Ric Royer is somewhere else

2009-07-16T21:38:00.001-07:00

Today I am ending this blog. Ever since the blog, ever since the facebook, ever since the myspace, the avatar, the internet second life, I have talked - really talked - to fewer human beings. I am following the progress of people I know/knew through internet updates, and others follow me through mine. We are creeping around each other; it isn't just voyeurism, it leans towards espionage. I'm starting to get that feeling that the panopticon/big brother put forth by our philosophers, prophets and sci-fi writers is turning out to be the people themselves and not any mechanisms of power that control them.

When I used to get in touch with people I called it communication, now I call it a press release. Ugly. So I intend to end this web presence in hope that it inspires mutual asking of "what's up".

I kept a blog for three years now, which is well beyond their usual life expectancy. But I've never been a fan of choosing broadcast over personal interaction. I need to remind myself of myself.
Touch takes time.

2009-07-05T21:20:00.000-07:00

Today I am here on earth, a teresstronaut setting the orbiting parameters for my own Personal Space Program.

2009-06-21T12:20:00.000-07:00

Today I am going to cheat death by dying while I'm still alive. Right now. I am dead. Ric is dead. R.i.p. R.i.c. Don't worry, I will still be around, if you need me just send me an email or whatever. I will haunt the rest of my own "life", but I will not, cannot die twice. Especially nowadays. If my body eventually dies off (remember the old testament definition of death, "a person is not dead until the head is no longer part of the body, whether from being removed or by rotting off"), I will merely consider it as a type of agnostic resurrection. Reborn directly into the abyss.

Ah, this feels good already. I feel my fear of death diminishing with every second that I'm dead. It would be illogical to fear what has already passed.

Only when we are dead will we know what it is like to truly be alive.

2009-06-09T17:03:00.000-07:00

Today I heard a man howl for his leg. I wondered what was under the biohazard ash. Then I went back for Nachos Grande.

2009-05-19T11:58:00.000-07:00

Today I'm suddenly aware that I have not spoken much with "old friends" lately. I have not spoken with many new ones either. I am only speaking to strangers nowadays. This is the path of least resistance.

2009-04-12T12:01:00.000-07:00

Today things are completely different. Yet there is still the same chain of events: action, circumstance, outcome... no matter the variables, things tend to run themselves at some point.

2009-03-12T21:23:00.001-07:00

Today there are big things and small. Tuna Jazzarole: small. P-l-o-t: litter bigger. I googled myself and actually whispered, "what do they want from me?": getting bigger. I am an artistic director of a place: a big new thing.

2009-02-19T15:19:00.000-08:00

Today a travesty at Stevenson University: Lecture Hall 10 has been covered in newspaper. The walls, tables, chairs, waste basket and podiums have all been neatly papered with the alternative weekly. The Stevenson faculty and administration are not taking this hi-jinx lightly:
"Whoever did this, if discovered, should be made to understood that there are consequences to all the actions we take"

If the newspaper bandit isn't found and "taken care of" soon, who knows what classroom could be next. My question is, can Stevenson
University ever recover from this kind of incident?

2009-02-14T22:22:00.000-08:00

Today I am facing the cold in order to remember it. I will head up into the attic soon, I will wrap myself well and write something.

2009-02-08T19:04:00.000-08:00

Today I am aware of myself as something to beware of.

2009-02-02T16:08:00.000-08:00

Today marks four years of keeping a blog. Who knew that such a thing as a "status bar" was waiting in the near future. What is a status bar? Or maybe, what is not a status bar? I'm still working on that.

2008-12-22T13:27:00.000-08:00

Today I will be dancing. I will step outside into gusts that blow north 25 miles per hour; I will tether my body to my driveway, cut c-shaped slits in my clothing, and let the wind do the rest. The neighbors will gather, as they always do when I am dancing, and judge my erratic choreography. "He is quite lovely" they will say, and "It is magic that moves him, Jim". They will say other things too, harsh criticisms mostly about my height and lack of commodifiable skillset, but I will not remember them when I come to after passing out from lack of stillness. I will only remember the good statements, the good times, and the brief periods between the uncontrolable clashes twixt my hands and my face.

2008-12-18T11:36:00.000-08:00

Today I am home from travels. Unfortunately, things went according to plan.
Now, home and eager to wake up in the morning. Moving forward. Moving forward is often like disappearing.

2008-12-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

today I am dreaming of the silence of an uninhabited earth. Just an oscillating fan, my bed and me. I have grown bored of all noises.

2008-11-09T21:37:00.000-08:00

Today I beg of you to give me one instruction (G.V. Desani). That's where I am.

2008-11-06T19:20:00.000-08:00

Today just too much to process. A new world, the passing of my personal christmas, and how it feels almost as bad to stand someone up as it does to be stood up. Or to stand up. I'm ready for the woods to swallow me whole. I hope there are still some woods left.

2008-10-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

Today I am reflecting on the past year of my life and it is producing terrible sensations. I'm used to feeling terrible sensations when looking ahead to the future, but anxiety over the past? Not as common.
I remember having this dread when I drove halfway down a one-way street without realizing I was going the wrong way. Upon recognizing my mistake, I had to make the decision to continue forward at the risk of violent head-on collision, or try to drive in reverse back to where I made the wrong turn.
This all sounds so dramatic, but it's just that I am bored of me. And I need to be more afraid of the future again.
Until next time...

2008-09-23T19:31:00.000-07:00

Today there are no festivals. More on that next time. But for now, some Royer multi-media:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duJYfOu4z9k

2008-09-02T21:06:00.001-07:00

Today, politics everywhere. There are probably several wonderful politicians out there, but unfortunately, they have to be elected by a majority of underwhelming people. They have to lie. Being aware of that, I tend to like the politicians whose lies I like best. I think that's the best way to "read" politics/politicians: to judge not by the honor of their intentions, but by the integrity of their lies, faults and criticisms.
These conventions are like watching college football. An amazing concentration of idiots. But alas, I find politics a more exciting game.

2008-08-11T17:37:00.000-07:00

Today a review:
"Kevin Is Running Late Today But Will Be In" is the culmination of a three-year project by Kevin Thurston that is part ethnography, part espionage, part performance poetry.

As a friend of Kevin, I became witness to (and not without slight concern) his near maniacal obsession with his job as catalog manager at an antique auto parts company in Buffalo, NY. It was a job Kevin took to try to make ends meet, the kind of job that most people tend to try NOT to obsess about since it isn't "what they want to do with their life". But instead, Kevin turned every aspect of the job into material to be used for art, a rare fusion of work life and creative life.

During his stint at the auto parts store that shall remain nameless, Kevin's writing, his blog and even his conversation were hijacked by office culture. "Kevin Is Running Late" consists of recordings of dramatized scenes secretly recorded at work (yes, Kevin went so far as to even buy spy equipment to record conversations at work. Im not kidding.) interspersed with fast-paced Taylorized "office talk" that reworks catalog copy language into a mechanical poetry.

The chasm between ones personal identity and the expected 9-to-5 conformity that Thurston lived/explored is exemplified in the final "scene" which takes place at Ted's Hot Dog's when Kevin's boss attempts to bridge that gap by asking if Kevin might one day do his performance stuff at the office christmas party.

The dramatizations are a hoot, it's difficult not to think of it as an audio episode of The Office, or maybe more like some extension into "reality poetry", but beyond the humor, the piece works as a whole, mostly due to Kevin's effective and entertaining performance, and because this interesting concept was executed so cleverly after such a dangerously thorough immersion into the workforce.

By the way, Kevin is moving to Korea soon to teach ESL. I hope he likes his new job, but if he doesn't, at least we might get another great piece out of it.

Download "Kevin Is Running Late" here: http://www.zshare.net/download/1487743947f2c334/

2008-08-05T12:59:00.000-07:00

Today I propose a guide that can be included as an insert in any book, or in the accompanying literature for any work of art (liner notes, gallery literature, performance programs etc). A Writer-to-Reader Assistance Guide. A WRAG. Basically, it is a list of what a reader should pay attention to because it is what the writer has paid attention to. For example, the list would include criteria such as concept (is it more of a conceptual piece?), narrative (story?), language (for language sake), homage (is this in reference to something else?), ideas (philosophical or intellectual depth), visual (the design etc). Etc.
This way a reader won't judge a book by the wrong criteria (according to the author).
This is often inherent in the work itself, so is this cheating? That's okay, the readers don't have to look at the WRAG insert if it hurts their pride or ruins their experience.

Using one of my own publications, it would look something like this (out of ten):

There Were One and It Was Two:

Concept- 8
Sound- 8
Visual- 6
Narrative- 5
Performativity- 9
Language- 7
Homage- 2
Ideas- 7

Remember, this isn't a quality assessment, just a directory.
Use the WRAG!

2008-07-16T11:53:00.000-07:00

Today I am back from Massachusetts. Time was slow and good there. It made me realize how fast time goes by in other places. I learned that I have to make time go slower in faster places or it won't go by slow and then I have to deal with years passing as they have lately. I also learned that really old men do not have nightmares. They only dream of things like being named president of the mall and going to the bathroom from great heights.

And now, another blog: http://httyts.blogspot.com/

2008-07-03T09:55:00.000-07:00

Today let's hear it for consistent people. If all else fails, there are the consistent people. There are also people who are into gray, and they are good too. And there are the ones into old-time music, and hey, I'm tolerant. Then the divorcees and the sexistentialists (sometimes one in the same) who know that life is pointless, might as well! Let's hear it for the inconsistent people too, I like surprises.
Everybody else is terrible.

2008-06-20T19:33:00.000-07:00

Last week there were meats and beasts. I took a bite of the former and the latter took a bite out of me.
Near-death experiences can make everything you do and everything you plan on doing, seem stupid. Let's move, okay?

2008-06-15T14:16:00.000-07:00

Today some will go that have always been. And some will go that have barely been. One is sad for all that was, the other sad for all that wasn't.

2008-05-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

Today I got too much sun. Got woozy, said some nasty things (only to myself, so it should be okay). I'm sick and seeing things. This is not my best day, I am not at my best. A thought entered my head near the salon: "Maybe I'm not bland enough?"
Look out Baltimore, look out world.

2008-04-22T16:13:00.001-07:00

today I found this. Strangely enough, it was Dan Higgs of Lungfish who told me about it. Yep, it's Elvis. Yep, it's during his bloated and caped period. But what is amazing about this clip (the last song of his last concert) is way it still cuts through to something very powerful. It cuts through all we know about him, through seeing him during the often-mocked point of his life, through all the artifice of performing. The performance even seems to transcend the performer himself. Twice he looks at away and smiles, and then is immediately swept back in. He plays the emotional rushes of the song instead of playing its rhythm. His pitch occasionally wavers, his sex appeal is gone, nothing more to rely on but the intangibles of his vulnerable yet passionate performance. And then the final moment: an unavoidable and unattractive cathartic paroxysm, a perfectly orgasmic finale.
Mock me if you must, I love the fat Elvis.

2008-04-20T19:19:00.000-07:00

today I am through with the festivals of April. TRANSMODERN ended two weekends ago. So much work and a string of stress dreams, but an overall success. It had the widest range of aesthetic, the most artists, the best feedback, and biggest audience yet. There were some moments during the weekend when I thought to myself that it had reached the ever-elusive idealistic vision that an organizer (or at least this one) imagines during the process of organizing the event. Moments included Dynasty Handbag's performance, Nick Becker and Jake Freeman's Yeti set, and Gillian Wylde being carried naked up two flights of steps by a man in lederhosen.

& and the was &NOW. I performed at this one with Bonnie Jones. It was a festival dedicated to "Innovative Literature". Apparently, "festival" here means a bunch of lectures with an occasional reading housed in classrooms at a small conservative university (one conference location was called the George Bush Room). And "innovative" means white academics (mostly male) talking about movements and practices from 30-70 years ago. Academia, Orange County (California's Republican base), a lack of ethnic and disciplinary diversity, and a $100 registration fee - these are not the ingredients for a festive gathering of innovation in literature and the arts.
BUT! The very last event was a keynote speech by David Antin and his talk was fascinating to watch and hear. It would be nearly impossible to describe, but to see Antin deliver a talk is witnessing the practice of talking as an artform. His talk was also moving to a nearly overwhelming degree, which surprised me. Too bad he couldn't talk for the entirety of the festival.

Transmodern 2008 > &Now 2008.

2008-03-23T17:27:00.000-07:00

Today I am back from the Small Press Book Fair in Buffalo. It was overwhelming, mostly in a good way. A lot of lovable people, some boring poetry readings, some Canadian guy wearing sunglasses all day and night, some ego's for no reason, pretty things, people I haven't seen in years, "the fourth voice", a number of people unhappy with their own work (this is what happens when there is so much publishing for the sake of publication), Buffalo stomachs, and surprisingly few useless debates, and enough nostalgia to make my hair stand on end.

2008-03-16T19:31:00.000-07:00

Today a video from the distinctively magical world of Erin Womack: http://youtube.com/watch?v=OXwAUmXWs8Q

2008-03-12T16:32:00.000-07:00

Today Gene told me the saddest story he could tell, so sad I cannot repeat it. It has made me work harder than ever. Things are good right now, whether it feels that way or not. It could feel otherwise.

2008-03-05T20:29:00.000-08:00

Today I am still thinking about the Richard Foreman piece I saw Sunday. His work tends to leave long strange traces of psychic residue. Deep Trance Behavior in Potatoland, that's the new piece. Seeing his last three film/theatre projects has left me feeling like I'm watching his attempts at getting it right. Certainly this is his best use of film in his work. Not only did it seem to work well with the staging, but it was also very strong independently.

Visually, there was no way I couldn't like it: spirit photographs wallpaper the set, platforms built on an angle, two small pianos, and religiously charged mystery structures. I would steal all of these ideas if I could get away with it. The scenography was amazing despite the abuse of the traditional avant-garde color scheme of black, white and red.

So much to like and so much to say. The text, the sounds, the connections made between the ideas presented and the actions performed were all overwhelmingly pleasant. But what is with Foreman and women? How come few people address his use of his young female actors in his plays? Spankings, lace, dominatrix themes and dress, extended legs-spread positions... Do we give Foreman a free pass because of his status, or are questionable content choices under-analyzed because his pieces are so form focused? At any rate, I found it tiresome this time around. I'm not one to loosely throw around the term "misogynist", and I'm not going to do it here, but when I think of the possible psychology taking place beyond the production, I do suspect some perversion manifesting!

For the most part, I liked his choice of performers, but it may be his lack of choices that comes across during his recent plays. I think it's easy to forget that economics is a secret reason behind many creative decisions. Do economics (specifically, Richards inability to pay his actors a decent wage) limit his choices of performers for his pieces? His cast seems to get younger and younger. Although the actors were quite strong, it's hard not to notice that some of them looked barely out of high school! Now combine that with the short skirts and spankings mentioned above... sounds like the makings of a Fugs song. As with every Foreman piece I have seen, some actors seemed to be in the right world, and some seemed to be just one world away. But I must admit, they all grew on me as the piece progressed.

Overall I liked it. Of course it wasn't perfect, but neither is the consciousness that he is always chasing. Some moments just melted my brain the way a good story melts the hearts of others. My aesthetics were fully satisfied. I could say so much more, but I'm not going to.

2008-02-29T19:34:00.001-08:00

Today I am reading Secondary Sound by Justin Sirois. Actually, now it is justin sirois, ie ee cummings or cris cheek. Maybe he is taking this anti-CAPITAList thing a bit too far.

2008-02-29T19:19:00.000-08:00

Today I smelled breath, fish and booze in the bank.
It was somehow political.
Politics effect most those who effect politics least.
The walk home was cold and dangerous.

2008-02-15T19:13:00.000-08:00

Today it is titled Miss Agnes and Her Porcelain Child.

2008-02-03T15:14:00.000-08:00

Today I feel like everyone else, winter is in my life. Nesting squirrels, poets writing about poetry, nightmares about ex-girlfriends, the ugliest sky and two holes poked into the top of a can of beer to make it "flow just like beer in a glass". Summer may feel like The End of the World, but winter feels like the rest of it.

2008-01-18T11:56:00.000-08:00

Today I took off. I need to recover now that my Dad is recovering from heart surgery (not the metaphoric kind). In lighter news, I bought twelve sets of teeth this morning.

2007-12-31T08:27:00.000-08:00

Today I put pictures from Hystery of Heat on my flickr account. Mysterious photographs: this is when documentation of performance works.

2007-12-28T08:57:00.000-08:00

Today, Florence.

2007-12-17T21:02:00.000-08:00

Today I read, write and talk of lifeless bodies. I am never more inspired than when thinking of my own corpse.

2007-12-09T19:07:00.000-08:00

Today the first Thanatography auction is ending. I am writing the histories of old old pictures and selling them online, prettily packaged. I am lying for the dead.

2007-12-04T11:44:00.000-08:00

Today I am still trying to write. Touchy moody. But I will write like it's the last thing I'll ever write, because it may be true. Writing is too hard, and to my surprise, it never gets easier. Only ten fingers for so many eyes.
After this it will only be song and dance for me, the moody somnambulist.

2007-11-18T22:26:00.000-08:00

Today I am trying to be quiet
for a while.

2007-11-18T20:30:00.000-08:00

Today I am recovering from a two-week run of Hystery of Heat at Baltimore Theatre Project. It was a good show with great people involved, but presenting a work of art (in Baltimore) as a piece of "theatre" makes it seem less like a work of art. Sure, nobody goes to the theatre anymore, but even less than that attends in this city.
Non-traditional work needs non-traditional audiences, or else you get reviews that use the word "cutting-edge".

2007-11-15T07:48:00.000-08:00

Today I found out that Larry Scott, a local artist and familiar face, died of a heart attack under an hour after I last saw him. He was in such a good mood, rare too. Bonnie and I were sitting next to him at a coffee shop talking about death and he leaves, walks two blocks and dies.
It is one of those moments when death doesn't seem possible. My memory still defines his face and figure clearly, hears the subtleties of his voice and peculiarities of his movements. Does one seem more dead as time and memory moves on?

2007-11-12T16:27:00.000-08:00

Today I listened to Shelly Blake-Plock's VIOLENCESTRING. It's a strange narrative. There is a little Waits, a little Weill, and even occasional "hot licks" (Eno riff track 11, Bon Jovi bassline track 17). Most importantly it is made up mostly of things too unique to reference by influence.
I'm a sucker for loose narratives.

2007-11-04T20:46:00.000-08:00

Today was not good. There was time and a birthday.
And not enough time.

2007-10-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

Today I have two short reviews.
First, Blood Wedding at Baltimore Theatre Project. If 98% of theatre is bad, this was part of the 2% that is worse. Poor handling of poetic text and a very American Spain.
Also heard Lauren Bender read from her Whale Box. Published by Publishing Genius Press, I feel it more than most poems. Fear of fear, repetition, and "a fake fireplace that smells like fake fire".

2007-10-16T08:58:00.000-07:00

Today I decided that it will be okay
just to live a life that goes along
without any more than the necessary tragedies.
I will gladly take the usual terrible losses
as long as I dont endure the unexpected explosions, mental breakdowns, tortured bodies, young dead, horrors of war, the evil that men do...

2007-10-11T12:09:00.000-07:00

Today I learned about the "irrotic". It's a word that looks good,
means nothing,
and feels shameful.
I will be provide a further definition in future regrets and confessions.

2007-10-03T17:15:00.000-07:00

This weekend was old Buffalo. There had been time between meetings within a community, therefore an opportunity for an assessment of aging.
"You haven't changed at all."
Implying that change (age) is supposed to happen. It was scary to feel age; it was comforting to feel that I'm not the only one aging.

2007-09-25T11:45:00.000-07:00

Today I witnessed beautiful consciousness. To witness it is reason enough to be alive. The loss of life is not nearly as sad as the loss of beautiful consciousness. I will be dead when it is no longer possible to hope to have it.

2007-09-22T17:55:00.000-07:00

This week I have been sick. But so has everybody else. My student said he was "sick as ass". I believe I may also be "sick as ass", although it is difficult to tell.

2007-09-17T19:03:00.000-07:00

Past entries from previous blog (June 2006 - August 2007):

I have been using much of my summer for research, and in all my reading, looking and listening, I have been influenced by one artist above all: Emo Philips. If you don't remember him, try.

Today I spent some time trying to figure out the difference between rhythm and repetition. I came to the conclusion that rhythm keeps time and repetition threatens to steal it. I need to expand on this before I start writing again or I might steal someones time when I only intended on keeping it.

Today I was reminded of my two least favorite things in life: July and August.

Today there is a release party for my new book/CD, There Were One and It Was Two. It's on the Narrow House Records label, and John Berndt put sound to it. It's pretty good. At least Baltimore City Paper liked it: http://www.citypaper.com/arts/story.asp?id=13784

Today I am writing here for the first time in a while because today has not been as complicated as the past several days. Today I did not shave. Today I am old and nerdy. I'm out of touch!, and that should keep me safe for a while.

Today I saw this, and it helped clarify important questions.
The most important questions:
http://www.clemenskogler.net/film/grandcontent.htm

Today I am okay. Yesterday I read my underlined passages from a book I read many years ago. This is what I thought was important: "I write what I do not know." Isn't it something...remembering what you forgot you remembered.

Today I couldnt help but to think of help. What a thing to think about. Help. Who needs it? Who doesnt? Who gives it? Who cant?
I do not like to ask for help too often because I might really need it some day. Maybe even sooner than later.

Today one of my friends has something wrong with his kidneys. I am worried that this might be the beginning of the endless falling apart that happens to
people and their peers.
I am not quite sure I am ready for it, I could certainly use more time to prepare for "The Quickening".

Today I decided no phd for me. Not now at least. School is easy, it's the only thing I learned how to do. But it is (and should be) a last resort, and I'm not actually that desperate. Yet.

Today has been all transmodern. It will continue to be transmodern until monday. transmodern.

Today I am noticing change that has been developing slowly. A change so gradual it's difficult to recognize until measurment of time against distance.
In a way I have been on the same "project" for some years. I think I'm finally ready for something new.

Last night I looked at the desert menu at a diner. I took a good long look. Lately, its all been horror and chocolate. Rich and dark.

Today, oh.
What will disappointment breed this time? A lesson learned is not the same as a lesson exercised. I might become a while new person as these life lessons continue to accumulate.

Today I listened and listened and did not think.
Maybe too many people listen without thinking, they (we) are called listeners. Does the combination of listening and thinking make audience?

Today I will not leave the shower. I will not, until I come up with an idea. Until I come up with the rest of my life. Leo Marks, remember him. He wrote code poetry for secret agents. He wrote Peeping Tom. He must have spent a third of his life in the shower.
"She breast fed flowers for hours and hours,
she was afraid of getting rabies
from nasty little babies." -- Marks

Today there was real death. It makes all of the fake death seem so useless.

Today, like the other days, drag drag drag.

Today I am back from a few days in New York. I saw performance, I was performance.

Today I can confidently state that winter has been a disapointment in multiple ways. First, there hasn't been enough cold. Everything else derives from this fact. The body, the mind and their relationship to the weather.
Not enough done.

Today I started thinking about irony in performance. Temple is tired of it, even in my thanatology pieces. But I'm not sure if irony - as the overused method of avoidance in contemporary art - is what thanatology employs. The tone that may come off as ironic is instead commentary and critique of the performance context itself, or an exaggeration of that mode.
Sometimes, yes, the performance veils the subject, but it also makes a subject of the veil. I don't think that's necessarily irony. I like to think of PTRS as a poorly executed (and therefore awkwardly entertaining) magic show, but just because the magic tricks don't work that doesn't make it ironic. Does it?

Last night I made beef to die for.
My recipe: saute garlic and onions in curry, remove. saute beef until brown, combine in crock pot. Add mushrooms, sweet potatos, broth, water, and a little apple cider. Cook for 6 hours occasionally adding curry and salt. Add peppers, pears and apples with cloves 35 minutes before serving. Serve with Mango Chutney. Food.

Today is another day closer to xmas being over. Everybody should stop talking until then.

Today it almost hit 70 degrees.
Breen: "For me, global warming in december means fine patio dining...and disaster."

Last night was intended to be frightening. Someone is tired of my indirect and phony ways of expression. There are probably others too.
My poor cabaret of the macabre (Macabaret), I wish it didn't have to be so cold.

Yesterday Charles Bernstein was in town. I was impressed, not so much by his new work, but that his friends for over 30 years came out to see him.
I can only hope for friends that long.

Today I am back from tour. A week of performance for poets. The academy does strange things to the grown-up minds of artists. The poets do not ask "if" I teach, they ask "where" do I teach. There is little else. For poets, there is little else.
I saw a video of poets acting bad by setting paper on fire, I heard a teacher seriously tell me to "push the funny bits", I felt the cold hard armor of masculine protection, and watched goofy kids pretend to be crazy in hope that it comes off as genius. This is what happens when we have no jobs but school. Help, I am afraid there is little else for me.

Today I realize how unromantic I must be. I am so uninterested in semi-fictional moveable feasts. Uninterested. Even when I am one of the characters (they call me "R" to add a touch of literary gravity).
There are no such things as lovers and geniuses.

Today I am feeling the weight of a big deal.

Today I am imagining a horror story about a killer audience. They watch the performers onstage, then follow them until they either become an audient or their eyes pop out.
Performance anxiety.

Today Virginia Woolf said "No audience. No echo. That's part of one's death."
On top of that, bright wide eyes staring out from darkness.

Today I saw babies.

Today I was in a hospital. Visiting, picking up keys. There was a large display honoring the thousands of major donors to the hospital. Financial donors. But there was also a picture of "Ellen", the first woman to give birth in the hospital, 1963. She looked happy.

Last night was for hours of thinking.
Human potential. Potential to undergo many transformations, to have many physical forms, to do absolutely anything.
There is a thin line, though I have yet to imagine its coordinance, between such potential being positively life-affirming and affirming of arbitrary life.

Today I have few days left to finish this book. Spending all of my time trying to balance humor with depth, significance with modesty, concept with content; All the while mixing the strange with the generous.
No point being balanced if I have no writing to show for it.

Today I saw into the future again. This time I was very "*". Yesterday, I nearly had a brain attack.
Too much to think about. I do not believe in busy, just preoccupied.

Today I am returning. There were boys in Brooklyn, two of them. One of them was me and the other the one who said he would kill me. He did not.
Apparently, rage can sometimes transform, over time, into comedy.
Me and my near-assassin nearly cracked up, I could feel it.

Today I get so caught up in experiments with form and delivery of content that nobody seems to be able to respond to the content. The thrill bypassing the intellect. Dang.

Today I leave for New York in a few days to perform for a week. More heat, more hysteria. But now a universe and a mountain.
"In the beginning there were one, and it was two: The Universe and The Mountain."

Today I was finally overtaken by my double. Now it will provide companionship through life, and chase me until dead.

Today I am here.
For thirty days I did not exist, at least to the internet. Imagine life without it, like if you were Cuban.
I had a month of weight gain, a ground songing, the memoirs of Herculine Barbin, the ins and outs of being neither here nor there, and hot writing groups.
All tolled, a July to forget, if it ever even happened. Now August, the month I seldom remember.

Today I begin the chub-a-thon.
30 days of gaining weight for money. I begin the game with an eclair, minutes after midnight.

Tonight I watched face after face being made by the same face. I liked the face(s).
For some, the night was like any other:
"Another chimpless boxcar."
But beyond my biscuits and gothic disposition, there was yet something to give a fuck about.
As always, lift with the legs, not with the back.

Today it seems
as if
everybody is in the hospital.

Today I felt the beginning of a phase change. Temple is here. Loki (cat) is here.
This summer will be calm: no performances until August, few commitments. Just work. And people.

Today the list of everyone that I have ever met vanished from google search results. I would be sad if everyone couldn't find themselves.

Today I saw a video clip of David Franks reading "Net Worth". David is different. David is good. http://www.davidfranks.net/

Today I watched scorpions. They glow in the dark.

This morning I woke up singing "The Donkey's head is good...
for hitting."
Looks like Robert Bresson's 'Au Hasard Balthazar' has left an impression enough to influence my archetypes.

Today I couldn't wait to see The Mad Magician tomorrow. 3D.
Horror (silly, slasher, psychological etc) works better on film than any other genre. The cinema is a safe distance from reality.

The past week has been half dream half real. But entirely
old men. Creeley died
for the second time; Lingis broke
the news.
Was I considered a suspect?
Solaris on Earth. Unfamiliar and
therefore scary/funny (depends on waking or sleeping).

Today I felt the strange sensation of seeing
the name
of someone dead
listed
in my address book.
Peter Atha.
A name, a number and an email address.

This weekend was the Hystery of Heat. Felt good to freak out. Will it always feel?

Today there were Goth Kids
at the Taco Bell in Lutherville, MD.
One mentioned that Vampires defecate .
I did not know that.

Today R told me she couldn't masturbate with the cat in the same room. A strange thing to tell me for two reasons: she was wearing turquoise earrings and the awkwardness of female-to-male masturbation dialogue.

Today I found some Bufffluxus on the internet.
It is here, and it is wonderful.

Today I read David Boring
and walked down the street. I really
really really want an obsession,
a new one.
I need it.
It must be true that it is not normal
not to have
an un-normal obsession. The best ones being concealed, buoying pathology and tickling sensations of a dangerous life.

Last week was a blur. It was transmodern. I was responsible for ten visitors to my city; I performed well enough to keep myself from having another existential attack; there was curry in a hurry; a perfect day in the park; a man screamed God is sexy; the police intervened on a vanilla institution in a chocolate store; I was on local NPR. Not the next big thing, but not bad, all things considered.

Today I tried writing (literature) for the first time in a while. I haven't been reading (literature) at all lately, so it makes writing (literature) difficult.
Writing without reading is like performing without watching, or speaking without listening.
It's throwing up on an empty stomach.

Today I visited Alphonso Lingis. Mead and birds. Eels and Poe. Insects and the city.

Today I asked Char to be there.

Today I wasn't busy enough not to think about death too much.
Stay busy.
When life is good, I am not thinking hard enough.

Today I will be different from here
on in because today I was creepy.
At first I felt it, then later I was told by another.
And if you are creepy once, you are
creepy for life.
Most of my male friends are creepy,
maybe it was only a matter of time.

Today I decided that it is magic
that I do not like. Magic is the bane
of the civilized world.
It is not religion or spirituality
that frustrates me, it is magic.

Today I think I did not talk ears off yesterday.

Today I talked ears off,
I could feel it as it was happening,
but could do little about it.

Yesterday I watched Grizzly Man, but I feel as if I am still watching it today.
During that film I thought many things. Some were not related to the film: I would make a great weatherman; did my housemate just hear that?; I'm not so sure about the two-gunmen theory anymore, etc.

Today the creationists tried to make me crazy. I don't want to talk to them anymore.
What came first, the God or the man?
I tried to have a normal discussion with them about the sad fact that whether or not we are accidental or intelligently designed, in either case we had no choice in the matter.
Either way, its depressing.
They did not want to talk about that.
They wanted to fuck with me, I think.

Today I read about sex workers making art, but I would rather read about art workers having sex.

Today I saw a woman standing still.
I was fortunate to have a witness
and my witness was fortunate to
have one too.
The woman stood frozen, she was the woman that children's books warn about. The one that stands with her hair hanging in front of her face,
water bottle in one hand, purse in the other, legs slightly parted.
In all honesty, I cannot say if she wore a reaper mask,
she vanished before I could check.

Today I had no time. I still don't.
I experience time at the exact same time as everybody else, yet
we have no time
for each other.

The video came today, Vermins and Villains. It shows a boy rhythmically shimmying (dancing) to silence.
He is being watched and encouraged. The boy is giving the voyeurs something to think about, I hate thinking about what those thoughts may be.
The video, by German artist Birgit Binder, proves that we would all be better off without performance.

Today the waitress came up
from behind me, I was afraid
she might club me.
I could barely finish my homefries.
It is another sign to keep away
from unhealthy eating habits.

Today Lauren informed me about the sexuality of fat. Not as in the obesity fetishism, but quite literally the male desire of yellow globs of blood smeared fat that lies beneath a female nipple, making the FCC blur it out on television.
During a program about a sex change operation, the womans nipple was blurred out before and during surgery. After removing the fat that lies beneath and sewing the patient together, the same nipple on the newly made man was no longer blurred.
It's the fat that makes it sexual.

Today I was sick, but moving. Being sick is a good way to not be around people when you dont want people around.

Today this guy had a plot for his piece of land in Alaska. He told me so. Fishing, hunting, staying out of the rain. He will make it out there by selling his vinyl. Some would say this man was real, I would say those who say this man is real are projecting their lack of being real onto him, making him seem real. And He smokes.

Today I was the struggling man,
man struggling with power, man
struggling with the typical man, man
struggling to find his keys.
I feel
I need her to come home now.

Today the world was alive and talking to one another. It made me relieved, then anxious.
The chatter of many, and my
voice, adding to it, stifled
by it.

Today the members of the fringe could not resolve how to articulate a way to foreground members of the fringe. Today we were our own worst enemy. There will always be incongruencies in the formula between our ideologies and our actions.

Today the beast was different.

Last night I predicted the future in my dreams again. As a skeptic, I shouldnt have such brushes with the paranormal. It will wreck my comfort zone.

Today I felt absence in others
as well as in myself. The absence was the presence of absence,
so therefore there was. There is
never nothing, only something
else.

Today I saw a girl with a poof.
It is amazing what coffee can do.
The sea of minds and buzzing
laptops. The mens bathroom
a terrible scene.

Today the panopticon begins.
It's not as if the wires weren't tapped
already, but to hear it spoken and read it written gives the feeling,
as they say, that someone is staring. For every attack prevented
is an attack provoked.

Today my ideas were
not yours nor mine
own.

Today I shoveled some of my sidewalk. I could not shovel all of it because I was not going
in that direction.

Today is winter. I lost everything.
It was a disaster.

Today I am home. Now that I am home I can think about death, sex, and sexualized death. When I am away I no longer think about it, instead I show the thoughts to a combination of friends and strangers.

Soon I will be leaving for a week.
I will see my lover then leave. I will see friends and then leave
again. I will really feel
that come and go.

Today I wondered if I will notice
the difference between pretending and being.

Today I lied a million times.
Most of the lies were
to cover up truths
that I did not like.

Today I rode the beast with Jackie. Our important discussions were continually interrupted by a movie about a basketball coach. The movie was not important to us, but hopefully it was important to the urban youth. Maybe college athletics will learn their lesson about academic standards now that this bad movie was made.

Today everyone had this look on their faces. Maybe I had it too.
Maybe its time we all move to the other side of the room, just to switch things up a bit.

Today I thought about thinking. This is a brain narcissism afforded to humans.