
An ongoing digital archive of 1,399 items (and counting) proving that I read, I saw, and I actually paid attention.


“There’s nothing new in human experience, Mr. Tully. Each generation thinks it invented debauchery or suffering or rebellion, but man’s every impulse and appetite from the disgusting to the sublime is on display right here all around you. So, before you dismiss something as boring or irrelevant, remember, if you truly want to understand the present or yourself, you must begin in the past. You see, history is not simply the study of the past. It is an explanation of the present.”
“Without ugliness, without imperfection, beauty spins frictionless; it gains no purchase on the world. Real, unabashed ugliness should be celebrated. One aspires to be beautiful, and one desires lovely things. But ugliness is the stuff of life.”
“Insecure people are very dangerous, aren’t they? I’m secure. Make sure you put that in there.”
“That day, we started the conversation that eventually led to the very personal essay Meyer has contributed to this issue of BLAU International. Recounting a brief history of a phenomenon he’s coined the ‘Gay Man’s Castle,’ Meyer insists on the transformative power of personal taste. He shows us how the homes of creatives, how their collections, how even the ceilings above their deathbeds can narrate histories of repression and liberation alike. And how paying tribute to the men who build those ‘castles’ far too often means remembering those we’ve lost. If you ever meet Meyer, you might thank him for this. But never, ever bring up Wuppertal. It will surely harsh his vibe.”
“I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way.”
“You obviously require a battle plan. My second husband, the general, always advocated attacking from the rear, which, although it did nothing to enhance our marriage, did bring him some success on the field.


“It’s always wonderful when something altogether wrong ends right, without the help of either religion or the police.”

“It was a cold and rainy day in March. I went to Cristophe’s where I usually get my hair done, but Cristophe wasn’t there. He had mysteriously disappeared. In his place was a stranger named Rinaldo. I’ll never forget him. His eyes were steely gray. His hands were like ice. He said, ‘I’ll streak your hair and I’ll give you a body wave.’ He worked very fast and then, as he turned my chair around to face the mirror, I saw it. He permed me!”


