It's On Uncomfortable Truths!
Winter Offerings, Remembering Craig, And Thoughts on Gender
The act of writing this letter is a vulnerable gift that I give to you and to myself. It’s hard to talk to what feels like an open void, but I know there are faces of all shapes with dry eyes and mixed feelings and hunched backs on the other side of this screen, and that gives me reassurance, so sit tight through this Solstice portal with me and read on.
Why do I invite people to sign up for a paid subscription? Because I believe that redistribution of resources is caring for the collective well-being. Even when we’re passing the same five bucks around among us, we’re engaging in trust-based economy models that allow us to live outside of capitalism. I don’t relate to gift-giving these days (I have hoarding anxiety), but especially for the end of gregorian calendar holidays. However, if that’s your thing, here is my gift list:
You can support me with as little as $3/mo
or as little as $1/mo
or as seldom as a one-time donation of any amount
I appreciate you :)
Moving on to
Radio Stuff /
One of my field recordings was featured on Framework Radio, a really cool show dedicated to field recordings and their use in composition, now broadcasting on twelve radio stations worldwide! Since I found out their shows are downloadable, I’m filling up my little MP3 player and upgrading my recreational time to be distraction-free. The track they picked has a very special meaning to me, as it was recorded in Central Texas this Fall during a hike at Comanche Park with my brother.
I encourage you to turn off Spotify for one week (or, really, ditch it forever) and explore the exhilarating world of sound outside algorithms by listening to and supporting independent radio wherever you are. Here are a few of my favorite streaming programs:
Give The Drummer Radio, with Tony Coulter on WFMU
Xmastime Radio, on WRWR Ridgewood Radio
Pirate Radio Brooklyn Sound Map
Radio Stew, on Wave Farm WGXC
Soundcamp Stream, on Sound Tent
Remembering Craig + Other Gender Complaints /
A year has passed since my beloved friend Craig Stewart left his human form, and it got me thinking about the person I was in Austin and the person I became in New York. His departure left the seeds of many gifts, most of them sprouting into self-knowledge. I don’t think those seeds would have germinated had I stayed in Texas; some seeds prefer to grow through the rough concrete.
To quote Patti Smith, New York is the thing that formed me. New York is the thing that deformed me. New York is the thing that perverted me. New York is the thing that converted me. I became Ángel even though I resisted it with all my might. Why would anyone want to become a man is a question I still ask. The idea that I could embrace transmasculinity - not through aspiring to cis-manhood but because AND in spite of it, comes from relationships with (often older) gay men in my life and other transmasculine people. I know gender is really important to a lot of transgender people, but to me, it is clear that gender is a sticky trap. More thoughts on gender liberation have been better expressed, for example on Devon Price’s essay on detransitioning.
I’m not gonna lie; it’s really hard to wake up in the 2020s and try to break into the trans scene in your forties when you’re already past the life expectancy of your kind. It’s both poetic and isolating. I’ve been working on a long-form piece of my experience with transmasculinity for a while now, which will likely be included in an upcoming zine about grief I’m still working on.
In a world where I can’t fit into the mainstream cookie-cutter of queer identity, I am blessed I met Craig Stewart. So please enjoy this remembrance I wrote a year ago, and tell your role models who they are to you before they’re six feet under.
Get unholy this season,
Ángel Jacinto.
Boney Fingers (screw version) by Hoyt Axton - DJ Craig Stewart Screw vibe CUSK!!!
Craiggles, a.k.a. Gristle Cusk Stuart Craigger White DJ Baller Craig passed away right before the winter solstice, at the young age of 53, after living with Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD) for almost a whole decade and contracting covid in a hospice care facility. FTD is a neurological disease that atrophies the two brain lobes associated with language and behavior, making those sick with it unable to understand and communicate with words.
Craig and I initiated a long-distance, platonic mad love affair in 2008 after he became acquainted with my band XYX’s music through Myspace while we lived 375 miles apart on different sides of the Texas/Mexico border. As I soon found out, he worked at South by Southwest music festival and had received applications from some of our sister bands in Monterrey. He was constantly looking for the next obscure band to book for a show or two in Austin, and so we hit it off. I had no idea he was King Coffey’s boyfriend, but the fact that he knew people from one of my most influential bands felt beyond fated. He would type letters to me on an electric typewriter that King had hooked up to E-Mail because, in his own words “I will not touch computers, as I believe that they can give you diseases.” After my move to Texas in 2010, which could not have been possible to daydream about without his encouragement, we continued our friendship seeing each other at local bars, catching shows, drinking wine, and contemplating making noise.
Gris was responsible for any bands associated with Nene Records, the old Mexican netlabel I co-founded with friends, ever playing a single official SXSW show, plus many unofficial sick bills in Austin, TX. Always making me feel like the most special Mexican in town, he would shower me with gifts and attention in the way that only October Scorpios can. Records, postcards, rare ranchera mp3s, Harry Nilsson's love songs in Spanish, and the longest and most elaborate lies about how lame Butthole Surfers’ reunion shows were (simply to ease my FOMO) were some of the ways he expressed his affection.
He would wimp out on any travel plans and rarely left the house, because why would he? Except to get gay married in New Mexico. However, he made multiple unofficial appearances in my dreams showing up in my house looking as handsome as ever, playing ukulele, or with his feet hanging from the ceiling but somehow embarrassed to be seen in pajamas. Among our favorite topics of conversation, there were kee-kees (cats), obviously music, silly grammar rules that could make a sentence “flow into a curved river instead of just a water pipe” and we did a great deal of complaining about the summer weather we both loathed and some people in the music industry we also hated. He relished finding new music and meeting extraordinary people, but he 100% hated the business side of it - do not believe otherwise. He had the strangest yet finest taste in music any of us could ever dream of having, and that made him even more special in my eyes.
Craig became a lot more reclusive after his dad's cancer and eventual passing in 2011, and around this time we spoke less and less. A couple of years later, once his sickness started to manifest, our communication slowly turned to simpler sentences, predetermined phrases, photos, mp3 file sharing, and meowing.
My heart feels raw today as I remember our friendship, mutual admiration, and obsession with each other. I regret not making an effort to stay closer during his last years alive, though I understand his life became challenging in a way that left limited room for our bond, especially once I moved up to New York. The last time we saw each other was in the fall of 2017 when I visited Texas for the San Antonio Zine Fest. I visited him and King at their home in Austin, and he was just as sweet as always, playing records and meowing. I am saddened that he never got to witness my gender transition, as I think he would have loved me even harder.
While I experience this uncomfortable sense of guilt that is so common with grief, I remind myself I am, most of all, extremely grateful to have experienced Craig’s unfiltered love. I am such a lucky cat. Nobody loves life with the depth a Scorpio does, and Craig will always be a role model in how to stay weird, queer, and mad while enjoying the simple things in life. A slow disease might have prepared us for this big loss, but I certainly wasn't prepared for the way Craig Michael Stewart changed my life.
As I realize I am today the same age he was when he became ill, I think about the difference chosen family makes for sick queer people, and how blessed he was to have a devoted life partner by his side. I am thankful to his husband King, and every person who was kind to my beautiful friend Craig, and to those who never met him, I'm actually really sorry for you.
Of all the friends you can count with one hand, I will always be your middle finger. I hate you, Craig, with a full, bleeding heart.
End of December 2023, Queens, NY.
*As dementia shrunk Craig’s ability to speak, he would often use the words It’s on, followed by a name, a year, or a location, next to a picture he shared via text, or on social media. I intentionally titled this piece It’s on CRAIG STEWART! to remind us of his willingness to express himself against all odds.