Because who fucking cares. Woke up today and prayed: Lord make me a channel of thy peace. My dad’s in the ICU. Looks like he won’t make it. Lord let me seek to comfort rather than be comforted. Let me be a good son and brother. He’s been sick for 20 years. Used to have to put on a hazmat suit to see him. Pressurized room so germs don’t blow in. I think about this picture of him with me as a baby on his back. He’s taking me on a walk in the woods. Near my uncle’s place by the lake. White birches in summer. The man who showed me my first cloud. My first bird. I’m about to crack, but: he might make it. Hold it together until you know. Go to work, be of service at my job. Save money to get to the trees. At night I drive homeless guys to AA so they don’t die. James Deen is fucking trivial.
Of course I wrote about James Deen. Something like: of course he’s a rapist. I believe women because I’m a man. I never raped anyone. But I’m stunned by this. Never raped anyone but the day is young. Lunch break, who knows. Women think nothing of coming back to your house drunk. When you’re a public aggressive lecher. Hours of foreplay then a noncommittal “no” at the last instant. Every man must be a rapist except me. I regret not being a rapist. No consequences, we’re told. You get away with it. You’re celebrated. You have to commit ten rapes to get in the secret frat that funnels you illuminati gold.
I believe men are savages because I’m one. And women are either unfathomably stupid or secretly want to be raped. I’m a scrawny aging cripple but I can still overpower any woman except 8 MMA fighters. And one or two fat broads from World Star videos. Yet they come to my house drunk and tell me “no.”
What the fuck did they expect. I got naked and bent over in front of the most publicly aggressive porn star ever. What happened next shocked me. I, a porn star famous for being degraded, dated a porn star famous for degrading women. For six years. What happened for 30 seconds 4 ½ years in shocked me. In retrospect. After I continued dating him and enthusiastically enjoyed similar acts for a long time, saying nothing.
No woman can ever be doubted. Accountable. What they want is to hang you for consensual sex. Fortunately I can’t get laid.
I wrote about Bill Cosby too. It was fake and stupid. I threw it away. All topical writing is garbage. Yet I’m thrilled when this gets posted to reddit. That gets 50,000 people to the site which gets 50 people to the real shit that’s actually good. Plus, one good sentence in that 50 Shades review. 1982 Jerry Garcia– I had it, even then.
I don’t get paid for this. So I get to do what I want. I have no feelings about James Deen. Neither does anyone else. What you see are money agendas. Don’t get fired agendas. Deen’s friend stuck up for him. Mob came for her. She gets fed by selling her face and spirit to Buzzfeed who sells it to goodshop.com. So she had to say “I believe all victims. Especially sex workers. This week get 20% off on goodshop.com with promo code RAPE.” Stoya’s partner explained why her site still has James Deen: he’s famous. We need money. No one feels anything about James Deen. Or mass shootings. Or rape culture. Donald Trump, Gamergate. Any of it. None of it matters, everyone knows it, everyone who makes web sites with ads just has to pretend it matters like a Verizon rep has to pretend the system can’t give you a refund.
My page views are in the toilet. I don’t care. I work a day job for money. This is my fun. Go to bed at 9 to wake up at 5 and write about how I can’t write. Make thousands of pages of garbage. Comb through on weekends. Find one good paragraph. Post and wait for comments: ten versions of “fag.” I do it for the love. I’ll take another five years to write another book that’s 50 pages long and sells 700 copies. If it took 50 years to write a 5 page book that sold 7 copies I’d do it. I don’t have a choice.
Well why not write a book about James Deen. Sell 100,000 copies. Like the man said: if you have to ask, you’ll never know.