Monday, November 1, 2010


I still kind of cannot believe it. I am going to see Prince play in a month and a half. Prince! I have never been this giddy to see anymore play before, except for maybe Bjork when I was 17 and she played at Capital Ballroom in DC, maybe then, or maybe when I was going to see Cake play on my birthday, 17th or 18th - I can't remember which - but I guess the theme here is not in a really long time have I felt this way. Prince means so much to me and maybe more than any other musician living wows me, absolutely astonishes me and makes me so wow sometimes when I contemplate all that he puts of himself into a song sometimes when I am listening to one, makes me go ohshitshitshititsallsofuckingtrue. The things this man does to me with his music! More than any other artist Prince gets longing, gets what it to want a person so badly that it consumes you, his songs are full of the most intense desire, that you can feel this man's pleasure in the erotic thrills and the attendant heartaches that go with them. It bleeds through in his voice and in his guitar playing, in his piano playing. This man is insanely good with his voice and with his fingers and with multiple instruments and he knows how to communicate so well through so many mediums, that you know he is a great lover, that he has to be given how good he is with his body to make this music, say these things.

He has such a large body of work and so much of it is so incredibly amazing. Even the stuff I don't necessarily go crazy over is still pretty great music, but I keep on developing new crushes on songs. The first one that brought me into this man was "Kiss." I heard it on the radio a couple times and thought it was such an amazing song. I bought the 3 CD Hits collection of his and fell in love and I have been totally obsessed with this man's music ever since. The two songs lately that I cannot get enough of and cycle through my iPod again and again are "17 Days" and "She's Always in My Hair," both so intense and heartfelt and sincere that they make me totally weak in the knees. And I am going to see this man play in person who has the ability to make me hold my hand up to my heart and want to pause in the midst of walking to catch my breath that a person is saying these things, making these feelings real, and this man, I am going to see play, this man who has the ability to break my heart while I am riding the subway and listening to music. And you have to be careful because there used to be a time when you used to listen to music on the subway because you wanted to listen to music, that Point A and Point B were really interruptions of your time with music, not bookends to it, and you have to be careful because you don't want the case to start becoming that music just becomes a way to make the travel between Point and Point B go by quicker, that it becomes just something to do, not something you want, not an intensity of feeling and a mutually giving relationship here, the listener offering his up their heart and attention for something that was created out of what you feel is an honest need.

I am climbing out of a hangover that I had been feeling most of the day. Listening to Prince has almost entirely erased how I felt during the earlier part of the day. I am again remembering how insanely excited I was yesterday when Erica, Tom, and I got tickets to see this person and I realized that I was actually going to see this person play! That feeling came back a short awhile ago when I put on this music. Prior to that I was in a stupor as my body worked on processing and expelling all the alcohol that I poured into it last night on my journeys around this city dressed as the bumble bee girl from Blind Melon's "No Rain" video.

Jacob and I went to the screening of Bruce LaBruce's "La Zombie" at Drom. The movie was supposed to start at eight and both of us had been hoping it would because we wanted to spend our Halloweens getting drunk and sloppy and dancing, had other parties that we were going to head to at 10 when the movie ended. Nearing nine o'clock, the movie had still yet to start and someone came on stage to announce that the bar would not allow the unedited X-rated version to screen and that we were awaiting an edited version to arrive to screen. The crowd booed and rightfully so. It's particularly outrageous that either the bar didn't know what they had signed up for or that they would change their mind last minute or that they would even care in New York City about what they hell they were screening and whether its content was too risque. It makes me very angry to ponder what this means that a bar in the East Village would do this, what this means if I were to make an analogy about the current state of New York compared to what seems like not that long ago, what this shift is due to and why we allow it to happen.

We decided to skip out on the movie since I'd rather see its unedited version first and it's screening during the MIX Festival in a week or so. We rode the L train over to Hiro Ballroom for the Butt Party. We were there for an hour or so, an hour of which time also was an open vodka bar. Already over having to buy expensive drinks after our time at the disappointing Drom, we were going to get our drunk on for cheap while we still could and pounded back perhaps too many drinks during that time window. At a certain point, we decided to head to Vandam, where I had wanted to end up, where I had wanted to lose my mind and dance among insanely dressed people. We took a cab down there and once we got out of the cab, Jacob puked on the street and we paused like it was nothing. Kept on going. It was that type of night - loud and wasted, and pushing on cause you are playing hard and rock and rolling or whatever it is - you are living and you can't let things like puke slow you down. At Vandam, we drank some more because logic and moderation are of no use to a drunk mind and we danced upstairs and downstairs. At some point on the dancefloor, I decided to take off my tights. I am not really sure how I did then, if I took of my leotard to do this there on the dancefloor, but I am more and more pretty sure I must have. I do know that without my tights on and dancing around in a tutu, I felt more and more horny, more dirty, more away of my penis underneath my tutu, liked the feeling of being in it, the idea that naughtiness could be hidden from view, skirted (if you will) by a skirt. And because really maybe I am an exhibitionist and horny, I found myself with a boner being jerked off by Jacob, jerking off with him (at Greenhouse? What, I said to myself this morning, soberly recalling my insane behavior). And because it you are going to go hard, then you are going to go hard, I got head from Jacob and some other boy, and I am not sure how obvious this was but I am sure it must have been.

We stumbled into a cab to take us home and on the way home, texted people and searched on Grindr for people that we could get to have sex with us. We sent dirty pictures to some people, so horny. We got home and, needless to say, passed out, did not have sex. This morning when we got out of bed, Jacob said that our room looked like a clown explosion had occurred, costume pieces all over the floor, clearly taken off in a frenzy to make it from the front door to our bed and to be naked by the time we got there.

And since waking up, the day has been spent watching trashy movies and reality television shows and being pretty brain dead. Jacob is asleep on our bed and I am awake now, feeling quite alive, this man Prince returning my spirits, giving me the blood that the vampires and monsters and myself consumed last night as we all danced around the fire, consumed by it, celebrating the madness, the deviltry, of this life.

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