Friday, February 22, 2013

Hold the phone...




I fought it for the longest time.  Really, I did.  It wasn't that I didn't want one, it was just that everywhere I went I saw people staring down at their hands.  They did it while they walked, they did it while they talked, while they sat around at the coffee shops.  They did it at diners, at candlelit restaurants--at every one of my favorite haunts...

But then it happened.  I went to the store to change out my old phone and my wife and I walked out with iPhones.  I used to take pictures with my old phone, but the picture quality was always so...

Yeah.

Nowadays the pictures from my phone are hard to separate from the ones I take with my Canon.  Seems  only my memories know the difference.  Most of the time.

So it took me about thirty minutes to take a semi-nude picture of my wife.  It was almost an accident.  But not quite, and no, I haven't stopped since.  Neither of us has.  We still use the Canon, but only when we set up for a full shoot: lights, makeup, props, backgrounds...even then my phone is nearby, just in case.

My phone is better suited for my daily needs; it's off the cuff and spontaneous.  I've managed to get some amazing shots that wouldn't have been possible with a 'real' camera.   I can snap a pic, save it, send it to my email, then pick it off the server and work with it on any of my PC's.

On the flip side, it's also become a monstrous distraction to my writing...

I have everything tied into the phone: my Fetlife profile, my blogs, my emails, the the super-duper key ring thing that saves me 10% at check-out...  And then there's the games and the pictures, and the erotic stories, and the other bloggers who post such amazing things themselves, and there's the editing applications, and the editing tools, and the buttered toast it makes me for breakfast.

Did I mention it can also make phone calls?  




Saturday, February 9, 2013

The Man Behind The Curtain



I'm me, and I know what I'm doing.

I think there's a reason I prefer to stay behind the lens, and it has more to do with my desire to capture the beauty I see than my desire to hide my imperfections or remain anonymous.  Sexual photography is a subjective art-form to say the least, and I think the people who upload their faces to the internet generally fall into three broad categories: they're either immensely proud of what their face is attached to, they're oblivious to the harmful potential a picture can incur, or they just don't care.

I've met all three since I became active in the world of online erotica, and those last two kinds of people scare the hell out of me.  I'm not out to frighten anyone, but there's a component of real-world danger within mass communications that gets ignored by so many people that it makes me wonder if they even lock their doors at night.  A digital  broadcast doesn't care where it ends up, and streaming data doesn't have a pass filter--once the genie is out of the bottle, you can't put it back.  Even if you delete the post, someone has it saved to a hard drive somewhere.

But maybe that's the point: maybe we're all trying to stretch that five minutes of fame into an eternity online.  Immortality does have  a certain ring to it, right?  If you can't be famous, be infamous, isn't that how the saying goes?  

Fetlife isn't Facebook.  I don't remember how many times I've said that to people in the last twelve months.  It's usually tucked between the words 'don't act stupid' and 'watch your ass'.  The rules of conduct change when sex enters the social-media mix.  The friendliest guy puts his avatar out in front of him and suddenly he becomes The_DOMinator.  That quiet lady who sits in the back of church?  She logs in after the kids are in bed and becomes ARealPrinzess.  The digital veil lets all the monsters out to play and suddenly what you did last weekend at the lake takes on a whole new level of scrutiny by people you wouldn't want walking your dog.

Life can hit you between the eyes like a ten-ton hammer if you let it.

I'm not a risk-taker, never have been.  When I walk out my front door, I'm an accountant trapped in a librarian's mind.  To the people in the real world, I'm boring as hell, and I intend to keep it that way.