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10 January 2006



And without it all you would have lead a slightly less interesting life, but still would have been able to put Wittgenstein's poker some place proper no doubt. There are indeed plenty of people who lead quiet lives of desperation doing things they really don't think they ought to, all in order just to get by. Between the choice of failing and stasis, most will chose to move, even at some radical & very consequential costs. The people who stay, despite never having a real chance at their goals or dreams, these are the frightened souls, the true conservatives. They are like the lichens. Small but hardy, found in low dank places always hanging on for dear life. Troubles & rain do not kill them. Sunlight does. Cheers & Keep Well, 'VJ'


"the searing loneliness..." ...of living a secret life. I know it so well. And you said it so well. (I'll buy the book when you write it. I'll be first in line.) Worst of all, being lonely for yourself, the missing parts of yourself, because to live in each world you have to leave part of yourself behind in the other world. What saves me is having one man to love and serve who knows all my secrets and more, who holds all the pieces; and a few others who know some of the worst and the best. And maybe also telling secrets to strangers here on the web, as you do so well, and so much more than I do. I hope with all my heart your loneliness is over. (And if it helps, you can always tell us another secret... ;-)


What a beautiful and inspiring post.. It is that disparity which energises your writing, which lets you identify with Yeats and the others.. On the one hand the stripping was offering an illusion of happiness to those who watched and the money perhaps offered an illusion too, but where was the reality? There is a wonderful book in those years of loneliness and unhappiness... I know that real feeling of not wanting the grief and rather to be 'contented' but those hard years have fed the wonderful person that we all know here..Remember, we know you, know your secrets and we all accept you and love coming back,


Karl Elvis

Wow that's a great piece.


And you know, thanks.


I really liked this piece. I felt kind of hit by it, by what we chose to keep secret, what we have to keep secret, and what others want us to keep secret. Thanks CG.

chelsea girl

Thanks you all. I really appreciate your support for my .007 angst.

Kisses. Kisses. Kisses. Kisses. Kisses, Carl Elvis. Kisses.


I don't know you. I know me. I grew up in the bible belt; my problem was that I asked who made god? Along with other children asking "silly" questions we were told to be careful; the devil could get us.....WTF! Well here I am. I am in the porn business and business is good. I found that these "good Christians" are the cause of most people's guilt hang-ups. I'm still here. I haven't been struck down by some mystical force. I make lots of money and give a lot to charity. I don't have any restless nights, because I am not controlled by the money making religions. As far as people looking at me funny, when I say,"I'm in adult productions", that is their problem if the fact ruins their paradigm for the day.

Also, my wife danced at a club in Texas. It is called Sugars. It is a very upscale club. She is proud of it.


Well I hope that you at least feel less lonely and more safe here than you did on stage.
As much as we would hate to lose your blog, we would also hate to be causing you pain.

Pussy Talk

The hardest part about writing my sex journal is keeping it secret, and maintaining the requisite compartmentalisation that follows upon the secret: drawing lines and keeping them distinct between this life and that one is an unbreakable rule. God forbid that a line should be crossed out of forgetfulness or fatigue or sheer stupidity.

It's like sitting on top of a volcano. You just don't know when---or if---the damn thing will blow sky high. But what choice do you have, when you are addicted to this hotdirty prettydumb little creation of your very own?

DTG xxoo


Jesus CG, you are such a powerful writer. Minerva speaks for me here, in words more elegant than I can find because you've hit me so hard with this post . As an undergraduate I worked as a stripper for the 6 weeks leading up to Christmas. Only my partner knew and given the proximity of the club to my university, it was pretty rash. I also worked part time at a regular job. I lived in eternal fear of these different lives crossing, especially of one of my lecturers coming into the club. One day, at my conventional job I looked up and into the eyes of a girl I stripped with. We both looked terrified and then it softened into a warm understanding. Honour amonsgt thieves and all that, she left quietly.

I experience shadows of those feelings as a sex blogger and I always feel immensely relieved when I learn that others do too.Secrets are beautiful and wonderful and powerful and we must treat them with care.

You rock girl and this is one awesome post. Thankyou.


I think the most painful kind of secrets are the ones that you can't tell to the people who are the very closest to you. Are they really all that close to you if you can't tell them everything? If you know they'll hate something about you?

I ask myself those questions daily.

These stories will make a great book someday.


You and I seem to be traveling along the same road on this one.
I find I want to expose more of myself, but that frightens me. Do I do it anyway to get over the fear, or is that further traumatization? If I hide parts of me, I feel ashamed. I want to throw them out and scream, "LOOK AT IT!", and I've had many long days of emotionally vomiting through my keyboard and into cyberspace.

Where is the line between releasing the shame and a sort of masochism?

(shakes head slowly) I don't know. I don't know.

Demon Queen

I have led a terribly boring life and my mom is still an idiot. I think it's their natural state to avoid unpleasantries(my mom's word, not mine).
To minimize things until they are easier to deal with, compartmentalize, tie it up in a nice gingham bow and set it in the back of a cupboard.

Here is a an honest-to-god true convo with my mom.

Mom: The guy who touched your breasts when you were a kid was arrested.
Me: He didn't just touch my breasts mom, he molested me.
Mom: He did? Why didn't you tell me?
Me: I did. About a hundred times over the last 15 years.
Mom: Well, he's in jail now. Maybe he'll finally get help for his problem.
Me: *stunned silence*

I feel ya sister.
You are beautiful and your honesty is breath-taking.


Do you allow comments to very old posts? (I'm going through a lot of your archives; I'm sure MANY who find your blog do as well, after reading current stuff for a bit.) If you do, either let this question appear for a bit, until I post a real comment here (a very positive one and sharing some stuff about me in NYC at the time), or if you don't want to allow this question to post, email me that you do allow. If it doesn't appear and I don't hear, I'll assume the answer is no.

BTW, you're quite wonderful you know.

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