From becoms form and my form becoms forgotten as I spew screeds onto the screen. Back stiff, fingers numb, bum solidifies.... what the hell?
Sunday, March 11, 2007
It's meant to be the end of winter. today was to hot for thermals - and we had to move our clocks forward at midnight - so I think it's one am now?
It's certainly still winter.
I got delayed in the big apple by a nasty flue - which kept me bedbound for a week - and I spent last week wiht evil menstruation from HELL.
(Only a man could come up with the theory of intelligent design - coz anyone who'se experienced fucking lady biology would know - that the only intelligence that could come up with the bluddykunt form of gonad management would be that of some freaky mysoginist evil genius....)
today - was my last satterdy in the big apple - and I had a migraine from hell. It's just starting to grip my neck as I type so i'm typing faster to hopefully ward it off.
so this will probably be the last posting on this blog - unless I get reandomly inspired by fond reminiscences.
I had a plan of posting a daily inventory of nutty new york moments (which occur daily - god this place is great) - and then I thought it'd be good to write some observer participant account of all the skethc clubs i been going to - but given ehtics limitations and impending tome completion - I better hold off for a few months.
And I felt so down that I posted my misery bits on the bodies art and stuff blog.
I dunno whether to keep up with the amateur cultural anthropolgy stuff and save the acute emotional angst for bodies art and stuff - and keep art and mayhem as a long distance publicity board for stuff in sinney town....
wahtc this space...
As I left the L-train the other night - I felt like i'd entered some weird tweeny sci fi movie where all the adults get zapped off. I was walking through the subway corridor FULL of twenty something funky white kids. This off a train full of mixed aged, mixed race individuals was WEIRD.
the funky squad of Bedford Street have moved south and now lorimer street and surrounds is gradually getting 'hipper' and whiter and inevitably blander. L casa del ramon is still surrounded by spanish speakers but some nice honkeys just moved into the flat downstairs - and i haven't seen the crack dealers across the road lately.
My own comfort zone,; nice 'alternative', pale skinned, bespectacled, earnest reading thinking people - are always a slightly uncomfortable sort of zone - coz we're so precarious - always on the way somewhere else. - we seem to so rarely make communities but be at the forefront of the breaking of other ocmmunities.
but as I age into the late 30's I'm feeling less comfortable aournd the ghetto of cool around me. I DID make it out to the dyke mag launch last week - and found myself in a room of clones of girls I could have seen anywhere in the past 15 years: sydney, melbourne, brisbane, Lyon, Paris... fuck o bloody fuck - alison bechdel really is the dyke version of moses. the tribes dON'T CHANGE.... acutally they do - coz now with T and surgery - there are a lot more t-girls/bois/t-bois/FTM's - pick your word.
Meeting eyes with 'new men' - I feel kinda weird - coz in a dyke bar, I'm in a space where i don't usually look at men as sexual so I don't really know how to respond....
anyway - i danced for a tiny little bit - but now many people were dancing and I was feeling socially phobic (of wandering up and chatting to random strangers) and then I remembered how I felt when I was the same age as most of the crowd - needing 5 drinks before i'd dance, 10 before I'd make a pass at anyone - and I sighed, and decided that maybe 2 hours was enough time there and I'd rather be at home. sigh
at least I didn't have a hangover
sorry this post is so boring! - check out my other blogs instead!
How do you convey emotion, frenzy, stupidity overtiredness on a goddamm preformatted preset fixed font frame? Partly its paranoia - so my words don't get cut and pasted in some morons bloody plagiarised essay, or some clever dicks plagiarsied bloody thesis, but mostly - I wnat you to stumble and trip and slide through my slurring, slipping, striding, screaming missives, as I type them. Life is always more interesting in the cracks between stuff.