Maybe if we lived on a planet where being naked wasn’t seen as a source of shame none of this would be an issue, and we call do naturally what we do anyway without acting like we’re appalled by it, which is enjoy seeing naked bodies. The same boyfriends who ask for naked pictures, who take pictures of you sucking their cock, are the same people who will turn around, take those pictures, and attempt to shame them with you. Does that seem right to you?
I have pictures of myself naked on my computer, and naked on my modeling page (and this page), and someone has a video of me having sex on their phone with me saying “Fuck me Cthulhu” and someone else has a picture of me crying and naked after sex, and someone has a naked picture of me drinking beer in the shower. And I’ve never thought, “Oh, I hope this doesn’t get out,” because I culled my shame out of me as methodically as a surgeon. If someone ever decided to take revenge on me or send those pictures to my father, or employer, or whatever, I would say “What? You thought I didn’t have sex? You thought I wasn’t naked underneath these clothes? It’s just a body, and it’s my right to choose what I do with it.”
Because the issue here isn’t that women have sex or have naked bodies - the issue here is that we’re supposed to erase the evidence of such.
Don’t say “I’m not like other girls.”
Be like other girls and meld with other girls and become one with the glorious mass of writhing womanhood that will roll over the towns and the cities and devour all space and all time.
i like how our response to day-to-day shitty events of misogyny/homophobia/etc has officially become this brand of nightmarish surrealism and it genuinely makes me feel better
Learning how to say “go fuck yourself” is quickly becoming one of the most valuable experiences of my life.
Autumn Christian is my real name.
Types of Matter
Screen me, devour me
n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.
Photographer: Beartie Pearson
Model: Ghost in Threads
Angry Alcoholic Writer Update: Two weeks in and 25,000 words on “Fuck What You Heard,” my meta-fiction/memoir/garbage piece of writing. The beer and whiskey consumed in the interim is of an indeterminate amount.
Real talk here, I’m a horrible person and you shouldn’t give me money. I will most likely spend it on coffee, alcohol, video games, black socks, and the gas I put in my car so that I can drive to the local whore house. If we’re lucky, I’ll die at the age of 27 while rolling around a dirty floor littered with cigarettes and beer cans, choking on my spit while cursing the name of Charles Bukowski. Worst case scenario: You give me money to support my writing and I get complacent and god forbid, adopt a cat.
Okay, so I’m the author of several books, including the dystopian horror novel The Crooked God Machine and the surrealist dark fiction We are Wormwood. I want to write experimental fiction, stories that gives people nightmares, stories that make people jump and bolt for the door, question their existence, give them quiet relief, make them appreciate the universe. I want to write for demented children and feral girls. Fiction like a shot of absinthe to the eyeball.
All money will go toward supporting my lavish style as a fiction writer. Like, buying a desk and mid-shelf tequila.
I’m still working on this page and how to best provide for readers. I’ve always offered my work for free to those who approached me and did not have the funds, but now you can get digital all of my books with a “Pay What You Wish” program at https://gumroad.com/autumnxtian, to cut out having to approach me at all. I’m working on creating a dropbox where you can easily download without having to enter payment information as well.