I dreamed I got my hair dyed to look like that girl I hate. The girl who Hates me. Black in the back bleached blonde in the front. We don't hate each other we just don't understand one another. I just know she'll hate my outfit and she'll have something to say about it too. She doesn't get it. She just doesn't get me.



1. I was explaining to someone recently about this easy thing I did, in the midst of losing my mind. I went to a friend's party. We used to date many years ago but then we became distant friends. I like him and he likes me and the possibility of us as a couple remains so much better for being unrealized. I went to a party for him by myself feeling really terrible and out of place and I hit it off with a cute boy there. It's like we're all exes. We're all the same type, and we can hit on each other. I had someone recently try to explain the different pokemon types to me, it's similar. I was telling someone though, how easy it was to flirt. How familiar and easy. That muscle is stretched. With this skill I do not doubt myself. I don't worry. But standing up for myself? No. Taking myself seriously as a person? No.

2. Thinking about the recent pathology of "Low T". How men feel that they lose so much testosterone late in life that they have to take it as a drug. It's taken, often, using this topical gel. The thing about the gel is that once it's applied you can't touch anyone or you could accidentally spread your hormones to them, and fuck them up. It's as if Daddy needs to take his special Daddy medication to become more male, to staunch the feminizing forces of aging (the three fates were, after all, beautiful ladies), and in order to take this medicine, he has to cut off physical contact. Retreat to the man-cave. To recuperate. To become a man alone. To fight this battle for maleness by yourself. PLD brought up a good point-- that queer people subvert these kinds of gender paradigms. Two people who both wanted more hormones could use the gel and touch each other. They could use androgel as lube. Love or sex or desire could be a matter of having the same diagnoses. Needing the same medicine. Being fellow-travelers on the same or at least intercepting paths towards (y)our resolutions. What happens, I wonder, when you realize that these paths diverge. We shared a nice slimy maleness together, dear.

3. So boy crazy all of the sudden. Maybe it's the heat or the increasing desperation to feel like something/someone. Maybe it's my own medication. Maybe it's my chemicals. I've been noticing this cute blond boy I ride the train with in the mornings. Dyed blond. Buzzed. He's very cute and he dresses nice and he sometimes carries a big black BaoBao Issey Miyake bag. Do I know him. No. He of course avoids me.

4. Questions that come. Are you a ghost. Are you becoming a ghost. Are you becoming replaceable. Do you want to be replaceable. One of many.

Same songs different day. Same dances different floor.

Was thinking about something recently-- do you turn into ore. Are you golden. Am I buried.



I was gonna invite people. I was going to say you should come but really you shouldn't. I can't in good conscience say that I'd love to perform because I don't know if I would. I'd love to be asked to perform. I'd love to feel like I had something that someone wanted. But in a way I do: presence right. Like I can be an audience member. A punching bag. All the world wants from me.

I want so badly to be part of something, to feel like I fit in or I might not be such a waste of space but I can't. It seems like everything I try just fails and gets harder and turns people off. And I know it's creepy and I know I'm belaboring the point.

I wanted to be okay and to have fun to participate but I can't. It feels like something years ago happened I don't know what or when but I've tried so much, pills now and spirituality or whatever. being patient, being nicer than I ought to be to people who don't deserve it. Nothing makes me feel like less of a loser. Nothing makes me excited. Nothing wants me. I don't have any ideas. I don't have any longings.

All I see is everyone around me moving forward, getting recognition, being invited to participate, being encouraged and being able to believe in themselves and all I see is this happening all around me and I try and I try to act like it's okay

but really, it's not going to happen for me. It probably never was. I never really acted like I wanted it to. But I got punished it felt like. And I'm still being punished. For what I don't know. But it just seems like I'm caught in this loop and I can't get out of it and it just gets worse and worse and harder and harder

and I was making it felt like a little progress. Like I wouldn't spend the same amount of time (days, weeks) brooding as I used to. But maybe that progress was kind of a delusion. I keep sliding back. And it gets harder and harder to screw up my courage and act like everything is okay and to be the fun and funny and laughing person that the world wants from me. I can't exist, I don't exist. I know it sounds dumb but I feel like I'm just this fucking black cloud of pain and I don't know what to do.

I don't want to write I don't want to perform I don't want to be an artist I don't want to fuck I just want to stop hating myself please


So don't get me wrong. I love my new snail cream, I switched to the Black Mizon kind.

I woke up the greasiest I've ever been in my life. Went to the kitchen to make coffee and was immediately drenched in sweat.

I tried to nap for a few minutes on the floor as I've often been doing lately

And I woke up five minutes later not only greasy and sweaty but in extreme pain from a new round of mosquito bites.

Sunday I went to barneys' and Zabar's and Central Park and talked to my Mom and got bit by one million bugs and went windowshopping and came home and went for a jog and ordered takeout and finished the wine I had bought to take to parties and watched that stupid fucking chef's table show. My god. Everyone's so emotional. It's rare that displays of emotion gross me out, but there you go.

Saturday I yknow exercised early in the rain. As I said I did laps in the park. Then spent much of the day like pacing my room. Met up with Erin and Becca and Horsey and we want to Jiddy No-No's roof to watch the fireworks and saw Paps and Ben and Maggie there.

It was such a nice night That we went to the park to walk laps. They shut off the lights on us though. Went to Metro ran into buddies it was packed. As we left there was a line down the block to get in. I was mortified. We had run into Pailo so we went to a new bar around the corner, where Cheers Thai used to be. I never liked that restaurant so I'm fine with a fancy beer bar opening. I had fancy beers.

The very real threat of possibly having to someday move reared its ugly head again. I need to be a grown up and accept that someday I will have to move, change, etc. this is all to say I'm recommitting to my new project of rearranging my room and drastically paring down my belongings. I have lots of cool stuff I've collected. But the collecting was the thing. I don't need this. So I want to give lots of it to good new homes.

What is the best way to do this, do you reckon.


Another Late Start

GOt another late start this morning. I had wanted to wake up early. Yesterday I got a late start, I woke up at 11am. I woke up at 11am again today too, somewhat shamefully. I went for a jog, when it was raining. It was great. I listened to Ivy.

Then my headphones broke and I think a bug flew into my mouth. It's okay. Another sweaty morning before I really wake up. Another late start. Another painful skin infection, right. Another immune system response. Another wake up call! Another love story. Another boy. I'm making food, sort of uselessly. Just because I like it the thing of cooking. I'm making collard greens and black beans with curry and coconut and lots of garlic and brown rice and I'm hoping to cure myself through sheer force of will. I mean I'm not like sick sick.

Another holiday. Another weekend. I'm worried that one of the trees in the backyard is dead and needs to be cut down, or else it'll fall over during a storm and take out our internet or electricity or something. I'm worried they're going to sell the building or tear it down or kick us out. I'm worried about pests. Real ones, imagined ones. I'm worried about laziness.

I rarely wonder what would happen if I didn't have something to worry about.
I think it's cool to talk openly about taking drugs, in the sense that I think it's cool to talk openly about anything you're enthusiastic about. I was saying this recently about people who consider themselves exhibitionists: they seem hotter somehow because they're really into it and being really into it makes you hotter. I'm not an exhibitionist but I am I guess an enthusiast. That's like all I have, right. Is that enthusiasm.

Is there a way to brand or monetize this.

The fanboy brand. Is being nice market able?
I was talking with Logan at his show recently about identifying with Generation X so much that he notices a difference in the values with the current culture of, say, startups. And I agree. I also feel like selling out is inauthentic at best and dangerously exploitative at worst and failure and destruction is the only truth in the world, right. But I guess some people don't think Kurt was right, or something. Our Icarus. I loved in Girl In A Band how Kim talks about --- she makes the salient and often under-recognized point that Courtney and Kurt weren't together for that long before he died. But she doesn't share the fact that she believes Kurt's death was not a suicide. Which I think is cool and I think it's important to have critical thoughts whatever.

Kids these days don't care about kurt and courtney. To be honest I never did either. I didn't care about anything. I guess I cared about Belly. I've been thinking lately how Star was so important to me, for some reason. Why? I think because of the Tank Girl soundtrack? Which is how I heard of Belly (even though the song on the soundtrack was "Thief" which was a King b-side). And that soundtrack was organized by Courtney Love.

But no one thought Belly was cool with me. Not in 2000 when i was first getting into them. Not now. I remember finding Baby Silvertooth at Amoeba Records in San Francisco and being so excited and no one would ever know or care.

A guy I knew in New York who I promised I'd stop writing mean things about obliquely on my blog used to complain about how he liked Hole and some people liked Belly and I wonder if he meant me. If he knew that I like Belly so much. Did I tell him that? I rarely tell people that. It rarely comes up.

I mean it used to apparently be a thing to make fun of Belly, right? Like Free Kitten titled one of their tracks "Feed the Tree" for that Rock Stars Kill comp.

And I feel like other people make fun of them too. Like it was a running joke to be like "Well at least we're not singing 'Feed the Tree' you know?" But I dug it. I thought it was really deep. It's funny because I don't even listen to or like pretty much anything else other than Star though. I like the Muses okay but I haven't gotten into much of Tanya's solo stuff or the second Belly album.

I do like this though:

I mean I like them so much. Sometimes, more than once but not so much that I'd say often, but like... no, often. Often when I find myself writing (poetry or fiction or songs or thoughts or whatever) I'll feel stuck or like I'm struggling to express something and then the thing that comes into my head that's perfect is a Belly lyric. Maybe you know the feeling.

Jess is an Angel:


It feels as though I need to put some distance between things. Like I need to make more, be around more, in this other register. Something between public fawning and self-destruction. I don't want to seem disingenuous or seem like I'm pretending that everything is fine or horrible. I mean it doesn't matter, but it's a thing of having multiple conversations at the same time.

Sometimes I think about this, about different registers all happening at the same time and how that's chaotic. But that's also harmony, right? There's resonance there. Is music a metaphor.

The healing power of the erotic, right? I was so wrong, I'm still wrong.

A lot's been going on. I have a lot to do. I've been doing a lot. This week I went to go see Sister Pact perform in Long Island City and they were FANTASTIC. They have a new tape/album coming out soon and it's going to be a big thing.

It felt kind of familiar. This type of music, or this experience of music as being like: they wrote these songs super intentionally and they sound like this on purpose and it's not like what is getting played on the radio right now but it's valid, it's beautiful, it's strong, it's important. It's just what I needed. Like we need this right now, intellectual cute-boys post-shoegazers just diligently making art right. It's so unselfconscious.

I'm trying to really latch onto feelings of inspiration and be really cognizant of when it strikes. This is all to say that there are some shows I'm doing soon. Well, in August. But some other things too and I want to be able to feel excited about them and invite people.

I'm working on it.