NOBODY PASSES, darling

A great review of Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots in 2B Magazine...

2012-02-01T15:16:00.000-07:00

Here it is...

Santa Barbara, in case you were curious...

2012-01-30T22:02:00.002-07:00

Sand under my feet

2012-01-30T16:02:00.000-07:00

Waking up into that terrible sinus headache familiarity which means I guess it went away for a while, since the summer maybe, but now, now will it ever? Go away. Rushing out of bed for diarrhea -- oh, I need a vacation from this vacation. Outside, someone’s smoking in the designated smoking area, help -- that's where I wanted to sit in the sun to welcome the day, but then I realize oh, I'll just walk to the beach -- shorts and a hat, nothing else, not even contact lenses and as soon as my feet touched the sand I'm somewhere else, I mean here.

Everything looks more beautiful than yesterday -- sure, muted because of my vision and maybe that makes it all softer too. I did this in San Dimas too -- went on a walk without my contact lenses in. Actually it's kind of fun. As long as no one tells me they want to kill me, it's always important to know where the threats are coming from.

Oh, the beach -- I wish I could live on the beach. I've gone through in my head, but no, I don't think there are any beach towns that are culturally bearable really. It's always been my ideal space, though -- and then I moved to the desert: plenty of sand.

Santa Barbara doesn't seem as tacky as yesterday -- in Santa Fe, everything is fake too, but it tricks you with the weirdness and wildness. Here it's all Spanish colonial palm tree California capture. Somehow there are still too porn shops, though. In one the employee is an unfriendly woman who looks at you like you’re trash, and the wrong men in a dank hallway smelling of smoke with a sign that says no smoking, big rooms too where you could fit 10 people comfortably, but not these 10 people, please. At the next one, there's a friendly guy working, flirting with a girl who acts like she's never been in a porn shop, but no one else. You can walk out the back, or the front.

On the main strip: sports bars and places that look like they sell vintage clothes but actually it's just costumes -- flashy facades, cheap interiors. Or, cheap facades, flashy interiors -- what's the difference, really? The air is thick with the highway nearby, actually now I'm walking underneath it, and even when I get to the beach everything still feels clogged.

But then there’s today -- this is after State Street, fog or clouds rolling in and I need to get back to the beach, get as much sand under my feet as possible, while I'm here.

The best part

2012-01-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

Now I know why I don't eat canned beans -- because they taste like a can. Doesn't matter how long you cook them -- it's been three hours with these adzuki beans -- forget it, time to cook the dried mung beans. The fluorescent lights in this hotel room -- ground-level, facing a parking lot: you get the point. I can see the neon sign of the Lowe’s, that's my view.

But then there are the train tracks, behind the hotel and that's where I'm walking, shirt off in the sun it’s just me on the side of the tracks, wrong side which means the right side, whatever side I'm on -- gravel and dirt that feels like sand and for a while I wonder why, nowhere near the beach I mean probably 50 or 60 miles, right? But then I remember: this was desert, before it became farmland feeding and draining the whole country. Gravel and dirt that feels like sand in my body in the sun, suddenly there’s desire too and I'm touching my skin, a hard-on even and I wonder about jerking off here on the side of the tracks where jerking off was meant to be but then I'm tired again and back in fluorescents.

Sundays in San Dimas, sung in my head over and over to the tune of Sundays in Savannah, one of Nina Simone's most beautiful songs, even if it is about church. Even if I won't be in San Dimas on a Sunday, I do understand these towns more, after Santa Fe -- you look up at the mountains, past strip mall hell, and you wonder. Back on the train tracks, maybe it's the next day or maybe it was earlier, I watch someone scale the wall behind Lowe's, climb up to her bike, sunglasses half on and half off and she waits a full minute or two to catch her breath is what I'm thinking, catch her breath from whatever she’s obtained in the best way possible, before riding off.

The Claremont event is fantastic, soothing actually – yes the space is gorgeous and I am relaxed, but more than that it's about the way the audience is breathing and laughing and learning with me, that's what I'm feeling anyway, especially afterwards at the reception, where people come up to get their books signed and tell me stories about my work, their work, to dream about public sex spaces and spaces for the intimacies we all crave and that's what I feel somehow, these intimacies.

Oh, the air conditioning on the train -- yes, I wish I left that car with all the air conditioning and my head, today, my head, but also there’s the exhaustion, my head, today my goal is to go to the beach, feet in the sand, sun on my body and that I already did but yes I need more except my head: so hard to feel anything like pleasure, this exhausted, this drained, the train, even with the ocean on my feet, soft wet sand, now I will lie down.

Wait: not just air conditioning, but the horrible toxic floral scent in the bed, why the bad why I should have run into one of those department stores Davka and I drove by and bought a new bottom sheet I mean I thought of that, but then I thought no, that's not something I need, is it? It is. It was. It will be.

I mean I travel with a top sheet, for that exact reason, and who knows if just getting rid of the bottom sheet would have gotten rid of the horrible toxic floral scent anyway, didn't I ask about that ahead of time? I must have, right? But let's get back to the beach: the second time is more exciting somehow, turning the corner and there are the mountains. Yes, an endless row of hideous palm trees too and straight people playing volleyball, soccer, golden purse swing-about, someone whistles at me but still, the rocks in the wet sand and my feet in the water oh my feet in the water I didn't realize that would be the best part.

San Dimas...

2012-01-27T14:53:00.000-07:00

Goodbye LA...

2012-01-26T14:11:00.001-07:00

Well, I went up here to see the view, and look, look...

2012-01-25T16:34:00.001-07:00

Oh, but the award for the question of the evening last night at USC goes to...

2012-01-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

When did it become so heartless?

Oh, by -- what a good question!!!!

A video surprise (for me, at least) over at Wild Gender...

2012-01-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

Imagine my surprise when I clicked play on this video over at Wild Gender, and realized wait -- that's my voice! Remixed from the interview on Uprising Radio from just the other day, I love it...

Fresher

2012-01-24T14:41:00.001-07:00

In LA, people apologize about the weather: sorry it's raining! But the rain rain rain, I love the rain, what could be better in LA? Especially on this cold day where I can wear my red wool coat, hat and two scarves, and walk outside on Hollywood Boulevard and the air actually feels kind of fresh -- there's no one on the street except a few people with umbrellas, it seems like so long ago when I could use an umbrella, I mean when it wouldn't hurt my hands too much -- 11 years I guess, but now I'm used to the hat strategy, and I wonder if Seattle will actually turn out well -- I'll have to get some more rain hats to go with these sun hat collection, maybe it will be fun.

Of course, eight or nine months of rain is different than a few hours, way way different, but still that freshness. Darker too, way up north in Seattle, I mean here at noon in the rain it's still kind of light, not as light as in Santa Fe I mean I don't need sunglasses. But way way lighter than Seattle, that's for sure, but still this freshness, way way fresher in Seattle of course I mean here the next day after two days of rain the air is already gross, clear to see things in the distance but nothing much to breathe. I guess the fresh air didn't work too well in Santa Fe, right? But what about the fresh air in Seattle?

Intimate and intoxicating

2012-01-23T11:09:00.000-07:00

It's funny -- with my Santa Fe reading, I arrived right as it started, so I avoided that edgy nervousness that always happens when I arrive early, can't relax my body, can't really talk about anything, keep rushing to the bathroom to shit. I don't know what it is really -- I'm not worried that I'll fuck up, really, so what is it exactly? Maybe I am worried that I'll fuck up, somewhere deep down that's very physical, instinctual or something -- I know I worry about whether people will show up, whether it will be packed, that sort of thing.

People do show up, it's a great crowd, really varied, and they actually sell out the book again -- two in a row, this doesn't usually happen. I also have to say that I'm really excited that fags are showing up -- I was a little worried that I would be on tour for this book called Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots?, and there wouldn't be any faggots in the room -- since, for my last book tour, the audience was overwhelmingly dykes, queer women, trans guys, people on the transmasculine spectrum, and then a few fags thrown in for good measure -- which makes sense because my politics come from those cultures. But this book, of course is for fags -- for everyone else too, but especially for fags -- and so I might get kind of depressed if there weren't fags in the audience. Thankfully, that hasn't been the case -- I think press coverage really helps to bring gay men out for the events. One person wrote to me about driving in his car from Cathedral City to LA, hearing me on the radio at heading right over to Stories to buy a copy. Someone else in the audience last night told me how he was in the Gay Liberation Front in LA in the '70s, and he heard me on the radio and thought yes, this is what I've been thinking for all these years and finally someone is saying it!

And then all my friends, writing colleagues, my sister, people who have read my books in college, younger and older queers rounding out the audience to make it intimate and intoxicating at once. The store had a great microphone also -- that's certainly not always the case. I wish wish wish, though, that they had a podium of some sort -- without one, ended up holding the book with my hands for way too long oh no pain pain pain pain pain but I have my feldenkrais CDs, listened to one last night right before bed and I think that really helped. For some reason, whenever I call feldenkrais practitioners in LA, they don't call me back. I would love to see one, that's for sure, but I guess for now I'll stick with my CDs, and hope that I can avoid a pain catastrophe.

I have another event today, and then I go to Claremont later in the week -- here are the details for the next two events:

University of Southern California
VCK 100
Monday, January 23, 5 pm
Los Angeles, CA

Claremont Colleges
Scripps College, Balch Auditorium
Thursday, January 26
7 pm doors, 7:30 pm talk
Reception and book signing to follow in the Hampton Room above Scripps Dining Hall
Claremont, CA

Oh -- and, apparently there's been a bit of controversy at USC about my use of the word faggot -- I wonder what will transpire...

Sea level

2012-01-22T14:34:00.000-07:00

Leaving Santa Fe, I think about how I will miss the clouds, and how people will not understand what the hell I'm talking about because of course it's cloudy all the time in Seattle, right? Sea level: what will that feel like? Why a stomach ache almost immediately after I get on the train, the desert flowing into night and, to tell you the truth, I actually sleep better on the train than I do in general, if only they could leave me alone for another two hours I might actually feel good, or something.

Except for my sinuses, right? All that recycled air and then there’s what they call air in LA, which actually is much much better than usual because of the rain yes rain, but still, it is LA. On a side street everything can feel kind of calming, fresh almost in the rotting suburban urban way that is LA, all these weird things growing and how? Birds chirping and why? But still.

I settle into this apartment where I'm staying, convenient and comfortable almost like my own place I mean it is my own place while I'm in LA, but then there's this pain in my sinuses, pressure in my head, is this the pressure of my sinuses or the pressure of sea level, dizziness, sudden confusion when everything rushes around me and I look up at the sky to see what it is, yes it looks like sky, different, not as dramatic, the sunset happens so fast you can miss it, the apartment buildings alternate between rundown and overpriced, and upscale and more overpriced and actually it's kind of quiet too you when you're not on one of the thoroughfares with cars zooming into my head at that sudden burst of pollution overload and I wonder about the train, or actually when we stopped in Albuquerque and this guy in tie-dyed shirt with big curly hair came up to me and asked: are you tripping, you must be tripping.

Projection: we all do it. It's funny how that walk through Albuquerque surprised me more than LA -- skateboarders, someone kicking a soccer ball, homophobic snickering at the bus station, what are all these people doing out? I mean Albuquerque is pretty abandoned for a so-called big city, but still a city and then I came here, driving crosstown with Campbell, driving driving driving which was actually kind of interesting because I could sense the sprawling geography at the different way, I don't think I could ever relate to it really because I don't relate to sprawl, but it started to feel more familiar, rundown stripmalls blending into opulence. People on the street: curiosity and disdain. A nice comment here and there. Somewhat surprisingly friendly; somewhat predictably snotty; someone surprisingly snotty -- somewhat predictably -- no, friendliness is never predictable, unfortunately.

Yes, more rain, I think, did it rain again last night? A construction drill outside, but then it stops. Looking out the windows at these impossibly wild palm trees, walking around and seeing those evergreen hedges that grow so tall and skinny, how? And then you turn on the street suddenly so wide, palm trees arranged like sticks on the sidelines and there’s a dieting store called Organic Liaison. Kirstie Alley started it.

Back on the train, the guy with the big hair remembers my name, comes up to me in the lounge car: hey Mattilda! Tells me about this drunken guy who was bothering him, and the conductor called the cops and had him thrown off the train. But then this guy’s stuff disappeared -- the conductor said it was the drunk guy who stole it, mostly this guy was worried about his hat, sentimental attachment. So he called the cops to ask about it -- no, they said, there wasn't any hat. When this guy confronted the conductor, the conductor said are you calling me a liar? I'll kick you off this train.

Sea level: are we there yet?

And then when I wake up, can you believe it -- yes yes it's rain rain raining -- thank you, LA, for bringing me some rain to clear out their air for a little bit, thank you!

2012-01-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

Arrival in LA...

2012-01-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

On the way...

2012-01-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

A quick walk through Albuquerque, and yes, this building, yes!

2012-01-21T12:35:00.000-07:00

A great interview from today's Uprising Radio on KPFK-LA!

2012-01-20T21:32:00.002-07:00

Here it is -- and, if you're in LA, don't forget my reading on Sunday:

Stories Books and Cafe, Echo Park
Sunday, January 22, 6:30 pm
1716 West Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90026-3225
(213) 413-3733

As I get ready to leave...

2012-01-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

For some reason I wrote this down months ago from a movie I didn't like that much...

2012-01-17T19:04:00.000-07:00

Except for the final scene where this is the conversation that happens between mother and daughter, and suddenly it was incredible the way the mother who paid no attention to the daughter suddenly heard her and said the right things -- oh, the movie was/is Tiny Furniture...

I had sex with him
In this house?
No.
At his house?
No, he has a girlfriend.
On the street?
No, worse.
What’s worse than the street?
Inside a pipe on the street.
Were you cold?
No.
Did you use protection?
No.
I want you to take care of yourself.

Do you hear that sound?
Yes, it’s the alarm clock.
Can you do something about it?

I moved it in the other room
I can still hear it.
But not as much, right?

And, the Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots tour information – updated for your viewing pleasure – please spread the word…

2012-01-16T11:02:00.000-07:00

Prepublication launch party (books will be available almost a month early!)
Sunday, January 15, 2 pm
op cit books
930C Baca Street (next door to Counter Culture Cafe)
Santa Fe, NM 87501
www.opcit.com
(505) 428-0321
http://www.facebook.com/events/139120089533419/

Stories Books and Cafe, Echo Park
Sunday, January 22, 6:30 pm
1716 West Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90026-3225
www.storiesla.com
(213) 413-3733
http://www.facebook.com/events/348593838486877/

University of Southern California
Monday, January 23, 5 pm
Los Angeles, CA

Claremont Colleges
Scripps College, Balch Auditorium
Thursday, January 26
7 pm doors, 7:30 pm talk
Reception and book signing to follow in the Hampton Room above Scripps Dining Hall
Claremont, CA
Friday, January 27 publishing conversation
Pomona College, Queer Resource Center, 3 pm
Snacks provided
Pomona, CA

University of San Francisco
Wednesday, February 8, 5 pm
University Center (UC) 4th Floor Lounge
San Francisco, CA

THE BIG BOOK LAUNCH
Valentine's Day 2012 – Tuesday, February 14, 6 pm
(come early for heart-shaped refreshments)
San Francisco Main Library
1100 Larkin St
San Francisco, CA
A delicious discussion with contributors Jaime Cortez, Tommi Avicolli Mecca, Debanuj DasGupta, Booh Edouardo, Eric Stanley, Harris Kornstein, Gina de Vries, Horehound Stillpoint, Matthew D. Blanchard, and your lovely host Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

City Lights Bookstore
Wednesday, February 15, 7 pm
261 Columbus Ave. at Broadway
San Francisco, CA
(415) 362-8193
www.citylights.com
with contributors Debanuj DasGupta, Harris Kornstein, Booh Edouardo and Gina de Vries

GLBT History Museum
A Panel on the Past, Present and Future of Public Sex
Celebrating the release of Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots?
Thursday, February 16, 7 pm
4127 18th St.
San Francisco, CA 94114
(415) 621-1107
www.glbthistory.org/museum/
with contributors Jaime Cortez, Debanuj DasGupta, Tommi Avicolli Mecca, and Horehound Stillpoint – hosted and facilitated by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
$5-10 requested donation, no one turned away for lack of funds

Pegasus Books Downtown
Monday, February 20, 7:30 pm
2349 Shattuck Avenue
Berkeley, CA 94704-1552
(510) 649-1320
www.pegasusbookstore.com
with Tommi Avicolli Mecca, Horehound Stillpoint, Matthew D. Blanchard, and Jaime Cortez

Sonoma State University
Stevenson 1002
Thursday, February 23, Noon
Rohnert Park, CA

RADAR Book Club featuring Mx Justin Vivian Bond & Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
Hosted by Michelle Tea
Saturday, February 25
Viracocha
998 Valencia St.
San Francisco, CA 94110
$10, Doors 2:30/ Show at 3
Limited seating. Advance tickets will be available
Books available for sale courtesy of Modern Times
www.radarproductions.org

University of Oregon
Thursday, March 1
Eugene, OR

Powell's on Hawthorne
Monday, March 5, 7:30 pm
3723 SE Hawthorne Blvd.
Portland, OR 97214
(503) 228-4651
with contributors Ezra RedEagle Whitman and Willow Aerin Fagan
www.powells.com

Olympia Timberland Library
Wednesday, March 7, 7:30 pm
313 8th Ave SE
Olympia, WA 98501
(360) 352-0595

Evergreen State College
Thursday, March 8
Olympia, WA

Little Sisters
Wednesday, March 14, 7pm
1238 Davie Street
Vancouver, BC
(604) 669-1753
www.littlesisters.ca

Elliott Bay Book Company
Tuesday, March 20, 7 pm
1521 Tenth Avenue
Seattle WA 98122
(206) 624-6600
www.elliottbaybay.com
with contributor Booh Edouardo

University of Washington
Monday, March 26, 6 pm
Allen Auditorium, North Allen Library
Seattle, WA

Thank you again, Santa Fe!

2012-01-16T10:56:00.000-07:00

What an incredible reading in Santa Fe last night – the store was packed, and such an amazing variety of people. Dana and I arrived right at 2 pm and the parking lot was filled so we had to go across the street, but that parking lot was filled too. When we went inside, everyone was sitting patiently waiting – I couldn't believe it, usually no one shows up on time to readings!

It was so great to the see my close friends in Santa Fe, a few friends from Albuquerque, some acquaintances, a few people from Occupy Santa Fe, a few people I'd seen around, a few from the Gay Men's Discussion Group, and then plenty of people I'd never seen before – the questions were great, and the discussion inspiring. And then, so many people came up to say hello, and bought books – I always like those one-on-one conversations too, and especially the anecdotes, like Sheridan who bought the book for her closeted ex-husband who didn't support his gay son. Or, Jerry, the person who started the Gay Men's Discussion Group, who bought a copy for himself, one for his lesbian daughter and her lover, and a third for his straight son.

So many more stories – and, such a beautiful store, the light streaming in during the day – everything felt supportive and intimate and explosive – thank you, Santa Fe!

And, I know that op cit only has a few copies of the book left at the moment, but they will definitely be getting in more soon so do support the store! And, I've heard that Collected Works ordered a few copies, so if you're in Santa Fe then that would be another place to go until op cit gets more in…

The reading in Santa Fe was AMAZING – thank you thank you thank you!!!

2012-01-15T18:54:00.003-07:00

Something bombastic

2012-01-15T10:47:00.002-07:00

Classic: I sat down at the computer to write this wide-ranging and flowing, bustling and booming – bombastic, even – maybe even bombastic piece about media and gender and explosion, but then. But then all the energy was gone. Is gone. Just this cloudy head, thinking where, where did it go?

Or even: what was that? I mean, I woke up excited, excited about this prepublication book launch today – Santa Fe, better show up at 2 pm at op cit books next door to Counter Culture, okay? So I want to hold on to that excitement – so often people ask me if I'm excited, and the truth is that I'm not. I mean I'm too exhausted, too exhausted to be excited.

So I woke up today thinking yes, this work is important – I'm excited. And now it's gone. I want to hold on to it, but it's gone. Maybe I can bring it back. I mean I know I'll bring it back at the launch, but I want it to be something that builds and doesn't just crash. Something that flows from energy and not just push. Something that holds me when I'm holding it, holding me holding it, holding and now I need to eat.

If you can't sleep, don't count sheep

2012-01-14T18:23:00.001-07:00

This might be one of the best quotes ever from a doctor – and you know there are a lot of good quotes out there, right? But, check this one out: "you're abusing my medical privilege." What do you think?

Well, actually, that didn't come from the doctor directly – one of her assistants called me to say that the doctor thought I was abusing her medical privilege, because I went in to get blood drawn for two tests, and when I got there she had three test kits out – what's that third one for, I asked. Testing for a bunch of chemicals in my body – she explained it, kind of. I wasn't sure I wanted it, but I said yes anyway. Then, after she had drawn my blood, she said I needed to pay ahead of time, which had never happened before – usually they just bill me. I hadn't brought any money or methods of payment – how much is it, I asked.

$700. For that one test. $700 – I don't want that test, I said. Definitely don't do that one. The other ones I know you can bill me for, because they're the same companies that we've used before.

Then, a few hours later, when I checked my voicemail, it turned out that the doctor had called my mother to tell her that I desperately needed this test. My mother does usually pay for my medical bills, but of course I didn't authorize the doctor to call her at all. She had no idea what the doctor was talking about.

And so, as you can tell, I was abusing the doctor's medical privilege.

I love that line – I really do. And, it came with a directive that, because I was abusing her medical privilege, I really didn't need to come in for my final appointment, she didn't want to see me ever again, I could just have my new doctor call her to fax the paperwork.

Right – that doesn't sound suspicious at all. I'm sure she wasn't the slightest bit worried that I might tell her that she hadn’t been of any use to me at all, that I feel worse than when we started, that her office is totally incompetent and disorganized and frantic and that's her responsibility, that half the time she doesn't even listen to me, that she’s smart and has a lot of information but she doesn't follow up on things – you have to keep reminding her, no matter what, and when you're there for a chronic health problem it's kind of annoying to keep reminding the doctor of what she's supposed to do, right?

Remember when she called in the wrong prescription, and it took me a week to figure it out? When she prescribed a drug that didn't actually exist, and the pharmacy was looking all over for it. When she kept asking me useful questions, like: do you think you would know what it would be like to feel better?

Do you think you would know what it would be like to feel better?

Do you think you would know what it would be like to feel better?

Or, on our last appointment, no before I was abusing her medical privilege I guess, the appointment before: do you think you can get better?

Oh, I'm sorry – I thought I was in a doctor's office. I thought you were trying to help me get better.

And, she even asked, eight months into seeing me: do you smoke? Really? Have you paid any attention to me at all? Do I smoke? Do you breathe?

I'm going to have to use that line, though – stop abusing my medical privilege, okay? It's almost as good as that sign outside a church that I've seen a few times, but every time it rings as true as the last – but, dammit, somehow I can't remember it exactly now – something like this:

DON'T COUNT SHEEP
WHEN YOU'RE TRYING TO GO TO SLEEP
TALK TO THE SHEPHERD

But better – I’ll have to go back there to get the exact wording – the ending I know was definitely that, because I kept thinking talk to the hand, right? No, honey – talk to the shepherd.

Oh, wait – I think I remember – here you go:

IF YOU CAN'T SLEEP
DON'T COUNT SHEEP
TALK TO THE SHEPHERD

Words to live by!

Somehow this storage space always feels kind of peaceful…

2012-01-12T19:24:00.000-07:00

Yay -- some love from the local media in Santa Fe…

2012-01-11T16:49:00.000-07:00

Perfect timing – the Santa Fe Reporter chose the prepublication book launch for Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots as the pick of the week!!! The article includes a delicious half-page image of the glamorous cover – Santa Fe, I hope to see you this Sunday, 2 pm at op cit books -- spread the word...

A gift from my therapist at our last session – she made it in response to meeting me the first time!

2012-01-10T12:42:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite stories is in the new Best Gay Erotica…

2012-01-09T20:52:00.000-07:00

It's true -- my story is called "Before the Plane," and it's all about New York, New York, and New York (and cocksucking, of course). Details are here – and yes, that cover is a bit scary…

Yes, of course, I will miss the authentic adobe architecture…

2012-01-08T13:40:00.002-07:00

And, yes yes – an update on the glamorous mail art – the bachelor girl, indeed!

2012-01-08T11:19:00.000-07:00

Well, I certainly don't usually like Christmas wreaths of any type – but, well, this one is kind of cute…

2012-01-08T11:12:00.001-07:00

Ha -- what's yours?

2012-01-07T12:38:00.003-07:00

Another scary moment for "family reunification"

2012-01-06T11:34:00.001-07:00

The case of Jakadrien Turner, a 15-year-old US citizen deported to Colombia after a shoplifting arrest, is certainly horrifying, but it seems to me that this piece on Democracy Now misses a key point – by focusing on the argument that US citizens (or veterans) shouldn’t be deported to foreign countries, and making the argument for family reunification in the case of Turner, the fact that this teenager ran away from home, and even perhaps chose to be deported rather than returning to her birth family, gets lost in the picture. While it now seems that she will go back to her birth family, is this just another tragedy piled onto the whole hideous ordeal?

Time to get ready

2012-01-04T12:30:00.000-07:00

I wake up today with those little bumps on my hands, the ones I got from the dryness last year, that I've mostly avoided so far this year by slathering coconut oil and shea butter and an endless variety of salves on my hands. But then, suddenly, today, my hands are back to that place where anything I touch might injure me. Is the weather suddenly drier, or is this because of the homeopathic sulfur I took to help the bloating and the sores on my feet? I look up the humidity: 33%, that is a little lower than it has been recently, but not that low, right? Not like those horrible days of 8% or whatever.

Actually the air incredibly fresh – I don't know if I notice it more because it's been warmer out – in the 40s lately – so I can actually breathe deeply without my nose kind of freezing. Whatever it is, yes this is the air I came for – the air that hasn't done anything for me, I guess, unfortunately. But yes, it is amazingly fresh and soon I'm on the way to the doctor for a vitamin D shot and maybe some blood work, but why am I sweating so much in this chair? Two weeks, and I have to get everything packed – it's coming together, but now is the time when I start to feel frantic in my head I guess, will it all get done? What the hell am I doing? No, I know what I'm doing – I know I can't be here, that's for sure, I'm certainly not worried about that. Just the process, the process of getting away and then this book tour and then a move and then it looks like I'll be doing more traveling at the end of May and oh, I'm still waiting for that water test to come back, to see if that's where the thallium is coming from – first they said I didn't send enough water, then they lost the second sample, and I would say that it's northern New Mexico realness, but actually the lab is Illinois. Time to get ready for my walk to the doctor.

I almost moved into this apartment...

2012-01-04T10:46:00.001-07:00

Now, this is the best way to tell if it's real adobe…

2012-01-03T12:17:00.000-07:00

That window

2012-01-03T10:56:00.002-07:00

Okay, it's one of those days when I actually have energy – at least now, at the beginning of the day, before eating anything. Correction: I just ate nine cranberries. Maybe I should only eat cranberries. But, after 10 or 11, I would probably have a stomach ache.

Okay – back to energy: I actually have it, so I get kind of excited about all the exciting things that are going on in my life. Of course that sounds logical, but I rarely rarely feel that excitement. I just think oh, how the hell am I going to be able to do this, any of it – go on this book tour, move, find a new apartment, edit this new anthology.

Well, I'll admit it – now I'm feeling tired again. Let's just think about that energy, the light, the lightness in my head, the excitement. But now I'm thinking about going back to bed. Do you see how fast it fades? Still I have that window, I'll think about that window, as I start the rest of my day.

LA and Vancouver events for Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots!!!

2012-01-01T20:20:00.000-07:00

Here they are – please spread the word…

Stories Books and Cafe, Echo Park
Sunday, January 22, 6:30 pm
1716 West Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90026-3225
213) 413-3733

Little Sisters
Wednesday, March 14, 7pm
1238 Davie Street
Vancouver, BC
(604) 669-1753

It's officially a new year – and so, time to make the official announcement that…

2012-01-01T13:13:00.001-07:00

I'm moving to Seattle!!!

My official/unofficial welcome party will be the Seattle book launch for Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots:

Elliott Bay Book Company
Tuesday, March 20, 7 pm
1521 Tenth Avenue
Seattle WA 98122
(206) 624-6600

And, I'm officially looking for a one-month sublet starting March 16 – ideally on Capitol Hill near Pike/Pine, so I can find my "permanent" apartment nearby – any ideas, send them my way...

Oh – happy new year, if you think of such things in that way...

Without the way

2011-12-31T20:24:00.001-07:00

It’s these tiny things that play out in my head, like my mother keeps calling, leaves a message like we didn’t just talk a few days ago, it’s that urgency in her voice like she needs me to call. Tomorrow. But why? Why the urgency, why tomorrow? Doesn’t she realize that I'm moving in 18 days, that I'm planning my book tour and a new anthology and I don't even want to mention what else, I mean it would all be great if I just felt okay. Not amazing – just okay. I mean, amazing would be even better, but the truth is that I feel awful, nothing but awful, and then I leave a message from my mother saying happy new year, but please don't call me and tell me you need to talk to me unless there's a particular reason, I feel free to call anytime but tomorrow I don't think I'll be available.

And then I feel like I'm a horrible person – I mean I left that message so that I would feel better, but then I feel worse. And, talking to her: how it always leads to me feeling hopeless because of that place before words, that time before safety, the hopelessness before hope, the trap of the place where I grew up called home that just meant help, help me, there is no help, there will never be help, and this happens just from nothing, right? This feeling of. This feeling of. This feeling.

And then: like I need to call her back and cancel that, I mean I already tried but her voicemail didn't have that option: I couldn't re-record. I wanted to change the tone in my voice, so that I could say the same thing without. Without the way I'm really feeling.

The sky outside my window

2011-12-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Before, there were words, and I was going to write them. Before there were words. There are words, but now I will write different ones, this headache. This exhaustion. I wrote exhaustion instead of the sea because the voice software wouldn’t type fatigue. The sea: the key.

Oh this is so annoying, even if poetic. The sound check failed – it always fails, for some reason, on this computer. Let's try it again: fatigue. The sea. The key.

Oh, that's much better, even if the sound check failed I mean I think it didn't really fail, for some reason it can't register success, or communicate it to me, all these difficulties. All these difficulties that started when there were words, and then there was just my head, trying to get those words back but remember I already gave up, focused on these other words. Focusing.

But, did I tell you about this guy outside my window – no, this guy. This guy. This guy. This guy. This guy. How do I get the computer to recognize the sky? Okay, it worked that time. The sky outside my window: violet a few moments ago.

Before I leave Santa Fe – a special advance launch for Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots!!!

2011-12-27T19:09:00.001-07:00

That's right – come see me read in Santa Fe for the first time – and, bid me goodbye as I prepare my departure: two-in-one, what more could you ask for?

Oh, I know – that the book will be available at this event before anywhere else (a month before the publication date) – it's true! An event not to be missed – here are the details:

Prepublication launch party for Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots!!!
Sunday, January 15, 2 pm
op cit books
930C Baca Street
next door to Counter Culture Cafe)
Santa Fe, NM 87501
(505) 428-0321

Please spread the word far and wide – and, if you're a fan of Facebook invites, here you go…

If you do it again

2011-12-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

And then the good song comes on: "if you do it again, I'm going to freak out." If you do it again. I'm going to freak. Out. The cold air outside, and I'm thinking let this wind blow it at all out of me – the pain, the exhaustion, the bloating, this sinking sad feeling I woke up with, the wondering if I'm dying, the wondering why no one seems to care about this thallium that’s in my tissues, the wondering why I keep seeing this doctor except desperation, that's it desperation, the desperation, I'm thinking let this wind blow it all away. But then it gets too cold, and I go back inside, wondering if I should get back in bed, but it's too cold, too cold in bed, or in that room at least – at night I like to go to sleep in a cold room but not now.

And then this song, the good song comes on, okay, maybe this is what Davka means about how hope emerges from my writing about feeling hopeless, that's not what she said exactly what I feel: hopeless. What I felt, when I woke up. What I feel, thinking about this thallium, what is it, does it matter? Can’t something get better? I'm leaving in something like 24 days; I wanted to feel better before I left, I mean at least better than this. But then there's the song, all the drumming at the end, all the drumming at the end, all the drumming and I need to eat but at least I have this song.

We look for what we can find – and, what we can't find…

2011-12-26T11:06:00.000-07:00

It's beginning to feel a lot like…

2011-12-25T21:12:00.000-07:00

Never too late

2011-12-24T17:05:00.002-07:00

Is it better to wake up in the middle of the night with horrible clenching pain, pain so bad that I can't find any way to lie down comfortably? Is it better to wake up in the middle of the night, sleep interrupted, ruined, destroyed, just waiting for another horrible day trying to feel like something is possible? Is it better to wake up in the middle of the night with all that pain, or to sleep through the night, and then wake up in the morning thinking maybe today is okay, I mean I’ve slept later and I feel awful, but at least I didn't wake up in the middle of the night, right?

Except then I get up, and there's all this pain, so I guess this was going on all night, right? I guess this is why I feel ruined anyway, destroyed, thinking about all the things I was going to accomplish today and maybe I'll still accomplish them, but I'll feel this awful. Hard to stand up because of the pain, hard to sit down, and then somehow I'm going to eat? And eat again. Yesterday as soon as I ate everything faded away: it was like my day was over, just like that. Today my day is already over, I mean even though it just started: what will happen when I eat today? Yesterday I asked Paul Pitchford if he had any ideas for the bloating, he said: you could stop eating.

Right: I could stop eating. Do you ever ask yourself that question: is it better to jump off a cliff, or fall? IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO FIND THE RIGHT HOLIDAY GIFT. This guy wants to know if I'm tired in my dreams, a good question – somehow is comforting to realize that I'm not. Before I was looking at the maps of all the cities, somehow I was in Burma discovering the underground music that everyone knows about but doesn't say, you know – like, in the back of that store, late at night – but, what did it sound like?

Jingles and shingles – can you hear that? Yes, shingles, that's what the doctor thought the blisters on my toes looked like. What do you do for them, she asked. Oh, sorry – I thought I went to the doctor. You see – every day, I'm getting a little bit better. Someone else: have you thought of living in a smaller place? It was Heather actually, the therapist, she meant a smaller town because of the fresh air. But I'm already in the smaller place, because of the fresh air, and it didn't help it didn't help it didn't help it didn't HELP. I can only imagine what would happen if I went further out, waking up in the middle of the night and someone would be burning their trash on their front lawn.

And, can you imagine trying to get somewhere, anywhere? I shouldn’t say that I will never live in smaller place, but I can certainly say that it’s unlikely. I mean, I wouldn't mind a smaller place if everything was within a few blocks – theoretically, I mean – instead of the hideous sprawl that every smaller place has become. Maybe a bunch of tourist shit in the middle, but I don't even know where that thought came from – I'm not moving to a smaller place, that's for sure – give me a city, any city, now.

Or, soon – no, not any city – not the ones where the hideous sprawl connects with hideous sprawl connects with hideous sprawl, but IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO FIND THE RIGHT HOLIDAY GIFT – if we were in New York, we could go to Macy’s together, right? Today I woke up thinking about the ultrasound, maybe I should do that ultrasound exam before I leave, just in case it reveals something. Supposedly my gut health is fine, did you hear that? From the tests, I mean. What would the ultrasound reveal?

Then I worry about cancer – don’t people wait too long to find out, and then that's where death comes in, right? Like my father – his cancer started in the gut. Not a good thought process in the morning, I just have to keep remembering that IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO FIND THE RIGHT HOLIDAY GIFT – I'll go outside to try to find some fresh air, sit in the chilly sun looking towards the snow to see the brightness reflected but not directly into my eyes, it's later today, later than I would like, I mean later wouldn’t matter if I could just wake up feeling better and will that ever happen? Something's burning on the stove.

Alignment

2011-12-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

I do like getting up in the nines better than in the tens – and, maybe this switch in my homeopathic remedy is helping to lighten my head, give me a little more energy, lessen the bloating at least a little bit, make my sleep at least somewhat restful, can we hope for all this? What was the word from therapy? Because Heather was asking me what it would mean to feel better – you know, I wouldn't feel completely horrible all the time, right? I would wake up and feel rested. I would feel like all the care I take for myself – the way I eat, the way I rest, the projects I work on – that somehow something would make me feel okay, energetic, excited even – not just drive, everything guided by the goals I have and the push to survive, thrive even, but no matter what exciting things happen I still feel horrible because my body is so draining, always. Even the best moment is just a high for a minutes before the crash, disastrous crash, always disastrous, that's how I feel, like a disaster, or just barely averting disaster, always. And then: disaster.

But, what was the word? Oh – I remember: aligned. I want to feel aligned. Like, if I lie down to go to sleep and stay in bed for as long as feels possible, then I want to wake up feeling better, right? If I go outside to go on a relaxing walk, I want to feel relaxed. If I sit down to rest because I'm exhausted, I want to feel better from the rest. If I cook a delicious healthy meal, I want to feel calm and soothed and energized by it. If I decide to go to a movie or a performance or reading, I want to feel like it could possibly be fun, not just something I'm doing in light of the pain. When I give my own reading, I want to feel like that excitement, that engagement, that intimacy can last, and that I won't end up a catastrophe afterwards. Do you see what I mean? Alignment: I’ll have to keep thinking about it.

So soft and quiet that you don't even notice, until you open the door and -- look!!!

2011-12-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

Some amazing dream

2011-12-22T11:25:00.002-07:00

I wake up earlier than usual, and I can't tell if it's a good sign. It does mean that my sleep wasn't interrupted in a dramatic way, or it doesn't necessarily mean that, but in this case that happened to be true. Do I feel better? That's what I can't tell. So I close my eyes, to see if I need more, more of my eyes closed. And then I still can't tell, a half-hour or so goes by and then I force myself to get up.

Lethargy: that's what started to happen a few months ago, or maybe it was a few weeks? No – with the start of winter, that's what it was, less light, wanting to stay in bed more. Now I'm up earlier, and oh no – horrible horrible bloating, so much pain and I go outside in the cold to sit in the morning air and light anyway. Oh – it's snowing – those big chunky flakes that blow with the wind this time, into my face, so soft. And then the sun's out too, reflecting off the snow and I can pretend this is some amazing dream I mean I don't have to pretend, for a moment at least, because that's what it feels like.

Sadness and snow

2011-12-21T19:02:00.000-07:00

Oh, no – construction next door at some hideous time in the morning, why the fuck are they starting so early? At first it seems like an okay time to wake up, but then it's not, no not at all, and I start wondering about all the noise in bigger cities, what will it be like in Seattle? In the past I always thought of Seattle as quiet, but now I'm sure it will seem like total insanity, at least at first, although actually I'll be in San Francisco for a month beforehand, in a sublet on my old block, and that will definitely seem like insanity so maybe Seattle will feel calm.

I remember when I got to Denver, and I couldn't believe how many people were out of the street – I couldn't figure out if there were actually a lot of people out of the street, or if I was just so used to seeing no one. I mean there were a lot of people out on the street, and actually lately I've been missing Denver – it was easier to get there, I would go on a trip before my big trip, because who knows when the hell I'll be back in the South/Southwest trajectory once I leave – too late now. But, if you ever want to feel worse than you're already feeling, I have the perfect doctor to recommend – yes yes, my very own doctor, remember how she likes to ask: do you think you would know if you felt better?

Really? But, this time, she says: do you think you can get better? Um, I’m here at the doctor's office, right? To hear you say this shit! Like we’re on some New Age quest – but yes, really, I do everything I possibly can to try to feel better, and nothing helps, especially not listening to you! I wish I said that, but instead I listened to her lack of ideas – this time it actually felt like she had given up – in a month I'll be gone, time for more useless doctors. No no, let's have a useful one, okay? First a shot of vitamin D, and then a walk home through sadness and snow and oh, oh, oh.

Call for submissions!!! – WE ARE NOT JUST THE 99%: Queering the Occupy Movement, Reimagining Resistance

2011-12-20T20:57:00.001-07:00

Please forward far and wide…

WE ARE NOT JUST THE 99%:
Queering the Occupy Movement, Reimagining Resistance
Edited by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

*CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS*

Ignited by the Arab Spring, uprisings in Greece and Spain, and protests in Wisconsin, Occupy Wall Street has brought corporate greed and structural inequality into the spotlight while claiming public space and refusing hierarchical models of resistance. "We are the 99%," the central slogan of the Occupy movement, has been crucial in rallying mass support. And yet, this slogan invokes a vision of sameness that stands in stark contrast to a queer analysis that foregrounds, cultivates, and nurtures difference. From Mortville, the queer camp at Occupy Baltimore, to the Feminists and Queers Against Capitalism bloc at the Oakland general strike, queers are playing central roles in Occupy spaces. But, what would it mean to bring a queer analysis to the forefront, going beyond the politics of inclusion to question the very terms of the debate?

For the first time in decades, perhaps there's a possibility for a mass movement demanding radical social change in the US. Still, most Occupy spaces remain straight, white, and male-dominated: how do we prevent the power imbalances intrinsic to previous movements? What about accountability within the 99%? How have Occupy spaces addressed (and failed to address) homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, racism, ableism, imperialism/patriotism, police brutality, anti-homeless territorialism, sexual assault, and other issues of structural, personal, and intimate violence? As struggles emerge to confront the colonial rhetoric of “occupying” indigenous land (and to address this history), what can a queer analysis bring to this challenge? What do queer struggles have to learn from Occupy/Decolonize movements, and what can Occupy/Decolonize movements learn from queer struggles?

I'm interested in missives from queers involved in Occupy/Decolonize movements, as well as from those veering between skeptical and inspired. I would love to hear about queer challenges within Occupy encampments large and small, across the country and around the world. Bring me your explosive analysis, your rants, your manifestoes, your journal entries, your rage and rigor and hope and heartbreak. In addition to written nonfiction work, I'm also interested in art, photography, posters, flyers, and other forms of visual documentation queering the Occupy movement – its goals and aspirations, its impact, its perils and possibilities.

Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore is the editor of five nonfiction anthologies, most recently Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots?: Flaming Challenges to Masculinity, Objectification, and the Desire to Conform (AK Press 2012), and the author of two novels, most recently So Many Ways to Sleep Badly (City Lights 2008). More info on Mattilda at mattildabernsteinsycamore.com.

Please send essays or written materials of up to 5000 words, as Word or text file attachments only, to nobodypasses@gmail.com. Include a brief bio. Please send a query before submitting visual work. The deadline is March 20, 2012, although the earlier the better. Any questions, send them my way!

The book tour for Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots!!!

2011-12-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

Here are the dates, so far – more info to come…

University of Southern California
Monday, January 23, 5 pm
Los Angeles, CA

Claremont Colleges
Thursday, January 26 lecture
Friday, January 27 workshop
Claremont, CA

University of San Francisco
Wednesday, February 8, 5 pm
University Center (UC) 4th Floor Lounge
San Francisco, CA

THE BIG BOOK LAUNCH
Valentine's Day 2012 – Tuesday, February 14, 6 pm
(come early for heart-shaped refreshments)
San Francisco Main Library
1100 Larkin St
San Francisco, CA
A delicious discussion with contributors Jaime Cortez, Tommi Avicolli Mecca, Debanuj DasGupta, Booh Edouardo, Eric Stanley, Harris Kornstein, Gina de Vries, Horehound Stillpoint, Matthew D. Blanchard, and your lovely host Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

City Lights Bookstore
Wednesday, February 15, 7 pm
261 Columbus Ave. at Broadway
San Francisco, CA
(415) 362-8193
www.citylights.com
with contributors Debanuj DasGupta, Harris Kornstein, Booh Edouardo and Gina de Vries

GLBT History Museum
A Panel on the Past, Present and Future of Public Sex
Celebrating the release of Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots?
Thursday, February 16, 7 pm
4127 18th St.
San Francisco, CA 94114
(415) 621-1107
www.glbthistory.org/museum/
with contributors Jaime Cortez, Debanuj DasGupta, Tommi Avicolli Mecca, and Horehound Stillpoint – hosted and facilitated by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore
$5-10 requested donation, no one turned away for lack of funds

Pegasus Books Downtown
Monday, February 20, 7:30 pm
2349 Shattuck Avenue
Berkeley, CA 94704-1552
(510) 649-1320
www.pegasusbookstore.com
with Tommi Avicolli Mecca, Horehound Stillpoint, Matthew D. Blanchard, and Jaime Cortez

Sonoma State University
Stevenson 1002
Thursday, February 23, Noon
Rohnert Park, CA

University of Oregon
Thursday, March 1
Eugene, OR

Powell's on Hawthorne
Monday, March 5, 7:30pm
3723 SE Hawthorne Blvd.
Portland, OR 97214
(503) 228-4651
with Ezra RedEagle Whitman
www.powells.com

Olympia Timberland Library
Wednesday, March 7, 7:30 pm
313 8th Ave SE
Olympia, WA 98501
(360) 352-0595

Evergreen State College
Thursday, March 8
Olympia, WA

University of Washington
Monday, March 19, 6 pm
Allen Auditorium, North Allen Library
Seattle, WA

Elliott Bay Book Company
Tuesday, March 20, 7 pm
1521 Tenth Avenue
Seattle WA 98122
(206) 624-6600
www.elliottbaybook.com

Residue

2011-12-19T14:00:00.000-07:00

I wake up and pull the curtain back a little, oh it's cloudy out there, maybe there will be snow. Walk into the living room, open the door and yes – everywhere, white! So soft and cushy – they call it a blanket, but it's thicker and everything feels quieter except the crows cawing to each other.

Yes, walking is a bit more difficult in this thickness, but more fun too – except for the icy parts in the road, those I could do without. The air so fresh, except for when someone’s chimney blows my way. There's always an except.

Remember when I had a cold, about a month ago? And then, whenever I wake up, it feels like there's still some residue – yellow phlegm, dry throat, almost a cough. More like choking. Maybe it's because of all the smoke, the dryness, the bloating leading to all this interrupted sleep. When do I get some rest, some rest from this interrupted sleep? Oh, no – here comes another chimney, into my house. I wonder what would happen if I kept the windows closed, would I feel more air or less? One more month.

Oh, I almost neglected to mention the Band of Thebes "Best LGBT Books of 2011" list...

2011-12-18T17:47:00.000-07:00

I always enjoy participating in this list – this year I chose Zipper Mouth by Laurie Weeks, and said:

Laurie Weeks’ Zipper Mouth is a novel so lush with language that casual neurosis and intimate decay take us skyward instead of sinking us, a bubble bath in an elevator. Listen: "Has it ever happened even once that she pushed the sheets off, bitter they weren't me, and moved around her kitchen making coffee in a haze, unhinged by love, brushing her teeth with Neosporin?" Also check out Captive Genders: Trans Embodiment and the Prison Industrial Complex, edited by Eric Stanley and Nat Smith, and A Queer History of the United States by Michael Bronski.

Browse the rest of the list here.

Dashing through the snow…

2011-12-18T15:29:00.000-07:00

"The white spaces of time"

2011-12-18T14:03:00.000-07:00

That calm moment before bed, where is it coming from? Maybe the book I'm reading, Dream Boy, which I always avoided before because the title made it sound trite and hackneyed, but actually it's stunningly gorgeous the way it mediates us towards doom. The narrative of young male love or lust or friendship and the specter of Christian homophobia could be seen as clichéd, but the writing is so pared-down, incest and fear woven into the prettiest moments. I wait for the fallout, and somehow this makes me calm?

No, it’s phrases like this: "The inside of the bus is like the sky this morning, the silent condensing around every sleepy face." Or, "it is a moment of poise, in which he must balance between what he knows and what he should not know." Or: "Tonight he avoids the window, and Nathan watches his shadow undress." Or: "the white spaces of time in which his Dad falls on him like snow."

And so, the next day of awful brain-slamming exhaustion, I wait for the end of the day, when I can read more.

Ruined

2011-12-17T20:07:00.002-07:00

These days I can't tell when I should stop eating, I mean by what time. Because it's seven and I haven't eaten in over an hour, but I don't feel hungry, which seems strange, but then 7:30 and maybe I am hungry? Maybe that's why I feel so awful, because I haven't eaten? Although the bloating hasn't started, maybe I'm done – because my rule is to stop eating by 8, even though this hasn't helped me at all, but now I'm worried that I'm going to get wired if I don't eat so I put a little bit of wild rice and steamed vegetables on a plate, and some adzuki beans, but then I put the adzuki beans back in the pot and eat the vegetables and rice, and sure enough there's the bloating again. Then I'm so angry I'm screaming at my apartment, whatever that will do, even though my head feels calmer my body is worse and then I'm so sad and tired again, tired too early, tired like I'm just waiting to go to bed, tired but it's too early to go to bed, tired but I have to wait another few hours because I just ate, because I wouldn't fall asleep this early anyway, or I would fall asleep and then I would be wired, I want to go on a walk but I don't have the energy to go on a walk, all the fireplace soot is filling my apartment but I don't have the energy to get the air purifier out of my bedroom and turn it on. I never have the energy to do that. I'm leaving Santa Fe in a month and a day, and I hope I have the energy then, still so much to plan and will I wake up in the middle of the night ruined again, ruined in the middle of the night and the next day ruined in advance, even with all the time I don't have energy to do anything and no one calls, so I call people, but that's just more exhausting, everything is more exhausting, maybe I'll go outside on a walk anyway, just to see, although my throat is starting to feel scratchy again and every time I forget scratchy I think I'm still fighting off that cold from a month ago but actually I think my throat is scratchy because of the fireplaces. Oh, the fresh air – why I came here, right? Now I know, know know know know know, now I know, no no no no no.

Sixth grade math class

2011-12-17T16:03:00.001-07:00

Oh, my poor feet – swollen toes, red painful sores. Of course I get up and look online to see what syphilis sores look like – oh, horrifying, now I'm going to have nightmares. I guess I better get an STD screening, just in case. We don't have an STD clinic here, so it's harder. I mean, I got that HIV test at pride, that was convenient, but the only STD they were testing for was hepatitis C, because so many people have it here, especially in prison, but I didn't feel like I was really at a risk for hepatitis C. When was the last time I got it STD screening? Over a year ago, I guess.

I had these sores last year, though, around the same time, so I think it has something to do with the dryness, the way my feet get swollen when they’re warm – and cold, I guess. Swollen: that's the theme of the day. Lying in bed in the middle of the night with this swollen belly, wondering if you could die from bloating, can everything explode? Not a good question to ask in the middle of the night, there's always the specter of Tycho Brahe who died in the 16th century from holding his bladder too long at a banquet, that's what I learned in sixth grade math class anyway.

The next day

2011-12-15T18:29:00.000-07:00

How do I describe this horrible place in bed, in my head? Yes, the bloating woke me up, nowhere to turn, as they say. I keep turning anyway, sitting up, lying down, it's all pain – not just in my belly, I realize, but my whole face hurts now, shoulders, arms, and this is when I start to panic, will I ever fall asleep. I mean I go I will fall asleep but will I ever feel better? I came here to feel better; it didn't work. Now I'm leaving. Will that help?

How will I go on a book tour, why am I planning a book tour? How will I get to feldenkrais tomorrow, I need to get to feldenkrais because it will make me feel better but already I'm afraid of how awful I'll feel when I get up, after falling back to sleep, eventually. Sitting up, lying down, rubbing my belly – still more bloating. Is this because of the goldenseal I took earlier, worried that the cold that never quite went away was coming back? Goldenseal is endangered, they say; I feel endangered. Why the goldenseal? Because it's the only thing I can think of that I did differently.

Eventually, yes, eventually. And then. The next day. A shower. I'm going to get my hair cut, and even that sounds awful. I guess I'll get ready, anyway.

Suddenly an adventure

2011-12-14T13:01:00.000-07:00

It's fun walking in the fresh snow because you can be on so many levels at once, so many textures too and yes there's that sound almost like chalk on the blackboard and maybe the scratchy feeling of cotton balls on your finger but somehow soothing too. And the air, yes fresh and moist and crisp and everything feels somehow more still than usual, even the leaves swaying in the breeze it's because of all that white, gray sky too and the soft sculptures of trees and walls and grass, even.

And yes, the tiny birds chirping from inside brown skeletons of bushes, crows on top of the tallest snow-covered pine trees, even the spaces in the sidewalk that have been cleared are suddenly an adventure, new textures.

So beautiful.............................

2011-12-14T12:53:00.000-07:00

Look, the snow is back!!!

2011-12-14T10:58:00.000-07:00

Another day

2011-12-13T12:18:00.000-07:00

Oh, no – another day. What happened to yesterday? Another day. Will I ever understand why I wake up feeling so awful on a day when I didn't actually sleep that badly, or it didn't seem like I slept that badly. Until I woke up.

Today it's raining out, and I'm not sure that I like the rain, even though it's good for the desert, that's for sure, but I'm going to have to get used to a lot more rain, right?

Today's not a good day to judge whether I like the rain – I'm not sure that I like anything today. Another day. Today. Soon I'll be waiting for the bus in the rain, or actually maybe the rain stopped. I'm glad it's cloudy, although this doesn't make me feel less cloudy, which is what I would like.

Tomorrow. I'm already thinking about tomorrow. No, not tomorrow – let's think about today, maybe something good will happen. I'll go to therapy, that will be okay, maybe I'll even feel better, briefly. This feeling-better thing is always so brief, another day.

2011-12-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

Drain

2011-12-10T14:27:00.002-07:00

It's 39 degrees out today, and it actually feels kind of warm in the sun. Or, maybe warm it is an exaggeration, but warmer. This though on the roof is melting, dripping down my front window, sparkling in the sun, and I feel awful, the kind of awful that makes me feel like I'll never feel good, or even okay, but I know I'll feel okay at some point, and then awful again. The kind of awful that makes me distract myself with online cruising – you know, if I was just on my knees sucking his cock, I would feel fine, right? For about 10 minutes.

I was thinking about what I would do if I was in Seattle right now – I could go to the bookstore, or maybe the theater if there was something interesting playing, or the awful sex club. Maybe those options don't sound that great, at least when I'm feeling this awful, but actually that's three more options than I have right now. Right now I'm waiting for someone to come over to fix the bathtub drain – they were supposed to come over at one, so I called at 1:20, and the person who answered the phone said they were running a little late, would be here around 3 pm. 3 pm? That's more than a little late.

Not in New Mexico. I could go on a short walk, before this person supposedly arrives. Or I could lie down and listen to a feldenkrais CD, which was what I meant to do an hour ago, before I decided to post an ad on craigslist, look at porn, think about this guy grabbing my head, get distracted by someone who wanted me to drive to Albuquerque. Sure, I'll be right there. As soon as someone fixes my drain.

"Don't Ask Us to Fight Their Wars" – I wrote the intro for the new Against Equality publication, a delicious little book showcasing queer challenges to militarism…

2011-12-09T12:28:00.001-07:00

Here's an excerpt from my intro:

It is no coincidence that the obsession with gay inclusion in the US military emerged from the AIDS crisis. In the late-‘80s and early-‘90s, facing the deaths of lovers, friends, and sometimes entire social networks due not just to a new disease, but the old diseases of government neglect and structural homophobia, queers built systems of care that were breathtaking in their immediacy, shared vision, intimacy, and effectiveness. Out of rage and hopelessness came not just the brilliance of ACT UP, but a generation of incendiary art and brave visions for community-building.

As a 19-year-old queer activist surrounded by grieving, loneliness, desperation and visionary world-making in 1993, I'll admit that I held some hope that universal healthcare might become a central issue for queer struggle. What could have built more beautiful and far-reaching alliances, what could have held a greater impact not just for queers, but for everyone in this country? My hopes for a broad struggle based on universal needs were dashed at the March on Washington, which felt more like a circuit party than a protest: a circuit party with a military theme. Except that this wasn't just drug-fueled bacchanalia or straight-acting role play – brushing aside the ashes of dead lovers, the gay movement battled for the right to do its own killing.

More info on the book, here

The corner

2011-12-08T12:35:00.002-07:00

Here I am at the corner, waiting to cross the street, and some car that's about to turn honks at me like, hey, go already, and at first I think okay, but then I look over at the other side – a nonstop stream of traffic, I guess this driver wants me to walk into oncoming traffic. Listen, I want to say – I'm not a car, okay? Anyway, he goes ahead, and eventually I make my way across the ice and snow. I'm on my way to Whole Foods to get a copy of the The Reporter, so I can see what movies are playing – I thought it was warmer out than before, but actually it's freezing. I always think the air will be fresher at night, but it just feels like I've walked into a chimney. An icy chimney, I guess.

But, get this – The Reporter has decided not to list all the movies that are playing anymore, or I guess to list them without any descriptions at all. I know this is a national trend in weekly papers, and I don't understand it at all – don't they want more people to read the paper, rather than fewer? There are only four movie theaters in Santa Fe – is it really too much to describe all the movies that are playing? For some reason this gets me enraged, back at home, looking at the paper and finding nothing.

Or, wait – a feature review on Lars von Trier's latest misogyny spectacle. And, I guess I could see the movie about the Eameses – you know, to figure out why so many gay men fetishize the Eames chair. I could see Weekend for a fourth time, but do I really need to read another praising-yet-homophobic treatment? I mean, I just did. I don't have the energy to walk to the theater anyway.

The alley...

2011-12-08T11:40:00.000-07:00

The ideal

2011-12-07T11:58:00.000-07:00

It's only 21 degrees out today, but it feels warm in comparison to yesterday's high of 17, and I'm wondering about what it means to feel energy, any energy, or hope for more, more energy? Because, sometimes, when I get up – like yesterday, or today – I think okay, this seems better, right? I mean, I mostly slept through the night, the bloating isn't too awful, my head is kind of clear. But then that fades so fast – I'm looking at the computer, trying to form a sentence, any sentence. Or no, a specific sentence, I know what it is but now it's gone. Or, once I eat, and then everything's over: more eating, more exhaustion, more overwhelm, more fog in my head, ready for bed, why bed if it never helps, or never helps enough, but still that's what I need.

Okay, here comes that place where my brain just closes off – before I was writing about it, but feeling clearer, now I'm pushing through to try do explain something, anything, what's going on. Squinting my eyes to try to get that thought back, or to get that thought, what was it, what is it, what will it be? Heather, my therapist, said something about how my energy is unpredictable, which is true in a way, but also it's so predictable that no matter what it won't last long and I will crash and find myself thinking when, when will I ever have energy again? This happens every day, usually several times, so I guess I get energy in a way, or I just push through the exhaustion to try and find something on the other side but then there are moments like this where I can’t keep pushing, even though it's the beginning of my day I already feel like it's over and yes of course it's okay to give in, to give into the exhaustion and hope that that helps, even if I can't say that that necessarily helps either.

Negotiating strategies with myself: every day's theme. Negotiating. Strategies. Or, just strategies. Like: how will I get to the doctor's office to get my shot of vitamin D? Okay, don't go on a walk first thing, that way when the appointment time comes around I'll still have a little bit of energy, or at least I won't be so drained that I can't possibly think of it, or maybe I will be that drained, but still I will find it necessary to step outside.

The drain in the bathtub is clogged, so that every time I take a shower it fills up – by the end of the shower, there’s almost a foot of water in the tub, which wouldn't be so annoying except that all that water on my feet in the desert makes them swollen. I just called the landlord, but I wanted to call her before this shower, I mean I did call her before this shower, but I wanted to call her several days ago, so that the drain would be fixed in time for this shower. Maybe I'll close my eyes – not in the shower, just now, close my eyes and see what happens. Not in bed, because I guess I slept, right? I couldn't need more sleep, could I? I mean I always need more sleep, but what does it do for me?

I do like this seasonal affective disorder lightbox this year, I think it does help – two of the bulbs are out, so I called to order more but the 1-800 number seems like it led to someone's personal voicemail and then the website didn't exist anymore, so I think maybe the company went out of business. The bulbs are strange size, I wonder if there will be a way to get more. Okay, close my eyes: stripes of white light with black boxes, the sound of the heat in my apartment turning on the space heater down below, my feet on the cold saltillo tiles that usually I love but I'll admit that in the winter they are a bit too cold, my chest going up and down, back against the back of this chair, my hands feel a bit clammy or maybe just oily from all the coconut oil, do I need more, my head is so far to the right, okay let it go, I do like this purple wall, yes I’m closing my eyes but then opening them to write sentences, jaw kind of tense, oh, I'll need to get a new desk for Seattle, since this one broke when the movers pushed it into the corner, the uneven floors, I had the same desk before and it broke when I moved into my last apartment in San Francisco, I'll need a better one this time, but then the trick is to get the ergonomic keyboard tray removed from this desk and installed on the next one, I hope that's not too difficult.

Gina was wondering what I'll miss about Santa Fe, or no that's not what she said, she said I'm sure there are things you’ll like in Seattle, and other things that you won't. Kind of mysterious – I think she meant the cold, and it's true that I won't miss waiting in the 17-degree weather for the bus, but the cold isn't really one of the things that bothers me about Santa Fe. The only things I will miss are this apartment, the beauty, the light. Hopefully I will find my apartment in the ideal location in Seattle, with a view of something, ideally the downtown skyline, and somewhere I can sit in the occasional sunlight, or just the light – an apartment without mold, with enough space, in the right location location location, that's what I keep repeating to myself: location. Vocation. Temptation. Gradation. Exclamation!

Close my eyes again: a larger white stripe, softer now after I open and close again, there’s my breath again, I do like that feeling in my chest, the sound of the heat again, my fingers, my feet, the awkward position I'm sitting in, can't be good for my back, maybe I'll move forward and try for the ideal that never works.

Just before going outside to wait for the bus in the cold…

2011-12-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

Circulating

2011-12-06T10:46:00.002-07:00

Today it's sunny out, and the wind is blowing the snow off the trees, the houses, the fauxdobe walls. It's beautiful to watch from inside, but a bit scary, considering it's 12 degrees out. Three hours from now I'll be waiting for the bus – hopefully it'll be a little bit warmer then, right? At least I got a new hat yesterday that covers my ears and makes me look like a Russian countess in her bedwear.

Oh, wow – it's really gusty out there, the wind blowing the snow into glitterfalls. I did sit outside a half hour ago in my shorts – but, don't worry: two sweatshirts, too wool sweaters, two scarves, mittens, and the new hat too. The air felt super-fresh and it was hard to open my eyes it was so bright. Back inside to put more coconut oil on my hands, that's the key to keep them safe in the dry cold – so glad I finally discovered it, I must put it on at least 30 times a day at this point, up my nose too to keep it from getting dry and bloody. It works, most of the time, although the tips of my toes are getting red and scaly, is that the dryness too or the cold I'm not sure although I just put on more foot cream too. Now my food’s ready and it's still early, maybe today will be the good day, as I like to say, but I really mean a good day, right? Wow, there goes more snow in big clumps, blowing off the house and the trees – even with the heat on inside I can feel the chill. And it's true, I do keep the windows open a little, just to keep things circulating.

Police action

2011-12-05T18:47:00.000-07:00

I'm ready to go on my morning walk in the 18-degree snowy weather or really I guess morning just became early afternoon because I'm waiting for some kind of police action to end in front of my driveway – three police car SUVS blocking traffic in all directions, I've never seen those SUVs before, maybe they bring them out in the snow? And then an undercover in a gray compact car. I guess they're arresting someone in another gray compact car, or at least doing a lot of research and I guess I could go outside anyway, but I don't want to have any interaction with the cops.

But I do want to go out in the snow, although it does seem awfully cold. I decided to wear two hats, one that covers my ears but isn't that warm, and then the other one over that one, a new look. Well, I guess my neighbor across the street is outside scraping the snow off his car, maybe I'll try to go out too.

Well, I get just got dressed in all my layers, but then when I got to the door I realized all the SUVs were still there, blocking off the whole street I guess, so then I got a little nervous again. What are they waiting for? I guess they're looking up a bunch of things on their computers, checking in with headquarters, or something like that, but if this person is so dangerous then why are none of the cops outside standing by the car they are apprehending? Why is this police action in front of my house?

Oh, I think a car just got by, onto Don Diego. I want to go in the other direction. Oh, good, another car. I'm slightly worried that the person being apprehended will suddenly jump out of their car and shoot me right when I leave my house. Their windows are tinted, so I can't see inside. Of course, I'm sure it's much more likely that the cops would shoot me. Oh, wait – now I'm outside, and it turns out that it's nothing but cops – some in uniform, some undercover, hanging out on the break with their sirens on or something – or, not their sirens like noise, but the lights, flashing, at least they're gone when I get back.

On the verge

2011-12-04T19:10:00.002-07:00

Today I woke up much later than usual, so I thought maybe I would feel better, right? More sleep equals more rest, or something like that – wrong! And then, when I go on a walk up night at this time of year, it's nothing but soot in the air, except when one of the 10 million awful old trucks traps me in an alley full of poison – so yes, I'm loving it.

Why did the bloating get worse, puffing up all day long I can see and feel it and I hate it, hate eating, hate walking around, hate sitting down, hate thinking about what am I going to do next, hate wondering when I'll have energy, hate trying to do everything anyway, hate the way the soot surrounds me in my apartment too, always on the verge of a cough and my cold is gone but I'm still on the verge. On the verge of what?

"9/11 is the gentrification of AIDS" – can we please give Sarah Schulman an award for this paragraph?

2011-12-03T15:46:00.001-07:00

"The deaths of these 81,542 New Yorkers, who were despised and abandoned, who did not have rights or representation, who died because of the neglect of their government and families, has been ignored. This gaping hole of silence has been filled by the deaths of 2,752 people murdered by outside forces. The disallowed grief of 20 years of AIDS deaths was replaced by ritualized and institutionalized mourning of the acceptable dead. In this way, 9/11 is the gentrification of AIDS. The replacement of deaths that don't matter with deaths that do. It is the centerpiece of supremacy ideology, the idea that one person's life is more important than another's. That one person deserves rights that another does not deserve. That one person deserves representation that the other cannot be allowed to access. That one person's death is negligible if he or she was poor, a person of color, a homosexual living in a state of oppositional sexual disobedience, while another death matters because that person was a trader, cop, or office worker presumed to be performing the job of Capital.”

From the forthcoming book The Gentrification of the Mind: Witness to a Lost Imagination, out in February from University of California Press

Snowy weather

2011-12-03T13:17:00.002-07:00

I'm not exactly enjoying the cold is much as I did last year, but still it's exciting to walk out into the snowy weather – clears my head, actually. Now I just have to do something about this horrible bloating, but what is there to do? For a while it wasn't happening during the day, so at least I didn't have to feel it in the same way, but now. Now it's back to hating and hoping. Hoping it will go away, hating my body. Or, maybe not hating, but just feeling gross – oh, I have to eat more, but why? It'll just make me feel worse again, but still I need to eat.

Sweater number two – the one I put on before my coat when it's this cold out – sweater number two is making my next itch, ouch! Then there's that piece of food stuck in between those two teeth in the top right corner of my mouth were food always get stuck but right now it's hurting, is it hurting because the sweater is itching? Luckily, I get home and I could take the sweater off, grab some floss. Some things are easier to solve than others.

Waking up from a horrible night of clenching abdominal pain keeping me up, thinking oh another day, how will I get through this day, but wait – outside my window – snow! – maybe something will be okay…

2011-12-03T12:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes people ask what I did today

2011-12-01T20:44:00.000-07:00

Back to the bloating, oh, the bloating – now it wakes me up every night, in the middle of the night struggling to find a position without pain – if only it was just gas that would come out, just as smelly annoyance, why can't it be that kind of gas instead of the kind of gas that gets stuck, every night, wrecking me. And then, another day when I feel like I should just be asleep, could be asleep, except that I just woke up. But I'm awake so I can plan my book tour, I guess, call U-Haul to find out about the moving truck, think about going back to bed, wait for my food to be ready, put on the wrong music, listen to the news, water my houseplants, drink more water, send in a new lab test, listen to my voicemail, blow my nose, soak my feet in chapparral, put foot cream on, more oil on my hands, oil up my nose, moisturizer on my face, a little bit, don't want to get my face addicted, look at the sky, it’s not interesting just soft blue like that, better check my houseplants again, before I just thought about watering but I didn't actually do it.

Nothing exciting on my voicemail – just more test results that the doctor wants to go over, a dinner party I'm going to be too tired to go to. Can't check my email yet, because I'm not allowed to do that until after I eat and leave the house, don't think I'm going to leave the house today until I do my mile walk to feldenkrais because I got up too late to go on an earlier walk without making myself too tired for the one I actually need to do. Maybe I'll break my rule, just to check email briefly before leaving, hoping that will give me some kind of energy, that's what I always hope, sometimes it works and then it's over.

Now I've eaten, so of course I feel worse. Penske gave me a better deal than U-Haul – it turns out you can bargain with them a bit. Maybe I'll call back later and try to get it lower.

Somehow I make it to feldenkrais, then I'm lying on the table thinking can I just lie here for the rest of my life? Thinking: I give up, it's over, now. Because we have to have a place to think about these things, right? Not just push, keep trying, keep going, but yes, leave it all behind, let it go, give then, it's over. Afterwards I'm outside and it's freezing cold, what is this insane icy desert wind and how am I going to get home without hurting myself again, will I arrived feeling the same as I did when I left? I'm trying to pretend that I'm asleep while I'm walking, but then I start going through all of my different city-to-city moves in my head, it's starts because I'm thinking how glad I'll be to get the fuck out of here, that's for sure, have I ever been this glad to leave? Well, of course there was leaving DC and the first 18 years of my life, oh my, that was a relief. Then leaving college after that first year, getting ready to drive cross-country and I was glad to get away, but getting there had been important too so it wasn't quite as dramatic as getting away from DC, that's for sure, just like my life had started and now it was going further. Leaving San Francisco that first time I was just sad, not ready for it, but I heard already planned it out. Heading back to Brown after three years away, six months of seeing the nightmare of what I could have become and then moving to Boston for a year, oh I was so glad to get out of that hellhole even if it just meant back to San Francisco which was mostly sadness after Joanne's death, eight months and then I moved to Seattle for somewhere calmer, a little over a year later and I was on the way to New York and how did I stay there for three years? Fled to Provincetown to get away from the pollution, and also just to get away and I couldn't stay there a little longer, especially once it was fall and all the tourists had left but there was nothing for me there except beauty, that sounds familiar.

Then back to New York briefly, over to Berlin for a month of jet lag and bronchitis, before I had planned four month in Europe – London for a month, Amsterdam for a month, Barcelona for a month – but after Berlin I was ready to get back to New York where people would actually speak to me. But I think the best move was really from New York to San Francisco, when I first got there I felt like I could finally be myself again, revel in the freakishness of transgression, create new possibilities for resistance. And, when that ended, well, that's when I ended up here.

Then, of course, there were the moves from one place to another in the same city, those were usually more low-key, always pretty exciting. I think, like from my first three-month sublet in San Francisco to the apartment where Laurie and I live in the Inner Richmond that was so cheap, and then from the Inner Richmond to the Mission, finally, when we really wanted to be there. Or, in Boston, from that gorgeous house in Dorchester, where Gabby and I lived with six other queers under 23 I think, or not queers but gay people and lying and class striving and the rest of the gay drama and it was almost like we were fleeing no we really were fleeing to East Boston, which was so much better because it was just us, except for the kids in the neighborhood who tried to chase us with sticks, the person who dropped a cinderblock out their window as we were walking on the sidewalk, or the endless variety of homophobes but this was Boston so they were everywhere.

Wait, I know it sounds wacky that I'm thinking all of this while I'm trying to pretend that I'm asleep on my walk home, but then when I get to the alley just a block away, I actually have more energy than when I started, which is so rare, so maybe I should always close my eyes and stumble a little and think about dreaming on my way home, it actually worked.

Now I can start a new pot of beans on the stove – they've been soaking since the morning, and oh, there's Jory on the phone. Then I check my email again, a university event sounds like it's working out well, plus a note from someone who heard I'm moving to Seattle, a welcome note, I think it's going to be a good move. Even if I've never moved as part of a book tour, or done a book tour as part of a move before – but I guess there's a first time for everything, right? Wait, my water is boiling, at this time of the year I have to boil a little water to put in the bottom of each glass of water I drink, so that the water coming from the water purifier attached my faucet – or, next to my faucet, actually – so that the water isn’t too cold in the glass.

Time to chop the celery and carrots for the beans – or, wait – I think I'll do celery & sunchokes this time, that sounds delicious. Did I tell you I got a galley of Sarah Schulman’s The Gentrification of the Mind in the mail today? When I saw the University of California return address label. I thought maybe this was it, but feeling the book through the envelope I could tell it was a paperback, maybe not. But, yes – an advance galley. I've been waiting for this book for several years. I start crying just reading the quote by Milan Kundera at the beginning: "The first step in liquidating a people… is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its culture, its history. Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture invent a new history. Before long, the nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was. The world around it will forget even faster."

I remember reading Milan Kundera at the end of high school, and how much of a revelation it was for me, except for his misogyny, and whether I would like books that are that grand now. Should I call Randy to congratulate her on her internship at the Hormel Center? She's not there, I leave a voicemail, call Kelvline. She says, are you okay? Am I ever okay? I mean, I feel kind of okay at this moment, but that's about as far as I can go.

Sometimes people ask what I did today, and I can never really figure out how to answer that. I could continue with the rest of the toxic metals urine test – an hour and a half left before I can shake up the urine in the big container and then for some of it into the small container, get all the forms ready for FedEx tomorrow. I could tell you about turning the space heater off and on, doing some feldenkrais on the stretching mat, washing the dishes, maybe reading some more, no I don't think so because my arms are hurting, maybe I'll make another phone call or get everything ready for tomorrow but first, I think I'll turn off the computer.

For a moment

2011-11-30T19:01:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was driving down from Denver with Robert, and he said one of the things he likes best about Albuquerque is that there are so many days when there are absolutely no clouds in the sky – that sounded kind of scary to me, I said I don't think we have those days in Santa Fe. That was in the midst of wildfire season, and the days when it looked cloudy but actually it was just poison – all the smoke would roll in just before sunset, choking everything.

The clouds I like are the big puffy juicy ones, almost like stuffed animals in the sky. But now that it's fall or winter almost, I see that we do have those days without clouds, or sometimes just a few stringy ones at the horizon and then the sky is a soft bright blue different from the kind of blue that I usually think of as sky-blue. It is pretty, but flat. Like a background that makes the leafless trees more developed, striking, startling almost.

But the strange thing is that today, on my walk, the air finally feels fresh: for some reason, everyone's chimneys aren't choking the sky. There's just that one car, pushing out endless exhaust, but otherwise, no hazards and yes, I can sense the air, this air that I came here for, giving me something, a clarity, a lightness, for a moment, at least.

And then it's gone

2011-11-29T11:53:00.000-07:00

It's funny how often people in other cities ask me about the weather here – no matter how many times I tell them it's a four-season town, they still think I'm going to say it's 90 and sunny. Actually, winter here starts earlier and longer than many places on the East Coast, even though it's not usually quite as harsh. Winter was one of the reasons I moved here –I mean I've always hated the heat, but then when I found out it was a four-season town – snow in the winter – that's the first thing that got me excited.

Does anything here get me excited now? Even the air – it doesn't feel nearly as fresh as it was supposed to be. Allergies and wildfires in the summer; fireplace soot and car exhaust in the winter – every time I go outside for a walk it's like an obstacle course. Sure, there's the light just before sunset, but everywhere has that light – maybe it's not as gorgeous as here, but it's still gorgeous. Maybe I won't get that strange calm of looking up at the mountains, but that only lasts for a moment anyway and then it's gone.

Um, yes, that is a teepee at the Occupy Santa Fe campsite ("For ceremonial purposes," I'm told – um, for whose ceremonial purposes?)

2011-11-29T10:17:00.000-07:00

Interrupted

2011-11-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

Every day in my datebook I write a list of things I need to do, but then I always know that I'm not going to be able to do the whole list, so I highlight a few things that I absolutely must do, and then often I don't succeed at doing all the highlighted items either. But yesterday, I actually did everything on my list – and, I didn't feel terribly exhausted and drained the whole time – until the end of the day when I crashed – early, yes – but still, a few hours of feeling kind of okay, able to do things, that was pretty exciting. Today I woke up thinking – no, I didn’t wake up thinking, I just woke up feeling absolutely horrible. Or, I must have woken up thinking something, but then it was all erased when I realized how horrible I felt. Can’t I have more than one good day in a row?

Walking outside, trying to remind myself: it's beautiful, right, it's beautiful? But I couldn't feel it at all. Now it's the end of the day, and I feel a little better, or at least ready for bed, I mean in a few hours, that’s pretty exciting, right? Except, then I have to get up again. Hopefully tomorrow I won't feel so awful – it's all about the quality of my sleep, whether it's interrupted. Last night it was interrupted. And so, I felt interrupted all day, disrupted, desperate, cloudy, over it, over everything, over this town and getting groceries and going on walks and trying to hook up on the internet during the 15 or 20 minutes when I actually have a libido, and then for a few hours afterwards, until I realize I'm too tired to speak, too tired to do anything, too tired, always too tired, I'm sick of feeling so tired.

2011-11-28T11:36:00.001-07:00

Refusing universal narratives: Andrew Haigh's Weekend

2011-11-26T13:39:00.004-07:00

This movie made me ask: have I ever seen a movie representing contemporary gay male casual sex/dating culture that felt realistic? That I could relate to? And, I'm not sure. I don't even know if that was something I was looking for, but then I saw Weekend, and I started to wonder. So I went back to watch it again.

I'm not saying that this movie is necessarily groundbreaking or earth-shattering, just that it feels authentic in its intimacy, in its gaps, in the way it depicts those gestures towards and away from self-expression that we all make when we meet someone new and we don't know whether it will lead anywhere but we do know there’s that jittery nervousness in between or even during those moments of connection. So then we wonder, keep wondering, wonder about this wondering.

Russell meets Glen late at night at a gay bar ("Love love so much love to give" is blasting as he enters.). First he looks nervously around, but soon enough he’s so drunk he can hardly do more than close his eyes and shake his body on the dance floor – you know those moments, right? You’ve gotten past the alienation and into liquored-up imagination, maybe now you can approach that guy who makes you feel like you're going to die if you don't say something. Searching for that connection you crave and sometimes you don't know why, but still you crave.

Russell follows Glen into the bathroom, tries to get his attention at one of those group urinals all bar-crawling faggots must learn to love or else, where we linger, mirror above the trough. Commode, maybe you're supposed to say. (But wait, after my third viewing I notice that isn't a commode at all, just three urinals close together, no mirror so how are we supposed to get a look at his… eyes?) But anyway, there’s another guy between them – Glen heads away and Russell turns his whole body to see if he can catch his attention, but no luck. Heart falling inside stomach. And so, then he finds himself making out with the guy who’s left, trying to find him attractive but it's not exactly working. Oh, how many times has that happened to me? And, how many times have I seen it reflected in film? I mean, never?

Or, rarely enough that I can't remember. It's a simple scene, but one so rarely portrayed in the endless slew of gay coming-out/coming-of-age dramas (snore), or gay tragedies where the hero dies or goes back into the closet at the end (old-school), or love/lust stories so hackneyed you might as well rub jello all over your face and call it mascara. And, now we have blockbuster gay movies made by straight people, and indie versions of the same schlock made by gay people, for straight people. (Gay for pay or pay for gay, you decide!) Oh, and don't forget those hour-long product placement exercises known as "reality shows." Every time I want to see a legitimate representation of gay culture, I just turn on The A-List Dallas!

But, wait, there is at least one other category of gay narrative cinema– the one that usually affects me – those movies so gorgeous and stylized in their depictions of desire that longing becomes the way you fall through the ceiling – like Todd Haynes’s Poison (made almost 2 decades before he got awards for remaking that, um, scintillating Mildred Pierce), or Derek Jarman’s Edward II. (Yes, sometimes I think the art was better in the early-‘90s, I'll admit it). So, yes, it's those high-lo art heartbreakers that I usually seek out (and, of course, an endless range of documentaries) – which makes it even more surprising that a movie so mundane like Weekend, bordering on mainstream in its middle-of-the-road attractive characters and it's packaged indie aesthetic – that a movie this simple in its goals could still get me excited in a way that sent me back for more. I wanted to make sure that I wasn't just starved for any representation of gayness, stuck here in the Santa Fe of the imagination. I mean, in the Santa Fe without imagination. Help – can someone give me a ride? Anywhere!

But wait, time for scene two: the morning after. It turns out that Russell and Glen did hook up – Russell's in the kitchen in his white briefs and black T-shirt, making instant coffee to bring into the bedroom. Russell is nervous, Glen enjoys provoking him – wants him to talk about last night’s sex for the benefit of a tape recorder art project. "I saw you in the club and I thought you were out of my league, but I liked your T-shirt," Russell starts.

And here we see the development of the two characters – Russell, out to his straight friends but still afraid of expressing affection or a gay identity in public; Glen, who revels in talking about sex and obsesses about making art to push private desires into public discourse. “You didn't want me to fuck you, because it would make you feel too… gay?” Glen accuses Russell. And then, when he hears a homophobe yelling QUEER outside, he leans out the window and yells "I'm going to come down there and rape your holes.”

Russell is nervous the homophobes will throw bricks through his windows. "You're 14 flights up," Glen reminds him. After programming each other's numbers into their phones in the hallway, Russell struggles to say goodbye when his straight neighbors enter the hallway, expressing their own affection. Glen shakes his hand – "You really do have a lovely home," he deadpans.

Russell is a lifeguard at the municipal pool, and Glen works at an art gallery. If in some ways their connection is about difference, it's also about sameness – both model the facial hair trendy in gay settings and casual attire that telegraphs an awareness of current trends without calling masculinity into question. ("Not too camp," a phrase Russell uses several times in the film, broadcasting his insecurity in a way immediately familiar to anyone who's spent time in masculinity-obsessed gay cultures).

This movie portrays more or less mainstream (indiestream, I would say) gay characters in their 30s or so (age is never mentioned), who are, in spite or perhaps because of subcultural affiliation, not particularly class-striving. Glen makes fun of Russell's thrift store decor, but he’s also impressed by it. Perhaps he does show a bit of discomfort when he tells Russell, "There's nothing wrong with being a lifeguard," even though Russell hasn't indicated any shame about his job.

And sure, Glen is modeling the 1970s gay clone plaid shirt de rigeur in London gay fashion (this movie takes place in the midsize working-class English town of Nottingham). And, just in case you don't notice the fashion intent, Glen sports a t-shirt underneath the plaid that features an image from 1950s gay physique photography, with “PROVINCETOWN" spelled out above. Still, there isn't the usual spread of brand names and moneyed braggadocio so typical in most media representations of what it means to be gay. Yes, Russell does take out a new pair of Nikes before going out to meet Glen, but otherwise it's mostly Russell's apartment we see – meticulously decorated in thrift store finery for sure, but nonetheless a subsidized council flat.

The editing is crisp and generally tight around the conversations that form the core of the film, occasionally pulling back to remind us of the distance from which we are gazing. These wide-frame moments are reveal loneliness and connection at once: a virtually-still life where Russell stands under the DEEP END sign at the pool; an illuminated gas station where he and Glen wait for the bus later on; and, most effectively, in a scene towards the end of the film, where we see the pair illuminated in the 14th floor window from outside – the building takes up half the frame, the other half the foggy nighttime cityscape.

But first, Glen picks up Russell from work – “Did you ever save anyone's life,” he asks snidely, handing him an energy drink. Yeah, Russell says, unfazed. But then it's Russell's turn to throw Glen off-guard – Glen, a smoker, is out of breath after climbing a flight of stairs that leads to a highway overpass on the way to Russell’s apartment; Russell asks him if he wants to ride on the back of his bike, pretends he's going to leave him otherwise and so Glen jumps on. "Do you feel safe?" Russell asks. "No," Glen yells back, but soon he’s holding out his arms in the air and yelling like a little boy; it's the first moment of unbridled intimacy in the movie.

Back in the apartment of desire, Russell wants to know about Glen's tape recording project, how is it art and not just people talking dirty? Glen wants to know what’s dirty about someone's sex life, opens up into a tirade about straight privilege that’s definitely convincing for his character, the type of gay guy who becomes more impassioned with every rant. He's not entirely eloquent, but that makes the monologue all the more believable. And then, the anticipated conversation about coming out – Glen says he came out to his parents on Mother's Day when he was 16, told them "nature or nurture, either way it's your own fault." A brilliant retort that Russell is suitably impressed by, but slightly hard to imagine for a 16-year-old to come up with – more convincing as an anecdote Glen uses to broadcast invulnerability.

It's pretty impressive that this movie, which consists mostly of dialogue, manages to stay so true to the characters – sure, there are moments that feel a bit too overwrought – like when Russell tells Glen that he never knew his parents because he grew up in foster care, yet it’s Glen’s character that this serves to illuminate – "that's interesting," he reveals, his eyes excited. And, once suitably stoned and slap-happy, "Is it really wrong that I find the whole orphan thing really sexy?" It's the exact type of thing that a gay guy like Glen would say – snide and falsely revealing. Yet somehow it leads to the two of them making out, panting, that openness of sex in their eyes, come all over Russell’s chest.

It shouldn’t be unusual to see the immediacy of gay desire, the evidence on the chest, but it is. Which brings us back to Glen’s comments about structural homophobia, not the phrase he uses but here it feels quite important – because, another of the things that this film does quite well is to show the way that homophobia undergirds everything – from thugs in the park yelling QUEER to Russell’s discomfort talking about his own sex life. Glen rails against the straitjacket of straight control over self-expression, over gay dreams, but it's more than that – it's the landscape we all learn to live with, sometimes don't even notice, internalize.

Then there’s the awkwardness of saying goodbye for a second time – Glen exits the door, but knocks again just moments later. "I'm going away tomorrow," he says. To Portland, Oregon, it turns out – for a two-year program called Contemporary Perspectives on Modern Art in the 21st Century. Here it's worth mentioning that Glen fetishizes “America” as a land where gay people actually fight for what they want, and yet, if this movie were made in the US it would certainly have been doomed to an NC-17 rating for its frank depiction of gay sexuality (Todd Haynes received the first NC-17 rating for Poison, in 1991).

Russell is trying to act like Glen’s departure doesn't phase him – and, why should it? They’ve just met, after all. Glen "doesn't do boyfriends.” Glen bows his head nervously while inviting Russell to his going-away party. It's these awkward moments that make the movie so true to life and its difficulties large and small, those lapses in communication that sometimes mean as much as the communication, the pounding of everything inside.

And so, soon enough, we’re at Glen’s going-away party, which takes place at a straight bar downtown, somewhere he finds campy because it's unfamiliar, whereas Russell finds it uncomfortable because it's familiar. Glen tells loud sex stories to his friends, and gets in an argument about straight privilege with a straight guy who asks him to keep the volume down. Glen asks Russell if he wants to kiss him, but Russell doesn't want to do it in a straight bar so Glen pulls him outside. They're on the tram, and then at a carnival – Glen says his friends make him feel like there's "a noose around my neck." "You don't mean that," Russell counters. "Yes I do," Glen responds.

Then they’re talking about childhood again, Glen says when he was 15 his friend caught him watching A Room with a View with the VCR paused during a scene where everyone goes skinny-dipping. He wanted to catch a hint of Rupert Graves’ cock vibrating with the paused VHS tape. "In that moment I could see myself through his eyes," Glen adds, “and it didn't matter." If they thought he was a dirty faggot, then he would be a dirty faggot. Afterwards, this former friend told the whole school, and that was the end of all Glen's other friendships too.

Sometimes Glen’s monologues feel a too stagy, Russell’s doe-eyed openness a bit contrived, but isn't it always a bit stagy or contrived when you meet someone new? The way these intimate conversations happen in both the public and private domains – that's what this movie captures so well.

And drugs, don't forget the drugs! The movie opens with Russell smoking pot, continues with his straight best friend handing him a shot for one hand and a beer for the other -- alcohol literally lubricates every interaction, so it's no surprise that when Glen and Russell end up back at Russell's apartment they are giggling maniacally and snorting lines of coke. Here what is refreshing is that the movie contains absolutely no shred of a moralistic stance -- drugs are just there, everyone does them, and rarely thinks about it. Sure, maybe they contribute to the intensity of the emotions, but the characters are unaware.

I'll admit I'm somewhat obsessed with figuring out how old Glen and Russell are supposed to be. From the opening scene, I assume they are somewhere in their 30s – the way their faces change so dramatically in age depending on the lighting. A Room with a View is an exact reference from my preteen years, so I guess that they are about my age, but then sometimes they say things that make it seem like they are supposed to be younger, like when Glen describes his art project and Russell asks: "is that what you want to be, an artist?" Not that it matters exactly – 20s or 30s, somewhere in that realm. (Besides, my friend Andee in London tells me that scene in A Room with a View is iconic.)

But back to the coke party – it turns out that Russell has his own sex diary, privately logged on his computer; he reads some of the entries to Glen, and then Glen takes over just as he reaches an entry that turns out to be about the ex-boyfriend who cheated on him. It's the second dramatic moment in the film that feels a bit false, but still it leads to a conversation about gay marriage and assimilation, straight privilege and the tragedy of gay pretensions to normalcy. But Russell wants to know: what if it's about love? Marriage, that is. Glen is on a coked-out rant – "We have a chance to grow our own shit." Russell interrupts him: you want everyone to think for themselves, but then you don't want anyone to disagree with you. Another monologue about love, what if it's about love? Russell gets quite animated about this. Glen is unconvinced, yet suddenly silent in that way that happens when you're talking to someone new and you realize the conversation has reached a dead-end. That happened with my last boyfriend a lot. Russell asks: do you want another line?

Another line – of course! Then it's Russell’s turn to confront Glen – in spite of Glen's rhetoric, Russell thinks he wants a boyfriend. They go back and forth for a while; it gets emotional – Russell ends up in the bathroom staring into the mirror in the way that always happens when you do too much of something – drugs, in this case, or arguing. Reemerges with a joint, and as the two stand by the window a sudden musical dirge comes on, piano and wailing as the two start to caress, making out tenderly and yes, that's when we see the pair illuminated in the building from outside, all the other lights off -- stunning because it's also so simple. I think of my last apartment, with a view kind of like this one. I think of some guy I met 12 years ago in New York and we did a bunch of coke, ended up in his apartment a few times, he was an asshole really but still there was that intimacy that happens when you're with someone for 12 or 24 hours in a row. I think about how I’ve left this world of bar pickups, and whether I want it back.

But back to the sex, somehow neither over-determined or underrepresented. Yes, the scene is carefully cropped to avoid revealing too much (for the British censors, I guess), but still we get to see those suddenly wild facial expressions of desire made real, Russell's nervousness when Glen starts to fuck him, and then his moans when he's ready to come just a few thrusts later. I know I keep saying this, but I'm still marveling at these moments that feels so authentic yet so rarely delivered, the sex that does mark a crescendo, but then ends so fast. That's why I'm hooked.

Later, the curtains frame a purple-pink sunrise, smokestack in the distance – another one of those atmospheric still shots that I love and I could use more but it's not exactly that type of movie. But still, it’s those soft hues that frame the intimacy of the next scene, that hazy feeling of morning-after-drugs loneliness that feels like intimacy. Russell says that he's fine as long as he’s in his apartment, he's not ashamed of being gay, he doesn't want to be straight, but then every time he goes outside and he struggles with indigestion. I'm a grown man, he says, why can't I just get over it like you?

Something changes here; we can see it in Glen’s breath – that's how intimate the acting is. Glen says how about if I pretend to be your dad and you can come out to me? Russell isn't sure about this game, but he has that half-asleep look of childlike vulnerability in his face and so he tries it. Glen responds as the father: "I couldn't be more proud of you, than if you were the first man on the moon." It's a silly moment, but it opens up the possibilities of intimacy between the two – Glen makes instant coffee in the morning, and we’ve come full circle.

But I need to come back to the way the film talks about homophobia. It's not just the guys yelling QUEER at the park, or beating up Glen's ex-boyfriend one night when he went cruising. It's not just the way gay people imitate straights, try not to talk too loudly or express themselves in ways that might appear too flamboyant – “too camp,” as Russell would say. It's also when Russell spends time with his best friend and the rest of their circle of straight friend, leaves the drunken house-party at the beginning of the movie because he says he has to get up early for work, and then heads right to the gay bar. He doesn't think that his straight friends would really understand, so it's touching at the end when his best friend urges him to leave his daughter’s birthday party (Russell is her godfather) to go see Glen one last time at the train station.

Yes, at the train station, the way so many movies end. Russell is struggling to articulate the intimacy he feels and Glen doesn't want him to, we can't hear what they're saying over the noise of the train until Russell says. "I just want you to know that…" And, Glen starts crying: "I don't know what the fuck I’m doing." A typical feeling after a weekend of drugs and sex, but then it's also true that he's leaving for the US with a little backpack and one rolling suitcase, no intention of coming back. (Todd Haynes lives in Portland, now that I think about it.) Russell holds Glen as he cries, kisses him as someone whistles mockingly from the distance. Ignore them, Glen says, and we see Russell’s eyes look over with so much vulnerability. The train leaves, and it's Russell's turn to cry.

This isn't a film that eviscerates the gay narrative of growing up, coming out, coming into privilege; in fact, it situates itself from a questioning place within it. The word "queer" is never uttered except by the homophobes, and perhaps that's something that makes me uncomfortable about praising it too much – I don't generally think there’s any hope within gay culture, with its status-crazed obsessions and drive toward normalcy at any cost. Still this movie enters my heart. While the movie is very current in its aesthetic and conversations, its preoccupations – disclosure versus secrecy; freedom versus silence – almost seem dated. And yet, secrecy and silence have returned as hallmarks of the gay experience, shinier now but no more honest; perhaps that's what makes this movie feels so important.

Reviewers are calling this a love story, but that actually takes away the power and possibility of the film. To call it a love story is to make it conform to a heterosexual narrative. It's not a love story at all – it's about a hookup, and the possibilities that might or might not be possible. It's about what happens anyway, the openness that sometimes we can feel in our hearts. It's not just love that we learn from, not just love that makes us grow. By refusing "univeral" narratives (which always means playing to the imagined center), we can start to hope for so much more.

Planning

2011-11-25T11:04:00.002-07:00

I'm not sure when this not-quite-cold will end – seems like I've been waking up for over a week with more and more phlegm – I mean, really, am I a phlegm machine? Still waiting for that day when I wake up and think oh, yeah, health – although, I guess I've been waiting for that day for at least half of my life, dammit! Maybe just a little more energy, please, more energy?

Today I woke up and it was raining, yes, rain in the desert, what could be better? Snow! Which came next – and then more rain – yes yes, please more rain, please more rain! Dammit, it still feels dry in my apartment – time to put more coconut oil up my nose – of course, I won't need to put oil up my nose when I live in Seattle, right? And, hopefully, there will be way way way way more improvements than that! A few more months to prepare for my book tour, then a few months of travel, and a mid-March arrival in Seattle – that's what I'm predicting, anyway. Planning.

Oh, my – here it is on the destroyed books table after the raid on the library at Occupy Wall Street (thanks to Stephen Boyer for the picture, and all the fantastic work!)...

2011-11-24T21:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, please…

2011-11-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

Wait a second, how did this get in my front yard?

2011-11-24T17:34:00.000-07:00

Look, a peacock!

2011-11-22T13:45:00.000-07:00

And then, when it looks like this...

2011-11-21T18:13:00.001-07:00

Directly on my skin

2011-11-20T15:07:00.000-07:00

Ted from the vacuum store keeps calling to tell me that my vacuum is ready. I don't have a vacuum. Or, maybe his name is Bob, Todd, Rob – yes, I think Rob. Is this the beginning of a romance, a romance in Santa Fe? As unlikely as anything else.

Speaking of romance, did I tell you about my new file cabinets? Four drawers each, 26 1/2 inches deep – I'm so excited! I looked for a month for just the right ones, but didn't find them, so I bought these – at least they are 85% recycled material, and the best part is that I'll have space, space for more files instead of the three smaller cabinets. They were jammed so tight and so hard to open and close, now I have these smooth-rolling big ones. This is the kind of thing I do when I'm getting ready to move – I like to get everything more organized, so that when I arrive at the next place it will feel like I'm progressing. I have two months to get everything ready – I think that will be perfect.

Last night I was talking to Randy and he said how are you? I said I have a cold, but I'm not bad. He said that's pretty impressive – you have a cold, but you're not bad. And, I think he's right – I'm glad I have friends that are actually paying attention. I’ve decided that this would be the best time for a cold, anyway, since then I can get my immunity up before leaving – no colds on my travels, that's for sure. And, the thing about this cold is that I have tons of congestion and my voice sounds raspy, but otherwise I don't feel worse than usual. Maybe I'm even starting to feel better.

Oh, but you wanted to hear about the thallium. I talk to this person who my mother knows, some kind of doctor who mostly focused on research and I guess I supposedly know him too since he and his wife were the people that would have taken care of my sister and me if our parents had died when we were kids or something, but I think I only met the two of them once, at my bar mitzvah. I don't remember meeting them then either, but that’s what I’m guessing.

He is pretty informative, says thallium is something that people use to try to kill their spouses, since it has no odor, taste, or smell. He thinks I should try dialysis, which sounds completely crazy to me, but I listen, anyway. The other option, he thinks, is Prussian blue, a dye that somehow convinces your body to take potassium instead of thallium, and then you're okay except your stools are blue. That sounds scary too.

But wait, what was the helpful part? Oh, I know – we were brainstorming potential sources, and he was thinking maybe any supplement from Asia, Africa, since they haven't banned thallium like in the US, and I couldn't think of anything until I realized oh, what about the liniment I put on every day, several times a day – it's just four ingredients, all of them healthy, but it is manufactured in China where there are basically no standards. So, okay, another thing to cut out of my routine, just in case, since thallium is absorbed through the skin. And, I am kind of enjoying the new liniment that I got, it almost feels the same, actually, I'm glad that I looked at everything on the shelf, twice to find this one – Olba’s oil, years ago I used it for a bath and it kind of burned, but directly on my skin somehow it feels soothing.

Not sure exactly what they're saying here...

2011-11-18T19:06:00.000-07:00

Apparently larger bookstores are afraid to order Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots? because of the title…

2011-11-18T12:47:00.000-07:00

Quick – should I change it to Why are Fidgets so Afraid of Widgets?

Look what I got at the Recycled Arts Fair!

2011-11-17T19:31:00.001-07:00

Time to start packing

2011-11-16T13:15:00.000-07:00

Actually, this walk feels nice. The sun in the middle of the day at this time of year is comforting – not overwhelming like when it’s warmer, makes me feel calm instead of jumpy, don't need to worry so much about getting burnt. I'm walking to the pollution intersection at St. Francis and Cerrillos to look for a protest but there's no protest there so then I walk too far because I'm guessing I won't make it out for another walk today, after dark it gets colder and then it just feels like too much work to put so many layers on, go outside with my shoulders all tense.

Last week I was craving Denver – thinking about the independent theater, the bookstores, even the Colfax bus. If there was a train I could take to get there and back, I would have gone for sure, but it's too complicated to go there before I leave in two months. I need to be in the city, but the only one that's easy enough to get to – Albuquerque – just feels like more of nothing. Is it really worth taking the train an hour and a half in each direction to go to Buffalo Exchange and a used record store downtown?

Today I've been thinking about different intersections in Seattle, feeling the softness of the rain on my face, walking around Capitol Hill, and actually thinking about it right now I almost have tears in my eyes. Really. So, maybe that means is the right place to go. To move, I mean, even if I'm worried about all of that darkness and mold.

I was looking online at temporary rentals yesterday, saw this place that looked nice enough, they mentioned it was sunny all the time which I knew really meant that there was light coming in the windows, and then I noticed the location: exactly where I want to be. I've even started to think I could live in one of those motel-style ‘70s atrocities, as long as they've taken out the carpet, even if those buildings have always made me shudder, I mean I started to think one of those buildings might be the best option for the most space, and maybe even a balcony. See how I'm thinking about all the details already? Have been for several months now, really.

Remember: if and when I move to Seattle, I need to be in this one part of Capitol Hill, within a few blocks of the co-op, the big independent bookstore, the small independent theater, and the terrible sex club that I'm ready to endure, or at least investigate, once again. I need to be within a few blocks of all of those things, in an apartment with enough sunlight and no mold, so that I can actually function. I mean, when everything gets so dark and seasonally depressed, I'll still be able to go just a few blocks for my basic needs. That's what I'm hoping for, planning for.

It's ironic that the first city I'll visit on my book tour will be LA – all that pollution and sprawl, I can't imagine it will feel like the relief I want. And then, San Francisco: what will that be like? I know when I first got to Denver, and I couldn't believe all the people out in the streets. Will it even feel like that in LA, where it's always seemed like no one’s on the street? What will it feel like walking down familiar blocks in San Francisco, noticing the air shift as I move from neighborhood to neighborhood? People say that when you live in a high-altitude area, and you go somewhere that’s at sea level, suddenly you have all this extra energy. Will that happen for me, or will I be so exhausted from the train, the pollution in LA, the travel – so exhausted that I just feel worse? I guess soon enough I'll find out – in a few months, that is. Time to start packing.

I do love this cloud…

2011-11-15T16:02:00.000-07:00

Community, immunity

2011-11-15T15:53:00.000-07:00

I think I had a libido for a minute or two. Or, maybe not – I was thinking about what a libido feels like, so then I went on craigslist and saw “My hot cock” and right then I was hard, sending a reply and then I went on the awful cruise site, but wait, someone actually sent me a message, wanted to get together, but then I realized I kind of have a sore throat and I don't want to get someone sick. Didn't tell him that, said I made plans, I'll never hear from him again, there goes that libido.

Now I'm just sitting here, trying to decide if I have enough energy to go outside. Whether it will make my sore throat worse – is that what this is, a sore throat? Started with a scratchiness, now I'm taking osha root to cure it but still this scratchiness. Didn't take a walk earlier because I had a phone appointment with the doctor, a phone appointment so I wouldn’t get too exhausted, but then after we talked I was too exhausted to go to therapy, had to cancel. Which was why I'd scheduled a phone appointment – I mean so I wouldn't get too exhausted, but then, well, you already know.

Strangely, my lab work looks much better – balanced intestinal flora, even a tiny bit of gut immunity inching up from nothingness – I mean, before it was .1, now it's 13.7 – the reference range is 51-204, but still I'm going in the right direction, or so we can imagine, right? I just wish I could feel it, something, anything, better. Of course, the doctor asked again if I would know what it would feel like to feel better. Why does she keep asking that? I guess she thinks that maybe I would feel better, but I wouldn't notice? I mean, that doesn't even make sense. When you feel horrible all the time, even feeling slightly less horrible feels better. I mean, I have delusional moments all the time, like this morning when I was planning out the call for submissions for a new anthology, before the crash, reality, whatever it is – one day the reality will be something else.

Question of the day

2011-11-14T10:06:00.001-07:00

It's getting to the point where 5 pm comes around and I already can't function, so exhausted that the exhaustion becomes sadness and then I'm waiting, waiting until it's time to get ready for bed. The only thing I want to do really is to read, but of course I can't read much without hurting my hands. 6:55 pm, and should I get ready for bed? At least I succeeded in going on my second walk before dark, just before dusk actually and the light was so fantastic that everything became beautiful, everything. Maybe 6:55 pm is my new bedtime, when will this end?

And, the question of the day – the next day, that is – do you like how it switches, just like that? A dryness in my throat, almost a dry cough, better make sure that doesn't develop. But right, the question of the day: why is the bloating getting worse? Again. Worse again.

All right, now that that question is out of the way, and I don't have an answer, maybe I can tell you how sunny it is today, and how it's nice to get up a bit earlier, to see the earlier sun. The way it illuminates the pine tree plant in my house, shimmering in different hues of green making one. The light through the skylight in the kitchen, brightening everything, my heart? Pain in my belly, and I will finish cooking.

Seasonal, just in case

2011-11-13T11:03:00.000-07:00

It's funny to think about bringing out a seasonal affective disorder lamp in a place where it's almost always sunny, so sunny that even in the middle of the winter you have to wear sunglasses – even on a cloudy day. But still, here I am, bringing out the seasonal affective disorder lamp – maybe because you have to wear sunglasses all the time, you don't really get enough light through pineal gland, the part that regulates mood and sleep, right? The idea is that the lamp makes you more awake in the morning, so then at night to fall asleep easier. In the past it hasn't worked for me – in San Francisco, it made me too wired at night, I mean I was already wired but then I was really really wired although maybe part of the reason was because I was getting up in the afternoon, and not in the morning, so then I was actually making my brain think it was earlier, and then 3 am came around and I was ready to walk to Texas.

So, mostly the lamp hasn't been used for the last 10 years or so, but I kept it around because it's one of those things that you buy and think, I don't want to get rid of that, just in case, right? So here I am, trying it again. It does wake up my brain a bit, but then as soon as I turn it off I'm tired again. Is it time for bed yet?

They always leave a few things on the porch…

2011-11-12T19:29:00.000-07:00

Oh, here I am in this place again

2011-11-10T18:00:00.000-07:00

What is this place? My head. This place in my head. My head hurts. I want to form sentences. Sentences other than this one.

I've just come back from feldenkrais, my favorite place in the world. Or, two hours ago. Two hours ago I came back. My head. My head hurts. What is this stupid message from the doctor's office? Something about a test that I need to do, they want to make sure. They don't even know what they're talking about. I ask for answers, and they don't respond. Then they leave this message.

I wanted to tell you about the fall, I do love the fall. When you walk outside on the day after the first freeze and there are just piles of leaves everywhere – I never noticed that before. The snow on the mountains and the way green goes to white goes to yellow goes to brown. The softness of the light and my head hurts, why does my head hurt? Maybe soot from the fireplaces or my jaw. I guess it's time to lie down again, lie down for more feldenkrais, not the same here in my apartment, but still.