Threshold of revelation

I am not well. That thing, called functioning--I can't remember how to do it. When you find yrself listening to LCD Soundsystem at 11:07 in the morning and staring at a box of Kleenex, something is wrong. When you have a dream about reading a press release for a book that does not exist on the queer subculture of 18th century English taverns, and you are not Eve K. Sedgwick, something is royally ass-wonked. But once upon a time last week, when I was in DC, I went to some shows. They were awesome. Like, Princess Seraphina awesome. They are also closing soon, so if you are Metro-side, partake.

Mark Seliger @ Govinda
Go for Cindy Sherman, a be-Hedwig'ed J.C. Mitchell and D. Bowie looking immortal (though not in the same shot) rather than naked supermodels. Bowie has a giant spider pin on his lapel and that unmistakable, "Fie, I left my gloves at the molly house" brooding gaze. Govinda is pretty much all music-related photography all the time, and the dude at the door is totes friendly, so it's a safe bet all year 'round.

PostSecret @ Old Staples
The largest to-date showcase of Frank Warren's project, which invites people to write down their true, unconfessed secrets on 4" by 6" postcards and mail them to his Germantown, MD address. The old Staples building has cards hung up in plastic sleeves on fishing line, tacked to walls, and dangling in bunches from the ceiling. The result is like a revelatory, somber and very crowded wake, with everybody trying their best not to cry.