after 40 odd years brian eno finally sells out

I went to pitchfork for the first time ever today. weird right? like I should have been on this shit a while ago but I guess I'm not that hip... I did spend the summer listening to pop radio... that and the same three songs by tom waits and the birthday party. Why are people still all about animal collective and arcade fire didn't all that shit happen like years ago? what the fuck is twee? it sounds really annoying. Am I too hip for pitchfork? and if so doesn't that totally mean that pop radio, tom waits and the birthday party are post hip? uber hip? meta hip?

am I just mocking hipsterrunoff.com?

"I hear people do a lot of heroin around here"

Chick at a Party: Your shirt is beautiful
Me: Thank you
(a few minutes of me being silent later)
Chick: Do you do a lot of heroin?
Me: Excuse me?

I guess my attitude was particularly heroinesque but really I was just tired and drunk and stoned. I don't remember much of the party after this and I was pretty dedicated to not doing so as evidenced by my dedication to smoking and drinking silently instead of talking to the girl I was sitting next to. To be fair to both of us, she does a lot of heroin and bitches about her girl friend a lot.

New York flashed by in a haze of pot smoke, a couple liters of vodka and the vain hope that by obliterating my obsessive thoughts I could cut loose, speak intelligently and take the party by storm. Epic fail. Now I'm writing a mediocre blog post about it where the most interesting part will be when I mention that I had to masturbate three times when I got home to relieve my frustration and save myself from what felt like immanent organ failure (don't ask).

see? wasn't that interesting and a little clever? I told Adam about it when I got back and he seemed genuinely concerned for my health which was nice, made me feel a little loved.

dear john, the only person who follows my updates so I assume it's you that I'm directing this towards, if this is juol I am not directing this at you but any way

dear john.
about two weeks ago you taught me in an indirect way what it feels like to be raped. No I should rephrase that. You taught about how one could be raped indirectly... that's truth, on a visceral level. I have had panic attacks every day since the I got a phone call that you were showing a video of you and I having very violent sex at first I chalked it up to drinking too much coffee but no you are a rapist, my emotional and sexual life has been fundamentally altered since I met you, since we had sex and since you flashed it around to every one. john you're a rapist, you know it and worse you like it, you like seeing yourself in that role but the sad fact is that you advertise this to people and every one knows you're going to end up dead some where without family who love you, without friends who care for you... I found a great image depicting a dead man, alone in the jungle AK lying useless, no more like ineffectually by his side. this is you john gorrow. you have done nothing for yourself, not ever, you are nobody and worse then delusional you have tried to injure a real live human being with your self hatred and neurosis.

You hate, you hate black people which is truly bizarre coming from any one living ANYWHERE and moreover you hate gay people generally and yourself most! You are really very sick. I remember that much about you, before I blacked out you went on and on about how shameful it was to be a homosexual and how dirty it was. that is what I remember about you, I remember you trying to impress me an jamie with nin, and failing and then you trying to impress with your garage band music. This is what I remember about you. I remember letting you into my house once and making you masturbate, you wanted to be "daddy" but I wouldn't even touch you let alone you touch me. you wanted to fuck but John, you will never have sex.

You aren't human enough.

an ideal conversation with my mother (a completely once sided conversation)

fuck off I am in constant pain

in rainbows

Hes older, already dating some one. Younger, 19 not much of a looker, bit of a junky but the boy suits his needs. Sleeping and such a heavy sleep, a guiltless heavy unconscious. I hardly know this man but I've watched him wake up with the word "no" on his lips. That's a lie, I served as the intermediary for the no and my imagination ran away from me. That's part isn't interesting though, that was a drunken mess and I kept my distance. My drunken messes are more interesting less monomaniacal and either more or less melodramatic. But I'm blowing my own horn now when I should be talking about this man. 36 and a reformed hippy, NA, sober now but the boy drinks, the boy drugs himself, the boy was turned down as a dancer because he's too fat. his hair is too poorly taken care of. I'm trying to write without disdain, but I have such mixed emotions about this couple. Fascinating really, the sex is fascinating, their union is fascinating and completely neurotic. I wonder what it would be like for me to get with the older guy, he's kinda pretty. I wonder what it would be like for him, I wonder what it would mean for him to rid of that boy for me, older, smarter, better balanced. I wonder what it would mean for him to keep the boy and have me on the side.

I can't stop thinking about sex, the entire time that I'm writing this I swear I'm not thinking about them at all, just the people I have sex with and what it means to me.

I just got beat up by three jersey chicks. Or hate crimes waiting to happeb

for mouthing off and being a fag. in my mind it was mostly fer being a fagin their minds it was probably for mouting off and then throwing puncrs after I got decked but wtf all I said was fuck you fuck off when they denied me a cig. Im trying to give the facts of the matter as straight as I possibly can. I talked some shit but every one talks shit, I tried to fight back after I got knocked down maybe I called them bitches but seriously my face is fucked and I feel like this is a little more then a normal altercation especially when after they drive away the rest of the people outside come up to me with a genuine concern for my well being.

being gay in the alb sucks and every one knows it. Ny only recourse is to make sure there are always cops on that corner and any of my friends stay away from bogies for the next month where crack hicause not only is uptown due for a raid but that plave is gonna be hit hard. fuck all them I wanna walk home without fear. fuck them all straight edge or not that place is a haven of homophobes and I have never felt safe going by there.

I feel safer in the fucking ghetto then I do in my own neighborhood... whatever this is one time where crack house laws are going to work in my favor

How one falls in love with a tape worm and how one gets a tape worm in the first place

me and my tape worm are very close, he's such a great listener, I don't care if my tapeworm eats all of my food, wont get a job and keeps fucking up my house, he's so damned cute and he keeps me skinny, I love the pale and hollow glow of anemia, my tapeworm is my provider.

In my long and wondrous journey to the utopian state of health this is the state of mind I find most repulsive, the most deluded. The self hatred that should come with having a parasite I can look past. I find this metaphor particularly disturbing because for a long time I was having dreams about worms and there's one I still feel vividly. I'm not going to give an entire description but it suffices to say that in the dream I gave birth through my thigh to the father of my sickness.

dionysus gives traumatic birth to the seed of his own destruction by nicking the artery running along his left wrist, wrapping the head of his father around a wooden match coiling him. his foul offspring, the result of an incautious fling with the river spirits in the nile.

God fuck the bastards who took the imagery, metaphor and theater out of mental health. They are puritanical misanthropes with their heads stuck up the ass of science, their humanity constantly shat upon by reason.

winged victory

ah the fallen in the heat of action, that ragtime verse how elegant and intelligent. a prayer for the dead or the best I can manage because it's five AM and I'm trying to remember you. but I can probably recall all of your faces, and of course I can but it's a shame to have to say that, it's a shame to have to think about it because of course I can because it's the curse of the wet brained to remember those faces. the hurt the fallen and the discarded and the ones who have to put up with the lushing and the puking and the ones who told you no or to say no.

all those infractions are horrific trespassers.

control you are my faithful lover

hey ass hole stop acting like a jerk when the cameras are off and you think no one can hear you! clap hands say yeah really kinda sucks and you only like those people because you like sketchy music and they don't! and let me please point out that you're not invited to that part, because aside from the fact that you don't want to go it costs too much, they really don't appreciate dudes who show up wasted. So just cut the shit stay home and do what you want, you know that's what you want to do any way,


btw this is why god invented cock

cock rocks

so I'm gonna hang out with the pheasentry and feel better about being a ground fowl

in case it wasn't clear show me yer underwear and I'll feel better

Coke is lame video is the new coke

totally video moment; an old black lady puting some unnameable substance in her nose followed by static and broken signal. I think this is the first time I've seen a vhs to digital transfer and I'm very impressed. the contrast is terrible, the color is all wrong and it's constantly cutting out. So yeah I like it.

In other news I got into a Power Wheels accident last night and I broke my ass.

I'm hungry and there's nothing for me to put mayo on in the house so it's pain killers and coffee.

"Yes the night IS good"

That power wheels accident might need some explanation. The O'Brien and I met up with an old friend of ours for drinks and the music really sucked at Suzie's, it was all irish punk nonsense. So we finished our drinks and head for another bar, a place with 2 dollar pabst that didn't burn down recently. any way, there was a powerwheels in the trash outside of a house so we get to the bar in style with our high powered barbie car. drink a little bit there and decide that really the best thing to do with the rest of the night was get a 40 and cruise around town. We picked up a hitchhiker on lark, but before she got in she made us promise that we wouldn't break her vagina cause her girlfriend would kill her. She got off at around jay street, adjusted her pants and hobbled away. More booze and then the capitol race course... which is where I broke my ass taking the car down a circular slide.

It rocked

Nobody gets MRSA

So I still haven't found any free cocaine and I'm realizing what started out as an act of self production has spiraled out of control into drug deprived crazy talk. This is me crying out to the world "MEDICATE ME." Maybe I should try a more effective venue, a bar maybe.

In a similar vein, I'm programing another synth, the vein is similar because after I have a lovely new soft synth with some sort of strange controller (right now I'm thinking of running the whole thing off of osscilators, rhythm, pitch, the works) I can scream "MEDICATE ME" in bars with my new noise band MRSA. This is my plot to make friends and get free coke. See? it all ties all of my most important objectives together. Art, deranged fantasy, free drugs, more friends, new life. Funny how it looks an awful lot like the old one.

fun fact, MRSA may kill more people a year then AIDS.
look it up, it's got a great wikipedia page and it's got a pretty sound to it, mersa

Free Coke

Really not into writing right now but I feel some how obligated. Trying to find a reason for that seems senseless. My publicist really doesn't take his job seriously and why should he? I don't pay him. None the less I feel an obligation to my ethereal readership, my dedicated ethereal readership that resides in the luminiferous aether.

big news of the last few weeks. I got really drunk once. I've managed not to take all the vicadin in the house. I spent two and a half hours yesterday talking shit about passers by with mike and this chick we met outside of the daily grind.

That last one was probably the best thing that's happened to me in a while. A very skilled critic of humanity finishing her BA in photo. She also had really nice hair. I think she also thought I was gay. So I'm kinda gay, what's wrong with that? Is that any reason not to sleep with me? And that's all that I have to say on the subject. Maybe, maybe not, she did agree to get together and have a rough night.

Speaking of rough nights my shoulder is FUCKED.
I need more sarcasm and bitterness in my life so I'm going to make another cup of coffee.
Does any one know where to get free coke?

Bug Juice

I need me some drugs. last night I popped a bunch of vicadin ostensibly for my back ache but really it was cause I was drunk. I get these cravings every once in a while, it's like the craving I get for lobster or other shell fish. the problem with speed is that it's never as good as you hope it's gonna be. the problem with vicadin is that it never lasts quite long enough. my problem with pot is that I only wanna smoke it alone while drinking coffee and writing, so I can record my freak out. the problem with this is I don't have any pot and lately I've only been writing in here. Is a blog a good place to record stoned freak outs? regardless I don't have any pot. Bug juice is the best, there is nothing wrong with bug juice until you get hooked and then the only problem is there is never enough.

I need some religion
I need to get into a kinky fight
I may not need either of those things and I'm just denying my need for lobster

a friend of mine once told me she was a teleology generator and she wasn't even fucked up at the time, well maybe a little. my memory is a little foggy, she may have spent the prior evening doing drugs at a lesbian sex vampire party or at a crack house but I know there was some reason why she needed to come over for coffee and then stay for ginger tea and seafood pasta. so were drinking coffee and and talking about Kant and R.D Lang and she's being really emphatic because she's always really emphatic, especially when it comes to obscure psychology and especially when it comes to her obscure psychology. it's in this context where she says "I think I'm a teleology generator." Ostensibly I love this statement because it's true and it means so many things but really it's because it makes Kant look like he's really into nutty druggies.

I later did a video with her inspired by ryan trecartins facepaint

I miss art and I need a bed buddy.

control and I became lovers the summer that kelly friedman was crashing in my bed. That was my best summer in albany, I had just figured out the difference between art and teenage vomit and I was spending a lot of time naked and stoned. I'm very fond of this memory, cleansed me of my previous history and allowed the foundation to be laid for the mutations that were on their way.

time to once again reassess history, there's shit that need rewriting, other shit that needs purging with a thorough enema.

what stays:
I am still the princess of sweden and no one can take that away from me, not even face book
art
Fucking

the first item on the list is delusional, the other two are just vague but that's certainly where I'm at. I need to figure out how to reconcile the me that I was with Erin, and the me that I was before and am going to be after. this make me sad just thinking about and not only a little because I've been left on very uncertain ground in terms of my identity. How do I reconcile three years of sexual ambiguity and amorphous gender presentation with the fact that I just spent two years in a totally hetero-normative relationship... I can't write about this any more right now, I'll just make myself sick over it.

DON'T FUCK WITH ME DURGA!

so I tried starting this once before but my ex objected to some of the content. we've since broken up even more and I'm feeling I once again have the freedom of expression

I'm sitting on my bed, to my right are four old cameras from the 70s to my left an old futon propped against my radiator that I've been using as a couch, a speaker acting like a nightstand, the decaying corpse of a cat murdered chair which has found new life as a shelf and occasional backrest. behind me two six foot high shelves of old electronics, toys, pieces of wood and hindu statuary all collecting dust. the dust was here before I left and it's still here now that I'm back with more books and cloth and art supplies. All of which will collect more dust. I'm trying to rationalize this, make it seem pretty or interesting but I can't put a value to it, not even a negative value. it's just stuff, there to be ignored until needed. I feel bad saying that while Shiva and Durga are staring at me. Maybe this is my punishment for letting them get dusty in the first place. To be cast out of Montreal and return to dust and Albany.

My therapist thinks it's my mother. My lonely not very old mother who's best friend is an 18 year old black girl and who's boyfriend is a 60something black man who has heart problems and is married to another woman. But enough about my mother, I feel like there's more hope if my situation can be attributed to the insane woman and god of transformation growing dusty on my shelf.

so how to reinvent my little world without pissing off the many armed crazy woman with who thinks I might be a demon.