I would have been like a machine for your affection

I would have functioned like a robot for your love

I turn this mechanism fueled by your attention

I woulda been like an engine burning for your touch


Me Remember You




Photo by Jeanie Hodesh of your favorite dance band / performance troupe REGULAR MOTION, from the movie album GRAPHIC GLORY by Richert Schnorr:

Filming is done. Get excited.


Leave home. Blood becomes a foreign substance.

Went to a party on Monday night for the new Bruce LaBruce film. I was waiting for my friend Susan to get there and I felt really awkward. It was full of really well put-together fags in their little groups, and I was by myself. Eventually I just started talking to people, though. You know, it's such a waste of time to feel bad. Everyone is shy, everyone is awkward.

Black Peter was DJing. I think that guy is so cool. If I had found out about him a few years ago I would've probably hated him. Because, again, haters are jealous. But I got over myself! That guy is so cool. I mean, yeah like he's sexy and stuff and has good beats. Yeah yeah that's like the easy stuff. His
blog is super cool and his art projects are really beautiful and complex. I think he's got the right idea about a lot of things.

I got hit on by a straight guy at the party, too. He introduced himself and kept calling me "Matt". Before I could correct him (THAT'S NOT MY NAME-- I think that song is dumb), he started telling me how cute I am. Isn't that sweet? People never say that kind of thing to each other. He said "I mean, I'm totally straight and whatever but I just wanted to tell you. You're, like, really cute, man." I still don't know. I don't think I'm cute. I also wonder if the guy was really gay and if the "I'm straight but I like you" thing is a line. That'd be, like, too Machiavellian, right? I should just take it as a compliment.

Also met Robert Smith at the party. I recently found his
blog and it's really great. The writing is really electrified, to me. Apparently he is making a movie, Glory Holes, with Gio Black Peter. I am curious and excited about this.

Went to a party at Eastern Bloc last night. It was pretty fun. I got some Allan Cumming CUMMING body lotion and cologne. Brandon told me that I seemed like I've been down lately. I told him that he was right, I am down. I said "I'm always down. I stay down. I don't get up." I left before the auction. I was so dog tired. I went home and watched cartoons and read about the history of the six-pointed star. It's fascinating. Listened to Throwing Muses. I used to hate that record now I can't live without it.

It's so depressing when people are rude to you and try to make you feel bad about yourself. I usually take this way too personally, and think it's actually my problem. The truth is unhappy people put other people down. That's the truth. Okay. I'm actually not some bourgeois sell-out. Why do I feel so insecure about that? In my experience, the ones who accuse other people (at least in my age demographic) of being sell-outs or whatever, or who talk about how fucking stupid it is to vote, the accusers are usually white educated "punk " or "hippie" kids whose parents are giving them money so the kids can turn exactly one trick and call themselves a revolutionary. Thanks I'd rather work a day job.


Organizing some ideas. Notes from Monday. Tonight I'm staying in and writing.

Some incompatible facts:

-- He likes you.
-- He likes everyone.
-- You're part of everyone.
-- Welcome.

[This whole place is full of people who feel just as awful as you do. This might be true. This is not sci-fi. I am not the loneliest little robot. We all are, together.]

I feel sneaky.


Giving It, the Service

Friday night after work I went to Saks Fifth Avenue and spent a $100 gift card on Kiehl's. Investment. Went to Jiddy's pumpkin party. Ate a lot of candy. Escape with the Trannibals present. Retreated to Paps' house to watch Talk Soon.

Sleep interlude: I dreamed I was sleeping in a forest. Surprised to wake up in a stranger's bed.

Saturday I went to the NY Art Book fair. Was summarily overwhelmed. Bought new issues of
Cabinet and Useless magazines. Instead of reading anything from the pile of books in my IN-BOX.

As I am finishing reading
Queer, I realize I've read it before, just not to the end. I keep putting it down and starting over. It totally depresses me, the Burroughs depiction of suffering. I mean, Gay Suffering. It's a queer feeling. Oh well. I want to read Junky next but I'm afraid that will depress me too. Maybe everything depresses me. Reading Naked Lunch didn't depress me. Kinda the total opposite; it is like someone inflating you with helium or setting you on fire. It repurposes language, to me. My friend Justine once told me that it was her favorite book, but that calling it her favorite book was so problematic. I agree.

Also on Saturday my best friend Bobo
moved in.

Sunday I met up with Miriam at Richert's house to shoot our final ensemble dance video on his roof. It went really well, I must say. Jean came by to film it and she had a really cute outfit on that actually brightened my day quite a bit. We went out to lunch and shopping in bed-stuy. I bought an orignal vinyl copy of
moved into my apartment. Stay tuned.Nightclubbing, which might be one of my favorite albums. Also got incense to attract money. Couldn't hurt, right?

Thinking a lot, still, all weekend long, about Roisin Murphy. She sort of sounds like Annie Lennox, huh? And dresses like Grace Jones or David Byrne. And looks (I think, anyway) just like Laura Dern. I like that her first record, Ruby Blue, is essentially an experimental psych record making R&B gems out of found sounds. And I like that her second record, Overpowered, is a completely 80s-style disco record and she keeps calling it "piano house". And she's totally into fashion and clothes but refers to it as "stupid fashion". I think that's great. Also her lyrics are pretty disarming and wonderful, to me. The chorus of her song about Global Warming goes "Dear Miami / You're the first to go / disappearing / Under melted snow". And that her videos are so important to the overall work, I really like that. I'm so, so kicking myself that I didn't know enough to be able to go see her NY debut last Friday night. I heard it was amazing. The title track is about trying to get over someone. And she talks about "oxytoxins ever flowing into [her] brain". Do you know what she's referring to? Oxytocin. I just think it's so great to write a pop song about that.

I'm not in such a bad mood anymore. I do feel a kind of righteous indignation though. Like, I put up with so much of other people's shit, and put up with it so gracefully. I never have time for myself (Constant Complaint: I'm working on it). I feel like I should get a gold star for restraint. I should win award for spirit. Like in kids' soccer, I want to be recognized for my goodwill, even though I may not be winning. (In fact, I am winning, though). Anyways, I want it to be understood that most of the time I'm Not Making A Big Deal About It, and the reason I don't is because I don't want to shame people around me by calling attention to their shortcomings. I am gracious. I give. And I want back.


Word That I've Ever Said

I feel like an abject failure even when things are going right. I never have time or space (let alone money or energy) to do the things I want. Even reliable pleasures fail me now, and fail spectacularly.

It can only get easier, I guess.

I want to quit my whole entire life.


Than I Know Myself

Everybody is so cool. And everybody is so sexy. I'm in a department store. I'm like a the child of a wealthy family. I can't pay for any of this but I'm supposed to be able to.

I can't even talk about my struggle to name the things I want. God. How long has it been since you asked someone out on a date? I'm of the firm belief that in life, if you have to ask for it then you probably don't deserve it and won't get it. This includes applying for jobs. I know, Groucho Marx, Annie Hall. But it makes sense, I think. It seems futile, to try to convince you to become in love with me. Realize how wonderfully perfectly matched we are-- this isn't gonna happen and I'm not in the off-season: there's no benefit in practice, for this.

Gee, everything is happening at once again. I feel like my life is completely parenthetical. All this stuff amounting to context. My life is all asides and semicolons. I literally do not have any free time between now and Monday night, when I'm going to a(nother) party.

I don't count going to parties as free time. Or going on dates, I don't count that either. It's like exercising and eating it's part of the larger routine.

Fuck, man. Roisin Murphy.


Where'd you learn to fly

I have a real moral dilemma. Actually I have a couple. Well, I guess all moral dilemmas are the same moral dilemma. I guess it all comes down to karma. And: "How can I deal with other people's egos when I can't deal with mine?"

I am feeling a bit better after locating myself in the grid of my life. I thought I had fallen out for a second, that I had somehow grieved myself into oblivion. But no, I'm right here. Complaining and getting flexible. I'm ready to start doing more art work. Everything begins with notes, though. Documentation.

There's a real difficulty in finding a balance between fucking and writing. These two things depend on each other.

My horoscope said I might get mugged. Isn't that sweet. Things are kind of happening, to me. I don't know. I wish my life were different, but in really materialist ways. Like, I wish I was friends with X, Y, and Z. I could name them but they google themselves.

I think it's a completely fundamental part of queerness to see yourself as other. And to experience this otherness between yourself and the thing you desire. I always feel like there is this gang of cool older fags. The ones in real life I'm thinking of aren't even older. I'm in a gang too, I guess. I'm always in gangs.

Anyways. I'm gonna go work on art projects and get filmed.

Bye, lover


Everything is exactly the same. There is a really scary ease with which I can deduce this. It's as if everything is exactly the same volume. All instruments playing all of the notes at exactly the same time. Give me a beat. A din to rise above.

Blood and spit and sweat. And dirt. Every temperature at the same time. I'm trying to have a feeling that's not the same as every other one. It's not working. You work really hard and then you get what you want. Or, you don't get it. Or nothing happens. Or something really awful happens. It's the same. I don't know.

I have the desire to apologize, but I didn't do anything wrong. I just want to avoid conflict. To quit everything. I don't want to succeed I don't want to change anybody's mind I don't want to convince anyone of anything. I want to bow out. I want to get into a hole somewhere I don't want to talk to anyone about it. Give me a movie.


One of these mornings, bright and fair. Hitch on my wings I'm gonna try the air.

Even last night I felt like something was going on. People on the train acting funny. Drunker than normal yuppies crawling around my neighborhood at night screaming at each other. I stayed in, cooked rice and beans and did laundry and listened to records.

I felt then and feel now a real sense of uncertainty. Something is going to happen. I don't know. Tonight I'm trying to structure my evening to be as secretive and powerful as possible. I am having a hard time getting my way. I want things to happen in a certain order and I feel really beholden to everyone else. I want to work in service to my own feelings. Lady Kier has a song that says "If I don't blow my horn, then who will?"

I found out that last night, my friend Spencer died. He was 21, I think. He was about to graduate from college, and I had been looking forward to him moving to the city. He was incredibly sweet, sensitive, and intelligent. I'm very surprised, although I know he had been spending quite a bit of time in the hospital, being treated for heart problems. He once told Bobo that he liked me, and whenever I made or did or was thinking about making or doing a new thing, I always ran it by Spencer. I felt really understood and really heard by him, and always wanted to hear and see more of him. His bands, when I had the good fortune of catching them, were always excellent. He made me a really great mix CD which I listen to a lot. I don't know how I feel. Awful, I guess.

Tonight I'm going to go to the gym and eat something and put on War Water and Florida Water and hope for the best.


Mad Destroyer

The part of that Tracy + the Plastics song "Destroyer" when Wynne screams "Why don't you CALL?!"

I hate this part. I've done this so many times that I decided not to do it anymore. It's like being double-jointed when you're eleven (which I was). It's a neat trick, but you do it so often and so easily that it stops even being special. Eventually it starts to hurt. You grow new cartilage around your trick, this special flexibility.

Okay I am dropping the metaphor. I don't really mean "the trick" as in being double-jointed. I've had a lot of caffeine and no attention span. I mean "the trick" as in: waiting for some guy to call. I'm done doing this. I don't like myself when I'm impatient. It's not fun and no one wants to hear about it.

Made slightly more complicated because of my circumstances. Tonight I'm going to clean my room, I guess. Do some laundry. Think productive thoughts. Listen to the Melvins and write love stories about monsters and Not Wait Around (or not appear to be waiting around).

Big Candy. Hot Air. It shouldn't have to be like this. Dog City.

Raised by Hippies

That 1970s book about sex was always lying around. The Joy Of Fucking or whatever.


I've another good one for you. We are turning cursive letters into knives.

I am feeling quiet. I want to do everything in the most calm and efficient way possible. I feel like I'm visiting a sick person. I am keeping my voice down out of respect. I like this tactic: I am taking care of myself and addressing how bad I feel before I even feel it.

Last night was a full moon. My horoscope said that yesterday, sex and connection with other people would be really important. If that wasn't possible, then I was to find that creative endeavors fulfilled me. As it happened, my date was canceled. I left work weepy. I sometimes get so overwhelmed with how ill-equipped I am to do anything. I can't even fail without failing. I'm bad at doing the wrong thing. I can't even fuck everything up the right way. Went to the gym and really did run at 8 miles an hour. I didn't even feel it. I have decided not to smoke and to do everything in my power not to gain weight. Enter the dragon. I am turning my knives inwards onto myself. Again? Let's not go there in the blog. (I've been to this house before, I used to live here. Look where I slept.)

Listening to a lot of Antioch Arrow. That kind of west coast post-hardcore weirdness. When I was in high school I called it 'eyeliner-core'. Get Hustle, Love Life, MeMe America, Glass Candy & the Shattered Theatre, Subtonix, Tracy + the Plastics, those Miranda July records, Erase Errata, the Need, the last Mocket record. Veronica Lipgloss and the Evil Eyes, the Judy Experience, Sharon Cheslow. All those bands that listened to the Birthday Party and drank cold coffee in foggy weather. Pacific Sounds.

This might be my favorite genre of music. I guess it's not a really a genre, actually. But so many of the things (and people) I really like are imaginary anyway.

After the gym I realized that the whole 'human connection' / ' sex' thing wasn't going to happen, not last night anyway. Almost certainly for the best. I ate dinner without any of the lights on and watched an old episode of Beverly Hills 90210, in which Brenda gets caught shoplifting even though she technically didn't take anything. It really depressed me. I played the cello for a while. Started writing a new song, but there's nothing to say. I've become a better singer in the last six years, which is pretty exciting. Killed two huge cockroaches in my room and complained to my room mates about not going out on my date.

Eventually got some nerve and called Tommy. We went to the bar, where I drank vodka + soda. I was very quiet and thoughtful and I felt really wonderful.

Today things are looking as if they might get easier. My horoscopes today all say the same thing, which is that if I act happy and capable then I will be. This seems callous to me, but it's worth a shot. I am conducting myself coolly, calmly. 40 hours since my last cigarette.

I passed Anderson Cooper on the street this afternoon. And, really, if I was looking for something to make my day, I couldn't have asked for anything better.


More If Metic

I feel really anxious. Mercury turns direct tomorrow, but will still cast a "shadow" for a few days, managing to make things generally difficult. Everything today had been exceedingly difficult. And all of the difficult parts have had to be repeated. I am in the midst of constant negotiations.

Are things really so hard? How hard is abundance? The excessive? I feel like, all of a sudden, I have too much attention and the wrong kind. Coming from the wrong people, at the wrong times. A big part of my (day) job is to answer the phone. Bobo and I find this hilarious, since anyone who's ever called me knows how easily frazzled I am by people making contact with me.

I feel like I really want things to be different. Is it wrong, I wonder, to tell someone "I know you have a boyfriend. I know you are in love and you should be, but I think you're so great. I hope your boyfriend is nice to you." That is well beyond boundaries, right? That's tacky. Though, when I have a boyfriend and people say that kind of thing to me, it makes me really happy. I shouldn't use myself as an example though.

This is hard. This hurts, right now. Okay.

I'm gonna go run really really really fast. Maybe 8 miles an hour. That's very fast, for me.
I want to quit smoking cigarettes.

To all things. I dedicate this song to everything.


Ease, Lover

-- Your handshake. It's strong.

-- Is he your date? Are you guys on a date? I just wanna know-- is he your boyfriend?

-- I wish I could text the whole world.

When does the exception become a rule? I'm trying, actually, to be good. And I think it's working. My confidence is ununderminable some days.

(This is so funny, guys. As I type this, that my confidence is impossible to undermine, someone sends me a text message to say something nasty. I have to decide right this second whether or not I'm going to Let This Ruin My Day. Guess what I'm deciding?)

This is not such a simple matter, kids. I'm not, like, getting what I want all the time without having to work for it, and then looking a gift horse in the mouth and complaining about it. That's funny, but it is also not the truth. I really wonder about people who begrudge others their happiness. This is telling.

Whatever. Fuck this. It's Sunday and I'm feeling good, and hungover. And I hate to be a bitch about it, but it just serves to emphasize the distance I'm crossing: I'm going to eat some melon and drink some coffee and go on a date.


Never holding back

Tonight I'm gonna hang out with Lazarus and Jiddy. Movie night. After much searching and perusal of YouTube clips, I finally own my own VHS copy of the Holy Grail of Grace Jones Fandom: A One Man Show. I may force everyone to watch it with me tonight. Tonight, much as I would like to go see Lady Gaga perform at Sugarland, I think I'm going to stay in and be quiet. Well-behaved.

My favorite webzine East Vllage Boys has put up another installment of my writing. This time it's my story "Our Job Is To Quit", from the first issue of Scorcher. It has wonderful illustrations and I would like you to go look at it here.

I have a photo shoot early tomorrow morning for
Dan's new play. Then, there's a reading for BirdSong #3, I'll be reading from the very first issue of Scorcher, which came out in the summer of 2006. Please come:

Birdsong Reading
@ Stain Bar

766 Grand St. (@ Humboldt),
Brooklyn, FREE, 8 PM

Come celebrate the release of the new issue with readers Tatyana Kagamas, B. Kite, Katie Naoum, Roy Perez, Marcus M. Silverman, Geoff Trenchard, Lauren Wilkinson, Max Steele and Tommy Pico. L train to the Grand stop and walk one block west to Humbolt. StainBar is at the corner with the giant neon red "O" sign in the window. 12 minutes from Union Square. Be there! I am going to read a piece called "OUR JOB IS TO QUIT", from the first issue of my zine, Scorcher. It has been the single most effective / successful thing I've ever written and I've never "performed" it before. Please join me.

Then I'm hustling like a maniac to the Lower East Side, where I'm going to perform a real "set" with my band, Max Steele & the Party Ice.

@ the Cake Shop

152 Ludlow St. $8 11 PM

Bands: FREE BLOOD (mems. of !!!), MKNG FRNDZ (feat. Tami Hart) & MAX STEELE & THE PARTY ICE.Resident DJs Go-Karff, Sir Loins + A.Martini! Rock N Roll Gogo Boys! Free Booze, 11pm-12am! $5 Beer + Shot All Nite! $1 Beer 2-3am! I'm the resident go-go boy for Queers Beers and Rears (QxBxRx), but the fabulous hosts have asked me to play a set this time, opening for TAMI HART.

I feel just slightly 'off', like I'm just barely missing the mark. How to put it. There is a small but painful distance between what I am doing and what I want to be. I party just down the street from the parties I really want to go to. I have such trouble naming the thing I really want, telling the guy I like that i like him. I feel like such a brat. I can see what I want and it keeps elluding me. I need to get over the last hurdle. I was talking about this in therapy: I need to forgive myself. It's okay to want the things I want and to want them in the way I want them. I don't need to fault myself. I used to be so much more well-adjusted, a year ago. I was a much happier, much cooler person. I began an intense career of sabotaging myself and not letting myself have things I really wanted. I acted like I was sick and then (surprise) it started working. I won't get into it.

Suffice it to say: I'ma get my groove back.

I'm working on the new zine. I'm writing a story about working at a fashion party, fucking the guests. The guy from that night, he was insistent. He wanted me to smoke grass while he blew me. Talked about my body like I wasn't even there. The first line of the story is: "He says he can't believe he went home with a model. (I'm not really a model)." And I'm excited to share it with all of you.

Okay girls, let's get to work.



And it's only 11:00am!

- I love Iggy Pop. Listening to him on the train every morning is great, it really energizes me. Every morning it occurs to me every morning in the same surprised way that: a) Iggy Pop has always been a sexy fox, and b) he's actually such a good singer.

- "Get ready to start getting snooped on!"

- My horoscope for today is titled / themed: Buoyant Optimism. That's totally crazy.

- "God that girl is wearing the ugliest dress I have ever seen. Does she think that it's 'silly' and 'random' and cute? It's awful." (To a lady wearing a brown skirt with a black vinyl appliqué pattern in the shape of weird art deco coffee beans. It looked like she made it out of one of the lampshades at Sarbucks).

- I like all that Paisley Underground stuff. It's like, LA Hipsters who tried to deny that Punk had ever happened. Totally weird.

- "I like big orchestrated dancing, always. That trumps my neoliberal sensitivites".

- If you go looking for trouble you're always going to find it.


And she knows how to use them.

Some of the things that contribute to my material happiness


One of these mornings, bright and fair, hitch on my wings I'm gonna try the air

Bobo took this photo of me over the summer (when I still had access to my roof). This is the face I make most of the time. Some people think I look mean, like I'm really snobby, so they never become friends with me. Other people find this attractive, want to wake up next to this face. Go figure. I feel like my heart is too soft. I feel sorry for people that I have no rational sympathy for. I ache to correct the grammar of an insult. That's my problem, really, I'm Too Nice. Maybe that's not true, I'm not too nice. I just feel too much. Sounds much better, doesn't it?

Got tickets to the opera last week, with a date. My lovely friend Lola got us comps for the 11th row or something. Incredible. We went to see Salome. At first, I thought this would be romantic: dance of the seven veils, seduction, etc. Forgot that the second half of the play is Salome making out with a decapitated head. I had nothing to wear to the opera, so my resourceful and stylish date officially lent me samples from the designer he works for. I felt very glamorous and we went out for gazpacho afterward.

Went to a dance party for the New Yorker Festival on Friday night at Hiro Ballroom, with the impossibly glamorous Trannibals gang. (Am I the only one who likes that name? We can choose a new name). We got there early so that we could start drinking early. The ever-glamorous Lauren and I approached the surly bartender and ordered two Long Island Iced Teas. We are busy girls. Bartender rolled his eyes, said "No" and walked away. We waited for himt o come back to us and repeated our order.

"Actually, it's our policy not to serve Long Island Iced Teas." He said.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody needs four types of liquor."

"Okay. Then just give us three types." This seemed like a reasonable offer. He declined. Lauren and I wondered if bartender had been able to somehow divine that that I had two vodka tonics before we got on the train, that we had been drinking tequila in the line outside, or that we had brought in a flask with us. We ordered vodka gimlets with no ice. Thank you. Danced my little butt off, made out for a bit (she never stops). They were serviung free pizza at the New Yorker Dance Party, for the revelers. Mildly offensive, but then again everything offends me these days.

Saturday I had a vicious hangover, surprise. Cleaned like a maniac went to the gym cooked plantains for lunch dropped acid and went to see Stereolab walked around making fun of people's outfits in the LES retreated to Queens to eat candy. Sunday met up with Joanna and felt like a zombie.

I feel really pulled in a bunch of directions at once. Uneasy with the messes I'm making for myself. I wish I was tidier. Like physically: I wish I ate better and cleaned my room. But also psychically: I wish I finished one conversation before starting another. I complain loudly and often that people don't like me / think I'm cute / want to sleep with me / take me or my fucked up "feelings" seriously. I do too much, but none of it is measurable. It's hard to put: I'm working really hard but I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't show. It takes tremendous strength, like a rubber band, to hold things together.

I feel like that today: like a ball of rubber bands. Bouncy, taut, and a pretty fucking useless hobby. Leave me in your desk, please.

I just wish I had time to do things that make me feel better. Cook, go to the gym or yoga or something, spend actual leisure time with my friends without being on a fucking schedule 24 hours a day. Hopefully these things will come along soon. I slept for 11 hours last night, that seems like a good start.



I don't know a great deal about Tropicalia, but I love Gal Costa a lot. Her first self-titled record is a wonderful, though the second one (the "psychedelic" one) is pretty great, too. Her live record "Fa-Tal", is maybe one of my favorite records ever, even though I don't speak Portugese. I'm in no mood to describe her musical style, political affiliations or whatever. The point is: this is how amazing she looks.

Comment on time-travel

I am only hungry if I starve myself. If I get stoned or something. I have to trick myself into thinking that my stomach is empty. Count five hours since lunch. I used to be insatiable and now everything seems like too much. Find I've had my fill and the waitress has only brought us water. Realize myself nauseous and your friends are still setting the table.

And I'm forcing it down.

I wonder about permanency. They say there's no guidebook for this, that it takes time. But it doesn't, your friends are wrong. It's not a process and it doesn't get easier. It gets harder, then it becomes unbearable then it stops. And that's it. I'm pressing my face to the wall of your bedroom and listening. Shouldn't this be different? I mean, shouldn't it change sometime? Holding a stethoscope. I am doubting the tools we use to measure it, cause I'm listening and I'm waiting to hear a heartbeat and I just don't.