here comes a stronger god to rule me

Went en famille to my favorite museum because we are all three of us going through parallel stressful times and at least for my father and I this place is a reliable comfort, the source of more happiness and consolation over the years than I can really convey. Unfortunately when we walked in the admirably cautious and quiet young man at the members desk took one look at me and said “I can’t quite recall the last name,” and taken aback I said it, then he said my first name, then said “And your parents have a separate membership, correct?” So now my sense is that I and we are much too conspicuous, much too memorable, and I don’t like that

I cannot relate to those Remember in ‘05 ‘09 ‘14 ‘17 we were all wearing layered polos statement jewelry black lipstick millennial ribbing things because I have been in an unbroken parade of exactly the same outfit since I was an older teen. I mean there’s some era-specific wavering here and there but it’s very subtle. If I were wealthy I’d buy hundreds of nearly-identical garments. I like what I like

I keep forgetting to lock my car. No one please steal my car from 2010

I fundamentally do not understand a body-play, body-testing which could not comfortably develop into some kind of sex—I mean I don’t understand what is clearly for them the center of the horror, that you could be amongst friends and perform quasi-sexual rituals. If you could, then what’s the problem? Why test that territory if it’s no fun? If the line can be mutually crossed, what’s the grotesquerie there? Unless the mutual dislike of the act is part of it, which circles me back to confusion. I don’t mean you have to fuck your friends or even that you’d ought to. I mean if you’re already kind of doing it, what’s so freaky about it?

Oh and they’re straight men. I figured it goes without saying. They’re straight men who only want to be with straight men, not out of hatred for women or special admiration for maleness

More vibes-only: it has something to do with boyishness, suspended adolescence. They can’t separate the pleasure of holing up with friends they like intensely and making art with pressed-to-the-nose obsessiveness from boyhood, their boyhood habits, and that’s grotesque to them. Probably it also involves the kind of body-limit play which boys’ socializing involves among boys who are developing somewhat crookedly away from sex as the end-point of that energy.

I’ve probably said this here before because literally where else am I going to say this but there’s a species of art and comedy made by cheerfully, exclusively homosocial men part of whose big clear focus is their fear of men’s bodies, their bodies, their friends’ bodies. Importantly these guys would consider themselves non-masculine or failed men somehow, but that’s not their problem with their bodies. I’m realizing now I’d have to give examples to farther with this but it’s just a vibe I get and I couldn’t prove it convincingly.

Did I ever say my Chagall Gogol thoughts? Perhaps I will tomorrow goodnight

I grew up with the Chagall windows. I didn’t know then that the Great Lakes had all the best Chagalls in the US. I didn’t know what I was losing!! On the whole the art collections in SoCal are far better than anything out east but there are some miserable gaps

I need to see a good blue Chagall in person SOON or my health and sleep will continue to decline

No efforts can stop a millennial from wearing eyeliner that’s too heavy for her features and which comes too close to the middle of each brow, also not shaped ideally for her face. It’s the inevitable fatal flaw of the millennial woman. Their belief is that every face should aim as close to identical as possible and that the ideal they should be pointed at is Hilary Duff in 2003. I know this to be true but I can do nothing to stop my fellows