Sept. 11, 2004
Howdy y'all.
Just a fast something.
Today is Sept 11th and there all these, how will you basically handle today questions in mags, online.
I rode my bike today, and I saw some folks writing in chalk on the sidewalk, We Love You New York. And it was so simple, and so basic. And I think thats what it comes down to. Remembering the loss. And today one thousand soldiers have been killed in the war. And its not just the ones that died, but the ones that are left.
Its funny how if a politician uses the suggestion that voting for them keeps them from getting killed, that can make them go up in the polls. The language of fear. And the loss is harrowing out of us. I narrate death constantly. Mine, those close to me, those I barely know.
I embrace loss much more easily then I do most anything else. So for today
when there was such a massive horrible empty space left in so many worlds I rode my bike and tried to make a peace with what my little life is and what effect I can have. And I cried when I read those chalk words. And felt, well today folks remember, but those that lost family, friends in the war, on this day they live with that loss constantly.
I saw that movie Seabiscuit last night. What a really swell film. I needed that. Just a fuckin great uplifting film. Bunch of lost or hurt folks come together and capture the nations heart and they win. And I just related so much to that horse. Love when Red Pollard says, about the horse, about how he can run so fast - Its not his feet, its here, and he thumps his heart. I kept sayin that when I was riding my bike. And my head was sayin shit to me.
I wonder all the time, what makes someone survive to achieve something? Like in the movie - there is luck, of having someone find you, recognize there is something inside you.
I dont like that luck factor. That scares me. Having to be at the right place at the right time. I've had that in my life, and it scares me still. What if Dr. Owens hadn't reached out to me the way he did? On and on.
The luck factor, or is it fate? I start to enjoy the changing light, the weather here is good, the fog not here all day like it has been all summer long, and then my brain feeds me some shit to chew on. I don't read the papers, but I picked one up that someone left at my doctors office. And I read about the new Thai influenza carried by ducks that could be the next pandemic and I am already watching the coffins fly by me.
I know I am anxious anyways. I leave Monday night for the Toronto film fest for the showing of The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things. I am scared, but lookin forward to seeing what has become a tight little family. It is very similar to my past. Seeing folks in different locations that youve gone through a very brief intense experience with. Life with Sarah was like that. I'd be with her for a short time and it was uh, extreme, then I'd be away from her, then back but someplace else. So with the folks involved with this film, weve been together in various cities around the world now, and that makes it all the more unique. I am gonna DJ the after party with Asia, and that will be fun, and it will be at the end. So I can relax.
I am then gonna go to Chicago with Speedie and hang with Billy Corgan for a couple of days. I am gonna be stayin at his house and I am nervous coz it is hard for me to stay at someones house coz I am always really afraid I am gonna fuck it up, like clog their toilet or something. I am getting better at it. Like in Italy, stayin with Asia, or Steven Kleins agents super nice home in Milan. I eat a lot and that can shock folks tho. They don't know how I pack so much in, but I do. My new 7x7 Magazine article is about the film and relates.
check it out.
I dunno what else to say.
We are pretty much done with all the Harolds End stuff. There was last minute work that was just very stressful. I feel like I have to fight to not be portrayed as the underground edgy transgressive writer. I dont think I am at all. I think my settings might be situations that are foreign to a lot of folks, but I dont write anything with the purpose to shock, offend or outrage. I think the subjects boil down to universal themes and that is why folks can relate that have no other similar life experience. I am gonna be in NYC for the reading Nov 12th. A lotta my friends are gonna read, and that should be really wondrous. Man, hearing Shirley Manson read in her Scottish brogue, youd swear I based all my stories in Edinburgh.
This bit ran in Leah Garchik, the SF Chronicle gossip column, Thursday, September 9, 2004:
And Deborah Harry, passing through San Francisco on her way to a Sacramento gig, took JT LeRoy to see the Dame. After the show, they went to dinner at Aziza. Harry's neither Blondie nor blonde nowadays -- her hair is reddish -- and "more folks stared at her than the belly dancer,'' LeRoy says. Yeah, Debbie Harry was in town last week and we got to hang out. I love that lady. She is so just solid and present. We did a fast photoshoot with her, and Thor snuggled her, it was cute.
Debbie could've been a Ted Bundy victim. She hitchhiked and he picked her up. She noticed there were no handles on the door inside to get out
she got out before
what if
what if
?
Its so hard not to feel like my death, my fate, isnt just there, like a food plate under a heat lamp, just waiting for me. Will it be that car zooming too fast behind me? Will it be that big earthquake I always have nightmares about? Or will that be for everyone else, and I will be left wishing it was me?
I bet nobody that went to work today those few years ago thought...
Oh it is hard just to be alive isnt it? Its hard to love and hard to know that every day you are alive your heart might be broken seemingly beyond repair
but folks go on.
And that is the miracle.
Just a fast something.
Today is Sept 11th and there all these, how will you basically handle today questions in mags, online.
I rode my bike today, and I saw some folks writing in chalk on the sidewalk, We Love You New York. And it was so simple, and so basic. And I think thats what it comes down to. Remembering the loss. And today one thousand soldiers have been killed in the war. And its not just the ones that died, but the ones that are left.
Its funny how if a politician uses the suggestion that voting for them keeps them from getting killed, that can make them go up in the polls. The language of fear. And the loss is harrowing out of us. I narrate death constantly. Mine, those close to me, those I barely know.
I embrace loss much more easily then I do most anything else. So for today
when there was such a massive horrible empty space left in so many worlds I rode my bike and tried to make a peace with what my little life is and what effect I can have. And I cried when I read those chalk words. And felt, well today folks remember, but those that lost family, friends in the war, on this day they live with that loss constantly.
I saw that movie Seabiscuit last night. What a really swell film. I needed that. Just a fuckin great uplifting film. Bunch of lost or hurt folks come together and capture the nations heart and they win. And I just related so much to that horse. Love when Red Pollard says, about the horse, about how he can run so fast - Its not his feet, its here, and he thumps his heart. I kept sayin that when I was riding my bike. And my head was sayin shit to me.
I wonder all the time, what makes someone survive to achieve something? Like in the movie - there is luck, of having someone find you, recognize there is something inside you.
I dont like that luck factor. That scares me. Having to be at the right place at the right time. I've had that in my life, and it scares me still. What if Dr. Owens hadn't reached out to me the way he did? On and on.
The luck factor, or is it fate? I start to enjoy the changing light, the weather here is good, the fog not here all day like it has been all summer long, and then my brain feeds me some shit to chew on. I don't read the papers, but I picked one up that someone left at my doctors office. And I read about the new Thai influenza carried by ducks that could be the next pandemic and I am already watching the coffins fly by me.
I know I am anxious anyways. I leave Monday night for the Toronto film fest for the showing of The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things. I am scared, but lookin forward to seeing what has become a tight little family. It is very similar to my past. Seeing folks in different locations that youve gone through a very brief intense experience with. Life with Sarah was like that. I'd be with her for a short time and it was uh, extreme, then I'd be away from her, then back but someplace else. So with the folks involved with this film, weve been together in various cities around the world now, and that makes it all the more unique. I am gonna DJ the after party with Asia, and that will be fun, and it will be at the end. So I can relax.
I am then gonna go to Chicago with Speedie and hang with Billy Corgan for a couple of days. I am gonna be stayin at his house and I am nervous coz it is hard for me to stay at someones house coz I am always really afraid I am gonna fuck it up, like clog their toilet or something. I am getting better at it. Like in Italy, stayin with Asia, or Steven Kleins agents super nice home in Milan. I eat a lot and that can shock folks tho. They don't know how I pack so much in, but I do. My new 7x7 Magazine article is about the film and relates.
check it out.
I dunno what else to say.
We are pretty much done with all the Harolds End stuff. There was last minute work that was just very stressful. I feel like I have to fight to not be portrayed as the underground edgy transgressive writer. I dont think I am at all. I think my settings might be situations that are foreign to a lot of folks, but I dont write anything with the purpose to shock, offend or outrage. I think the subjects boil down to universal themes and that is why folks can relate that have no other similar life experience. I am gonna be in NYC for the reading Nov 12th. A lotta my friends are gonna read, and that should be really wondrous. Man, hearing Shirley Manson read in her Scottish brogue, youd swear I based all my stories in Edinburgh.
This bit ran in Leah Garchik, the SF Chronicle gossip column, Thursday, September 9, 2004:
And Deborah Harry, passing through San Francisco on her way to a Sacramento gig, took JT LeRoy to see the Dame. After the show, they went to dinner at Aziza. Harry's neither Blondie nor blonde nowadays -- her hair is reddish -- and "more folks stared at her than the belly dancer,'' LeRoy says. Yeah, Debbie Harry was in town last week and we got to hang out. I love that lady. She is so just solid and present. We did a fast photoshoot with her, and Thor snuggled her, it was cute.
Debbie could've been a Ted Bundy victim. She hitchhiked and he picked her up. She noticed there were no handles on the door inside to get out
she got out before
what if
what if
?
Its so hard not to feel like my death, my fate, isnt just there, like a food plate under a heat lamp, just waiting for me. Will it be that car zooming too fast behind me? Will it be that big earthquake I always have nightmares about? Or will that be for everyone else, and I will be left wishing it was me?
I bet nobody that went to work today those few years ago thought...
Oh it is hard just to be alive isnt it? Its hard to love and hard to know that every day you are alive your heart might be broken seemingly beyond repair
but folks go on.
And that is the miracle.
posted by JT LeRoy at 6:08 AM
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