Whn I met him in high school, Antlers was Bi. He was at least a year older than us in school and he was Bi. And he had a nose piercing and blue hair and he may have even been straight when I met him. Tall like me, quiet. Outside of the Gilman. (Nobody called it "The Gilman", I'm calling it that now to make fun of those suburban kids too out of it to know). We'd be sipping pints of Georgi vodka mixed with kool-aid in a parking lot down the street from the punk club, having convincd one of the punk dyke roadies to buy us some booze in exchange for weed or something. I remember Antlers wearing a Marilyn Manson t-shirt but I could be wrong. Conflating details. The point is: he went off to college before the rest of us, though we were already out as queer. I remember Antlers earning this nickname (from me) when he sent me a copy of his zine, The Stag Book. It was and remains maybe the Best Zine I've Ever Seen, Ever, In The Whole World. It was about coming out as queer and coming out as cervidae and ever since then the two have been linked in my imagination. No other description of deer comes close. Deer = community. Deer = plural possibilities. Deer does not mean lonely, infuriated, bad. Deer = the natural beauty of the future as it unfolds for only you to see. Maybe I'll scan Stag Book. You guys would love it.
Found out that the Moon is moving away from the Earth. I don't know how everyone else has known this. Have I known this and forgotten it? Why? This revelation horrified and scared and depressed me. Mom, as it turns out, is always leaving. Mom is perpetually leaving. All of human existence has transpired in the backdrop of this, the primary tragedy of terrestrial life. BUT THEN I THINK: is the fact that Mom / The Moon is always disappearing the tragedy? Or is human consciousness, the way we attached pain to this realization, maybe is that the tragic part? So that was what I thought about on Saturday morning and then I decided to stop thinking about what is or is not tragic. Gimme a break. Right? Right.
My choices for Glamour. A Sneer, Mary Timony, Vintage Sunglasses and CdG's 'Garage'. I dunno, people. I feel both really good and kind of sore from the weekend. I had a blast, I mean, too. But I am constantly surprised by the depth, speed and seeming randomness of my feelings. I guess that's how I want to couch this. There's this old Anaïs Nin quote to the effect of "how to defeat this tragedy... which springs at us from an old dress? Make Literature." Oh I'm butchering it and now I have to look it up but the point is, I think, in thinking about Things That Bum Me Out: a) it's okay to be bummed out sometimes, don't let anybody say it's not, and b) when you're bummed out sometimes it helps to make 'art' about it. Sometimes it helps to find a way to say it. And if you feel like you've already said it (and I feel like I have ALREADY SAID ABOUT the thing bumming me out), then finding a new way to say a feeling can be an invigorating, interesting, if not vital, project. So try that, Billy! OK. Will do.
On Saturday night, I was lucky enough to be one of the guests on Vaginal Davis is Speaking from the Diaphragm at PS122. This was such a fucking honor. Ms. Vaginal Davis of course a living legend. If you're reading this then you are probably already aware of this, but a great deal of what constitutes my reality (as well as yours probably) is owed at least in some part to Vaginal Davis' varied body of work, philosophies, aesthetics, and legacy. Her Legacy is Permission. Her Legacy is Queer Punk. Her Legacy is Real. I could go on and on and on, but the best place to begin your Vaginal Davis studies is probably on her Wonderful Blog. So that was a real highlight. Hung out with the witches. Got groovy. Got some sun times. Ate some delicious morsels. I read Erica Jong's Fanny before bed (determined to finish it before I move onto a new book) and then I slept, heavily, dreaming of Pyrate Escapades.
I think it's important to tell people in your life (even / especially people you may not already be close with, maybe even people online whom you do not know or do not know very well) how much they mean to you. I want to be in the habit, as an ever-widening community, of consantly supporting reaffirming and accounting for each other. To say as many nice things, at least, as the amount of shit that gets talked. SO thank you for reading this. Next time I see you in real life I'll give you a high five.