I Could Not Believe It, page 1
“i remember those nights when i was young in la—the smell of sweat and piss in grimy clubs and a creature floating toward you that summed up the glamour and glory of it all……Like a young diana ross, sean delear was all ferocity and vulnera-bility……Singing ‘all tomorrow's parties’ in a throaty croon and fluttering drug store makeup aisle eyelashes………These diaries finally give me the backstory.”
— Rick Owens
“Sean D told me about the diary but you can't fathom the excitement, growth, pain, and discovery etched onto those pages until you read them for yourself. The lack of shame describing her youthful sex adventures, the natural courage Sean D always had, it's all in the diary.”
— Kembra Pfahler
“His magic was erasing context, no matter what scene he was in. Sean DeLear's teenage diary reveals how he was born with this unique power, combined with an incredible confidence that made his entire life a performance.”
— Shayne Oliver
“Sean D wasn't challenging gender; he was expanding the spectrum of what it meant to be a man.”
— Scott Ewalt
“Yes, this is a teenage diary, with all the attendant self-discovery, angst, and first-time social experiments. What makes it such fascinating reading is the realization that, not that long ago, all of it would have had to stay on the q.t. But no more, I'm happy to say. This is “coming out” for real, not the moment of family confession so many other narratives mistake it for. It documents a self-constructed cosmology without the help of any counselor and only desire as its guide. Let's treasure it.”
— Bruce Benderson
“This diary is a window to the beautifully banal perspective of a sassy, fourteen-year-old adult from the Valley discovering male sex, obsession, and romantic love. A boy that follows his instincts in innocent grace, playfulness, and honesty. These pages present a fearless trajectory full of lust for life.”
— Markus Zizenbacher
“What a peek into the queer teenage ping pong mind. School, paper route, and cock to name a few obsessions. The essence of the adult Sean DeLear I knew still contained the sweetness and cunning spark of the child of his private diaries. Couldn't put it down.”
— Kid Congo Powers
“Horny for life and just plain horny, Sean DeLear's diary has the glorious brightness of teendom. Its off-rhythms of transcription, daydream, and self-mythologizing provide a record of its time, but anyone who remembers the tuned-up hopes of being young, brave, and reckless will recognize the feelings. It's all here: the restless formation of self, the sexual misadventures, the sweet swagger, the drift of ambition, and the mightiness of just being. It's fun as hell.”
— Nate Lippens
“1979. What a magical year. Some of the most iconic disco records were released that year, and in many ways it was the calm before the storm. Reading Sean DeLear's diary is really a reflection of a time of freedom, rebellion, sexual liberation, dance, and decadence, through the eyes of an unapologetic Black queer artist who never let the restraints of others limit his lust for life. A truly transgressive spirit.”
— Honey Dijon
“I knew Sean D from going out in LA. Sooooo fab. He was always a force,both beauty and energy. This daily account of his empowered queer youth is a rare gift.”
— Telfar Clemens
© 2023 Sean DeLear International
This book is presented by Sean DeLear International, a partnership between Cesar Padilla, Michael Bullock, and Markus Zizenbacher, dedicated to sharing the life and art of their friend.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.
Published by Semiotext(e)
PO BOX 629, South Pasadena, CA 91031
www.semiotexte.com
Special thanks to Mike Hoffman, Aaron Smart, Markus Zizenbacher, Philipp Teuchtler, Kid Congo Powers and the Pink Monkeybirds, Thomas and Niki Wildner, Paul Graves, Jeppe Larsen, Paul Kopkau, Felix BurrichterRichard Pursel, Philip Littell, Ron Athey, Roddy Bottum, Gert Jonkers, Jop van Bennekom, Brontez Purnell, Eric Robertson, Radford Brown, Lia Gangitano, Rick Owens, Scott Ewalt, Kembra Pfahler, Sophie Mörner, Jaime Wolf, and BUTT magazine
Photographs of Sean DeLear courtesy of Markus Zizenbacher
Cover Design: Lauren Mackler
Design: Hedi El Kholti
ISBN: 978-1-63590-183-2
Distributed by the MIT Press, Cambridge, MA. and London, England
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I Could Not Believe It:
The 1979 Teenage
Diaries of
Sean DeLear
Edited by Michael Bullock
and Cesar Padilla
Introduction
by Brontez Purnell
semiotext(e)
Contents
Introduction by Brontez Purnell
Editor's Preface by Michael Bullock
The 1979 Teenage Diaries of Sean DeLear
Appendix: Diary Entries, 1980
Editor's Afterword by Cesar Padilla
About the Authors
Introduction by Brontez Purnell
MOTHER, forever, for sure and for always
I met Sean DeLear when I was twenty-four, in this house across from the Eagle in Los Angeles—I remember Sean talking about the LA scene, me asking him if he had a Germs burn (I don't remember the answer), but also being very struck by the fact that up until that point I had probably only met a couple dozen Black punks but never anyone of Sean De's age and with their poise. Even in Stripped Bare House at 2 a.m. and being festive she just commanded this kind of magic and glamour—it was definitely something to reach for and to aspire to. We don't always clock these things when we are younger, but the mere presence of her let me be hip to the fact that I could be beautiful, Black, and punk forever—and in fact, it would be the best possible path to take.
It had been mentioned to me by Alice Bag (of the Bags, duh) that Sean was amongst the “First 50”—that seminal group of LA kids who comprised of the first freaks to go to punk shows in Los Angeles and the genius LA punk. I being a total-poser ’90s punk can't even wrap my head around the dopamine effect of being in the mix when it all felt new—when Sean first started taking the bus out of Simi Valley and going head first into the scene for shows in Hollywood. How very frightening and liberating it must have been at the time for her, but of course I think Sean De was way beyond the title “trendsetter”—the word for her is mother, forever, for sure, and for always.
What is contained in the tiny pages of this book is a blaringly potent historical artifact of Black youth, seconds before their full realization into the scary world of adolescence and inevitable adulthood. Uncomfortable in parts? Yes, of course. I remember in eighth grade reading The Diary of Anne Frank—the uncensored version, which was withheld from the public until her father's death because he stated he could not live with the most private parts of his adolescent daughter's diary being consumed by the world. There is a certain sense of protection I feel for baby Sean De's most private thoughts being so exposed; however, so very little is written about the lives and the bold sexuality of young queers, and specifically young Black queers, that I also have to give regard that there is something ultimately explosive about this text. It also denotes the intense singularity of its author. A gay Black punk one generation after DeLear, at the age of fourteen I was rather content staring at a wall and obsessing over my Lookout Records catalog—I can't even comprehend a gay Black kid some thirty years before planning to blackmail older white boys’ dads for money for acting lessons. OK, like first of all, yaaaaaaas bitch, and second, this level of forward thinking is what propelled Sean De into becoming the scene girl to end all scene girls. I do have to imagine what level of this diary is real and what parts sit in an auto-fictional space—did she really fuck all these old white dudes? Or was it a horny and advanced imagination at play? The only real answer is who cares. I think one of the most magical things about Sean De was that her imagination and fantasy world was so absolute. The world she was spinning always became true—this is the beauty of a shape shifter, and she was a noted scene darling and muse for this reason.
Now amidst all this magic of course was her fair share of trials and tribulations. Sean related to me that when her band Glue's music video for “Polara” debuted on MTV's 120 Minutes, a higher-up in programming made a call to make sure that it was never shown again—and how sad.
Now, let's consider that Sean De's performance did not exist in a vacuum—I mean, if there was room for RuPaul, why not Sean De? Certainly, by the ’90s there was room for a punk rock genderdefying Black child-gangster of the revolution—or then again, maybe not. Whereas RuPaul was relegated to the dance world, Sean De made rock and roll her drama—and rock and roll to this day remains (disappointingly) the last stronghold of segregation in music. In a post-Afro-punk reality this should not be the case, but as desegregation proves itself to be a one-hundred-year period, Sean De's struggle to claim solidification and recognition in the world of SoCal ’90s music comes as no real surprise. But also, as we are in an intense period of rediscovering buried histories and legacies, Sean De's is one of great note, triumph, and inspiration. As a matter of fucking fact, she is the Queen Mother of alternative music and in whatever higher realm of existence she is currently existing in, I can only imagine the sound of great explosions and bells ringing as she is gluing on her
At the time of Sean De's death, I actually got a handful of her eyelashes, which I promptly put on my altar for the dead. I collected every zine she was in from the ’90s, the Kid Congo record of which she was the subject, and lastly got to read and relish in the world of this great artist as a teen. I don't know how I got so lucky as to share a planet for a brief time with this punk rock fairy godmother, but you best believe that I pray to any god listening that I am grateful for such. Long live Sean DeLear.
Editor's Preface by Michael Bullock
To the Max
On September 5, 2017, I picked up a call. It was Cesar (Padilla); he was wailing in pain, unable to utter a single word. “Sh … Sh … Sea … Sean Deeee,” he finally stuttered. “Sean Deeeee's dead.” The news left me speechless. How was it possible? Sean DeLear seemed immortal to me. Larger than life. An energy. An idea. A muse who inspired so many boldfaced names. A walking work of art. A person who single-handedly made counterculture feel viable. His chosen name accurately reflected his flamboyant personality: bright and sparkling, like the chandeliers in the hotels and clubs that line Sunset Boulevard. To me, Sean DeLear was an important LA landmark, like the Hollywood sign. His life and art blurred lines between sexuality, gender, race, class, and genre. He was so many things: punk musician, intercontinental scenester, video vixen, dance-track vocalist, party host, heavy-metal groupie, marijuana farmer, and even Frances Bean Cobain's babysitter. If Sean DeLear sauntered into the party, you knew you were in the right place.
Today he would be called “nonbinary,” although I think he would have never limited himself to this label. His look, like his art, was on his own terms. He was Sean DeLear uptown and downtown, crosstown and underground. His party attire gave starlet, as glamorous as a young Diana Ross. But most days he dressed somewhere in between—even his daytime “boy looks” low-key felt like drag. It was an effortless androgyny that included long fake eyelashes with a touch of bright lipstick on his big, beautiful lips, but worn with a ratty vintage band T-Shirt, a trucker cap, Nike high-tops, and striped athletic socks—fem on top, butch on bottom. His smile: enormous. His laugh: infectious. His presence: intoxicating. His voice: an original combination of sultry and baritone. When he spoke, he had a way of making you feel like you were being innercircled into important secret histories, and his friendly, engaging personality and shape-shifting style allowed him to slip effortlessly between cultural scenes and systems.
As a result, Sean DeLear's illustrious biography includes both a cameo as Tone Loc's surprising date in the 1989 “Funky Cold Medina” video (“But when she got undressed, / it was a big old mess, / Sheena was a man”), and stints as a hostess at Johnny Depp's notorious LA club, the Viper Room. Later, in the ’90s, he became a bona fide rock star as the lead singer of the seminal power pop–punk band Glue, gaining himself a list of unlikely celebrity fans, from Victoria Beckham to Yoko Ono to Trent Reznor (Glue opened for Nine Inch Nails). Lina Lecaro wrote in her 2017 LA Weekly obituary: “SeanD's lyrical and vocal tempestuousness won fans of all ilk—young, old, gay, straight, punk, alternative.” In the 2000s, his romance with the art world advanced when he joined the Viennese collective Gelitin. He was also one of the only men to ever perform with Kembra Pfahler, as a backup dancer in her notorious art band the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black. In the 2010s, he switched from punk to dance, collaborating with both Danish producer Jeppe Larsen (Junior Senior) and Filip “Turbotito” Nikolic of Ima Robot, on whose 2011 hit with Beni, “It's a Bubble,” Sean was a vocalist. The lyrics are unmistakably Sean DeLear: “Hey streetwalker … You don't need to worry. I like the way you look. Your face is a mess, but hey we can fix you up.”
Ultimately Sean DeLear didn't give a fuck about conventional success. What he cared about was looking good, having fun, being everywhere, and making art. In a tribute, friend Mike Hoffman (aka Surfer Mike) said that in Sean D's world there were “no such things as rules or shame.” He did it all, with everyone, and he wore it well. A wild, original life without boundaries could sound messy, but Sean D pulled it off with an easygoing, happy-go-lucky elegance, and I always felt lucky for our friendship. Being in his presence expanded my understanding of personal freedom.
In 1979, the fourteen-year-old Sean wrote almost every day on everything: crushes, hustling, waterbeds, blackmail, the Village People, glory holes, racism, and shoplifting gay porn. His parents were one of the first Black couples to move to Simi Valley, a suburb of Los Angeles which in that period was well known for being racist. Members of Sean's immediate family were also extreme Christians. It is here that his nonconforming, sexually liberated existence developed the art of survival. Sean, who was already well versed in cruising, documented in his diary his attempts to sleep with as many dads as he could. Like a young Lolito, he dreamt about blackmailing them to pay for acting classes so he could become a Hollywood star (though he never actually went through with it). Reading this book, I realized something amazing: Sean D was not developed over time. He came into the world a fierce, fully formed faggot—or, to quote a famous song (produced by Jeppe Larsen), he was simply “born this way.” Even Sean's evangelical parents were no match for his wild, glamorous, libidinous energy and I-don't-give-a-fuck confidence.
In the fun, fabulous pages of this rare, scandalous document, we are happy to share the personality and worldview of our friend who influenced so many people to live more courageously. Please enjoy this intimate window into the life of a boy who was never ashamed of his sexual attraction to other boys. Somehow, right from the start, against great odds, Sean DeLear always saw his sexuality as a great gift to be enjoyed, in the words of the diary, “to the max.”
I Could Not Believe It:
The 1979 Teenage
Diaries of
Sean DeLear
MONDAY, 1 JANUARY 1979
Happy New Year Tony it is now midnight and one second. Well this is my first diary and I will write everything that happens to me in 1979. Will write tonight Bye… Well I am going to bed now. So today there was a bitchen earthquake that was 4.6 on the Richter scale. Me and Terry went bowling today and me and Kim got in a fight on the phone. About Ken (fag-it) Kim still likes him even though he was going to ask her to go with him but he didn't. I thought of a name for you, Ty, short for Tyler, who works at the bowling alley and who I have a crush on madly. I don't know if he is gay or not but he is so so so so cute cute. Well I am going to go to bed now, so good night.
Love,
Tony
TUESDAY, 2 JANUARY 1979
Dear Ty,
Today nothing happened. I went to school, worked in the middle of the mur at lunch, and now I want to quit but I don't want to. I have to tell you about Bert & Ernie, my two pot plants. Bert is the one Barry gave me and Ernie is my plant he is so healthy I cannot believe it. I have to tell you about all my tricks…well there is Jack who gives the best blowjob, Jim who has the second best cum in Simi Valley, and Stewart who loves to stick his big cock up my ass. So I have a wide variety of tricks. I have to tell you about Tyler (hunk). He is about five foot nine or ten inches tall and has brown feathered hair, a hairy chest, and he wears his clothes unbuttoned down to his belly button, and he is so foxy with his tight pants. I want to see his cock so bad. Well that is all for tonight. Good night Ty.
Love,
Tony
WEDNESDAY, 3 JANUARY 1979
Dear Ty,
Today I went and saw the speaker and he was an actor. He said they have an actors’ workshop and Mom said I could go, it costs $16.50 and she is going to pay for it too. Eric and Mom got in a fight today and he would not take out the Christmas stuff and now he is grounded for a month. When I watered Ernie today he almost got killed because I dumped water on him, but he is okay now. The rabbit Kim had gotten over Christmas got killed today by this dog. The dog bit Festise in the neck and broke it. Today I quit working at the mur because gail is such a bitch and I hate her guts but I am still going to get out of class early. Well that is about all for today. Good night Ty.
