But I won't fall for it

Couldn't get to sleep last night.

Stayed up until the wee hours reading Confusion is Next, the Sonic Youth biography. The chapter on Kim Gordon's biography is so strange. all of her quotes sound totally detached, weird. The book will make some claim about her life's path, something along the lines of "Kim soon realized that rock clubs such as Max's Kansas City and CBGB's served as a gathering place for NYC's downtown arts community," followed by a quote from Kim supposedly commenting on this, in which she says something pithy, deep, and emotionally responsive, like "I had worked in a gallery for a little while. One night I saw Suicide at CBGB's".

Last night I had a nightmare that a crazy man stopped me while I was walking down the street. He motioned for me to take off my
headphones and asked me for money. I apologized and told him I'm sorry but I didn't have any, and he followed me really closely for a few blocks, glaring at me and breathing down my the back of my neck. I became increasingly uncomfortable and crossed the street. There was no traffic, it was just us. The man continued to glare at me form across the street. "You don't have to run" he yelled, then continued with something involving a knife, along the lines of "I don't have a knife" or "I won't cut you open with a knife or anything". I heard this as a threat, so in the dream I ran. Woke up to a bright day encroaching.

Worry Worry Worry.

I think I had the bad dream because I had been reading Close to the Knives all day yesterday, and thinking a lot about porno and sex and wandering around. Also, Wojnarowicz' repeated intensely violent fantasies. I don't know.
My job ends at the end of May. I'm warned that because Mercury will be in Retrograde from May 26th-June 19th, not to take a job during that time. Which sucks, cause that's exactly when I'll need to. I'm tremendously worried about money and work. I have the persistent feeling that I'm forgetting somethign important. When I share this fear with people, the response I get these days is: smile.

I have the feeling that I am constantly out of sync with myself. I'm tremendously jealous of friends, acquaintances and enemies alike. What I'm jealous of is not fancy clothes or money or fulfilling high-paying music/writing/art careers, but the fact that even people who do not Have Their Shit Together, even junkies and people living with their parents with no hope and sick people dying people lonely closeted stupid people all seem to be able to enjoy themselves, or at least be able to function. I'm jealous of how everyone else manages to blithely ignore or idiotically denying the persistent truth of the universe, which I seem to be the only one to acknowledge: that the world is a mean, bad place. I mean, right? The contrast between my discomfort and the relative cushiness of my circumstances just serves to underscore how dysfunctional, painful and backwards my thinking is. My Ultimate Fantasy Boyfriend David Wojnarowicz says: Hell is a place on earth. Heaven is a place in your head.

Like Thurston covered by Lydia says: (She's In A) Bad Mood


As a Summer Breeze


A journal of domestic abstraction. How I make what I like the same as a part of what I am. I'm seeing someone, who I like a lot actually. Whenever we go over to one another's apartment we snoop, look around to draw conclusions. Ask questions. I sometimes think: I do not actually want to be a curator because curators are unhappy semi-conscious artists whose cold lonely lives revolve around other people's work. But then when I'm thinking of my room I feel like a curator, I guess.

(Reference Erin Smith's comments on Riot Grrrl being a system of networks (social, information, artistic) located in bedrooms. Private site as identity, launching pad for organizing cultural and political motifs on a larger scale).

That all being said, I am still really into Vera Neumann textiles. Bedsheets yes. Monochromatic rainbows. I'm going to use the phrase "Bisected Rainbows" for something, and I got this title from my Vera bedsheets. Something sort of naive and sweet about the misplaced pop art of 1960s bedsheets, don't you think?

I recently got a Sega Genesis, after spending an intense part of my childhood hating them. As a Super Nintendo loyalist, I saw Sega as being anti-American, communist, forbidden, and even a little sexy. Now that I'm a grown-up and Feel Like I Can Have Whatever I Want, I got one. The game play doesn't really hold up, but it's worth the money and noise to be able to revel in the glory of playing Ecco the Dolphin.

Obsessed with Sid & Marty Kroft's television shows. The classic combination of psychedelic colors, rock music, fairy tales and drug references under the auspices of "Children's Programming". A particular favorite is the Bugaloos, group of cockney hipster fairies who live in a place called Tranquility Forest and play in a folk band together. Let's skip to the good part / my favorite part of any narrative: the female villain. Benita Bizarre, an evil rock witch who lives in a jukebox with her sidekick, Funky Rat. Obviously Benita's Havana-Drag look is important to note here. She also wears a green ensemble. What's interesting is that she, being a witch and therefore old, is somehow out of touch. The "groovy rock music" she wants to play has a very early 1960s vibe to it and is therefore creepy and backwards, elements of a generation gap. Her goal is not to take over the world or hurt anybody: she just wants to make a good record. Her first single goes: "Strap on your supersonic sneakers cause you're going to the party with me, babe." She doesn't want to kill the Bugaloos, just kidnap them and force them to play in her band. I really identify with this.

Also interested in houseplants. Not, though, because they're particularly 1970s (although of course they are), but because I like the idea of improving the air quality in my room (albeit nominally). It's a little thrilling to think that something in my room could live. Flourish. I'm trying to think in terms of abundance rather than scarcity. Let's see whether or not my new plants (names: Lucy, Ethel, Rhoda) can withstand my winning combination of smoke, cats, neglect and guilty over-watering.

Thumbs green, thumbs up.

over and out.


Lov Gov

Yesterday I went to work where I felt really useful and more-than-appropriately acknowledged and paid for my work. Went shopping and to my therapist to discuss my emotional process. How fucked it is and how much better it's getting. I need to remember that maybe, despite what I've been taught, I might be something of an intellectual. Whenever I have an intense emotion I always look for the meaning. Like: "I feel so shitty, why? This person is totally putting me down everything I say, I don't understand why and I need to!" I don't actually need to understand. And I won't, I guess, understand all of every one's feelings all of the time. So recognizing that the fruitless search for meaning is usually not going to give me the answers I want, but is an important part of how I process emotions.

This is interesting to you.

Then went home, ate vegan burritos and took a nap. Went to see Karen Finley workshop her hilarious / heartbreaking new piece, "The Impulse to Suck", about the Spitzer Scandal. Felt very shy, but went and said hello to her afterwards, gave her a copy of my zine. She was very gracious.

Was invited to perform as part of Glenn Marla's HEAVY, along with La JohnJoseph, etc. My friends came including my special friend. I read from my zine, which I've never done before. People seemed to like it, they laughed and applauded. I was really nervous and very happy with the simplicity of just TALKING IT OUT. Finally met Justin Bond, who was very sweet to me. I am such a fanboy! I feel like things in my life are getting closer to fair proportions. I dunno. Want to sort of keep track of this.

I feel vaguely worried today. Am I forgetting something? I worry a lot because I have a hard time setting boundaries, but I suppose worrying about that won't help. Ah well.

Regardless. I'm going to have a good weekend.


Letters and Sodas

I had a restful weekend, in which the approaching doom managed to stay behind my bedroom door. I felt awful, but I only let it stop me. Not totally black me out and kill me. Visited Marcus in the east Village Saturday afternoon. Walked around wearing analogous if not matching outfits with the boy in my life. Made out as the massive double-decker tour bus drove by. Yesterday was stressful in the AM. Sister Pico can really calm a girl down when she needs to. Bobo and I ventured around up to queens for her friend Melissa's party. It was sort of the most fun thing in the world ever.

Tonight I'm going to the gym, then doing laundry and eating leftover spaghetti while I work on two things:

- an upcoming piece, 'DISPATCH FROM FAG CITY' which will appear in the next issue of Brontez' (a.k.a Junx from Gravy Train!!!! you teenagers) zine FAG SCHOOL.

a revised (rather: revisited) version of Lover, Ferocious. Which at I am going to be performing at Rapture Cafe in NYC this Thursday, April 24th at 9PM. It is the closing night of Rapture and KAREN FINLEY is performing ahead of time (I will sadly miss her piece, but work this fact into my own show).

Hopefully things will flow from my heart without obliterating me in the process. Don't you ever, sometimes, feel like a gun? I sure do. A rocket launcher. And I'm just waiting to see what kind of ammo will be put into me. Will I be shooting biochemical weapons to blind you? Will I be blowing regular run of the mill lead bullets? Will someone load me up with glitter and painkillers, to dazzle you? Today I feel full of dried flower buds: yeah it's springtime but don't get your hopes up! I feel productive and empowered enough to give affection freely. This also means I take zero percent shade from anyone. My ideas are not the best or loudest but they are in fact the truest and I doubt anyone can prove me wrong. Which is why this whole "thing" (me, my ideas, art projects, songs, outfits, face, disposition) works.

Listening to Liz Phair on the train this morning. I want all that stupid old shit. Like Letters and Sodas.

(I've already got it.)

You should be jealous.
Just, generally.


Cookie Time

Beautiful days these days. I watched "Troop Beverly Hills" last night, I love that movie so much. Watching it again as a nascent adult is such a trip. As a kid, the whole divorce aspect was totally lost on me. Now Shelley Long's character seems so much deeper. I mean, relatively.

God, I wanted to be one of those spoiled pre-teen Beverly Hills girls.

I have so many little projects to work on. Opportunities abound, if we give ourselves permission to enjoy.

Part of me doing this, practicing enjoyment (giving myself permission to feel good) involves, unfortunately, standing up for myself. I don't want to be nasty and I don't want to hurt any body's feelings. At the same time, I'm very intrigued by the idea of calling people out when they do something fucked up.

For example: I know that you feel bad. I know that you feel uncomfortable and sad, maybe. Maybe you feel insecure or angry. Maybe you feel like I don't care about you and don't want to listen to you. Here's how I know you feel this way: you're being a real jerk to me all the time. You constantly put me down when we're in front of other people. Stop it.

Here's another example: I have so little faith in my own intelligence and creativity. I feel very, truly, and sincerely FLATTERED. Maybe we can work on collaborations that make both of us feel productive. Please do not ask me to do something that I would not ask you to do. Think about it.

SO I'm giving myself permission to feel good all of the time. Physical and mental, I guess.
Wouldn't it be so weird?

Sleepy days. I'm working on a big new batch of mix CDs and you can have one if you want. Another Billy Cheer Mixtape: BLOOMING


Thought You Saw A Body On The Beach

Some notes about this past weekend: I worked! I felt good. Had birthday fancy dinner and smoked too many cigarettes and got to see some of my friends. Did some cleaning. Feel active, pretty, free. I had a really great date, I feel romantic. I'm working on a new show. I was ashamed to say anything about it because I didn't want people to make fun of me. But now I can tell you that I am working on a show about working in a government-run housing facility for at-risk homeless queer youth, ages 0-2 years.

(I'm onto something).

I love Tanya Donnelly. Belly is tremendously important to me. Let's be clear, though: it is a completely commercial kind of music. It tries to make the jangly guitars of 1980s 4AD records palatable in a Top-40 way. Belly's first record sort of references grunge music, but not really. I mean, they wear flannel and torn bluejeans, but it's so safe. That's Gail Greenwood playing bass. She quit when L7 called, and who could blame her? The lyrics are kind of creepy, in a totally nonthreatening, vague and dreamy sort of way. Violent imagery, but harmless. I think there are multiple times on Star when Donnelly refers to herself as a squirrel. The title track's only lyrics are "Sweet sweet sweet wind, Burn off this skin. I can never win with this body I live in." Which at 14 summed my life up. Come on, "Feed the Tree"? What the fuck is that? I think it is sort of about dying, but couched in these insane acid flashback diary metaphors. Whatever. What I'm saying is that there's this kind of kernel of weirdness underneath all of the admittedly tight and dated 90s pop gloss.

I always sort of forget that Tanya Donnelly started Throwing Muses. Maybe it's because she gets to sing lead on like five songs over the course of her time with them.

And then: she also started the Breeders. It's telling that Tanya thought of the Breeders as a side project, and wanted to make a mainstream disco dance record.


This is to say that when I listen to Tanya Donnelly I project the hopelessness and mania of her songwriting partners onto whatever I'm listening to.

Bodhisattva Courtney Love, speaking about her career: "I don't think if I had been Tanya Donnelly and put out
Live Through This anybody would've cared." I mean, I would've. Listening this morning to the single from her first solo album, Lovesongs for Underdogs.


Interview for FAG SCHOOL

So I got interviewed by Brontez, writer of the totally inspiring underground queer punk zine FAG SCHOOL, member of a number of legenday San Francisco bands, including Veronica Lipgloss and the Evil Eyes, and Gravy Train!!!! about my own zine, Scorcher. Fag School is one of the few truly revolutionary post riot-grrrl queercore zines being made in America, and Brontez is a continued inspiration to me. He is an incredible dancer and very sweet boy all-around. He's not snobby at all even though he could be, he has a Team Dresch tattoo and more "cred" than anyone else. Super radical political and sweet.

I love you Brontez.

1. Billy, imagine this: Your REALLY slutting it up at a writers convention where exists only two possibilities: sex with good writers or sex with famous writers . who do you most likely fuck first?

Normally I would say sex with celebrities, but sex with a GOOD WRITER (as opposed to a FAMOUS WRITER) is preferable. Who would a famous writer even BE? I only read women authors and I only really have sex with men.

2. Your stories make me feel like i dropped acid. Very hallucinating (hallsinaginic?) What's your method?

Like Kathy Acker I find it best to write when hallucinating / drunk / high / masturbating. I'm glad some of that comes across.

3. In Scorcher #1 you said (or wrote rather) "WE LIVE IN FAG CITY". What does THAT mean?

FAG CITY is the name I give to my imagination, sort of. I feel like a hippie when I describe it or something, but whatever. To me, it means that we live in our own heaven! And I always felt, as a fag, that I was waiting to get to a place where I could meet other freaky queers, when I could some day go to FAG CITY. But we live there! We can make it! Like, I imagine that if we talk about and make enough good gay art (girls and trans people too not just boy fags) we can make FAG CITY a reality. Alice Walker said "We Are The Ones We Have Been Waiting For".

4. Which would you rather. Pen an AWSOME ZINE or Pen a (mediorcore) best-selling novel?

I would love to be rich and I would love to meet Oprah Winfrey and talk about shit with her on teevee, but I don't think I could really do a novel. I'd rather write a legendary zine that doesn't pay me but encourages other people to write. You know, like some of my favorite zines: PUBERTY STRIKE, EX WHY ZEE, FAG SCHOOL, Girl Germs, Outpunk, Tales of Blarg, Jigsaw Youth, Bamboo Girl, Chainsaw, Rollerderby, J.D.'s or even Doris.

ps - you can still get SCORCHER at Cinder's Gallery in Brooklyn or directly from me: billycheer@gmail.com


It's Like I Told You I'm Over You, Somehow

Friday night Sister Pico, Lola and Mickey Pussy all came over to my house. We smoked cigarettes and listened to Big Maybelle. We drank rum and diet coke out of old mason jars and ran out of ice cubes. Played dress-up and walked down Metropolitan hoping it wouldn't start pouring rain (it didn't-- I lost the bet).

Saturday morning Bobo came over and we cooked breakfast. I'll describe it for you: vegan waffles fake sausage patties with fresh blackberries and coffee with soy milk and raw sugar. We went to up to central park for the first warm day of the year. Laid out in the sun, smoked cigarettes and generally loved each other. Went to the Fierce Pussy book release party at Printed Matter then to Williamsburg. I ate a falafel and took a nap before my date.

Sunday I met with Hunter, Katie, Emma, Nick and his European friend for brunch. We ate under a huge skylight, it felt like being in a greenhouse. Katie and I walked home from brunch and I scarcely had time to change my clothes before running downtown to see Joanna and Poopsie and Sally (Joanna's Puggle). Joanna and I sat loving each other and ate Indian food. I realize now that I only write about what I'm eating, this is because I want to show in this blog that I am nourishing myself. That I am feeling sensory pleasure and consciously feeding and taking some kind of care of myself. Joanna and I talked about: celebrities and money. The future. Our children, some day. And fucking. I read Kurt Vonnegut on the bus and I watch Betty Boop cartoons before bed. I can't get Sigmund and the Seamonsters out of my head.

I spent some time this weekend with a certain Scorpio. He's really funny. I'm thinking of bisected rainbows. Tonight I might cook dinner or just order in with Bobo. Run at the gym. Listening to Nick Cave and feeling romantic.

Also beaches, anniversaries. Warm wind and Joanna's moving to LA. I have a feeling and it sounds like this:



Video of me talking about my face.
Filmed by La John Joseph.

Yell and Steal productions.
All copyrights to Danielle Rosa.