Arguing is often hopeless with those who feel rather strongly leaning one way. No one is to blame or judge. Sometimes people are just wired the way they are and changing their wiring would simply be a poor attempt at playing god.

Ironically and almost hypocritically I feel that even writing this goes against everything I stand for. Open mindedness, non-judgemental views, sympathy for the other.

I may just be projecting at the end of it all.

Who are you to judge?

Attraction is a subject I often find myself thinking about. I’ve thought about it for years since my very first crush and my very first rejection.

To this day, attraction to beauty is nothing but a given.

We all know this. It’s just natural human wiring. We see something pleasant to look at, we’re drawn to it. And the opposite, grotesque, we avert our gaze. I know that what makes something or someone attractive is all subjective. Everyone’s got their own tastes and needs.

Looking further, yet, another obvious statement: We want to hide the ugliness of life.

Pictures uploaded of gorgeous beings. Frolicking in the sun, drinking their mimosas, boarding passes, muscles, product placements, filters, trends, memes. Pretty people. Pretty faces. Pretty bodies. Things that make you happy. Things that make you feel like you could also partake in these activities.

Bringing awareness to the sickness of the world is often masked by redacted scripts to ensure ad revenue and this media becomes a one-way ticket to viralness.

Maybe I’m just a bitter, cynical individual.

I’ve seen many fall prey to such outlandish fantasies. Unrealistic needs fed by psychopaths through the screen. I guess that’s why they just call them fantasies. We’re all just chasing shit that we know we can’t have because they’re fabricated.

I’ve punched at the air pathetically a few nights and screamed in my car a handful of times because of this.

Why can’t I just fucking get what I want?

Then one day, I figured I’d get into niche porn media.

Porn was a trajectory into the obscene. A Catholic-raised individual, raised in a fairly decent home, a good standing with the law, with no other warning signs other than the sudden urge to sell sex.

A strange idea crept into my mind.

It made sense but it didn’t. Porn was the embodiment of everything people desired. Superficial attraction, no strings attached, no work needed.

You didn’t need to work hard to find a woman working a blowbang scene.

POV made everything feel real. Real enough.

Didn’t matter who you were - the seductiveness of gyrating pussies and cocks did seem to bring about a sense of escapism from the maniacal world.

I figured maybe then I’ll feel satisfied.

The strange pull of wanting to satisfy others seemed to be a running gag that one fateful August night. Could probably feed the ego.

And it did.

I’d forgotten the collapse of the world around me. Screams for change and revolution were mixed under the audio track of my aggressive moaning and the slight sounds of wet slapping being picked up by my phone.

Stories of sick minded women and men the front page for the nervous crowd.

People loved it. It helped satisfy their cravings even for twenty minutes.

I couldn’t help but feel like a god. I rode the wave of sudden creative orgasm after orgasm. Making things that people didn’t know they wanted. Pushing the boundaries of what people thought porn was.

She said maybe I had flown too close to the sun.

I read the message a few times trying to figure out if she was psychoanalysing me to get off or if she genuinely had concern about my sudden disappearance.

At that time I felt like any interaction with me was a means to get off.

Ego stroked too hard.

I didn’t care. I made thousands orgasm without even showing my face. And what if I did?

I masturbated to the thought of it that night. Vowed to make a return better than before.

Somewhere in limbo, I became enraged. The same feeling I had when I couldn’t get what I wanted. A whole fucking tantrum. A grown ass adult locking themselves in their bedroom wishing for the extinction event to work faster.

Somewhere in limbo, I wanted to become everything ugly.

I felt a churning in my stomach and bowels. How could I be betrayed by the medium that brought me so much attention that I’d once kill to have?

Even though no one knew me or my face - I felt exposed in a way that did not make sense.

Vulnerable.

I was mad.

Crafted an entire character out of a piece of myself only to mutilate and disfigure beyond recognition.

With my own blood spraying comically all over my body, I screamed.

Everything I had made up until that point was garbage.

Identities between characters and the real me (whoever that is) began to meld into a homunculi of wriggling, pulsating flesh.

Voices and letters of fans who have built an image of me in their minds unwillingly sucked into the ever-growing monstrosity of nonsensical proportions.

Disgusted, I lashed out.

Pretty faces of women adorned the walls. Each one was an image created by the minds of the curious crowd. Who was this person?

I became the face of women they knew. Women they wished they knew. Women they loved and hated.

I became everything that I was not.

Pretty.

I was disgusted.

Delusional to the point of hysteria.

Imagine being upset at free thought. Imagine hating the idea that what people see in their minds was not you. Associated the tales and psychotic moaning not to the person who made them, but to a woman in their mind.

Not you.

Any logical person would think: why not? You never showed who you were anyway.

But I’m not any logical person.

I wanted to be ugly.

I wanted to be real.

I don’t need to show face for that.

In a sea of fantasy and fake orgasms, pretty moans and batting eyelashes, I wanted to find the grotesque. I couldn’t hold the expectation of becoming the alluring porn star. It became boring.

Nights I’ve pondered if maybe I’m just in the wrong medium.

Yet, I persist.

Pushing boundaries of what porn could be - whether anyone else was on board or not. I’m far from innovative. Far from genius. And that’s okay. I just want to make things that make people feel like they shouldn’t have come across it. Shit that makes them reevaluate all of what they thought could be attractive.

Revelling in the ugly.


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