horizontal with lila

12/29/2025

See that resting frown face on my mom as she slept?

I’ve started to make that same face. I wake from a dream or a doze to find that I’m frowning. I touch my lips to make it stop. After a few moments, I discover that they are making the frown shape again. I can’t make it stop because I’m sleeping when I do it. I’ve started doing it when I’m not sleeping too. When I’m awake, I think it’s a cross between a grimace and a frown. A frimace? (I mean, it can’t be a grown. Or can it?)

I don’t really have that much to frown about anymore, except, I suppose, for the onslaught of fresh horrors perpetrated by the country I live in on the daily, the greed of the few and desperation of the many, the natural disasters that are frequenter and hotter and wetter and gnarlier as the earth continues its job of beginning to shake us off its back… yeah I guess there’s not much to frown about, really.

I took Mom to FloridaRAMA because she had been complaining for months that she didn’t do anything anymore. She mentioned concerts, plays, ballets. But by the time the sun went down, she would be sundowning and wouldn’t want to go anywhere anyway. So that afternoon I decided to pick her up and take her on an outing — which was always a pain in the ass, and especially a pain in the ass to do solo. It involved going to her room and making sure she was dressed, convincing her to get dressed if she wasn’t, which was a laborious process, insisting that we needed to take the wheelchair which of course we did because she was falling all the time and brachiating (holding onto walls and less sturdy things like chairs, tables — at least, some nurse told me that this is what it’s called but the internet seems to only relate it to apes swinging from their arms to get from place to place) […]

Continued on horizontalwithlila dot substack dot com (the link is in my bio)

10/02/2025

In the bathroom of the Italian restaurant after Dad’s cold rainy rural upstate funeral looking like a sad British clown / Nowhere, NY / April 12th, 2025

Right after my father died, there were Anthonys and Tonys everywhere.

Suddenly everyone was called Tony and everybody else was talking about their Dad or playing songs about death.

* Passing a girl on the street talking to her friend, and the only words you catch are “My dad had…”
* Walking into your favorite gluten-free café, and they’re playing the Flaming Lips song “Do You Realize?”

Do you realize / that everyone you know / someday / will die?

* Realizing that the second title for Billy Joel’s song “Movin’ Out” is “Anthony’s Song.” I never truly registered this until I was trying to write one morning in a blessed cacao shop (yes, for real) and I paused to listen to the opener:

Anthony works in the grocery store
Savin’ his pennies for someday

* Ordering fries from the surfer guy at the beach shack on my pilgrimage to the ocean, when his co-worker shouts, “Hey Anthony!”

If you put this stuff in your feature film script, your screenwriting teacher would tell you it’s too pat, too predictable, “don’t put a hat on a hat.” (The Writer!)

It’s like that old quarters experiment on attention… you start looking for quarters on the ground, and suddenly, you see them everywhere.

The drugstores full of Father’s Day crap. Marketing emails about “Dads and grads.” Only one company sent an email that said, Hey, we know that Father’s Day time is tough for some people, so click this to opt out of all Father’s Day related emails.

Click. CLICK!

I wish I could click that link for the universe. No father stuff, please. No Dad s**t. But there were quarters everywhere, of course, because the back of my mind was attuned to all things Dad.

{You can read the rest of the essay on Substack. Link in my bio, bb.}

09/29/2025

What is it they say, you miss 100% of the swings you don't take? I'm taking a big Elton John-sized swing because, why not?!

I've applied to a competition called Style Icon. Surely a zillion people have entered, who have networks far larger than mine. But! As my friend Patrick says, "If there's a snowball's chance in hell, throw the snowball."

The competition raises funds (you get one vote free each day, but people can also donate for additional votes) for Elton's AIDS foundation so it's a win all around.

One trendsetter will jet off to Milan for the Versace Fashion Show, be featured in Flaunt Magazine, and take home $20,000.

09/22/2025

Love Letter to New York, whom I miss so much

1. Straight out of a fitting for “The Deuce”?

2. Free Friday at

3. Basquiat makes me feel like home

4. Madison Square Park photo op (irresistible)

5. Candid

6. Got to see the lovely & ply their craft at

7. Charming marquee!

8. Closing night vibes (not pictured: the succulent plant I brought in lieu of flowersof)

9. Chuck Close in the subway!

10. More subway Chuck Close!

11. Man Ray retrospective at the Met

12. Love a good silhouette

13. A rare VERTICAL bathroom portrait in one of the finest bathrooms of them all, at the lovely New Mexican food joint with the rainbow cookies Of My Dreams,

14. My man is a photographer too. 🤩

15. Cannot. Resist. Photo Booth.

09/16/2025

I wrote a list in 2020 titled “How to love me when I’m ... depressed”... and in this essay, I encourage you to write your own version (How to love me when I’m... anxious, How to love me when I’m... burned out, How to love me when I’m... in despair)...

And if you write one, how I would love to read it. (Or even learn about one of the items on your list, here in the comments).

Here’s an excerpt:

“One of the characteristics of my depression (and most of my other tizzies, such as but not limited to anxiety, severe procrastination, adulting paralysis, etc.) is that while I’m in it I have no idea what — if anything — will help me get out of it.

It’s more like I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE BUT I DON’T KNOW HOW TO GET OUT SO I’LL JUST HIDE UNDER THE COVERS UNTIL I WANT TO DO SOMETHING AGAIN CALL ME IN 6 MONTHS.

Ergo, therefore, if I’m in a state, and you ask me what I need, or what you can do, I may or may not have the wherewithal to tell you. Emphasis on the not. I may not even have the wherewithal to know.

And if I don’t know, how can I tell you?

I can’tdon’t, then.

If I’m not in a state I probably have plenty of things I could say but that’s when I don’t need the help so badly. (A lá it’s not the worst while you can still say the worst.)

As I mentioned in the subtitle: You don’t come with an operator’s manual. Your model came out of the fleshbox with zero instructions. And since no one possesses your operator’s manual, no matter how much they love you, you are going to be the supreme author, the expert on you, since you’ve been studying you your whole life. Please for the love of Pete & Ashleigh, do your people the great good turn of writing them some instructions. Triage options, if you will. Trust me when I say that they (nearly all of them) need it.

If you write it for them, they will have it when you need it.

This little list could, quite without exaggeration, save your life.”

The link to the whole essay is in my bio. (Join me on Substack darling!)

09/15/2025

I wrote a list in 2020 titled "How to love me when I'm ... depressed"... and in this essay, I encourage you to write your own version (How to love me when I'm... anxious, How to love me when I'm... burned out, How to love me when I'm... in despair)...
And if you write one, how I would love to read it.

Here's an excerpt: "One of the characteristics of my depression (and most of my other tizzies, such as but not limited to anxiety, severe procrastination, adulting paralysis, etc.) is that while I’m in it I have no idea what — if anything — will help me get out of it.
It’s more like I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE BUT I DON’T KNOW HOW TO GET OUT SO I’LL JUST HIDE UNDER THE COVERS UNTIL I WANT TO DO SOMETHING AGAIN CALL ME IN 6 MONTHS.

Ergo, therefore, if I’m in a state, and you ask me what I need, or what you can do, I may or may not have the wherewithal to tell you. Emphasis on the not. I may not even have the wherewithal to know.

And if I don’t know, how can I tell you?

I can’tdon’t, then.

If I'm not in a state I probably have plenty of things I could say but that’s when I don't need the help so badly. (A lá it’s not the worst while you can still say the worst.)

As I mentioned in the subtitle: You don’t come with an operator’s manual. Your model came out of the fleshbox with zero instructions. And since no one possesses your operator’s manual, no matter how much they love you, you are going to be the supreme author, the expert on you, since you’ve been studying you your whole life. Please for the love of Pete & Ashleigh, do your people the great good turn of writing them some instructions. Triage options, if you will. Trust me when I say that they (nearly all of them) need it.

If you write it for them, they will have it when you need it.
This little list could, quite without exaggeration, save your life."

The link to the wholeessay is in the comments!

09/15/2025

Love Letter to St. Pete

Where we met, where we re-met ❤️‍🔥

1. An afternoon at with my handsome gentleman in

2. Bb’s first concert (okay, technically in Tampa) in & . It was stellar. Trent sounds just like he used to and the projections were gorgeous!

3. Matching denim jumpsuits ( but his is a )

4. The finest pizza in all the land (even with my dietary restrictions!) from (OMNOMNOMNOM)

5. He even makes doctor’s appointments fun.

6. I love matching him sooooo muchmuch.

7. Just us and a zebra, nbd.

8. Theme Park joy

9. At the art show that my gentleman curated for his students. 🪐☄️🛸👽🚀✨

09/04/2025

When I was a kid, I used to read myself to sleep.

Actually, I don’t know when I stopped.

I read myself to sleep in my childhood bedroom, with a flashlight under the covers of a trundle bed (drawers filled to the brim with dress-up clothes) when my mom said it was too late to be awake. I checked out 25 books from the Freeport library at a time, filling the trunk of my parent’s car, and devoured them in weeks, partly from my perch in the flowering dogwood tree in our backyard (were the blooms ivory? or cherry blossom pink?), partly while curled up on an orange-and-yellow-ticked seat cushion I dragged down to the crawlspace in the basement — my “secret hiding spot,” which was neither secret nor hidden and so can only be termed a spot, armed with Oreos and flashlight, and the remainder under the covers before bed.

I suspect I knew more words then than I know now. There are still words like “vehement” that I’m only about 70% sure I know how to pronounce. I learned them in context. I can spell them. I can use them in a sentence! But am I saying them correctly?

Unsure.

I read myself to sleep in high school, even though I had to get up unconscionably early to get bussed in to my magnet program — Pinellas County Center for the Arts — 35 minutes away from our sad little apartment. Like a magnet, PCCA grabbed young artists from the whole county.

I had a major in high school, which is more usual now, from what I hear, but wasn’t so usual then, and what I majored in was called Performance Theatre (as opposed to Musical Theatre, the love of my life I never thought I was good enough for).

I really wanted to go to the Fame school in New York — LaGuardia — but when I was 12 my Mom divorced my Dad and forced me to move to Flah-rida. So I went to PCCA instead. (To be honest, she probably wouldn’t have let me commute into the city to go to Fame even if we had stayed on Long Island.)

Read the whole essay (link to Substack in my bio)!

08/30/2025

My man and I got our nerd on at !

We had the opportunity to support my lovely, engaging, and compassionate Happiness Ambassador friend Adam Peters aka as he changed some lives by teaching us how to begin developing a preference for positivity. I’ve seen him give this presentation a few times before, and this was the best one yet — and to the biggest crowd, over 300 human nerds!

I love us.

I consider it my sacred duty to paparazzi my friends when they do marvelous things, as I hope to have done unto me!

P.S. Applied to give a Nerd Nite presentation myself … fingers crossed bb’s!

1. My gentleman is so handsome. (Also, I got this stellar skirt in excellent condition from my favorite thrift store with a cause !)

2. Toasties supporting Toasties! members: me, Steve Diasio, Dawn Cecil (two-time Nerd Nite Speaker alumni!), & Rick! (Not pictured here — but later in the carousel) Christian Carrasco.

3. Fit check baybeeee.

4. Caryn, Nerd Nite boss extraordinaire, introducing the evening.

5. Caryn introducing my friend Adam (did I yell “THAT’S MY FRIEND!” at the end? WHY YES I DID.)

6-10. Adam rocking the casbah.

11. Fellow Toastmaster Christian.

12. I love mein mann!

08/27/2025

A woman approached me. We collaborated once, a year prior, I think. Time is weird. She reached out both her hands.

“What a beautiful mourner you are,” she said.

I took her hands.

I think I said thank you.

She was referring, I suppose, to the gloves, the dress, the shoes, the lipstick, the earrings.

But what does it mean, to be a beautiful mourner?
What does it mean to mourn beautifully?
To have good grief?

“My dad dropped dead,” I said, to get myself used to the shock of it.

“My mother is dying,” I said, to reconcile myself to the fact of it.

I don’t wear mascara anymore, because I cry every day.

People hugged me in airports, at rental car counters, in line for a sandwich. They hugged me in the TSA line. At the chiropractor. The grocery store. My father dropped dead, I told them. My mother is dying. I told them and they hugged me. I was glad I did. I was glad they did.

Sometimes, when people were truly asking, if I had the time, and I had the spoons, I repeated my litany of 2025. So they’d understand: it has been this kind of year. It seems that everyone has this kind of year at some point, or, devastatingly, at several points in a life — a maelstrom, a dervish, a crucible, a nexus, a whammy, a time — an Alexander’s-no-good-very-bad-terrible kind of year.

There were so many months in February. So many years in April. So many decades in the first half of 2025. I didn’t want to become an adult, but 2024 made me, and 2025 sealed the deal.

It’s amazing I managed to get this far without growing up.

READ the whole essay on Substack
SUBSCRIBE through the link in my bio and make my day, darling

💋

08/26/2025

Love in La La Land

1. “So this is where they keep the LIGHT!” -SATC … At our first member preview, enjoying the majestically empty Geffen galleries before the permanent collections moves in.

2. Urban Light, and me (installation by Chris Burden)

3. A historic view at LACMA, never again to be seen!

4 - 13. Art, mostly part of the Digital Witness exhibit

14. Love at the

15. Q***r exhibits!

16. Sunset at the Getty with my love

08/24/2025

For you, when you need it, and for the people in your life, when they need it.

Here’s an excerpt from the essay:

[To read the whole thing, follow the link in my bio to my Substack (and subscribe there, darling)!]

My chiropractor called me out a few weeks back.
He said, with his characteristic smile (he has nice little teeth), “I read your essay.”

“You did? Thank you for reading,” I began, genuinely surprised and moved.

“But I still don’t know what to say!” he admonished. “You only told us what not to say!”

Then he gave me an enormous cashmere-scented candle in a plastic bag.

This was not apropos of nothing. I mentioned that scent in the essay.

That giant cashmere candle, so big it has not one but FOUR wicks, means something. And then he had to go and ruin it. (jk, jk, Dr. Brian!)

“Hang in there,” he said, at the end of our session.

I cringed a liddle. (That’s not a little, not a lot, it’s right in the middle, a liddle.)

But you see, he was completely right! I told him I’d give him a list! I hadn’t given him a list! So I began compiling. Every time someone said a thing that made me wince, it went on the list, which lead to Part 1: What NOT to say when someone dies.

Each time someone said a thing that felt like love, made me farklempt, I took a screenshot, and it went on the list.

This is the farklempt list.

As I wrote in “what NOT to say,” the useful things people say are fairly varied (and tailored to the griever), while the un-useful things tend to be generic variations on a tired theme.
“what TO say” will be a living document, updated whenever I have something useful, or supremely un-useful, to add. Here we go.