The sexual revolution, for better and for worse, has been superseded by fears of HPV and HIV. And thanks to technology, people have continued to disappear, sending out blips of communication through Twitter posts and Facebook status updates. In-person communication has become optional, replaced by e-mail, video chats, and conference calls. Modern living may pretend to bring us together, but it really just puts us inside condoms and computers.

All the oversharing we do on online has created the illusion of transparency, but along the way, we have forgotten the importance of in-person contact.

As a somewhat public persona (on and off) for the last fifteen years, I have experienced this firsthand — again and again. It’s one of the reasons I stopped writing my first blog, and it’s one of the reasons I moved away from performing, and it’s one of the reasons I hesitated before resurrecting an online persona this time around.

I tend to be fairly open, and pretty blunt, as I don’t hold much stock in the Protestant social etiquette that favors a stiff upper lip and a demure smile. The older I get, the less patience I have for that dance. I am what I am, and if you don’t like it, save us all a lot of time by shutting the door on your way out.

I’m not going to dilute myself or tone myself down, feeding myself to you in palatable bite-size morsels. This blog — much like the Internet — may be the repository for most of my work (artistic or otherwise), it may contain hours of material for you to sift through (writings, photographs, music, videos, interviews, etc.), it may paint a fairly vibrant image of who I am, but let me issue a warning for those guilty of falling for the hologram: it’s a hall of mirrors.

None of it is a lie. Everything I have produced is a piece of me. But that’s precisely it: they are pieces. Not the whole.

And you can spend days (weeks if you’re motivated and/or stalking) putting those pieces together, but they’re never going to form a perfect puzzle. Because those pieces are merely parts of the equation.

People seem to be easily confused by this, because of how (inappropriately?) open I am about the first 70% of who I am. I drop that 70% like a wet bath towel in a porn fantasy. It’s somewhere, forgotten, on the bathroom floor. Most people may be more cautious, more timid, more virginal, more afraid of being exposed — but that 70% is no big deal to me. You want it? Here, it’s all over the Internet.

But the last 30%? Oh, honey, you’re going to have to work hard to get it. Really hard. Possibly harder than you would have to work with an actual Protestant. Because that 30% is precious. That is me. That is the real stuff. The raw stuff.

And you’re never going to find that online.