Hey y’all,
Hey there. Hi. Howdy. I’m glad you’re reading this. Or, I suppose, someone is reading this to you. Or, I suppose, you are a ghost and are just picking up my vibes.
(Living or dead, remember that you can always jump below the line to get to the art.)
I think it’s safe to say that I get naked on the Internet a lot. Rather, I get naked a lot for the Internet. For a while now, however, I’ve been thinking about why I do this: why I shared over-the-shoulder photos of myself brushing my teeth bare-assed on Twitter this morning; why I know the level of dick-obscuring fog needed to prevent Instagram from flagging a “close friends” story; why I have a secret Reddit where I anonymously post to communities like r/hornybisexuals30plus and r/daddyhasabigone.
I think part of the reason is what I talked about with my friends David and Bill on the latest episode of The Nostalgia Trap: social media has turned our personae into commodities, and we are rewarded with cultural and economic capital by our ability to hone and maintain a brand. I left academia after my PhD, and over the ensuing three years my Twitter brand has devolved into “giant Godzilla faggot.” It’s all id—at least, it’s the performance of id, from the writing style to the antagonistic approach to the constant nudity. Daddy is angry; daddy is a pinko; daddy has a boner; daddy can’t spell too good.
But I’m realizing lately it’s a bit more than that for me. [CW: ED] I’m pretty open about my history of eating disorders—I was bulimic for years and years, and I don’t think I really kept it at bay until I was doing doctoral coursework. (And even then.) I used to think this made me a loser, until I learned that it is literally the least surprising thing for a queer guy who used to be fat to be bulimic. It’s even less surprising for it to become or also manifest as exercise bulimia.
I spent so many years of my life feeling like I was hideous, a giant monstrous thing. Fortunately, I left that behind with most of my teeth intact.
Eventually, I realized what made me appealing is that I am incorrigibly broad, unalterably thick-thighed and barrel-chested, a creature that takes up space. Once it clicked for me—which, less than coincidentally, happened when I abandoned academia—I realized that showing skin was a way for me to have to accept what is fundamental, what is undeniable about my looks.
LOL, I promise this isn’t some body-pos advertorial. I’m not going to sell you some nail polish or toaster waffles. I realize I'm still a masculine-looking gringo with a few degrees and there’s a certain luxury in doing what I do with the sheerest of disguises. I don’t think showing my own body on the Internet is, like, particularly brave or revolutionary or magical. I used to sell videos for disaster relief, but that’s hard to keep appealing. Some men will pay to see you jerk off for hurricane recovery and then make fun of your grammar. Some people want to say you’re showing your ass when you’re quite literally showing your ass.
I gave up shame a while back. Besides, I look good.
Today I have two pieces for you. One is a poem about being naked online. The other is a quick piece about who the fuck knows what, but maybe my origins as a diarist.
Thanks so much for reading. Maybe the next one will be a post-it.
Cheers,
KJ
[image text]
stale nudes
there’s an entire taxonomy for this,
you know: the ones i give to you
[ fresh-baked / i smile / so! ]
are the ones i give to you, full stop.
the ones i post online
[ day-old / i pout / so-so ]
are just to keep the kayfabe going.
everything else
[ stale / i sneeze / so? ]
is tossed to all the guys who beg
in my various inboxes.
this is how information science works.
we put data into containers to give
ourselves an illusion of order, logic:
i am [ erect /rational ]. i have [ mass
appeal / boutique nudes ]. i might be
[ mad about you / my own commodity ].
i could kid myself, but you’ve seen me
crawl on the floor singing “sheela-na-gig,”
heard me riff on paglia for a good laugh,
felt my lips on yours outside a townie bar.
i love you [ and / but / so ]
i am
[ an exhibitionist / a leo /
sometimes quite lonesome ]
and i will [ send you these stupid
things / blush when you like how
broad and thick i look in full light,
when i can’t hide a single wrinkle
or stretch mark / wait until you
can hold me again and we become
a tangle of legs and howls and
lips and unboxed information /
hope you still like my taste ]
[text]
syndication
cindy brady stares at the blue tarp sky
drool-lipped besides her five siblings.
mom & dad let me watch television more
after i freaked out in the swimming pool,
bawling into the matte black sky
over the giant whatevernothing
we become when we die. i am
seven, cindy is i guess seven.
i am here i guess cindy is
a blue tarp thing.
cindy stares at the
sun or camera, whatever
while her brothers and sister
wrap up a new diary for Marcia,
she lisps: “Gee, I’ve never had
an innermost thought
in my life.”
an innermost thought
AN INNERMOST THOUGHT
blue tarp eyes
i sit drool-lipped
with my black matte
diary, new i am seven
it is alive, i am in a pool
of my innermost thoughts
Fun fact: Cindy Brady was an asshole, and as it turns out, so is the actress who played Cindy Brady. Don’t be a Cindy Brady: share this post if you liked it! Tell a friend about <you know i don’t know>. Give me $68,000 so I can pay off my student loans in full. These are all equally helpful.
ttyl xoxo —kj