Notes From The Porn Front

First impressions. Another bad sprawling '80s house with way too much white décor, Nagel paintings, unused couches, giant TV.

Upon closer observation, this place is pretty cool. Now I want to meet the owner. In the corners I see deer horns and statues of naked ladies, Indian chiefs and turtle rattles, celebrations of spirit. Up on the hill, behind the house, under a willow tree a teepee stands. Inside there are buffalo hides and eagle feathers and dream catchers and I speculate on the owner again: kind of a George Hamilton meets Billy Jack - made some decent B-movies, maybe directed a couple Miami Vice's. TV. Paid for the house and they had cocaine fueled powwow orgies until the '80s hit hard and sobering. It's the shiny white unicorns and abalone inlay on the all-white baby grand, whew ...

I've met the actress. Her name is Tracee Lynn something or other. Her Brooklyn boyfriend looms around. It seems they had trouble finding the place. Ahh ... 3093, 3093 1/2 ahh ... 3094. The Sherman Oaks hills. Outside, the director and cameraman discuss scar tissue, livers and prostate cancer and what you say to your doctor when he's got a fingerful of Vaseline going up the bum.

I stumble out of this conversation as quickly as I stumbled in. Through the kitchen window I see a craft service dude uncurling a giant kielbasa sausage for crew breakfast. Meanwhile, everyone else is arriving and coming out to the pool/hot tub/lounge area.

With coffee and their fifth cigarette of the day, it's only 8 a.m. I'm surrounded by severely damaged personalities and eccentric, manic ex-addict energy, as well as by my own overall subatomic boredom.

The irony is unbelievable: one could not plan or write the hilarious scenarios that unfold in the porn vortex. Right now Tracee Lynn, a petite girl -12 going on 40 - is bent over the hot tub. There is a large dick going in and out of her ass. Meanwhile, the crew is eating hummus and cucumber sandwiches off a tray that also rests on the hot tub - out of camera, of course.

Inside, the craft services dude is slicing giant filet mignon steaks that have been burning up on the indoor grill. He hacks big hunks of dead brown meat onto a silver tray. Out front the septic tank is overflowing through front door and down the street. Sewage Pumping Guy is looking clean and pressed standing with his clipboard and the nozzle of an enema bottle, which he retrieved from the shit stream going down into the neighbor's carport. He's number one in the number two business.

Oh yeah, Brooklyn boyfriend of porn girl is pacing. It's obviously hard for him to see his girl being fucked. I watch this tiny thing taking this Viagra-stiff Dick and her expression does not change and she doesn't feel it. If I listen closely I can hear her pretending that it feels good, little moans and curled upper lip.

Out front the slurping sounds of the sewage pumping truck. Suck and suck and suck. The shit goes in, the shit goes out. Have a nice day.

--Johnne Perez

"Notes from the Porn Front" will continue in installments for the foreseeable future.

Remember, this is just the boy's day job. In reality, among other talents, Johnne Perez is an artist. Please go see his beautiful sculptures in the first ever Artist of the Month feature.

Photo and text copyright © 2000 by Johnne Perez. All Rights Reserved.