2023 Prnwars

A front report from beyond enemy paywalls 

A front report it says - well is it really? For all we know, journalists in wars have always not been the ones who fire rifles at the enemy, yet shared a shithail of experience with the ones who did - and died likewise. Well i didn’t.

This glorious captian obvious moment confessed upfront, I though think, it is justified to claim this headline - because you’re a free beeing to look up someone else with other /experiences and condem this/my textual fuckpiece with it’s martial promo headline right here and now. I’d even advise you to, if you are here for some insights into ‘the industry’, ‘the scene’ or even the fleshflix-twisted head of an individual itself in’em - to get your freak on? Because this is not what you will get here. You cannot get anything here by definition. What this piece rather leads or tries to invite you into, is the short story of me, smart stuff Neele, thinking at a particular point in her life, that she could find the ideal synergy in these world wide webs with all her skills and wishes and being perfectly right therefore at this little company based in Berlin, riding a voluptuous wave of revolutionary fuckforce that will make the planet that happier brighter place we all wish for (and fill up her little purse a bit). Poor naive Neele. Luckily she’s always up for a learning, as she is for good ol’ ‘sharing is caring’ - so here we go with the war in and on our bodies, minds and souls:

But’upfront: From which shores were you washed here anyhow, dear? Maybe the one, where you were looking for somebody special? But that one turned down every effort you made to build up a meaningful and sizzling relationship? Maybe you are still trying to make these efforts to that one particular person? Or are you building up capital and ressources for the day when you will meet this being? Are you working your body and filling your bank account? Nice. You know what? You can quit this toxic habit right now. Or continue to bet on the wrong horse … anyway: if you stayed aware through these first lines, your clou right now just might be: “Is it really that easy to cold read the whole customerbase of this mag here into a corner where it’s okay for me now to accept this so obvious as subliminal agressive life coach bullshit - only because others might fall for it?” Yes - you can (We can make ourselves great again *ahulk*!). 

I also thought, i’d be kind a like that easy, when i had my first how-tos on visual artists’ tasks for the page ‘ersties.com’. My boss, or lets say firstofall back then: Client, because I considered myself a freelancer - was not only my flatmate in Barcelona by that time, he was also the CTO of the company. Easy to say, that i knew him since he build it from scratch with his pals and never had a clue until we lived together, that he did (almost a decade at an ArtSchool and several gallons vodka for sure over that time forged us accordingly in a very particular way that one might find the surprisingness of that fact surprising - i really never knew about this project all those years! Awyea?) But aw, how painful it is to tell you about the unresolved conflict, that emerged from some very special nights in those years, together with my ex and his already longterm gf and partner in crime together - polyamory? A big word. Necessarily, here. Our knowledge about its determinations - almost worthless back then. Getting screwed is not for sissys, they say, but have you ever had eyes on your beloved one right next to you who was screwing with somebody else that you’d rather had been in that very moment? Thought afterwards for years, you raped yourself, letting this happen? Pitfall and self destructionous times later - i actually told him after those years, to jump back to the plot, about my feelings since that night: ‚What a pity‘ he commented and not even a single question about all those feelings i finally broke open to him, was coming over his lips. What a pity … i continued working for and with him even considered our friendship existing.

This is particularly delicate here, as pain- as joyful, because I want you, dear, to be assured, that I neither want to write a victims story, nor really shed a bad light on who ever is involved in what I tell here. Even - or not even on him. But especially metagonzo journalism needs that cardboard antagonist, right? I know it does sound twisted and complicated and off topic already enough, but trust me, dear, be with me for these minutes solely unemotional and yet empathic, if you can. If you mistrusted beloved ones and yourself already enough in your life. Try to cope with these harsh contradictive demands I pose here for you, and that sharing of the very personal lead into the abyss, dear. It is indesputably necessary to have those sidelines - because:

“Every company has its humans and their interaction and relations with each other. And of course you and I want to believe that in this industry and scene it is NO different from every other - except our annual company parties had an obligatory drug buffet and a darkroom on site.”

I never went there.

Not the darkroom, nor the party.

It just wasn’t what I was looking for at that particular times, working off-grid, homeofficing data-architectural questions, page maintenance shit, moderating live shows and also cutting footage for all in all almost 3 years. The underpay was acceptable for the dirty work I did - because it was around what you earn as a toilet cleaner in a wealthy country. And I found it interesting! Magical, sadly I have to say nowadays, I was convinced, that we’d show people an other approach to sexuality, than ‘that’ disgusting 99% flesh fabric that you see on the net, where openness is labeled naivity and sensitiveness aside script as well as insecurety as weaknesses or to dominate - and all gets exploited - mostly the female sex in heteronormative and even worse: dumb acts (scripted or not). It began jumping in my face, that we were just doing the same, when scenes, that I took out of raw camera material, showed girls with their boyfriends, or at least a person they had a very intimate relation to on set, hesitating to masturbate in front of a camera - and crying, beeing obviously in deep despair after their climax … or performance, or both. Shocked, when seeing such first, I made meanwhile discoverys in this world, where girls empowered themselves in astonishingly brave manners and I could even help them, overcoming f.e. body shape - society normativity related complexes; by moderating radically and kicking and banning (bodyshaming) assholes out of the way for a great debut of a very special, delicate soul. At least I conceived hers like that - and was proud of the fact that I could roll out such a safe space for the beautiful freaks on both sides who seemed profoundly human to me and shared their desires somehow - Yes in front and also behind paywalls and - Yes - both happened - the bright and honourable perceivement, as well as the dark and soul crushing devastations. They were indeterminably interwoven in the most cases, where models, as we called them (...), kept their mask on and their ‘professionality’ -  and that of course for a reason. Now to get to this reason, dear, you will probably have already have spoted the biggest problem, but no - i swear - i’ll not spank you for misbehaving. That’s really not my kink anymore … hur..hur … though I am writing here in a moralistic manner on a subject, that seems to have to do not only with moral, ethics but also aesthethic, yet ideas of performance and use - humanly constructed values all over the shitfuckplayce.

I really love to live for evolvement. And distinction.
Get it? Because, I’m sorry, dear, but you have to understand this by and for yourself and only that. Don’t mistake this as advise (!) but the following now is accordingly constellated.

So when porn is about solo performance, devotion even, to ideas of voyeuristic perception and control - and sex is about searching together for bodily sensations of love … how the fuck is it possible, that those two things get mixed up in our heads? Are they even somehow related asides sweaty stereotypic images of skin and sounds of moaning in our minds?

Is it maybe, because our media literacy is planetwide so incredibly low? We take porn for something that has anyhow to do with sex? Even our very own experience? That just tears down the values that our ancestors and idols passed us or our partners that we pervert and destroy by our unreflected greedy mindless individualised habits? Doing this culture dance? Or can it improve or inspire something when you really never saw or experienced anything like that?

Or is it because we really have no orientation when we get down to it, doing - what? Liking - what? If I for example cannot enjoy giving you feedback by moaning or turning into taking postures and attitude, when you start giving - don’t we have a huge problem there? But what, if it is like that - how can things happen, that our whole culture and philosophy screams at us ‘need some kind of communication’, when we try, but cannot find words, sounds, rhythm or that feel for what we want? What do we want? Do we want? And if - how?

How strong can and or want we to be to find our inner against the outer complex that patches needs with objects and desires by script for … the sake of ‘it works’?

There you go - its the bodyworld of performance and use - which therefore is abuse.

Not joyfull exploration and healing wounds on the journey.

But we are drifting off, far, let’s make this easy again:

I quit my ‘sex revolution’ job when the woman of my life surprisingly easily showed me, how the consumption of porn destroys the things worth living for, like a beautiful sex life, aspecially. How exactly? Well - I already showed you in the text in my words through a glimpse of my world back then: Consuming porn builds up a guidance inside of you, an instance, which leads away from your own imagination, creativity and - by far the most important: your spontanous condition. The spontanous condition which really connects a playpal or your lifepartner - because if you orientate your movements on anything seen - reenact something - you expect the according outcome - and that kills everything that could be - or could not be - but would be anyhow real and you.

Hoping you got or go get a best friend to talk about these weird human conditions, or take heart to find one, even become one,

love,

Neele

Oh, yeah, and about all the other war and industry stuff … well you know how it crushes your soul over time by bending your mind so your body follows - it’s industrialised intrusive patricharchy of the worst kind that dichotomic make-believe systems can make possible to fear and install over thousand years so deep inside humanity ... meaning exactly, what this still means in this times: Mellow masked, but still the good ol’ fascism. Try to get a hard on thinking about his. I promise: It’ll change the intimate interactions between you and others dramatically.