Heatwave.

 

As I lolled on my big brothers floor last nite, the heat spanking me into a contented cocoon of submission, I had a wave of excellent topped with fluffy whitecaps of contentment break over the tanned tattooed shore that I am while we read old copies of Mojo and watched jaw dropping Bee Gees footage from 1971 and singing along with every word, swooning over every perfect harmony. We have not hung out in months. He has been on tour  forever just like The Blue Oyster Cult and I have been doing my nervous breakdown thing, the lithium lag,the homicidal hoochie coo.

(“Cha-cha-cha!”)

I have been just itching to give him his Xmas present. The look on his face was well worth the wait. Oh-ho whatever! Like I was going to let him miss seeing The Stooges. James Williamson on guitar you fuckers! Search and Destroy lovers! Yes!!! Resplendent in my bleach speckled Charlie Manson tee shirt and ass bothering cut off shorts I sighed luxuriantly and stretched till my back cracked like a whip. Being a geek doesn’t just take the cake, it owns the bakery.

“Have you got a tail?”

I turned around to see him poking my beloved fluffy appendage with a bemused look on his face.

“Like, Duh” I replied and returned to a great article about The Kinks.

“Fair enough.” said the king of punk and we whiled away a great evening.

He gets me back in spades though.Check this fable out….

He knows that I love all the bells and whistles that come with the rock and roll circus. He is too punk rock by far but Ray told him he has to go soooo….Hell, I can even deal with the shit shoveling after the stadium empties out and the crowd have dispersed. Envelope please….. I am accompanying him to the Rolling Stone Magazine awards this Wednesday night.

Wahhhh!!!!

I have decided to channel Sir Johnny Cash (R.I.P) and wrap myself in all black with fierce boots quel naturally. Super excited! I am going to pretend that I too was nominated for best live act. My friend Ryan Sweet-sauce ( Picture Jean Paul Gaultier by way of a chocolate milkshake, an absolute gem of a fellow )  often says “God grant me the opportunity to work hard.”  Now isn’t that a richeous sentiment ? Pick and secure your target and then work your heinie off. Gimme time and my beloved band will be gracing the nominee’s list.

I am not afraid of hard work….

I have spent the day talking to myself while lying in the sun and jumping in and out of the pool. Aerosmith kept me company at an obnoxious volume as I read a fascinating book about Andy Kaufman while floating. I featured myself as rather foxy when I caught site of myself in the hall mirror on the way to the kitchen for another bottle of green juice. Why is it ,do you think, that smudged black eye make up is just so damn sexy? I have watched too much porn ,that’s why .Feel free to peruse some of Jenna Jamerson’s late 90’s work for blasted eyeliner.  As ever I digress into the dirty…The palm tree loomed above me like a silent swaying citadel as I drank from a fresh coconut and admired my Hello Kitty pink pedicure twinkling in the sun.

Ever the rider, an ego equestrian if you will ,I steeple chase the shit out of my psyche. The questions that haunt me never change. If we are all to be honest I don’t think it really shifts that much for any of us. I could be wrong though. I mean, I am suspended in eternal amoral adolescence so grown up hassles don’t make much sense to me.

For me its usually  wanting to be better ( read; thinner,smarter,cooler,colder,faster…) than I am,what I would do with a couple of million dollars, why Ted Nugent, sadly, isn’t my dad or the shifting fascinations that desire provides.

I’m a writer. I hogtie and rape my own memories ,icepick them in the neck ,bleed them out over the bathtub ,cut off their more desirable extremities ,stick them in a jar of verbal formaldehyde , set up on the midway at sunset and sell tickets to the bored and gullible and as we all know,there is one born every minute. Don’t look at me like that you hypocritical fuck-stains! A girl has got to make a living…. (“Come one! Come all!!”)

I write so I don’t have to walk people through it,so I don’t have to talk, defend or explain myself. Not that I would but just in case anyone gets the bright idea that I may be tamed or tempered at any given point? Well, its nice to have all of ones cards on the table. Not having to go to war daily just for the skin I am in?…..In a perfect world maybe but believe me when I say,with my cloth cap twisted between nervous the hands that have given me away since the sordid start,that it never pans out like that.

I am to my own detriment most of the time.

They say that it is going to hit 43 degrees out here in the boondocks  tomorrow. Me? I am locked and motherfucking loaded. Slathered with invisible zinc and livin’ the dream hombres.  After what felt like an eleven month winter I am muy down with the weather.You are talking to a woman with over 60 bikinis here, I do great things for a cowboy hat, I am well armed and versed in the art of pleasure . Trust me bitches , I got this summer action covered. I guess that Daterape ( my despised roommate for those new to my ramblings ) won’t be going to work so here’s hoping that he confines his usually drunk and thankfully silent ass to the sofa and has a day long rendezvous with his big screen TV ,impending liver disease and the overworked air conditioner because the backyard belongs to me.

It’s one of the only benefit’s of being a vampire and living with civilians. During the day the castle is yours. It was bad enough that he didn’t go away for the festive (snort!) season this year.

I came home after the best jam with my super amazing band on Friday night only to have to listen to him making the beast with two backs with some hapless retard that he wrangled out of the petri dish of stupid that is the local pub round these here parts. It has been many moons since I have fallen asleep with my I-pod blaring “South of Heaven” on repeat at a volume that could strip paint and cause pregnant women to spontaneously abort. Stupid ugly people fucking is up there on my pet hate list.  Not as high as birds that walk mind you (“You have wings you smug cunt!!! Fly!!!”) but it’s in the top 10 for sure.

I am going to sweat and dream. Find you in my bones and grind. You don’t even know that I am alive. How is it that the retard I live next door to gets laid and I am a nun? A Raymond Pettibon nun but never the less a fucking nun?

(Answers 25 words or less on the back of a postcard to….)

Today the cure for everything is Black Flag. Take two deafening plays  of “Damaged ” back to back and see the business end of a shotgun if pain persists.

The red carpet is calling my name.

My tan line glows in the dark,as does my lime green neon heart…..