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.

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