Last night was Valentine's Day. I took myself on a date to the Barney's sale, where I got a really cute pair of jeans (that leak obscene amounts of indigo dye), took myself to dinner at the fancy west village falafel place, went to my analyst, where I talked about this nightmare I had:
(NIGHTMARE: I am in a ski lodge with my mom and her best friend. The ski lodge is gorgeous and newly renovated. I begin to notice, however, that there are many hidden rooms in the building, which have not been renovated, and begin to explore the hidden spaces with mounting anxiety, and then I wake up frustrated.)
I came back to Brooklyn and went to the gym and was the last one there, at 11pm, on Valentine's Day. I was thinking about sentences I wanted to write for this story I'm working on. I came home and ate this vegan low-calorie ice cream and poured myself a very big gin and tonic and drank it slowly while I painted my nails. It was sort of perfect.
Wednesday I did that reading at the Bureau of General Services Queer Division to celebrate the release of SATANICA, the hit art zine curated by Gio Black Peter and Christopher Stoddard. It was so cool! Bruce Benderson, Slava Mogutin, Micki Pellerano, Christopher and Gio and I all read. It was really cool. Afterward we all went to Gio's and drank beers and ate pizza. I finally got a copy of the zine. They had some trouble printing it because it's so obscene (it is, really, so obscene, it's totally great), and they only printed 350 copies, which actually sold out before the printing even came back. It's a hit! I was rabid to get a copy. And flipping through it last night and this morning I got kind of emotional. It features so many amazing artists and writers, I feel really honored to be included. It's sort of beyond my wildest imaginations that I might be in some art zine/book with folks like Richard Kern, Michael Alig, Bruce La Bruce, Bruce Benderson, Slava Mogutin, Travis Jeppesen, No Bra, and so, so many more. It's so cool. I'm really proud. Alligator tear. Of course, the zine is sold out with no plans to reissue it, so until one of these faggot genius weirdos donates their copy to the NYU Fales Collection (let's face it: it'll be me), no one will know about this zine! It's great, it's like a joke.
Occurs to me now that I could just make up an entire bibliography for myself, invent a career. People do that all the time. Tuesday I agonized over some writing projects, and Monday night PLD and I practice the B0DYH1GH set we're going to do tonight at The Hose for Shane-Shane's party FANCY. I'm really excited about our satanic sexy Sheryl Crow cover song.
Everything is good even when it's bad. Even when it's bad, it's still worth having. Probably. I might take that back. I'm a little bit scared watching the videos of the meteorites falling in Russia, until it occurs to me that the reason they're scary is because they sound like bombs, or rockets. And how lucky I am that that sound (what I imagine those sounds to be) are so unfamiliar to to me as to really scare me.
Tonight I'm wearing all kinds of blue as part of my look.
I just found this video from the conference on AIDS and Literature I was part of at the New School last year, organized by Dale Peck. You can see a video of readings by more legends such as: Dale Peck, Rabih Alameddine, Michael Denneny, Gary Indiana, John Kelly, Larry Kramer, Amy Scholder, John Weir, and Edmund White. And me. And little fresh-faced oblivious Max Steele. I was so out of my depth, and so fundamentally honored and thrilled to be in that room with those people.
I think I mentioned this, but I got to shake Larry David's hand and she wears all kind of magick jewelry. It was kind of a hugely wonderful thing.
OK on to Friday Night. Here we go.