coffee, tea, or the end of everything

at Velvet, I'm super excited by one of the Drag King's performances. The energy was amazing, the attitude was gorgeous, work, work, work. But when I discovered that the song he lip synched to was by the Pussycat Dolls, "When I Grow Up," I was so disappointed. In myself, and the world. But the moment was still beautiful. I ate hush puppies,mushroom jambalaya and beignets with chocolate pot de creme for dinner. at school, i can't decide anything, coffee or no coffee, maybe tea, but I don't want to waste a cup, I already bought a bottle of water, should i go upstairs in the student union or sit outside, what should read for the next hour, should i check my e-mail, how about a 40%-off SFSU mug? now i'm stressed.

return to facebook

It's like the return to oz, only without the shock therapy. More old friends from Louisiana. She's been looking for me for years, even going to my father's house to ask if he knows where I am. He doesn't pick up her phone calls anymore. Some kid, a fag actually, told her I was killed in a car accident. Must have been another Kevin because I'm still breathing, except when I sleep and then I don't breathe. My neighbors are arguing again, they're always arguing. Leave him, sister! I said hi and introduced myself to that interesting looking guy who lives down the block from me. He might have thought I was crazy, but that's not the point. He said, we'll talk, but he kept walking. We can talk now, daddy. Venus in Furs is the most frustrating book ever! As you can tell, I'm desperately trying not to give up on this blog.

facebook is gonna make me cry!

Sitting in the Breakroom in Oakland. The music is good, clubby. The guy next to me is trying to explain John Cage's experimental music to his girlfriend. I'm trying to read the Iliad, but who can concentrate? Apparently Patroklos and Achilleus were lovers. Is that supposed to excite me? My professor thinks so, but he assumes that all his students are nineteen and straight. More Thai food, this time with Geri. The economy's so bad that they're giving free Thai Iced Tea or Coffee with each entree. My coffee is gritty. Geri dilutes here tea with ice water to make it last longer because the economy's so bad. We look at the tuna strainers at Smart and Final, and we run the joke into the ground, as usual. My cousin from Louisiana calls. I'm nervous. He keeps calling me Kev and Man, with a southern accent that I wonder if I ever had. He sounds like such a sweet guy, really normal in ways that I never was. But he doesn't seem to think that I'm a freak which is surprising. Actually I'm worried about having to say the words, I'm gay. Not because I'm ashamed, but because it just seems silly to have to say it at this point. He doesn't ask, he's a hipster. He tells me about my father. Still lives in the same house, a hermit, worries all the time, does his own thing. Weird, weird, weird. In an even weirder, and perhaps beautiful, Facebook reconnection, I found one of my friends from middle school. She lives with her girlfriend in Armistead, across the river from Coushatta, and works at the truck stop/casino which is next to the Burger King. There was no Burger King when I was there. I've missed so much! It's not really surprising that she's gay, she was always kind of butch. What's surprising to me is that she still lives there. That she never felt the need to get away. I guess I didn't have to runaway, after all.

transformers valentine

Saturday morning ritual: coffee in my cup and a scone at Peaberry's. Ten minutes before work and look at all the white liberals with children. I'm sitting outside, euro-style and it's cold, but I don't mind. I used to be really afraid of the cold, but lately I've been loving it. Ice cold fingers and I'm ready to push that black cart around, ready to scan some barcodes, ready to sneak peaks at thousand page books. Some guy gives me a Valentine's Day card. He says, here you go, dude. I think he was with his girlfriend. I guess he was just in the spirit. Later I'm shopping with Frank. Somehow we always manage to shop. I indulge and buy that "truck ornament" from Bangladesh at that high-camp store Castle in the Air in Berkeley. Love and hate that place at the same time, but my truck ornament is shimmering.



more on the play about the castrati: http://www.ciertoshabitantes.com/index2.php?idioma=ingles&ira=galeria&menu_datos_obra=1&id=6

the face of the earth

It's still raining and it's still cold. I guess it really is winter. I love the slick, wet streets walking home from BART. I'm the only one walking from BART. Other people get rides or drive or bike. I walk. I was watching bad TV with W. I asked him if he thought it was ironic that he went to Vassar and he likes this shit and I'm still working on my degree at SFSU at thirty-one years old and think it's beyond ridiculous? He couldn’t really explain it to me. I guess after all that hard work they're allowed to like it. They know it's bad. They would write it better. He did make me laugh a lot which felt good. We both like nasty, totally inappropriate jokes. He's loud and inappropriate in public too which makes uncomfortable but in a funny sort of way. But if he was my boyfriend, it would be a totally different story. We would fight so much and then it would be over. Another puddle of bitterness. I don't step in it. Daniel wrote me back. He sees my father about once a month when he stops by my grandmother's house for lunch. He didn't give me any details and I understand. How can you write about these family tragedies on Facebook? I've told myself for so long that I don't care about these people, I don't want to know, they're horrible, mean, racist, homophobic, and just scary. But what did I lose in thinking that? Maybe it's become to easy for me to walk away from relationships. But I can't imagine actually being in the same room with them again. It would be so awkward. I guess I would be angry. But for what? I left. Why should they try to track me down? Daniel said he had tried to find me on MySpace and Facebook many times. He thought I had fallen of the face of the earth...

व्रितिंग इन बेद

Dr. Thomas was wearing an 'of Montreal' t-shirt in class today. And now I'm listening to their record as I sit here in bed. What if I had never bought this CD on a whim at Aquarius Records? I would be missing out on so many insider underground cultural references. We watched a film, "Man with a Movie Camera," by Vertov. It was beautiful and the music was great, but I just wanted to sleep. But not with Dr. Thomas. Or did I already? I must have seen him on Daddyhunt or Craigslist or some backroom somewhere. He kind of looks like an Eagle Tavern kind of guy with his build and his facial hair, but his fashion screams pop culture arbiter. He's complex, he's a Doctor. Today was good. Did I mention that? It all starts with good intentions. Up early, out the door early. I was rounding the corner from 17th to Lakeshore, looking at the sun flashing on Lake Merritt, and then that cute guy smiled at me and said hi. I smiled and I think I said hi back, but whether it was audible or not I can't be sure. I have that problem. I always forget most people can't read lips. He' s beautiful. How can I track him down? Facebook? But I don't know his name. I did track down a cousin in Louisiana that I haven't talked to in fifteen years. I think he's a hipster! He was happy to hear from me. I'm so curious about all the insane things that have happened in my absence. In particular, I wonder what's going on with my father. Do I want to know?

बर्थडे रैन

I'm uncomfortable celebrating my birthday. I hate being the center of attention. I don't want to go anywhere fancy or do anything splashy. That makes my birthday really boring for my friends. Jeff took me out to dinner to celebrate. Basil Thai, an old favorite. The food is good and I should probably have more than one beer to loosen up, but I'm too uptight to drink two beers. What's good about birthdays is that they squash draining daily patterns. Whenever my minds wanders off to usual misery, I'm like, hell no, it's your birthday! It's raining when we leave the restaurant and step onto Folsom Street. We think about having a drink somewhere. The Powerhouse, or the new Hole in the Wall? Both look empty. I can never decide where I want to go, and I must decide because it's my birthday. But, maybe there's just nowhere to go. What about the Bar on Church? It's quiet, too. It's cold and rainy, and Jeff is tired and we're driving around in circles. Driving in circles in the rain is nice. I want to do more of that, but I don’t say that because that's a weird thing to want to do on your birthday. The things that I don't do on my birthday are really wonderful. I don't look at craigslist. I don't participate in the pseudo-public sex occurring in the bathroom on the 4th floor of the Humanities building. I really just have to pee. Of course I linger a bit longer than necessary, but really I'm in total control. Not going to do something I regret today. I love the cold, I love the rain.

"My throat is worth more than a Queen."

I had the privilege of seeing the best play ever tonight, courtesy of my new gay friend. Monsters and Prodigies: A History of the Castrati. The funniest, strangest, most surprising play ever to appear before my eyes. A hot and horny centaur, braying after a plump and bashful castrati. A two-headed barber/castrator. A horny freak-imbecile, slave. A queeny and dictatorish piano player. They all come together to tell the story of the Castrati in Baroque Italy. The Castrati were castrated as boys so that they could retain their soprano voices well into manhood. The play centers around one Castrati's forced castration ( by the two-headed barber), his rise in prominence, and his pitiful demise when the Castrati, and all the decadence of the time, is cast off for more worthy pursuits. It doesn't sound funny at all, but it's super campy and sexually charged which lightens the mood. There is hardly any set design, but there's so much going on on-stage, not to mention the over-the-top costumes, and nobody has time to think about the set. It has amazing energy, everything is happening at once: braying centaur in the background (and he is fine!), beautiful opera by pudgy castrati, bickering two-headed barber fighting itself, slave grabbing his crotch uncontrollably, piano-player screaming for them all to shut up. And then someone in the audience stands up and demands that they stop the show because she's offended and everything explodes (dinner rolls fly through the air!) and you're sure that it must be a part of the show, but still you wonder... The performances are phenomenal, the singing gorgeous. Catch it if you can. Tonight was the last night of three-night run in San Francisco. Now off to research the Castrati...

Those Black Pants, part 2

I'm at home Friday night, trying to break in those new black pants. I've had them on for 10 minutes and I think I'm getting a headache. They are cute though. Maybe I should lose a couple of pounds? Maybe I could shave my hip bones. I'm sure it's been done before. Leigh Bowery didn't mind a little pain for the right look. But then, I'm no Leigh Bowery. I spent my day salivating over books that I'll never have time to read. I have to read the Illiad instead. I'm trying to get into it, but usually my mind wanders off into the distance. I talked to Willcock and I think he helped me come to the decision that I don't want to top the poz guy I've been chatting with from Daddyhunt. Even though it's probably not that risky if I'm the top, I would probably be thinking about it the whole time and I don't need that kind of experience. I really just need to change my patterns. I can't believe I bought these fucking pants!

non-existence

I set my alarm for 6:00am, but wake up to procrastination. I want so badly to stay in bed, to delay reality a little longer. I just need a little longer in my cocoon of pillows, sheets and down comforter. But I have to pee, which makes this early morning slumber a kind of torture. I feel a headache coming on, too. Better get up. I walk hunched over to the bathroom, trying to breathe deeply. I’m peeing, lights off, eyes closed. I’m thinking of nothing but going back to bed, but know that I’ll regret it. I need this to be a good day. Good days and bad days, it’s all on me. Of course, I go back to bed. My mind wanders: sex, worry, memories. Why can’t my mind wander towards beautiful things? I want rainbows and mountain tops, dammit! The alarm goes off again and then I’m listening to the NPR. Oh, they’re asking for money. “If you listen, you really should give.” I feel guilty, but I don’t call and I never will. It’s 6:30am and I’ve really got to get up this time. I’ve thought about getting some beautiful and motivating morning rituals, but it never worked out. Think positively: Obama is President, I’m not dead, birds are singing. Here we go, another day. Shower, shave, coffee, fart, toast, get dressed. God, getting dressed! The process takes at least thirty minutes. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anything to wear. Fags are supposed to have cute clothes, but I don’t have any cute clothes. Except for those super tight black pants that I bought on sale. Those pants are going to change my life. And when I wear them with those new lizard skin shoes, my life will become phenomenal. But I don’t want to think about the lizard. So I read The Illiad instead. I know I can make it through one chapter, just one little chapter. I get into it for a second, the Trojans and Achians acting all silly stupid, but grand and great at the same time. Then my mind wanders, and then it wanders some more. And then, and then, I’m running late. Forget about The Illiad, where are my freaking keys, because I have got to go?! Why does this happen everyday? I get up hours before school and then I’m rushing at the last minute. First I’m going this way, and then I’m going that way. Keys, wallet, gum, lip balm, cell phone, books, notebook. One last look in the mirror and I’m ready to go. But do I check the BART schedule? Of course not! Still, one hour later and I’m at school, on-time, early even. All that rushing for this? But look at those beautiful trees-that makes it worth it every time. When I get there I feel a mix of dread and excitement. Dread for, well, everything, and excitement for the glimpses of the possibility of something meaningful that school provides. In my first class there’s the girl with the pink-latex shoes who likes to complain about everything. But with shoes like that I’m thinking what does she have to complain about? Did I mention that I hate the shoes that I’m wearing. They make me feel hideous-big, bulky, masculine. Yuck! I contemplate going home to change, but that would take two hours, so I decide to tough it out. We’re talking about the female nude in European oil painting and how women are overly conscious of themselves because of the male gaze. But I’m thinking, I’m overly conscious and I’m not a woman. So, really living in male dominated society screws up feminine people in general which does not include all women, nor exclude all men. Life is so complicated these days. After class I have a granola bar to take the edge off. But do I really want to take the edge off? Next class and there’s pink-latex shoe girl, again. I sit on the other side of the room, but I can still hear the conversation. They’re called “jellies” and they’re so easy to clean. The class is so not interesting, but I make it interesting by turning my notebook into a work of art. I only take notes in graphic novel form now. I’m going to publish it as soon as the semester is over. I’m so creative! Maybe I can find a boyfriend now? No, never. Whatever. Finally, I get to eat lunch, but what do I want? A gardenburger sounds good so I indulge. It’s greasy, yet dry, but I eat it all in five minutes. There’s another bad habit-eating too fast. Spend $190 on books, but still haven’t spent enough to get my $25 gift card. I’ll be back tomorrow, thanks. Books for school should be guilt-free shopping, but still I feel like I’m wasting my money. I feel like that’s all I’m doing everyday-wasting my money. I console myself with coffee and music. I listen to Of Montreal and copy down the song lyrics for later use. Here’s one line that I like: “freaked out the mountain goats but they were not impressed.” I don’t know what it means and I guess that’s why I like it. My next class was canceled but I didn’t know it until I climbed the five flights of stairs and met pink-latex shoe girl stomping her foot in faux-anger. She just hates it when teachers cancel class. Boo-hoo-hoo, honey. Then I’m on MUNI staring at people and then they’re staring at me, and we’re all in a fishbowl and then I’m thinking about Jules Verne for some reason. As soon as I get home I check my e-mail, and then Facebook, and then, and then, oh god, yes, it’s true, Craigslist! Nothing like those Craigslist days and Craigslist nights to take away the pain. I hear on the radio that loneliness causes bad circulation. I go out for a walk to get my blood pumping. I meet a new neighbor. I do my laundry. I write this autobiography. I accomplish something, anything.