Upcoming Performance in Boulder, Colorado!!!




j/j hastain  &  max wolf valerio 

&  rebecca diaz  & aimee herman


Trident Book shop is located at 940 Pearl St. / Boulder, CO

 max wolf valerio.jpg  Max Wolf Valerio is an iconoclastic poet and writer, and a long-transitioned man of transsexual history. A chapbook Animal Magnetism (eg press) appeared in 1984.  Recent works include a collaboration with photographer Dana Smith, Mission Mile Trilogy +1;  poems in the anthology Troubling the Line: Trans and Genderqueer Poetry and Poetics (Nightboat Books, 2013). His memoir, The Testosterone Files (Seal Press, 2006) was a Lambda Finalist for 2006, and a book of poems The Criminal: The Invisibility of Parallel Forces is forthcoming soon from EOAGH Books in NYC.

 j:j hastain.jpg   j/j hastain is a collaborator, writer and maker of things. j/j performs ceremonial gore. Chasing and courting the animate and potentially enlivening decay that exists between seer and singer, j/j simply hopes to make the God/dess of stone moan and nod deeply through the waxing and waning cycles of the moon. j/j hastain is the inventor of The Mystical Sentence Projects and is author of several cross-genre books including the trans-genre book libertine monk (Scrambler Press)Apophallation Sketches (MadHat Press), Luci: a Forbidden Soteriology (Black Radish Books), The Non-Novels (Spuyten Duyvil) The Xyr Trilogy: a Metaphysical Romance of Experimental Realisms, and Priest/ess. j/j’s writing has recently appeared in Caketrain, Trickhouse, The Collagist, Apasiology, Lunamopolis, Aufgabe, and Tarpaulin Sky.

 rebecca diaz.jpg   Rebecca Diaz graduated from the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University. She grew up in rural Minnesota beside the Red Lake River (in the ugliest county in America) and it taught her almost everything she knows about life and writing. She is a poet and fiction writer whose work examines the tributaries of language, healing, and spiritual practice. She has been awarded grants and fellowships from the Loft Literary Literary Center in Minneapolis, Intermedia Arts Program for Emerging Writers, and has received support from the Jerome Foundation and the Minnesota State Arts Board.


 aimee herman.jpg   Aimee Herman is a queer performance artist, writer and teacher currently residing in Brooklyn, NY. Aimee has two full-length books of poems, meant to wake up feeling (great weather for MEDIA) and to go without blinking (BlazeVOX books), and has work featured in a range of journals and anthologies including Troubling the Line: Trans & Genderqueer Poetry & Poetics (Nightboat Books)  Aimee is also a singer/ukulele player in the poemusic band Hydrogen Junkbox.


How to Combat Insomnia

His bones are powder; at night, she gathers them like a dandelion corsage and rubs them into her aches; he snores angular love affairs; due to jealousy and prior commitments to mania, she scratches hate crimes into his skin in retaliation; his aging hair a snowdrift; she parts her thighs and climbs onto his Winter because someone once told her midnight orgasms are like warm milk; his veins are paralyzed caterpillars; she plucks them out like bloated guitar strings, flosses between each tooth and finally falls asleep inside the river of his blood.

Upcoming Performance: Hydrogen Junkbox 5/17/18

I am extremely excited to perform alongside my bandmates as Hydrogen Junkbox at the legendary Stonewall Inn at Muffins in the Window, the longest running monthly variety show in NYC!

WHEN? Thursday, May 17th 
WHAT TIME? Bar opens at 7:30pm / Show begins at 8pm
COST? $5 suggested donation/ 2 drink minimum
WHERE IS THAT AGAIN? Stonewall Inn / 53 Christopher St. in NYC
WHO ELSE IS PERFORMING? Amanda Hunt, Susan Jeremy, The Kloons, JK, Mary Jo Camel Toe, and HYDROGEN JUNKBOX! 

MUFFINS IN THE WINDOW is the longest running monthly variety show in New York City. Audience members return (month after month) to support past, present and brand new performance artist as they try out never before seen material currently LIVE UPSTAIRS on the infamous and legendary Stonewall Inn stage. All are encouraged to perform in this monthly showcase of actors, singers, comedians, dancers, monologuists, film makers, instrumentalists, drag and burlesque entertainers. Join this sensational, tipsy, outrageous, and non judgmental crowd as we laugh, cry and ponder the ever changing artistic endeavours of our New York City family.

It Happened (again)

It happened (again).

Another stranger presses their curiosity against your scars and another bruise forms.

You arrive home after an evening where the sky offers no view of buildings competing with the birds and airplanes. The bruise is shaped just like that reoccurring dream you’ve had since childhood. You wonder if you should start wearing long sleeves again. You wonder if you should ice your limbs in a bathtub until they can barely utter any vowel sounds and then sever them completely.

It happened (again).

You mispronounce a word, use the wrong verb tense, forgot how to properly use a semi-colon, couldn’t remember the seventeenth president of the United States, had no idea that reference from that news story from that day, had that food stain between your teeth the entire day, wore your shirt on inside out, couldn’t remember how to get home, was corrected once again by your loverspousepartnerroomate as though mistakes can no longer happen quietly.

It happened (again).

You just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss, so you pressed your teaspoon lips against their tablespoon, pressed your skinned knees against their grass stains, pressed your fragments against their run-on sentences.

It happened (again).

You lost track of time and it was wonderful. Drank enough raindrops to count as hydration and conversed with a sparrow about immigration reform. You decided to be religious for a day, and prayed to the treetops. You sang hymns into squirrels’ bellies and asked for forgiveness from the worms you used to sever with your footsteps.

It keeps happening.

You forget your lines. You fall out of love. You overeat. You simply have no energy left to pick yourself back up. Your hair tangles in ways that are irreversible. You wonder if anyone really knows how to love you correctly. You break another toe. You sprain your tongue. You walk outside without proper uniform but then the sun fills in the lines of your goosebumps, asks you to remain even when no one else is, grabs hold of your hand, and in the scorch it leaves behind, you venture on.