dracula of romania, who wrote the sucked sonnet of what was left in me of capillaries in cursive to a thin pool to the left of my bent sweetly punctured neck, glazed eyes hosting two mirrored moons eclipsed by his retreating silhouette, via wings of not a dove, but a kind man for offering this prey such eternal repose

Hi, you're referencing a Vice article written by a two-faced journalist who pretended to befriend me the night of my interview, then wrote a slander piece about me to garner hits. Nothing she says can be taken for fact. It's gonzo journalism and there's a distinctly negative bias. Secondly, the quote in which I sated that fame and relevance are my primary goals comes from a gchat conversation I had in 2009 when I was SIXTEEN YEARS OLD. That was two years ago. I didn't have a fashion presence. I hardly had 300 followers on twitter. I cried in the back of that taxi because I was upset that "time" exists. I was upset that this thing I had anticipated for months (my premiere) was over. I was upset that I had to get on a plane and go back home to my condo in Las Vegas where I couldn't be with my amazing friends in Brooklyn. I was upset because the climax had past and I had absolutely nothing to look forward to. I understand that journalists want you to believe that I'm a narcissist because it evokes a stronger reaction from their audience, but consider the voice in which each article was written, then determine whether or not your interpreting it properly. Presently, my primary goal in life is getting a degree in sociology to research iconic subcultures, class struggles, and religious coercion.

yes that would be amazing. i truly believe i would actually be a happy person, despite the stereotype of pornstars being emotionally/spiritually vapid; like, i'd still be "me" -- a pretty well-adjusted deep literary bro, you know, i'd still read e.m. forster or susan sontag, relate to muslims and albinos, make veggie pasta, swirl wine, and be an overall sensitive caring somewhat co-dependent emotional pit -- save the daily fuckings, preferably outdoors/public humiliation with german accents, or like i can go up to three times a day (five is my record). i also wouldn't mind simply being the fulcrum of imminent squirt for a glory hole shoot, like i'm not some camera whore that needs to show off his face; in fact, let's just turn off the cameras. let's just fuck in the dark, the purple bud of a bruise slowly blossoming on your face, each crushed capillary some demented signature written on your skull, such arbitration finalized via the flying dotted-line of my spunk arc'd in some incomplete parabola, you waiting at the end, agape