Saw the 50 years of stonewall exhibit at the Brooklyn museum; it’s a weird but ticklish feeling to see the work of several peers that I have parasocial relationships/mutual friends/messy gossip on in a big fancy museum & is probably the closest i’ll come to how Frida Kahlo felt about the French surrealists she knew - ‘these cuckoo sons of bitches with their heads in the clouds’

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That said, it was incredibly moving to see the work of Mark Aguhar on the walls of the same insitution John Singer Sargent left all his watercolors to. I didn’t know her personally, but I followed her on tumblr & her suicide came close around that of my friend Leo; I remember it vividly & the summer of 2012 felt like everyone was dying. Seeing her litany again after all these years, in such a different context & a different me, felt like a revelation. Blessed are the weirdo queers.

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