I guess, technically, I first met Christopher Zeischegg in the summer of 2021 at a reading I did at Stories Café in L.A., but I don’t remember. It’s just what Christopher tells me (happened). In my mind I met Christopher this past summer, July of 2024, when he DM’d me on IG to ask if he could send me his book (Creation: on Art & Unbecoming*). Somehow, from there, we quickly, very quickly, began trading break up stories via daily or multi-weekly Voice Messages, as we were both going through pretty painful divorces. And we just never stopped (even if the pace has somewhat slowed to on average, once-weekly Voice Messaging). It’s been six, seven months since that initial message and I now consider CZ a close friend, and will hopefully soon meet him - in March or April – in L.A. in person. But I wanted to interview him about the three books of his I read over the summer/fall, about his new life as a writer, his old life as a “porn star,” about his newest (re)release, the novel, The Magician, and about whatever else thoughts (on writing, art, persona, et al) spiraled, as usual, in my mind.

-e.e.

 

My initial introduction to you and your work was your book CREATION: on Art and Unbecoming, which is a fascinating exploration of the artist (you) and why we make art and why we repeat themes in our art and the question of is that “ok” or narcissism or something like that… you contemplate why you keep writing about your time spent in porn and as a sex worker (hustler, cam boy), if you are maybe stagnating or too self-indulgent, if you should make art about other things, themes, etc. I think this is something we all, as writers, artists, struggle with, think about. But most of us set that thought aside and plunge forward, writing “what we know” or want to know, want to understand: ourselves, our worlds. You seem to have more guilt or shame than other friends of mine in writing “about myself.” And my argument has been along the lines of I’m infinitely interested in your past sex work and work in porn and everything that entailed and you could write ten more books along the subject and I would not be bored because you are the only person I know writing with actual knowledge on those themes that are themselves infinitely fascinating. Why do you think you have shame, if shame is the right word, continuing to write about these subjects, and yourself or self then? have you found it tiresome with other writers, when they spend decades writing books on similar themes? Or is it more about the feelings you have for yourself then? about porn and sex work? that you want to leave that self, that work, in the past? Which is a fair thought, desire. To become someone else?

I do have a bit of embarrassment over how much my literary work focuses on myself or my persona. It is extremely self-involved. At the same time, I’ve had recent conversations with family, friends, and acquaintances, wherein those “other” people make suggestions regarding my writing – anything from, “Maybe you should write a book about your experiences in sex work that could help people who are going through something similar,” to, “Maybe you should write a book of erotica; I’m sure it would sell a lot of copies.” My response is always kind of pissy. Because writing is the only area of my life where I get to be completely self-indulgent. Of course, I’d prefer that people read my work and I do write for an audience. But there’s little financial incentive, and I’m not going to pretend there’s some altruistic bent to my writing. I absolutely don’t give a fuck about helping people via art or literature.

So, there’s obviously some cognitive dissonance around feeling stupid or embarrassed about being so self-involved in my writing and then returning to that work with such an emphasis on self-indulgence.

The shame that you reference has more to do with incorporating other people in my work. In Creation: On Art and Unbecoming, I bring up the example of my father. I wrote a piece of autofiction that referenced his death and kind of denigrated a lot of what he was interested in. He ended up reading the story and had a pretty negative emotional reaction to it. Then, about nine months later, he died in real life.

More recently, I released my novel, The Magician. At the time the first edition was published, I was engaged to my [now] ex-wife. We’d been together for several years, so she’d been watching me sit on the couch most mornings and work on the book. When I began to promote the novel and speak publicly about it, she seemed to come to this realization that the book had a lot to do with a past romantic relationship. Not that I’d been keeping that a secret; I just tended not to discuss my writing in depth until I was finished with a piece.

Anyway, my [now] ex-wife was hurt by this. It seemed to her that I was still hung up on my ex. Why else would I have spent years writing a book that had, in part, been inspired by this other person?

In reality, by the time I’d finished writing The Magician, I was so burned out on the material and didn’t give a fuck about my ex. But I understood my [now] ex-wife’s perspective. I didn’t like the feeling of hurting her, even by accident.

Of course, I have the right to write about whatever I want. As do you. You and I have discussed, at length, several books about real-world relationships that we both find brilliant. For example, The Sarah Book by Scott McClanahan.

At this point, though, I fully recognize the overlap of my work and personal life. Neither exist in a vacuum. I want a bit more of my love, sexuality, and personal relationships to be private. At the very least, I don’t want to keep writing as a provocation toward someone who is or was important to me.

I’m hesitant to even bring this up. But you and I have shared intimate details about our marriages and the ways they ended. You know that I wrote a short piece about the dissolution of my marriage – you’re one of four people who read it. It’s one of the most vulnerable things I’ve put down on paper, and I needed to do it.

I shared that piece with a publisher, a friend of mine, and she and I discussed whether it was appropriate to publish a few months back, given how raw I still felt. She pointed out the very real possibility that it would just make things worse.

In the end, she decided not to publish my story, because she was worried about the real-world impact it would have on me. I appreciated that. It reinforced my desire for a more holistic approach to this stuff rather than viewing every trauma or fucked up experience as fodder for art and literature.

My point here is that I no longer want my art practice to have a direct and negative impact on my personal relationships.

 

At the end of that book, CREATION, you write, “… what I took her to mean, was that there was no practical reason for making art; that it didn’t serve a basic need, like food or shelter; that most anything else could be argued as a better use of time or energy.” I take the exact opposite thought/approach/argument here. I think art, writing, other forms, is very necessary, both to the writer/artist, and to others consuming the writing/art. For survival. For mental survival. Emotional survival. Just revisiting your book, CREATION, this morning, has re-inspired me to work on my own art/writing, and that inspiration is leading me away from other, less healthy activities and thought patterns that of late have kept me in a depressive state. Writing, for me, is extremely necessary, on par with eating, sleeping. And I am realizing the past two years my energy went elsewhere, away from my art, away from myself, even, to far less fruitful activities and a negative mental space. I think art does serve a very basic need for understanding oneself and understanding others. And is one of the best uses of time/energy. Have you had any rethinking of those lines since you wrote them? Are you viewing your art any more positively of late as a use of your time/energy?

Again, I’m conflicted here.

I know, in many ways, that you’re right about art being necessary. It seems on par with religion in terms of something we see expressed in every culture, dating back as far as we have evidence of human beings living in any cooperative state.

On a personal level, I also agree that if I stop writing for more than a week or so, I feel less grounded, less confident in my ability to process what’s going on in my life. I also engage with other people’s visual and literary art on a very regular basis, and that brings me some fundamental joy, or at least a sense of fulfillment in having digested someone else’s ideas, their emotional state, level of craft, style, or attention to detail. I love that shit.

On the other hand, I think the idea of the “contemporary artist” has produced a culture around this stuff that is entirely stupid and ridiculous, and on par with addiction.

You mention in your question that art is as necessary as eating or sleeping. Maybe that’s true. But if you spend the majority of your time eating and sleeping, you’re going to end up an obese piece of shit. If we use my analogy to spirituality or religion, it’s a similar thing. You hear of monks and mystics who spend so much of their time in meditation or prayer; it’s nice to think of them as special people who have reached this enlightened state of being. That’s bullshit. They’ve completely lost their grasp on reality. And that’s true of many professional or pseudo-professional artists I’ve encountered.

“The artist” as an identity tends to create the most unbearable kind of person because it attaches ego to an abstract idea of value or contribution to the world.

I do think of art as a worthwhile pursuit, and I believe that habitual practice, a focus on craft and so on, is necessary for anyone who takes this stuff seriously and wants to produce something “good.” But the expectation that the end result should be valuable to anyone else, despite the effort we put into this stuff, is ludicrous.

I mean, I believe I’m a “good” writer. I wish I was better, and I have many aspirations beyond what I’ve done so far. But it’s pretty obvious how few people actually give a fuck about my books. If I were to put the whole of my identity into what I accomplish as a writer, I’d be way more miserable than I am now.

My day job, my business, has a much more profound and direct effect on my daily life, livelihood, relationships with friends and colleagues, ability to support other people, and so on. I take that part of my life as seriously, if not more seriously, than my literary work. And I tend to have more respect for people who actively (and not begrudgingly) engage with other aspects of their life outside of art.

 

I don’t know if you want to talk about porn here. I’m asking as reading some pages in CREATION. “The shift in my labor had robbed me of the neurological reactions that once facilitated my sex-positive rants. I went on to exist among the sedentary cogs of middle-class America. And I indulged in their ritualized acts of self-hatred.” Do you see the consumption of porn as an act of self-hatred? And is this tied to not wanting to write about your persona and life as tied to porn? It's been so long since I viewed porn. Having been in a relationship with a person who was, if such a thing exists, and people like to debate this, a “sex/porn addict,” I don’t see many benefits to porn, the viewing of it, and mostly the disconnect between humans, the inability to connect in real meaningful ways through actual acts of intimacy, how porn leads us away from those and each other… I don’t know what my question here is. I guess tied to the above statement about “acts of self-hatred.” Your perception having worked in the porn industry but also as a consumer of porn. The ideas of “sex positivity” regarding porn that still permeate, that maybe we want to believe…does anyone actually feel good, feel better, after watching porn? Or working in the porn industry? Is sex positivity in this regard just bullshit? Something we tell ourselves? Some fiction? Idk, any thoughts here?

I don’t think consuming porn is explicitly an act of self-hatred. Like any pleasure-seeking activity, the intention seems morally neutral.

However, I do think the widespread access to free, hardcore porn – that started with my generation – is fundamentally bad for culture, relationships, and even for the people who make that content.

I’m obviously biased. But I’ve 100% flipped my point of view over the past 15 years. In the midst of my porn career, I got involved in the politics around sex work and early 2000s pro-porn, feminist activism. It was a kind of pushback against right wing, anti-porn moralism and the resurgence of anti-porn feminism in academia and in the culture at large. I felt that I did not embody the violence that feminists, like Andrea Dworkin, claimed was inherent to men in enacting sex on women in a pornographic context. And I was around a lot of women who seemed actively engaged with their work in porn, who were involved in the production of those films, and who claimed a significant degree of agency in their decision to participate.

There’s obviously a lot of nuance to this issue, and I’m sure we could go down the rabbit hole of different opinions and experiences that might suggest various “good” things about porn and sex work. But I’m no longer interested in facilitating that conversation.

All I know is that I have PTSD and it’s directly tied to my experiences in sex work. Every time I try to soften my stance and play devil’s advocate with porn, I reconnect with someone from my past who shares their significant trauma related to porn and sex work. Just look at the statistics around suicide rates in that industry. It’s not something you can brush off unless you have incentive to paint a picture of the adult industry in some positive light.

Yet, I’m still kind of a hypocrite here. I fired most of my adult industry clients back in 2021 because I no longer wanted to be associated with porn. Editing porn triggered a pretty intense emotional response in me; with enough regularity, it fucked up my sex drive. But I kept two clients, and I don’t have a logical explanation for that decision, other than that my interaction with those clients feels good, I believe they’re good people, and I don’t feel fucked up when I work for them.

As for sex positivity around porn and some of the other questions you asked: I just don’t want to participate in that conversation. I don’t want to grapple with the nuance of something that has so profoundly fucked up my life. I guess the net positive is that I’ve written a lot of books about it; for whatever reason, I’m still proud of that.

 

When we met, early last summer, I came to know you via your Youtube interviews (with Blake Butler, Elle Nash, Danielle Chelosky), and it was interesting to be watching you, your very almost midwestern way of speaking, almost an aww-shucks, Jimmy Stewart vibe, knowing you used to work in the porn/sex work industry… I guess I would have thought someone who had worked in sex work would be more jaded seeming, less openly affectionate and sweet…which brings me back to the need for art, for knowing other people through their art, so that we don’t have assumptions based on ignorance, but can see others as they actually are, in all their complexity. At the same time, much of your writing talks of violence, a darker nature… But I suppose we all have opposing forces driving us, sweetness and darker tendencies. Again, a need for art to explore dueling natures, duality in general within us. How do you view yourself, currently? And how has entering the literary world formed your view of yourself or extended your view of yourself? Do you allow yourself to take yourself seriously now as an artist? As a writer? You truly are one of the smartest, most interesting writers I know, so I hope this is the case. Did you always have, from a young age, while working in porn/sex work, the desire to write, the interest in the literary world?

First of all, thank you. Just so you know, and everyone reading this knows, the feeling is mutual. You’re an incredible writer. You’re kind, thoughtful, and so on. I’m so grateful that we’ve been able to establish this long-distance friendship.

As for your questions, how I view myself and so forth: I do take myself seriously as a writer and artist. At least, I take my writing seriously. The identity part is complicated for reasons I’ve explained in previous answers to your questions.

More than anything, I’m just grateful to have found a place for myself in this “alternative” literature scene, to have been published by Amphetamine Sulphate and Apocalypse Party, alongside writers I admire – Thomas Moore, Audrey Szasz, B.R. Yeager, and many others.

The reason I have my YouTube channel is mostly so that I have a reason to talk to people in this world who I find interesting. So I can do my small part to help promote their work.

As for whether I always wanted to write or be involved in literature: I did attempt to write a novel in high school. It was awful and will never see the light of day. But I enjoyed the process of working slowly on something by myself for several years.

Back then, I didn’t know what to focus on or where I wanted to end up. I was very into music and playing in metal bands. Then, I went to film school and wanted to make movies.

If there’s anything positive that came from my porn career, it was that it extended my ability to work fanatically in a number of different mediums. Sex work was much less time-consuming than a traditional 40-to-60 hour a week gig. So, I could write, play music, and save up little bits of money to produce short films and music videos. It facilitated an extended period of “play.”

I’ve chosen to stick with literature because it’s most conducive to my life now. I can write a little bit every morning before I go to work. I don’t have to involve other people or coordinate their schedules. And I don’t have to pay anyone. It’s something I know how to do no matter what my external circumstances are.

 

A couple months ago I read your previously-published but reprinted novel The Magician. Something I admitted to you at the time I probably wouldn’t have read had I not known you and trusted you as an artist/writer due to my love for CREATION. I don’t really have typically an interest in the themes The Magician is working with. But right away I found your novel compelling due to the character development so that the plot was almost irrelevant for me. I was interested in knowing the protagonist more. I was engrossed in your style of writing. Both held my attention for the entirety of the novel. Have you had similar experiences with books? And if so, can you name a couple? Books that you might not have thought you would be interested in due to the plots or their genres but which you were compelled through due to character and writing style?

I don’t think I have an experience like that with a novel or something I’d label literature.

My only relationship to that feeling of “not being interested in a certain kind of book” and then realizing I’m totally engrossed is with self-development and spiritually-oriented books.

Several years ago, I was in the midst of a very intense career transition. I was struggling financially. I had an idea of what I could do outside of sex work, given my education and some of the work I did in production and post-production within the adult industry. But I didn’t know how to get mainstream clients and I didn’t understand the pipeline for traditional advertising and television production.

So I was taking online courses to learn motion design and animation. I ended up taking a course from someone who taught the business side of working as a freelancer in design and post-production industries.

He highly recommended the book, Psychocybernetics by Maxwell Malz. This had nothing to do with the technical part of my job. Instead, it was about self-esteem, self-image, and a goal-oriented approach to one’s identity.

I was pretty skeptical because self-development culture has always seemed a bit “cult-y” to me. But I was paying this man for his advice, so I figured I might as well give the book a chance.

Well, it had a profound impact on me. At this point, I’d list it among  my favorite books of all time.

 

The Magician starts out with the protagonist attending 12 step meetings, which is another reason I found it immediately of interest, as I had, when I started reading it, just begun attending 12 step meetings myself. It had a sort of Fight Club feel to it that I enjoyed. The 12 step meetings but also the style of writing. What was your real life experience with 12 step meetings, if you want to speak on them, and what books/writers inspired the style of The Magician?

I honestly don’t have extensive experience with 12 step meetings.

I’d been to one or two with my father, to support him in his sobriety.

But the experiences referenced in The Magician have more to do with a real-world relationship I had that inspired the beginning of that book. Meaning, the first 30 pages or so are within the realm of non-fiction. Not every detail is true. But in my late twenties, I did date a fellow ex-porn-performer who was heavily addicted to opiates. She had a sugar daddy who was also a drug dealer. He did threaten to kill me.

And I remember calling a good friend of mine after my ex-girlfriend had overdosed. I was completely fucked up about it and didn’t know what to do. He told me to go to Al-Anon, which is a 12 step program for people who are affected by their loved ones’ addictions. So the families and partners of alcoholics, drug addicts, etc…

I only went to three or four meetings. It was all very perplexing to me. I don’t have a concrete opinion on 12 step culture. It just felt like another part of the chaos that I was wrapped up in during that period of my life.

 

How do you find the literary world vs the porn/sex world? is this a stupid question? I ask it as I am genuinely interested in any contrast/similarities … you may have observed, encountered. Re self-promotion, peer support and/or competition among peers, persona, etc.

I used to joke with some of my old colleagues that porn is the only industry where no one watches or consumes their peers’ work. Meaning, porn has these awards shows every year where they nominate best sex scenes, best feature films, best gonzo films, etc…

I assume at the Oscars, Golden Globes etc… that people who work in film and television are at least tangentially aware of the major films and television shows that came out the year prior. In porn, that’s absolutely not the case. You work on the stuff you’re hired to work on. Why the fuck would you then go home to watch other people’s porn to the extent that you know the plot of MILFs Get Fucked in the Ass 5 or whatever it may be?

With literature, my take is that this is heavily stratified. There are so many little scenes, especially in independent and alternative literature spaces.

When I first published with Amphetamine Sulphate, I read everything the press put out. And I was ravenous in consuming books by new-ish authors who published with similar underground presses.

As time goes on and I meet more people in the literary world, it becomes increasingly difficult for me to keep up. Just this year, I befriended you and found out about SF/LD, so I ended up reading your stuff and also the Danielle Chelosky book you put out. But I’m also newly published with Apocalypse Party, so I’m curious what else they’re releasing. Then, I’m excited about Chelsea Hodson’s new press, Rose Books – especially because she put out a novel by Christopher Norris, who designs most of my book covers. And I’m in LA, so I’ll occasionally end up at a party where I meet a bunch of authors published with major presses, like Simon & Schuster. I’ve never heard of most of those people or their books. Yet, they all seem to know each other. Now, I’m doing this YouTube conversation series with writers, so people are reaching out to send me their new novels. I’ve recently hit a point where I don’t have the capacity to read all the books that end up on my TBR pile.

What does this have to do with the comparison to porn? I don’t know. I guess it’s also a world where there are many little cliques. When I was a performer, there was an agent named Mark Spiegler who only represented the “best” girls. If you got on his roster, you were considered a big deal “porn star.” Maybe there’s some equivalency to literature. But I don’t know what the most prestigious press would be. Even if you end up on Simon & Schuster or FSG or whatever, you might only sell 200 copies of your novel.

I just feel like every medium is becoming more and more culturally disposable.

Literature seems like a more prestigious thing. But at this point, porn is likely more relevant to the average person.

 

In the porn world you were known by the name Danny Wylde. In the writing world you are known by your real name, Christopher Zeischegg. And yet, we all play with persona, with how we view ourselves and want or encourage others to view us, in our various worlds: our life with our childhood friends and family, our life among other writers, our life on the page/in our writing, our life with romantic partners… do you still feel as though you have a persona, be it now a writer persona? Or do you feel more unified, one person, as a writer? Idk, just wondering if you can speak on persona as a thing, as something you embrace or shy away from or are indifferent to, even? Is it something you ever even think about now?

I do feel like I have a persona as a writer. For better or worse, it still has a lot to do with the porn and sex work stuff, as that’s so much of what I’ve written about.

What can I do about that? It’s the novelty of every interview or piece of press: “This guy used to do porn. Now he writes books.” I’ve certainly exploited that, and will continue to exploit that, for my own reasons.

I mean, what’s the better tag line? “Aging white guy writes kind of art-y horror.” That’s awful clickbait.

I guess I’d have to do something different to become something different. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

 

You have the interesting perspective as a man of having been a sex object. What was that like, how do you process it now, do you miss that type of attention? You have teased me about some of my photos (on social media and such), maybe found some that seem to be leaning that way, toward wanting attention in similar way, as humorous, laughable. It’s made me rethink that whole thing, that whole persona, what I’m doing, why I’m doing it. I told you it was probably tied in part to both a childhood/young adulthood feeling invisible (to my mother and my peers) and then more of late, last five years, tied to being in a relationship with a sex/porn addict and being desexualized in his mind because of his addictions…seeking that validation elsewhere, embarrassingly, I am now aware. But what was that like and how is it now, the whole sex object thing? How do you see yourself presently, with that regard? How do you consciously or unconsciously present yourself? To the literary world and just in general?

Well, you teased me back for posting gym selfies and videos. So, I think we’re even. Haha.

Maybe I was posting that shit for similar reasons as you. Because my wife left me. Because I still want to feel desirable, which I agree – in a social media context – is fucking embarrassing.

But yeah, I feel like a lot of my early sense of self-worth and self-esteem was established around the time I got into porn and sex work, when I was around 19 years old. Both men and women were explicitly telling me they wanted to fuck me. I’d never consciously wielded that kind of sexual power before. It felt good.

Though, years and years of relating to sex and intimacy through that kind of transactional lens is exhausting at best. The details are in my books, so I don’t feel like going into all of that right now. Plainly speaking, I don’t enjoy that attention from porn fans or from people who might pay me for sex.

On the other hand, my sexual identity had so much to do with my formative years of adulthood. I still love feeling desired, attractive, etc… I think most people do. I realize I’m no longer some baby-faced twink who could get a spread in Playgirl. But I try to take care of myself, stay fit, and so forth. Part of that is just vanity, a want to look good naked or whatever.

I think I still feel stunted when it comes to dating and relationships – not the “being in them” part, but the initiation. It occurred to me recently that I’ve never made an effort to go after someone I was interested in romantically. The first three long-term relationships I had were with other porn performers. I was paid to fuck those women before I knew anything else about them. In my most recent relationship, that lasted nearly eight years, my ex-wife slid into my DMs to ask if I’d pose nude for her art book. What do I do now if I like someone? I’m nearly 40 years old and I have no fucking idea.

Back to your question, which feels like an embedded ask regarding whether I feel inclined to sexualize myself to the literary community. No. Absolutely not. Wait… Am I being entirely honest? I’d love to be attractive to everyone.

 

Finally, what are your current dreams and goals, re your writing, your interview podcast, your life in general? And do you still view your art as impractical? Not a good use of time and energy? ☺ and if not, what is??

I have two novels in my head. Currently working on one. Most likely, it will take me another couple of years to finish.

I’m still interested in visual adaptation of my work, but this feels very murky right now in terms of how to pull that off.

My YouTube podcast thing? I still plan to average one conversation a month for the foreseeable future. More than that and I won’t be able to seriously grapple with anyone’s work. Worst case scenario, I’ll slow down further and go back to talking only with writers who I’m friends with, whose work I’m intimately familiar with. I feel like I’ve already told way too many people I’d have them on. It’s likely I’m going to disappoint someone soon. Not you… Promise. Well, I might ask some shit questions. Hah.

Do I still view my art as impractical? Yes, but most wonderful things in life are impractical. I’m not going to stop.

 

 

• Which I tore through, became somewhat obsessed with, which led me to reading two more of CZ’s books in quick succession.