Dispatch 2/23/23: Bliccy's Hysterectomies

Bliccy's hysterectomies, the original bassist from Interpol, LindyMan, and a strange ritual involving cheese

Bliccy’s performance at Beckett’s

Bliccy is wearing a romper made out of a trash bag underneath her fur coat and she’s telling us about how she has to get a hysterectomy every few months because she has two uteruses because her mother did a lot of flakka when Bliccy was in the womb. I’m sorry what did you say, Tai says, and Bliccy repeats herself. This is her hysterectomy party at Beckett’s, billed on the flyer as “Love Wins: A Mars Review of Books soirée.” She tells us she’s wearing a trash bag because of all the blood that’s been coming out of her uteruses. Bliccy looks a little like a quirked-up spray-tanned “indie sleaze” version of Paris Hilton.

I’m sitting with Tai and Enrico, and close by are Kitty and this Italian-Bulgarian poet named Anton (who I met last summer when I first met Kitty) and we watch the first two performances of this evening’s soirée. The first is a dance performance by an artist named Sia Serafina with piano accompaniment by this guy Carlos Dengler, who was the original bassist for the band Interpol. Carlos looks like Errol Flynn with his pencil mustache and old-timey suit fit. After Sia’s dance, Carlos does a solo performance, a Gasdaesque monologue—the pianist-narrator is constantly about to start playing some piece by Chopin but keeps distracting himself with a melancholic jeremiad that includes a metacommentary on the theater and digressions about the movie Five Easy Pieces, the futility of artistic expression in general, and a wistful nostalgia for some idyllic pre-modern past (“before Foucault,” and all that).