You Can Make Anything Beautiful
If I could graph the big eye openers for me in terms of writing (reading), Sam Benjamin’s 2000-era website would be a significant spike—a huge part of how I built my view of the world. In high school I found Tom Wolfe and Ken Kesey (and found double nirvana when I read Wolfe’s Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, about Kesey and his crew). In college I found Sam Benjamin. It was online, but pre-blog. Just a simple website, nothing fancy.
The writing was beyond honest. Like most good works of art, it turned the experience on the viewer. The best music, art, and travel experiences hold a special place in our minds and hearts because we remember what we were doing when we consumed them, how they made us feel, what we did as a result of them. Sam’s website was written as a diary, but for each reader it became a catalyst. It was like a drug, but healthier.
But it was not clean.
Sam wrote about his job. His job, however, was working inside the pornography business. Making his own videos and selling them on eBay and then working for a large adult website where he acted as a director. It was the dark side, complete with scary subplots, cockroaches, Malibu mansions, ex-cons, AIDS tests and yes, real and actual porn stars. Sam held the video camera during the day and told his website about it at night. On the other end of the continent in Ann Arbor, I read each new post like it was some sort of Lewis and Clark field report.
Not that he needs it to back up his writing, but: Sam went to Brown, was brought up in a nice Jewish house on the East Coast and had an upbringing that probably didn’t prepare his parents for his Los Angeles arc:
(from Sam’s bio, that I assume he wrote himself from his current apartment in South America)
“Sam worked a host of demeaning jobs (most memorably as a go-go dancer in a West Hollywood gay bar) before catching on as a hired director for a major pornographic production company. At night he dreamed of sweet porno love, and creating a “new” kind of adult cinema; but by day he shot crap and admitted it his own.”
Now Sam has a new project (one that three friends of mine helped him launch): “Confessions of an Ivy League Pornographer.”
I won’t take credit for Sam’s new project, but I did urge him for years to find a way to take that experience and do something with it. He has since done that, creating “Confessions of an Ivy League Pornographer” as a downloadable PDF book. It’s available now on his website for $10.
What Sam’s experience teaches us:
a) Create a world for yourself
Living inside your reality is important for the basics (doing your homework, paying your bills). But living outside your reality – even to the level of creating a new one, even if it’s in Los Angeles with naked people —is key if you want to make a leap. This is key as a strategic weapon.
b) Don’t be afraid to capture the world you think exists
Capturing that reality is important because it reminds you of where you’ve gone, how far you’ve traveled and why you’re doing it (as we all have doubts at some point or at many points). Keeping track is important when nobody else is telling you how great you (really) are. Greg Benskey, keep at it.
c) If you’re strong, explore the dark side
Even when you tread into the darkness (or, especially when you tread into the darkness) you end up relying on the things you don’t consciously think about (your core influence, stuff you mom taught you, the things you do when nobody is looking). If you’re made of straw the experience will be difficult; if you were strong to begin with, you’ll be stronger.
d) Wrap things in new packages
Sam’s book was lived in 1999-2001, but the world wasn’t ready for it. So he spun it a different way, wrote it anew and teamed up with some new people to build a new brand for the relaunch. If you took one of your old experiences and found a new way to bundle it up, distribute it and tell the world about, would it have a new life?
Sam Benjamin gave me a lot over the years. I’m damn sure going to pay him back by buying his new book.
