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Bobby and I were sitting on my floor, smoking a joint and listening to jazz records. We had just spent some time admiring paintings by that famous artist who killed herself. Bobby was telling me about this movie he made with his friend Timmy. I didn't know Timmy very well at all, and was certain that he didn't know who I was, either, even though we had both slept with the same guy Johnny, who broke my heart. Bobby told me that in fact Timmy did know me, and had mentioned me to Bobby. While they were making their movie (an erotic--soft-core--art film, about power dynamics and aesthetic dynamics). Bobby said that Timmy brought me up, because Johnny had told him that he slept with me. Bobby said only that Johnny was talking about me, mentioned that we had slept together. I said I was surprised that Johnny mentioned it, especially to Timmy. I said that I naturally assumed that Johnny would have been embarrassed to have slept with me (so many times). I said he probably didn't want that known, and I was touched, in a way, that he told Timmy. I wasn't so touched that Timmy told Bobby. I didn't ask what Johnny said about me. Whether he said if I was any good in bed or not. I knew I wasn't. Not then. I was ashamed at my performances with Johnny, and felt some secret regret that he never caught me at the right time. In the years since then, I did have the opportunity to show off, to Johnny, how great I am.
5/23/13
Get in, get in. Get in, get in, get in.
Last night I saw Chain and the Gang and Calvin Johnson perform in Brooklyn. I've actually never seen Ian Svenonius perform live before. He was, of course, the fucking greatest. I had no idea the Gang was such a great band as well. I really liked it, it sort of made their record make sense to me. Mr. Svenonius is a punk icon and someone who's work means a lot to me. His books are fantastically inspiring. I've had a crush on him ever since I thought I might be queer (for quite a while now, obviously). He put on a great show! I feel smarter.
And Calvin Johnson performed. I had wondered what the crowd would be like. Would it be old record collector types? Straight couples in their 40s? Would it be punk rock chicks? Twee indie kids with fussy bangs and summertime sweaters? It was all of these and more. The crowd skewed a bit younger than I would have thought. I felt kind of old? It was so nuts, though, to see what I imagine to be college students, who knew the words to all these Hive Dwellers songs. Maybe it's not that weird. He played last, and I was exhausted, but it was amazing. He performed acoustic, singing his own songs both old and new, as well as some Hive Dwellers jams. He sang an a capella version of this song, and it basically broke my heart:
GET IN. It's about coloring outside the lines. This has always been Mr. Johnson's MO: to make a place for the freaks, the outsiders, the not-famous, the not-superlative, to congregate and celebrate our difference. Our freakiness. The only barrier to participation in the world of the International Pop Underground is that you have to want to participate. I tend to think of this kind of stuff, these days, as axiomatic of a kind of Buddhism which I assume everyone is familiar with. I think of this as a basic tenet of post-post-modernism, the moment in which we live. But I sometimes forget that I learned this idea from people like Calvin Johnson: that the idea of underground culture is not just some adenoidal stance against mainstream culture for the sake of being uppity; it's actually an embracing of actual lived experience. It's not a thing of "Fuck MTV" but "The records me and my friends are making are more applicable to my life than what's on TV-- plus, they're free."
I guess what I'm saying is that I really love a lot of things about my life in New York. I love almost all the people I run into. I get to see some rad art and I get to be exposed to lots of amazing and inspiring thinkers and people. But New York is also a cultural and capitalist hub. A lot of motherfuckers in this city clearly think that they are very special, and a tremendous amount of power and energy is directed (even by well-meaning, "radical" leftist and ostensibly freaky people) towards maintaining power structures based in exclusivity. A lot of energy is spent making special people feel special by showing them who they are not. A lot of us get comfort from setting up our clique and then deigning to decide who's invited to our table.
So, it means a lot to me to get to see engaging, intelligent, dangerous, funny and sweet art, practiced by an actual Authority on Counter Culture and Punk Rock, whose message is unabashedly inviting. Art which says, above all: GET IN. I feel really good about it. It made me sad that I don't feel that way all the time.
He also played "Love Will Come Back Again" from What Was Me. That song is a favorite of mine of all time, it sounded just as beautiful as when I first heard him perform it, over ten (!) years ago. I remember that tour he did with Little Wings and I think Bobby Birdman, the Come Along tour, where they'd perform in traditional punk rock venues (such as warehouse squats) but also in public parks. I saw them perform a couple times on that tour and it made a huge impression on me. That first solo record of his was very important to me and I was really happy to hear that song from it. It was also cool to see him perform acoustically, to a pretty packed space, with all the lights turned on. Everyone was quiet, except for those who were quietly singing along. A pretty magickal moment, I must say. Very, very different from the theaters, cabarets, nightclubs, and art galleries I imagine I want to be in. A different context which felt familiar. A thing that might not actually be here.
Making a big list of books to read. Do you have book recommendations? I'm looking for book recommendations. Pretty excited that Boy Genius Travis Jeppesen's new book The Suiciders, which you can pre-order HERE.
It's so sexy when you can be crazy and nihilistic and still manage to contain that certain joie de vivre. Just because everything is rotten doesn't mean it's not great. Travis' writing always strikes me as sort of subverting nastiness. Not mean-spirited exactly, but sassy, snarky. That makes it sound more benign than it is. Maybe it's like that Pop Group song, "She is Beyond Good and Evil". There's a kind of energy to his writing which I'm really drawn to and am also a little bit scared of. Can something be morally neutral? Isn't there a D&D term for this? Chaotic Neutral?
I'm excited to read it. Went window shopping last weekend to see the new Comme des Garçons collections, which came out for Golden Week (in Japan). The big new one is the collaboration with the Andy Warhol foundation.
Cute, right? The bags are rad, I don't know how I'd feel about wearing a t-shirt with that print of his face. I once worked with some proximity to the Warhol Foundation and it is absolutely as fabulous as you can imagine, and the licensing is one of the many things they do. I didn't get any of the Warhol x CdG stuff, but did drop by Uniqlo uptown to get some Warhol-printed pajama pants. I was more excited by the Original Denim collection CdG quietly launched at the same time.
The Original Denim cave at Dover St. Market London, designed by Ms Kawakubo.
As much as I'm obviously a die-hard fan, I'm most often interested in and impressed by the late-season shipments, the weird supplemental collections CdG puts out, such as for Golden Week or Christmas. The Original Denim stuff is really cute, OBVIOUSLY. It's basic CdG silhouettes in lightweight medium denim, including work shirts (peter pan collars for girls), backpacks, and the drop-crotch pants. If I hadn't just found some CdG SHIRT denim pants at the Barney's warehouse sale, I would be all-in for these. I'm into the idea of denim as being a genre, right? Like, singing a cabaret version of a heavy metal song makes you wonder about cabaret. CdG's "original denim" idea is cute: recasting the obliquely decorative CdG shapes (newness in design, novelty as luxury, freedom of energy as reward or conceptual payoff) in tough-wearing denim. Like what a Jackson Pollock would wear, right? I remember seeing in an interview between Calvin Johnson and Ian Svenonius, that Calvin was talking about why he's often seen wearing his now-iconic straight-leg denim pants. He traced this to a punk-rock thing of being working class. Denim has this association, still. For the high fashion world, however, the class messages are somewhat washed out in a vague mist of "authenticity". Nothing in CdG is ever so simple, of course. These are great because it's pretending to be simpler than it is. Maybe it is so simple.
Been thinking so, so much about Taylor Dayne recently.
I guess I should say I've been thinking of Teena Marie, and then reminded of how much I like Taylor Dayne. The plaintive, out of touch white diva soul singer. That's a thing, a kind of tragic figure, where the tragedy is entirely in my head. I feel, often, these days, that everything I see is tragic and that I am the only one who can see it. And maybe that is the truly tragic part?
The funkiness of Taylor's voice, though. The hair. The early hair of Taylor Dayne. I want you ungrateful little children to know about this. Fuck whatever some pseudo-celebrity of gender/drag revolution told you on your parents' cable, kids: they're aping miss Taylor Dayne and the moment she comes from. When drama was not a joke.
And for many of us, it still isn't.
And Calvin Johnson performed. I had wondered what the crowd would be like. Would it be old record collector types? Straight couples in their 40s? Would it be punk rock chicks? Twee indie kids with fussy bangs and summertime sweaters? It was all of these and more. The crowd skewed a bit younger than I would have thought. I felt kind of old? It was so nuts, though, to see what I imagine to be college students, who knew the words to all these Hive Dwellers songs. Maybe it's not that weird. He played last, and I was exhausted, but it was amazing. He performed acoustic, singing his own songs both old and new, as well as some Hive Dwellers jams. He sang an a capella version of this song, and it basically broke my heart:
GET IN. It's about coloring outside the lines. This has always been Mr. Johnson's MO: to make a place for the freaks, the outsiders, the not-famous, the not-superlative, to congregate and celebrate our difference. Our freakiness. The only barrier to participation in the world of the International Pop Underground is that you have to want to participate. I tend to think of this kind of stuff, these days, as axiomatic of a kind of Buddhism which I assume everyone is familiar with. I think of this as a basic tenet of post-post-modernism, the moment in which we live. But I sometimes forget that I learned this idea from people like Calvin Johnson: that the idea of underground culture is not just some adenoidal stance against mainstream culture for the sake of being uppity; it's actually an embracing of actual lived experience. It's not a thing of "Fuck MTV" but "The records me and my friends are making are more applicable to my life than what's on TV-- plus, they're free."
I guess what I'm saying is that I really love a lot of things about my life in New York. I love almost all the people I run into. I get to see some rad art and I get to be exposed to lots of amazing and inspiring thinkers and people. But New York is also a cultural and capitalist hub. A lot of motherfuckers in this city clearly think that they are very special, and a tremendous amount of power and energy is directed (even by well-meaning, "radical" leftist and ostensibly freaky people) towards maintaining power structures based in exclusivity. A lot of energy is spent making special people feel special by showing them who they are not. A lot of us get comfort from setting up our clique and then deigning to decide who's invited to our table.
So, it means a lot to me to get to see engaging, intelligent, dangerous, funny and sweet art, practiced by an actual Authority on Counter Culture and Punk Rock, whose message is unabashedly inviting. Art which says, above all: GET IN. I feel really good about it. It made me sad that I don't feel that way all the time.
He also played "Love Will Come Back Again" from What Was Me. That song is a favorite of mine of all time, it sounded just as beautiful as when I first heard him perform it, over ten (!) years ago. I remember that tour he did with Little Wings and I think Bobby Birdman, the Come Along tour, where they'd perform in traditional punk rock venues (such as warehouse squats) but also in public parks. I saw them perform a couple times on that tour and it made a huge impression on me. That first solo record of his was very important to me and I was really happy to hear that song from it. It was also cool to see him perform acoustically, to a pretty packed space, with all the lights turned on. Everyone was quiet, except for those who were quietly singing along. A pretty magickal moment, I must say. Very, very different from the theaters, cabarets, nightclubs, and art galleries I imagine I want to be in. A different context which felt familiar. A thing that might not actually be here.
Making a big list of books to read. Do you have book recommendations? I'm looking for book recommendations. Pretty excited that Boy Genius Travis Jeppesen's new book The Suiciders, which you can pre-order HERE.
It's so sexy when you can be crazy and nihilistic and still manage to contain that certain joie de vivre. Just because everything is rotten doesn't mean it's not great. Travis' writing always strikes me as sort of subverting nastiness. Not mean-spirited exactly, but sassy, snarky. That makes it sound more benign than it is. Maybe it's like that Pop Group song, "She is Beyond Good and Evil". There's a kind of energy to his writing which I'm really drawn to and am also a little bit scared of. Can something be morally neutral? Isn't there a D&D term for this? Chaotic Neutral?
I'm excited to read it. Went window shopping last weekend to see the new Comme des Garçons collections, which came out for Golden Week (in Japan). The big new one is the collaboration with the Andy Warhol foundation.
Cute, right? The bags are rad, I don't know how I'd feel about wearing a t-shirt with that print of his face. I once worked with some proximity to the Warhol Foundation and it is absolutely as fabulous as you can imagine, and the licensing is one of the many things they do. I didn't get any of the Warhol x CdG stuff, but did drop by Uniqlo uptown to get some Warhol-printed pajama pants. I was more excited by the Original Denim collection CdG quietly launched at the same time.
The Original Denim cave at Dover St. Market London, designed by Ms Kawakubo.
As much as I'm obviously a die-hard fan, I'm most often interested in and impressed by the late-season shipments, the weird supplemental collections CdG puts out, such as for Golden Week or Christmas. The Original Denim stuff is really cute, OBVIOUSLY. It's basic CdG silhouettes in lightweight medium denim, including work shirts (peter pan collars for girls), backpacks, and the drop-crotch pants. If I hadn't just found some CdG SHIRT denim pants at the Barney's warehouse sale, I would be all-in for these. I'm into the idea of denim as being a genre, right? Like, singing a cabaret version of a heavy metal song makes you wonder about cabaret. CdG's "original denim" idea is cute: recasting the obliquely decorative CdG shapes (newness in design, novelty as luxury, freedom of energy as reward or conceptual payoff) in tough-wearing denim. Like what a Jackson Pollock would wear, right? I remember seeing in an interview between Calvin Johnson and Ian Svenonius, that Calvin was talking about why he's often seen wearing his now-iconic straight-leg denim pants. He traced this to a punk-rock thing of being working class. Denim has this association, still. For the high fashion world, however, the class messages are somewhat washed out in a vague mist of "authenticity". Nothing in CdG is ever so simple, of course. These are great because it's pretending to be simpler than it is. Maybe it is so simple.
Been thinking so, so much about Taylor Dayne recently.
I guess I should say I've been thinking of Teena Marie, and then reminded of how much I like Taylor Dayne. The plaintive, out of touch white diva soul singer. That's a thing, a kind of tragic figure, where the tragedy is entirely in my head. I feel, often, these days, that everything I see is tragic and that I am the only one who can see it. And maybe that is the truly tragic part?
The funkiness of Taylor's voice, though. The hair. The early hair of Taylor Dayne. I want you ungrateful little children to know about this. Fuck whatever some pseudo-celebrity of gender/drag revolution told you on your parents' cable, kids: they're aping miss Taylor Dayne and the moment she comes from. When drama was not a joke.
And for many of us, it still isn't.
5/22/13
Monday night B0DYH1GH performed, I think we did a pretty excellent set. Jason & Jill and the new band MESSS also did fantastic jobs. I definitely had too much fun and didn't sleep enough. Last night I went to Caroline's awesome Mindfulness Meditation class at the Spectrum. It's every Tuesday night and it's free (donation-based, please donate) and it's at a rad queer arts space near my house. Please see the FB Page for more info about the series HERE.
I forgot that this Saturday I'm going to see PLANNINGTOROCK at the DFA Records anniversary show. There are tons of really greta bands and DJs performing, but I only really care about PTR. She's maybe my favorite musician/band that's alive and making new music today? Is that creepy? I think she's performed in New York only one other time, in like 2007, which I missed.
MIsxgyny Drxp Dead - Planningtorock from planningtorock on Vimeo.
I forgot I bought tickets and I keep remembering and I'm so excited!
I keep running out of ways, it feels like, to express this feeling. I think maybe I'm scared to vent certain opinions because I think that if people knew I felt a certain way they wouldn't want to be my friend? So fascinated, still, with this idea of rage as a generative thing. I'm into this idea of righteous anger, anger that maybe looks like a smile, or sounds like a song. Some new name for a kind of energy, or something.
I'm really frustrated. I have a hard time thinking of why or how to express it. Is it okay to be a brat for a second? I wish things could alternately stay exactly the same as they were in the past, while, at the same time, allowing for the past to be totally destroyed. I want to own history and I want to be the only one who does!
I'm so tired of pretending that we are more noble and more complex and more fascinating than we really are. I'm becoming narcoleptic, having to wait for people to come around. For it to dawn on them the way it's been glaringly obvious to me. But you can't just tell a person: "you're acting this way because you feel sore about stuff that happened to you when you were a kid." People aren't equipped to hear that. Maybe I should become a psychoanalyst. I feel like I have no good ideas for music or performance or writing or being a person anymore and I want to cease existing. Nobunny cares. No records feel good to listen to, but I have to. At the gym, listen to music, because I can't deal with the radio station the gym owners play.
I wonder sometimes about this cool-kid thing. This attention thing. This myth that getting famous, getting paid will solve your problems or somehow make your "Real life" begin. That once you make it, things will be rosy. That's a fucking bummer. I don't know. Not that getting attention and success isn't great. Not that I don't ache for those things, too. Not that I don't ache to have a perfect life where I am adored by strangers, I do. I do want those things. But this idea that that (fame, attention, success, money, love) is what it would take for you to be happy, that's dangerous. Because that might not ever come. Or come in the way you want it to. Or, worse yet, it might come and then might leave, the way everything man-made does. Where would you be then?
I'm tired of feeling like a loser for not prioritizing those things, and I am tired of feeling like a loser when I do prioritize those things. I guess I'm tired of feeling like a loser. But it's ok to be a loser! That is my whole point. Maybe I'm tired of being tired. Going to see a show tonight which I'm quite excited about, so there's something to look forward to.
I forgot that this Saturday I'm going to see PLANNINGTOROCK at the DFA Records anniversary show. There are tons of really greta bands and DJs performing, but I only really care about PTR. She's maybe my favorite musician/band that's alive and making new music today? Is that creepy? I think she's performed in New York only one other time, in like 2007, which I missed.
MIsxgyny Drxp Dead - Planningtorock from planningtorock on Vimeo.
I forgot I bought tickets and I keep remembering and I'm so excited!
I keep running out of ways, it feels like, to express this feeling. I think maybe I'm scared to vent certain opinions because I think that if people knew I felt a certain way they wouldn't want to be my friend? So fascinated, still, with this idea of rage as a generative thing. I'm into this idea of righteous anger, anger that maybe looks like a smile, or sounds like a song. Some new name for a kind of energy, or something.
I'm really frustrated. I have a hard time thinking of why or how to express it. Is it okay to be a brat for a second? I wish things could alternately stay exactly the same as they were in the past, while, at the same time, allowing for the past to be totally destroyed. I want to own history and I want to be the only one who does!
I'm so tired of pretending that we are more noble and more complex and more fascinating than we really are. I'm becoming narcoleptic, having to wait for people to come around. For it to dawn on them the way it's been glaringly obvious to me. But you can't just tell a person: "you're acting this way because you feel sore about stuff that happened to you when you were a kid." People aren't equipped to hear that. Maybe I should become a psychoanalyst. I feel like I have no good ideas for music or performance or writing or being a person anymore and I want to cease existing. Nobunny cares. No records feel good to listen to, but I have to. At the gym, listen to music, because I can't deal with the radio station the gym owners play.
I wonder sometimes about this cool-kid thing. This attention thing. This myth that getting famous, getting paid will solve your problems or somehow make your "Real life" begin. That once you make it, things will be rosy. That's a fucking bummer. I don't know. Not that getting attention and success isn't great. Not that I don't ache for those things, too. Not that I don't ache to have a perfect life where I am adored by strangers, I do. I do want those things. But this idea that that (fame, attention, success, money, love) is what it would take for you to be happy, that's dangerous. Because that might not ever come. Or come in the way you want it to. Or, worse yet, it might come and then might leave, the way everything man-made does. Where would you be then?
I'm tired of feeling like a loser for not prioritizing those things, and I am tired of feeling like a loser when I do prioritize those things. I guess I'm tired of feeling like a loser. But it's ok to be a loser! That is my whole point. Maybe I'm tired of being tired. Going to see a show tonight which I'm quite excited about, so there's something to look forward to.
5/20/13
2 Jams
TONIGHT B0DYH1GH is performing at Earl Dax' new Monday night party FRIENDS & FAMILY at Hotel Chantelle. I'm very excited because B0DYH1GH hasn't played for a while, and the occasion for the show is dear heart Ben Ha'Bear's blessèd birthday. The other acts are all duos and good friends: MESSS (Mikki and Brian of JUDY) and JASON & JILL, who we're totally obsessed with. It's free at in the basement and will be so much fun. You can see details on the FB page HERE.
ALSO, the video from the ENCOURAGER performance is in! Here is a clip from the show, the "Narcissus" section:
I'm debating putting the whole show online. Maybe another little clip, later on.
I have a toothache that I've had since Friday night. I'm freaking out. I hate it.
ALSO, the video from the ENCOURAGER performance is in! Here is a clip from the show, the "Narcissus" section:
I'm debating putting the whole show online. Maybe another little clip, later on.
I have a toothache that I've had since Friday night. I'm freaking out. I hate it.
5/14/13
Look. At a millionaire.
On the train home from work today, I was reading in the New Yorker about Anarchists. Modern-day ones. Like old hippies but different. I felt sort of suburban.
So, big news you guys. And long-delayed. There're two rad books that my friends put out and I think you should get.
Poet Warrior and Real Girl Kayla just put out her zine, Snakebite, featuring drawings by Crystal. It's definitely required. I'm biased; I'm a big fan of Kayla's work already, but I'm also specifically impressed with these. You should write her and get a copy now.
And also, Jeffery Self's second book, Straight People: A Spotter's Guide to the Fascinating World of the Heterosexual just came out. Technically it's his first book, I think? Because his other book 50 Shades of Gay came out more recently. I know that he has been working on this new book for a minute, and while I haven't had the opportunity to read it yet (my copy's still shipping), I am really into miss Jeffery as the Californian Authoress, slyly deconstructing so-called SoCal American culture or whatever, like Joan Didion. I think it's rad that he's put these books out. I've always admired Jeffery's writing. He's a really great writer, like in his solo show People I Slept With (Who Never Called Me Back). I'm 'xcited by that.
Recently I was riding the subway around Happy Hour, and this drunk guy was yelling at people. He yelled at some guy in the car and said "Look. At a millionaire." I thought that was cool. Because in New York, in 2013, you never know. I didn't know. I mean, I knew, but I wasn't sure. Because you never know, right?
Went to the opening of the new Tracy Emin show, I Followed You To The Sun. I went on my way to see my analyst, because I had an hour to kill in between work and my analysis appointment. So in a way it was perfect timing.
Lonely Chair Drawing V
Awesome. I've totally been there. I don't love Tracey Emin's work. I think it is kind of loveless actually? Am I allowed to say that? There's something, again, suburban about me but I feel like the young British artists are rich, right? Not like they were all super rich before they got famous (though) but like now they're all super rich and successful right? Not to generalize. And not to be like being rich is bad or something. I feel like there are a lot of things I love about Tracey Emin's work. Maybe I love where it intersects with time and place and context or whatever. I love her choices, most of the time. I just think that I would not love the work in the sense of wanting to be it/in it/having made it. It seems like a bummer, right?
That's How You Make Me Feel
a Feeling of Past
Anyway I'm super glad I went. It prompted a lot for me for analysis, for sure.
She Kept Crying
She kept crying. If only. Later on this weekend I went to the Carolee Schneemann show at PPOW Gallery. It was pretty amazeballs, of course. The new installation was maybe a little crusty, dreamy. There's some older work as well, it's just like-- being near a Volcano? Or like some ancient Greek oracle or something. At the opening I said to my friend that Schneemann is like Elvis. I feel like she is. Like, in some circles, for some people, you cannot fuck with her. I'm in that circle, I think. We went upstairs to see the Laurel Nakadate show Strangers and Relations which I liked a lot. It was a cool concept, and I thought the photos were really gorgeous. Creepy and gorgeous. The horse one is a favorite, I bet it's kind of the hit of the show.
The superbig fun of the weekend was the Comme des Garçons sale. I spent a lot of money, I went almost every day including early and I still regret not buying more. I wonder if they will do it again in a few years. My goal was to get these yellow plaid CdG CdG pants from a few years back and get the multi-waisted Ganryu CdG jeans and a bag and a coat, but I tried the pants and they were kind of disgusting on me, and they didn't have the Ganryu jeans in my size. But still I made out like a bandit. I am very happy.
I went to see Jillian Pena's show at BAX over the weekend and liked it very much. I've admired Jillian from afar for a while, and hearing her talk about her process over the last year was really incredible. I saw earlier iterations of this piece, and was blown away each time. The newest version was paired with a new video, and I don't know. There's something very funny and brave and sort of but not exactly sweet about the way her work seems to function. I cannot imagine being one of her dancers. It seems superhuman. I was very impressed by all involved.
I had a meeting with the other artists in residence about the year, our shows, moving on to next year. It was wistful and sweet the weather this weekend was really nice (on Sunday) but I was so sick! I felt like I had the flu, almost. An insane cough which is only now getting better. I did take yesterday off of work.
I went to Erin and Becca's house over the weekend to play apples to apples and drink champagne and eat these really insane cookies they made. I ate too many cookies. It was bliss. I lost both rounds of the game. The first round by only one point (maybe two) and the second round by many points. I couldn't focus because I was too busy eating cookies and washing them down with champagne.
And then last night I saw this reading organized by Emily of Emily Books with Sarah Schulman and Barbara Browning at Housing Works. It was as Emily said, a reminder of why it's so great to live in New York. It was free and open to the public and featured really awesome writers reading their work and talking about it, with relation to the question What is the Queer Novel? Barbara Browning's reading was really cool, and included a description of this scene from Chantal Akerman's documentary about Pina Bausch Un Jour Pina a Demandé:
The Man I love - Pina BAUSCH by birdy66
Gorgeous, no? Sarah Schulman read from her latest book Empathy, which I liked very much. There's a kind of productivity to thought, even what one might think of as anxiety, which she's able to demonstrate. I admire this tremendously. I don't think it's just a matter of force of intellect, it seems to involve a kind of patience, specially-skilled eyes or ears, something. In the conversation, Schulman spoke of writing which includes it's discovery, it's revelation of itself. She said: "If you already know what you want to say, there's no point in writing it." And my heart sang. I felt like I was given permission, or something. That this was not a function of unskilled or disorganized thinking; that this was in fact what good writers like Sarah Schulman did. I felt vindicated, in a way. She wasn't saying not to edit, she was just saying that the reason for writing would be, must be in the writing itself. That felt really right to me.
Hers and Ms Browning's I'm Trying to Reach You are also two more books to pick up. Wow. So many rad books. I was telling someone today that I was listening to records, and I realized how old-fashioned that makes me sound. But I do, actually listen to records and I do read actual books and not just to be fussy, because that's what's around.
At one point in the reading I think a recipe had come up for crescent rolls and 3 musketeers bars? Is that right? Can that be real?
Over the weekend, we met these two foreign guys at the bar who were real nice and social and really wanted to get to know us. I had a strange feeling, like something weird or bad was going to happen. They followed us and struck up conversation. I blamed it on the fact that my friend was showing off his impressive physique in a spring/summer ensemble but I quickly apologized for perpetuating rape culture. He looked good as is his right nay obligation. The foreign guys had no reason, no occasion, I thought, to bug us. Thinking we were cute tripped me OUT. So they followed us and sat with us and mentioned something about listening to TLC and how I'm probably too young to remember the 1990s. I told the guys how old I am, and though they're only a pair of years younger than I am they reacted really strongly. They were surprised, i guess, about how "good" I looked for my age. That made me tremendously uncomfortable, because I know it means that they were then looking for the thing that would give away my age, right? Like, being only 18 months older, I'd have some weird wrinkle that only shows up when I laugh, or something. I wonder at what angle, making what expression will they think I finally look old.
I ran into this friend of mine who, the last time I saw him, had gotten some bad news. And this time when I saw him, he told me that after he saw me last time, he got more bad news. Last time, his lover broke up with him, and this time it's that right after his lover broke up with him, his room mate asked him to find a new place to live. This guy can't catch a break! I told him maybe it was because of the eclipses. But he always seems like he's in a good mood. He's always very nice to me.
5/8/13
Covered in Hope and Vaseline
So I went on a juice fast and it only lasted 24 measly hours. I'm sure some people experience enhanced mental clarity, increased physical energy, heightened concentration, and emotional buoyancy, but not me. I was miserable and exhausted, so I quit. I am still trying to not have caffeine for two days in a row (maté doesn't count, natch, it's a different chemical). I felt really sad? But I don't know if I can blame that on the fast.
So I went to meditation class and it was pretty great. I did have a harder time concentrating than usual. My stomach was growling. I came home and I broke my fast, gloriously, with baked yams and carrot soup and papaya. I don't know whats up with me where somehow all of the food I'm drawn to eating is orange. Doubtlessly subconscious. What is it? What does β-carotene signify, I wonder, to my unconscious? Is it a thing of needing sunlight? For some reason all of the foods I want to eat fall within the same color range.
I guess I'm just skeptical that my body knows what's best. I believe in the dictum to "Listen to your body". I think most people need to be more in tune with our bodies. I think our bodies have a lot to teach us. I don't know if my body, really, knows best, though. All I want to eat is orange and all I want to wear is green and black and blue.
So I went to meditation class and it was pretty great. I did have a harder time concentrating than usual. My stomach was growling. I came home and I broke my fast, gloriously, with baked yams and carrot soup and papaya. I don't know whats up with me where somehow all of the food I'm drawn to eating is orange. Doubtlessly subconscious. What is it? What does β-carotene signify, I wonder, to my unconscious? Is it a thing of needing sunlight? For some reason all of the foods I want to eat fall within the same color range.
I guess I'm just skeptical that my body knows what's best. I believe in the dictum to "Listen to your body". I think most people need to be more in tune with our bodies. I think our bodies have a lot to teach us. I don't know if my body, really, knows best, though. All I want to eat is orange and all I want to wear is green and black and blue.
5/7/13
I want to disappear, but there aren't enough ways to do it. I want to disappear into people. To point to the places where the seams end: "Look!" I'd say, excited, "it's already happening!"
I said: "I don't know what I want. Nothing appeals to me." I was hoping that he'd make me an offer. That he'd think maybe I had just overlooked him or his thing, and that if he drew my attention to it, it might be thing I need. I want to meet someone who thinks they have what I need, and for once they'll be right. Maybe I'm not making myself emotionally available enough. Or have made myself too available, wasted my capacity. I'd read those stories, in high school, about aging gay porn stars, with destroyed bodies. Impotent, sure, speckled with carcinoma, with mouths, throats, assholes all busted, loosened. I want to think that my indecision would be attractive but I know it's not. I know I come across like a brat, I wish I didn't know it. I wish I thought I was the coolest, most plugged-in and attractive person. I wish I didn't know the awful truth about myself and I wish I didn't know it was usually true for everyone else too. I wish I didn't learn it about myself first. Maybe I didn't, actually. But hindsight's always 20/20. I recently had a conversation with someone I don't know very well, and I told her that I get nervous, just like anyone does, introducing myself to a handsome stranger in a bar. I told her I feel insecure, just like the rest of the world. She laughed in my face and said that it's silly for me to be insecure because I am attractive. It didn't make me feel amazing, or very attractive. It made me think how cute she was. I felt pretty guilty.
So much wasted time. It stinks!
I said: "I don't know what I want. Nothing appeals to me." I was hoping that he'd make me an offer. That he'd think maybe I had just overlooked him or his thing, and that if he drew my attention to it, it might be thing I need. I want to meet someone who thinks they have what I need, and for once they'll be right. Maybe I'm not making myself emotionally available enough. Or have made myself too available, wasted my capacity. I'd read those stories, in high school, about aging gay porn stars, with destroyed bodies. Impotent, sure, speckled with carcinoma, with mouths, throats, assholes all busted, loosened. I want to think that my indecision would be attractive but I know it's not. I know I come across like a brat, I wish I didn't know it. I wish I thought I was the coolest, most plugged-in and attractive person. I wish I didn't know the awful truth about myself and I wish I didn't know it was usually true for everyone else too. I wish I didn't learn it about myself first. Maybe I didn't, actually. But hindsight's always 20/20. I recently had a conversation with someone I don't know very well, and I told her that I get nervous, just like anyone does, introducing myself to a handsome stranger in a bar. I told her I feel insecure, just like the rest of the world. She laughed in my face and said that it's silly for me to be insecure because I am attractive. It didn't make me feel amazing, or very attractive. It made me think how cute she was. I felt pretty guilty.
So much wasted time. It stinks!
I'm trying to do a two-day juice fast/cleanse. I ate dinner last night at 6pm and have had nothing but water and green tea since then. It's miserable. Over the last month I feel like I've been stress-eating, or just not taking the most amazing care of myself, and I wanted to give my system a little rest. I also want to have no caffeine or other substances in me, just for a minute, just to see. I'm on my third glass of green juice. It's expensive and I'm bored and irritable. The goal is to go 48 hours. I don't know if I can make it. Tonight I'm going to do some light exercise at the gym then go to Caroline's awesome meditation class at the Spectrum. Tomorrow I want to go to a yoga class, which I haven't done in a very long time. I feel like I'm kind of losing my will, though. I may break the fast tonigh. I hate fasting. I'm starving. Alright.
Last night I saw the Breeders perform Last Splash, which was like a dream. I've had the phenomenal good luck to see them a few times in the last couple of years, but it's always to promote their new record, so it was cool to see the album played, as if like one long song. I also got to hear them do songs I never thought I'd get to see performed live. "Hag" is one of my absolute favorite songs. It was weird because I felt like the crowd was all weirdly invested in the show. I mean, we all love that record. It's meant to much to so many people. For the encore they played a bunch of older songs, including some jams from Pod which I was definitely not expecting. Totally wonderful. A wonderful night.
I've been really obsessed with Teena Marie lately. Kind of for a while. There's something about her relationship to culture, identity, race, genre that's so interesting to me. She identified as a black artist with white skin. But like, in the 1980s, and totally straight-faced. And she was kind of taken seriously in that regard. It's kind of baffling to me, and I love her records so much. I can't stop.
I do want to harp on one last thing about the show I did. In ever performance, I ask an audience member to come up on stage and discuss their keychains with me. People are nervous to do it. I forget that people get freaked out so easily. I don't want my last post to seem to unnecessarily bratty, and I was thinking about how every night I did get fantastic volunteers (eventually), and how grateful I was. The first night, rising NYC comedy and performance legend Becky Eklund came up. The second night writer and Stonewall rioter Jim Fouratt came up, and the third night, international icon of stage, screen and teen dream Erin Markey came up. This seems a metric. I feel so lucky! It was kind of the highlight; that these people came at all to my shows (wow!) and that they were eager enough or pitied me enough to come onstage. It makes me feel good.
Friday night I went back to BAX to see Love/Forté's show Memory Withholdings, which I really liked. I've seen them develop the piece along a couple of different fronts throughout the year. And I know that, independently of one another, they're both tremendously accomplished and busy choreographers, dancers, teachers, people. I was curious to see how they could sort of bring all the themes, motifs, elements of their project together. And I was really happy to see how it turned out. The piece is, to my mind, about constructing and inhabiting a narrative. I was struck with the motif of distance. I sometimes think of time-travel as a kind of hokey or staid artistic device, but in Love/Forté's newest work, the influence of the past, the inevitability of one's destiny are foreboding, scintillating, and impossible to ignore. The weight of history threatens to tear the present moment apart. I was struck with how, as a duo, they managed to portray a kind of pluralism, a multitude of dynamics, without even really dancing in duets for much of the show. I was struck by the visual motifs that reminded me of Butoh, I was touched by the scenery, (a chair and a desk sat sideways on the floor, so that if one dance sat in the chair and looked into the desk, she was leaning on her left side). It was really gratifying for me, personally, since I'd seen elements of the piece workshopped earlier, but I think even without that prior knowledge, anyone coming into the space of that show would have experienced what I did, a kind of tender nudging. An insistent pull, like an undertow, imploring us to keep thinking bigger, longer, farther back. Remember more. Incorporate more. Look further into the future. Listen to more voices. I dug it.
Afterward, PLD and Ptrck the Witch and I went to 11:11, the fantastically glamorous party hosted by Ladyfag and Juliana Huxtable in the Lower East Side. It was fun, but I was kind of exhausted. (The theme of this month's issue is that I am exhausted).
Saturday I saw Becca Blackwell's staging of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" at Ideas City at the New Museum. It starred B.B. as Martha (of course) and Jenn Harris as George and I forgot the names of the other two actors, but they were fantastic! Then I saw Erin give her presentation as part of the NEA 4 residency at the New Museum, which was fun in a different way. I am so proud of both of them. I sneaked home for a minute to get changed, and then went back to the Lower East Side to see Jack Ferver's new show All of a Sudden, which I liked a lot, but it was I must say harrowing in a way that I don't feel like his work has been. For me, in the past. I was into it. It was scary, in a good way. And funny. Afterward PLD and the Irish Horse and Erin and Justin from the Meeting went out for fancy, sort of disgusting cocktails at a karaoke bar in Chinatown, which was a lot of fun.
Sunday I did an interview for a documentary this nice artist boy is making for Taiwanese public TV about gay cruising. I took myself out to lunch then went to Gio Black Peter's Cinco de Mayo party, where there were tons of near and dear friends, including the always glamorous and delightful miss Coco. The party was also the occasion of a video shoot for GBP's new song, and the filming of the video at the party was itself being filmed by a European TV crew who told me they were doing a TV show about "Drugs. And sex." but they told someone else that they were making a show about the current climate of nightlife in NYC, because Michael Alig is getting release from prison soon. It was a trip. I love an early party, though, and was home by 9pm.
I am so totally bored and tired and a little bit angry and I have to believe it's because I haven't eaten anything all day. So I think instead of the gym, I might just go to yoga tonight, then meditate.
Then eat some fucking fruit. I feel weird.
Last night I saw the Breeders perform Last Splash, which was like a dream. I've had the phenomenal good luck to see them a few times in the last couple of years, but it's always to promote their new record, so it was cool to see the album played, as if like one long song. I also got to hear them do songs I never thought I'd get to see performed live. "Hag" is one of my absolute favorite songs. It was weird because I felt like the crowd was all weirdly invested in the show. I mean, we all love that record. It's meant to much to so many people. For the encore they played a bunch of older songs, including some jams from Pod which I was definitely not expecting. Totally wonderful. A wonderful night.
I've been really obsessed with Teena Marie lately. Kind of for a while. There's something about her relationship to culture, identity, race, genre that's so interesting to me. She identified as a black artist with white skin. But like, in the 1980s, and totally straight-faced. And she was kind of taken seriously in that regard. It's kind of baffling to me, and I love her records so much. I can't stop.
I do want to harp on one last thing about the show I did. In ever performance, I ask an audience member to come up on stage and discuss their keychains with me. People are nervous to do it. I forget that people get freaked out so easily. I don't want my last post to seem to unnecessarily bratty, and I was thinking about how every night I did get fantastic volunteers (eventually), and how grateful I was. The first night, rising NYC comedy and performance legend Becky Eklund came up. The second night writer and Stonewall rioter Jim Fouratt came up, and the third night, international icon of stage, screen and teen dream Erin Markey came up. This seems a metric. I feel so lucky! It was kind of the highlight; that these people came at all to my shows (wow!) and that they were eager enough or pitied me enough to come onstage. It makes me feel good.
Friday night I went back to BAX to see Love/Forté's show Memory Withholdings, which I really liked. I've seen them develop the piece along a couple of different fronts throughout the year. And I know that, independently of one another, they're both tremendously accomplished and busy choreographers, dancers, teachers, people. I was curious to see how they could sort of bring all the themes, motifs, elements of their project together. And I was really happy to see how it turned out. The piece is, to my mind, about constructing and inhabiting a narrative. I was struck with the motif of distance. I sometimes think of time-travel as a kind of hokey or staid artistic device, but in Love/Forté's newest work, the influence of the past, the inevitability of one's destiny are foreboding, scintillating, and impossible to ignore. The weight of history threatens to tear the present moment apart. I was struck with how, as a duo, they managed to portray a kind of pluralism, a multitude of dynamics, without even really dancing in duets for much of the show. I was struck by the visual motifs that reminded me of Butoh, I was touched by the scenery, (a chair and a desk sat sideways on the floor, so that if one dance sat in the chair and looked into the desk, she was leaning on her left side). It was really gratifying for me, personally, since I'd seen elements of the piece workshopped earlier, but I think even without that prior knowledge, anyone coming into the space of that show would have experienced what I did, a kind of tender nudging. An insistent pull, like an undertow, imploring us to keep thinking bigger, longer, farther back. Remember more. Incorporate more. Look further into the future. Listen to more voices. I dug it.
Afterward, PLD and Ptrck the Witch and I went to 11:11, the fantastically glamorous party hosted by Ladyfag and Juliana Huxtable in the Lower East Side. It was fun, but I was kind of exhausted. (The theme of this month's issue is that I am exhausted).
Saturday I saw Becca Blackwell's staging of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" at Ideas City at the New Museum. It starred B.B. as Martha (of course) and Jenn Harris as George and I forgot the names of the other two actors, but they were fantastic! Then I saw Erin give her presentation as part of the NEA 4 residency at the New Museum, which was fun in a different way. I am so proud of both of them. I sneaked home for a minute to get changed, and then went back to the Lower East Side to see Jack Ferver's new show All of a Sudden, which I liked a lot, but it was I must say harrowing in a way that I don't feel like his work has been. For me, in the past. I was into it. It was scary, in a good way. And funny. Afterward PLD and the Irish Horse and Erin and Justin from the Meeting went out for fancy, sort of disgusting cocktails at a karaoke bar in Chinatown, which was a lot of fun.
Sunday I did an interview for a documentary this nice artist boy is making for Taiwanese public TV about gay cruising. I took myself out to lunch then went to Gio Black Peter's Cinco de Mayo party, where there were tons of near and dear friends, including the always glamorous and delightful miss Coco. The party was also the occasion of a video shoot for GBP's new song, and the filming of the video at the party was itself being filmed by a European TV crew who told me they were doing a TV show about "Drugs. And sex." but they told someone else that they were making a show about the current climate of nightlife in NYC, because Michael Alig is getting release from prison soon. It was a trip. I love an early party, though, and was home by 9pm.
I am so totally bored and tired and a little bit angry and I have to believe it's because I haven't eaten anything all day. So I think instead of the gym, I might just go to yoga tonight, then meditate.
Then eat some fucking fruit. I feel weird.
5/1/13
It's hard; let's choose.
Someone, two people actually, who don't (I don't think) know each other, or even really know me well enough to know how much it'd mean to me, mentioned the idea that I might be sad now that this show is over. It had not occurred to me that I might get sad, and I'm a little irked that they're right!
Of course, I want to say how really grateful I am. How totally, absolutely flabbergasted I am by the response I got. I asked so many people to come, and most of them did. My dear friends. Friends who are not so dear. Even total strangers. Some people came because they were curious, or they got dragged by other people.
Only one person, on Sunday night, sat in the front row and texted. But you're entitled to do that, I suppose, if you're bored. That person sucks and is sad inside. I felt bad for him. I wonder if he could tell how much I pitied him.
I'm trying to stay Positive! and grateful for the 100 or so people who came to see the work and seemed to get it. I wish, of course, that people who book performance had come. But you can't win them all. I can't. I'm proud of my work, and I'm proud of myself for doing it.
It was also a tremendously painful process, so I'm really glad it's over. I want to do it again! And bigger! I feel so weird. Like I bared my soul.
I feel like that time we had a psychedelic trip, and I let out my absolute worst qualities in front of my friends. And most of them are still my friends. It's not so bad.
This morning on the train I was stuck underground momentarily. I think I have only myself to blame. I flipped a coin about this before I left the house this morning. The coin said Heads, take the M. But it seemed hesitant, so I asked the Internet and the computer said to take the L, it's faster. But not now, slow and sick, full of toxic passengers. It clots, underground. We're in here listening to fuzzy bass headphones, sipping foamed milk and coughing, sniffling from our pollen allergies. We're down here just waiting for summer. Boiling. Impatient.
I wish I knew the I Ching. How to throw it. At my last job, my coworker (whom I would later come to like very much) threw it for me on my first or second day. I got something about being self-sabotaging, overgenerous and vulnerable. My coworker said "Hmm... I don't know if this is so true, for you." I was insulted, but must admit she had a point. I ended up, though, staying at that job much longer than I should have, becoming totally miserable and kind of fulfilling that I Ching reading. I also once got a tarot reading that basically predicted the catastrophic dental fuck-up I had at the dental school. What other signs have I been given? Maybe I missed something along the way. It definitely feels like that.
My horoscope this week says that I should stop kidding myself. Admit, it says, admit how much I hate myself. Let it out. As if we need the little push. Encourager. Exhortations from the west coast. I don't know this psychic astrologer but I know people who do. I know people who pay her hundreds of dollars just to talk on the phone. So I'm glad to get it for free, even if it's unpleasant, bad news.
TWO GREAT IDEAS:
1) Spend time with someone who loves you. Not a friend. Don't spend the night. Just be around someone who might be in love with you. You know, in that book, movie, TV show, the aging actress? Her one true friend is her hairdresser and they've known each other for years. He adores her and she utterly depends on him. It's pathetic. But no, it's not pathetic. He's the only one who she reveals her true self to. He alone sees that she is, deep down, a lovable person. That's another way of seeing it, I guess. I don't like that, the dissonance, holding both in my head. It's hard; let's choose.
2) Write. Thank you notes, fan letters, anonymous suggestions. For the box.
All I ever wanted was to be invited, included. To be a name on the List. And then, thinking so hard, for so long, so singularly about something, and then you get it. Sometimes you get the thing you want. And it's absolutely as great as you thought it would be. I wish I could get into what makes me feel so special, but I can't for a bunch of exciting reasons. Actually, it's not exciting to anyone but me, so I will keep it to myself. I'm just saying, when you measure what it would take to make you happy, and then you meet that benchmark, it does (yes really) mean that you have to find some new way of looking to get your kicks. I'm getting ahead of myself.
I'm glad I'm me today:
That song always strikes me as a bit more than slightly ironic. Gina Birch refers to her humor as "tragicomic", that seems right. A couple of people asked me if ENCOURAGER is a joke or not. Or people said, with a sly wink, that they could tell which parts I meant and which parts were jokes. That the sincerity was a secret code. I'm actually being totally 100% serious in ENCOURAGER but I do think that you can be serious and joking at the same time. L'air du cochon, natch.
So last night Steven took me to go see Here Lies Love, the musical about Imelda Marcos written by David Byrne and Fatboy Slim. It was amazing. Anna Wintour was in the crowd, along with noted B0DYH1GH fan Hamish smoke a Bowles. I also ran into my dear former office buddies, and saw Daddy Byrne bopping around the audience himself. It was a totally fantastic show. I was so obsessed with the chorus girls. These girls, I assumed they must be younger than I am. I guessed 22. These girls who can sing wonderfully, and dance and act, and they're in this brand new funky downtown musical rock opera immersive theater experience. Handily borrowing the cultural cache of Occupy Wall Street, the bad drag of The Iron Lady, long-simmering and much beloved American homegrown xenophobia, and duh, the superstar songwriters. I thought how great life must seem, as a chorus girl in a fantastic show downtown. Getting to sing these cute songs, in this great show, getting watched by the Vogue editors. They must seem on top of the world. It made me happy.
Yesterday was an exceedingly difficult day but it ended well. Much better than I thought it could.
4/28/13
Cooking without Tasting
I was worried that I was taking myself too seriously, so I thought: "What would it look like to take yourself all the way seriously? To take yourself seriously to the point of delusion?" I was worried that I cared too much about what other people thought of me, so I tried to imagine what it might look like to follow that caring to its logical conclusion. To depict a kind of relating to the world that is so dysfunctional that you charge money for people to share you company. To have such unwavering, natural entitlement and air of expertise that you don't have to bother making sense. I was worried about being not charismatic enough. Or, to be perfectly frank: I was worried that I was already too charismatic. That people only looked at me to get a sense of self, validation. So I thought: "What would it look like to live entirely for other people's sense of validation?" I wanted to make a show about the failure of charisma. It's not charisma's fault, but there is a death of charisma. It has a natural lifecycle. It has an end. I understand the basic task of humanity as accepting death as an inevitable and inextricable part of life, of existence. Charisma is like this as well. To be merely charismatic is to make the audience feel good, be happy. Yeah, sure. We like movie stars and pop singers who make us happy, and make us want to strive to be more like them or embody their qualities. But that's not enough. To be truly charismatic, however, is to make the audience feel good, be happy, and feel responsible for that. To make them realize that the good-feelings are generated by them. If done correctly; if you can find the time and space and patience to do it, you disappear. There's no space to be a diva. Narcissus is a red herring. There's no room for egotism. I wanted to try to find a way to do that. And I feel like I am pivoting towards taking baby steps in the right direction. If you wanted to congratulate a group of people, all at the same time, what would that even look like, y'know? It might look, at first, so familiar as to be ignored, unless your attention was called to it.
The big lesson I learned in making this, though, was that I could really have used some more input, help, a director, dramaturg, intern, collaborator, co-writer, costume designer, anything. If only to just talk about it. And say if I'm making no sense or a little sense. I think I could have saved myself so much greif by having another person (or people) there with me. SO: lesson learned. I'm definitely seeking any of the above, if anyone is interested. Please write me. It was a trip. It was like cooking without tasting.
The big lesson I learned in making this, though, was that I could really have used some more input, help, a director, dramaturg, intern, collaborator, co-writer, costume designer, anything. If only to just talk about it. And say if I'm making no sense or a little sense. I think I could have saved myself so much greif by having another person (or people) there with me. SO: lesson learned. I'm definitely seeking any of the above, if anyone is interested. Please write me. It was a trip. It was like cooking without tasting.
4/25/13
Li'l Click
I know I meant to disappear into the anxiety cave, getting ready for my performances tomorrow night BUT the interview I did last weekend GAYLETTER just came out and I think it turned out so well. Check it out: MAX STEELE WANTS TO HELP YOU SEDUCE YOURSELF. Big thanks to Parker and Mansi and Abi and Tom. How sweet!
Here's a video of my favorite Spice Girls song, "If U Can't Dance", which I mention in the interview.
(And it's true, I totally do want to help you seduce yourself.)
Here's a video of my favorite Spice Girls song, "If U Can't Dance", which I mention in the interview.
(And it's true, I totally do want to help you seduce yourself.)
4/24/13
Impossible Rhythms
Coming down to the wire, folks. I'm debuting the full version of my new solo show ENCOURAGER at Brooklyn Arts Exchange this weekend. GET YOUR TICKETS NOW.
Check out, if you haven't already seen it, a cool interview I did about the project with GAY CITY NEWS.
It's 3:35pm and I'm drinking coffee, this is dangerous. I'm excited to go do my rehearsals tonight in the theater. Things feel like they're moving so quickly! I like having deadlines, something to worry or stress out about.
I had a typically fantastic weekend, before hunkering down into my performance preparations. Friday night I saw Jess Barbagallo's Without Me I'm Something at BAX, and was pretty blown away. I've loved watching that work develop throughout the year here, and something about the longer, evening-length format was really successful. I don't mean to say that I had an emotionally pleasant experience the whole time. i don't mean to say that I didn't get bored or uncomfortable during the show. I did, but that was part of it. The piece, a stand-up set by Karen Davis, was so subtly brilliant. It made me jealous, at times, that I hadn't written it. Karen Davis tells her jokes with an unbelievable candor. She structures her set (and comments on how her set is going) with a supernatural, impossibly lifelike rhythm. Jess Barbagallo probably does know how to write the way people talk, but instead has set about writing the way people would be afraid to talk. And I think that is fucking fantastic and I want to see more of it. Saturday I hung out with Miss Jiddy Non-No and Miss PLD and we watched the Elmchanted Forest, which I inexplicably have on VHS, in case anyone wants to come over and watch it.
Sunday I rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed, after doing a tiny little interview in the morning with Gayletter. I stopped by the Brooklyn Zine fest to see Sister Pico at the Birdsong table. Birdsong just reached their Kickstarter goal, so thanks guys! I'm so excited that the "Best-Of" issue is going to get the full production it deserves, and also of course excited to be part of the issue. After the opening, on Sunday night I saw the fantastic Gary Indiana show at Participant Inc.
Here's my thing with Gary Indiana: he scares the fuck out of me.
Don't get me wrong, I love his work, it's meant a lot to me for a long time, and I know people who know him, and who say he's great. My old college pal Ben wrote a really cool interview with Gary for VICE, and said wonderful things about him. (Happy belated birthday, Ben! By the way!). I've met Ms. Indiana at the New School when we were both on the AIDS in Literature panel organized by Miss Dale Peck. And Ms. Indiana was totally sweet to me and really nice and absolutely charming during her reading as well. But look: she deals in difficult topics and plies her trade in dealing with levels of human emotion which we would otherwise like to avoid, if at all possible. She's heavy! Her work can bum a girl out. But anyway: the show at Participant is SO GREAT. I was totally surprised, maybe I shouldn't have been, by how touching, how truly romantic and sweet the work was. I thought the juxtapositions, the color palette, everything was so romantic and almost nostalgic. Very tender. Kind of made me think about how so many artists, even outside of the world of Queer Art, try to do similar work, and it so often falls flat, or feels saccharine. Ms. Gary Indiana, as I hope I don't need to tell you, is a serious intellectual, and is far too intelligent for her own good. This work done by Indiana is quick-witted, not fluffy, but seriously sweet. Like dark chocolate, or blood. Nourishing? A wonderful way to end the weekend, and highly recommended. There are a bunch of readings at Participant during the exhibit, so maybe I'll see you there.
Monday was Earth Day and also PLD's blessèd birthday. After work I rehearsed then came home and gave PLD some Red Vines and hung out with his BFF Ana. We went to Earl Dax' new party Friends and Family at Hotel Chantelle, which is kind of turning out to be an amazing experience every week. (Next Monday 4/29 it's a reading organized by Sister Pico and a DJ set by Kenny Mellman, which will be rad! And earlier that night Sarah Schulman is reading at Communitas Literary Series at Dixon Place. Lots of fun things to do.) This past Monday night, however, we were treated to a DJ set by Amber Martin, performances by Matty Crossland, Bridget Everett, and Khaela Maricich. It. Was. Amazing. I have to say. I was really blown away by all three performers, each of whom I absolutely adore, and who is very different. It was one of those nights that makes me so excited to live in New York, where you can see such a totally fucked-up amalgamation of performances, for free, with your friends. And anyone can come (as long as you're 21). You don't need to be on the list. You don't need to be friends with the performers. You don't need to have an arts degree from a fancy institution. You don't need to be famous, or sexy, or rich, or "important". You can come because you want to come-- that's reason enough. Matty took drag and blues and burlesque and dragged it through the mud of American Romance like so many of our stars-and-striped flags. Bridget gave a somewhat sleepy and unsuspecting crowd a great deal more love, funk, power and intensity than we had any right to imagine asking for. Khaela unleashed a sensual, guttural rhythmic rage. Provided access into the world of unnameable emotions. I felt really fed. Does that make sense? I don't want to brag about this show, because most people probably weren't able to make it. But it was really special. if you get the chance to see any of those people perform any time soon please go. Also I have to say, again, that I will never stop bragging about the fact that Bridget played my mom on TV (she did, actually). I know that doesn't mean a whole lot, it's not a referendum on me, my value, my character, etc. But to be fair, who played your mom on TV? That's what I thought.
I'm worried, you guys, that people aren't gonna come to my show. This is a displaced anxiety. I know, my friends, know, my Analyst knows. I know it's silly to worry about. I know that I'm distracting myself. BUT: I'm worried people won't come. So, if you're reading this, then please come!
But you might not even be reading this. A cursory look into one's stat counters let's a girl know that people don't really read her blog anymore. The amount of attention I used to get has had no bearing on my life today, as I thought it likely would not.
I'm just so mixed up! I'm dedicating ENCOURAGER (at least these performances) to a friend of mine who passed away, and whom I think would have really enjoyed it. He would've "gotten" it. It would probably have made me uncomfortable, actually, but he can watch it from Heaven.
Coffee is kicking in. I'm going to rehearse at least three times tonight and then eat some soup and go to bed.
Please get a ticket if you haven't already. And I'll see you afterward.
Check out, if you haven't already seen it, a cool interview I did about the project with GAY CITY NEWS.
It's 3:35pm and I'm drinking coffee, this is dangerous. I'm excited to go do my rehearsals tonight in the theater. Things feel like they're moving so quickly! I like having deadlines, something to worry or stress out about.
I had a typically fantastic weekend, before hunkering down into my performance preparations. Friday night I saw Jess Barbagallo's Without Me I'm Something at BAX, and was pretty blown away. I've loved watching that work develop throughout the year here, and something about the longer, evening-length format was really successful. I don't mean to say that I had an emotionally pleasant experience the whole time. i don't mean to say that I didn't get bored or uncomfortable during the show. I did, but that was part of it. The piece, a stand-up set by Karen Davis, was so subtly brilliant. It made me jealous, at times, that I hadn't written it. Karen Davis tells her jokes with an unbelievable candor. She structures her set (and comments on how her set is going) with a supernatural, impossibly lifelike rhythm. Jess Barbagallo probably does know how to write the way people talk, but instead has set about writing the way people would be afraid to talk. And I think that is fucking fantastic and I want to see more of it. Saturday I hung out with Miss Jiddy Non-No and Miss PLD and we watched the Elmchanted Forest, which I inexplicably have on VHS, in case anyone wants to come over and watch it.
Sunday I rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed, after doing a tiny little interview in the morning with Gayletter. I stopped by the Brooklyn Zine fest to see Sister Pico at the Birdsong table. Birdsong just reached their Kickstarter goal, so thanks guys! I'm so excited that the "Best-Of" issue is going to get the full production it deserves, and also of course excited to be part of the issue. After the opening, on Sunday night I saw the fantastic Gary Indiana show at Participant Inc.
Here's my thing with Gary Indiana: he scares the fuck out of me.
Don't get me wrong, I love his work, it's meant a lot to me for a long time, and I know people who know him, and who say he's great. My old college pal Ben wrote a really cool interview with Gary for VICE, and said wonderful things about him. (Happy belated birthday, Ben! By the way!). I've met Ms. Indiana at the New School when we were both on the AIDS in Literature panel organized by Miss Dale Peck. And Ms. Indiana was totally sweet to me and really nice and absolutely charming during her reading as well. But look: she deals in difficult topics and plies her trade in dealing with levels of human emotion which we would otherwise like to avoid, if at all possible. She's heavy! Her work can bum a girl out. But anyway: the show at Participant is SO GREAT. I was totally surprised, maybe I shouldn't have been, by how touching, how truly romantic and sweet the work was. I thought the juxtapositions, the color palette, everything was so romantic and almost nostalgic. Very tender. Kind of made me think about how so many artists, even outside of the world of Queer Art, try to do similar work, and it so often falls flat, or feels saccharine. Ms. Gary Indiana, as I hope I don't need to tell you, is a serious intellectual, and is far too intelligent for her own good. This work done by Indiana is quick-witted, not fluffy, but seriously sweet. Like dark chocolate, or blood. Nourishing? A wonderful way to end the weekend, and highly recommended. There are a bunch of readings at Participant during the exhibit, so maybe I'll see you there.
Monday was Earth Day and also PLD's blessèd birthday. After work I rehearsed then came home and gave PLD some Red Vines and hung out with his BFF Ana. We went to Earl Dax' new party Friends and Family at Hotel Chantelle, which is kind of turning out to be an amazing experience every week. (Next Monday 4/29 it's a reading organized by Sister Pico and a DJ set by Kenny Mellman, which will be rad! And earlier that night Sarah Schulman is reading at Communitas Literary Series at Dixon Place. Lots of fun things to do.) This past Monday night, however, we were treated to a DJ set by Amber Martin, performances by Matty Crossland, Bridget Everett, and Khaela Maricich. It. Was. Amazing. I have to say. I was really blown away by all three performers, each of whom I absolutely adore, and who is very different. It was one of those nights that makes me so excited to live in New York, where you can see such a totally fucked-up amalgamation of performances, for free, with your friends. And anyone can come (as long as you're 21). You don't need to be on the list. You don't need to be friends with the performers. You don't need to have an arts degree from a fancy institution. You don't need to be famous, or sexy, or rich, or "important". You can come because you want to come-- that's reason enough. Matty took drag and blues and burlesque and dragged it through the mud of American Romance like so many of our stars-and-striped flags. Bridget gave a somewhat sleepy and unsuspecting crowd a great deal more love, funk, power and intensity than we had any right to imagine asking for. Khaela unleashed a sensual, guttural rhythmic rage. Provided access into the world of unnameable emotions. I felt really fed. Does that make sense? I don't want to brag about this show, because most people probably weren't able to make it. But it was really special. if you get the chance to see any of those people perform any time soon please go. Also I have to say, again, that I will never stop bragging about the fact that Bridget played my mom on TV (she did, actually). I know that doesn't mean a whole lot, it's not a referendum on me, my value, my character, etc. But to be fair, who played your mom on TV? That's what I thought.
I'm worried, you guys, that people aren't gonna come to my show. This is a displaced anxiety. I know, my friends, know, my Analyst knows. I know it's silly to worry about. I know that I'm distracting myself. BUT: I'm worried people won't come. So, if you're reading this, then please come!
But you might not even be reading this. A cursory look into one's stat counters let's a girl know that people don't really read her blog anymore. The amount of attention I used to get has had no bearing on my life today, as I thought it likely would not.
I'm just so mixed up! I'm dedicating ENCOURAGER (at least these performances) to a friend of mine who passed away, and whom I think would have really enjoyed it. He would've "gotten" it. It would probably have made me uncomfortable, actually, but he can watch it from Heaven.
Coffee is kicking in. I'm going to rehearse at least three times tonight and then eat some soup and go to bed.
Please get a ticket if you haven't already. And I'll see you afterward.
4/21/13
I was having dinner with a guy recently. We didn’t know each other terribly well, but he’s smart, funny and cute. An attractive person. And he was telling me that he felt like he was losing. He said that he felt like he was a loser. I certainly didn’t think he was a loser. I thought he was smart and funny and cute. I thought he was an attractive person. I wanted to say something to make him feel better and at the same time be honest with him and what I said was: “Well, what’s wrong with being a loser?”
4/17/13
4/16/13
Full Circle thing
Hey you guys, Gay City News did an interview with me last week about my new show at BAX. I'm so flattered and happy to have gotten such a serious interview. Woah. If you're reading this, I definitely want you to come to see my show. Please. For some reason I'm really stressing out about whether or not lots of people will come. I've been working on this show for a long time (beyond the last year of my residency) and I really want people to come see what I've been doing. It was at least a few years since I did a solo show before this one, and I don't know that I'll ever do anything else ever again. So. Please come!
I'm debating changing the ending every time I rehearse. But I can't trust myself.
I suppose I had as good a Friday night as one could expect. After work I ran home to get changed, then to the Paul Thek opening at the Leslie Lohman Museum. Which I absolutely adored. I must say, I didn't even go to the Whitney show for Paul Thek not even once. I understand that there were some valid critiques of that show, and the supposed erasure of Thek's queerness (community) from the show. I didn't see it, I didn't care to, so I don't know. I've always loved Paul Thek's work, and skipped the Whitney show because I guess I felt like I had kind of seen the greatest hits already?
I'm debating changing the ending every time I rehearse. But I can't trust myself.
I suppose I had as good a Friday night as one could expect. After work I ran home to get changed, then to the Paul Thek opening at the Leslie Lohman Museum. Which I absolutely adored. I must say, I didn't even go to the Whitney show for Paul Thek not even once. I understand that there were some valid critiques of that show, and the supposed erasure of Thek's queerness (community) from the show. I didn't see it, I didn't care to, so I don't know. I've always loved Paul Thek's work, and skipped the Whitney show because I guess I felt like I had kind of seen the greatest hits already?
The show at Leslie Lohmann is so cool! It's almost entirely work which has never been exhibited before, and it was cool to get to see more about the context he was making work in. Hanging out on the beach with his friend in the 1950s. Sort of a utopian vision. I was a little disoncerted that there weren't more younger people at the opening, but I guess I left sort of early. I saw young Anthony Thornton and Scotty Hugg, art bros that they be, holding court on my way out.
I hustled up the street to go see Marc Arthur's Mascot for the Dead, which I liked a lot. I saw a reading of the play a few months ago, and was pretty confused and even a little alienated by the work. Which I suppose was successful, and is not a criticism. I definitely had a totally different experience of the show this time. Getting to see the live painting, the choreography, the way the fullness of the work kind of came together was very exciting. I was really turned on by what I am imagining to me Marc Arthur's patience, his equanimity as a writer. I feel like with some people who are writers and work with performance (including yours truly) there is a kind of impulse towards showing off, in a way. Like, making a joke and letting you know that they know that they're really funny. It indicates, to me, an anxiety about being fully understood and fully loved. Which is an impossible thing. SO, it's really cool for me to see Marc Arthur's work, where he's really patient and slow and intentional about his writing. It's fiercely intelligent and very subtly funny, but pretty ego-less. There's no showing off. There's no time to show off, it wouldn't make sense in the show. And I just adore that. As chaotic and messy as the piece is with regard to certain visual motifs, it's very sparsely written, very clean. Bracing. It reminded me of reading a story by Colette where she said that after a big mean she didn't want to have coffee, and she didn't want to have sweets. She ached, instead, for a slice of lemon. I had that feeling; the thought of "Oh, that would never occur to me on my own but it is in its own way exactly perfect." I had a good time. I hightailed it back to Brooklyn to celebrate Miss Lola's birthday, with the kids. I drank some vodka and we all chatted about where are lives are. Lola is one of my favorite Aries ladies in the whole world. I sneaked out, exhausted, to get a sandwich and turned in early.
Saturday I did basically nothing, pretty much nothing, except went to get a haircut from William. I was so long overdue, it feels like I lost weight from my head. It's also freezing. But it does look good, so I'm glad I did it. I took naps at home and did a tiny bit of housework before going to the East Village to go-go dance at the SPANK party at Drom, which used to be Opaline, my first NYC haunt. Spank parties are always totally amazing, over the top and fun, and this one was no exception. I go-go danced with deer heart Nath Ann, and we donned crazy inflatable light-up flower costumes, threw garlands of fresh flowers into the crowd while Viva Ruiz gave a disco incantation, and got tied up onstage. I was, I have to admit, in a foul mood on Saturday, for no reason, so I think I didn't give my go-go dancing my all, but I would like to think I got into the spirit of it. I did have fun. Opaline was my favorite place ever when I was 19. I remember seeing punk guys in eyeliner go-go dancing, and thinking how cool that was. That that was a thing that you could do, like for a job. This is because at the time I was also getting super into Deee-Lite and Lady Kier had worked as a go-go dancer after college, and so it was in my mind. It was a sort of homecoming, for me, in a way. A Full Circle thing. Here's a fantastic video of Lady Kier performing at thee old Opaline, a criminally still-unreleased song:
Sunday I rehearsed, then came home, then went to go see Mariangela Lopez' show ta BAX. It was so beautiful! I had seen the beginnings of it at previous works in progress showings, but it was so gratifying to get to see it all put together. I really like getting to see something more than once, in different stages. I didn't think I would like it but I do, because I get a little bit of insight into the artist's imagination (or what I imagine it to be). Mari's piece, El Regresso was made in collaboration with her movement collective, including my dear old room mate Jaime. I really loved the way the piece balanced the impossible, vertiginous emotionality of the task (a solo performer returning to her body) with a kind of totally rational vitality. I loved seeing Mari explode, change her mind, come to conclusions. Can you dance through an emotional process? Probably not. Probably it's not a thing that can be done, really. I'm describing it poorly, but Mariangela did it, you guys. And it was great to see.
Last night I went to rehearsal in another bad mood and kind of phoned it in. I'm really worried but I don't know what I'm worried about. I read this article about 5 ways your brain is tricking you into feeling miserable. It's awful. it talks about how people who worry more (like me) don't actually get more done. It's a waste. Obviously I'm upset and freaked out about the bombing in Boston. Obviously worrying is sort of a waste of time.
I went to Earl's new party at Hotel Chantelle and hung out with Miss Khaela and Miss Melissa who I hadn't seen in a bit. I sang one song, my Laura Nyro cover, to an audience of about six people. It was fun, in that I sang good. But I was so tired. I'm always so tired. I'm in such a bummed-out mood, I feel pretty miserable. I wrote an e-mail to my mom saying that I felt miserable. This feels like the ultimate defeat. I read this New Yorker profile of Shulamith Firestone and it sort of implied that schizophrenia is a result of so-called "social defeat", or social/emotional isolation. It was scary for me to read, because I feel absolutely defeated, socially. I definitely feel lonely and alienated and isolated on the daily, and could easily end up destitute and insane. It was scary for me. But then I realized that Firestone didn't have the internet. Nowadays we don't go crazy, we just go online. You can't have a personality disorder, you think, if your personality is a machine.
Tonight I'm running some errands and them I'm going to the gym and I'm just running. And then, maybe, I get to sleep.
I hustled up the street to go see Marc Arthur's Mascot for the Dead, which I liked a lot. I saw a reading of the play a few months ago, and was pretty confused and even a little alienated by the work. Which I suppose was successful, and is not a criticism. I definitely had a totally different experience of the show this time. Getting to see the live painting, the choreography, the way the fullness of the work kind of came together was very exciting. I was really turned on by what I am imagining to me Marc Arthur's patience, his equanimity as a writer. I feel like with some people who are writers and work with performance (including yours truly) there is a kind of impulse towards showing off, in a way. Like, making a joke and letting you know that they know that they're really funny. It indicates, to me, an anxiety about being fully understood and fully loved. Which is an impossible thing. SO, it's really cool for me to see Marc Arthur's work, where he's really patient and slow and intentional about his writing. It's fiercely intelligent and very subtly funny, but pretty ego-less. There's no showing off. There's no time to show off, it wouldn't make sense in the show. And I just adore that. As chaotic and messy as the piece is with regard to certain visual motifs, it's very sparsely written, very clean. Bracing. It reminded me of reading a story by Colette where she said that after a big mean she didn't want to have coffee, and she didn't want to have sweets. She ached, instead, for a slice of lemon. I had that feeling; the thought of "Oh, that would never occur to me on my own but it is in its own way exactly perfect." I had a good time. I hightailed it back to Brooklyn to celebrate Miss Lola's birthday, with the kids. I drank some vodka and we all chatted about where are lives are. Lola is one of my favorite Aries ladies in the whole world. I sneaked out, exhausted, to get a sandwich and turned in early.
Saturday I did basically nothing, pretty much nothing, except went to get a haircut from William. I was so long overdue, it feels like I lost weight from my head. It's also freezing. But it does look good, so I'm glad I did it. I took naps at home and did a tiny bit of housework before going to the East Village to go-go dance at the SPANK party at Drom, which used to be Opaline, my first NYC haunt. Spank parties are always totally amazing, over the top and fun, and this one was no exception. I go-go danced with deer heart Nath Ann, and we donned crazy inflatable light-up flower costumes, threw garlands of fresh flowers into the crowd while Viva Ruiz gave a disco incantation, and got tied up onstage. I was, I have to admit, in a foul mood on Saturday, for no reason, so I think I didn't give my go-go dancing my all, but I would like to think I got into the spirit of it. I did have fun. Opaline was my favorite place ever when I was 19. I remember seeing punk guys in eyeliner go-go dancing, and thinking how cool that was. That that was a thing that you could do, like for a job. This is because at the time I was also getting super into Deee-Lite and Lady Kier had worked as a go-go dancer after college, and so it was in my mind. It was a sort of homecoming, for me, in a way. A Full Circle thing. Here's a fantastic video of Lady Kier performing at thee old Opaline, a criminally still-unreleased song:
Sunday I rehearsed, then came home, then went to go see Mariangela Lopez' show ta BAX. It was so beautiful! I had seen the beginnings of it at previous works in progress showings, but it was so gratifying to get to see it all put together. I really like getting to see something more than once, in different stages. I didn't think I would like it but I do, because I get a little bit of insight into the artist's imagination (or what I imagine it to be). Mari's piece, El Regresso was made in collaboration with her movement collective, including my dear old room mate Jaime. I really loved the way the piece balanced the impossible, vertiginous emotionality of the task (a solo performer returning to her body) with a kind of totally rational vitality. I loved seeing Mari explode, change her mind, come to conclusions. Can you dance through an emotional process? Probably not. Probably it's not a thing that can be done, really. I'm describing it poorly, but Mariangela did it, you guys. And it was great to see.
Last night I went to rehearsal in another bad mood and kind of phoned it in. I'm really worried but I don't know what I'm worried about. I read this article about 5 ways your brain is tricking you into feeling miserable. It's awful. it talks about how people who worry more (like me) don't actually get more done. It's a waste. Obviously I'm upset and freaked out about the bombing in Boston. Obviously worrying is sort of a waste of time.
I went to Earl's new party at Hotel Chantelle and hung out with Miss Khaela and Miss Melissa who I hadn't seen in a bit. I sang one song, my Laura Nyro cover, to an audience of about six people. It was fun, in that I sang good. But I was so tired. I'm always so tired. I'm in such a bummed-out mood, I feel pretty miserable. I wrote an e-mail to my mom saying that I felt miserable. This feels like the ultimate defeat. I read this New Yorker profile of Shulamith Firestone and it sort of implied that schizophrenia is a result of so-called "social defeat", or social/emotional isolation. It was scary for me to read, because I feel absolutely defeated, socially. I definitely feel lonely and alienated and isolated on the daily, and could easily end up destitute and insane. It was scary for me. But then I realized that Firestone didn't have the internet. Nowadays we don't go crazy, we just go online. You can't have a personality disorder, you think, if your personality is a machine.
Tonight I'm running some errands and them I'm going to the gym and I'm just running. And then, maybe, I get to sleep.
4/8/13
It seems like a mighty long time.
Thursday after work I was under-dressed for the cold-ish weather but still hustled over to Paul Kasmin gallery to see Kenny Scharf's opening. It was fantastic, and warmed me up. I just love Kenny Scharf's work (like duh), the new show is giving me some retro club-night Abstract Expressionist, Pop-Art-You-Can-Actually-Feel-Good-About effects. A perfect pick-me-up. I didn't spend a whole lot of time in the show, I must say. Not that I didn't enjoy it or that the work doesn't bear long periods of gazing. I had to go and I feel like I was getting recharged or something. I plan to go back and look at it again. Totally cool and highly recommended. Funny and fun, I can't unravel the connection between Scharf's visual output as a Fine motherfucking Artist and his joyfully chaotic nightclub organizing. It informs my experience of the work.
Purple
I guess I've seen some stuff and been to some parties. I often think of myself as more or less totally uninformed and illiterate, so it's nice when I have the opportunity to remind myself of the context I'm actually working with. I ran downtown to my Analyst's office and talked about that old chestnut of how I blame myself for the fact that sometimes people treat me in a weird way. Like, people often tell me they have dreams about me. I'm not bragging. We all have dreams about everybody, it's pretty normal. What my beef is is that I actually pretty much remember my dreams and really wish I did, so I feel fucked up being in other people's dreams instead of my own. I think sometimes people treat me in a way that's kind of a projection of their own stuff (again, not bragging, we all do it). I do wonder though if I'm somehow subconsciously inviting this from people, or encouraging people to treat me a certain way which I then come to resent. Like, my whole thing is let me be a real person. I'm like Pinocchio in a world full of wooden puppets. People don't get me. Some people don't. There's no controlling these things, I guess. The conclusion I always have to come to and to broadcast to the world is that, despite everything, you're probably not responsible for the way the world treats you. I need to remind myself that it's not my responsibility.
And I get the whole thing of making it your project to DETERMINE your fate. Like, decide for yourself. Make the world take you seriously and give you want you demand. That's a nice thought but unless you're Napoleon it won't work forever and then even then you lose. Worrying about getting what you deserve is a way to live a miserable life. let yourself off the hook. Whatever. I came home from my Analyst and I cooked a really gigantic meal of tempeh and it felt really appropriate somehow. Epic, like creating something big and nourishing in place of understanding my feelings. I am totally fine with that as a stopgap solution. If I can't understand my feelings then I am totally fine feeding myself in the meantime.
Friday I went to BAX to see RoseAnne Spradlin's showing of a new work she's been making, studies for disappearence. It features this song which has been stuck in my head all weekend. Did you know Barbara Lewis was a) still alive b) still sounds amazing and c) wrote her own songs, including this one? A digression.
I've actually never seen Roseanne's work performed live before. I'd only read about it and seen clips online. I've enjoyed getting to know her at BAX, as she's very nice, smart and seems really clued-in. Her work was fucking amazing. I am often kind of flummoxed by what I perceive to be challenging or "real" dance work. i feel like I don't have the vocabulary, and therefore also lack the basic human facility to understand or respond to dance in the way it deserves to be engaged with. But whatever, studies for disappearence hit me on a few different levels, really strongly. I was surprised, I got scared, I was touched. I got bored for like one second, and was swiftly snapped back into the performance the very next second. The pacing, the precision, the fucking complexity of the movements, scenography, theme, etc. were really inspiring. Watching how the elements of the show seemed to come together and interact made me really excited. And then to watch the elements of the work slowly shift in relation to one another. It was like watching someone doing a really amazing magic trick; it seemed kind of unbelievable and kind of obvious but both at the same time. Really awesome. I feel like a total fool for having missed her show last fall and will make it a point to see her work whenever I possibly can. I think you ought to, too.
Saturday I got up extra early, went to the gym and listened to lots of Stereolab (preconscious, and yet yearning for my right brain), watered the houseplants, forgot to eat breakfast, and was blessed with a visit by the ever lovely Miss Jiddy No-No. She's finishing up her first year in grad school, and I'm absolutely salivating to see her new work. She said she's been working a bit more painterly, and on clear cellophane, so a bit of a departure from the Utopian drawing/paintings I fell so much in love with last year. I am urging her to register with the Bushwick open studios this year so we can see her work. I hope she does!
We went gallery hopping in Chelsea. Jiddy's the best person to go with cuz she has good taste and is super smart (but not a snob) and also seems to know what's on view and where everything is. Also she has good snack ideas all the time. Kinda a perfect buddy? The first thing we saw was Mark Dion's "Drawings, Prints Multiples and Sculptures" at Tanya Bonakdar. Which I liked but not too much. I don't know. I'm so rarely in the mood to be wowed in that way? There were totally pieces (or collections) I liked in and of themselves, which seems entirely antithetical to the show. This collection below was my favorite because it looks like a mixture of sex toys and those cool plastic rubber balls I use in the dryer instead of dryer sheets.
Mark Dion
The collections and installations were probably my favorite parts. There's a ton of drawings upstairs which I did enjoy as well, but only about half. half of the drawings, individually, were pithy, dark little maps or graphs of ideas, which I liked a lot. The other half, a whole room of line drawings, seemed a bit too cutesy for me. It felt, as Jids noted, a little Wes Anderson-y. And I like Wes Anderson, I guess I just don't want to be lulled all the time. Some of the work disposed with such niceties and I felt appropriately called-upon by those. Give it to me straight, you know? Sometimes you want to be slapped in the face instead of hearing someone apologize for wanting to slap you in the face. It's rare, but it's there.
Mountains and Sea
Next we went over to see the Helen Frankenthaler exhibit "Painted on 21st Street: Helen Frankenthaler from 1950-1959" at Gagosian. Frankenthaler is obviously great, you cannot fuck with her. I wish I had more to say on that score. I think of Helen Frankenthaler as not unlike Unwound versus Sonic Youth, where Unwound was the West Coast version, slightly less intellectual but probably better in many ways. The type of thing where if I spent the time getting into it (I do) I'd probably find I prefer it. Frankenthaler is like that but with American painting, right? It's this thing that's kind of too iconic for its own good, it gets in the way or how and why it works. Anyway I'm totally smitten, it's a sprawling and wonderful show and definitely makes me feel very old and unproductive and as if I've wasted my youth. Which, I think, good art ought to do. It ought to be the domain of a kind of good art, to lovingly push that existential crise button. That's what we need it for. So, thanks, Helen!
And then hey: speaking of art that makes you feel bad, we went over to see the new piece by Miroslaw Balka at Gladstone Gallery. It's called "The Order of Things" and it's a monster. It's pretty, but it's huge and loud and imposing and sort of mean.
The Order of Things
I definitely didn't think we were allowed to sit on that little wood pedestal. I thought it was like an altar. No matter, I didn't really want to sit and beautifully contemplate the piece. I mean: it works, it's great. But it's unpleasant. It's not meditative. It's kind of oppressive, it dares you to sit peacefully and ponder one's mortality and the life cycles of the natural world, decay, waste, etc. That's all well and good, but it's really fucking loud. That is, I imagine, the point, I thought it was cool. We spent some time circling it, talking about it, and then escaping it.
We went over to the BLACK CdG store where I got the new fragrance that just came out. Like you knew I would.
I've been wearing the CdG3 scent since I bought it last summer on my birthday and it's basically empty now. Since they've stopped making my favorite perfume (the Series Six Synthetic ones) I wanted to try this new one. I'm so obsessed with the BLACK CdG concept (classics but cheaper, somehow optimistic, an evolution of their guerilla store project). The perfume is great, a little weirder and butch-er than I would normally like to be. Kind of woodsy and masculine and mean. I like it. I feel put-together. Assembled. It may not be pretty, but there you do.
I stopped off at home after our epick Chelsea adventure to get changed and then high-tailed it over to Dixon Place to see Joseph Keckler's brilliant new show "I am an Opera". I went into it as a fan so I gotta say that I'm biased. I just adore Joseph's work. He brings a tremendous set of technical skills (as a writer, an actor, and a fucking SINGER) to a really complex, subtly gorgeous script. I had seen tiny bits and pieces of some of the songs surface in past performances, but they were barely recognizable here. His work is newly pared-down, slick, muscular. It was taut and tense and spare and really wonderful. The ending song was especially gorgeous, and his three curtain calls were the least we could do. Not a dry seat in the house. It's playing weekends throughout April at DP so you should definitely go see it.
I had a lot, too much even, fun hanging out in the Dixon Place lounge after the show with dear heart Erin Markey and Max Bernstein, chatting with bartendrix Damon and cutting loose. I had so much fun but I was so tired! Look at this photo Erin took of me. Look how tired I look.
That is a boy who needs a nap. For no reason. I slept the night before. I used my apparent exhaustion as an excuse to blow off not one but three different parties I was supposed to go to on Saturday night. I spent all my energy loving Joseph from the audience and drinking and telling jokes with my friends. So sue me. I'm going out tonight, and actually almost every night this week. So that'll be okay. Maybe I shouldn't count it as going out. I'm just rehearsing my show, but it feels like going out because it's fun and exciting and I don't get home until late. And I'm always starving. Tonight I'm actually going out though.
Sunday I walked over the Williamsburg bridge listening to old Taja Sevelle songs and really feeling relaxed and joyful and windblown. Yikes. I was supposed to get a haircut but it got postponed, which is okay (these things happen) and was sort of glad to have the day off to myself. I walked for hours and hours. I went to the Artists Space book sale and contemplated buying million things but ultimately left empty-handed. I went to the Sadie Benning show at Callicoon Fine Arts in the evening.
War Credits
It was called War Credits and in addition to the film, there were some painting/installations as well. It was great, deceptively complex. Cerebral and guttural. Let's go there. Sadie Benning's work is so cool; I always think things are kind of going in this one facile way, pulling my dumb Californian blonde art appreciation routine, and then I realize what's going on in the video, or why something looks the way it does, and I have to remember how the world is infinitely more nuanced than I think. Benning's work usually forces me to shut up for a second, take a step back, and think for a minute about what I'm seeing. Isn't that fantastic?
Tonight I am going straight from work to the BAX studio to work on my show after having taken a ludicrously long break from the piece. And then going home to change. And then going to Hotel Chantelle for Earl Dax' birthday party. I'm excited / exhausted. Here we go.
Purple
I guess I've seen some stuff and been to some parties. I often think of myself as more or less totally uninformed and illiterate, so it's nice when I have the opportunity to remind myself of the context I'm actually working with. I ran downtown to my Analyst's office and talked about that old chestnut of how I blame myself for the fact that sometimes people treat me in a weird way. Like, people often tell me they have dreams about me. I'm not bragging. We all have dreams about everybody, it's pretty normal. What my beef is is that I actually pretty much remember my dreams and really wish I did, so I feel fucked up being in other people's dreams instead of my own. I think sometimes people treat me in a way that's kind of a projection of their own stuff (again, not bragging, we all do it). I do wonder though if I'm somehow subconsciously inviting this from people, or encouraging people to treat me a certain way which I then come to resent. Like, my whole thing is let me be a real person. I'm like Pinocchio in a world full of wooden puppets. People don't get me. Some people don't. There's no controlling these things, I guess. The conclusion I always have to come to and to broadcast to the world is that, despite everything, you're probably not responsible for the way the world treats you. I need to remind myself that it's not my responsibility.
And I get the whole thing of making it your project to DETERMINE your fate. Like, decide for yourself. Make the world take you seriously and give you want you demand. That's a nice thought but unless you're Napoleon it won't work forever and then even then you lose. Worrying about getting what you deserve is a way to live a miserable life. let yourself off the hook. Whatever. I came home from my Analyst and I cooked a really gigantic meal of tempeh and it felt really appropriate somehow. Epic, like creating something big and nourishing in place of understanding my feelings. I am totally fine with that as a stopgap solution. If I can't understand my feelings then I am totally fine feeding myself in the meantime.
Friday I went to BAX to see RoseAnne Spradlin's showing of a new work she's been making, studies for disappearence. It features this song which has been stuck in my head all weekend. Did you know Barbara Lewis was a) still alive b) still sounds amazing and c) wrote her own songs, including this one? A digression.
I've actually never seen Roseanne's work performed live before. I'd only read about it and seen clips online. I've enjoyed getting to know her at BAX, as she's very nice, smart and seems really clued-in. Her work was fucking amazing. I am often kind of flummoxed by what I perceive to be challenging or "real" dance work. i feel like I don't have the vocabulary, and therefore also lack the basic human facility to understand or respond to dance in the way it deserves to be engaged with. But whatever, studies for disappearence hit me on a few different levels, really strongly. I was surprised, I got scared, I was touched. I got bored for like one second, and was swiftly snapped back into the performance the very next second. The pacing, the precision, the fucking complexity of the movements, scenography, theme, etc. were really inspiring. Watching how the elements of the show seemed to come together and interact made me really excited. And then to watch the elements of the work slowly shift in relation to one another. It was like watching someone doing a really amazing magic trick; it seemed kind of unbelievable and kind of obvious but both at the same time. Really awesome. I feel like a total fool for having missed her show last fall and will make it a point to see her work whenever I possibly can. I think you ought to, too.
Saturday I got up extra early, went to the gym and listened to lots of Stereolab (preconscious, and yet yearning for my right brain), watered the houseplants, forgot to eat breakfast, and was blessed with a visit by the ever lovely Miss Jiddy No-No. She's finishing up her first year in grad school, and I'm absolutely salivating to see her new work. She said she's been working a bit more painterly, and on clear cellophane, so a bit of a departure from the Utopian drawing/paintings I fell so much in love with last year. I am urging her to register with the Bushwick open studios this year so we can see her work. I hope she does!
We went gallery hopping in Chelsea. Jiddy's the best person to go with cuz she has good taste and is super smart (but not a snob) and also seems to know what's on view and where everything is. Also she has good snack ideas all the time. Kinda a perfect buddy? The first thing we saw was Mark Dion's "Drawings, Prints Multiples and Sculptures" at Tanya Bonakdar. Which I liked but not too much. I don't know. I'm so rarely in the mood to be wowed in that way? There were totally pieces (or collections) I liked in and of themselves, which seems entirely antithetical to the show. This collection below was my favorite because it looks like a mixture of sex toys and those cool plastic rubber balls I use in the dryer instead of dryer sheets.
Mark Dion
The collections and installations were probably my favorite parts. There's a ton of drawings upstairs which I did enjoy as well, but only about half. half of the drawings, individually, were pithy, dark little maps or graphs of ideas, which I liked a lot. The other half, a whole room of line drawings, seemed a bit too cutesy for me. It felt, as Jids noted, a little Wes Anderson-y. And I like Wes Anderson, I guess I just don't want to be lulled all the time. Some of the work disposed with such niceties and I felt appropriately called-upon by those. Give it to me straight, you know? Sometimes you want to be slapped in the face instead of hearing someone apologize for wanting to slap you in the face. It's rare, but it's there.
Mountains and Sea
Next we went over to see the Helen Frankenthaler exhibit "Painted on 21st Street: Helen Frankenthaler from 1950-1959" at Gagosian. Frankenthaler is obviously great, you cannot fuck with her. I wish I had more to say on that score. I think of Helen Frankenthaler as not unlike Unwound versus Sonic Youth, where Unwound was the West Coast version, slightly less intellectual but probably better in many ways. The type of thing where if I spent the time getting into it (I do) I'd probably find I prefer it. Frankenthaler is like that but with American painting, right? It's this thing that's kind of too iconic for its own good, it gets in the way or how and why it works. Anyway I'm totally smitten, it's a sprawling and wonderful show and definitely makes me feel very old and unproductive and as if I've wasted my youth. Which, I think, good art ought to do. It ought to be the domain of a kind of good art, to lovingly push that existential crise button. That's what we need it for. So, thanks, Helen!
And then hey: speaking of art that makes you feel bad, we went over to see the new piece by Miroslaw Balka at Gladstone Gallery. It's called "The Order of Things" and it's a monster. It's pretty, but it's huge and loud and imposing and sort of mean.
The Order of Things
I definitely didn't think we were allowed to sit on that little wood pedestal. I thought it was like an altar. No matter, I didn't really want to sit and beautifully contemplate the piece. I mean: it works, it's great. But it's unpleasant. It's not meditative. It's kind of oppressive, it dares you to sit peacefully and ponder one's mortality and the life cycles of the natural world, decay, waste, etc. That's all well and good, but it's really fucking loud. That is, I imagine, the point, I thought it was cool. We spent some time circling it, talking about it, and then escaping it.
We went over to the BLACK CdG store where I got the new fragrance that just came out. Like you knew I would.
I've been wearing the CdG3 scent since I bought it last summer on my birthday and it's basically empty now. Since they've stopped making my favorite perfume (the Series Six Synthetic ones) I wanted to try this new one. I'm so obsessed with the BLACK CdG concept (classics but cheaper, somehow optimistic, an evolution of their guerilla store project). The perfume is great, a little weirder and butch-er than I would normally like to be. Kind of woodsy and masculine and mean. I like it. I feel put-together. Assembled. It may not be pretty, but there you do.
I stopped off at home after our epick Chelsea adventure to get changed and then high-tailed it over to Dixon Place to see Joseph Keckler's brilliant new show "I am an Opera". I went into it as a fan so I gotta say that I'm biased. I just adore Joseph's work. He brings a tremendous set of technical skills (as a writer, an actor, and a fucking SINGER) to a really complex, subtly gorgeous script. I had seen tiny bits and pieces of some of the songs surface in past performances, but they were barely recognizable here. His work is newly pared-down, slick, muscular. It was taut and tense and spare and really wonderful. The ending song was especially gorgeous, and his three curtain calls were the least we could do. Not a dry seat in the house. It's playing weekends throughout April at DP so you should definitely go see it.
I had a lot, too much even, fun hanging out in the Dixon Place lounge after the show with dear heart Erin Markey and Max Bernstein, chatting with bartendrix Damon and cutting loose. I had so much fun but I was so tired! Look at this photo Erin took of me. Look how tired I look.
That is a boy who needs a nap. For no reason. I slept the night before. I used my apparent exhaustion as an excuse to blow off not one but three different parties I was supposed to go to on Saturday night. I spent all my energy loving Joseph from the audience and drinking and telling jokes with my friends. So sue me. I'm going out tonight, and actually almost every night this week. So that'll be okay. Maybe I shouldn't count it as going out. I'm just rehearsing my show, but it feels like going out because it's fun and exciting and I don't get home until late. And I'm always starving. Tonight I'm actually going out though.
Sunday I walked over the Williamsburg bridge listening to old Taja Sevelle songs and really feeling relaxed and joyful and windblown. Yikes. I was supposed to get a haircut but it got postponed, which is okay (these things happen) and was sort of glad to have the day off to myself. I walked for hours and hours. I went to the Artists Space book sale and contemplated buying million things but ultimately left empty-handed. I went to the Sadie Benning show at Callicoon Fine Arts in the evening.
War Credits
It was called War Credits and in addition to the film, there were some painting/installations as well. It was great, deceptively complex. Cerebral and guttural. Let's go there. Sadie Benning's work is so cool; I always think things are kind of going in this one facile way, pulling my dumb Californian blonde art appreciation routine, and then I realize what's going on in the video, or why something looks the way it does, and I have to remember how the world is infinitely more nuanced than I think. Benning's work usually forces me to shut up for a second, take a step back, and think for a minute about what I'm seeing. Isn't that fantastic?
Tonight I am going straight from work to the BAX studio to work on my show after having taken a ludicrously long break from the piece. And then going home to change. And then going to Hotel Chantelle for Earl Dax' birthday party. I'm excited / exhausted. Here we go.
4/3/13
Oharu Who May Be Dead
Listening to this song this morning on the train. Minnie Riperton's voice is literally magick, eh? Last night I went to the NYU MFA show to see deart heart Sam McKinniss work. I'm such a big fan. He's fantastically talented and is a rising star. Bound for greatness, get in while you can, these are the days, etc. The show included a sound piece Sam made in collaboration with Rizzla which was fantastic as well. The show is up for two weeks (until April 13th) at the NYU Gallery at 80 Washington Square East. Absolutely worth checking out right away.
Untitled (SG)
BOYTWEETSWORLD
The catalog for the show (which also, I should say, includes the dark, gorgeous, serpentine and sardonic work of Ms. Sarah Feehily, with whom I am also deeply obsessed), includes this artist statement from Sam, which I think gives a little glimpse into his sensitive yet rigorous style of thinking:
THE HAUNTS:Pretty fantastic. At the opening last night I was reminded of the Stone Roses, and how when they were getting big in Manchester in the 80s, it was when people were first starting to do MDMA. I didn't know about any of that when I got into the Stone Roses in the Bay Area in the late 1990s- I had no clue. It always struck me as weird. Like, why would you take E and listen to the Stone Roses? They're so weird and sad and slow and emo. But I guess maybe it's more fun on E. But what isn't, right? I guess it's just to say that no one experience is any more real or natural than another. If you're using tools like drugs or art or boys or glow sticks. Or music or costumes.
“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, don’t interrupt, my angel, he loves me, he loves me not, oh, heaven, heaven! He loves me! I may as well tell you, my darling, that the second big thing in my life has begun.”
A most sinister ray of light suddenly fell upon the future.
-Nancy Mitford, Love in a Cold Climate 1949.
Ecstasy refers to the empathogenic club drug as well as to the rapturous bliss caused by contemplating divine things, and a glow-stick necklace is a cute accessory to wear at a party but it also resembles a halo that’s slipped and fallen into the noose position. I went to a lot of raves as a teenager and recently the style has made a return to contemporary metropolitan nightlife, so that’s been fun for me. Painting and partying are two things I do to dazzle myself into the throes of a trance-like quest for advanced material pleasure.
I’m looking for a sinister ray of light. Like moonlight hitting narcissus’s pool, the soft glow emanating from a smartphone screen is incredibly seductive. The ghost paintings came to me because of another nighttime sensation, from the terrible impression that spending time in warehouses crowded with people dancing and taking MDMA felt something like being surrounded by the recently disembodied. Smoky, dimly lit rooms filled with kids on drugs have started to resemble the dynamics and movement of rapture depicted in the cloudy, cherubim and saint-filled ceilings by Tiepolo or Maulbertsch from the late 18th century. The major differences are lighting and costume.
You know what else is going on, which I am so super duper excited about, is that homegirl Joseph Keckler is getting some much-deserved shine right now, and I am so into it. First of all, there's this awesome video he made with Laura Terruso, for "The Ride":
THEN there's also this very fancy and totally cool interview with Spookz where he charms the pants off the New York Times Style Section. I love Joseph's work, and have for many years, and I'm really excited to see his work get the attention and respect it deserves. This press blitz is particularly deserved, because Miss Thing is debuting a new full-length show commissioned by Dixon Place this week! It's called "I Am An Opera" and it is going to be MAJOR. I'm going this Saturday night, and you can get your tickets HERE. That is, while there're still tickets to be got. This is likely going to sell out, and I'm totally going to say I Told You So. People: you need to see this show.
I was looking recently at the website for Earl Dax' Pussy Faggot, which I would encourage you to do now as well. I am so honored and happy to be included on this page! It's such a big deal for me to have my work (ENCOURAGER) listed alongside artists like Joseph Keckler and Ben Rimalower, who's solo show Patti Issues keeps getting extended and keeps getting rave reviews and is becoming every bit the sensation it deserves to be. I can barely believe that my life consists of a) getting to be part of this peer group, b) getting to be friends with these people, and c) getting to live in New York in a time when this work is being made. It's really exciting, I think you should all go check out all three of our shows.
SPEAKING OF awesome things I'm excited about, original homegirl and downstairs neighbor Sister Pico is putting together a special 5 Year anniversary issue of Birdsong, and he needs your help to make the project as cool as it needs to be (e.g. printing zines is expensive, kids). Check out this video:
SO COOL, right? Please give some monetary love to the BIRDSONG KICKSTARTER PAGE. It's also worth mentioning at this point that there is a NEW issue of Birdsong, #19, featuring a new story by Yours Truly as well as some more fantastic writers. You can get a copy for free by contacting Sister Pico Directly. So many wonderful things to know see and do. Be part of.
Last night I watched this 1979 erotica b-movie/horror film from Japan and France, called The Grass Labyrinth. Have you all seen it? It was fucked up. I feel like I slept much deeper than I usually do, in a sort of weird way, from watching the movie. Like, I feel like I did my dreaming while I was watching the movie (which is totally great and worth seeing) but then I went to sleep and was just a black black spot.
But I never remember my dreams. Actually I did remember an image from last night, which was a secret party or festival, a secret show? A secret store? I remember watching people, workers, entering a secret entrance to a space (it looked like a gallery) in preparation for an event and in the dream, I was excited to go to the event but wished that I was working at it. And then I woke up.
So.
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