This photo makes me miss my hair so much.
I think about her almost every day.
When I first cut it off, I rushed home and covered all the mirrors, threw myself on the ground and cried.
Well first I screamed "I'M BALD" and then I didn't stop crying for several days.
I couldn't figure out why I had done what I had just done.
Why I had made such an extreme move that didn't need to be made.
I can answer that now:
I seek extreme change in hopes of it creating extreme change. I'll move across the country, leave my apartment, quit my job or shave my head if I think it will make me feel differently when I'm feeling terrible.
Very frequently I will seek an external change in hopes of it eliciting an internal one.
And for context...this has never worked.
As I look at her...I simultaneously feel bad for her, miss her and am so fucking thankful I am no longer her.
And yet we'll never be separated.
She'll forever live inside of me.
And whisper terrible nothings in my ear when I feel the weakest.
"You fucked up because you're a fuck up"
"You're lonely because you're alone"
"You'll never be good enough because you're not good enough"
We spend the most time with ourselves.
And if we spend that entire time trash talking our own potential, it's no wonder we eventually fall prey to those stories.
There are few universal truths.
But "I think, therefore I am" certainly is one.
My photography in that loft hit an entirely new level.
Because I never stopped shooting.
Because I couldn't sit still.
Because I was afraid of being broke.
That would have never been true.
I have parents that would never allow me to be homeless or hungry regardless if I chose to make my money with a camera or with my cunt.
And that's the part that gives me the most regret about my actions in this realm.
It would be one thing to make that choice consciously, regardless of their judgement, if that's what I felt to be true.
Which is what I always did with nude photography - and will continue to do.
I fully support the fact that naked bodies deserve love and to be celebrated and that we should spend more time normalizing them so we spend less time fearing them.
I've walked that walk and talked that talk without shame or fear in front of my parents or anyone else for almost a decade.
It wasn't until I started getting penetrated on camera that the shame monster decided to enter.
I told myself maybe that was just another step on this journey of becoming more sex-positive and consciously aware.
But after sitting in stillness and meditation on this and coming back to the same place over and over and over and over - I realized that was just a lie I was telling myself.
I didn't believe in anything I was doing with porn.
I was just doing.
Because doing feels better than sitting.
I had such a love-hate relationship with this loft.
It was the first time I was really proud of a space I lived in.
And I allowed my internal dialogue to fuck it all up.
I demonized it.
Saying it kept me isolated.
Stuck in work attempting to afford it.
Stuck in sickness dealing with 100-year-old building problems like mould and dust.
But in reality, a room could never be a demon.
This all only existed inside.
On the outside, the part I never gave gratitude to until it was too late, this place was the beginning of my career as a freelancer.
The beginning of being motivated enough to actually stand up for and support myself physically, financially, emotionally and creatively.
And holy shit did I make a mess along the way...
I've felt like this for the majority of those 7 years.
Trapped inside myself and pretending anything else was true.
Leaning into hyper sexuality and online validation in attempts to create a truth I felt more comfortable with.
The thing that has actually given me the most comfort came within the last 6 months - and it's been accepting that maybe I was wrong about it all.
And how good it can feel to admit when you're wrong.
This photo will be 7 years old this December...
That almost feels like an impossibility.
Maybe it's because I feel like those 7 years flew by.
Maybe it's because I feel regret for how some of that time was spent (and with who)
Regardless, I choose to love it for what it is.
And I call it "Dead Bug"
Some of my first self portraits were shot with the first lens he lent me.
What these have come to represent since then is beyond what I could have ever imagined while capturing them.
I just wanted to make something pretty he would be impressed by.
It's funny how the subconscious has a way of sneaking in...
As you've potentially noticed, there has been a massive shift in this environment.
As there have been massive shifts in my world.
And it took over 365 days for me to accept that within myself and that the only time that exists is now.
I cannot go back.
I cannot stay here.
I can only go forward.
In accepting what was.
What is.
And what could be.
And so this space and content shall continue to reflect that reality.
That means rectifying my choices to "live life facefucking shame" and to truly put my money where my mouth is with that concept and accept that I feel A LOT OF SHAME for ever having put my sex online.
Does that mean I think all people should?
Absolutely not.
You do you - whatever that is.
The shame I feel is how ill thought out that choice was in my own world.
I made it at a time of deep sadness and scarcity and I made it for one choice and one choice alone: money.
I know within my core that any decision I've ever made purely for financial reasons has never been in alignment with myself.
And to think that I tried to monetize my most vulnerable sides simply because I knew how and because I thought it would be a "fun project" for me and my partner, in retrospect, is a terrible base for a life-altering choice.
No amount of money I've earned from this effort has been worth the amount of introspection I've had to do to understand if I actually want to be producing porn with my own physical body.
No amount of money I've earned has been worth the incredible hurt and damage this has done to the relationship with my family and other non-sw creative clients.
And this project did NOT bring me or my humans closer together. Instead it shone a very bright light on all the reasons that was a misguided attempt at intimacy (and rather a grab for validation).
I am an adult and I fully accept the responsibilities of my actions.
What you've seen all the way through has been real.
Real people.
Real sex.
Real connections.
Which was my goal all along - can a real representation of sex exist in porn?
I still don't have an answer to that question. The inherent presence of a camera and concept of capturing something completely changes the nature of any experience - sexual or otherwise. But that is a bigger question for bigger discussions...
I've spent a lot of my digital life grandstanding and speaking to or for others.
I won't do that now or ever again.
But I'll never stop asking questions.
What I will say is that when your gut tells you something is wrong for you, listen.
The longer you wait...the louder that sensation will become and the harder it will be to make yourself feel better.
Day by day as I have unwound all the narratives that took me to the place of getting double penetrated on twitter, I've asked "how did I end up here?"
Afraid to admit to what feels right.
What feels wrong.
What is hurting others.
What is hurting myself.
As I will undoubtedly continue to disseminate these actions for the rest of my life (because that's my style), I can also try and do better by keeping a new promise to myself: to do so with curiosity rather than judgement.
Yes...we are here now.
So the question is...what next?
While I figure that out for myself by myself, that is what you will see.
Hello and welcome to the future!
My intention for 2023 is to be more present and alive than ever before.
Because otherwise...truly what's the point?
This is from the first set of self-portraits I shot in I don't even know how long.
After landing back in Mexico City and experiencing what felt like heartbreak deja vu (again...another story for another time) I decided I could either keep crying or I could do something with that sadness.
So I got my camera out and spent my sad day crying AND creating.
Not every shot was a winner or keeper.
But I’m so grateful to be motivated enough again to be willing to be bad at something.
And get better.
As one door closes, another opens.
And if it doesn't...crack the window and jump out.
Goodbye 2022.
You've been so many things.
But right now I'm just glad you're over.
Please enjoy my favourite shoot of the year from one of my favourite photographers.
This year I plan to do nothing.
This year has been a year of so much nothing.
And yet, it has also been so full.
I've gone so many places, done so many things, met so many new people, figured out so many professional quagmires.
And yet, the thing I did the most of was nothing.
I spent so much time with and integrating plant medicines.
I spent so much time physically sick.
I spent so much time heartbroken over all the lessons that were unfolding.
I spent so much time just sitting.
Which has been the hardest thing for me to really open up into.
It's easy for me to do.
It's hard for me to just be and receive.
In any form.
Patience are a virtue I don't inherently possess, but have been trying to acquire.
And nothing gives you patience like being trapped in the middle of the jungle with only a handful of humans who speak your language, the sickest and most heartbroken you've ever been.
I spent days laying in bed feeling like life had ripped my heart out of my chest based on circumstance and decided to replace it with lightning in my hands, feet and colon because covid...
I spent almost two weeks in full isolation in this state healing from covid before I was able to enter the second phase of my ibogaine integration and begin working with Ayahuasca.
After that period, the curandero offered me the idea that while I had been trapped inside, maybe I had been on an inadvertent vision quest before I was supposed to sit with the medicine.
If everything is part of the trip as soon as you agree to go on it, then truly nothing can go wrong.
And while at times my physical body was doing things indicating that it's life might be over and circumstantially I was in a pretty solid position to just lean into that, I never thought about it.
At my sickest, darkest, loneliest - my most intense thoughts never showed up. Not even a whisper.
And that's when I knew I would be okay.
Because if I didn't think about killing myself after waking up from a fever purge induced bathroom floor blackout in the middle of the jungle, during the apocalypse, in the midst of physically having Covid and going through a breakup, nothing could ever be worse to actually make me really want to do it.
And just like that...I came to an answer I never expected to find.
Face down on the cold bathroom floor.
Pre-wipe.
Last New Years - I had food poisoning.
After sitting with Ibogaine for Christmas in Mexico and integrating with the other program participant - who happened to be a SWer - we decided to extend our stay a few days and ring in the new year together.
We spent a few days shopping and snacking and sunbathing and having some of the most gloriously weird discussions about her clients and my work and everything in between. The universe absolutely gifted her to me as my tripping partner, which is why I didn't want to say goodbye.
New Years Eve, the party in the town we were in had already begun and we had taken to wandering the streets to watch.
We popped into a local spot we had been frequenting and made the regrettable choice of eating the last order of ceviché.
Before 12am hits, I'm in bed and ignorant to what's about to come and I'm getting non-stop phone calls.
From her...from across the hall.
And she's not okay.
So much so that the person we're renting rooms from has to come get involved because about 30 minutes later, I'm not okay.
And we both stayed that way for about 24 hours, taking turns making this poor man who just wanted to make a few extra bucks get us everything for every ailing orifice.
We were sure to tip him
And be sure we sunbathed naked.
I hoped to be able to see her again in the summer, but plans didn't align.
Though I have a feeling that isn't the last I'll see of her...
Since having my hair cut, this has been my most surprising erogenous zone.
Having the nape of my neck touched or held or bit has been electric.
Feels like the foreskin of my head got pulled back.
Merry Christmas - if you celebrate that sort of thing.
If not...happy Saturday to the rest of us heathens.
My friend suggested I rebrand my rantings to "The Pierced Vagina Monologues".
How would you feel about such a thing?
As aging is as inevitable as dying and one ultimately leads to the other, I find it bizarre to give any additional time in the present to this eventuality.
Why ruin what you have because of what will be?
In the infamous wisdom of Mitch Hedberg "I don't stop eating an apple because eventually it will become a core."
And if you're not familiar with his humour, it's meant to be an observation of our avoidance of present pleasure due to future pain.
Or maybe I just took more from his sets than I should have.
My Claws: My relationship with my hands is interesting.
I don't know if it's a body part many feel insecure about, but I certainly do.
I grew up surrounded by arthritics complaining of what my eventual future would be. And to look at mine, even y0ung, it wasn't a far off assumption.
Working with cameras and computers and repetitive stress proved to escalate this process and put me in braces in my 20s.
I started semi-affectionately referring to them as my claws; thinking if I pointed them out before someone else did, that at least I was in on the joke.
Over time and work and a lot of patience, my claws simultaneously eased and strengthened. Finding that balance between tension and control and understanding that every muscle, even the super super tiny ones, can be retrained and reconditioned.
And so while they're certainly not my favourite feature, they have upgraded from being my most dysfunctional.
At least at this moment.
My Theory Of Yoga
There are many reasons why moving your body and achieving an asana are valuable. I won't go into all of them.
This is the one I hold onto.
There's so much value in being definitively wrong.
Subjectivity is beautiful, but having correct form and understanding the black and white between being in alignment or out of alignment creates a very concrete goal to work towards.
This shouldn't be the goal of every practice, and certainly isn't for me. But sometimes it is. Sometimes the goal is to be correct and to open to the concept that more truly is accessed when things are done the right way.
If you look at it from the physical level, form is essential in terms of building muscle and joint strength and avoiding injury.
If you look at it from the neurological level, achieving something with a concrete solution gives you the delayed gratification chemical of GABA - which helps balance with our collective over dependence on immediate gratification and dopamine.
If you look at it from the energetic level, being in alignment in an asana is meant to unlock the true potential the pose has to offer you (I think).
Regardless of all this, I know that every time I'm unsure of what to do or what is real or what comes next, I can break it down to the most simplest of steps.
I can come back to my body.
Back to my mat.
And remember that no matter what happens, where I go or who is with me, I am home inside.
Masochism: Meditating with Pain
Pain is inevitable.
Suffering is optional.
Pain is embedded in our DNA.
Childbirth and death and growth and all the natural milestones of our flesh bags are rather physically excruciating while on the road to beauty.
And there are plenty of options to avoid or numb or distract from these sensations until they become too big to deal with or too far away to access.
So, if you feel pain and desire to move through it, just like pushing a baby out, the only way is through.
To breathe, be with it, and trust that the experience will not in fact split you in half (even if it feels like it).
A meditation to practice this: Square breathing.
This pattern allows you to regulate your heart and breathing rates - which are the primary "holy fucking shit" signals that your body will use to activate your fight or flight.
In states of extreme stress, panic, pain or sadness, sometimes the only option is to be with the sensation. When getting a tattoo or a heart broken or a hug at a funeral, this is my go to.
Start by finding a comfortable seat. Maybe with something supporting your back. With your legs however allows you to feel most connected to the ground.
Breathe in for a count of four.
Hold full of air for four.
Exhale for four.
Hold empty for four.
Repeat.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again.
Until it stops.
Because this is what your body does in the opposite directions.
Ramps up and ramps up and ramps up and ramps up and ramps up until you think you're dying. Because if your heart and lungs say bye, you are.
So it's a valid assumption.
And that's when the big old brain gets to step in with it's all mighty logic and go "NOT TODAY FLESHBAG".
Breathing. It's almost too simple.
But yet that's why babies do it.
Scream and cry and burp and fart without reservation.
Because at our most basic of form, we know that all we need to do to stay alive is move the air in our body.
The Scar Story - Part 2 - The Aftercare ***TRIGGER WARNING: BL••D***
It was one thing to have the tattoo removed in such a fashion.
But to create a scar was a whole separate and equally gruesome process.
For weeks following the procedure, I would have to keep it open, moist and free of scabbing. Essentially the opposite of standard healing practices.
The idea is to cause as much damage to the area as possible to delay healing and build up scar tissue to form the shape.
So to do so, I kept it covered with saran during the day.
And during the evening, I gave it a bath of tequila and lemon juice...with a tooth brush.
Eventually I completely numbed out to this process and it looked infinitely worse than it felt.
The healing of this piece has been an ongoing evolution that I currently feel pretty "meh" about. Scar tissue is an interesting creature that fluctuates lots over time and inflammation. So while she is a very solid barometer for where my body is internally at, externally she certainly has not reached the final form I desire aesthetically.
But as I've started to collect more deliberate scars from my explorations with Kambo, it recently entered my mind that maybe this is the purpose of this space.
And how much harder it will be to receive on the ribs vs the bicep...
