The Manifesto.

“I wasn’t really naked. I simply didn’t have any clothes on.”

“Beautiful? It’s all a question of luck. I was born with good legs. As for the rest… beautiful, no. Amusing, yes.”

-Josephine Baker

The Manifesto.

It is not enough to believe in yourself

In order to be truly revolutionary, to truly transcend your own self inflicted limits, you must live and breath and be and know that you are strong. That you are a revolution. You must train yourself to think as though you are. You must lie to yourself. Whatever the goal is, you must live each day, think each thought, as though you are victorious. Lie until the lie becomes truth.  This applies to everything.

 

 

Phantasmagoria!17: Polymorphous Perversity.

 ”In matters of sexuality we are at present, every one of us, ill or well, nothing but hypocrites” -Sigmund Freud

 

Phantasmagoria!17: Polymorphous Perversity.

 

The 90 Minute Blonde, as a character, as a persona and performance piece, was born from a place of Freudian Psychology. Unintentionally, of course. I became the 90 Minute Blonde during a time of incredible uncertainty in my life. A time when I felt worthless, unattractive, unintelligent, and unsuccessful. As stuck and depressed as one can be.

And one day, I took a bottle of Feria bleach to my head and out shined a star.

The reason I describe it as “Freudian” is this: Sigmund Freud believed that all human beings are born with a basic instinctual sexuality. An id or Inner Desire. As children we act upon said id. The id is made up of our most basic and animalistic parts. From lashing out when displeased, biting, hitting, scratching, screaming. Acting upon every emotion and desire that prances through us. And with these instincts comes a strong sense of sexuality. We have more a sense of visceral sexual freedom as children than at any other time in our lives. From racing around stark naked and breast feeding to thumb sucking and playing in the mud. Freud described the human psyche as “Polymorphously Perverse”.

The 90 Minute Blonde is comprised of my most basic viscerally sexual desires. It is minimized to a base point of sexualization. There is nothing more to The 90 Minute Blonde as a persona than rage, passion, and sexuality.

Arriving upon this self realization and liberation has helped shape my work as a whole. Freudian theory has had a profound influence upon where I’ve been as an artist and where I want to go. Freudian theory is especially prevalent in my obsession with doing revolting things on stage: drenching myself in fake blood, spurting fake vomit, chewing on raw meat, eating mayonaise and bologna, etc.

Society has done well at conditioning us, culturally, to repress our id and view spectacles like those seen in my performances as socially unacceptable and condemnable.

But what is so unacceptable about blood and sex? Blood and sex represent two key principles in Freudian psychology: Creation and destruction, pleasure and violence. As humans we have an instinctual and libidinal desire to destroy and find pleasure in that destruction. And through that destruction and pleasure, we create something new.

As a performance artist I aim to take those basic and stark images of violence and sex and trick my audience into being fascinated with them. Trick them into finding them beautiful and natural again. If you leave my show thinking that eating raw meat and having sweaty anal sex until dawn is completely acceptable then I have done my job in countering society’s attempt at demonizing human instinct.

I plan on fixing every broken sexual being that I find. If I have to fuck everything single one of them to do it.

Phantasmagoria!16: Latex turns me on.

“They serve like a mockery in way of reality because they think everything is smiles and sweetness and flowers, when there is something bitter to taste. And to pretend there isn’t is foolish.”

Hello, My name is Susan Superstar.

Phantasmagoria!16: Latex turns me on.

I’ve been increasingly fascinated with Porn Stars, lately. I can’t possibly tell you why. To me, I view, the Porn Industry as a bitter narrative of gay culture. I watch porn almost like you would watch a foreign film. I pay close attention to what’s happening, the music, the “script”, the positions. It’s almost like symbolism. I often don’t even jerk off when I’m watching it. Or even get turned on for that matter.

For instance, I was watching a clip of a European gang bang porn. All these guys were gathered around this one smooth muscled hunk and they were taking turns shooting in him. All the while this was happening there was this eery music, almost like the theme to Jaws playing. It was almost as if the film makers were trying to give you the sense that this act IS truly dangerous, which it is. And by selecting that particular track, giving you the sense that the act was demoralizing the boy, putting him in almost immediate danger. Almost as if one of the other guys might suddenly grow shark teeth and tear his throat out. It felt as though they were attempting to communicate to the viewer, subliminally, “Don’t try this at home!”

Though I know better than to give them that much credit.

It was unnerving to say the least. And has definitely peaked my interest in studying porn stars themselves.

I have an innate obsession with pop culture and the darkness that it inspires in people. The flash of camera’s, the jet setting travel, the diamond rings, the “labels”(NOT to be confused with fashion), the cars, Hennessy, etc. And I have found, so far, that the only difference between a Porn Star and The Kardashians, or the stars of The A List, are cock shots and jock straps.

I began following almost 100 porn stars on Twitter, just last night, hoping to gain some insight into their lives off screen by scrolling back through their tweets. And this is the conclusion I have come to. They all travel the world, they all wear expensive brand whore clothes (Abercrombie, Louis Vuitton, Ed Hardy, Christian Audigier, etc.), most of them post about doing drugs at clubs, and they’re all tanked all the while they’re tweeting about these things.

Now you know I’d rather walk across my own lips than to criticize any one, but I believe that this superficial sect of gay culture is becoming detrimental to the rest of our culture.

I’m very interested in gay sex culture, in general, but this particular aspect is very disturbing to me.

I’m also, especially, disturbed by websites, such as Bel Ami, that advertise video as “condom free”.  Now, I am sure that all the actors are tested and it is their personal choice to engage in these types of films. But it sends a message to youth in the gay community that not using condoms in play is an acceptable thing. And it also helps to undermine the extensive work that non profit HIV/AIDS organizations do to help spread awareness and increase the use of condoms.

I want everyone to know that I will NEVER condone this culture. I will however continue to do research, as I am very interested in how this culture began and spiraled into such an unspeakable state of self-destructive superficiality. And if and when I reach a peak of fame I will continue to do more work to speak against such blatant disregard for condoms.

What can I say? Latex turns me on.

Fantasmagories!15(Le Film): Des extraits du script.

“No great art has ever been made without the artist having known danger.”

Fantasmagories!15(Le Film): Des extraits du script.—>

Phantasmagoria!15(The Film): Excerpts from the script.

I acknowledge that I have a darkness inside me. I am no fool. But I have yet to face it head on and share it with the world. the prospect of that terrifies me. You must understand that writing a Portrait of The 90 Minute Blonde is essentially performing full open heart/brain surgery on myself, splaying my insides across a camera lense and putting it on Youtube. I’ve never revealed so many secrets and lies and truths all at once before.

Here is a little taste of what I mean.

“I’ve been institutionalized 3 times in my life.

Once when I was 6. Again when I was 13. And again when I was 15.

I was in numerous counseling programs for troubled youth from the time that I was 6 to when I was 16. It was only the third time that I was institutionalized that I actually needed to be there.

I ‘attempted suicide’.

The other times I was just in a lot of trouble all the time and my mom had ‘no clue what to do with me’. Or so she says. A big part of it was that she was just too busy to consider other options. Or divorce her husband, my stepfather at the time, he was the real problem.

I’ve never actually wanted to die. And I’ve never really felt that when people commit suicide that they’ve actually thought it through completely. It just seems so fruitless. I’m happy to say that I’ve never felt that hopeless before. Close. But not quite.

And any time that I’ve really been angry enough at the world to consider it, I ask myself: “And then what, Brett? You leave a note saying ‘Are you sorry now?’! No. Too easy.”

You may say that it’s all too much too soon. But rest assured. I’m keeping some of the secrets close to the chest. At least until filming begins.

“People look at me like I’m insane when I tell them I’m going to NYC to be a performance artist. They can’t understand why anyone would take such a ‘risk’.

Failure is never an option for me. I think if you rule it out as an option then it loses possibility. And you can only go up from there.

This isn’t something I’m willing to give up.

————————————————————

I used to be so fake. No really though. Really fucking fake. Like Holden Caulfield, Holly Golightly, and Nixon rolled all into one.

I used to have this awful habit of doing things deliberately to impress people. I’d listen to certain kinds of music, I’d read certain books(or claim to have read), I’d do certain drugs. The worst was my Oxycontin phase. In Farmington. I was a freshman in high school.

We’d all gather on the back steps at school and do lines. Then I’d bus downtown and spend the afternoon schoplifting.

That’s what happens when you don’t know how to love yourself. When no one’s taught you how.

I’ve never felt more individual and in control of my own world than I have since I started performing.

————–I feel powerful————–

This is me. Putting myself in danger. Right in the caterpillar tracks.

Phantasmagoria!14: Not “Masculine” Enough

“Boys don’t play with ‘Girl’ toys!”

Phantasmagoria!14: Not “Masculine” Enough

Beware this is a rant.

I often witness in the gay community, an obsession with “masculinity”. A classic example of this is the Grindr profile.

“I like masc. men, fit, into sports, outdoorsy stuff. no fems.”

What is this fixation on portraying the “good ol’ boy” expression of masculinity? You all know that you’re just a bunch of flaming gay Mary’s! You all know you felt misunderstood as a child when your male rolemodel tried to impress upon what it meant to be a “man”: wife, kids, trucks, muscle cars, beer, meat, sports, guns, etc.

So I’m confused. Why the fuck do you wish to continue such an oppressive tradition?

It seems almost comical to me that so many gay men are afraid of “appearing” gay. And what does that even mean? Does it mean that glitter and rainbows and Streisand lyrics flow forth whenever you speak? Does it mean that you have too much spring in your step? That you like to garden? That you know the difference between chinos and capris(and trust me there is one)? Does it mean that you like Britney Spears for more reasons than her tits?

And furthermore, I respect that you may revel in your “traditional” idea of masculinity but I’d prefer it if you did not attempt to press it upon me and attempt to make me feel inadequate next to your oh-holy-manly-man-ness. Because you know that when you’re not complaining about the “fems” of the world, your chasing me, licking your lips, mouth watering over my sweet round ass.

Keep me and my equal balance of masc/fem out of it.

Thank you.

And fuck off.

Phantasmagoria!13: I was never.

“It’s not easy being green.”

Phantasmagoria!13: I was never.

I was never pretty. I was never graceful. I was never brave. I was never strong. I was never confident. I was never smart. I was never talented. I was never successful. I was never interesting. I was never worthwhile. I was never clever. I was never wanted. I was never needed. I was never alive.

Until I told myself to be.

The interesting thing about growing up is the discovery of your identity. A painful and dramatic process.

Through my many stages of self psychological analysis I have gone back and forth in conflict with the idea that I can make myself whatever I want to be. It is in my moments of emotional plateau and self doubt, depression if you will, that I feel as though I have fought, in vain, for my identity. And that it is useless to continue work on the invention that is me. And then I realize, again, that the only thing truly useless is this type of pessimism and self-degradation.

In truth, I can do whatever the fuck I want.

Stages of the discovery of your identity can come in many different forms. From long raven black hair, a bad attitude and thick lines of eye make up to ermine lox, tight pants and an obsession with pop music. I am, of course, glorifying my past in this statement.

It is through self awareness, evaluation, and an analytical eye that I discovered my identity. Whether or not it is a complete idea and realization, I do not know. It could, very well, be just the tip of the identity iceberg. Most likely.

There are however many ways to discover one’s identity. Some stumble blindly through life, experimenting, fucking themselves up, destructively, to discover themselves. Others do so through work ethics and grueling over achievement in school and work. Some never discover it at all, no matter how hard they try (usually these have already discovered it and must simply learn to appreciate who they are). Some never even try.

I, however, have always been ever changing. I am never the person you knew or spoke to five minutes ago. Though I may go by the same name. This, I think, is what compels me in my artistry. The notion that I can always do something different, more interesting, more compelling than before. I have no interest in things and people that stay the same. I have no interest in consistency and predictability. At least not when it comes to art and culture. I always want there to be a car bomb to ruin a quiet moment.

This, I suppose, is the reason why I have not many close friends and companions. I have acquaintances and fellow collaborators and drinking buddies, all whom I love dearly. My few close friends are the few people who have taken the time to see me through my changes and cycles. To see me evolve and hatch. I can be a frustrating person to try and get to know.

Thusly, my current focus in my artistry, is to retell my phases and stages of development as a person and as a persona through different mediums in the near future. I’ve become very interested in film lately. Mainly those films that portray “phonies” such as Ciao! Manhattan, Poor Little Rich Girl, XXY, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. But at the same time I would also like to explore and retell myself through a more whimsical lense. I have always had a pension for the darker, more morbid approach to art. Not unlike a Francis Bacon painting or a Hitchcock film.

I find new discoveries to be quite exciting.

jusqu’à la prochaine fois, blondies!

 

Fantasmagories Le Film: Parties un, deux, trois et quatre

Traduire mon esprit dans une autre langue, une langue étrangère, celui que j’ai peu ou pas de compréhension de est un exercice dans l’illusion fantastique. Mais si nous ne pouvons pas rêver, alors nous ne pouvons pas l’être. C’est la beauté du mensonge.

Phantasmagoria the Film: Parts one, two, three, and four.

Translating my mind into a different language, a foreign one, one that I have little to no understanding of is an exercise in fantastical delusion. But if we cannot dream, then we cannot be. This is the beauty of the lie.

Futility. Many things appear to be an exercise in futility. It is my wish to move past this concept, for I believe it to be equivalent to hopelessness. If one does not believe that they can achieve, then they won’t. Society lives in this deception. The deception that there is always a next step to success. Never the final destination. Never arriving upon the goal.

Politics is a classic example of this. Constantly working toward “change”. This is a ridiculous notion to me. As change is always upon us. The world is ever changing, ever evolving, as are those that reside in it. It is in the acceptance of this process of change that we can find acceptance, happiness, and revolution. For change is not an instantaneous occurrence. It is not an occurrence at all. It is not an event. It is a progression.

In order to arrive upon your revolution, you must live each day as though you already have. It is in this delusion that true progress and change is made. Ghandi said it himself. “Be the change.” And Rilke expressed a similar reexamination of life. “Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”

As of yet, I have not put this into full practice, though I know it to be true. It is in my past that my hindrance lies. There are things that I have yet to come to terms with. And it is not until I have done so that I can allow myself to let go and begin anew. Confession, is said to be able to set you free. I have not always been a believer of this. Quite the contrary, I am a believer that secrets are often the key to survival.

It is in my next project, a series of 4 short films, that I will tell you the full tale of how I came to be.

phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a/fanˌtazməˈgôrēə/

Noun:

A sequence of real or imaginary images like that seen in a dream.