Gee, what really is there to say? I just ate a slice of bbq chicken pizza and could tell you more about my night except I very well might cry. I went to galleries in SoHo with Joe, mainly the Deitch Projects spaces, got thoroughly trashed, and eventually ran into Kevin and Matt - Matt, who asked me if I saw his stuff at the gallery next door - did not, went and examined the two pieces, which were selling for 600 and 800, and felt like the worst possible shit imaginable seeing and ex's mediocre art selling for so much.

Later in the evening, after he basically blew me off for making too big a deal out of God knows what - after I approched him and Kevin and Kevin said, "You should stop talking now." And I asked him what he should stop talking about - was it the dog? And it was. I tried to ask him if the dog was it - the only reason - and irratably, he said yes. Did he want me to reconsider, he asked as if I had asked him to sipp piss. I eventually ran away - Joe had ditched me - and later on - lost in downtown NY, I called him, hoping to get his machine. I told him this and called back - this time getting Kevin who laughed at me, and told me I just wanted to sound cute, and that Matt did not like me - and all the while Matt was laughing heartily in the background, and I really wanted to throw myself in front of traffic - I have never felt like such a piece of shit in all my life. And so yes, why, oh why, did I just send this to Matt:

dear matt:

si, is what nora said.

and yes, yes - i should not be writing you - this
is uncalled for, especially after the strong
signals, so strong, of tonight with you asking
me, "reconsider?" and then laughing heartily
while i talked to kevin on your phone.

so yes, why am i writing you? i don't know.
horny? very possibly. but yes, yes. nora and
james know. maybe i had been waiting to run in
to you, and yes, maybe i still do like you - yes,
yes, all wrong - i know - fuck notions of right
and wrong. i get excited when i see you - saw
you tonight - and if you ever want to make out,
you should call me (917-XXX-XXXX). yes, your art
sucks big fat balls, was the worst pieces in that
show, of the night - but i still like you -
desire to suck those lousy balls - and if you
ever change your mind - yes, you should contact
me. basically, this is what i would have said on
your machine. now i have had some pizza and am a
little less loquacious - am more hesitant - but
you get the idea, i am sure you do, you are
slighly intelligent - and yes, yes yes.

charlie