Jason Z. Christie's Blog, page 25
August 31, 2012
Blue Moon
So bright
It hurts my eyes
And sets my heart to ache
Just like
Every time
I look
At you
August 27, 2012
Hurricane Regina Audiobook in Production
I found Ken Lee through ACX, the Audiobook Creation Exchange. Not only did he agree to record Hurricane Regina, he said I could share the audio file with everyone. I uploaded it to my nerd rap persona's music site for ease of listening. I'm not sure of the time frame, but it'll definitely be out before the holidays are upon us. Time to give it one last editing pass...
Hurricane Regina audiobook excerpt read by Ken Lee.
I'd also like to point out that all of my artwork of late is to the credit of John Christie, III and Jesse Pitre, who inadvertently left his notebook at my house and gave me the above drawings for a new title page I'm working on.
Cycle
I wish I could heal you with my touch
Like you have often healed me
Because you really mean so much
I know it's plain to see
My little sexy loving nurse
It really is insane
Every time that we play doctor
You end up in pain
Princess In Training
Goddess
You've granted me serenity
And intelligence
If not wisdom
Now save me from being a fuck-up
And teach me self-control
I play Polish roulette
With a single empty chamber
I'd sooner lose my eyes
Than see the pain on your face
I don't want to be the flaw
In the oinkment
The clot
Clogging up the hourglass
I'll give you babies
And meals to cook
You give me warning signals
Before I cross the line, please
And not after
You're far too kind
And that's too cruel for me
Be a princess
Stamp your foot
Stick out your lip
And say "No"
I tried to relieve your worries
And instead gave you new ones
So I'm working even harder
Over here
On my end
It's lonely
And I worry about you
My love
Expanded Universe
I could enumerate the stars
Before I could quantify my love for you
Imagine every grain of sand
A universe of its own
In each, a tiny planet Earth
And on every Earth is me
Each loves you
More than he can count
August 26, 2012
New Guest Blog Post
A Year of Self-Publishing Mistakes:
http://gwenperkins.wordpress.com/2012/08/26/guest-post-a-year-of-self-publishing-mistakes/
In other news, Radar Love is #16 on the contemporary romance charts...
http://gwenperkins.wordpress.com/2012/08/26/guest-post-a-year-of-self-publishing-mistakes/
In other news, Radar Love is #16 on the contemporary romance charts...
August 24, 2012
August 21, 2012
Tom Robbins-inspired Poetry
Radar Love uses Tom Robbins' Still Life with Woodpecker as a major theme. I'm working on a poetry book whereby each poem is derived from the words on a single, double-sided page from his novel. It will be about 150 poems in all.
Here are a few:
Jiggling princess
Feminine heart and soul
Soft sugar and leather
Romantic ecstasy
Fallen
Connecting in Paradise
Innocent fellatio
Carnivores
A true princess
Kissing the gardener
Lunar playfulness
Telepathic redheads
Romantic universe
A nameless faith
Queen of the redheads
Close to my imagination
My persistent love
Enveloped in your charms
Wonderful, your essence
Secret revolution
As we arrange to marry
In bayan shadow, Leigh with me
My essential insanity
Make tragic tears
The moon exposed
Deliciously
Flesh amalgamation
Dreams immersed
Desired princess
Romantic invocation
Intro to Superlove...
Superlove was supposed to be the last novel in the Ultimate Hustle series. Instead, it's the last sane one. And that's also questionable, as it sort of documents the insanity of Chris and Janique, who have gone mad from too much money and power. And boredom.
Janique's latest video series was sweeping the nation.
Hollywood Handjobs was a study in barebones production value. A close-up of a manicured hand gripping Chris's neatly-trimmed cock against a backdrop of a bottom dollar motel bed. Women with names like Demi Whore, Jessica Handy, and Mary Kate and Ashley Wholesome put in Olympic-caliber efforts at tugging him off to a photo finish.
Unbeknownst to them, he was on one of Janique's custom chemical concoctions designed specifically to prevent just that.
Almost all of the actresses wore wedding rings.
One of the reasons it was their best seller of late was because it was their first-ever Chris Turner solo series. The hand was anonymous, and there were enough variances in the hand models to insure that all women were represented. There were even videos with models named "Fat Oprah" and "Skinny Oprah".
Overwhelmingly, the purchasers of the series were female.
There was no audio save for Chris's intermittent moans and groans, and the sounds of his eventual orgasm. The only other thing that could be heard was the labored breathing of the hand model as she earned every dollar of her pay the hard way.
Another reason it was so popular was because they were somehow very compelling. It was a three-part drama enacted without words. The introduction was always very hot, as the new hand met the celebrity cock for the first time. Some girls spat, some used lube. Some went rawdog on him for the entire session, leaving him battered and bleeding. Turnaround being fair play whenever possible.
The second act was a study in fatigue and desperation. The girls weren't even allowed to use two hands. Each started out confident that they, unlike the others, could get him off quickly and easily. You could see the realization set in after the first third or so of the hour-long production.
The final third was always intense, as they worked through the pain that accumulated in their
hands and wrists, wracking their brains for the technique that would grant them both release. Chris's orgasms were eye-popping. A full week's worth of semen would launch high into the air, erupting onto their aching and red fingers. They were some of the most intense climaxes in the entire Ultimate Hustle catalog.
The company has also quietly, nay secretly rolled out Brad and Leo's new encryption tech, which confounded even the most elite cracking crews. You simply could not watch Hollywood Handjobs in any format without paying for a copy. Even legitimate versions dumped to videotape mysteriously went black just before any person-to-person contact was made.
Janique had a backdoor deal with the electronics industry, in some cases literally, to insure that all video hardware would obey commands her studio embedded into their audio and video signals. The codes, however, were seemingly random, and had yet to be reverse-engineered.
This added a boost to sales as many eager pirates were forced to purchase a copy before they could even attempt to crack the PRM, Ultimate Hustle's unpatented Porn Rights Management system. It took hardware hackers several months to successfully copy even a single movie, Helen Cunt, the least popular title in the series. Even then, their copy went blank just before Chris came.
The video went viral, heralded as a triumph of hacking by the undernet of seedy geek sites like Slashdot and 4chan, media conglomerates she'd acquired years earlier. Downloaders who made the understandable mistake of watching the pirated video twice, the majority, found the video attached to their outgoing mail messages, along with a personal message from Janique.
She appeared half-dressed in pirate garb, and mocked and taunted the amateur software thieves who were also some her best customers, and a big part of her marketing strategy. Other times, their computers would simply play the video at inopportune moments, flashing a link to ultimatehustle.com.
It was this aspect that landed her in court, charged with malicious hacking and engineering a trojan horse virus.
Janique arrived for the trial sponsored by Trojan brand condoms, and railed against the disgusting, disease-filled court system. Chris had written her an excellent rant.
The judge, a longtime fan, threw the case out after her opening arguments.
"You stole her video, and in doing so, infected your own computer?" the judge asked the plaintiff.
"Yes, sir."
"And now you're suing the company you stole from?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have this man arrested for copyright infringement. Case dismissed."
It was the most powerful marketing campaign of all time. Hollywood lined up to purchase technology that wasn't for sale at any price. The entire scheme was enormously complicated, and involved lots of corporate espionage, which had become her new favorite form of intercourse.
Janique fucked them for all they were worth. The real genius move was when she leaked the rumor that real Hollywood actresses were performing as their own x-rated doppelgangers.
Because it wasn't a rumor.
Her personal copies of the videos had full audio of the country's top stars saying scandalously filthy things to Chris in an effort to make him cum. Then the camera panned around to a full head shot as Janique the cameragirl told them to lick it off of their hands, starting with their wedding rings, most of which had been moved to their right in her one concession to comfort. Her early tests were conducted with their left hands, which was too agonizing for the girls to even finish.
Then she made them beg both her and Chris for his cock. Her versions ended with the two of them tenderly destroying the hand model in question.
Janique played extreme hardball to acquire her talent, stopping just short of the most reprehensible sort of villainy to get what she wanted. And perhaps things occurred that she didn't want to know about.
She laid back on the couch and touched her pussy. The room's lights dimmed, and her favorite Marilyn Monroe montage began to play on the 3D set. It was a series of cumshots leading up to a full video of Marilyn dying at the hands of Jack and Bobby Kennedy.
Everyone who had ever seen or possessed the tapes before her had quietly vanished, replaced with body doubles in a few cases.
Read more Chris, Janique, and Ultimate Hustle in Radar Love, Cure for Sanity, and Penultimate Hustle: Japan.
Penultimate Hustle: Japan is free all week long. Radar Love. the first in the series, is now $.99. That is way too cheap, if you ask me.
Janique's latest video series was sweeping the nation.
Hollywood Handjobs was a study in barebones production value. A close-up of a manicured hand gripping Chris's neatly-trimmed cock against a backdrop of a bottom dollar motel bed. Women with names like Demi Whore, Jessica Handy, and Mary Kate and Ashley Wholesome put in Olympic-caliber efforts at tugging him off to a photo finish.
Unbeknownst to them, he was on one of Janique's custom chemical concoctions designed specifically to prevent just that.
Almost all of the actresses wore wedding rings.
One of the reasons it was their best seller of late was because it was their first-ever Chris Turner solo series. The hand was anonymous, and there were enough variances in the hand models to insure that all women were represented. There were even videos with models named "Fat Oprah" and "Skinny Oprah".
Overwhelmingly, the purchasers of the series were female.
There was no audio save for Chris's intermittent moans and groans, and the sounds of his eventual orgasm. The only other thing that could be heard was the labored breathing of the hand model as she earned every dollar of her pay the hard way.
Another reason it was so popular was because they were somehow very compelling. It was a three-part drama enacted without words. The introduction was always very hot, as the new hand met the celebrity cock for the first time. Some girls spat, some used lube. Some went rawdog on him for the entire session, leaving him battered and bleeding. Turnaround being fair play whenever possible.
The second act was a study in fatigue and desperation. The girls weren't even allowed to use two hands. Each started out confident that they, unlike the others, could get him off quickly and easily. You could see the realization set in after the first third or so of the hour-long production.
The final third was always intense, as they worked through the pain that accumulated in their
hands and wrists, wracking their brains for the technique that would grant them both release. Chris's orgasms were eye-popping. A full week's worth of semen would launch high into the air, erupting onto their aching and red fingers. They were some of the most intense climaxes in the entire Ultimate Hustle catalog.
The company has also quietly, nay secretly rolled out Brad and Leo's new encryption tech, which confounded even the most elite cracking crews. You simply could not watch Hollywood Handjobs in any format without paying for a copy. Even legitimate versions dumped to videotape mysteriously went black just before any person-to-person contact was made.
Janique had a backdoor deal with the electronics industry, in some cases literally, to insure that all video hardware would obey commands her studio embedded into their audio and video signals. The codes, however, were seemingly random, and had yet to be reverse-engineered.
This added a boost to sales as many eager pirates were forced to purchase a copy before they could even attempt to crack the PRM, Ultimate Hustle's unpatented Porn Rights Management system. It took hardware hackers several months to successfully copy even a single movie, Helen Cunt, the least popular title in the series. Even then, their copy went blank just before Chris came.
The video went viral, heralded as a triumph of hacking by the undernet of seedy geek sites like Slashdot and 4chan, media conglomerates she'd acquired years earlier. Downloaders who made the understandable mistake of watching the pirated video twice, the majority, found the video attached to their outgoing mail messages, along with a personal message from Janique.
She appeared half-dressed in pirate garb, and mocked and taunted the amateur software thieves who were also some her best customers, and a big part of her marketing strategy. Other times, their computers would simply play the video at inopportune moments, flashing a link to ultimatehustle.com.
It was this aspect that landed her in court, charged with malicious hacking and engineering a trojan horse virus.
Janique arrived for the trial sponsored by Trojan brand condoms, and railed against the disgusting, disease-filled court system. Chris had written her an excellent rant.
The judge, a longtime fan, threw the case out after her opening arguments.
"You stole her video, and in doing so, infected your own computer?" the judge asked the plaintiff.
"Yes, sir."
"And now you're suing the company you stole from?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have this man arrested for copyright infringement. Case dismissed."
It was the most powerful marketing campaign of all time. Hollywood lined up to purchase technology that wasn't for sale at any price. The entire scheme was enormously complicated, and involved lots of corporate espionage, which had become her new favorite form of intercourse.
Janique fucked them for all they were worth. The real genius move was when she leaked the rumor that real Hollywood actresses were performing as their own x-rated doppelgangers.
Because it wasn't a rumor.
Her personal copies of the videos had full audio of the country's top stars saying scandalously filthy things to Chris in an effort to make him cum. Then the camera panned around to a full head shot as Janique the cameragirl told them to lick it off of their hands, starting with their wedding rings, most of which had been moved to their right in her one concession to comfort. Her early tests were conducted with their left hands, which was too agonizing for the girls to even finish.
Then she made them beg both her and Chris for his cock. Her versions ended with the two of them tenderly destroying the hand model in question.
Janique played extreme hardball to acquire her talent, stopping just short of the most reprehensible sort of villainy to get what she wanted. And perhaps things occurred that she didn't want to know about.
She laid back on the couch and touched her pussy. The room's lights dimmed, and her favorite Marilyn Monroe montage began to play on the 3D set. It was a series of cumshots leading up to a full video of Marilyn dying at the hands of Jack and Bobby Kennedy.
Everyone who had ever seen or possessed the tapes before her had quietly vanished, replaced with body doubles in a few cases.
Read more Chris, Janique, and Ultimate Hustle in Radar Love, Cure for Sanity, and Penultimate Hustle: Japan.
Penultimate Hustle: Japan is free all week long. Radar Love. the first in the series, is now $.99. That is way too cheap, if you ask me.
More Star Hustle
President Gorlax was hustling nameplates. He didn't need the money, a social lubricant his planet lacked. Blood lubricated things nicely. But he had a vision.
As usual, the essence of what he was trying to achieve was lost. He wanted to bring back fat gold chains and medallions. But most of his hip-hop knowledge came from the Fat Boys' films Disorderlies and Krush Groove. For instance, he thought LL Cool J's arm length was perfectly normal, so he attached cinderblocks to his wrists in an effort to lengthen his own. This made his sales pitches that much more difficult, and it was already an uphill climb.
His medallions were usually Franklin Mint collector plates with vinyl letters charmingly misapplied. Gold was just a color on Gortician, so he used yellow nylon rope or light-weight plastic chains that he spray-painted gold. He usually ended up with half of the paint around his mouth and nose. The combined effect hampered his sales to a large degree.
The other hitch in his plans was High-C and O.D. DrugWar's sideline hobby of killing off rappers, and stealing not only their estates, but their identities themselves.
Not that either of them rapped. But they figured they'd get them all out of the way beforehand, in case they decided to later. Consequently, they were the only people left he could sell them to.
He had managed to sell one to O.D., a Gone with the Wind collector's edition with "Odie Durgwah" written on it in red Sharpie. The kid really wanted a Wizard of Oz one, but President Gorlax wouldn't part with it.
Now he was running a similarly lame hustle on High-C, never realizing that they only wanted them as a joke, and took great delight in making him work extra hard at trying to convince them to buy.
For High, he had constructed a Star Wars chessboard out of a disc of interwoven strips of black and white construction paper, to which he had glued a Monkees album he'd cut off of a box of Life cereal. It was the only copy of Last Train to Clarkesville in existence. High-C wanted to hear it at sixty-six and sixty-six ninety-ninths RPM.
"That's an actual working record," President Gorlax was saying.
"At least it was," High countered.
"Scarcity increases value," PG said.
He had really mellowed that much. You could actually refer to him as PG. With the Space Olympics coming up, he was trying to rebrand himself as a kinder, gentler tyrant.
A homey despot.
It should be noted that punning was punishable by multi-death on Gortician. That fact that that was in itself a pun bothered him. He also usually broke the fingers of anyone who said "It is what it is." Or killed their wives.
"Check yo' premise, bitch-ass muhfukkin' Anton Lavey wannabe, Ayn Rand in a devil suit fucktard," High said.
He and Ode had a running contest to see just how far the could push him and get away with it. It was a little too easy, seeing how lonely he was. Decades of accelerated evilution had left him susceptible to the slightest unexpected kindness. Being nice was sort of the ultimate taboo on Gortician, and so even the tiniest friendly gesture sent him into spasms of delight. He was MC Serch to their Beastie Boys.
Read more President Gorlax, High-C and O.D. Drug war in Perfect Me, Cure for Sanity and Zombie Killa.
As usual, the essence of what he was trying to achieve was lost. He wanted to bring back fat gold chains and medallions. But most of his hip-hop knowledge came from the Fat Boys' films Disorderlies and Krush Groove. For instance, he thought LL Cool J's arm length was perfectly normal, so he attached cinderblocks to his wrists in an effort to lengthen his own. This made his sales pitches that much more difficult, and it was already an uphill climb.
His medallions were usually Franklin Mint collector plates with vinyl letters charmingly misapplied. Gold was just a color on Gortician, so he used yellow nylon rope or light-weight plastic chains that he spray-painted gold. He usually ended up with half of the paint around his mouth and nose. The combined effect hampered his sales to a large degree.
The other hitch in his plans was High-C and O.D. DrugWar's sideline hobby of killing off rappers, and stealing not only their estates, but their identities themselves.
Not that either of them rapped. But they figured they'd get them all out of the way beforehand, in case they decided to later. Consequently, they were the only people left he could sell them to.
He had managed to sell one to O.D., a Gone with the Wind collector's edition with "Odie Durgwah" written on it in red Sharpie. The kid really wanted a Wizard of Oz one, but President Gorlax wouldn't part with it.
Now he was running a similarly lame hustle on High-C, never realizing that they only wanted them as a joke, and took great delight in making him work extra hard at trying to convince them to buy.
For High, he had constructed a Star Wars chessboard out of a disc of interwoven strips of black and white construction paper, to which he had glued a Monkees album he'd cut off of a box of Life cereal. It was the only copy of Last Train to Clarkesville in existence. High-C wanted to hear it at sixty-six and sixty-six ninety-ninths RPM.
"That's an actual working record," President Gorlax was saying.
"At least it was," High countered.
"Scarcity increases value," PG said.
He had really mellowed that much. You could actually refer to him as PG. With the Space Olympics coming up, he was trying to rebrand himself as a kinder, gentler tyrant.
A homey despot.
It should be noted that punning was punishable by multi-death on Gortician. That fact that that was in itself a pun bothered him. He also usually broke the fingers of anyone who said "It is what it is." Or killed their wives.
"Check yo' premise, bitch-ass muhfukkin' Anton Lavey wannabe, Ayn Rand in a devil suit fucktard," High said.
He and Ode had a running contest to see just how far the could push him and get away with it. It was a little too easy, seeing how lonely he was. Decades of accelerated evilution had left him susceptible to the slightest unexpected kindness. Being nice was sort of the ultimate taboo on Gortician, and so even the tiniest friendly gesture sent him into spasms of delight. He was MC Serch to their Beastie Boys.
Read more President Gorlax, High-C and O.D. Drug war in Perfect Me, Cure for Sanity and Zombie Killa.
