june 26, 12:28am | by the door
spent much of today moping because i wanted, or envied i guess, people marching or drinking or standing on sidewalks. maybe i just envied the idea of it. maybe i just missed the memory of it? i don’t know. but like a pretty horrible gay, i just had it on the television while practicing, and then turned even that off when i realized we’d just likely stay home. i did get through all of my music, though it did also take all day. also began the book about charles tomlinson griffes. the author writes in such a florid, high-camp romantic tone (original publication, 1943) that i almost have no idea what each sentence actually means. many of the words i’ve never seen in my life. but i’ll press on. and i continue to read carolyn brown’s book about cunningham and cage, usually in the bath, though i suppose i don’t ‘need to’ anymore. when i go home i should also grab to re-read kyle gann’s book about 4'33" since i will ostensibly record it for Tido in London, and i actually want to feel historically (re-)prepared. tonight, while taking that bath with carolyn brown i listened to george michael’s listen without prejudice vol. 1, the ultimate coming out album, and a document of early 90’s gay AIDS rage. i used to listen to it a lot. i love the cover. and then i rented but did not watch i am not your negro. okay, so with all of this i mean to qualify some sense of 'pride’-ness in a day spent mostly indoors. i even took a nap at the peak of depression. also occurred to me tonight while playing beach and macdowell and griffes that i would like to play a program of this kind of americana. no modern or experimental qualifiers. just something so stunningly unfashionable as early twentieth century american romnaticism and exoticism. you know, if you do exactly what they say—exactly exactly exactly what the composers say—it works. however, anything less, and it crumbles into parlor music. so if macdowell says to do something ppp, then one has to really fight for ppp. but anyway where could this program happen? i dipped into my “fuck you, nevermind” list of presenters who habitually ignore me and reached out to someone who for years has blown me off. what can i say—indignity draws me in like a moth to a flame. pride sex. big breakfast. pasta dinner. a quiet sunday when everyone in town seems lit by rainbows, sitting-in or speaking out. caught a glimpse on social media of the dude who unfriended me a few months ago because he realized i’d unfollowed him on instagram. prancing with a trail of fawning fags. he once told me he wanted to write a book (he had a book deal already, and did write the book—well, actually someone wrote it for him) so he could “make money while he sleeps.” at the time, i struggled to find a publisher. for my own book, and eventually self-published it. the same dude who once invited me to go to provincetown with him the following day. i packed my bag and waited by the door at 9 a.m., and like out of a movie, he never came. by 3 p.m. i found out he’d already left, with someone else. when i think of my twenties in gay hell, i think of that afternoon. and to think, sometimes i miss those days?
