Known.

( its about me.you have all meshed into one big lump of hurt now.all of my sins.its all in the telling.its all in the tale.its all you and none of you at all.i stand by everything.i deny nothing.why would i? its all mine, all live and up all fucking night…..)

So,

You want to tell me how I feel again?

I’m sorry,can you speak up? I didn’t quite catch that…..

So, all I can do is ask myself , why did I bother to tell you how I felt about anything at all ? You were not listening baby,you were just waiting to speak. Pointless. You couldn’t even see me right there,right there in technicolor, in front of you. So back to what I told you about what I felt? I told you why? I am some kind of unholy stupid that is why. I should put myself down. Take myself out.

Lobotomy.

(Yey Ramones!)

I know what you are doing.

And it’s ok. I’m not being sarcastic. It’s the human condition.I can’t point a finger at you. I will have three pointing back at myself. I am a born sinner,unwanted and unworthy. Dirt ground into the soles of my million mile feet. So you are doing just find, just breathe easy…it will all be over before you know it.

I get it. Consider yourself got. I watch. I am a collector. I understand.

You need to believe that it was something else all along so that you can continue to hurt yourself. That there was someone else that I was heading back to or away from you. Not true. You think that they all haven’t done to me exactly what you are doing right now ? Dream on. Well, go on then, if you must. It’s not as if we haven’t all done it before.Guilty.  Cherry picked around the truth of the matter. That it was not working out. That it couldn’t be saved. That one was in love and the other was relenting or bending to a fleeting desire. It’s life.

But look me in the eye and tell me this. If I really wanted to be with someone else wouldn’t I be there ? I do what I want and I answer to myself. I would be exactly where I wanted to be,with whom I wanted to be with. I can hardly be with myself at the best of times…..

In fact ….you know what? I quit. Done. The desires of my desires can just fuck right off. I am going into hibernation because nothing is worth this. I ruin all that I touch. It’s time to retreat. If I want to be found I will write. Talk myself in around and through just like I always do. Because this is true. This it it. My brother tells me how many days he thinks that he has left in his Noble life. I get to thinking about how many of mine I have wasted on those that were unworthy of my hunger. Of a passion that scared.

That endless fucking hunger.Perfect kisses. Oh fuck you for calling me beautiful,fuck you for wanting me…

So under. I hold my breath and think of the true men in my life,the ones that I can count on who love me for all my fallible follies. Who respect me on an even playing field of sound and protect me fiercely. My band mates. The ones that I have been waiting for.

What is true? This I ask of myself.

Sound.

My desire for desire is hindering me. So let’s murder it.Blunt force drama. I hate it about myself above all the other of million things that I despise about myself.  That my relentless addiction is to attention. I want to snare the king of the hill. I want to be wanted by beauty. This is my Achilles heel. This is my undoing. I don’t know what I am trying to prove. I wonder why it’s so important?

Is my life destined to be a fucking John Hughes movie? Revenge of the fat ugly smart mouthed girl for-fucking-ever?

I burn it all out. I burn it to ashes. I have the mark on my forehead. I can feel it burn.

Tell me again after I have told you the truth that I am a liar. Tell me baby. Tell me over and over again and then wonder why I keep myself away from you. Why even if you cross my mind I don’t seek you out to see how you are. We used to fuck. You pumped your anatomy into mine,we did it over and over and your need for bullshit drives me from you.You make me a stranger. I told you not to do this and you do so this is what happens. Now tell me again, did I lie?

You lost me when you decided that you didn’t believe in me and I am too hung out and strung out just trying to survive my life to step into the dock in your invalid courthouse of emotional bullshit to defend myself against your bogus paranoid charges.

There is no case.

This is why I don’t reply. I can’t win. You made your mind up at the start about who I am and who am I to try and change it? I respected you too much. Unlike what you have shown me.

I told you what I am. I told you it was black or white. And this is what you get. You corner a dog it will rip your arm off. You knew this and you pushed it .You pushed it so you could prove to yourself that you were right. That I was not the one.

So what did you win? How is that working for you?

I’m gone . I would have come around but it was never fast enough for you. Patience is a virtue. You were and shall remain a prince. I never lied.

Don’t fish with me. Don’t dip your amateur hook into my sucking deep blue sea my boy. You are gonna need a bigger boat….

I am finding bones and silence. My corpse responds to the slightest of movements. I fall back into tighter flesh. I starve for greater vision. I am repetitive and loyal to my causes.

What is real?

What I will hunt within me. I am the enemy. I am going to trip my wires and blow it all  away. Wild beasts will devour the remains.Even the score within. Oh you mean boys who try and touch my tin heart. I felt your hand on my hip in front of our peers,I ran to you from the stage and I thought that it meant something ? Why did you even bother ?  I can’t even touch myself now, I still want you to want me. Hope kills me. I feel so fucking stupid right now and I don’t know what to do.

So you can go. I will stay. I am the rotting remains but at least blighted and shattered I belong to myself and no other. Worth nothing, I own the ruins and I scan the perimeter again,eyes like a hawk.

Don’t make me come and get you. Don’t think that I wont fuck you up. I have nothing to lose. I can see for a thousand miles ,there is sand and gasoline running through my veins.

And you are ?

I’m sorry I didn’t catch that ?

And you are?

Blackmailed and forfeited? Addicted and self pitying? A parody? A king of nothing? A blind vampiric fool?

And you are?

Gone.

I will sip your acid baby,hand me the glass,wet my pout. I will fuck your lean shadow and cum unholy and streaked with your blood. Stain the sheets and bend like wire around the nothings that you taunted me with. Go give your scant everything’s to the girls that beg and primp. I am on the edge. I will dance on your graves.

I am forever when all you could handle was a moment and I hate myself so much that I always think that it is my fault. I woke up with you and all I could think was that you would never want me again because I am not perfect enough. I’m for flawless and I fail. With  distinction. I didn’t want anything but what you were willing to give ,I like the space that you took up in my mind. I thought of you and wondered if it was still me that you were fucking when your eyes were closed.

I wanted to make you lose control so then you would never forget me. That I would mean more to you. I don’t see it like you do which is why I don’t live among your kind. I was weak, I wanted you so badly that I would get wet when I saw you, when I saw you before you saw me and wondered if you would take me.

If I could be her for one night.

Do you still think of me?

I scare myself at these moments. Did you see something raw and unguarded in my starved blue eyes that scared you too ? Is that it? Did you recognize it as your own? Will you run when you see me out there in the world and pretend that we never ? You believe in endings as well don’t you ? You employed the word “Inevitable” when asked about your last emotional evacuation. We all go. Just take me with you….

( in the softest of voices as i rode your sweating length in my mexican crypt of a room airless ,our breath keeping toxic time together you sighed into the shell of my ear ‘choke me again…’and i did.and i will.and now it is nothing but a loop jammed on my internal projector that i make myself cum to with a speed and dirty ease that is almost …. )

Greed is  great undo-er and bringer of harm. I have an addicts mentality when it comes to everything. I can’t stop. I can’t stop eating, starving, running. I can’t stop. And I wanted you. And if I don’t erase you I will want you still. I want you still.

You don’t want me.

No sane man could. I am just a challenge. A diversion.

Fact– I know what I am.

Fact– You lied. You said you could handle it, me. You gave me that impression.

Fact– I am and shall remain a fool for believing so I now stop.

This is not about the mythical “You” or “Him”. Past or present.There is no you or him. There is nothing.

(“I bet you think this song is about you,don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you?”)

Don’t try and find me. Any of you. Past, present or future. Stick to your flimsy word.

If I want you? I will find you. Bet on it.

I go under.

 

 

 

Evolution.

The world better brace itself that’s all I’m sayin’…. I hope your sitting down…deep breath…I am finally learning how to wrangle my Face-book page.

Evolution!

There ! Said it !

Get your hand off it, it’s not like I am going to hook up a personal profile and start updating the planet every time I do a dump, have a thought or eat out….well maybe the dump thing….where was I ?…. It’s for the love of the music as everything seems to be in my psychiatric assisted existence. Speaking of which apparently I have to stop hitting people as well. This is by order of one of my kind psychiatrists who is trying to unravel the cluster-fuck that is my mind.

And keep me out of  jail and so on and so forth.

“But it feels so good….” I sigh.

You should see the 5150 worthy look that little comment gets me on  weekly basis.

So Facebook. I never really got on there to tell the truth. Lilli would tell me if I  needed to answer mail and so on ,so I was stoked to see that two ugly old farts commented on one of my pictures saying that my boobs are fake. Ohhhh!  That stung.  Not.  basically, and feel free to correct me if I am wrong, not that I give a shit what you think mind, but you are basically telling me that I have porno tits. Right? Right?  Sexy bodacious wank worthy fun-bags I think I’m correct in assuming am I not ? And who in the name of all that is holy under the bloodshot eyes of our lord,Elvis Presley, would not want porno tits.?

Exactly. I rest my erect nippled case.

I love dudes like this. Lurkers dig? Twenty years ago they would have been skulking in the bushes wearing a cum drizzled London Fog trench-coat ,candy in one hand cock in the other. From the look of the profile pictures I think it is safe to assume that they have not had pussy since it had them or they paid for it in Thailand. God love ’em, the dirty great fuck wits that they are! Perverts! Let’s here it for ’em! Now they are just bitter and have an Internet connection. Weeee! You know the type, so fat he couldn’t find his cock without the use of one of those angled mirrors  that the cops use in Northern Ireland to check for bombs under government cars, face like a fork fucked potato and a wife defined by her sofa sized ass and the mustard stains on her 3xxxl smock tops.

I will take the compliment! Fuck it, I will usually take anything that is not tied down. I wish that I could afford fake boobs! And fake everything-fucking-else. I was lamenting this very fact to Lady Thraxx in the living room as we practiced out set for our band The Heshers to be debuted at The Mars Hill cafe this Sunday and I admired the pastel Persian rug beneath my freshly pedicured feet ( Glitter virgin blood  red this week fact fans and my ever loyal foot fetishists ) that I nabbed for ten lowly dollars at a yard sale down the road that we transported back to Chez Fuck-up in a hijacked Woolworth’s trolley.

Lord! What I wouldn’t do to my corpse with an open checkbook. Lap band surgery, liposuction,a new rack, lips, nose, get all my skin sandblasted,new teeth..hold on ,I have to hit play on the CD again…listening to the jam that I am writing  lyrics over…new band and all that plays live in two weeks,got a cool support show that I will fill y’all in on when I get the details …hold on,look,lemme go take a slash,grab a tea and I will fill y’all in….

Ok,back!

Sir’s Mal of bass and Nate of drums have got me to sing for their rather dashing stoner rock band. Good solid stuff it is too. I like to refer to it as a “Speeding ticket soundtrack ” .You know when you are cruising, blasting top tunes at full volume and  *Booooooop* and flashing lights in the rear view. Mr Pig taps on your window and asks for license and registration while informing you that you were doing 120mph in a 60 zone. Blame the music baby! In your head your were heading for the border with an open can of suds resting twixt  your tanned thighs and a joint stuck to your lower lip. Your Datsun 180B was a mustang. I believe in the trans-formative powers of the right sound track, it shall never fail to make my garnet heart fart…..

We are called Los hombres del Diablo. I guess that I am the devil the as Ben the bass player informed me. I was dressed for the part when we jammed on Friday night that’s for sure. Puerto Rican hooker heals with Louis Vuitton ankle sox,my omnipresent ass choking denim cut offs with a fox tail hanging from the side belt loop, my trashed and beloved Iggy Pop tee-shirt and a Black sequined evening jacket. Classy eh? Clusters of zit strewn metal heads parted like the red sea before me….The deal is that we play our 1st show together next Friday so I sat in a tangle of louche limbs and notebooks bathed in blue light and happily wrote all the songs ans the boys made their magic.. Bottles of fast warming Corona littered amp tops and I grinned like a wolf so happy to be in another band with two of my greatest allies and brothers.

I think that I am filming cut always and tomfoolery for the show tomorrow. This week is really doing a number on me. Didn’t stop me from going out to dinner with a rather dashing friend last night though. He is almost painfully shy and model handsome which lead to me chattering like a rock trivia magpie and sneaking looks at his breathtaking profile as he watched the band. I am so ill equipped for this kind of thing. And I was having a fat day which didn’t help. Going on a date feeling like ten pounds of shit wedged into a five pound bag does not do a real lot for a girls self esteem.

The first time we met about a million years ago I complimented him on his tee-shirt and he looked at me like I smelt bad and walked way. Years later I blasted him about it when he tried to introduce himself to me and say hello. I have since apologized. Not only do I have the ass of an elephant but also the memory of one. Oh bugger it. He is lovely,well read and seemingly indifferent to my scant charms. Well, he makes it look that way which naturally makes me wild.

I wish that I could play it cool. Told Miss Thraxx-a-lot that my next magnum opus shall be titled ” I’m a dipshit for deadshits.”  It’s my inner Gram Parsons I think. Mandolin maybe ?

That’s me,putting the “Cunt” back into “Country and Western.”

The last one we wrote was called “Shut up and make me cum.”

A-hem.

Record Store day will find myself Lady Thraxx and King Blackie doing our acoustic thing in Wollongong at Music Farmers. It’s the only Saturday of the year that I will get my assorted holes on train to go so far. Its important that you show up. I utterly , actively and yes at times violently despite whinging gob-shites that piss and moan about “Back in the day…” Today is the day you latte sipping fucktards so show up and support the noble love run beast that is your rare record store.

It’s the only show that I lose money on and happily so due to the fact that they always have a grip of shit that I covert.

Be there. I will sing then you can watch me shop. Both noble pursuits.

So…..Love songs and Knives. You wanna go on a second date?

 

 

 

Reason.

I don’t think that I have ever needed one and I am sure as hell not in the market for one as I sit here tonight,rain tumbling ass over tit from the sorrowful sky..

I think that I may be,at times, hard to reason with. Not the most reasonable woman..

Lugged my fat ass into the studio on Sunday to record my second duet with my brother. We are the Captain and Tennille of punk. He stood by me as I emoted all breathy and dishy in front of the microphone and lovingly poked me in the ribs when I got it right. I was so tired but it was and shall always be worth it.

Found myself in the midst of the teeming  testosterone throng at Madball on Tuesday night at The Factory theatre. Old friend Jay Blurter back in my life. Me and him share the same unholy birthday and disgusting sense of humor. I have not seen him in years and its good to have him back.  I like driven people who live and die by the sword,they inspire me and keep me on the true path.  Scotty from Toe to Toe grinning from ear to ear. Me looking like a miracle mile of shell shocked green eyed wet dream in a torn up OFF!  tee-shirt,skintight black jeans and braces. A dude named Lucky flirted with me by the bar. I felt rusty and obvious so I ran away.

My mind like a minnow, darting all over the place, thinking about how my sweet dopey fucked up ex couldn’t get a visa to come back here again,to the country that he should have been calling his own by now. How he trucks with torn up trash in our once duly beloved Los Angeles. All the angels are lost on the fucked faultline doncha know sugar? ( Too bad,how sad). and that the last time I saw Mike Dean who is replacing him, we were in South Carolina on tour and how small,small,small planet rock and roll really is. Thinking about how someone I hurt just by being me snidely said that I was writing about said ex-amour over and over again ( Untrue in parts.Which parts? None of your fucking business baby. ) and that I had fallen from the top of Google as ,he snottily implied, no one must be reading my page.

Stop me if I have heard this one before because I am shimmying to beat the fucking band here. I forgive him. Hurt people hurt. Horse bolted. Barn door shut.

You don’t wanna date a writer. Trust me,you just don’t. Well then,off you toddle, go and mate with some flinty eyed  thunder thigh-ed technical collage dropout that man’s the blender at Boost juice. I don’t give a fuck. People force me into not giving a fuck and hell, if the shoe fits (…mmmmm….shoes….) I will wear the motherfuckers and then go out dancing all night long.

Had a good night though. Thraxxy introduced me to some fans of my old band and that really made my night, they were a charming combination of sweet,awestruck and respectful. Three things that will always be welcome in my fucked up life of dirty distinction and manic bursts of blood stained possibility. Also got sent an article from Revolver where my darling Gene spoke of my work in glowing terms. I was also informed that Metal Hammer gave “Lifer”  a 6/10. Not bad,not bad at all. Now back to the Factory Theatre…Unfortunately the one person that I wanted to be there more than anything had to work so I felt like a bit of a busted Cinderella.

Jay set me straight. Obi wan you are my only hope…..

As ever I cannot sleep and Saint Tina will be here in a few hours….

Looking Glass are playing tomorrow night. I will brave the elements and the assorted idiots to get my head blown off. Its cool when you can see the beloved members of your own amazing band in their amazing bands. My few friends are absolutely spectacular. Thraxxy is doing a guest spot with a line up of hardcore rap artists that she rolls with. Its like hanging out with Little Kim! She is amazing. My compadres are the cream. Its mardi gras weekend. I think that the government seed the clouds to literally rain on the parade.

I also think that Jimmy Hoffa’s body is in a cornfield in Iowa.

Goodnight.

 

Iggy.

You don’t recover from the Stooges.

Fact.

You can’t, its just not possible. This has been medically proven.

Fact.

( I may have made this up but as a Doctor of Rockology ,I am not to be trifled with you fucks….)

Not ever. Not from the 1st time you hear them to the last time you were blessed enough to see them. You just patch your existence together in the meanwhile.

Lord James Newell Osterberg? I am your dog for life sir.

You are talking to a woman who has “Search and Destroy” tattooed across her ribs for gods sake….

You just impatiently wait and pray for the next time. If I had of started writing this last night I would have still been awake from the gig. Oh The Horden pavilion! How many  nasty nights I have spent with a million volts coursing though my vicious veins with my sexy boot clad feet stuck to your floor. If your hallowed walls could talk I would curl at their skirting boards and listen to their hero filled fables till the day I died. Rock and roll, I am naught but your slave and conduit. Forever I shall serve your decibel drenched desires. Bow before your amps, my  spine bent with sonic supplication  and a cranium crammed with a swarm of  Gibson toting bees.

I am yours.

Seeing my big brother rocking out with a big smile on his face was worth everything to me. He kept pulling my tail and cackling whenever James Williamson ripped it up or Iggy pulled a perfect shape. I was half way between a heart attack and an orgasm the whole time. Lilli staggered out of the pit post show with yet another foot print on her forehead and a huge smile on her face. I told her that she should start wearing a hat to shows. “Why?” she yelled with post show deafness and the fact that we had both forgotten to take our ear plugs out ” Because ‘  I bellowed pulling the offending rubber from my ear canals “If I was stage-diving I would aim for the red dot in the crowd”

I think I have a point. I know I have a point.

Fuck me. After playing an acoustic show on Sunday then jamming with The Squirters and Los Hombres on Monday night then yelling my fool head off at the Stooges all night I now sound like Peter Brady in that episode of the Brady bunch when his voice breaks. This means I should shut the fuck up in preparation for Fridays show. Ohhhhh! So excited. May make a puddle. May write a message to Nate on my bum cheek just to see if he can hold it together when I flash him round about half way through the set….. Its going to be wild. I get to play with my Wollongong angels Bruce! and my bro and my amazing band. Thraxx will be selling you tee-shirts on the night and belting you if you don’t buy,Lilli will be photographing the events and I will be in hot pants.

So all is well with the world.

What the fuck else do you want on a Friday night?

I’m going to go and interfere with myself to “Dirt” and try and sleep.Seven minutes of perfect bass line and Iggy should be long enough to knock the top off it methinks.

*ahem*

‘nite.

Stability.

Stability? You have got to be shitting me right?

Oh brother! Are you ever in the wrong place.

I’m saran wrap thin and tapping this shit out on the tail end of a manic that would leave the Roadrunner choking on my dust. And that’s ok. My knife is winking at me, Edith Piaf is singing to me and and my domicile is blessedly empty. I am going to stick to shadows till I can pull my molecular structure back in line again. As long as that line continues to be on the left hand side I shall out live all my enemies and all will be well.

What is that fantastic line from Tolstoy?

Ahhhh yes….

“Vengeance is mine and I will repay.”

Reads like one of my tattoos does it not? It is on the wish list no doubt about it. My hands are healing up well. I got the cutest little ace of spades on the little finger of my picking hand to honor Lemmy,without whom, none of us should ever call ourselves bass players. I have a feeling that I will have to get the ones running up the sides of my hands re-done but what the hey? All we are doing on the planet is dicking around while we are dying.

It’s so hard to keep people away from ones self these days don’t you find?. I will have to work extra hard on being more repellent. Guess that I have blown my load a touch early this year when it comes to sociability. Who can say how it will  pan out if I ever manage to get some sleep? It may be a whole new ball game but now, as ever , I have my doubts. Never being able to do anything by halves,when I extend I over extend to the point of stupidity and meltdown. ( Cue slow clapping from the cheap seats…) 

I feel like what is left of my diseased brain is a typewriter dipped in napalm. Me and food? Not so good right now.Running on Iggy’s Raw Power and it suits me just fine.  I am finding bones under my flesh that I have not seen in a long time. Bonjour ribcacge! Do come in! Shoulder blades like stunted wings dance beneath my damaged dermis cause lord only knows I just can’t keep still.

My rather flimsy open ended theory today is that we will do nothing but disappoint one another. Expectations shall never be met. I have none. It’s safer that way…… I don’t know what hidden treasure people seem to think that will find  buried in me. It’s not there. This is it and when you inform people of that fact that act all butthurt and offended. Strangely ripped off. This is it honey. But no one wants that. We are the more,more,MORE crew are we not?  I have found myself doing it too.I then proceed to beat it to death with a blunt object. I think with the lack of mystery in the our sad arsed lives now that it is nice to let people present themselves to you in their own sweet time.

I don’t want to be be cracked like a safe.I want to be unwrapped like a precious gift. I want intrigue over distance and good manners. Is it so wrong to wish for space and longing.? I think not.

Happier in my head but if you would care to join me I will put the kettle on.

Listening to “Live and Dangerous” by Thin Lizzy now. Talk bout perfect…sigh…. Don’t want to talk anymore. Want to jump on my bed. wasn’t really going anywhere fast with this anyway….or was I ?…meh….

Wish yourself well. Not many other people will do it with much, if any sincerity at all ,so why the hell not?

And buy this album or don’t talk to me.

 

 

Wreck.

We all mess it up.

You wanna mess it up with me?….

It’s what we are built to do. If we didn’t everyone would be a motherfucking super hero and there would be no one to aspire to or any reason to go to the gym for that matter. Not that I have been going to the gym. I am broke. I tie weights around my extremities and do the house work to early Metallica. Don’t scoff you fat heathens, it works.

Lilli’s retarded mother is gracing us with her jowl soaked moronic presence today.It never ceases to amaze me how some people can be so obtuse and stupid and still remember to draw breath. It’s a crying shame as some of my favorite soul singers of the 70’s would croon sweet enough to make me believe it. Her son is taking here to the Easter show. I shall be watching the news at six with baited breath to see if she fell into the pig enclosure and was promptly devoured.

My fellow Italians,the Sardinians are big fans of this method of body disposal. I myself am bored with torture at this point and am favoring two taps to the back of the head with a silencer of course, no point in alarming the neighbors and as we all know a roll of carpet and a hole in the desert solve a myriad of problems.

Poverty pulverized and living on tea and icy poles does wonders for my weight and very little to temper my omnipresent bad mood but I will take the abdominal definition over Prozac cheeriness towards people who’s faces I want to tear off with my bare hands any given day of the week. Alas I am out of phone credit so the world must bare the burden of my lack. Bugger. Dear Tim Sult turns 43 today. I Told him that I would get around to jumping out of a cake for him one of these days. What is it with me and jumping out of cakes? I adore that man.My few friends rule….

The Stooges are here this week.

In fact my week is packed with nothing but rock. I have also been asked to sing on the Desert Sessions this year. The lovely dude organizing it who’s name as slipped my mind at this point due to the fact that I have just woken up to no tea and a stupid fat woman lose in my house,wants me to do a song by the Hanging tree. Ass fuck that for a game of soldiers very bloody much! I still remember when Lucius  didn’t want me to audition for Cog because I’m a girl. What a thoughtless individual. His fathers back must be mighty sore being that his ego soaked son has been riding on his coat tails since birth. I have asked to do “Green machine” Loved that my ex did that when we toured for all those endless months. Many good memories attached to that little ditty. The Palm Springs crew and their own  always treated me with more kindness and respect than anyone in this godforsaken cultural ghettos so I think that I will follow my heart on this one thanks very much.

Matt came and grabbed me in the early afternoon yesterday for a jam at Mal’s place. The show is next Friday and I still haven’t got around to telling my brother that I am sharing a bill with him again because,let’s face it, I am hopeless. We have that acoustic show tomorrow night in Parramatta. Zen rehearsal space on Monday with Los diablos, Stooges on Tuesday, removing my head from my ass Wednesday, jamming Thursdays again with the devils men and stressing over what to clothe my fat bulk in for the show on Friday. I was meant to be going and watching Stave Hughes on Thursday but as the last time I really fronted anything in this country was with my long gone ex I want to make sure I am ready to rumble. Too many middle aged fat retards in Poison idea tee-shirts two sizes too small wringing their sweating little mitts together at their spots on the side line just waiting for me to fuck up.

Eat shit porky,it ain’t gonna happen.

Real boys hate me so I have decided to give what is left of my tattered affections to Gregory Peck around the “To Kill a mockingbird ” era.

I’m feeling like a junoesque Lorilee leading the wrong men to their doom and chemical dependency. It’s horrible. I don’t think that I am ever going to be the right girl for anyone but this is not a new revelation. Built to be alone. But by god I miss fucking. I can’t even be bothered to rub one out although now would be the window as I am listening to Prince and I just heard the front door slam. Bah, whatever. Can’t be bothered.

( If you hold my hand again and give me that hug when our whole bodies meet I can deal with anything. I like the weight of your words. I like your economy. I like your company.I like you….)

Sat up watching movies and customizing a Van Halen tee shirt wearing Thraxxy’s Russian generals hat while she was out painting the town black. I went and saw her annihilate the stage at The Standard with her brother Zee and Deadbeat and Hazy on Thursday night. A force of nature that one is. Then we went to a hip hop club where no could dance and the sexy seven foot deejay had a girlfriend who looked like a Maltese terrier in last seasons Supre.Of course she was lovely which made me feel like even more of a shithead. I give up. Tried to bust my brothers balls to drive us home but his phone battery had died.

Met a lovely dude called Dan who is interested in me fronting a new campaign for his hip hop shop in Bondi. I am thinking tits,pit-bulls and .45’s. I love that shit! It’s the Long Beach in me. Speaking of which, if I don’t get some sheckles together soon for shipping  my old roommate is going to donate all my shit that I left behind in the city of lost angels to goodwill. My snakeskin boots?  This is not an option. Imagine walking out of your front door and never going back again. This is basically what happened to me. It still floors and freaks me out.

Just keep going I guess…..

I really should get out of bed. Rob a bank or something.

Iggy is coming to town!

Push.

I gotta tell you,you know that its a real bad day on Planet Shit when not even finding a super cool Iggy Pop tee-shirt in the five dollar bin at Thraxxy’ secret squirrel outlet store has really put a dent in it.

Woe.

But it is a really cool tee shirt…..

I am manic once more so the house and corpse are both clean but the OCD is out of fucking control yet again.. I have a few amazing people around me and what feels like a head full of cotton wool and mastodon shit. My sadness is insidious. Creeps like fog and winds like Spanish moss. Holds me when I mange to sleep. When I make it under.

My TV show is back after a hiatus which means breaking, invisible in my case because I am too fat, bread with my amazing team and getting ready to do our guerrilla interviews once again. Guess who is on a liquid diet and training every day? Sigh.I have my dexterous digits crossed for Pennywise and The Bronx.That would be some sweet punk rock interrogation right there.  Matt Skiz, my illustrious co-host, has been recruited by King Parrot which means he is in about twenty bands now. I my fine self have shored up in four if you can believe that! Steve Hughes is back in the country so I think that means sound bites, joints,big laughs and other assorted mayhem. I am glad. I need another reason to starve and workout for hours.

I am not being sarcastic. It will be good for me.

I better start gravitating towards thing that are good for me and soon. I have just joined a really cool punk band so I have been writing songs and playing heaps of guitar again. Singing in this one and hopefully playing second guitar if I get my way which,let’s face it, I usually do. (Not when it comes to boys though….) Its is gonna be a whole grip of call and reply tantrum based fun. Then you got the stoner band that has installed me on the mic. Then you have “The Heshers” which is me and Thraxx going autistic on acoustics. Good times indeed! Work is good! Sound saves! If I don’t push myself I sink like a stone ( *plop*) . Blackie is down in Tasmania again recording. I have a show with him on the Easter long weekend. I have not decided if I am going to dress like a playboy bunny but it is always an option.

Bored my therapist to death last session. The whole “Why am I so undesirable ?” shtick. The bones of my face drift and I don’t look like anyone that I know. I am booked in to get my hands tattooed in a few weeks so that’s something. Fucking with my packaging never fails to calm me.

Had a super loud jam with my most beloved  Saint Cecilia on Friday and I swear I am still high from it. When we lock that shit in? Ohhh baby!  I am electric. Granted,I know that I whine about my lack of loving ( Read- hot animal fucking )  more frequently than anyone really needs to read about but man ,I gots to tell you, jamming with my brothers ? Well that right there hands down beats any fuck in the world. Its like a 3 hour orgasm!  I’m all sweat,hair,callused fingers ,hot-pants and suede boots. A sexual bass bent tsunami.  Its the only time I feel right. And sadly the only time I feel sexy.

Not much makes me feel beautiful but that sure as hell does. I cannot stress how brilliant it is throwing down with a second bass player and the depth that it brings. I lose my mind out there. And I am singing my ring out. Trying to be Ann Wilson from Heart is fucking fun!  Till we tuned to G# I had no idea that I had an upper range that with a bit more work will shatter glass.

Camper happy? Oh yeah.

So. Guys dig lesbian porn. They watch it all the time. Hours of it. So you would think that they would have learned to eat pussy by now right? Just sayin’…..

Now,where was I?…..

Just  txting my heart-hurts to a dear friend back in the states. He is bored on the bus heading out west to play a grip of headlining shows and giving me some pretty hysterical advice, bless him. He tells me that even though we know that I  am a total spaz, guys just see the school uniform and the stems…oh and the tits and the tan…and…well fuck it! You get the picture. He tells me sagely that dudes think that I am, quote ” Out of their league.”  What fucking league? What? Am I Ty Cobb with tits here?

He made me laugh and reassured me I am the shit. I love my far flung freaky friends so fucking much. I told him that I still have my rock and roll and I vibrator so its not all bad.

And you know what?  Right now? It will do just fine.

I’m not in the mood for much else. I am a novate to noise. Sister Michele of Sonic Annihilation has a nice ring to it doncha think? . Fuck yes .I can dig that!

Rock and Roll can be mean and fickle but its a forever thing and its real. Most importantly we belong to each other. Music is mine. Its way more real than boys who stand you up or drive you crazy when you cant be what they want. Or the ones who are too dumb to see that you are just what the doctor ordered. Or the lost love of your life who you are still connected to across miles and years. Pft! I need to go to bed.

Its all too much work. Now get on your knees and gimme a novena and a wet dream.Amen.

See you in the funny pages fuckers.

 

 

Reject.

Wild panic sets in when The Ramones, Motorhead ,Herb Albert and the Tijuana brass and pornography don’t help.

Shit is raw when ” Whipped cream and other delights “ played at top volume don’t get me shimmying round the kitchen in my Godzilla slippers while I wait for my Mi-goring noodles to cook.

That is how you know the situation is serious. I have not shaved my stems nor taken a photo of my butt in three days. Three days???  Are you shitting me here?? This is a code red on Planet Amazon. This is fubar. ( Look it up for Christ’s sake you morons! )  I have been drawing from the deck of my sacred -as -shit Hello Kitty tarot cards over and over all night long while Apocalypse Now paints the TV screen with its eternal perfection and Elvis, in his Demerol dunked wisdom ,won’t send me a clear read.

( Hello Kitty death card? Priceless.)

I have been burning bacon and peanut butter  incense and dancing spasmodically round a glow-in-the-dark effigy of his royal jumpesuitedness while throwing handfuls of  Mexican Quaaludes in the muggy air like pharmaceutical confetti but alas,to no avail. So here I sit cross legged before you in a freshly customized Mickey Mouse tee-shirt that makes my rack look edible,emerald green silk panties curving around an ass hotter than donut grease and a thunderous bad mood.

It is ten to three in the morning. The weather doesn’t know what the fuck it is meant to be doing. Penguins are staging ritual suicides off rapidly melting ice flows and I expect it to start raining mutant frogs any day now. We boil,we freeze,we boil,we freeze… add lib to fade….Gimme sugar skulls to melt upon my tired tongue, pink candles for desire,arnica for the bruising that has arisen on my hollow heart following the caviler blows your indifference administered careless on my affection for you,you,you,you,you……

(can i forget your pierced tongue dancing with mine and the taste of tobacco sending my senses pirouetting across the stage of-maybe-he-feels-the-same-electricity?can i forget your fast kiss on my stomach and your huge hands holding me? your moan into my mouth like a white flag,a gold star to my desire for you,to please you?can i forget? cuming hard and fast over the phone you so far from me? you telling me that i was filling your every thought and that it got me high? caniforgetpleaseiwanttofogetletmeforgetineedtoforget,,,)

All I have to look forward to is my new punching bag and throwing knives to be picked up on Friday from my sketchy rat faced weaponry dude deep in the cordite stained bowels of Chinatown. I also have to get a picture  of a certain someone printed up to pin on the old wooden door that I will be shortly turning into blade brokered splinters. Mija needs a target to keep her anger on the boil. Know thy enemy. Know thy heart harmer….

Because I don’t want to get all stupid and Christian about shit now do I?  Forgive and whatnot ? Oh honey no!

See most animals of the female persuasion would curl up and die right about now. See,the dealio here is I didn’t need you to make me feel like the most fuckable twist in boots but I sure as hell liked it, I liked it a real lot and when y’all took that away?  When you let me keep on liking you because even though you were not really into me but dug the attention and all?  Well…that right there is where you went and messed up, my darling discount dime store Don Corleone.

I thought that you liked me ( “You really, really like me!” ) and now I feel like a fool and trust me on this,the last thing that you need is me feeling foolish. See, I don’t deal real well with romantic embarrassment being that it’s rare as rocking horseshit that I throw my hat into the ring when it comes to this kind of caper. Oh baby! I was set to tie a giant  “Its a new car!!!” red ribbon around my lean languid self ,load up with a six pack of corona and a bucket of fried chicken and home deliver. And now look at the mess you done gone and made…..

I like to think that I am wrong and you and me are good.( “We are better than good.”)  I would love that to be the case. Honest injun I would! That we would laugh about all this tomfuckery , then you would shag me senseless till I got a nosebleed and passed out while still impaled on your many impressive inches….. Hell! I like to imagine you explaining it to me in great detail while I have you on your knees, hands bound behind your back in a fast cooling pool of piss. Did I mention that I have a piano wire noose lovingly wrapped around your scrotum and my .45 aimed at your thick head ? Make it stick like glue baby.Make me believe you and mama will rip that nasty old duct tape off your wrists and fuck it all better in the shower . Convince me good you snake tongued turd or I am going to pop your nuts with a flick of my tattooed wrist right before I blow your brains out.

Multitasking as ever. I do declare! There are just not enough hours in the day……

My long suffering shrink tells me that I have got to stop,you know,with the fantasy’s and all. I sit in that white leather chair week after week and I try to make her understand ” Look, it’s like this”  I sigh wearily though steepled fingers leaning forward earnestly on my tanned thighs  ” Do you want me to fantasize about it or do you want me to actually do it? It’s your call.”

I hate it ,I hate getting blown off ,taken for granted when I placed you so highly in my hit parade. My winged monkeys tell me tales of seeing your drunk ass in strip-clubs while all I get is radio silence. Goddamn you to hell and back you asshole. You hot sexy asshole….I am starting to think that getting hurt in this life may be the only gritty foul sustenance my salty short time sixth- tour -but-hey!-whose-counting? -grunt-ass needs. I mean really? Let’s take a gander at my embarrassing track record as of now shall we?

My ex ends up with a opiate addled,string lipped glory hole with a heartbeat,I ruin a nice boy or two, the object of my erstwhile filthy desires is busy in bathtubs with Asian hookers or then you have lusty lanky lads so caught up about what I have done and do with my life that they get all dick- tied and chicken out.

Listen up and listen good pilgrim,I am done with taking pictures of my anatomy for dick packers who don’t appreciate my good taste in smalls and my bitchin’ tan line.

Sir? Your Indifference has huffed out the hot pink  and violet pilot light that was keeping my junk nice and toasty for your terminally dumb ass.

Now I am mad.

Thank you for that darlin’. Really! I mean it. Anger is and shall always be my finest fuel and your rejection of my stellar affection has just put a tiger in my tank. Grrrrr. Mad leads to radio silence and miles motherfucker. To self focus and a whole Louis Vuitton suitcase full of fuck you. I am so pissed off right now that I can’t even rub one out. You suck. I just wish it was my anatomy you were sucking on.

Many a dark night of the soul has been spent marinating in Pink Floyd and Blue Oyster Cult while  wishing in vain  that nice boys flipped my finicky switches but it is just not to be…..In the words of my darling Lady Thrax-a-lot, if they  look like that fucked up sorting hat in Harry Potter,have a speech impediment,a few sordid scars and a sailors soul ? We are cactus.

Bugger.

I an useless at not thinking about you. You know what? I bet if you called me tomorrow?  I would curl up in a horny ball and  purr.  Oh well. Time for me to take a spoon of concrete and harden the fuck up.

Problem is I wouldn’t feel so bad if you didn’t make me feel so good…..

Shameless.

*Oh God*

Oh Elvis..

( ” This is a collect call, do you accept? Ok, please hold, putting your party through now..” )

…..It is I,Saint Michele of Perpetual Indulgence…

I am such a shut in.

My anti-social axis at this putrid point consists of  my clothing clogged fairy-lit boudoir, the jungle like yard (” Some day this war is gonna end….”) , the much abused always damp rain-room and the store about five blocks away. Oh. And my army of doctors. Check me out!  Wooo-wee mama !  Hot damn girl!  Howard Hughes in a bikini right here. Robinson Crusoe with a rack.Step on up!

( ” Y’all got a license for that weapon ma’am?  *Bam* *Bam-Bam* “ARRGGGhhhHHHH!!!” )

The only earth shifting events that can crowbar me from my cave at this point in the proceedings tend to be one,the looming onset of starvation, two, sun deprivation and finally, sound driven folly. Hopefully a mix of all three if you don’t mind. A taco, a tan and tinnitus ?  Not such a bad deal. So what happened? I dropped the ball ( the net,the umpire,the water-boy,the cheerleaders bounced…)  a few months ago (“Owww!@?##$!)  and proceeded to opt out of the whole stinking mess and have pretty much been a hermit in hot-pants ever since.

And to tell you the truth ? If you don’t wanna go too deep ( “Zooo,tell me about your motzher…”) I ain’t doin’ so bad at all.

I spend long languid days floating almost buck naked in my pool on a hot pink inflatable monstrosity that I like to believe resembles what a dinosaurs reproductive system may have looked like, complete with an rather thoughtful and handy cup holder. ( The beverage bay is on my floating chair. Why the hell would a uterus need a cup holder ?)

So yeah,me nearly nude out here in Buttfuck ,Egypt with a teeny-tiny g-string wedged up my tanned crack. What? Me worry?…. ( “Dear Penthouse Forum, I never did believe the letters in your pages until one hot day I happened to look over my back fence while pruning the wisteria and…”)  Now you know, if y’all keep doing that you’ll go blind. Get your hand off it and keep reading you perverts…..There I laze,coated in naught but a miasma of shimmering high octane anger and a bucket of plus one billion spf sunscreen, reading lofty and slightly damp tomes usually pertaining to the sacred arena of Rock and Roll while the sexy swinging sounds of Slayer and Lynyrd Skynyrd saturate the shimmering suburban air driving the crappy Maltese dogs next door postal.

Affray? Moi? I’m your girl! No problem good buddy,that’s a big 10-4 ! Don’t mention it. Your welcome.

I wallow wantonly beneath my beat -up -from -the -feet -up cowboy hat, gently bobbing in the tranquil chlorinated blue, a well chewed toothpick dancing around the perimeter of my pie-hole ( Every girl needs an oral fixation that won’t shag her sister and break her tinsel heart. ), occasionally taking photos of my formidable rack in the interest of  posterity and perversion  and think about how much going to therapy churns my gut into a rot flavored fast melting gelato of self loathing (” One scoop or two lard ass?”) ,wishing someone would base a comic-book character on my porno-manga-Victoria’s -secret -model -tattooed -butt and what I am going to do with my forthcoming and inevitable lottery windfall. ( So sweet of you to ask! A large hostile compound tucked deep into the badlands in  the middle of nowhere on the coast, a couple of loyal hounds trained to go for the jugular no questions asked, a souped up F-100 truck, tripwires on the perimeter and many,many firearms…) .

I write stupid fucking ballads for the forthcoming autistic/acoustic shows that I will be doing in support of my super talented brother and the album that I am finally making with soul sister Thraxxy’s  ridiculously talented baby brother Zee, about equally stupid boys who tend to litter my life with their shocking indifference to my clumsy yet ,but let it be duly noted,  endearingly eager puppy -like  charms and then proceed to play maudlin solos in minor chords over my tape recorded efforts. I long for an autoharp.

I am seventeen years old obviously.

There are but a few holy people who can wrench me from my self imposed exile.(” Day 72. Ate the last of the 1st mate six days ago. Chewy granted, but not entirely unpleasant . I do so wish there were more corpses for if I see one more fucking coconut…”)  Well, my band,about three friends and my big brother really. That’s it.  I love going and jamming at Mal’s place on these fetid Friday nights. Regally rolling out with Marcus borne on a cloud of dope-smoke, rolling back  about ten minutes later when we realize we have left our guitars in the the driveway,rolling out again,big dreams and great vibes.We get lost every single time we go out there. Really. You would think after so many years on the road my internal compass would be brilliant, laser guided even but sadly its not. It’s shit.

Mal’s kids are always hyper happy to see me and they dig the fact that I am covered in pictures and come fully equipped with a tail. His youngest son puts on his tattoo tee-shirt prior to my arrival and then proceeds to show me how he can run into the fence at a million miles an hour and bounce. I clap and whoop enthusiastically as he flies fearless across the yard.  These infants know quality when they see it.

Oh and the band...THE BAND brothers and sisters!!!!  That would be my band. Mine! Mine! Mine! ( Insert evil laugh here.) I swoon. I am in complete and utter infatuation with the whole decibel drenched unit. To whit? Friday night…Jam my jaxie out , peel my sweat soaked kit off down to my ever present mismatched  and usually obscene bikini and dive into the pool post noise-fest while the boys smoke out and slowly sip tequila out of tall condensation coddled glasses in the dark shadowed fold of the the deck. Dirty low laughter flows over me from their cloistered corner raising goosebumps in its nasty wake as  I float and thank the CinemaScope sky high above studded with stars for granting my grateful self such wild four string driven glory, my hair like languorous seaweed doing is sexy Ophelia thing, my heart full of Pentecostal fire and low end zeal.  Perfect. I have waited so long to find where I was meant to be….

(” Why thank you!  How kind,don’t mind if I do.”)

Nathan ,my zen -as -fuck drummer , just smiles patiently as I  loudly demand that he gets a cowbell and wood block. “A Gong!!! “ I yell. When I inform him that I am going to braid his hair and bandanna him like a blond Bill Ward.When I flash my butt at him mid tune. Mal pushes me to play better with every riff,we go back to back and sledgehammer the fuck out of every pile-driving song. Marcus gives of his talent and time with such grace it humbles me.

The guitarist in my old band, the fucking alcoholic axe wound that he was, always put me down.The dope smoking dickless ding dong. He did it so much and over so many years that when ever he tried to be nice to me (usually for personal gain) all I could do was roll my eyes and write another dulcet easy listening track about how I wanted to murder him.

Got four albums out of it so it’s not all bad I guess. Still hope he dies screaming….

But now I am in a band with guys that I have looked up to for years from afar ,who respect me as a bass player,writer and singer. I have hit the hot perfecta trifecta. Can I just tell y’all I have never worked so hard at what I do in my fucking life? I never want to let them down, I want to get better and better. Deluxe,my beloved and much missed bass player from Tourette’s wrote me from Brazil where he is mooching around manure on a farm with his fiance Max. ” I was meant to be a bass player all along “  I replied when he asked after my band. ” I mean ,who knew? “

So. My beautiful band can get me out of the house and my brother. My brother even more so when I get a diamond dusted text asking me if I want to roll with him to the 5th annual Rolling Stone awards.( !@@$$@!???!!!! )  Breathe woman!  Hell yes I wanna go! Is a pigs pussy pork?  Do fish fuck in water? Forever will I be the Kenickie to his Danny Zucco.

I am there bitches.

I just love it when people say that they are not into these free parties. I call booco bullshit right there. Like, whatever dude. Tell it to the judge. What an utter load of shit!  They are great and everyone knows it. Then you get the ass clowns who should be happy that anyone even remembers who the fuck they even are or were in this case for a fast fleeing five minutes back in 1998 (” Um dude? Marylin Manson called.He wants his shtick back.”) and then act like they are doing the event a favor by showing up. Jesus wept!  Then don’t come you ungrateful washed up-your-sad-ass-goth-band-never-made-it-in-the-90’s-and-do-tell-how-is-that-hot-topic-clad-self-harming-action-working-for -you? .

Jeepers! I know! Stay in Newtown and wallow in your goon soaked yesterdays with all the other maybes still locked in the brown couch hell of faux Bohemia.

(You asked me if we are cool.Well check the balls on you! We will never be cool you throwback.You cunt. The only reason I didn’t kick your ass is because I am valiantly trying to beat my record from last year.See,I only made it up to January 21st before kicking some dudes ass.  And by “Kicking his ass” I mean ” Shattering his jaw with the heel of my shoe” So what is it now? Hmmm? the 23rd you say! Well I’ll be! Cross the street next time you see me coming as fast as your rinky dinky platform boots will take you….)

Fucking tossers.

I never hear anyone anyone complaining about the free fucking bar that’s for sure….

Wild Horses (a-hem) could not have kept me away.

Now ….what to wear?

I did the Johnny Cash thing. All black is all good. Except if you are a member of the Australian rugby team I guess….Murry, the Hard-on’s drummer calls me “The Honey badger.”

” Why?” I asked as Michael Gudinski waved to me from a tufted leather booth and I blew him a kiss sealed with a wink in return.

“‘ ‘Cause you just don’t give a fuck! Garcon!?  Pronto!!!”  he bellowed causing disapproving heads to turn. I saw Jimmy Barnes smile at us though. Papal dispensation right there. I adore drummers,I really do. He then proceeded to double fist salt soaked margaritas snatched from the tray of a wary and fast fleeing corset clad waitress from Patron Tequila who were so thoughtfully lubricating the event.

Fair call. I have been called worse.

On the not giving a fuck front? Case in study…..

So, we get there all bells and whistles quel fucking naturally and big brother being the total rock-star that he is ,even though he denies it, gets ushered out onto the ruby red carpet and proceeds to peel his shirt off Iggy Pop style and gyrate suggestively all over the place. I was so proud. I almost soiled myself laughing. All the po-faced wankers looked on utterly aghast. Well I can only assume that they were aghast, I mean ,I couldn’t really tell through all the bad beauty salon botox and trowled on make up that always seems to stop just under the chin. What is with that anyway? ….

Onward dark horse!

You would not believe how fucking corporate and staid these shindigs are now . Take my word for it and know that I am in permanent mourning  for the heady days of yore that my spring chicken self was too young not to mention years  too late  to savor.  Am I ok with this sorry state of affairs ? Am I bugger.. I want MC5 action baby ! Revolution!!! Fucking in the streets or in the least on the pool tables. I want to see that felt stained!  Incriminating photographs! Weeping fiber incrusted raw rug-burn  pridefully sported like badges of honor! Anyone? Anyone?  Bueller? (“Its voodoo economics”)

Sigh,sigh,sigh….No one punching on with their rivals and then writing a great song about it on the back of a room-service menu while their knuckles are still bleeding and two nubile fuck machine groupies of a questionable age ( “But Officer! She told me she was eleventeen!”) are making out on the bed or puking off the balconies round the time the chorus is coming together. No hookers and blow, well, not that I could find anyway. No bloody buggery fucking Led Zeppelin and  mud sharks here my friends. Oh Keith Moon! Come back please! .No redhead assisted insertions and TV tossing , so sorry and can I just say for the record that we are poorer for the lack of such shameless shenanigans my little pork-chops . Bow your heavy heads, shed a tornado of tears and remember  when rock was rambunctious and hopped up on hard core hallucinogens tripping elephant sized balls the whole live-long day . Carnaby street clad  in saucy trousers so tight you could read the wrinkles in the guitarists cock and tell his religion as he lent back into the screaming solo beneath the spotlight and not to mention the fact everyone had great hair

( “I am a golden god!!!”) .

No sir. None of the alluring aforementioned above. I weep,I really do. Buggers up my eyeliner something chronic.

Quite frankly? I think it was un-Australian effort. Shame Sydney, shame….Everyone is so deathly afraid of losing their meal ticket ,as minimal as it is in this down-loadable day and age, that they all look like bung eyed chipmunks storing nuts with their cheeks stuffed so full of corporate cock.

( ” What’s the name of your band then ?” “MMmMMmMmM!!!” )

It’s pathetic. It has joylessly extracted everything that made music so appealing in its felonious down time in the fucking first place. Amoral soulless cocksuckers! All the feisty fables that I devoured in the rock-rags of yore when I was naught but a dewy eyed diva-in-waiting. Parchment thin ancient copies of Creem magazine! Spin! Detroit rock city! The lack of live and then dirtily documented shenanigans in the aforementioned holy magazines of distinction in this sterile day and age just sucks. Lester Bangs would be crying into his cough syrup at 2am while listening to Question mark and the mysterions at top volume while his frazzled neighbors called the cops. Again. Feature Lillian Roxon lamenting,caftan clad and wheezing  from the happy hunting ground in the sky…..

They had Dj’s playing at the party when the awards were done and dusted. Dj’s??  Ok, lemme get this straight. I am in a room with Tex Perkins , free tattoos and tequila and you give me MC Asswipe with her flat-ironed hair and her funky fresh sounds?!!  Really?? Are you fucking serious? And I did not see one person barf into a pot-plant all night.

Rose Tattoo are still alive you clowns!!  Book them for the love of god! I need music that makes me want to fight,fuck or set something on fire goddamn it. I want my rock and roll to need a morning after pill and bail!

My brother and I decreed right there and then with much profanity ( Yoink! Me again,sorry.)  that it was pretty much our civic duty,nay,our god given Lemmy approved fucking birthright ,to inject the evening with reams of hot steaming raw power ( That’s him for sure. Cut him and he would bleed a Ron Ashton riff.  ) To deliver the sanctity of salacious sweaty rock to these poor misguided hipster fucksicklies and random cum-stains clad in uselessness ,ironic facial hair and skinny jeans on a silver sound driven platter.

( “Got a bullet here with your name carved on it honey.”)

Gimme blatant junk gyrating sexuality damn you!!! ( Both of us covering that wanton waterfront ) ,White-trash Nascar powered profanity!!! ( Oh c’mon people,really?  ) and Charles Bronson tinted don’t- give -a -shit -devil -may -care cool.

In the name of  Dickie Betts ,Elvis and GG Allen. Amen. Cha,Cha,Cha.

“Dear,excuse me,dear ? If you want to just go round…”

Poor lamb.She wasn’t even old enough to call anyone “Dear” bless her. I looked down to see a harried plump girl with a too tight headset attached to her bonce and a clip board clutched in nervous sweaty hands with teeth terrorized nails. I pulled myself up to my full height of seven feet in hot head kicking heels  while watching her eyes widen in awe and smiled down at her serf self with a great benevolence that I had no idea I possessed. I swear, I surprise myself some times,I really do. She smiled nervously back up at me.

“Darrrrrrrling” I purred channeling the great Eartha Kitt  “I am Michele Madden from Saint Cecilia”

“Oh my gosh!” She blustered with a magnificently cheesy grin that one in such a position holds in reserve at all times ready to be engaged in those awkward not-quite-fresh-feeling situations when one does not recognize someone famous or for that matter someone ( That would be moi again…) with balls the size of coconuts who is blagging her sweet ass all the way to the finish line. A backpedaling verbal panty liner if you will.

“Out you go then.I’m so sorry!”

“De Nada.” I replied magnanimously flicking my mile long mane and licking my candy coated lips and only just stopping myself from patting her on the head ,launched my leggy high stepping ass into the limelight and proceeded to strut my stuff.  Blackie looked over at the new disturbance by the starting line  and laughed his fool head off when he saw who and what was causing it . Never one to look a gift-horse in the mouth he then came and grabbed me in some kind of abbreviated ju jtsu hold and we proceeded to pull a lot of really unattractive faces.

Gold Pony boy.Pure fucking gold.

We fell off the edge of the light saturated carpet and collided with Rod Yates, editor supreme and longtime supporter and firm friend to us both. He has wincingly watched me gracelessly grow up on stage from behind his hands held over his eyes at times and greeted the two bad seeds that we are with open arms and a smile when he saw us stumble out of the flickering strobes. “Who are these fucking people?” I hissed as a gaggle of airbrushed nothings mooched by glaring daggers at me. I stuck my talented tongue at them out ,mouthed “Fuck off you cunts”  and grinned as the color drained from their bovine badly made up faces and then continued  “That fucking seals it Rod ” I said with great  finality. “What seals what exactly Michele? ” he gulped looking a touch nervous but still smiling like the trooper he is,bless his brainy brilliant shell shocked self.

I like to think that one day I will think before I speak….

“Seals what??? ” I gasped indignant  ” Seals the fucking fact that we have to bring the rock back my son!” I said looking rather smug and checking out the dude from Parkway Drives ass at the same time.

But How? Oh tell us do Michele ,you great bloody pillock…

” What it seals Rod is that I am jumping out of a giant cake in a bikini at this thing next year! We need tits Rod! Tits and cream! Yeah and rock and,and ,and …..

( I tend to stutter when I get all het up.It’s like totally cute and charming. Just ask me.)

I watched a prune faced girl on minimum wage skulk by bearing a tray of what looked like regurgitated dog food on paper plates and shuddered . Blackie looked at me calmly, used to such folly coming from his little sister, waiting for the inevitable explosion while bemusedly buttoning up his shirt…… “AND HUNTER.S.THOMPSON IS ROLLING IN HIS FUCKING GRAVE!!!! THIS IS BULLSHIT!!!”  I roared in passionate conclusion as the masses cut a rather  impressive moat around us…Rod’s eyes then proceeded to light up like roman candles.  Ruh-roh.  Long story short I have to find a bitchin’ black vinyl bikini,I wanna look like my neither regions we dipped in wet licorice dig? and a Hello Kitty tiara. Oh,and a sash, pink silk naturally .Duh.  Tell me,do you think my gun holsters would be too much? Nah. Me neither. Oh! OH! I know! I know! Pick me Miss!!! I  know! A Chewbacca mask ! Details ,details…It will be alright on the night…Look, at the very least I will have my 12″ pigsticker strapped to my tanned thigh. (” And here she is! Give her a warm Rolling Stone welcome now….Miss behave 2014!!!)  And I am gonna hand out the awards while still covered in frosting ,a dishonest sweat and malevolent glee thank you very bloody much. Might even let the winners lick me if they are worthy. Or lucky.

We should stick a tab of acid in every tenth drink.

Shouldn’t be a problem.

Bondi ink set up and were doing free tattoos.C’mon? Really? Like I wasn’t going to? ” You gonna get a tattoo tonight Michele?” asked a bunch of photographers hovering round me like lens carrying vultures with press passes. I gave them my best angle and cooed from twixt glossed lips ” Fucking ‘course I am! See ya over there at nine o’clock”

When I finally got to my overworked tattooist,obviously overwhelmed by all the crap requests that proceeded me,  he asked me with a sigh what I wanted. With a lupine grin I told him that he had been waiting for me all night and then watched the smile carve his countenance in two as I informed him of his mission.

“What are ya getting ?” crowed Murray from behind the barrier, one arm around his lady love, knowing full well what I was up too.

“”A unicorn sodomizing a dolphin!” I yelled in reply.

No. I didn’t….but there is always a next time

The tattoo machine hummed and we dove in.The flashes exploded and the ex-rock star in the seat next to me looked rather miffed at the lack of attention in her faded direction .Step aside honey,there is a new sheriff in town

He said all misty eyed that he had not carved “Fuck Off” into anyone bottom lip since his punk days in Canada. I am a giver ,what can I say?

Once again? Gold.

The next night found me looking like Anita Pallenburg’s heir apparent clad in eye wateringly short hot pants and a black gossamer almost of a top. A quarter of sticky hydroponic bud stuffed down one long butter soft pale suede boot and my bone-handled knife down the other and I was ready for anything baby. With a song in my black heart ,my hand down my drawers and my trusty Dictaphone loaded with a fresh ready -to -be -defiled tape in my bag I lit off into the muggy night.

Upon arrival I ponced around greeting old salts and freaks that I have not seen in an age. Swept into a hug when  spotted by Mario at the side of the sweaty stage. My wildly talented compadres. So very good to see you again my darlings…for if Mama cannot come to California? Well then California can feel free to hand deliver its finest to me….

Got a great interview in with my friend Dimitri Coats..of OFF! (who would look like a punk rock Robert Plant (“Does anybody remember laughter?”) if he would grow his curls out , just sayin’…. ) as Keith Morris glared across the room at me yet-a-fucking-gain another year down . We holed up nice and post gig cozy like with fresh beverages on a cigarette scared black leather couch in a red room,I hit the record button for posterity and proceeded to get very politically incorrect .I tend to ask jaw dropping questions that all the cool  journalists avoid. Mario Rubicala sat to my right snickering like Bevis and Butthead all the while lazily playing with my tail.

And no,you can’t hear the tape. I may need it for blackmail later…Just kidding!… (*maybe*)

Ever the good hostess,I mulled the stinky bud up on an old copy of Drum media,talked salacious smack and smiled my wolf smile as the night wound it sated spell over all.

Ta-da.

Stirring advice for you lost souls? Go get it

What??? What do you fucking mean what? I don’t fucking know! I’m not a mind reader! Whatever it is that makes you want to keep messing with oxygen on a daily basis that’s what. Joseph Campbell said “Follow your bliss” .Wayne Campbell said ” A sphincter says what? ”  and furthermore Sir Henry of Rollins bellowed ” Get some,get some,get some ,go again!”

What more do you need? A fucking written invitation??

What you ask me?  Whatever makes your heart soar and your rude bits fill swell as the blood drains from the rest of your corpse. Let it rain over your sinners head in a shower of sonic glitter and jail dodging good times.Finger bang the furies and write your name in the sky. Make out with your muse till your lips go numb and you cum so hard that you black out. Oh yes.…

People are shit. This country drives me mixed nuts because no body wants to be number one. They don’t have the conjones. They say that they do but they don’t,not really. They hang back with their other omega mates,huddled in a testosterone deficient pack, hampered with a regressive retarded prolonged adolescence ,tempered with date rape,low grade Thai steroids that bring naught but bloat and cystic acne on the shoulders to be sported under a hesher style tank-top proudly like pus filled epaulets and violence.  Sniggering at the lone trailblazer getting his ass handed to him in 1st place, beaten and bloodied granted  but magnificently unbowed. They, meanwhile go to the pub,argue over who’s round it is and call him a faggot.

I wish I was lying.

So go to it my little electric rosebuds. Fly my neon nightmares! Just go! Go to where you shine and set up your tee-pee on the tundra of awesome.

Peel your shoulders back and love your life out as one of my all time favorite pickled pollacks Jack Kerouac would say. (“Paragraphs! Pft! I got your paragraphs right here!)  Go on with your bad selves and pluck a fragrant (sweet)  leaf out of the Butthole Surfers strobe-light soaked book and regret something you did do rather than something you didn’t do.

It is good solid advise steeped in smutology 101 and voluminous volume mauled through Marshall stacks and s-e-x. Feature Gibby Hanes as a burning bush. Get wise oh babies of Bacchus and then proceed wantonly and with great knicker free abandon.  “Get it on! “ as Turbonegro and T-Rex would trill. Look-a-here… Take it like its Motorhead fueled MDMA and you are going out tonight to grudge fuck the lust of your life to dust..

Shameless is the hot ticket my wingless angels. Just trust the scantily clad amazon on this one ‘k?

It’s the only way.

Now peel me a grape Belulah……

 

 

 

 

 

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…..