10/1/13

Power Drinking

My parents went back to California this morning and I've been on the verge of tears all day. I don't know, I really miss them! It's weird, when I go to visit them at home, I'm usually sullen and angry and feel frustrated and am too stressed out to enjoy their company in the same way. But they never come to New York, and we had so much fun together. They like to party, though. Jeez. I had such a fantastic visit with them. I'm very sad to see them go. I want to book my trip home to California for Christmas right away so I know when I'll see them next.

ENCOURAGER at LaMaMa went pretty well, I think. My friends came, some people who I did not personally force to came attended, and my parents came. I was happy with the turnout and the final version I'm working with now. The actual content of the show (as such) didn't change, but the acting choices did. I think that made it better. Two people told me they cried during the show. I feels at one deeply edified to hear that, since it was in a way my intent, and deeply, deeply ashamed for making people sad. Not even sad. I want there to be a way to have a poignant experience of that show. I want people to be able to really hear me when I say: "The things that make you you don't exist, really." Because they don't. That's not a dig.



So much of making art is for me a thing of trying to find a way to have a conversation I couldn't have in my real life.

Also: futility! What a nice concept. Without putting too fine a point on it; my best days are behind me, there's probably no payoff in writing here. Or in reading anything here. Or in reading anything anywhere else. I sometimes think about this thing of wasted potential. Who doesn't think they've wasted their life? They're kidding themselves.

Reading this interview in an internationally renowned art magazine with an artist who's younger and much more accomplished than I am. I feel a pang of jealousy. I feel like my veins are full of fire. I see people I'd like to be friends with (they're cool and smart and seem popular and have pretty solid opinions about the world) and they all know each other and don't want to be friends with me. I feel a hot rush of shame. I'm savvy, really, enough to know that it's not about them. It's not about me not getting what I "deserve". No one gets what they deserve. I just wish I could more reliably take comfort and inspiration in what's actually going on, rather than constantly seeing someone else and wishing I was them. Do you all know that Gina Birch record, The Hangovers? It's so good. Really depressing and amazing. My favorite song is "I'm Glad I'm Me Today". But you can tell she doesn't really believe it. Who could? It's an impossible position, but not one that's not worth trying to work yourself into.

So I did the La MaMa show and my parents came. I'm going to bleach my hair. I'm going to write one story for a collection and then finish the new Scorcher and then work on the new show, tentatively codenamed M! It'll be a little bir easier to digest but still dark. I may never get written about by another magazine. My heros might not know me. I might disappear and become nothing. Let's not rush things.

I knew a boy once who wanted to disappear, who wanted to (sometimes) be invisible. I am writing a song for him which he will not be able to hear, about how you can't just disappear. It's not that easy. You can't just wish, and if you think you can just want something bad enough, then you're wrong. A love song to someone who you think is wrong. Why hadn't anyone thought of this before?

Was thinking about this cool article on Kate Berlant. I've only seen her perform once before, I think B0DYH1GH opened for her at Max Bernstein's Apocalypse WOW event. She was great! I'm really inspired by this article. The idea of performing expertise, right? Drawing from academic performance, acting like a professor or a TED talker. I guess the difference between Kate Berlant and me is that I'm not funny and not trying to be, and she embraces the possibilities of comedy. I'm really excited by the way that the landscape here seems to allow for new expressions. I don't mean the downtown theater world or comedy as such, but like, the permission you give yourself (which I imagine Berlant feels?) to let certain types of things happen. Just nominally allowing for something to be possible, then for it to be the exactly perfect thing. I don't know about that headline though. Maybe this is my own damage-- I don't want to be fake. I want to be real. To really be nothing.

No comments: