I'm a clown who hates April Fool's Day. Weird, right? This should be a special day for mischief, it's the Day of the Clown, a day for laughter and silly hoaxes. It's harmless fun... or at least it should be. That's how it began, anyway. And I love many of the corporate gags, which are usually absurd enough to be obvious but not emotionally stirring... like Grouber, where all the drivers are cats. Whatever, right? I can smile, shake my head and keep on with my day. But it seems sometimes like now it's a day for getting pleasure out of the confusion of others, and to celebrate successfully manipulating them in ways that comes off pretty unfunny to me.

As someone who is keenly aware that many people in my community are suicidal and otherwise unwell, "jokes" about a sudden and drastic life change doesn't come off as obviously made up, to me. It comes off as a warning sign that this person is struggling, that they're reaching out for help. I *like* this part of myself, who cares deeply about other people I'm in touch with, however well we know each other. I don't want to feel publicly humiliated for being concerned when someone suddenly announces they're quitting their job or moving to another city suddenly or giving up a core part of their identity. We should be encouraging this sort of mutual care, not punishing it.

Not only that, but for people who aren't neurotypical, this kind of manipulative "pranking" can be really confusing and difficult to navigate. Feeling made fun of because you believe what people are saying at face value is kind of shitty. I was reading about how some kids with autism dread today because they take the fake tests or other jokes they might experience at school seriously and it stresses them out, not only that the surprise thing happened, but that they were then laughed at for their response.

I mean, ok, granted, I'm considered a humourless feminist anyway, so all this should come at no surprise.  But I think there's a difference between a gentle joke and pretending you have a terminal illness or are suicidal. I hate that a day that's supposed to be playful and fun just teaches people to be suspicious, not trust each other, try to "win" at being more of a dick, and gain pleasure from causing other people anxiety or pain. I read in a private group that it felt like the whole world was gaslighting you and I think that rings very true.

So please, keep that in mind, this April Fool's Day and every day, really. Not everyone feels safe enough to be fucked with, even by their friends. Be considerate and kind, not cruel.

I always thought that the way in which my muscles spend more time tense than relaxed was normal. I figured waking up in the middle of the night because my legs had cramped, again, was probably a sign of not drinking enough water or something. There are areas of my body I thought were bone, and later discovered were in fact muscles so tense they were like painful rocks. Similarly, I thought my stomach issues were caused by not eating enough vegetables (I eat a lot, but figured maybe they weren't the right ones) or being in an unhealthy environment (which probably didn't help, tbh). I figured that waking up with your mind racing was just part of the human experience.

Now I realize so many of these symptoms relate to having an anxiety disorder. And learning how to be true to myself, and engage in self care, while also being a good and compassionate partner, is taking up a lot of my life right now.

Reminiscing about past relationships, both good and bad, is pretty normal I expect, but I literally get relationship flashbacks. The way a hand rests on my lower back, the way a lover's eyes light up when they see another partner, the casualness of discussing yet another threesome, all of these things have caused me to tense up with some sort of poly/relationship PTSD, and I'm still trying to figure out what to do about it.  I have nightmares about my lovers dumping me for not being pretty or sexually available enough or that I state a boundary or ask for a need to be met and I get hit. I wake up in tears a couple of times a month. I have had some terrible experiences with nonmonogamy- lovers pitting me against other metamours, being lied to about safer sex, being left without warning while in another country. It makes it difficult for me to breathe and accept that a person wants to be with me. I spend a lot of time waiting for the other shoe to drop, while also worrying that my lovers will eventually get fed up with my anxiety and walk.

Part of me wants to avoid the panic altogether, quit polyamory, dump my partners and become a solo cat lady, while part of me wants to challenge myself and be uncomfortable in order to work through it. Yet I'm not sure if I am, in fact, working through these feelings, or if I'm just retraumatising myself in the hope that eventually the nerve will numb. It's been difficult to admit that I am actively traumatised by sex party spaces, and that maybe my relationship to them is not something that's fixable if I just work hard enough. Sometimes I feel like I'm smiling while I dig a fork into my thigh, afraid not to reassure my lover that I'm ok with everything, I'm super GGG. It has not always been safe for me to have boundaries, and now I navigate my feelings and the reactions of others to them like a complex laser alarm system. And I'm clumsy.

I guess I dread discovering that my feelings aren't entirely under my control. I spend a lot of time trying to logic my gut feelings away, reminding myself that people DO genuinely like and desire me, and that no, that love isn't because of or in spite of my body. I keep hoping that perhaps I can find the magic words to reassure myself that I don't have to compete with other lovers by being up for anything or emotionally stoic, I can be myself and that's enough, that's what's wanted. I keep pushing myself to feel uncomfortable and to figure out why so I can process through it, but I'm beginning to suspect that I'm doing myself more harm than good.

The irony is that I really like my metamours. They're all people I get along with really well, and enjoy spending friend time with. I don't have any fear that they're seeking to shut me out. But it's been difficult not to compare myself to them and worry. How can I possibly measure up to a woman who has financial stability and privilege and doesn't struggle to find money for food some weeks? Or a woman who finds group sex easy and fun, for whom threesomes come naturally and not like a hive of anxious hornets? Or a woman who shares more interests and points of connection with my lovers than I do? I see how amazing my metamours are, and I look at my panicky, fat, hand-to-mouth, sexually complicated self and think "but you're already doing so much better".

I can't feel jealous of these metamours, because I don't want to take them away from my lovers, they're great! So instead, sometimes I'm eaten up by sadness and a feeling that it would be better if I just withdrew so they could have more awesome experiences with them rather than sit with me and my seemingly endless processing. I worry, often, constantly, that I'm not fun enough, that while I value my commitment to social justice and enacting change that taking care of me when I'm drained is too much to ask. I worry that I'm not sexual enough, or that my sexual currency isn't high enough. It's not so much that I think I'm unattractive, but that I'm very aware that society deems it acceptable to laugh or shudder at my body and I'm afraid that impacts my partners.  Am I holding them back?

I've read a lot of poly advice and it so often seems like either you need to be able to put these feelings aside or you need to give up open relationships. There's not a lot of information on balancing mental health issues and nonmonogamy, or how to heal yourself when poly was used as a weapon (mentally and sometimes physically) against you.  I don't have any answers, obviously, but maybe just coming out and saying these things is a good first step.

It's been a bit of a heartbreaking week, and there's important things I should probably be writing about- stuff delving into whose feminism informs feminist sex work, looks-based employment and the balance of ethical values with patriarchal "marketability", why we cannot be incredulous when people who have been mistreated don't come forward with their stories when they are so often abused further for speaking out. Important stuff. Hard stuff. Intense stuff.

But, you know what? Instead, I want to talk about something fun, because fun, as I have been reminded, is important for self care.

I've moved into a new apartment, and am living independently from a partner for the first time in a while. And it's fantastic! A couple years ago, I found being alone for days on end uncomfortable, but I'm reveling in having a bed all to myself to starfish on, and decor that fits my aesthetic. My room is colourful, filled with framed art that inspires me, and femme accessories that are both organized and displayed nicely. It's been a lot of fun problem solving, figuring out how to store my laptop, setting up a pink hue light, installing a mirror over my dresser to give it a vanity feel. I even have a housewarming wishlist, for those who are into that!

I'm finally close to my friends and my lovers, rather than dreading an hour plus in traffic any time I want to do something.  It's felt uplifting and exciting to make plans in the spur of the moment rather than weeks ahead. It doesn't hurt to have awesome food close by, and a cute garden on the side, and a fantastic housemate I get along with really well. I've felt comfortable nesting here, and have some hope this can be a forever home for me after a few years of moving because of circumstance. I enjoy coming home, and look forward to quiet time. Some of that, I'm sure, is growing up, and some of that is generally feeling more comfortable with my own company.

Having a nest is hopefully the first step to me letting go of my attachment to social media and getting out into the world more. I've been suffering from a lot of burnout and frustration at a lack of recognition for the work I'm asked to do and I need to recharge! While there are still, absolutely, injustices to fight and behaviours to call out, I'm finding myself more eager to spend time offline, exploring my neighborhood, drinking tea and reading, listening to records. I'm hoping to embrace more fun in my life, rather than continuing to work nonstop as a way of keeping my brain busy. I'm tired of being the one people come to with rape reports, needs for conflict resolution, an angry voice to speak up about whatever the thing is now. I need a respite, and for a while, that'll be enacted through bicycling instead of driving, making plans to hang out with people without a political agenda on the table, and maybe getting back into crafting and creating.

I'll still be writing, of course! And I'll still be addressing important issues. But I'm going to make a solid effort to also write more about topics I find fun and invigorating, like fashion tricks or home decorating projects. I'm also really looking forward to having more time with friends I don't fuck, bringing my partners to interesting art events and pig roasts and pretty much anything but sex parties, carving out a niche for myself with other people who enjoy sexuality but don't need it to be EVERYTHING in their lives. I want to look forward to events I rsvp for, rather than dread them. I want to forge myself a new community, one that genuinely gives a shit about mutual care and accountability, but also likes to just chill and not process every minute of the day. I still want to change the world, but I think I'm beginning to realize the best way to do that is to show by example and live the life I want to see for others while reaching out and giving them access.
Right now, I'm glad to have new pillows, and to have broken in my new bed properly (hot sex is self care!), and to have a room that's softly pink all the time. And right now, that's enough.

It's getting close to the 10th Annual Feminist Porn Awards, an event I enjoyed last year and was looking forward to again this year. I bought my ticket to Toronto, excited to have a vacation and attend an award show that wouldn't feel alienating to a fat femme queer. I figured I might not do the whole shebang, and wasn't originally planning to shoot, just wanting to hobnob with other incredible feminist directors and producers.

Originally I was able to overlook a couple of things I found concerning- the Grooby sponsorship("feminism under capitalism is hard to navigate", I said to myself) or the flyer featuring performers that weren't up for an FPA in what felt potentially tokenizing ("they're trying to showcase diversity, and it's just clumsy", I sighed).

But it kept piling on, and with the history of the FPAs turning the other way or not doing their research on their nominees... I finally felt it necessary to boycott the FPAs, and to write them a letter explaining why it hurt my heart, but I would not be returning. I am concerned, particularly, with their new judging guidelines, which seems to prioritize consumerist values over feminist passion. There are enough industry awards that deify white, cis, able bodied, femme bodies, and middle class white cis directors/producers.

I feel like mainstream porn is having a trickle down effect of moving towards more ethical values, so, accordingly, it's a perfect time for the Feminist Porn Awards to *raise* the bar on politics and porn, rather than withdraw.

For transparency, and for others who may also want to write letters expressing their own concerns (which may be the same, or different), I am showing the letter here. While these are my own feelings, I wish to make clear- I do not fault the directors or performers who *do* choose to participate, especially as many of them struggle to get acknowledgement anywhere else. But I think that often, earnest feminism is all we have, particularly as sex workers. And that needs to be tenderly held, loved, and recognized, far more than marketability.

I think, however, we can and should do better, both for the sake of intersectional feminism, and for the sake of the development and blossoming of ethical pornography.

The 10th Annual Feminist Porn Awards is such a big deal- congratulations on surging forward and informing the mainstream industry that the combination of politics and pornography is not only inevitable, but worth welcoming and recognizing. I therefore hope that you will see this letter as an invitation, and perhaps a desperate plea, rather than a scolding. I care, a lot, about these issues, as a porn performer, consumer, and producer.

This would have been my second year, and I was so excited to have bought my ticket to fly to Toronto again- I had an amazing time last year, both at the events and the play party and just being around other feminist pornographers from all over the globe. It's a really special place, which is why I'm sad to say I will not be attending the FPAs as I expected to this year. As my Toronto plane ticket is already purchased, I'll be in the area anyway, but I just don't feel welcome at these awards this year.

-I think it is, perhaps, in poor taste to feature a performer or scene that is not up for a Feminist Porn Award on advertisements, as it feels very tokenizing, like they're there to suggest there's a diversity that, in actuality, is overshadowed by what is considered "hot" to the mainstream- white, cis, straight, ablebodied women, which covers most of the films shown and awarded.

-I cannot be present at an award show that uses the word feminist yet offers awards and accolades to Madison Young, who joked about raping a drunk woman in college on film (in a movie that, in fact, was nominated for an award in 2010), or who has awarded a known serial rapist a Heartthrob of the Year award (Christian XXX has a terrible reputation in the industry, particularly with trans women [eta: many of whom cannot come forward because to do so often means being blacklisted for "drama" and not being able to find work, which is already tough, esp as a lower income trans woman- I do not use the word "alleged" here on purpose, because I believe the multiple survivors who spoke to me about this]). Fighting rape culture is hugely important in feminism, and especially within the lens of sex work. Giving people who engage in those behaviours comes across as condoning them in a way that I just cannot in good conscience support.

-I am very concerned with the various ways in which respect to trans women is being pushed to the wayside, particularly this year. Yes, there are several movies featuring or produced by trans women this year (and many years), and that's great! However, having a website like "shemaleyum" a couple clicks away via a sponsorship sends a very different message. Michelle Austin has repeatedly bullied and silenced trans women who have said that no, they're not comfortable with being called derogatory names.

-Lily Cade is a world of concern all on her own. She has expressed serious fatphobia and transmisogyny around her casting choices, has been abusive when critiqued however mildly, and the film she's nominated for jokes about Obama supporting terrorism. That is absolutely not my feminism, and it's disappointing to see someone espousing those beliefs publicly being celebrated by the FPAs.

-I am disturbed at the new guidelines for judging the FPAs, particularly the insistence that feminist porn needs to have high production value, that earnestness is not enough. High production value requires valuable time, learned skills, expensive equipment, pricey editing software, budget to fund the project. It sets a precedent that capitalist consumerist values are more important than actual politics, which is somewhat contrary to feminism, in my understanding. Additionally for those who are not as privileged and don't have companies funding their projects, or who are small, independent companies, earnestness is all they often have. By seemingly setting the bar in a way that requires financial privilege, you are likely shutting out many potential feminist pornographers, which is disappointing in a space that wants to court diversity.

I have been asked to write a piece on this topic, so I welcome your comments and response, both on and off the record. I am curious whose feminism you feel this reflects, and if you are, in fact, creating a welcoming space for a diversity of feminists. From here, this looks a lot like middle class, ivory tower white feminism, and as someone who cares deeply about combatting the harms that feminism has wrought, perhaps the FPAs are not for me.

I hope to be proven wrong! I believe so strongly in feminist porn. But, as the phrase goes, my feminism must be intersectional, or it will be bullshit (if you pardon my strong language).

Thanks for hearing me out, I do hope you take this into consideration.

I have not heard back yet, though there hasn't been much time since I sent the letter til right now, and I'm hoping that it means the FPAs are taking this seriously. I love intersectional feminism, and I love porn. I love both with an earnestness I cannot and will not apologize for, because I really believe in them both and their capability to transform people's lives. I am fascinated by the idea that I have written this to somehow market a product, considering it's probably killed any last chance of working in mainstream porn (which is why I'm doing it, and not several other performers). If being an angry feminist made big bucks, man, I'd have disappeared to form a commune with my poly cabal by now, kittens! I do this because I care, deeply, and believe, strongly, that we can change attitudes, and should.

If you, too, would like to let them know how you feel, you can email them at whats@goodforher.com.

I have always had a tense relationship to money. As a child, I was deeply self conscious of the class divide that was apparent in my clothing and in my bagged lunches, and in the amount of work I was expected to put in for my allowance compared to my peers. I remember desperately wanting a pair of a.d.i.d.a.s  tearaway pants, the only thing that would make going to gym worthwhile, and my parents bought me similar pants... but with four stripes instead of three, and a zip that went up the calf instead of fully unsnapping. I felt embarrassed by these pants, and chose to pretend they didn't exist, sitting out PE instead of wearing something that I was certain would get me laughed at.

I felt strongly, as I browsed the delia's catalog and wished desperately to one day be able to afford those denim skirts and platform sneakers, that what I needed for success was more dollars. I would've sold my soul for a pair of shoes from Candies because I believed they would make me popular. Lacking that I made do with the clearance rack at Hot Topic and thrift stores, going Goth just as much because I could find clothes that fit than because I actually loved the style. I knew, somewhere in my gut, that if I just had more money so many of my problems would be solved.

I still believe that’s true a good portion of the time- more than people want to admit. People say all the time that money doesn't buy happiness, but say that to poor people and they'll laugh in your face. Money may not buy happiness directly, but it does buy security, safety, health, access, all things that help one be a happier person.

Before I did sex work, when working three minimum wage retail jobs at a mall an hour and a half walk away, any money I made went automatically to rent, then cat food, then my food, then anything else if there was any left. Any free time went to playing computer games late into the night and masturbating while chatting with my long distance lover because, as I often said, "masturbation is free entertainment". I didn't go out much, didn't really have friends, quit school because getting up at 5am to get ready, make breakfast, and take the bus an hour to be at school at 7:00am wasn't practical or possible while also juggling these jobs.

I started doing sex work when I was 18, though I probably wouldn't have called it that. A local stranger I was chatting with on AOL (back when that was a thing) asked me on a date, and I told him I couldn't because of my work schedule. So, he offered me a day off- he'd pay me whatever my daily take would've been, and I'd get a vacation AND a date. Because I was a little on the impulsive side, I agreed.

He was cute, though now I'd question how much older he was- about 15 years. And he was true to his word, putting some money on a side table as we chatted very casually. Now I wonder if he had seen sex workers before, my cynical mind curious if this was his Thing. Anyway, he gave me a really lovely massage, ate me out with my full consent, and we had a meal and that was that. Afterwards I pocketed the money and thought idly about how easy it had seemed. I went back to my jobs and didn't think much about it.

But then the working nonstop and the lack of social time with humans began to destroy me. I found myself contemplating suicide just to be done with the constant fear of how I'd pay the next bill, and I'd stay quiet about my thoughts because I knew I couldn't afford a trip to the psych ward. A friend from the internet gifted me with a plane ticket to California, and my grandmother - without that boost of money there is no doubt in my mind I would be dead right now. I moved, I transferred my job, I tried to restart my life.

The money was still a problem, though. Still undiagnosed for my anxiety issues and overmedicated for depression, I was still struggling with self harm and suicidal thoughts often centered around my fear I was not meant to survive adulthood. I didn't know how I could make ends meet when I wasn't yet back in school and I didn't have the emotional energy to handle a full time job. Everything I was struggling with came down to a need for financial stability. I needed a car? Money. I needed social time with friends? Money. I needed to pursue interests and hobbies? Money.

To go to school and have a life, I needed to find a better way to make money. That's why I got into sex work - not because of my love of sex, or because I enjoyed the attention, though those things did help, but because I was in dire need of cold hard cash in order to survive. I was teetering precariously on the edge of being homeless and I knew I needed to find a way of making fast and easy under the table cash. Being as I was straight edge at the time, drug dealing was not going to be my savior. So I turned to sex work.

I found an ad for professional domination, figured that as someone who liked kinky sex I could probably hack it, and I tried for a couple months. The woman in charge seemed to hate BDSM, hate sex work, resent her clients and allowed copious drug use on the premises... between that and her obvious disgust at having hired a fat woman (I was perhaps a size 16 at the time), it ended up not being the job for me. So I went independent, started to learn how to advertise on the internet (I had a Moonfruit site I believe, back in the day, and advertised carefully on Craigslist) and didn't look back. I made more in an hour than I used to in a week after taxes. I also did fetish modeling, cam shows, custom written smut, anything I could find.

Post sex work, I learned to keep my living expenses low, that even a small cushion could be vital. I went to school finally. I started to learn how to save money, how to budget for practicalities and the occasional fancy thing, because I had money enough to make actual decisions with. I could go on vacations, I could take care of my medical needs, I could buy clothes that were more cute than practical. Suddenly I could afford to engage in self care, because I had the things I needed- time and money. And I began, secretly, to fall a little in love with those bills in my wallet.

There’s a lot of judgment when you’re a broke activist queer who decides to fight tooth and nail to eke out a living, maybe even a comfortable living. I’ve been accused of being capitalist scum because I don’t want to ever be homeless again, because I am unapologetic in my love of making money and having a safety net, however tiny. While I have survived in part because of people being generous with my money, and part of what I love about money is being able to share it with others (huh, kinda like polyamory), having cold hard cash as an interest is often frowned upon. But exposure doesn't shelter your head, and goodwill doesn't clothe you.

I wouldn't be here without the kindness of others, not just through positive thoughts but through resource redistribution. And I wouldn't be able to help my friends in turn if I didn't work to make money for my own education to better serve, to create sustainable resources, to upkeep a car so I could see them or help them out. I can fight capitalism and hate it, but at the end of the day I live under it, benefit from it and am crushed by it, same as everyone else. I can't realistically opt out and also take care of my mental and physical health.

So I'm done with feeling uncomfortable with my desire to make money. This photo shoot, by Courtney Trouble, was done on the floor of the TROUBLEfilms office, surrounded by money I was about to use for rent on a new apartment. Call it an intention, call it a spell, but this year I am done with living hand to mouth. Survival is self care.

I invoke the Power of the Hustle. For me, for you, my readers, for your loved ones.

May 2015 be prosperous for us all, both financially and emotionally.

I remember when my parents used to tell me to clean my room. It seemed impossible to ever clean my whole room- I had a room then about the size of my apartment now, and it was filled with stuffed animals, craft supplies, and books. So my parents put duct tape on the floor to divide the space in quadrants. I was a Star Trek fan, so I named them after the four galactic quadrants used in the show. And every time I "cleaned" one, I would just move the junk into the next quadrant over. Nothing was every really tidy, just precariously piled. I didn't go through some of those boxes until I was 19 and moving to California.

I didn't realize growing up that having a house filled top to bottom with stuff was not how most people lived, in part because the people we hung out with were mostly pagans who had similar clutter in their lives. In a way, it expressed how many interests we had, and there was always something interesting to unearth if you went looking for it.  When I went to other kids houses, the cleanness was unsettling, the cream coloured carpets alarming. I was terrified I would stain the floor or break some trinket. I was used to sitting on the floor to watch movies with my parents, because the loveseat was half filled with books and there was no space for another seat.

I thought then it was a little weird but not that strange that one of my chores was to alphabetize the catalogs my parents got, throwing last seasons away and replacing them with the next. The piles of recycling made sense, because we were ecological- the piles of books made sense because we valued reading and critical thinking. Sure, not being able to sit at the dining room table was sometimes annoying, but we were just messy, or that's what I told myself. I didn't know that what I was so used to was not, in fact, normal.

Apparently 1 in 20 Americans are secret hoarders. This frankly does not surprise me at all. We live in a consumerist culture that regularly rewards us for buying things, and encourages us to buy more via sales and coupons. "Treat yo self", as made famous by Parks and Rec characters Tom and Donna, is all well and good but when you begin to compulsively consume in order to manage feelings, of course it becomes a risk for hoarding. Instead of eating my troubles, I tend to buy makeup and clothes to make myself look good when I feel down.

As I move I still find myself wanting to get a few new clothes or an organizational tool I'm sure will make my life easier and more sorted this time around. I have had to be strict with myself that I can only get something new if I get rid of a full bag- some going to Goodwill, some going to Ebay, some going to a femme clothing swap.  The desire to manage my feelings of anxiety through tiny boxes that are too small to be practical from the Container Store is overwhelming and resisting the urge to add to my piles of stuff is very difficult.

For me personally, I think my hoarding nature is in part what feels normal after growing up in a house with parents I might consider hoarders, but hoarders that weren't SO bad that there were severe health issues or problems with sleeping on a bed. I remember feeling emotional distress when my parents got rid of one of their old cars- I felt they were killing it. I used to sleep on the floor because I couldn't decide which of my stuffed animals most deserved to sleep on the bed, so they all did. Even to this day I struggle to get rid of stuffed animals. The partner I live in also came partially from hoarding stock, and together we live in an apartment that still feels like it's messy more than piles of junk, but it still makes me incredibly anxious to be around.

It's also in part because of having been severely poor, and having to make choices like "buying clothes to wear to work and eating bug filled food from the food pantry" or "wearing clothes that were falling apart but going to a grocery store". I've always struggled most to buy food, because there's some part of my head that thinks anything you digest and poop out isn't as worthwhile as a piece of clothing you can wear for years. Eating disorders mixed with severe anxiety mixed with hoarding makes for a pretty miserable combination. And then every time I buy something I want to save it til it's worn into the ground, because I'm terrified I'll never be able to afford to buy myself nice things again.

Moving house somewhat frequently has helped with reducing the hoarding, but I have definitely left piles of boxes in people's homes to "sort through" sometime and felt incredible anxiety about following through.  I have to abandon things for long enough to lose attachment to them or getting rid of them, even to Goodwill, becomes so anxiety-producing I am frozen in place. Even now, with all this information in mind, as I pack and sort and get rid of things, I'm finding I need the compassionate but firm supervision of my lovers to keep me from having a panic attack surrounded by boxes. I was horrified to discover I've lived with mouse feces under furniture for years and not known because I didn't move a bookshelf til a couple of days ago. I found black mold in the bathroom, and mold in the dishes in the sink. I try to conquer the mess but it seems daunting, like it's always so much bigger than I can do alone. Yet I'm certain the mess is making me sick.

As I fill boxes and decide that I don't need to keep every movie ticket my lovers and I have seen together, I've been realizing that with a new home comes the opportunity to organize properly and do things right this time. It's terrifying, this transition in my life, moving out from living with a partner to living with a roommate, moving closer to my other lovers and to my job, hoping our cats all get along well. I've been also trying to realize my longing to buy organizational supplies when I'm not partially moved in yet is also indicative of my hoarding nature and that collecting boxes and bins is also a type of hoarding.  I'm hoping I can kick this habit, over time, and that it will relieve some of my anxiety- admitting it is, I guess, one of the first steps, vulnerable and scary though it is. But letting go isn't just for headweasels anymore... at least, so I hear!

It's been super trendy to discuss at length how call out culture is toxic and we need to find multiple ways of making accountability easier to swallow. I just read this piece, "A Note on Call-Out Culture" yesterday when I saw it show up on Facebook over and over again, and I felt taken aback. 

First, I want to acknowledge that call out culture is fucking tiring as hell. I absolutely get why people feel a constant level of scrutiny and awareness is anxiety-provoking and stressful. I've even written on this topic before.

I also think it's vital if we want to actually dismantle the roots of structural violence rather than pruning the branches. It is often easier to attack each other rather than people higher up on the privilege chain, but, as with humour, we need to punch up, not down (and we need to see call outs within our community as part of punching up at the programming we've taken in, rather than individual attacks). I think for that solidarity to exist, we need to spend more time having fun with each other, not burning out on social justice. I think activists tend to feel we can't ever turn it off and just enjoy something problematic or not talk about social issues and just go to a concert but for self care, we need spaces to enjoy our community, too.

Maybe I'm an idealist, but I think we can have both. In order for that to happen, we need to separate what is bullying, and what is call out culture, because they are not the same thing at all and these "think piece" articles often seem to think that they are. Many incredible and useful tools can also be used as a bludgeon, that doesn't mean that's the best or even intended use for them.... and it doesn't mean those tools aren't still useful when properly handled.

We need to understand there are important and solid reasons why call outs are public and not private, why there's a "spectacle". I started working with call out culture as a means to an end- there were a few men who were repeatedly sexually assaulting women in my local "sex positive" community, and as many of the victims were sex workers, going to the police was not an option. With multiple women reporting assault from these men, merely sitting down and having a conversation did not seem like an effective option either. Call out culture allowed us to band together and loudly make people aware of these men, who have, for the most part, been blacklisted from these spaces - and it allowed us to alert *everyone*, not just our close friends via backroom whispers. Private name and shame techniques meant I was coerced into sex by a serial rapist, because I didn't know the right people to ask when seeking references. A public call out, though, with clear expectations on follow up behaviour, allowed us to create a space where accountability and community growth were a priority. And it makes the process transparent and open to the community, or at least more transparent than whispers behind hands at events.

Sometimes a spectacle is what's needed to get people to take notice and take action. It took #blacklivesmatter to get the rest of the United States to talk about systematic police violence against Black people, so dismiss hashtag activism if you want, but it's a useful tool and it's often in the hands of the marginalized, signal boosting their voices. And it’s worth noting that a lot of people condemning callout culture are often people who are being called out, regularly, who then claim that call out culture is super toxic... before using the same techniques to silence those doing the calling out (I am particularly right now thinking of some of the interactions I've witnessed on Twitter recently, as well as my ongoing issues with maymay, neither of whom I'm going to link because I don't need them doxxing and harassing me yet again). Seems a little suspicious, no?

I do agree that when considering utilizing a call out, it's pretty important to consider a) what sort of result you want, what kind of accountability are you seeking, what is the end goal, b) how invested you, as the person doing the call out, are in engaging with the person being called out, and in their education, c) is this person a part of your community, as in, do you feel you have a responsibility of mutual care, or no? Call outs are, in my opinion, fundamentally an example of caring about people, as to call someone out is to trust that they will hear your feedback and want to change. To be called out is, in my mind, indicative of people's belief in you, that you're worth improving. It's the opposite of banishment.

That's why I feel a lot of these protests of call out culture are not, actually, about call out culture. I think call out culture is about using exile as an absolute last resort, it's a way for people who have been hurt to try to talk to someone one last time. It's also about mildly nudging someone when they say something cruel so they can learn, and it's about better communication in community spaces. I think these protests are about people who are abusing the language of social justice and accountability to get people to do what they want rather than to implement actual change.

Unpopular opinion- I think "check your privilege" is a pretty mild way to tell people they're being assholes based off of their incredible advantages in life and they need to sit the fuck down, all things considered. I think it's important to remind people, over and over, when they're forgetting or ignoring how their privilege impacts their bias and experiences. If someone telling you something that is factual hurts your feelings, I think that is entirely on you needing to learn how to not be defensive.

I highly recommend this entire piece by Lex in Flux about call out culture, but here's a piece I wanted to pull because it's important:

"We need to talk about just how powerful call-out culture can be, in part because it so stands in opposition to the “appropriateness” that helps maintain the status quo. Shielding people from the consequences of their behavior, especially if their behavior is kicking someone who’s already down, is not going to empower them. Call-out culture is not all one thing, and certainly not “toxic.” The content of what is being said, and the act of being able to say it, matters so much more than the result in an interaction in which someone says or does something oppressive and possibly ends up feeling guilty.

Calling out oppressive actions, acknowledging and expressing our real, in the moment pain, in the place where it is happening, is intensely powerful.And, especially in the absence of certain privileges, we need that power to fuel the change we seek. Sure, power without real community can lead anyone down “totalitarian” and “anti-oppressive” roads, just as it did for those who have successfully become the oppressors throughout history. Unchecked anger can take us to places where we start justifying cruelty and reinforcing other oppressive structures, e.g. using cissexism to “fight” sexism.

But I do not at all share your thinly veiled hope that call-outs eventually “go away.” Rather, I believe that call-out culture is absolutely essential to accountability, and not the enemy thereof. We need to check each other’s behavior, and each other’s actions, to keep ourselves going the right way. We need to encourage rather than discourage a healthy maintenance of boundaries, and above all remember that none of these issues is illusory and none of us is totally immune."

While I have a tattoo on my body that reminds me to evolve or die, that change is inevitable and can be embraced, I fight transitions all the time. I'm like a cranky old cat yowling at being shifted from my nice spot in the sun. I hate moving, I hate packing (even for vacation!), I hate big shifts. I try my best to ride the waves but I find them difficult to stay balanced on.

Moving has often been about major shifts in my life, instability, and having to adapt to a new world. This time, I think I'm settling into a more stable life, a life with a craft room, near my friends, with a little garden for my cats to sniff around in. I think it's a good shift, but it's still scary, as change often is.

So to ease with this, I have done two things. I have booked tickets for the Feminist Porn Awards in Toronto to have a femme vacation as well as support TROUBLEfilms for the awards,  and I have created a giveaway of some stuff I've been sitting on here at the house for the right time to help clear my house and give others some cool things!

I'm hoping that by having some things to busy my mind and to keep me on task, I'll be better able to focus on what I need to do- making money, getting rid of stuff I no longer need, spending time refreshing my heart with lovers and friends, and working my ass off. I just finished framing some photos for a femme art project in a gallery that I can't wait to share. I'm about to shoot a boy boy girl threesome, my first on film and my first with my boyfriend N.

There's exciting things afoot and I need to be on my game! You can help. :)

***

In order to make it to the FPAs, I'd love to recoup some of my costs. In addition to that, I also just made some amazing porno stickers that I wanted to give away. So I figured, what better way than to offer people the opportunity to help fund me going to Toronto, AND you can buy a burned dvd of anti-censorship porn Ban This Sick Filth!, AND you'll get a set of special edition stickers! WHAT I know right.

If you purchase the Ban This Sick Filth burned DVD directly from me, you will not only get this epic porn, BUT you will also get a set of stickers from my scene, Banned in the UK! I’m asking that people donate $30-50 as it’s a fundraiser- donate over that and I’ll throw in a couple of surprises (maybe another dvd, maybe an erotica book, maybe something else)

Email kitty@troublefilms.com to order! Check out the stickers here!

There will be limited quantities (I’ll only make up to 20) and a two week turnaround from your order date.

***

If that's not your bag, you can ALSO enter my giveaway- 3 lucky winners will get one of three items!

There's a treasure chest of femme surprises, there's a Lovehoney Plus Size Covet Me Mesh Strappy Babydoll Set Black (which I'm modeling here), and there's some DOMINIX Deluxe BRAUN Leather Wrist Cuffs, also from Lovehoney.

You can enter the giveaway by clicking here!

It'll go from midnight March 5th til midnight March 16th.

This giveaway is for US/Canada only due to shipping and handling... sorry international fans, I love you but while I'm moving I just can't afford it. :( I'll get you next time! <3

Thank you Lovehoney for providing these items for giveaway!

So yeah! Help me go through this transition in my life AND get yourself some fun porn or lingerie or sexy toys! Win win :D

The hitachi hummed as I scrunched my eyes shut, lying on the padded bench and steadying my breath. Even with my eyes closed I could see the glare of the LED light against my lids. I tried to clear my head, struggling not to giggle as completely nonsexual images flooded my brain, pressing the vibrator harder against my clit as if it could drown out my thoughts.

My boyfriend and I were spending date night shooting porn, in part because I'm a workaholic and in part because once you start hustling for jobs, you find it hard to stop. And I love performing with him, I think he's gotten some of my best performances out of me. I think it's because it feels like something special that he does with me that he doesn't do with his other lovers, and it's nice to have a special thing (even if it's work).

But this was not like the porn work we were used to. This was for a site that focuses on the faces of people when they orgasm. Created to highlight and celebrate "authentic" orgasms, the shoot felt like an elaborate performance of normalcy. Unlike my usual experience with porn, which involves having your hair done, some decent stage makeup, and a porn-y outfit, this was stripped down to the minimum- bare faced, no breasts in shot, no genitals, just the face. So I wiped off my hot pink lipstick and rubbed the catlike liner from my eyes. Gotta look "natural", whatever that means when you have blue hair and tattoos.

When I masturbate by myself, it's often under covers, with a phone in my hand as I watch porn or browse smutty stories. I usually have elaborate and loud makeup on, my mascara smudging under my eyes as I sweat, my lipstick smearing if I cover my mouth so I don't scare the neighbors with my moans. Being laid out on a bench with little makeup and no concern about the visibility of my cunt was a new one for me, but I was eager to give it a go.

Feeling self conscious, my first video was soft, quiet, just me and the hitachi. I rarely masturbate in front of a lover, and with my boyfriend in the room just... there, I felt exposed. I came sooner than I expected, in part because I was picturing my lover putting a speculum into me and taking notes while I jerked off. With just my face to go on, I wanted to be sure I communicated my arousal and orgasm well, yet I was constantly reminded to just masturbate like I normally would. I kept my eyes closed, feeling as my body crept closer to coming and willing it to do so. I wanted to reach for a distraction as I masturbated, but was afraid of knocking over the camera of making too much noise, so instead I just imagined he was watching me and jerking off too. Maybe he was.

I certainly wanted to masturbate when we switched off. His video was beautiful to watch being made. I love seeing and feeling his cock as it slowly grows hard under his hands or mine, and watching his eyelids flutter was sexy as hell. When we're together we usually have a lot of up close, hot and heavy making out mixed with his fingers in my cunt, in my hair, in my mouth, and mine grasping the bars of his bed, or running down his back, or twining with his fingers. I don't really get to savour his whole body, to just watch- we perform for each other as we fuck, and that's amazing too. But there was something about gazing at him, watching how he caressed the head of his dick as he looked into the camera, that was especially hot for me.

And yet. At the end of the day, this, too, was work.  Getting to the second videos, and then doing the interviews, felt daunting, even though it was masturbating in front of my super sexy lover. I could sense he was a little drained by the whole thing. As was I, to be frank - I love doing photo sets or filming things, it stimulates my creative brain in a way I enjoy, but the setup can still take a lot out of me. No one wants to have sex be a chore, especially not me. I've had enough issues with my libido to have a lot of sympathy (and perhaps even paranoia) around that feeling. For me it's still fun work, and doing it with a partner is exciting, but it's also performative for an audience which is typically more judgmental than someone who loves you.

I've been having a lot of headweasels and body dysmorphia. It's hard not to compare myself to N's other lovers who are better educated, more slender, more financially successful, even when I know that the only person feeling that pressure is me. I worry that I don't measure up, that I am discardable, because as a fat woman I have been discardable so often. I worry that N will grow bored with the normalcy of our sex but that I cannot provide him the novelty he craves - not for lack of willingness, but for lack of other people's willingness. I feel a lot like my fatness is a prison I'm trapped in, as diets and working out hasn't released me. I lie awake at night when we're together, concerned that my fatness and my trauma around that gets in the way of threesomes and moresomes that come so easily with other people. I worry, mostly, that my body holds him back, that in his ideal world he'd be surrounded by sexy people who want to fuck him and who he wants to fuck, and that instead I, the unfuckable one that people don't approach, prevent him from getting his needs met. I worry that I'm not enough, and I fake my confidence, every day, to attempt to brush away these nagging doubts.

I think that's part of the value of shooting porn together, for me. It feels daring, and creative, and it’s a way to prove to myself that not only does he want to fuck me, he’s not afraid of the public seeing it, seeing me, seeing us. But he doesn’t need it like I do – he knows he’s sexy and that people desire him, I kind of get the impression he could fuck someone new every day if he wanted to. I’m the one trapped by insecurity, feeling like I’m performing bravery and fierceness while inside I feel small and sad and like I want to slink away and hide, that I'm invisible anyway. Porn gives me a place where I am forced to take up space. And sex, sex is where I can let go and be in the moment, where pleasure and skin against skin is everything and there are no comparisons to anyone else. I don't feel like an imposter when we fuck, and I guess having that captured on film reminds me of how freeing that is. I can see myself relax.

I thought a lot after jerking off for this what was authentic and what was performative. I felt my second video, where N fingered me off camera, was more authentic because that's more like how I fuck. I certainly swore a lot more, which is what I'm like "In Real Life". I considered if I would look into the camera's eye and thus the viewer, but I closed my eyes as I rode the waves to orgasm, much like I do when fucking. Also I was not terribly loud when I came... I tend to be quiet when I orgasm, and when I fuck generally. I feel strangely shy, even though I love dirty talk - if the sex is any good words will fail me.

I also just felt self conscious about not wanting to seem like I was overacting, which I enjoy doing with my partner as a way of communicating what I like and don't like. My authentic sex looks performative, and my performative sex probably looks authentic, leaving me wondering what the value is in calling some sex one and some the other. Is it a value judgment? Isn't most sex performative? Unless you lie there like a log, there's performance of some sort, whether it be athletic or interpersonal. Is that a bad thing? Why is it "authentic" (and, so often, feminist) if I'm wearing a neutral lip, but suddenly "porn performance" and "bad" if I'm wearing obvious makeup? Who am I trying to convince?

Ultimately the whole idea of  "make this look just like when you masturbate at home, except with less makeup and better lighting and sound" is a fascinating one to me. The appeal of staged "authenticity " is surreal and difficult to master in a way that looks natural while being totally unnatural. I think it's also in some ways harder when you're doing it with someone you love - I felt that I was both natural, yet also totally out of my element, and that's hard to shake. And yet I didn't feel uncomfortable with my body at all, which is a small miracle. It definitely led me to think more thoroughly about what I enjoy about porn sex, and what has been less fun, and what I enjoy offcamera, and why.

I'll admit that I look forward to a date night when we can go out to a movie and jerk each other off in the back row, like civilians.  I think I forget sometimes that even filming sex with a lover is still a lot of effort. I'm glad we've documented some of our sex (I love watching us), but I wonder if on some level I was trying to prove to myself we're in love by making a bunch of porn clips. There's something to be said for representation, and showing that fit men do desire fat women sometimes - normalizing that is important to me. I wish it had been more normal when I was growing up, I might not have so much trauma around it now. Still, when sex is part of your work, it's important to find the boundaries of how authentic you want to be, how much you want to give of yourself to the public. It can still be something special between us, but maybe I should consider finding something else special and sweet just for us that isn't also emotional and physical labour.

Onscreen sex is fun, but I think I prefer it when the only rules we have to follow are our own.

I dislike commercialism and sentimentality quite a bit. I am known to send texts like "You're so cute, I love you, voms x" because I find it extremely difficult to be earnest in the realm of romance. For Valentine's Day this year, I'm going to eat soup with my boyfriend while we hack up our lungs as we're both sick with colds, maybe we'll shoot some porn, and then I'm going to go see 'Kingsmen: Secret Service" with my partner later that evening. It's not terribly exciting or endless flowers and chocolates and I am a reasonably cynical person.

But I have a shameful admission that I am choosing to not be ashamed of anymore.

I love all that shit. I love stuffed animals, and heart shaped boxes of delicious candy, and beautiful big bouquets with lilies in them (my favourite). I love getting cards that say lots of mushy genuine stuff in them. I love receiving little boxes of thoughtfully chosen jewelry I can wear all the time to feel close to a sweetheart. I'm even coming around to public displays of affection like holding hands.

I get it, commercialism of emotions is bullshit. Christmas cashes in on feelings about family, and generosity, and ends up with us all scrambling to make rent the next month in the process. And the Fourth of July, another popular holiday to hate, stimulates feelings about patriotism that has me excited for fireworks even if I have some strong opinions about the United States. And Valentine's Day is about capitalism and heteronormativity meeting and manipulating love in many, many ways, so yeah I get it. I also want to acknowledge how Valentine's Day deifies romantic and sexual love/relationships over all other kinds, which is harmful especially when codependency is how we're programmed to care for each other. Yes yes yes, I'm with you on all that.

But have you noticed it's also a super femme holiday? Everything is pink and red and purple, bows everywhere, hearts everywhere, a focus on feelings rather than action. Love and romance are often trivialized in our society, sneered at as being feminized. A day to celebrate romance that often focuses on appreciating women in clear, obvious ways sounds pretty fucking good to be honest. We do a lot of unpaid ignored emotional labour and a day where we're lavished with attention and gifts and appreciation is the absolute LEAST I think women deserve. Not that men don't deserve to get flowers too- I think there's a lot to be said for queering Valentine's Day to celebrate the femme in everyone- but let's face it, women get this day, and Mother's Day if they happen to have children, and that's it for recognition.

So why do we resent that so much?  Is it perchance because we have a general distain for femininity and femmeness? Is this perhaps a reflection of misogyny around "women's stuff" like self-indulgence and beauty that causes us to reject Valentine's Day so strongly? Is it about self-worth, and a fear that either by being unpartnered you're not worthy, or that your partner's lack of energy/creativity/money spent/whatever matters to you in planning a Valentine's Day thing is reflective of your desirability as a person? Maybe we push this holiday away because love is vulnerable and vulnerability is fucking terrifying. I mean, that's legit, to be honest. Love scares me every fucking day.

This year, though, I'm going to cautiously try to accept that yes, I have feelings, I do love people and they love me back, and that's a good thing. Maybe I don't have to protect myself with snide remarks again, but instead can just open my heart up to being cared about.