my age in this business. And I'm pretty fucking hot because people pay me to be naked. So I don't know what you're problem is'... I actually had lunch with him one time, and he tried to choke me in public, and I said, 'Oh dad, you're so funny.' Because, I'm not gonna let anybody try and fuck with me. Not even Khan Tusion can degrade me.”
Both Kane and DeArmond's accounts seem to corroborate each other. They suggest that controversial directors like Khan Tusion strive to make degrading content, and even carry their antics into the real world. But the performers' mention of only one such director may actually paint the industry in a more positive light. Khan Tusion is, by Kane's admission, “the most evil person to ever come into porn.” Thus, the rest of the industry should exist in some less sinister space.
To test this theory, I ask whether my interviewees have ever felt safe on set, particularly when performing in rough scenes. Ashley Blue tells me, “Oh yeah. When I think about everything now, it is really safe. Now I'm older and I see that there are other alternatives. I got into porn. I didn't go down to Santa Monica Boulevard and try to hook. There are different parts of the sex industry. Porn's a really nice way of doing it because you have everybody around you... It's scary to do something new, but now I don't feel scared at all.”
Feeling safe is one thing, but I've been operating under the assumption that many performers actually enjoy their work, even when participating in rough scenes. In fact, the pro-porn assertion is that such scenarios can be self-empowering. So I pose the question, “Have you ever felt empowered during a rough scene?”
Andy San Dimas answers, “The time that I did my DeviceBondage[.com] live show... I felt really empowered because that day was all about me... That was the first time I felt like I was 'in the zone' and really high off the so-called abuse. I had never experienced a forced orgasm before... They had me tied to a cross with a Hitachi [vibrator] tied to a stick that was tied really tightly to my vagina. Meanwhile, I'm being hit, and pinched by these crazy little nipple clamps... I hadn't taken any drugs or anything like that. I was just really, really intensely fucked up from all these different things happening to me, sensory wise.”
San Dimas continues, “During the live feed [on the website], there's a robot voice that's reading the chat to you of people who are watching you. I was thinking, 'All these people are jerking off to me right now. And I'm coming, and I can't stop coming. And they're forcing me to come.' I felt this sense of power. I actually ended up crying a little bit in that scene. But I didn't realize that I was crying until half-way through the cry. It wasn't like I was crying out of being upset, or crying out of feeling abused. I can't really describe it. I was just so high off the energy there.”
Her explanation of sensory-euphoria is not unique. In fact, the feeling is often described by those well-versed in BDSM practice. It is her overwhelming sense of attention that is perhaps exclusive to porn. San Dimas claims her awareness of being put on display actually adds to her empowerment. She understands that her body elicits a reaction in others (i.e. masturbation, desire, etc...) and feels elevated because of it, not despite it.
Wolf Hudson provides his own description of pornographic empowerment. “I'm not really that submissive,” he says. “When I do it on film, I expect a lot from a woman. I want her to completely take over me. Once a person can take over, I feel very righteous as a bottom. I can take so much more. It becomes a challenge. I wouldn't say that I'm trying to gain authority over my dominant, but I'm trying to show them that I can do it.” Hudson's account describes his on-screen submission as almost athletic in nature. In such instances, the sex act becomes a challenge of endurance or goal-oriented achievement.
Given this testimony, I question whether feelings of degradation and empowerment can occur simultaneously. Ashley Blue says, “Yeah. Because there's an ending point. If you can make it to that point where it stops, then you can say, 'Yeah. I did do that.' It's like an accomplishment... It's like strength. It's like, 'What do you bench? Oh yeah, well I took one that was this big.' It's just that physically, I feel stronger.”
It's clear that physical ordeals can instigate such feelings. Yet sensory stimulation and a drive to exceed expectations are not the only ways a performer can achieve empowerment. Dana DeArmond adds, “At the end of the day, when I'm getting fucked, I have someone's cock in my mouth. That's more of a power position than anything else. Because that person has to trust me with their cock in my mouth.”
DeArmond's assertion is a practical one. She derives a sense of power from the knowledge that she can just as easily sever one's phallus as perform fellatio. But this example of a sexual stalemate is not her only asylum. She further addresses the issue in less combative terms.
“I take everything as a whole experience,” says DeArmond. “It's not just that I'm submissive to this person, and I'm dominant to this person. It's all very empowering because it's a lifestyle that I actively choose.” This may be one of the most convincing arguments in support of pornography. Despite what happens on set, women like DeArmond continue to shoot more porn. Even with the argument that financial reasons are a chief motivator, one simple fact remains: the money is typically enough to adequately support oneself - at least prior to the new wave of Internet piracy, and often despite it. Performers who work on a regular basis can easily achieve a six-figure-a-year income.
“I generally feel empowered as a sex worker because it affords me a certain lifestyle,” says DeArmond. Her statement addresses the anti-porn movement's concern that pornography is an example of modern-day slavery. Real instances of such, like sweatshop labor, do not provide workers with the relative luxuries afforded by a performer's income. A disgruntled porn star's hesitancy to leave the industry, if financially based, can be accounted for only by the lack of well-paid career alternatives. So utopias aside, porn provides a means for educated and uneducated women - and men - alike to achieve financial security and monetary success.
But all the money in the world cannot ensure that a performer enjoys shooting porn, or even consents to every act performed on camera. So I go to those who make the films in order to discover how performer participation even comes about.
Director, Eli Cross, claims, “My ideal sex scene is that close to a rape scene,” as he closes his fingers to a minuscule gap. His productions seem a great place to start given such a statement. Because without informed performer consent, Cross runs the risk of creating highly unethical, borderline-illegal content. But according to the director, he does no such thing. “You do not see the normal cast in my features because I intentionally cast people who really like [rough sex],” says Cross. “I don't want to talk anybody into doing anything that they don't want to do... So if I'm going to shoot a really hardcore bondage scene with somebody who's supposed to be raped against her will, I cast that scene with Alex Sanders, Adrianna Nicole, and Julie Knight. Because Julie Knight loves playing rape victim. She had the best time doing that. She has a scream that is blood curdling and at no point during that scene do we ever wink or say, 'Oh no, she's enjoying it.' She's pretty much just getting abused and forced. And at some point, so we could have her stop struggling, she said, 'How about I just go into shock? And I'm just letting them use me.' I said, 'Oh, that would be great.' And she loved it. She had a great time.”
“She actually suggested this?” I ask.
“Yeah, she's totally down,” he responds with no hint of sarcasm.
Cross' twenty-year career in the adult industry grants him a certain knowledge about which porn stars enjoy which particular sex acts. But another way to ensure his performer's eagerness is that when Cross directs, he's typically shooting feature-length porn films. “I hold real auditions. I'll send out scripts. I have days of readings and callbacks,” he tells me. Admittedly, he operates this way to ensure the quality of theatrical performances in his films. Yet, it's also insurance that those cast in his productions are signing on for more than just acting. He wants to know they can deliver the sex too. Cross adds, “I can tell in those meetings who's blowing smoke up my ass, and who really means it.”
Still, I have to ask whether Cross has ever coerced a performer into fulfilling a sexual act. He answers, “I have never in my life, ever, asked somebody to do something that they didn't want to do. With the exception of something that they might normally have been fine doing, but just didn't feel up to. Like, you know, 'I'm kind of sick today. Do you really need the anal?' 'Well, you were booked for anal. It's the last scene of an all anal movie, so yeah, I kind of need the anal.' But even in that situation, I'm not gonna say to somebody, 'You have to do it.' I'm gonna say, 'Decide now before we start shooting.' If you can't do it, no harm, no foul. Go home. I love you. I'll book you next time. But let me know so I can get somebody else in. If you're gonna commit to doing it, and I gotta have it, then do the anal. But that's the business side of it. That's where I respect you as a professional, so respect me as a professional.”
Cross' explanation pegs him as no worse than any other businessman. His demand for mutual respect in the workplace only elevates his craft to a discernible standard. Thus, he exploits his performers purely in the capitalist sense. “Porn is entertainment and it's a business,” Cross continues. “That's all it is. It's all about physicality. So that is the limit that I'm willing to exploit people.”
Photographer and director, Dave Naz, says this about his first porn film: “I didn't really know what I was doing. When I wrote the description for [the film], it was every little detail. I was very meticulous about every sexual act. I was like, 'Oh cool, I can do these kind of, like, perverse things that I'm into and kind of script them out.' But as you know, it doesn't always work out that way... But it was still fun. And yeah, I still like to get a few things in, and if I find that people aren't willing to do it, I just don't hire them.” His conclusion suggests that performers are aware of what they're in for prior to arriving on set. Just to be sure, I ask him, “Do you tell the performers [what you want them to do] beforehand, or when they get to set, or what?”
Naz answers, “Before. I've had a few instances where people wouldn't do what I wanted them to do. And it was either an issue with the agent [failing to give] information to them, or them chickening out. Not that I want anybody to get hanged by hooks or anything, but there's stuff that people feel uncomfortable doing. I'm definitely not out to make people feel uncomfortable, but I also want to make the movie I want to make.”
The agent's role is one not often discussed, so I'm glad Naz brings it up. On many productions, the director has no actual contact with the performer prior to their arrival on set. So the agent often acts as a middle-man, funneling information one way or the other. It's a system bound to produce error. On occasion, performers are sure be provided inaccurate information. But as Naz states, even when a performer knows what's required of them, they may still bow out. So I ask the director what happens in a situation like that.
“Typically, if someone has a problem, they just stop,” says Naz. “I had someone in one of my movies... they were supposed to do an anal scene, and it was all up front. I wasn't trying to hide anything. And, of course, right before the scene, she says, 'I can't do anal. My ass is bleeding.' I'm thinking, 'Oh, great. This is fucking me up.' I can't exactly get on the phone to Spain to ask [the production company], 'Well, what should I do? I've got this performer - the one you want the most - who is refusing to do anal. Should I send her home, or should I continue to shoot her?' I ended up shooting her, and it ended up being the right call.”
Naz appears frustrated at the performer's unwillingness to concede to the scene's original structure, but it should be noted that his compromise (shooting a non-anal scene) is the one put into effect, not the performer's. As exemplified in this instance, a performer can sometimes refuse participation in a sexual act, go on with the scene, and still be paid for it. Such a scenario suggests a profound sense of performer agency.
Still, many directors would rather bypass this brand of concession. As Kimberly Kane says, in regards to her own directorial efforts, “I don't usually hire people that I don't know. I don't experiment with the new girl, and I don't give the new guy a chance. I prefer to shoot 'stallions,' sexual performers, people who I have seen on many occasions blow my mind... I'll put the same fucking girls in all my movies. Because I know they will give me exactly what I want.”
Kane's position is not uncommon. Positive, performance-based relationships between performers and directors are what often ensure a steady work-flow and a rise to relative porn stardom. But is an ability to to perform well under any circumstance the only key to a performer's success? Are there no alternatives to performing in productions with rough and extreme sexual acts?
Nica Noelle runs both Sweetheart and Sweet Sinner, two subdivisions of the production company, Mile High Media. With the former, she directs exclusively girl/girl content. “The fact that you can be more emotional and intimate in girl/girl porn is why I've always preferred watching it, and why I never really liked boy/girl,” says Noelle. It may seem paradoxical, but it's with that same mindset that she started Sweet Sinner, the boy/girl counterpart to her original creation.
NOTE: Noelle has since partnered with AEBN. Her directorial lines are called Candy Girl and Hard Candy.
“A lot of the people... who are watching Sweet Sinner are giving it a chance because they hope I might be able to show them something different,” Noelle tells me. “Because they abandoned boy/girl porn for the same reasons that I didn't watch boy/girl porn: it looks tacky, it looks uncomfortable, there's no intimacy. It looks like the people barely know each other, much less like each other.” Noelle's collected a number of emails from the fans who share such sentiment. She keeps a few of the excerpts in a binder on set. In fact, those who work for her are often asked to read the fan mail in hopes to better understand what Sweet Sinner aficionados are looking for. Noelle explains, “They have some criticisms about the way the guys behave, for one thing. They don't want to see the guys opening up for the camera, they don't want to hear the trash talking all throughout the scene... They don't want the clinical close-up shots of genitals. They want to see bodies touching each other and the couple looking into each other's eyes. They want to see real kissing.”
That is not to say Noelle shies away from anything edgy in her scenes. “It's not always high romance with candlelight and flowers. The sex gets raw and intense. In porn you usually have the raw, rough, gonzo stuff or you have the romantic, vanilla, kind of boring stuff. But Sweet Sinner doesn't stick to just one formula. Sex in real life isn't formula, and sex on film shouldn't be either.”
While Noelle admits to capturing raw, intense performances, she also establishes her niche as an alternative to gonzo porn (i.e. hardcore, often violent sex, plenty of closeups, and little-to-no story). “It's a strange thing to say,” she adds. “But the public does watch porn and say, 'Well, this is the way professionals fuck, so I'm gonna fuck like this too.' They don't realize that the porn stars are fucking like this because the director's telling them to move their hands out of the way and open up for the camera. They don't realize that this is not really the way you have sex. So I think it's very positive to show people actually making love, and touching each other and looking at each other.” In striving to capture this, Noelle effectively creates a space to work for performers who may not wish to participate in extreme, rough sex scenarios. But while existing as an alternative to “typical boy/girl porn,” Sweet Sinner must be defined as atypical. Noelle's brand of pornography alone cannot sustain any single performer's livelihood.
Thus, to define personal choice as inherent to a performer's career, it must be established that alternatives to mainstream pornography exist in more than one form.
The work of director, Tristan Taormino, proves just that. In her attempts to create feminist pornography, Taormino strays from the ideal of capturing a feminist image. “For me, feminist porn is about how you create the product,” she says. “That's really my emphasis.”
Taormino is fully aware of the accusations aimed at the adult industry, especially by those who might, under different circumstances, make up her peers. “Anti-porn feminists fear that everyone is being coerced into everything they're doing,” she says. “So I want to flip that entirely on its head... I want to know where [performers] want to have sex, what kind of sex they want to have, and what pace they want to go. I want them to participate in their own representation. Because I think that is where you're intervening in the argument of objectification. Objectification is like, 'They're just doing what you want. They're like sex robots.' But when the performer is participating in their own representation, that gives them a whole other level of agency and power.”
Given that Taormino puts such care into the process of making her porn, it seems almost inherent that performers participate with the highest degree of informed consent. Still, I ask whether she's had any problems, such as performers not wanting to work with each other. She answers, “Well, the way that I cast is that I usually call the girl up and ask, 'Who do you want to work with?' ... I would say, ninety percent of the time, when women pick guys, those guys tend to like them too. It's a mutual thing. People are pretty smart about this stuff, and aware about who they have chemistry with and who they don't.
“However, the wild card in all of this is the flake factor... On my movie, The Expert Guide to Female Orgasms, I did a ton of research and a ton of interviews to pick the five perfect women for this movie. And then one of them flaked. Everything about the movie revolved around the fact that these five women have very different experiences and stories about how they have an orgasm. I knew them inside and out, the stories, and how they were gonna fit together in this movie. So when someone flakes, it's not like I need a white girl with blond hair and a big butt. I need a person who meets all the criteria I just talked about, and I need to know how the fuck she has an orgasm, and if I can fit that into the movie.
“In that case, it worked out great. But I have had situations where there were last-minute replacements, and I would say those are the most challenging for me. My ideal thing is that the girl is on top of the guy's list, and the guy's on top of the girl's list, and they're crazy about each other. And I get that a lot. I strive for a hundred percent, but I would say I get that most of the time. Because that's what I want to do.”
Taormino's account suggests that even with the best of intentions, things can go awry. Porn exists in a world of flux, and pornographers do their best to adapt to any given circumstance. But at the end of the day, money is at stake and a product must be delivered. The feminist porn model cannot restructure the economics of capitalist exchange simply to prove a point.
To move any further in the direction of non-coerced consent would imply a porn film documented as a sort of found object. Perhaps anti-porn feminists would approve of real-life couples who accidentally leave their cameras running in the midst of making love, and then decide to capitalize on the footage afterwards. But even such theoretical scenarios could be influenced by a number of extraneous factors. The sex could be initiated by one partner, while the other might prefer to read a book. Such is the nature of real-life exchange, sexual or otherwise.
Admittedly, the inherent artifice of pornography allows for greater instances of coercion. The Khan Tusion's of the industry will continue their attempts to degrade performers. Some will even succeed. But categorizing the adult industry by the work of infamous directorial sadists is like characterizing the belief in god by highlighting religious fanaticism. You may not like religion or want anything to do with it. But that doesn't change the fact that most church-going folk are normal people who happen to pray before they eat a meal.
As illustrated again and again, pornographers are just men and women trying their best to make a product. Given that product deals explicitly with sex, it is no surprise that physical, psychological, and emotional aspects of one's self enter into the work. Performers have strong reactions to the scenarios they're asked to participate in. Many times these reactions elicit pleasure, euphoria, and a sense of empowerment. In other instances, they induce feelings of degradation, whether intentional and agreed upon, or not. In the rare cases wherein such negative feelings come about unexpectedly, performers almost always reserve the right to stop a scene, say, “No,” and either cancel a shoot or come to a compromise.
It's true, depictions of rough sex run rampant in pornography. This reality speaks to the nature of human sexual fantasy, and the desire to fulfill it. If one is naive to the possibility of being asked to perform in rough sexual acts, it is only because of the ease in which – primarily female and gay male– performers can enter the industry. A performer does not require the training necessary to participate in many other industries and careers. So if pornography is to be faulted, it's because it allows for the possibility of a performer to work without any prior knowledge of porn itself.
But if we are to respect performers as autonomous beings capable of intellect, choice, and agency, we should respect them as such in other areas of their life. The decision to become a performer is a difficult one. Aside from the potential stigma, porn demands much in terms of one's physicality. Performing is a job, and not everyone is capable of doing it. But once a decision is made to appear in a porn film, a certain degree of responsibility should be attributed to the performer. That responsibility includes continuing to make positive decisions for one's self in regards to one's career and to one's physical, psychological, and emotional well-being.
That said, responsibility also lies with directors, agents, and everyone else engaged in the production of porn. Care should be taken to ensure the safety and health of performers on set, and to confirm their willingness to participate. Examples have already been made as to how this can be accomplished. More go unmentioned. And they're enacted every day.
Still, I have one more question to ask my interviewees. I want to know whether they believe content depicting rough sex should be held to higher standards in terms of conveying consent. Because some porn is made with the intent to appear non-consensual, such as staged rape scenarios. While the performers are most likely willing participants, the consumer may not know this to be true. So is there anywhere to draw a line and demand transparency?
Eli Cross tells me, “There's almost always a give-away that what you're watching is obviously consensual. No staged rape scene that is actually a rape scene is going to work as porn... If you're doing a real rape scene that you're presenting as a real rape scene, you're not gonna see anything. You're not gonna show anything. It's not gonna be lit. There's not gonna be any excuse for it to be shot unless there's some accomplice there who's also shooting it. It's gonna work as something violent that's in the movie, but it's not gonna work as porn.”
Cross continues, “You can look at the Katherine Breillet movie, Baise Moi, where she's got what is supposed to be a rape scene, and it was all controversial because it was hardcore. Well, it's a rape scene where the girl's opening up for the camera... If it were an actual rape scene, then that girl's not gonna be pulling her hair out of the way when she sucks his cock. She's not gonna be sucking his cock. She might be forced on to it, but she's not gonna be helping... I don't care how well they act it, I don't care how well they play it. If they are at any point making it porn, it's not going to work as a rape scene.”
Cross' point is valid. However, he may have a leg up on the common spectator. After all, he's well-versed in the language of pornography and knows exactly what to look for. In terms of establishing on-screen (physical) consent, Cross demonstrates a tactical advantage. But there may be concerns he fails to address.
Tristan Taormino says, “I think when you get to simulations of violence and rape, there absolutely has to be a higher standard. Because the fact of the matter is women are raped in this country. And that's reality. It's not just fantasy. That needs to be addressed. It has to be addressed. You're not making this in a vacuum. So I guess I want people to have some awareness of what it means.”
If such standards were put in place, they may not have as drastic an effect on porn as one might expect. Companies such as Kink.com already employ before-and-after interviews to establish consent. But of all the performers I talk to, not a single one claims these interviews actually effect the sex scenes.
It is perhaps the cultural ramifications that serve to be most profoundly influenced. As Taormino points out, porn does not exist in a vacuum. It could be that increased use of implementation designed to convey consent (such as interviews) might leave the anti-porn movement with fewer options but to bite their tongue. Further, it could help facilitate discussions around rough and violent sexual fantasies, and label pornographers as not only responsible to each other, but to their consumers.
But at the end of the day, pornography is primarily a form of entertainment. It should be held accountable to the same standards placed on other forms of capitalized entertainment, not subject to more of them. If standards are to be implemented, I believe they should be self-enforced. The history of censorship is too awash with personal subjectivity and bias to delegate something as intricate as sexual fantasy/practice to any single person or organization. It is the pornographer's responsibility to operate with transparency should they find it worthy of respect. And it is the consumer's responsibility to seek out such content should they wish to see more of it.
If you, as a consumer, don't know where to begin, start by looking up any number of the people mentioned in this essay. You may not receive an individual response, but there's enough information out there to point you in the right direction. I promise.
1. http://thepriceofpleasure.com/clips_chomsky.html
2. http://www.thepinkcross.org/page/our-history
3. http://www.shelleylubben.com/former-porn-star-jersey-jaxin-story
4. http://www.shelleylubben.com/former-porn-actress-sierra-sinn
5.
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Instagram Photo Dump Jan. 20th
All these photos have appeared on my Instagram account (dannywylde). They've probably also been posted on Twitter and Facebook.
1. I've dressed up quite a bit on porno sets lately. This is from The Newlyweds Game XXX or something like that.
2. Joanna Angel is the best at making me into some weird character. In this one, I'm supposed to be Joe Biden. The pre-election gangbang exists somewhere on BurningAngel.com.
3. This is Lily LaBeau wearing my Watain shirt. I don't think she likes Watain, but it's nice to pretend. And whatever... all girls look cute wearing black metal shirts. Or just shirts and no pants.
5. My friend, Ben Hoffman, used to do a lot of street photography in downtown LA. He made this print for my birthday last year. I finally got it framed. So Chad Alva is no longer the only thing in my living room.
6. Some recommended reading.
7. Back on Joanna Angel's set. This is from the upcoming Walking Dead porno.
8. This is a picture of a zombie I met on set (who is also a rad artist named Luka Fisher) and the beautiful Kleio Valentien.
9. Sometimes I get too caught up and forget the important things in life, like videogames...
10. ...and playing such videogames.
11. But reading is also important. This one was recommended by my favorite author, Dennis Cooper. I couldn't even find it on Amazon, which I feel makes it more important. SLOW SLIDINGS.
12. A passage from a book that is instagrammable. And good to think about.
13. This is me around Xmas time. My girlfriend received a package of merch from HUF. This was tucked inside. "A hat," I thought. But it was really a stocking.
14. On the topic of Xmas, I finally decorated this year.
15. A show I attended (maybe in December). Brainoil played their first LA show. It was moved from the upstairs portion of the venue (Veteran's Hall) to the basement. Because cops like to do such things.
16. Another show I attended in December. Gas Lamp Killer. He did not have to play in the basement.
17. Back on set. I'm tied to a chair with a bunny hood on. This is for Kevin Moore. These girls used to work for me in an office. I was a Xtian and yelled at them because of their prostitute costumes. So they kidnapped me and took a bunch of drugs. This is the directions things went.
18. I train to withstand the pressures of being tied to a chair and put in a bunny hood.
19. Then I go to set and they don't tie me in a chair. I just get to fuck another face-painted girl. And take pictures of Aiden while he takes pictures of pee.
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Porn Is Out - "KINK"
Because this seems like the most mainstream representation of something I participate in all the time. And it actually looks good.
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Porn in the Media
I was just on Huff Post Live discussing porn in the mainstream media with Nina Hartley, Jincey Lumpkin, and Steve Hirsch.
Watch the segment HERE!
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It's Here!
You can pick up your own copy for 50% off at feministpress.org. Use the code: PORN502013
And... first time in print. :)
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Where I Try To Explain Why I Look Like An Asshole
I would have never thought I'd end up in this position. But here I am.
About a month ago, I participated in a porn parody of The Walking Dead for Burning Angel. I played the character, Glenn.
On the show, the role belongs to a Korean American actor, Steve Yeun.
So I was put in what is essentially yellowface makeup. The pictures were posted to the Internet. Now, the owner of Burning Angel, Joanna Angel, and I are facing accusations of racism.
Walking Dead Porn Parody Relies on Yellowface via Jezebel.
Before going into the ramifications of what was done. Let me just start by explaining why it was done.
Joanna and I are friends. She tries to cast me in most all of her movies. It's a good business relationship. I do good scenes for her. She keeps hiring me.
When this movie came up, apparently Glenn was one of the last roles that needed to be filled. As has been pointed out many times in the past, there aren't many Asian men in American porn. In fact, I can think of only one US-based, Asian male porn star. For a number of reasons, he did not make it into this film. Therefore, I was cast as Glenn simply because I am a Burning Angel regular.
I don't think any more thought was put into it than that.
Now comes the makeup part. There I am in yellowface.
![]()
When I got to set, I was told I would be playing Glenn. I don't watch Walking Dead so I didn't know who Glenn was. Then I found out.
I was told I would be put in Asian makeup. I said something like, "Really?" and then sat down in the makeup chair. Joanna Angel didn't outline specific makeup tactics. There was no discussion about what this would look like. Just that I would be Asian.
Then I got up and looked basically like what you see in that picture.
It was weird. It seemed silly. Everyone on set had their own reaction, which was mostly laughter.
A few conversations did take place on the topic of racism, but they all ended with something like this: "Well, we're not actually making fun of the fact that he's Asian. The rest of the movie doesn't even mention that he's Asian. And really, it's a porn parody. Who cares?"
I suppose you could then ask, "Why bother to make him to look Asian in the first place?" The only real answer I have is that everyone else sort-of resembled their characters, so I was meant to sort-of resemble mine. Could we have done without the taped eyes and makeup? I think, "Yes." Why didn't we? I don't know.
There was no sinister intent. But I suppose there never is with such things. They are released to the world where a greater cultural context is applied and one must face the consequences.
Is my portrayal of Glenn racist? I honestly don't know. If it were blackface, I feel like I could definitively say, "Yes." But on the heels of Halle Barry going in whiteface and Hugo Weaving portraying an Asian character for the movie, Cloud Atlas, it seems as if there is at least a public scale of acceptability for such things.
There was no cultural commentary associated with The Walking Dead XXX parody, and perhaps little cultural sensitivity. However, it is out there now and I have to live with whatever it means to other people.
As a white male living in the United States, I am fully aware that I have had to face little prejudice at all. I am - in this country - essentially one social class away from being "the man." So it is probably easier for me to say, "This really isn't that big of a deal." For someone who's been the victim of racial prejudice, I'm sure the response is different.
This isn't exactly an apology or an excuse. I still don't really know what I think about the situation. At its worst, I believe a series of events took place that weren't given much thought.
Please feel free to leave a comment.
About a month ago, I participated in a porn parody of The Walking Dead for Burning Angel. I played the character, Glenn.
On the show, the role belongs to a Korean American actor, Steve Yeun.
So I was put in what is essentially yellowface makeup. The pictures were posted to the Internet. Now, the owner of Burning Angel, Joanna Angel, and I are facing accusations of racism.
Walking Dead Porn Parody Relies on Yellowface via Jezebel.
Before going into the ramifications of what was done. Let me just start by explaining why it was done.
Joanna and I are friends. She tries to cast me in most all of her movies. It's a good business relationship. I do good scenes for her. She keeps hiring me.
When this movie came up, apparently Glenn was one of the last roles that needed to be filled. As has been pointed out many times in the past, there aren't many Asian men in American porn. In fact, I can think of only one US-based, Asian male porn star. For a number of reasons, he did not make it into this film. Therefore, I was cast as Glenn simply because I am a Burning Angel regular.
I don't think any more thought was put into it than that.
Now comes the makeup part. There I am in yellowface.
When I got to set, I was told I would be playing Glenn. I don't watch Walking Dead so I didn't know who Glenn was. Then I found out.
I was told I would be put in Asian makeup. I said something like, "Really?" and then sat down in the makeup chair. Joanna Angel didn't outline specific makeup tactics. There was no discussion about what this would look like. Just that I would be Asian.
Then I got up and looked basically like what you see in that picture.
It was weird. It seemed silly. Everyone on set had their own reaction, which was mostly laughter.
A few conversations did take place on the topic of racism, but they all ended with something like this: "Well, we're not actually making fun of the fact that he's Asian. The rest of the movie doesn't even mention that he's Asian. And really, it's a porn parody. Who cares?"
I suppose you could then ask, "Why bother to make him to look Asian in the first place?" The only real answer I have is that everyone else sort-of resembled their characters, so I was meant to sort-of resemble mine. Could we have done without the taped eyes and makeup? I think, "Yes." Why didn't we? I don't know.
There was no sinister intent. But I suppose there never is with such things. They are released to the world where a greater cultural context is applied and one must face the consequences.
Is my portrayal of Glenn racist? I honestly don't know. If it were blackface, I feel like I could definitively say, "Yes." But on the heels of Halle Barry going in whiteface and Hugo Weaving portraying an Asian character for the movie, Cloud Atlas, it seems as if there is at least a public scale of acceptability for such things.
There was no cultural commentary associated with The Walking Dead XXX parody, and perhaps little cultural sensitivity. However, it is out there now and I have to live with whatever it means to other people.
As a white male living in the United States, I am fully aware that I have had to face little prejudice at all. I am - in this country - essentially one social class away from being "the man." So it is probably easier for me to say, "This really isn't that big of a deal." For someone who's been the victim of racial prejudice, I'm sure the response is different.
This isn't exactly an apology or an excuse. I still don't really know what I think about the situation. At its worst, I believe a series of events took place that weren't given much thought.
Please feel free to leave a comment.
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An Apology
READ THIS FIRST
I often say that much of porn's appeal (for me) is its cultural impact. I'm usually referring to the way it shapes 'our' views and trends in regards to sexuality.
My role as a performer is – I believe – to openly discuss the impact. However, I don't really fight the trends (whether harmful or not) when I'm on set.
Time and again, I've discussed the dynamics and ramifications of playing out rape and other non-consensual fantasy scenarios. I feel I have a grasp on the greater cultural conversation and enough empathy to take part in such scenarios without straying from the boundaries of my own moral compass.
Yet, I've put myself at the center of another controversial topic without giving much thought to what it means.
I'm honestly quite embarrassed to have posted a few pictures of my first published (in print) essay on 'feminism in porn' only to follow it up with pictures of myself in yellowface makeup. Any way you cut it, it looks bad.
There are a million rationalizations I have for why I don't feel like I acted in the wrong. However, they don't really matter. My intentions, and the intentions of those on set, are no longer relevant. The image is out there.
I wrote in my previous blog entry, “Is my portrayal of Glenn racist? I honestly don't know.” What I should have asked was, “Is my portrayal of Glenn a socially acceptable form of 'racism?'” The question is, I think, more honest and relevant. Because to a set full of white pornographers in the year 2012, the answer was, “Yes.”
I remember asking myself and others on set what the difference was between what I was doing and blackface. I don't remember coming to any conclusion. Even right now, I can't tell you what the difference is. Only that a $200 million budget movie called Cloud Atlas and a cheap porno parody of The Walking Dead were both pushed through production in 2012 with white people playing Asian roles. And neither film was stopped in order to consider the cultural implications.
As of now, much criticism exists of both. Yet we still exist within a system of institutionalized racism where there is a continuum of what is deemed 'acceptable enough'and not. In porn, this continuum is far more extreme than in what I would consider 'everyday life.' I've performed in plenty of films where the entire premise is a racial or ethnic stereotype. As Peter Warren points out in his article for AVN, “Just have a glimpse at some of the titles that have graced adult retail shelves in the past few months: Shrimp Fried Pussy(Wicked Pictures), Fortune Cookie Pussy (JustinSlayer International), Dim Sum Pussy(Vouyer Media), Yellow Fever(Exquisite Multimedia), Sum Yung Ho (OGee Studios), Sushi Sluts(Legend Video), Thai Teens: We Masturbate for You(DreamGirls). The list goes on.”
Why would I feel okay performing in a movie called Yellow Fever? My answer really is, “I don't know,” and, “It's just a stupid porno.” But it's a racist porno. The title is racist. And if there is an Asian girl in the film, she is most likely going to be playing a masseuse or geisha. The concept is based entirely on an ethnic stereotype without any social satire or commentary. Such is the nature of porn.
I exist in a system that perpetuates these stereotypes. By default, I perpetuate these stereotypes. I have conceded to this fact and become comfortable. Because I also grasp another social understanding, which is that – by and large – pornography is not to be taken seriously.
Do I actually believe this? No. Porn is my job and I take it very seriously. However, I have to hold these two conflicting ideas in my head. Most people think my job is a joke. And so much of the time, I act like it is. When I perform most of the lead-in scenarios for porn films, I do not feel emotionally or intellectually engaged. Ninety-percent of this stuff is completely trivial. We're putting fluff at the beginning of a sex scene so that there appears to be some sort of production value and fantasy element context. It has no bearing on how I treat people or interact with people in my everyday life.
That is really why I feel like my role as Glenn is not thata big deal. Because it doesn't feel like it to me. I gave no more thought to that role than I did to my usual appearance on an update of My Friend's Hot Mom.
But that ended up being the problem. No thought was given to a makeup job that portrayed me as an ethnic stereotype. There was no need to give me yellow-tinted makeup or tape my eyes back. And I don't believe it was a direction given by anyone on set. However, once it happened, there was no direction to take it off either. I certainly didn't demand it or walk off set.
In some ways, I think this dose of criticism is actually healthy for porn. Because it means that our industry is starting to be looked at as a legitimate form of entertainment that must be held accountable. If we're always tucked away in the back room, we can do whatever we want because no one's going to blow the whistle. If unacceptable behavior is pointed out, it comes with an admission that enough people are watching this stuff that it should at least have some mention in the foreground of cultural conversation.
So do I owe an apology for wearing yellowface in The Walking Dead parody? According to a horde of anonymous internet comments, the answer is, “Yes.” And my explanations (or excuses) are just more proof of my white, male privilege.
Maybe that's true. Certainly, as a white male living in the United States, I benefit from white, male privilege. My subjectivity is, in part, formed by this experience. I cannot deny it. However, I would argue that the way in which I dealt with the situation had more to do with the fact that I was on a porn set than with my 'whiteness.'
I have spent seven years working a job on which it is okay to be 'kind of racist.' In fact, being 'overtly racist' has proved for some to be quite lucrative. As a society, we have tolerated racism within pornography to an incredible extent. As a result, I admit to having become complacent.
The reason I'm not on my hands and knees begging forgiveness is because I sincerely believe that the author of the Jezebel article is not completely naïve to the rest of the pornographic world. It is out there. The racism is obvious. And for anyone who's consumed 'Asian (or any other ethnic group) porn' as a fetish or genre, there is a form of complicity in porn's ethnocentrism.
So my gut reaction is to say, “Hey, this isn't fair! Don't pick on me! Look at all the other bad shit out there!” Which is to protect my ego. I don't like looking like an idiot. And in this scenario, I certainly fit the role well.
But that is not my point. I don't want to stop criticism of porn or any other medium. Please do tell us (or me) when we're fucking up. But also then start to take us a little bit more seriously every once in a while. Especially when we make great efforts to change.
I truly am sorry for offending people. That's not the kind of thing I want to leave behind with my work. At this point, however, I don't know what else to do. There's an image out there of me that looks pretty fucking cringe-worthy. It's attached to a movie that's being put out by my friend's company, that stars many of my friends, that required a lot of work from many of my friends. I still want to support it because I want to support my friends. At the end of the day, that's what we have in porn: a community. For the same reason that I understand getting pissed when people bash porn for less legitimate reasons, I get why it sucks for any group to be made fun of.
So this is my lesson and my apology. I obviously can't just do whatever I want in a porno and say, “Hey, it's just a stupid porno.” People are paying attention. Thank you for paying attention. I hope I don't disappoint you again.
Sincerely,
Danny Wylde
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From Ela Darling
Calling me out. I'll take it.
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More CHIILDREN Live
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If You Want One Of These...
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The Male Porn Clique I Don't Want You To Join. The One I Don't Think You Want To Either.
I met a man today. He was warm and friendly, and made us laugh. We invited him into our home. He brought his guitar and played us songs: ironic hip-hop and some hippie rock more appropriate to the instrument.
The man knew we did porn. He seemed cool with it. Wanted us to know how cool with it he was. He offered us some stories, anecdotes about his personal sex life. His sweet but aggressive way of getting his girl all wet. The women in the room (two of them) liked this. His voice, his demeanor. The man's game was slick. Slicker than mine.
Conversation switched to XXX and the possibility of his participation. We told him about a website that anyone can submit to, a way for real world people to make money filming real world sex. He and his girl could be perfect for it.
The man seemed more interested in our up-and-coming projects. We admitted to a failed website attempt last year, and the current process of our redesign and redevelopment. I showed him the most recent edit of one of our in-house porn films.
He offered us the possibility of using his music. Then his ideas. Finally, his body.
The girls liked his concepts. They were different. One involved a woman masturbating to the sound of his voice, the dirty talk that seemed to work so well. Another used his person. He might sit in the room with a guitar. He might wear a mask. Perhaps he wouldn't participate but we'd fuck around him as he watched. There would be no definitive point at which he'd achieve erection, he told us, but it would happen. The girls would get turned on at such point. Then – he suggested – his cock would make an appearance. Perhaps the mask would never be an issue. His body might not be shown at all. But his cock would be there. It might get sucked or tugged on. Or he could fuck. He'd always thought about getting into porn.
That was his last novel idea. It surfaced throughout his life, a product of early childhood sexual desire. It made him – if not unique – less status quo: this thought that he might one day try his hand at fucking girls on camera.
I felt his endearing nature. Also, the slip into his sex. He pawed occasionally at the crotch of his jeans and made reference to a party he once attended where everyone watched porn. He was getting turned on.
But the escalation stopped. Maybe because I told him, “I'm not going to put you in a porn film where you don't show your face.”
One of the girls asked, “Why? We need more male talent.” Maybe because she liked the guy, maybe because it was true.
“Because,” I said, “you don't get to do this and not deal with the ramifications of being in a porn film.” What I meant is that I would not facilitate the man's fantasy as a part of my work. He had the means of doing it himself, although it wouldn't involve him getting paid to fuck a new, beautiful woman. Only the one he had back home. But specifically, I would not facilitate the man's fantasy and allow him to remain a civilian. If he was serious, I wanted him to make a choice. The choice to bear his body, his identity, and risk the chance of totally fucking up a scene. Regardless of what sexual prowess (or lack thereof) he displayed, I wanted him to be held accountable to his new label: pornographer. If it was all worth it, perhaps he deserved a chance.
Otherwise – I thought – it was not so novel for a man to have considered doing porn.
There are about two dozen of us at any given time: guys who fuck full-time for a living. At least in straight porn. At least in the good ol' US of A. With gay porn, the number expands indefinitely – though not necessarily for well-known tops.
There is a reason for this. Porn is hard. Hard for women for a number of very legitimate reasons. Hard for men for completely different ones.
My personal reasons for getting into porn can be broken up into two categories: financial need and sexual exploration. If I'm to be honest, the latter included a simple desire to get my dick wet. It's part of why any guy jumps into the industry. Though when it comes to my reasons for continuing, the explanation gets much more complicated.
I can say now, after seven years, that my job is a lot fun. It's because I've learned how to meet the needs of my employers, and also my own. The learning process is (for the most part) behind me.
However, I probably should have quit a long time ago. If not for my ex-girlfriend, I would have. There's no joy to be had in failing at sex.
The first time I looked down at a girl sucking my limp penis, I made an excuse. I needed some time to my self. She wasn't my type. “This has never happened before,” I told the director. And it was true. Before I witnessed the complete lack of my own sexual response, I didn't believe such a thing could be a problem.
But it is. For me and most every other man on the planet. We have our own process of arousal. It doesn't extend to every possible situation in which a naked partner is placed in front of us.
My ex-girlfriend was convinced that I could do the job because she'd seen me do it before. During my first year of porn, she helped save my sexual ego from the brink of collapse. I tried to believe her when she told me it wasn't my fault. But for me to actually become a “good” performer, it required a lot of practice, confidence, and help.
In straight porn, the pharmacological “help” is more hush-hush. There's more machismo to deal with. Women to impress. Amongst gay performers, there's an inherent understanding of male sexuality. Desire does not equate to performance. To become a sexual athlete, it's more efficient to pop a pill. If one is to adhere to a high, consistent standard, it's almost necessary.
Think about it like this. Every time a steroid scandal erupts in major league sports, the fans get pissed. They want to believe these monstrous, athletic men are products of hard work and dedication. And they are. But a spectator does not care to hear complaints of injury and fatigue. When a ticket's been paid for, all that matters is the spectacle. An athlete is expected to deliver all season long. To keep up with everyone else, he'll take the supplements, the steroids, and all the rest. Otherwise, he'll fall behind. He might still be good at football. Even great. But it won't be enough.
My girlfriend said that she wished porn was different in such a way that guys weren't scared to fail scenes. Essentially, she wished they didn't have to take ED drugs. It's a nice thought. The progressive kids of porn have even discussed making films in which the struggle of the male performer is retained in the final product. The point would be to give a more realistic portrayal of how men work in such situations. Essentially, the young men watching this stuff at home would no longer feel discouraged by the inability to live up to such high standards in the bedroom.
But would this be a porn film or a documentary? Would you like to masturbate to a man struggling with his own sexual performance? And what man would like to document this blow to his self-esteem?
Every female performer I've talked to has reservations about working with new male talent. Sometimes it goes okay. However, they all have stories of frustration, sucking limp dick for thirty minutes (maybe an hour), and sitting on set while a red-faced boy masturbates in the corner. The less understanding will say, “The director even gave him Viagra. Three of them! I don't know what his fucking problem is. He's probably a faggot.”
My answer would be, “Well, he signed on to fuck girls. And whether or not he also likes sucking dick or getting fucked, he's also probably very attracted to you. However, the lack of foreplay, your attitude, the camera man standing over his shoulder, the hot lights, the distracting crew, the unnatural way in which he's supposed to fuck you, and all the rest is probably overshadowing that attraction. His nerves are probably fried. And he's got so much adrenaline pumping through his body that it's physiologically impossible for him to achieve erection. When he's relaxing at home in the shower, that Viagra will probably catch up with him. But for the time being, it's not going to do a goddamn thing.”
While I can empathize with that nervous, flaccid performer (because he used to be me), I also understand why it's frustrating to have him on set. If I'm in the next scene, I'm wasting hours of my time so that some new guy can have a chance at his sex/dream fulfillment. It's not fair to the crew. And it's not practical to hire this new guy if someone wants to run an efficient business.
Part of why I started writing this entry is that I received – amongst my criticisms for playing a racially insensitive portrayal of Glenn in The Walking Dead parody– suggestions that we should have used the opportunity to find some other random guy in order to diversify the male talent pool. It may come from a good place. But it's a terrible suggestion.
On an 18-hour work day of shooting a low-budget porn parody, no one in their right mind is going to hire male talent they aren't familiar with. Because it might add hours to the day and will likely end with a failed sex scene. The girl must be paid because she did the work (so there goes a thousand dollars or so... for nothing). But you still have to re-shoot the sex or sell a movie with less than the standard number of scenes. By consumer standards, that means less bang for your buck, a shittier movie, something less likely to to sell.
Let's just say that all of this is a product of sexual exploitation – a wrong way to document human behavior. My association and willingness to participate in the website, MakeLoveNotPorn.TV, is at least acknowledgment that pornography is problematic. I honestly believe it should be countered with real depictions of sex.
However, our culture has yet to make a distinction between the documented “real world sex” and pornography. One of the most popular couples on MakeLoveNotPorn.TV will not show their faces in their own films. Another couple recently pulled all of their material off the site.
Why is it that on (perhaps) the world's most socially progressive sex-sharing website, most people are still uncomfortable exposing their faces and their identities? Why is that a sexually adventurous urban hippie (from the opening of this blog) wants to explore a comfortable sexual space with his new “friends,” but will only film it if he wears a mask?
Because as much as you want to explore all these sexual fantasies, you don't want to be held accountable. Not in a public light. I truly believe this. It's why I'm here and still making money despite the continual financial degradation of our industry. I am a surrogate for those fantasies and I'm willing to deal with the ramifications.
Somehow, I made it past the shittiest parts of being a porn performer. I don't know why I was allowed the opportunities to do that. But I'm here now, happy, comfortable, and living a fulfilling life. Though as much as I like my job, I don't think you want to be here. Especially if you're a guy. You may have a thought every once in a while that you'd like to have sex for a living. I just don't think you want to do what it takes. Of course, there will be exceptions and I'll see a couple of you on set. For the rest, enjoy the fantasy. That's what it's there for.
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They Live (We Still Play Shows)
This one is free.
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A Dream
Sometimes I remember my dreams and sometimes I write fiction. Maybe one can turn into the other.
A Dream
This is how it ends most days. I sit and masturbate until I'm close. Then I stand and masturbate some more. There is often a woman knelt on the floor. Her back is arched and her mouth open. Today is no different.
Only the climax is less than typical. Underwhelming on my part. I guess the feeling is the same. But my semen doesn't spurt or spray. The woman's face remains dry, her tongue spotless. My seed dribbles to the floor. Perhaps a drop finds its way to her outer thigh.
The woman looks happy. Someone else is not.
He's holding the camera. Not sure if he's meant to be a director. The man hasn't said a word since I started fucking. No directions. I suppose, then, a documentarian. “That's all?” he asks.
I say, “I'm sorry.”
He groans. When he's close to the door – the only exit – there are more words. “You know, it's very important that she play with the cum. That she have it in her mouth.” He knows I've understood and that it doesn't matter.
Suddenly, everyone is gone. I'm alone in the room. Because I've remembered something explicit from this most recent romp, and because I can, I begin to masturbate. Again, I come. The expulsion is more powerful. I'd say, average.
I've since exited the room, entered another, and gathered my clothes. I'm zipping up my pants, buckling my belt.
The documentarian is on the couch in this new space. A camera is balanced on his knee. His chin is balanced on his fist. “I can't end a scene like this. We need to shoot it again.”
“I've come twice already,” I protest.
“Before the scene?” he asks. “That's why your pop shot was so weak?”
“No. After.”
“Just now?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“Then you can do it again.”
“No, I can't.”
“What?”
“It's not possible,” I tell him. “I can't do it again.”
He's close to another exit now, a door that opens to the night. “You're fucking me here.”
I've performed, done my job. All the pieces were there. Only one of them inadequate. I can't understand the gravity of the situation, the escalation to anger. It's just another piece of masturbatory video.
The documentarian doesn't hear my thoughts. He doesn't leave. In fact, he retreats towards me. Into my personal space.
Because he's fuming and spitting words I can't understand, I bash his head into the fucking floor. Over and over. Eventually it breaks apart like a pumpkin. The hard parts are indistinguishable from flesh.
I notice the woman still in the room. Her mouth is on a sucker. She shrugs and thinks to herself, “Part of life.” I'm not sure how I know this.
There's another man in the room. He's been here the whole time. A production assistant, maybe? Why hadn't I seen him before?
The possible assistant says, “You should probably leave.”
I nod in agreement.
Then he says, “Follow me.”
Outside, it's not as dark as I imagined. Had we filmed sex the entire night? The sun could be rising. If setting, I've been here a day and a half.
We sprint down a road that seems elevated like a bridge. But then so does everything else. The city is floating. I'm hit with deja vu, the familiarity of something seen on television or a monitor. Probably a video game or Japanese animation.
Like a game, I follow the assistant. I'm scripted to run in his footsteps, a non-player character along for the adventure.
“Where are we going? How long until we get there?”
No answer and it's getting darker. I can't begin to fill in the blanks but I realize they're there. Long passages of time vanished from my memory. I arrived on set in the evening. Once outside, it was day again. Now it's turning back to night.
How long have I fucked? That is a question. Or how long have I sat around, waiting? The film must have been important to have such an effect. To ruin my brain, drive a documentarian mad, to kill.
There's an end to these roads, back alleys, and passageways. We're inside, but not quite. There's at least a roof over our heads. But this place is as much a a piece of road as anything we've traveled. It looks like a suburban cul-de-sac, minus the homes.
There's a large well in the center of the concrete. The probable assistant stands near it and waves me over.
“Inside,” he says.
I peer over the edge into a pit. There is blackness with no end. Though, like the universe, bits of matter occupy some minor space. There are gears of bright yellows, reds, purples, and colors I don't notice or know the names of.
The gears spin in endless rotation. Not for any conceivable purpose. They're not connected to each other or anything else. They float and spin like planets.
“What are they?” I ask.
“They are a certain kind of work and may have little purpose,” says the assistant. “I'm not sure. I just felt the need to take you here. I hope I've assisted you well.”
“Don't you normally move lights around and stuff?”
“Yes, but that's not necessary anymore. You've destroyed my employer, the artist.”
“You call that fucking guy an artist?”
“Yes,” answers the assistant. “What would you call him?”
“I don't know. I don't know what to call him. He shoots porn.”
“Oh, okay. Are you an artist?”
“You mean my job in porn? Fucking girls?”
“I mean in general,” says the assistant.
“Well, I guess I do things that could be considered art. But it sounds narcissistic to say, 'I'm an artist.'”
“Hm. I don't know that you've given me an answer.”
“What do you care anyways?”
“I thought in some ways that I was an artist. I shaped light, helped construct the film. I was hired for my attention to detail. But I was below my employer, and he had no interest in me. You and the woman were most important. Mostly you.”
I'm almost offended. “How do you figure?”
“You're the reason we spent a week on the project,” he answers.
“A week?” It sounds excessive. Yet I've no recollection of time spent to the contrary.
“Add it all up and there were maybe forty minutes of sex. You took many breaks. Hours, even days at a time. My employer asked nothing of you the entire time. Not until the end. Then you killed him.”
“That's not how I remember it.”
“Even so, it's the way it happened. Saying it out loud makes me like you less.” At the end of his line, the assistant frowns and pushes me into the well.
I fall for many minutes, then cease to feel like I'm falling. The only reference for what is close, far, or passing by, is the spinning gear that now approaches.
My body hits an outer cog with enough force to knock the wind from me. But not enough to kill. I remain whole and unbroken.
When I stand and get my bearings, I'm struck by the detail etched into this mechanism. The gear's surface is dense with representations of women, perhaps all of the same woman. Each is magnificent in its own way.
The one closest to my feet moves about, as if swimming. She's alive, yet distinct from what I would call a person. “Hello,” I tell her. “You're beautiful.”
Bashful, she says, “Thank you.” Her arms wrap around her body like a shield. Then she lets them drop slowly. My eyes follow the reveal. “Will you listen to my story?” she asks.
“Of course,” I answer.
She tells me of her life, love, and inner thoughts. Each is delivered in prose that bring me close to tears. I'm drained by the time she is finished.
“Beautiful,” I say again.
“What would you like to ask me?”
“I need to find my way out of this place. Do you know of one?”
She appears to think about this, but answers, “I can tell you more of my story.”
“I'm sure I'd love to hear it, but I really must be going.”
“Yes,” she says. “Walk around a bit. See what else you like.”
I do as she says and find other representations: self-portraits, panels that move by like films, visions of the woman with instruments and music. Sometimes these other forms of 'she' notice me like the first. One talks of pain.
“Yes, I have some of that too,” I tell her. “And I have a fear I may be stuck here. That I may never see my friends or family again.”
“I've been stuck in my body all these years, stuck inside my mind. There's no worse place.”
“I've had similar thoughts,” I say. “In my youth, I experienced many bouts of depression.”
“I've had thoughts of giving myself to the great abyss.”
“I'm sorry. Do you know a way out of here? You could come with me,” I suggest. “We may both continue to live.”
“I've had thoughts of burning the skin from my face so that no one has to look at it again.”
The self-loathing goes on in repetition until my head aches. I nearly fall to the floor. Before my collapse, a deus ex machina appears from the sky. A ladder to an unknown place. Perhaps a rescue. My only way out.
I climb for some small eternity and find myself at the end of the rungs. I've been led to the surface of another spinning gear. Like the last, there are many representations here. This time of a man.
“I brought you here,” he says, “because my purpose is to help.”
“I'm tired,” I tell him. “I need to rest.”
“Of course you are. Of course you do. You've been exploited, worked near to death.”
“How do you know this?” I ask.
“Let me tell you,” he says. And he delivers a remarkable essay on the economic crimes against humanity, on the anti-ethics of capitalism.
“You are obviously very intelligent,” I tell him. “I may be exploited like you say, but not so much as you think. I am paid well enough.”
“That is only a tool to keep you complicit.”
“Even so, I need to rest. Then maybe you could help me find a way out of this place?”
“I have many studies to attend to,” he says.
“I understand. But maybe we could use your ladder to climb out of the pit. You look very strong and I am so tired. You could help me pick it up.”
“I am not just a body!” he roars. “I am a mind. And I dedicate my mind to knowledge so that I may help others. It is a grueling task.”
“But you can help with the ladder. I just need your strength.”
“Perhaps I could study more on the nature of strength, genetics, pharmacology... There is a way to help with this. Yes, I'm sure.” He wanders towards a set of books. “Give me time.”
Already on the brink of collapse, I fall into a deep sleep. When I awake, the man hovers over me. He spouts exercise routines, dietary information, names of performance enhancing supplements, testosterone injections, human growth hormones, renowned personal trainers, athletes, gurus, mystics, priests, martyrs, revolutionaries, and survivors. “Strength of body, strength of spirit, strength of will,” he concludes.
“Which will get me out of this pit?” I ask, groggy.
“There are ways to think of it as something else. I can help.”
The man keeps talking and I walk away.
How long have I pulled at this ladder? Inch by inch, day by day, it moves at the pace of continents on the earth's crust. When I finish, I am aged past my death. Still, I find the will to climb.
“I'm so happy to have helped,” says the man as I take to the rungs.
“Fuck off,” I murmur back.
There is another gear at the top of the ladder. And another beyond that. Lifetimes pass by the time I reach the top of the well.
It is strange, then, to see the assistant standing by the pit. He's neither a corpse nor a skeleton turned to dust. Just a man, the same as when I left him.
“How did you get out?” he asks me.
“That's a good question. Looking back, it seems impossible. But what are you doing here? You haven't left this whole time?”
“I left,” he tells me. “Just came back to dispose of the body.” The assistant nods towards the headless documentarian crumpled by his feet.
“How long did it take for you to go back and get him?”
The skin flaps (ex-face) around the neck of the documentarian start to flutter, as if blown by the wind. A voice-like sound comes forth. “Not as long as it took you.”
“You're still alive?” I ask the documentarian.
“No,” he says. “But neither are you. I'm surprised you didn't die when we were filming.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you take so fucking long to do anything,” he answers. “A minute of sex and you get bored, have to read, check your email, play guitar. You even told us you had a movie to make. So I filmed you drawing storyboards, talking with a producer, and launching a Kick Starter campaign. I'd heard good things about you as a performer, so I was patient. Thought maybe you knew what you were doing. All of it might add to the film. But in the end, you fucked it up. Couldn't even deliver a proper cum shot. The movie was supposed to be about girls gargling cum.”
“Hey!” I shout. “Fuck you! I don't do those things on set! I'm a professional!”
“On set, off set. What does it matter? You fuck and then go home and do some other shit... Who cares?”
“I care! When I play music, I do it for me.”
“Then why make us watch?” asks the documentarian. “So selfish.”
“Make you watch? I don't make you watch,” I protest. “If someone likes what I do, all the better. It means we've found a connection.”
“No, I don't think it means that at all. It means you feel better about wasting your time.” His windpipe exhales and sounds like a fart. “Oh, what does it matter? I'm useless now too. No better than you.”
I laugh. “You think you used to be... useful?”
“Sure. Everyone needs to come. Your father's need was so strong, he came in your mom. If he had one of my films, the world might be a better place. I'd at least have spent the last week of my life on something more interesting than you.”
“I don't have to listen to this shit. I'm going home.”
“You can't survive here,” says the documentarian. “You're dead.”
“So are you!”
“That's why I'm going into the well.” On cue, the assistant picks him up and tosses him over the edge.
“Hey, I wasn't dead when you first threw me in there!” It's an accusation of murder.
“Yes,” says that assistant. “But if you don't get it now...” He sighs and pushes me in once more.
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Diffuser.FM Interview
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