Chloe approaches the abandoned church with excitement and fear. It's a very old building. Until last year, a few people still came to church on Sunday morning, but they finally gave up on it. No one bothered to lock the building or turn the electricity off. Everybody in the neighborhood avoids the building, thinking it may be haunted. Chloe enters through the back door and goes down the stairs to the basement. This is her private space, where she can do whatever she wants to do. She has been coming here for two years. Even when they still had services on Sunday, she would come in secretly when nobody was around. She has decorated the room, dusty rose walls with white trim, a maroon rug covering the old hardwood floor, and a lamp.
On the east wall there is a picture of dawn, the moment when the first brightness emerges over the horizon. On the south wall, a picture of a sunny beach. On the west wall, a violent scene, like a Hogarth drawing. On the north wall, an image of crops growing, cities being rebuilt, people being healed.
Mounted on the east wall there is also a rack, a vertical board with hooks and ropes, so the victim can be tied with her hands overhead, or with her elbows pulled back and chest thrust forward.
Chloe's breasts are not the biggest, but they are pretty, with light pink nipples on smooth white skin. Hypersensitive. She cups them in her hands. Very, very soft. Warm. And starting to get tumescent as she massages them and rubs the nipples. Starting to get a t.h.o.
She spreads her collection of pictures out on a table and looks through them. There are pictures of girls being whipped, and some with electrodes on their nipples. Some are doing it because they want to, as part of an s/m session. Others are really being tortured. There is a scene from the Inquisition, where a girl's tits are burned with candle flames. The line between fantasy and real torture is what fascinates her. She puts a dvd in the player. It is Hard Exercises by Gerard Titsman. She skips ahead to the end, the whipping scene, where Gerard whips Isabelle's tits. The mood is set.
Chloe picks up a long knife, actually a small sword, which is only used for this purpose. Facing east, looking at the picture, she draws a five-pointed star in the air with the tip of the sword. She looks into the sunrise. She knows this scene so well she doesn't really need the picture anymore. As she concentrates on the dawn, her inner light gets brighter. Entire realms of her mind open up. After a while - she doesn't count the time - she closes the star and turns to the south. Using the sword, facing south, looking at the picture on the wall, she traces a star in the air. Again she goes deeply into the scene in the picture, the warmth of the beach. She breathes slowly and feels the energy flowing into her. Eventually she closes the southern star and turns west. She opens the western star with the sword.
She gets her implements together. A thin horsewhip about three feet long. Alligator clips. Two candles. Cigarettes, matches, ashtray.
She looks at the picture on the west wall. It is not an ordinary picture. It's like a magic mirror. The picture changes. It shows scenes of absolute violence. She can choose what kind of violence. She doesn't have much interest in battle scenes. That's background. That's male stuff. Being the girl that she is, she looks in the direction of sexual torture. A dungeon scene comes into view.
She stands naked, her back against the rack, facing forward, facing the western wall. She ties a thick belt around her waist, running the belt behind the board, so she is bound to the rack. Her implements are on a table in easy reach.
She holds one arm up, and, using her free hand, whips her tits with the horsewhip. After years of practice she knows exactly how to use a whip at close range. Using a whip on yourself is a tricky thing to learn, like twirling, or using chopsticks if you have never used them before. But it can be done, and she is an expert. She thrusts her chest out and keeps whacking until welts start to appear.
She holds her hands overhead and imagines being tied in that position, and being whipped, like Isabelle in the video.
She picks up a pair of alligator clips and clips one onto each tit, on the outside, toward the armpits, an inch or two from the nipple. Then another pair, above the nipples, and a pair on the inside, and finally a pair on the underside. Her nipples are surrounded by clips. They are more erect than they have ever been. She rubs them for a long time. Waves of pleasure course through her body. She removes the clips and massages her tits.
She starts over with just two clips. There are two candles burning on the table by the rack. She holds the clips in the flames, then clips them onto her nipples. She takes the clips off and puts them on at a different angle. Again and again. She clips them onto the base of the nipples, then the very tip, then clips them on from the side. And so forth, covering the nipples from every angle. Her nipples are more and more swollen.
By this time she is dripping wet. She reaches down and rubs her clit.
She puts the alligator clips aside and whips herself again to freshen her circulation. She takes two cigarettes out of the pack and lights them. Considering that she has always hated smoke, it's amazing that she of all people would be doing this, but she has always wanted to know what it would feel like. She has been working up to this for years, and now the moment is here. She has been torturing herself in various ways for a long time, starting with the usual razor blade cuts on her arms and moving on to more imaginative tortures, but she has never used cigarettes before. She is so excited she hardly notices the smoke and doesn't even cough.
She rubs her nipples with her fingertips, and then picks up the cigarettes and blows on the tips until they glow brightly. She moves them up to her nipples, and almost touches them. She can feel the heat.
She holds her hands overhead again, imagining being tied. She isn't tied, except around the waist, and she is going to have to do it herself. She picks the cigarettes up again, blows on the burning tips, and holds them near the top of her tits, above the nipples. She brings them close but doesn't quite touch herself. She moves them to the outside of her tits, then the inside, between the nipples, still not quite touching, and finally the underside. At that point she touches herself with the burning tips.
She takes a sharp breath in. Her heart is pounding.
She has finally crossed the threshold and done it. Now it gets easier. She feels like she is falling from a great height. She touches herself again, lightly, with the burning cigarettes. And again. She moves them all around the underside of her breasts. Sometimes she has to stop and blow on the cigarettes to keep them going. She continues, not just on the underside, but all around the breasts, getting closer and closer to the nipples.
It gets a bit overwhelming. She feels lightheaded. She puts the cigarettes in the ashtray and cups her breasts in wonder. Softly she massages them and they come back to life. They have a different energy with the massage. A different tenderness. This is the flip side of torture. Each makes the other more intense. She rubs her nipples gently, then puts a finger on each nipple, pointing in, and moves her fingers rhythmically, so her tits jiggle. She can do this for a long time and lose herself in it.
She decides to lean over instead of standing upright. She starts burning herself again. It feels different this way. Her breasts hang down loosely and yield to the slightest touch. She can press the cigarettes in pretty far without putting them out. As before, she starts three or four inches from the nipples and gets closer. When she reaches the areolas, she holds the cigarettes on longer. This is not a light touch, it's a real burn. One full second. She doesn't dare do it longer than a second. She is afraid (rightly) that if she holds them in place too long she will have permanent scars. Her mind is still in control enough to be aware of such things. But just barely. She is almost beyond caring, but not quite. She keeps pressing the cigarettes into her tits again and again, one second here, then here, then here, all around the areolas. She feels faint. She can hardly breathe.
The first pair of cigarettes are burned out. She lights new ones. She is not used to the nicotine, and it makes her dizzy. Dizzier than she already is.
With fresh cigarettes, she stands up against the rack again, and stretches her arms overhead as before. Then she lowers her arms, thrusts her chest out, and brings the burning tips up to her nipples. She stops. She takes a deep breath. She moves the cigarettes down to the very bottom of her breasts, and presses them in, and holds them in place. She moves them in a line up to the nipples, holding the cigarettes in place for a full second, or even two seconds, each time. When she reaches the nipples, she hesitates. She wants to go ahead and do it, but she just can't.
She thinks about the fact that this has actually happened, to many girls, too many times to count. She imagines being tied, breasts hanging down helplessly, quivering, and someone pressing cigarettes onto her nipples. She can't bear the thought, and yet she can't get away from it either. She is reliving a moment that has echoes from many previous lives. This is her scenario. This is what her life is about. This is what she dreams about. This is home. Finally her hands move, as if controlled by another force. She presses the burning tips onto her nipples, and holds them there. She is flying.
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I am going to let you finish the story. Chloe's ritual has one more step to go. The north wall is there for a reason. It too has a role to play. Moving on to other things-
Every day, I get a report from my ISP which tells me, among other things, the search terms people use to reach my site. The most popular search terms are tit torture, breast torture, and nipple torture. I get thousands of those. The interesting ones are more specific. There are many variations. Such as:
Nipple torture with cigarettes, erotic nipple torture, quivering breasts, breast whipping, electrical tit torture, electricity interrogation nipples, erotic dungeon torture, strapped in chair torture, electrical nipple torture, burning breasts with cigarettes, cigarette burns on nipples, erotic nipple burning...
When I wrote my torture pages, I assumed that most of the visitors would be men, with only a few women. But now I think most of my readers are female. I have rewritten this page to take that into account. Men come here too, but not as many. Tit torture is something that would not occur to most men. I know women come here, because I also get search terms like this:
torture my tits, burn my tits, burn my nipples, whip my tits harder, self torture of tits, torturing my tits with electricity...
Only a woman would talk about "my tits." There are some women who crave torture. They dream about torture. Their tits are the center of their erotic universe, and no stimulation is too intense. Foreplay, the way most men do it, is BORING. These girls burn their own nipples (not necessarily with cigarettes - there are many other ways). They were already doing it before they heard there was such a thing as an S/M scene. I was like that too. Nobody had to tell me about it. I always knew what I wanted to do. In fact I don't consider myself part of a scene (not yet). The whole "fetish" thing is irrelevant to what I do. So is pornography.
I am not a dom, I am a Magus.
Chloe doesn't have a dom, and in spite of her fantasy about being tied up, she doesn't really want one. That's not what this is about. That is the wrong context.
As far as I am concerned, this is tantra. Breast tantra. This is what used to happen in convents and castles and real dungeons.
Most of the girls who torture themselves never find a man to do it with. Very few men know anything about it. Most men flunked Foreplay 101, never mind the more advanced stuff. That's why tit torture is usually a girl-girl thing. One interesting search term I got was "girls torturing girls with cigarettes." Girls understand each other. They know what hurts good.
It's not hard to find a man to beat you up, but what if that's not what you want? What if you want a man who will tie you up and make you fly?
In another part of the site, I said going to a 915 meeting should be like crossing a threshold and leaving America behind, on many levels, and entering another space, a magical space. More precisely, in this context, a tantric space.
In the right hands, sexual torture is black magic. It is real magic with real power.
The power does not come automatically. Gerard Titsman, for example, fritters it away. What he does is pornography, not art. It's very, very good porn, so good that sometimes it's almost art, but he never quite crosses the line. Even at its best it's still porn. It's not Dostoyevsky, it's Hefner. Instead of setting forces in motion, the only result is a short circuit (masturbation).
I think a "scene" of some kind will emerge from this. Kind of like the goth scene, but with a different style. I don't have a washed out "goth" look, and neither do my friends. We have too much energy for that. There is nothing wan about us. Nor do we wear leather or rubber outfits. We may wear leather sometimes, but we don't look like something out of Bizarre magazine. All that stuff is passé.
Pornography is even more passé. Girls with silicon tits and stupid poses. I saw an interview with Ellen Page. Referring to the pictures in a men's magazine, she said "I don't remotely think of myself as sexy in that way." She is sexy, but in a different way. It's a different aesthetic. A different sensibility. New roles are emerging, and a different kind of sexual tension and resolution of tension.
Almost all porn is addressed to men - men with no taste. It just repeats the same clichés over and over. It's boring even from a man's point of view, and even worse from a woman's point of view. Nevertheless a certain number of women are starting to look at it (so I hear). This is a new development. In the old days, before websites, I used to buy videotapes at adult bookstores. I never saw women in there as customers. On a few occasions women came in to look around, out of curiosity. To say they were not interested would be an understatement. Their reaction was astonishment and disgust. Buying any of that stuff was out of the question. I think the women who are looking at porn sites are still not finding what they want. But they are looking.
Hugh Hefner's original idea, back in the 1950's, was *upscale* porn. It was a brilliant idea at the time. At a time when sex was supposed to be dirty by definition, Playboy was not a dirty magazine. It was not something that had to be hidden. It did not have to be kept under the counter in the store, and you could leave it out on the coffee table at home. It even had a certain cachet. He published good fiction by famous writers. Each issue had an interview with some interesting person, and they were not afraid to be controversial. There were reviews of jazz albums and concerts. (Jazz was supposed to be "sophisticated" music in those days.) The articles were good journalism by any standard. There were ads for expensive clothes, cars, watches, whiskey, etc. The ads were essential. They were the matrix that held it all together and made it what it was. In the midst of all this, there was a centerfold with naked tits. The centerfold was part of The Playboy Lifestyle. It wasn't just sex, it was sex with Marilyn Monroe in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, with Louis Armstrong on the stereo and a Ferrari in the garage. This was something millions of men could fantasize about. Hefner tapped into that fantasy - actually he created the fantasy first, and then tapped into its energy - and he made a ton of money.
A lot of men who would not normally buy skin magazines were willing to buy Playboy. At its high point in the 1960's, Playboy sold more copies than all other men's magazines combined.
I think a similar opportunity exists today. Porn can be redefined and repackaged so it appeals to a different demographic with a different fantasy, a demographic that has, until now, not even been in the market for porn.
What we need is porn-that-is-not-porn. Erotic stories, maybe illustrated stories, that express the new sensibility, the new sexual reality, the new reality in general. Torture is only part of it. What is new here is not torture per se but intensely erotic torture, and the idea of using erotic energy as a magical force. Other things happen in Chloe's secret room, things that have nothing to do with torture sessions.
For the last three years I have been corresponding with Julia, who wrote to me after reading these pages. She is sexy in a way that appeals to both men and women. She has a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Yes, both. She loves to be tortured, at least in fantasy. She and her friends are into female wrestling and boxing. Actually Julia isn't much of a fighter, but she likes to watch, and tit-slapping really turns her on.
They do not play the traditional lesbian roles. There is no butch and femme. Julia and her "girlfriend" are both pretty in different ways.
Julia and her friends are the tip of the iceberg. They represent a new energy that is emerging. There are girls everywhere who are doing the same thing, or at least they are ready to do it. They are thinking about it. And they are ready to read about it. They have fantasies about whipped tits, just like men had fantasies about Marilyn Monroe in a penthouse fifty years ago.
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Other pages on this site:
The Second War of Independence
Now we are turning the clock back. The Chloe story was written in the summer of 2010.
What follows below has been here for several years. Some of it is out of date.
I have always kept this part of the site separate from the rest of it. At some point I am going to have to put it all together.
As a first step, I put a link from the electrotorture page to my home page. On the home page I talk about transhumanism, but I no longer consider myself to be a transhumanist. That's not the subculture I want to be associated with. I am tired of addressing myself to atheists and humanists, trans or otherwise. I want to rewrite the whole site from a different starting point. If I made tantra my starting point, a lot of things would fall into place.
And then near the bottom of my home page, I said I am probably weakening myself by trying to maintain a respectable persona.
Putting a link back in the other direction, from the home page to the torture pages, would blow away whatever credibility I have in academia. (Not much.) Going farther, and making this the home page, would require turning myself inside out. But why not? What do I have to lose, after all? This is who I am. Not a conventional scientist but what they call a "mad scientist," a magus. If that's who I am, then that is how I should present myself. That should be my persona.
I'm not sure credibility needs to be an issue. If people think I'm a weirdo, fuck them. I have my own life to live. Nobody cares what Keynes and Wittgenstein did in their private lives. Keynes was a member of the Bloomsbury group. They flaunted their unconventional lifestyles. People took Keynes seriously because they had to. He had something to say that could not be safely ignored. In the long run, ideas stand on their own merits.
September 26, 2006
Since most of my visitors enter the site through the torture pages, I guess this page already is the de facto home page, and I might as well treat it as such. There is no reason why this could not be the gateway to the rest of the site. If that involves turning myself inside out, so be it.
Today I finished Did Monetary Forces Cause the Great Depression? - typical light reading around here - and I think that is a good stopping point. It's time to put the books away and do something else. Clear all the junk out of here and make this into a magical space. A transformative space.
If you have explored the rest of the site, you know that today is a special day. This is the anniversary of the breakthrough in 1982. I wondered if something special would happen.
This afternoon I saw my neighbor Amy and her husband. They have a new band, The Meek. They have been performing for a couple of months now, but I still had not seen them. They said they were performing tonight at the New Beverly Cinema, following a screening of a movie about Daniel Johnston. I had never heard of him, but I thought this would be a good chance to see Amy perform.
It was hard to sit through the movie. I never saw such a bunch of fucking losers in my life. Daniel, it turns out, is a drooling idiot from the state hospital. He reminds me of Alfred E. Newman, especially in the scenes showing him as a young man. When Mad Magazine created their Alfred E. Newman caricature, he was supposed to be a joke, an object of ridicule. Daniel Johnston is supposed to be a "legendary artist." Incoherent scribbles from an insane asylum are supposed to be "art," and people actually buy it. He won the "Best Songwriter" award in Austin back in the 1980s. This is exactly the kind of spiritual madness I was talking about on the 915 page. (The original 915 concept was, in simple terms, "pro-white and pro-pot," but there is more to it than that.)
Insanity is the ugliest thing there is. His scribbles are not art. This is not a matter of taste or opinion, it's a fact. Contrary to what the emcee told us tonight, most artists are not insane. Michaelangelo wasn't. Goethe wasn't. Bach wasn't. Leonardo da Vinci, Rembrandt, Handel, Mozart, Schubert, Henry James... essentially all of the great artists were sane. The idea that artists have to be insane is absolute horseshit. Those few that are insane are artists in spite of their insanity, not because of it.
Incoherence has become the biggest cliché in modern art. In the 20th century, the basic cultural principle was: Don't collect your thoughts. As the Talking Heads would say, "Stop making sense."
In the 21st century, a real avant-garde artist would go as far as possible in the opposite direction.
Prior to Nietzsche, it would not have occurred to anyone to say it's all right for an artist (or anybody) to be insane. Prior to the 20th century, it would not have occurred to anyone to say that Daniel Johnston is an artist at all. As I sat there in the theater, I kept wondering: What the fuck am I doing here? What am I doing on this planet? And why is this happening today, of all days?
September 27
Yesterday turned out to be a good day after all. It was a turning point. During the show, I wondered what I was doing there, but now that it's over, this is the thought that stays with me: If this piece of shit can get up there and perform, so can I. If he has a right to be heard, so do I.
What I do is a million times more powerful than what he does. It's just a matter of figuring out how to tap into that power. The first step is to convince myself that it's all right to do it.
I am not going to put my books away. Not permanently. The fact that I read dense academic books as easily as Daniel Johnston reads comics is part of who I am too, just as much as torture. Daniel's fans think it's cool to be a drooling idiot. As far as I am concerned, it's cool to be smart. In fact it might be said that that's an essential part of the "magic." Without that, erotic torture is just perversion, with no power.
I'm winging it here. I don't know where I'm going with this. I have never really combined this page with the home page in my own mind. I know that I am weakening myself, cutting the ground out from under my feet, by keeping this page separate from the rest of what I do. But I don't know how to combine them.
I am not the only one who has this problem. The same thing applies to my readers.
Would you want your boss/spouse/parents/children/neighbors to know what you are doing right now? Probably not. This doesn't fit into the rest of your life. And yet it does, somehow. The fact that you look at torture sites is part of who you are, like it or not.
September 28
I am cutting the ground out from under my feet either way, whether I connect these pages with the rest of the site or not. My torture pages invite questions such as: Who am I to complain about Daniel Johnston? Isn't tit torture part of the same decadence? If burning nipples isn't spiritual madness, what is?
I have asked myself such questions many times, without arriving at a satisfactory answer. That's one reason I have always kept these pages separate from the rest of the site. But I am just going to trust myself. Yes, I burn breasts, and yes, I detest the kind of insanity I saw the other night. I know it appears to be a contradiction. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't.
I have believed for a long time that torture is basically not a good idea, unless you think of it as a step on the way to something else. Sometimes I think of it as a monkey on my back. On more than one occasion I have thrown away transformers and entire collections of pictures.
W. H. Auden said "Art is clear thinking about mixed feelings." Many of the pages on this site are an attempt to think clearly about subjects about which I have deeply mixed feelings. On the Amanda page, I said
For those who arrived here from Ministry of Illusion, or from the Ilsa page, I should point out that the leader of the S/M scene, the leader above Scappini, is Bernhard Mueller, a Jew (although he denies it, of course) who is a Captain in the German army; and this whole group is part of the plot to assassinate Hitler. So things are not quite as they seem.
My life is like that too. Everybody's life is like that, whether they know it or not.
It may not be true that everybody's life is like that. Some people are too shallow to be concerned with such complications. I should say everybody who counts is like that.
It's past midnight now... time for hard truths. I think I have something to learn from Daniel Johnston. Maybe he is an artist after all. He never worried about being on the wrong planet. That is one of the ways I have sabotaged myself. He didn't care if anybody agreed with him, or if he fit in. He was just himself. He did what he did. If they locked him up, they locked him up. Too bad. He was out there, no matter what. I respect that. I don't respect anything else about him, but I do respect that. It takes a lot of courage to be the only one who says the green pencil is longer.
It may be true that what I do is a million times more powerful than what he does. It may be true that "The Devil in Lyle Burkhead" would blow away "The Devil in Daniel Johnston," but his movie is out there and mine isn't.
September 30
When I first got involved in torture, I had no context for it. It was just a sexual thing. That was what turned me on, so that's what I did.
About 1990, I started incorporating torture into a four-star ritual, and that continued for the rest of the 1990's.
There is a blog that I visit from time to time. I'm not going to link to his site any more than he would link to mine, but here are some of his comments about magic. The context for this is the killing of Jean Charles de Menezes, who was shot by London police in a subway, supposedly because he was an Arab terrorist. It turned out he wasn't an Arab at all, he was Brazilian, and was entirely innocent. It now appears that they knew that. He was a more or less random victim. Why then did they kill him? This is what the blogger says:
The Order of Nine Angles' A Gift for the Prince states that "human sacrifice is powerful magick":
[quote from The Order of Nine Angles] The ritual death of an individual does two things: it releases energy (which can be directed, or stored - for example in a crystal) and it draws down dark forces or "entities." Such forces may then be used, by directing them toward a specific goal, or they may be allowed to disperse over the Earth in a natural way, such dispersal altering what is sometimes known as the "astral shell" around the Earth. This alteration, by the nature of sacrifice, is disruptive - that is, it tends toward Chaos. This is simply another way of saying that human sacrifice furthers the work of Satan...
[back to the blogger] I haven't forgotten Jean Charles de Menezes. Nor that a motive to his killing, if there is one, most probably resides in a place that would seem to us like madness.
Perhaps sometimes, the occult elite's horrification of their dumb, useless eaters doesn't require the elegance of programmed assassins and useful idiots. Perhaps sometimes, it's as simple as walking up to a man and shooting him seven times in the head. Because random acts of violence are now public policy. And what energies are released by that? Which dark entities are drawn down?
The same thing applies to Abu Ghraib.
When I tied Leslie up and burned her breasts, and clipped electrodes onto her nipples, as part of a four-star ritual, what energies did I draw down? At the time I didn't think of it in those terms. I was still compulsively doing what I was driven to do. I'm older now, and maybe wiser. I hope so. At least I have more perspective. When I start doing this again, it will be done more deliberately, with a definite intention and awareness of what I am doing.
As far as that goes, when I put these torture pages on my website, what energies am I drawing down?
Leslie, by the way, was Leslie Graves. She was my favorite pin-up girl in the 1980's. When I met her in 1989, I had been thinking about torturing her tits for nine years. Unfortunately (or fortunately, for her) I never met my other favorite pinup, Marilyn Lange. She's too old for this now, but there is a new generation of Marilyn's, and one of them is going to find her way to this page. Or maybe I will just meet her somewhere, "by accident," like I met Leslie. One way or another we will find each other.
When torture is done in public, it can release enormous energy. Consider The Passion of the Christ. That movie made $750 million, first of all, which is a pretty good piece of change, but beyond that it was a cultural earthquake. But it is just a faint echo of the original on which it is based. I am beginning to understand the idea of sacrifice, and why Jesus had to die as he did. The crucifixion was black magic.
What effect did the crucifixion have? Did did it draw down dark entities? Did these entities disperse over the earth and alter the "astral shell" in a disruptive way, and further the work of Satan, as the Order of Nine Angles says?
Or what?
Is that the right way to frame the question? Is that the right context?
What if Jesus had been a woman? Would her crucifixion have had the same effect?
One explanation for Daniel Johnston is that the church he grew up in, a fundamentalist church in a small town in the Bible Belt, is a quarter of an inch deep. There is nothing magical about it. Those people want magic to be illegal. They have no concept of Christian philosophy or Christian art. They are not supposed to think about what the crucifixion means, or what anything means. NOT THINKING is the whole point of their church. "Stop making sense." That's why Daniel is who he is. Dumbed down religion and dumbed down art go together.
October 2
And now, here's what you have all been waiting for - a video of Leslie on the rack. Put your headphones on before clicking on the link.
Real torture, real tears, real screams... Brace yourself... You may not be ready for this.
October 8, 2006
I hope everybody enjoyed that. Anybody who is just here to look at porn can leave now, if they haven't already.
I can tell from the log files that out of 100 people who come to this page, only a few click through to the pictures of Leslie and Marilyn. The others lose interest before they get this far down the page. So at this point I am not addressing the audience I started with at the top of the page. Men buy Playboy to look at the pictures, but then once they have the magazine, some of them may read an article or interview. My torture pages work the same way. They are the centerfold of the site. They draw people in.
However, that's not why I put them here. These pages are part of the site because they are part of me, just like the centerfold is part of Hugh Hefner's life, and the question remains, how on earth can these pages be made to fit into the rest of what I do? And if they don't fit, which one do I have to give up?
When I wrote the main part of this site, I was in "let's make a better world" mode.
Q. What's wrong with the world?
A: It doesn't have enough torture in it.
Um, no... If the idea of a better world is construed in any reasonable way, obviously it doesn't include torture. If we are trying to create a better life for ourselves, torture is one of the things we want to get rid of.
But there is another theme in my life that has pretty deep roots: It doesn't matter what happens.
There is no such thing as improving the world. The world is the unchanging background against which we live our lives. The more we let it distract us, the less alive we are. Mozart was fully alive when he composed "Ave Verum Corpus," and Isabelle was fully alive when she lost herself in the feeling of the whip across her breasts in "Hard Exercises." They weren't thinking about having an effect on the world.
This is one of those things about which I have deeply mixed feelings. If you don't try to improve the world, you end up with India or Argentina. Are yogis fully alive when they tune everything out and go into a deep trance? Maybe they are. But India is a huge slum.
What about Argentina? Are cops fully alive when they torture prisoners? Maybe they are. Motorhead says, "The answer to life's mystery is simple and direct - sex and death." When you crush the life out of someone, that could be considered the ultimate fuck. It's fucking in the service of death instead of life, but it is still an absolute fuck, and it turns me on to think about it. I have no interest in "safe and sane" B&D games, where nice politically correct persons talk about exhanging power. That makes me want to throw up. Torture is only fun if you get as close as possible to the real thing, and fantasize about crossing the line.
So why don't I go ahead and do it? When I was younger I thought about going to a country where torture is common, and signing up as a torturer. Maybe I should have. At the time my excuse was that I had more important things to do. True enough, but I should have taken a few years off and done it. In the old days, when men fought with swords, a young man was "fleshed" when he had drawn blood in his first real swordfight. I have never tortured anybody for real, so I am not fleshed as a torturer. I should be. I could still do it - I could go to Iraq right now (except for the fact that I am on the no-fly list) - but, as always, I have more important things to do. Besides, crossing the line in fantasy is all I really need to do. Actually torturing somebody, torturing them to death, would not add anything to what I have already done.
Or would it?
In the long run, the human race will go the way of the dinosaurs, and it truly doesn't matter what happens.
Or does it?
Anybody can have mixed feelings. Clear thinking about mixed feelings is a lot more difficult.
October 9
When I got up this morning, I was tempted to erase what I wrote last night, but I think I am going to leave it there. At least I knew I was not thinking clearly. (Vodka tends to have that effect.)
Let's go back to the question, are cops who torture prisoners fully alive? No, of course not. They are dirtballs, and what they do is not absolute fucking, it is a substitute for fucking. It is another kind of short circuit, another kind of masturbation.
What they do is not transformative, neither for themselves nor for their victims. There is no magic in it.
One South American cop said "Our goal is to totally destroy the sense of trust at all levels." You can't do that to other people without destroying yourself at the same time.
As for making a better world, I hate to give up on that idea, but I don't think any such thing is going to happen. Society is going to continue changing, but not by my efforts. My actions will have effects, but the effects are unpredictable and may be the opposite of what I intended, so there is no use worrying about it. The general direction of change seems to be towards disconnection and disintegration. We are in the end times, and the whole world is going to be more and more like the state hospital. Maybe in that sense Daniel Johnston is prophetic.
The question is not how to change the world, but how to change myself. Vivekananda said "The best guide in life is strength. In religion as in all other matters, discard everything that weakens you, have nothing to do with it."
October 10
No, Daniel Johnston is a symptom, not a prophet. Yeats was the prophet:
"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold..."
October 11
Maybe I'm getting a little bit tooooo seeerrrious about all this.
Yes, everything is coming unglued... it's so sad! So tragic! The world has been falling apart for quite some time now, and the poor old thing will probably continue to lurch along for at least a few more years before The End finally comes. Meanwhile, as the saying goes, girls just want to have fun, and some of them have a pretty weird idea of fun.
If they don't have such weird ideas, that's all right too.
I'll bet a new Marilyn is right here in my neighborhood, and as soon as my intention is focused, she will appear.
October 12
In fact I did meet somebody recently. She is a long way from Marilyn - she is not Playmate of the Year material - but that's all right. I think she's cute, and sparks are flying. I haven't asked her if she wants to be tied up, and I'm not sure I care. Maybe I have finally outgrown torture, and my torture pages are no longer relevant. Been there, done that... I have spent most of my life doing that. I don't have to spend the rest of my life doing the same thing. Maybe M., my new love interest - her name isn't Marilyn but it does start with M - will be the one who helps me move on to something else.
Maybe.
These musings should not be taken too seriously. Eventually I want to remove all of this backstage stuff from the site, and just say what I have to say without any reference to mixed feelings. I am not ready for that. At this point I am still trying to get things sorted out. I have more questions than answers.
October 25, 2006
What the fuck, of course I have mixed feelings. How could I not? Anybody who doesn't have mixed feelings about this subject must be an idiot.
Today a new letter from Ernst Zundel to his wife was published. He says:
Ingrid, they will apologize! They will do it publicly. They will publish it, and they will pay me and you millions of dollars in compensation. How do I know? Ingrid, Bush and Cheney will be lucky, very lucky if they get to serve out the rest of their terms in office. We are close to an upheaval of horrific proportions that will change the political landscape drastically. Nothing will be as it has been up to now.
What role could I possibly play in this upheaval? Here is where lack of credibility really bites. It's hard to sit on the sidelines at a time like this. At my age, with all the reading I have done, and with my dynamism, I should be leading the way. But I have a skeleton in my closet that makes it impossible for me to play a role in public life.
In a letter to a friend Zundel said this:
Ingrid always told me that the real crunch for the dysfunctional political elite in America would come when their sexual deviations... would come to light.
I left out part of his statement because if I put it here the search engines will pick it up and that will draw the wrong kind of traffic to this site. He is referring to something that I am not interested in. Nevertheless the same principle applies: when any kind of sexual deviation comes to light, it destroys somebody's career.
...Depending on what kind of career it is. The "Some Girls" album didn't hurt Mick Jagger's career. What I have to do is position myself so that it doesn't matter. I can have a role in public life, and the fact that I torture tits can add to my charisma. It's just a question of inventing the right kind of role. As I said on my home page, I would have more juice if I did this as openly as Gerard does.
I'm not interested in a political career anyway, even if that were a real possibility for me. I do have a role in public life, but not that kind of role. My gas chamber page passed the 50,000 mark last winter, and at the rate things are going it will have been read 100,000 times by the end of next year. That has got to be having an effect. That's probably all I need to do about politics. I have already made my contribution to the upheaval. (Note added in 2010: I have also written the Untouchables page. It does not depend on my credibility. It's not about me. The Untouchables concept will stand on its own regardless of how anybody feels about me. Meanwhile the gas chamber page is still there and has now been read more than 200,000 times.)
It's not clear to me that the political landscape is really going to change, at least not in any fundamental way. There may be an upheaval which appears to be drastic, but it will turn out to be superficial. As I said on the home page, if there is a revolution it will come to a bad end. It may be true that Bush and Cheney won't serve out their terms, but then what? Who will replace them? What about 2008? What needs to be said is that 911 was a hoax, and anybody who voted to abolish habeas corpus should be prosecuted for treason. If we get to the point where somebody can stand up and say that and still be a serious candidate, it will truly be a different political landscape.
I wish I could share Zundel's optimism, but I just can't. I think the next President, and the next one after that, will still report to TPTB, the same power that put Zundel in prison, the same power that controls the mainstream media. I think the political landscape, like everything else, is just going to go from bad to worse.
Maybe I'm getting too serious again, but the one percent who read this far should be able to handle it. To review some points from the home page and other pages:
1. The Singularity is approaching, but it isn't going to be the kind of event predicted by Vernor Vinge, Eric Drexler, and Ray Kurzweil. Their philosophy isn't deep enough to conceive it, let alone make it happen.
2. As we approach the end, there is going to be a general breakdown that could fairly be described as the Tribulation, but it isn't going to be the kind of Tribulation predicted by the evangelists, and the outcome isn't going to be what they expect. A dumbed-down religion can only imagine a dumbed-down apocalypse.
3. All the old ideologies and religions are obsolete (some more than others). There is no use trying to make the future fit into any of the old myths. Some of them may seem to be relevant, but they are only relevant by accident, like a broken clock that is right twice a day.
4. The transhuman metamorphosis won't be a general event that happens to everybody at once. Somebody will get there first. In other words, if you think of this as a race, somebody will win. It will be somebody who has the best model of reality on all levels, including, specifically, a correct philosophy of mind. A correct philosophy of mind requires a correct understanding of logic, semantics, metaphysics, and epistemology. Thus, for the first time, we have an objective criterion of philosophical truth: the correct philosophy is the one that leads to the metamorphosis.
That's the only role I really want - I want to be the one who gets there first. Or, simply, the one who gets there. The question, then, is how sexual torture fits into this plan. A correct philosophy has to take sexuality into account, which western philosophy generally doesn't. When I wrote the paragraph quoted as point #4, I was still thinking of philosophers such as Frege and Wittgenstein (my mentors as a student). That kind of philosophy has nothing to say about sex, or music, or any kind of art; or prana, Qi and Kundalini. Not to mention torture.
November 10, 2006
The contradiction that just won't go away
I am trying to go back to my roots. When I was a young man, I lived in a house with some radical hippies. We had a totally natural kitchen. A juicer to make carrot juice (lots of it), herbs and spices, vegetables from the farmer's market, fresh pineapple and coconut, honey still in the honeycomb... I will always remember the smell and the vibes of that kitchen. Of course there were no cigarettes, no coffee, and no TV. When you entered that house - the yellow house in the 300 block of Kipling Street in Palo Alto, long since torn down and replaced - you crossed a threshold and left America behind.
But meanwhile I had just bought my first transformer, and there were things going on in my bedroom that my housemates had no concept of.
That house was not the tantric space I want to create, and neither was my bedroom. I am not going to have my tantric space until I find a way to combine the bedroom with the rest of the house.
A few years later I bought Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin. I thought it was very, very, cool, and I still think so. This is the way life should be. This is the way life would have been in the Third Reich, if they had not destroyed it before it could come into full existence. As one Amazon reviewer said,
Whether having your baby at home or in a hospital, this book is of tremendous value. Ina May is the woman! She wrote this book in the 70's on a hippie commune so the language reflects that time and place. I laughed at her reference to contractions as rushes during my first pregnancy until I started actually having contractions. Feeling them as "rushes" instead of contractions helped me to manage the energy and pain. I realized the psychology behind her terminology. In reading this book, I felt empowered to have my babies without drugs - knowing my body would know what to do. I am endlessly grateful to Ina May for this classic book!!
But even at the time, of course, I couldn't look at the pictures in the book without thinking about torturing the girls' tits. I gave the book to Leslie when she was pregnant, and never saw it again. I guess she threw it away. She was anything but a hippie. She was the last person who could relate to the idea of childbirth without painkilling drugs. She couldn't even get through an ordinary day without opiates. She died of an overdose in 1995.
If you look at the Inquisition site, which I have linked to a couple of times, you find that many of the victims are midwives and healers, exactly like Ina May and the women described in Spiritual Midwifery. The Inquisition site shows an earlier version of narcs versus hippies. There are many things I am uncertain about, but one thing I am absolutely sure of is that the midwives are right and the narcs are pieces of shit. Why then does the Inquisition site turn me on?
The fact that I have spent half of my life on the dark side is an irrevocable part of who I am. The fact that I am grounded in torture and death, the fact that I can look at anything without flinching, is what gives me my power. But at the end of the day, when one side becomes real and the other doesn't, the narcs will fade away into the shadows, into the outer darkness. We will live in a world of natural childbirth, and mechanical hospitals and interrogation rooms will just be a bad dream.
December 7, 2006
All right, but in our finite lives, the end of the day never comes, and we are stuck with our dreams, good and bad. The fact remains that I can't relate to people who are too wholesome. A couple of years ago I went to a Pilates class. The teacher is not bad looking, and of course she is in superb shape. She is also single. It never occurred to me to see her after class. She is just too sweet.
"Four Lives of Cindy," starring Cindy Prince, is one of the all-time classic s/m movies. On an erotic level it can't compare with some of Gerard's videos, but his videos are porn and "Four Lives" is real art. Cindy goes to a therapist to get treatment for her dreams. She describes dream after dream in which she is in some situation in the distant past, hundreds or thousands of years ago, and she always finds herself being tortured. The dreams are actually memories of past lives. At the end it turns out the whole therapy thing is a ruse. The "therapist" himself is the same man she has seen in her dreams, and he tortures her. There is no escape.
She doesn't want to escape. She smiles when he clips electrodes onto her nipples and cranks up the voltage.
She does this in real life, too.
If you believe, or half believe, in reincarnation, you have to ask some hard questions. First of all, are we always male or always female? Or do we go back and forth? Second, do we always play the same role, or do we go back and forth from torturer to victim? Cindy was always the victim in her dreams, but I doubt if that's how it works.
Another hard question is this. People who believe in reincarnation usually say that we draw things to us. Our thoughts become reality. Well, if you look at the generation just before the Burning Times began, or the year before, or the night before, what were the witches thinking? What dark thoughts created that awful reality? Maybe they were sated with sweetness, and they wanted more harshness. At least they thought they did. Be careful what you wish for. It's a nonlinear system. In other words the effect is not proportional to the cause.
I don't believe in reincarnation or any such thing. Beliefs are for New Age airheads. I don't believe in reincarnation any more than T. S. Eliot believed in the Rapture. Buddha might put it this way: if you pay very close attention to your experience, you may notice reincarnationish things, but that doesn't mean you should make it into a belief system. Just keep paying attention. If you focus down hard enough, you may be able to choose different dreams, or even step off the wheel altogether, if you want to.
More precisely, you can step off the wheel if you decide to stop wanting, once and for all.
Even that isn't quite right, because you have to stop deciding and just let it all go.
One afternoon in the fall of 1982, in the aftermath of the Breakthrough, there was a moment when I could have stepped off the wheel... but I didn't. I'm still here. Tell me more about your dreams, Cindy...
Das Ewigweiblishe zieht uns hinan.
December 15, 2006
In case anybody didn't get that, it's the last line of Faust, or actually the last two lines. It means "The eternal feminine draws us on."
Going back to something I said on October 8, "If we are trying to create a better life for ourselves, torture is one of the things we want to get rid of." That's obvious, isn't it? Or is it? Buddha would say there is no such thing as a better life. As long as you're on the wheel, you're on it. Period. It doesn't matter what kind of life you have, you are still "suffering," in the Buddhist sense. You may be in an iron cage or a golden cage, but you are in a cage either way.
I think that's bullshit. Of course, it's better to be in a golden cage.
There is such a thing as improving the world. A better life is one in which we throw off the constraints that prevent us from living life to the max. A better life may or may not include erotic torture, but it doesn't include police torture or inquisition torture. A better life is one in which we think about that to arouse ourselves, and then segue into real fucking.
This is how it's supposed to work:
Whatever the antecedents to an orgasm that is better than others, the final common pathway is the same. The two lovers are able to experience a feeling of unrestrained and untamed abandonment to one another. It is not necessary for them to pay attention either to what the self is doing or what the partner is doing. All the movements take care of themselves, as if reflexively. The sensations greedily absorbed by the vulva, externally and through deep interior pressure, tell the vaginal cavity how to selfishly pulsate, ripple, quiver, and contract on the penis, in order to release itself in orgasm. Reciprocally, the penis selfishly probes and presses, twists a little, withdraws and tantalizes at the portals, and sinks deeply again, it too greedily building up its own orgasmic pleasure. The two bodies writhe, unheedingly. The two minds drift into the oblivion of attending only to their own feeling, so perfectly synchronized that the ecstasy of the one is preordained to be the reciprocal ecstacy of the other. Two minds, mindlessly lost in one another. This is the perfect orgasmic experience. This is how an orgasm sighs, moans, exclaims, expires, exhausts itself into exultant repose.
December 28, 2006
Orgasm as described above may be the grail, but it is not accessible to me, at least not directly. Thinking about it doesn't turn me on. I can only approach it indirectly, by a long, circuitous path. For me, the path to orgasm leads through torture, and I'm not the only one.
Every day I keep getting more and more of those interesting search terms:
he tortured my breasts, cigarette on my tits, I like nipple torture, burn my nipples, whip my tits, burn my tits, torture my tits, I need my tits tortured, electrodes my breasts cry, torture her own nipples, come play with my tits, touch my tits, please hurt my tits...
THAT turns me on, and it turns them on too. Apparently there are still a lot of women who want exactly what I have to offer. There are even more than there used to be. I know what I'm going to do this coming year. It's time to rebuild my dungeon and start torturing tits again. Marilyn, I know you're out there. Come to me.
Any tits can be tortured, no matter how beautiful they are. In fact the more beautiful they are, the more torturable they are.
The most beautiful tits are going to find the most imaginative torturer. We're going to take it farther than it has ever been taken before, even beyond Gerard and Isabelle.
January 18, 2007
Now I have changed the title of this page to "torture my tits." Likewise for the other torture pages. That gets right to the point. I should have thought of that in the first place.
Men may be better at geometry and algebra, but in some ways women are smarter then men. Women see the world whole. They are grounded in a way that most men are not. They know that sex isn't just sex, it's connected to everything else.
And sexual torture is connected to everything else. It's connected to God. But how?
Separation of the sexes, and the resulting sexual tension, have been part of Christianity from day one. St. Paul said, "It is good for a man not to touch a woman." This was a new idea at the time. Jews were supposed to get married and have children - "Be fruitful and multiply." In the Old Testament, adultery was a serious sin, but sexual pleasure per se was not a sin at all.
I have a book about Shiva. It has pictures of Indian sculpture. One of the pictures shows Shiva and Shakti, his female consort. He is feeling her up, and she is smiling, enjoying it. It would be inconceivable for a Christian sculptor to show Jesus with his hand on Mary Magdalene's tits. There are all kinds of churches, and they disagree about many things, but one thing they all have in common is that breast play is a sin. Jesus has nothing to do with breasts. Christians have always covered them up, or tortured them. Tit torture is the specifically Christian form of torture.
If the torturer makes you fly, and you are both having fun, that's a sin, which means you have to take it even farther, to punish yourself...
Jesus says "Wait a minute! It's not supposed to be fun! Breasts are evil. You have to really torture them! No fair getting off on it."
The Devil lights another pair of cigarettes, and approaches Marilyn. She thrusts her breasts out and accepts the burns with a dreamy look.
Jesus pushes the Devil aside. "No, no, no, that's not it. Don't you know how to do your job?" He picks up a whip and lashes out at Marilyn's tits. She loves it. "Jesus, are you going to fuck me when you finish?" This infuriates him even more. He picks up two branding irons from the fire, and approaches her. He moves the hot irons up close to her nipples. Then he stops. He has never been this close to nipples before, except when he was a baby. He has never seen breasts up close as an adult, let alone touched them. Marilyn holds her breasts out for him, and looks at him with a steady gaze, waiting expectantly. He is too close now, he has stepped too far out on the slippery slope, and there is no going back. Losing all control, he does touch them, the only way he can.
Slowly, hesitantly at first, he presses the hot irons onto her nipples. Discovering something in himself he didn't know was there, he does it again, forcefully, with no hesitation. He presses the branding irons into the tender undersides of her tits. He pushes them in, again and again, moving them around, covering her tits with burns. Again and again and again, with more and more force, he sticks the red hot iron into her soft flesh.
The Devil, who knows very well how Hell works, watches with amusement. He knows that Marilyn's injuries are healing even as they happen, and she will always be ready for more. She is eternal. And now Jesus himself is caught in Marilyn's spell. He too will be here, eternally.
Das Ewigweiblishe zieht uns hinan.