Swans' The Great Annihilator is maybe my favorite record in the whole world. It was the first Swans record I got. It's totally their poppiest, 'for beginners' record, but so perfect. It kind of ties together the myriad of themes and threads they had been working with up to that point. It closes the chapter on their "Rabbit Years", setting the stage for Soundtracks for the Blind, their final masterwork. Something about this song I've always loved. And that something is, duh, Jarboe. Jarboe might be my favorite singer in the world. I say this a lot. The end of the song is the best part.
I Love Everyone. I Love Everyone.I Love Everyone.I Love Everyone.
Such a positive message, but it sounds so sinister.
A long time ago I was working with this producer on music. Nothing ever came of it, for a number of reasons. I still want people to work with on music projects (meaning, producers who will make tracks I can sing over), but one of the big things was writing songs. Like, on my end. Writing lyrics and melodies. I had been working on a song, and maybe I should keep working on it, that seems to keep coming back to me. Or seems to keep being important to my thinking, this concept of: JEALOUS OF YOURSELF. Is it possible to be? I think so. Is it nicer or is it meaner, more selfish? I go back and forth. I'm all for eating meat as long as we start with human meat and as long as we start with me getting to eat myself. Can you imagine?
I feel so fascinated by this idea of pursuing masturbation to it's logical conclusion. Which is not suicide, but instead, cannibalism. I do feel jealous of myself, and jealous of other people too! I wish I was playing more shows. I wish I was doing what I see so many other people doing. But at the same time that's not really true. I don't actually wanna be someone else. I think I want something. Maybe I don't really want it. This is confusing.
Excited for this weekend. I'm working a lot on ENCOURAGER. I think it'll be kind of a shit-show, I think some people will really hate it. I think a lot of people won't be able to come or won't bother. And that is okay. I have to believe that a few people who do come will get something from it. And, as with cannibalism or the legendary Ouroboros, the snake who can suck his own dick, I need to start with myself. You have to make a life that you think is worth living, first.
Tonight I'm going to see Laurie Weeks read at the Bureau of General Services Queer Division. I'm so excited. Zippermouth was one of my absolute favorite things of 2012. I was going to do a highlight of 2012, but 2012 was sort of excruciating for me. And anyway, all the cool performances, fun records, wonderful books, thought-provoking art, none of it matters much. Everything last year pales. There's only one thing that I was happy about for 2012, and it came very slowly. Number One Thing That Happened 2012: my friend who had a terrible accident in January of last year made a totally fucking miraculous recovery. That's it. Goodbye 2012. I feel grateful.
It's raining and I don't know what to wear tonight. I want to go out drinking and dancing after the reading. So funny that I often forget to eat, or put it so low on my list of things to do. Some things feel so unimportant. Treating yourself normally, with consideration among them. Like, I'll totally spend exorbitant amounts of money on overdyed black polyester Comme des Garçons clothing, but taking 15 minutes to feed myself a $1 slice of pizza feels extraneous. I have some writing projects I should be doing and I'm way behind on.
Things used to bring me joy and they don't anymore. I sometimes wonder if I really am an artist. If I'm not performing, am I a performer? If I'm not writing, am I a writer? What's so great about being a thing, anyway. But so anyways sometimes I think I am not interested in writing, or it doesn't bring my any joy, or I have nothing to say. And no way to say it. And I think that anyone who liked Scorcher only liked it because it was dirty and they want to be dirty. But that's not really true.
Because sometimes. After keeping your heart in a bucket of ice for a year, it does hurt. Of course it hurts, it hurts to stop being numb. But when you take your heart out of a bucket of ice after a year and it comes back to life and you're okay with the hurting part (which is a lot easier said than done), things start to happen. I thought I would never have another idea and then this week I was at the gym, and whole avenues started opening up for me, in my head. It became clear that there was a way forward, a way of continuing Scorcher, in a new direction, with integrity and intensity. it might not be great or even very good. It might not be anything that anybody ever sees. But I'll know. I know.