Changed Twice

This morning I saw two guys taking a dead cat out of the street. I didn't get a good look at it, but it wasn't gory. It didn't look dead. They were getting it out of the way because someone needed to get into his car and drive away. The cat had probably been there for a while. It was stiff. The guy was just softly kicking it towards the gutter, out of the way of the car. I thought it was sleeping. I was groggy. I thought: "Why is that kitty just letting those guys boss her around like that?" but she was already dead. Do cats get rigor mortis. How cute.

It's funny, I've been saying for the last few days that I was sort of ready for summer to be over. And then this morning I woke up and I was freezing. I feel ashamed for wearing a short-sleeved shirt, for not wearing long pants and a coat. No matter where I go it's too cold. But it feels like it's not just in my body. It's weird how being cold is can go from pleasurable to energizing to numbing to painful. The only place warm enough was the subway station. Maybe I should just have stayed there. How does someone become a mole person, really?

The big thing is this weekend I saw Grace Jones perform twice. It was amazing. Friday night I was very close to the stage, it was a smaller crowd, and I ran into a bunch of friends. Saturday the crowd was much much bigger but still it was a ecstatic experience. I've seen a lot of people perform in a lot of different ways. I've been around performers and artists my entire life. Grace Jones is honestly, without exaggeration, the best performer I've ever seen, heard of, or could imagine. It's just different. On one hand she's kind of a minimalist. There's a vaudevillian or kind of noh formality to her work. It'll be, like, one Look per song. A nice hat, or a cute coat and a particular lighting effect. But the results are magick. She belies this kind of simplicity by just being herself so much. She's not doing that thing that contemporary pop stars do, the heart-breakingly naive cynicism of "Can you BELIEVE I'm wearing his crazy dress while I sing this song?" There's something cold about pop performance. The ambition or something. But Grace Jones isn't being ironic. She's not daring you to laugh with or at her. She's just wearing this hat because she likes it. Sure there's symbolism, too. It's not about getting it or being in on the joke or included or whatever at just about being there while it happens. While she happens. On her last record she sang "I'll be a hurricane" and it's not just poetry. So much of art, music, pop culture aspires to become a god, to become an icon, to become immortal, relevant, powerful, more than just a person. A person plus. But the Grace Jones shoe seemed to be different. People are just one way of being. You could be a storm, an animal, a nightmare, a fantasy. I don't feel up to the task of trying to fully explain it.

After the shows, I heard so many people saying that they weren't rally fans of hers, or familiar with her work, but were blown away by her performance. I met someone the second night who asked me how the previous night's show was, and I said "Okay, we're strangers, but it changed my life." And it did the second night as well.

So now I'm changed again, Twice. And now I guess the third time for the chill. I'd like to warm up, I guess. Maybe that's not true. I could deal with some frost, I suppose.

I'm seeing Earth tonight for the first time, which I'm really excited about. I was going to say that they're about as different from Grace Jones as you can get hit that's not true at all, they're kind of similar. In terms of weight of sound. Wouldn't that be a cool collaboration.

Last night I think I had a dream that I ran into my extended family, in some random store in midtown. It might have been Ricky's or Beauty on 35th, where I buy my wigs. I saw a girl and she looked familiar, and we had that awkward moment of recognition but without acknowledging each other. Then we said hi. It was my cousin. Both of my cousins, who live in New York, and their parents, who live in New Jersey. I rarely see them even though we live close. It was a strange feeling. I was happy in the dream but I was also guilty. That feeling.

What do you do with that feeling. Where you are guilty but also happy. Do you show up and bring flowers.

Remember last winter or last fall when I said I was going to become a demon. I sort of take that back. But I also did become one. And I want to become more of one, I guess. How should I put this? I'm kind of struggling again. Some more. I'm confused. I don't know how I feel. I mean I think I feel a certain way, but I'm guessing. I don't feel very certain. It's difficult in this position to get a lot done, so I'm not getting a lot done.

It's weird how sometimes you can know a thing before you actually really know it. Or it's funny to me how the temperature makes me lazy. I haven't been trying very hard. I was just being silly. On the Fourth of July Erin I were walking around the track in McCarren park and we were talking and I was saying I'm ready. I didn't think I was ready for it but I guess I am ready for it. Is it possible to miss the absence of something you've never had. Is it possible to be ready for something you can't really articulate or name? I think I am.


black and white and red all over

Maybe don't worry so much. I love this article I read today about Dame Judi Dench who "lives in fear" as an actor. If she can, why can't I? Probably neither of us should. What good does it do. I guess it's nice to know that even excellent famous celebrities worry. I feel like I don't know where to go, or something. On the plus side things don't feel so urgent, but I never know if that kind of lack-of-urgency means I'm okay or if it means I'm checking out.

Hey real quick what's the difference between "a feeling" and "a symptom"? Asking for a friend.

Another thing my mom and I have in common is our insatiable appetites for banana chips

I want to dye my hair black. I want to wake up with a different face.

my current obsession, the best sunscreen I've ever tried

I mean I'm working on stuff. I'm working on, at the moment:

- A short story for a picture book project with one of my best friends
- Editing a story for a website that is (inexplicably) going to pay me to publish my writing
- Working on nailing down my new solo show, THE GOOD DAUGHTER, which I'm performing on 9/20 as part of the Queer New York International Arts Festival (yes really)
- Planning the next B0DYH1GH appearance, at Bushwig this year.

I guess there's some other stuff too. Writing my horoscope column. Applying to some stuff. You know.

It's just that nothing feels super duper necessary. I think I'm maybe keeping my head underground. I'm kidding myself. Or else I really am in what I now know to call a mixed-state. Mixed-State reminds me of food, for some reason. I'm always hungry. How out of whack could I be, really, if I'm still so hungry all the time. This is the life force in me.


I'm excited to go jogging today, outdoors. To sweat in public. To come up against the limits of my breath. It's like I don't want to be pretty or something. I don't want to be funny or interesting. I want to find something that feels unfuckwithable.

I mean I guess I don't care so much about aesthetics. Maybe this means I'm not really an artist. I feel like I'm only a performer because I don't know another way to do stuff. But like my comfort and my "aptitude" don't seem to... shine... After I did MAPPLETHORPE someone told me they had a discussion with their friend about how I seem like a natural performer and that show really illustrated that for them. I know I'm insecure and all (to say the least) but I feel like the subtext there is... I'm a natural performer, but not in that show, the show I wrote and performed by myself. Fair enough. I'm probably a better actor than I am... maker. This being said I'm excited to do my new solo show.

I had said in the description that I wanted to reverse-engineer drag and fail at it. I had said that I wanted to make work about fags and feminism. And I felt like, at first, I needed to be really heavy-handed and specific about it. But now I just want to write love-letters to my girlfriends and read them out loud in between fucking awful covers of like, "Iceblink Luck".

I want to find a way to make theater and drag and punk rock recover its glossolalia roots. I mean I don't care so much about beauty. Beauty is fucked up, right? Inherently? Like abstraction isn't more interesting or more fair or more righteous to me. it's just less overtly oppressive. Like it's a thing of modulation. Resistance is a spectrum.

There's this idea that imagination is the same as action.

There's been this misapprehension that desire will save you and that's not true. All you need is not love. You need love but you need a bunch of other shit and you can get by without love. Trust me.

for when I'm trying not to smoke

Though I'd like some more, now. Love or whatever. It's like I'm not battling the idea or darkness or trying to get more light. I'm just trying to skate my program.

Been so obsessed with Royal Trux all weekend I feel like my mind is either becoming stronger or weaker and this is some kind of a sign.

Like why can't I just calm down and be happy. Alternately, I'm feeling okay today, which is a blessing.

I'm just having these romantic and nihilistic feelings. Alternating. And it's creepy and weird. But not bad.

Still hungry/


Rhythm Section

I got some money from my mom for my birthday. She asked if there was anything I wanted for my birthday or if cash was okay, and I said cash was okay because I want to buy myself some new running shoes. I've had the same pair for like 5 or 6 years now and they're starting to fall apart and I wanted to really recommit to my workout routine.

I haven't bough the shoes yet. I am paralyzed as always by indecision.

My birthday was pretty fantastic. Last weekend was kind of boring. Things are both exciting and totally nonexistent.

I'm having a really weird time this week, or the last few days, parsing out some information. What if you thought you knew something about yourself and then it turned out to be totally different. Not to be vague. But just what if you were going about things the wrong way.

In some lights there is a clearly defined pattern to my feelings and my thoughts and in other lights it's kind of random and so should I cling to any form of structure. What does anyone want from me. What can you relate to. Who wants to listen to you.

I want to be the favorite person of someone. I want to be exciting. I want (still) not to care what anyone thinks. I want to not be so bogged down. I wish I was less fascinated.

It's funny, y'know, this thing of confirmation bias. When I was 19 I was diagnosed one way by one psychotherapist so that's formed a pretty interesting, fascinating, and to my mind really solid backbone of a story I've been telling myself for 11 years now. But what if it was a totally different story. No less dangerous or gory or bad or dark or tenuous, but just a totally different one. I mean I don't know. Since when did my life become so much about equivocation!

I did a ukulele set and it was pretty okay. I messed up the words. One of my absolute seriously favorite most admired truly iconic #1 movie stars was, randomly, in the house. I didn't get to meet them, but it was still a mindfuck.

Been going to a lot of parties. Been partying a lot. Been shopping a lot. I want to buy new running shoes and new running clothes and to have an all new body. And do know about new songs to run to. I want to sweat out the years of doubt.

I want to prove that I am in fact, you know, perfect for you even if you don't think so. I want to surprise us both by being exactly what the situation calls for. I want to relax into the late afternoon sunshine of being okay, enough. I kept thinking I was making progress in analysis and I guess I am, thinking of how I'm trying to re-route myself all the time. How I'm scrambling to make a map of where I go and where I don't want to go.

But at the same time I've always been kind of a drummer. You know? A percussionist. I was telling someone recently that on the east coast there's one school of thought about self-harm and on the west coast there's another and I was being cavalier because it seems easier than trying to explain. I don't have any interest in self-harm when I say percussion anymore. I mean rhythm though. How many times in the last year have I described this as a fever, a process, a cycle. A reliable series of seasons in hell, boredom, love, fear, etc. Except not all of them. A palette rather than a rainbow.

I wonder though. If I am the rhythm section. What am I measuring. Maybe it's up to me. Maybe it's not but maybe it is.



ok you guys tonight Monday August 10th I'm be performing a new set of songs with ukulele and some beats. The evening is called FOLK SONG. It's like my interpretation of folk songs.

The Amber Zone is a new series of Monday night solo shows at Sid Gold's Request Room, curated by NYC superstar Amber Martin. I'm obviously obsessed with Amber. She's a huge inspiration of mine and a big star and I am such a crazy fan of her, so I am beyond honored to be part of this series. Sid's Gold is a really cute new bar and I'm not actually just saying that-- it's a funky piano bar in Chelsea and it gets cute reviews and has food and fancy drinks and most importantly features like gorgeous interiors by buddy and genius art babe Steven Hammel. SO like even if it wasn't me, it's a cool place to go.

But it is me and you should come. It's been a few years since I played this kind of music, but this is the kind of show I originally gave back when I started. I'm really excited to be playing some of my favorite west coast love songs and stories. This is a pretty different thing from the kind(s) of stuff I've been doing over the last few years, and I hope you can join me.

Doors open from 7pm and show starts at 8pm.



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.


spending a lot of time on my floor.

spending a lot of time alone.

spending a lot of time in pain. afraid.

don't really know anything.



- Such a gross thing happened to me last weekend. I made some iced coffee and set it on my nightstand and took a little nap. I woke up from the nap and gulped the iced coffee and walked to the bathroom and as I was walking I realized I had some coffee grinds or something in my mouth so I spit out the little piece of grit in the bathroom sink and it was grit. It was a fly and the fly was alive. I was mad.

- I'm really into teal. I want to wear only teal. My new iPhone case is teal. Maybe I should change my name to Max Teal. I bought some fancy nice new teal clothes this weekend. When I was 13 I dyed my hair teal and my dad helped me. It didn't last long the way things tend not to.

- I'm super excited to be featured on this new website DANDY DICKS (NSFW). It's a sexy website and they are featuring a version of my story "ANGELS" which is excerpted from my new zine DOOR GIRLS (which you can buy HERE -- I'm gonna keep harping on this for a little while, sorry). I want to write more for and about them and am looking forward to doing so. OK!

- Finally, this friday night I am very excited to be part of EVERYBOOTY at BAM, where I will be hosting a reading featuring myself, Kayla Morse and Tommy Pico. You can see the full schedule and info on tickets below. This is going to be epick and you definitely have to come.

After sold out events for the last three years, Everybooty returns to BAM to take over the entire four-floor Fisher Building (including an incredible rooftop!) for one QUEER night that mashes up performance, bands, art, DJs and readings and brings together SPANK, SARAH JENNY and BIG ART GROUP for an over-the-top not-to-be-missed sensational event.


A radical night of multi-arts mayhem to celebrate Pride!
Will Sheridan
Mizz June
The Feath3r Theory
Turnt Up Trifecta (Untitled Queen, Horrorchata & Merrie Cherry with special guest Lady Quesa D'illa)
Bianca Dagga
BB Heart
The Incredible, Edible Akynos
The Dance Cartel

Addys Gonzalez
Nicholas Gorham

++ DJs ++
DJ Sean Be (SPANK)
DJ Matty Horrorchata (BE CUTE)
DJ Sveta Spins

++ MC ++
MC Ariel Speed Wagon

Tinker Coalescing : Queer Photography
Ned Stresen-Reuter

Max Steele
Tommy Pico
Kayla Morse

++ VJ ++
Kevin Ramser [Honcho]

Big Art Group

Jeffrey Owen Ralston

Heather Litteer

++ TAROT ++
Lorenzo Estrella

++ HOSTS ++
Sarah Jenny (Hey Queen)
Jason Roe (SPANK)
Scott Nevins (The People’s Couch)

The Brooklyn Community Pride Center
JP Howard
Women Writers in Bloom
Azure D Osborne-Lee, and Joanna Hoffman
Music by Hi Tiger (Derek Jackson)
Dance by John Zullo/ Raw Dance Movement


Celebrate Pride, Brooklyn Style

This event is 18+ with ID.
BAM Fisher is a wheelchair accessible venue.



Ashtray art. Make art of ashtrays. It's the last vulgar thing to do, really. Anything can be an ashtray.
A person could be an ashtray.

I'm not just trying to console myself. I really do think success is sort of silly. Selling out and all that. Attention. I think it's a little... Immature. This artist this person I really like said something recently about how in order for them to realize their artistic vision of the world or something, they need a lot of lonely and power and fame or something. And you know far be it from me to question anyone else but I don't know if I need those things for myself. I certainly don't think I need them.

But even in general. The big gift of being a person is that you get to know this shit right. The like, fallibility. Everyone's a person. Even movie stars. Even celebrities in Hollywood and inmates in jail. Anyone has it. So it seems like on one hand to know that and then to know some other truth.aybe I'm stubborn. Or something

Boards of Canada. So obsessed right.

Most private thing I'm willing to admit: I don't believe in God. Is that fucked up to say.
Most private thing I'm willing to admit: I don't believe in secrets.

Saw Blonde Redhead perform, they were pretty fantastic, I must say, but didn't play "Here Sometimes" which I'd hoped they would.

I feel like that, here sometimes. I'm trying to be both a person and not a person. The negative aspects of both and the positive aspects of neither.

Drinking a lot. Not a lot, just often. Smoking a lot and often. Eating poorly but trying to do better. Something is making me sick, I don't know if it's the medication or what but I am gaining weight, a little. Which is okay I guess. What bugs me is that my body feels weird I feel bloated no matter what I do or do not eat. I feel better. Maybe it's from over eating. It seems like everything is either too much or too little. I can't focus.
“A firm sense of one’s own autonomous identity is required in order that one may be related as one human being to another. Otherwise, any and every relationship threatens the individual with loss of identity. One form this takes can be called engulfment. In this the individual dreads relatedness as such, with anyone or anything or, indeed, even with himself, because his uncertainty about the stability of his autonomy lays him open to the dread lest in any relationship he will lose his autonomy and identity. Engulfment is not simply envisaged as something that is liable to happen willy-nilly despite the individual’s most active efforts to avoid it. The individual experiences himself as a man who is only saving himself from drowning by the most constant, strenuous, desperate activity. Engulfment is felt as a risk in being understood (thus grasped, comprehended), in being loved, or even simply in being seen. To be hated may be feared for other reasons, but to be hated as such is often less disturbing than to be destroyed, as it is felt, through being engulfed by love… It is lonely and painful to be always misunderstood, but there is at least from this point of view a measure of safety in isolation. The other’s love is therefore feared more than his hatred, or rather all love is sense as a version of hatred. By being loved one is placed under an unsolicited obligation.”
— R.D. Laing, The Divided Self
Like I am a broken system of rewards and punishments, stuck on punishment. Honestly making time to paint my toenails the other night, which I am very glad I did, took me days. That's not a social interaction. It takes me a long time to write back to people. It takes me a long time to do anything. Sometimes it takes a long time.

This is the Le Corbusier house where Ann Demeulemeester lives and works. Worked. I went to Century 21 this weekend and they had a bunch of AD from when AD was still designing AD on sale but even marked down 75-80% it's still outrageously expensive. But like who really wears Ann Demeulemeester anyway, you know? Patti Smith? That's not saying a lot. PJ Harvey did that gig for the Ann book launch at DSM with Patti and that was kind of cool, but even PJ at this point... Apparently the new designer for Demeulemeester, Sebastien Meunier is a genius so maybe it will be one of things that it doesn't have to always be so cult-ish. Maybe it'll get better and cheaper with time. There's already a new cheaper (allegedly) shoe line? Why am I worried about this when I need to be worried about paying bills on time.

I wish it was my job to worry about this more.


It's Brooklyn LGBTQ Pride today and it's also Puerto Rican Day. I like Puerto Rican Day because it was the setting for one of my first queer experiences in New York. In 2005 when I was 20 I met a really cute boy at a nightclub in the East Village and we hooked up and the next day we walked to the train station together to say goodbye and he is not white and were holding hands and wearing our nightclub outfits in the big crowd of people celebrating and I was worried, you know, if we'd get negative reactions from people in the crowd but we didn't. We had our sweet goodbye moment at the train station in midtown and it was one of the first times I felt like New York was like the place where that was possible.