Anonymous said: That photo of you and Chris's cat brightened up my day.
Anonymous said: How would you describe what it's like to love?
Romantic love? It’s when you want to have sex with someone and be near them, and you’re concerned with their well-being. That’s it. In that order, because that’s the order oxytocin works in. Romantic love is desiring all three — genital interaction, doing everything together, be it mundane or otherwise, and for them to be happy and healthy. First you’re like, “Damn, I would fuck that dude for real. I would eat his ass if he wanted. He could get it with no effort. He could just show up and get it. Like picking up a to-go order. He wouldn’t even have to pay. Shit, he wouldn’t even have to call ahead. He could just waltz in and bag it up. He wouldn’t even have to spend the night if he ain’t want. I don’t care. I just gotta fuck that dude. I’ve got to. Just once and I would die happy.” So, then you fuck them. But it’s not enough. The oxytocin in setting in now. You start to get attached. So y’all keep on fuckin’. And doing other stuff together, too. Going to the grocery store and to the park becomes just as fun as the fucking because you’re getting so attached to being with them, everything becomes satisfying. But it’s still a selfish thing at that point. You want them to be with you to make you feel something. Then when you really love them, on top of everything else, or even in spite of everything else, you just want them to be happy and safe. You want to put a force field around them, even when you aren’t there. You just want them to take care of themselves, even if you can’t be with them. Love is like tainting someone. You’ve got this ink in you and you long to touch them with it. You taint them and it permeates their being. They take the ink you put in them and carry it with them away from you, everywhere they are. It’s them now. They’ll always have a part of you that you put in them. That’s how it’s always felt to me. When I love someone, it feels like something that is happening to them, not me, and that’s what I mean by that. But that’s just what it "feels" like. What it actually is? Just a social phenomenon, a bunch of chemicals and neurohypophysial hormones, and conversations between two people’s immune systems. It’s nature’s way of ensuring that people will procreate, preferably not with their family members. I don’t believe in any notion of “true love”, or love will that last a lifetime, or anything like that. No, no. There’s no right or wrong person in a cosmic sense. You can be a practical mismatch, but I don’t believe in soul mates. If they existed, they would never find each other.
Anonymous said: How's it goin? When you get a chance can we see some of the art you've been messin with, it's cool to see stuff even if it's not finished.
I will soon. I’ve been super busy. Also super lazy. Often both at the same time.
I hate my job, I hate my life, I’m just spinning my wheels for nothing at all . For all my spinning, all I earn is the opportunity to continue spinning. I am so hungry and so poor and stuck. If I leave right now, I will get fired. So hungry. If my fucking head was on fire, it would not be okay to leave. It would be like, “Ok feel better,” but then later, out of nowhere, it would be like, “Step into my office. On September 12, 2014 at 5:05 pm, you stated that your head was on fire and that you needed to be rushed to the emergency with a flaming head of flames. Now, I know that people’s heads sometimes catch on fire. But it seems to be happening to you more than what I consider acceptable. You’re just not here enough. 38.92 hours is not 40. 40 is what we need. 40 is much different than 38 or 37 or 39 or 39.12. That day you had to leave because you were so hungry you were eating mustard out of the mini-fridge because you have $6.33 in your account and an empty refrigerator… Yeah. Well. That wasn’t okay. It would have been much different if you had stayed for .88 more hours that day. You could have sat there staring at an empty inbox waiting for something to come in that never came. That would have had a profound impact on our company. As it is now, you’re kind of ruining our company, and making a joke out of your life. You’re not suited for real life. You’re just not good enough. You get sick too much. We need someone really healthy and preferably made out of chickenwire with robotic parts inside of them. You’re a little too fleshy and fragile. Your insides a little too twisted. We’re gonna have to ask you to clean out your computer and your desk and stuff and maybe go to a homeless shelter or just kill yourself because you’re unacceptable to the planet. Thanks, Mary.”
"Weird Angles of Chris" at MOMA from 6/6/66 - 4/20/69
Yesterday my friend told me that he heard someone talking shit about me. It was some girl I have never even heard of and who has never laid eyes on me and knows nothing about me and nothing about the other person she was talking about with regard to me and she said the most cruel and fucked up just plain incorrect things I’ve ever heard and it made me want to fucking die. I really want to find this bitch and beat the shit out of her. I’m not even kidding. If I walked into a room and someone pointed her out and said, “That’s her,” I would go up to her and punch her in the face. Or at least say, “Hey, you fucking insignificant little bitch. You don’t know anything about me. And you don’t know anything about him. And you have no business surmising, much less gossiping about it just to make yourself feel relevant. Watch your mouth before you say some supremely damaging shit about people you’ve never even met about some circumstances that have nothing to do with you. Also, go somewhere and cram some pinecones and flotsam and broken glass right up your asshole. Cram it right up there and don’t stop until a recycled bottle comes out your mouth.”
Anonymous said: i saw you hanging near the door at the end of the show last night. it just seemed surreal because i've been following your various blogs for a few years and then i saw you in-person randomly. yep.
How was my fake tan? I got beer spilled all over my legs and I thought it might have looked splotchy. On a scale from 1-10, how do you think the fake tan fared? 7? 8? I was talking to someone and missed the end of Ty’s set. Then I was just waiting to see if Koenig would come out. Do I know you? That’s just annoying. You could have been any of those teens. Why didn’t you say Wussup.