|
Citizens
- Jason
Anarchic in spirit, Classical Liberal in the membrane,
and lower-cased-reactionary in rhetoric, this Jason Mohica
best be on your hit-list because he of the kinda-bare body
on this page will one day be the President of the United States—for
real-ish (not even in a Beastie Boys video kind of way.) A
lover of spy shit, all womankind, palatable porn, international
travel (try him—Rome, Tokyo, Casablanca, Auschwitz!),
politics, scary countries, candy, alcohol (and seducing the
sultry Diabetes gods with combinations of candy and alcohol
as major food groups of the day), and mid-century modern knick-knacks,
Mohica—on a good day—is what our parents would smile
and nod at and declare a “one of a kind.” After
all, this quintessential-Gemini is full of those zany contradictions
we love to get assaulted with—for instance, he’s
misleadingly soft-spoken at first (to girls) but has been
known to get in a few un-fancy brawls in his time; he shoots
guns but is a sucker for a faggy art film and a mod dance
party; he’s half-Mexican and half-Eurosomething.
When he isn’t daydreaming about himself circa 2026—in
a dark suit, with a secret, in a neo-James-Bond Vice City,
where as a senior CIA operative the key to cracking the code
lies between the legs of his favorite, heavily-accented, nymphomaniacal
brown women—Jason can be very easily found in the
halls of academia as a freshman political science-BA-candidatešand
at the highly-ripe, but-not-rotten age of 30! Look, the man’s
past simply did not allow edumacation—he spent his late-adolescence
fronting punk rock outfit The Fighters and then the ska-punk
Eclectics. Then came his entrepreneurial stints running Jinx
Café and Big Brother Video back in pre-Real-World Wicker
Park. Then he sold them and sought solace among pretty fonts
and picas in the graphic design hustle. Then he boiled the
blood of the auction world. Hell, the man has delivered pizzas,
he’s “modeled” for Maxim, he even started
his own church. (Naturally, they worshipped Satan.)
But most relevant of all, young Mohica is known for this very
thing, The
Modernist, the always-generously-lubed brains-and-body-whoring
operation that’s spun off a Society
as well as a cult. Much like Charlie Manson, after all, Mohica
is most in his element when arguing fervently about extremist
political crap no one but him understands—usually to
the group who understands it the least, his Girls, groupies
of blank-eyed nicely-stacked underage drunk/stoned females
who probably had no/hated their daddies.
And so on what occasion do these stills come to you? Well,
the former-item known as MerMo (Mohicury/Mercica, etc) spent
a January last year in Los Angeles. We stayed at the Saharan
Motor Inn, a seedy dumpy Hollywood motel known for nothing
at all but its wacky 60s neon signage. Like L.A. itself, it
was our kind of gross. We spied on prostitutes, ate “animal
style” at Inn N Out, aimlessly explored the fruitless
long limbs of the Pacific Coast Highway, and wore out basically
all of LA’s naughtier bits. And we took some pictures.
While Mohica is joining the Citizen tradition of giving it
almost all away (no full frontal—sorry ladies, boys),
this is as much a bare-all look at the man behind the baring-it-all-of-others
as we could muster. J-Mo-undone here once again puts the good
in the goods. Oh, and the goo. There’s some goo in those
goods too, I’d say. Oh yeah. Oh sigh.
-Kiki Mercury
Photos by Kiki Mercury.
Ladies & gentlemen: Would you like
to nominate yourself or someone you know to be a Citizen?
Please contact us at citizens@themodernist.com
|
