No Sleep But For The Nightmares

"Was it a dream? Was it the dream of a somnambulist, a dream within a dream, and hence more real than a real dream, since it cannot be measured against waking, since it cannot be measured by consciousness, because it is a dream from which one awakens into another dream? Or was it a god-like dream, a dream of time and eternity? A dream without illusions and doubts, a dream with its own languages and senses, a dream of both soul and body, a dream of consciousness and corporality both, a dream with clear-cut boundaries, with its own language and sound, a dream that is palpable, that can be explored with taste, smell, and hearing, a dream stronger than waking, a dream such as only the dead perhaps can dream, a dream that cannot be denied by a blade nicking the chin, for blood flows at once, and everything one does is but a proof of reality and waking; the skin bleeds in the dream as does the heart, the body rejoices in the dream as does the soul, there are no miracles in the dream other than life; the only way out of the dream is to awaken into death." -- Danilo Kiš, The Encyclopedia of the Dead

Photo of the Day: James Keivom

"Russian Model's Tragic Death"; photo credit: James Keivom

Tokyo Gore Police Hopefully Not Coming For You

The trailer for "Tokyo Gore Police" is deeply arresting. Where to begin? With the crocodile vagina? The removable face? The blood rain umbrella? I guess the one thing I would say is that it made me appreciate that some parts of the world attempt to deal with the harsh realities of inevitable death not by censorship but with humor.

"The plot: future Tokyo is plagued by bio-mechanical a virus. People who contract the virus turn into 'Engineers,' named so for their ability to assemble weapons out of their infected flesh wounds. A special privatized police force (the gore police, also known as 'Engineer Hunters') exists to wipe out these beings, but if they’re wounded by one of the engineers, they quickly join their ranks, horrific implements of death quickly spawning from their own flesh."

For another festival of violence, check out this Russian trailer for "Wanted," via Chatarra, which calls it "Porno de balas."

George Carlin, RIP [Updated]

George Carlin dead of heart failure at 71.
Seven Dirty Words:
Shit
Piss
Fuck
Cunt
Cocksucker
Motherfucker
Tits

Updated:

(via Brett Walker)

HBO's "Generation Kill"

HBO's "Generation Kill," based on the book of the same name by Evan Wright and produced by David Simon ("The Wire"), premieres in July.

Related: "Pat Dollard's War on Hollywood."

Visit My Grave!

Oh, look! It's my tombstone. Earlier today, I wrote: "...NSFW will probably be stamped on my gravestone." Apparently, this inspired Daniel Radosh, who sent this lovely mock-up of my grave site.

I am touched.

J. Orlin Grabbe Dies

James Orlin Grabbe, who was a regular linker to this blog, has died, a Reverse Cowgirl reader reports. The front page of Grabbe's site now reads: "We are sorry to inform you that James Orlin Grabbe passed away in his home in Costa Rica on March 15th, 2008. He will be missed, Godspeed Orlin." Wikipedia reports the cause of death was heart failure. Grabbe was an internationally renowned scientist and author whose interests ranged from finance to fractals. His obsessively updated ur-blog was a deeply eclectic mix of chaos theory, cryptology, and conspiracy theories--all peppered with photographs of naked women. "When asked about the girls on his page, Orlin Grabbe is said to always have given the same message: It is my page and I alone decide what goes on it. I like beautiful images and the pictures of the naked girls keep those away who I don't want to visit." The archives live here.

DC Madam Charges Dismissed

In an interesting twist, the NY Daily News reports the charges against Deborah Palfrey, aka the DC Madam, have been dismissed.

As the WaPo explained in the wake of Palfrey's death: "It is standard practice for authorities to file an 'abatement of prosecution' motion with a court if a defendant dies before the end of a criminal proceeding. Palfrey's case had not ended because her sentencing was pending and she had filed a notice that she planned to appeal her conviction."

My Salon story on Palfrey: "Death and the D.C. Madam."

Email of the Day

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Death and the D.C. Madam [Updated]

Late last week, after Deborah Jeane Palfrey, aka "the D.C. Madam," killed herself, an editor at Salon contacted me and asked if I would write a story on the subject. That story, "Death and the D.C. Madam," is now online. Special thanks to Melissa Gira, Bree Daniels, and the Anonymous Call Girl for letting me interview you. If you'd like to hear more from working girls and johns in their own words, you can visit my related project: Letters from Working Girls & Letters from Johns.

Update: Details of Palfrey's suicide notes released. [via Radar]

On May 1, Deborah Jeane Palfrey, better known as "the D.C. Madam," was found dead in a shed located behind her mother's Tarpon Springs, Fla., mobile home. Apparently, Palfrey, 52, hanged herself from a metal beam with a length of nylon rope. When her 76-year-old mother, Blanche Palfrey, called 911 just before 11 a.m., the emergency operator asked if her daughter was still hanging from the rafter. "Yes," said the madam's weeping mother, who had regularly accompanied her daughter to court the month previous, "I can't move her. I'm 76 years old."

No Comin' Back

(via)
Yesterday, my pal Xeni posted on Boing Boing about my renewed call for letters from johns and letters from working girls. Right now, I have about three times as many letters from johns as from working girls, so I'm very interested in hearing from more women. To clarify, working girls includes dancers, call girls, phone sex operators, porn stars, dominatrixes, and the like. If you've got a story to tell, or you think you have a story to tell but you're not sure, feel free to email me. One thing I've noticed is that men tend to write a letter and send it, while women are far more likely to contact me first and then write a letter. I'm not sure why this is the case. Yesterday, I received what is probably the most powerful letter from a john thus far. It's from John 30: "I Had Also Done Many Things During Two Deployments I Never Wanted To Do." In the comments on Boing Boing, Jacquilynne wrote: "I have to kind of wonder how much editing those letters are getting." The answer is very, very little. Generally, I do little more than fix punctuation in service of clarity: insert a comma there, stop a run on here, fix the spelling. To change the content of the letters would be contradictory to the nature of the project. But at times I do wonder if I should do anything to the letters at all. After all, I could simply do nothing to them and post them as they are. I do, though, wonder if that would hinder reader comprehension of what the letter writer is trying to say. And part of the point in all this is to bridge the gap between the unsaid and the unheard. Either way, I've posted the original version of John 30's letter here alongside the edited version. If you've got an opinion on the letter editing issue, let me know.

Update: Jacquilynne followed up again on the matter here. I'll take her remarks into consideration; she makes a good point, and yet also recognizes the conflict either way. Also, I suppose it bears mentioning that even without proofreading or editing, the letters are still "edited" in that they are selected at all. So, the great letters debate continues.

I HAD ALSO DONE MANY THING DURING TWO DEPLOYMENTS I NEVER WANTED TO DO (UNEDITED)

where to begin

Im a mid twenty something currently in the military. I have a stable girlfriend and several unstable yet available female friends. I am vastly overeducated for my job and am generally a well respected person. Im not too shabby in the looks department and am very seldom ridiculed. Generally being gone for a year at a time overseas is a terrible experience, every time ive gone its been a miserable series of events that makes suicide seem palatable. One day i decided to visit Toronto with some friends. After a complete failure at the bar scene i decided i could part with some money for some stress release. I had never bothered to resort to prostitution but i had also done many things during two deployments i never wanted to do. After the concierge at the hotel was appalled by my request for female companionship i hailed a cab and asked the best place to find a professional. He suggested the intersection of two streets named church and college respectively, this was very comical to me but i was eager to begin the adventure. Upon arriving i found a gaggle of women who were wearing what could only be described as whore uniforms. I decided on a young blond who seemed to fit the part. Negotiating the price during the cab ride back to the hotel we eventually made our way to my room finding many odd stares from hotel guests and the staff. This part was actually very exciting for some reason. In the room things began very fast and while thrilling it was obvious she was doing her job, which in a way was more arousing. After a seemingly endless 35 minutes of nervous thrusting I managed to complete my task which seemed the most satisfactory part of the evening to her. Pleasantries were exchanged and I handed over her garish clothing and sent her on her way. After a cigarette and some self soothe saying i managed to convince myself somewhat that the money was well spent and that I had a "good time". I would possibly seek companionship in this manner again but honestly it was a frightening act of depravity fueled by a complete loss of morals related to my murder for hire status in the military.


I HAD ALSO DONE MANY THINGS DURING TWO DEPLOYMENTS I NEVER WANTED TO DO (EDITED)

Where to begin.

I'm a mid-twenty-something, currently in the military. I have a stable girlfriend and several unstable yet available female friends. I am vastly overeducated for my job and am generally a well-respected person. I'm not too shabby in the looks department and am very seldom ridiculed. Generally being gone for a year at a time overseas is a terrible experience. Every time I've gone it's been a miserable series of events that makes suicide seem palatable. One day I decided to visit Toronto with some friends. After a complete failure at the bar scene I decided I could part with some money for some stress release. I had never bothered to resort to prostitution, but I had also done many things during two deployments I never wanted to do. After the concierge at the hotel was appalled by my request for female companionship, I hailed a cab and asked the best place to find a professional. He suggested the intersection of two streets named Church and College respectively. This was very comical to me, but I was eager to begin the adventure. Upon arriving I found a gaggle of women who were wearing what could only be described as whore uniforms. I decided on a young blond who seemed to fit the part. Negotiating the price during the cab ride back to the hotel, we eventually made our way to my room, finding many odd stares from hotel guests and the staff. This part was actually very exciting for some reason. In the room things began very fast, and while thrilling it was obvious she was doing her job, which in a way was more arousing. After a seemingly endless 35 minutes of nervous thrusting, I managed to complete my task, which seemed the most satisfactory part of the evening to her. Pleasantries were exchanged, and I handed over her garish clothing and sent her on her way. After a cigarette and some self soothe saying, I managed to convince myself somewhat that the money was well spent and that I had a "good time." I would possibly seek companionship in this manner again, but honestly it was a frightening act of depravity fueled by a complete loss of morals related to my murder for hire status in the military.

Godspeed

the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows
the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn

we're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death

the sun has fallen down
and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles

it went like this:

the buildings tumbled in on themselves
mothers clutching babies picked through the rubble
and pulled out their hair

the skyline was beautiful on fire
all twisted metal stretching upwards
everything washed in a thin orange haze

i said: "kiss me, you're beautiful -
these are truly the last days"

you grabbed my hand and we fell into it
like a daydream or a fever

we woke up one morning and fell a little further down -
for sure it's the valley of death

i open up my wallet
and it's full of blood

Downloading Nancy Trailer

Over at one of my favorite blogs, Antville, I came across this trailer for "Downloading Nancy," a based-in-truth movie about a woman who wants to kill herself but hires a hitman through the internet to do the job for her. Maria Bello plays Nancy. Jason Patric plays the killer. The film will premiere at Sundance next month, reports Kevin Holy.

HAPPY

I started my novel. Again. The title is HAPPY. The story starts with a dead man. Will it work? We'll see. Now, I've got nothing left to lose.

GRINDERMAN
I'm the grinderman
In the silver rain
In the pale moonlight
I am open late
Yes I'm the grinderman
Seven days a week
In the pale moonlight
In the silver rain
I'm the grinderman
Any way I can
In the silver rain
In the pale moonlight
I'm the grinderman
Yes I am
I'm the silver rain
In the pale moonlight
I am open late
Yes I'm the grinderman
In the silver rain
In the pale moonlight
I am open late
Yes I'm the grinderman
Yes I am
Any way I can

I Am a Simulacrum

Jean Baudrillard is dead.
"If you say, I love you, then you have already fallen in love with language, which is already a form of break up and infidelity."
Image: via. Quote: via.