Target Audience

They ask me who my target audience is. Um, anyone who respects real shit? Anyone who gets off on the raw shit? Don’t tell me that the omnipresence of Drake and Nicki Minaj has brainwashed the youth of today into thinking that’s a rock star? Don’t tell me the kids actually respect these people in that role? If the kids today seriously think that this pussy ass shit that’s being shoved down their throats just to make money is real, then this industry desperately needs me.

This is a town full of spineless pansies who get SHOOK AS FUCK when they think something might not make money. It worries them so much that they lose sight of what’s important. There is a REASON for the Kurt Cobain obsession. It’s because true rock stars died with him. This isn’t about a career, this is about saving an entire industry from what’s it’s become.


I will promise you this: I will always treat my art and performance like someone has just unleashed a demon from the bowels of hell. I will always try to be as raw and painful as an exposed nerve. I will always try to respect my audience enough to believe in their INTELLIGENCE and their NEED for the truth.

Someone, and maybe if I fail at it I can inspire the person who will succeed at it, but SOMEONE needs to put the art before the money.

You have my word that I will try.

To Be a Better Writer


In an effort to become a better writer, and to start actually practicing what I preach, I’ve been trying to become more and more honest on facebook, which is probably a great idea for art, but a horrible fucking idea for real life, seeing as how I’m ridiculously horny lately and everything I post on here, including this sentence I’m in the middle of writing, is probably a bigger cock blocker than me walking into a party in an ‘I Heart Rape’ t-shirt and trying to explain the plot intricacies of ‘The Dark Knight Rises’ to females.

But I shall continue on in the hopes that it will make my craft better so that I can one day do what every artist dreams of doing – fucking the living shit out of a bunch of girls who are both out of my league and morally disgusting just to make up for what a massive sexless pussy I was in high school.

And that’s what I realized I haven’t really written about yet, the one area that permeates throughout my entire life and probably causes the most confusion for me and others: what is now close to becoming three decades of almost complete celibacy.

There are easy answers, harder answers, and sickening answers. An easy answer is that most areas of my life are approached with a potent mix of laziness and fear, with laziness being the stronger trait. It would be simple to attribute that to the ungodly amount of marijuana I consume, but looking back shows me a kid who always hated doing stuff, even before his dick was aware that it wanted to be shoved in something wet and feminine. Still, as I said, the easiest way to put it is that getting girls involves that terrifying word, EFFORT.

My god, it is EXHAUSTING making an effort to get a girl to like you. You have to come across as a confident man who is both fun to be around and very capable in the areas of knowing how to deal with women. It’s difficult for me to put this image out there because I have to, you know, lie to them, being as how I still squeal with joy at the toy aisles in Target, am trying to make a goddamn CAREER out of my insecurities, and my passionate interests include getting high and falling asleep in public places (Christ, it’s so comforting).

But it’s easy to take that route, and if this is supposed to be about truth and not comedy, then the above paragraph doesn’t really hold up. As I get older, I realize (brace yourself, I’m about to let out the confidence and it will be gross) how fucking awesome of a guy I am. I do have a ton to offer and I do truly believe that. In fact, lately I’ve been getting these swooning feelings of realizing just how powerful I could be, and the fear that goes along with that realization is immense. Truly ‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure’ is the greatest quote of all time. So if I do really grasp that, maybe it is still laziness? I know anytime someone tells me I’m good looking it just makes me think, with much bitterness, ‘So how come I don’t have girls after me all the time?’ Surely me being tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, passionate, and ridiculously talented (UGH PLEASE BRING BACK THAT GORGEOUS SELF-DEPRECATION!) and still completely sexless is a testament to our society’s need for the male to take control in order to have something happen? Therefore the answer truly would be this ‘roided-up laziness as every time I’m complemented on my looks I just want to scream ‘Yeah, but I was born with a fucking dick so nothing’s gonna happen! If I looked this good as a girl I’d be getting pounded like pizza dough six days a week while still not having to play this irritating role of in-control aggressor!’

Or maybe the laziness is too comforting and I’m afraid of saying I’m afraid. There is another aspect that confuses me, which is that when I’m attracted to a girl, it is unlike anything else on this planet. I often want to run up to my fellow males and scream ‘HOW IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DEALING WITH THESE GORGEOUS CREATURES WALKING AROUND?!’ Seriously, sometimes after a long day of a parade of ass filtering in at work, I feel like I either need to be locked up, or beat my dick like I think money’s gonna fly out just so I can think straight.

Anyway, the point is that it’s FUCKING HARD to find attractive girls. So many do nothing for me that when I do find one who catches my eye I just want to run over like a kid going up to Santa Claus and yell out ‘Holy fuck! How did this happen? How do you even look like this? Can I call your parents and thank them for this masterpiece? Look, you have to come with me right now so I can unleash years of pent up sexual and romantic passion on you! C’MON!’. There is nothing more Earth-shattering or disturbing for me than stumbling across a girl I’m attracted to. If I think you’re good looking, you’ve already won the war. There’s no hope for me of being able to do what society and female DNA requires me to do to make sure that I’ll actually be able to touch them. They’re already so high up on a pedestal that I’d have to shout game at them through a megaphone. The rest of you guys aren’t like this I guess?

The sad thing is these girls are all used to boyfriends and hook-ups that treat them like normal humans and speak in a way meant to induce that oh-so-important feeling, comfort. YOU WILL NEVER BE COMFORTABLE AROUND ME IF I LIKE YOU. SERIOUSLY, ASK ANY GIRL I’VE EVEN MILDLY CRUSHED ON. I MADE THEM FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE AS FUCK. Maybe one of you reading this now has even experienced it. It was awful, huh? But the up shoot is that you would never be so adored and showered with infatuation and passion as you would be with me. Pretty sure I could have you feeling like the sexiest goddess on the face of the Earth if you spent some time alone in a room with me (I believe, from a few things she said, that I did that for my much lamented girl, and this is probably a good time to point out that there is joyful, horny infatuation, and there is love. The first I can give to any girl I’m attracted to with an intensity that would make you think it is love, the second I’m extremely selective about and take VERY seriously as something meaningful and intimate). But I won’t get the chance to because I won’t be able to act proper.

But yeah, to any girl out there, past, present, or future, that I dig: you are a fucking goddess and whomever you’re with is probably only with you because he knows how to present himself in a way that doesn’t make him seem like you’ll end up in a basement in chains, surrounded by candid Polaroid snapshots of yourself with the eyes cut out plastered on the walls, which I’m certain is what turns girls off when I walk up to them literally shaking with lust and excitement. JUST LET ME TOUCH YOU. It will be awesome and I promise all my horrific and vulgar misogyny is only a creative device to make rap songs more intense and theatrical (and, of course, to vent sexual frustration. Yes, armchair psychologist feminists, you’re totally right. THAT’S the reason for those type of lyrics).

But I digress into my much loved hyperbole and am probably drifting away from the point of this: honesty. Let’s get into those sickening answers.

It’s possible that I just cannot get over my hatred of game because it paints girls as brainless dogs completely controlled by their DNA, robbed of any sort of free will. I’m sure this is warped thinking, but it’s not the game that offends me, it’s the fact that girls go for it. I, and I think lots of other guys, will FLIP SHIT over a girl who laughs off game as an idiotic attempt at getting her and doesn’t fall for it at all. But seeing as even animals who can’t talk have courtship rituals, I feel this is a sickening excuse as I may be going against nature itself (and maybe going back into laziness: why should I have to talk a certain way?).

The really, truly sickening answer, which is a possibility, is that as an artist, and a disciple of Andy Kaufman, I’ve always looked for ways to be truly different. You can’t get any weirder or different than never going after girls. Sometimes I fantasize about getting famous and not using it to fuck anyone, ever, until humans’ brains are turned to pulp trying to fathom how anyone could be like that, being forced into thinking I’m a closeted homosexual because THEY SIMPLY CAN’T GRASP THE IDEA OF SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T HAVE SEX. OH GOD, HOW ASHAMED I AM TO SAY HOW MUCH THAT IDEA TURNS ME ON. TRULY, PATHETICALLY DIFFERENT.


Or it’s possible that all of that is just fun to write and the overtly simple reason is that I’m an old-fashioned sweetie pie of a guy who truly wants to experience love before he engages in that act with someone. I mean, IT’S FUCKING ENTERING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING’S BODY! HOW THE FUCK COULD THAT EVER BE THOUGHT OF AS CASUAL YOU FUCKING DISGUSTING HEATHENS?! HAVE YOU NO MORALS? IF A STRANGER WALKS UP TO YOU AND PUTS THEIR FINGER IN YOUR MOUTH ARE YOU NOT GROSSED OUT AND DISTURBED?! THEN WHY ENTER SOMEONE’S BODY OR LET SOMEONE IN YOURS AFTER JUST ONE NIGHT OF KNOWING THEM??? WHY?!

Ah, but that kind of talk smacks of sickening elitism and is just plain ugly. Point that anger inward, Jason, never at others. It’s just wrong. While it did devolve, once again, into my beloved hyperbole, the original point may be true. Sex, to me, is just way too personal and intimate and that’s why to this day I’ve only been with one girl, a girl I feel such a deep sense of caring for that it’s more painful than having to sit in a crowded bar around drunk people (don’t open up that overused rant you little jerk).

Either way, I must apologize to both you, my facebook audience, and my penis, because these type of posts will not stop. As a writer, they are just too juicy, even if they do ruin any chance of me getting to know better the handful of girls on my friends list I like (aw, how sweet, he said ‘get to know better’ instead of ‘fuck’). Of course, to worry about that would be to assume, quite narcissistically, that any of them actually sat and read all of this bullshit.

So I’m probably safe.

Dead Kids, Christmas Spirit, & The End of the World


Dead Kids, Christmas Spirit, & The End of the World:

I don’t really know what happened this past week and a half. I’m reminded of what it used to be like to come down from a drug; that feeling of having been in some other place and not realizing it until this moment. It shouldn’t be surprising to learn that kindergarden kids getting shot up would have an effect on you, but it is for me. Maybe it’s residuals from 9/11.

I remember that day well. Wandering around the empty hallways of some building on the Rutgers campus, looking for my class, running into a teacher who spoke broken English, making it all the more weird to hear her saying that class was cancelled and mumbling something about ‘war, or worse’.

When I got home and turned on the TV, the footage of the towers made me feel weird inside, so I changed the channel to MTV. When my dad walked in, he said something to the effect of ‘Our country’s worst tragedy in years and you’re watching this?’ Later I talked to a friend online who said she couldn’t stop crying and I wondered, ‘Why? You don’t know any of those people’.

So maybe a bunch of years and a whole lot of mental gear-turning later I was finally enough of a decent human being to have this truly affect me. Maybe I’m still a self-absorbed prick and the only reason it really hit me is because my girl contacted me that day. But there was just something about seeing everyone on facebook talk about real shit, and then it being enough for her to text me for the first time in god knows how long, that seemed to prove my point: we’re all just bullshitting until death comes around.

Maybe that was the end of MY world, because I haven’t let it go since. I tried remembering the kids the next few days when I was at the mall shopping: “Goddamn, these lines are too fucking long!!! Oh, wait, dead kids.” I tried to start practicing what I was preaching. I didn’t want to forget, because I’m sure a lot of the world already has. But it’s hard. It goes against our wiring (a lot of my deeper rage comes from the realization of how much we’re slaves to our DNA).

People magazine released a cover with all the victims on it. They still snuck in a bar on the top advertising the ‘Best and Worst of 2012′, proving that even a bunch of slaughtered children aren’t enough to stop the bullshit parade. I get it, but c’mon, one issue? You can’t let one cover of one issue be just about them?

Anyway, I was glad they did because I was thinking about getting pictures of all of them and putting them up on my wall. I don’t want to forget them ever. I want to wake up everyday for the rest of my life and see these dead kids. Maybe if I start every morning by seeing ravaged innocence, I can actually not care about bullshit ever again. It’s a tough quest when you live in Hollywood and an even tougher one when you’re trying to assimilate into that world.

As much fun as it would be to paint myself as superior, right now, in the interest of honesty, I’m worrying about whether or not my dad’s package of gifts will get here in time for Christmas morning. Man, that would suck if they didn’t and I couldn’t open them next to the cozy tree like we usually do. Oh yeah, there’s a group of parents spending Christmas lamenting their dead children, kids who never even got to see their first pubic hair. So while I’m grateful for this knowledge, I still have it in me to be a piece of shit.

But the Christmas spirit permeates right now, whether you want it to or not. I do, because I grew up in an environment so idyllic it made ‘Full House’ seem like Nazi Germany. Perhaps even though I get the message, I pervert it a bit to a few days of warm feelings with family. Maybe I should think about who else out there might be hurting that I should help. Maybe we all should.

It’s so fun to get caught up in the Mayan hype, to play around with the Hollywood vision of things, fire raining from the sky and the Earth splitting open, but maybe, as my mom told me an actual Mayan told my aunt, ‘the world is not going to end, the world as we know it is going to end’.

Were we to actually grasp what these dead kids meant and keep it in our heart all year long, like Scrooge post-ghost experience, we could end the world as we know it. If everyone would post up a picture of the kids in their room, and remember them everyday, we might, just fucking might, actually, FINALLY, start evolving as a species.

But probably not.

Now, when is that damn package with the presents going to get here?!

My Goals?


So lost and infuriated. I’ll try to funnel the inner monologue:

Babygirl texted me yesterday out of the blue. Threw me off guard when I was already mentally distant. She was angry and confused about the shooting and wanted my insight because I wrote a novel about school shootings. We converse a while through text, actually talking, so I have to ask why it took this tragedy for us to finally talk again. I think she failed to grasp the irony of her texting me on that day for insight. She doesn’t realize I wake up everyday like a ton of kids have been shot, so for me, there is no closure. I have to sit there and listen to arguments about different coasts and different lives and different goals. What the fuck are we talking about here? I’m trying to tell you that I love you and that I’ve been imcomplete since you left and you’re talking to me about goals?!

Goals, yes. My goals that led me out here to the land of the fucking idiots. That was a good move. I lost the love of my life for a chance to try and win the lottery for a ticket into the kingdom of bullshit. This whole town is horrific. Do you know someone here tried to impress me by showing me HOW MUCH MONEY THEY HAVE? Try to actually wrap your mind around that concept. They thought it actually meant something that they have money! That’s who I’m dealing with out here! Jason, can you take your career more seriously? OK, let me make an attempt to care about bullshit more. Now I have to deal with the aftermath of a horribly lonely mom and the love of my life talking to me about a fucking career because I did this.

Think of a bullet ridden child. Actually picture a young child leaking blood from bullet wounds. Now think of how much time our race has spent this past year WORRYING ABOUT DUDES WHO LIKE TO FUCK OTHER DUDES. This is a world where we actually give legitimacy to people who actually believe in their invisible friend enough to bring him into arguments! We actually give up our precious time to people who make arguments THAT SEXUALITY IS A CHOICE????? THAT THIS FUCKING HAPPENED BECAUSE GOD ISN’T IN SCHOOLS??? We are giving airtime and valuable moments to these people??? They should be killed for holding our species back. Seriously, there is no hope for a race that is insanely willing to give up what makes them human for some magic being in the sky. No hope for people who are fucking stupid enough to believe in god.

I realized it last night. This whole world is bullshit. Yesterday meant nothing. We will learn nothing from it. I fucking hate this whole world. Every second of my life since birth I’ve been getting shit for being an introvert. That’s all they ever do is get on me for not wanting to get involved. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH A WORLD THAT AVOIDS MUSHROOMS LIKE THE PLAGUE BUT WILL GLADLY GULP LIQUOR AND GET SLOPPY AND FIGHT AND FUCK AND FORGET!


And for fucks sake, can I just have my fucking girl back?!