For the part of the barber in my envisioned performance piece, I shaved my eyebrows for the New Wave Show at the San Francisco Art Institute. In the self-portraits here, for the plaid shirted one I'm sitting in Debora's flat, her not my Patti Smith poster (were it mine I'd still be lamenting its loss from my collection!) for Radio Ethiopia on the wall. The black t-shirt photo is back to the flat on Pierce Street, with the backdrop the billboard paper my roommate Mickey had salvaged for use on theatre production sets.
4/8/1978: "Performance should have happened separately. In other room.
In other room would have been nice, would also have been nice if I could have been less tense. I was too worried about not having anything, built myself up to a real fever pitch, then got disgusted w/ myself and lost any self-confidence I might have had. I was a little ashamed of the fact that it was Patti Smith-to-the-tee, standing up there, reading from pages.
I had no delivery, don't think much stage-presence, though a lot of people were apparently effected. Received an enormous amount of cat-calling, retorts from the punkier side of the audience. I had to yell, there was no microphone. I was nervous and wired to the gills.
I would like to have used the reaction in a way towards my favor. Most people assume I was upset, etc. Maybe I was at the moment, but not necessarily, or at least, wholly, from them. I could have provoked a real sense of anarchy if I had allowed myself to. Thoughts go to the "performance" by Arthur Cravan--invited by Duchamp to speak in NY, he yelled obscenities and insults at the upper-class audience, causing immediate disarray and his inevitable arrest. A lasting impression.

The typewriter keys aren't for me. I write quietly, passively. No risks taken, peaceful mannerisms, go with the flow."