spending a lot of time on my floor.

spending a lot of time alone.

spending a lot of time in pain. afraid.

don't really know anything.



- Such a gross thing happened to me last weekend. I made some iced coffee and set it on my nightstand and took a little nap. I woke up from the nap and gulped the iced coffee and walked to the bathroom and as I was walking I realized I had some coffee grinds or something in my mouth so I spit out the little piece of grit in the bathroom sink and it was grit. It was a fly and the fly was alive. I was mad.

- I'm really into teal. I want to wear only teal. My new iPhone case is teal. Maybe I should change my name to Max Teal. I bought some fancy nice new teal clothes this weekend. When I was 13 I dyed my hair teal and my dad helped me. It didn't last long the way things tend not to.

- I'm super excited to be featured on this new website DANDY DICKS (NSFW). It's a sexy website and they are featuring a version of my story "ANGELS" which is excerpted from my new zine DOOR GIRLS (which you can buy HERE -- I'm gonna keep harping on this for a little while, sorry). I want to write more for and about them and am looking forward to doing so. OK!

- Finally, this friday night I am very excited to be part of EVERYBOOTY at BAM, where I will be hosting a reading featuring myself, Kayla Morse and Tommy Pico. You can see the full schedule and info on tickets below. This is going to be epick and you definitely have to come.

After sold out events for the last three years, Everybooty returns to BAM to take over the entire four-floor Fisher Building (including an incredible rooftop!) for one QUEER night that mashes up performance, bands, art, DJs and readings and brings together SPANK, SARAH JENNY and BIG ART GROUP for an over-the-top not-to-be-missed sensational event.


A radical night of multi-arts mayhem to celebrate Pride!
Will Sheridan
Mizz June
The Feath3r Theory
Turnt Up Trifecta (Untitled Queen, Horrorchata & Merrie Cherry with special guest Lady Quesa D'illa)
Bianca Dagga
BB Heart
The Incredible, Edible Akynos
The Dance Cartel

Addys Gonzalez
Nicholas Gorham

++ DJs ++
DJ Sean Be (SPANK)
DJ Matty Horrorchata (BE CUTE)
DJ Sveta Spins

++ MC ++
MC Ariel Speed Wagon

Tinker Coalescing : Queer Photography
Ned Stresen-Reuter

Max Steele
Tommy Pico
Kayla Morse

++ VJ ++
Kevin Ramser [Honcho]

Big Art Group

Jeffrey Owen Ralston

Heather Litteer

++ TAROT ++
Lorenzo Estrella

++ HOSTS ++
Sarah Jenny (Hey Queen)
Jason Roe (SPANK)
Scott Nevins (The People’s Couch)

The Brooklyn Community Pride Center
JP Howard
Women Writers in Bloom
Azure D Osborne-Lee, and Joanna Hoffman
Music by Hi Tiger (Derek Jackson)
Dance by John Zullo/ Raw Dance Movement


Celebrate Pride, Brooklyn Style

This event is 18+ with ID.
BAM Fisher is a wheelchair accessible venue.



Ashtray art. Make art of ashtrays. It's the last vulgar thing to do, really. Anything can be an ashtray.
A person could be an ashtray.

I'm not just trying to console myself. I really do think success is sort of silly. Selling out and all that. Attention. I think it's a little... Immature. This artist this person I really like said something recently about how in order for them to realize their artistic vision of the world or something, they need a lot of lonely and power and fame or something. And you know far be it from me to question anyone else but I don't know if I need those things for myself. I certainly don't think I need them.

But even in general. The big gift of being a person is that you get to know this shit right. The like, fallibility. Everyone's a person. Even movie stars. Even celebrities in Hollywood and inmates in jail. Anyone has it. So it seems like on one hand to know that and then to know some other truth.aybe I'm stubborn. Or something

Boards of Canada. So obsessed right.

Most private thing I'm willing to admit: I don't believe in God. Is that fucked up to say.
Most private thing I'm willing to admit: I don't believe in secrets.

Saw Blonde Redhead perform, they were pretty fantastic, I must say, but didn't play "Here Sometimes" which I'd hoped they would.

I feel like that, here sometimes. I'm trying to be both a person and not a person. The negative aspects of both and the positive aspects of neither.

Drinking a lot. Not a lot, just often. Smoking a lot and often. Eating poorly but trying to do better. Something is making me sick, I don't know if it's the medication or what but I am gaining weight, a little. Which is okay I guess. What bugs me is that my body feels weird I feel bloated no matter what I do or do not eat. I feel better. Maybe it's from over eating. It seems like everything is either too much or too little. I can't focus.
“A firm sense of one’s own autonomous identity is required in order that one may be related as one human being to another. Otherwise, any and every relationship threatens the individual with loss of identity. One form this takes can be called engulfment. In this the individual dreads relatedness as such, with anyone or anything or, indeed, even with himself, because his uncertainty about the stability of his autonomy lays him open to the dread lest in any relationship he will lose his autonomy and identity. Engulfment is not simply envisaged as something that is liable to happen willy-nilly despite the individual’s most active efforts to avoid it. The individual experiences himself as a man who is only saving himself from drowning by the most constant, strenuous, desperate activity. Engulfment is felt as a risk in being understood (thus grasped, comprehended), in being loved, or even simply in being seen. To be hated may be feared for other reasons, but to be hated as such is often less disturbing than to be destroyed, as it is felt, through being engulfed by love… It is lonely and painful to be always misunderstood, but there is at least from this point of view a measure of safety in isolation. The other’s love is therefore feared more than his hatred, or rather all love is sense as a version of hatred. By being loved one is placed under an unsolicited obligation.”
— R.D. Laing, The Divided Self
Like I am a broken system of rewards and punishments, stuck on punishment. Honestly making time to paint my toenails the other night, which I am very glad I did, took me days. That's not a social interaction. It takes me a long time to write back to people. It takes me a long time to do anything. Sometimes it takes a long time.

This is the Le Corbusier house where Ann Demeulemeester lives and works. Worked. I went to Century 21 this weekend and they had a bunch of AD from when AD was still designing AD on sale but even marked down 75-80% it's still outrageously expensive. But like who really wears Ann Demeulemeester anyway, you know? Patti Smith? That's not saying a lot. PJ Harvey did that gig for the Ann book launch at DSM with Patti and that was kind of cool, but even PJ at this point... Apparently the new designer for Demeulemeester, Sebastien Meunier is a genius so maybe it will be one of things that it doesn't have to always be so cult-ish. Maybe it'll get better and cheaper with time. There's already a new cheaper (allegedly) shoe line? Why am I worried about this when I need to be worried about paying bills on time.

I wish it was my job to worry about this more.


It's Brooklyn LGBTQ Pride today and it's also Puerto Rican Day. I like Puerto Rican Day because it was the setting for one of my first queer experiences in New York. In 2005 when I was 20 I met a really cute boy at a nightclub in the East Village and we hooked up and the next day we walked to the train station together to say goodbye and he is not white and were holding hands and wearing our nightclub outfits in the big crowd of people celebrating and I was worried, you know, if we'd get negative reactions from people in the crowd but we didn't. We had our sweet goodbye moment at the train station in midtown and it was one of the first times I felt like New York was like the place where that was possible.


Everything I touch I ruin


Me Never Being

Thought about dragging the TV the big one I promised to get rid of (and then never did anything about) into my room and hooking up the sega genesis. One last time. And having a night like I would as a kid, playing video games. I had been to the video game store and I am going to try to sell the sega and the nintendo and all the games etc. and it made me nostalgic. But I haven't played them in years. I still have a gameboy.

I had two glasses of wine at the Howl gallery space, which used to be the La MAMA Galleria. I was there for the closing of the Lydia Lunch show So Real It Hurts. She performed her spoken word piece Conspiracy Of Women which has just been reissued.

I remember looking high and low and eventually finding a copy of the original CD in the late 90s, when i was first getting into Lydia Lunch. This is amazing, she was and is amazing. It was literally a trip to see her perform this work, in 2015, in a gallery on the Bowery, for free. It was sort of updated, of course. The list of occupations, wars, genocides, terrorism and atrocities has grown. At one point she was talking about pop stars Courtney Love or Madonna or wait-- and then she pointed to herself and said "I'm Lady Gaza. Get it?"

This is an example of an increasingly rare experience I've been having where I think "I am so glad I live in New York. This is totally worth it." Because I got to see Lydia Lunch perform a mindblowing set for free on a Friday evening and get drunk for free it was fantastic. All I had to do was sacrifice my sanity, my youth, my future and my memory for ten years hacking it out here but it was worth it as it so rarely is, increasingly rarely. But still meaningful.

Anyway I sat next to Stephen who used to run QxBxRx, it was nice to catch up. The performance was amazing. Lydia Lunch is truly like Cher to me or like David Bowie or Judy Garland. I mean I'm into any of those people, but the way people worship some artists or celebrities as icons, I feel about Lydia Lunch and have for a long time.

When i turned 17 i was so upset because I thought: I'm washed up. By this time Lydia Lunch had already started Teenage Jesus and I haven't done anything.

You know who else worshiped Lydia Lunch apparently is Courtney Love. But lots of people did. She is iconic. I mean she does have what she said the devil (who is certainly a woman) blessed her with: "a celestial body and the face of an angel." I realized how influential this piece was to me, seeing it tonight. The way she talked about the Big Bang, and how violence and chaos is the nature of the universe. At another point she said "Y'know I hate fuckin' God. Because God was the first cop. God was the first cock." The way she used sarcasm but not necessarily for humor. It wasn't about applause. She did not like the applause. Right after the show she grabbed her purse, headed over to the merch table and lit a cigarette and started hawking CDs and posing for photos. I met a friend of Stephen's who was saying that when he saw her perform it originally in 1990 he felt like he immediately wanted to know everything about her work. She's incredibly charismatic. She's cute yes. But she's also compelling. She's hyper-verbal and confrontational but not in a way that's, like, mean spirited? She's hostile, sure. She talked about that she said "Hostile?! You have no FUCKING idea. NONE." Walking away from the microphone, in front of it (out of the light) and into the audience. I think so much performance art in theater and music and whatever kind of came through this, either directly or indirectly. She's in this weird position. She's outlived the thing, she can remember it. She makes these connections. It was scintillating. It's no secret that I have not been feeling very good lately but this was really heartening and made me feel a bit better.

I came home and watched Lovelace because of Vogue magazine. I got a basically free subscription through the reward points my corporate bank "gives" me, and this month Amanda Seyfried was on the cover. The artocle talks about how the really great serious actress moment of Seyfried's career, so far, was Lovelace, but people didn't see the film when it was in theaters. It's actually pretty great. Seyfried is fantastic, Sharon Stone is wonderful as she is at literally everything. And who else is in the film, playing a slightly older, sad wizened porn actress? Debi Mazar.

Just saw one of the mosquitoes flying around my room, one of the big ones that bit me so many times Friday night. I think, like, 8-9 different bites. Terribly painful. I woke up swollen, rummaged through my nightstand for antihistamine gel and put it on. IN the morning there were just tiny little bite marks. Hard like pimples. All over my body. But still I slept for 11 hours on Friday night. The mosquitoes ere silent. The one I saw this morning was silent too. Big and red and quiet.

Out of my window I saw a teenage boy get arrested across the street. The cops were handcuffing him and his friends he was with kept asking something like where's the weed though? The cops have been on the corner all weekend. Last night when I was going to the city I saw a pair of white people painting a mural on the chicken shop. I wonder.

I went to a bunch of art openings, and they were pretty okay but nothing too special to write home about. I want things to be better. The Kim Gordon show at 303 Gallery is great. The group show at Rachel Uffner is fantastic, go to those.

I feel like I am a crazy person. Sometimes (like today) it's not so bad. It just feels like a dull ache of dysfunction. Other times it feels very hot and urgent.
And shameful.

I don't know what's wrong with me. How every thing keeps stimulating this nerve, the nerve that reminds me how worthless I am, how horrible, how unlovable, how fundamentally shitty and bad and deserving of pain and punishment I am. I can't map it out -- I don't know what this is about, where it came from, how to assess it or change it. My analyst asked, last week, if I was in pain. I said yes. He said are you in pain right now? I said yes of course. He asked what it felt like.

How, dear reader, do you describe emotional pain? How do you describe emotional pain if nothing even happened?
Isn't loneliness a kind of pain? Isn't boredom a kind of pain? I'm not lonely or bored, per se. I feel very excited and hurt and taut. I told my analyst it feels like I have a fever, like I am on fire. If feels like I am caught in a vise and something has to happen yet I know there is nothing that can happen, so I feel as if I am just stuck in this painful position. My analyst said "Why do I have the feeling that you've been abused?" I can't answer that question. I don't feel abused, I said as much. I said if anyone is abusing me it's me because I'm the one who knows, deep down, how much I deserve the abuse. My analyst said maybe, but it seems like I've been dealing with someone else's abuse. That doesn't make any sense to me.

Then we talked about how embarrassed I am. How I let the crazy out on Twitter and someone got upset and told me to get off line. I think they were trying to be helpful but all it did was make me feel like I'm an idiot for being in pain to begin with. Not only am I deserving of pain, but I can't talk about it because it annoys people and just makes people hate me. Everything is an opportunity for an indictment. Everything is another example of me not being enough, of me being too much. Me being wrong. Me never being right. Me being no one's favorite. Me being no one's pick. Me guilting people into love. Me tricking people into putting up with me, but only for a time. Eventually every body will come to hate me as much as I hate myself. Almost as much-- I'm better at it than everyone else because I have more practice.

After therapy Brontez came over and he brought me a rose which was very sweet. We hung out a bit. Friday I saw Lydia and came home and slept for longer than I usually do. Saturday I hung out with Markey for a bit at the Brooklyn Museum then went to Gag at Metropolitan. Cute boys don't care. I don't blame them. Sunday I went to my group meeting and felt like a loser afresh, did some errands and slept early again. Watched bad TV. Bad books.

I don't know how to wait anything out. Can't something change? Why does everything feel so painful and exclusive and mostly fresh. How can I be so naive, still. Why does it still feel like the first time when I get rejected, ignored, slighted. I have no sense of myself. I have nothing to fall back on. It's not "I don't care if you don't like me because I like me." I don't know that. I don't know or believe that I am worthy. I feel that I have nothing to offer. No ideas. No art. No Magic. Nothing.


Which traps

I don't know how to listen to music anymore.

Molly Pope tweeted recently about working on another of her brilliant new shows, and she said that she felt like she'd forgotten how to listen to music for fun as opposed to when you're writing a show and learning a song.

It's like everything is measured against that: either it's me or it's not. Either I can imagine myself singing it or not. Not just singing. We imagine how it would feel to play that song, to make a dance to it. We fantasize about putting he record on when we fuck. We listen to the song at the nightclub and we feel we are the singer, the subject of the song. I can't listen I can only bleed. I can't stop pumping.

Maybe it's like my frustration with drag, my drag jealousy. Miss Green Eyes. Which I smoked into this thing I wrote called "Sodium" which a remixed version of was published by Blunderbuss. The original mix is published in the new zine DOOR GIRLS.

I can't listen to music except to think how I would perform the song. Even without singing. How I would lip sync to the song, how I would perform it as a drag queen. Where's the ironic subtext of the song. Where's the hilarious shocking messy pathetic edgy fuck-up landmine of the lyrics. Of the attitude: where in the diva is the pitfall, pothole and how shall I express myself but to choose, onstage which traps to fall into and which to fly above.

The thing of I wish I made that. I wish I felt that way enough to make that. I wish I thought that. I can't listen. Anymore or right now. It's as if, as I think I've said before, subjectivity is salt-water. The death-drive of our moment in white supremacist patriarchal capitalism is a kind of nutrition, a nature of insatiability. We call it a tension, we call it balance but the whole thing is rigged.

Justice. She's not blindfolded to be objective she's blindfolded to become inhuman to be above humanity. They should have given her wings, a weapon or something but no she's so old school like with a spinning loom, an hourglass, a scale.

I know it's silly. Or seems selfishly misguided or something. I'm trying to find a way to explain my way out of it. I don't know if I know how to feel. I'm thinking about that scene at the end of Young Adult where she says something like "I need to learn how to be happy" and then the co-dependent person immediately suggests a much more attractive version of reality. Am I so clueless? I don't know if I think so. I think maybe slippery. Maybe less slipper than I realize. Maybe more, sure. But maybe it's behind me.

That clip from that Chicks On Speed record where one of the Chicks is on the phone and you only hear her half of the conversation and she says how sorry she is about missing the Underworld performance. How was it, she asks.


Target Practice

Last night I was talking to my Analyst and he asked if he had ever told me about the five topics. I said no. It seemed strange, him volunteering any information that way, seemingly apropos of nothing. Also I've been seeing him for several years now and this has never come up. But the five topics, things to talk about in therapy are:

- Sex life
- Dreams
- Your past
- What you're feeling/thinking when you're on the couch
- Thoughts/feelings about the Analyst

I told him I felt at a bit of a disadvantage because I don't have much of a sex life and do not have any dreams, but he explained that these can refer to fantasies, even non-sexual fantasies, and that I do in fact have dreams I'm just blocking them from my memory. I very rarely speak to or about him, directly. I was a little bit miffed because he hadn't brought these things up before, and I've been quite vocal about sometimes not knowing what to talk about, or how to 'do' psychoanalysis. But he did make a good point last night. We were describing this predicament I'm in right now, or in general, and he described it as being a situation in which I cannot win.

The situation is that I do not know how to be angry or feel disappointment without a) lashing out and projecting it onto someone else and telling them about it and starting a fight (which is rare but becoming increasingly and troublingly common) or b) directing the anger back at myself. I have no right to be disappointed or frustrated or angry. It's because of something I did or did not do. Everything seems to come down to some failure on my part. Choosing wrong, or not choosing right. Everything-- my inability to feel or my constant feeling bad, everything comes, it seems, from inside. I don't know another way to think to explain it. Everything arises from some fundamental dysfunction within me. Something about me that is abhorrent and which everyone else seems to react to but which I am incapable of locating. All I know is I drive people away.

He said it sounds like I'm stuck in playing smear the queer. He mentioned this because it's a memory I often return to in analysis and something that feels really real in the present tense.

When I was little my family moved to the suburbs and I was queer but I didn't know it yet. But the other kids at school definitely did. I remembered early on wanting to play with some kids in my fifth grade class after school, they were running around and I wanted to play with them. It was after school, during a baseball game, so the younger kids and parents were nearby at the baseball diamond but we were on the blacktop, the slightly older kids. I was a new kid I wanted to be friends. They told me I could play with them but they were playing smear the queer. I said okay, I must have agreed. I did not understand that this meant that I had to be the queer. I didn't even know what this game was. Basically it's that I'm the queer and they all take turns jumping me. it was like football but without the football.

I'd roughhoused with my little brother for years, so I knew how to scrap. I was totally bewildered. I quickly ascertained that we were fighting dirty; that the game as such was to just hurt each other as much as possible. I think I kicked one of the boys in the crotch and I think I may have bitten another one. They were furious. This was against the rules. I didn't understand. They doubled up on their efforts. I don't think it was a matter of punching me in the face, per se-- I wasn't bleeding or anything, but it was a lot of tackling, a lot of actual smearing on the ground. Lots of arm holds. I remember being overpowered and running away to try to find my mom who I think was watching the game.

This is a pattern that I feel like has continued throughout my life. I'm deeply skeptical of the narrative of "only one thing happens to you over and over again"-- I'd like to think that a couple different things happen to you all the time, with gradations of change, of course. I very much feel like I am still playing smear the queer. I don't feel like I know how to be if I am not a target. Even as much as I resent being a target.

This is a photo of me and Betsy Heavens right before I did a performance, probably in 2004. It's funny to think that I've been harping on the same stuff for so long. Probably that was a clearer, if messier, way to get at what I am always trying to get at. I painted a target symbol over my chest and I tried to do my eye make-up to look like I had a black eye. I wanted to look tenderized.

I feel like the world only wants me as a target. The world only wants me as queerbait, fagbait, crimebait. Deathbait. I feel like I exist only to prove the limits of more powerful people's aim, range, and force. Even in ideal circumstances, where I should feel good or welcome, I need to make myself a target. I need to be more flamboyant, obscure. I cannot accept that someone would actually love me; I need to immediately, repeatedly and forcefully throw myself against the edges of their love to prove its boundary. I know, on some deep dark level of my most mistrustful heart, that all love is conditional. I can see other people only as they are not me. You can love me only if I know that you love someone else more than you love me.

I went to the bar last night and I felt kind of out of it. I said hi to some people but mostly I avoided people. A couple people stopped me to say hello, which I kind of felt bad about. I feel like I'm sick, like I'm a sick person and everyone can see it.

I need to tell myself another thing. I wanted, I was telling my analyst last night, to try a different thing. Why is it always that my fundamental make-up is the problem? Why is it so bad that I naturally want to be a target? Why is it so bad that I either lash out inappropriately (fight dirty) or else resign myself to become the object of my own rage? Isn't there a place for me to have these qualities? Isn't there a job that requires this exact skill set? Maybe it's not being an artist but that seems pretty close.

I just want to feel a different way and I guess I can't feel a different way until I think a different way about it first.


For to Get

I feel like I'm forgetting something. Something important. What is it that I'm forgetting? Is it that I'm forgetting to love you? Like, to show you affection? Or is it that I'm forgetting to love you-- in the sense that I'm actually forgetting to feel that feeling. To practice the art of loving you. That I'm forgetting that I'm supposed to be doing that. Like, everyone else has taken off in the marathon and I am still here, at the starting line, admiring the job I did lacing my shoes.

I just learned a new way to lace up my shoes. The dumb internet taught me. I hate even linking, but you know.

No but I feel as though I am forgetting something important. Is it you, internet. Is it you, diary? Am I forgetting to do something here. I don't write every day. Things feel sort of okay. They're moving along. I'm caught in a moment. I'm distracting myself. To tolerate distress.

Is it that I forgot to ruin everything.

I got outside. I got outside this weekend, and I got outside yesterday and today. Did I forget to be cute. Did I forget to call someone? Did I forget to worry. I didn't forget to worry, to feel bad. I remembered. I'm remembering right now. Did I forget to fight hard. Did I forget to kill something to become its favorite.

It feels not unlike in college, this thing of using stars as metaphors, astronomy. I remember writing some not great songs about seeing constellations as lonely. They're pairing up and I'm down here. But now I feel less like it's about being left out of some romantic entanglement, less about feeling alienated more about the anxiety of pattern recognition. I think I've swung too far in the other direction-- now imperfection is too aesthetic to me. I get freaked out by a schema.

Mercury is retrograde, of course I feel like I've forgotten something. I'm definitely not forgetting to eat. That much I remember. I'm gaining weight from meds, it feels like. It's awful. I don't know if anything's working. I feel frustrated for the stupidest reasons-- seeing something shiny, etc.

I'm having an okay time. Things are going along. I have the zine party this weekend and some shows and my parents are coming to town. And yet there's this nagging feeling. I don't understand. I want to distract myself. I want to buy toiletries. I want to buy socks. Things I need. Unglamorous things but new things. I want to fritter away my money by stocking up.

Like most Americans I want to move laterally. I don't want to go forward or confront the past I just want to sort of muddle from side to side. I want to feel like I have some leverage. I want to feel capable, expert or something. Not like I want to feel powerful or in control-- I don't need those. I want to feel like I'm somewhere. A person. It's so fucked up.

I want to find a program that will split up FLAC files into mp3s so I can listen to the Amy Denio stuff I've been downloading. I am compulsively downloading music. Krautrock, indie, whatever. I want to feel like I'm feeding myself but I can't nourish. If that's possible? I want to feel like I'm taking care of myself. For myself. Like I'm helping myself. Like I'm getting inspired. Like I'm curious and I go after something but I come up against some kind of obstacle, like I'm discovering or making problems for myself, and I'm solving them.

I need to calm down. I am calm. I'm making tea. I'm doing a facial mask. Masque. I'm writing like I'm talking. I'm forgetting something on purpose maybe.



I've written zines since I was about 13 years old. The first zine I made, in high school, was called Zombie. In 2006 I started writing Scorcher, which I referred to as a psychedelic porno poetry zine, something of a bait and switch.

For the last year I've been writing something new, and occasionally reading from it. It's a new zine, called DOOR GIRLS. It's about going to parties. The new zine will come out on 5/23 and I'm having a special zine launch and reading and I am thrilled to be joined by some special guest readers who I like a lot: Doug Keeler, Justin Allen and Erin Markey. Won't you join us?

DOOR GIRLS by Max Steele zine launch and reading featuring Doug Keeler, Justin Allen and Erin Markey

Saturday May 23rd 7pm
Bureau of General Services—Queer Division @ The Center
208 West 13th Street, Room 210
New York, NY 10011

Please join Max Steele for the release of his new zine DOOR GIRLS at the Bureau of General Services—Queer Division for a launch party and reading featuring Doug Keeler, Justin Allen and Erin Markey.

Justin Allen is a writer from Northern Virginia whose work traces the ways geographies, both URL and IRL, shape identity.

Erin Markey is a comedic writer/performer, actress and singer who has shown work at BAM, Under The Radar Festival, New Museum, PS 122, Lincoln Center Director’s Lab, New York Comedy Festival, San Francisco Film Society, and frequently at Joe’s Pub at the Public Theater. She is currently a 2013-2015 artist-in-residence at Brooklyn Arts Exchange writing a musical, A Ride On The Irish Cream which will premiere at Abrons Arts Center in January 2016. She is a 2014 Franklin Furnace Fund recipient.

Max Steele is a writer and performer. He’s written the psychedelic porno poetry zine Scorcher since 2006 and in 2015 started a new zine, DOOR GIRLS, about night life.


What I Want Us To Do on Friday Night

Here's what to do on Friday night. Here's what I'm doing Friday night. I want you to do these things with me please. And in this order.


Opening reception Friday March 27th, 6-9pm
Yashar Gallery Jiddy's Art Show at Yashar Gallery
Open by appointment through April 12th, contact through www.julia-norton.com

Yashar Gallery (ground floor of the Leviton building)
276 Greenpoint Avenue (at Provost Street)

#2: The Multifarious Array: Tommy Pico, Felix Bernstein, Jessi Probus & Caroline Contillo

The Multifarious Array is a semi-monthly reading series featuring the very best poets at the very best place (Pete's Candy Store).

Pete's Candy Store
709 Lorimer St.
Reading starts at 7PM. FREE


80 Grove St (W 4th/7th Ave)

**** DJ M.O. ****
*** MIDNIGHT performance by MAX STEELE ***
Sexy go-go magic by VIVA BODYROLL and RIFY ROYALTY !!!
Photos by photomistress GRACE CHU !!
Emcee GUPP on the mic !!

tldr: Jiddy No-No's new art work, solo show, super important, then down to Pete's Candy Store for a scintillating reading by some of NYC's brightest thinkers (Teebs, Caroline and Jessi, Felix Baby Spice Bernstein) curated by art star Isaac Richard Pool, then come on out to the Monster in the West Village to see me sing a number at what is actually a legitimately awesome queer dance party.

and you don't even have to spend any money if you know the password for Hot Rabbit. Just saying <3 p="">


Back in the midst, in the early part of my mental breakdown, I got some donations toward these dream shoes. I didn't end up collecting any of the money. I mean, I returned it all. Then yesterday I found the shoes, on sale, randomly, in my size.

I feel like it was fate.




I have two shows this week that I want to tell you about.
(Don't Stay Home. )



Pete's Candy Store (709 Lorimer St.)

The Multifarious Array is a really cool reading series, and the wonderful Isaac Richard Pool is curating some fantastic things, and I am so, so excited to be part of this thing. And reading with Gordon and Buzz! It feels very fancy. I am thinking about what to wear?

More importantly, I'm reading some new things. I'm working on a new zine. I'm working on a tiny, short, preview zine, and then a longer bigger thing. But it's in a new vein (for me), and I'm excited to share some of this work on Friday. I'm nervous and excited.

Then, later:


at Earl Dax' PUSSY FAGGOT! 6 Year Anniversary Party
The Delancey (168 Delancey St.)
$10 or
RSVP for Reduced Guest List HERE:
(it's $6 instead of $10)

* Open Vodka Bar from 8-9pm *

So I'm singing some new songs and telling some new stories from a show I'm working on called THE GOOD DAUGHTER on Sunday night. And I'm opening for my favorite NYC queermo DaddyFag Genius Baby Superhero Becca Blackwell, who's showing some of their new solo show. It is truly an honor and I barely feel up to it. But Pussy Faggot is the fucking best and Earl is the most wonderful and Miss Pennifer Arcade is hosting, it's going to be so lovely. Description and line-ups below. But just as a reminder: $6 with RSVP link and OPEN VODKA BAR during the 8-9 slot which is when Becca and I are performing, so. You know.

Arrive early for the 6-year anniversary of PUSSY FAGGOT!, and enjoy work-in-progress performances by Becca Blackwell and Max Steele beginning at 8pm (basement level). Blackwell performs their new solo show, "They Themself and Schmerm." In this hilariously raucous romp, inspired by a self-produced video by Corey Haim called Me, Myself and I, Blackwell (a he-she-schmerm ginger who was in the circus and enjoys cute sweaters) chronicles the struggle of abuse, identity, sexuality, and gender. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll question what bathroom to use. Steele will perform songs from his new show, "The Good Daughter."

Come for The Garfields, and stay for the rest of the evening! Full details on PUSSY FAGGOT! Divine Intervention can be found HERE (and below)

Hosted by Penny Arcade, Guest Co-Curated by Travis Chamberlain, Door by La China Loca.
DJs Susanne Oberbeck (Gay Vinyl/No Bra) and Chris Giarmo. Closing DJ and performance set from THE ILLUSTRIOUS BLACKS (Manchildblack Black II and Monstah Black)

8 pm: The Garfield Hour!: New work form Becca Blackwell and Max Steele
9 pm: MIX NYC screening of David Hoyle short film and video work.
10 pm: Penny Arcade-hosted set
Rooftop Garden with all-night durational performances by Anya Liftig and Jen Rosenblit
Video projections by Kris Grey

Performers so far include: Reid Bartelme, Sapphira Cristàl, Viva DeConcini and Ann Pellegrini, Fantasy Grandma, Nick Hallett, Needles Jones, Karl Marks, Rachel Mason, Kenny Mellman, and Runn Shayo.

Okay and tonight I'm personally excited because Miss Pennifer and I are going all the way uptown to the 92nd Street Y to see this fantastic Eurodra Welty show our friend David directed.

I also don't know what to wear for that.


In school we had an art show together where we told everyone for months that we were fraternal twins, and then the art show was a lot of art about us, as twins. Composite drawings of fake baby photos, etc. It was obviously a lie but people still kind of believed it, or didn't get the joke of it, in a way. After school she went on to what seems like a very successful and glamorous job in the art world industry and I have gone on to pursue much more humble avenues of occasionally making art, unsuccessfully (it feels like) by comparison.

Last summer I slept with a guy who, it was revealed after we'd hooked up, was her intern. I thought "okay." But then later in the summer I slept with a different guy who, it was later revealed, was another of her interns. I don't know if she knows --she probably wouldn't care, or would think it was funny-- but I had been sort of banking on the idea that the two interns wouldn't tell each other they'd hooked up with me. I'd fooled around with each of them exactly once but tried to stay friendly with both.

I want to be friends with all of the boys.

Yesterday I saw them walking down the street together. Maybe they were coming from work or something. We didn't say hi to each other.


Tons de Legal

A theme from the week, from the weekend, could be being in the right place at the wrong time. Is time a place? A theme is being super early, or super late. On Sunday I showed up for a rehearsal I wasn't called to. Like, by a month. I was humiliated but they were nice about it.  It was like from a movie, from Smiley Face or A Woman Under the Influence. Funny and tragic. Taking everything too seriously. the way I always do. I take everything so seriously that it almost appears as if I don't care at all. I'm so obsessive and neurotic that I become lazy. This is a neat trick, the myth or circularity.

Break the cycle.

So instead I went to some art stuff. Went to some art stuff. I saw Andrew Norman Wilson's installation, Wether, at Chapter NY. I liked it, but I also thought it was a little bit creepy or scary. Anything that's legibly alchemical freaks me out, a little. Also boxes, cubes. Squares are inherently scary, right? All those corners? All four of them? In Chinese, four is considered unlucky because the Mandarin word for "four" (肆) sounds like the word for "death" (死). I'm okay with leaving four out of things. The whole four elements thing I find a little specious anyway. There's no room for Love, for Consciousness, and also I don't feel like Air should get to be it's own element, if we're excluding electricity. I'm rambling.

Anyway I ran into lovely Ross on my way to the opening and I was talking to him about how the installation was pretty, but also kind of scary, for the box/cube fear, and Ross said that fear can be good. I thought "Hmm." It's not the first time I've heard that sentiment, but I did stop to think about it a bit. Fear can be inspiring, I guess. Fear can also be paralyzing. You have to be careful how scared you get, I guess.

I went to this reading but it seemed empty or like in the wrong place. I mean I went to the place, it was the right place, but there was no one there except for the staff, and they seemed to be preparing a soup. I was intimidated. I hadn't been invited. Not personally. It was in all likelihood a free and public event but still. I just got drunk at the sculpture show downstairs instead.

I also went by Untitled to see a show of frankly fantastic new paintings by Henry Taylor.

Served Up, 2009

I was unfamiliar with his work before, but I really loved the paintings at Untitled. Definitely worth a trip to the LES to see them. The sculptures didn't really grab me, but sculptures rarely do. One of those openings you sort of stumble into, but are so glad you did. There was a cute little kid running around the gallery, and he knocked into me as I was holding a beer, and I spilled it on his jacket. He didn't seem to notice, and ran off, but I was kind of worried that the little kid (I'm guessing he was between four and six) would find his parents and be reeking of beer, but that's not my problem, really, is it.

I found the Chinatown bakery that, for a few weeks in a row now, has taro buns on sale on Sunday nights, which is perfect for art opening crawls through the neighborhood. I mean they're on sale because they're a little bit stale but I don't care.

I've been smoking, more than I should, obviously. I need to organize. I need to purge. I need to collect myself, and then I need to purge.

I went to Tanja Grunert to see Beyond 1.1, curated by Mitra Khorasheh &; Bethsabee Attali, featuring work by Charlotte Becket, Angelica Bergamini, Anoka Faruqee, Rachel Garrard, Paul Jacobsen, Dorothee Recker & Lisa Ross.

Angelica Bergamini, Respirado (Breathing), 2007

Really great show! Packed! Gorgeous and mean and smart. Some of the curatorial conceits were a little lost on ragamuffin me (dig the curator's text on the website) but that didn't dampen my experience of the show. I didn't stay for as long as I should have, and I'd like to come back.

I don't really go in for nature or nature art or the beauty of the natural world. I don't respect nature. Nature doesn't respect me, either. But this show gave me some things to think about-- I'm thinking of the ideas of fearful symmetry, of historical humor (isn't it funny what we used to think was true?). I'm thinking of how if you take a wide enough view, which is impossible, on some level, not to do, then there's a kind of beauty in the tautology there-- it's true because it's true. It's wrong because it's wrong. I think the show seemed to touch of themes of, if not the ineffable, than the inevitability of nature. I highly recommend it.

Thursday night I saw Sleater-Kinney, perform. It was a fucking trip. They were wonderful. I don't know if it was totally the transcendent experience I was hoping for. Actually it's just that they didn't play "Good Things". They were pretty fantastic. I hadn't seen them perform live since before One Beat, so it was kind of weird seeing all the later songs live. And the new stuff was fantastic. I geeked out, it was lovely.

My play is happening for one more weekend only, and I really want you to come. Just before the show on Saturday, I found out via the internet that the Casual Dots were playing in Williamsburg that night and promptly had a conniption. After the show, I ran over to Union Pool and was told that I was the last door ticket they let in. But I got in.

I saw the Casual Dots perform.
I'd never seen them before. I've only ever seen Kathi Wilcox perform in The Julie Ruin in the last few years. I saw Quix*O*Tic a couple times in the early 00s, but have long been a big fan of Christina Billotte. They were fucking amazing. I've loved this band for so long and I never ever ever thought I'd ever get to see them live. PLD told me he saw an interview where Kathi says they're making a new record, and the handful of new songs they played were awesome. They also played the songs from the old record, including one of my favorite songs in the whole wide world, "Hooded":

I really had such a fantastic time I can't even tell you. Really. I am on cloud nine that I got to see them. Okay.

The train this morning had bad air. It made me feel bad.
AND my snow boots broke. Just in time for more snow. It's kind of awful, right.

So, two lovely little things.

A: You can read a new piece I wrote, and also hear me reading it, and also see a glowingly lovely intro from Tommy Pico, over on TOE GOOD POETRY.

B: an idea I'm fooling around with