Things have been extra-hectic and fragmentary lately, for me anyway. Thursday morning I went to hear Smithsonian head honcho Wayne Clough at the Biltmore defend his recent removal of the David Wojnarowicz video from the National Portrait Gallery's gay art show, or -- more accurately -- to check out the protest out front by the paramilitary cell that came together to protest the whitewashing of Italian Street artist Blu's mural at MOCA's Geffen contemporary.
Afterwards, Christian Cummings and Marie Johnston picked me up to teach a workshop on Altered States of Consciousness to CC's Theater class, wherein I advocated the breaking of no laws and had a reading of a comic I wrote while altered by a 104 degree fever.
Friday we hauled whippets to Ventura, where Portfolio took the purp (I gave him the ol' "Don't look at the fat ass losers or freaks, look at ME!!!") and they all got to frolic among the slick oceanside cobblestones, then home to gnaw upon celebratory dessicated bull peni... I mean Bully Stix!
Saturday I went to drop a new Pre-Rotted (TM) piece off at Jancar's in Chinatown, where Christian Cummings and Roger Herman have concurrent solo shows --
-- and finally got to meet and hang out with painter Henry Taylor, whom I had tried unsuccessfully to track down for the 'Some Paintings' show a couple of years ago. Grabbed a sack o' Banh Mi at VIA, did some koi dog pondering, then headed out west for Phyllis Green's survey show at OTIS.
Sunday to the Farmer's Market with Don Suggs followed by a SASSAS listening party with Annie Philbin (romantic singer-songwriter), Brad Eberhard (eclectic garage), and Lisa Anne Auerbach (thrash metal?! But she seems like such a nice young lady!) spinning tunes...
All while finishing up my first piece for The Nation, about the Smithsonian/Wojnarowicz and MOCA/Blu incidents... we're captives on the Carousel of Time. Or something. Where have you gone, Journal of Ride Theory?
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