Hit Your Eye

Full moon last night.

Today is day five of sobriety (including caffeine). I don't feel much different, maybe a little clearer. Tonight I'm breaking the rule though, it was just sort of a test. Also, I can't deal with being able to remember my dreams, all of a sudden.

Two nights ago I dreamed I was locked away in a castle in Germany and the wind was howling through the windows. My friend tried to get me out of there, to prove that the wind wasn't so scary. He stuck his arm through the window into my little prison and waved it around and it horrified me. I woke up in a cold sweat with the windows to my room predictably open, with the wind howling through them, obviously.

I sat down to my computer, dazed, and found out that a really cool website has published my short story. Check it out.

Last night I had a nightmare that I was at a barbecue. I wanted to hang out in he house, where all the cool girls were, but one of them had a tiny rottweiler puppy on her lap. He was asleep. when I walked into the room I asked the name of the dog, and the girls scowled and said "He's sleeping, okay? So that means that you need to leave." I went out into the backyard, my feelings hurt. Also at the party was a boy I used to go out with. In the dream I kept trying to avoid eye contact with him (I have only a vague idea what he looks like now), but we kept winding up standing next to each other. It occurred to me that he was avoiding me as well. Which also scared / hurt me, for some reason. So in the backyard, we look over to the neighbors' backyard, and they're having a party too. They, though, have a Ferris wheel. In the dream the wheel started speeding up and everyone on it started screaming. I figured it was all part of how it worked until people started flying off of it, one of them landing in our party. It was horrifying.

Prior to that I had a dream that I asked out the boy I have a crush on and he said yes. We work together, so it's politically difficult for me to really ask him out. But I want to. I am thinking of inviting him to the party we're having at my house next weekend.

Also, I somehow got to the conclusion last night that if I were to write a book about dinner, it'd be called Dinner: Worth The Wait.

I feel okay. No thanks to you.


Valentine's Day Protest 2006

Here is a movie made by Robin Winters' Theater of Objects class at Sarah Lawrence. I'm wearing a black wig in the movies.


And When it Goes

Friends from out of town: beers, dancing, cigarettes again. So many little stories. I feel like my organs are made of glass and every time I hear a rattle I get scared. I've hurt my stomach again. Tonight I'm going to sing at the show in Brooklyn. I feel weird. Too many things touch off too many other things. My whole body feels like it's full of nerve endings.

For when it hurts:
You know, but then again: I've been scared before. I've felt my jaw drop and I've lost my appetite. Woken up in the middle of the night, feverish, and mortified to be next to another person. I figure this way: I'm not really so scared anymore. And this new found (let's call it) courage is, apparently, horrifying. Do you think I am going to yell at you? Embarrass you? Do you think that because I am no longer afraid of being alive that I am going to do something horrible or make you think about how scared you are? Do you think I am going to hit you? Do you think I am going to fuck your old college pal and talk about you the entire time? Do you think I am a genius? Am I being mean or am I being bored and is there a difference? Does this have anything to do with: astrology, you, history, my heart, or micro nutrients?

Or, Corin:

"Do you think I am an animal? Am I not? Do you like fur?
Do you want to come over? Are we captive only for a short time?
Is there splendor? I'm not ashamed."


Ankh Tattoo

I tried to impress him while we were dancing. A girl rapper song came on the stereo and even though the dance floor was empty and it was 2:00am, he said "This is MY SONG" so we stayed dancing. We found an unopened green bottle of hard apple cider. Wanting to look tough, I tried to open the bottle with a lighter, and I split open my finger, getting blood everywhere, but it was a messy house party anyway. We drank the cider and went to his house, where he has a collection of vintage curtains, chandeliers, wallpapers. All this stuff. A lot of design, he could describe it to me if I like. He had a tattoo. Holding hands the entire time.

The next morning I left a note on his desk and sneaked out of his apartment, ravenous and bleary and in my party clothes. Covered in sweat, spit, and cider. I noticed, walking toward the train, that the blood on my finger had been sucked clean.


Forget We Not

Shopping List:
  • Celery
  • Peanut Butter
  • Yogurt
  • Ginger
  • Onions
  • Hummus
  • Honey
  • Cereal
  • Salad Dressing
  • Onions
  • Frozen Okra, Kale, Spinach, Collards
  • Don't flip out when you run into that boy you saw at the nightclub in the dairy section
  • Jello
  • Bread
Things to Discuss with Therapist:
  • Sabateurs
  • September 11th
  • Cigarettes
  • Being empty inside
  • Flipping out when I ran into that boy I saw at the nightclub in the dairy section
  • Overeating
  • Drugs
  • The sex I had last weekend
  • Dying
  • Never sleeping
  • Childhood
  • Shannon Wright
  • Nick Cave
  • Ut
  • 8 Eyed Spy
  • Monade
  • Melvins
  • Sarah Cracknell
Dumb Shit I do not need from the world:
  • Crowded subways
  • Text messaging (unless it's about money or making out)
  • Stress
  • People acting rude and bragging because they are insecure
  • Doing the dishes (I hate it)
  • Being broke
  • Almost every interaction with another human being at the gym
  • Boring people who only talk about themselves

Action of Planning

More weekend life in Fag City. Too many fiery cigarettes, glaring. Talking about boys from the past, gin drinks. Sex on a pile of Casio keyboards. On the floor. Naps to keep myself nocturnal. Panic, danger, and intrigue. I felt, on Friday, very invisible. Like a vapor. By Sunday I felt so bodied and real that I had to run out of the grocery store rather than say hello. Sort of scary to realize that other people can see you. I felt like an empty fishbowl, but realize now that I just live in one. Today is a weird week. Big things at work. Crush on coworkers. Travel, lunch, decorations, contracts. Organizing! Fag City is humming with our effort to put away our preserves for winter! Creating catalogs. Cataloging as a past-time. Hobby.

Jessica gave me a new haircut and I like what I'm seeing.


Swear there ain't no heaven and pray there ain't no hell

...but I'll never know by living, only my dying will tell.

Mercury being in retrograde, it seems only fitting that I blast Laura Nyro on the subway. To me, Nyro is all about revisiting things. Coming back, re-thinking, etc. Her songs are so fucking bizarre, it takes a long time to figure them out. My favorite record of hers is, of course, Gonna Take A Miracle, the 1971 covers record with fucking Labelle singing insane back-up. It was one of the records that I stole from my parents' collection as a pre-teen. Even though all of the songs are covers, Nyro's were the first versions I heard, and are therefore definitive in my mind. So today I'm revisiting Laura Nyro, and revisiting her as she revisits songs from her own teenage years.

Growing up, whenever my parents listened to that record, either my mom or my dad would remind me that Nyro died very young. So part of my experience of her music, and that record in particular, is that it's always bound up in dying young. It seemed to me that the sad songs on that album sort of foretold her own death. I know that's not true, but looking back through Nyro's whole catalog yesterday, it's totally all about dying. Her first big break was when she sold the song "And When I Die" to Peter, Paul and Mary at age 18. Kind of a weird folk / soul / goth thing, which is exactly where I want to be.

The last time I was home in California, my mom put on the album while my parents and I were stuck in traffic. We listened to the entire first half in silence, while I was quietly grooving in the back seat. My mom said "You know, I always forget that Laura Nyro is really only great to listen to when you're very, very stoned." Then, pausing to look at me in the rear view mirror, she continued "Good thing for you, huh?" Which is pretty right-on.

Recently, my friend Lola and I were trying to explain to how fabulous Laura Nyro is to Sister Pico. I think Pico was interested in her because of the Patti LaBelle connection, but Lola and I jumped all over each other trying to describe her.

Lola: "She was Jewish!"

Me: "She was Puerto Rican, wasn't she?"

Lola: "Her mom's name was Gilda."

Me: "Yeah but I think her dad was Puerto Rican."

Lola: "She was both."

Me: "She was a lesbian."

Lola: "Yeah, she was gay."

Me: "She was a total lesbo."

Lola: "She's dead."

Me: "Yeah, she totally died."

Lola: "She died really young. Like 49 or something."

Me: "She committed suicide, right?"

Lola: "No!" (pause, shocked that I wouldn't know this) "She died of cancer."

Me: "Same thing."


What I Was Trying To Do

Mercury is in retrograde today.

I have a job interview, which would normally not bode well, except that it's a second round interview. We'll see. Money is kind of a pressing concern for me.

Communication is difficult. Now is not a good time to meet Mister Right. Or start writing that
novel. But, I am good at editing. Cleaning up. Catching up with old friends. Clarifying the message I want to send, sort of. My alarm didn't go off this morning, mor or less as I expected.
Thinking about when Mercury went into retrograde last summer: talk about communication breakdowns. I really wanted to keep kissing you then except 1) i hated you and 2) i think you were already in love with someone else. But still, on an almost moral level, I felt slighted. Even though there were a few colorful reasons not to make out any more, I think we would have, were the planets more surreptitiously aligned. Too bad.
Drink a glass of orange juice. Comb your hair. Take the bus. Write a zine, story, song about it. Move on, check (summer sucked but don't worry-- you're not the reason why).

Revisiting old wounds. And also revisiting wounds that are not old. Future Wounds. Thinking about my health. I'm turning almost all of my attention inward. Anyway.

Something I'm really connected to is this picture that Aura Rosenberg took of her daughter. Mike Kelley styled her.

When I saw her speak a few years ago, she talked about this photo and how horribly misunderstood it was. It was the photo she chose from a whole set of her daughter done up like this. There was one moment where Carmen, the little girl, got upset, and she took a photo. Children's advocacy groups got all over Rosenberg, maybe rightly so. But it is an interesting photograph, especially given that it was taken by the girl's mother. I like it, because it shows a girl who is just fed up, even though she has all this glamorous make-up on. And she can't even cry about it because then everyone just assumes the worst. So my lesson to myself today is that it's okay to not feel great about your circumstances and it's okay to want to cry about it, regardless of what everyone will think.


We're Yr Dream Girls

Dress Up Mess Up
So: 'Fess Up

Featuring: Mapplethorpe, Destiny, and Missa


I Think Yr A Fucking Drag

Mercury is about to go into retrograde. Good thing I didn't buy that new iPod yet. Also, I guess in keeping with the universe, I am totally, seriously, and somewhat beautifully (in a zen way) broke. Entirely. This is scary. Feel somewhat encouraged by the fact that there's not a lot I can do about it. So: Radical Acceptance. This is your charge if you're reading this blog. Google "radical acceptance" and find out about DBT. Lenahan. Learn it. Trust. Also part of Mercury going into retrograde is revisiting old things. Picking up where we left off. Childhood friends getting back in touch. Cleaning my room. finishing books I've only half-read. Going back through reams of notes, little snippets of songs on my computer. Finishing projects. Editing. Calling exes to make friends. And, of course, the San Francisco Witches are coming to town. More on this soon. Talk about old friends. James and Mason shaped my youth. I always get to visit them when Mercury is in retrograde. We'll weather it, I guess.

Saw the Blow on Friday with the Soft Butches.
Continue to make extraordinarily bad decisions on the weekends. Up to and including cigarettes. Feel like my heart has been in a bucket of ice for the last year. It's thawing, and it hurts.

Performing a ukulele set tomorrow night of all new songs. Terrified. Completely.
Finished one new song (two more to go), titled "Cat In A Tree".

Feel pretty shaky but okay.

Something that makes me feel better:


Nothing to me about my life

I had a dream that my room mate Jennifer was a 14 year-old goth. Or, that was dressed that way but was still a 26 year-old lady. She ran up to me in our kitchen adn said "Max! Oh my god! Morrissey just died! He just died of a heart attack!" In the dream we weren't sad about Morrissey dying, but we were sad because of how annoying everyone was going to be. We dreaded the inevitable collective whining of more than a few generations (It reminded me of when Elliott Smith died and everyone still can't shut up about it). In the dream we felt guilty for being so callous.

I woke up and the entire back of both of my legs are covered in very painful spider bites.

And the living is easy.