After Party

After the Mykki Blanco show (2 mosh pits, broken cinder blocks, honey) People wondered about an after party. “My house” I said. “I don’t want to go to any 15-person straight-person soiree” Mykki responded.

There were 50 some people. A DJ showed up. Fonzi and I complained about the burning-man style music and I asked the DJ to play something “less chill.” Kitty Crimes, Mykki and I huddled in Noah’s room. 

Benji and I did an impromptu Party Girl performance. I kept being surprised by new guests,  but enjoyed having them around. Peace and love.

Mykki Blanco is so smart, such a good conversationalist. We talked about upcoming plans with a little intersectional feminism thrown in as I chauffeured hotel-ward at 2am.

The party was still dying down when I went to bed at 4am. When I got up the next morning the whole house was clean.


I was at the counter at Betterday when Hoku walked in, looking confused, wearing layers of cloth that gave him a cocoon shape. He came up to me and we nuzzled our faces together, looked each other in the eyes. We kept almost kissing and he would mischievously turn his head away from mine, smiling. He didn’t talk.

Hoku was in my dream another time recently. The two of us were standing in a hallway, trying to figure out when we would hang out. I knew he was dead, and that the chances of me getting to see him again before he remembered he was dead were slim. I was the one being evasive though, I said: “I’m really busy for the next few weeks.”

Waking up late, I made a raspberry smoothie and a veggie burger in 10 minutes, packed some computer fans I’m selling on eBay, and rocked up to work as tardy as I have been every day this week.


Difficult not to drink when you come home to the bounty of party-beer, housemates and touring band in the yard shooting empty cans with bb guns and blasting music. I have instead been accessorizing with a cone of dark chocolate Coconut Bliss.

Diesel Dudes accompanied us to Meow Wolf, where we did a Mallplex Juvieganger photo shoot at Wiggy’s Plasma Plex. The band asked what this was for. I didn’t know. 

Diesel Dudes and Weeper played our “Eviction Party” which was loud but ended early. Half the party came after the show. Emily Montoya invented the product “Water Light” tagline: “Finally!

Patrick Tabor showed off a faded and stained WB hat, said there were a lot more where those came from… in Diesel Dudes’ Warner Brother deal they got some hats, a bunch of VHSs, board games, and a dog with wheels for legs, her name is: “Wheelie.”

As guests thinned we danced reckless to Gabber in the empty living room.


Noah and I were talking about how we have both recently thought about accessorizing with crowns. I’m not much into jewelry, except for the thin silver bracelet Noah and I share, which bears our grandmother’s initials. Noah has a barbed wire bracelet and said the next step was to wear a wreath. I would even wear a big a prototypical king-style crown.  “Like your spirit animal.” Noah said, referencing a dream I had a few years ago. Then: “Ha ha, you have a spirit animal.” But Noah also had a spirit creature dream – that long-neck deer-dog. In both of our dreams we realized we shared a mind with the animals so…

“I look threatening enough to go to Whole Foods and get ingredients for raspberry smoothies.” We went to Whole Foods to get ingredients for raspberry smoothies. Clouds were hovering above the Sangre de Cristos and the gray day made the weeds in our yard look extra green. We talked about how nice it would be to drink cold raspberry smoothies on the chilly day and go hiking with Dion. Noah texted Dion, who said he would like to go hiking with us next weekend.

We made our smoothies, along with veggie sausage sandwiches, and watched anime. Xtian and MC came home from Arizona. We all hugged on the porch and talked about our weekends, then went to the show at Caldera. Crocket debuted “Snake Chama,” followed by Keyboard, and “Diesel Dudes” who all rocked underwear and rocked out. Drums fell, people wrestled, the band did push ups and Patrick Tabor swung a chain. A mosh pit broke out in the tiny adobe venue.

Outside we talked about “BYOF” parties, where everyone brings an amp, mic, and earplugs. All anyone can hear outside is feedback.

“Oh no, a bunch of feedbackers just moved into the neighborhood.”

“Except feedbackers feed people, cookies to the neighbors mid noise-complaint, pavlov’s dog type stuff.”

We segued into my favorite conceptual band: Party Girl. We’re gonna need a grant for all the personal trampolines.

At 1:30am, as Noah and I were eating ramen topped with curry and I received a stream of Party Girl lyrics from Benji via facebook messenger:

“Elbow grease- Bathroom tanning- Frequent flier- Bath salts—-
romantic comedy- oldtimer- milquetoast- back to school—–
hair removal- let’s do this- par value- couch potato—-
better late than never- gheri curls- cyber monday-golden boy——
cold blooded- ATM- To be honest- Jet Lag—–
good eatin- no filter- proper pronouns- fender bender—–
pale blog- home shopping- impact driver- side effect —–
non fiction- sandpaper- lab rat- little rascal——-
election year- semigloss – spare change- intelligent dance music——
Auto save- my hands are tied–reverse mortgage- hand crafted——-
a little off the top- learning curve- uncanny valley- Book club——
green card- wiggle room- same page- high maintenance – —-
luke warm- cruise control- rewards program- fire wall——
home brewed- Mac Mini- house party- first time for everything-
H.D.M.I.- Lord knows- La CROIX- Two to Tango——-
Caught dead- Whole nine yards- Triple Threat- Party Girl-
Party Girl-
Party Girl
Party Girl.”




I was disappointed to find that all the relics from my childhood, which I had thoughtfully sorted and let go of ages ago, had reappeared. It was a heavy feeling, modulated only by the bittersweet memories attached to a collection of gelato spoons amassed over a summer with my (now dead) first love.

A music book stood out in the pile of discarded and homeless items. An illustration of a pig accompanied a wild post-bop jazz piece. I mentioned to my dad that it was a wonderful song and he said he couldn’t read music.

Mykki Blanco was sitting in our living room after a show and before a party, talking about feeding apples to pigs in Germany for a music video. I jumped up and said “Oh! Pigs love apples!” I know this because in the mess of old stuff a piglet appeared, eating what looked like a very juicy apple. It shook its head around playfully, looking me in the eye.

Beyond the pile of things was the shore of some spirit realm where we would have a family dinner with our deceased loved ones. Pork was on the menu and I wondered if it would be served with an apple in its mouth.

Mean Monday

I felt aggressively bored at/after work. When I got home my CalArts acceptance letter was in the mailbox. I put the sticker that came with it on the dehydrator. Noah and I giggled about how the Dehydrator displays the taste of someone less cool than us, but still pretty cool, who we would probably enjoy hanging out with.

We watched Better Call Saul at mom’s. I noted waves of depression and didn’t feel talkative.

It started to rain outside. Mom was excited and went to stand in it. I was staring into space, playing with my hair and mom said: “I love you M” It was so pure.

As we waited for our sheets to dry I worried aloud about Financing life outside of grad school in Finland and if it is actually not smart for me to go to Finland (do I deserve what I want if I cannot afford what I want?). Noah talked about not feeling any long term goal aside from leaving Santa Fe. By the end of the chat I think we all felt better.

Noah and I went to get beer for Sean and had fun doing doughnuts in the parking lot. I had excessive energy and was getting urges to casually knock things over, with a benevolent Pipilotti Rist sort of feeling. A cashier who Noah described as a “critical-minded free-thinker” was rattling out buzzwords and we spent the car ride home making fun of him.

Heartbreak Tag

There’s something about Eunice’s scent that reminds me of Adhit – that sunshine smell, for lack of a better description. There’s something else in it that’s like Tina’s smell – a granular field of slightly transparent and warm white tones.  It’s like a very fine snow but definitely not cold or made of water.

There is something around or in the scent that gives an impression of sadness. It’s vague to describe the olfactory world but perceptually poignant – these intuitions are immediate and tied to something base.

A further illumination of Eunice’s scent comes from learning that she wears perfume, she says she wants to be one of those people who leaves a pleasant aroma when they walk by. 

Eunice asked me if I liked her, which is a terrible question that no one should ask anyone. It traps the person you’re asking. Of course no one is going to say: “no.” I do like Eunice, but that’s not what she was asking.

“Your time together has the appearance of fun” Noah noted, Observing that I wasn’t having fun. “I want to break up with her for you… how difficult is it to dance with a human backpack?”

Eunice is hot and witty but there are two reasons I have to break it off:

1: I don’t feel like dating her

2: She won’t let me dance 

Tell Me What to Do

I am fairly shameless/forgiving of myself and others, but I do feel a need to air out this feeling of being disappointed in myself, and like I lost what could have been a good connection because of, um, being a stupid asshole.

My therapist asked what the largest factors of my identity are – is age important? Connection to arts? Gender? I hadn’t thought about age being very important but mentioned that everyone I have dated since I was 22 has been 22. “What did you not get over when you were 22?” He asked. “Oh!” I graduated college and went from being a person who is smart and doing something to being someone who is stuck. This is also when I started drinking habitually.

We talked about veganism/cocaine, John Cage, Grace Jones/fashion, and body dysphoria. He asked if I am happy with myself, I said yes, but there are things I need to do to become better, happier, more self actualized.

He asked how much I drink – an average of 3 drinks a night, but sometimes half a bottle of hard liquor without thinking, and without much change in my behavior. There was barely a pause before he told me that I would be going for 90 days without drinking, and when did I want to start? I said I would be DJing on Saturday and had plans to get drinks with an artist I admire on Sunday, so it would have to be Monday. He said to “have fun binging.” It was such a relief to have someone tell me what to do.


In the last week something terrible happened: I didn’t feel like doing any personal projects after work/the gym. I made spaghetti and didn’t even make a salad. I asked Noah if he wanted to see our missed episode of Better Call Saul and he said: “No we are watching Charmed.” I laughed and watched it with him, then watched it with him and Sean, we all fell asleep in a pile on the couch, watching Charmed


I feel heavy going back to journaling since the last time I wrote, that day I was broken up with and have not wanted to address the pit of gut-sadness.

Jess said they weren’t feeling it, needed “me time,” that it wasn’t a reflection on me etc. Elegantly worded, fair, and admirable. Still hard not to take personally. After a brief and stilted phone conversation I left them alone.

Of course my friends experienced the brunt of my heartbreak, because I am both a weeper and a drunk. Cole gave me a big hug and offered to start a noise-band with me, Alex et. all offered to take me out for drinks, and Chris Brodsky led me to his truck where he filled a beautiful handmade ceramic mug with vodka. He gave me the cup and its contents, said if I broke it he’d make me a new one.

An overarching sentiment from friends and roommates was that they wished they could feel something as strongly as I do. I can’t imagine not feeling things intensely –  sounds great.

The next day was nice smelling and gray. I had set up my first appointment with a therapist the previous week. I had a feeling we would work well together and he said the same. We talked about being weepers, about being queers, and about what the self is.

My therapist is somewhere around 80 and is well acquainted with grief.  He has been widowed 3 times, came out late in life, has a down syndrome daughter, has AIDS, and is in recovery from substance abuse. He has smiley eyes.