Give Up

I want to say I give up. I mean, I did. I said: I give up.
I have said it a few times. I’ve done this, as John said, before.

I don’t know if I really mean that.

Instead of I give up. I mean
I don’t care what time it is.

I don’t know where to throw myself.

Want to write about rejection, and failure. Want to talk about exclusion, mass psychological violence. Writing a song, practicing my poem about how queer adults bully each other instead of eating our vegetables.

We're finally free, we think.

Marriage and Medicine let us stay up all night. We don't have to dream anymore.

No it's not that I can't tell time, or that I'm lost or unhooked. I haven't given up I've given my self over to the galleys. I'm waiting on my edits. I thought I had submitted myself properly. I spaced myself.

I'm actually fucking livid. I forgot how angry I am. I keep forgetting -- ban subjunctives.

I don't know why I can't be part of the world. Why can't I be someone you know. I want to be an artist. I want to read the stories I've been writing and I want to perform the songs I've been writing and I want to put together evenings of poetry and performance and video.

And I've done this in the past and people have (I think) gotten something out of it.

But it seems like I've been blackballed or something. I know I sound paranoid, but it feels as though no one wants me at the party. Everyone thinks I belong somewhere else.

So I took a few years off. I went on meds, then off of meds, because I wanted to die really bad. I guess some days I still do.

But what I really want is to feel like we're not living in a vacuum. It's galling to me to keep hearing this feedback: you have your own thing.

I don't have my own thing. I want people to be part of my thing. I don't know what I did to upset everyone but I have an idea and I think the idea is I literally didn't suck enough of the dicks that i was probably supposed to.

And then now today the people we think are our friends want us to be more sensitive. Want us to stop piling on. Why can't we let some people succeed? Why do we have to tear each other down? They want us to feel bad for holding them accountable. They want us to hold our tongues. They want us to consider how it might feel to be shunned, bullied. How might it feel for your world to turn on you. How much would it hurt if the entire scene you had spent years cultivating and supporting all of a sudden wanted nothing to do with you?

Well I know how that feels. It feels bad. But it doesn't feel as bad as trying to get help and no one believing you.

I don't know how to say this but I think we're putting ourselves in the position of defending bullies if they're cool or successful or white enough.

"Oh yes, they're awful they are mean they attack you and they're out to get you but they're so funny. They are gonna be on TV."
Who gets to be invincible?

Suppose I really was desperate.

Suppose I wanted to get my life back together. Suppose I would actually pay money to get to perform for people. To get to read my stories. Would anyone let me? I know the desperation is cloying and off-putting. The fact that I want it, that I need it, doesn't seem to matter.

They keep telling me I'm barking up the wrong tree and that I should get out of the forest. And it's hard not to hear this as my community, or my imagined community, telling me they don't want me to be part of it.

I keep asking and asking and asking for help in getting through this patch, finding a way to be in the world with you. And you keep telling me to leave and it feels like maybe I'm not the one that came up with the idea of suicide. That maybe the world wants me to kill myself. And when I keep hearing the feedback of "you're not really the type of artist we like to support" or "you're wrong for this" what I am hearing is "...and kill yourself." Maybe that's not how it's intended but I think you can forgive me.

How would I act, how differently would I present myself if it did mean something to me. Why am I so bad at making a case for myself? Is it because I am unconfident? Or is it because I really am confident but there's nothing to make a case for? That in fact I am empty, fallow, etc.

This is what I cannot resolve. This is what I have been struggling with. Should I even bother continuing? I feel like I am on the side of the road unsure of which wilderness, which death to court. No one wants to help. And I keep asking.

So, two nice things

1) After hearing how sad I was the other night, my amazing boyfriend surprised me with tickets to see Elza Soares tonight.

"I lived in New York in the 80s — in Brooklyn and also on 43rd Street. I have wonderful memories — my greatest friend in New York was Eartha Kitt and we had a lot of fun together. I moved to New York when I lost my son and wanted to escape the pain a mother feels from losing a child. New York was the city that took me in its arms. It's been over 25 years since I've visited, but I think it will be a happy reunion."
2) The Ti plant I've had in my bedroom for at least a decade just started, for the first time, to blossom.

Yesterday morning when I woke up with a broken heart. 

Yesterday afternoon.

I can't wait to see what the flowers look like.


The Market of Me

Norma, Maria callas. I keep meaning to listen to.

Like the pile of books on my bed I keep meaning to read.
Ok there's a few ways of talking. I made the zine voice blog and vice Versa.
I'm always using the wrong voice in the wrong place!
I did a good reading. It reminded me of the ways of talking
That I used to know how to do.

But now I'm at witch camp writing on my phone.
Always the wrong voice in the wrong place. Endlessly wearing the wrong outfit. I worry too much. Literally hiding in a corner. I was like let me just disappear.

For the longest time
For my whole life
I thought
I loved performing.

This one girl whys she hate me. She literally crosses the room.
Oh who cares about your horrible old condition.

I go to metro to meet Max. It's awful. Yuppie fag couple cuts me in line for a drink. I have to hear a 24 year old wax poetiC about how long they've been coming here. Three years.

All the cool girls you went to college with. They still smoke.

Met max had one drink got a sandwich and went home and watches trailer park boys. I don't know why I'm so into it. It's so brilliantly acted. It's like ... bizarre.

Weekend list.
Saw a boy in pink shirt dinosaur bag rose earring

Lois Maffeo. The first time I listened to Lois was actually on the bis song "detour". I didn't really get super into her though until I saw her perform at Ladyest.

I remember as she started there was a sea of camera flashing. It seemed to annoy her but she was good natured about it. Saying something like okay you have enough pictures of me sitting and playing guitar and singing. She did a few goofy poses as photo ops then sat back down and played her set. I couldn't tell you what she played except I know she brought out James : Brendan from Fugazi and they played songs from the new record that was about to come out, and she ended with strumpet and I think Molly Neuman played with her on at least one song. Heather Dunn? Who was the tiger trap drummer? Anyway that fugazi guy record the union themes is kind of crazy.
This song stumper is also crazy it's like Mecca Normals walk alone or Bikini Kills rebel girl or Nikki McClure omnivore a riot grrrl anthem a true thing. I covered it in a show I did here I sang the songs trumpet over the music of local h's high-giving motherfucker. It was okay.
She s lind of source.

Pizzicato five
Yeah the met ball
I don't even want to anymore

Share anymore
Finish strong
Finish aging
I no longer want to complain

Time was I thought it would bring what I wanted to me

I no longer think that
It's not enough to want it and try hard.

I liked writing poetry
The bartenders boyfriend showed up.
Who will visit you at work

I wanted to ramble. I wanted my ramblings to be the truth of me the market of me
I wanted to sleep through it the indignity of life. And get paid for my time. No wonder I stopped dreaming. Who am I gonna bill for those hours? Who pays for my dreams.

I live in fear. So many times I've written checks I coiudlrn cash. Accidentally, almost. Subconsciously at least. Therefore I thought my fate was my curse my responsibility. I thought that it was my fault, anything band that happened to me. Including people being mad at me. Including meeting their unrealistic expectations, making myself responsible for their own fucked up shit. I put myself on the line -- maybe I am a narcissist after all i guess they were right.

And so I make this list of topics to return to. A list of destinations tropics to revisit.

I love exotica it's for people who've never been been tourists.

“ladies and gentlemen” what a wonderfully fucked-up phrase.

What's my dark secret. That I've made questionable decisions. Loooked gift horses in the mouth. That I'm secretly sloppy, lazy, careless. That I give less of a fuck than I want people to think?

Fag City I had to imagine because I needed somewhere to live. But then maybe if changed or I did. Which one of us gentrified? One of those words that's lost its meaning. It's maybe too PC?

I just mean it no longer feels the same. As I put myself on the line less. I had to become so strong. And I stayed strong.

Remind me to put this in the new issue of scorcher: how I stayed hard for so long.

You see that's like a note to myself to write a poem. This could never be my prospect, brand, market, story. I am telling you that you're there.



You guys I am featured as a guest on the new episode of the SUNDAE FANTASTIQUE SHOW STARTING SUNDAE FANTASTIQUE. We filmed it a few weeks ago.

I'm most proud of this than anything I've done lately.

I've long been a fan of SUNDAE FANTASTIQUE (aka Carrie-Anne from such bands as Clapperclaw and Bad Credit No Credit). We've played shows together and I've seen her perform a bit and she is literally amazing. One of those artists in New York that make you thankful to live here, right now, with them. When she invited me to be on her tv show I was intimidated!

I had a lot of fun filming it, especially our interview, which we didn't plan a whole lot for. Somehow the impromptu vibe was productive, I feel. I'm glad we had that talk and I'm glad that I got a chance to compare Judy Garland and Henry Rollins because I do think they have a lot of similarities.

I also perform a song I wrote, “How Could It Be Bad?” which I made for this EP I'm dreaming about making, NIGHTFRUIT. I debuted this song at The Amber Zone at Sid Golds. The crew on the tv show was amazing and sweet and sympathetic and reassuring and I really like how it looks! And Carrie-Anne produced the sound mix for the video which I also love. I'm like so incredibly flattered.

I didn't really think I would like this. To be honest. I didn't go watch it live because I was sure I'd be embarrassed to see myself and also I had plans with Miss Jiddy No-No aka Ewok Vixen aka Lioness Maven at the New Museum opening. It was great! You should all go!

But yeah I'm surprised at how well I think this turned out. I am more proud of this than anything in a while. I've been pretty down on myself lately but I like this, so please check it out.