The right path




I haven’t updated this in awhile!

Well, a lot has happened. I found a certain level of peace in helping other people. It isn’t that I consciously set out to do this, but it kept repeating itself in various ways until I became aware that I was doing this. Maybe that which I have been so angry at my family for, ignoring each other’s needs, became something I began to see in others. In my own way I became a vehicle to help other people by finally acknowledging what had hurt me so much growing up.

On Facebook I kept posting shit like “If you’re depressed, do shit for other people, it really provides fulfillment” without really believing in it yet myself. There wasn’t a tipping point where I became truly aware of it, it just happened one day that I knew I was back on the right path. Everything that had fueled my rage for over a decade, everything that had me blowing money like a muddafakka and being noncommittal to all of the amazing women who have graced me with their presence, became clear to me.

The simple act of asking people what’s on their mind, what goals, or dreams you could do anything to help achieve, even buying someone a dinner and sitting with them while their eyes light up as they describe even the smallest progress, that is truly fulfilling. I didn’t write this to bitch about my parents or extended family this time, but growing up I don’t think anyone listened or cared about what I wanted or what dreams I had. When you don’t water that seed in people, they rarely grow.

Water that seed in others and soon you will be standing in a beautiful garden. Oh, of course you’ll still need to watch your step, the roots of artists are tender and exposed, and often there will be some manure lingering around.



Selling porn VS selling books

I’ll let the following images speak for themselves:

First the porn:



Now the book:


Selling porn takes maybe a couple hours per day to make an easy 8k+ a month

It took me 1.5 years and cost me $2500 to write the novel and produce the trailer for the book, which you can watch at

Sometimes I wonder why the fuck I write books, but then I read things like:


…then I realize I want to get out of the human meat grinder business!

 Now I’m waking up at 5 AM instead



Now I’m waking up at 5 AM instead of going to bed. Had a very odd dream about an erotic encounter in a Canadian Tire.

I just got a 5-star review of my novel posted up on

“This book is the ‘Requiem for a Dream’ version of today’s ‘Romantic-Comedy’. The author vividly brings you into the life of a young man named Dylen, who lives in a dark world full of sex, booze and drugs. He is on a conquest to find love, while filling the empty void with vapid, shallow, yet gorgeous, ‘pod girls’. This book spins you through the routine of today’s young singles, while giving you insight into the conscious dilemma people now face when it comes to dating and love in the 21st century. Dylen is a narcissistic, egomaniac but somehow has you rooting for him to find love in the end. I couldn’t put this book down!”


…folllowed by a testamonial from a reader I happened to run into while sauced up in Gastown. Hopefully she posts hers up soon!

Art VS Cash Money

So while working on selling my novel, and writng my next, I sell porn to survive.

I made $3,000 dollars in 3 days the other day off of a simple video of a wide-hipped woman shaking her butt. This work took me all of about a half an hour.

I’ve made $1,000 off of selling my novel that was published in February. It took a year and a half to write.


Pornography makes so much more money than art, but it has absolutely no reward. I use the bodies of whores to tease men into signing up to websites so that I may profit.

Writing rewards the soul, and for all of the life I put into writing and delivering a realistic view on modern day sex, dating, and love, I made a tiny amount of cash as a result. In fact, when you factor in the costs for the trailer and cover, I’m still under water on the book!


I prefer to make art, but damn, ass pays the bills!

Difficult personal growth

Some people say nothing in life is worth anything unless you have to work for it.

I tend to agree.

Yes, having a Ferrari given to me would be sweet. I would grow my hair into a mullet and pull off the exhaust, go cruising around Coal Harbour at night. Wait, nearly 1 in 4 condos sit empty in Coal Harbour, so that wouldn’t allow me to wake up the most amount of people with the song only an italian V8 can sing.

Well, I’m pretty depressed. I met a very cute foreign girl recently, she was feminine in all the ways I like, and her smile was genuine and full of warmth. A bit goofy and cute, but with a very strong streak of tender femalehood, like finding a vein of gold in white marble. I went out with her a couple times, I thought my intentions were clear to her, but she ended up making out with another girl at a party I threw. She then left with her.

I suppose it’s alright though. There is a woman I know out there in the world, someone I’ve known for years, who I know would make a better mate, I’d just have to grow even more as a person to attract her. You can’t drink the wine of a quality woman when you’re holding a red solo cup.

I’d pretty excited about getting my next car. If everything works out as planned, I’ll be writing my next book in the company of Ken Foster at various locales around Vancouver. He’ll be painting while I write, sort of an artistic-coop program.

Jason M Bryan

Jason M Bryan

Ken Foster

Ken Foster

The city is so pretty

Lights and gutters, people living on dreams and others out of hope. The city attracts so many types of people and concentrates them in a little bubble of concrete, glass, and steel. Having lived in the suburbs for most of my life, at 30 I chose to immerse myself in a new culture.

Talk about personal growth!

Having lived in the downtown core of Vancouver for 5 years, 3 1/2 without a car, I can now say that urban life is very fluid. The atmosphere changes from block to block, during a 10 minute walk you can witness people from such diverse backgrounds and social classes, all generally shuffling around doing the same things, looking for something to entertain themselves with. One minute you can walk by a crackhead in psychosis, head down, looking for any change dropped or a butt to smoke, next minute you’ll be passed by a hustling girl in yoga pants, her ass cheeks rhythmically bouncing and catching your eyes for a moment or three. Models walking little dogs, puddles of vomit, BMWs singing as they pass, shopping carts crashing on loose pavement.

It is a lot easier to find beauty and peace in chaos than to find ugliness in beauty and tranquility, the city breathes pollution of all sorts and exhales human experience.