Friday, August 28, 2009


I'll never have one. This one was bananas. Thank god this 85 year old cult member lady in a kaftan took me aside and felt me up. I needed that. She said I was a specimen of a male and clasped the right side of my neck after groping my chest. It made my night. She looked me right in the eye and said "You're Gay." and I said "sure". She said I'd get more that way. She said that she was tri-sexual because she would try anything. I told her I was becoming bi-sexual because I was going to have to buy it soon. OH, all the conflict at this event between this dead man's different factions of social involvement! There was a table of Catholics, a table of atheists, a table of whores (I was at that one), a table of family, a table of police (he was in the force) and a table of 'a course in miracles' people. All at a 57th street Japanese social club! There was an an ample supply of alcohol through the whole thing.

Carrie Donovan left specific instructions in her will that there would be no funeral or memorial service. Smart lady.

Thursday, August 27, 2009



It's been since around New Years that Yoolulu (named after the famous Dutch furniture designer in Auntie Mame) was converted into ashes. I thought that I would pour them in the sculpture garden nearby that we used to play fetch at. There was a gravestone at the end of the garden near the fence that her ball sometimes hit when I threw it with the name 'Jane' on it, so I made that Lulu's gravestone. I had forgotten how fat my little bebe was - there was a lot of ash! By the end of Lulu's life she was such a smelly snaggle-tooth poop machine with all sorts of health problems that it was for the best that Lulu got put down when she did. Poor little thing.

This statue of a naked black man covering his crotch may rest in peace also as Lulu always threw a fit barking at it to no end.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Yes, I'm back at it. Only because someone really cool is doing it and does it in the day and I need more daytime activity friends. Everyone I know is always working.

Whatever. I'm sure it's torturous and smells like all of them. Plus the long high waisted yoga ass in your face. Bucket butts. I never want to be like these people, just get a good stretch in before I do real exercise that makes you look hot looking, not like Gandhi.

Friday, August 21, 2009


Things are slowing down in this heat. This blog is slowing down. Slow. Slower than snails mating.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009



Sorry for such crude stuff, but I've been seeing more and more of these little illustrations in hipster rock and roll places every time I drag my lovely clean shoes and legs through their crummy dives. The ones with girlfriends are all doing the back door boogie with each other. Let's just call it what it is. Whoever did this little drawing clearly appreciates the role of the guy drawn on the far left, even if it was made under the premise of poking fun at the guy in the middle with the name on his t shirt. Ah, the fantasies of potbellied flip flop wearing hipsters with no grooming 'down there'! None of them do.


"See, this is why I don't do friends. None of my groups is allowed to co-mangle. It's best that way. This way nobody gets hurt."

Sunday, August 16, 2009



At least you may get some energy from laughing at my futile attempt at control in a lame situation. Was ready to go out tonight and looked outside the door for options and they were gone. Those little NYU gnomes exacted revenge on me for my previous note! I don't think the shoes are even being worn. Nobody has my foot size and car wreck taste in footwear in the building. This is just plain dirty. I have to sit down with management on Monday and discuss these new tenants and I have to go shopping as well. I've done fall and am looking into winter o I really don't like having to back track for some kicks during the month of August. It's very humiliating. Almost as humiliating as being the author of a rant done with a sharpie and slapped up on a door with duct tape.


Friday, August 14, 2009


I photographed a lot of these before they were done. They're from the past 10 years or so. When they were done I either sold them for very little through gallery dealers to people I never met, most of whom were outside the country. The others I gave to friends, but most I simply threw away by putting out on the street. Some have turned up years later in friends antique stores in the city. Have never let go of the black face ones of Serena and they are large. Most of my art has ended in destruction or abandonment, literally. I think it stems from the incident I had in high school. Ok... Here goes... I supported this hooker and paid for an apartment for us on E.65th street when I was in 11th grade. When I tried to leave him... He uh... Well, he locked me out of the house in my underwear and socks and slashed all my painting top to bottom with a blade and poured rubbing alcohol on them and set them on fire. When the fire became to overwhelming and threatened the building, he threw them out the window on the street where I clamored around half nude trying to save them. I moved out soon after and I think I sewed one up and painted on one some more, it's all sort of hazy. I went to SVA for fine arts after high school, then 4 years of photography at the same school. But I always had a heavy hand after that horror show. My reluctance to make things has a lot to do with this. I don't know, I don't think about it much. It was a long time ago. A big fear of mine is that I will lose my mind if I ever involve myself in making the brilliant things I can actually make. Besides, art is so messy and I never had any ambition in trying to get anyone to show it in a gallery. So many mediocre and flat out bad artists are famous. I can't perform socially like they must have. Frankly, it makes me sick. Terrible stuff out there. The male hustler? I have no idea what became of him. He was in his early 30's when I was the youngest john he ever had and he was a very troubled man. He's probably dead. I don't say that wishfully, just honestly. Those were rough days and most people I knew like him are indeed gone.

HEY - You know what? Screwit: The old son of a bitch hustler's name was Lawrence Frantz. If you see him outside of OTB chewing his lower lip give him a napkin.


I always admired Onyx. That's his real name. You may remember him from Kanai and Onyx, before he has his own line. Ladies still flock to him every week for custom made gowns to wear to events. I love stopping by his place.

OH MY *A*L*L*A*N*A*H* *S*T*A*R*R*S!

Above, Stephanie Strawberry - legendary

Photo by Paul Alexander