all I want to do is make film nauseus. all I want to do is burn my initials into the 70 mm negatives from the Apollo 11. all I want to do is shoot hardcore interracial porn from the middle of a burning building. standing in the fast lane of the last Autobahn. falling from the top of the Trump Tower. the film world sucks dead dog dick. I’d rather be John Waters than Jean-Luc Godard. I’d rather ride a rocketship to hell than a Porsche to Hollywood. I’d rather sell drugs to little white kids than wait sullenly for a SMS from some diseased french clown with a three-piece mind telling me that I’ve won a Palme d’Or du court métrage for my short film “A third world love story part III”. I want to be hated by everyone who writes scripts for a living. I want people to watch my films and get headaches. I want people to watch my films and vomit. I want people to watch my films and weep, scream, disappear, start bleeding, eat their 1080p Full HD television sets, beat each other to death with Wiimotes and go out and get riotously high on someone else’s money. this ain’t no party. this ain’t no fancy pub. this ain’t foolin’ a grab-bag of clever wordplay and sensitive thoughts and gracious theories about how many ambiguities can dance on the head of a hydraulically driven, six-barreled, air-cooled, electrically fired Gatling-style rotary cannon which fires 20 mm rounds. this ain’t no genteel evening over cappuccino and bullshit music. this ain’t no life-affirming our days have meaning as we watch the sitcoms die through our souls and fall desperately in love. this ain’t no letter-press, hand-me-down, wimpy hipster film festival of bitching about the broken rainbow. it is a carnival of dread. it is a savage sideshow about to move to the main arena. it is terror and wild beauty walking hand in hand down a bombed-out road as missiles scream, while a sky the color of Zooey Deschanel’s menstrual blood blinks on and off like the lights on Dubai after the last junkie martyr dies. I come not to bury film but to blow it up. not to dandle it on my knee like a one-handed child with beautiful eyes but throw it off a cliff into icy seas and see if the motherfucker can swim for its life. because love is an excellent thing. surely we need it. but, my friends…there is so much hate These Days that hatred is just love with a chip on its shoulder a chip as big as Tarantino’s ego and heavier than all the bills I’ll never pay. because they’re after us they’re selling holographic charm bracelets called “Power Balance” and Happy Meals that lower your IQ by 52.3 points per mouthful. we got politicians who think starting World War III this year would be a good career move. we got beautiful women with eyes like wet stones peering out at us from the pages of glossy magazines promising that they’ll fuck us till we shoot blood if we’ll just buy one of these beautiful iPhones. I’ve got mine.
