The Bridge

Saw the documentary "The Bridge" a few days ago and can't get it out of my head. It was inspired by an article in the New Yorker about the Golden Gate Bridge's status as the world's number one suicide destination, and the ongoing fight to build a barrier around its perimeter that would prevent people from jumping off.

The filmmakers spent a year filming the Golden Gate Bridge during all daylight hours. The movie shows people killing themselves. For the most part, it's structured around the stories of those people, told by friends and family, and it finds compelling similarities among their stories. It observes the determination that some of these people had to kill themselves, and how those who were close to them sometimes just had to let them go and do it. It's beautifully photographed and quite moving at times.

I had problems with it, however. For instance, at no time during the film does it tell you how or why it was made. The back story of the filmmakers documenting the bridge for a year is left out completely. The whole time I was left to wonder how I was watching what I was watching.

I think the film attempts to sidestep the moral question of whether it's okay to watch people kill themselves. I'm not opposed to that approach. But removing the footage of any context just made me wonder about it more.

There's an interesting segment midway that points to a different direction the film could have taken. A man is taking photographs on the bridge when he spots a girl going over the railing and standing on the ledge, preparing to jump. At first he continues to take shots of her poised at the edge [I posted one of those shots above]. "I guess I was just waiting for her to jump," he says. Then he comes to his senses. We watch from the filmmakers' perspective as he reaches over the ledge and grabs her jacket. It even takes him some time before he lets go of his camera, thereby freeing both of his hands to reach under her arms and lift her back over the railing.

From a short on the DVD extras I learned that the filmmakers had certain authorities on speed dial, and would call as soon as they saw somebody who was ready to jump. But it seems reasonable to think that at some point during the filming of this documentary the camera persons, having tracked a a potential jumper pacing back and forth for some time, suddenly saw that person go over the railing and prepare to jump, and decided to reach for their camera instead of for their cellphone.

That's an assumption, I know, but the film would have been a lot less troubling if it had dealt with those questions. These are, after all, suicides done in broad daylight in a very famous location. Chances are the jumpers want us to look. But that line between watching and doing something to stop it is so volatile.

No More Drama

Okay, I'm done whining for a while. I don't want to be one of those obnoxious people you knew in high school/college who'd bitch and moan that they totally failed a class or an exam when you and she and everyone knew that they were going to get an 'A.'

My story got in to "Best Gay Erotica 2009." I'm so stoked. The story, which is tentatively titled "The Opera House," is part of my current [I-hate-saying-the-word-"novel"] project, so it's a huge validation for me in the midst of uncertainty and boundary-testing.

And to J who expressed concern that I was done writing porn, rest assured that the novel project is very much pornographic. Some sections push beyond my idea of what porn should be; that old Tom of Finland rule that the work is only good if it gives the creator a boner. But that's what's good about the project, I think, all the sections are independent of one another, so if you don't like something, you can just move on to the next one. However, the more I write it the more I realize that I'm dipping into some dangerous and murky waters with underage characters and intergenerational sex. It's all consensual, it's all fantasy; I just feel my prospects for getting the thing published dwindling.

There I go again, falling into uncertainty and self-deprecation. I'm fucking happy, I'm fucking ecstatic. That is all.

Getting Pumped

If you enjoy my porno stories, I strongly suggest you just click on over and listen to this before reading any further.

I heard this bit years ago on the Stern show and again tonight. Then I spent my evening trying to track it down, which I finally did (further proof that EVERYTHING IS ON THE INTERNET). It's a bit off of Joe Rogan's first comedy album. If comedy (or that Fear Factor gig) doesn't work out for the man, he'd have a strong career ahead of him in writing gay erotica. For real.

Locals Only

This video starring my dear friend Sharon Needles is frequently hilarious, but probably only if you're from in or around the Pittsburgh area. Or watch for a glimpse of my local porn store, the first gay bar I ever went to, and other assorted Picksburgh landmarks.

Night

I was sitting at the bus stop, listening to my walkman, looking at a spot on the hill beyond the fluorescent-lit busway. A spot in the trees, swaying leafy branches lit by an orange sodium light. I wasn't even aware I was looking at it until the light shut off and the spot was reclaimed by the dark. I wanted everything to go dark like those trees. I don't want the ease of seeing, thinking, thinking I know. I want it all to be a mystery, all new. I want to feel my way.

From an original story by...

Oh, did you hear? They made a movie out of my story "What Happens in Vegas." It stars Ashton Kutcher! What a trip!

New Story Alert!

"Kevin and Toby had discussed it earlier – the donuts were so fat and puffy that they barely had holes in the middle. If they were going to get them on, their cocks were going to have to be hard."

-- from Cream-Filled, originally published in the March 2008 issue of Freshmen.