Archive | Essays

JT Leroy and the Cult of Oppression

leroyIn 2005, JT Leroy died. Technically, of course, JT Leroy never existed. The transgender, HIV-positive, homeless child prostitute-turned-celeb author was the fabrication of two San Francisco women whose machinations were exposed by journalists in 2005. But during the nine years that Jonathan “Terminator” Leroy prevailed in the public sphere, he won the hearts and minds of the literati and glitterati alike.

In last year’s excellent “The Cult of JT Leroy,” director Marjorie Sturm explored the smoke and mirrors behind this story, approaching it as the biggest hoax this side of “War of the Worlds.” As a San Francisco local who’d worked with mentally ill homeless people, Sturm had begun the documentary as an earnest homage, but upon the revelation that forty-year-old San Francisco resident Laura Albert and her twentysomething sister-in-law Savannah Koop had posed as Leroy (the former woman wrote his books and spoke as him on the phone; the latter posed as him in person), Sturm whipped off her rose-colored glasses and gave voice to the many who felt betrayed and manipulated. Continue Reading →

Dance Out the Dawn, Eleanor Rigby

eleanor rigby beatlesI’m not minding how lazy the sun is this time of year. It gives me an excuse to wake a little less aggressively. This morning, I slept until 6:30—nuts in my book—and only rose then because Grace took matters in her own paws and woke me herself. Lest you think she was mean about it, “waking me” means she settled softly into my chest and patted me softly on the cheek. Continue Reading →

23rd Street Explosion, Magic Rock Revolver

1986wigstockI was already asleep when news of the explosion hit the wires. Being intuitively conflict-avoidant, a sense of impending doom sent me to Poughkeepsie the day before September 11, 2001; to an Oklahoma campground the week of the 2003 blackout; up the East Williamsburg hill while Hurricane Sandy crashed elsewhere in Brooklyn and Queens. I felt those disturbances in the force anyway, though, and I feel this now. It’s what pulled me awake at 4:45 this morning, early even for me.

In the darkness I made coffee and prayed for the 29 injured by the 23rd street bomb. Then, clad in slippers and the caftan I rarely wear outside the house, I hopped into magic car Minerva and zoomed over the Williamsburg Bridge still lit up against the night sky. (The sun is so lazy this time of year.) As I drove, I wondered at the rush of energy I was feeling. Was it dissociation? Despair? No, I said loudly, and turned on the Beatles’ Revolver, which had been playing in my head since I’d woken up.

Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all the words of kindness linger on
Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy