Beauty.

Sundays are determined not to exist for me no matter how noble my intentions may be.

I sleep around the clock ,wake up ,drink  warm Dr Peppers brought at the convenience store the night before when I knocked off work,sore of foot and weary of soul and end up here with my Hello Kitty snug in my lap and my earplugs still screwed deep into my skull for that hollow sensory deprivation that I feel has saved me from many a blood soaked domestic incident over the years.Sometimes the sound of people breathing is all one needs to topple one from the precarious summit of sanity which is tenacious at the best of times.

Lilli sent me a nice review that some kind soul had penned regarding my Wednesday night follies.I am not used to placing the words “Nice” and “Review” in the same sentence so pardon my dizzy school girl demeanor. The writer said that I made it look easy and with that the audience fell for me a little more. Swoon much Madden? You are such a cheap date! Fetch the smelling salts and loosen my stays! (” I don’t know nothin about birthin’ no chillen’s Miss Scarlett!”) I am naturally suspicious of kindness and it perplexes me but I am attempting to be cool with it.

I am a little charmed to tell the truth.

Work was a full moon sponsored cluster-fuck last night. People having fake tan streaking sex in the ally, fights over nothing ,me being revolting.The usual. Surprisingly though I did not hit anyone. A charming friend of mine came to see me after he had finished work across town and told me of the internal disarray that my Johnny Cash covers have be setting loose in him at my residency (“You and your big eyes…”) I was dumbstruck as he is not usually so forthcoming. It meant even more for that very same reason.We slung weary compatible arms over each other’s shoulders by the bar and ate sushi at 4am.

I have so few but the few that I have……

It was once said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.This would explain the packs of seeing eye dogs that abandon their charges on park benches and follow me slavishly down the street. I think about beauty all the time. What time adds and takes from it. I got carded at Redd Kross the other week. The security guard looked at my passport,at me and at my passport again “No way-o !” he exclaimed as I snatched it from his meaty paw,winked,raised my self up on my tip toes and planted a kiss on his stubble marred cheek and skipped off down the stairs “You look great!” he yelled in my wake.

Don’t I just?

Clean living and suspended teen dreams people.What can I tell ya?

I was at the horrible Town Hall hotel in Poo-town recently with Miss Jen and Miss Belle when a regrettable head popped up out of my past.He looked haggard. Utterly spent.He was not such an un-hot option back in the day which was only a scant decade ago.He looked at least twenty years my senior.I shuddered in my boots.

Flattery is sweet and looking good is a great form of revenge all round.My flying monkeys keep me well informed on points of interest.They take screen shots,they stalk my prey in places I will not go.They keep me informed and with said information I am fully armed at all time.Photos are copied.Conversations relayed.

After the last picture I received let it be said that there is no accounting for taste. Let us  go back to beauty Being in the eye of the beholder.In this sad and sordid case the beholder is definitely now blind. My amazonian heavily inked ass is an acquired taste ,this I have been aware of since birth but to lower ones self to an absolute paint-by-numbers stereotype of drug addicted physicality wrapped in yesterdays clothes and aspirations still befuddles me greatly.

A platinum plumed regret stuck in the late 90’s. I guess that I expected more but when you cant be bothered with true love I guess that any ass in a powder storm will do.

The longer I am away from it,you know, relationships,idiots,social interaction etc,the better and more resilient and correct in my own person I feel yet again. Admittedly the turn around time has been slow and ugly but the results are wonderful. I am a fine whine. I get better with age.

I was once told surlily by someone that once meant something to me that  “No one even reads your stuff!” Funny that. Looks like he does. This from someone who once read my journals as well. (“It was on your desk and um,the wind blew it open…”) Should I be flattered that said person still shows an interest in me and my adventures on the screen ? Nah. I don’t write to be read.I write because I am and have always been driven to do so.Because I love it. Because I can.

I feel like I have not been inked in a thousand years.I got my AC/DC tattoos last month but I am hankering for some really big work which means that I have to hassle up some funds which means leaving my bunker,an action that I am none to fond of at the moment but to get what one wants one must haul her lazy ass back to the world.

June will be dedicated in part to road-tripping between here and Canberra equipped with my Bass,thermal underwear and my will to power….and about thirty two Hello Kitty sticker plastered notebooks filled with lyrics. Time to scratch out an album! Booco excited and mucho nervous. I would like to be show ready by my birthday and then I can hound my evergreen supporters. Ken West told me that he will always put me on the BDO so to go to him with a new project that I believe in so much will be an absolute joy. And I am in a band with some of the greatest men I know.

Its the shit.

As was Fu Manchu the other night. I never realize just how unusual I look until I have to leave the house.Other people throw me into bold relief. I always wonder what the hell they are staring at and that is when I look at how short and non vibrant they are. Heh. No one sports an Russian army issue fur hat with quite as much aplomb.I had no idea where the venue was so I told the cab driver to head towards the mushroom cloud of dope-smoke that I had spotted on the horizon and lo and behold,there it was.

Black Cobra were cool.They supported my ex’s band on occasion so it was good to see then do their thing.Nathan,my blond hurricane of a drummer,was working merch and he introduced me to Richard,Fu Manchu’s tour manager.I lent across the table and shook his had vigorously ” Hey I’m Michele,good to meecha!” I yelled “St Cecilia right?” he yelled back .I grinned “Yeah!” I replied “Your new favorite band to book on for all your international supports!” Nathan cracked up and richard looked bemused .

What?

If you don’t believe in yourself ,your product so to speak,no one else is gonna give a shit about you so whats the point?

“That’s gonna be us up there this time next year” I yelled into Marcus’s ear over the din as the headliners tore the room a new asshole. He understands me and my zealot like drive.That’s why we are in a band together.

The songs are flowing out of me.The titles and subject matter killer. Miss Belle has been asked to do the design side of it.She is one of the best graphic designers in the field so I know that she will sweep me off my well shod feet with whatever she comes up with. The backdrop has been planned.Now its tee-shirts and album ideas.

I was built for this.

This is what I see as beautiful.This is what matters.

The beholder is me.