A week of sick. A week of injury. Week of blood. A week of ooze. Of dripping. Seeping, crusting. Explosions, gushing. A week of geysers. A week of Old Faithful. Week of oil well. Like in the Wizard of Oz, when the Tin Man is whining. I want knuckle tattoos that say O I L C A N.

A week of fever. A week of swelling. Of sweat. A week of white blood cells. Some shivering, a bit of tenderness, periods of exhaustion. Momentary failures. I wonder: is it because of the eclipse? A week of ointments.

I want to make the gay idiot version of shibuya-kei. I want to make the gay idiot version of bossa nova. Those might be next. I want to disappear into something I love, but I know it can't ever all the way happen. Gay ye-ye. Y'know? It's also about modernity, how 1960s modernism seems so old now, and to me, so idealistic. Even and especially the cynical, the cool, the "hip". The thrill of the "new". I see it as optimism.

Will this get better? Will it infect my bloodstream. Will it be drug resistant. Will this kill me. I do think I'll be perfectly ok though. But I am supremely uncomfortable. The other night I couldn't sleep. Isn't that bad, when the pain wakes you up? That's when you know to call the doctor. I already went to the doctor. I'm just waiting for the antibiotics to kick in. The treatment. I told the doctor at the clinic that my lymph nodes hurt and he told me that they're draining the infection, they're full of white blood cells. They're just doing their job. Is it bad, always, when pain wakes you up? Not always. It's better than when the pain puts you to sleep.

That's the thing about being sick. When you're sick, you start to notice other sick people. Then you can't stop noticing. You're part of a community of sick people, a secret underworld society. And some of us are crazy and some of us aren't. Some of us are just passing through. Well, we're all passing through. The community of sick people is like a hospital or a fast food restaurant-- it's not exactly there to be comfortable. Being comfortable isn't part of it. You're all passing through. Either you become a well person again or you don't, in which case you spend the rest of your life sick. In which case you die. But you're not alone! My mom once told me that's what being pregnant is like; you start to notice other pregnant people. They seem to be everywhere. That's what it was like when I quit smoking, it was like everyone was either a smoker or had quit and I was trying to suss out everyone's feelings about tobacco. I talked to everyone about it.

My ankle hurts, too. I think I somehow re-sprained it? From not wearing the brace all weekend? Friday night I went to see Melanie Jones' show at BAX. It was the first show of the BAX AIR season, and I was totally blown away. It was so fantastic and intense and smart and patient and just... really wonderful. I've honestly never seen anything like it, in terms of how intense and personal and freaked-out it was. I have never seen anyone go there like that and stay there along enough to even make it a thing. It was really masterful writing and acting and performing and thinking and yeah. Totally impressed. I'm still kind of dumbfounded.

After the show I went to Ryan's going away party. He's moving to LA. At the party we ran into our old college chum Ari who is ALSO moving to LA. Everyone is moving to LA. Because of the winter, I suppose. But jeez. We had a good time catching up and gossiping with Bennet and so many boys from Williamsburg, the extended network of Ryan's friends. So sad that he's leaving, we're losing a good one. I did not feel good when I went home Friday night, I felt real bad actually.

Saturday I went to the gym (my ankle felt better, then), and then I had brunch at Caroline and Jessi's house, which was lovely. I felt kind of out of it from sick, but we had a great time. C made waffles and I had a beer for brunch and we talked about upcoming projects and meditation and hanging out. It's so funny to me that we were internet friends from message boards 15 years ago. And now we live in New York and hang out. I'm always so blown away by how much funny stuff life contains. And the world is so big.

I went home after brunch and laid with an ice pack on my neck, feeling very poor. I eventually scraped myself together. Looking back on it I felt really bad, actually. Just putting a pin in that. I went to dinner and then I bummed around in a daze, leaving flyers for MAPPLETHORPE at bars. I got a drink by myself at the Metropolitan and sat in the back and chainsmoked, drafting this post. I was killing time. Eventually I went to Bradley's party, where I met Max B. CoCo was also there, and she had (as Max B. sagely pointed out) the best lines of the night. At one point someone was talking about drinking, our favorite types of alcohol to drink, and this guy was saying how his sister and her friends took him to the Hamptons and they brought a cooler full of prosecco and how bad of a hangover he had. Coco said: "Oh, of course! It's the only way to do the Hamptons." I'm trying to remember the rest but I can't. She was great, Bradley's great, they're all great. His room mate was nice and his friends were nice. They were really into dancing. I love a house party where you're dancing and sometimes with the lights on. They had a great DJ and when he played "Drunk in Love" the kids (the babies, the babes) went wild. I mean just W-I-L-D. Everybody screaming the lyrics along to the record. I love Beyoncé and I love her fans as well. And they love me. That's another secret underground society, right? The Beyhive?

I sneaked out of the party and stopped by GAG! at Metro. Did y'all know it's the 10 year anniversary of GAG later this month? How nuts is that. I remember going to the 3 year anniversary and thinking that it was such a big huge deal (it was) and so sophisticated and cosmopolitan. I don't know what I'm gonna do for the 10 year. I hope I'm healed by then.

Sunday I felt not better and not worse. I went to rehearse MAPPLETHORPE at BAX. I'm worried about the show. I'm excited about the show! It's a cabaret, and it's scripted, but it's like. It's a hard script for me to act, in a way. It looks natural but the logic of the character isn't my logic, it's made-up, so it's counterintuitive. But I'm looking forward to the show. And I hope you can come.

After rehearsal I came home and did my chores and got ready and went to go celebrate Lola's Dirty 30 Birthday Party at a local speakeasy. There was a photographer from a magazine there covering the speakeasy, she took a lot of flash photos, it was unnerving. The bartenders made expensive and very strong drinks and they wore vests. Our friends all came, Lola looked beautiful. I met some of her friends from graduate school. Her lil sister, who is now movie mogul (do y'all remember my short story CASINO? Cuz...) was there and she brought fancy donuts instead of cake (she asked what Lola wanted). We sang happy birthday and she blew out candles and we ate donuts. And then I came home and ordered take-out and watched this movie about communist Romania, Amintiri din epoca de aur.

Monday I was sick, I was worse. I started taking new antibiotics. My ankle hurt more, somehow. Like it got worse? It was getting better and then it got worse. It's very swollen and weak. It feels like my tendons are tangled up. It was a Blood Moon or something. At night I turned off the lights and I sat in the moonlight and I tried to visualize myself healing. But to be honest, I feel like the Moon doesn't give a fuck and I don't blame her. But it was nice and relaxing. I set an alarm to get up during the eclipse to see the blood moon. And I woke up, in the middle of a dream (forgot it already) and I couldn't see the moon. Maybe because it was behind the clouds, or behind a building, or I couldn't see it from my placement. But it was there.

It's funny. Last week I told my mom on the phone that my health was fine, it came up that I hadn't had to go to the doctor in a long time. And I also incidentally mentioned that I'm not celebrating Easter nor Passover because I don't believe in God. Mom, who's not particularly religious, but is superstitious, said "Oooh, honey, don't say that." And then I promptly started to injure and infect myself. Seems fitting. The laundromat on our block shut down for unspecified health code violations. I'm broke, ish. The window in our kitchen, which has been broken for a long time, got stuck open. And it's Passover so my superintendent (who is Hasidic) can't come and fix it even if he wanted to. I found a way to jimmy it shut again. And with my disfiguring mutilated afflictions, I have a reading tonight and a performance on Thursday night. Not a good week. Despite all this, I told my mom last night when we spoke, I'm in a good mood. I'm upbeat. I'm in good spirits. I've dealt with shit like this before and totally fallen apart, and so my ability to nominally keep it together this time is, to me, a sign of maturity and strength. I mean, I am incredibly uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally, but that is OK.

I love this song. The composer, Frank Churchill, apparently killed himself, on the piano bench, shortly after writing it.

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