Emotional Socialism

Woke up this morning humming the Misfits' 'We Are 138'. In high school all of my punk friends liked the Misfits, and I didn't. I had to sort of go along with it, cause I wanted everyone to think I was cool. There was this pretty infamous Misfits cover band from my town, I remember seeing them at 924 Gilman Street like a million times. And I mean, I liked it alright, I guess. I just didn't get it. Then in college I spent a lot of time alone in my dorm room smoking cigarettes. Now I get it.

Had a nice, busy weekend. Friday I performed at Dixon Place. A good crowd, a fun time. I was amazed at myself for having made it through the day. Spent the night in the city, romantic rendezvous. Saturday I met up with Pico and Bobo and Roy in McCarren park and ate ice cream and watched people. The play on Saturday night was even better than Friday, I thought.

After the show, took a taxi over to Glasslands to perform at Earl Dax's Judy vs Bootie party. I don't want to sound like a brat, but it's really nice to play the coolest thing happening. There's this dual vibe of, like, DiY punk kids making parties happen combined with the feeling that you actually are at the PLACE TO BE. It was a wonderful feeling. My lovely costar Cole came in the cab with me and danced and sang back-up on my song 'INTIMIDATION'. Did a fabulous job. I danced my ass off. I had two count them two vodka drinks and one small glass of red wine and I have the constitution of an infant (in more ways than one) so I was fucking wasted. Sister Pico had to practically carry me home. And by 'home' I mean the pizza place.

Sunday began on my roof, singing 'Up On The Roof', with Bobo. We talked about all the good old times we've spent up on that roof, staring at birds and thinking deep thoughts. I am so glad we rediscovered our roof access. I've had some significant moments of the last few years up there. Last summer's birthday party, especially. Drunken fags tumbling all over everything. A real highlight. I remember making out on the roof one afternoon. I remember Paps and Mickey Pussy coming over to drink 40s on the roof with me at sunset, that was nice. Bobo and I went shopping and I was exhausted. I cooked dinner, watched a Cheech and Chong movie until it bored me. I went to bed really early because I wanted to wake up at six am and go to the gym before work. As is always the case I didn't do that, I just woke up and turned back around and got into bed. No strength, no follow-through.

That's a good idea for a tattoo: NO STRENGTH. GO LIMP. I feel like flexibility is the most important thing. Resilient. I feel this morning like an emotional socialist. I want every experience to be reciprocal, general, shared and equal. I want everything all lines up and even and I want everyone to have the exact same amount of everything. I wonder if this is me wanting to control a situation. Doubtful.

Here is a morbid analogy of how I feel: I thought that when you took my skin off that I would die. I thought it would kill me, that all of my nerves would be visible, that I would die of exposure. I spent a long time trying to prove that I was dead, I told everybody I was dying, but I couldn't even die right. Can't die the right way, not die all the way. Can't just drop it and let it die, you know? Fingernails clawing out the cemetery DON'T FORGET I'M HERE and then again DON'T FORGET I'M HERE BECAUSE YOU KILLED ME, RIPPED MY SKIN OFF.

But again; I couldn't die. I would just wait for my skin to grow back, scabby and ugly all over. I was excited to be a monster for you. You know, the passive, heartbroken kind of monster that says "You Made Me This Way". Oh boo-hoo. Oh Corin Tucker singing "I'm your monster I'm just like you / I'm no monster I'm not like you".

Anyways I didn't die and it didn't make me grow tough ugly skin either. When you tried to kill me by taking off my skin it just made me slick. What didn't destroy me like a bomb has made me fast, slippery, difficult to hold down. And I can't go around trying to prove that. I just know now that there's no friction and it is scary.

Dreamed this weekend about meeting the President. He took off his glove to shake my hand and stare into my eyes meaningfully. I dreamed this dream half of the weekend.

The other half, I dreamed about Maria Callas.

1 comment:

georgiarose said...

roof sitting is better than most things