Sweetness

I'm working on a little project that's sort of a sum of an e-mail conversation I had with an old friend about gender. I guess it's about letting myself embrace a more girly and silly part within myself. While at the same time being very aware of the guilt, the anxiousness, the discontent and lose of personal voice that happened when one identify oneself (and other) by their gender.

I'm not sure what I want, or how to get it, or if this even relevant. I guess the solution is that there's no solution and that all anybody can do is be aware of their feelings, their needs and wants and who they are.

Hungry

Sitting at egg waiting for food.

Ned is busy, he's sending an e-mail about the shoot later today, we are both tired, and nervous, on edge.

I feel constantly hungry those days. And no matter what I eat it would not go away.

Hungry for food, for meat, for candy, for sugar, for beer, for whiskey, for sex, for attention, for effection, for money and approval.

The phone woke me up this morning, A number I didn't recognized and before I picked up, it was gone. Still trying to figure out who it was and what they wanted.

Today, I don't want to be the hero, I want to be the princess.
Fuck it all, I guess I just want a drink.

Proud of myself

In that half sensear half looking down on myself way that I get when doing something that's hard for me, but that is easy to others.

This morning we were supposed to go hang some art in an exhibition in Chelsea, it was an open show - just bring your art and put it on the wall.

Then Ned woulden't wake up. He fall asleep only a few hours before. After an hour I decided to go on my own instead of waiting till he wakes up and we miss our chance for wall space.

I didn't quite know where the show is, or how will I manage hanging the art and interaction. Eventually on the way I had to tell myself that if I get there even just to see the art, I'm good, and I didn't fail just to get myself going.

Eventually, I did put up Ned's photos and my deawings.

Not hanging as nice as I wanted, not getting a space as good as I wanted but it was up there, on the wall eventually.

While that was going on, I talked to  a bunch of other artists, a guard, an Israeli girl looking for a hammer and a writer for the Art section of the New York time

Touch

A couple of days ago, right before going to sleep, I remembered a game I had to play in gym class at school. I can't remember what the rules were, or how it was played, but there was a ball, and touching.

Sort of like tag, but with a ball.

The touch was this grip of the shoulder, or back. Not a tap, but sort of like a reasuring hold.

Tag, you are it.

I've been thinking about that touch, then I contact, or not. Not loving, not friendly, not with any intention in it but moving the game forward. And yet, there was something very comforting about it.

We are players, we are equale, we are both playing the same game, we both know the rules.

Tears in public

Beacause the music is so sad, a high pitch faminin voice, sweet and mournful.

Because I can't block the fear today, not with thoughts, or words, or stories.

Because I'm burning too hot, too fast, and can't put down the fire, and I feel like I'm falling, falling.

Words words words

Running through my brain, crawling under my skin, around me, block me from the world, protect me.

Names of places, imaginery and real. Phrases, whole paragraphes from books I read and forgot long ago, fragments of conversations, from the past and from now.

Too many random thoughts. Like standing in the middle of traffic, not able to focus long enough to cath the right bus or train to take me away from all of this.