Loaded.

She leans over the table pushing her smoke stained  hair behind a surprisingly delicate ear by way of preparation and I ache for her stupidity and youth.Snorting the thick rail of ketamine from the dirty tabletop she shook her head back like a filly and chided me while sniffing loudly “Don’t judge.”

Project much? I hadn’t said a goddamn word…..

I am so damn tired.

I have never judged.

My glass house is shattered so I don’t have a problem with throwing stones,don’t you worry your pretty little head about that action none but I do not judge.I have watched it go down for a million nights candy dipped ,you aint so special and none of this shtick is new,so baby?  Go on and do your thing just  excuse me for not getting down with my bells and whistles for your tired assed self .

I have held sweat soaked hair back from vomiting faces, poured sticky sweet shots with obscene names by the dirty dozen,scored for those to dopesick and paranoid ( Sabbath fuckin’rule!) to score for themselves,gone to the needle exchange,taken the pick from shaking hands hell bent on destruction and shot up into sore minced veins before they made a complete dogs breakfast of themselves….I am the last one to judge believe me.

I am  Florance Nightingale in a Thin Lizzy tee-shirt to these self medicated basket cases. Patron saint to the high and hopeless.Y’all should light candles and surf swooning on sandalwood at the mention of my name, you faithless motherfuckers.

So,last night decides to be a smart ass,takes a fistful of Xanax and doubles back on itself making fuck all sense and dragging on for-fucking-forever.I abused a dude who gave me shit so long and loudly that when I finally stopped due to running out of breath the whole line burst into cheers and applause.

Of course I bowed.

I was cold and tired before I even got started. The trains were down so it took me a million years to get there.My infants lined up in the cold behind the velvet ropes all asking after Blackie and sending their love,making me adore them even more.My knees aching with the chill,weight gain and fatigue. These kids seem to think that I am onto something.I’m not you know,I’ve just got more miles on the heartbreak odometer than the average bear.Keep in mind that this is nothing to be proud of. .

I dispense huge hugs and limited wisdom.I talk to paper by way of poison pen and hold my hemorrhaging heart because I cant seem to find the right place to bury the accursed thing.I can’t talk about what haunts and hunts me. I distill it,drip by painstaking Stooges scented drip into epic wailing songs for my band and keep this river flowing.

What we do defines us.What we leave behind is set to remind others of us in our hopefully lamented absence. Or not.I was sent a picture of my much missed hound looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,the little fucker.My clothes still in the closet of my old room in Long Beach,in storage at my Ex’s.I am pathetic,I still sleep with his tee-shirt wrapped around my ever clenched fist. I used to jump on a transatlantic plane as easily as I would jump on a crosstown bus. I have to remember where I came from and what lead me to this point.

Summer is stirring out on the west coast while here I bundle myself into nonnegotiable layers and sleep with the electric blanket cranked as high as it will go.The wind is a bully and cuts me to the quick while sucking all the dew and bloom from my feral face. Absolutely everything is too much effort and every destination too far away.I occupy myself with my beloved stringed instruments,silence,expensive skincare brought hot from thieves who circumnavigate security to bring me Chanel and spend the money that I pay them on crack,the gym late at night where I don’t look in the mirrors…..

I will extract hard won achievement from  the winter months if it kills me….

High-school politics ruled the roost last night. Wears me out.Makes my teeth ache and hum. Went to my happy place and thought about the beautiful line ups that I have in place for July and the exhilarating fact that my big brother is on the mend and will be back on stage again.

Lilli went on a shopping spree and I ended up with a new Ramones hoodie and tee-shirt and the cutest little bottle of the Bulgari perfume that sets my senses reeling.

Too,too sweet.

I didn’t get much sleep today.I feel like my eyes are hanging out of my fucking head.My spidey senses are tingling towards California.I worry.I receive no word and I worry myself sick. Guess you should never break the heart of a woman who prays to Elvis…Just sayin’….I was watching some old you tube shit toady.Fuck! We were just the cutest little killing machine when we sang and played together.Hot damn.

I miss him so much,for better or for worse.

So I have decide to re-up my body modifications yet again.My most excellent friend Joel runs the most hardcore body modification studio in Sydney by the name of “True Blood” on Willam St. (Just tell ’em that I sent you) . At the lowest and highest points are the best time,I find,to fuck with your corpse. On my left hand side,smack bang on the ribs,I have tattooed “The lost heart “. And why not? It is.

(“You got that because of him? he said amazed “Sure did” I shrugged.He gave me a look that invited tears and unwise relations.I held fast confident in my ink and its permanence. He , a true beauty,captured my hand in his as the world slept on,blissfully unaware of our dire electricity three floors below. Our fingers danced and my pupils dilated. “That” he sighed “Is the saddest thing I have ever seen.”)

I am going somewhere here,hang in there….I am what as know as a keloid scarer.Meaning that when I cut myself the skin raises up.Its common in people of darker European decent so there you go,you done learned a thing today.Feels good huh? Joel and his scalpel wielding crew do,amongst other things, branding and scarification which got me to thinking that beneath that killer tattoo of mine I need a big burnt in ropey scar,you know,to show where my once fully operational heart was removed.

Nifty non?

Its just a corpse people.Sheesh!.In lieu of owing my own property I am going to renovate my body.Its like a flesh version of aluminum cladding and it will look sickening in a bikini.

Cha,cha,cha….

I love my shoulder scars.I sat on my leather couch clad in a black silk slip with a straight razor a decade ago and made a big meaty mess achieving them.That’s back when it used to get me off.I licked the blood from my shoulders and grinned in the dark. Good times indeed.They still tingle when I am desired. They have not done any tingling in a hell of a long time.

Oh Elvis in neon heaven! They all ask me ,you know,why I don’t get high.

“Because” I say looking into their dead eyes and limited future and smarts “I don’t want to be like you.”

With no malice what-so-ever this is the verdict I deliver. When I think about who it has taken from me and the damage that it has done to the only one I have ever loved its a no brainer. They look at me all butt hurt.You don’t want the truth? Don’t come to me honey because I have a PhD in the handing of ass.I will hand you yours in a New York Minute.

People spending money on heroin when they should be investing in botox and therapy…just sayin’…. You could start with a bucket over your head till you had saved up enough Benjamins.Its amazing what plastic surgery can achieve these days and in your case it would be nothing short of a Jesus-in-the-tortilla miracle! Can I get an hallelujah?  Look into it honey.

I applaud you,really I do.Going through life as the female version of the elephant man as a junkie has got to be a hard yard…..

Wait…On second thoughts? Don’t. Stick with the bucket and dim lit corners and stay high. You can polish a turd its true but you would be stuck with that *ahem* quel charming personality.

Maybe a lobotomy?

Or a bullet…….

It was loaded.Pull the trigger……

bang.

Bless.

You know that its not going to be good…..

When I saw the message on my phone I lay in bed for half an hour looking at the ceiling, my whole body liquid nitrogen numb.I didn’t want to call,I didn’t want to know. My brain locked like brakes on a wet road.My theory was that if it was as bad as I thought it would be at least he would be alive in my head until I picked up the phone.

That I could have him for just a little while longer…

I called and came undone. Hospitalized with concussion and bleeding on the brain but still alive.

Still alive.

When I saw him in that hospital bed asleep the anger and sorrow fought it out in my blood,a plasma UFC bout. My Big Brother. My best friend brought to deaths door by a couple of fucking kids while he was driving his cab. I felt my marrow start to boil as my eyes followed the line of crooked stitches coming out of the side of his mouth. All the years that he has devoted to music ,the fact that he is a punk rock icon ,that I have so many friends in California that make a living from their music but here a guitarist that Joey Ramone  (!!#@#$!!!) once said it was a honor to play with has to drive a fucking cab….

Wednesday night was to be our last show of the season before I took a break to write and record with Saint Cecilia. He was meant to be on stage singing with me.The man who gave me back my voice when I was heartbroken and never wanted to play music again.The last eight weeks have given me some of the best shows that I have ever played and to the sweetest and most diverse audiences that I have ever seen.All my beautiful fresh faced Club 77 infants sitting down the front on a sea of sequined cushions, faces tuned up towards the stage like sunflowers to the cream of the punk rock royals,fervent fans of my mental metal years willing to evolve with me…its been great and best of all I got to do it with someone that means the world to me.

Someone who has saved my skittish and rather scant sanity not to mention my life on more than one occasion.

I go mental in a skirmish.Gimme a war and I will do the advance and then proceed to capture the flag.I went into instant overdrive.I would like to tell you the details but I cant remember them.I just went into battle stations.Endless cans of Dr Pepper and no sleep.My irreplaceable team,Sue,Rickards,Richard and Lilli all in my corner.Tony at the Sando giving me what ever I needed including the big room to play in,Mo Mayhem stepping up in Blackies absence,Marcus de Pasquale my amazing band mate and Simon Day from Ratcat.

Oh and round about 250 of you.

I knew that you wouldn’t let me down and you didn’t. I said that every cent raised on the night would go to Blackie and between the raffles and my amazing girls running around with buckets for donations,the keg that my mate Oscar from the Hell City Glamours donated and the door take? I walked to the bank in the rain today with a big goofy smile plastered on my fat head and deposited $3850.

You did good. Know that when Elvis greets you at the pearly gates that you will get an instant upgrade which involves rhinestones,quaaludes and a lot of pork products.You shut down my cynical heart for a whole night and that right there is one hell of a mean feat. You stood and you delivered. You were present and accounted for.

Thank you.

I was so fucked up with relief and gratitude that I messed up a few times but it was raw and I  gave you all that I had. The last song was so great.You overwhelmed me.

All you need is love indeed.

I spoke to Blackie this morning and his entire focus is on recovery,wellness and getting back up on stage on the 4th of July. He sends his love to all.

As do I.

Bless you.

I thank Elvis for y’all daily.

See you in a month.

Error.

Its four in the morning and I just woke up.Slept from 7am on Sunday and its now Monday morning. Go figure.Strange dreams of Tupac and bubble machines….(???) I glance out the back door and see that the pool has been covered after our non-existent summer.If I am to be stuck in this shit hole with no parole for another,my second,stupid fucking winter,I intend to make it work for me like Lincoln never freed the slaves.Lemons into lemonade and all that shit….

The door was a cold and stroppy place last night. I was rugged up like a chubby bad tempered Eskimo and so far removed from the reality of my situation that yes,I did laugh at myself. I was thinking about the last two shows that I am throwing down before running away and making big noise with Marcus for St Cecilia. About how my depression had hog tied me so severely since last September that my only daily goal is to be present and accountable in my life. That if I had the guts I would throw my i-pod out of the window of an express train because my ex made it for me and listening to Masters of Reality on repeat stirs strange and cruel demons within.

I have lost five pounds.Now for the other forty.

Working my door is like being in a drug drenched John Hughes movie that’s Od’ing on ennui and cookie cutter fashions…Oh to be nineteen and cute.To be able to throw myself away on transient pleasure delivered via pharmaceuticals and ones rubber bits….These infants act out their lives in front of me and I observe,ever the cynic and forever the scribe. I have a few favorites. Strapping lads of bone and salty assisted surfers hair. Post puberty tattooed events of wild fuck and under paid apprenticeships. One of the calls me his “Goddess” while bouncing around on pill aided paws.Paws as I call him “Tigger” because between the ADAD and the drugs he is never still within his skin which leads him to looking slightly blurred at all times.

A stunning and friendly child who brings me Dr Peppers complete with bendy straws and tactile tall hugs.

But if you could see the shockingly hard and ugly configurations of female flesh that he has sex with! I lament. The greatest gift of alpha youth is the staunch belief that age will not find you,that this condition that you find yourself in will remain eternal. That you have braincells,energy and fucks to spare I guess….

I want them to know beauty.To scale the heights. I am in no position to show that to anyone.My once renowned beauty was drained by a bass wielding thief.I am a noivate. But my infants! Ah ! I despair! Beauty children not hookers!….

But in is of no use. Men. Pft! I can’t tell a nineteen year old from a small town as much as I cant tell a forty year old from one of the biggest.

I let them mess up their own lives as we are all prone to do and I write more lyrics that I  know will touch my lost boy when he hears them.As he does for me.  I think his ding-a-ling fuck hole must be incandescent with seething jealousy. I smile just thinking of it….Imagine not being able to live up to a memory and have self esteem so low as to take up with a man that is in love with the one that came before you and has told you as much from the start.His new album is almost ready for release and not only do I sing on it but the whole thing is basically about me,our relationship.

Suck eggs.

When I think about what I have lost and the fact that at my lowest I am not a very good or nice person yes,it makes me rub my hands together with malevolent glee.

“Why are you single Seven?” asked one of my shivering infants last night. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat you stupid zygote?” I parried by way of reply.

One of them showed me that I am the screen saver on her phone while waiting in line .Bless.

Single.

Thank Elvis.

The closest I have come to sex and relationship stuff was offering to babysit for a friend of mine while he and his wife get their fuck on with a third party after a sorely needed night out on the razz. I am a great friend. Miss Nina came around before work last night and we spoke at great length,as we do,of the follies of relationships and life at large. She has been my big brothers other half for well over a year now and I take her words and advice very much to what is left of my heart. As I sat and painted my fantastic blue eyes into bold relief with gold and bronze powder at my dressing table she sat on my cloud of a bed and idly flipped though one of my ludicrously over priced imported fashion magazines. She reminds me of a Persian cat. I envy her fine bones,freckles and spectacular grace. Next to her I am a raw boned,frost bitten peasant with dirt beneath my nails,lumbering back in form the potato fields,moon-face ruddy with cold framed in the circle of a scarf….

“You have to get over him” she announced,her skinny legs knotted into a pretzel. “I know that but it’s not working out that way.” I replied,one eye closed awaiting the arrival of a ton of deftly applied  glue dipped false lashes.” Besides” I continued “There is no one out there for me. He was a close to getting it right as I could get and I said that if it ever ended ..” “Which it has” she pointedly interjected “Which it has in theory” I sighed and continued ” That I would leave well enough alone and remove myself from the game,which I have.”

Then,ever mature,I poked my tongue out at her via my flawlessly painted reflection.

Its different for boys. The need something to fling their fuck into. So as long as I remember that she is nothing but a cum catcher its not all that bad,not really.

Another letter from my far flung past hit the inbox of my My Space and Facebook fan page recently.Do men get off on distress? One wonders…. Hoping that I was ok in light of tenaciously clinging heartbreak and so on. Very strange indeed. I also wrote back to my ex-ex,why I don’t know.Trying to talk sense to a miserable Pisces is akin to putting out a fire with gasoline. Of course I have not heard a peep since.

My lost boy may be an asshole of the first and finest order but at least he knew how to man up.

I am through with it all.I have no desire to reproduce and even less to get my fuck on so what is the point? If I want to sweat I will go on a shoplifting binge or a ten mile run.I can’t imagine going though all the steps to get to know another animal yet again,the thought alone of such effort makes me take to my bed and have a panic nap and a sneaky sniveling cry. Pointless. I am sure on my death bed that I may lament,albeit briefly, the fact that I was quite conservative with my affections but when I think of the vampires who were not I am sure that it will not bother me for long.

I think of a badly aging talentless goth girl that I once knew residing in the Newtown ghetto.She was a badly painted pilot fish ever clinging to the ass of the shark of cool.Forever chasing a partner and forever making the same mistakes.A fake feminist with well used manacles attached to her bedhead. I bore myself but I admit to what I am and why I am not applicable to human relations.I observe her and her ilk and the honeymoon period lie that they apply to themselves in three month installments before it all goes pear shaped and for however rotten I am? I am thankful that I am not of that lowly stripe or caliber.

No matter how much knowledge we acquire we can only be what we are. I admit to my poison. And for a brief fantastic fuck filled time so did the one love of my life.

So my ex and a sweet nineteen year old fuck the dirty ugliest whores I can imagine yet still refer to me as  “The love of my life ” and “A Goddess”. Hmmmm….Maybe its better this way…hear me out before you bite…In my ex’s head,as in mine,we are untouchable by all that befell us,time,distance,his paranoia,my coldness…we are still us locked down and eternal. What do I care if he uses some disease ridden pan-faced,peroxided prostitute to catch his load in my lamented absence? Its not such a big deal.She is furniture. She provides a use,a service.

Like a washing machine really.With genitals.

As for my sweet nineteen year old friend.I will mother him and yell at him to wrap his meat.I will play big sister yet again.He will bring me lollipops and make me smile.

I remain  untouched and untouchable. I think I have found the system that will work for me.

Today I must fumble my way into the city and pay my gym membership which I intend to flog like a mule throughout what looks to be a miserable and low hanging grey winter. I will not weigh in for a whole month,I will not scrutinize every inch of my corpse daily.I shall sweat and burn in that order.I shall reemerge in the spring with a god almighty bang. I will keep my head muy low. I have tours to plan and scheme.

One of my other infants has just secured a fashion scholarship in France and sites me as his muse. I am so very proud.In return for my inspiration he is designing my Halloween costume for this year.If I told you what is was,which I won’t,you would understand the necessity of full on training from now till then. I plan on making the world eat its heart out don’t you worry about that…..

The winter schedule….

I have many more tattoos to acquire before flesh will be exposed yet again. I have to return to the neighborhood of 153 pounds and purchase real estate.No more renting thin for moi! I am becoming a resident. I have to extinguish hopeless hope one mean spluttering pink candle at a time. The margin of error must be reduced.Train your animal Madden. Its not as if you have anything else on your plate and even if there was?

Your too fat to eat it.

Sight unseen my new band has acquired a booking agent.I am dizzy.He says that it is on the strength of mine and my drummers prior work. Its so very rare that anything nice happens to me so I am savoring it. Being that some members of my band have small people,you know, children,everything has to be very concise and I like that.I am too old to meander when it comes to work and what it is that I want to achieve.Its good.

Second last show this week. I am anxious for the new,the amplified,the close up.

Loud.

Plain.

I wonder what the long term effects of staying faithful to a memory are? Does it give you cancer? Does it come with a warning from the Surgeon general? Who can say?…. What? God! You must be kidding! Don’t look at me! I didn’t even make it past the eighth grade. Wish I hadn’t of broken my magic 8-ball though,a girl needs an oracle in turbulent times such as these….

(shake,shake,shake!)

What can I tell you? I am a pervert when it comes to persistence,I like the disillusion,it fits me like a glove.Skintight.I dig the sad security. Sue me…..

I am getting on with my loud old life,don’t you worry your pretty little noggins about that. In fact sports fans,I am busier and more focused now than since I lived in LA and if you saw me out there you know that that is saying a mouthful.I was jet propelled baby!  The strength of my desire to write and create is a bonafide relief because I thought that I would never feel this way again.I thought that destiny would have me manning the deep frier at Pinks Hot-dogs at this point in the game at the rate I was going ,so as far as I am concerned?  Its all good in the ‘hood. So, I get on with it but can I tell you something? Its like there is a secret chamber within me,a place hidden and holy to a heretic such as  myself  with only two keys in existence and I visit it often and linger late.

Fact: I know that he is porking a hatchet headed Hollywood hooker and I know that I am celibate ( Boy! Do I know…..) and seventeen thousand odd miles away but that’s not what matters.What matters is that there is a level,a plain if you will,where we still exist together.And I can’t see that it is ever going to be any other way.

Sounds like a bunch of patchouli based airy-fairy hippy shit I know and I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest  if you stopped reading round about now but the fact of the matter is that we just cant leave each other the hell alone.

I have done a fair few moons on the dermis of this rock and in what feels like dog years to tell the truth.A whole twenty seven long years in fact (shut up….) I like to think that on a good day that I know what’s up,what “Time it is as” the the kids say (*snort*). I have had some utterly kick ass people populate my existence too. I had people that I thought that I would know forever who faded and flew away. But us? “We” as my beloved Descendants would sing? We are eternal. No one ever got the me in me like that. No one ever saw my damage and raised the bar and the bet without flinching. There is no practicality within us,its passed and time has done a runner on the bill but I know and I would swear on a stack of cheeseburgers before Elvis that if I saw him again he would still be the  horse cocked human equivalent of napalm and suck the air clean out of my lungs and replace it with fire.

No one ever made me laugh like that and saw the world like I did.That is a nearly impossible thing to give up and Elvis only knows I gave it a red hot royal fucking try…..

(My drug.)

An equal,a peer,a partner,a hero,a mate and a lover?

Never ask me why I cant be bothered to try again.

The harvest moon is making me nuts.

That and the cherry Dr Pepper that I am inhaling like mothers milk. I wish that I could get Mr Pibbs and a decent fish taco here and my life would be muy bueno. Finished another song for the new St Cecilia album called “Nice Tiger”  I can’t decide if I want lap steel or banjo on it.Fuck it! Why not both? Its creepy as hell. Think the Allman bros do Concrete Blonde via The Birthday party. Damn it! I love this band.I wear my pounding fan-boy heart naked on my frayed sleeve every step of the ragged rocking way. I can’t wait to sing with Marcus.Our voices together? Brace yourself is all I can say…. Its funny though,he wants to be “Just the guitarist” and I am in the same boat with playing bass. Hopeless! But I am high on the idea of two front-men. My hyper-talented friend Tim Sult who plays guitar in one of my all time favorite bands cracks up when I call myself a “Front-man” but “Front-woman” sounds totally stupid. Like some six titted superhero that didn’t make the cut at Marvel or something.I asked Josh is he would throw his voice into the mix as well (“C’mon man! Three singers!!!” ) and was met with all resounding “Hell no!” which goes to show that my good natured bullying enthusiasm does not always win out.

Oh well,worth a try…..

Whatever the hell happens its going to sound and be totally righteous.

Wish that I had the coin to get the band to Vancouver to record with Professor Chicken. Ahhh,in a perfect world.He would put a shine on it for sure. He and Gene are working together right now. I miss them both.

Be happy to get back on stage next week surrounded by all my candle lit crap and a host of fine people but I always find it lamentable when Blackie is not playing being that he is some kind of punk rock security blanket for me.He has a run of shows with the infallible Neil Hamburger next week so that’s why I have to fly solo. The mind boggles. My amazing Mo Mayhem from The Hell City Glamours is on the bill so I know that it will rock hard as hell. He is coming over to jam on Sunday which will wrap my week up very nicely.

I am sure that we will do a few songs together,a good time that I always look forward to.Can I just state for the record how rare it is to have a friend who shares my Izzy Stradlin obsession and encourages it?  A giant among men right there.

Its gonna be a good show.

Its way early here.The garbage trucks stomp and rule silent streets. I want to get to sleep before the dopey daylight drones wake up and take over for a sunlight soaked twelve hours.The day shift.I’ve got an idea……. The gold key gripped tight in my sweaty hand,my step sure and light. I will meet you there.

I will scratch your wings……

Ashes.

I love how we berate ourselves with the words “I should have known better” like its some kind of booby prize.

That it gets us off the rusty hook of our own stupidity.We did no better,we just go by habit,predictability.Easier to run at a loss or settle for second place that run the gauntlet and do it different and fueled by fear. Life is a learned behavior.

And I am a stone cold fool.

But one that is on a diet and getter better by the day. Its a start..

The moon made sure my period hit me at full force.I bled and suffered on public transport to attend a birthday gathering for a sweet young friend that I have come to know and like while working at Club 77.Her boyfriend tends bar and they both come to my weekly shindigs without fail.“Are you a Goddess or a mouse? ” I muttered to my portly reflection while No Doubt filled the air and I applied my false lases as deftly as a surgeon suchering  a wound. A goddess I decided. A big fat one.I rarely leave my domicile and it felt good to do something nice for people who have been so kind to me and my motley mid-week cause.

It was really sweet.

One on my bosses showed up and gave me a lift down to 77 where my dear friend Miss Belle was Dj’ing.Fresh back from San Francisco with all the pills and potions I had asked for from the GNC that I cant get here, bless her.We sat in the half moon booth and caught up for hours.I guzzled Dr Peppers and crowed with delighted at her lovestruck fable that owes as much to divine providence and romance as it does to her mighty will and terrifying tenacity. Just because I am a jaded loveless fuck does not mean that I am not happy for my beautiful girlfriends when cupid strikes. Far from it. If anything I get vicarious kicks.

Its heaven to behold their happiness.

I am a bit teary.Hormones and stupidity. I was looking for Michelle Meldrum’s ashes in my bedside drawer when I got home as I wanted to set them out by the pool by the light of the full moon.They are encased in a small silver bullet with a delicate filigree heart charm attached to the lid.Gene wears her around his neck. I miss her so fucking bad…I told her that she would come and see me here.When I got back after she died I took some of her remains to my shack on the far cost.I buried her beneath a tree that I have sat under since I was a child.

Its on the edge of a cliff. Below ,dolphins surface.

I smell vanilla and my knees go out from under me to this day,that was her scent.I wore it when she was in the hospital so that her young son would feel safe when we curled up together in her absence.

Its not fair.

I placed her by the waters edge with a prayer and then stupidly went back into the drawer.

While on the subject of loss…..

I kept everything.Every boarding-pass and backstage call sheet.Every piece of proof that once I had been loved loudly and worldwide.Amongst it was the picture that the waitress took on my birthday in LA when my parents flew in to meet my future husband and celebrate with us both. I know that were were in love.I know that it was real.

Proof baby…we have the scars,the tattoos….

Back to the here and now.

Proud of myself for going to that party tonight. I behaved like a real human being.Sitting in bed with my Hello Kitty doll hours later I am still shocked at my stack heeled affirmative actions.Who woulda thunk it?

I wallow in my grey matter far too much. For the 1st time in a long time I have really great men and women around me. My rock and roll boys,my compadres ,sending me missives from the road,from backstage somewhere in North Carolina,from carpeted walled recording studios in Los Angeles,from lush tour buses and  busted vans. My strong men,my brothers, who are not afraid of me.My beloved band-mates who get me feeling fourteen,fire-proof and on the cusp of kick ass. My girls. The coolest women in the room and they know my name. The heart breakers and scene shakers and they make much of me while I blush.

I get to wondering sometimes if I will ever be wanted again.If I will ever let anyone touch me. But then I realize that in light of it all and in the big picture,that it really doesn’t matter. I look at what I have rather than what I don’t a lot more these days and that right there is one fuck of a blessed relief. that took its sweet assed time in getting here.That I look at the positive rather that the negative? I never thought that I would say that.

The King is finally cutting my fat ass a break it seems.

I ain’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth after the holocaust of heartbreak that I have been through the last year or so. Are you shitting me?

I am gonna burn candles and write songs to it! On my ring-a-ding-ding twelve string no less.

I owe my dead. I owe it to them to do what I do.

Seems that they have sent me some mighty good people as well.I am grateful.

I have shit to do here.

I will leave you with the immortal words of Mojo Nixon.

“Hey,hey,hey,get outta my way.!”

Predictable.

I was told that I hadn’t changed.This was said with bitterness and vitriol meant to hurt me.Quite the opposite.It was a bunch of flowers and the homecoming crown as far as I was concerned.

Change? Fuck it.I am down with evolution.

I wear my convictions priceless and princess cut baby.It annoys the would-be-if-they-could-be alphas who knew from the get go that they would never be able to keep up no matter how hard they tried or faked it.I tend not to measure myself against the pedestrian and the lackluster.I have far more important things to do.Someone asked me to break it down for them the other night.

Here it is.

If you are not for me you are against me,if you get in my way I will run you over.

Simple,poetic and just a muy bit sexy.

I dig economy.I dig precision,my thesaurus,Dr Pepper and bullfighters on black velvet.

Why should I change? I applaud the animal that I have become and now I want to get better  at being me. Physically and mentally.You have no idea how much this threatens wanna-be contenders but their lack of foresight and courage is not,nor will it ever be my problem.I am not wearing a porters cap and no one gave me a dollar so I ain’t gonna carry your bags dig?

I think I put it on the gatefold for Tourettes second album and I still stand by it. “Everything that they love you for in the beginning they will crucify you for in the end.”

Let ’em whine and post their veiled references.Go for it son. You feel better now?  I just don’t care. People can push me only so far. What can I tell ya? Whining non-starters just don’t crank my engine. Nothing but landfill and fertilizer that hasn’t had the good grace to die.

These fools don’t even have the credentials let alone the necessary balls it would take for me to view them as worthy adversary’s. Its a shame really….

I got told that I am predictable.Heh.Whatever gets someones loser ass through the night. I have and will be called worse things,no doubt there. This is it.This is what I am. I hone and sharpen it. I am a bit too salty to let the opinions of almost-rans and bitter self indulgent fucktards get my long limbed self down.

Pioneers get the most arrows.My ass looks like a porcupine.

And I make it look good baby.

Starting to get really excited about wrapping my residency up for a month and writing my ass off with Marcus. Finished an amazing track called “Napoleon’s horses”  last night .So mucho bueno kick ass. I think I want to keep it really sharp and mean in terms of how long it goes for. I err around the 45 minute mark.I love albums that leave me hungry and wanting more. Miss Nina is recording my solo stuff soon as well which is going to be cool.

Focus woman! As your girls would tell you wrapped in fur and velvet “Its all happening” And thank Elvis,it finally is.

This is the year that I thought would not happen.That I would be in a band again and doing what I love once again. May is a hard yard .All I can think of is that it is four years since we lost Michelle and Skoota and that the lack of them never gets any easier. Being in St Cecilia heals a lot within me,its the band that I was bound for from the very beginning. Meldrum being on hiatus as Gene is always so damn busy I am glad that I have something to claim and call my own in its absence. I miss Michelle endlessly.I am here and she is not so its important that I honor what it was that brought us together and that is the music.

Skoota was such a cheerleader for me and what I do.No matter how low I got he always believed it me relentlessly.

So how come the good ones die and I am left to navigate the mongoloid minefield day after day?

I’m flattered…..

I smiled when I saw the songs on the new Mondo Generator album and not just the tracks that I sang on. Some hard words but we always inspired the hell out of each other so I guess that’s something. There are two St Cecilia tracks that are about us and they are good,really good. I still miss the great parts of what we had together because we made such an awesome team. I am so proud of all that we achieved together and view it as a highlight in my personal and professional life.I always felt the weight of our friendship in all that we did and were and it kept me happy.Just lying around playing guitar together and cracking up over shit that no one else understood. I really miss those times.

I always expect to see him walk backstage and sweep me off my feet on Wednesday nights with that look on his face that lead me to call him “My hand-full” He was so happy living here.I was so happy that he shone bright away from the Hollywood take downs and ass clowns.

I miss my best friend.

You know,I would rather be predictable to the ones who never and will never make the grade and want the world to pay for it than lie to myself. Rather get my life all over me than master the art of passive aggression. Be definite in what I am and continue to educate myself and be open to the world and all that I can give and take from it.

If that is predictable? Well then, I am the goddamn CEO.

Stick with you misery and small ponds.I never said I was the big fish motherfucker,I just swam.

I don’t do things because I think that someone is watching,to court approval.I do what I do because it drives me,it sustains me.I cant imagine living any other way.I may end up living in a doorway with thirteen cats and a bottle collection by the time it all plays out but I kept my integrity and I delivered to the best of my ability every time.I was relentless in my pursuit of the sweet spot,I raised the bar for myself every time and continue to do so.I gave my all.

Can you say the same?

I lost some of the things that meant the most to me and I survived it,I plan on surviving and thriving till Elvis calls me skyward to sing backups with The Jordanaire’s in heaven.

I let my life speak for itself and just like Jack Kerouac said I am going to love my life out.

In conclusion?

Eat me.

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.

Aural.

I am always so busy trying to top myself. Not kill myself ! I already know how I am gonna do that.Stick a hand grenade up my ass and pull the pin mid stage dive at a One Direction concert. Where was I? Top, you know, to better the last thing that I did.The last show,the last recording,the last photo shoot. Whatever. I pit myself against myself mercilessly.

Gotta have a hobby….

And its not that I forget what I have done its just that I don’t want it to be the sum of all my parts.Miss Haversham with a back-beat? Nuh-uh. I respect it and wave politely to it through the swirling mists of time and whatnot (” Ohh! I love what you have done with your hair!”) but I want more,faster and now. I could name one too many a sad motherfucker who is still trying to cash in on the future that never was.The fifteen minutes of shame.Fuck that swinging.

No thank you very much.

Independent music leads to stoic and staunch convictions.From afar I saw Ian McKay and company re-write the rules and change the game and at home I watch Blackie bang out an amazing and continually evolving body of work. Watch the masters and learn. They make it happen.I sat barefoot and starving beneath the damask draped table while Punk and Metal had a romantic dinner.The scraps were delicious and I ate the lot being the greedy fuck that I am. Sucked the marrow from every last bone.This is mighty fuel we are talking about here people. Bottom line? I can’t go grocery shopping with out wanting to punch at least five people bare minimum while having a panic attack but I will chase a promoter out into oncoming traffic with the butt end of a broken pool cue ( dont ask…) if I think I am being fucked with. Go figure right?

It gave and then shaped my courage when I had none,lets just say that.

Its nice to see some fans of my old shit who have open minds coming to the shows on Wednesday nights.Its nice to see fucking anyone at anything I do full stop and no I am not being facetious.I am always beyond grateful that anyone gives a fuck about my post-adolescent navel gazing output at all.Its a gift not to be sniffed at. Every day of my chubby existence that does not involve me wearing polyester and saying  “Do you want fries with that?” is a titanic achievement given my homicidal tendencies ( Mike Muirs secret band ) and staggering lack of formal education.

Music is so insidious.In the turgid chambers of my fetid imagination I am on first name basis with all of my heroes because nothing touches me as much as music. It touches me in places I don’t even wash.It was like Penny Lane said in Almost Famous,Cameron Crowes fearless and peerless love letter to rock and roll, that you can always go to the record store and catch up with your friends. And its true. I am so very fortunate that I have got to meet and on some blessed mind altering occasions play with many of the talented artists that have provided the soundtrack to my tantrum based self punishing lifetime .I have got to thank them,often too loudly ,stuttering dry mouthed , with inappropriate language and hand gestures better suited to signaling to an emergency aircraft when shipwrecked on a desert island.

But I got to say thanks.

I am going somewhere with this…

Ah.Artists! We are wankers one and all. Self absorbed toss-pots searching for the next riff. I am really the most socially ill adjusted person I know.Well,besides all of the other musicians that I know but you get the picture. If I am not in my head poncing around on stage at Wembley stadium with Guns and Roses playing back to back rhythm guitar with Izzy Stradlin,watching the lights turn Duff Mckagens blond mop into a corona of white fire I am locked in my room.Or talking to Lester Bangs in the shower.Or our tour with Blue Oyster Cult for-ever….but when I get to play? Ah! That is the money shot .That is where I come true.The only time when I correct in any way shape or form.

So there I am faffing about at the show when a new face pops into my line of vision and introduces herself to me.Really sweet and cool.We shake hands and she proceeds to tell me how much my old band meant to her. My jaw was swinging.She was telling me about songs that I had forgotten writing, albums hunted for,articles read and so on and so forth.She was so open and happy and it just ruled.I could never get jaded when it comes to this. How cool that she extended herself to me like that, that she took the time.

Fuck yeah it matters.

It was great. I saw myself in her. Its all a fucking great big noisy circle  isn’t it? I hate people who are too cool. I am never going to be cool.I love what I love far too much and that is the root,rhyme and reason to my entire existence.To whit…Iggy Pop makes Henry Rollins quake all over again upon witnessing him live at The Palladium in LA last month,I chase Henry Rollins around at Big Day Out clad in a wife beater and a kilt to in-eloquently thank him for keeping my Ritalin fired ass company through the napalmed deltas of a heinous small town adolescence and this rad chick asks me for my autograph by the light of the zillion candles that we spark up at every show.

Circles.

Gratitude owns bitches. Be nice.

Not to civilians and knob jockeys but to the people that float your boat no matter now many holes are in the hull due to repeatedly shooting yourself in the foot. It puts wind in your tattered sails so grab that bucket and bail child! Bail till the next show or podcast.Till the next time you line up for tickets or go to an in-store with your heart in your mouth and your limited edition vinyl and sharpie ready in hand. These are the gold dipped,honey roasted,no deposit down moments that provide the sonic thread to the tapestry of sound that ignites you,that you can wrap around yourself.Its an amour dig?

These misfits? They hold the match baby….

Petulant pyromaniacs given to big sound and transcendence.Sign me up lover! Mr Morrison was right.Lets all get our kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.In the dark surrounded by like minded dreamers. Life is too long my little dixie cups.Its long and full of shit and trouble so cut loose while ye can.

Its the pyre flamed by desire.The alpha urge to show what you are made of,to lose yourself in a pit of like minded flesh for a sweet hour or so,head back,spine loose, just wallowing dig? ( and i know that you do…) ,to get through a job that you hate,past the roadblocks that the narrow minded masses have set in your way ( you are so fucking beautiful…). Spin till you hurl,Till stars fall when you close your eyes,its the only way.It elevates.It is noble.It smells raunchy and makes you ears ring like the bells of St Paul’s cathedral.It never says never.Fed through a Marshall stack it makes you believe that anything is possible and that all is obtainable. It relates when all else dictates. There was an old blues song called “I’d rather be blind” .

Case closed.

I scrawled my name on the flyleaf of her book and thanked Elvis yet again that I get to lead the life that I do.

Then to top it off my dear friend Miss Monika informs me that she has a ticket for Fu Manchu with my name on it for tomorrow night

“Dude! Really?” I gasp tangled in fairylights,falling off a chair, post show.

“Yep” she grins red of lip and kind of heart.

Well alright.

Redemption by way of aural annihilation?

Baby,you are singing my song.

Compete.

Just woke up after strange all day dreams about an apartment I lived in some time back in the 1700’s when punk broke (A-gain. Sigh…) and barbecuing a lot of seafood.

I rouse myself to make the first bucket of tea for the day and the front door is wide open and ding-a-ling is walking round without his shirt on,eating nacho chips and smelling like an ashtray. I know that I am a horrible person,I made my tenacious peace with this fact a long ass time ago but no one deserves this. No one.

Then you have the fat fuck and her equally bovine daughter throwing furniture around upstairs and …why…do …I …bother?

I know that the time is nigh when I have to leave my bed,done clothes that won’t scare the horses and make my way to the store for more supplies (“But its not my birthday?” “No you round eyed fool! Supplies!”) The sooner I do it the sooner that it is done I know,I know.

Miss Emma sent me a text from The Roosevelt in Hollywood telling me of foxy fables fresh from my old stomping ground and I am happy for her but at the same time there is a razor sharp shard of ice in my heart that throbs with the bloodthirsty knowledge that I may never get to go home again.I don’t even have the coin to send to my old room-mate to get my shit freighted  to me in this horrible holding patten that I find myself locked in..Amazing how one fuck upped relationship can destroy a whole country for a person. Predators alienate you from your friends.They are so good at it.Its quite sickening really its because they have destroyed all of their own friendships.Excuse me for a moment.I have to go hurl….

Better out than in.Teeth brushed,feel better.

I still have not begun the great room clean of 2012.So very unlike me.Saint Tina and I spoke yesterday.It made me realize how pathetic I and my fast diminishing priorities really are.One of her dearest friends with two children and a devoted husband has been diagnosed with bone cancer.Upon receiving news like that and tales of her stoicism I do not for one second believe that I am brave or that I have the courage to see this life experience out. I am humbled.I am shit.I light candles and send my light from afar because if I was in the same situation the last think I would want would be people swarming around me offering condolences with their perfect health in the face of my immanent demise.

This is where we let ourselves down as a breed.We have no ceremony anymore.A card? I mean,really?

How do you say goodbye if given fair warning?

Even with all the words I possess I would keep my fat head shut.I would just go away.Fill my pockets with rocks and walk into the river.

I think that is what I have been doing my whole life.Never feeling like I have made the grade,never entirely sure what the grade was to be completely honest and I have just gone away. (“Strange unnatural child that she is”) Never met my own exacting standards but I had one hell of a time trying,yes sir I did. Always felt disconnected from the things,places and events that I was told and raised to believe meant something massive and all consuming.None of it never meant shit to me.

People are so poisonous.I attract the cream of the curdled crop.It must be in my cellular make up or something. Show me an asshole with a substance abuse problem and a rap sheet and I am booking the tickets to Vegas.I am a stray and in that I think that I attract much of the same.I am also a bolshy autodidact which tends to ruffle a few insecure felonious feathers when the shit hits the fan. Bugger it.Where was I..?….Oh! I just adore how dumb we are as humans that we think that every-time is going to be different.Every new start.Oh ho ho! That our faults will be solved with the amnesty of a new fuck,location or job.

Ahhhahahahah! .

Being that I have some Internet credit I indulged in what ended up being about five minutes of porn.Just to see if my chick bits had re-animated themselves when I wasn’t looking. Mr Rollins met my gaze when he was describing the way he,a-hem,services himself with an overhand stroke during his orgy of spoken word on friday night.I dropped a dirty slow wink heavy with ink black false lashes and smiled. He gulped. As for my neither regions? Nope. No dice.

Not that I would let anyone touch me the way that I look right now. Disgusting.You have to have standards.The world will denigrate into an elastic waisted two- for-one sale at Walmart of destiny if they are not upheld. Problem being is that I think that I am the only one who does because day after bloody buggery day I see an endless wave of ugly fucks breaking on a putrid shore of much of the same. And they fuck!.

Romance is dead as the dodo. Its like Caligula mixed with Todd browning’s Freaks out there .It burns my retinas and my expensively scented sensibilities to a crisp.

Say if I dug a dude enough to make the beast with two backs with him (“And that weather report in hell,now back to John in the studio with the weekly Sport roundup…”) I would want to present a great event,a close-to-flawless corpse.Heres the byline “Life is ugly,fucking shouldn’t be!”.A hallowed  product. Am I alone in this bearing of standards? Sadly and seemingly so. I don’t know why I am banging on about it anyway.Probely because it never ceases to amaze me. You lower your standards? The world becomes your all you can eat buffet of fuck.I shudder to think.I would rather go record shopping and stay up all night writing. I would rather deep throat a broken bottle.

Now I understand why civilians feel the need to drink.

Singular people are just that because they are too hard for the unwashed masses to work out.Insurance that I don’t have to pay for! Can I get an Hallelujah?

They say that it is better to have loved and lost that to live with an abusive psychopath for the rest of your life. A fair point. Its just sad when the worst part of a person is their drug addiction and what it turns them into and not the person themselves.This is what keeps people hanging onto terrifying relationships for years. Then you have the undeniable fact that water seeks its own level. Junkies bang hookers. They want a running mate on their endless journey to extinction.

Foul.

So a great woman is diagnosed with bone cancer.Never hurt a fly.But Florida scum live to scam and shoot up another day.Dear Elvis,please send a strychnine shot to her long-over-due-meant-to-Od-ugly-self,amen.Or at least invite me into the Jungle room for a Quaalude and a peanut butter and banana sandwich and tell me how your divine master-plan works because I just don’t get it….

I am not doing much to further or help my situation at this point I freely admit.I am trying to find a reason and a point.The long winter of my blah,blah,blah.I have to admit,bar my dickhead neighbor,it is rather nice to be living in a domicile with a airtight roof the colder it gets. It irks me that my ex ex,the grumpy tattooist,the one before this one,lives in a shit hot compound in the middle of the city with all my mates when it should be me.I still dig living with Lilli but her retarded baggage sucks the high hard one.

Everyone arrives back from California this week and it will be great to see them. Many photos and fables.Laz is going to Finland to tattoo and I am stuck here rotting and broke. Its not a pity party so you don’t have to bring a plate.I passed that about a million miles back.I danced with the lampshade on my head and puked in the dishwasher.What it is is an impasse the likes of which I have never had to deal with before and I am not sure how to even begin to go about it.I have never been in the position where I have not had an adversary to pit myself against or a challenge.

Its all very strange.I don’t think that I like it at all.

I speak to myself here with my endless puking of circular stupidity but I think that its wise to keep my pie hole shut in the real life exploits,as rare and feeble as they are,that I chose to undertake.

No one is out there ,not really.And if they are and you spill your guts in a moment of weakness? You end up in debit one way or another.I will cool my jets in purgatory until Elvis sends me the dispatch that I deam worth moving for,the one that gets me to deploy like the war hungry tragic that I am.

Ho-hum.

The best competition was always myself and the demons that had ambled after me ,nipped at my well shod heels since birth.Miss Karen just called me and after five minutes of hearing myself speak I swiftly concluded the conversation by announcing “I cant have this conversation,I love you,goodbye”

And I cant.Not with her,not with anybody for that matter because its flat out rude.Airing my metal instability is balls out bad manners and I have to just suck it up.Sleep around the clock,be broke,whatever.I am throwing myself under the wheels again soon.I have to or I die like this.

Somethings gotta give.

Front.

I feel like someone booked me on a a one way ticket to wig city without my knowledge. Straightjacket included in the price. The food sucks and the service is  dismal.

All aboard!

Another week bleeds together and I eat steamed vegetables (“But where do you put their wheelchairs?) and stay at home locked in my disaster of a room,earplugs wedged in my head and a towel under the door.Party central. A fucktard  that I have unfortunately had working with me on my Wednesday nights told me that he would stop fucking up if we had “Meetings”. Excuse me? What is this? The fucking 80’s? I don’t to meetings.I do the phone.You want to talk to me you call.

Its early and no Dr Pepper makes Michele an angry girl.I have finally knocked off the Red-Bull for a while.Me dying of a taurine induced heart attack would make far to many people happy.

The less contact that I have to have with the animals the better off everyone is,trust me.It takes me all week to get it together enough to leave the house for the Wednesday’s show and then to work Saturday on the door.

Stevie Nicks graces this weeks flier so I think I will break out “Silver Spring” on my 12 string.

One nice footnote from Saturday on the door though.I tend to abuse people who wear band tee-shirts with out knowing whose flag they are flying mercilessly and until the big vein in my forehead is throbbing like an earthworm that swallowed a metronome.So this boy gets to the front of the line and says “Hi Seven!”

“Hey darlin'” I reply not knowing him from Adam.A huge grin illuminates his face and he says in quick succession “Blitzkrieg bop,I wanna be sedated and I want you around!” I grin back at him.

“Honey” I say “Did I hit you?”

“No” he replied sheepishly” But I thought you were going to”

“Ramones tee shirt right?”

“Yep and now I love ’em!”

Of course I fucking let him in for free.You have to reward a dog when they get the trick right.Some where up there the brudda’s know that I am continuing their work down here on the putrid mortal coil in their lamented absence.

Got my rock and roll on to a spectacular level last week.Believe me, if it had not had Miss Lilli and Miss Karen pushing my fat ass to do so I would have slept through the whole thing as is my want and habit. That’s how you can tell that my depression has finally set up shop for good.I was not spastically excited about two nights of majestic spoken word,not to mention a show of my own…Wednesdays show was a blinder and unfortunately my worst one to date.My big brother off on tour supporting The Sonics,my resources tapped by fools,my adrenalin burning me alive…I am a Virgo,born the same day as Dee-Dee Ramone and Greta Garbo (control freak par excellence) and a number 9 ( Built for conflict) .When things that I am emotionally invested in (…rare,oh so rare.) get fucked with I am now at such fine distilled point of anger in my rapidly advancing years that I just cut the cord and walk.

Baby.Bathwater.Window.Capiche?

Which I almost did but for the company of Sue,my booker and shit-kicker extraordinaire.

So back to it this week for a few more shows and then a break to see if I want to keep going.I have all of June off which leads me to think of extended boot-camps and wild self punishment.Getting my self hatred out of my head and inflicting it on my corpse yet again.

Redd Kross were just so good at the Oxford Arts factory that I almost couldn’t bear it. One of my beautiful flying monkeys gave me welcome yet unwelcome news about the travails and exploits of my lying ex-inamorata. So that is that. He can have all the dirty whores that are shit in bed that he can handle and not me.I was tired and somewhat melancholy by the time the set thundered to a close.I hadn’t seen Steven since he was out here with OFF! but I decided to bail home in a cab,Lilli and I curled like tired rock sated kittens in the deep leather back seat.

Cue my shocking show the next night.Quel bummer in the summer….

Then onto the Seymour center to bask in the lexicon devilry and solid jaw of my beloved Sir Henry Rollins.We perched in the nosebleed seats and sucked I it all up into my ever fecund frontal lobe with a stripy straw.My cowboy legs spilled out into the isle and I realized ,yet again,how severely I have been letting myself down.My sleeping pattens erratic to put it mildly. I did not spend one day awake with Miss K battling though second hand shops and laughing at ugly civilians.My clock is beyond broken.She understands me totally but I still feel bad.

Then back to Mr Rollins on the Friday night.Saw Jen and Shane ,my favorite couple outside of Sharon and Ozzy.They are the Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward of punk.Their level of sincerity and greatness flaws me.We spoke of Miss Belle and her beloved Dave making it work in San Francisco and it made me miss my trounced future.

Not that it was ever going to work.I was too self aware to become a drug addict and too smart to be just a fuck hole.Now, if I could just extinguish that last bit of hope and move on with my life.

So Friday,yes…Front row center tickets.My make up and hair perfect.My ever astounding rack encased in my Cheap trick tee-shirt and is it wrong to tell you that we made eye contact 81 times,and yes,0f-course-I-bloody-counted?

Sigh.

I think you shine if you are wanted.I am tarnished as an Indian head penny. That glow that a woman has when she is desired and in love.Oh man…..You could have hooked the generator for a small town to my ass when I was in love and I would have keep it running without breaking a sweat or  a second thought. I think that my business has healed over.My weight gain is now morbidly fascinating. I have to google how much one can sell a kidney for.

Lili’s  dolt of a brother was away for the weekend.Utter heaven.I cant believe that I have the bad fortune to share a domicile with someone who wallows in their own ignorance,speaks like an inbred and drives drunk.This is Elvis way of testing weather or not I will be driven to homicide.

At least it would get me three hots and a cot and eradicate another idiot from the earth…

Back to selling the kidney.I need to live alone.Its been a decade since dwelling in my gothic monstrosity in Glebe and I miss it so very much. I miss my shit-heap of a garage too. Knowing that someone who is as stupid as a house brick and as about as appealing a a severe case of thrush is breathing on the other side of the wall is enough to make me want to toss my cookies.

Being that the former love of my life is tangled up with his bargain basement opiate guzzling prize of a prostitute I hear nothing from him.This is par for the course.She tracks and trails him relentlessly. Their poison coupling .I have to laugh.

What was that immortal line from the patron Saint of the Xanax disheveled ,Miss Courtney Love?…

“Ah yesssss!” hissed the brunette serpent as she settled her steel coils around the ruby apple.

“Someday you will ache like I ache.”

Howdja dig that fruit-cup baby boy?

But strangely enough I did receive an email from the one that came before him.A lanky miserable country boy that I tried to love back in ’05 with too much talent that I supported and promoted with my whole dumb heart.He was too insecure to deal with the fact that I was on the road in Europe with my band .Oh! the joyous emails that I received with him putting me and my career down,telling me that I would never make it.What a fucking prize that one was.Petty,ignorant and selfish and below par in the sack.I sure can pick em’ cant I?

Oh the fun that was to be had when he got back on the crack pipe and began drinking two liters of wine a night and put me down endlessly.Accused me of cheating on him.All the fun shit.To this day he still lives with one of my best friends,still living off my largess.

And he wrote to me to thank me for all that I had instilled in him all those years ago.

Big whoop.

Which makes me wonder.How long does it take dick packers to realize what they have destroyed? What they have lost?

The recent and most important man that I loved kept me in abundant roses from LA while he was on tour last .The florist would arrive,knock on the back fence near my garage and I would sigh. “Geeze! He loves you!”  he would smile handing over the blooms.His now ex- band mates chiding him over losing me and doing me wrong.I would stick my face deep into the decadent bunches and inhale lustily all the while hoping that he had not contracted something terminal from his heroin abusing harpie.

That one day there would be a time for us to inhabit once again.

Ho-hum.

I didn’t answer the email from my long ago mistake.Why the fuck would I? He opened it by saying that he hoped that I was in a good mood and not an ass kicking one.In our final conversation all those years ago I calmly told him to stop threatening me and to come around,come on over…,.I sat in the dark waiting,shotgun across my lap, ready to blow his knee caps out from under him.The problem is that people see me as a gentle giant.They mistake my kindness for weakness.

Idiots.

For a while there I thought that I was getting better.Turns out I was just tired.

I have that tasty month off coming my way.Hmmmm….I might disassemble and recalibrate.Turn off the phone.

I am a foxy homicidal malcontent.

There are worse things to be,I ain’t complaining.