"Amour, Mama. Not Cheap Displays."
Excerpt from physical journal:
Staring from the window seat. On the Bolt Bus. February 13th.
Last night, Matt Katz' van with Max Steele & Justin Bond, full of diner food, cupcakes, champagne, vapors.
Skyline. "The Hissing of Summer Lawns." Glenn's Birthday party in a thrift store for plus-sized ladies.
JCC opening for Avishai's new show,
after two years of work.
He was so confident and charismatic in front of the crowd.
Remember first Six Points retreat, when he was so uncomfortable talking in front of people.
Matt's van takes us from glory to glory to glory.
Going now to help Grandma move into Ring House,
I hope I can live in a place like that when I'm 90.
I wonder how old she really feels.
I feel mostly 21,
will always be just arriving in New York.
Re-reading The Hours for the billionth time,
appropriately. Thinking about Lach going on and on at the anti-hoot
about how time doesn't exist. And I'm, obviously,
right there listening to him. On the bus. In the van.
Reading The Hours for the first time, on lunch breaks at my first job,
after I graduated high school, at Crown Books in Gaithersburg,
dating Steven when he still looked like a 15-year-old David Hyde Pierce.
Reading it again in college, for class,
in my mausoleum of a dorm room, on the 13th floor,
overlooking the Philadelphia skyline and the construction of the new Wharton building,
the Death Star,
and meeting Cunningham and hugging him awkwardly after making him cry,
and wishing he wasn't so hot,
wishing he wasn't so together,
so regal and elegant and powerful,
wishing he was a mess,
a mess like me so we could grab each other by the hair and say
"look at you, you're a mess, let's eat a sandwich."
riding to maryland, leaving behind a city where i am preparing to open a play,
seven years later. brother turning 30, mother turning 60, grandmother turning 90.
wishing i could step inside this love, like patrick swayze steps inside of whoopi goldberg in ghost,
walking up to demi moore, crying, and say
"look at you, you're a mess, let's eat a sandwich."
i'm gonna take a nap.
Staring from the window seat. On the Bolt Bus. February 13th.
Last night, Matt Katz' van with Max Steele & Justin Bond, full of diner food, cupcakes, champagne, vapors.
Skyline. "The Hissing of Summer Lawns." Glenn's Birthday party in a thrift store for plus-sized ladies.
JCC opening for Avishai's new show,
after two years of work.
He was so confident and charismatic in front of the crowd.
Remember first Six Points retreat, when he was so uncomfortable talking in front of people.
Matt's van takes us from glory to glory to glory.
Going now to help Grandma move into Ring House,
I hope I can live in a place like that when I'm 90.
I wonder how old she really feels.
I feel mostly 21,
will always be just arriving in New York.
Re-reading The Hours for the billionth time,
appropriately. Thinking about Lach going on and on at the anti-hoot
about how time doesn't exist. And I'm, obviously,
right there listening to him. On the bus. In the van.
Reading The Hours for the first time, on lunch breaks at my first job,
after I graduated high school, at Crown Books in Gaithersburg,
dating Steven when he still looked like a 15-year-old David Hyde Pierce.
Reading it again in college, for class,
in my mausoleum of a dorm room, on the 13th floor,
overlooking the Philadelphia skyline and the construction of the new Wharton building,
the Death Star,
and meeting Cunningham and hugging him awkwardly after making him cry,
and wishing he wasn't so hot,
wishing he wasn't so together,
so regal and elegant and powerful,
wishing he was a mess,
a mess like me so we could grab each other by the hair and say
"look at you, you're a mess, let's eat a sandwich."
riding to maryland, leaving behind a city where i am preparing to open a play,
seven years later. brother turning 30, mother turning 60, grandmother turning 90.
wishing i could step inside this love, like patrick swayze steps inside of whoopi goldberg in ghost,
walking up to demi moore, crying, and say
"look at you, you're a mess, let's eat a sandwich."
i'm gonna take a nap.
Tax Deductible Donations
Dan Fishback is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions in behalf of Dan Fishback may be made payable to Fractured Atlas and are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law.
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