THIS IS FAG CITY

Catching Up Matching Up

2012-01-31T12:03:00.003-05:00

My legs and my back and my butt are all really sore from Saturday. I am working on a secret new project with good old art friend Miriam, who was one of the original dancers in The Party Ice, and she and I both were in Richert Schnorr's brilliant little dance/art/porn/video album/band Graphic.Glory, as well. She's been living in Scotland for the last few years, and is recently back to New York, and so we are making some performances together. Anyway she's a real dancer, as well as personal trainer, and keeping up with her is a fucking challenge! I'm excited to make new work with her, and to collaborate, something I'm historically loathe to do.

And my whole body hurts. It's a good hurt. I thought it would be smart to go to the gym before meeting up with her for dance-making, but I guess this was a mistake. Ouch!

Today, I have a cough. My chest feels scratchy. I blame the radiator and the heat in my room. The dust. The environment. It sucks. I'm really angry about having a cough. I better not fucking get sick. I will kick my own ass.

Last night I went and saw dear heart Nicholas Gorham's new show GOD FREE THE QUEEN at Dixon Place. I know that they filmed it, but still, I'm kind of pissed off about the fact that it was only one performance! It was really beautiful, and I hope Nicholas does it again! I don't remember when I first met Ms. Nicholas Gorham, but I have always loved her (and I'm not the only one). His performances all over NYC both solo and in fantastic group productions of the likes of Mx. Justin Vivian Bond and the Big Art Group have made him something of a rising star. And he should be! Nicholas is absolutely one of the reasons I am excited about living in New York, is because I get to see work like the show I saw last night. I really enjoyed his piece last year at La MaMa, One Drop Passing which examined identity, race, and language. It was pretty epick, and also conversational, with surprising gravity and nuance. The new show I saw last night, GOD FREE THE QUEEN, explored the themes of loss, beauty and decay. It's kind of hard to describe. It reminded me of that part in the Bill Cunningham documentary, where he talks about how a sign of Rei Kawakubo's forward-thinking was she copped to being inspired by the silhouettes of homeless people in New York in the 1980s. (Actually, she said that she designed for the "bag lady" of New York). Nicholas' performance, both visually and textually, refers simultaneously to classic high art, medieval aesthetics, as well the desperation and danger of life on the streets. I was incredibly impressed by the writing in the show, his deft and very clever use of iambic pentameter was actually really cute and smart.

The show also featured some great musical numbers, danced in part by everyone's favorite Cabaret Superstar Bradley Kal Hagan. There were at least two songs by Queen in the show. Nicholas has such a great voice, maybe better (or at least more human) than Miss Old Freddie Mercury's. And anyway Nicholas is alive to sing them.

Hearing "I Want To Break Free" did remind me, however, of my trip to Berlin last summer, when homegirl La JohnJoseph and I followed our sexy Israeli cab-driver over to his apartment, after my performance Bassy Cowboy Club (that is actually what it is called). Sexy Israeli Cabdriver took us to a gigantic living room in a beautiful old building, and asked us to stand in front of a projection screen while he shot images of other naked boys onto us as lighting and took our photo. (Typical). Anyway the sexy Israeli cabdriver revealed not only that he was a billionaire Aries Heiress, but that she was gifted musically as well. He picked up an acoustic guitar and began to sing, with this indecipherable (to my ears) accent "I Want To Break Free". La JJ was of course wooed by this, I was trying to maintain my pose in the screen-light and wanted to keep taking photos.

"Dude," I asked "are you singing, like, QUEEN?"

"Yes," he said "but it's my own special version."

I don't know the words to the song, but JJ did and they sang them together and fell in love and the rest if herstory.

Anyway the point is Nicholas' show was great! It made me happy. Pray that you can see it performed again soon.

Here's a classic video of Nicholas: "IN THE WOODS"

Speaking of CATCHING UP, the bartender at Dixon Place last night was none other than old friend Thain, who I hadn't seen in some time and whom just returned, sun-kissed, from a tropical vacation. We do love the Sun. Anyway I ordered some drinks before the show and I had the much-ballyhooed SAINT VIVIAN, named of course for Mx. JVB and concocted by Thain. I know I'm late to the party on this one, it was sort of the Official Cocktail of 2011, but it was great! I am not even the biggest cocktail drinker, really (just some warm flat beer, maybe a little Mountain Dew to cut the flavor), but it was so good. I could drink them all the time. I see what all the buzz is about. You should go drink them. I will meet you at the DP bar and you can buy me one and we'll drink them together, how about that?

Also in the "Catching Up" department, I got a big pile of books for Xmas (thanks, Santa!) and finally am getting to them. I just finished Gerty Stein's Wars I Have Seen, and thoroughly loved it. But it did take forever to finish. So now I'm reading Laurie Weeks' Zipper Mouth which is AWESOME. I know I'm late to the part on this too, everyone else has read and loved it, but I just started it. it makes me want to smoke and do drugs and fuck everybody and be in love. How exciting!

Last week I did an interview with a blog at my old college, which asks me some nice questions about the type of writing and art work I do. You can see the interview HERE.

Sunday, I went back to Seagull Salon for a haircut and I got a good one! William there is fucking rad! Nice! Then I went to CdG and got this cute new polka dot PLAY shirt.

It's a new motherfucking day, World.

Yesterday I had a serious case of the Mondays. Nicholas' show really cheered me up, though. And the usual cure for a case of the Mondays is, of course, a good old-fashioned Tuesday.

My fucking cough though. Ack!

Ess Eff Dee Ell

2012-01-30T12:06:00.003-05:00

The time when I miss the West Coast the most is during winter, which I guess isn't happening in New York this year (thank goodness) or when one of my friends moves to Los Angeles, which a lot of them seem do be doing. However, I just found out about this tour going up and down the west coast, which looks amazing and makes me wish I was there.

Bradford Nordeen's DIRTY LOOKS is going to the west coast next weekend and if you are in San Fracnisco, Portland, or Los Angeles, then you should go check it out. You can see the full tour dates HERE.

One very special evening is 2/12 at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in San Francisco (good old home town). Here is the description:

//Sunday, February 12, 2PM FEMALE TROUBLE, a Genderfuck Program as part of the series Bros Before Hos: Masculinity and its Discontents.

FEMALE TROUBLE is a program that explores & explodes normative roles of femininity and gender. With work that spans five decades, these artists queer female subject space via drag tactics, narrative juxtaposition and overt performativity, with styles ranging from masquerade (Ventur's Mario Montez Screen Test) to mythic (Steven Arnold's Messages, Messages), performance document (Narcissister's Every Woman) to exposé video zine (via Vaginal Davis' Fertile La Toyah Jackson video magazine). Featuring works by Steven Arnold, Rick Castro, Vaginal Davis, Zackary Drucker, Matthias Müller, Narcissister, Patti Podesta and Conrad Ventur. @ YBCA 701 Mission Street (at 3rd), $8

If you are in town, you should go!

Sense of Speaking for the Possibility

2012-01-26T15:23:00.004-05:00

Well, I am definitely in a much better mood today. I don’t know why. Probably the old hump-day blues. Sometimes I feel really turned-off and bored by the world. I think probably we all do. And anyway I feel a lot better today.

One thing I’m really excited about is that my buddy Becca Blackwell did a really rad interview in The Village Voice for his work in Young Jean Lee’s UNTITLED FEMINIST SHOW. Again, if you live in NYC and haven’t seen the show, PLEASE GO . Even if I didn’t already have a total friend-boner for Becca (which, hi, I totally do), I would be really inspired by his comments in the article. My favorite is:

“How would I even begin to create the paradox of masculinity in a naked body with a vulva? Can dance even be masculine? How badly do I need my movement to seem ‘masculine?’ Why do I care so much about how people will see me? In the end, we came up with a sense of speaking for the possibility, not the problems of what we are. I got to be bigger than the questions. As awesome as that is, it is still a daily struggle.”

This quote illustrates exactly what I found so exciting about the show, and also points to the inherent magick in art, in general. These questions are really interesting, with no clear answers, of course. And I think, as people with identities (all of us) it can be totally unnerving and even tortuous to be in a position to constantly be asking these questions. I am so happy to be able to see the fruits of these questions onstage! The place where the show comes from “a sense of speaking for the possibility, not the problems of what we are” is, like, music to my ears. It makes me feel really happy and present and excited to be in the world. So, thanks, Becca!

Recently I was talking trash with a friend of mine about this person we both know, who was waxing poetic online about something both my friend I thought was really lame. Some mass cultural icon/aesthetic thing we’ve all been force-fed and are sick of. We were being snobs, I admit. But I was telling my friend that I wish this person could find cooler, more accessible and engaging things to obsess over. It’s not necessarily a victory for capitalist culture, and it’s not necessary a weakness or laziness on the part of the consumer. I said that I felt sort of responsible. This is the job of artists— to work to widen (to the extent possible) the scope of things worth imagining, obsessing over, thinking about. That is the job of art, I think.

But then maybe you make something fantastic and nobody sees it but you. That would be sad, but even then, in that case, still absolutely worth doing.

Hello there.

Love Notes From Bet Getter

2012-01-25T15:03:00.004-05:00

As if it were a mystery. As if we just don't know why. And we reinforce this, we ask you why. We want to know why. We want you to convince us. You think that nobody understands how bad you feel, and that nobody can understand. That if you told someone, they wouldn't get it. Or they would pretend to get it. Or they'd say they understood, but really they'd have some other idea of what it is, some idea based on themselves, which is almost worse. So you can't tell anyone, there's no help available, nothing. You think there are only a certain numbers of ways out, and that finding those out is better than being bad. Feeling bad. You think it's a mystery and that no body understands. And I am here to tell you that I definitely understand. I know exactly what you are thinking about, I know what they are all thinking about, because I am thinking about it too.

We talk a lot about compassion and optimism and hope and faith and love and forgiveness and perseverance and strength. These are all abstract concepts, these are characteristics of some fantasy dream-date version of ourselves. These are the ideal circumstances we live without, who's unattainability, untenable maintenance bums us out and discourages us from being alive. These aren't real things, these aren't help or hope or solace.

I know what you are thinking. What you are thinking is what they have all thought before and what so many (you could even say "all") of us are thinking, which is not a fictional personality attribute, but a simple observation. It's not because nobody understands. We understand. I understand. It is because THE WORLD SUCKS. Awful things happen, in perpetuity. Suffering is endemic and not incidental, it is constant. Pain is a part of life, and such an awful and omnipresent part that it does yes tempt one into thinking that the baby has dissolved in the bathwater and why not?

You don't get treated the way you deserve, no matter what, ever. Some people have a really easy time and not because they deserve to have an easier time or have done anything to affect their circumstances, just because. Some people have a hard time, too, for the same reasons. And I know that it is awful but it is also not something you can opt out of.

The secret to becoming a successful artist is the same secret to staying alive and that is to really bear down on this certainty. To really know, intimately, this bit about how the world sucks so hard. Art and being alive don't celebrate the beauty of life.

Anyone who tells you that they are simply noticing or celebrating the beauty of everyday life is either on drugs or lying or both.

Art and being alive work and are necessary because they come from a place of profound disappointment, disillusion and anger. With the world and how much it sucks. And so you want to make it better, or at least make it through it, by staying alive and/or making art. The sad fact of the matter is that this is the first part. You have to really get down into it, really be committed to rubbing your nose in the shit of life, participating in the torture of talking to other people, show up for your daily tribunal. You need, in other words, to be acutely aware, on a very fundamental level, of how hard the world sucks, the great unfairness of it.

Because only after that, by staying alive and making art and fucking and talking and singing and writing and dancing and complaining and making jokes and telling too much and being alternately scared and then brave about how much the world sucks, do you begin the process which culminates with you realizing that you have imagined a world beyond the one you know.

And This Is War

2012-01-23T14:53:00.005-05:00

Saturday I was battling a really toxic hangover, and it snowed. I basically did nothing all day. That's not entirely true-- I cooked myself brunch and I painted my fingernails with that Chanel Peridot green/gold color I like. I watched this old Liz Taylor movie, Reflections On A Golden Eye, which I liked a lot. I ultimately decided not to go out dancing or anything that night, if only to avoid another nasty hangover. So, once the sun set and I finally felt fortified with enough coffee and magickal snack to leave the house, I donned my nicest outfit and I went uptown to the Guggenheim for this event, called "The Last Word" which was part of the closing of the Maurizio Cattelan retrospective (retrospectacle?). The event, which was free, was an almost exhausting seven hour conference, with a laundry list of visionaries from the worlds of art, culture, literature, music, and some lovely philosophers and a very nice economist man. I got there about halfway through the evening, so I don't know what the opening remarks were like, but it seemed like everyone was speaking on the subject of endings, finality, sometimes death and sometimes much less mortal forms of "ending". Drew Daniel, who might actually be the Most Adorable Boy In The World, gave a really witty and engaging talk about the endings of songs in popular music. It seems like some people were asked to address specific prompts, and some people spoke a bit more extemporaneously. Before coming to the stage, each speaker had an epitaph they'd written projected onto a screen behind them, as a means of introduction.

There were some real highlights, among them Rick Moody, Steward Home, Amy Hollywood, Sarah Murray, Tehching Hsieh, and Matmos, who performed "Germs Burn for Darby Crash" live (it was serene and beautiful). They screened those Proenza Schouler & Harmony Korine videos, which, I'm sorry, were horrifying. Tracy Emin had a really sweet video letter to Maurizio, about ending, breaking up, etc. It was nice. The real reason I was there, though, was because Courtney Love was scheduled to be the headliner.

I did have my doubts that she would show, or show up on time. I am glad to say that these fears were unwarranted. The evening ran a bit late, but she had been more than prompt (I saw her come in and watch the presentations for a good half an hour before her turn). The epitaph on the screen as she came onstage said "AND THIS IS WAR." She spoke for about 20-30 minutes, and was actually really smart and sweet and thoughtful. She also said some deliberately inflammatory things, bragged about having grown up with a trust find and made all her dreams (however poorly thought-out) come true. The basic premise of her talk was that we live in a culture that wants artists to be dead, and that to want to be an artist and to be alive is an act of rebellion, and constitutes a lifelong war, against nonexistence. It was really interesting and I am so glad I went. I saw Hole play in 2010 and she basically didn't say anything at all between any of the songs, and this kind of made up for that experience. One note, is that she looked really great, embodying every bit the Hollywood movie-star trope the claimed to be "reluctantly" returning to (she also said "I love tropes, I'm all about tropes"). She wore a very very short skirt, and stockings with a big (undoubtedly) deliberate run in them. She spoke from a microphone and music stand in the middle of the stage, wearing her glasses, and peering over them when she wanted to make a point.

One thing I wanted to note, though, which I thought was brilliant, was that as soon as she got onstage, she asked if anyone here was an artist. Some hands went up. Then, she asked if anyone here was an academic, some more hands. Then, having taken the mic momentarily from the stand, she spoke into it as she crouched at the edge of the stage. Literally everybody in the auditorium (or watching the live video feed online) could see her underpants. She continued, "okay..." she said "but there's not anyone from Page Six here, is there?" She shielded her eyes from the stage lights, as if she might recognize Lynn Hirschberg in the audience. She was ostensibly asking because she was debating with herself to recount a personal anecdote involving a man she assured us was a very famous movie star but who she couldn't individually name (and she didn't name him-- but we all knew exactly who it was). The point is, she began her performance by immediately doing some pantomime, clown-gestures, to "undermine" or complicate the authenticity of her message. If there had been anyone from Page Six, crouching onstage and revealing her crotch would've been a bad idea (or whatever). She was sort of commenting on her role/character and the type of performance she was going to give. She took the position of exposure, of defiant "I don't care if you can see my underpants" and from this position asked if the event was being documented, by a tabloid. Of course, the event was being documented, and any number of the Artists of Academics in the audience could totally go off and write about her speech (as I am doing now), but she wanted to go through the charade of asking about it. Addressing and neutralizing the tension. Asking a question, and then immediately answering the question herself, and forcing the audience to wonder to ourselves whether her answer was correct or not. It was really subtle and brilliant, and I was so star struck. She also claimed to have never had any idea what performance art was, prior to the Marina Abramovic retrospectacle at MoMA last year. Personally, the Marina show (while spectacular, yes) made me less certain that I knew what performance art is. I was moved by Courtney's speech, and tweeted about it as I was leaving the museum (at 2:00am). Less than three minutes later, as I was walking to the train, I got an e-mail:

Totally nuts. Maybe not that nuts.

Afterward, instead of going out to a bar, I went to Hana Food and got a sandwich ('Still a Virgin') and came home to watch America's Funniest Home Videos in bed. Another one of those nights that made me so grateful that I live in New York.

And hey, speaking of performance and brilliant things that seem to only happy or mostly happen in New York, Tuesday night there's a really cool event at the Kitchen, which is also free. The Varieties of Performance Experience: A panel discussion with authors Judith Rodenbeck and Shannon Jackson. The event promises to be an interesting discussion on the nature and uses of performance, and I am particularly looking forward to it because Judith Rodenbeck was one of my absolute favorite professors in school, and whose thinking totally blew my mind. Speaking of rock stars.

Neither Man Nor Woman

2012-01-23T12:10:00.009-05:00

So last week, Comme des Garçons showed their new Homme Plus collection in Paris.

Cute, no? There's a lot going on here. Obviously, the wig party from fall continues at CdG. I thought the rocker thing was a sort of late-60s mood, maybe the Beatles at their groovier. Also giving me Noah Fielding from The Mighty Boosh effects. So, kind of rock and roll glam rock hair. The legacy of glam rock in western culture seems to have been a celebration of a kind of flamboyant androgyny which has it's roots in the 1960s. I remember reading a quote from Andy Warhol, saying that he loved the way that Mick Jagger so casually dressed in women's clothes, because it reminded Warhol of Françoise Hardy.

I do like the femme tailoring on the coats very much. The long-on-top look combined with bare legs is always a Springtime treat, can't wait for it myself. I do kind of want one of those coats. It kind of reminds me of my own spring coat, which is a very decrepit ladies pea coat from Old Navy which I got when I was 18. It's awful and kind of ugly but I can't bear to part with it. I just might, now though. The other thing in the collection that my heart beats for is the red high-heeled boots.

Androgyny and rock and roll are perennial themes for Rei Kawakubo, both aesthetics are corollary to Modernism, the great white whale of her career. I think it would possibly be too pat to read them into the new collection, though. Cathy Horyn sees this collection as drawing from two main impulses: the romance of Jane Eyre and punk. Now, I've never actually read Jane Eyre, I can't comment on that. The punk thing is significant, duh.

The current Homme Plus collection is titled "Tailoring for Punks" and it just arrived in stores.

I was a little bit underwhelmed, I gotta say. I get the tailoring aspect, but the punk, for me, doesn't come through here. I'm not so turned-on by the idea of subverting Saville Row, personally. There were a number of lace shirt-dresses in the runway show, which have yet to arrive in stores, but those are interesting. Rei Kawakubo's relationship to punk, in general, is really fascinating to me.

Of course, Comme des Garçons is incredibly expensive, almost so prohibitively luxe that it's offensiveness constitutes a kind of rebellious punk kiss-off. The fascination with deconstruction also speaks to codes of punk dress. And historically, I think, there is a significant shared timeline: Dame Vivienne Westwood opened her "Sex" shop in London in 1971, Rei Kawakubo founded Comme des Garçons in 1969. Both projects, more or less spearheaded by independent women working through their own businesses, aimed to create absolutely new codes of dress, to shake up the existing system.

Westwood: "I was messianic about punk, seeing if one could put a spoke in the system in some way."
Kawakubo: “It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t find the kinds of clothes I wanted. I was frustrated by the way we chose the clothes."

The frustration here is not with the specific garments themselves, but the culture surrounding how we decide what to wear.

And, of course, throughout the years, Kawakubo has incorporated punk iconography into her designs:

Comme des Garçons Homme Plus S/S 2008

And the seminal 1997 F/W "Adult Punk" collection:

"Adult Punk"

The F/W 1997 "Adult Punk" collection in installation

So, like, Kawakubo knows punk. That's totally a thing. I'm not convinced that that's what's up in the new men's collection. I think the rose motif is romantic, I guess, no more romantic than when Kawakubo offered roses last spring, sprouting from human skulls. Roses signify femininity, historically, but let's not leave it there. As Gertrude Stein says: "A rose is a rose is a rose". each iteration of an idea is a recapitulation and should be read as such. The rose, as a flower, contains both an androecium and gynoecium, making it hermaphroditic, marking it at once emblematic both of cisgendered historical romance tropes, as well androgyny.

Furthermore, the question of androgyny is complicated, too. Kawakubo is no stranger to androgyny, and does not seem to be going there now. She's not mapping feminine elements onto masculine wardrobes. The new collection is not androgynous in the conventional sense of being located between two genders, drawing from both. Rather, we ought to give Kawakubo more credit, her slogan of "neither man nor woman" seems to refute androgyny. Instead, she's a creature who exists beyond a binary-gendered world.

In Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex she considers the issue of how to approach the concept of sexual equality: "Just how shall we pose the question? And, to begin with, who are we to propound it at all? Man is at once judge and party to the case; but so is woman. What we need is an angel – neither man nor woman – but where shall we find one?"

Although she claims to not be a feminist, I do think Kawakubo has read de Beauvoir, and may well be referencing this angel. Hopefully this new collection portends an end to the gender binary, which I think is what Kawakubo had intended.

Also just saw the Comme des Garçons SHIRT F/W 2012 collection:

Star Wars! I actually think this collection is adorable. May the Force Be With You.

Intractable/Inspiring

2012-01-20T10:50:00.008-05:00

So some good news, you know. Day by day. Bad things improve. And for that I am very thankful. It's hard to stay flexible and adaptable. Because, at least to me, it seems like the best way to be adaptable and flexible is to stay loose, and not too connected to the present moment. Like, stay passive and uncommitted. But, in fact, the best way to be flexible, the best way to adapt, is to stay vigilantly committed, and present, and awake, and connected, but only connected to what is the actual right this second moment. It's hard to participate all the time, but that is exactly what you have to do. (and I'm doing it).

So, I saw two really wonderful and inspiring shows last week.

(Photo by Ian Douglas)

I saw Jack Ferver and Michelle Mota in Me, Michelle as part of the American Realness festival. I've known Jack for a few years in NYC, and always admired his work. This was my first opportunity, though, to see a full-length dance of his in real life, and I was duly impressed. The piece ostensibly draws from the story of Cleopatra. I'm not incredibly well-versed in dance history or language, but I was really touched by the subtlety and nuance of the performance. So many of the really crucial and poignant parts of the show hinged on really small, deliberate moves, inflections, and tableaux. The piece, for me, is about communication, identity, and guilt. There was a certain sense of claustrophobia, ecstatic and impending doom barreling towards us, as the two performers enact their final desperate wills onstage, seemingly locked in a room. Obviously, the palace and the dungeon are the same. The handmaiden and the Queen. The boy star and the girl back-up dancer. The dynamics that the piece uses as points of departure were handled really intelligently. Jack's art is so rewarding, in a way which I really admire. The performance work doesn't reward you for picking up references, necessarily. It doesn't pat you on the back for your stamina or patience, as an audience member. It doesn't test you, just for the sake of pushing you beyond your comfort zone. It's not a matter of freaking you out and then patting you on the back for it. Me, Michelle was, yes, kind of scary, though. It was! I was scared. But it was a good kind of scary. As the piece progresses, Cleopatra becomes increasingly candid and (apparently) cruel to her subject, while at the same time revealing more and more of the mechanisms of this cruelty. I don't know. I think there's something really brave to an art work that makes a really strong and beautiful statement, and also shows you how the artist got there at the same time. Explanations and measurements and communications don't have to undermine your art idea, they can inform it and enrich it. I was very impressed (but not surprised).

(Photo by Blaine Davis)

I also went to see Young Jean Lee's Untitled Feminist Show. I had seen an earlier iteration of the work a few months ago, and was really bowled over by it. The current production is a bit different, but in good ways. All my favorite parts from the previous version were still there, and there were some new highlights as well. Without giving too much away, the piece has no verbal dialogue, and consists of six performers of varying identities, fully nude, exploding ideas of gender, identity, and, yes, feminism.

It is kind of a hard piece to describe, because anyone seeing it necessarily brings their own baggage, and views it through the lens of their own identity. I think this is intentional. There's no single way to read the show, or even any single part of the show. It's hard! Untitled Feminist Show reminded me, in a really inspiring way, that art (performance art) can be really fulfilling, nutritious. It can be good and good for you. I do feel psychically and intellectually enriched by going to see the show, and I think most other people would as well. As a note, it is still running in NYC until 2/4. You can see more information about it here.

I was really inspired by seeing art work that involved a tremendous amount of research and rehearsal and process and technique, but that did not make formal political or aesthetic judgments. The show does not offer an easy answer. To do so would be, as well, to offer a convenient way out of the experience of the work. To take a really hard line, especially with something as socially-entrenched as identity politics, would be to automatically include some and exclude other audience members. Rather, Untitled Feminist Show raises questions without necessarily guiding a response. There might not be a pat answer to questions such as "What is a woman?" And then, of course, "Why do you say that?"

The show felt sort of retro to me, in an exciting way. I feel like that could be read as a criticism, and it's not. I think the piece strains for and implies its own context, at once implicating historical narratives, as well as situating itself, intentionally uncomfortably in multiple milieus. The performers come from very diverse backgrounds, in terms of performance practice and style. (Full disclosure, I'm friends with one of them, Becca, and I know and am in awe of the tremendous process they've gone through in the creation of the work). For me, the piece raised some really fundamental questions about the history of identity politics and feminism in this country. It reinvigorated some of the questions and concerns that so-called "second-wave" theorists of the 1970s raised. This is really exciting to me. I was glad to see a performance work that adheres to it's own logic (the way that good and original art does, or should), while at the same time implicating and recasting existing cultural and aesthetic notions in new light.

Anyway, both of these shows made me feel really excited about live performance, in a way I hadn't been for a while. Dance, or dance-based art. Always nice to know that we have this equipment, already installed, this hardware of the body. And how great it is. It is great. Literally awesome.

Another thing that I've been really digging lately is Lydia Lunch's spoken-word work. When I was home in California I got her 3CD set Crimes Against Nature and have been listening to it o my way to work in the morning. She's so fucking smart. And she doesn't brag about it. Lydia Lunch's writing doesn't necessarily want to stupefy you into submission by sheer force of syntax. Beauty is nice, sure, but it's not the only flavor out there, and she arrives at it unexpectedly. I've just been thinking a lot about Lydia Lunch lately, I guess. In a recent interview, Kathleen Hanna notes that Lunch "has influenced culture on such a deep level and never really been given her due." I am inclined to agree. I do think that this whole sleazy NYC thing, this Lady G**a, Madonna, whoever, this wild child extreme living in the big apple thing, is more or less lifted from Lydia Lunch's Church of the Depraved. You kind of cannot fuck with Lydia Lunch, you know? She's like, the SOURCE. (In this same interview, when asked about who the "Riot Grrrls" of today are, Hanna says: "Brontez Purnell of The Younger Lovers is my favorite modern riot girl. Also the women who run the website http://www.girlgangunderground.org/." Which I also love).

Oh, and I've also been watching a lot of America's Funniest Home Videos lately. I'm no longer too ashamed to admit this.

Purpose

2012-01-18T14:00:00.000-05:00

Well.

My friend Robin is still in the hospital and he is recovering. I had a chance to meet his parents and visit him yesterday, which was very heartening. Out of respect for the privacy of all concerned I don't want to get too deep into it, other than to say that I love him very much and am looking forward to his recovery. It's too soon to have a real sense of what shape this will be, but I am staying optimistic, and so are his friends and family.

As you may know, there was a fire at Robin's apartment last Monday, and his two room mates Monica and Darrelle lost everything, including two puppies, in the fire. They are very sweet people, and it's absolutely horrifying what has happened.

If you are in NYC, there will be a benefit for the three of them tonight at Heather's bar. Info is HERE.

If you do not live in New York and want to help out Robin and his room mates, you can donate to them directly through their FUNDLY page.

I do feel very much like nothing else in my life or that I could blog about is as important. I feel really sad and scared and impatient. Hopefully the good news will continue. I don't know what's really feasible to update here in a public context, but just know that this is what I am thinking about all the time.

The last week has been really awful, you guys. This accident made me so instantly sad. I tried to reach out to an old friend of mine, with whom I had lost touch. (I will call him S). S had survived a trauma similar to the one my friend is recovering from, except S had done so in an attempt to kill himself. I found out about this long after the fact, when he was almost entirely recovered. He had made a really miraculous recovery, and I wanted to reach out to him for some advice, encouragement and support last week, because my friend is now going through the thick of it. As I said S and I had not been in touch for a while, since last September, when he was moving from outpatient care in New York to the midwest where he would continue his recovery. The last time we spoke, he said that he wanted me to know that he thought I was really cool, but maybe a little selfish. That is okay with me. I tried to contact him last week, and found out that unfortunately, shortly after moving out of town to continue getting better, he was unable to overcome his demons and succeeded in ending his own life. Which is pretty horrible.

And I am angry. In a very general sense, toward the world at large, right now. When I was 21 years old and home on Christmas break, I got a pretty bad flu, and then it turned really bad when I developed a bleeding ulcer (thanks to ibuprofen for the fever). I finally went to the hospital, and from laying on my back for so long, I also developed pneumonia. I recovered, I graduated on time, and I laugh about it now. But it was really depressing. I remember feeling really let down by the world. Like I'm being a baby. Like: it's not supposed to go like this. Just because it is possible that everything can disappear one day, just because it's technically within the real of things that can and do happen, doesn't mean it should. You shouldn't just get sick and never get better again. You shouldn't just disappear. It shook my faith in a lot of things. And I got it back.

And it's being tested again this week.

This may sound corny, but I have also been returning to the monologue in this video, too. Before she had a talk show, or a sit-com, or anything, Ellen Degeneres was a stand-up comic. But before she was a stand-up comic, she wrote one first monologue, which is in this video, below. Her girlfriend had died very suddenly in a car wreck, and Ellen actually drove past the accident on her way home one night, not realizing who it was, only later learning that it had been her girlfriend. The random, horrible, sudden interruption in her life had been the inspiration for her writing this monologue.

I don't know. I always thought this was a sweet monologue, and not a lot of people know the story behind it.

Helping

2012-01-11T13:16:00.002-05:00

So, I don't normally like to use this blog as a way of drumming up support or funding for projects, but my friends had a house fire at their apartment on Monday, and they are in dire straits. They've lost all of their possessions, as well as their housing. One of their dogs died in the fire, their other dog and their cat are currently in oxygen tanks at the vet, and their third room mate who is my very close friend is still in critical condition at the hospital. These are three of the nicest, sweetest kids I know, and I would really appreciate it if anyone reading this could support them in any way possible (even just getting the word out to your friends).

You can see more background info about the situation HERE.

If you are in NYC, we are having a benefit for them at Heather's Bar next Wednesday night, which you can see info for HERE.

If you are in Los Angeles, there will be a benefit there this Friday, which you can read about HERE.

Finally, they've set up an online donation page through Fundly where you can send them money. Please donate and spread the word. Their Fundly page is HERE.

I am completely upset by this horrible news, and want to do anything I can to support them. Please check out the links above. Their friends will be coordinating donations of food/clothing/living supplies (men and womens, they're small so anything is helpful) in NYC. Money helps. Support helps.

Thanks.

2012-01-11T13:03:00.003-05:00

Everything seems disingenuous and irrelevant; I feel selfish and stupid, and helpless. Someone I love very much is in the hospital after an accident at their home, and there is not anything I can do right now. We're trying to organize and coordinate support and be as helpful as possible.

I tried to go to the gym to take my mind off of things but I had to stop because I couldn't listen to any music. There are no songs that are not about it. There are no songs that are not trite and are not phoney. I guess they were real for the singers but no one can sing the right thing for right this second. And right this second is the only thing I can think about. I feel like I've checked out. I'm just waiting on news of my friend's recovery. I don't know what to do.

I also couldn't stay at the gym because I realized while I was running that I could not catch my breath, couldn't focus on putting one foot in front of the other on the treadmill. I felt like I was becoming hysterical, and might just start crying. Which won't help.

I don't know what to do and I am worried that I am still fucking it up and doing it wrong and making it about me. I don't know the right way to feel. I know that worrying won't solve anything. That being scared and sad and worrying don't fix anything but I can't help it. I've come to the conclusion that it is okay to worry, it's okay to be sad and it's okay to be scared but you have to still be other things too, you have to still get through your day and get out of bed. And I feel like an asshole for doing any of that, for doing anything that's not directly related to going back in time and preventing the unthinkable. And even feeling like an asshole feels like a waste of energy. My heart hurts. I am so sad.

I'm spending all of my energy towards trying to help my friend and I can't think about anything else and even if I could I don't want to.

RINGING

2012-01-09T10:22:00.010-05:00

I wrote the entry below two days ago morning. I got some pretty upsetting news while I was writing it, and I just wanted to throw it out there for posterity's sake, backdated, and post what's actually up now.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Monday 1/9/12
Well hello. Thinking a lot this morning about ENERGY because I DON'T HAVE VERY MUCH OF IT.

Ai Weiwei and Rei Kawakubo

My energy comes from coffee. Also, this:

MISS HONEY! I do feel more energetic. I've been fighting this cold since I got back from California last week. It might not even be a real cold. Just, something. I've been congested and sort of the misery spectrum for a while now. I guess I can't really complain, though, because I've done basically nothing to help myself recover and have had altogether too much fun on the weekends.

And today my sinuses hurt and I feel pretty gross. Also, the heat at my apartment was out last night and this morning. And also also, the heat at my office is out today. So this is not making me feel super great either, but there's literally nowhere else to go. Am I dying? (Short answer; no. Long answer: yes.)

Saturday B0DYH1GH performed at Earl Dax' legendary PUSSY FAGGOT party. it was really wonderful to be on a bill with so many (so many) talented artists and friends. I got to cheer on my buddies Dan Fishback, Joseph Keckler, Raul DeNieves, Gio Black Peter, Balls to the Wall, Colin Self, the list goes on and on.

B0DYH1GH's own set went, I think, really fucking well. I think people could hear the songs, and that they really went with us on our journey. We had nice looks. The mythtape is out and everybody loves it (it's a hit! see previous post for download info). I was really glad so many of our official B0DYH1GH fan club came out to see us perform. It's really nice to have support.

But let's be real, the undisputed highlight of Saturday night was the fact that Lady Miss Kier performed. She had been billed as bringing a DJ set, but surprised the rabid crowd by singing more than a few numbers. New ones, old ones, a few Deee-Lite hits, and some exxtra-groovy dance moves.

Here we are in the backstage before the show:

LEO POWER

I met Kier when I moved to NYC in 2006, and though I have seen her do DJ sets a few times (you can check out her awesome mixtapes on her website), but I had never seen her sing live before. It. Was. Amazing. Lady Kier is absolutely a New York City legend, and it was a distinct honor to see her perform. The crowd went nuts when she started belting. She sounded amazing.

She also DJ-ed so many really awesome songs, including this oft-overlooked gem from Left-Eye's solo album:

Here's a nice group shot backstage:

(L-R: Colin Self, Mykki Blanco, Jesse Gold, Moi, Lady Miss Kier, DJ Designer Imposter, Perfect Little Daniel)

I mean can you believe it? I can't/couldn't.

Backstage video by Mykki, who I got to meet for the first time on Saturday! Obviously Ms. Blanco is a huge deal these days, getting much well-deserved press. I first fell in love with her when I saw this video of her reading her poem, "The Jane Hotel".

So wonderful, right? A banner night, by far. My ears were ringing and ringing and ringing. At one point in the night, LMK did play my song "Come On Billy" (which is also sort of where I got the name Billy Cheer from FYI) and called me up on stage to sing it. it was. Mind blowing. I can't even process it. I went home thrilled. Keckler and PLD and I got sandwiches at Hana Food after demurring from the after after after party, as you do (when you want a delicious Hana sandwich).

At that deli, Hana, every sandwich has a ridiculous, sometimes totally offensive name. The sandwich I always get (and got twice last weekend) is called STILL A VIRGIN.

Sunday I stopped by Envoy Enterprises for the closing of the exhibit for Micki Pellerano's new book of drawings, REVELATION.

Behemoth

The online photos only give an impression of the drawings. They're huge, and really intricate, and gorgeous. The show just came down, but the book is still available from Envoy's site. At the reception they were serving absinthe, which was nice, always. I got to see Jaime who just started working at the gallery, and whom I hold very dear. A nice relaxed Sunday.

PRETTY BEAUTIFUL

2012-01-06T09:22:00.002-05:00

B0DYH1GH's first mythtape PRETTY BEAUTIFUL is out today! Featuring B0DYH1GH demos and songs we love/were born from. Cover photo by Christian Coulson.

1. B0DYH1GH - The Blue Dream
2. Sonic Youth- Bee Bee's Song
3. B0DYH1GH - Cherie Stems
4. Young Marble Giants - Brand-New-Life
5. B0DYH1GH - Coma White
6. The Halo Benders - Don't Touch My Bikini
7. B0DYH1GH - Cur Keys
8. Inflatable Boy Clams - I'm Sorry
9. B0DYH1GH - Get In The Pool
10. Sinéad O'Connor & Karen Finley - Jump In The River
11. B0DYH1GH - H0LY D1G1T
12. Butter 08 - How Do I Get High?
13. B0DYH1GH - I.C.U.P. (Yellow Belt)
14. Poison Girls - Ideologically Unsound
15. B0DYH1GH - Jenna Gross
16. Slant 6 - Ladybug Superfly
17. B0DYH1GH - May the 4th Be With You (And Also Be With You)
18. The Amps - Mom's Drunk
19. B0DYH1GH - Sister Cumshot
20. Alexander - Transparent (Studio Mix)
21. B0DYH1GH - Thor's Day
22. The Frumpies - Whatshisname Hearts The Frumpies

DOWNLOAD PRETTY BEAUTIFUL

For those of you in NYC, B0DYH1GH will be celebrating PRETTY BEAUTIFUL's release with a very special set opening the show at AMERICAN PUSSY FAGGOT REALNESS tomorrow, Saturday 1/7/12 at Public Assembly. RSVP for reduced price tickets HERE.

ENUFF IS ENUFF

2012-01-03T12:41:00.005-05:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

I really cannot believe it’s 2012. I definitely thought the world would end this year. I guess it still might! There’s still time. Don’t worry—you can still worry.

I am still trying to come up with a slogan/theme for 2012. One idea, I had, initially, as a theme/slogan, was ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. I've been thinking about that song "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe" because I watched the video for the Taylor Dayne cover version on New Year's Eve before going out. I like the way that ENUFF IS ENUFF seems to imply two things:

a) Don't stop 'til you get enough.
b) What even is enough, anyway?

Like on one hand, "I'll tell you when I've had enough" and at the same time the creeping suspision that there is no such thing as enough, really. There is no certainty. Everyone is, deep-down, insatiable. Is that even true? These are the questions of 2012. So I've been running this new slogan over and over in my head, ENUFF IS ENUFF. And then I found:

Obviously, right? The thing is, this phrase must have been buried in my subconscious, because I totally have this book and totally love it. Though, for the life of me, I can't find it at the moment, which really upsets me. Maybe I checked it out from the library (unlikely)? Maybe I lent it to a friend (also unlikely)? Anyway this book is full of helpful advice on How to Live. Two of the really choice bits of advice that have stuck with me are: don't do anything (the book recommends not even getting out of bed) and also asking people for things, like money (because sometimes, the book notes, you actually just get it, when you ask for something, sometimes, people just give it to you). It helped me through a difficult period in my life. And I wish I could find it again! So, again, 2012: Enuff is Enuff.

I had the best New Year’s Eve EVER. Except for maybe last year’s? 2011 was a year of really deep beautiful hangs, among other things. A lot of really amazing parties. I’ve been racking my brains for HIGHLIGHTS OF 2011 or BEST MOMENTS / FAVORITE THINGS, and every time I start I get exhausted immediately. What a year! Some highlights have definitely been, say, at the Monkey Island party when the cops busted open the party, and I thought they were strippers for the Birthday Boy, and kept motioning to the Cop/Strippers that they could cut me in the bathroom line if they wanted. They didn’t want to. But remember how we all had to evacuate the party, and then come back? That was a fun night. Until a lady in a very fancy dress, sitting across from me, smoking silently, turned to me and said: “Let’s play ‘How Old Do You Think I Am?”’ That was a fun time.

I think one of my favorite memories of 2011 (if not the most favorite) would be when I was visiting Berlin and my homegirl La JohnJoseph and I met up with Vaginal Crème Davis for breakfast. It was such a magickal morning, and we had a great gab session afterward, which luckily was recorded for posterity’s sake! Check it out:

VD Sessions 01 - four faggots and a afternoon by Red_Island_Records on Mixcloud

So many highlights. And here's to more! I feel very thankful and happy at the New Year's time. yes I do.

I recently went to Uniqlo and the girl at the cash register asked me if I was in a hurry (I was probably grumbling and whipping my bag around).
“No,” I said. Realizing that I was being kind of rude. “I’m sorry. How’re you?”
“I’m good.” She said. “How’re you?”
“I’m good. Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year to you too. Did you enjoy your New Year’s Eve?”
“I did.” I said, realizing how hoarse my voice sounded. “Did you?”
“I did not.” She said, looking sad.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, it happens.”
“Well,” I offered, “I’m glad New Year’s is over, anyway. I’m glad we got that behind us.”
“Right?” she said, “Me too. It’s January, it’s a new year, a new start, you know? And we gotta get to it.”
She looked at me very solemnly, through her colored contact lenses.
“Because, you know, we might die this year.”
I nodded and said “Mm-hmm.” In the way you do when you have just been waiting for someone to make that point. I didn't want to spoil the moment by noting that, while, yes, we could all die this year, that doesn't make 2012 different from other years in the past. We could always all die. That's always been within the realm of possibility.
The girl behind the counter was ringing up my pants (which were on sale). "You never know. We might not all be here tomorrow, so we have to live for today."
I said, "I like that attitude!" then realized how corny and possibly condescending 'attitude' sounded, and said "I mean, I like that philosophy."
The girl smiled and handed me my bag. When I got outside I looked at the receipt and saw that even though the pants had been on sale, she added her own employee discount, knocking another $20 off the price of the pants.
See? I feel like this is proof of something. We're all gonna die. Give me those pants. Enough is enough.

Yesterday I had a very productive day. I went to the gym, I cleaned my room, I got a massage in Chinatown for super duper cheap, I went to band practice for B0DYH1GH, I came home did laundry and cooked dinner and watched The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975, which was fantastic (and is on Netflix). I got a lot done! I feel good.

B0DYH1GH is, as you know, performing this Saturday 1/7/12 at AMERICAN PUSSY FAGGOT REALNESS:

Such a great line-up, right? I'm excited for pretty much everybody on the bill, especially Lady Miss Kier! Oh wow.

Petit Poulet

2011-12-30T17:18:00.000-05:00

Spent the last week at home in California for the Holidays.

It was gorgeous. Surreal and familiar.

I had a good trip. At once both relaxing and not relaxing. I always think that when I go home to California that it will be like a vacation, but it's not. Not really. I guess when I would go home during breaks in college I would stay for usually a month, at least. That was more of a vacation. I was there for a week, but you have to figure a day on either end for traveling, so, five days.

Every time I go to CA I have this awful thing of trying to figure out who it's realistic for me to visit with, and I have to make pretty elaborate plans, because I don't have much time, or free time, to hang out while I'm here. I kind of try to stagger who I get to see and when and it always sucks because inevitably I end up feeling like I can't be as good of a friend to everyone all the time forever simultaneously, as well as spend time with my family (who flew me out there). It's hard. It's a struggle. I feel bad. Anyway I did get to see some of my friends this trip. Including the lovely and talented Danielle Conover aka Arizona aka Betsy Heavens aka Princess Christmas. Who I haven't seen in a long time.

Remember how she made this COOKIE PILL video I was so obsessed with?

We went to El Farolito and got really good Mission burritos and horchata and it made me very happy. I haven't had good Mission burritos in so long! She’s getting ready to go to Thailand with her partner Dan in their fantastic clown therapy program CLOWN ZERO. We used to be in a band together called BANG! BANG! INDIANS!, a kind of High Gothic Country Band. I remember that everyone in the band had nicknames, and she was Betsy Heavens, the lead singer. I don't remember what my nickname was! I think probably Billy. We had a lovely viola player named Candy Corn, and we added a keyboardist named the Duchess at one point, who was maybe my favorite person ever (she played keyboards and screamed throughout our set, it was really cool). I miss Danielle! It was so good to catch up. The holidays are weird.

I hung out a little bit with my original homegirl Cotton, who's begun singing in a new band called Alabaster Choad. They're really good. They're kind of like a noise-band, but really 70s, prog-rock-y, melodic and smart. It's hard to describe, in a way that things that are new are hard to describe. Here's a video of Alabaster Choad performing "Suck A Cop's Cock" and "Crushed By Crap":

I went to their band practice on Tuesday night. They’re playing a show on New Year’s Eve, and I really wish I could go. Seeing them practice was great, though. I’ve known Cotton for eleven years, and always admired her work. She’s definitely been a hugely inspiring force in my life and has turned me on to so many things I’ve later come to love: the Upsetters (Blackboard Jungle might be my favorite record of all time?), Sun Ra, etc. She’s really into classic Soul and R&B, though, lately, and has the best record collection, so I always love listening to records when I go to her house.

After the band practice we hoofed over to Aunt Charlie's for the High Fantasy party. Such cute boys! Such great drag performances! I feel like drag kind of sucks sometimes, and so I avoid going out to see it. Nothing against RuPaul or her Drag Race at all, but, I think that sometimes really high-gloss drag reminds me why I became interested in punk subculture. i feel like the handful of times in the last couple years when I've seen sort of under-the-radar or otherwise somehow fishier drag in San Francisco, it's been really inspiring. Myles Cooper and Alex Penney have a really good party, and the vibe is cute.

And crowded! So many boys! And girls! And betweenness and beyonders! A highlight of the night was seeing a motley crue of fagots dancing increasingly crazier in the middle of the dance floor, regardless of the song/genre, throwing their hands up in what I do hope was chemical ecstasy. There was, like, a fashion-y one in billowing fake work shirts, a punk boy, a sort of goth burning mannish kid with headwraps and long tie dyed caftans. Boys with big chain necklaces and huge silver hoops (through one ear). Bejewelled baseball caps and fingernails to match. It made me happy to see everyone joyous.

And last call is at 2:00am! Which seems, you know, so provincial. Cotton and I cut up with the girls afterward for a while and had a great time.

This flight was long, I made my second connection but only barely. I'm exhausted. I feel excited to be back in New York.

Thinking a lot about what my end of the year looks like. For next time.
I still need to exactly figure out what I'm gonna do tomorrow night!

I feel like I might be getting a cold but I still want to go out and party and I am going to!

Jingle.

2011-12-21T11:30:00.000-05:00

Reading this Gertrude Stein book about war, called Wars I Have Seen. It's about growing up during war(s). It’s so weird to think that many young people in America think of ourselves as not, really, having grown up during wartime. Because it wasn’t a war over here. It sort of was, though. Maybe growing up not during a wartime is the same as growing up during wartime, because there's always war somewhere. That's not really true.

Makes me think about this song, "War" by Charming Hostess. I've always loved this song, and I don't necessarily dig a capella music as such.

Do you know this band? They're really rad.

I've been having really deep conversations with my friends lately, you guys. It's weird, maybe it's not new. Maybe I’m just paying attention more than usual. I remember a couple of weeks ago feeling really distinctly that I could not connect with other people. Maybe I just need to pay more attention (I think that’s probably part of how to connect with other people). I don’t know, it feels good to listen.

An image from Robert Bittenbender’s MFA thesis show at Cooper Union, which I went to last week. Really beautiful images. This is maybe my favorite. It makes me think about haircuts.

Sometimes when I type the word ‘haircut,’ I accidentally type ‘haircute.’

Colin’s darling charming room-mate Ruth made him a cake in the shape of his favorite food, Chinese Chicken Salad. The cake really, really looked like Chinese Chicken Salad. Does that sound gross? It wasn’t! It was delicious. I ate it with my fingers. I don’t know if we were supposed to be doing that, but I saw Lauren D. do it and I figured if I did it right after she did, then nobody would yell at me/get me in trouble because then they’d be getting her in troubs too. So, you know. No one would ever do that.

Friday we went to an xmas party at Gio and Neil's house on the LES. So many familiar (and new) queer faces. They made this punch, and it had booze in it. No drugs or roofies or anything weird. Probably a lot of juice and gin. But so anyways I was drinking it, and then thinking "Why do I do this to myself? Drink the punch? Why not just make my own drink, like a grown-up, where I can decide how much and what kind I want to drink?" But I like to be part of the communal experience. The punch was great don't get me wrong. I'm just saying it was strong. Strong punch which I had two and a half glasses of. I wasn't even thirsty! I was just waiting for the bathroom and the bathroom line was by the punch bowl. When in Rome. Never been there.

I wish this photo weren’t so blurry, for a couple of reasons. One, this is a photo of Claire who momentarily stole Gio’s hat at the party and was running around doing an impression of him. Except it was kind of a weird impression because she has one of those accents (Australian) which makes everything sound totally insane to me. Insane and charming, but yes. The main reason I wish this photo weren’t so blurry is because it’s a photo of the decoration Gio and Neil put up for their Xmas party: they covered the walls with gold foil, then used black electrical tape to make an inverted cross. Merry Christmas! Hail Satan!

We talked a lot about aliens that night, but not enough! I could go on forever. Again, listening mostly, not talking. I don’t have to pretend to be an expert in everything. With regard to aliens, for example, I know I’ll never be the best. I’m content to listen. If you ever want to tell me your theories about alien life, I’m all ears. (Mostly).

Saturday, Perfect Little Daniel and I had B0DYH1GH band practice. We're going to perform at the next PUSSY FAGGOT on January 7th, as part of AMERICAN REALNESS. (Check out the flier! That's a blurry photo of me by Ves Pitts.) Anyway, B0DYH1GH hasn't played in a minute, and we're really fantastic, and only getting better. We're going to put out a mixtape featuring some demos of our gorgeous tunes (as well as some hits by our friends and favorites). Hopefully the mixtape will be ready by 1/7. We're sort of taking our time, because everything has to be perfect. But the nice thing about this band I'm in B0DYH1GH, as opposed to other projcts I've done or bands I've played with, is that everything we touch turns to gold, we're incapable of failure, and don't have to try. We're naturally perfect.

Anyway we had band practice in the afternoon, after a long break since our last practice, and I gotta say-- we've still got it! After running through our set-list (our old fans won't be disappointed!) we decided to write a new little ditty, which I'm really excited about. I think we sound really brit-pop. Like, I think our new song sounds like a britpop jam. If you sent me and PLD back in time to London in 1993, and you sent us with our weaves and dresses and firecrackers, this is the song we'd write. That's basically what we did. Anyway we finished band practice and then there was Sister Pico's Birthday Party! Full of fun and friends! My deer long lost best frend Bobo made a cameo!

Here's a photo of her in PLD's room! Three of my absolute favorite dark curly-haired vixens who inspire me and make me happy on the regular!

(L-R): Jiddy No-No, Bobo, and Lola

I feel like: if you want to know what I think is cool, what my whole trip is about, all you have to do is look at that photo. I exist for groovy women.

Ugh. Have so much fun when around those girls. Let alone all of our friends together forever. Such a fun night! A lot of really beautiful people and good snacks.

After the party I went to the city to see an Xmas Pageant, hosted by Little Miss Maxine Bernstein, in a fetching red little tuxedo. Murphy Maxwell sang a very extra special festive Christmas song. We'd all known that Murphy Brown Maxwell is a talented performer and film-maker, but did you know she can sing? She can, like, really, actually sing like a real singer like on the radio! So she sang this Christmas number, wearing her dressed-down leather child heavy metal Christian Death street look, while a video of baby cows, goats, sheep, etc. being born played behind her.

So understated and Christmas-y. Really getting into the Holiday spirit. Bradley & CoCo, NYC's newest best burning brightest (often featuring flames) burlesque duo did a very cute routine involving corsets. That was rad!

Gio performing at the Xmas pageant in a pink tutu. I kept making this joke of calling him Gio Black Swan Peter. Nobody thought it was funny. Or, nobody thought it was as funny as I thought it was. Definitely in my top 20 jokes of 2011. Right after Gio Black Hot Chili Peter. I’m a fucking comic genius, and nobody gets me. Story of my life. Ballad of a Ladyman.

Then on Sunday I had a Best Friends Day with my Best Friend, Bobo!

Here’s a picture of her sitting in my room, knitting this thread that (you can sort of only barely see it) looks just like her own hair. So adorable.

I’ve missed Bobo so much while she’s in Seattle in grad school. I was glad to have a day to wander around the city with her. We did so much fucking walking. We came home and watched Bamboozled and ordered sandwiches from Hana Food.

Last night I went to the annual Hanukkah party that my deer friend and ex-room mate Juhneefuh throws, at her palatial and gorgeous apartment in Clinton Hill. One of the many reasons I look forward to about this party is the fact that Juhneefuh lives with my fantasy boyfriend, the wonderful four (!!!) year-old kitty named Quinn, who was born in the apartment I still live in. I love Quinn very much, and can’t wait to see him. Here’s a photo of Quinn the last time I saw him, when I went to Juhneefuh’s house to get a massage.

"Hey! Get offa there! It’s my turn!"

Also the second biggest reason I was excited for the party (the second biggest non-human being reason) is because of a traditional food called latkes. Maybe you’ve heard of them? I grated the potatoes and ate two latkes. I liked having to work for them.

Tonight I'm going to another holiday party and tomorrow I'm going to California. I can't wait.

I know so many people with dark hair. It's great!
I'm not complaining.

2011-12-21T11:00:00.003-05:00

At one point at this party over the weekend we all got into talking about (what else) Tilda Swinton. How she's like really hip or cool or avant-garde or whatever, but she's also just a very good actress. I think this thing of being hip or cool as not the point of life; just incidental. I've sort of decided/realized that I will never be cool, and I am making my peace with that. This is something that people have to discover over and over again throughout their lives. Maybe it gets easier as you're older and you are marketed to a little bit less. You're not the center of the Universe! You ain't it.

In the old days, when I was a kid, within my lifetime, this would be an obscene question to ask. Is This Ad Relevant To You? How dare you! It would be appalling to discuss the producer-consumer relationship, to call attention to the imagination of the consumer. To wake up the zombie, the seduced, pull the baby pacifiers out of our mouths. Now, they keep us awake. Engaged. Ready.

2011-12-12T21:25:00.003-05:00

"What is there inside in one that makes one know all about war. You ask questions now why in Russia do not the Germans surrender when they are surrounded. And there is no answer except that perhaps they are afraid to. Perhaps. What is there inside one that makes one know all about war. Death starts history and fears. And that begins very soon and dies out little by little or not at all or all."
- Gertrude Stein, Wars I Have Seen

2011-12-12T14:40:00.002-05:00

Mondays. I did want to clarify a little bit about the previous post. I'd been (as you can see) in kind of a funky mood last week. The Candy party being so exclusive and awful probably should have come as less of a surprise to me. I think I was in a particularly good position to feel threatened by it. But I don't take any of it back. It was really eye-opening and upsetting.

A post-mortem on a couple of the points:
- Isn't that Robyn song "Dancing On My Own" a straight-woman-as-gay-male fantasy? Isn't that the concept? I'm not judging, honestly, I just want to clarify. Isn't that what's happening?

- Maybe I'm just too behind the times. I thought kids wanted to have authentic experiences. Maybe everybody wants to see a movie of someone watching TV though. Maybe we can't tell the difference between the real and the simulacra of culture and identity. Maybe there's not a difference? I wish I had paid more attention during my senior year of college. I studied this shit. Sort of.

- I have nothing against private parties. I've been to a few myself. The problem, I guess, is to act like the exclusivity and snobbery of the in-crowd is somehow incidental. Acting as if it isn't the entire point, which, make no mistake, it totally is. The problem comes from acting as if the people doing the excluding aren't in positions of power. I think it's awful to position yourself as a force for progressive, inclusive change, and to do this as a marketing gimmick. AGAIN: I think maybe I'm expecting too much of a glossy fashion magazine. (Vogue Italia, with its anti-Pope rants and monthly "Black" and "Curvy" sections, while tokenism duh, suddenly seems, like, super radical now, huh?) The only acceptable reason, to my mind, for privileged people to have an exclusive space is to discuss about how to dismantle that privilege. Which almost never happens. This is purely theoretical. I'm thinking a lot about articles about Private Privileged New York "Queer" culture, it keeps coming up. Power perpetuates itself by remaining invisible.

ANYWAY. Enough of that. I had a really great weekend.

Hey look here's a video of me reading a David Wojnarowicz piece at the symposium on AIDs and Literature at the New School last week:

Saturday I shot a scene in Lonely Christopher's new movie MOM, playing a nurse to a character played by:

MINK STOLE! I love her. It was so nice to get to see her again, since doing that play at La MaMa last month. I never, ever, ever in a million years thought that I would be in an indie movie (or whatever) and in one with her, or that we'd be paling around. I am absolutely stupefied, and although I only had one line (which I fucked up very badly) everyone was patient and we had a blast. It was a magickal day. Oof.

Yesterday I got a manicure and a haircut and a bagel. But not in that order.

Things are pretty alright. Alright? Alright.

No Candy For You

2011-12-10T13:24:00.003-05:00

I was really looking forward to that Candy Magazine party last night, because they work with some artists who I think are pretty cool, and I like the whole concept of the magazine, or so I thought. It was co sponsored by Opening Ceremony, and supposedly hosted by the Candy magazine cover stars, Chloe Sevigny and Terry Richardson. Now, I should have stopped there, but I'm a big fan of Le Tigre and MEN and I wanted to see JD Samson do her DJ set. So I RSVPED for the party (which was at the Monster) and got there at 11. I waited in a long line and watched everybody in the line (mostly white gay boys, a couple femme'd out fashion girls) get in.

When I got to the front of the line, the girl with clipboard, Michelle, told me that although I had RSVPed, the function was a private party, and I could not be accommodated. She waved in four people from the sidewalk ahead of me. They were only letting in people from the guest list, and even then, she kept repeating "bold names only". I reiterated that I had RSVPed, it was, you know, just after 11pm (really early) and I was by myself. Michelle told me that 1200 people had RSVPed and I could not be accomodated. No "we're at capacity". No "maybe come back in an hour". No "sorry". Nada.

I don't know why, but it really bummed me out. Sure, I've been to parties where I couldn't get in, because I wasn't dressed cool enough, or didn't look sexy enough, or didn't have enough friends. I get that. It happens in NYC. This really bummed me out, though, because I was really excited to see who else wanted to come out for this magazine party. I thought it would be easy to get in, maybe there'd be a cover or something. But no, it was a private party. It was like being in the Meatpacking district. I don't know why they didn't just have the party at a big nightclub like that. It was exactly the same bourgeois bullshit you see uptown. This is culture tourism.

Eventually my friend Gio came up and encouraged me to get back in line with him to get in. He faced the same problem with Michelle, but after two seconds of asking, they let our party in.

So, okay: the party sucked.

I was expecting to see the other 1,199 people who RSVPed, the ones with names bolder than mine, the ones who could be accommodated. I thought the party would be packed. I would say it was crowded. It was a total let-down. It was mostly full of straight people. Some girls. About a handful of people who seemed to be Dressing Up in Gender-Play clothing, which was nice. It was like a Drag-themed bar party. It occurrs to me that maybe the whole point of the evening was to cash in on the "zany!" way queer and trans people appear. Like, "Whoa how crazy Chloe Sevigny in s MOUSTACHE! Whoa!" A little hokey. Maybe I was hoping for too much. Does James Franco on yet another magazine cover, this time in lipstick! really contribute anything to the discourse? Does culture need this? It becomes less about playing with gender than about a consolidation of power. It's boring, and it's exactly the same as the other magazines you can get at the supermarket. Except you can't get it at the supermarket, it's really expensive, you have to buy it from Opening Ceremony, and you're not allowed to go to the party. This isn't for you.

Maybe culture needs magazines like this, scenes like this, as a stepping-stone to actual progress. The whole event/night seemed to be more about the gaze of normative, white, binary-gendered people towards "other". It's about the experience of seeing someone who is glittery and perhaps in drag or somehow a caricature of femininity and "fabulous!" It's about watching, not about being or speaking or learning or listening.

I am thinking of the line in that Bikini Kill song where Tobi Vail sings "I read it in a fanzine it wasn't even in a big dumb glossy magazine." I want for alternative culture to be better. I want there to be a space for people, maybe isolated queer and trans kids, to get access to the art that inspires them, and not be shut out because they're not famous enough.

The first DJ was playing Daft Punk's "Around the World". It's 2011. I did not just get read to filth by a snobby Door Person In An Ugly Borrowed Mary Katrantzou Knockoff for one precious hour so I could come down to a basement and listen to this song, again. Robyn did a brief two-song performance. The crowd went wild. I watched a guy get his face bashed in by a pair of coked-up clubkids, and when my friend tried to get the victim out of the mosh pit, everyone flipped out because they didn't want their Robyn Experience interrupted by having to make way for a poor soul who was bleeding form the face. The bouncers evidently didn't care, as long as all the violence happened in the basement, where the cops couldn't see it.

"being" "brave".

2011-12-08T10:35:00.007-05:00

Truly.

Like, I get that I am in a bad mood, and that it's affecting my ability to concentrate. And I am trying to resist the seductive pull of the Bad Mood. Trying to just let it be a feeling, and not attach too much significance to it. Trying to just let it pass or whatever. One of the ways I am thinking about doing this is through self-soothing. By trying to be really nice to myself, even though I totally don't want to. I want to be mean. I'm angry. Such a fucked-up paradox; right when the impulse is to freak out and go away and pull back from other people, this is probably the moment when you could use some connection. I know, I know. Now is a good time to stay. I don't want to, though. I'm gonna. It just sucks. I feel shitty (again) and don't really know why. Not much to say. I don't want to talk about it.

Anyways. I had a really cool time on Tuesday night, doing this reading at the New School. So happy that For the Birds invited me to come. It was really great to read with Cynthia and Cindy. DORIS was really influential to me when I was in high school, not just in terms of starting a zine, but influential in how I write and think about writing. It was such a trip to see Cindy actually reading it. DORIS always seemed to private or individual. Like a one-person radio show. It was nice to be reminded of the things which i admire so much about that zine, about the language in it. After the reading I told her how much I enjoyed her reading and we traded zines.

The crowd was mostly younger crust-punk kids. I was so intimidated! I feel like I've gotten too comfortable reading for literary fags (or illiterate fags, for that matter). It was a nice challenge. I think the kids were afraid to laugh at first. Maybe the first section of my story just needs to be shorter. Anyway they seemed to get into it. During the parts of the story that are really graphic (and pretty funny) some of the boys in the back chuckled. I'm pretty sure they were straight but I appreciate the support. A fair number of people told me they liked it, afterward, and bought zines. I felt really vindicated and real.

I used to be a punk. That used to be my community. That's kind of where I got this whole chip on my shoulder about talking to people (artists, musicians, people you don't know) who's work you liked or didn't like or just wanted to talk about. I think coming of age in a punk culture context was really good for me. It encouraged me to take risks, in terms of making my voice heard. By making my voice heard I mean making art/zines/music, and also take risks making my voice heard in terms of going up to people to talk to them, to write fan letters, to try to connect. A lot of the really special and treasured moments in my life have come from me writing fan letters, sending e-mails to strangers, saying hi to people I didn't know before. Being brave. "Brave". It's not that I think I'm so special or have any special right to insert myself into the conversation. It's not that I think that anybody wants to hear my voice, that my voice "needs" to be heard. It's more the feeling that nobody's voice, really, is so special or unique. That we don't have to be so precious about it. That grabbing the mic or whatever, asking your favorite band what their song is about, writing a poem and reading it to a room full of strangers, these are manageable. Maybe not as magickal and rare as you think when you're an audience member. Maybe just as magickal but also quotidian.

I often feel really at a loss, these days. Not to be dramatic, you guys. But like you know how some people just know what they want to do with their lives, and then their life is spent overcoming the obstacles, or refining their practice, all in service of some great need? Do people even really DO that? Anyways, I don't know. I'm not so hung-up on one particular trip. I feel like this is either (both) a sign of emotional maturity (I can make do, I guess, if I had to) or total laziness and self-hatred (I don't really want to make any big choices). Anyway Mercury's Retrograde I'm not jumping into anything.

My point is, I find as I get older that my expectations are less and less important to me. Not important... less interesting. I'm less fascinated by my capacities. It's not as enthralling as it used to be. At one point, in this here blog, I wrote that I make art about feelings and the capacity we have to feel a feeling. How stupid! I think, really, I make art about grappling with expectations.

Been thinking so much about cognitive dissonance. How can something be both good and bad? How can people be good and also evil? Maybe this is basic and everyone else gets it, but I really struggle with this and always have. This, I think, is what the "art" I make is actually about. I write a zine called Scorcher which is about sex and sexual desire as a setting. I write about how something really specific ("sex") can be exploded, over and over, into a general space. A lot of times in college I made these little one-man musicals which were about performing really intimate emotional rituals. How can something be personally significant and also be significant, or legible, to a crowd of strangers at a punk show? My big piece Lover, Ferocious is also about this, kinda. It's about how you can love someone and know they love you, and also recognize that they couldn't love you, could kill you, etc.

(SIDENOTE: the guy I based "Lover, Ferocious" off of dumped me a long time ago, but right after he dumped me, he started going out with the receptionist at the temp agency I worked for, and I dreaded having to speak to this receptionist so much that it kind of motivated me to get a real job).

The piece I made this past summer, Teach Frankenstein to Dance is also about cognitive dissonance. How something can be great and awful at the same time. It's an awful performance piece, but I also think it was kind of great.

Is it any wonder that the words "awful" and "also" sound so similar? Especially when your mouth is full?

I'm just thinking a lot about myself these days, I guess. I can never decide if my fundamental problem is that I'm too self-absorbed or if it's something else. I keep coming back to these experiences of like, meeting people in New York, bigshot famous people who ostensibly are interested in the same things I am, and I'd want to, like, talk about these things, and they have another agenda.

My friend X was telling me about how this trendy new artist, this young genius who doesn't make a lot of money, but comes from money and makes art, so it seems like he's really successful, hit on him through the internet. The Artist wrote my buddy X to tell him he'd be in town soon and couldn't wait to take him out. My buddy X seemed to think that this augured well for his own artistic career. I felt like this is actually the Artist trying to bank on his so-called Success At Art as a way of getting laid. I told my friend X that the Artist had also made a similar overture to me online, that same week (which is true). My buddy X' eyes fell. Clearly heartbroken. Anything offered to me as well as him must therefore be less valuable.

Maybe I'm being pessimistic? It's almost lunch time.

2011-12-07T22:45:00.001-05:00

I was in a shitty mood this afternoon for no reason. Or actually a bunch of reasons, but none of them any better than other ones (old shit, dumb shit, etc.) And I kinda pulled it together. I realized I was raging, got ahold of myself and chilled out. Ate some soup, listened to the new Younger Lovers 7" I just got in the mail, and met up with Jiddy to go see the new Muppets movie. The movie was cute. We ate some good snacks. Good vibes. We got out and the weather was pouring and decided to take a cab, but couldn't decide between going to Jiddy's first or to my house first, but we decided go over the Williamsburg bridge, and when we told the cab driver he started yelling at us about how stupid that was, how we were stupid, how it was a waste of time and money and would take longer than to take the tunnel to Queens. I told the guy to just take me to the subway, then, and I stormed out of the cab and got into the wrong subway platform and then when crossed the street in the rain to the right platform I just missed the train. The train finally came and I read some of the new Doris I got last night, and when I got home I decided to get a snack since I'm really upset and I'm not counting a cup of vegan soup at 6pm as dinner and I'd been watching Miss Piggy for two hours and I went to the stupid bourgie deli since it's the only thing open at 10pm (really) but all the food they had, like tofu or whatever, was all rotten, puffing the containers out, expired last week. I left disgusted stomping through the rain to the other bourgie deli open all night, which is closer to my house, and new, but more expensive. Their shit wasn't rotten and was a dollar cheaper. I bought some fake vegan sushi and a big chocolate rice krispie treat (I read somewhere that this is what models snack on backstage at the shows) and I got home. I'm totally soaking now and furious and not really at anyone. The cab drive just really set me off. I hate feeling like this. I just finished this book of early Gertrude Stein stories, and I had decided this summer that instead of therapy I'd just read every single thing Gertrude Stein ever wrote, and if, after doing that, I still wanted to go back to therapy then I could do that. I sort of got sidetracked (the book I was reading was pretty boring) and I made an appointment with an analyst. So tonight, having just finished this boring book, I moved onto the next Gertrude Stein book, which ought to stave off my craziness until I can get my head shrunk, and the Gertrude Stein book I am going to read next is: WARS I HAVE SEEN.

2011-12-05T11:36:00.007-05:00

Last night, you guys, I passed out at 8:30pm. Seriously. But then I woke up again and ate an apple and fell back asleep at 10. I slept so hard. I deserved it. I have this thing, during the week, where I sleep maybe 7 hours a night if I am lucky, reasoning that it's the work week, and that I have to work (in many ways), and that I will be able to sleep on the weekend.

But then the weekend comes, and I don't want to sleep because there's so much fun to be had, and I figure I'll use the work week as the time to catch up on my sleep. But then that never happens, and I progressively turn into a zombie (albeit a very productive and popular one) and find myself on Sunday afternoon, nearly comatose, comparing two identical pairs of black socks, one in each hand, looking back and forth between them in the harsh fluorescent light at Uniqlo, trying to decide if they are the same color. They were. I bought both. The very tiny last bit of my focus was spent up buying socks yesterday afternoon. If you know me well enough to see me without my shoes on (many people do) you probably know how badly I’ve needed new socks.

Anyway this weekend was rad. Saturday was this fantastic symposium on AIDS and Literature at the New School, organized by the inimitable Dale Peck. I was so honored to be included in the event. It was totally surreal to be on a panel with, say, Amy Scholder, and be discussing the books I had read in high school which began to teach me about AIDS, about queer identity in America, about culture, about life, and then realize that basically all of the books I am talking about, so many of the touchstones in my, let’s say, “journey” have been published by her. It’s nuts. So many really amazing people involved in the event. Including, of course, the Grand Supreme Diva Herself, Miss Larry Kramer. It was so insane. He was very sweet, of course, and read from his new book in-progress, about the American psyche, history, identity. It’s like he’s speaking through a loudspeaker. I felt very humbled and thrilled to be part of the event.

Afterward I hustled myself over to Public Assembly where I was go-go dancing at QxBxRx. It's the second-to-last party. I'm very sad about this. I've been go-go dancing at this party for almost five years. That is significant. My feelings about go-go dancing, which I've never, really, written anything about, are kind of still forming. I keep talking about how this means that I will have to retire from go-go dancing but I'm not entirely sure that's true. But mostly true. I really wanted to be a go-go dancer in the first place because of the kids I saw dancing at the Rated X Panty Party at Opaline on Ave. A in the summer of 2005 (remember?) who seemed like they were having so much fun. And then, of course, because Lady Miss Kier had been a go-go dancer, much for the same reasons I was, I think: you get to dance at nightclubs and get paid for it. Such an awesome experience. Really trippy. So anyways second-to-last QxBxRx was fun. Stayed up too late but what's new?

The two big new pieces of information today are that I'm doing this really amazing reading tomorrow in NYC! At the New School! at 8pm! It's FREE!

Such an honor to be opening for Cindy. DORIS has meant a lot to me for a very long time. I'll be reading my new story, RINGO, which is going to be in the newest issue of birdsong. So please come to the reading tomorrow night!

Okay, and the last thing I wanted to write about is (duh) Erin Markey. She's in San Francisco doing her show "The Dardy Family Home Movies by Stephen Sondheim by Erin Markey". It's a fantastic show, and I hope a lot of people get to see it. Erin was recently the topic of a really amazing essay by Michelle Tea. It feels really vindicating, somehow, to see someone as brilliant and articulate as Tea pay such close attention to Erin's work. I'm really excited by the prospect of Erin becoming a household name, and I want to run around high-fiving everyone. Michelle Tea really gets Erin, and is able to convey her genius effectively She navigates the synergy of Erin's multiple aesthetics and tactics, and gives her the credit she deserves. Erin's a genius, the essay is genius, it's great.

There's also a really cute interview with Erin in the SF Bay Guardian. Slightly less effusive, it does give a good sense of Erin's sly sense of humor, and her intelligence, and makes me want to go see the show. This interview really struck me, though, for another reason. Not just because I know Erin (bragging: I totally do).

In 1998, when I was 14, I read an issue of the SF Bay Guardian that had features of Beth Lisick and Miranda July, and it introduced their work. I ended up going to see July perform at what had been an abandoned movie theater in Berkeley (MeMe America, Tracy from Tracy +the Plastics' first band, opened). I went with my mom. July was, I think, maybe 24 years old. I thought that was so fucking old. Anyway it really blew my mind, and Miranda July's early records absolutely changed the direction and course of my life and made me want to be a performer, really, apart from doing theater in school. It was very inspiring. Beth Lisick I also mention because I was, after reading the Guardian piece, obsessed with her band, the Beth Lisick Ordeal, and really loved their CD, Pass. I still think she's genius and I got a chance to meet her last year when she came to NY and did a performance with (duh) Erin.

Anyway. The point is that I hope more young isolated queerdos are reading their free weeklies and finding out about people like Erin and getting the inspiration and permission they need.

Fun 4 Me UPDATED

2011-12-01T10:39:00.000-05:00

I have these events coming up in NYC and I really want people to come to them! Here is what they are. *UPDATED TO INCLUDE INFO ABOUT THE ZINE READING NEXT WEEK*

TRANSMISSIONS: THE LITERATURE OF AIDS
Saturday, December 03, 2011
11:00 a.m. - 9:00 p.m.
Tischman Auditorium, Alvin Johnson/J. M. Kaplan Hall, 66 West 12th Street.
FREE.

The School of Writing in conjunction with the publishing collective Mischief and Mayhem marks the 30th anniversary of the start of the AIDS epidemic with a one-day symposium featuring two panels. The event also features a screening of Dan Fishback's thirtynothing and David Wojnarowicz's A Fire in the Belly; excerpts from the ACT UP Oral History Project and selections from the Visual AIDS' Broadside series and Archive Project which will be on display. The day will close with a reading.

Organized by Dale Peck, the event features panelists and readings from: Rabih Alameddine, Michael Denneny, Gary Indiana, Zia Jaffrey, John Kelley, Larry Kramer, Jennie Livingston, Amy Scholder, Max Steele, John Weir, and Edmund White.

Facebook event (if you're into that sort of thing) with full schedule of events HERE.

*UPDATED* The panels and readings will take place in Tischman auditorium, which is the New School's main auditorium at 66 W. 12th St., on the first floor. The reception, however, will still be in Wollman Hall, because we can't have food or drink in or around Tischman. The videos and artwork will also remain in Wollman.

Kind of overwhelmed and intimidated by the other folks that are part of this symposium! Kind of an all-star cast. Really excited, and honored to be included, of course. After the symposium, I'm going to go-go dance at QxBxRx, at Public Assembly.

Saturday, 12/3/11

QxBxRx (Queers Beers & Rears) presents...

THE NAKED HEROES
SLEEPIES
CAT VET

Resident DJs/Hosts GO-KARFF, SIR LOINS & A.MARTINI spin punk, garage, indie, dance and more! Plus QBR Go-go Boys Max & Johnny!
For more info, check out www.facebook.com/qxbxrx

Okay so that's this weekend. NEXT WEEK there's an amazing reading, also at the New School:

Tuesday December 6th, 8-10PM
The New School , 6 E 16th St. - Room 1107

For The Birds Collective & MFA Collective Works present:

a zine reading w/
Cindy Crabb (Doris and Support zines)
Cynthia Schemmer (Habits of Being)
Max Steele (Scorcher)

8pm // open to the public // donations accepted
zine tabling by the readers and For The Birds

Cindy - dorisdorisdoris.com
Max - fagcity.blogspot.com
Cynthia - habitbeing.blogspot.com

Doris is totally my favorite zine in the whole world, and has been for like fifteen years? Sounds about right. I am so pumped.

Hey also remember this Moloko jam?

Back 2 Work

2011-11-28T11:22:00.002-05:00

I definitely feel like I had more than enough weekend. More than enough snacks, for one thing, to be sure. On Wednesday night we had a little soiree at Jess Paps' house. We played Apples2Apples and (not to brag) I totally did really good at it. I told everyone I was going to rule, and then, after I got my bearings, I did. My favorite comedienne Lola Savitz came! So much fun! Thursday was duh Thanksgiving, and I made it with Erin Markey and Thee Irish Horse, among other friends. It was so nice to have a laid-back, friendly party Thanksgiving. Kind of perfect. We had three different kinds of pie, and also a chocolate cake. It was almost too much? Just enough. A wonderful day into night. Friday I saw that new Almodovar movie The Skin I Live In. I thought I was going to be really scared by it, but I wasn't. It was pretty, and disturbing, but not scary. Friday was also Miss Lady Honey Princess Baby Girl Cole Escola's birthday, she's finally 18. Spent Fri and Saturday nights kiki'ng with the girls at the Metropolitan (as you do), and Sunday I saw Perfect Little Daniel read at the Dirty Looks event for the Mix Festival.

I sort of treated the weekend as an opportunity to 100% indulge myself, and not judge the impulse to only rest and do things that feel good. But despite my big idea to just chill out and not judge, I do feel kinda guilty. I have a lot of work I need to be doing. Or, there're so many good places to put my intention and energy besides Just Feeling Good All The Time. I was kind of a slacker this weekend. But it's the holidays! Anyway, it is what it is. I'm getting back to work, I swear. I'm having some ideas, and just in the nick of time, too! I have some events next weekend. I'm very excited. Going to put up a new blog post about THOSE in JUST A SECOND. But first, some other little bits:

Remember how I did a reading at PPOW with Brontez Purnell, Kat Case and Joseph Whitt a couple weeks ago? Those lovely kids from Lambda Literary wrote a nice little blog post about it, which you can see here. It was such a nice reading event, I'm glad so many people came. I've gotten a lot of postive feedback from people about it, and at least two strangers have stopped me at other events around town to ask me specific questions about the language in the piece I read, which is totally nuts, because I often don't know what they're talking about. But really flattering, because it's like... people listened! They came! And they listened! It feels like a magick trick. I hope it always feels this way for me. Anyway, the reading got me really stoked to do more writing and reading and organizing, in a way I haven't been stoked for a while, so... Do you want to do a reading? Throw a party together? let's do it!

Oh hey, also, check out this video I just finally saw. I don't think I've posted this before. Who's that girl in the front right-hand side?

Lyndsy Welgos + Fatima Al Qadiri - Yelwa

They let me keep that white shirt-dress garment. That was a really fun video to make.

Okay! Back to work! Blog post with next week's events coming right up! Everyone be cool!

Frosty the Snowgirl

2011-11-23T11:05:00.006-05:00

God. You know that Little Wings song, "Faith Children"? Where he sings "I'm in love with everyone and everything they've ever done"? Well, I definitely feel like THAT. Hey, you can even download the song from K right here. The Blow covered it for a Knw-Yr-Own comp ("Shipwreck Day #420!"), and did this weird techno-reggae trip-hop version, which was amazing. I wish I still had it.

Anyway. feeling really positive and good about just about everyone. Even people who bug me out, I am feeling very tender and protective of. For example, recently, a girlfriend and I were complaining about a mutual friend for whom, let's say, winter has come early. Frosty the Snowgirl has emerged well in advance of the snow this year. This chick is bugging! She's being rude, and mean to us. Maybe unintentionally. So my girlfriend was asking me, you know, if I'd noticed it too, or if it was just her. I told her no, that I noticed it as well. The Snowgirl in question is a sweetheart but I dunno, has said some kind of creepy things about me to other people, for some reason? Anyway, I was telling my girlfriend that Frosty the Snowgirl's little attitude problem is exactly like anybody's attitude problem: she's bummed out. And when people are bummed out they take it out on other people. And rather than getting all butt-hurt about my precious sensitive feelings, the logical response to getting static from a normally loved-one seems to be: empathy. let's hug it out. I don't know.

I also feel so genuinely proud and excited about my friends. So lucky to know everyone. Last Friday I went to a private showing of Erin Markey's new piece: The Dardy Family Home Movies by Stephen Sondheim by Erin Markey. It was kind of mind-blowing. So lovely to see such an intimate showing, for a hand-picked crowd, for one. For two: Erin's a genius. Her show is beautiful, and hilarious, and heartwarming. It definitely gave me a lot to think about. After the showing, a bunch of us retired to Lady Rimalower's house for her signature Italian-inflected cooking. We ate a bunch of ice cream and I started to pass out around midnight.

Saturday, I woke up to some tremendous news: my original homegirl La JohnJoseph just got her art funded by the UK government! She won a nice big grant, and absolutely deserves it. I've long been a fan of JJ's work, of course, and am thrilled to see it get some support from the higher-ups. It means that he'll have an easier time producing and creating new work, and that more people will get to see it. And I am just so happy. I wanted to run around high-fiving everyone. This is very good news. You should be excited. Good.

Perfect Little Daniel came over and we went through some of our B0DYH1GH demos, for an upcoming mixtape we're going to put out soon. I don't want to give away even the title (which is really, really good, you guys), but get excited! It's going to be wonderful.

Later on Saturday, we went to NYU's MFA open studios to see dear heart Sam McKinnis' new work. He's so dreamy, and so are his paintings. I especially loved a new piece consisting of fingerpainted gold pigment paint with the words "TEENAGE KUNST" scrawled across it. It sort of reminded me of a more luxe version of Kim Gordon's recent "noise paintings".

After the NYU open house, we high-tailed it down to the New Museum to see LA genius Wu Tsang's new piece Full Body Quotation in the glamorous New Museum Sky Room. I was hipped to the piece because my buddy (and new neighbor) Nicholas Gorham made yet another star turn performing in it. The piece is based off of material from Jennie Livingston's groundbreaking documentary Paris is Burning, which seems to be having a very strange renaissance these days. Maybe that's the wrong word-- it never really went away, but people seem to be looking at the work, the community it documents, and the themes of queer viewership and the white gaze in seemingly new ways. I like that. The piece was really interesting, a bit brief, a lot of fun. After a tiny disco nap, went to Hey Queen! in Brooklyn. Always such a fun dance party. Thee Irish Horse was the performer that night, and he sang a very beautiful, heartfelt rendition of "Maybe" from the hit musical and motion-picture Annie. Zan from Little Victory was the DJ that night, and as Thee Irish Horse sang, I could see that Zan was living. for. it., and afterward, when we all met up again at Metro for some nice warm PBRs, copped to being a total Annie geek. I knew it! When are we going to hear Little Victory's punk rock cover of "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile"?

Sunday I got a haircut at Seagull Salon. I'd been long, long, long overdo for a haircut, and my friend Craig from Cubist Literature just started working there, and booked me an appointment. I really like my new haircut! It's made a big difference! My stylist also reminded me of dearly-missed Jeffery Self. Sometimes I miss Jeffery and wish he could come to all the NYC parties I am at, but then when I miss him I just look at the videos on his blog. It's a poor substitute for hanging out, but it's close!

After my haircut, I had a girls' night date with Miss Jiddy No-No. We ate gluten-free snacks (ginger snaps, dipped -ill-advisedly- in guacamole) and invented a new cocktail of French grapefruit soda and red wine. We didn't name the cocktail though (I know!) so I'm gonna call it a Jiddy. We watched The Craft, which I never get tired of seeing, and I was compelled by the similarities between the cultural significance of The Craft and Paris is Burning among certain neoliberal white queers. Like, movies which stand in for knowledge of cultures. Hmm. Anyway, a lovely Sunday night.

Last night I went uptown to my favorite neighborhood, the Upper East Side, to visit Walter Cessna. We took some photos:

I dunno why I look angry. I wasn't angry. I was having a blast! Walter is always too much fun to hang out with. I got to choose music for part of our shoot, and I played this Pram song which, for some reason, I've been really obsessed with.

It's all I want to listen to. Like, over and over and over again.

2011-11-21T14:55:00.003-05:00

I wish there was a word for turning somebody smart into somebody stupid. Maybe 'dumb' as a verb. That doesn't seem a sexy enough word. I wish this has its own word. Because that's what I want to do to you.

Part of the highlight

2011-11-16T12:20:00.016-05:00

I don’t even know where to be. It’s Autumn. Really.
I feel good. So much better than I had been feeling. Things come and go, it's true.

Last week I did a reading at PPOW Gallery with Joseph Whitt, Kat Case, and Brontez Purnell. It was organized by Jamie Sterns, who runs the Hostess Project and Create Art Today. It was such a really special night. I read a new piece, called RINGO, which I was kind of nervous about. It went well! I think. People seemed to be into it, I didn’t feel like an abject failure or anything. I derived a certain amount of power-feeling from the pants I was wearing:

Thanks Naruki for taking this photo!

Saturday was my favorite dance party in NYC, JUDY! The theme was PSYCHIC MALL. It was so great! Miss Lady Cole Escola Honey Girl opened the show, doing a psychick séance (and I helped!)

Here’s a video of Bridget Everett performing:

Sorry it’s kinda sucky, I made it on my phone.

Right after she finished the song, as the crowd was busting into rapturous applause and screams of ecstasy, she shouted "YOU MOTHER LOVES YOU!" What a fucking genius. Perfect Little Daniel, Cole, Bridget and Mx Justin Vivian Bond and I all rode the subway home from JUDY!. Can I say that that was probably the highlight of my weekend? I got a really awesome sandwich when I got off of the train. That's part of the highlight.

The play I was in closed this weekend. It's bittersweet; because on one hand I am sad that it's over. People seemed to like the show, which is cool. A lot of people came to see the show, which is wonderful. Often times I feel like I am only ever performing for secret, private audiences of hand-picked individuals. Friends I've had to bribe or beg to come to stuff. But people bought tickets! And, really, the main thing I loved about being in this play was getting to work with such amazing people: Joseph Keckler, Erin Markey, Mink Stole, Everett Quinton, Regina Bartkoff, Trystan Trazon, Liz Piccoli, Jonathan Warman, Allison Carrol and Adam Weinstock. And to get to do a funky, un-heard of psychedelic play at La MaMa! What a treat. I am sad that it is over. But I am also excited about what comes next. What comes next is, obviously, whatever the fuck I want.

I'm thinking of making a dance. A short, one-song dance. My friend Miriam (who was in Richert Schnorr's dance band GRAPHIC GLORY which I performed with) just moved back to town, after a brief European sojourn, and I am excited to get her roped into helping me make this dance. Whether or not she wants to. Okay. The dance is about aging. Sort of. It's about kids. I'm gonna not talk about it until I've made it. Alright.

Hey thinking of aging dancers: This Yvonne Rainer versus Marina Abramovic thing, eh? I think Yvonne Rainer is pretty much in the right, for a number of reasons. I want to go on record, however, as saying that she's in the right because she's gay and Marina is is not. And that is all that matters to me. Or, that's the most important thing that matters to me. I might or might not be telling the truth. I don't have time to stop and think about this!

I just recently finished reading Larry Kramer's brilliant book, Faggots.

I'd been putting it off for a really long time. Almost as long as I have been a queer person (like, 12 years). I guess I had all these preconceptions about Kramer and his book and his whole generation. I felt like he was too obsessed with masculinity, and I felt like the book would be self-hating and I wouldn't be able to take the negativity, that the negativity would rub off on me, and I'm so insecure anyways I thought it would bum me out.

So anyway my friend Matty sent me a copy of the book, in a big box of other great queer gems (Acker, Genet, etc.) well over a year and a half ago, and I finally read it. And it was great! His masculinity thing, I think I can sort of make peace with as a stylistic/fashion thing. I get it; it's rooted in the place and time. Okay. The self-hating thing? No. It wasn't self-hating. It's sort of about how to be critical of people you love. It's a book about how to ask really hard questions. And the way, Kramer suggests, to put yourself in a position to ask these questions, is through generosity. He's so generous and empathetic to this Fred Lemish narrator. It really inspired me. I definitely wrote my most recent story (RINGO) before reading the book, and finished it afterward, and notice a real influence. I think that reading Faggots made me a more patient writer, and a more sympathetic thinker. I feel like I know a lot of Fred Lemishes, and I usually have no patience for them, and this book is making me want to work to be more patient, more understanding, and connect more. I definitely think all people (queer and not) should read it. I promised to lend my copy to my friend Austin, so you'll have to get your own (or bug him for it).

Also been totally obsessed with Mariah Carey's Unplugged e.p.

And not just because it's Mariah Carey and she's a really good singer. There's a good deal of context for this release, which is worth knowing about, I think. Basically, the MTV Unplugged session was suggested for Mariah because up until that point, people had been saying that she was a studio artist, and couldn't really sing live, so they released this recording to silence the haters. I think that's just great. Because, really, the winner here is the fans. And that's who ought to win. In the way between Mariah Carey and her critics.

Okay and speaking of needless extravagance, I kind of really, really want one of the new COMME des GARÇONS champion rings. Are these tacky? Are they prohibitively tacky? I've been thinking a little bit about jewelry. I kind of agree with bell hooks; men who wear jewelry are awful. But I also feel like I don't want to be a man, you know?

LIVE FREE. STRONG WILL. I love the idea of there being CdG slogans. Because, you know, obviously, these are translated from Japanese. At least once. It's also nice to know, I guess, exactly what Kanye West will be wearing in six months. He will be wearing these rings. So, if you want to be like Kanye (and I kind of do, one could do much worse) then wear these rings. I have such a deep-seated hatred for marketing and advertising that I think I am intellectually well-equipped to me an ad man. So much wasted potential. This gives me strength.

Strong.

"'97 was a really difficult year for me."

2011-11-07T23:28:00.005-05:00

Revisiting this. Always worth another gander. I do not often feel like, consciously, "I identify with Tyra Banks." But I really do, especially in this first video. I wish I could have this conversation. Obviously not with Naomi Campbell (duh). But just, like, to be able to say that to the person? I also do feel, as well, that I have quit the modeling business of my life (sort of, maybe not really, but at least in my head) for these reasons.

50% because I want to be able to eat whatever I want, and 50% because I am tired of dealing with negativity. But I feel like, you know, maybe the very people I think this about think the same thing about me. Maybe we're all quitters. That's okay. I'm just really into this video because it's, like, PROCESSING done by people who our culture does not think are that articulate or intellectual. Like, see? They can do it! You can do it!

Naomi's been listening politely but manages to get to the real matter at hand: Naomi. She stays constantly on-message. She's really into empiricism, it seems like. She knows. She knows, and she is the only one who knows, and is untroubled by this gap. She has faith that despite the fact that she is the sole custodian of her own experience and feelings, that she'll be able to communicate them. And she's right! Such a genius.

Fuck. Don't you feel it? I love the astrology connection, too. (Tyra and Naomi's mom are both December 4th Sagittariaus. Naomi is a Gemini, born on May 22nd). And they get back to down to business.

Seven perfumes.

2011-11-07T19:35:00.003-05:00

I guess I just needed to go to the gym. I feel a bit better. Here are some videos that pretty much perfectly depict me and my relationship to exercise. Also I listen to these at the gym and feel like I am becoming them.

I mean, I obviously look like them.

2011-11-07T12:17:00.006-05:00

I just don't know. I mean, it seems clear to me: I don't like complainers either. I am not a fan of babies. I could never be a nanny.

I resent being put-upon. I feel like, especially recently but also in general, I'm so often called on to witness, validate, soothe, support. It feels like a real drag sometimes. Like I'm only in the room to say "No" when someone says "Does this look bad on me?" Like I exist solely to be a mirror. Why do I resent this so fucking much? I always have.

For me, the ideal expression of intimacy and affection is not asked for; not demanded. I am allowed to lavish praise on the object of my admiration at my own speed, unbidden. Perhaps this is why I historically am so attracted to people, places, things which I can never really lay claim to. They can never demand it.

Maybe I don't want what's real. And what's wrong with that? Isn't it okay to admit it? What I want is a fantasy? Who can fault me for this.

What irks me is that I don't make these same demands. The reason I resent it so much, the validation, the patting on the back, the cooing, the nannying, is because I don't actually ask anyone to do it for me. Because I don't feel like I deserve to ask for it. I don't feel like, really, anybody deserves to be able to ask for it or demand it. I have this very weird idea in my head (I want to say it's a Californian thing, since I think it's also in Joan Didion's bones) that if you have to ask for something then you don't deserve it.

I'd qualify this by saying that if you have to ask for it, you'd better make it such that the asking is in fact the pleasurable part. Asking for what you want is one of life's great joys. Not getting what you want is also a typically human experience. I guess you can't have one without the other.

I think I am trying to engineer a situation in which I can control my own feelings, my falsely managing my expectations, so that I won't be disappointed when I don't get my way (which happens all the time, and I'm still disappointed every time). It takes an extraordinary amount of energy to come up (and maintain) with this scheme. broadly speaking, the scheme is: be really down on yourself so that no one else can do it for you. It doesn't work, and it is exhausting.

Understanding this rationally does very little to help change it.

And again, complaining! How unattractive. Is there anything more important in life than being attractive? Isn't being attractive synonymous with happiness? I don't mean to the sexual object, I mean to yourself. Shouldn't you feel like your life is exciting, fulfilling, attractive?

Being so down on yourself is basically the inverse of this. But still a form of morbid self-obsession. I feel like I get a lot of shade and anger from people for my so-called narcissism. Which is frustrating, because I always want to make the distinction that my narcissism as such is really a tremendous amount of time and energy spent attacking myself, not celebrating it. But it's still time and energy spent thinking about myself.

It makes it hard to take this criticism seriously, too, because the people who get down on me for being narcissistic (as such) are generally insecure, and seem to think that my energy would be better spent thinking about them. So that they don't have to. No, that outfit doesn't make you look weird. You look really good. I would want to fuck you.

It's Monday and I am in a bad mood. I feel like I can't do anything right. Like all I get is negative feedback. I'm really tired of everybody telling me how bad I am, or how wrong I am. Or how my thoughts and feelings would be better spent on them.

And so we go back, back, back to the fire of making art work to invent a world in which everyone isn't criticizing you, in which you do not deserve constant fear and pain, in which you do not worry. Imagining a world in which the question of deserving was a moot point, because everyone deserves, just for being alive, to be happy.

Wouldn't that world be great?

2 Announcements

2011-11-04T13:12:00.003-04:00

Two quick announcements. (One of the things I love about Lauren Savitz' performances is the way she says the phrase "PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!" and the fact that she so astutely chose the P.S.A. as her art form. I'm jelly).

The Tennessee Williams show I am in, NOW THE CATS WITH JEWELLED CLAWS, is running this weekend and next at La MaMa. It's a really fun and weird show to do. We're getting some interesting and positive press about it, which is kind of a mind-fuck. But it's good! You should come see it. The star of the play is, of course, Mink Stole. It's such an honor to get to work with her, duh. She's a really really good actress, which is always amazing to work with (people who are really good at what they do) but she's also a really fun and funny person. Check out this recent video interview she just did, where she mentions the show, and a couple other tidbits:

AWESOME. So come to the play.

Also, next Wednesday 11/9/11 I will be doing a reading at PPOW Gallery with Brontez Purnell, Joseph Whitt and Kat Case. It's going to be free, and wonderful. Here's the flier:

Facebook event info HERE.

Writing a new CONFESSIONS OF A NAMER story to read at the event. Super excited as always to be reading with Joseph Whitt and Brontez. Brontez, as you may know, is going to be on the Sister Spit tour this year, reading with such luminaries as Justin Vivian Bond, Erin Markey and Dorothy Allison. Yes, really. How fucking awesome is that? And Bronny is in town this weekend playing shows with his amazing band the Younger Lovers. I'm seeing them tonight at QxBxRx at Glasslands after we perform the play at La MaMa.

Alright! Back to Saturday Cartoons.

Rain Drops On Roses

2011-11-04T12:44:00.004-04:00

Thinking of what I want for Christmas.

Matriarchy

2011-11-02T07:58:00.000-04:00

Thinking a lot about these. This is an interview with Miss Lydia Lunch from last September. She talks a bit about her legacy, and her glamorous lifestyle as an anti-American expat. Lydia Lunch is kind of the source. Like, so many other people whose work I admire basically get it from her. Have you ever heard of Courtney Love? Anyway, the way she is able to combine a sort of scathing, visceral focus while at the same time getting into her admittedly woo-woo spiritual journey about feeding "an elemental force" is inspiring. I dig it. I am thankful, very often, for Lydia Lunch.

I mean: GOSH, right? She's totally my hero.

So glad that I brought back the Diamanda Galás book, The Shit of God the last time I went home to California. I've been thinking a lot about this text piece today. I remember reading it when I was in high school and it really blew my mind. It seems today perhaps apropos, a bit:

CRITICAL KNOWLEDGE:
The Taming of A Music Critic

I held that hairless brainpan down and said, “Bitch, take it like a man.” “Oh, god, stop it !”, he whined. I said, “Take it bitch.” Bitch squealed, glasses and bald head, pancake ass heaving… “Take it peanut dick,” I screamed, his hiney splitting in pain, sweat pouring from his anus. “Repeat after me Sandie,” I yelled, “Diamanda is a great genius. Diamanda is a great genius,” while I cornholed his flat buttocks, laughing. “Oh my god, Diamanda,” he pleaded.

“Say it, say it bitch! Give me that bald head, bitch,” while I urinated in his mouth. “Take that genius, take that elixir, bitch… take it all down. Take that godhead. Sandie. Corndog loves his mother, doesn’t she?”, I laughed, my fuck-stick thrusting. “Can you feel it?” Blood spurting from his anus, peanut heaved again. “What does the good music critic say? Repeat after me… ‘Diamanda is a great genius. When may I kiss her ass?’ ““Diamanda is a great genius, when may I kiss your ass?”

Yes! You’ve got it, literatus, polly purebred, while I split his ass and god rushed from my loins, and I vomitted, and the skies opened wide, and the squinny lips of the literatus shook silently and he could suddenly hear again, his piglet brain too tired to spend its time in understanding… and he could finally HEAR the voice of god and her angels, while the rivers of blood poured from his grateful anus. And a pregnant and magical silence descended upon us at the Death of Good Reason and the Rebirth of Beauty, and then we knew that we could finally hear again.

-- Diamanda Galás

Genius, no? Diamanda's voice is so encouraging and open. She is unafraid of force, to acknowledge power, to depict it/embody it. How nice.

Hey let's check back in with Lydia. This is an interview, from Italy, a few months prior to the other video. Lydia seems to have much less patience in this clip, and I like it a lot.

I learned quite a few things from this video, including how she pronounces BOZULICH. Hmm! Also, I wish I could see her perform Queen of Siam. Dang.

Scary Nature

2011-11-01T10:50:00.004-04:00

Last night I had a dream that there was some kind of disease we were all outrunning. I don’t want to say zombies because it wasn’t a disease where you would die and then come back. (Did you know that one of the first zines I ever wrote was called Zombie and was about zombies and being one/feeling like one? I ought to scan that). The disease I dreamed about last night was some kind of thing where you had some insane desire to annihilate human life and destroy it in favor of encouraging other forms of life. In which people exploded into trees, vines, flowers. In the dream (it was really scary) I got away. I escaped with some friends, and with a very old man, whom we rescued from this plague of nature-life.

We had escaped, but I wasn’t so sure that we were safe. I suspected that the old man we were with had secretly been infected by this nature-virus, and that it was only a matter of time before he’d reveal himself as the Green Man, or something. One among us was describing the warning signs, or symptoms, of infection. I only remember two of the warning signs or symptoms, and there were a few, but the two that I remember hearing right before I woke up were:

- A desire to grow plants from your chest; and
- Birth

I remember wondering “Does that mean that if you give birth, then you are infected? Or does that mean that your baby is infected?” Then I realized, of course, that it’s both. I think also, that eating dirt was one of the signs or symptoms. I was very scared. I woke up and both my arms and legs were tingling and numb. I had fallen asleep with my limbs crossed, muscles flexed tight.

I think I had this nightmare for a bunch of reasons. Yesterday I conflated the words “rib cage” and “rib cave” and it made me think of that Rasputina song “Cage in a Cave”

Anything having to do with caves makes me think of skeletons. Also cave-related, I was thinking yesterday about my buddy Stevie Hanley’s new work. When I visited Berlin last summer, I saw a some of his gorgeous cave paintings. As in, paintings of caves, not paintings inside of caves, natch. You can see some of Stevie’s beautiful work here.

Last night I was listening to Water Cuts My Hands, which might be my favorite Mecca Normal album, last night. In one of the songs, Jean smith screams “Night-mare! Night-MARE!” over and over again. I was writing a story about insulting someone to their face and calling their face a soccer field. I don’t know. I was in a bad mood before bed last night. Scared/scary. It’s just nature. It’s scary and it’s just nature. Also it was Halloween.

MY DREAM DATE WITH DAVID WOJNAROWICZ

2011-10-31T15:02:00.006-04:00

So, below is a new performance text I just finished.

My wonderful friend Dan Fishback just closed a run of his genius new show THIRTYNOTHING at Dixon Place this month. As part of the run, each Sunday he had a complementary event series, and I was invited to participate in the most recent event: "October 23rd: THIRTYEVERYTHING - In the final event of the thirtynothing series, gay artists who have died of AIDS will be remembered with stories and performances by their surviving friends and admiring descendants. Presenters include: Jack Waters & Peter Cramer, Glenn Marla, Sur Rodney (Sur), Max Steele, Ethan Shoshan, Max Stein and Eric Rhein."

I was really struggling to come up with a way to address the AIDS generation, and the sense of scope and immense, abstract loss which people my age deal with. I felt like there is probably no one "right way" to do a piece about AIDS, and I was also thinking a lot about iconography, and how you can really ache for something to be a final, complete and "correct" interpretation or statement, but at the same time know (in the back of your head) that it can never be.

I guess I've also been thinking a lot about style. And the uses of style. And how, like, what's the most Billy Cheer way of saying David Wojnarowicz? Working, of course, under the assumption that I have a right to say that name. Here's what I came up with.
____________________________________________________________________

MY DREAM DATE WITH DAVID WOJNAROWICZ

I don’t know if it’s fucked up to be here or say this. Everyone else performing tonight is either an artist or an expert, and has something they’ve discovered or brought to share with you (or made up) and Dan just asked me to come share talk about this thing that happened to me, so.

Do you guys remember that radio contest a few months ago on 98.7 KISS FM? Well I won it. I was the 98th caller and I won a trip back in time to have a date with a dead person. This was the prize for the radio contest.

And guess who I chose to have it with? I guess I was still thinking about A FIRE IN MY BELLY and all the drama about it being censored, and how I saw all these people talk about how “David would have been so upset” or “David would have found it ironic” or whatever. And I felt like I could just go ask him. When I called the radio station I didn’t think I would win, I was on hold forever. I was wearing this t-shirt, and then the guy picked up, the radio guy, to tell me I had won. And then he asked me where and when I wanted to go and I said THE EAST VILLAGE IN THE LATE 1980s but I was standing next to my radio boombox and he put me on the air and all I heard was feedback and I closed my eyes and my wish was granted and I was sent back in time for one night only, sundown to sun-up, to have a date with David Wojnawrowicz. At an apartment on East 8th street, I waited for David to come pick me up.

At dusk, he came to pick me up for our date. He was wearing a jean jacket and a dirty grey t-shirt. He was sooo cute. He asked me what I wanted to do, on our date, and I told him that I mostly just wanted to talk. We walked West to go down to the piers and look at queer dudes cruising. He let me bum his cigarettes, which I thought was really gallant; I had come back in time without any of my own. We stopped near the piers to buy something to drink, and I bought him a pack of cigarettes to replace the ones I had taken, it was less than a dollar! Everything was so cheap.

We opened our beers and drank them, walking down the street. Just a couple of guys. Just two people talking to each other. About New York, about moving to New York. About making art. It was, this part, a dream come true. I feel like David Wojnarowicz is a kind of celebrity, to me and my friends and a lot of queer people. And we all adore him. He’s an icon, but it’s not enough, you know? I want, at least, for him to be a real person too, so I feel lucky to be able to confirm that this is true.

He was really tall. Taller than me, and almost nobody is taller than me. That, combined with the difference in our ages, and his success made me feel kind of intimidated. (he kind of name-dropped the Whitney Biennial, like “Had I ever been to the Whitney uptown”? And I didn’t wanna say “Duh”).

He asked me if I thought it was easier to be a queer person where I’m from, in the future, than it was to be a queer person in the late 1980s. I said definitely. By a lot. I couldn’t even imagine, I said, to be honest.

“What do you mean you can’t imagine?”

“Oh, easy.” I said.

We walked down to the Christopher Street piers and sat and watched guys go by. He was checking guys out really slyly, sort of beefy dudes. I got the distinct impression that I wasn’t David’s type and I felt sort of hurt. He wasn’t my ideal type either but I felt a tremendous simpatico with him and wanted it to confirm that it was reciprocal, but then realized that this is the thing that history does.

I saw him cruising a shirtless guy with a buzz cut and a tan. And then he flat out asked me what kind of guys I liked, what my type was. I told him “All types I guess” and he said “Hm.” He nodded to the guy he was checking out and asked if I thought he was attractive. I said not really and he didn’t say anything just watched him walk away. So I knew he didn’t think I was cute. On one hand I definitely wanted to fall in love with David Wojnarowicz but on the other hand I felt relieved, like, the pressure was off. I didn’t feel like such a disappointment; I just wasn’t his type. We watched the sun set behind the skyline of New Jersey. It felt, to me, abundantly clear that I was not going to be able to seduce him.

He seemed genuinely surprised to hear me tell him how much his work meant to me and how much of a big deal he was to people where I’m from. I didn’t get the impression that he was fishing for compliments when he raised his eyebrows and asked “Really?” I didn’t want to overdo it, but how often to you get the chance to go back in time and talk to one of your heroes? I felt this deep-seated desire to make it known to him how important he was to me.

Oh, so, also, I told him all about the thing at the Smithsonian and his movie being taken our of the exhibition. And he didn’t think it was ironic and he didn’t think it was funny and he didn’t get so upset or cry or anything. I think he was bummed because I told him he was in the Smithsonian! And in the same sentence that the Smithsonian! Had also censored him, which was a sucky thing to do. I guess he didn’t really care so much. I would say, the word I would choose to describe his face when I told him about it was CRESTFALLEN.

I told him that even in 2011, people fucked up the pronunciation of his name. Like knowing how to pronounce his name means you “really get him” or something. I thought it was funny, or that he might think it was funny. He didn’t think it was funny. I realized I sounded snobby. Mispronouncing the name Wojnawrowicz doesn’t mean you don’t get it; it means you haven’t had a conversation about him yet. To him, it just sounded like I was making fun of his name. Fuck. I knew I was blowing it.

Talking about 2011, I told him that it was still hard to be queer, but that the problems seem really different. I told him that gay people could get married in New York in 2011. That surprised him. He had a beautiful smile.

I thought it would be really weird to talk to him about stuff that happened after he died. Like, it seemed really presumptuous or rude to say “Oh, and then this thing happened ten, fifteen years after you died.” But he was so understanding and sweet and he just let me go on and on, before I realized what I was doing. He didn’t question it at all. He didn’t make me feel like I was being rude by alluding to his mortality.

I guess, talking to anybody, even you guys, is talking to people who will someday die. I mean, you’re all going to die. None of us are getting out of here alive.

And I kind of felt like me existing in the future is an affront. I told him I was sorry. I asked him if he believed in reincarnation.

He kind of smirked. “Why,” he said “do you think that you are the reincarnation of me?” Like I secretly believed this and he had caught me, or something.

I got really bratty for a second and said “No, we overlapped, David. We were alive at the same time.” It’s true but it feels like a lie.

I want to find more common ground. I mention that I really like his band, 3 Teens Kill 4 and I ask about their show at Wigstock the previous year. He says it went okay, and asks if they still do Wigstock in 2011. Sometimes, I say, but not regularly. Lady Bunny is a big star. Still.

People kept coming up to us to say hi. I thought maybe they all knew him, because he was such a big deal, but in fact it was just queer people being friendly. They weren’t like gay people today. Today, if queer people just approach you and your friend and start talking to you when your sitting on the pier, I personally assume they have some ulterior motive, they want to fuck us or something. Sitting with David that night, people just stopped to say hello. Gay strangers. I had the stark impression that I would likely never see any of these people ever again, so I tried to take a good mental picture of every face I saw. But this one really hilarious queen with long brown hair and a cute fake English accent asked us if we wanted to get high, and we did, and it all became a blur. We spent a few hours lying on benches, on our backs, staring up at the cloudy night sky. The moon and the stars were up there and would stay up there until 2011 when I could see them. They weren’t visible that night but I knew they were there.

Eventually the cruising crowds thinned out, and David offered to walk me back to my apartment.

On a whim, as a last chance type of thing, I asked him to come up to my room with me, and he looked away kinda shy and said no, that he had a lot of work to do and besides I was leaving in the morning. I thought it was really sweet. I wanted to have sex with him, so that I could know what kind of sex he liked to have but now I will have to ask around, which isn’t the same.

I had gone back with a mental list of things I wanted to discuss with him and things I wanted to say. The streets are dark, they seem a lot darker here than when I am from. There’re streetlights, but everything just seems… darker, murkier. As we’re walking through the dark streets my head feels light and I am realizing that I totally blew my shot, all the things I wanted to discuss with David Wojnawrowicz, I had barely gotten to any of them, except talking about the Smithsonian exhibit. I realized, as we turned the corner, that all the things I wanted to discuss with him were really, things I wanted to tell him. That’s the part that I really wanted, a dialogue. That is what the absence is, it’s one-sided, a whole, you can echo into it. I can read what he wrote and I can see the things he made and I can listen to other interviews with him and get a sense for his thinking, but I can’t talk back; we can’t communicate, it’s like TV.

Fuck, I didn’t even talk to him about the Internet.

I wanted to say a ton of really stupid stuff to him. Really basic, easy stuff, like “I’m sorry” and “Thank you” and “I love you”. The biggie was, you know, “Thank you for sewing your mouth shut (and letting us see).” I don’t know if I could have said that, though, looking him in the face, without crying. We walked in silence back to the building where he’d drop me off, and we’d both disappear. I knew it was coming, and my mind was racing and I felt like really, I wanted to prove to him that he had made me to an extent, possible. That my existence was predicated on his. I was able to move, to loco mote, using muscles which he had discovered. How to express this, hmm? A picture? Words? I get to make these choices because of him. The whole premise of getting stoned and calling an FM radio station to win a trip back in time to cruise guys with David Wojnarowicz is a function of the kind of freedom which his legacy has afforded me. Big things which we take for granted, like freedom, are often gifts. And not even consciously passed down or over, so how could I possibly say thank you?

2011-10-31T11:15:00.005-04:00

So this weekend we opened our show at La MaMa. It went pretty good to very good. Thursday was the first preview performance, and I felt happy with it. After the show, Keckler and I snuck down to Miss Earl Dax' legendary Pussy Faggot party at the Delancey, where I caught Raul DeNieves' performance (brilliant as always) and the last little tidbit of Gio Black Peter's set downstairs. Pennifer Arcade, sporting a classic 1960s Monroe curly 'do, was MC-ing. It was a fantastic. I did have to beg off early (a dominant theme) to go to work the next morning.

Friday's show was also good. There was press there, which I wish I didn't know about. I never want to be reviewed, basically ever. I'm far too neurotic and insecure to deal with it. So, you know. Screwed up my courage.

(That is my favorite Team Dresch song, likely yours too if you're reading this).

So even in front of press (people literally sitting at the edge of stage, with little white notebooks, taking notes), I fucked up my lines. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but I did, and I kind of beat myself up about it. A little flub. What can you do. Other than that, Friday's show was very good. It's such a trip to do something performance-wise more than once, and have, like, friends come to see it. Theater is weird.

Friday night after the play I met up with Perfect Little Daniel and Ryan at this awesome cover show at death By Audio. Jess Paps' new band HEAVENS GATE had done a Raincoats set, which I unfortunately missed. I heard it was wonderful. I saw Little Victory do their B-52s set, however, which was AWESOME. I had no idea I liked the b-52s so much! Zan looked great in a big dark beehive hairdo, giving me some postmortem Amy Winehouse effects. But what doesn't, these days? Little Victory just got a nice shout out in the Huffington Post last week, much0-deserved. I've been singing this band's praises since they started (not to brag/just to brag) and I hope they become a really fucking huge deal. They're fantastic and everyone should listen to them. After the show we went to Metropolitan and saw lovely Michael Cavadias, who is the Friday Night DJane there. Ran into a long-ago ex of mine, a functional Republican ("fiscal conservative" - I don't want to get into it), who swore up and down that it would not snow on Saturday. He seemed to think I was really silly for thinking that it would snow on Saturday.

The vindication of the actual thundering snowstorm was not enough to make up for how unpleasant it was when it did, of course, snow all day on Saturday. Ptrck and PLD and I met up with a sundry crew to discuss a sort-of secret project potentially involving elements of reality and media. All I can say is that on Saturday, we got free brunch and Irish coffees from a major media network. After this fantastic introduction, I went home to recuperate before that night's performance. Saturday's show was good, but not great. The crowd was small and quiet, which actually did make me feel better, cuz I had more space (psychically and physically) to expand. There was more press in the house. More stress in the house. I came home to pre-game for a party with the boys, but I got too tired.

I felt like I just didn't want to have any fun. You know? Like, going to a party didn't sound like it would be fun for me. Not too many things do, these days. I gotta say. I do not know what is wrong with me. Could just be another case of the Mondays. But nothing is cheering me up!

Very often feel just like this video. Angry, slow, sad. Pretty.

Anyway. I begged off on Saturday night. I bought some snacks (Kefir- the champagne of yogurts), ate some xanax, and watched Charlie Rose interview Jill Abramson. I slept.

Sunday, the boys and Erin Markey and I all went uptown to continue work on this secret project. Again, without revealing too much, I will say that there was an awesome snack table in the green room:

Nothing wholesome. Just the way I like it.

Much fun. Bridget Everett was also in the house, bringing a touch of glamour to the whole secret affair. Erin and I had to scoot downtown to get to our show last night, the official opening night. The house was packed! It was a really stellar crowd, and the energy was high, and I think I personally did the best show I did all weekend last night. More press. It never ends.

Cute baby cast party after the show. Miss Geraldine Winnifred Visco, the downtown diva herself, came to our show, and snapped this picture of me with Joseph and Erin at the party:

Gerry told me to make that face. I swear. It wasn't my idea.

After the cast party I skipped down to Participant Inc. to see MX Justin Vivian Bond's art opening "The Fall Of The House Of Whimsy". As a devoted MXJVB fan, and former guest to the old Second Ave House of Whimsy parties, it was such a treat to see the show. it's up until December at Participant, and definitely worth checking out.

Tonight is officially Halloween. I am not going out. I am staying in. I feel exhausted.
There's plenty to be scared of already. I'm not, but if I was, there'd be plenty.

2011-10-27T15:42:00.005-04:00

So, as you may know, I have been working on a play for the last two months or so. And tonight we begin performances! So if you are in New York and reading this, you are invited to come see this show, so please do.

NOW THE CATS WITH JEWELLED CLAWS

It's a really awesome project. The play is by Tennessee Williams. Absolutely one of his weirdest pieces. It has a really amazing cast, including the inimitable Michigan Wonders Joseph Keckler and Erin Markey, both of whom I fucking adore, as well as downtown debutante Regina Bartkoff and hubby Charles Shick. Starring are the legendary Mink Stole and Everett Quinton, of John Waters and Theatre of the Ridiculous fame, respectively (among illustrious others). The play is directed by Jonathan Warman, features music by Trystan Trazon and choreography by Liz Piccoli. Lovingly produced by Creative Concepts Productions.

It's a really fun and fucking insanely weird show. A total thrill to be involved in this project. I feel very honored. I hope y'all can make it!

Kind of Like The Frank Sinatra of Art

2011-10-24T16:55:00.001-04:00

So late! Taking so long to do anything! In a game of perpetual catch-up. I used to do this blog so up-to-the-minute. This used to be a blog about the future. That's the problem, though, about the future, is that if you are obsessed with it and focus on it, then you ultimately lose out, right?

It reminds me of this awesome quote from Fran Liebowitz from that documentary about her. She is talking (with her inexplicably Close Personal Friend Toni Morrison, natch) about writers that do not get better with age. Writers that get worse with age. She says: "If you're a writer that specializes in youth, then you're going to get worse with age." To be quite honest, that did send something of a shiver down my nubile young spine. But then again, I don't specialize in youth. I specialize in me: and up until quite recently I have been part of the Youth. You know.

Anyway, back to this weekend, when I meant to post all of this.

Saturday mornings were always a very special time in my house, because it was on weekends only when my little brother and I were allowed to play video games. Also, Friday afternoon after school was the time that we got to eat fast food, once a week. I do love designated "Me time".

The Legend of the Mystical Ninja. I have this game on my Mac. I still love it. It's really, really fucking hard.

Been listening to these two records nonstop this weekend. It definitely says something about me. Maybe that I need another vacation? Maybe I'm just in touch with the fact that I ache for other experiences, places, moods.

Thinking a bit lately about the last time I did a brand-new performance art piece, which is when I made the piece about styrofoam and recycling and Beyoncé this past summer, which you can see here.

Comme des Garçons is releasing a new perfume (named Comme des Garçons) next month, which has a cute little press description:

"we can find beautiful things, without consciousness
a fragrance that couldn’t exist in a bottle that shouldn’t exist
what qualifies anything for the right to exist?
who has the right to decide what should be rejected?

A rejected bottle survives to hold an imaginary flower constructed linearly, the fragrance opens with the man made organic composites of aldehydes and safraleine, opening up slowly to hawthorns and derivations of lilac, before exploding in a riot of flower oxides, then finally succumbing to notes of industrial glue and brown scotch tape with hints of musk and styrax

purposely taking a bottle that has been disqualified from existence and purposefully giving it its right to exist."

Nice, huh? I love that Rei Kawakubo and I are on this same wavelength about repurposing materials. How nice to use something like perfume design as a way of asking "What qualifies anything for the right to exist?" I would say that the project seems to be about recycling, but really it seems more interesting in re-making something, than, say, reducing waste.

Some more exciting things include this awesome interview with Brontez by Michelle Tea.

Love this zine so much.

OBVIOUSLY I am a huge fan of Michelle Tea's work and OBVSIOULY I adore Brontez. I am duly honored to be mentioned in this interview! Speaking of Brontez, he will be coming to NYC next month, and we will be doing a reading together, with Kat case and Joseph Whitt at PPOW Gallery on 11/9. Mark your calendars! It's gonna be amazing!

Also fantastic to note that Brontez will be touring as part of this year's Sister Spit roadshow, along with Erin Markey, Justin Vivian Bond, and Dorothy Allison. Yes, really. Doesn't that blow your fucking mind? It ought to.

Hey speaking of nice shout-outs, our dearly-departed-to-the-West-Coast-and-making-us-all-wanna-move-there homegirl Jeffery Self dropped yrs truly's name in a rad article he wrote for The Huffington Post. So into everybody! Dang.

Finally, I went this weekend to see Richard Serra's Junction / Cycle at Gagosian. I kind of went for the spectacle of it, not out of some deep need to see the work. I thought to myself, ironically "Oh, this'll be a real cheery experience."

Guess what? It totally was. I definitely think that if you are in New York, you should absolutely go and wander through Gagosian's Chelsea gallery and see these pieces. They're up till the end of November and really beautiful.

I do want, however, to intentionally kind of undermine the strength of the work by noting that one of my favorite things about the pieces was that although they are constructed of "weatherproof steel", they have the patina of beautifully carved mahogany. For me, the piece had a very retro, 1970s interior decorating feel. I loved it.

Richard Serra is kind of the Frank Sinatra of art, you know? Like, you more or less know what kind of thing to expect, and it's a fairly conservative thing. It's not the most radical thing out there. It's not, strictly speaking, an entirely new form of art-making. You can critique it on several points, up to and including it's engagement with modernity. But, like Frank Sinatra, major strength of Serra's work is this kind of de facto mastery. He is, kind of, the King. As much as I want to say "fuck off" to the creepy scary monoliths, I can't help but be in awe. Still. In spite of myself.

Very nice.

Great Full

2011-10-13T21:04:00.005-04:00

Two alternating currents, I guess.

Two different things I wanna talk about. I guess once comes first and is in the background and the other is in front of it in the spotlight so here is what's up: My existential crise continues, sisters. I am recognizing that I have internalized some fucked up shit, and I don't know where, but it sucks. In a shitty mood. Don't know who I am or am supposed to be. Yaddah yaddah. Trying to make art about but feeling like: what could I possibly make art about? Who cares what I have to say? Why me? Y'know? Like I have to justify myself or something. I'm just tired of feeling like, bad, man. I feel like I take a lot of responsibility for people's reactions to me, which I have no control over. A period of letting go. I feel like I'm really done putting up with unwelcome funkiness from people. Grrr. Mars in Leo. So that's on my back burner.

Even talking about it, my feelings, feels like obscene, so I am still doing it but want you to know that I think it's obscene too.

Okay, so the other big thing I'm thinking about is luckily a balm to all of that. I have had a couple weeks free from rehearsal before we go back into rehearsal for the play I am in which is going to open in NYC on 10/27 (I'm going to post about it separately). And even before then, I felt like I was always kicking myself for missing this or that show, so I am making an effort to go out more, and go see more performance art work music etc. I want more!

The last couple weeks I've been so, so glad to live in New York, because I've gotten to see some really amazing things. First off, my friend James Brooks Caperton visited from SF. You may know him as the genius behind THE JUDY EXPERIENCE, who may be one of my ultimate favorite musicians ever. He always has been. We've known each other since we were 15 (!!!). His first Judy Experience record, which is out on Cochon, is one of my favorite things in the world. Everybody who I play it for falls in love with it, and James, immediately. It's the ultimate fuck music, cook music, think music. I don't know. It's dark and dreamy.

I have heard tell about his sophomore album from other friends in SF, and I know that he's been working on it for a minute. I'm very frustrated, not only as his friend who misses him, but as a hard core fan. I want that record! In fact, my original home girl Cotton made the artwork for it. I saw this image surface online but I don't know if it's the real deal but it's gorgeous and of course does a spot-on job of portraying the new music:

James came through NYC recently and screened a movie he had worked on, HIGH BI GIRLS which features the brand new Judy Experience record. The screening was at Woahmone Rising, a favorite NYC party. It is, of course, the now-legendary Satanic Psychedelic Lesbian Separatist Dance Party thrown once a month by Nath Ann Carrera and Savage Child. It was the perfect home for James' movie, which was so Californian, trippy, beautiful and sexy. Nath Ann had a part in it too. Kids in the desert and melting into the sky. It was rad. The Extra Special Nice Thing is: James Brooks gave me a CD of the new Judy Experience music! From the movie! It's totally my new favorite record, and I don't know any of the songs' names. It's a lot more guitar-driven than the last record. Sort of, I think I would use the word "metal". But there're also, towards the end of album, some particularly delicious saxophone screech psycho runaway train rendezvous as well. He's such a perfectionist. He's got his sound together. It's really inspiring.

Okay, and then, Friday, I went to two shows. First, I went to FUNNY GIRLS TO THE FRONT a female comic cabaret at the New Museum. I got to be a back-up dancer in Erin Markey's piece. She sang "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira and I was one of two dancing mummies, along with the Irish Horse.

The show was so much fun! Erin's number was great, OBVIOUSLY. She's a totally bonkers singer. She totally tore that song open, almost as if she was from some alternate universe, far more advanced than our own, and approached the song form the position of an alien princess. It made so much more sense when Erin sang it. I was deeply honored to be on the same stage as her, duh.

Another highlight was miss Bridget Everett, as always. She sang three original numbers, and wore a really wonderful gold dress, which she told us was named The Chardonnay Shocker:

She is such a beautiful angel. Baby girl. Bridget Everett is a powerful performer. I don't just mean that she's a great dancer, riotously funny, and such a good singer that she makes grown men cry. She's powerful in that she can command a crowd, with an eyebrow raise, though usually she does a bit more than just insinuate. She was fantastic and energizing and thought I am politically opposed to name dropping, I constantly tell anyone who will listen that she played my mom on TV (she did!) and I love her so.

Then I high-tailed it over to see Dan Fishback's new show, THIRTYNOTHING, which is about the AIDS generation, and ours.

I had put off seeing this show in its previous iterations, because I thought it would bum me out. And seeing it, I can tell you that I was wrong. I was not bummed out by his show. I was really turned-on and excited and, mostly it put me in touch with a deep sense of gratitude. I'm glad that Dan is making the work he is, illustrating the connections he is, and making things that much more possible for the rest of the ungrateful world. It was a hilarious and touching show. It made me feel really proud of Dan, and not just because he is my friend and I love him. It's a fantastic show and it is still playing in New York. If you are in town, or know someone who is, RUN DON'T WALK TO GO SEE THIS SHOW.

Feeling really happy and thankful for so much great work! Fuck.

Saturday, I had coffee with my One Straight Male Friend Who I Adore, Marcus. He is getting his PhD and will be a real live Analyst. He is deeply intelligent, sensitive, and fucking hilarious guy. I love him to death. We have so much fun together, drinking coffee and sitting in the park and just... talking. Like a pair of old ladies. About our lives, feelings, the Universe, the City, whatever. It made me feel really present and happy. We went uptown to Barney's to look at clothes and complain about the prices. He'll sometimes let me pick his brain about Analysis, and as someone who is on an extended break form therapy, it's fucking hilarious and fascinating to learn what the therapist is thinking about (from a practical standpoint) while the patient is on the couch. It's great.

Came home for a bit, and then went to CLUMP, the genius anarchist drag party thrown by Miss Colin Self. The theme this month was a tribute to BJORK, which was of course perfect. Performances by Clarissa Theteenagewith and Raul De Nieves along with Miss Colin were all highlights. Poetess, comic and psychic Caroline Contillo was there to perform, but there were technical difficulties and she couldn't and I'm still disappointed. Damn. We high-tailed it over to the city, to go to a totally batshit crazy gay dance party in TriBeCa called MONKEY ISLAND. It was nuts. Too too much fun, and the cops came. What the fuck, cops? Anyway, much fun!

This week, I went to dinner at my good buddy Walt Cessna's house, with lovely Nicholas Gorham. These kids keep me strong, man! So hilarious! Walt is such a good cook, and it was lovely to hang out. Again: things to put on the list of things that make you feel real. He also lives in the Upper East Side, which is my favorite neighborhood in NYC.

And then tonight, I just went and saw an excerpt performance of Young Jean Lee's UNTITLED FEMINIST SHOW. I of course know who Lee is, but had never seen her work performed. The show was fucking great. Thee Irish Horse is in it. I can't wait to see the full thing performed in January! There was audience participation, in the form of surveys that were filled out in between movement sequences. Ways of gauging the audience's opinion, and reminding them of their viewership. The movement/theatre work was really interesting too. It looked like, to me, and this was echoed by others in the room during the talk-back, that the show was a lot of fun to do. It seemed like a place we'd want to be. It seems like something the audience wants to be "in on". At the same time, it also looks really hard. Like, a lot of work. The movement itself is deliberate, poetic, sparse, smart, legible and pleasurable. It was really inspiring.

Again, I feel really grateful for the last week. Jeez. There's a lot of good things to think about, to take the place of these existential questions. What are any of these people's shows about, really? Everyone's show is about, ostensibly, the way they see the world. Right? When you get right down to it, the documentary film is about how that documentary filmmaker made that one documentary film.

I've had this really deep-seated fear lately that all I was capable of was making art work, having ideas about, or articulating only myself. Like, I only know how to talk about the way that I talk. That's all I think that I am qualified to speak to. And I think this might not be such a shameful thing, really. This might not mark me for the life-long ridicule I act as if I lived with. I might not be a total fuck-up, actually. There might be a context for this. There might be an audience? There might be something comprehensible to someone else. Maybe not. Either way, I won't know until I at least try it.

MARS IN LEO

2011-10-10T14:06:00.008-04:00

From Susan Miller:

"Overall, you will be so fortunate to have Mars in Leo all month, and until November 11. This will make you feel sexy and vibrant, and best of all, Mars in Leo will put you back in control again. The past few months may have found you feeling that your support from influential people was slipping, but now you can correct all that, for soon you will be on top of your game again. Keep pushing. You will only have until November 11."

Significant things happen, really strange and elaborate communications take place here on the internet. Sometimes I get asked to advertise things, for money or for some other reasons, and I feel like a real jerk. Because I think "I don't even advertise myself, goddess damn it." And I think that maybe I ought to. (Obviously the concept of the blog). SO if you want to pay me for ads in the blog or give me stuff in exchange for me writing about you, that would be okay now, I guess. Because I want to just catch everybody up on where they can buy the zine I write Scorcher. It's no secret: you can buy it from Birdsong Micropress. Duh.

But I wanted to show some links to things, since I feel like I want to reiterate my right to say a few things about myself. Some commercials!

Here is an interview with me (along with excerpts of me reading) done by Poetry Thin Air (it's kinda long, TV episode length, natch):

Shot by the inimitable and legendary Mich Corber.

Is there a feminine equivalent to the word "natch"? Maybe there doesn't need to be, a sweater will stretch.

And here's a video of me reading at the New Museum last October, opening for Miss Dennise Cooper as part of the THEM & Now series, co-curated by the awesome SPANK Magazine:

That One Time I Had A Highly Choreographed Riot Grrrl Pantomime Reaction To A Dumb Boy:

Notes: a) it's tobacco b) I was in a bad mood that day and c) the guy's band doesn't suck (who am I to judge).

Then, finally, I wanted to re-upload this little gem, WAIT FOR THE DAWN::

Track 4 of 6 on REGULARMOTION's first DVD/Album, GRAPHIC.GLORY. Directed, shot, and edited by Richert Schnorr. Featuring me dancing along with Miriam Levin (who we all love and miss very much).

Okay. Great. Please buy my zines from Tommy. The back issues are really good too. They're all good.

Thank You and The Secret

2011-10-04T07:28:00.003-04:00

Raining, Pouring. Forgot to note a couple of things.

Best Friend in the Whole World, BOBO sent me a package yesterday. It included this cap, which she knitted for me, which is PERFECT. It sort of matched my hair (or what I would imagine my natural hair color to be), and it arrived at the perfect time. Yesterday was the first really cold day of the year. She also sent me this really cute multicolored polka dot t shirt she got at a thrift store. It's like the perfect package. I miss her so much. She recently moved to Seattle and is working at an Ethiopian restaurant and I want so badly to hop over there to get free food and bug her at work and I just MIGHT DO THAT with no warning. Be warned, Seattle: there can be no warning. Also today she starts GRADUATE SCHOOL to learn how to do Art Therapy. Isn't that rad? Congratulations, Bo! She is maybe my favorite person in the whole world.

Thanks, Bobo!

Also, I found these F/W 2009 BLACK Comme des Garçons shirts for sale online, which is a little surprising, and I am losing it. i want one of these so bad. I just couldn't bring myself to drop the cash on it. If there are any millionaires or even thousandaires ("Hundredaire" is my favorite song by Hey Willpower) reading this, tonight, I want to just let you know that if you want to decide to buy me this shirt, that would be totally okay and I would write some kind of love letter or something about you. I'm down to be sponsored as long as I get to pick what I want. The point is, I am trying to manifest this shirt into my life. I didn't scrape it together to buy one when they were in season at the boutiques, and when MARKET MARKET happened, they only had them in Small and they didn't fit, and I still want one so bad. I feel like them coming up online for sale is totally a sign that they should be mine, right? So I'm using the Secret to imagine that somehow, a size Medium of the yellow dyed plaid will arrive at my doorstep. These are for sale at RSVP Gallery.

"Secret, secret, secret."

EMO STUDIES

2011-10-03T23:21:00.001-04:00

Monday! Miserly.

Listening to The Agony is The Ecstasy by Miss Lydia A. Lunch (she's a Gemini, I mean, duh, right?)

This record pretty much perfectly expresses what I call "A Case of the Mondays". The other side is a live Birthday Party show and Nick sounds predictably sexy on it.

I guess, I just sort of feel like being cute and being clever are kind of played out. And in the way where, y'know, it's okay to be played out. If that's your trip. But at the same time, I feel like paying ransom to the dominant capitalist culture is kind of fucked up, too. Like, in a way, making art about the living out this fucked up patriarchal fantasy is, in a way, sort of reinforcing these power structures, no?

I wanna talk about Alice Walker's book Possessing the Secret of Joy.

I was actually sitting my bedroom the other day, fuming, thinking about how I have all this shit in my room which I really do not need. All these clothes with holes in them or that are too small or I never wear, but I can't bear to part with because I've had these tattered things since high school. And I was thinking about how I have, basically, every book I read in college. And I was staring at my copy of Possessing..., thinking, "I will probably never want to read this book, ever again." It's so tough! I mean, it's beautiful, obviously, but it's really hard. I think Alice Walker's writing is so particularly American. And I mean this as a compliment. I spent a year in college reading nothing but novels Alice Walker, Toni Morrison and Gloria Naylor. And Walker isn't even necessarily my favorite of the three, but she does seem to me to be the most American, in a way. So whatever, this book, Possessing the Secret of Joy, is about female circumcision, but it's also about culture, and history, and context, and trying to wrap your head around someone who is so different than you. It's about how to recognize the Other and the Self, I think. It's really beautiful. Maybe I will read it again. The reason I'm thinking of it this morning, though, is that one of Walker's epigraphs at the beginning of the text is form a bumper sticker, and says:

WHEN THE AX CAME INTO THE FOREST, THE TREES SAID THE HANDLE IS ONE OF US.

Heavy, right? Now, I don't want to compare anything to anything, and certainly not the kind of capitalist "art culture" I'm bitching about to systemic worldwide oppression of women, BUT I do think this pithy lil quote has some resonance. Like: we can recognize parts of ourselves in our dark fantasies.

Another example: We can tell when we are being marketed to. We know when the fantasies are being

ANOTHER KATHLEEN HANNA QUOTE THAT MAKES ME THINK A LOT:
"I know when I first started, I said things like, It’s really great to be beautiful and powerful and sexy, and I take a little bit of that back now. What I was saying was that you don’t have look a certain way or have a certain hairstyle to be a feminist; that just because a girl wears lipstick that doesn’t mean she’s not a feminist. But now I realize that I wasn’t really challenging the standard of beauty. A friend said to me, Why is it so subversive to be beautiful in the traditional sense? I think it’s much more subversive to create your own form of beauty and to set your own standards. She’s right. "

Like: FREE YOUR MIND. I dunno. Sometimes we think that the only way to be happy is to be like the things we see on TV (or something) and then eventually you get all of those things and what, really, changes?

I did have a nice weekend, though, despite feeling kinda gross. Friday I hung out with Cole and Ptrck the Witch and PLD and Cole's little friend Daniel at the house. We had some red wine, then some St. Ides' which P swears by, and can drink and then go compose a multimedia orchestral piece without blinking, but if I have so much as a whiff of St. Ides' I immediately turn into a drunken tadbole, shivering wet and slimy on my kitchen floor. WHO am I kidding? Anyway so I had a little to drink and then we went to the Metropolitan. After five minutes I was ready to go. And I got a sandwich from Hana Food ("Still a Virgin") and was really happy about it. I slept really shittily though, and managed to fuck up my neck somehow. I woke up early and hungover and exhausted on Saturday and wrote that stuff above about Alice Walker, then went to go meet up with Erin Markey for coffee. She's so fucking cool, I can barely act like I'm not totally starstruck by her when we hang out. She got me a coffee and the girls at the coffee shop were totally flirting with her (duh) and she reminded me that she is the Coolest Person Ever, by saying (when the cashier girl batted here eyelashes and said "Thaahaaaank You") "Merry Christmas".

I went home for a second to try to take a nap (unsuccessfully) and then went to go see Jess Paps' new band HEAVENS GATE play a free acoustic show as part of a goodbye festival thing outside of Monster Island. It was so nice! It reminded me of the many (many) shows I played in high school outside the 16th St. & Mission BART station, with a generator plugged into the bus stop. And then all those cute acoustic shows in college. Did you know that for a long time I just played the cello and ukulele and sang? Someday there might be a college class called Emo Studies. Maybe there already is.

Um anyway. Heavens Gate was so good! Seeing them acoustic was really nice. I love Jess' lyrics in that band a lot. It was kind of a perfect show. After Jess' show I went home and tried again to take a nap with no more luck. PLD and I went to this cool group show in Bushwick at this space called Famous Accountants. The show was called VIEW OF OUTER SPACE FROM AN AQUARIUM featuring really cool pieces by a lot of really amazing artists, Scott Hug, Michael Magnan, Scooter LaForge, Rachel Mason, the Mogutin-Kennys and Genesis P. Orridge. (I once saw someone giving a talk about upcoming events where they pronounced Their name "Genesis Porridge" and nobody corrected the announcer, and it was funny and awkward). Anyway the show was really great! Definitely worth a trip. Highly recommended.

Saturday afterward, I go-go danced at QxBxRx, NYC's best (and only) queer punk rock party. I am continually proud and excited about this party, and I've been go-going it there for a minute or two. Lovely as always to dance with Lusty Johnny Darling, who was sporting a fee-ahce multicolored wig, looking like a bona fide LA Metal Babe. (Have y'all ever heard of that band SLASH'S SNAKEPIT? Is that the best name for a band ever?) QxBxRx was, as I am sure you can imagine, too much fun. But Cole and Erin and Thee Irish Horse and deer hearts Sam McKinnis and Sister Pico and PLD all came through. So you know I had a blast. We saw Bridget Everett perform, and it's another one of those things where I just can't keep it together. Too much fun. All weekend.

Sunday I got up and I painted my nails blue with the new Chanel denim-inspired nail polish:

It's really pretty, and it goes with my blonde hair.

Sunday, I went to the NY Art Book Fair. And saw, oh, you know, fucking everybody in the entire world all crammed into one room. It was fucking insane. I was totally overwhelmed but I did have a nice time. I bought the new issue of 'SUP Magazine, which is great! Fantastic Mister Milan Zrnic took a bunch of the photos for the issue, which are absolutely beautiful. He is so beyond talented. I only know really cute and talented people. I guess at a certain point I decided (subconsciously?) not to mix with ugly or untalented or mean people anymore, and I haven't. I live, now, in a perpetual state of blushing, bursting with pride for pretty much everyone. It's a nice feeling. A good situation, you should try it some time.

After the book fair, I went home and tried one more time to take a nap (NOPE) and then went to meet up with Jiddy No-No to go see Erase Errata at Glasslands! What the fuck! I was exhausted, but Jiddy is so funny and adorable, and we had a little bit of whiskey, and it was Erase Errata! It was like a dream. Like, I felt like I Was not awake. Was this really happening? EE added a keyboardist, which sounds really new and great and definitely different. They played a bunch from the last album, at least one from At Crystal Palace, nothing from Other Animals, but they DID play "A Passion for Acting" as well as "Cat and Canary" and I totally lost it. I love that song. It's the first song I ever saw them perform, in like 2001, and it totally blew me away and might be a favorite of all time. Gosh I'm sleepy just even remembering. I bought a sandwich and took a cab home from Bedford which I almost never do but I really wanted to sleep.

And now I want to sleep a little bit more.

I HEAR THE TOOTIN

2011-09-27T15:48:00.007-04:00

Spent the last week in Provincetown, performing in a play. It was pretty great. I'd never been before, and this was a really nice opportunity to go.

On the ferry from Boston.

Joseph and Erin, who are also in the play. Sort of a big reason I did the show is because my friends are in it. We had so much fun! There were these tiny little bottles of wine on the ferry.

We got to our hotel in P-Town pretty late, but not so late that we couldn't go to dinner. We got these kind of nutso cocktails. I don't remember what mine was, I was exhausted, but I know it was blue. There are so few truly blue drinks (or foods). Like name three. Name three that don't include blue M&Ms or blue Skittles. It's hard, right?

Womencrafts. Erin bought me a button there that says "Blessed Be". I bought her one that said "Today Is My Anniversary".

I mean, couldn't you just? It was gorgeous. It was literally this gorgeous.

Cute beach looks.

Sexy-hair Joseph at the pizza slash ice cream parlor.

The hotel had a little patio where I'd eat breakfast, and an outdoor fire-pit where you could sit at night. Kind of a South Beach-inspired look? I don't know.

Tons of adorable P-Town bric-a-brac.

Getting into the local scene.

More lukes.

We did a little hanging out in town. Mostly we just worked on the show. We'd rehearse in the mornings and evenings, and then go look for food or something. The first night, we went out to karaoke. Can you believe that I've never sung at karaoke? Like, really. In my life. Well I let it all go in Provincetown. I sang (in this order): "Pussy Control" by Prince, "Intuition" by Jewel, and "LaLa" by Ashlee Simpson. As I was standing up to go sing the Ashlee song at the end of the night, I bumped my forehead into this wooden beam, really hard. I mean, I still got up there and sang the song and fucking nailed it, but I did injure myself. The crowd, a motley crew of copper and silver foxes, mostly straight, mostly too old to scamper out of the way, really liked our set. A nice man slipped us a $20 to buy us the next round of drinks. Joseph and Erin are like, you know, actual singers, so I imagine that his tip was mostly for them. But still, these old grannies were really digging "Pussy Control". As well they should. It's a fantastic song, and I know all the words.

I still have a little bump on my forehead. Wouldn't it be cool if I had a mild concussion and just didn't realize it? And like it somehow altered my personality (for the better)? Every time we walked through town after that first night (and there's really only one street to walk on in Provincetown), the bouncer at the bar/restaurant where we did karaoke would recognize us and say something nice. It's great, in other words, to be a celebrity.

But on the topic of finding fun things to do in Provincetown, on our last night, look what we found:

Hot tub! We wanted one all week. One of the other adorable actors in the festival invited us over to use it. We had a great time soaking in bubbles and cutting up, before the people at the B&B told us to go to bed, because they were sick of listening in on our conversation. Here is a rough translation of what they were listening to:
Joseph: "When I was in school, in Sex Ed, they had this thing where you could ask a teacher questions anonymously, with a slip of paper. And every week I'd write a question that they never answered."
Max: "What was the question?"
Joseph: "It was about how cats, if a cat gets pregnant by one cat, then gets pregnant by another cat, then the litter of kittens could have two different fathers."
Erin: "Oh, you mean Slutcats."

Evidently not as charming as I'd hoped. This is debatable.

The ferry back to Boston on the last day. Sort of sad to say goodbye to the beach. I often think of the image of the land of the lotus eaters, but this place is for real. I definitely see why it's become such a destination, and we were there in the very much off season.

I'd been pretty bummed out before going. Thinking that, like, my life sucked. That I had peaked already. That I didn't really have any friends, and wasn't smart of cool or making good work. I had connected these feelings to ones I felt as a kid; constantly left out, without any friends at my school. Always having to make up my own fun, and never able to trust that it was real, that I deserved to be happy, etc. So I'd been in a funk.

But then we got to Provincetown, had a cocktail and pricey dinner at 10 at night, slept in amazing hotel beds, right on the beach, to the sound of the ocean. In the morning I woke up to go downstairs for our continental breakfast, and I ran into Penny Arcade in the lobby of the hotel. She was in town for a show herself, which she had done the night before (so bummed I missed it!) Sister Cole and Miss Bridget Everett was also part of this festival. Anyway Erin came down and we hung out with Penny. Also saw Greg Potter and Nath Ann Carrera, who were all staying at the hotel. It seemed perfectly natural that we'd see each other at the hotel, at the time. Erin and Joseph and I hung out all week and made tons of little jokes, and on the ferry ride back to Boston, I felt really happy.

Like, I definitely never ever thought I would wind up in Provincetown, as an actor. I definitely never thought I would have cool friends who were performance artists who liked me and were nice to me and didn't demand things from me or put me down for being queer or freaky. I never in a million years thought I would ever KNOW Penny Arcade, let alone get to be friends with her or hang out. It's totally nuts. My life is a lot better than I had been realizing, lately. I think something about being on the sea for so long (the bay, really, I'll admit it-- but I'm from a bay! I love the bay! The ocean is evil but the bay is benign), really cheered me up. It's such a trip to stare out onto the horizon. It always feels like you're waiting for something to appear. Which is a trick, because usually it's already there, where you are, on the beach.

Came back to work yesterday, and found these which had come in the mail!

Okay and now, I promise, I am done with all diagonally-striped Maison Martin Margiela clothes. I think I have the total look. Y'know how in German there's that word gesamtkunstwerk which means, like, total work of art? They should have a word for total look. Like when there is a total top to toe LUKE happening. Maybe it's the same word or I should study German or something. All stripes. All MMM. All the time.

So I learned some things about myself, also, in Provincetown. Namely that there's no use in waiting and worrying, if you can help it. You can't always. I sometimes definitely need to bug out for a bit. But I think I might be past it. I am ready to get back in the game and do some new things. I'm going to perform with Rumi from the Cockettes on 10/17 at this crazy amazing event with such dear hearts and illustrious performers as Joseph Keckler, Nicholas Gorham, and of course Penny Arcade (I always wanna call her Pennifer). I'm excited to do a show! I'm going to do something new, of course. The last time I performed at one of Rumi's shows, I read a bit from an upcoming piece I'm working on, and this time I think I might read from another one. Maybe.

But first, this Saturday night, I'm go-go dancing at my favorite punk party.

Back 2D Beach

2011-09-15T10:30:00.004-04:00

I only went to the beach once this summer. It was just before my birthday, I think it was they very end of July. I went to Jacob Riis, which really was as gay as I had hoped it would be. It was great. Everyone had their own little blanket and their own little cooler of beverages. It was like a gay archipelago. I was in a weird mood. It was sort of this one nanosecond of summer. I was hanging out with Dr. Roy Perez for the last time before he moved to Portland. I hadn't been to the beach in so long. Certainly I don't remember the last time I thought to have cocktails on the beach. It was great. There was one moment, though, that really stuck with me.

This really, really buff guy had been on the blanket behind us, sleeping or sunbathing I couldn't tell, he had dark glasses on. He was just laying around all day, I sort of ignored him. At one point, though, I turned and looked over to where he was, and he was sitting up, sipping form a thermos, and dancing, seated cross-legged, to the Amy Winehouse song "In My Bed". I guess I had never really listened to that song, all the way. It's so smart, and sad, and pretty. And this guy was just... at the beach. Grooving. Dancing really well (as well as you can dance while sitting down). It sort of symbolized everything about the summer for me. Amy died. We listen to records of fake bravery and intimacy. Get drunk off the Sun. Everyone's a little island but put all together.

So anyway. I'm going back to the beach on Sunday. I'm in a Tennessee Williams play which is going to be at the Provincetown Tennessee Williams Theatre Festival next week. Dear hearts Erin Markey and Joseph Keckler are in it, which makes it so much fun. Working on the play this last week had been so enjoyable. When I am sad or down or whatever, it's sometimes fun to really throw yourself into a project. Work! (That's why drag queens yell "Work!" at each other, it's to encourage people to not feel sad by throwing themselves into work; to use their muscles lest they lose them). Later, at the end of October, we bring the play to NYC for a few weeks, which will also be fun. But Provincetown! I've never been there! How exciting! We shall see.

Also in the play my character is blond, so I decided to join the proud lineage of blond performers before me by bleaching my hair last night:

By the way, the title of the play I am doing is NOW THE CATS WITH THE JEWELLED CLAWS.

PANDORA

2011-09-13T11:18:00.001-04:00

Feeling, as I am lately, pretty worthless and rotten, it makes you look both in (inside) and up (outside). You know. I remember when it used to be a kind of insult to say that someone had a Google Alert for their name. Like, having a Google Alert for your name meant that you were a narcissist. I guess I remember when that (being called a narcissist) used to be an insult? Anyway. I obviously have a Google Alert for my name, and it recently alerted me to something which I thought was kind of sweet.

After years of searching the internet for some confirmation of myself, and polluting it with my own dumb thoughts feelings and ideas, the Internet has finally taken it upon itself to paint a portrait of me, based I guess on Google searches or Goddess knows what. I've been sitting on this text for a little while. It was generated (I assume) by computers under the Google Sites thing, and it looks remarkably like one of my own stories.

I've been feeling so down recently, like everything I do or have gets taken away from me. So it's a kind of bittersweet complement to know that, thanks to the Internet, I don't even need to be here at all. What a gorgeous simulacra (they always are). The beat goes on. My clone sleeps alone. Gosh. They even got the same kinds of typos that I tend to make.

PANDORA

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LIVING IT OUT

2011-09-12T22:14:00.004-04:00

The next single off of PLANNINGTOROCK'S amazing new album W is "Living It Out". This is the video for it:

It makes me feel pretty okay actually. Such a pretty song!

Space Noise.

2011-09-09T15:36:00.013-04:00

Well, then. There's certainly been a lot going on. A lot and also nothing. Like outer space: it's vast and full of light. But also, y'know, cold. And lifeless (maybe). One neat thing about outer space, for you nerds out there, is that in outer space it's totally silent. There can be no noise, because it's a vacuum. I don’t remember when I learned this, but it’s true. And I’m glad I know it.

So last Thursday (yes) was Fashion’s Night Out. What a silly holiday, truly. Of course you know I was excited, however, for to visit only one store.

(I made this picture, please don't sue/kill me)

Well, technically two. PLD and I went to the main CdG boutique and saw the Stephen Jones display, as well as all the Comme des Garçons aficionados. These rad older ladies with impeccable fashion sense, who fearlessly strap these crazy things to themselves. It’s great!

(Suzanne Golden remains a hero)

We had some champagne and ogled the merchandise. I kind of want one of those vintage scarf sleeves.

The legend/marketing arcana of the F/W 2011/12 (“Hybrid Fashion”) collection is that the vintage scarf pieces are all made from scarves from Rei Kawakubo’s collection, which is perhaps a little bit suspect (I mean, how many scarves could she possibly have? Has anyone ever seen her wear one of these nutso scarves? Or for that matter anything besides black menswear-inspired pieces of her own design?) Regardless, all of the scarf pieces are impossibly delicate and one-of-a-kind. And I kind of want one of the sleeves. But I don’t know if even a ladies L would fit me, really. Someone should get one for me and then I can find out. Ms. K was of course not at the party, but hubby Adrian Joffe was. I was definitely too scared to talk to him but it’s cool that he comes to stuff. They had kind of renovated the store, too, which was neat. We had some champagne, then high-tailed it downtown to the other CdG store, the Edited BLACK boutique. They had some snacks there, as well as a new collection (with shirts printed with images of KITTIES which I want SO BAD). We had a drink there, and also some snacks. They took my photo, too, so I (finally) ended up on the BLACK CdG blog, kind of a personal tiny coup for me. I think it’s because I was wearing the F/W Homme Plus pants I bought for my birthday.

From there, we high-tailed it in a cab over to Dixon Place, where Saint Mx. Justin Vivian Bond was celebrating the release of v’s memoir, Tango: My Childhood, Backwards and in High Heels.

It was so cool! It featured readings by Mx. Bond vself, Kate Bornstein, Nao Bustamante and Amos Mac. Nath-Ann Carrera came up at the end to a number with Mx. Thing. Such a nice night! I can’t wait to read the book, and I think you should read it too. You can buy it from the Feminist Press. I have of course always admired Mx. Bond's performances, and have a tremendous amount of love adoration an respect for vs work. But I *also* know that some of vs favorite authors are also some of mine (thinking of: Erica Jong, Joan Didion, Lillian Hellman), so I'm excited to get into vs literary prowess. The sections of the book which they read aloud were fantastic, and thank Goddess I have some lovely long bus rides to look forward to next week, so i can get some reading done!

Speaking of long car trips, I bought a copy of Vogue's September issue to keep me company on a long bus trip to Boston next week, but now I'm thinking, like, this magazine is 69 fucking pounds heavy, and I know that it's all ads, man. Ads for dumb shit. I mean, I'm still gonna read it. it's shiny. But I just want to go on record as saying that I feel conflicted about reading Vogue (conflicted about reading *American* Vogue) and so am doing so deliberately late.

I guess I feel a bit chatty. I wanted to write about some Deep Feelings I have been having, but one layer of the Deep Feeling is that Nothing I Feel, Notice or Do Is Worthwhile. Do you know what I mean? There's been a much bigger lag in between living something and blogging about it, as compared to the past. And this is for a bunch of reasons including:

a) Who reads blogs anymore?
b) I don't know if I want to remember my life or document it or even really be in it, lately?

Maybe this is a Saturn Return thing. I've been pussyfooting around this, but I think I can actually talk about the fact that I am pretty bummed out. Not like actually upset over some real or imagined... anything. Just that, when I get quiet enough, I notice that my base-level feeling is pretty low. I want to blame Saturn Return. i wanted to blame Mecury Retrograde. I wanted to blame the two room mates we just got rid of, who were (not to exaggerate) Actually Abusive and Horrible and Awful. I can't find a good reason. I think maybe I need to go back to therapy or something. Since when did spending an hour and a ton of extra money every week solve anything, though? I just don't know what is up. I mean, there're two levels. On one level, I am working and being productive and present. On some other deeper level, I am profoundly confused. About what I'm supposed to be doing and who I am. I feel like nobody wants to be my friend, or like people only want something from me. There's also something else. I feel like I came to New York with really low-to-nonexistent expectations for myself. And as soon as I started doing, really, anything in New York, I had to eat so much shit from other people about it that it really scared me from doing stuff. And I'm disappointed that I let it scare me. And I'm sad. I sort of tried to make artwork, and the overwhelming response was that I had no right to, and that everyone else could do it better than I could. And I'm not disputing that. It just bums me out. Probably this is just that I am in a bad mood about myself and trying to reconstruct some narrative of how much I suck to arrive at the conclusion. That could be.

Thinking so much and so often about this quote by Kathleen Hanna:

“It can be really painful to have to face how fucked up shit is and how scared people are…of being alive. Scared of things that are amazing. Scared of things that aren’t like television or aren’t dead. A lot of people can’t deal with three-dimensional human beings, they only know how to deal with other products — they see themselves as other products. When the world only treats you like a dot on a marketing scheme, you can learn to treat yourself and other people like that.”

I feel like this really resonates with me. I get so bummed out sometimes because I feel like people in my life, even peripherally, are not communicating in the sense of expressing themselves to another person, but are marketing. Like, we want to be bought. We want to be taken home and unwrapped and used and then bought again. We want to be sold. We want our value affirmed or something. Who taught us this? It's like turning the lights on, to notice this. I mean: oh. Right. I might not be a thing that someone has to like and purchase. I might have another use in the world beyond my ability to consume or be appealed to. There are other, I guess, parts of people. Though they kind of escape me now.

I am uncomfortable and I feel uninspired and pretty unhappy.
I think, I guess, then, it's time for lunch.

On Recycling

2011-09-09T12:09:00.001-04:00

I just got the video from the performance I did on 7/20/11 at the TOTAL STYRENE the benefit for Lizzie Scott’s wonderful STYRENE FANTASTIC project. The name of the piece I am performing in this video is TEACH FRANKENSTEIN TO DANCE.
I wrote a bit about the piece, it’s score and some thoughts about it, earlier on the blog. You can see this HERE.

Watching the video, I do sort of wish that I had been able to wrangle the weaves a bit better, but I think it worked out okay. I wish the video was from my perspective, so you could see the audience's reaction. It was very nice.

2011-09-03T12:48:00.012-04:00

So I'm in California.

It's pretty. My first day I went to SF to bum around a bit. Yesterday I visited Telegraph in Berkeley. It was really gorgeous.

That's my kitty, Nora! She's taken to sitting in this big fruit bowl on the dining room table. Such a subtle diva. She kind of blends in with the whirlwind of stuff my family uses the dining room for. A big gray furry lump in the middle of the piles of bills, magazines, newspapers. And then she'll meow and remind you that she is here, too. Hi! I love her.

Saw this in the window of a local photo portrait studio and I liked it. I think it's kind of 'meta'. You know that word, 'meta'? It's not even really a word. (You know Frank Sinatra? He's dead).

Alameda lawn art. I really like that instead of grass, this lawn artist simply laid out a brown carpet as the base for his/her stone lawn art arrangement. Like, carpet? Really? Way to think outside the box.

The other night I went out to dinner with Emma and Mister J., old college chums. It was so nice to see them! They live in a cute little apartment in Berkeley and we caught up and then went out to dinner at a Japanese restaurant.

Which I, like, never do. It was great! I love Japanese food. I feel like Japanese food is, in NYC, such a cliche. Like who goes out for sushi? Assholes is who. But in California, people have this weird trip of, like, enjoying their life while they're alive (as opposed to in NYC deferring Earthly existence out of devotion to a religion called "success") so people in California live well and this includes eating well and this included many different cuisines including Japanese.

Yesterday went to San Francisco to hang out with original home girls Cotton and Sam.

Went thrift-store shopping in the Soma. Got delicious and weird Vietnamese snacks.

Hey grrrls

Basil seed water! It totally looks like fish eggs, tho, right? But it's delicious! And weird.
I love to eat slimy things.

This time of year always reminds me how much I love Martha Stewart. The fact that she's so gung-ho about Hallowe'en is really inspiring to me. It makes me wonder what else she might be really gung-ho about, you know? Like what if Martha Stewart is also really into dancing? Or board games? Or light bondage? YOU DON'T KNOW. I love the idea of people having a hidden talent, or a secret fascination with something. Like you'll be talking to a stranger at a party and mention something about, say, cattle ranching, and then the person will get a weird look in their eye and intimate that they're really into cattle ranching, and it will be awkward because you've touched a nerve for this person, and they have this whole other side that you would never have known about if you didn't stumble onto it. Cattle ranching is a dumb example. I just like the photo of Martha as Siouxsie Sioux.

Anyway I'm going to the YMCA with my dad and then I'm gonna go meet up with my friend Grey!

FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID FUCKING BAGEL

2011-08-28T20:08:00.005-04:00

GOD. Jean Smith is and always has been such a genius. I was cleaning my room and listening to "Water Cuts My Hands" and thinking about how it's the perfect thing to listen to after this Hurricane Irene weekend of anxiety and guilt for being anxious. I'm glad everybody (almost everybody) is okay (almost okay). I did stay indoors and feel pretty stressed out. I am glad it's all over. I have tomorrow off of work. The trains aren't running. So I am planning on being productive! As productive as I can be. Then I have DANCE rehearsal for this new play I'm in. The weather right now is the beginning of autumn and it's so great. Kids are running around in the street, teenagers, boys and girls screaming at each other playing around. Or whatever.

Anyway. Jean Smith's work makes me feel really smart, and present and brave and excited. And I'm not the only one. Here's a little video of Nikki McClure talking about Mecca Normal:

And here's an interview with Miss Jean Smith herself:

And finally the point of the weekend, I guess, was to put this video in my path, my fate. Check out this awesome spoken video piece by Jean Smith, titled READING WRITING. A RHYTMIC TRICK.:

Brilliant, right? I also love that there are a bunch of apples on the drum behind her.

Every Night With My Famous Friends

2011-08-26T11:08:00.004-04:00

I guess when I am in a really bad mood, I feel totally cut off and distinct from everybody else. So I can also use the inverse to prove the opposite. It might be a ‘chicken versus their own egg’ situation (filial piety vis-à-vis cannibalism). I can’t tell if I am super psyched because my friends are awesome, or if my feeling awesome is enabling me to celebrate my amazing friends. Anyway who cares enough about me.

Not to brag/just to brag, but I am only friends with the most amazing and coolest kids in the world and two of them have these cool things you should check out.

First, it’s no secret that one of the great loves of my life is La JohnJoseph. And furthermore, my favorite singer in the world is the international disco sensation ALEXANDER. You can see a cute interview between Alexander and Billy Cheer on the Pussy Faggot site. But tonight, in Berlin, new issues of the glossy gay weekly Siegessäule are being put all over the city, and Alexander is on the cover.

Sexy, no? Alexander wears a Miu Miu tie, Mads Norgaard shirt and Dolce & Gabanna pants.

There’s also of course a very sexy interview in German in the magazine. I am so tickled that right now, all over Berlin, people are going to be walking around and seeing JJ’s face. It makes me very happy.

Next, my love for Jess Paps is well documented. We have, for one thing, the same birthday. I wrote a lil post about how cool she is a while back. I’m just saying I was an early adopter! I wanna be the Vice President of the Paps fanclub! The presidency should probably go to Queen Tommy Pico, her biggest booster.

SIDENOTE: I remember the first show Jess Paps ever played, when we were seniors in college. It was so magickal. She gave a tiny sneak-preview performance in my friend’s dorm room the night before, too. But at the real show she sat on a chair and played acoustic guitar and sang these really fantastic songs and everyone loved it. And we still do.

And we’re not the only ones! Miss Paps has just started a new band called HEAVENS GATE. I saw them play earlier this month and they were fucking great. There are some references I could make to other bands or artists to give you a sense of what they’re like, but I feel like the HEAVENS GATE sound is really new and exciting. Luckily for the whole world, Pitchfork Media has featured HEAVENS GATE’s first single, “Salome” on their site. CHECK IT OUT!

Ok I feel good. Even with the Hurricane coming.
Yikes.

Sleepless in the Nothing

2011-08-24T16:50:00.011-04:00

Last night after work I went home and instead of going to the gym, I took a long walk from my house in East Williamsburg over the bridge to Manhattan. I got some dumplings in Chinatown for dinner, and walked up to 14th Street to catch the subway home. It was such a beautiful day, and I wanted to have some more sunshine since Summer is almost over. I felt really quiet and meditative. I didn’t even listen to any music or anything, the whole time.

I want to blame Mercury Retrograde, duh, but I can’t. I’ve just been feeling kind of shitty lately. Maybe not even bad, just sort of blank.

Sleeping in the Nothing as it were. I really loved Kelly Osbourne's first album, Shut Up, and had some of my first and formative sexual experiences while listening to it. (I'm that young - it's that old). her second album, though, I never really got into. I liked the single, "One Word" of course. It totally got panned, which is something I usually like but I never gave it a shot. My buddy Cotton in San Francisco is convinced that this record was an attempt to seduce a gay audience. It's apparently a disco record and also the Golden Gate bridge is inexplicably on the cover. For some reason. It's a shame that gay people couldn't rally around Kelly the way we have rallied around other people.

Gay people have such a fucked-up sense of generosity, because we're so continually told that we don't deserve anything. So to give to someone else is a real chore for us. It's a total task.

But sometimes you have to do chores. Tasks. Like, Yvonne Rainer's legendary/iconic/boring/long Trio A. Where you make a dance out of everyday motions. Like turning tasks into art. That's nice. Gay people should do this. Maybe this is what turned Yvonne Rainer gay. (You don't turn gay you just are).

Anyway last night was great, at dusk. I sound like such a creep, but I was really into the late-summer good moods everyone was having. NYC is so great because it throws you directly into everybody else. I mean, "everybody else" being "the people who live here, too" which sometimes can seem pretty shitty. But last night it was great. I kept overhearing snippets of people's conversations. So many glamorous people eating at tables on the sidewalk. Breadsticks and cloth napkins and sunglasses and polos and tans and water with ice cubes. Talking about what they had each been doing that day, and what they were going to do next. And then a bus would drive by and spray them with black smoke. I love New York City. It's so expensive to eat out, only the very rich can do it.

I was really conscious, for some reason, of how shitty I looked. When i got home from work, I changed my shirt. I was wearing these really old black Cheap Monday jeans which were at one point quite tight, but the elastic has worn out and now they're kind of baggy. And this brown t-shirt that a girlfriend gave to me, after having knicked it off a lover she'd rather not remember. (But then I'd wear it, this old comfortable brown shirt, and it would probably remind her of him). But then I got to the Williamsburg Bridge at dusk as the sun was setting and I saw a patch of sparkle on my shirt I didn't realize that I had also worn the shirt on Saturday, the night after my performance at Southpaw, and I had used this shirt to wipe off the silver eyeliner I had worn onstage for the show. It was weird. I felt kind of gross. Like sort of ragged, maybe.

So obsessed with this bag. I wish I had gotten it together to get one, but I think they're making them for men, for the Spring, in black. Which sounds nicer, I guess. I like the orange color, though. But then by next spring that orange might not even matter. Colors come and go in and out of style so you have to make sure that you are wearing the right ones. Or I guess holding them. Kinda into something being "played-out," though, because I feel like in many ways that is what I am: played-out. That bag though, is so cute. So simple and mean, in a way.

So, okay. Wearing a lame outfit and feeling gross and dirty and ragged and bad-looking. But totally grooving on the mind/body/spirit of NYC. In that mood where everyone is beautiful, where I am seeing the majesty in everyone's walk. I was so overwhelmed by the constant contact with people that I realized I was avoiding actually looking into anyone's face. Finally, making my way through the East Village, I made a conscious decision to stare everybody right in the eyes, for like, a second. To just make eye contact with every single person I passed.

Now, two things about this:

A) I remember hearing or reading somewhere that Madonna did this, also, in the East Village. In the 1980s when everything happened. But I think she did it with the idea that, like, she wanted everybody to remember seeing her, because she knew she was going to be really famous one day. She seemed like she wanted to connect with people to intimidate them somehow. Force herself into their faces. I did NOT do it like that, I did it because I honestly wanted to see people. Maybe to see if there was anyone I recognized or something?

B) This is also sort of an exercise in the law of diminishing returns, because I have really terrible eyesight, so I was "looking" but not necessarily "seeing" everybody, in the face, exactly.

And anyway the exercise came to as abrupt of an end as it did a start, because as soon as I looked up, I saw this guy I used to think was cute and I felt like a total slob and really gross. We said hey hi how're you how's it going and kept walking. I thought 'Do I have my earphones in? That would be such a good excuse for not stopping to say hi.' I did not. We passed each other and I felt myself blushing, and then I ran into another guy I used to know, one who in fact dumped me a very long time ago. It took us a second to recognize each other and then we said hi and did not stop either.

My next thought was to get a popsicle but then I decided to wait until I got home. I took the train home and I got a pineapple popsicle, but then I was suddenly too sleepy to eat it.

I've always loved this video and this song. I feel like it's really apt, for me, lately. I don't know. I think Lily Allen is cool. I just got back from rehearsal for this play I am going to be in. Joseph Keckler is in the play and at rehearsal tonight, which was at this really huge fantastic Off-Broadway theater, he was wearing these really cute sparkly silver and black Dolce & Gabanna sneakers. I could never pull something like that off but they were really good.

Ok I have a popsicle to attend to.

Even Like Picasso

2011-08-18T09:45:00.008-04:00

I used to be totally obsessed with reading my horoscope every single day. Usually I would read a number of different horoscopes to try to pick up a theme or something. I usually check (in no particular order): AstroDientist, Jonathan Cainer, Jessica Lanyadoo, AstroBarry, Susan Miller and Rob Breszny. Some kind of composite, or something. But I've been kind of not really paying attention to my destiny the last couple of weeks. I think this is because of Mercury Retrograde. I feel like, anything that I am meant to know, I will know. I don't need to go projecting my own subconscious agenda on the stars, people I see on the train, etc.

Feeling bummed out all week! I don't really know why. It's felt really important to me to chill out at home, and not really have a ton of human contact. I know that sounds creepy. Sometimes it really cheers me up to connect with other people. And other times, like this week for example, I really need to just honor the impulse to veg out. I can't. I can't be nice. I can't be productive. I can't be a good listener. I can't be funny. I can't do it! It's a place called/Won't be there. At least for the last couple of days. I think I'm feeling better, just in time for the weekend.

I am singing on Saturday (REMINDER). Which usually puts me in a good mood. Actually, it stresses me out, then I do it and I am in a good mood, and then maybe afterward I get bummed out again. The French have a word for this ('Remorse'). The French think they have everything but really everybody has it too. I like this attitude that Greek people have (just to generalize for a second) about how everything good is originally stolen from them. They're right about it, too.

Last night I watched Mars Attacks! and there're such great faces in that movie. I sort of really adore Tim Burton. But I have this nagging suspicion that maybe I shouldn't. Is he an asshole? Maybe I'm letting my bad mood affect me. Maybe he's totally fine.

I think sometimes I want there to be something sinister or untoward in anything I like or admire, because then I feel like I have to consciously decide to admire or like something.

I want to destroy reflexivity, I think. I want to replace the habitual. I want constant interrogation. Not even. I want what happens on both sides of the TV screen to be the same. I guess what I really want is to neutralize, dissolve the gaze. And the way I want to do this is by making everything equal. Equally special. Nothing can be reflexive. Everything is always new, and perfect, and a surprise.

Having no desire to be a baby again, and yet, of course, I want to see everything as new. Wouldn't it be great to be able to hold onto this sense of wonder and excitement? I think the way to maintain that is to replace the habitual, the unconscious, the reflexive with: the conscious, the open-hearted, the listening parts of ourselves. I know I sound totally woo-woo, but I mean it.

I don't know why, but I am totally fixated on the bed sheets we used to have when I was a kid. It was a print of this Picasso drawing. A line drawing of a hand holding a bouquet of flowers. I don't even like Picasso.

I mean, really.

Happy 35th Birthday, Madonna

2011-08-16T16:11:00.005-04:00

Last Saturday was a full moon.

And I got myself this adorable shirt from the BLACK CdG Store after ogling it forever.

I guess I didn't really learn anything. I did feel pretty crazy. I think I am on the precipice, as always, of some kind of new knowledge. I find myself sometimes just really wishing that something would happen to me to change everything. Like maybe I'll find a sack full of money, or get arrested or something. "Lottery or car crash / or you join a cult".

When we took the photo for Earl Dax' profile in the NY Times, Glenn Marla was talking about how excited he was to turn 27, quoting Penny Arcade, who once said that nothing happened to her before she was 27, and Glenn was excited that his life would start. Penny said that it wasn't that 27 was so great necessarily, it was just that nothing happened to her before she was 27. She hadn't been waiting for something to happen, but it was just that nothing happened and when things did start happening she was 27. I wonder how long I'll live.

Well, so, I'm 27 now. And I guess I'm ready for things to start happening to me. I catch myself in this thought, though, waiting and wishing for something to come along and change me, alter my life-course. That, friends, is theistic thinking. That is the assumption that someone or something is, ultimately, responsible for my life. Right? Like, I don't need to do anything because sooner or later something will happen and I'll just deal with that when it happens. I wonder how old I'll be before things really start happening to me! Fighting the Bad Mood Bus. A Case of the Tuesdays, I guess. I wanna be responsible for my own life. I can't imagine what I'd like to have happen to me. I guess we'll see.

This weekend was super fun. I played a really great show with B0DYH1GH. Some people came! It was actually maybe the best we've ever sounded, outside of the show we did at SPANK so many months ago. Perfect Little Daniel and I are going to put out a mixtape as a way of getting some of our fantastic songs out into the world, along with songs we love. Is that illegal? Moreover, is it okay to be illegal? I think so.

Unrelated: I am performing a couple songs this Saturday night at QuORUM Queer House Field Day Afterparty at Southpaw. It's gonna be big and fun. CHECK IT OUT.

Rat Girl and Pizza Scissors

2011-08-07T23:25:00.000-04:00

2011-08-07T11:44:00.002-04:00

I woke up to about 100 Facebook "Happy Birthday" messages, and texts and tweets and all these sweet things. I know that sometimes we're prompted by our social media to connect with each other on our birthdays, but honestly, for a Leo, there is no better birthday present than feeling like the center of attention.

But really, I am so happy and glad to be alive and to be 27 years old on this planet. I am so happy to be surrounded by people I love, and to be have my health and my sanity and a place in the world. I feel so grateful to everyone I know. The last year has been incredible for so many reasons. I dunno. I woke up this morning feeling good. And now I'm celebrating bein alive by... bein alive.

Something very Special is Happening

2011-08-05T12:13:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow night I am celebrating my 27th Birthday and I am performing at my favorite dance party in the world, JUDY!

Come join JUDY in her ancestral home of THE HOSE where she will help you explore THE CAVE OF FORGOTTEN QUEER DREAMS. Don’t be scared- Judy will hold your hand as we go spelunking through the sparkling sedimentary layers of homo history. Bring a headlamp and brace yourself for BATTY performances by: JUNE FAGLEY, MAX STEELE and GEO WYETH.

GAY CAVES ARE ALSO RAVES- feel the volcanic beats from your DJs: MICHAEL MAGNAN, PHOEBE JEAN & THE AIR FORCE, BENJAMIN HABER and BRIAN BELUKHA. Hosted by the original ENCINO MA’AM ICKY MIKKI

This is the afterparty for the Pop-up Museum of Queer History, so before you tunnel over to Judy, come to the opening! (https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=178656272199648)

BELIEVE IT:
GAY CAVE RAVE
Saturday August 6th 10-4
Free B4 11, $5 After
White Noise 225 Ave B. Between 13th and 14th
OPEN VODKA BAR 10-11
Get there early or real late if you don’t want to wait to get in!

JUDY began at the HOSE many years ago, so to be able to be back in the original home is such a treat. Ever since the party began, I have been obsessed with trying to perform there. And I have been bugging the hosts about it for years. So I am particularly thrilled to be asked on the eve of my BDAY. I am turning 27 (into Amy Winehouse). And I hope that if you are in NYC you will join me.

ON NOT WINNING

2011-08-03T16:59:00.006-04:00

at least, not right now.

O Mercury

I've had just about enough bad news, guys. Mercury is Retrograde and pretty much all of the moving parts I thought I had moving have... stopped. Or moved backward. Nice! I ordered a iphone as a birthday present, but it's not coming. Many plans falling through. Things breaking. Me losing my mind. Pissing everybody off. I feel like I am dealing with a lot of rejection. I think maybe I am dealing with a lot of abjection. Nitsuh Abebe's brilliant piece on Amy Winehouse refers to "masochism posing as bravery" along with "real bravery", both to be found in Amy's work. Well, okay: how can you tell the difference? I mean, what's being brave and what's being bull-headed?

Like when is something actual courage and when is it you being a glutton for punishment? This is an unfair distinction. Maybe accusing someone of "masochism posing as bravery" is fucked up. It seems insensitive. I'm in a bad mood. Yesterday's mood was much worse, though.

It's this chicken or the egg thing of feeling bad. Like, when I am in a serious funk, I feel like nobody wants to be around me, and it freaks everyone out. But is that a cause or a symptom? Maybe I learned to judge my feelings this way when I was a kid, because I got picked on a lot in school and on the street for being a flamer.

But then I think: maybe I only got so much shit when I was a kid, because the bullies at school (most of whom were closeted or otherwise unhappy) could detect my insecurity. Maybe they picked on me because they could tell I was weak. ~~Maybe they picked on me because I deserved it.~~ It's a bit backwards, I guess. Probably the reason I feel like I deserved it is because I got so much of it, back then. Like, if you just go on how people treat you as a way to determine your worth (which I think we all do to an extent) then you feel really shitty.

Okay. My mood is looking up, a little bit. I'm celebrating my birthday by doing a very special show at JUDY, my favorite dance party in NYC. I was thinking about throwing a birthday party, but decided not to because I was afraid that no one would want to come, because nobody wants to be my friend. But then I got asked to do this JUDY show, which feels like a gift from the Universe on my birthday. So I am going to try to stay feeling good about that. Next post for details!

TEACH FRANKESNTEIN TO DANCE

2011-08-01T21:28:00.006-04:00

Two weeks ago, I performed at TOTAL STYRENE a benefit for Lizzie Scott's amazing project, The Styrene Fantastic. Here's a description of the project:

The project aims to create a small temporary space for creative generosity and intellectual abundance in resistance to the commercial and institutional models of competition and scarcity that define current art worlds. It celebrates the alchemy of turning toxic Styrofoam trash into a source of artistic abundance.

I was really excited to be part of the event, and I made a new piece for it. The other artists (Kennis Hawkins, Michael Mahalchick, Rashaun Mitchell, and Lizzie Scott) were so fantastic, and I am duly grateful to curator Patricia Milder for including me. The event was videotaped, and I certainly hope that the footage will be put online soon. In the meantime, I'm sharing the script for the piece I made "TEACH FRANKENSTEIN TO DANCE".

I was thinking a lot about how to interact with the project and the space. Specifically, thinking a great deal about styrofoam. What are some things that we associate with styrofoam? To my mind, styrofoam is:

- Man-made
- Toxic
- Protective
- Ubiquitous
- White/blank
- Non-biodegradable

And so I was thinking about what other things also have these qualities. Part of the project of the show, it seemed to me, was about the gesture of seeing styrofoam as a source of plenty and ripe for art-making. I was interested in this gesture and how to do it and what it means and so I guess I sort of applied it backwards. I was thinking a lot about how people could be styrofoam, something like a person or a personality could have these same qualities. One of the things which I felt like exhibited these qualities is, for example, Beyoncé. And also, I was interested in discomfort. In exhibiting and making peace with something which you do not entirely believe. For example, styrofoam can both simultaneously be art and also be toxic waste. They can both be true. A person can be art and also toxic; you can make that projection (a person = styrofoam) and also act like you're not making that projection. Beyoncé can be meaningless and at the same time be rife with multiple, complex meanings.

The crowd was pretty responsive, I think it went well. I was really nervous because my Lynn Hirschberg was there in the front row. He had written a really dumb article about how pretentious I am and how bad the art I make is. So in a sort of perverse way I was actually really happy to exhibit deliberately bad art in front of him, to fail spectacularly (or at least have the appearance of doing so, for a few minutes). I think he liked the show, then he didn't like it, but I think he liked it again by the end. Y'know what? That's irrelevant. I liked the piece. So here it is:

TEACH FRANKENSTEIN TO DANCE

(Billy enters, wearing white pants, white sneakers, a white t-shirt, golden faux-snakeskin Comme des Garçons Homme Plus belt with bright pink crystal, and a white-blonde wig. He is eating a rice cake.)

Thank you, hello. I don’t know everyone here. I think I know a few of you. Some of you are new faces. Some of you have familiar faces, but I don't know you. Maybe we met in a past life.

(Pause)

I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk about it or not, or if it’s supposed to be a secret... Because no one’s said anything about it so far tonight, but I’ll just, I mean, SPOILER ALERT. I'll just say it. I think it's really rad that everyone involved with the exhibition, tonight, the other artists, and the organizers all happen to be from California. I think that's great. And, you know, they take recycling really, really seriously out there in Cali. Like it’s a total civic duty. They teach it to kids. You do it because you have to.

And I feel like in other places, like maybe in New York, it’s different. Like maybe not everybody recycles. Almost everybody. Maybe everybody here. Probably. I know we all want to, everyone here-- you all look like you want to recycle but maybe we sometimes forget. You know? I’m not judging.

(Pause)

You guys.

(Pause)

Anyway I feel like: we’re all on the same page, I don’t need to explain to anyone here tonight what recycling is or why it’s important or whatever. But you know, the big thing about recycling is not just about reducing waste but also about reuse. Like, the whole point of it is to find new uses for things, to waste less. And I feel like I sort of missed that until really recently. Like, finding new uses for stuff. I think that’s great. Because, y’know, in California you just do it because you have to and you don’t really think about it.

I’m SORRY! I am super distracted.

(Speaking just away from the microphone, addressing someone in the front row) Who ARE you? You are so fucking adorable. You. Yes. What is your name? Wait, what? Okay. I am doing a show right now but will you be here later? Will you, like, stick around for a minute after the show? Okay. Cool.

(speaking back in the mic, addressing the crowd) Hi. Sorry. Where was I? Okay. DID. YOU. KNOW. THAT: The average North American human, over the course of their lifetime, ingests between 15 and 20 POUNDS of Styrofoam. That is a lot. Think about it.

(takes another bite of the rice cake he is holding) And it doesn’t, like, biodegrade or anything. I mean, I guess the idea is that you shit most of it out, like you eat it in really small parts , like maybe when you walk by a construction site, or maybe some gets into your mouth while yr asleep, or maybe it gets sneaked into your head through the TV or the radio. But we all have some percentage of this 15 to 20 pounds of Styrofoam in us at any given moment.

So I guess, um, I would want to revise my earlier statement, and say that probably closer to 100% of the people in this room are recycling. Right now.

(A song plays, "Hi" by J. Dilla. During the song, Billy turns around and takes off his shirt. He wraps himself in a gauzy white garment and a white ladies blazer. He methodically ties blonde hair weaves around his head, in layers, cloaking his face. He puts on a pair of sunglasses while the song plays. Another song comes on, "Run the World (Girls)" by Beyoncé. Billy sings along to the song, forgetting words, which Beyoncé sings for him. He also sings different words which you will be able to delineate by the parenthesis).

Girls, we run this motha (yeah!) x4

Who run the world? Girls! x4
Who run this motha? Girls! x4
Who run the world? Girls! x4

Some of them men think they freak this like we do (EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE THE SAME BUT REALLY)
But no they don't
Make your cheque come at they neck, (IF EVERYONE WAS THE SAME)
Disrespect us no they won't

Boy don't even try to touch this (I CAN’T TELL THE DIFFERENCE)
Boy this beat is crazy (I THINK I’M GOING CRAZY)
This is how they made me (I DON’T KNOW WHEN IT STARTED)
Houston Texas baby (I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM)

This goes out to all my girls (I HAVE AMNESIA AND I CAN’T)
That's in the club rocking the latest (FEEL MY FINGERS OR MY TOES)
Who will buy it for themselves (ONLY WHAT I PUT INSIDE MYSELF)
and get more money later (IS ALL MY BODY KNOWS)

I think I need a barber
None of these bitches can fade me
I'm so good with this (I’M NOT GOOD AT THIS)
I remind you I'm so hood with this (NOTHING IS EASY)

Boy I'm just playing,
Come here baby
Hope you still like me,
Fuck you, pay me.

(Speaking)
My persuasion (I WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND ALL I SEE IS BLACK)
can build a nation (I DON’T KNOW IF I AM DREAMING OR NOT)
Endless power (BUT A SONG IS STUCK IN MY HEAD)
With our love we can devour (I REALIZE)
You'll do anything for me (IT IS THE JINGLE FROM A COMMERCIAL)

Who run the world? Girls! x4
Who run this motha? Girls! x4
Who run the world? Girls! x4

It's hot up in here
DJ don't be scared to run this, run this back
I'm repping for the girls who taking over the world
Have me raise a glass for the college grads (pulls another rice cake from the pocket of the white jacket and raises it like for a toast)

Anyone rolling I'll let you know what time it is
You can't hold me
I broke my 9 to 5 and copped my cheque.

This goes out to all the women getting it in (THIS GOES OUT TO ANYONE WHO'S)
Get on your grind (EVER HAD A DREAM BEFORE)
To the other men that respect what I do (AND WALKING DOWN THE STREET ONE DAY)
Please accept my shine (YOU SEE IT FOR SALE IN A STORE)

Boy I know you love it (I USED TO BE ALLERGIC TO IT)
How we're smart enough to make these millions (NOW I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT IT)
Strong enough to bear the children (I TAKE MY MEDICATION)
Then get back to business

See, you better not play me (AND IT STILL HURTS ME)
Don't come here baby (PLEASE BELIEVE ME)
Hope you still like me
Fuck you, pay me.

My persuasion can build a nation (I’VE WRAPPED MY MIND IN STYROFOAM)
Endless power (FOR INSULATION, TO PROTECT IT ON ITS JOURNEY)
With our love we can devour (FROM ONE LIFE TO THE NEXT)
You'll do anything for me (I’VE SOLD SPACE IN MY IMAGINATION TO MAKE ROOM FOR ADVERTISEMENTS)

(speaking over the music)
Who run the world? Girls! [x4] (WE’ARE ALL LIKE MARY SHELLEY)
Who run this motha? Girls! [x4] (MAKING FRANKENSTEIN OUT OF DEAD PARTS OF OUR MINDS)
Who run the world? Girls! [x4] (MAKING A MONSTER OUT OF OUR HUMAN ASPIRATIONS LIKE THE DESIRE TO LIVE FOREVER)

Who are we? What we run? The world. (WE’VE MADE TRASH THAT WILL LIVE FOREVER. STYROFOAM NEVER DIES WE BUILT IT TO BE IMMORTAL)
Who are we? What we run? The world. (AND NOW WE LIVE IN A WORLD WITH OUR SHADOW FRANKENSTEIN, AND SO WE HAVE TO FIND A NEW USE FOR FRANKENSTEIN AND FOR STYROFOAM AND OUR DREAMS AND TRASH)
Who are we? What do we run? We run the world! (AND I KNOW IT’S SCARY, TO TEACH FRANKENSTEIN TO DANCE, TO BE ART)
Who are we? What we run? We run the world. (I’M HERE TO TELL YOU THAT IT’S OKAY TO BE SCARED.)

Who run the world? (IT’S OKAY TO BE SCARED)
Girls!

JUST DON’T LET THAT STOP YOU

Stopwatches called feelings

2011-07-27T11:26:00.003-04:00

So thrilled to be in Erin Markey and Cole Escola's new show NIGHT MOTHER, which debuts tonight.

Photo by Amos Mac

And it's also playing next week. I may or may not have a tiny cameo. Some exciting things / thoughts.

There are so many ways to tell time. I should know. I didn’t learn how to tell time when everyone else learned. It became this deeply shameful thing for me, everyone else could read a clock, and I could not. (I’d like to think that this is because of my poor eyesight, which went undiagnosed until I was 22 and remains untreated.)

Although I eventually learned how to tell time, I can also tell you that there are other ways of measuring time, without a watch or a clock or a cell phone.. And I can also let you know that inside of our own bodies are thousands of these clocks, stopwatches, called feelings. One starts and then eventually it ends. Clicks on and then seconds/hours/days/months/years later, it clicks off. Done.

I feel like a clock turned on in December 2006 when I first heard Amy Winehouse sing, and then last Saturday morning it clicked off. And I wasn’t expecting it, but now I’m an adult (I guess). So probably another clock just started up. A new feeling? Trying not to see her death as the harbinger of the Apocalypse, but it’s pretty hard. I’m taking this entirely personally, and I think I’m absolutely right to do so.

And I'm A Tiny Penny Rolling Up The Walls Inside

2011-07-26T16:34:00.001-04:00

One thing I keep seeing, is people admitting how surprised they are by their own reaction to Amy Winehouse's death. Me too. I don't know why, but I'm really sad about it.

When was the first time you heard Back to Black? I remember hearing Amy Winehouse in late 2006, because my friends Chantal and Tommy were listening to her now-iconic second album. I fell in love, we all did. My friends and I had just graduated from college and moved to NYC and were becoming adults. And something about Amy Winehouse's songs felt really personal.

Jordan, who runs the adorable site EXECUTIVE REALNESS, tweeted "It's strange to revisited an album that was such a large part of a certain time in your life because of a tragedy."
I don't know what tragedy he's referring to (his own life vs. the tragedy of Amy's passing). I think that, for a lot of people our age, Back to Black was really important. Probably younger kids, who heard the record in high school will not think so. For those of us in our early-20s, it felt really right-on. They were songs about how difficult it can be to realize the truth about love. All these lessons you learn in your early 20s, about how to have feelings and how to deal with them.

Amy Winehouse did not die from drugs or drinking, she died from a broken heart.

Of course, she was successful from the get-go. Her first album, Frank, is really weird and really great. Amy seemed like the kind of girl we could all become. Like, all it took is some really amazing luck and then you'd be a pop star. And then, being a pop-star, all it would take is a little bit of difficulty to ruin everything. Such a cruel joke that "Rehab" was her break-out hit. Of course, she should've gone the first time. But then if she had done that maybe none of us would ever have known her. How sad.

The "Rehab" girl was someone I could identify with. Amy's record was about someone having a really hard time. (This was before Tiny Furniture's Aura wanted you to know that she was having "a very, very hard time"-- what? graduating from college? Moving back to your parents' loft in TriBeCa? I'm sorry, I have nothing against Ms. Dunham, I'm just grief-stricken). Amy's record was about real problems, though. But having this weird indomitable spirit about it. Like, "I know I am a mess. I know I am out of control. I can't help it." This is crazy that we got to hear this. In retrospect it's a gloomy foreshadowing of her death, but when I was 22 it really spoke to me. "Rehab" was about fucking up, and realizing it. What 22 year-old hasn't had a bad hangover?

Later, I identified with Amy Winehouse because she has a dental implant, like me.

I think it's really sad that she's gone. I loved her music, fiercely. Though I am pretty certain that even if we had known each other we would never have been friends.

I think the discussion around her death is awful. If she were not a woman, it would be totally different. If Amy Winehouse were a man, she might look a lot like this:

And she was totally iconic, though. Her retro thing is super problematic. Her style launched a kind of movement. British blue-eyed soul revival. This is, ultimately, a Colonialist aesthetic. The "Soul"/"Jazz"/"Blues" thing is a marketing gimmick. How different would Amy's landmark second album have sounded if Mark Ronson hadn't put her in the service of his fleeting Phil Spector Oedipal fantasies? I would hazard to say that the reason she was so popular, so engaging, so immediately iconic, was because of the contrast between her personality and her drag. Like, here is a pop star all tarted up in 60s kitten kitsch rockabilly glamour, how cute. But then she opens her mouth and she's a junky English Jewess, prefiguring her death, basically admitting to the fact that she is not interested in participating in the world. What the world saw in Amy Winehouse's sad-girl-in-a-party-dress beginnings was of course her demise. We all saw her driving off a cliff.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my friend Chuck, who died very suddenly in September 2005. He had had a really rough adolescence, and came quite close to dying for a number of other reasons. But then he got his act together. And then he got meningitis and died, like really quickly, over the course of a day. He would've thought Amy Winehouse was really lame. And he would've thought I am really pathetic for getting so sad about her death. Chuck would have likely called me a pussy. But you know what? He was obsessed with Morrissey (speaking of pussy) and he never even got to hear Amy's records. And anyway he's dead now so his opinion doesn't matter, I guess.

It's so easy to speak for the dead. Once they're gone you can make them mean just about anything.

There's a neat article on Fashionista about Amy Winehouse's influence on fashion. They leave out a biggie, though, Comme des Garçon's Fall/Winter 2008 collection. Apparently, Amy was the inspiration for this collection, and Rei Kawakubo played "Back to Black" during the runway show. Kawakubo's typically pithy description of the collection's theme was: "There's value in bad taste, too. This is Comme des Garçons bad taste."

Which is true of Amy Winehouse and her legacy, I guess. There's value in bad taste. In badness. In fucking up.

I tend to think that "Back to Black" also appealed to Kawakubo in more literal terms. The next year she opened BLACK Comme des Garçons, reinventing classic CdG pieces in Black at a (nominal) discount.

I guess what I am trying to say is that even though everybody knew she was a junky and everyone liked to make fun of her (because she was a woman?) Amy Winehouse managed to influence popular culture in a significant way.

Adolescence is really hard. I think a lot of us know people who never made it out of their teenage years. Even if they physically survived, they did so by deciding to forestall adulthood. We all know people who've chosen alternatives to being an adult in society, and sometimes those choices include death.

Lady G**a has often said that she began bleaching her hair because she wanted to avoid being confused with Amy. As if! Anyway, she can stop bleaching her hair now.

I'm pretty sad about Winehouse dying. I've been listening to her records over and over again since Saturday morning, trying to learn something new from them. We'll see.

REPLICATOR from ENCOURAGER

2011-07-25T21:04:00.003-04:00

WOULD YOU LIKE SOME?

What is it?

YOU USED TO LIKE IT BEFORE. YOU ENJOY IT.

I don't know.

IT'S JUST LIKE BEFORE, WHEN YOU ENJOYED IT SO MUCH, BUT NOW IT'S MUCH BETTER.

What do you mean?

IT MAKES THE PARTS YOU LIKED BETTER, AND THE PARTS YOU DON'T LIKE, DISAPPEAR.

But what if the parts I like are the parts someone else doesn't like?

THEN THEY DO IT DIFFERENTLY. YOU DON'T HAVE TO HAVE THE SAME EXPERIENCE AS ANYONE ELSE, ANYMORE.

What if I want to?

WELL, YOU CAN HAVE THE OPTIMAL EXPERIENCE OR YOU CAN HAVE THE EXPERIENCE THAT SOMEONE ELSE HAS. YOU CAN LIVE IN YOUR HEAD OR YOU CAN LIVE IN THE WORLD.

2011-07-22T14:16:00.002-04:00

I've been obsessed with this song and never knew it's name until Ptrck pointed it out at a party. And like everyone already knew it. Hello, World.

Early Birthday Present To Myself

2011-07-22T13:06:00.010-04:00

Or, These Amazing Pants I Bought.

I don't know when I started to care about having nice (fancy, expensive) clothes. I know that when I was 13, I wore only black. Black Lee relaxed fit jeans (size 36) and a variety of black Hanes T-shirts, size XL. This is when I was in middle school and had a mound of frizzy curly hair, dyed turquoise, parted in the middle in a vaguely Edwardian effect. I'm just giving some context. But I remember seeing a pair of black vinyl pants in a store on Telegraph Avenue, and wanting them so fucking badly. They were $60 and my parents wouldn't buy them for me. I remember thinking that if I was wearing those pants, it's not as if my life would change, but that it would be some kind of expression of something already in me. I knew that on some level I belonged in those vinyl bondage pants. That is the first time I remember really lusting after an article of clothing.

For a long time I didn't care at all about clothes or fashion. I thought it was really consumerist and evil. And it is, I guess. But about three years ago I became totally obsessed with Comme des Garçons. It seemed to (and still does) touch on the same nerve of a 13 year-old aching for a pair of black vinyl bondage pants. I don't know, I think of it as a form of self-expression.

The genuinely fuckable and formidably genius La JohnJoseph wrote a really great post about the difference between fashion and clothes, to wit:

[Fashion] is a dehumanizing merry-go-round, populated by exhausted whores, neurotics, terrified and ravaged seventeen-year olds, the desperate and deluded of the demi-monde... Clothes of course are different things. When divorced from, ignored by or outside of fashion they are potential, identity, possibility, expression, bliss.

You can check out the post here. I think this is a good way of putting it. I identify with this parsing of fashion, as an industry/culture on a mass consumerist level, and clothes (getting dressed) as a personal and social art practice. I see dressing in fancy designer clothes (to the extent that I do, which is not very much at all) as a form of self-expression, rather than participation in a group. Comme des Garçons is arguably the most avant-garde major fashion label, but Rei Kawakubo's designs are often too prescient to make sense. I feel like it's not even cool, in a way. It's too forward-thinking. This is partly me defending my obsession with CdG by making this distinction between it and Fashion as such. But I think it's also widely true. In an interview with Vogue Italia's Franca Sozzani, she said of Rei Kawakubo:

"She’s even too far ahead in design because, sometimes even I say that, I would never wear certain things she does. I buy them because I believe in her, and then a few years later I will find myself wearing it!"

I'm not the type to buy something (especially something really expensive) without the intention to wear it to shreds, but I agree with the sentiment. But at the same time obviously the clothes are really expensive. And to a degree don't jive with my so-called punk values. Most of the clothes I tend to wear every day are from thrift stores and were purchased a long time ago, carefully collected and preserved from second-hand stores throughout my life. One of my Favorite Artists In The World Whose Work Changed My Life, Kathleen Hanna, said in a recent interview:

"It's like you go a thrift store and you find that weird one of-a-kind thing, and it means more than going to Marc Jacobs and buying this $500 dress that anybody who has a lot of money could get."

But this is also, I think, maybe, about her feelings about Marc Jacobs. Don't go there! But seriously, she raises a good point, about accessibility and about choosing how you look. Like, do you leave it up to the designer / store / magazine / something else to tell you what to wear? And how to wear it?

Another Luminary who I admire very much and whose opinion I listen to because I think we share some similar values, Mx. Saint Justin Vivian Bond wrote on vs blog recently about performing at Alber Elbaz' birthday party:

"I don’t know Alber personally but I’m a huge fan of his elegant clothes. As someone who is philosophically anti-consumerist I am always conflicted when it comes to fashion because I love the talent and creativity that goes into making beautiful clothes. I sort of think of top fashion designers like veal trapped in a gilded cages and force-fed riches and gluttony so that they will produce tenderly exquisite objets which feed and enrich a villainous multi-national corporate paradigm while simultaneously stimulating peoples dreams and desires until they are ultimately fed to a devouring public and sometimes destroyed in the process (phew, long sentence!). Mainly I think of them as artists and Alber is one of my favorites."

Right? I mean, Kawakubo has said, numerous times that she doesn't consider herself an artist, so much as a businesswoman, or journalist, etc. I think this is sort of her pulling a stunt, to an extent. Sometimes the painter is not the person to ask about the painting, too. I am also inclined to agree with Kathy Acker, who viewed designer clothing (she was a Comme fan) as "art for the poor people". Though obviously I am much, much poorer than Kathy was. So this is all to say I have a conflicted and complex series of feelings about my lust for expensive Japanese designer clothing. I'm thinking about it.

And anyway the point is that I bought these really beautiful Comme des Garçons Homme Plus denim pants last week, as an early birthday present to myself.

They were really expensive. I generally buy something designer or nice when it's on sale. Or second hand, or something. The Comme des Garçons MARKET MARKET last spring sort of freed me of my localized CdG obsession. Something about seeing all those amazing clothes being thrown around, people changing in front of each other, clothes getting ripped, somehow devalued them for me, and made CdG seem a little less precious, maybe. Sort of demystified? It was amazing. I saw Debbie Harry there, on the last day, with a dozen dresses under her arm. She likes a sale, I like that. And anyway the big sale also made me think that, you know, not everything makes it to the remainders bin. A lot of stuff sells out. That's the thing about CdG: it's there and also not there. There will be certain pieces (usually a blazer) from any collection that just go, the first day. And only those in the know will know about. It's weird.

Anyway last January we all saw the Mens fall collection, titled "Decadence". A cute idea, and some interesting clothes. For me, however, it began and ended with the pants. The sort of balloon-y things.

In her review, the pithy and punchy Cathy Horyn zeroes in on the pants, saying:

"The collection was engaging, mainly for the strange pinched proportions of jackets and some fabulous wide-leg denim trousers, including one ballooning style pegged at the ankles."

And she's right, as usual. I was totally obsessed with the pants as soon as I saw them. The theme of the collection was "Decadence" which I think was articulated in a couple different ways. The brocade coats and pants, for sure. The layering of T-shirts over each other, under these bathrobe-like coats, I think, create a sort of claustrophobic decadence. And these pants feel decadent too, in their volume. The pants feel pretty emblematic of the theme, and the collection. There're always a couple pieces in any collection that become the hot ticket item, the thing that sums it up, and I think the balloon pants are like this. I'm thinking of the shoulder holster's from Spring 2010's "Adult Delinquent" collection. Although there will be themes or slogans for any given collection, Kawakubo's main aim is always to create something new. A new silhouette, a new texture, a new effect, a new feeling. And these pants are new. I am obsessed with the drop-crotch pants that CdG makes, I bought a pair at the BLACK store last fall. I like how the drop-crotch pants elongate and alter the height and silhouette of the wearer, I think they are also sort of proto-hip-hip in a way. Anyway, these denim pants I bought are like the polar opposite of the drop-crotch pants. These have a fairly straight inseam, they just flare outwards and are buttoned tighter just above the ankle They're not exactly jodphurs, which are wide at the hip and taper downwards, since these are circular-- they don't accentuate the hips or butt, they don't accentuate any boy part, it's an imaginary body part. They're not exactly harem pants, which are loose all around and then tight at the ankle, these aren't flowy, they're structured. They're not like wrap pants or something. They're new. I adore them. When I saw the fashion show, I decided to save up to buy them. And that is what I did.

In the last few weeks, as CdG had it's spring/summer sale, I knew the new collection would be arriving soon, but I could not get anyone to tell me when. I called the store and asked, and was told that there wasn't an exact date. I asked an employee in person, and was told "Sometime around the middle of July, but I'm not sure..." Which is frustrating. It's needlessly evasive, because of course they all knew that the new collection was to debut on 7/15. And furthermore, they had already sent out notices to a wide pool of "valued customers" in NYC to announce this. Why not tell me, y'know? Probably because I never buy anything, at least not at full price, at the store. Anyway what happened eventually was that I went to the BLACK store to see if they had at drop-crotch denim from last summer. I like the idea of CdG denim, because it will like last forever, right? I'll pass it down to my grand children, yeah? I was informed, anyway, that they did not. I asked the girl on duty when the Homme Plus line would come in at the main store, since (I said) I think they might be doing denim pants this season. The girl at the counter let it slip that the new collection would be available on 7/15, but looked immediately guilty, like I wasn't supposed to know. She assured me that in fact, despite what we saw in the Paris show, there would not be any denim in the new fall collection. So, okay.

I went back on 7/15 after work, and it was kind of a zoo. Of course, the country's number one Comme des Garçons collector, Suzanne Golden was there, making her first-round picks. The store was all new and full of people who knew pretty much exactly what they wanted. These are the people who show up on the first day. These are the VIP customers who phone in their orders months in advance. People were talking about which items were already sold out, after being there for six hours. Some other pieces would never sell, not at all. It is very strange. Anyway, I got my pants. I fell in love with them and I got them and I am very happy. They had the same silhouette in washed black polyester, which were inexplicable twice as expensive. But whatever. I wanted the indigo denim. They're really soft.

It's a new shape to wear and be, which is exactly what I want. I want to make new shapes.
It is, though, a tiny bit too warm to wear them, just yet.
(But soon).

Move Over Yeah Don't Do It Over

2011-07-18T13:55:00.001-04:00

The World is Full of Toxic Insulation

2011-07-13T13:59:00.007-04:00

Right, so. In between complaining to anyone who will listen, and wasting time formulating my next complaint, and playing it over and over in my head (to see how I would like to make it sound), I actually do stuff. Art stuff, I mean.

First, just as a reminder, I put out the new issue of my psychedelic porno poetry zine Scorcher last month, and you can buy a copy from Birdsong Micropress HERE.

But speaking of Art Stuff, I am doing two pretty different but equally exciting shows in NYC in the next week, and I really want you to come!

First is this Saturday!

Saturday, July 16th 7-9pm
FLASH OF THE SPIRIT
De Castellane Gallery
539 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn

FLASH OF THE SPIRIT
Performances by COLIN SELF, SUSAN PLOETZ and MAX STEELE.

In collaboration with Johnny Sagan of Snowy Wilderness, Colin Self is curating a performance series at De Castellane Gallery. This event, FLASH OF THE SPIRIT, featured performance by Colin Self, Max Steele and Susan Ploetz. You may know Susan as the genius behind the performance project PASH(ly), or as the lead singer of PDX’ hottest new band Finesse. She initially put me in touch with Colin many years ago, and is making a rare NYC performance on her way to her European tour. Both Colin and I are huge fans of hers, and have been deeply influenced by her work. (Check out the interview I did with Susan).

I am so excited to be singing some of my songs with these kids. I haven't been doing a ton of Max Steele performances where I do the music I made by myself. I did some shows in Germany and was revitalized! I will be doing some songs on Saturday, by myself. Maybe a little tlaking and dancing around. And this event is EARLY and FREE so I hope you can all come!

Facebook Info HERE

Okay, and then NEXT WEDNESDAY:

Wednesday, July 20th 8-10pm
TOTAL STYRENE
Participant Inc.
253 East Houston Street NYC

An evening of performance to benefit The Total Styrene Experience — a performance and recycling laboratory.Featuring performances by: STYRENE FANTASTIC (Lizzie Scott in collaboration with Kyli Kleven and Georgia X. Lifsher), KENNIS HAWKINS, MICHAEL MAHALCHICK, RASHAUN MITCHELL and MAX STEELE. Curated by Patricia Milder. Tickets $15 or $10 with donation of Styrofoam.

Facebook Info HERE.
More info about the project THE STYRENE FANTASTIC.

Here's a description from Lizzie: “At the benefit we will sell refreshments, give away art, sell Total Styrene merchandise, and celebrate the alchemy of turning the glut of Styrofoam trash into a source of artistic abundance. This project aims to create a small temporary space for creative generosity and intellectual abundance in resistance to the commercial and institutional models of competition and scarcity that seem to define current art worlds.”

I will be doing a brand new performance artwork about recycling and Styrofoam. I’m excited to share it with you. I don't want to fall into this Trap of Procrastinators, this Trap of Ego Fools, where I talk too too much about a thing before I do it. But, suffice it to say that the thing I am planning on doing will be a continuation of my previous "art work" and will also be freakier and weirder and hopefully more fun and crazier than anything I have ever done before. So please come check it out. I know the event costs money, but I would remind you that there’s a $5 discount if you bring some Styrofoam (and who doesn’t have a little bit lying around the house?). There will be drinks! And an art auction. And I hope you can come.

It occurs to me today (thank you La JJ!) that I ought to arrange to have somebody film this.
Hmm.

2011-07-13T07:30:00.003-04:00

In my mind, I'm still in Berlin. Still on Vacation. Still drinking a nice cool bottle of Club Maté. Maybe. I had such a nice time. And a couple little souvenirs.

First, a delightfully recorded conversation to listen to, between Miss Vaginal Davis, Manuel Schubert, La JohnJoseph and myself. Talking about all sorts of fun. You can listen to it here.

And also, look at these photos La JJ took while I was visiting!

Singing at PORK.

Performing at Chantal's House of Shame.

Really feeling it.

Bein a creep at Iwajla's dinner party.

Just being cool at a nightclub in Germany.

Some more news about two very exciting upcoming shows will come soon. Just gimme a second.

Fucked by Light

2011-07-11T14:23:00.002-04:00

I feel just like a tape recorder. I feel just like a VCR. Which is to say: broken! I have no way of remembering, anymore, everything I wanted to. What I want to remember and record is audio-cassette tape static, video grains. But I can't. We've moved onto bigger and nicer ways of remembering.

So many really stupid and really great things were said to me this weekend. More than once, I was tempted to reach for my pen and paper to write them down. There're a couple really funny jokes that've been lost to the weekend which I know I can't get back. And that's okay, because I remember the thing I meant to.

Which is this: a friend of mine was describing an awesome experience he had recently. I won't bore you by identifying him or the situation (that's not my job, identification, that's not my task in life), but I will quote as completely as possible because I think it's the right idea:

"I had an ecstatic experience. It was like light poured into my body. I was-- I got fucked by light. I realized that I should just probably be a saint. So I'm a saint now. I've started a cult. It was like I finally understood. God put a flaming arrow through my heart."

I asked what the Cult was called but he wouldn't tell me.

Fucked by Light.

Happy Monday.
Namaste.