I’m taking over this ride, I’m taking over you…

-Pod People.

With all the drugs in the world.
-Courtney Love.

Misery lo!
But don’t fret too much; it’s all internal and driven by the month of September.
The weather has been stunning and I have been sunning myself on the tar roof like a big fat beached something-or-rather high above the Altona market place.
Amazing having an ozone layer for a change. It’s all so genteel.
I miss the violence of the weather at home though.
Aching for it to tell you the truth.
As I write this I can see a poster of myself, which is always a disturbing way to start the day. It’s for a show that we have on the 23rd here in Hamburg. Me in full flight.
I look at it and think, “Who is that animal?”

Ever useless on the computer and I have to send off a spate of interviews that I did till 4 in the morning and I felt like I was bleeding from the ears. They keep asking the same questions so I have resorted to lying to amuse myself.

My bank will not let me access any funds after I got into a tussle on the Reeperbahn with an unhelpful atm machine. I now think that it spewed all my money out when I walked away. Not getting completely stressed out over this is taking an iron will that I thought I had misplaced many moons ago.

It is doing wonders for my diet though.

Ash is shagging his way through the boredom barrier from what I can ascertain, mike is happy, and Ross is in Spain engaging in all mannor of lewd behavior I am so sure.

Woke up at 7 this morning and here I am. Again.
I go to the kogge to check m emails and what not. I paid Pete in 5 cent coins yesterday he raised an eyebrow at me and intoned ‘You must be kidding?”

Was I smiling?
No I was not.
Then I am not kidding.

Pete is a cack. From Finland, as pale as buttermilk. I look like a Moorish witch seated next to him by comparison. He has a Scottish brogue so it’s like Sean Connery by way of a gnome incrusted depressed herring driven ice flow. So strange but endearing at the same time.

He has been promised the job of official grape peeler and fan waver.

Still cant be as social as my brothers. I am running and paying for it. Huge lumbering beast that I am. I don’t think about why I am doing it I just do it because I have to.
Dry retching by the glass candle display in the churchyard at 10 last night as a choir followed the didget driven ministrations of a thin young man standing on a pulpit behind the rectory window. I stood there painting and gaping like a sweaty pervert. I could not hear them through the double-glazing but my heart hitched none the less.

There is so much going on here and the more vital I find it, the more removed I become. Deviant? More than likely.

I was asked about White trash in an interview this week which was a shock because as I said they tend to all ask nothing but stock questions. He said it ” is honest.”
Interesting
I think its me beating myself up in public.
I don’t really know what the fuck it is.

He asked me if I am Whitetrash.First time I had smiled all day

Gotta chat to Paris this afternoon. Phone throughs. If I told you how much I hate the sound of my own voice at this point you would never believe me.

Blackie writes me from the states and is happy with the selection of vegan fair and chocolate soy ice cream that is wildly available. Playing and tweaking quad boxes. I miss him

Did a new song with ash yesterday. I have one more to do today and then I am dry again. I am not coming up with the goods right now…it’s like a blocked oil filter; it comes in fits and starts.

I am going to wait for the sum to hit our rooftop then I am going to throw myself at its mercies. I can do email shite later. Ment to be shopping for tee shirts to print on before Ross gets back. I told number one son last night that I would love it here if I were here without me.

I’d be having a fuckin ball.

I can’t seem to write fast enough and every thing I do right Ash looks at me like I am something distasteful that he just trod in. He is pissed at me for not bring my lyrics, for not having them in my computer.

You got it; I can’t get it fucking right.

Shoulda woulda coulda didn’t…my fuck up.

I didn’t think that this was going to be such a full on writing jag. I can’t believe that we get the music that we do to tell you the truth because I can’t imagine feeling much worse about myself as I do when we are recording. I fucking hate it and if it had a say I’m sure it would feel the same about me

When he corners me I tent to retard and automatically write the same track over and over.
Just so he doesn’t go through me.

I really have no idea how I am going to bridge this.

And I have another 10 weeks minium.

I really think that my life wants me dead sometimes, well, more than sometimes, I’d say a good 89-90%

The odds are not real spanky are they?

We don’t see eye to eye on anything. If I wasn’t cringing so much it would be funny he’s not talking to me now. Tell me? You want to be in a band huh?

I spent just as much time not talking to him as well.

Look, I’m sure that people have a lot better time of it than I do.(” I seen the making of the black album doco sonny”…. ok…. maybe not).

The more he stays at his girlfriends house the more time it buys me so I have my fingers crossed on that front.
I am topic free at the moment. Let me explain. When I say that, what it means is shit is not jelling in my head, its more feelings that I find hard to articulate.
Knowing me now that I have said that I will write 10 tn a row I can only hope this is the case.

If I ruled the world (working on it….) I would ban September outright. Just cancel the fuckin thing.

Ross just got home from Spain fit and well.
What am i doing?
Hmmmmmm
They were filming a movie in and around us yesterday…. so there I am, in a bikini on our roof listening to the stones quite happy on diet pills and my yammering internal life, peppermint tea and a bottle of water when all the sudden like a fuckin dinosaur, a cherry picker swims into view with 2 smiling dudes and a rack of lights in it.
I almost crapped myself.
When I had recovered a little decorum, not that I had much to begin with if the previous paragraph is anything to go by, I went and watched the scene that they had been setting up for all day much to the detriment of my hectic tanning schedule.
A dude jumped out of a six-story window.
The sound of a human hitting 10 feet of cardboard boxes is not very pleasing to the ear.

Mike just said something about tee shirt printing tonite; Sir pointy pussy whipped is at a meeting to see if he can get some work here. Good luck says moi.

Deluxe is off somewhere and my significant other is rolling drunk in Sydney town

Hateful fucking day of birth looming like some kind of unavoidable natural disaster. Significant other got a tattoo for me. Lily-white tiger is going to take a picture of it and send it to me. What a cool gift. I still have to get hooked up on the ink front here.

I don’t socialize at home and nor do I on the road. I have been told to get a network happening.Friends.Good lord!?Um…. no?
Eh…. Fuck off perhaps…

Just do my thing and train.Meh.I wont be happy till I am thin again. I will have a party when my hateful thighs no longer touch.

So all in all I guess to quote QOTSA I have to just go with the flow.

Wrote a song called “Warranty” Today. I am holding my own hand and bribing myself into this shit. I keep abandoning this one song about necrophilia but it’s coming back around.

“What a life!” As Miss Amphlett would say.

SF4L
Michele.