Ramblings from a naked lady.

A word of two from Mr Rollins...

2010-04-20T03:12:00.000-07:00

“Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath escapes your lips when you are touched. How your eyes close and your jaw tightens with concentration as you give pleasure a home. These thoughts are saving a life somewhere right now. In some airless apartment on a dark, urine stained, whore lined street, someone is calling out to you silently and you are answering without even being there. So crystalline. So pure. Such life saving power when you smile. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds. So sad that we will never touch. How it hurts me to know that I will never be able to give you everything I have.”

The last of the Johnny Walker.

2010-04-08T11:33:00.000-07:00

Every relationship is different. With every new love comes new desires, new needs, new reactions. It's hard to learn from past mistakes when you are dealing with a unique entity... the love that you have right now, as opposed to the love that you had with so-and-so in your past. It also makes each relationship special; not bound by the same rules, the same ways of behaving and loving as those that have come before, and also no better or worse. I believe that there is an essential truth in that common phrase of new love "I've never felt this way before". Most of the time we dismiss such statements with an inward roll of the eyes and thoughts of "You said that last time" but repetition does not equal falsehood, especially when we are talking about what we feel. Our emotions are a slippery beast, we try to take a firm grip and look the wriggling creature in the eye; to name it, to understand it's nature but despite all of our efforts it rarely delivers on our expectations. Chameleon-like, it morphs and mutates in front of our very noses, responding to and reacting with the unique external and internal stimuli of the moment. Every man I have ever loved I have loved differently, the words we use to describe our feelings may be the same but the experience is inimitable. I cannot see how it can be any other way... each new love brings with it an entirely new set of variables; a different man, a different me, a different environment, a different history etc etc.

And so each relationship is a journey where we recognise the road signs but where the landscape is as unfamiliar as a foreign country. A pilgrimage of the heart to find the place where, at that moment in time, we need to be. An odyssey for our heimat.

(Heimat by Kelly Humphries)

The kinks in our tales...

2010-03-24T08:55:00.000-07:00

fetish... Psychology. any object or nongenital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation. kinky... Slang. marked by unconventional sexual preferences or behavior, as fetishism, sadomasochism, or the like.

I must confess a certain preoccupation and fascination with the objects, situations and behaviours that titillate us. Whether it is a friend, a potential or current lover, or just someone I sit across from on the U-Bahn my thoughts occasionally drift to the question...

"How kinky are they?"

My gut is convinced that everyone has a fetish or kink buried deep inside of their groins, gently simmering, just waiting for the right moment to thrust forward with wild abandon. They may be ashamed, inhibited or just plain ignorant of it's existence but it's there nonetheless. Or is it? Am I just assuming that everyone has the same little dark secrets that I have... the gremlins that only ever come out to play when I'm naked and sweating and no longer care about anything save for the dance of my nerve endings?

I guess it depends on what we would class as a fetish or a kink. Lingerie and stiletto heels have long been a source of sexual stimulation, no man that I've ever met has had any problem admitting they are aroused by the sight of a beautiful lady in a fetching two-piece from Victoria Secret - although I have known men that are not really interested in the lingerie but just in getting the delicate lace and silk off so they can grapple with what's underneath. What I am really interested in are those twisted little pleasures that we lust after, what we fantasize about when we are alone, but which we would hesitate endlessly about revealing to another person. These peccadillos may be fairly common but for whatever reason they maintain a level of stigma that requires us to be wary about advertising our desire for them. Spanking is one of those kinks that I am convinced is very, very common... yet not really admitted to, except when firmly attached to a generous helping of humour (you know, just so that everyone understands it's 'just for fun' and in no way at all actually turns them on). I have always found that even the most reserved and unadventurous men are partial to a bit of 'slap and tickle'... and it's never 'just for fun', it turns them on.

But what about women? A sweeping generalization would suspect that men are more psychologically open than women when it comes to partaking in peculiar pleasures... that when there is the possibility of a naked and willing woman in front of them men will do pretty much anything to seal the deal. Women, on the other hand, are seen to be more discriminating, more inclined to call an abrupt halt to the proceedings if their companion suggests something beyond the boundaries. Yet, from my own experiences and those of many of my female friends it seems that it is often the fairer of the sexes that wins the prize for "Most Freaky in the Bedroom". Maybe it's just the women I hang out with...?

Years ago... when I had a television and didn't just stream endless hours of CSI and Law and Order on my laptop... I saw a documentary on English terrestrial TV that followed a group of women during a week long stay at a health spa. During the course of their stay they participated in a series of experiments and discussions on their sexuality. It was fascinating viewing and I'm constantly irritated by my inability to remember any of the production details, however, I've recently discovered some similar research conducted by Meredith Chivers of Queen's University in Ontario (a concise article in The New York Times can be found here). The findings of both studies suggest that women are, at the very least, physically more responsive to any stimuli that even so much as hints at sex. Albeit, with a clear distinction made between reflexive sexual readiness and desire. A evolutionary explanation for this dichotomy has been presented in Chivers upcoming paper for the Archive of Sexual Behaviour, she theorises that reflexive vaginal lubrication is adaptive in that ancestral women who responded automatically to a wide variety of sexual cues, horny or not, were less at risk of injuries resulting from unwanted vaginal penetration. Injuries that can lead to infertility and even death therefore drastically limiting one's reproductive potential.

I like this idea. I like it because it opens up a world of possibilities to me. If my body is already predisposed to respond to a stimulus then the only thing stopping my enjoyment of that stimulus is my psychology... and that can be subject to change in a way that my biology isn't, or at least isn't without the aid of some major surgery, and while there are some inhibitions that I hold dear (and/or are equally 'hardwired'), there are many others that I am amenable to exploring.

And exploring is much more fun when you have someone to explore with. Hence, why I never get tired of wondering what strange water floats our boats.

(All photographs copyright of Darktess)

The pride of a naked lady.

2010-03-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

Most of us nude models have at one time or another experienced negative reactions to the work that we do. It might be from the well-meaning but condescending friend who warns us that the photographer wants nothing else but to 'groom' us, that they will ply us with pretty pictures and compliments and then... BLAM! before we know it, we're high on smack, on a cum-stained mattress being fucked from behind by a pimply youth called Dick Hardy. Or it could be the colleague who posts pictures on the internet to warn parents that a brazen slut is teaching their children Algebra. It might be from boyfriends who just can't seem to get past the fact that somewhere out there another man is jacking off to photographs of their girlfriend... as though a photograph is needed for a guy to shuffle his deck, personally I think it can be taken for granted that most women have been the object of a male strangers masturbation fantasies, nude model or not. A depressingly high number of people (and judging by frequent posts on forums such as Model Mayhem, many nude models themselves) view photographers that work with nudes as little else but dirty old men that press their shutters whilst pulling their pork.

The reality is often (I won't say 'always' as the depths that human beings can sink to never surprises me) as far from that belief as is possible. There could almost be inverse relationship between my most sexy shots and the actual level of sexiness that accompanied the capturing of that shot. With my early work that relationship was in part due to the circumstances of the studio that I worked in... a widebeam narrowboat that afforded little room for maneuver within a 6ft x 6ft impromptu tent of black fabric. Thoughts of fingers and tongues delicately whispering around my pussy were invariably supplanted by thoughts of how in the fuck I was going to keep my balance in ridiculously high hooker shoes as the boat rocked violently from the wakes created by late night rowers. In the 4 years that I have been doing this job I have never had a photographer behave in an untoward fashion... even the so-called GWC's who clearly enjoy photographing more than they enjoy photography. I realise that this is not the experience of all models... I appreciate that I have been lucky... or, that I have taken the necessary precautions to stack the odds favourably in my direction. But isn't that something that we all have to do on a day to day basis? Crossing the road can be a dangerous endeavor, but we (hopefully) learn fairly early in life to find a pedestrian crossing or at least to look both ways before stepping out into the void. Indeed, there are psychopathic, sexual predators that are also photographers... but we can say the same for dentists, or taxi drivers... anyone remember John Worboys?

Another classic misconception is the notion that any woman taking their clothes off for money (or whatever else it is that is given in trade... my personal fav is TFL - Time For Latex!) is somehow being exploited, being used. That they are victims of a patriarchal society that views women as objects, little more than playthings for the appetites of men. The majority of the models I have met are the farthest from that stereotype as you can get. They are empowered women, confident and unabashed in their sexuality.

I began modeling because when I reached my thirties I finally understood that my body was my body... I could lose a little weight here and there but ultimately my ass would always be more than a handful, my tits would never fill a C cup and I would never reach the giddy heights of 5ft 3inches. And most importantly, I no longer cared. I was happy with what I had, and I knew that this was as good as it would get... from now on it was downhill all the way (literally downhill in terms of said ass and tits) and I wanted something to be able to look back on when I was a wrinkly old spinster, scaring the local kids with my crazy witch hair and toothless grin. I was also painfully aware that, like so many women, I had spent a large part of my life hating my body; seeing the imperfections, comparing myself to my own idea of what constituted a beautiful woman... namely, anything that was the direct opposite to my own appearance. I wanted to love my body, my sexuality. And nude modeling gave my body that love. It gave me the opportunity to view my own body objectively, I could see my body from the outside, as a whole thing, not just as the fleshy shell that I inhabit, but a thing (and yes, I will proudly say an object) of beauty. I saw how the wrinkles of fat around my soft belly could cast sensuous shadows, how the stretch marks that blossomed during puberty now look like silver tiger stripes that glisten in the soft light. I saw how the dimples in my ass cheeks simply begged to be grabbed. In short, I saw how wonderful my body is, because and not despite of it's idiosyncrasies. Although my photographs are posted on the internet, or displayed in exhibitions, I have never modeled for anyone other than myself. I would still do this even if no one else on this earth ever saw the images.

This enlightenment is also something that feeds my own photography, I don't care who she is, what she looks like, I would love to photograph every woman I meet. I want to be there when they discover that they are beautiful. My greatest triumph to date has been the reaction I received when I showed a good friend the pictures I had taken of her one evening as we tried to mend her broken heart with red wine. She started crying and asked how I had made her look so beautiful. I replied that I hadn't done anything. She was beautiful and all I did was see it, and photograph it.

And why does it matter if you are beautiful or not? For the same reason that it matters how good a person you are, how intelligent you are, how empathic you are, how generous you are. Beauty is not something that requires facial symmetry, a 0 dress size, legs that go aaallll the way up. Beauty is the quiddity of a thing, the imperfect perfection. It is there in all things if you just take a second to look for it. It should be glorified in all it's forms, celebrated with 21-gun salute, bellowed from the roof tops, a 60ft tall flashing neon sign hung over it's head... because there is more than enough shit and horror and hate and self-loathing in this world. It's about time we fucking relaxed and just let a little beauty into our lives.

(Post inspired by the thoughts of a fellow nude model Article)

(All photographs copyright of Darktess)

The Moments Between.

2010-03-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

I've been attempting to impose some form of order on the chaos that is my photography. I have a hard drive overflowing with folders within folders within folders with little organization save for the most fundamental. So, here I am, inspired by a close friend of mine who has years more work, and hundreds more gigabytes to wade through than I, to collect together the best of the best in one single folder. In doing so I can hopefully avoid the sinking, heavy feeling that inevitably forms in the pit of my stomach whenever someone asks to see a selection of my work; no more trudging through thousands of pictures to find the few sparkling gems that demonstrate my vision and ability, instead, a quick click on the special folder and there they are.

In pursuit of this shared goal, my friend and I sit at a large desk in the middle of the room, our laptops back to back like an ABBA video, our fingers feverishly working a mouse, alternately building and smoking joints, regularly making yet more coffee and constantly muttering to ourselves like lost map readers.

After three days of this I can't say in all honesty that I am any closer to the shore but what I have discovered is a wealth of old modeling photographs that I had forgotten existed. These images evoke a strange but nonetheless pleasurable feeling within me. I see the woman in the photographs and I remember how she was experiencing an awakening; an awakening of her true identity, that the woman that she always wanted to be was, in fact, the woman she was. The first year and a half of modeling, when I worked exclusively with one photographer, was a fantastical adventure that changed my life. Where I am now, who I am now is a direct result of those countless Monday night sessions . They were my therapy; albeit a therapy that included at least two bottles of good wine and the eternal discussion of ever new and interesting ways to tie me up. We would eat, drink, smoke, talk and photograph our way through to the early hours of the morning and I always left the shoot with a lighter step than that which I arrived with.

And mingled in with the glamorous, staged images are pictures taken in those moments between shots, the casual snaps taken during conversation and cigarette breaks. It is in these photographs that I see the love, the respect and the wonder that exists between two friends. These are the images that show me my own self through the eyes of another.

(All photographs copyright of Darktess)

2010-03-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

Fate is a capricious beast. It smiles on some while shitting stones on others. Yet, at one time or another we all suffer the 'slings and arrows' and so when those we care about are under fire we know their pain. We remember our own wounds and how we thought we would bleed forever. We also remember how the raw, gaping hole in our bellies healed with time; became filled with a new joy or the simple fact that life does indeed carry on. Our hearts smile again despite our desperate attempts to keep a grip on the aching inside; the ache that bears witness to the depths of our love and the meaningfulness of our experiences.

We all know these things but these truths hold little comfort for those lost in a merciless here and now. I wish with all of heart to be able to find the right word, the magic phrase that will take the pain away. But I know it doesn't exist. And I know that my words are so easy, so full of shit, because I have been lucky. The damage inflicted on my body and mind was fierce but fleeting, and although it has left a tender spot which will ache for many years to come, my flesh has healed. I am happy.

(The First Flowers by Kelly Humphries)

And so...

2010-02-27T11:06:00.001-08:00

... I quit.

:D

Be careful what you wish for...

2010-02-27T05:12:00.000-08:00

... I wanted a job, I got a job, I hate my job.

Balls!

I do.

2010-02-03T05:27:00.000-08:00

;-)

The sheltering trees.

2010-01-26T01:24:00.000-08:00

I awoke this morning feeling very excited. Two wonderful and dear friends are coming to visit me at the end of the week. Like me, both of them have had difficult times recently; disappointments, painful truths and betrayals, but I know that when we are together again all of those heartbreaks will dissolve into comedy. We will look into each others eyes with the understanding and love that the gift of over a decade of companionship and experience bestows.

In the past I have been accused of compartmentalizing my life; keeping work, pleasure and social circles separate. I knew I did this, I knew it could be painful for those who were close to me, but I couldn't help it. It kept me sane in my world of multiple personalities and identities. It allowed me to be who I wanted to be in any given situation without the eyes of someone who knew me as an 'other' witnessing my fraud. But some eyes do not see a fraud, they see a person growing in all their glory into something more than what they were before. These are the friends that I hold dear to my heart. As Elizabeth Foley once said "The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart." I cherish them as much as I do not mourn for the ones I have had to leave behind.

My Berlin self is different. Here, I am one. And I am so eager to introduce the old to the new. To show them who I am and to allow them the opportunity to touch each others lives as they have all touched mine.

Plus, it's a great excuse for zu viel Wein!!!

(BarGEfEsT 2008)

Descartes got it wrong.

2010-01-25T03:03:00.000-08:00

Cogito ergo sum. A procrastinators mantra.

Ideas flow like rain from English skies but without action those little droplets, ripe with possibility, become nothing more than puddles that dampen the spirit and make your feet wet. I've lost count of the amount of things I've wanted to do in my life; the projects and plans that have energised and excited every sinew and nerve ending in my body only to fizzle out with a pathetic hiss after just a few days. Why? Because all to often I mistake thinking for doing.

Thinking is so safe. And so easy. Among the intelligentsia thinking is considered high art; something to aspire to on a daily basis, something to immerse oneself in and fashion ourselves from. Thinking is good.

And it is. Yet, thinking can also be an obstacle to growth and success. An idea blossoms, the roots needed to sustain it are mapped out and then the whole thing is smothered by layer upon layer of cogitation and rumination until nothing remains but a withered stem.

I don't want to think, I want to do. Wish me luck!

(Darktess)

...the most terrible deception...

2010-01-21T02:34:00.000-08:00

What is it that drives so many of us towards self-destruction? Whilst most people manage to avoid succumbing to the urge to gleefully swan dive from the nearest high building so few have the capacity to just enjoy life without regularly thrusting an iron bar into the spokes of our own happiness. Without doubt that ubiquitous self-loathing, nestling in the heart of every man has some part to play; when life is good there is a little voice inside that gently taunts "You don't deserve this... it'll end in tears.... best be the one to fuck it up... at least you'll be the one in control..."

But to lay the blame solely on insecurity and the fucked up things that happened to us in our childhoods is too simplistic. There is more at work: Primordial adaptations that were once the keys to our survival but are now just flaccid psychological appendages. The omnipresent fears of being alone, of disappointment, of failure, of being out of control all fester within us. They are natures great motivators but we live in a world so far removed from nature that what was designed to be productive becomes pathological.

Yet there is a way through this battlefield of evolutionary APM's and that is understanding. Understanding why we are behaving the way that we are, understanding without judgement but with clarity and honesty. When we understand, everything is illuminated. We may still fall down, we may still make mistakes and we will undoubtably lay ourselves bare; like the seed that needs to shed it's protective husk in order to grow into something infinitely more powerful we need to embrace our vulnerability to be able to flourish.

(Tessa by Andreas Holm)

Let me count the ways.

2010-01-19T01:35:00.000-08:00

Some kinds of love
Marguerita told Tom
Between thought and expression lies a lifetime
Situations arise because of the weather
and no kinds of love
are better than others

(Lou Reed)

A four letter word with infinite variety. Love is...
...everything and nothing.
...the scent he leaves behind on your bed sheets.
...the first cup of coffee in the morning.
...your own reflection in the mirror.
...the worn, threadbare toy you've had since childhood.
...the story that you wish could be yours.
...young rosenkohl lightly tossed in butter and freshly ground black pepper.
...sharing silence.
...a melody that you could die listening to.
...the butterflies you feel when you think of his hands on your skin.
...the stillness of dawn.
...4am.
...the friends and strangers who make your life less lonely.
...the things that remind you of what has come before.
...the first snow of a hard winter.
...an image that excites the senses.
...taking a journey together.
...understanding for the first time.
...touching someone's spirit.
...the desire to nurture.
...at first sight.
...familiarity.
...a warm bed on a cold night.
...the smell of freshly cut grass.
...good wine.
...sweat on sun-burnished skin.
...3-day stubble.
...peace.
...submission.
...knowing that our lives will never be the same again.
...the best that is yet to come.
...our addictions.
...a gift from others.
...chocolate melting on your tongue.
...the face you always want to look at.
...boundless and infinite.

Love is... not blind but adaptive.

(Tessa by James M Graham)

Slip and slide.

2010-01-05T05:25:00.000-08:00

Amor Fati.

It is a term used by Nietzsche to symbolise the love of ones fate. According to Nietzsche it is the formula for all human greatness and is the attitude of viewing everything that happens in life, good or bad, pleasure and pain, suffering, loss, joy, happiness as good. In Judaism it is the concept of Gam Zeh Letovah (this too is for the best - גם זה לטובה). It is a difficult path to travel. It requires faith and trust and an acceptance that to some of us feels like a surrendering. I have never felt comfortable waving the white flag; my instincts are always to fight. But fighting usually leads to even more violence and in violence there are no winners. So, I let go. I place my faith in the choices that I have made, whether they are the right decisions or whether they are horrible mistakes. Because they are what I needed to choose at that time and they will take me where I need to be. When we take the first steps, when we act (regardless of the rightness of that act), everything becomes clearer and the second and third step become visible. I see my second and third step. I still have no idea how to reach them but at least I now know where they are.

(My Name is Nobody)

The end is where we start from.

2009-12-31T00:47:00.000-08:00

I write this as 2009 draws to a close. An interesting year; the cliched rollercoaster ride. Ups, downs, twists and the strange mixture of excitement and nausea. 2010 will probably bring more of the same... but it's not what the future holds for us that matters, it's the way we face those myriad possibilities. I have recently understood that "fixing the 'outside' does not change the experience of life", that can only be achieved from inside. The external does not make us unhappy; other people, life events, our careers (or lack thereof), even our emotions and thwarted desires do not impose misery. Misery comes from within and it is the reaction we choose when faced with negativity.

I choose joy. Alles liebe.

(Tessa by Carsten Fleck 2009)

(Me by nobody)

The one true cause of human failure.

2009-12-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

Trust and faith. Two small words. Words that we throw away every day on the superficialities of our lives. We 'trust' in certain products. We have 'faith' in politicians. We use these words to represent how we feel about the external; we trust other people and things, we have faith in Gods and philosophies. Rarely do we apply these terms to ourselves; to the internal. I wonder how many of us truly trust our own selves, how many of us have faith in what we choose, what we think, what we know.

The last couple of weeks have been an awakening. I have understood for the first time how little I trust myself and I wonder how epidemic this failure is. I look back on the minutiae of my life and realise that everything I have thought and felt and experienced has been infused with an ubiquitous faithlessness. This has often manifested in an intrusive taunting voice that whispers "The grass is greener over there...". I change my mind like I'm changing my underwear, like my choices and feelings are something material that can be discarded and rendered meaningless. This was how I was taught to deal with anything of inner meaning. The classic British working class ethos of "Have a cup of tea, stop thinking about it and everything will be OK". I saw my strength as my ability to 'just get on with things', to be emotionally hard (although this was always only with regards to anything of depth - I can cry within just a few minutes of some cheap, schmaltzy Disney movie). I always believed that this hardness was practicality but I now realise that it was faithlessness; a profound distrust in my own instincts. This lack of faith reaches into every aspect of my being, and it is the root of all my misery and sadness and frustration.

And the funny thing is... I always know... my spirit (or whatever you want to call it... jeez, I still revolt against these 'esoteric' terms) always speaks the truth to me, and I finally understand that it's about time I started trusting myself.

(Tessa by Carsten Fleck)

Coming out the other side.

2009-12-22T05:40:00.000-08:00

Modeling can sometimes be therapy. You find yourself sharing a kind of intimacy with someone whom you have never met before, but who sees a side of you that you keep hidden from even your closest friends. The photographers who become your friends are those ones that do not judge, that want to see the emotion and the pain and ultimately the laughter that you hold deep inside. You may only ever meet them once but their words and their spirits stay with you and if you're lucky you get a visual reminder of the way they touched your life.

(Tessa by Carsten Fleck)

Washing of the water.

2009-11-28T05:33:00.000-08:00

I miss my boat. The gentle rocking of the river, the squeaking of the mooring ropes as they stretched with the wake, the tapping of swans feeding on the algae that nestled upon the hull at the waterline, even the fortnightly palaver of emptying the toilet. Most of all I miss how Cep used to make everything OK, she represented my achievements, my dreams and the fulfillment of my ambitions. She was mine. She kept me warm and dry and safe, her steel arms surrounded me and sang me a lullaby every night.

River, river carry me on
Living river carry me on
River, river carry me on
To the place where I come from

So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride
If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside

River, show me how to float
I feel like I'm sinking down
Thought that I could get along
But here in this water
My feet won't touch the ground
I need something to turn myself around

Going away, away towards the sea
River deep, can you lift up and carry me
Oh roll on though the heartland
'Til the sun has left the sky
River, river carry me high
'Til the washing of the water make it all alright
Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight

Letting go, it's so hard
The way it's hurting now
To get this love untied
So tough to stay with thing
'Cause if I follow through
I face what I denied
I get those hooks out of me
And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side
Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide

River, oh river, river running deep
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep
In the washing of the water will you take it all away
Bring me something to take this pain away

(Peter Gabriel, Washing of the Water from the album "Us")

My beloved Cep.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

2009-11-24T06:37:00.000-08:00

In my dreams I know I am dreaming, I know that I am really safe, in my bed, warm and content. The adventures I have whilst my unseeing eyes rove are a second life, a life where I am invincible even in death. I almost never have nightmares. I love the dark and dangerous landscapes that my sleeping mind creates, I love the creatures that inhabit it. They are there for my pleasure, my fun, my escape.

But in the last few months I haven't been dreaming at all. Or at least I haven't remembered those that I have had - and I always remember. I have missed those moonlit escapades, my world is too homogenous without them.

Then, like a lover returned, I started dreaming again last week. But these dreams are full of sinking boats. And the boats are sinking because of me. Because I didn't take care. In these dreams I don't know that I am dreaming, I can't control the adventure, although I don't wake as from a nightmare; screaming, sweating and thankful for the solid walls of my apartment. I just feel profound regret. Regret that I couldn't stop the boat from sinking.

Things fall apart: The centre cannot hold.

2009-11-20T05:39:00.000-08:00

During my years as a psychiatric nurse I learnt a lot about the lengths people can go to in order to escape the responsibility and stresses of ordinary, everyday life. There are times when we all feel overwhelmed, incapable of dealing with even the simplest things like getting out of bed in the morning. I witnessed men and women so burdened with hopelessness that they no longer controlled their own bowel movements; curled like a fetus on the linoleum floor of their wipe-clean hospital room, as incapable as a new-born baby, their wails a desperate cry for someone to come and take care of them, to take on board the minutiae of their existence.

Although extreme, this dissociation was always something that touched a part of my understanding that most of the other behaviours I experienced on that ward couldn't reach. Empathically I understood their desire to just give it all away. To abdicate all responsibility. To surrender all control. There is peace and comfort in this quietism and it is the comfort of the womb; the soft, warm fleshy fortress where all our needs were attended to and all we had to do was just 'be'.

The drug addict, the dissociative patient, the ex-con who dreams of returning to the structure and enforced regimentation of prison, the alcoholic, the 'blame' junkie constantly searching for external obstacles to their happiness, the depressed. All of these are lost souls yearning for the womb and for the peace that they knew there. But they are also us. Every time we 'cannot be bothered', every time we choose not to act, every time we give in to the seductive urge to just stay in bed, or play Mafia Wars on Facebook we are taking one more step towards the abyss.

(The Death of Chatterton by Kelly Humphries)

I KNOW they're shit...

2009-11-16T03:36:00.000-08:00

... but there are times when Keane sum it all up for me.

Who is the man I see
Where I'm supposed to be?
I lost my heart, I buried it too deep
Under the iron sea

Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball
Save us all, tell me life is beautiful
Mirror, mirror on the wall

Lines ever more unclear
I'm not sure I'm even here
The more I look the more I think that I'm
Starting to disappear

Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball
Save us all, tell me life is beautiful
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Oh, crystal ball, hear my song
I'm fading out, everything I know is wrong
So put me where I belong

I don't where I am
And I don't really care
I look myself in eye
There's noone there
I fall upon the earth
I call upon the air
But all I get is the same old vacant stare

Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball
Save us all, tell me life is beautiful
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Oh, crystal ball, hear my song
I'm fading out, everything I know is wrong
So put me where I belong

Stormy Weather.

2009-11-13T23:50:00.001-08:00

THE TWO
You are the town and we are the clock.
We are the guardians of the gate in the rock.
The Two.
On your left and on your right
In the day and in the night,
We are watching you.

Wiser not to ask just what has occurred
To them who disobeyed our word;
To those
We were the whirlpool, we were the reef,
We were the formal nightmare, grief
And the unlucky rose.

Climb up the crane , learn the sailor's words
When the ships from the islands laden with birds
Come in.
Tell your stories of fishing and other men's wives:
The expansive moments of constricted lives
In the lighted inn.

But do not imagine we do not know
Nor that what you hide with such care won't show
At a glance.
Nothing is done, nothing is said,
But don't make the mistake of believing us dead:
I shouldn't dance.

We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall.
We've been watching you over the garden wall
For hours.
The sky is darkening like a stain,
Something is going to fall like rain
And it won't be flowers.

When the green field comes off like a lid
Revealing what was much better hid:
Unpleasant.
And look, behind you without a sound
The woods have come up and are standing round
In deadly crescent.

The bolt is sliding in its groove,
Outside the window is the black remov-
ers' van.
And now with sudden swift emergence
Come the woman in dark glasses and humpbacked surgeons
And the scissors man.

This might happen any day
So be careful what you say
Or do.
Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock,
Trim the garden, wind the clock,
Remember the Two.

W.H. Auden

The slinking cat beneath the lilacs of my mind.

2009-11-12T03:35:00.000-08:00

Clive Barker once wrote "There is no delight the equal of dread." and I think he's right. From the very start of man's awkward, brutal ascent out of the primordial ooze he has meditated, debated and waxed lyrical on the subject of fear. We even use it as entertainment... we revel in the adrenalin rush, the sweaty palms and heavy breathing that accompany a good, scary story. Our fantasies are riddled with dangerous situations and cruel lovers because to be afraid is to be aroused; our hearts thump, our nerve-endings fire, our bodies shiver in anticipation.

But real fear, real terror is not so much fun. It can be educational and it can save your life, as Hannah Arendt says "Fear is an emotion indispensable for survival". In our ancestral environment fear was adaptive; the angel on our shoulder warning us of imminent threat. Even today fear continues to be our constant guardian, the sentinel of safety that helps to ensure a long, healthy life. I am a big fan of fear.

But as is the way with all good things fear all to often simply paralyses. It acts like an iron cage upon our hearts and minds, as Samuel Butler opined "Fear is static that prevents me from hearing myself" and fear is a hungry monster, a yaffling Greedygut constantly whispering to us in honeyed tones "Feed me, feeeeed me".

We can't escape it, we shouldn't escape it for it is as much a part of existence as the air we need to breathe but we do need to recognize it; to see it's true form so that we can understand it's motivations and ultimately, teach it some table manners.

(The Perils of Tessa by Darktess)

Words that should be used more often. Part 1

2009-11-11T03:13:00.000-08:00

Verliebtheit or Limerence refers to an involuntary cognitive and emotional state of intense romantic desire for another person. Fallen-in-love-ness.

Miles to go before I Sleep.

2009-11-11T02:13:00.000-08:00

Time is relative... apparently. We compartmentalize and solidify each moment so that we all have a marker by which to measure our lives and the activities we fill it with, but each of us experiences those seconds, hours, days differently. People often say that if they won the lottery or retired or for whatever reason no longer needed to work they would still keep their jobs... to do 'nothing' would be a 'little slice of death'. Balls! I say. You would fill your days with something. Something that structured each moment and gave meaning to waking up.

For over 6 months I have not 'worked' and for 6 months I've managed somehow to fill my days so that the months slip by, barely registering, till I find myself just a few weeks from Christmas; that ubiquitous landmark of our lives that fills us with dread and excitement in equal measure. But what are these 'things' that occupy my time? Some are productive efforts geared towards earning a living and advancing my 'career' while others represent little more than apathetic masturbation; a means of moving from one moment to the next with as little physical and mental effort as is possible. And I love those moments, the times of doing 'nothing'; watching asinine Police Procedurals TV shows and low-budget 1980's horror movies, constantly refreshing FB to see if someone else has been doing anything remotely interesting, having 45 minute showers, and smoking cigarettes as though each step that I bring myself closer to death is a past-time worthy of single-minded pursuit.

My days are now structured by the morning ritual of 8am alarms, coffee and a cigarette while wrestling with the online Guardian cryptic crossword, shower, FB, blog, MM, NM, back to FB, followed by protracted mental flogging for my inactivity. Some days continue in this vein for hours until the sun goes down and I can convince myself that it's too late to do anything useful today so I might as well put the next season of 'Supernatural' on and open that bottle of wine. Other days find a way of shoe-horning my ass up from behind my desk and out into the world... I like these days too, they validate and excuse the times that satiate my lazy, sloth-like personality. But I know that I need more of this and less of the other... and this is the little death of 'not-working'. I no longer have a boss to demand my attention and energy; I am alone, free, with nothing but my own sense of motivation as a guide. This is what terrifies the retired and the lottery-winner. They know that they will find something to do with their time... they are just afraid that it will be of such little consequence that they themselves will cease to mean anything.

“Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realises himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.”

Existentialism is a Humanism by Jean-Paul Sartre 1946

Did Ted Bundy buy this?

2009-11-10T01:28:00.000-08:00

Evil science ;)

Riding the Oxytocin wave.

2009-11-10T00:50:00.000-08:00

Dear readers, please allow me to introduce you to Oxytocin, the love hormone.

This little puppy has been linked to bonding and attachment behaviours in both animals and humans.

Oxytocin is a peptide of 9 amino acids that has both peripheral (hormonal) actions through secretion from the pituitary gland, and actions within the brain reflecting it's release from centrally projecting Oxytocin neurons in the amygdala, ventromedial hypothalamus, septum and brainstem.

It's actions include the 'let-down' reflex in lactating mammals (whereby breast milk is let down into collecting chambers in the mammary glands ready for suckling), cervical dilation and Uterine contraction during labor, and other bonding and maternal behaviours in mammals. More recent research has investigated the connections between Oxytocin and sexual response in humans, and while the jury is still out it seems that this little bundle of amino acids has a key role to play in sexual arousal and orgasm (when injected into the cerebrospinal fluid of male rats it causes spontaneous erections). Furthermore, some studies have hinted that it also plays a part in increasing empathy and trust and reducing fear.

The neurobiology of social bonds.

The Oxytocin Receptor system.

Plasma oxytocin increases in the human sexual response.

So.... next time you hear you heart go 'Boom-Boom-Chick-a-Wow-Waa' in the presence of some guy or girl... don't fret, just blame your Oxytocin.

Edit: This is a rather fun link too... The Cuddle Hormone ... I particularly like the quote;

"You first meet him and he’s passable," Witt said of the phenomena. "The second time you go out with him, he’s OK. The third time you go out with him, you have sex. And from that point on you can’t imagine what life would be like without him."

Monday morning and things move on...

2009-11-09T04:35:00.000-08:00

Baby,
life's what you make it
Can't escape it

Baby,
yesterday's favourite
Don't you hate it

Everything's all right
life's what you make it

Baby,
life's what you make it
Don't backdate it

Baby,
Don't try to shade it
Beauty is naked

Everything's all right
life's what you make it

Baby,
life's what you make it
Celebrate it
Anticipate it
Yesterday's faded
Nothing can change it
Life's what you make it

Everything's all right
life's what you make it.

Couldn't say it any better myself...

( Schleifen by Kelly Humphries)

I love the smell of developer in the evening.

2009-11-05T11:55:00.000-08:00

In a room as dark as pitch, a red bulb barely throwing out enough light to see my hand in front of my face I attempt to bring life and meaning to an image captured months ago on a 30 Euro plastic camera... and this poem keeps running through my mind...

You'll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like!

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What's death?—You'll love me yet!

(You'll Love Me Yet by Robert Browning)

(Lulu by Kelly Humphries)

I can't remember the tune but I remember the lines...

2009-11-05T07:55:00.000-08:00

When I hear you call my name,
My heart skips a beat.

( "3" by Kelly Humphries)

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea...

2009-11-05T06:42:00.000-08:00

I think that most people who know me would say that I'm a fairly practical, no-nonsense kind of gal. Romanticism and the esoteric hold little interest for me outside of philosophical debate. However, every now and then I find myself wallowing in the fantastical, day-dreaming flights of fancy and obsessing over that which is not real.... or at least, that which is not yet real; I spend my days moping around my apartment, drinking way too much coffee, smoking too many cigarettes, hardly eating. At these times I always find myself drawn to the random collections of poetry that hover, gathering dust, in-between the rows and rows of serial killer biographies and pulp horror novels lining my book shelves. There is something overly dramatic about poetry that comforts me. The eloquent and luxurious prose somehow validates my histrionics, turning them from the destructive, sad and foolish things they are into something of heart-rending beauty.

So, just for you, dear readers... here's some Alfred Lord Tennyson...

A Farewell.

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river:
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

(Tessa by Kelly Humphries)

2.20am

2009-11-04T17:28:00.000-08:00

I'm flayed by the love that used to
be the air I breathed.

(Tessa by Mike Kamei)

The white city...

2009-11-04T04:12:00.001-08:00

Yippee!!!! The first snow of winter has arrived in Berlin... this is the view from my balcony as of 5 minutes ago.... I think I may have to go out and play ;)

I'm having the overwhelming urge...

2009-11-03T00:20:00.000-08:00

... to do a shoot while listening to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.... really fucking loud!

Blue shadows behind your eyes
I wonder who you disguise
Through windows behind the sky
I wonder who you will find
I'm so tired
I can't get back
I'm walking to still come back
With something that I have loved

(Photo courtesy of FilmPhoto)

At times like these...

2009-11-02T00:24:00.000-08:00

...only Bryan Adams can help me.

(Tessa by Kelly Humphries)

The Garden of Love.

2009-10-31T02:17:00.000-07:00

I went to the Garden of Love
And saw what I never had seen:

Room for two?

2009-10-30T14:22:00.000-07:00

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

By Robert frost

Jurassic fuck.

2009-10-29T08:42:00.000-07:00

This has got to be one of the funniest things I've ever seen... whenever I'm blue this is guaranteed to make me chuckle...

Pterodactyl porn!?!

... I have to admit to be pretty impressed by the quality of the costumes...

A lone hand claps...

2009-10-26T08:39:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been about 3 hours since the Geisha boys left Berlin. I fed them well, I led them on a tour of historic Berlin sights and I took advantage of their narcissistic temperaments and made lots of pictures.

And now... the apartment is tidied and all signs that 4 grubby rock musicians have been bedding down in what usually passes as my lounge are gone... save for the boxes and boxes of books and other pointless tat that I made them bring over from England in their tour van for me, and I think I miss them....

Geisha Noise Research Group

Night of the Living Geisha Boys...

2009-10-24T00:38:00.000-07:00

... at some, as yet unspecified, time today the peace and tranquillity of my Berlin apartment will be over-run with Geisha-boys. Unfortunately, not the lady-boy, he-she variety but the sweaty-been-on-the-road-for-3-weeks-snarling-noise-rock genus of Geisha... but they rock so it'll be OK.

As for this gorgeous little lady that I captured at the Venus Adult Trade Show... I sincerely hope that when I'm in my seventies and barely able to stand up straight I will also be carrying around a digital camera that probably weighs more than I do, happily snapping away at lithesome, naked, copulating teenagers...

A gun would be nice...

2009-10-22T02:19:00.000-07:00

... I'm writing this whilst being on hold with 3 Mobile in my 3rd attempt to get my old English handset unlocked, and a gun would be nice... not that I can reach through the airwaves and shoot the motherfuckers answering at the call centre in Mumbai... but I could at least put myself out of my misery.

But I have no gun.

So instead... a picture from the Venus Trade Show 2009

A huge erection...

2009-10-17T00:13:00.000-07:00

... just a taster from the sights at the Venus Festival. Needless to say, I want one!

Days of T&A

2009-10-16T13:51:00.000-07:00

I was hoping to upload some photos and a little diary of my experiences at the Venus Porn Festival here in Berlin... I'm 3 days down with 2 more to go... but it's been so full on I have not had time, and quite frankly after 11 straight hours of way too much gynecological imformation the last thing I want to do is fucking talk about it and edit photographs... so I'm off to get some cigarettes and eat some instant mash potato and I'll update this blog that no one reads when it's all over.... please God let it be over.....

The whisperer.

2009-10-06T01:25:00.000-07:00

So, for the last couple of days I have been pondering the eternal question... why does Steven Seagal have a voice double? This strange and inexplicable phenomenon first appeared a few years ago and while it is less of a mystery why he has had to resort to body/stunt doubles the dubbing of his voice leaves me in a constant state of wonder. Is it because he's so expensive that when some additional recording is required the producers just hire some young cheap stud to impersonate the Holy one (very badly)? Or... is he just a bit of a lazy fuck and can't be arsed with all that pesky ADR? Or... could it be that the man is almost incapable of delivering his lines above a whisper leaving the poor sound guys with tapes and tapes of inaudible mumbling?

I've scoured the internet for an answer to this conundrum but the all-knowing webbernet has failed me.

I still love ol' chubby chops though...

(photos copyright of Eroticalia)

Dear Santa...

2009-10-04T04:15:00.000-07:00

... I want to be 5ft 8in and a size 0.

Santa is rubbish (I never did get that rocking horse I wanted either) but luckily for me Stefano Brunesci isn't!

The Wonder Years...

2009-10-03T04:39:00.000-07:00

... when Tessa was just a glint in Kamei's eye.

2009-10-03T04:16:00.000-07:00

Apparently today is Reunification Day here in Germany... I remember being 16, sitting in my tiny bedroom, watching the events unfold on a dust-covered portable TV and realising for the first time in my life that I was watching 'history' as it happened... today, at 35 I am not so reflective, today this simply means that all the fucking shops are shut for the next two days and I haven't got anything in the fridge for Sunday lunch. Balls! My persistent inability to plan ahead is a constant source of frustration for me.

So instead of going out and enjoying the simple pleasure that is food shopping I will sit at my desk and try and think of something interesting to say....

.... fuck it! Here's some naked pictures instead... (copyright courtesy of AndyQPhotography, Stefano Brunesci and filmphoto respectively)

I'm rambling but not naked...

2009-10-03T03:34:00.000-07:00

... at the moment. No, no nakedness here, just a black negligee ruined by an old brown cardigan. It's glamour all the way.

So, this is the beginning of my blog... in truth, it's a cheaper option than buying a website and all the kewl people do it so it can't be that bad... can it?

The purpose of this ubiquitous exercise in vanity? To display my work as a model... this is where the 'naked' comes in and the reason why FB etc etc fail me...

... so all I need to do know now is how in the name of all that is holy I can upload pictures.

Ah-ha! I do it like this....

(Photographer: filmphoto)