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Gay Bomb

Friends,

I performed last night and ate shit as hard as I’ve ever eaten shit that I can remember. The bar was Bandera Negra and the show itself was called Just One Wish Before I Die…

Cool poster, tho, rite?

It was 8 Mile bad. I choked. I was high off brownies and acid. I was perhaps tired—I’d been playing out in the streets for the better part of the previous 36 hours, and there was miscommunication with the venue (my fault) re: what kind of event it was gonna be. But whatever, I’ll eat all that. It’s my fault, all of it.

I fuckin’ bombed. It hurt. I will come back from this; in fact, I already have. I was ready to play like half an hour later and was shredding along to the Stones, but the promoter stopped me because I guess he was too butt-hurt that the initial performance didn’t go as he thought it would.

Oh, and that goes back to the title of this post—it turns out it was a gay bar (which of course throws that poster into a more interesting light) and as I was arguing like, “Let me play now, look how many people are here!” I felt this weird dom vibe like they were more wounded and angry than just business would dictate, and they wanted me humbled. Like by not putting me on they were teaching me a lesson, but by not putting me on it just made it look more and more like I was taking the piss from everyone who had come out.

The place was packed after all, and I didn’t bail, I hung around and drank with people, and schmoozed with the friends I brought. We were cool by the time I left with me making song requests and such, but as soon as the doors closed to the outside public I’m like, “That’s my cue!…” and I bounced.

Just One Wish Before I Die

I’m beginning to think this show is cursed—my final party in Mexico City last season was also called the same thing, with a similarly cool poster to boot….

….and that party was a little under-attended for my tastes and I ended up having a particularly salty spat by using irreverent humor with a Jewish female friend whom I was trying to cheer up.

Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on myself, and this lyric, Just One Wish Before I Die is part of it. Too high-concept? Too dark? Too immature, drawn from a Motley Crue lyric as it is? Maybe all. Maybe more.

One of the bright sides to me bombing was that this other Canadian dude, Vince, saw me bomb just before leaving town on a bus. I have felt distance the last few days from Vince because this girl, Shayla seemed more into me than him and I have always made good account of myself in group settings where he’s been around and so seeing me humbled might have been good for both of us.

“I’m not gay. I told you; I’m a deeply closeted gay man.”
-Norm Macdonald (rip)

I’m also beginning to think I’m attracting a lot more gayness into my life than I otherwise that I would; more specifically, I am attracting it unknowingly, naively A lot of my friends whom I took to be women are actually trans women it seems. They’re still my friends, and I feel attracted to their feminine energy, but when I find out—found out—I felt really dumb and clueless. I take people at face value, and that goes for how they present. In the final analysis, I’m glad I’m so naive, because I’ve seen dudes who are so cynical and jaded that they assume every woman is a dude, and that kind of mistrust I think is toxic, whereas I just get an occasional surprise sometimes in my relationships (before things get to the bedroom of course, because I’ve learned to take my time and get to know people before sex….thank God).

Fuck it tho—even Iceberg Slim got fooled once, and I daresay I’ve handled my friend’s gender reveals cooler than that ice-cold motherfucker.

Speaking of Iceberg, one thing I did right: If you’re gonna fail, make sure you look is on point.

Stay black!

-AG

PS Left gay bar, went to mezcal bar, left with girls. They kept looking over at me promisingly as we walked to the night club.
I couldn’t get in with guitar. Got some tacos.
Walked through park on way home. Get accosted and approached by some junkie.
He approached me from behind and I waited for his hand to touch my shoulder.
I whirled on him and forcefully, loudly screamed into his face,”No me toques!”
This caught him off guard and he stopped pawing at me for a moment, I quickened the pace and he head-butted me, hitting me in the upper arm, then tried kicking my leg in retreat.
I guess he thought that this dandy walking through park carrying a guitar and amp was low-hanging fruit.
As he kicked, I lifted my leg, evading it like a choreographed dance, and stared at him as he shrunk into the shadows.
I crowed, loudly, like a rooster. Three times, drowning out the muttered, ineffectual cursing from the shadows.
Not even on your best day.
Not even on my worst night.
Ain’t found a way to kill me yet.

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