The Boy Is A Bird

Friday night I went to the opening for Ves Pitt's new exhibition at the Christopher Henry Gallery. The show featured larger than life size portraits of really gorgeous freaky performance folks. Dynasty Handbag, Pixie Harlots. An iconic image of La JohnJoseph sat directly across the room from a portrait of moi. Then ran over to the La Mama Gallery where I saw Matt, Marina, Alan, and Ginger at the Duck Soup opening.

Got home and met up with Jiddy and her fabulous entourage. We lounged around my apartment listening to (what else?) Grace Jones, drinking sake and smoking, picking out outfits. Once we had settled all the details (dance moves, outfit changes, directions) we all hopped in a car to GlassLands Gallery for our performance at the Secret Faggot Party. The show was so much fun! The other acts were really great, especially House of Ladosha. We got some positive feedback and saw lots of gorgeous freaky queers, new friends and old. Met my penpal / new best friend Daniel, he got groovy with Hunter and Jiddy and I in an alleyway. Jiddy wore her party outfit (lace stockings and acid-washed denim short-shorts, honey) even though it was fucking arctic. Drank two glasses of white wine and found myself drunk. Ran into an old friend whom I thought I'd had a falling out with. Turns out to have been a big misunderstanding and now we're friends again. Don't you just love when that happens? Left the show in an amorous hurry. Forgot to ask for my payment. Showbiz!

Saturday woke up early to a celestial hangover. Made breakfast of toast avocado and sausage (it's important that you know that I eat enough Omega-3 fatty acids, I want you know that my brain is functioning). Hustled over to the Tim Hamilton sample sale, where I got some really nice clothes. I decided I don't want to talk about clothes any more right now. Anyways, I look cute. Came home to meet potential room mates, though no real leads just yet. Bobo and I watched most of Wall-E. The hype is real, I admit it.

Slept, ate, debated, and then decided to go out Saturday night. Drank Long Island Iced Teas danced a very little bit. Listened to girl rock, very loud, and very late. You know that genre Foxcore? Sort of like that, I guess. The phrase "secretly butch" is of import, I think.

Sunday we got a couch and a living room coffee table. I am trying to focus on the positive. There're some things to think about, I guess. Still looking for a room mate. Worried

I've got some things I'd like to talk about. Some experiences I'd like to use as ideas. For the zine, y'know. For some song I'm working on, for this new piece I've been thinking about. Really, I talk like I have this creative life in my head because when I see other people do it, it seems appealing. What's the word? Pose. In California when I was in high school (I was a punk rocker, a riot boi) being a poseur was the worst thing you could be. Now in New York, posing is considered quite successful. That's all good and fine, I guess. I live on a grid, so do you.

This could feel good.

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