Awful quiet around here, but not for lack of things to say

As I roll up on 5 years of writing here, I must confess that I really enjoy this blog. The words on this page have brought me so much, both the good and the bad. Some days the words come freely, often urge to share the story outpacing my need to use proper grammar and spelling, other times the words are harder to find, like when I am ass deep in a deadline and all I can seem to talk about is how much coffee I consume.

Then, then there would be this week, when the words just stopped.

It was not because I had nothing to share, a rare uneventful week in the life of Monk? Hardly, rather it was all just too much. See, seven days ago I lost a family member in a sudden and tragic accident. Long time readers will note that the relationship with my bio-family can be best described as "complex" and this sudden loss did nothing to help matters. Bring back old issues and long, bitter divides.

Caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, I've opted to channel my grief into my creativity. Pouring the anger and unsaid words into my installation for SEAF in the hopes of transforming sadness into beauty and my loss into something graceful and moving.

So to you, dear readers, this is all I'm going to say on the matter. I'm here, I'm ok and while sad at the loss, I'm surrounded by partners and loved ones who have been nothing short of amazing to me. My company, steered briliantly by my crew this week, contiunes to steam along at an ever growing pace and my loves are... well my loves are the kind of people that make me strive to be all that I am and more. They inspire me, enrourage me and when I am terrified, hold me close and let me hide in thier warm embrace.

Next week your bacon obsessed pervert will return with tales of rope and miscief, but for today I shall take my lingering sorrow and make art, make love and do my part to change the world, a bedroom at a time.

Tonight I’ll be accompanying Matisse to a special movie screening, “Pig Hunt”, hosted by the cool cats at The Rumpus.Net Now this is a horror film and from what I have read so far, it looks to be a shocker. The thing about horror films, as I explained to Matisse once over late night pizza, is that it is a lot like bottoming. See, we the viewer go into the film expecting a thrill ride, we sit down and say to the filmmakers, “Ok guys, I paid my nine bucks now hit me with your best shot”. The filmmakers know this, in fact they are counting on the fact that most of us knew half naked, drunk teenage girls should never go out into the woods alone long before we understood the appeal of a half naked, drunk teen age girl. So there exists this relationship. We in a way are consenting to get the crap scared out of us and the film makers know this and also know that we are a tough, experienced bottom that is not going to go down easy.

Some films miss the point, they start off with lots of promises but only deliver the same old re-hash. Much like that top who talks the big talk on their online profile only to discover later that they lack the skills to really deliver a memorable scene. Then, then you have the 0-100mph films, the ones that start from frame one and don’t let up. Riveting you to the edge of your seat for 90, ass clinching minutes. These are great films, but sometimes only one viewing is all you can take. All adrenaline with no pause, no chance for breath can be fun once. Repeated viewings seem to loose appeal and impact. How many of us have played with a one speed, fast only, top? Exhausting, fun, and not something you can do often. Or worse you become bored, desensitized to all the action, overdosed on pain and stimulation.

Then, then there are what I think are the truly great horror films. The ones that blend humor and horror. Those films that dance the razor’s edge, scaring the crap out of you one second and then making you laugh the next. These, are truly brilliant films, the kind that cross over from the horror genre and become wildly popular with the mainstream. Timeless. Why? Simple, it flows. That rhythm from the adrenaline rush of fear to the release of laughter allows us to catch our breath, re-center and in the end, want more fearsome scares. This, this is what I think a good top must think like. One cannot just hammer away with a flogger till the bottom cries uncle, no but if you flow from pain to tenderness, then you will get a bigger bang for your buck. If after a particularly intense moment, draw them near and stroke their skin… giving them a moment of release and connection, then shift gears back into your sadism... then you have a flow. A rhythm that, if you pay close attention to your bottom, will allow you to play longer, harder and make them want to come back again for more.

We shall see what kind of tops out film makers are tonight, my guess is that they will try to dance that edge in hopes that we can laugh away the shock. However, like good lovers, many try to do this and where only a few truly succeed many more fail.

Oh vanity, thy name is Monk….

This morning, in between bouts of grunting and calling him a “sadistic twat”, my trainer dared me to do the unthinkable. When I first set out to change my life and loose the now 70+ pounds, I did a major house cleaning. Ejecting bad habits like so much debris from my previous life. Gone were the pints after work every day, the drugs, the drive thru meals and a toxic lifestyle that denied who I really wanted to be.

Now almost 6 years later, the results are beyond even what I had imagined. The human body, as I will tell anyone who sits still long enough to listen, is an amazing machine. Adapting to new stresses and stimuli and if given the chance, overcoming them and transforming into something powerful and graceful. Every time I thought I had hit a plateau, that point where I thought, “Ok, this is where my body wants to be, be satisfied.” A slight tweak in the routine, be it diet or exercise or even environmental and the body, that amazing machine, responded by becoming even leaner and stronger (both physically and mentally).

I know, I know you are asking yourself why the hell am I telling you all this, surely there must be limits to even my vanity.

Like most folks, with the New Year I decided to challenge myself, could I push my body harder? Past this current plateau and carve it into something even sleeker and more powerful? In short, I really want to look good naked. Not that I currently get any complaints, mind you, but rather see what I was possible if we stepped things up and pushed even harder.

So, coupled with a crew that is all as health conscious as I am, we as a company decided to veto doughnuts and other such desserts from the Abbey. The weekly deliveries of baked treats that I used to thank my crew were replaced with bags of oranges and apples. Add to this a wife who is now training for a marathon and makes me look like a couch potato.

But I digress, this morning as I worked out, muscles trembling and shaking as they were pushed right up to the point of failure, my trainer commented on the sleeker lines he was seeing.
“I was the doughnuts,” I tell him gasping through clenched teeth. “Six weeks cold turkey… dropped that last 5 pounds”
“Just think what you will look like if you give up French fries?”
“What?!”
“Cut out the fries”
“Dude, I’d rather give up sex!”
“21 days, no fries…. I dare ya”

Oh man, I love French fries. I have no idea if I can give them up, but god how I love a challenge.

From Twitter: "Of all the crazy, kinky things @mistressmatisse has talked me into over the years... This one takes the cake." 4:04 PM Dec 22nd, 2008 from txt

Let me begin by saying that I am an unrepentant sinner. A happy, well adjusted pervert who makes no apologies for who he is or what makes his naughty bits tingle. That said, today I find myself shocked at the extent of my own perversion. Or should I say, shocked at how I have been lead astray by a certain woman. Now when we met, some five plus years ago I considered myself pretty well versed in the various ways and means of sexuality and kink. Firmly rooted in what I knew I liked and what I knew I did not like and wise enough to know no matter how out there it may be, it is not a bad kink just not for me.

That is, of course until I met her... everything changed with her. Things that up till now were placed firmly in my “No” list, slowly found their way to becoming a “maybe” and then, inevitably, “Oh sweet Jesus YES, a thousand times yes!’ She, she has this way you see, a way of making the impossible sound intriguing and the terrifying seem like no big deal. I blame her laugh, when she laughs I loose my ability to think rational thoughts and all I want in this life, more than my next breath is to hear that laugh. And so, like the sirens calling sailors to their doom, I found myself powerless to her charms. Perversions and deviance I once never contemplated are now common place for me.

Today, today I’m a very well versed pervert. I dare say, even jaded at times. Between my personal sex life, running a wildly successful bondage company, and sex work I’ve seen, and done, more than most will in an entire lifetime.

Imagine my shock when, after all this, she did it again.

It all started with a casual, off the cuff comment, while laying naked together. My first response to her was repulsion. “Oh you have just been elected the mayor of Ickytown!”, I responded in mock horror. Not another word was spoken about this for weeks, then another comment. She had tried it out and found she sorta liked it. “This is why we are poly” I think was my response, but even then I could feel the tiny flicker of curiosity spark. If she, this woman with whom I have experienced things of legend with, like it. How bad could it? No! This was far too strange, too taboo my brain would rebel and scream. Eventually, she would excuse herself before we tucked into bed for the night and partake in this taboo ritual, returning to me, dare I say aglow.

I remember the first time she let me watch, my curiosity getting the better of my caution, I sat and looked on intently as she undertook the ritual. Horrified, I could not look away. Every part of my brain rebelled, nay screamed for me to turn and walk away… but then she let out a laugh. Oh that laugh, oh how it pulls at my being like so many hooks, drawing me in closer. It would be several days later before I asked her to show me how it was done, she smiled and asked, “Are you sure, baby?”
“Yeah, lets see what all the fuss is about” I tried to sound casual while my guts did somersaults.
Gently, calmly she took my shaking hand and showed me just how she likes to do it. The trick you see is in the ritual. The process is all part of the pay out, preparing the components and then, then the act.

I blinked and choked my first time, nearly falling over backwards onto the tiled floor with shock, but I did it. Later that night, as we basked in the warmth of the other, she ran her fingers along my furrowed brow and asked me how it felt. “Not… not that bad actually”

The next week, we did it together again. Again and again like clockwork this thing became a habit for us. This forbidden thing, now a ritual. Part of the fabric of our life together, until… until I found myself wanting it when we were not together. Thinking about it, thinking about how good it would feel right now and I how I did not want to wait till I saw her again to do it. No longer satisfied with it being just an “us” thing, eventually I found myself on e-bay looking to fill my need.

I bought my own Neti Pot.

You see, after years of exposure to hemp dust, my sinus are a wreck. A constant source of soreness and untold head colds, the pain can be unrelenting some days. It was her, a long time sufferer of allergies herself who suggested I try this homeopathic remedy.

After all these years and all the crazy, fucked up things we have done together, buying my own tools for nasal irritation feels so… deviant.

Still up to my eyeballs in accounting, but today I also need to work on...
Writing the new Color of the Month marketing and press release...
Working on my SEAF proposal and seeing about getting cgi mock-ups made for it...
Oh and then there is this vidoe blog that needs one last edit and render...



So while I pound my melon against the keyboard in a vain attempt to be witty and creative, take a listen to Matisse's latest podcast, featuring me as her color commentary.

The most brilliant and yet so terribly wrong thing I saw this weekend.

This weekend I was fortunate enough to be invited to some very interesting parties. Being this close to Halloween, these were of course costume themed parties. Normally I’m not much of a fan of the whole “dressing up on Halloween thing”, lets face is when you get to dress up in fetish attire whenever you like (and get paid to do so) going out of your way to do it come the end of October just seems to loose its sparkle.

That said I certainly respect a good costume and this weekend I saw some, wow, lets just leave it at “wow”

Yes, the obvious Sarah Palin as a dominatrix complete with a John McCain in a collar and leash was a high light. Then there was my dear friend who just about killed me when she showed up at a party wearing a tiara and a vial of something oddly yellow wedged between her most ample bosoms. When asked who she was, “Oh you know, the Princess and the Pee” was her blasé response. So, so wrong.

However that so does not match what I saw when I popped into check on some friends who were throwing a party in the warehouse. This was to be a quick drive by, share a quick toast to the season and then head home after a long day. Instead they insisted that I stay and help judge to costume contest.

Of the usual assortment of scantly clad, politically incorrect and just plain cool one just killed us all, A note for note perfect rendition of old school Princess Leia from Star Wars, you know the white dress and cinnamon rolls on her head? Yeah that one.

Oh, did I mention that the girl sporting the costume was also black?

When it was her turn to take center stage and show off her costume, what does she do but drop down on one knee and in the most outrageously incorrect southern drawl, belts out “Oh hep me Ooobeee One! Yous Mah only hopes!”

All we could do was stare, jaws agape at the sheer wrongabilty of what we just witnessed, and then with out skipping a beat she leaps up, gives us a wink and shouts out in her crisp, clear voice.

“Gotcha!”

We didn’t even have to vote for a winner as everyone, including the other contestants burst into roaring applause and laughter.

If hell had a waiting room this is what it would look like. Dull beige walls with a duller off white pillars for "accent" boarder a dull carpet, one of those long wear jobs with dull geometric patterns in non offensive colors that makes you not want to stare at it too long and hides the occasional coffee stain. We sit in row after row of mildly uncomfortable chairs, all a dull yet non threatening shade of blue and wait...

and wait.

Bad coffee, spotty wi-fi and court staff that, while trying to be accommodating and entertaining are just really, really boring. They drone in that monotone of someone who probably drinks heavily in order to forget just how many times they have given the same, exact speech tell us how important our civic duty is.

I opted for a more "conservative" look, all black, lug soled work boots and wrap around shades. Security took one look at me and gave me an extra pass thru the metal detectors AND a wand pass or two. I figured that if I had to pull out the big guns and really work to get tossed off a jury I'd save that for tomorrow. They have a job to do and it well so I can't be angry with them.

The crowd is an interesting cross section of humanity, bored professional types with expensive haircuts tap away on crackberries and look generally bored, lots of silver haired types reading large print versions of whatever is on the NYT bestsellers list and a few "scruffy" types as well. Like prisoners sharing the same fate, we make pointless small talk about non important topics, the weather, the coffee and of course the wait.

I'm currently watching the one attractive girl in the place get cruised by the various hopeful young(ish) men in the place. Even in hell, male hope (or just his libido) springs eternal.

Ok they just called my name. We are all given a laminated card with a number, robbed of my identity I'm now "Juror #3 of 45". Handing over the juror biography form, I take my card and wait.

I'm not sure how they will respond to the section where I list my profession as, "Alt-Sex Educator, Performer and Bondage Rope Manufacture" I was contemplating putting "Male Prostitute" but thought that might be too much.

And yet again, we wait.

A funny thing happened on the way to the hard point last night…

It was Sunday night, the first Sunday of the month in fact. Time once again for the “Bondage is the Point” party, an event that Tambo and I have had a standing date together for the last, oh I dunno 4 years I think? We always look forward to this party, in addition to getting to see a lot of our friends, this is one event that no matter how insanely busy our lives get, we always can look forward to playing at the party. Be it elaborate or simple it matters not, just as long as it is with my Tambo it is all good.

But I digress, we had just entered the party and started saying hello to friends when an acquaintance we had not seen in several months all but leapt into our arms and exclaimed, “I am SO glad to see that you are here… TOGETHER!”
Tambo and I responded with odd looks at each other and pressed her to explain.
Seems that she at a recent event she was told that Tambo and I had gotten a divorce, not “were in the process of” or even “Were having some issues” but full on “Oh no, they divorced awhile back”

In light of the fact that Tambo and I will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary in a few weeks made this news both humorous and a little disturbing.


Living in the public eye as I do, you get pretty accustomed to rumors, lordy there have been some great ones in the past too. My favorite has to be the one where I supposedly sold the company for some obscene pile of cash and was moving to Europe to join of those infamous “Secret European SM Houses” as the resident rope master. Seriously, where folks come up with some of these are just beyond me. Also, being poly can be pretty confusing for some. Writing about the adventures I have with one of my partners does not mean that I’m not having any with my other. Some adventures are public and I share them here, some are not. Plain and simple.

So consider this a public service announcement. If I don’t say it here, then it is probably not true. And as for my childhood sweetheart Tambo and I? 20 years this month, I figure if she has not stuffed me into a wood chipper by now, she must either really love me or she has yet to find one big enough.

This must surely be a sign of the end times...
Tambo just announced that Journey will be coming to town this summer. Long time readers will note my serious Journey affliction, you know of what I speak. That uncontrollable compulsion to sing along to "Don't Stop Believing" at the top of one's lungs whenever it is played. No sooner do I hear the first few notes and find myself dropping into my "Rock power ballad stance", shoulders thrown back and low, knees bent and lungs filled to capacity as I do my best to inspire those in the crowd to wave their lighters in the air.

This, this could get ugly.

It has been 4 long, exhausting days but I think we did it.

While I have long since given up hope of ever being fully "caught up", there is that point where the backlog of orders is at a semi sane level, a place where you don't look at the work queue and wince at the sheer volume of work still left to be done. After ditching all my weekend plans and all but locking myself away in the Abbey this weekend, we are *almost* to that point.

So while I am relived that we are out of the woods, as it were, for the moment and proud of the crew for pulling together and getting the job done I'm pretty grumpy about having to cancel on not only seeing my friends at Kinkfest, a pro rigging gig and of course all the tales that come with such hijinx.

Yeah, this "being responsible" thing sorta sucks, but such it the case when you are the guy in charge. At least I did get to cut loose a bit and enjoy some much needed down time with a few of my favorite peoples. On that thought, I best finish this cup of coffee, hit the gym for a bit and then get my ass back to work.

We still have a metric-fuckton o work left to do before calling this day done.

The obligatory new years resolutions post

Welcome to 2008, please take off your shoes so we don’t track any of 07 onto the new carpet. So, resolutions time again? Hmm, what to say what to say? The obvious ones seem a bit on the weak side, get in shape? Done, 4 days a week at the gym will do that. Find love? Having several significant relationships some makes for maddening schedules, but I would not trade them for the world. Grow my business? Ya know I am really, really happy with where we are and the crew I have. Yes, there are new avenues to expand into and many who have yet to hear our name, but all told I got a rocking little crew and really like what we have built.

So rather than make “resolutions” for things that I wish to change in the new year, here are some goals, both personal and professional, that have been on my mind as we end the year and look forward to a new one.

10 things Monk wants to accomplish in the new year (in no particular order)
Extend affordable health care benefits to the part-time members of my crew
Offer a 401k plan These top two are ambitious and cause me more than a bit of anxiety, requiring quite a bit of extra work on my part. However, the employer that I want to be should provide more than just a paycheck.
Dance More ok, I stole this one from alex, but I think it is cool
Expand the charitable arm of my company and sponsor more educational and community resources. I’ve always said that it is not enough to just sell to a community, one must also give back. I’m very proud of what we accomplished last year on this front, but feel we can do more.
Finish building my gawd damned fucking machine. What can I say, some projects just need finishing.
Three words, “More Youtube Videos”
Do more performance and photo rigging In my heart of hearts I am an actor and really enjoy this however I just do not have the time to setup photo shoots, rig, shoot, and process images. Rather I’m hoping to collaborate with other photographers and models on this one. Funny, no sooner had I started mulling this idea when I was approached by a kink community site asking if I would like to show off said photography. Funny how the universe works.
Replace my faithful, yet near dead car. My little sidekick has happily risen to every challenge I could toss at it over the last 9 years. From lugging lighting equipment to movie sets to braving snowfall so that I can rescue a stranded love, but alas it soon will need to be recycled.
Learn how to relax and enjoy being spoiled by a lover. Man do I suck at this.
And last but not least, maybe a new tattoo.

As with all goals, some will be easier than others. Some will fall by the wayside while newer, more important ones arise. The important thing is to get them out of my brain and into the universe. The first step in creating the life you desire is stating just what it is you hope to accomplish and be willing to fail miserably in the pursuit of it.

Yep, you guessed it. I've got a few hours of stuff that must get done today if I want any hope of being ready for the upcoming Boston show next month. Now I know I could complain about how I gave the rest of my crew the time off, or whine here and try and elicit sympathy for my plight... but nah, this is how I choose to spend my day. I've never really been too keen on the whole, "but it is Christmas!" mentality of having to endure family and social events that otherwise you would avoid like a bad case of herpes. Rather, I think charity, gift giving and the general good will towards your fellow human is something that should be practiced every day of the year.

My day so far? It started out late, lingering with my Tambo for as long as possible then off to my favorite lunch spot, A perfect, warm oasis in the middle of the gray industrial pocket where my shop calls home, they too are not so much with the whole "holiday cheer" thing and have opted to open up today and serve coffee and fresh baked treats to folks who need an escape from the pressures of having to do so today.

Thankfully there are just a few hours of work to be done and when I am done I'm joining good friends for a nice, mellow afternoon of non-traditional holiday cheer... and maybe a round or two of Rock Band.

Happy Holiday, however you choose to enjoy it.

The Pitch...

This one is just for the hard core readers, those who have been with me through thick and thin. I need your help, loyal reader. Here goes, I need a hook. Well not those kinds of hooks, I have plenty of those. No, I need a two sentence hook that best describes what this whole blog is about. Something that you could use to describe it to a brand new reader that would a) give them the general gist of what this is all about and b) entice them to want to read on. In the film world we used to call this the “30 second pitch”.

Something like, “The real life adventures of a former missionary turned polyamourous kinkster as he tries to change the world with hemp bondage rope.”

But I dunno, to my ears that just sounds weak, then again I have been writing here for nearly 4 years so perhaps my perspective is a bit skewed. See when folks ask me what my blog is about, I shrug and say “my strange life”, but just does not seem to capture it so well.

And so I turn again to you, dear reader, for your help. Just as you were wonderful in helping me organize the “Top 10 posts” (soon to be added to the site once my graphics guy gets back from vacation) I ask you. If you had to pitch this journal to a stranger and had 25 words or less, what would you say?

Here, let me sweeten the deal. If I use your suggestion, I’ll send you a very cool something. A piece of twistedmonk history.

My Tambo, power nerd

I love that my wife is a video game playing, super hero loving, sci-fi movie watching and all around sexy nerd. What can I say, brains are sexy. Geeky, smart girls like my Tambo who are one in a million. Now as you may recall, for her birthday last month I gave my dearest wife a new x-box360 and a copy of the much anticipated Guitar Hero 3.* Well in the scant few weeks since that day she has played the hell out of the game. Smoking me and the nearest competition with her mad button mashing and head banging skills. Last night she happily informed me that not only has she beaten the game, twice as a solo artist (easy and medium mode) she’s won it in co-op and holds a 5 star rank on EVERY song offered. Her next conquest, she tells me with a determined nod, will be to either beat the game at “Expert” or attempt to play it again left handed (ala Jimi Hendrix)

Something tells me that I need to start putting some cash aside and find her a copy of Rock Band and quick.

*an amusing aside, the game was to be released at midnight Saturday the 27th. We also had a play date that night. So after taking her out, hanging her from the ceiling and doing all manner of devilish things to her sweet body, we packed up and dashed across town so that we might catch the tail end of the midnight release party and score her pre-ordered copy. Then she went home and proceeded to play till 3 am while covered in fresh rope marks!