Cordite.

Maybe all it is is a question of diligence and ignorance. Selective thinking if you will.

Naive and safe in equal measure and I need a break from the hurt.Its grinding my dreams to dust.

To be diligent in the pursuit of the you in you and ignorant when it comes to taking anyone else on board.That sounds about right at this point.

We compartmentalize do we not? Edit and feign certain ignorance.I know that I am hidden in a dirty mind or two like buried treasure.I get high on my own perfume and kid myself that it is so,my tattered ego needs the salve that it provides you dig? I imagine that I creep around said selected frontal lobes dressed in wispy scraps of next to nothing with a flawless tan and a crooked smile.As far as I can ascertain from what the scant objects of my desire have told me with massive boners and much regret is that apparently its all I am good for really.

I get told that I am the “Dream girl”….ha.

In reality no one seems to be able to deal with me so there you have it.It cracks me up.Every time my press or public presence has swelled I get adored albeit from a distance but adored none the less.A select few can tell you that my tongue tastes of Cherry Dr Pepper,larceny,cordite and carnage.Once sampled? Never forgotten or bettered.

Ner.

Sink your manhood into mediocrity if you absolutely must but see my face when you cum.

You know what? I am starting to think that it is better this way.To be suspended outside of any mundane reality.To be the the ideal,the wank fantasy,the dream woman…..Hmmmmm?…..this is defiantly food for thought.

I miss kissing more than I miss fucking and I am good and god-damned if I can explain why.

Enough of my teenage smut and horny navel gazing.Lets get back to the music….

Nathan,Saint Cecilia’s most excellent drummer told me that he sent the new mixes to me today,on cd because I like to flood the house with sound when I am here alone,living the terry toweling hot-pants clad dream and my computer does not have the oomph that I need to move me baby. “I am doing the happy dance!” I replied upon receiving the news “Dance on! Strut!” he answered “Mick Jagger circa 1978 bitch!” I shot back and he laughed.Its been so long since I have tangled my sonic dreams with another’s but I know that time and temperance has led me by my bitten fingertips to this place.I have to give each track the words they deserve and its a heavy load to lug but this is what I do.

I want to be on the left hand side of the stage when this beast comes to life.Ross was always to my left in Tourettes and that is what anchored me live and gave me the ability to soar.It will be my bass bedecked tribute to him complete with a Hello Kitty strap.In a perfect world I would be wailing on a white ’68 Fender P-bass but I will settle for the crappy Japanese Rickenbacker copy that I have my eye on.Meh.What can you do? As my much missed and beloved Dimebag would say “Its hard to be first class when your white-trash” Amen to that.

Throwing myself under Luke “Bones” Downey’s super talented tattoo gun tomorrow night.I am stoked to say that I am almost out of room on my arms.I cant wait,its such a sweet release and high.About the only kicks that I can get my grubby mitts on at this point and I gotta pay for them,quel sigh…. The weather is shit,I am fat,depression is knocking and there is not much else to float my boat so let’s do it.

(“When the little blue bird who has never said a word starts to sing…..”)

That kid that asked for my number a few weeks back? Let me begin by saying that the youth of today are fucking pathetic.A wet noodle where their spine should reside.He didn’t show to the gig much like I predicted and so I sent him a short but succinct message…

“Knew you wouldn’t show.Lose my number”

“Oh wow,harsh ok.” was the pathetic reply.

I am not going to chase sub-par post adolescent ass around and be nice.I’m not chasing any one full fucking stop! What part of me looks like its going to be nice for Christ’s sake? Fucking inner city trustafarian hipsters who think that Bondi is Australia’s answer to Williamsburg.Pft! Fuck off and die.I look at it as a mere experiment that proved me right as always just as I knew that  it would.I am too old to baby sit without getting paid for it anyway.

And if I ever chose to break the seal on my reinstated virginity? Its going to be for someone amazing in Technicolor and with a full orchestra playing a selection of songs from The Butthole Surfers and Fleetwood Mac.End-of-story.

I have more pressing things on my mind anyway,like how I am going to score a ticket to see The Sonics again.And what leather boots I want to have custom made for me care of my amazing friend Blythe.And how one acquires a tapeworm without going to India.See! Important shit right there.

I also have to work on the set that I am going to be playing at my dear friend Laz Gein’s serial killer exhibition.I was so honored that he said yes to me preforming and I am going to deliver the goods.Six flawless songs. He is paying me in canvas’s too so I am beside myself with happiness on that front.I have been lusting over his massive portrait of my beloved Ramones for a few years now and have just the place picked out for it.I am also going to raffle one of his pieces at my residency.I am such a kind soul…heh.

So,in conclusion….

More ink,more fantasy.Less fuck-wits and infants.

Yup,sounds about right.