To My Possible Readers

Your Existence Frightens Me.

This was mainly about me leaking crazy like a safety valve. Now I've commented with this identity and I think it linked back here.

Welcome, comment but please don't attempt to have me committed. And maybe everyone in real life doesn't need to know all this if they can't look it up for themselves. No need to mention it's here either.

So yeah, scary.

Addendum

Alternate theory on over-earnestness of artist:

Being a college professor, dumbing down has become second nature and so internalized he can't not. Hence the eagerness.

But seriously, I still think this guy should have heard of chemistry and that different chemicals have different properties, like texture.

And I'm sorry I ever scoffed at the possibility of an art career, little bro. Dude, you should totally quit changing passwords and go for it.

Dad shit still stirred up. Further examination reveals a problem is that there isn't a woman shaped hole for this person in my life. I thought if I could become a person who refers to their parents by first names, then I could transition to new pronouns. It is way harder than I thought to do that. If that person isn't my dad, who is [] to me?

Being a Brief Review of Recent Art Experiences

Gompers - Know Theatre

Very Intense. As the director's notes said, I did know these people. Intimately. Some of the character interactions brought to mind the family irregularity that I gloss over and ignore. There are some gay relationships in the play and they (the relationships) don't necessarily make the characters happy. [This is about all I can saw without total spoilers.] Which is what the the play is about, but. So the first act was cool and darkly hilarious. Foreshadowing was willfully ignored.

Second act - the threads in the duct tape do not have anymore to give. as the characters and the town fall apart, so do I. one ex found it supremely creepy that I can cry and laugh at the same time. good thing I was at the play alone. but not really, because it brought out something that's been kicking around in the back of my head for a long time, hiding underneath just enough stuff I can pretend it's not there.

My Dad had gender reassignment surgery a few years ago. I, we, still talk, but it's been a long time since we have visited in person. You could say I haven't adjusted well. I don't even know what to call him most of the time now. It's exhausting to remember 2nd person constantly. Unfortunately, the transition was also rough for Kelley. Classic plastic surgery mistake. Your like isn't magically shiny, happy and perfect once you make a change. So my Dad is pretty depressed most of the time and I'm really fucking pissed off she isn't happy. I leave the grammar of that sentence to others. At any rate, sometimes I wonder if I will get a phone call asking me to claim personal effects due to suicide. But I had never fully articulated that thought before seeing Gompers.

So Jay, I'm sorry, I was the crying girl at the pay what you can night. I couldn't stop and it seem like too much to explain to someone I barely know to say hi to at a party. It wasn't because the play sucked. It was too good and too personal. I kind of wish the play sucked or the actors were less... less. I'll try again for Hamlet. Usually I get antsy and bored. Maybe I'll snore.

Weston Art Gallery -
Renovated Flightless Devices, Please Tie Me Down, Working Groups

The flightless devices were neat. Unfinished looking, with string. Like they were in process or almost ready for action.

Please Tie Me Down I didn’t quite get. There was something there, I could feel it, but no connection was made. I think this is part of why I prefer museums with a little card that attempt to explain what is going on. The artist was there, it was an opening, but I wasn’t up to talking to strangers. And being a presumptuous fuck. “I don’t get it. Please explain.” I could have phrased it better, but not really. Not up to the social task.

Working Groups. I used to doodle and sketch while hanging out with friends. One of them taunted me unmercifully for drawing like this. I think it is my engineer soul. And in the flyer about the show it talked about how he identified with craftsmen. Seriously? Not to crack on the gut, he seemed very earnest. His stuff was awfully expensive, though. I understand more now why my Mom snatched one of the paintings I did in the watercolor class we took and had it framed. I was kind of pissed. I guess it could be art.

I think the fundamental difference between someone who doodles and sketches and an artist is a willingness to stand up and say “this is art.” In a firm declarative sentence. Something I’ve never been willing to do. Although I thing some of my photos are quite good. And I aspire to write.

The Dance piece Scratch and Burn was quite good. More political than I expected. In the opening segment, the one dancer’s movements were quite porcine. [true, but I just relish the opportunity to use the word.] Some of the character changes were hard to follow. The moves were incredible. The music was good. Shocking bit of nudity at the end. Nice little present. Thanks eta. There’s no way I would have gone with out the special event.

Periods of brief dissatisfaction

So sometimes I want people (my friends) to be a little different, reach a little farther out of their box. This happens so infrequently; it's a ridiculous desire. Lately, I've been more bent when it doesn't happen.

I live in a central neighborhood and most of my friends live on the insular West Side. I'm tired of driving over there. And I don't care if I "live closer now." It was faster before. And it's the principle of the thing really. Why do I always have to drive? Delfair lanes suck. Balls kept getting stuck, not just the blue one, the orange ones, too.

I miss the opportunity for conversation too.
Maybe the next time we're in the same room we'll talk about something real. Or not. Strange how it never comes up. I thought my chance was going to come with one of them at least. He promised. I think I will just pay someone to talk to me. Listen actually.

I'm so lonely. Is there a lonelygirl^15. exponential humor. that couldn't be contributing?

Well, I've been sucked in...

My first blog.
All the cool kids stopped doing it?
I want to pretend I'm not talking to myself.
I should really be working on a resume?

It is what it is.
- words of eternal wisdom