Dirk Caber Porn

Dirk Caber Porn
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USA only:
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46
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43

Worldwide:
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89
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40
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37

USA only:
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69
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69
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64

Worldwide:
World #
158
North America #
48
USA #
45

Signed up:
February 17, 2017 (1,938 days ago)

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Category: Music / Tags: Classical Caber

Kings Beach, near Byron Bay. Me in the middle, Hunter Marx on the left, and a new buddy we were chatting up on the right.

Funny looking building from unaccustomed angles, isn’t it?

Jesse snapped this photo on the beach near Sydney.

Jesse and me at Mardi Gras in Sydney.

Down, but still strong!

Healing is sleepy work.

So I don’t look quite like this at the moment. I’m hellbent on getting it back as soon as I can, though!

#Goals!

It was an epic party.

She’s totally upstaging both of us, but okay, even post-operation, I’m not looking as bad as I think I do sometimes! #BloodyBodyDismorphia

Lighting sucked, but Jesse fixed it as best he could. That’s our buddy Ghislain on the left.

Thursday April 27 Jesse and I are at Skivvy Strip Down in Denver!
facebook.com/events/1387173281339282/

Saturday April 29 Jesse & I are at Beer Bust at Trade in Denver!facebook.com/events/1506802366016799/

I love ya, babe. Thank you.

Can’t keep me down.

Starting the work.

There were three poetic texts…

…which illuminated the meaning of the music.

About to bind Adam’s chest.

Putting the rope harness on Adam.

It’s not easy knotting rope without jostling the pianist!

There were three poetic texts…

Preparing the ropes for his wrists

And Adam is blindfolded, and has to find his keys by feel.

Starting to pull Adam’s hands to the outer ends of the keyboard

Page one of the manuscript of my own Danzas Cubanas for Clarinet and Piano

Page two.

The final typeset copy of Danzas Cubanas, page one.

Page two.

First page of my one recent score for huge orchestra.

Second page.

Page thirteen. I sometimes look at this and wonder exactly how many noteheads I placed while typesetting this piece. THere are a LOT of notes!

Page fourteen. This score is about 120 pages long.

The Southern Harmony hymn “Great Day”. This was printed in an American notation, wildly popular in the 19th century, called “shapenote”. The noteheads were given forms which helped a church congregation with no knowledge of singing to learn music quickly and easily.

A version of this hymn in modern notation and layout.

Manuscript of Bruno Walter’s Symphony No. 1. Some handwriting, no?

Page two. This score is 204 pages long.

The first page of my engraved edition.

This score was used in concert in Avery Fisher Hall and then for a recording with the NDR in 2006.

The 1636 edition of Buonamente’s Sonatas and Canzonas for 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 Voices. These old editions didn’t come with scores, just individual part books.

The first two pages of the published piano-vocal score of Oscar Straus’ operetta Der Tapfere Soldat

You can see that the accompiament is pretty simple…

So here in my full score is where the chorus of soldiers enters.

Adding a little extra flourish and interest to the music…

Final reprise of “I’ll See You Again”, the central waltz tune in Noël Coward’s musical BITTERSWEET.

Vincents improv, in which he recasts the melody in duple time, completely missing the point of the song.

Concerto for eight instruments (more or less), in Zelenka’s manuscript which obviously has not been that well taken care of. This was written in about 1718.

You can see what sometimes we’re up against.

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Dallas Steele.

Yup, it’s a flip scene.

Fellow New Englander Eddy CeeTee

Nick Prescott

Fellow (erstwhile) Chicagoan, Hugh Hunter

My hubby, Jesse Jackman

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Just a quick post here to celebrate the day…
This is the choir of the Spencerville SDA Church closing this past Saturday’s almost-Christmas service with an arrangement of the Christmas carol “Ding Dong Merrily On High” I wrote back in 1990 or 1991 for choir and brass quintet (Jack is my real name). Yes, it’s a church service; sue me. Working in music, the church is still one of the biggest and most regular consumers of what I make. I hope we can all hear the music in the spirit of the season.
Every once in a while our bodies have ways of suggesting that maybe it’s time to ease off a bit. I’ve been going hard this year, getting music projects going, pushing my physique just a little bit further, continuing to build a life with Jesse, trying to keep up with family and friends, and debating my futures — both musical and in adult work. All of these have necessitated some travel, and as much as I love being mobile, the travel itself and time away from Jesse add to my stress levels. We won’t even touch on what the political climate in the past year-plus has meant stress-wise; I know that has affected far more of us than just me. So it’s been a heady year.
When my body decides to drop such a hint, I often don’t get the message until that hint is applied with a sledgehammer. Sure, I’d seen a few warning salvos shot across my bow; there’d been a spate of curious 24-hour “flu” episodes over the last many months, but they seemed to resolve with a little sleep and a good overdose of multivitamins. So while Jesse and I were in Australia helping push for marriage equality, trans rights, and approval of PrEP (travel + work = stress), it’s not hugely surprising that in the last few days of the trip my body laid down the law. It started with fever and chills, and then the left side of my hip started to swell.
A doctor in Melbourne prescribed antibiotics in hope they’d be enough to get me home without getting worse. After more than 24 hours in transit (and getting very creative with those little airplane pillows to try to be at least a little comfortable) we arrived home, and in a day or so my regular doctor sent me to the emergency room. I was admitted to the hospital, CT scans confirmed the infection, and that evening I was in surgery. A three-inch-long and inch-and-a-half-deep incision was made in my left hip and over a cup (>250ml) of fluid was removed from a Swiss cheese of abscesses in the muscle. In the weeks since I’ve been dealing with a series of wound packings to encourage the resulting aperture to close from the edges inwards.
And it’s been healing far faster than expected. I was released from the hospital after four days with a wound vac tethered to the sealed dressing, which I’d understood I’d have to carry around with me 24/7 for at least four weeks; this past Monday they deemed it no longer needed after only two and a half weeks. I’m now just taping an antiseptic pad and sterile gauze over what’s become a very shallow small aperture. I’m becoming a lot less concerned that this is going to adversely alter my “topography” back there and am starting to almost look forward to seeing how interesting a scar this is going to leave. Maybe I’ll finally have a good excuse to get a first tattoo?
I know what a few out there are going to say, that those of us in these adult and sex-related industries are disease-ridden and hence this comes as no surprise. Or that my “gross steroid overuse” must’ve induced me to use unclean needles with bad injection technique. All of these potentialities were discussed with the doctors, all of whom had reservations about claiming any of these as a cause (as a rule, of course, they all cautioned me away from steroid use); none of them quite fit the circumstances. The one physician to whom I had to explain the distinction between Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis and Post-Exposure Prophylaxis did raise a good possibility which I’m looking into, that I’ve simply been stressing my system enough that I had some hiccup with my immune system; if that’s the case, everything is working fine again now, but I’m told to be alert. The doctors do confirm however that the speed with which I’m healing is best attributed to keeping active and healthy, eating well, and staying physically active.
It’s not my intent to make this a political post, but I do note with gratitude that, if this had happened to me five years ago when I had no health insurance, I would either be finding myself owing $90K+ in medical bills, or knowing my own stubbornness and pride, I’d be disfigured when I declined medical attention, or possibly simply dead. The docs can’t identify a particular cause for this, and “spontaneous” instances of this sort of infection are not unheard of. Anyone who thinks some manner of universal health care to protect you from unforeseen health issues isn’t as important as universal police protection from crime or universal fire department services to protect you from the next door neighbors you didn’t know had a meth lab in their basement (or maybe you did?) is a heartless hypocrite.
So I’ve been spending the last few weeks simply listening to my body. Not that it’s been quiet about its demands: I swear for the first two weeks I slept about 75% of the day, and I was ravenously hungry for the balance. I did start back at the gym gently last week, and am relieved to say that, despite the setback, my body’s only enjoyed a fairly mild slippage into its more inclined bearish form. I figure by mid-May I should be back to something like how I was when we left for Australia.
The kicker is that I keep essentially two freelance careers, music and porn. For both careers, payment comes at the completion of a gig. This was a slow winter for either work for me, then Jesse and I spent a month advocating and representing in Australia which didn’t bring in any income. I’d been counting on returning home to two immediate jobs, and had to bow out of both. That happened right at tax time. And I’m sure I’ve not seen the last nor most scary of these accrued medical bills. My wallet is feeling mighty slender at the moment! Hence I’m scrambling on a few projects to hopefully bring in some cash next month.
This weekend Jesse and I had our first public appearance together since my misadventure, at Ghislain Rousseau’s last Montreal party Silver Bear . Ghislain’s been an amazing friend for years, and we’ve felt ourselves lucky to have been part of a number of his events. These will be missed, and we were honored to be asked to appear at his last. It was also good for my heart and psyche to know that I’m not hopelessly maimed, LOL. In two weeks we make appearances at events in Denver; maybe I’ll be ready to risk a jockstrap by then?
The other suggestion being floated by a few friends relates to the fact that over the years I’ve accrued a lot of •stuff•. Clothing, books and printed material, leather gear, you name it. Having moved four times in the last eight years, I’ve been no stranger to donating large boxes of excess to HIV-benefit consignment shops like Housing Works in NYC, Brown Elephant in Chicago, and Boomerangs in Boston. Some of this stuff isn’t the sort of stuff a second-hand shop would know what to do with, though. I have three really nice sets of leather bondage cuffs, for instance, of which I only ever really use one. My buddies point out that many of you might like a little “piece” of me, and maybe I could set up a sale page or an eBay account, and hope that a little cash coming in there might take a bite out of these bills? Watch this space, lemme think about this.
So as I finish writing this, it’s been a bit over a month since symptoms first appeared. Reflecting on what I’ve been through, as painful and inconvenient as this has proven, in the end I have to acknowledge my gratitude. That’s thanks not only to Jesse and all my friends who’ve taken care of me and the fans who’ve known about this and sent best wishes. It’s gratitude that this happened at all, and that it happened in a time in my life when I could deal with it. It never hurts to be reminded how delicate one’s place and accomplishments in life are, and how easily toppled they can be. It never is a bad thing to be reminded that I am not infallible. But what I’m realizing is that I’ve had the gift of a month to meditate on my perspective in life, the directions I’ve been moving in, on what is important and what is distracting. The way I was bludgeoning my way through up until now, this reflection was only wanly and half-heartedly being done. Hopefully I’ll know to indulge this more in the future, and preferably before my body has to slam on the brakes.
It’s been an eventful couple days for Jesse and me. Jesse’s big event was in NYC this past Saturday night, reading from his contributions to Jiz Lee ‘s anthology Coming Out Like a Porn Star alongside such icons of porn Stoya and Lorelei Lee at a packed-to-capacity crowd at Bluestockings Books . This was Jesse’s first time standing solo at a microphone; he’s much more accustomed to having company on stage when he appears in front of a crowd, and he was nervous. But being my charming goofball hubby, even when he had a spectacularly funny Freudian slip of tongue moment, he had the audience la
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