"Why do you choose to draw random people?"

She is a random woman, for you.

She is a friend, for me.

Admittedly, one that takes solace in me not
buying a plane ticket to Japan any soon...
But I will, some day, Miyu-chan.
Muahahahahahahahahahaha!

Recently, I stumbled upon this question:

I wanted to ask. why do you choose to draw random people in your pics and not characters from films?

Short answer: 

Because I see no difference between abusing of my power as an author to rape a character or forcing it into acting in a way inconsistent with his psychology, and abusing my physical power as a male to rape a real woman or my eventual economic power/social clout to force one to acquiesce to my desires against her better self. 

I am a sexual sadist of the SSC/RACK BDSM tribe, not a rapist nor a bully.

Even shorter answer: I seldom if ever encountered a movie [female... they tell me there are plenty of guys in those things, too, but I forget them] character that I could imagine as a willing companion in my sex-capades. 

The random people in my drawings are just "actors" engaged in giving life to characters of my own, that do enjoy being part of my shows (or loudly complaining about their part, when their parts require it). Characters from existing material come with their baggage.

Now, to continue in a bit more extended form:

Some of the "random" people I use are actually friends. Some, real-life friends too - not just on-line acquaintances.

Needless to say, with them girls lies a more or less near possibility of some kind of encounter (OK, in a couple of case, the drawing was in effect done to "celebrate" a successful carnal intercourse).

I see these as "imaginary portraits" - << we both know, woman, that you won't be able to play this way [except for Jade, who usually does things like getting nailed to a plank by her nipples via a hammer and long steel nails] without risking a visit to the ER [which should lead to your partner being automatically arrested, given the fact that the local "Ley de violencia de genero" mandates medical personnel to notify the police any woman's lesion that is the likely product of abuse, and the police to stop and hold for at least 24h the suspected abuser], yet we both know that a corner of your soul would feel much better afterwards>>.

"Porn for human progress" - in a way.

And, by the way, one of my drawings did indeed manage to convince the GF of one of my model to do her dommely duty and spank the poor girl to her heart's content (it was just a couple of years that the poor woman asked her black lady to turn her buttocks violet, to no avail).

Not bad for a couple of hours of a middle aged, overweight white male wank.

Now, onto characters from films.

Why should I use them at all?

Because some professionally made comics do use actors as a base for their characters? Because plenty of hobbyist use them in their own wanks?

The main reasons why they are used as reference in professional comics are these:

The amount of material available about actors/actresses and movie characters make very easy to assemble an extensive database of movements and actions, which in turns makes much easier to "keep to the model" while drawing comics.

Secondarily, using a cast of actors may prompt some studio to buy the rights to the story (maybe just to block another studio from making it into a movie... studios routinely buy rights to about 10 times the amount of stories that they produce - it may seem costly, but the rights to the average comics are about the cost of a couple of script rewrites).

Now, the first is moot for me as I do almost exclusively single shot drawings... I do not need 124 iterations of the face of a character/actress to handle a story.

I just need one image that intrigues me.

The second is moot, because nobody wants to see picket holding forks and torches at the front gate of their studio - I see pretty hard that they will ever, ever approach me, even if I was to become famous in the "mainstream world".

As for the reason "hobbyist" often opt for characters out of movies it is simple:

The public has already been primed and educated about the character's psychology and habits by the marketing machinery of the studios, so using their likenesses makes for a narrative short-cut.

You do not have to describe your character to the public, or leave hints - just make it recognizable, and the public will know life, loves and deaths of it. In essence, they are "stealing" the PR work already don from the studios (and yet, somehow contributing).

Now, this is as much a liability as it is an asset.  

In most cases female characters in movies are not really inclined to voluntarily be in scenes like the ones that I draw, if their canon psychology is any respected  - simply because the masochist, willing slave woman makes the skin of far too many activists crawl - and yet I do not really care about non-consensual scenes - rape the hell out of character X in your stories, if you want, I am not that interested.

As a result, even if I were to use characters from movies, I would end with having some character of my invention that only shares the name, some background elements and the actress face with the movie one...

But I would also have to explicitly explain WHY he/she/it acts in a way that violates the original characterization, to make matters worse to a public that likely knows he/it/her better than me - which is possible but takes some effort and likely more than a few words of text.

At that point, a "clean" character has no notoriety of its own, but it also comes free of ties to an existing continuity or faithfuls to its lore - I don't even need to write "she likes to pin needles in her tits because she has become masochist to the bones after accident [z]" somewhere, it's enough for my lady-of-the-drawing to smile like in the pre-throbs of an orgasm for everybody to see it. I rather show and don't tell.

I feel I can use already existing characters when I think that in some way I would still respect their personality, and yet my creation was not a superfluous addendum to the original opera.

So, while I could draw the protagonist of Secretary - she indeed loves being dominated - it would feel a bit redundant, as the film was very good.

However, when conditions are met, I have no qualms using characters from existing mythologies... in fact, there is somewhere an "homage" of mines with Shadowcat fighting and losing an "ultimate surrender" fight with Mystique, under the eyes of Wolverine and Storm.

I felt no problem in doing it because both Chris Claremont (writer) and John Byrne (artist) were into slipping (well hidden, but not too much) BDSM themes into the stories when she appeared, in the '80s-90s (and they had her land in chains/collars/cuffs every time she did not started a relationship with an older man, old hag of 14 that she was - BDSM was not the only odd thing that got off those two authors, I think).

And I also have done a couple of Calvin, Hobbes and Susy Derkins playing in their adult age - simply because I  felt and  still, to date, feel that Calvin-Susy was a nice  S&M love relationship in the making. And if it is what would keep Calvin from becoming Tyler Durden, so be it! 

I could draw Motoko Kusanagi domming the crap out of a bunch of cyberpunk sex-slaves (something that she more or less does in the Manga - she moonlights in her own porn studio! A shout-out of Masamune Shirow to himself, as he too moonlighted drawing erotic stuff), but I feel ill at ease when I  am asked to make HER into a slave.

It makes no sense with the original characterization.

(For those not into anime or manga, Motoko Kusanagi is the female-shaped cyborg commanding the Squad 9 in the "Ghost in the Shell" franchise, and while prone to existentialist meditations in her low moods, her average mood makes Terminator look meek and tame.)And to me, the more I love the character, the more it is sacred.

So, the next one that asks a Scrooge McDuck / Daisy Duck scene , he or she is going in for some gruesome retaliation... as neither would want to damage Donald that way!

When Internet Was Just For Porn...

Enjoy these, as long as you can - it may be shorter than you fear.

After this year, we can clearly say:

When Internet Was Just For Porn, The World Was Much Better Off For It.

As Facebook sells access to foreign authoritarian countries and Google accumulates massive data on everybody and the AI technology to correlate it - read: your privacy has died some years ago and you didn't even realize it - the web is becoming increasingly hostile to those that used it to legally distribute their porn - porn that they made in a legal way and without selling their souls to evil forces, I might add.

The web is crammed with old, stolen porn, of course... but selling access to new one is becoming more and more of a problem, as it has been added to the list of the activities that finance terrorism around the world and credit card transaction processors tend to cut support to everybody that give space to an ever-growing list of "extreme" fetishes.

In the long term, crypto-currencies may be a solution to it but, of course, the idea of making them illegal is already around (and unless they find a way to collect taxes on the trade done in cryptos, it IS going to happen). 

Of course, the terrorism thing used to be bollocks but, as soon as authorities make hard for legal operators to fill a market, illegal operators - by definition - step in, to create a quite smaller but usually much more lucrative market.

If these trends continue, one day we may have to say:

"I remember the good old days, when Internet was for porn and not just to keep us under control to the point of bowl movement detection"... 

Ite, Missa Finita Est.

Omnipotence Delusion

On one of the other sites where I post my works, I was recently contacted by someone purporting to be a 38 year old woman, a Chinese with an eleven year old daughter.

Nothing major in this - after all, plenty of women my age or younger have daughters in college or younger, and many of them ladies are looking to someone to have a chat with and, if things go well, maybe something more than just chat.

I tried to ask my usual "photo with a named sheet in hand", and this person effectively sent me a photo of a woman of that age with a piece of paper with written "Ciao, _DB" in hand. Kind of like this shot.

What do you mean, with
"modesty is not your forte" ?

So, if it was not a woman, at least it was someone who could get a woman to play a bit - quite innocently, though - on their behalf.

Of course, the first greeting of moms looking for doms usually is "No, the kid ain't part of the deal, creepo" - usually uttered before the very initial exchange of salutations. This time, alas, was not the case.

Alas because, clearly, while the "I will rip out your guts if you ever squint at my daughter that way" is excessive (in most cases), it is also oddly reassuring.

It feels real, for a certain way of seeing the world. Whereas the other way around feels... more than slightly unreal.

We chatted for a long while, during which I tried to convince this "mom" that, if the daughter was ever to choose the way of the submissive - as "mommy" hoped [?] - it needed to be by her own - of the daughter, I mean - choice, on her own time schedule, and with no undue influences from the adults around her, no matter how well intending said adult is.

Also that, as a 12th birthday's gifts, a set of gauge 10 nipple rings were kind of a bit excessive... probably, they are excessive even for a 15th or a 17th birthday, depending on the jurisdiction - but, if one needs the legalese to know that, it ain't really much of an ethical slut.

As "she" kept on trying to derive the discourse in that direction, I grew wary... was this some scam I do not know anything about yet?

Was "she" hoping to collect enough personal information to identify me, and proofs of some ideological crime to blackmail me with?

It was quite a bad sensation.

In the end, I tired and said her to fuck-off.

(kind of gently, I accused "her" of being a Montana redneck, without using foul language...).

Yet, I feel a bit bad, about it all.

If "she" was yet another of the ever growing, never resting tribe of the scammers, using an unsuspecting waitress at their dinner and some internet-stolen material to flesh out a good back-story (ahem, that's something I WOULD do, if that was my job... so, the guy would just have been another fantasist in my league), then it would not mean much.

We`d just danced the ballet of scammer and not-scammed, and went each one his way.

But if, for once, against all laws of probability and everything that I know about human nature, it really was the woman that "she" affirmed to be, then I let the little one down.

Then, if in three months time the daughter will find herself with a couple of pendants in all the wrong places... it will also be a tiny bit my fault, because I didn't try hard enough, and as I feared to keep contact and broken off, I did not manage to change her mom's idea.

---

Of course, the likeliest probability is that it was some scammer or, really, some bored whatever with too much time on hir hands.

On the other side, if it was real, what could I do?

As my psychologist pointed me out a couple of hours ago, it is not like my words over a chat relay were going to change anybody's mind, Japan is on the other side of the planet (and, by a couple of clues I saw, I'd say whoever it was was also using TOR, probably in a TAIL OS), so this guilt trip of mines doubles also as an omnipotence delusion.  

Damn - I hate being reminded that I am not really a god, yet. 
 

In Memoriam

Her name was Asunta Basterra Porto.

She was born under the name Fong Wang in Yongzhou, in the Hunan province of China, on September 30, 2000 - but, as she was raised in Santiago d Compostela since she was little more than 18 months old, she would likely have thought of herself as Asunta.

She died September 21, 2013 in Teo, in the Spanish province of La Coruña, killed by her adoptive mother, with the likely complicity of her adoptive (and most likely, sexually abusive - in an anodyne, do-not-leave-proofs and especially coward way) father.

From all records, she was a bright girl though, - possibly - a bit of that brilliance may have been forced on her.

Beyond school hours, she studied four languages - among whom, Chinese- as well as ballet and violin.

In other words, seen from a cynical but all to often accurate point of view, the usual way many well-off  parents have of getting rid of children that they do not really like to have around, since time untold.

By filling their kids' time with extracurricular activities, usually handled by external aid -  ancient Greeks had slaves for the job, the Pedagogues.

While she was intelligent, good looking and a nice kid all around, they never really wanted her but for appearances sake and to satisfy the wife's parent's desires-  of her two killers, I shall speak no more. 

She wrote a couple of entries in her Wordpress blog, about ghost hunters in Santiago de Compostela, in a naïve English with some slight fault here and there. Not a bad effort for an 111/2 year old Spanish kid, I shall say.

She used a photo with this legend in her blog - I added the man, but couldn't manage to draw her as a ghost. 

To illustrate the story, she had a friend take her two photos, that are "the source" of  these drawings.

She didn't leave much else behind... well, neither will I, but for this blog and an awful lot of dreadful, sexually charged drawings.

Even while living a mere thirty miles away, I do it immersed in an informative bubble - all my information comes from at least two thousand km away.

I like it better this way, free of the constant propaganda from asses trying to sell me their crap that passes as local information in our era.

But this made me one of the few - in a hundred km radius - to be unaware who the girl in the photo was, when I came across the image in a G...le search for "Asian Girl".

All I saw was a pretty girl, in one of the dismantled houses above  the Belvis Park.

I like the short, steep uphill that climb from the park to the ancient complex of Iglesia do Nostra Señora del Portal, with the ancient  popular houses on its right side tore down and reduced to a set of walled terraces.

It is eerily beautiful, but I somehow never manage to have a camera with me when I pass through the place - and there there was a picture of a beautiful girl in the very same spot I'd chose.

Probably, she felt much the same, deciding to use it for the little ghost story she had started.

In my ignorance, I stored the picture for future use...  something I often do.

So, I took the girl image, sized it up and slightly elongated the body while keeping the head the original size - heads famously variate less with body sizes than any other part of the visible anatomy - and hands, added generous boobs and drawn a new, older face.

In the end, you need to know what was there, to see the Chinese girl in the Viking in Chains in the final drawing - not that you'll ever see that drawing, ever - but I know she is down there.

Unfortunately, some time after finishing that I discovered - only a little time after... but one never discovers this things before doing the crap, the Universe being the sarcastic bitch that it is - who she was.

And I felt deeply, deeply ashamed of myself.

And then, I felt  a bit worse, and today I feel still a bit worse, while I write this.

She died nine days before turning 13.

She was born only a week apart from my nephew and they could have hit off, if she'd been around by the time he started athletics in Santiago.

She may have been a storyteller, some day, or avoided the dreadful curse of that call.

Almost certainly, she would have been someone worth knowing, once she survived what ought to have been a monumental phase of adolescent rebellion.



My apologies, Asunta.

I am crazy

To substantiate the assertion, here above is pictured an example of my second preferred car (among the ones that I have driven extensively).

Behold, yeh fickle westerner, the mighty UAZ 469B.

If you look in youtube, you may find Jeremy Clarkson ditching it as the most horrible car in the world.

As I commented there, that mainly says us that Clarkson is a bit of a pussy driver.

1600+ kg (say, 3600 lbs) of 4x4 without servo steering? Just a bit stiff in parking, that's all.

The Ford Transit didn't have it either, when I used to overcharge it while working as a mason (ah, no more drifting on the ice with a full charge of sand... youth fades away and does not come back, indeed).

I managed to steer that, and this car proved no major challenge (though, I might have slightly sprained my left shoulder once, steering the UAZ with one hand while parking).

It had drum brakes that oxidized differently, so much so that,  after a week of parking rest, if one forgot to clear them (by driving & braking for a couple of hundred meters, applying a modicum of brakes with the left foot and full throttle with the right) chances were that at the first hard brake it would steer itself sideways (mine, toward the left).

Brakes were virtually inexistent, at any speed above 70 km/h (realistically, its max safe speed... for a certain definition of safety).

The clutch spring was so stressed that disengaging it felt like serious workout - it was to be expected from a 65 hp Russian petrol being replaced by a 103hp VM turbodiesel... Alfa Romeo used double disc clutches, for its Type 116 sedans with that same engine and the Giulietta Turbodelta, but Martorelli didn't bother to use such a refined approach and simply tightened the screws of the clutch thrust plate.

Its used a no-synchronizers gearbox, that obliged to learn double-clutching (with that clutch) on a turbo-diesel. That, too, was a nice detail.

Its ride was so tall that one could see over the roofs of Mistubishi Pajeros and their ilk (even being just my 5'8").

It rode on four leaf springs and two live axles... sweetly so.

In 2x4 mode (mandatory on tarmac), it fishtailed on wet road, even simply negotiating a rotatory intersection at 30 km/h (20 mph).

It had no seat belts, no crumple zones nor any other sissy occidental  things like airbags.

You have an accident, you die, simple as that - I found it refreshing.  

What makes me crazy, was that I liked to take this Death Machine, and going at 110km/h on the highway (flat out, with the engine near over-rev... not that there was any way to know it, as it had no tachometer).

Which is 10 km/h below the local speed limit, and about 40 km/h above its sensible max speed (debatable... my family thought that its max sensible speed was - parked).

On the other hand, if one used it for what it was really designed - slinging around in middle level off-road, with its 4x4 engaged and a set of good grip tires - it was a very competent machine...

I still miss it.

Because, tiring as it was, harsh as it was, it was so much fun that I always went flat out with that thing (sometimes, flat out meant at 50 km/h... 10 more than what would have been  sensible).

With it, going slightly below speed limits usually meant speeding like a raving crazy.

Alas, now I am reduced to much more humble drives, things that I cannot drive nowhere near as fast as to communicate any emotion whatsoever (I have the 2 litre version of something, whose 6 litres engined examples were still considered extremely stable, ourgh)...

But, it is probable true that I am still here also because the UAZ is not around any more.


Oh, swell, we must as well all die for some reason, no? Some day, I'll buy another one...

 MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

When things get rough, you need reducing gears, not trip computers.

Sins of the past

[Note: this is not a piece of fiction]

One of the ugliest characteristics of past sins is that they often come back, to bite one's ass.

Of course, "come back" may already be a question of luck: some of us can hardly leave the bastards alone, and spend far too many idly moments revisiting past mistakes, with the depressing belief that even if we manage to learn a lesson from any of them, we will just make new, worse  errors going forward.

They do not always come back directly, sometimes they arrive in a very tangential way.

The last "sin" to bite my ass is my tendency to consider that, in a BDSM interaction, all the responsibility for preventable mishaps that still happen goes to the top/dom/master.

Due to an unfortunate choice of examples in a munch, the question poisoned the last peer rope I was in and, because of said sin of mines, I did not contribute much - at all, really - in quashing the turmoil.

I didn't add gasoline to the fire either, but that is not much of a consolation.

I had a couple of days to sleep on the issue, and came to the conclusion that that day's reunion organizer - a woman with a metric ton of character, that also happen to be a rope model - opinion, on it, was ultimately correct.

And her opinion was, in one word: "Poppycock".

The bottom/sub/masochists share some responsibilities with their partners (and vice-versa), though the law of the land may differ quite vigorously on it (but after all, laws, justice and ethics are often only vaguely related to each other).

Even in a Total Power Exchange play, not only the limits of the game must be agreed before, but the play will always relay on an honest communication between the players.

This can break down either because the "top" fails to care for the clues given by the "bottom", either because this latter is so engulfed in the sub-space that it can hardly report what is happening to its body.

When this happen, though, I think that it is only natural for the "dom" to feel completely responsible of the shit that happens, because when the "bottom" flies away, it should be brought back to Earth, if there is any possible danger.

On the other hand, if the millisecond the "dom" distracts to get the next strand of rope, the "hogtied" model unexpectedly  - they had never discussed the possibility - starts jumping around because it likes to play the escapist... it is a bit hard to assign to the top more than a token of responsibility.

The turmoil in my much beloved backyard started after a guy used the "If you go dressed as a whore in the Bronx, you may well expect that they rape you", used as a  set-up to justify for an equally maddening "If a slave choose an inexpert master, it is also hir fault when shit happens".

Both assertions  manages to irritate me on a strictly utilitarian level (no need to invoke my progressive, libertarian nature, here - if women won't feel safe going around scantily dressed, they won't do it - clue a certain frustration on my part; similarly, if submissive women feel that scarcely experienced doms cannot be trusted, they won't give them any chance, and I happen to be one of them). 

Personally, I'd like to live in a world where a woman could fell asleep in a subway station, dressed only with leather collar and cuffs, and the only thing that could happen would be her catching a bit of a cold.

In fact , I like to think that I try to bring on such a world with my art... even though, I fear, no amount of my art will ever be enough to change the idiotic mores of our societies.

So, yes, sub/bottom/slaves may be responsible of mishaps - when they do violate the"contract" at the base of the session.

But, no, they are not responsible just for choosing an inexperienced companion, that tries too fancy a move and fucks-up (among the other things, because there are very few top

In the end, it is like for everything else - there is no such things as fixed or reliable rule, not even a rule-of-thumb, and the devil (or god) is in the details.

The Man That Wanted To Be God

(The title is based on John Huston's masterpiece "The Man That Wanted To Be King"  - if you can, watch it. If you can't, because you are allergic to all filmography made before 2005... please, shove your fist up your arse and, once it is firmly logged up there, try to open that hand as much as possible; no reason in being an ass-hole by halves.) 

What have you thought, when you were kids, and they +explained you the concept of God?

Chances are, you didn't really think much.

Or anything at all... Most if not all of that stuff really makes no sense for a kid, but you were smart enough to know  that you couldn't say it out loud or your parents would get upset and tried to re-explain it to you, at which point you usually said "yes, I understood", or not - in which case, let's go for another roun

Of course, I was a bit dumber than you, so I continued saying that it made no sense  to me long time after the moment when I should have learned to shut the fuck up, and just fake it.

Only, it make sense - after all, using the Anthropic Principle and a multiverse with infinite combinations of physical laws, in regards to the chain of coincidences that has allowed to our spaces to exist till now is really not very different than postulating the existing of some superior entity that was interested in creating life.

I do not think that either theory is, really, falsifiable - so, either is an equally unscientific though, after all, somewhat reasonable hypothesis.

The one that you choose for you is a matter of tastes or - if you prefer - of faith (unless one day some actual prove of the existence of a multiverse will be obtained, in which case, the Principle becomes a scientific concept - the weak point of science is that, if new information contrast it, scientific theories may have to be fiscatded, or restricted to be useful approximations) though, to be honest, imagining a single entity (god) reeks a lot more of anthropocentrism than the Anthropic Principle does.

(After all, if the universe was completely different and molibdenum-based starfish aliens observed it, they still would come up with the same principle - "The universe seems designed for us, simply because it is the one that we are able to observe").

However, in my great youth and absolute lack of humbleness, my reason for the gigantic WTF that forever prevented me to attain religious peace, was this:

"Why him and not me?"

What makes "god" more worthy of respect than me? Because it created the universe? Really?

Why couldn't I do the same? At least, theoretically, potentially... if it is at all possible, some way must be there.

And if he created the universe, why did he such a shoddy work?

In general, why should I believe that God is and will always be better than me, even in the case that I became a real nice human being?

(instead of the pile of crap that I am now... but, when I was a kid, I was entitled to think that I could be able to grow up a gentle and generous person. In truth, I  derailed and imploded in full Hikikkomori only at 33, when I came to the conclusion that I could never get rid of and the internal prison my education had confined me in and, thus, life was useless anyway.) 

It must also be that my parents never managed to grasp the concept of positive reinforcement -  they never managed, really, to grasp most of what makes life, uh, life - and, as a result, their idea of God was really an ass-hole that spent his time crawling up everybody's arse, to keep people well in check, steady in their place.

That being the case, I may respect a policemen  - maybe... even the most democratic country has thought-police, and these I would gladly see all fired, or doing some real work like tracking embezzlement  - but sure as hell I do not love them, nor can I love the policeman-God of my parents.

But, mostly, my issue was "why him and not me?" - why should I accept a metaphisic entity that all but guarantees that no human can ever be the best. Do any of us have any need to be humiliated even more than what laical life already doles out, that they need yet another authority to bow to?

If it was actually possible for any cognizant entity to create life, why I had to bow to it.... And why could it not be me? After all, back in the day I thought I was as good as anybody else. Turns out, it is not really so...


Over time, I accepted my limitations   - as if I really could - I  am not going to be Dr Hell (from Mazinga Z)  or anything else but, I  also understood that there are some attainable ways to be a Minor God.

Creating works of narrative, that describe or hints to other worlds, with different social arrangements and values. Bibles of alternative realities, if one wants. So,I set forth, starting with the small things - world-building and short tales.

Unfortunately, I started with all the best intentions but, let's be honest - an author can't really be much less cruel than God.

Persons read, or look at drawings, to forget the shit in their existences, and eventually to feel better about their crappy, crappy, crappy lot in life.

The simplest way to do so, is to give one's characters even more crap, to shove one on each other, than the average reader has.

Which really leads to making the life of these characters at least as miserable as ours...

No matter who it is, god is bound to br an asshole.


______________________________________


     With affect.

                  Noxon, the Lord of Nothingness


 

Ode To An American

If I read the statistics page well, yesterday a courageous American (USA) has gone through All the posts that I published here.

I do not dare to imagine the kind of bad-English-induced  headache that (s)he must have had  afterwards.

In any case, my thanks, anonymous friend.

You made my day, in an otherwise very bad one.

Peer Rope Afternoons

C., my companion for the occasion, wasn't naked and there were no odd cables sticking out of her nether regions. I did not drool over her with a manic smile either. All the rest was in the original photo.,,, yes, it was very much fun.

My best wishes to C.... I really hope that she found the woman that she was looking for.

Today, of all days, I realized that I have been unjust with the land where I live, a place that, his many defects notwithstanding, has very much kept me alive.

I am talking of the very, very, very (and, may  I say, very) humid land of Galicia, the corner of Spain just above Portugal...

More exactly, the coast where most of the rain - that would make the whole country a fertile land,  rather than the semi-desert that it is - stops, and dampens things beyond believable (never have I seen, before getting here, car workshops with rows of Mercedes Benzs, each with an electric heater - in the trunk - trying to dry up the moisture in the electronics).

I arrived here, pretty much like the rain, a bit half-voluntarily. I was just fed to death with Lombardy, and some members of my family were moving here.

I didn't want to remain alone there (worse, with my mother... yes, she is still the one from the aphorisms, though the Alzheimer is, actually, improving her)  so I ended here, again in a small city.

I will be honest - if you are BDSM (which is not the same as being "into"... exactly like being gay is not exactly as being "into" occasional homosexual dalliances) and do not have a stable partner, the LAST thing you want is to live in any fucking city with less than a million inhabitants.

Or even the wrong country.

My village has 350 inhabitants. The nearest city is just 80000... anything bigger is one hour, and change, drive. Or two - and I hate to drive. There is a good thing, though, in being a foreigner in a foreign country - like in a big city,  you do not really have to know your neighbours, or care about what they think.

It seems harsh, to you? It depends on your neighbours.

If you live in the right block in New Orleans, your neighbours may be a bunch of musicians and tell you stories of lost gigs in the middle of the Bayou, bigamy, cocaine and staring at one's soul through a scotch too many.

It is the kind of stuff that you find in good books.

And, if you happened to talk to them about the way you fucked-up a box-tie when meeting a new partner.-in-crimes, they'd just - likewise - file it under "the kind of stuff you find in a good book; Big deal...".
 
But, to live in in a suburb in North of Italy - in any of them -  is like living in a slowly decaying New Jersey, with far less grass...

You'll hear raucous stories of taxes too high (on average, about 50% of income), sons that are going nowhere (Italians under 35 are another lost generation, just like the Japanese , kept afloat by grand-parents while they half-starve from a temp job to another... so that said grandparents may receive their pension, with which they help the youngsters,  and keep them on a tight leash) and how the fucking immigrants have stolen jobs (that nobody in his right mind would want for any of their children, of course, but that is a detail).

I used to dream about nuking my home town... after years of reflection and personal growth, I came the conclusion that the whole damn region would be greatly improved by nuclear carpet bombing.

I landed in Galicia that I was a wreck (I still am, mostly, but I am getting better) and saw no future, at all.

Still can't, really, but... who cares.

The place, at least, is beautiful (like the  rust belt for U.S., the industrial area of Lombardy is possibly the ugliest place in Europe) and, in reality, my current neighbours are not so bad.

They talk you about their years as fishermen, or those spent sailing forth and back on supertankers, of their Eskimo six-month wives (in front of their Spanish full-year wife - is that a vein that I see throbbing on her forehead? yes, it is) and music is one of the area's industries, so you may end up at four in the night, hearing a bassist and a drummer damn the Classic Music Mafia and its stranglehold on state's funding for musical activities, or the undersides of "Pachanca"'s bands, with the omnipresent kickbacks to the Party that runs the city council (usually, not the Communist Party, round here). 

Thanks God, when the alcohol in the blood is high enough,  they also toss in remembrances of lost gigs in the middle of Ourense (just like the Bayou, somewhat less difficult to navigate, but awfully dry in summer), colleagues that got busted by their woman while they were with their other woman and had to flew back to Argentina, or of nights spent composing with one porro too many in and Cthulu at the door.

And of how is hard to play Jazz, in a place where people always expects Pombia.

The locals are also very relaxed, like no one was back home -. high taxes and the sensation of slowly going down the drain, thirty years and counting...  just what the physicians recommend - any more.

But, maybe more important, here is the place where I started having a life, going out a bit, really admit to myself  that I like what I like (and that, in itself, is just an orientation as others) and taking contact with, ahem, a local BDSM community.

Or three - there is more than one group, each defined by the personalities of their first organizers.

One of them organizes "Peer Rope" encounters and Shibari workshops.

I do not loose any of the first, and go to the seconds when I can - when I find a "model" willing to be tied by me, and the some 80 bucks needed.

Being a world class pervert has its drawbacks... so, I do not always find a partner for the workshops, and the ones that I find are the kind of determined players that recognise the state of affairs and soon sails forth, to some capital city with a bad-ass Shibari dojo (Madrid, Copenhagen, Oslo...)

(Is it the universe, trying to remember me of something that I just wrote? probably).

At the Peer Ropes I can just hang out chatting, so there I am every Xth day of the Month, at the Santiago Extempore Dojo. 

If you already know the truth of real life BDSM and Shibari, what follows won't be a surprise.

If you don't, maybe it will.

The Peer Rope is more like a class of Pilates than anything else. If you were thinking about some kind of orgy, with naked women tied up all the time... sorry, that happens only in a script for "The Upper Floor[.com]".

It is a nice website, but no normal woman would approach such an environment - nor any professional performer would, for less than 200$ an hour and an organizing party with a verifiable,  good history of compliance with safety rules and a sound incidents management.

Yes, knowing how stuff is made makes it much harder to enjoy... that's the reason why I feel blessed never having seen a "Matanza do Puerco", while I eat a sausage.

So, the peer rope is... just a bunch of friends, in a nice hall, playing with ropes.

It start by entering the parquet without shoes, sitting all in circle, presenting ourselves  - if there is someone new.
 
Follows a small reminder of the basic safety rules of the activity - which boils down to respect the others, their personal space, their desires, their physical limits and problems, their gear and respect yourself...  starting with your limits, do not tie, or allow to be tied, if you have doubts about the outcome, and keep the safety cutters at hand - and an overall recommendation to be cautious, because the Peer Rope is always just an incident away from catching some local newspaper attention and, consequently, having to shut down.

Finally, as the focus is just about practising the use of the ropes,  "genital activities" and SM role-play are forbidden, too - hence the "peer" in the name.

You may be a "dom" or a sub, but that stays  out of the Dojo (usually, though, the issues only come from doms... subs have no problems accepting to behave normally).

Luckily for me, after some time the initial prohibition of sexualised activities was dropped, as I should really had to blindfold myself, to obey that rule. My gaze is very sexual thing, being a porn artist and all.

(In a moment of lucidity, the organizers came to the realization that one can't really hog-tie someone of hir preferred gender without feeling something sexual... also, that SSC is just a nice ideal; in real life, you run risks crossing a street, or eating a steak, more so in an inverted suspension; at one must evaluate and do the utmost to mitigate said risks, but complete safety is impossible.)

Other suggested behaviour guidelines: "take it easy", "this is not a competition [with oneself]", "if you are not into after-care, tell it before you start tying people up" and a few more.

Is it complicated? not really.

In that nice video that you watched yesterday, there was none of these negotiations?

No, the producer had a fourteen pages standard contract, prepared by a corporate attorney,  that the performers needed two hours, off screen, to read and mark everything they accepted or not.

So, spending half an hour to get everybody on the same page, and to warm up, is not really that much.

Then, the fun can start... because, no matter the safety rules, the worries about doing possible damages, the way of the rope is really fun, for rope fiends like me.

In the end, I do not need much more to be happy.


(I revised some orthography and grammar mistakes... if someone spots more of those things, let me know)

Miyuki

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Neal Stephenson's Seven Eves - A Review

Spoilers ahead - read at your own risk

I just read the last book of Neal Stephenson, "Seven Eves".

It is a great book, until a certain point - that is, until the seven "Eve" are clearly identified.

It is fairly long into the book, some six six hundred of its height hundred pages, but it is remarkable how a great book suddenly and steadily turns into crap, from then onward.

Stephenson could have closed the book there, added just some ten pages of a "far long in the future" coda, with most of the elements only sketched out, leaving the reader with the toil of imagining  the future created by the work of the last survivors of our civilization.

It would have been good enough, even as a "hook" for his next book.

Instead, we are treated to a final two hundred pages of mid 1950s Maccartist science fiction, with a cold war between Reds and Blues (it could also be a reference to the American Civil War) fought by proxy in God-forsaken places, cap&sword spies  and a society permeated by a seven-fold racism between the seven races descending by the original Eves.

The idea of mating the genetic material of each Eve with that of another - technology-wise, it should be possible within the next five years, or now if one ignore ethics - and then shuffling the surrogate mothers, so that the first new humans were all sisters and nobody really knew which was the daughter of whom, to cut this crap at the root,  apparently never crossed anybody's mind... not the character's, nor Stephenson. Or simply American White Neal Stephenson has nostalgy of when racism was justifiable?

To avoid technology spoiling this 50s reenactment, Stephenson also decide to use "Amish"-like rejection of certain technologies, for cultural taboos, in the societies of this future.

So, after five thousand years of robotic development, a society that has uses robots ubiquitously - to create a orbital ring, a orbital elevator, a sky-hook, wearable planes and even as bullets - has no wireless internet (any Internet, really) to speak off, and its tablets can hardly store a couple of books.

This is done mostly to justify that the most sympathetic protagonist of this second part of the book is a rootless nomad - a woman that can't afford to settle down, because every day she can wake up with a complete new personality - that has to rent storage spaces for the paper books that she collect!

None of this feel particularly believable, of course, which makes the end of the book, in a single word, irritating.

To paraphrase Napoleon, a good writer is also one that knows when to stop to write.

Nea Stephenson evidently fumbled it, this time.

Ok, we got it... internet is the worst of all evils and the only true book is printed by a publisher.

Conflict of interest much, Neal?

Photo References

A classic photo-based work of mines, some six hours...

A drawing "from scratch": four hours.

---

Nowadays my works are based, mostly, around a photo.

However,the  truth is... I am a bit faster drawing on my own.  Not much, but a bit.  It takes me a quarter of an hour to whip up a sketch with four characters, it takes me some twenty minutes to find a photo I want to "mod". With one character. If I have to use two or three characters... the photos really becomes just a limit, as I have to redraw the characters anyway, in order to get them to interact believably.

So, to spare time is not really the reason why I use so much photos. I have a couple of other reasons.

The first is that, if I go on  for a while without "checking in" with reality, I tend to use a style that is not very realistic but, rather, quite cartoonish.

It doesn't come as a surprise - cartoons were my first love, and I still love them dearly.

There is nothing wrong with it, really... just, realism goes out of the window, which places those works well inside the realm of fantasy.

Now, most often than not, it is not really my purpose to draw out my fantasies as such - as fantasies, that is.

Often, when I draw, what I want do is to illustrate, as credibly as I can,  a possible alternate reality. 

This because it is evident - to me, of course; may not be the same to you - that most of what we call reality, most of what we accept for granted is just, really, a collection of social constructs.

Other societies, in the past, created different values than the ones that we currently believe in.

Even our society has changed its values notably, in just the span of our lives - which doesn't really make it that much more enjoyable for the likes of me, of course.

So, when I draw, I often like to hint at some other ways things could go - not really any better than what we know, just... different.

Maybe, a little more "honest" world... plenty of our rules and laws are just the by-product of the current balance of forces, in our society, and have not much to do with any "objective" justice.

And not so rarely, the values are also pretty arbitrary, if observed with even a modicum of "scientific spirit"... what is the difference between liver-destructing alcohol and Marijuana, for example? Why one is still a mainstay of our culture, the second a proscribed product with an almost illegal market?

Not that something like any "objective" moral value actually exists, or have ever existed in any society...

In this, I am rather with Ken McLeod.Right or wrong... it is all just balance of social forces struggling against each other and economic necessities, where "economy" must be taken in a broader sense.

A different world, one even almost unrecognizable from the one we live in, is always possible. And such worlds are what I, really, like to draw.

Worlds were I, hopefully, could feel less hopelessly oppressed than in the one we live in.

- I do not care that this is the better of the worlds we have seen so far, that every other society our species has generated was almost inevitably harsher, more classist and unjust, less forgiving... fucking worse. I still feel oppressed by the shitload of crap that it does charge on almost everybody that lives. Better than anything till now, doesn't mean that it is not, still, a gigantic bag of crap. It could be worse, and it seems all intent growing into something that will be much worse, a much needed (if you believe the assholes that writes on Forbes) return to the moral  values of middle XIX century cut-throat capitalism... shittier than shit -


I am not so interested in providing more sexually tinted fucking escapism, so that some more dumb fucks like me can lower their head, eat their daily dish of merde and keep soldiering on, till they are finally allowed to die.

I prefer to hint that thing could be different... nothing less than this  cuts it, for me. 

To do so, the more realism, the better... for which, photo-based works are better.

Even when, to render justice to the original material, it takes me a lot more time in the "inking" phase than what would be needed for simply wrapping up a sketch and go with the flow.

Self Portrait

Me, Myself, in all my Domly Magnificence and Near Baldness

Not much more to write here, this was my last year's carnival costume.

It could be more awesome, if the material was true leather and if I was bright enough to design the mask to cover the top of my forehead and hide my soon-to-be power baldness.

It does make for some fun scene, though looking like Torquemada doesn't stir enthusiasm in Spain (the actual inspiration was some physician characters in Hayao Miyazaki's Nausicäa of The Valley of the Wind, but no need to point out the locals how geeky I really am).


 Even if looking like an inquisitor makes for some pretty good theatre in a BDSM session, that thing become too hot all too fast - more so in a room warm enough to keep a woman dressed only with leather collar and cuffs.

 I still reseeve the right to convert this into a character design, ans create DaBotz the torturer... master of the extreme consensual SM play.


Muahahahaha!

Your Mind's Gears - Los engranajes de tu mente

I thought my mind ran like this..

D.: "Desde aquí escucho los engranajes de tu mente trabajando "

       - nota: ella está chateando desde unos 150 km

Yo: "Coño, no sabía hicieran un ruido tan estruendoso!"

D.: "From here, I can hear the gears of your mind running "

       - note: she is chatting from 100 miles away

I: "Heck, I had no idea they were so noisy!"


My mind must indeed be broken, to publish this.

A photo book about erotic vampires in New Orleans...

You know you want it!

My good friend mstersade is in the final steps of publishing his book of photos, about erotic Vampires in new Orleans.

He is a very good photographer, and I think his work deserves as much appreciation as possible (more than mine? ... maybe), so it would be extremely nice if you take a peek on his work and loved his photos. .

Not to mention, in the book appear a couple of models from the New Orleans area whose image I stole, myself, in the past - TheJadeRose, Hada-Pixie, TG Mondalf, Storm Decay, Sterling Bull etc.
Some teaser shot, in Fetlife

• Teaser 1

• Teaser 2

• Teaser 3

More photos and information can be found in his Facebook page and at the book's own website, neworleans-vampyre.com

For Sale

It was summer 2016, and I was in Sharm El Seikh for work.

One of my local friends told me of a place where they sold African girls, so I decide to go and check it out.

I was pretty sure he was joking - the usual tall tales that guys in our circles use to exchange, but it was true.

In the middle of that chaos, there she was, little did I know how much she would change my life...



(This is a tall tale too... I've never been in Africa, till now)

What end of history?

Turkey shots down a Russian Sukhoi su-24 plane. 

And then, someone on the ground kills one of the pilots and a  soldier of the Russian rescue mission.

Russia gets angry, for obvious reasons, and the Nato has to congress and decide what to do.

Suddenly, we are at the dawn of a new "Cold War". Suddenly?

It is a situation "the West" has done much to create, ever since the '90s.

Back then, when the old SSSR collapsed, we had a chance to help what remained, Russia mostly, grow into some kind of democracy.

All it would have taken was to help the poor schmucks  get their economy back in line. A plan Marshall.

What they got was western multinationals trying to gobble up the few functioning parts of the old soviet system, with the help of many members of the old  bureaucratic mafia that strangled the Soviet, now anxious to reinvent themselves as capitalist oligarchs.

As a result, life got harder in Russia and its people came to suspect what we call democracy of being, really, just another great scam.

No different, in the end, than what had become the communism of the Soviets:  big words, great ideas, and you needed to be a "friend of friends" to get a car. 

Only, now you had to be an armed "friend of friends" to use it, as the pieces of the old apparatus turned full fledged mafia weren't above shooting each other (this, was more pronounced in other regions of the ex-empire, but something passed in Russia too).

In this state of affairs, Putin - a very product of the old Soviet Era, the former Rezident of KGB in East Berlin - was hailed as a much needed saviour.

The reincarnation, still in the making, of Stalin, Peter the Great, Ivan the terrible, Lenin, Stalin and many other autocrats that have made the history - and the terrible greatness - of Russia.

This, at least, is the opinion of a friend of mines that lived a couple of years in St. Petersburg and came back changed - by the experience - in a vehement supporter of Mr. Putin. 

He, too, doesn't believe that democracy is ever going to work in Russia and that a "Czar" is better than the anarchic cleptocracy the Russians seem prone to work themselves into, if left to their own devices.

Putin is also inching Russia back to its position as a regional power - a position that is in many ways inevitable, given its size, resources and location.

A position in which it has plenty of motives of friction with Europe - whose interests involve some of the areas that Russia historically considers his "backyard", the USA - its main competitor in the weapons export business , Japan - Kurili Islands, to name one point of contention,  and - to a much lesser extent, mainly for reasons of geography - China.

And it is not like Russia is the only modern power with misgivings about democracy. 

China is still rising, even with all the imponderables in its situation, and if its people seem to start realizing that democracy is not just another big occidental scam, its state doesn't look ready for anything more than some half-hearted lip service for quite still some years to come.

Most Islamic states and political forces, one way or another, seems to consider democracy a perversion. 

Even the occidental democracies themselves are not in their best democratic shape eve - wide spread mass surveillance, mounting inequalities, the effort of this or that right-wing government to reduce social mobility and economic woes. 

As time passes, "The End of History" seems farther and farther...

History, at best, took just a short beauty nap, to come back as gorgeous as ever.

Fargo (A Parable)

Fargo.

Not the city, nor the TV series.

The Coen brothers' movie.

I like that movie, almost as much as "The Big Lebowsky".

For those whom did not see it, "Fargo" is a small parable over the sins of stupid greed, or of the American mania of measuring one's life on how much he earns, and the virtues of just going on with your life, do the work that makes you happy - do it well - and go home to your loved one at the end of the day.

- If you did not see it, you should stop reading now (plenty of spoilers, ahead), and go watch the movie. For once, even by renting it... unlike Uwe Boll and his BloodRayne (I felt so ashamed in renting that crap, I stopped going into video rentals altogether), the Coen merit to earn something, for their work in this film.

The parable is wrapped in a crime story, that of a kidnapping that derails and ends with the death of the kidnapped, her father, one of the criminals, the loss of the ransom and the imprisonment of the whole mess' organizer. In three words, an ugly mess.

I remember having watched it in a cinema, when it came out, some 19 years ago.

Its nature as a parable was evident to me, the characters may be seen as divided in two fields, the money-driven (William H. Macy's incompetent car salesman, Steve Buscemi's inept, logorroic - and chronic backstabber - criminal and his insane accomplice Peter Stormare, the hard-assed father in law played by Harve Presnell) and the happiness-driven side (essentially, Frances McDormand's pregnant chief police, his husband, her colleagues).

Peter Stormare's character is a case apart, because he is part of the money driven plot but all he really wants is just to kill everybody that happens to annoy him, which he very gruesomely does - as soon as he feels the urge. 

This makes him somewhat likeable, to me. After all, he just likes his job (it just happens to be killing people),  and I can relate to that.

The chief police, donning a slightly mystified air all the time (McDormand is marvellous, in this) , unravel the whole plot - not before a chain of stupid decisions and attempted back-stabbings results in three deaths - and arrest Stormare character, right after he finishes feeding Buscemi's to a wood chopper.

She then goes home, to her mallard-painting husband, that has finally won a concourse for the 3 cents postage stamp.

He'd liked more to have his art used in the 29c stamp but, she points out, as soon as postage rates will rise, the 3c is going to see even more usage than the 29 cents.

She's a bit unsatisfied of having missed the organizer of the whole mess, but the husband reassures her - they'll catch him soon. 

And they slept happily ever after... - not really, but soundly, till the day after

Out of the cinema, while going back to my car, I was thinking about it.

It was a beautiful movie, though it convinced me that I will never, ever, ever go to live in Minnesota.

The parable, the moral of the story was a bit 'in the face', but it was right.

Parables are about teaching people something, not showing how smart-ass the author is.

Opening the door of my very clunky clunker, a 1984 Alfa Romeo "Nuova Giulietta" (Type 116 -  I am an hard-core Alfista), I thought that Fargo's message was one that I could like, though a bit self-evident.

As I sometimes do when I am a bit tired, and at 2 o'clock in a wednesday night tired I was (half price feature), I murmured myself "A bit too evident..."

 

Right behind me, two women were coming out of the same cinema, having seen the same movie - it was the last non-multiplex in town.

The two were dressed in some nice fur, and talking animatedly with each other...

-"What a stoooopid movie! It has no meaning at all!"

-"Yeah, I feel bad, that I followed their suggestions"

-"Ah, but our friends [] will hear from me!"

They climbed into their brand new Range Rover, and drove away, while I watched.

I believe I was left with the same mildly mystified expression McDormand used in the movie, when I finally ended my phrase

"... indeed???"

Now, I could be a smart-ass, and leave you the toil of deriving the moral of this small story, but parables are about telling something to your public, not you showing off.

What I learnt, that night, it is not just that the Coen Bros make movies that I like - I already suspected it.

It proved to me that there is no such thing as a self-evident truth, and that where we stand in life can change our perspective so much that we miss what's obvious for someone else - and viceversa.

For me, almost all the money-driven decisions in the movie are pretty much idiotic. And that drives the overall message forward.

For those ladies... they would have done the same as William Macy? Made the same choices? I do not know.

They couldn't see the idiocy of the "money field" and, for this, the parable was lost on them.

And that, in itself, was another parable.

Farewells

I am somewhat active in the local BDSM community.

Well, I used to bitch about the local (North of Spain) community, then I saw how active was the community in the place I come from  - Northern Italy.

Let it be at this: the locals here are a magnitude more active than the locals there.

It doesn't take much, to be active... an account in FetLife, one in whatever-that-is, and showing  your face at the munches. Maybe, organizing a café once a month - not really much.
Was it about High Middle-Age Poetry, not a problem for anybody  being it not, it takes a little more of fortitude, but not that much. Or, if you have ever seen a bunch of PASSIONATE literature lovers fight over the virtues of the  various metrics of the Madrigale Fiorentino, maybe a little less.

Anyway, I am somewhat active and so I made my share of acquaintances, if not friends.

And, every now and then, one of them burns out and disappears.

Usually, they are the ones that tried most to make head or tail of what it is to be into "our stuff", met with more than their fair share of ass-holes (mostly men, but some women too) and decide that, in the end, it isn't worth the crap.

They may come back, after a while, more relaxed, or they may not. It is, of course, a personal choice that nobody can syndicate, beyond a spat of sadness for their loss.


I'd like to say that this will never happen with me, but some day I - too - may wake up, think "Awww, it really isn't worth the crap" and cut it off.

It may happen... my drawings will still be quietly flooding the internet (forever: some of my "fans" "stole" them from the original sites, and reposted them in places unknown or over which I have no possible control), this blog may still be on-line, but trying to write at the address in the drawings will return a "fail to delivery" message.

In this case, I hope that someone around the big web will think the same that I think when my friends send a message to communicate that they are going to drop off, and fix the rest of their life before looking for an SM companion.

"Be well, my friend; May you find your way to be happy"