01 txt
02 fist
03 dance
04 line on white

 

01 redhead your face was too big for your skull i could not fix it that is all

02 phonefree bonewhite goth choirboy named for a religion you hated timetraveling from an era you refused to name way to lie down +take it those screaming baby mice you fed your blonde snake are proud of you still

03 velveteen shirted honesty boy thanks 4teaching me how to swear in german i dont remember a word of it though also i really could have done with hearing less about your sister frankly she sounds awful but whatever the way you took those clamps respect kid

04 jose i could write of 10s of straightboys who told me they were bottoms +werent i pick you cos of that sexy thing you did w pills +your heroic ability to consume them i love watching ppl eat drugs you picked up on it like no1 else ive ever met too bad you were so otherwise confused i think of you when i look at that haring 1985

05 native san franciscan spazz dont ask me that on pubic transit

06 gentle faggot sorry i guess i dont know you did literally ask 4it again +again including on paper

07 skateboarder of ultradark locks i remain in awe of the way you held still 4me that was the bravest thing id ever seen 4a long time after

08 mexican boy w irish reasons when i dig backwards in my thing 4tears youre the modern point of origin i dont even have to craft you some oblique hymn your facts are enough you liked to be tortured til crying while listening to morrissey +you remain the prettiest thing ive ever been inside of

09 gordon i could write of 10s of straightboys who vastly exaggerated their amount of gay experience in a misguided attempt to impress me i pick you 4being the quickest to see its dumbness +how you agreed to get 'punished' 4it even though it wasnt really your thing you took it like weather i write down your observations still

10 harry potter boy from edgeware st none of it seemed to add up the name on the mailbox the stuff in your pocket you sure gave good scream 2cheers 4that

11 unbalanced skinny kid w inexplicable 'walrus' spirit animal rad ass bedazzled eyepatch +horrible hippie name i got off on your tears but that wasnt how i meant to make you cry oops ps that thing w the sandpaper +vinegar file um under 'blown away' in the cabinet of a human being who has seen a thing or 2 way to be rawness itself sadboy number hundred something

12 nintendo savant who was actually extremely fucking attractive you were my favorite 2geek out on knots with tying you up +making you play mario kart was the shit

13 teenager w massively impressive book library what nonsense choices in music you made your tastes in general were so confusing im still not sure if you wanted to do what we did i think you just wanted to have sex maybe the size of your culture did point to virginity astonishing job talking the talk though way to be born with a language to terrify adults

14 boy w birds +too many bracelets you look great in sentence but when i think of you vs that dude who posted on craigslist saying he wanted to be spanked but not called bitch +then spent all night trying to get me to call him bitch i am way more embarrassed that i had sex w you

15 sweden obsessed canadian thank you 4christening my ballgag +4your indomitable curls hope to run into you again someday

16 kid from side of road hitchhiking to nowhere in the middle of los angeles claiming to want to get murdered you were hilarious straight out of 'guide'/'try'/etc an angel of whatever i think of you rarely but intensely i choke on soda sometimes just 4you

17 peroxide number big you had dark skin 1 blue iris 1 black iris hardly any tattoos +your blonde was a mane what a creature to see too bad like so many blondies you cried in the way i am NOT into sobbing when i left +begging me to hold you ugh

18 abstract algebra alcohol bottom i met your 'spiritual top' in a pastry lattice of life events sorry i just couldnt get down w the vibe or the vocabulary but i think often of your eyes +what they held up 2me

19 bottom from a similar place in the alphabet you quaked just from standing near me every single time i cant imagine what it would have been like to actually collar you

20 whippits virgo thank you 4inspiring a future video shot of a balloon inflating at the same rate a cock gets hard

21 central californian born exactly twice 1st believer i used the line 'welcome to being special' on 1st boy i knew w an out of control spirit animal situation a personal herd 23 strong of now wild domestic type dogs remember how i said you werent gay enough 4me +it super confused you it so happens i am embarking a 7year project that will basically illustrate at length what i meant

22 boy with actually worse vision than me in 2002 you made a joke involving the phrase 'find a page for it and click like on it' i really dont think facebook had 'pages' back then or that you were on facebook at the time you also once told me 'i am not leader of the gays i am merely apprentice to leader of the gays' these augur phrases +your choice of lensframes make me think again +again you must still hold the key 2something but what but what you were a horrifyingly bad fuck

23 la crescenta emigrant who read james joyce holy shit youre my forgotten 1st tall korean body fed north american corn you thought i judged you 4being in the closet actually i was super into it but didnt communicate that i guess i was young

24 native warrior into your myth a bottle i place into the bottle a note i make higher

25 talker w heartbeat allow me to put it out there in advance i fucked your son 4eight months straight as 4not being a homo thats the LAST thing his deal w me meant after me he swung wildly opposite to date a churchy makeup girl this too only proves actually how much he worshipped cock +how much his story foretold that bigger 1 at the bottom just as every minor foretells every major the next time this occurs in front of me i will try to be more clear sooner about what is happening oh viney life

26 underwater effort overdoer nope that is not what they mean when they say every part of the buffalo

27 russian cocksucker w so much you couldnt say i wish i couldve expressed that you didnt have to 1 coffee +i knew why those lips were built dont panic im special like that your wishes arent quite written on you yet

28 nosebleed violinist what was your true story i worshipped you 4being gayer +more drugged out than my boyfriend but barely remember touching you what i recall is an article in the college paper about how you had gotten over depression which you super hadnt +another the next year about you getting over alcoholism which you mega super hadnt

29 wrestler w name of 5 capital letters +large false eyelash collection you were great at taking it so im not sure why you appear as you do in my memory i want to respect you but cant was there something you said ive blocked out

30 writer of slash fiction about matthew barney getting fucked by ernest hemmingway did you see by the end of it what i meant by your eyebrows pull together due to something else i admired your haircut i admired a lot of you but not your pets the vast majority of people with pets should just kill them already

31 boy against which the universe intends me to measure all others 4the next little while what to say sorry i kind of made it so you never had a boyfriend while we were together i didnt do it on purpose i didnt think enough about it those layers +hooks +the specific ways in which you got hung up +the sights which made your eyes light they were real i could never have endeavored or bothered to imagine them i hope you find your way back 2the pharmaceutical knight who confessed his pleasures to me at dark itd suit me rad if you never found your way back to me personally as a person but as all things are signs imply thats not what the universe has in mind

 

1 year ago today my uptothen otherhalf decided to do the opposite with his life. i moved into the above room in a factory loft in bushwick bk 11206. i kept intending to spraypaint my door pink but couldnt bring myself to paint over the red tiger. i fulfilled my lifelong dream of getting addicted to heroin. i drew blood +thought about size. i had a weird thing with a bicycle. i kicked heroin. when the future looked like repetition until death i left. i told everyone i was flying on a certain day and then bailed a week early for the other coast leaving the can of pink spraypaint i never used and tons of other shit. i lust for black striped snow the last thing i cried next to.

10 days ago i dreamt myself back into the above teal hoodie and the pale eyed tiger said hello +actually it was a white tiger that had been painted on my door in my favorite color red +actually it had been waiting for me at least 2 years. the white tiger told me it was my spirit animal which to be honest at first grossed me out but has increasingly revealed itself so perfect as to be clearly stenciled by my guardian angels. 2 days after this dream on my exotherhalfs 32nd birthday i was flipping through a photo album 1 final time before i destroyed it for someone else and i came to a photo of the hollywood wax museum sign i had jokingly titled 'spirit animal'. in the lower left corner was a theatre marquee informing 'tiger tiger burning bright'.

since losing him and his oracle haircut, which i guess was the height of what he planned to attain, i have gained a spirit animal, a faggot wizard twin, a pimpcoat powerup, a fierce hat, a warhol, many enchanted links, +a set of metaphors pointed enough to finally implicate the god who made me. enjoy your mortgage sexyboy, i miss fucking you up the ass but respect you 4getting out of the way. tiger on wolf equals blond on blonde +1 make way for new nonfiction.

 

2001-2002

model
cigarette box

generation
1

color
white w silver back

size
5gb

how the fuck did i have enough money in 1 place to buy an ipod
parents

cost at time
$500+

name in Finder
iPod

engraved
There's a country
You don't live there but

notable for
ipod i lost 40+ lbs to; ipod i fell in love with the smiths on; 1st ipod i bought 1 right when they came out i had been dreaming of such a thing i still have it too

2003-2008

model
classic

generation
3

color
white w silver back

size
15gb

how the fuck did i have enough money in 1 place to buy an ipod
student loans i think

cost at time
$320

name in Finder
Math's iPod

engraved
in-built guilt

notable for
being extremely long lasting; being in 1 of my favorite photographs

2006

model
mini

generation
2

color
green

size
4gb

how the fuck did i have enough money in 1 place to buy an ipod
i was also buying a computer and there was some deal on them or something i had just totaled my car i used part of the insurance money i didnt get another car

cost at time
dont remember

name in Finder
i have no memories of EVER using this iPod i wish i still had it

engraved
With NO REASON
But still, I do.

notable for
super appropriate engraving

2008-2010

model
classic

generation
6

color
silver

size
80gb

how the fuck did i have enough money in 1 place to buy an ipod
writing someone else's admissions essays for harvard business

cost at time
$250

name in Finder
mathmusic

engraved
not

notable for
the ipod i fell in love to ratatat hot chip lcd soundsystem on; the ipod i made playlists for steven on

2010

model
classic

generation
6

color
silver

size
120gb

how the fuck did i have enough money in 1 place to buy an ipod
boyfriend

cost at time
$250

name in Finder
mathmusic

engraved
someone great
+

notable for
1st ipod w beloved 'genius' feature; favorite inscription; favorite ipod until someone broke it in a cabin

2011-????

model
nano

generation
6

color
red

size
16gb

how the fuck did i have enough money in 1 place to buy an ipod
sold off a quantity of drugs

cost at time
$180

name in Finder
fuckingpartywchildren

engraved
not

notable for
1st ipod i heard my own music on; 1st ceremonially encoded ipod

 

how your body gets healed by your pure gesture of taking a pill ceremonially

 

that it's still available to us

 

i thought you were what i got to know but instead you're what i get to write about. next time i'll be more careful or not. when i try now to picture your silhouette, against which others are only measured, it's blinding not because it's pretty but reflective. your outline, a big mirror, is brighter than snow and the symbol's simple enough, i never really got inside you or however 1 might put it. i acknowledge reflections can't decide they'll differ and that this is a shitty way to think of us, so as you requested when we still talked i stopped.

1 more time idleness lights a meal we ate 2ce, years+years back, weeks into living here. challah grilled cheese w bok choy same blue table. not even that great, try and know what it conceals, did i learn something 1 or both times that made me want to protect you? bendix diner's not there anymore, neither are most things and when this dual moment haloes i wonder. in this city that 'doesn't' nap, light reeks like sunday at 330pm. brunch won't cease, night came yesterday, sleep through monday but not what i want to speak about.

on the street by where the city's first trader joe's later got built we saw the actor who played 'justin' on a gay cable drama and this doesn't matter either, at all, except i remember following your eyes in a way that was similar to something i couldn't call back but gave me déja vu so consuming it stung. not good or bad hurt just deep. not able to articulate what was happening, i saw besides it had happened before in almost exactly the same way which was touching and hard. the past was the most difficult thing i ever felt, until the future.

happiest dancing across from you in 2/4, look for a better word than happiest. indicate not a degree of feeling but a kind: the way 1 stood by the fire or didn't, has sucked cock for $$ or hasn't. become delibertately inarticulate instead. spend your summer on it.

scan the same photograph, drink mexican coke made ill by my 'lifestyle'. a room with no view is preferred; somewhere there's a ticket. i won't google you. i promise. how can you keep the same haircut and change everything else? don't answer that i mean, can if you want.

1.1(c)2011xxox

 

i have the most badass passwords you could possibly imagine
silly meta meta shit that makes me grin each key

 

my safe word is 'no thanks'
this is not a punchline

 

pleasure is easy
the best way i can 'explain' my art, therefore its name

picture it easy
the folder on my desktop that syncs to /images/ on this site

discus
what's underneath the picture of my hard drive

count
name of admin account on my computer, account left open for everyday use has no privileges

anyway you choose
folder on the desktop i use when i am batch exporting images, or batch-doing things in general

brooke
folder on my desktop for 'unsorted things' [57 items, 2.1mb]

polaroid.jpg
accurate photo of self used for online hookups, etc [not a polaroid]

i love you dennis cooper.rtf
always open, often empty text file where i type whatever i need at the time; fiction without a title yet; text i need to hold 2 steps longer than the clipboard; someone's phone# they just messaged me

1.txt
the name of a file on my desktop where i keep titles that are waiting to be used

this.txt
the name of the file i'm typing into now

beautiful plants are for beautiful people, no one is addicted, written on a shirt
some fully formed and recorded songs i co wrote w my ex lover in ~2005; in these specific cases i titled them

robertfuckingmapplethorpe
the name of the network on the 'airport express' that i carry around with me [not daily; it usually lives in my suitcase]

destroyer magazine
you know how you have to give a name to your itunes library, in the software? this is mine.

fuckingpartywchildren
you know how you have to give a name to your ipod, in itunes? this is mine

good for the dead
i used to tell people i was writing a book called this, i don't know yet what it's actually the name of

why i am a poet
also not sure

 

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0.7(c)2011

 

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0.4(c)2011

 

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1.2(c)2011xxox

 

[1] your experience
[2] your lack of experience

 

a fire. it can never look wrong. it is never too big or too small. it's never lopsided, never awkward. you cannot possibly frame it incorrectly. no matter what, a fire always looks incredible.

obviously, flames exist in 3d space and my drawings are [very] 2d. the way i get the shapes is by trying to transpose the look of a fire onto a 2d space. other things too, like pieces of hair, waves of water, folds of fabric, parts of the body. but mostly, definitely the look of a fire.

flames don't enter into my daily life much. i don't even smoke. i do cook on a gas stove.

--
edit: oh, and i didn't take this picture. it's one of the first current Google Images hits for 'fire'. it's of a castle on fire in 2007 in Derby, UK.

 

9 songs that trigger specific memories
in chronological order

1
Lady Godiva's Operation by The Velvet Underground, on White Light/White Heat. i'm 13. i've copied my cd onto a cassette to play it on a cheap Radio Shack Walkman. i'm in the computer room at my mom's real estate office in La Cañada- at the time, Dilbeck on Foothill. i have nothing else to do so i give this song a good close listen. within whatever vocabulary i have at that time, i think something like, 'well ok then. that's some very specific documentation of some totally different sexuality that i have definitely never heard of before. i guess there are plenty of options out there. that's good to know.'

2
Gardening at Night by R.E.M., the 'different vocal mix' on the Eponymous comp. i am 14, in my room on Harmony Pl, stereo volume as loud as possible. i am sobbing about nothing specific: just being 14 and stuck in La Crescenta and wanting so much more, jesus, fuck i I Don't Know What To-

3
Fox on the Run covered by Sweet, i dunno, it's on the Dazed and Confused soundtrack. i am listening to it in the sun in Golden Gate Park, on a Sony Discman, on a trip to San Francisco with my father when i am 15. i have already figured out that i can be in college within months through a special program at USC. i hate this fucking trip because i love this fucking city and this trip is SOOO lame, my dad is drunk and ranting about Mexicans [that's sort of his thing, in general, to this day]. but, life is ok because i like this song, i like the sunshine, i like Golden Gate Park, and i'm counting the days 'til i'm out of my house and on my own. i'm not bold enough yet to feel cocky about the situation. looking back, i wish i had been. i could have totally felt like a badass, because i was about to make several clever moves that would totally change my life for way better.

4
I Won't Share You by The Smiths, on Strangeways, Here We Come. 2001, hot day. i'm walking down 2 Ave in Nyc with my first iPod, listening to the song. its ending: 'Life tends to come and go / That's ok as long as / You know / Life tends to come and go / As long as you know no no no no know know no no...' i'm lost in the slippage between 'no' and 'know' and it feels like i'll never need anything else, ever.

5
Vicious by Lou Reed, on Transformer. New York City, Bleecker St apartment [rent paid w/ student loan money], 2002. my lover Steven tells me he just read that Andy Warhol actually wrote the first line of the song- that to Lou Reed, Warhol said, 'Why don't you write a song called Vicious. Like, you hit me with a flower.' Steven is grinning. colors flood the room. life is as gorgeous as i can remember. i go out and buy flowers and trash them by whipping them all over everything. the habit will stick forever.

6
There Is a Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths, on The Queen Is Dead. Los Angeles, April 2003, the Wiltern, Morrissey's You Are the Quarry tour. Jose Maldonado [lifeguard, marathon runner, and lead singer of L.A. Smiths/Morrissey tribute band the Sweet and Tender Hooligans] literally picks me up and throws me at the stage during this song. i swear to god, Morrissey catches me with one hand [by the wrist, as security grab my feet]. for anyone interested, Morrissey in 2003 is an incredibly physically strong person. he yanks me onto the stage with the one arm while keeping hold on the microphone with his other hand [i do weigh about 98lbs at the time]. for two seconds as Morrissey leans backward and pulls, i see unmistakable, deliberate effort on his face. i think 'wow, he wants to pull me up here.' i find myself upright on the stage; i more or less shit myself; i yell something private into Morrissey's ear; i get dragged off stage left by actually pretty nice security who let me right back into the audience. the event is later recounted in the British music weekly the NME.

7
Kiss Me with Your Mouth, one of the covers... Tintin? i'm at the Ruby/World at 7070 Hollywood Bl on a Sunday for Beat It, an 80s club. 2004. there's this skinny, fey 17 year old boy with a pompadour who's been around for a few months. he's the best dancer i've ever seen. he makes me so hot, my very presence makes him uncomfortable. the first time i ask for his name, i mishear 'Chris' as 'Grace'. i do my best to chill out around him and he can tell, so he's friendly with me even though he's kinda freaked out by how much i want him. the club has just opened and a few people are dancing to this song, me among them. i know i'm going to see Chris later that night. [fast-forward: we never end up doing anything together except kiss once. i will forever refer to him as 'the teenager who won't sleep with me'.] 'Kiss me with your mouth, your love is sweeter than wine, but wine is all i have.'

8
Sometime Samurai by Kylie Minogue, remixed by a DJ whose name i don't remember. it's last Thursday, um, 3 Dec. i am on mdma around 6pm and wander into the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts after a full day at SFMOMA. the back room is decked out like a rave, with beanbags on the floor, DJ-mix music playing, and video art projected. it also looks kinda blacklit. nobody is even in there and i'm pretty blown away by the whole thing. i crash into one of the beanbags. i watch a video: two guys run around a city- San Francisco i'm pretty sure, but maybe it was Nyc or L.A.; i just remember thinking 'home'- so these two guys run around the city, stealing markers and videoing all this with a small DVcam. they write lyrics from the song all over the city as graffiti, especially the refrain 'sometime samurai'. they steal some paint and start to spraypaint the lyrics and the refrain. then they get on what look like European motorscooters, ride a bit, and then the video ends with them at a stoplight for a long moment. i think it's so perfect. sometimes you're a samurai, and the rest of the time you're waiting for the traffic light to change, or for some other signal, or just for a change in the light.

9
Dirty Dream Number Two by Belle + Sebastian, on The Boy with the Arab Strap. 5 Dec, Oakland Airport. it's around 8:20pm and within the hour i'll be in the air, on the way to JFK. i've heard this song recently on my iPod, which is now battery-drained. i think about my lover Steven, who's having a bad time right now although i think he's getting better. he has horrible trouble with nightmares. [me, i hardly ever remember my dreams at all.] i'm walking through the terminal carrying literal 'heavy shit' [my bags], having been up for 2+ days. i hear Stuart Murdoch sing in my head 'Why is this happening to you, you're not a child / Why is this happening, you've too much on your mind'- and it's just one of those moments where all the mirrors make me start to cry cuz they are mirrors. there's no point in trying to list them all. who the fuck sits down and makes a list inside a hall of mirrors?

well Dennis, apparently. props to him for making the only 'memes' on the internet that are actually worth doing.

 

1. interchangeable parts
2. non-interchangeable parts

 

one day i will take a trip to Kutztown, Pennsylvania, where Keith Haring grew up with his sisters- Kay, Kristen, and Karen- and his best friend, Kermit Oswald, who was also his first sexual fascination. Kermit knew Keith from elementary school onwards, and Kermit eventually moved to New York City too, several years later than Keith. after an unsuccessful career painting mostly trees, Kermit went on to make frames, like for paintings, and he also supervised the construction of most of the gigantic, public, metal sculptures Keith designed late in his life. one of those sculptures is in front of the Moscone Center in San Francisco, and has been since the SFMOMA Keith Haring retrospective in 1998. that, incidentally, was brilliant shit. at the time, i already knew Keith Haring's work well from art books. that was my first real experience, in an art museum, where i was like 'shit wow now i'm seeing the _real thing_'. i'll never forget spotting A Pile of Crowns for Jean-Michel Basquiat- the actual, large, triangular canvas- out of the corner of my eye, for the first time. and what was that super-early, super-unusual work that i saw at the SFMOMA retrospective but have never seen anywhere else, not even in books- something like I Know Where Meat Comes From It Comes From the Store? god, that was amazing. i wish i could see that painting again.

so this gate to Kutztown: it's located somewhere in the 20s at Nyc Port Authority. the ride from here takes around 3 hours. i don't know anything about Kutztown, which is generally described as a 'borough' [whether of Reading or Philadelphia, i have no idea]. i'm pretty sure the ticket price must be under $35, but i've never tried to actually find out and i have no idea where the ticketing counter for that particular bus line even is. i don't know where, in Kutztown, the bus lets you off. once i got to the bus station, i don't know where i'd walk from there.

all i need to know is: Kutztown, Keith, Kay, Kristen, Karen- and somehow; especially: Kermit. i will bring Keith H's journals and official bio, and maybe some of his favorite writings on art, and i will bring my sketchbook.

so far, i have tried to learn as little as possible about Kutztown. i know there is a Haring sculpture there that i have never seen [one that Kermit constructed]. apparently there's some kind of small quaint downtown area. i hear it is 'conveniently located' to Allentown [which i've never heard of really] and Reading [where Keith H was actually born].

buses leave from Nyc Port Authority every day. it's just a question of packing my backpack one day and getting on one of those buses.

in other news, i won't be posting many drawings in the coming weeks, because i'll be doing gift drawings that are going to belong only to the people that receive them. i'll stick something public up every one in awhile, though. i can never resist.

in the meantime, photographs. today at Port Authority, which is becoming one of my favorite places in the world, this confounded me.

--
edit: also, on the photo for the Kutztown bus gate, you see where it says 'Departure Times See Schedule Below'? literally, the only thing 'below' that lit sign is a door and then the floor and then i guess the dead.

 

The things that confuse most people have never confused me. Who I want to fuck? Myself as Robert Mapplethorpe, forever. What happens to us after we die? We flop back onto the world, returning everything we won and grabbing at what we lost. The things that confound me are tiny and specific: numbers, flames, pieces of hair. These things are much more confusing. It is easier to picture creation clearly than it is a fire.

Last night, though, sitting on the edge of my bed in my first track jacket [red of course], I experienced my first spiritual crisis while looking at a pretty small cross-section of delivery menus from my neighborhood. It was one of the most ecstatic things I have ever felt in my life. Now I get why people like to be confused about giant things like why we are here; how: the slip never ends? Freefall surely isn't the only freedom, but it must be in the top 3.

When I was growing up, I was never a particularly churchy person because my parents only ever took me to one [obviously not unusual], La Cañada Presbyterian. Kevin Costner and his family also went[/go?] there. The place is preppy, fake, and boring to the max. I loathed being ordered to dress up. Too many people in the congregation had had plastic surgery[*], and the entire sight was just kind of sickening and scary to me. The church was located across from the only place I ever remember seeing a cigarette machine, a chain restaurant called Conrad's in a strip mall that also held a Vons market, Baskin Robbins ice cream, and my mom's favorite drycleaner.

I remember what bugged me most about church, starting from when I was little and through high school [after which i kind of forgot that people even go to church], was the idea that the world had been created for humans. I found it arrogant, and also for some reason, a lot of people used this idea to justify the idea of eating meat to me, or even to instruct me to eat meat [including, repeatedly, i shit you not, the extremely conservative Christian math teacher i had throughout most of high school]. When I think about the idea of a human-centric world now, the idea of 'meat' just has nothing to do with it. I'm sort of fascinated by the fact that these concepts were even connected in the minds of so many people I knew.

So, last night. I was ever so slightly drugged and sitting on the edge of my bed with maybe like 4 or 5 menus in my hand [we probably have about 40 from restaurants that will deliver here], trying to think of what I wanted to eat, and I got extreme vertigo, and I fell, not over physically, but just fell, dropped out. It was like being a ghost and walking through the papers that were in my hands in front of me. It felt so amazing. I don't know how long it happened. It wasn't instantaneous, and it didn't last longer than 15 minutes, but it could have been a few minutes or a couple seconds, I don't know.

I was realizing that there were god, what?, over 500 [vegetarian] dishes that I could order and have brought to me? And suddenly I considered that if the world was created for humans to use? That is actually the humblest way to possibly think of it. If the world was not created for us, we absolutely took it anyway and we are going to use it right up. How. Fucking

um

oh

For the first time I read the introduction to The Thief's Journal in the original French. The Grove translations of Genet's books are all loveably awkward [lots of 'i buggered him' and 'we were buggering together'... i expect to see new ones sometime in my lifetime]. The translations of Sartre's introductions are also slightly off. The idea at the end of the introduction to The Thief's Journal more or less makes it through, though: basically, every person's greatest secret is that s/he is exactly the same as you. This is totally distinct from the idea that 'we are all the same', which is how a lot of people misread the introduction. What Sartre is pointing to is the bigness and darkness of the secret, and the possibility of endless twins and mirrors. S/he is the same as you, s/he is the same as Jean Genet, and you are the same as Jean Genet, but the three are not the same. There are secret endless twins, but no triplets. I guess I'd phrase it: what no one will ever reveal to you, specifically, is that s/he is exactly the same as you, specifically.

It took me a long time to put my head back on after I read that. As far as I am concerned, there is hardly anywhere to go from there except to blood and bleach and out. It was months before I even started the actual book.

If that is our enormous and unlit, well, a smaller wink belongs to you and me

--

Our Littlest Secret

 

Hardly news right? But every time I open a can of soda, I too hear the entire 20th century in America.

 

Me?

Me, I have long held that the best way to code yourself as physically available [which is to say sexually available, yeah, but also something much larger, 'in public' in a way that's morally correct]- the best way is to look a little bit preppy, a little bit young+masculine, and a little bit pink. If I want to look like a whore [a: servant of the city], I imagine a boy in a pink Lacoste shirt with chemically burnt hair, and I try to evoke him through similar gestures. Not the same gestures, precisely. I don't look very good in a Lacoste shirt myself.

Soooo, I wanted to like the new hot pink automat in the East Village a lot more than I do;

St Marks Pl -->

 

In the first place, I'm writing this without the magazines at hand. I'm in a room where musical instruments are scattered upside-down, empty glass bottles crowd every surface, and a busted trampoline faces me directly: my view. Not exactly how I planned it but at least Storz+Bickel are present.

I encountered this girl in the apparently final print issue [2001] of Propaganda Magazine, an enterprise of Fred H Berger, a dude whose cultural role I have never quite gleaned. He takes photographs [which are pretty good]; reviews minor music releases. For a time, I guess, he was behind a print magazine called Propaganda. I always find that the most unexpected people know Propaganda Magazine, so if you know it, you know it. If not;

Early issues were goth-oriented and 2 steps above Xerox. As years passed, it grew into a reasonably glossy... 'scene magazine'? 'Fictional photoessay' magazine? Basically, these really hot, androgynous boys and girls would pose for clearly made-up Life Magazine-type photojournalism pieces. Or would you call the pieces porn? The narratives were similar. The pictures were generally sexual, but didn't have nudity.

For example, in the photographs below, The Girl, dyed blonde in black leather looking like a boy, is acting the part of 'Dmitri', a Russian street hustler. Dmitri's words are briefly quoted; he mentions his girlfriend 'Zosia' [the other girl below]. He actually says 'I'm not a faggot' with reference to his invented profession, and this gets a block quote. Seriously... at whom was this magazine aimed?

So yeah: The Girl. I don't know her name. My feelings for her are singular... unlike, unlike, unlike...

One time I tried to explain it by saying I didn't know whether I wanted to fuck her or to be her. It wasn't a flippant expression; it was an honest attempt to reduce the conflict, to aim it at a 'central tension', chill the situation out. I asked other people, who is it for you? You can't decide whether you'd prefer to be or fuck who? And I mean really, like if you actually gave it a lot of thought?

I got gorgeous answers: Egon Schiele, Kim Gordon, Morrissey. But I realized that my friends played the game differently. To the names that attracted them, enormous lives and myths were attached. No one proferred an anonymous photo and said, That One. Instead, they felt a pull, more or less, between Fucking That and Having That Career / Having Made That Art.

It's true that with the girl in the photos, I don't know if I'd rather fuck her or be her. I know that I'd say yes to either and both. The former, of course, is unremarkable: you can all see that she's boyishly cute, self-aware, and involved in some kind of weird art project. But as for being her, I don't know what her daily life is like now, or what it was ever like; I don't know where she lives; I fundamentally don't know what she does. Further, if I were to be her, it wouldn't be so that it was me in these photos in Propaganda Magazine. It's not that I wish I had been the one to make that art- art that's totally unobjectionable and quite sexy at turns, but not the sort that makes me jealous.

I guess I see: The Surface of The Girl. If she walked toward me, in a mirror or on the street, and said, Do You Want To Switch?... and she would become me and I'd become her and we'd walk away, each into a new life formerly belonging to the other... I Would Say Yes. No doubt, I would probably try to fuck her too. So basically this makes her... a point of entry? I see the other side already.

Some people want themselves. Some people want you. Some people want boys or girls coaxed halfway into existence; some people want light; and some people want the whip. Me;

I want Two I want Twice

2 more photographs

 

I sold my body.
I sold my soul.
I'd do it again.

 

all other entries are in the directory. some questions are answered at return the ring.