Reunited.

A girl can dream can’t she?…..

It is blast furnace hot. Death valley. Crematorium. Hot.

The days linger late lolly-gagging and unwilling to leave the perceptual party,children sulking at their bedtime,grizzling with hard earned exhaustion by the foot of the stairs.( “I am going to count to three oh fruit of my loins and if your not in bed by the time I am done..one…t-wo……) It is the molten middle of summer and I am in my fleet footed,long limbed element.Festival season has descended among the heartless heathens once again so I find myself surviving on very little sleep,minor chords and plundered backstage catering.There I go, luminous with noise and just the slightest pinch of cunning, my hallowed name graces the list at every heavily guarded backstage door and harried festival box office.

And so it damn well should.

Sun smacked skin,caramel limbs and when we are this loud brothers and sisters? We are flawless.Beyond reproach and mortality lo!.

Wooo-wee baby! Ain’t life grand? You wanna dance pretty mama? Wanna hold my hand?

I dress my mean lean length like its 1978 and I sing back up vocals on long languid cocaine powered sessions for the copious cornucopia of raw talent signed to Capricorn records down Georgia way…( “Duane said my pitch and my ass were perfect…”) ..Behold as the ugly masses part like the Red sea ,slack jawed in my lion maned, chiffon swaddled,aviator shaded,stack heeled wake ,only full of dumb-asses rather than the chosen people.The magic pass that accesses me to all areas swings like a metronome keeping time from the strap of my low slung leather  bag and removes me from the unwashed masses all of whom are green with envy,sunstroke and alcohol poisoning.My lariat grins like an open wound under the weight of the stack of laminates that will be the size of a baby’s head by the time autumn rolls her red and gold brush broadly over the calender and the circus has long left town.

I am made for heat and fury,constructed for sonic mayhem and hotel trouble.Built for the rigors of Rock and Roll and ready for my close up motherfucker-best-you-believe-it baby.…The increasingly rare air trapped screaming inside the club is meaty with spilt beer and dishonest sweat,my twinkle toes stick to the tacky carpet and I hear my name called happily from at least a dozen directions.The Sonics bellow from the sound-system and it puts some pep in my sexy step for sure. Pressing flesh and kissing silent screen worthy glitter marred cheeks I make my way laughing to the bar where a Red bull,already open and pierced with a straw awaits my anticipated arrival with a dishy wink. Panting slow peeling posters of shows long past sag like sad girls with empty dance cards from the pockmarked walls due to the blast furnace heat that no air conditioner can dent nor tame no matter how hard it tries and the music is obnoxiously,fantastically loud.It permeates my every pore and I am lit with it.High on it.Sell the car,sell my clothes, I ain’t never coming home…..

I press the icy tin to my sternum which causes my nipples to stiffen.

I have prepared myself for you,almost tied a big red bow around my fine high steeping thoroughbred ass. Bathed and scented my every inch,pampered my every pore,an amoral architect.We like temptation don’t we daddy? Preparation for that  is what I must do or you will slip away.Into safer harbors and calmer tides.What the hell do I know? A regimented life and wife?  But here I am,right where you left me starving for the pleasure of your company,no handle, all knife.

Tonight you will surf the big waves and there is no lifeguard on duty,your leg rope severed.I am the siren that calls to you .Come wreck yourself upon this.

Born beneath a bad sign and self created I dipped myself into black water like Achilles.Tonight,if you want me and I know that you will,I shall be immortal ,you by proxy  and we will never die.There are starved,greedy eyes on me ripping the flesh from my silver soldered bones but I ignore them because they are not you.I sense your presence dear,my radar goes wild and know that I must ignore you too.

Smiling as I nod along to “If you want blood” Bon wailing and me agreeing.

As you do me. La-de-fuckin’-da…I know right? High school never ends.We are all bound by desire to do this dance over and over till the day we die…I find it so hard to believe that everyone in this grotty big nowhere inner city shithole can’t see my fifty foot neon hunger for you,smell my desire as I feel luminous with it.A bustout bawdy beacon of lust.

And the dogs,they lay panting at my feet.

I feel the five second delay motion of the tassels trimming  my knee high boots as I stalk the perimeter and we pretend that we just don’t care.The hottest little two-step in town and tonight we are Fred and Ginger,our choreography  is Taylor-Burton diamond flawless.Everything has the amplification of an acid trip by way of MDMA  and it is a genuine wonder I don’t keel over in a dead faint.

Look-a  here baby…My thighs long and lean, my crotch chewing on the seam of my tiny distressed denim shorts like cloth gum. Tattered Stooges tee-shirt,gossamer thin torn exposing my gold dusted shoulders,just so,white lace bra and tiny panties making my skin darker by negative comparison.I gratefully accept a cool drink from a friend on my way to the dance floor and with my spare hand lifting the hank of  heavy hair from my tattooed neck,I shut my million mile eyes and dance alone in the eye of the storm.

I feel the sweat bead and run down my ink bitten flanks,running a liquid grand national down the sound bent beads of my spine.The air throbs with the scent of full tar cigarettes, dope ,illicit promise  and unadulterated filthy funk.This is a forever night and the moon knows my name,calls me sweet baby…..Opening my  heavy eyes,shuttered by glorious midnight lashes I glance up from under at the band before me bathed in wet blue and red lights. My friends,my talented,vain glorious epic friends .They are all stealing glances at me,thieving looks.I poke my tongue out and waggle it lavishly and the shaggy haired guitarist laughs.They speed up and I move slower because I am mean and determined,the undertow has claimed me and I willingly drown.My best friend, wanton and desired by the boys in round about a million or so bands at last count is all at once by my sweat shined side,her pale arm snakes around me and I sigh leaning into her alabaster orbit heavy with Tom Ford’s black orchids,red lips and Dos Equis.

“He is here!” she yells in my ear,the words coated with smiling triumph.

“Ma Perdita corozon,via con dios!.” I yell back with a wink and she throws her head back with a great big peal of  amethyst laughter that has been known to cause hard-ons and heart attacks ,we kiss quick like  butterfly’s and proceed to dance like dervishes we are,locked forever keyless by sonic solidarity.

You utter bastard.You Fucker….

I feel you at the base of my spine,in my hips slow aching like food poisoning.I feel you where my pulse meets my blood and shimmy’s in my veins doing the bassline for “Dirt” .It has been so long since I have felt anything at all that I feel unhinged.I didn’t know if I occurred to you like you did me during the time that separated us,the life and ocean that held you from me but here you are again and not a damn moment too soon.Your passport stamped ,your calender cleared.My punk rock prince,the kisser of scars,chevalier noir.

Mine,mine,mine.

And you knew that I would not stay away,that I couldn’t if I tried not that I ever would have tried real hard mind, it would have been easier trying to get toothpaste back into the tube….I kinda hate you for that you know. But why of course you know,you read my beads way back didntchoo lover? Had my dystopian culo tagged and bagged from the get go,oh yes you did...My sorry assed sordid lack of control must be written all over my fevered face right about now,damn you to hell and back! You knew that I would be here at the height of my formidable femaleness.I have no doubt that you would have hunted me down had I stayed away but as time is of the essence we need to suck it dry,no time to mess around,got to drain the marrow from its bones,sew its orifices shut,throw it in the hole and fuck on its grave before the headstone has even been carved.

I avoid your eyes knowing that once they lock with mine we are utterly done for.Cactus.I wanna draw it out long and sweet,like fuck flavored taffy.Savor this filth.I have waited so long….And here come our  magnificent mutual friends to make much of me and my joy is honest at their presence and attention but still you stay away.Many hugs and semi-salacious salutations,our hectic laughter coats the smoke stained air and hitches a joyride to the stars.But you and me cowboy?  Tonight we seal the deal that was made the first time we met with spit and friction.Tonight you will tell me of all the road weary nights spent in narrow bunks still buzzing from the show that I came to you,that you dreamt of me.And in return I will give you the three am’s that I called your name when I came beneath my own talented hand.

I can wait.I excel at it.Do your thing baby and I will do mine….

Tonight we own the world and all that it entails.

I have been here,to this room at the end of the world,many times.The owners greet me effusively,bells and whistles, treat me like rock royalty and I always feel treasured.Drink tickets flutter in my wake like ticker-tape.All rise.I wave to the sound man,compliment the door-girls new haircut and am told at the bar with mock severity that my money is no good here.

I want to feel like this forever.

I extract myself from the packed dance floor as the headline act has now sucked every sound driven soul into the churning pit and the front bar is eerily deserted and at least ten degrees cooler.It is time. I am ready for my close up Mr DeMille….

Grabbing a water from the cooler by the side of stage, I make my way out to the smokers court yard where I stretch  laughing at the sudden abundance of warm semi-fresh air,solitude and the ringing in my ears.Cracking my neck and tying my hair up in a loose knot ,I ease into the shadows and pull myself up onto the open tailgate of a friends truck in the parking lot.Candy colored lights are strung like a carnival midway above and the bass strains to hook me back in again muffled though many stone and baffled walls.My feet ache and its not to hard to resist. I can hear the traffic bitch and whine on the main road.I lean back crossing my arms,fingers laced beneath my head,smell the jasmine perfume and sweat emanating from my armpits and proceed to get my flirt on with the low smog slung yellow moon.

It is here that you find me.Where I lead you.I sense you before I hear you and I hear you before I see you….

“Nice boots mamacita.”

“I know”” I reply softly without sitting up.You laugh that laugh that makes me feel like the wittiest girl in the room wearing invisible clothes and I smile that crooked fat lipped smile that you made fun of the very first  time we met  no less. My terrible,terrible heart is now in my fork tongued mouth mixing with the Niagara of saliva that has just flooded it and cinnamon gum that I chew incessantly bobs like a buoy.I shut my eyes.Your step amplified by the loose gravel beneath your jet-lagged feet.Slow.Savoring it all knowing that this scene of anticipation will be played back over and over again until the next rare time we belong to each other,until the sprockets tear and the negative scratches.

Tonight?

We are all we have.You are all that I want.

Together we are dangerous. Pheromones.A pornographic chemistry set.Narcissists delight.

(Darlin’…come closer.)

The truck bed shifts and sags under your welcome weight.You lie next to me scant inches away and I promptly  proceed to have a coronary in the grace of your long longed for company.I can smell the heavy exhaustion and nasty sweet sweat that lightly coats your pale skin.I’m imaging your tongue on my spine,in my mouth tangoing with mine swapping secrets surfing on spit,tasting of sin and burnt sugar,your body wrapped around me and shiver.My scenic skin is throwing off heat like confetti at a wedding.I am the Cult’s “Electric” sleepy eyed and faux- mystical resplendent in a coon-skin hat and a knowing look.The Stooges “Raw Power” wrapped in skin tight silver leather burning cars in Detroit.I am AC/DC’s “Live-wire” drinking Stones green ginger wine with Bon backstage into the wee hours.

I am all this and more and I am yours.For as long as you want me,I belong to you.

I dare not turn my head.I want,I need you to think that I am the most beautiful thing that you have ever seen,The Taj Mahal with tits.I want you to want me,crave me till the day we die. Drink my profile like a slow 40 ounce ,teen-aged and teetering on the edge.Seer it into you memory,brand it into your brain to keep you company out there in the big bad world.You turn towards me,on your side.I can feel your breath on my shoulder,your eyes tracing the hard pollack lines of my profile.Sometimes, I think we look like siblings.

(I want you to touch me,don’t touch me….)

“Are you going to open your eyes?”  you ask smiling.

(We think we are so damn cool…)

“Hell no!” I laugh and they spring open despite me,traitorous things.

You take my breath away and you can keep it,I don’t need it I swear.I can’t move.I want to devour you.We stare at each other in shock our cool game playing banter and bullshit blown off its hinges.

“I have missed you so much.” you say just as I had daydreamed it endlessly,like I willed it to happen and you place the tip of your string callused finger on my full lips.I deflate,my eyes swim with tears.

“Don’t” you say tuned to a low E and pitched right at my pelvis.I vibrate with your every word. “Plenty of time for that later.”

You are right for you will go,I will be left behind but before that particular cruelty comes to pass ,you seal me with a kiss.

and the band played on.………….

Fuse.

There are nerves involved every week.

Wondering if we will top the numbers from the week before. Heinous weather conditions had me set on red alert as always but my friends braved the torrential rain and as always made my perpetual adolescent dreams shimmer and shake once again.

I heard through a third party that my once beyond signifi-cunt other is mooching around Palm Springs tripping the light fantastic.How nice.Damn skippy it fucking hurts.I have been losing my mind out here with concern,sleepless and migraine molested with tension and worry.So glad that he contacted me to tell me that he is ok in light of recent legal trouble.

Not.

I bother why? Its stellar stop frame moments like this that I know that I am,without a shadow of a doubt, the total and utter embodiment of stupidity and I despise myself for holding on.A dear friend informed me of the contact made after the show tonight.Charmed I am sure.

I have so much egg on my face that I look like a fucking omelet.

Ok,ok….enough of that.

Back to what matters.

The room grows more lush by the week and the owners of the two dollar emporiums in my area cackle with glee at my approach.I am of the school that there can never be enough fairy lights. It looks obscene and me and my kick-ass team have the construction side of it down to a fine art.Max,Rickards and Richard make it so easy for me to give the illusion that my bedroom has been reconstructed in an inner city dive.

Bless.

Houselights down,candles a-plenty and Richard opens the show.People start  filing up the stairs and the room rapidly fills.Blackie takes over next and we tear through our duet and I feel treasured.All these people here to see us.I have felt like shit for so long now that I savor every single second of this,the way the faces give me light,push me with their  muy appreciated  presence to push myself.My big brother who forced me to look at myself as a musician again,a contender, when I had lost my mind with a shattered heart,when I had been made to feel like I did not matter,when I had allowed myself to be belittled .My dear friends who share the stage with me week after blessed week.

And my heroes.

When I was but a scrap of a snot nosed know-it-all upstart and I mean milk teeth young, I saw X swagger through a show with so much dirty savior faire it left me breathless and somewhat moist.I also got brained by a well aimed VB stubbie. Some people have the presence that sets them apart.Ian Rillen had it in spades and still I miss his cheeky grin as he would pinch me on the ass just to make me blush as I made my way through the rabble at The Excelsior.Steve Lucas has it in stereo and he shared the stage so graciously with me tonight that it made me swoon.He held the room in the palm of his hand.I got to sing “Wild horses” with him.My heart is beating faster just thinking about it.It was amazing.

I raised my voice with a legend.

So up I get.Time to close the night.I opened with “Amazing grace” and then dive bombed into “Habit” so far ,so good….

*pop*

All the power goes out.The room frozen in shocked silence.

Untill………………

“FUCK YEAH! I JUST BLEW UP THE FUCKIN” ROOM !!!!!!!!!!!! YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

And the audience went nuts.We were in it together.Phones and lighters joined the myriad of candles already dotted around the room and I was off.I sang my guts out and it was amazing.No power ,just all of us in the dark.I was crying with the sheer joy of it,every point of light became a salt star.I have never felt so utterly connected to a musical moment in my life.

I was on fire.

The whole room was singing with me in the end.I am crying as I write this.I am sure I will revisit it again and again.

Ugly for so damn long and you all made me shine. Can I tell you what you are returning to my battered self esteem week after week? Your company making me feel like I am worth it.

It will go down as one of the greatest shows of my life.

Look…..

I may be an idiot who does not know when to quit.And granted I may love wrong and unwisely until I fall apart.I may have panic attacks when I need to go to the store because civilians plain freak me out .I live by night and lie about my age.I am fat,graceless and socially irredeemable on every level you can conceive and quite a few you can’t.I never managed to grow up or for that matter stop dreaming.I am from small town nowhere with an 8th grade education and a missing tooth.Scared from the bullies and bastards that fucked with me and that I felled along the way.I am loud,rude,opinionated,neon hearted and have no firewall.

But when I see myself the way that you see me? The way that you look at me when I am up there?

I can’t go wrong.

Thank you all from the bottom of my black fucked up heart.

I gotta tell you,blowing a fuse has never felt so damn good.

See.

I am starting to believe that fortune really does favor the brave.

(“Now who woulda thunk it!”)

I feel like I have had the caul ripped from my face.Not only can I see (for miles and miles…) with my second-sight and laser realigned hot blue peepers but I can breathe again and its glorious.Maybe its not so much the brave part of the equation just the feckless and fearless bit that I found in the footnote pertaining only to moi.Losing everything that you once held dear has one fantastic advantage.You have nothing left to lose so you throw your hands up and say “Fuck it!”

Fearless and feckless dig?

Which is what these Wednesday nights have become.It has been so long since I have looked forward to anything and its just what I needed ( Side note to my readers of more tender year and/or non well rounded musical tastes,please check out a band called The Cars.Early to mid 80’s new wave.Great tunes,flawless production and a lead singer who looks like an anorexic alien in snazzy shades who married a supermodel,no lie.And yes,there will be a test…Love,Michele’s internal i-pod.xx.)

Got a cool correspondence making me smile with  a mate of mine who is out on the road right now.I give great e-mail at four am.He thinks of me like a daughter he says,due to the fact that although I may look like a rock and roll version of Red Sonja  I have a hemorrhaging hot pink heart.Its kind of funny,you know,when people remind you if how you appear from the outside.I am aware  of it but its been buried for a long time now.My confidence needs training wheels.He said that I look like I chew up men and spit them out only to move onto the the next victim with stunning speed.I laughed my fat butt off.

Then we proceeded to bang on about the Allman Brothers and guitar tone as only two musicians can.My friends are beyond fantastic no matter how far away.

The sexual part of my brain is still broken.I have forgotten how to flirt and that right there is a low down crying shame as I really used to enjoy all that nudge-nudge,wink-wink rubbish.All the cheap thrills without getting ones hands dirty or rubber bits mauled.Suited my Virgo self down to the ground.

All the rock boys that I know never court me.But my gay boys?My lavender infants? They think that I am Judy Garland and the parade all rolled into one.So sweet.So very appreciated.

You have to look at the big picture.CinemaScope.Anyone who gets on stage is an alpha prime in one way or another.We would not be able to do what we do if it wasn’t the case and every alpha boy wants a blank slate of a girl from what I have ascertained studying in the field as I have done for booco moons now.And I am cool with that.Granted,I may never get my fuck on but I am adored for my brain and that means so much more to me.A fuck is fleeting babycakes but a good song ? That lives forever.All the musicians I know are like brothers to me and I have always felt like a well protected and much indulged baby sister.

Its flattering to be seen as anything beautiful at all.The magnificent men in my life have done much to patch up my heart and for that I am wildly thankful.

Now what it comes down to is how I see myself.Slowly emerging from the hiatus that I took on reality and just in a nick of time.( No pun intended ) I get to sing with Steve Lucas from “X” tomorrow night.We have picked out a song and my nerves are on red alert which is a great feeling.I am also doing the duet that I recorded a few months back with Blackie called “Cloud Nine” ( Not to be confused with the awesome track of the same name by The Temptations that is playing in my head right now.) Sound-check will find me up a ladder with my staple gun,swearing and sweating while trying to secure a heap of Chinese lanterns to the ceiling while singing my parts at the top of my formidable lungs,multitasking as always.

Miss Emma leaves for my much missed California on Friday and I am going to miss her so.Back in a few weeks.She bestowed her ticket for Jay and Silent Bob upon me.Who could ask for more?

I really should be asleep.My body clock has gone nuts again.I pass out at midnight then come to punching my way out of weird dreams and a flop sweat round five in the am.Not real happy about that.Then Dumb-ass next door decides to tap dance down the hall just in case I wasn’t already up.I think that he is on his period right now.Redneck boys on the rag ain’t nothin’ but a moving target to me,the twisted little bitches.

I have to keep entering the lottery.Share living?  Blurgh.

See y’all at the show.

Wail

The reality of me playing this much?

Its just me running round like an ass clown with a staple gun bossing Rickards around ,bless him, before doors open at 8,wanting the world,well a shitty corner of Sydney anyway,to see how amazing my friends are and how bright they shine up on the over-decorated stage.

Tables covered in silver and gold.Candles catching the mirror balls set around them in little clusters of light.Everyone shadowed and shaded to perfection and me stumbling around in my grey suede Stevie Nicks boots,skintight jeans and a vintage 1981 REO Speedwagon tee-shirt.What can I say? When it comes to style I slam-dance where angels fear to tread.

Garlands of flowers and cherries drip from the fabric adorned ceiling.A tacky tent in a desert of cool.If I can tell you a thousand stories tonight will you let me live? On the serape covered table to my right ,silver framed pictures of some of my saints lit by candles caught in glass.The beaded curtains sway in front of the speakers and the back bar is open for business once again.

The room looked muy lush tonight and so many of my beautiful club kids showed up and crowded the floor in front of the fussy stage that it brought a tear to my eye.People are showing up every week and it is blowing my mind.Jess and co opened the night with great aplomb to be followed by my band mate Marcus de Pasquale who made everybody’s jaw drop with his obscene abundance of talent and humility.Blackie takes to the stage and a full house which is where he should always be on both counts.Then me with my foot in my mouth and my heart counting the minutes out on the San Andres fault line….

And I sang and hit bum notes that made me wince.Made a few people laugh and felt my stomach threaten to evacuate several times over the course of the show.I set  up the stage so it looks like my old shed so I feel safe and I can soar.The intimacy of these shows and the bonding between the audience and artist is like nothing that I have even seen before and I want to up the ante every week.

I think this means that I need to go back to the dollar store and buy another 3 beaded curtains.Oh.And more fairy lights…..

I am only just holding on right now and to a fat lot of sweet fuck all at that.I am going to hang with Miss Emma tomorrow night.I need to keep moving and spin at a high and blinding intensity because I know upon re-entry if the gods are not on my side,I shall explode.And to say that I don’t think that the gods even know who I am at this point let alone being on my side is a staggering understatement of colossal size and magnitude.Just sayin’….I don’t cry, I sob.I know that we all reap what we sow and so forth but…great .Now I have “Perfect day” by Lou Reed playing on the internal i-pod in my head,but I am so damn afraid of the outcome.

“Shit scared” as they say in this corner of the world.

What happens next? And the big question is will we survive?

So for now I will give thanks .Thanks to all the people who pay on the door,week in and week out to see me wail so that I don’t ever have to grow up.Thanks to my big brother for dedicating his new song to me while I sat on the stairs and had a sneaky cry.To my old drummer Mikey for being there and always picking up where we leave off.Thanks to every one in the audience who indulged me with stadiums worth lighter action when I sang “Shivers” by Nick Cave and The boys next door.

These are the moments that buffer me though the crap of the other twenty hours of the day.I feel like a stain right no,so out of focus and ill defined but this is my clarity,this is my gilded palace of sin,this is the honky-tonk highway that leads me back to scant grace and I know for a fine tuned fact that I would be fucked without it.

Why wear this much eye make up? So that I have to think twice before crying my eyes out at every show of course.

I have to keep moving.I have to look at what I have not what I don’t have.

And I need to get some more songs into my fucking set pronto.

Kid.

The full moon was definitely fucking with my fickle atoms and high strung tendencies as I manned the door with my usual dashing aplomb on Saturday night.

Easter long weekend and can we get a fifty foot fluorescent emphasis on “Long” please ? Thank you.It was fucking heinous on every level.Behold the majesty of  my infants all high as string-less kites and pumped full of coca, Elvis bless their pill pulverized and only just post-pubescent selves.

“We heard your show was amazing Seven!” they cried gamboling around my rotund form like PCP fueled puppies promising to be there next week as I handed out flyers to all and sundry,pressing them into sweaty hands and hoping against hope for mass attendance come Wednesday night. I am quite snotty and panicked that my sinus infection is returning,in fact I am sure of it because that’s how my life tends to roll.That with my aching joints due to me being a big fat pig makes me a real catch don’t ya know….

There is a certain strain of sunlight that is exclusive to California that makes me feel like I can do anything,it gives me superhuman strength ,a place that I finally belong and being a bonafide fuck up and a foundling that ain’t no small thing.This light is a wonder to behold.Its lazy and shot with possibility.The air is luminous, model thin,high on magnolia blossoms,wildly enabling and I sing like a Bowie/Bolan fed canary.

I miss being that alive and that beautiful.Of being woken up with kisses and passion-fruit tea.Love.

Can you tell that I am homesick? That I miss my life,that I miss being an almost wife?

Just spoke to Miss Emma while watching a special on Bela Lugosi and eating apple licorice and she was relating tales of her hurt heart .She is super strong but it comes in waves as we all know.Big black crushing waves of fucking misery.I told her not to sweat it as I have been writing the same heartache hosanna since mine got beat down broken.Music and words people.Men don’t want goddesses.Point blank.I would love to see someone prove me wrong.

Winter is falling over the country like an iron shroud of misery.I had no summer and I feel totally ripped off. Although living inside will be a lot warmer this year,granted.The old house has been torn down and it makes me so sad that I haven’t even wandered by to take a gander.Oh asbestos shack! How I miss you so,vale.

Got all angry and cleaned up my room today.Well,half of it anyway.I just threw everything down the side of my bed and now we are ignoring each other,works for me.My room bears a startling resemblance to the trash heap in “Fraggle rock”.If it starts talking back to me I am gonna have a fit.I folded a a pile of tee-shirts that came up to my thigh and can we keep in mind that I am six foot three.Who the fuck has that many tee-shirts? Well,me I guess.Quel sigh.I think that I second hand shop to replace my relationship but you cant shag a lamp that looks like it was made of gummi bears in 1973 ,endless ropes of fairy lights and a hatstand.Well,I guess you could but I can’t say that I am up for it.Last time I coughed a tumbleweed fell out of my snatch…..

I am imbibing antibiotic pills big enough to choke a horse.My sinuses are shitting themselves and my hearing is suffering mightily.Sang along with the best of Fleetwood Mac while dancing on my bed complete with much hair flinging and flirting with myself in the mirror to test out the machine and I think that I was in tune.I hope that I was.I didn’t hear the dogs next door going batshit so I guess I was hitting the mark.I need to be ok in time for tomorrow night.

I still do good things for terry toweling hot pants so its not all bad…..

Still thinking about selling a kidney to fund my next bass rig as I read on Nine MSN today that a rather enterprising Chinese boy did just that to fund the purchase of an i-phone and i-pad.What is the going rate for a kidney anyway? I have to look into this.My kidneys would be the Rolls Royce of organs being that I don’t drink and all.What a fucking sexy scar and an awesome war story that would be.I would be like Captain Quint from Jaws with tits,only without the shark and stuff.”Yeah,see this one here? This one is from an Ampeg!” That does it! Yet another stupid idea I have sold myself on.

Reese designed me some beautiful cherry blossoms with skulls in their centers a while ago that would look absolutely pants around a 14 inch keloid scar….

I was going to sell my eggs at one point and then I read into what you have to do to yourself pre-harvest.I would rather knock over a servo for ten grand thank you very much.Vaginal injections?? Let me get this straight,you want me to take that syringe and what?!... My point exactly. And the fact that I am a homicidal whack job is not as tempting to the average egg shopper than say a collage graduate who is good with animals.

My room mates 4 year old son is saying with us for the week end.I have no words….that’s a lie,I have plenty.I am never having kids.

Ok,first off,childbirth.Its like pulling a wet Saint Bernard out of a plug hole.A pot roast out of a Pringles tin.Utterly disgusting on every level.Like being a woman is not hard enough without ruining one of the only things that gives you pleasure ( Your pussy,duh!) outside of spending your rent money on secondhand books and knee high boots.Children.They never stop.You cant take the batteries out and I don’t know how to talk to them so I just act like me which tends to go down like a schooner of cold sick with their parental units.We freak each other out ,lets just leave it at that.

Good grief.

I think that I will stay in bed tomorrow and drown in snot while practicing my guitar.In honor of Sir Nick Cave being on this weeks flyer I am doing a song by The Boys Next Door.I pray that Lilli doesn’t put  Malmsteen on next weeks effort or I am fucked.Doing a few more of my own,the skeletons that they are.My liquid bones parading round like the kinder-whores at the Zoo station in Berlin.My babies.I always feel a lot more confident before the show.Get up there and just feel like a retard.Story of my life really….I choke when it comes to playing what I write.

I am strong, never ever said that I was tough.

This is forcing me to get my shit together to a degree so I have to be happy with that.Nothing else was working that’s for damn sure.

I don’t want to know about Friday the 13th…..

Legs crossed.heart broken.Any questions?

Wait.

I want answers.I want to hear your voice.I want to touch base.

My twin,my lost boy.We are the same animal…..

Patience is deaths waiting room and my oft abused heart is doing a shifty red-bull assisted two step every time my old Nokia lights up.

(the picture that comes up as my screen saver is us post-fuck and happy i rub salt in my own wounds i am down with self sufficiency)

I lose my shit on stage.( C’mon down and watch little-Shelly-car-crash!) I fucked up my favorite Johnny Cash song with a  pitiful lovelorn rambling introduction that culminated in me begging the audience for their prayers on the 13th.The thought that I will never see you again chills me to my worm riddled core.I’m finding it mighty hard to get on with anything not hearing from you my adored felon.So I wait for smoke signals and I pray to my beloved and all powerful Elvis that you are ok.

My shaken soul feels like something feral and sharp clawed has been using it as a litter box.I dream of my wayward friends with their gangster lovers.Human pincushions,homeless and careless.The ones who throw themselves away on cheap whores and ram raided doors.The democracy of desert bleached degenerates and long time losers.I search for clues and sleep as much as I can.Dreams are gold dipped and populated with the conversations that I am not privy to in my waking hours.

Sad isn’t it?

I am far too awake and not sure what I am trying to impart.If I am writing I am not attempting to chew my fingertips off? That will do….I need them to play my craptacular guitar for the next five weeks at my rather splendid residency.Any excuse to get to play with my big brother.He is the real reason that I took the shows.I don’t have an album to push or promote,I have never really been that good at this to tell the truth but when I think of all the people who didn’t stick around after I played to listen to him at a show we did together not so long ago my pitch black blood boils.How dare these cock-sucking hipster fucks disrespect a national treasure! Half ,if not more of the filthy upstart musician’s that I know would not have even considered being in a band with out The Hard-ons leading the flannel clad way.

Fuck that.

If this forces people to listen then this is what must be done.

The 1st show on Wednesday night was magic.

Clad in 15 miserable pounds of excess weight ,camouflaged under a ton of dirty hair and my Gram Parsons tee shirt profanity laden entertainment was delivered to a cosily full room of reprobates.Like I said,magic.If you were there this is no surprise to you.Candles and Easter eggs everywhere and due to Keish throwing down the gauntlet with Led Zeppelin’s (“Does anyone remember laughter?) “Immigrant song” (and bare in mind that this was acoustic) I ended my shabby set with “Stuck in the middle with you” by Steeler’s Wheel.I know,I know ok?….don’t say it…..

I am very grateful to all my friends for chipping in and helping me make this fiasco tangible week in and week out.From Miss Lilli constructing flyer’s and ruling my FB profile to Miss Emma setting up a You Tube channel under the name of “Whitetrashcowgirl” (Tres-of fucking-course) Then you have my great mate Rickards from the punk rock upstarts Skinpin picking me up from my suburban squallor loaded down with disco balls,fabric and other miscellany armed with naught but a fully loaded staple gun and a dream….

Its not a bad way to spend a Wednesday night……

I just have to hold myself together.Sly and the Family Stone doing “Que Sera Sera” sent me howling to my messy bed for an hour today sobbing my baby blues almost clean out of my skull.Oh me and him….I’m so logical and cold but when I think of such matters of heart thumping panty wetting greatness? Well, I adhere to fate.I can see my therapists hand just itching to peg the stapler at my head when I voice such ungrounded-in-science-and-safety opinions.I cant fucking help it.You know when some one is an utter fuck-wit but their your utter fuck-wit? Yeah? Well ,welcome to my world.

Its oh so teen-aged but its just so damn nice when someone who makes your pussy spit like a camel “Gets you” You know,speaks your language and turns your crank? I know that you know so wipe that look off your face and hand yourself over to the best feeling that there is…(sigh,sigh,sigh).I have been reassured that this can happen more than once in a cowgirl’s life but truth be told? I ain’t holding out much hope on that front.One rather stunning man went to great flirtatious pains to tell me over many moon mauled hours that he, among others apparently, appreciated my Amazonian paint peeling hotness and great taste in boots.”Like you?” I meekly peeped “Yes, just like me ” he growled eying off my knee high brown leather stack heeled numbers . I nearly passed out with gratitude,long latent horniness and fear as we spoke late into the wee hours about how he could not  “Handle a girl like you Michele…” all the while looking like he wanted to lick me till I shivered with Bon Scott and co wailing in the background.

That kinda sucked but anyway…..

This is a muy shitty reoccurring theme.Not that I was ready in any way shape or form to be *ahem* “Handled” but gee wiz! Should I join a nunnery equipped with a jam room and a recording studio? …..

No point pondering all that rubbish right now.I am booked solid for shows all the way into July and I have an album to write and hopefully make at the same time.Cant wait to see Marcus next week.Not only do I get to watch him play but we get to bang on endlessly about our band post show! Yes! I’m thinking of selling a kidney to get my new bass rig.I am all in favor of taking fiscal donations so if you come to a show you are spending your money on me not having to go under the knife and another new scar for my collection.

Its coming up to 5am and another 24 hours has rolled over and still I get no word from the coast. Wrote a song that I want to do this week but I think that it will end up a St Cecilia track.Its called “Indio” and I would give it to Lannigan to sing in a heartbeat.I keep crying when I try to do it so if I get to play bass and give it to Marcus to sing I’m safe. At least then I can hide behind my hair and remember sitting by Dee-Dee’s grave and having my hand held and neck kissed.

I remember everything.The writers curse.

A friend sent me a great picture of my lost-boy rocking out shirtless on stage somewhere in Europe-land and there is my name carved into his arm for all time.He sent me a picture of the same ink a while back.”We are stuck together” it read. “No shit Sherlock” I thought smiling to myself and looked down at the stitches that adorn both of our wrists no matter how far apart and for how long.That is something that no one can come between and although separated by distance and circumstance?

We are still us.

Read it and weep.

Back on the door tomorrow night with a fist full of flyer’s and a mission to covert my infants to the glory of mid-week rock.

As for dispatches from Lotus-land borne on the Santa Ana winds to curl at my feet after their million mile journey?

I can wait.

Just watch me.

Edit.

If you edit you die.

Compromise can be a little death too if you let it,if its only you that is doing it so be careful dumb-ass.I know what people think about me its just that its the least of my worries is all.All I am is dead.Just like you,just like all of them. So it gets lonesome on the perimeter,cry me a river.I am not out to maim, just to express myself.

When I main you will know about it,rest assured.

What is the point of writing if you are not firing from the heart at that given moment? No disclaimers, no nets ,no back peddling.I will always get tared and feathered for this.I know the dance.People say that they wish that they could do what I am doing and then tear me apart behind my back.I am cool with it.It was part of the job description.I am not going to assume all the right poses and then fail to deliver.I will leave that up to the subsidized coward contingent.This bleeds and has dirt on its knees. So ,you don’t like me.Am I losing sleep? What do you think?

Hey! Check it out! We have something in common! Most days I don’t like me either! What do ya know!

I damage myself with it,with my actions and I know that I will,I see it in slow motion as it is taking place.I show myself and deserve no mercy.But I refuse to stop because if I do my self hatred will turn to self loathing and that is not a line that I care to cross.I don’t want to have that pity party for myself.

Lower.Its like the limbo of truth.How low can you go?

If I don’t adhere to myself and what I am? Then I am as bad as the ones that I hate.Its pretty cut and dried.Its also a brutal and ugly way to live but if you can handle the endless shit that comes with it,sticking by your convictions and what not,the highs are far beyond anything that you can even begin to imagine,trust me.Fleeting and rare but yours alone because you earned them. I can deal with that.I think,from what I have observed on my lifelong resonance mission,is that the alternative would kill me.

My poor Saint.She wants me to be happy.I am beginning to think that its not in my overall make up and besides,people that are happy all the time come off looking like morons to me.Which is not to say that I am sad because I am not.I just have a hard time finding solace in shallow pleasures.I have always had to work hard for my victories.I am not a natural at anything,I have never had that kind of grace or talent but the things that I have trained myself to do? I ain’t complaining,I do ok.

My poor mother.All she wanted was a sweet little girl and she ended up with a nut-job who just slipped through the abortion net.She gets me now and is a total star when it comes to so much of my unorthodox being but I am still apologizing for the mess that I am and that I made.

I think that I will polish up my acting skills and start lying.Its what humans do right? Its how we protect people from what we are.She has suffered enough.

I am trying not to be tired.To move.To take part in my existence.I am thrilled to report that not only did I go to the store today but that I also did laundry.This is major for me.I shit you not.I keep my eyes on the ground and surf on the malicious whispers.There are a lot of plug ugly motherfuckers clogging up the daylight hours that’s for sure.No room for beauty,for the ethereal.I want to force them to listen to Coltrane but my effort would be for nothing.The drones are lobotomized from birth,heinous foot soldiers on the short march to extinction.Like I said,I keep my head down….Of course now I am back in my nest of a bed banging away on my computer,digging myself deeper and not giving a flying fuck. I am not going to leave anything behind but words when I finally buy the farm so best that I leave as many as humanly possible.

Big old paper tail leading right up to my headstone if you please.

First show is tomorrow night.I am always so glad when they are done.I am kinda looking forward to it but not.My usual palaver.I think that I keep singing because I don’t know what else to do.That’s just  today mind.I may and undoubtedly will change my mind about it again and again.

If anyone has a pair of rose colored glasses… Nah,forget it.Its just another cop-out.I am not immune from the cop-out factor.Some people go to the pub, to Fiji,to a whorehouse… I go to ground.Everybody has their thing.My lesson in life is not to inflict my methods on the masses and hope that they pay me the same respect.

People get angry when they see you doing your own thing. Its kind of endearing.

I’m sitting here trying to think if I want anything from anyone.Solitude will suffice.If you are not on my shit list I want you to be happy or at lest self secure in what ever it is that you are doing no matter what or how self destructive.Each to their own dig? Outside of that I just want to be left alone.Yep,that sums it up quite nicely.As I find myself quite lamentable and rotten company at the best of timesI think that its a win-win situation all around. I am only good in short bursts and in public.What? I don’t think that there is anything wrong in admitting to that.At least I am aware of my capabilities and what it is that I am fit to provide in social situations.Gimme a redbull and watch me wail.The original cheap date.

I used to be really good at late night lamenting and hardcore bonding but my intensity got me tossed aside more than once so now I stick to what I know I can do.People think that because my life is regimented and ruled by non socially acceptable tenets that I am a bit thick,that I couldn’t possibly relate.That’s cool.I am not going to argue.You dig me or you don’t.I am not out to try and win anyone over.

I cant even win myself over.

Resources do eventually run out.I was never cute so thank fuck I didn’t rely on that to tide me over till the end of my days.I like that my existence and talents are specific and limited.That I hone the few things that I am rather that racing around trying to be everyone’s everything.Not to say that I didn’t do that on occasion when I was a kid and duly got my ass handed back to me on a silver platter of shame and remorse for my folly.The more you extend yourself to people the more they hurt you.Ask any abused kid who has tried to win over their abuser,they will set you straight in a New York minute.

I have never had much of value within me anyway.Not a shopfront worth doing a smash and grab on that’s for sure.I appeal to the connoisseur and the pervert.The connoisseur because they can see the few precious things that I hoard and hone and intrinsically know their value.These are treasured interactions and sadly few and far between.The perverts because they are just that and to the naked eye I am just a big fat freak.These are the drooling foot soldiers in the army of stupid that I find myself at war with daily.Arduous.

When people find me  Interesting or attractive I question both their motives and their taste.I don’t have the reserve energy to indulge them.

I write to write.I write to give myself a sorely needed self inflicted discipline.I write because its all about me and my fucked up waxing and waning ego.I do it so that I don’t die.So that I stay on the point hopped up on fear and sour adrenalin every night.I do it because I always have and because it the longest and most enduring relationship of my long past its use by date life.

Choice is a magnificent thing.I chose not to read and it saves me a lot of grief. Some days I chose to read to toughen myself up.To use the words of others as a whetstone to sharpen my fury on.It depends.Isn’t liberty beautiful?

Trying to get un-tired,un-jaded and un-fat.There is one hell of a trifecta right there.

Do what you do.Its yours and the longer you live the more you will find that not a lot is so make it count.

Guess that I will sing and see what happens then.

Cheers.

People shit me.

(“No! Really???”)

I have just spent the last brain numbing 24 hours locked in my room reading.I should get up and do things but I can’t say that the thought of mingling with the masses is very appealing right now.What a horrible breed of animals we are.I make myself sick first and foremost so don’t get the idea that I am perched on some lofty outcrop of high self-esteem pissing on the unwashed mass all the while telling them that its raining.

Far from it.

I hate drunks.I hate people who cant handle their indulgences no matter what they are.From the gurning pill hounds to the useless food stained stoners.Fuck you all!!. Why cant Keef and Lemmy give master classes? I hate lack of self control in myself and I despise it in others.That brittle game show host  facade spewing endless shit and causing trouble.Bad breath streaming from big mouths that mix their ambition with their ability telling me that I don’t understand .Telling me that they are not drinking and then amending that to “I’ve only had a few but I am not drunk”

(*Hic*)

Can we say “Boring?” Can we say “Yawn?”……Can we say “Hmmm,it looks like a terminal case of Jamesbrownitis?”

Otherwise know as “Talkin’ loud ain’t sayin’ nothin”

If I can find my way out of this depression that I find myself mired in I am going to amass a large sum of money,go somewhere no one knows me and start again.

My lost love spirals with a badly tattooed Courtney-clone in the foot hills of hell spinning reckless in the Santa Ana winds and I worry about him still.Pathetic huh? Yeah,I know,I know….Just goes to show how little regard I hold myself in really doesn’t it? Why cant people go out with out drinking? Why am I so fucking pathetic at this point and surrounding myself with much of the same? The freezer is full of dead animal off-cuts and my house is no such thing.I miss my solitude and my garage.I am sick of people lying to me and I am sick of myself for still caring.I want to kill the fat cunt and her offspring in the apartment upstairs for stomping some kind of demented river-dance spectacular on hardwood floors directly above my chamber hourly,daily.

I fantasize about open firing into my ceiling with an AK-47.

Bunny needs a vacation and a street sweeper.

If you revert to what you ran from you die. Blood doesn’t mean jack shit.You have a choice if you can stop feeling sorry for yourself and bowing under peer pressure.You are self-made or you chain your future to a poison past.A lackluster enemy.The only pack I adhere to is any band that I am in.

My own company.My lack of contact.This restless anger that I cannot seem to harness.The bituminous spewing hatred that I thought I had under control.Ha! This bitterness that is so very fucking un-cute. I would let no one touch me.Fat people shouldn’t fuck.Its disgusting.I hate doing it when I am overweight.I feel like a jumping castle with a cunt.Humiliating. So I starve myself out,of affection and of food.Its not that much of a big deal.The only person I wanted to bump uglies with resides on the other side of the planet and as welfare doesn’t pay for airfares…..

Its always nice when you find yourself being right.I love being right.its one of the few pleasures that I have left.I told a friend how bad shit was when they asked and voila! I have not heard from them since.Maybe I should tell everyone.I mean,if its going to keep people away from me? Then its all good in my thin book.

What my lushes,motorheads and dragon chasers (Read: Drunks,Tweakers and Junkies) all forget when they are yelling at me,eyes blind,emotions scattered that I don’t understand is that I do.That I was there and I have the tee shirt to prove it.That all the bullshit excuses they spew at me in their cups I was handing to school counselors and shrinks before they had…aw forget it.It doesn’t matter.Not a pissing contest that I have any interest in getting involved in.Its the human condition  to think that we are all so special.Dogshit.Grist for the mill.I don’t have to talk to with you when you are loaded.You bore me to fucking tears,its not the you that I know,it has nothing to do with it.In fact,if I didn’t know you and if you came up to my velvet ropes on a Saturday night and sounded off at me like that?  I would smash your face in without a second thought.

I don’t know you when you are loaded.You don’t have to stop,I ain’t your mother.Just stay the fuck away from me.

I don’t have to pander to your shit.The older I get baby? Lord! You don’t wanna know….I have worked in bars my whole life and even sober have always been the 1st to buy the 1st round.Why? Because my little turtle doves,I am cool like that. But the domestic affray? Door slamming tantrum throwing followed by head ducking next day remorse? I am too old.I have seen it all before.I don’t push my sobriety on any man.Don’t push your drooling stupidity and raised voices on me.

I got my own fucking war and I never asked you to do a recon on my battlefield so kindly extend me the same courtesy.

I can tell you where I fucked up.I took drunken cries for help seriously instead of treating them as the liquor fueled self pity fests that they really are.

My bad.Wont happen again.

Miss E wants me to head out into the world to see her tonight.I should be making flower garlands and practicing for the show but if I spend another night locked in here with the the scent of microwaved pies filled with what smells like dog food permeating the house there is a pretty foxy chance that I will be a headline on CNN within forty eight hours.I need money.I need a compound.I need anger management and a month on the coast alone.

I better get my self respect intact before I decide to open fire in a mall.

Keep myself to myself.

Because Elvis only knows my little meerkats,when  F.Scott Fitzgerald’s shitty 3am comes down on you like an anvil ? You is pretty much all you have got.

Hound.

She’s is somewhat of a zealot being that she has a few of her own.Tells me that its time that I got “Grounded” and that “This will be good for you!”.

She is more than likely right.

I lent on the door jam of the tattoo shop and listened to her say her piece as my forearms swelled and bled under the saran wrap that Luke had tenderly applied over my new work “Your bleeding tonight!” he exclaimed as I winced beneath the bitchy-seemingly- sharper-than-usual needle.Bet my period starts tomorrow.I feel like a storm cloud wrapped in a Skynyard tee-shirt.I felt tender and hard done by as the sky’s opened and pissed all over the grotty street.

I sighed deeply as she delivered the hard sell.

She told me that its unconditional love.”Maybe that’s what I am scared of ” I wisecracked back.She did not look amused.I told her it was and 80% yes.She looked happy with that.

If I chose to accept the challenge and the responsibility there is a pug puppy heading my way in four weeks.I see some right fucking morons who manage to own dogs daily basis,my neighbours included,but I just don’t think its for me no matter how much I want it to be.It was different when I lived in Long Beach as there were already six dogs there and Henry arrived to a ready made family.

This dear friend of mine is not the only person in my life that thinks that I need a furry pooping machine to ground me and get me out of my own head.Mr Goody my boss at Club 77 has sung the same aria to me often over the millions years that we have known each other.His dog George lived to the ripe smelly old age of twenty four. He now has a 107 kg mastiff that drools like a broken spigot. They make it look easy.I don’t think that I find anything easy when it comes to such endeavors.I am wrapped too tight.

Miss Emma has been a paragon of kindness to me as always.I better stop talking soon though,to my friends I mean.My core deep melancholy is playing washing machine with my stoicism and well being.I treat myself like a bottom hitting science experiment and I don’t know why and even worse I cant seem to snap myself out of it and stop.I come to life briefly once a day in the wee small hours ( Sorry,slight music related detour,” In the wee small hours” is one of Ol’ Blue Eyes best albums in the Capitol years.Post Ava Gardner.The dude is broken.If you are a useless romantic much like my fine self ,check it out…) when bed jumping to Slayer would not be appreciated by the day dwelling brother and sister team that I reside with.

Miss E coos to me and says that I will get back up when the time is right bless her cotton socks. I have to do it sooner rather than later because it wants to kill me.Rosco Deluxe ,man of means and devil-may-care rake inflamed my anger today when he asked me to go on a road-trip with him. I was pissed because that means that he has not been listening to a goddamn word that I have been saying over the last dark few months.Um dude? I have a weekly residency coming up and what part of “Soup kitchen broke” don’t you get ?

You know what I should have done?I should have stayed in California with my dog and grown medicinal dope for medical supply stores. I should have kept my stupid mewing needy heart to myself. Been cool.Got cold.All the things that I aspire to and fail on a daily basis.Should have been a right heartless motherfucker with iron running grey though my bullet proof vascular system.

But I foolishly didn’t  and most unfortunately for my fat assed self, am not.

My room smells of heavy clove incense,rotting gym-wear that I cant seem to locate,not that I have really tried and the criminally expensive jasmine perfume purchased stolen from junkie thieves that I drown my obese self in.I heard today that “Sweat is fat crying” I like that.I should make mine sob.Its miserable and I have not seen the hardwood of my floor in a fortnight or more.Its all I can do to get out of bed every evening assisted by room temperature cans of red-bull and even then I wonder why,for what?.I listen to “Do it again” by Steely Dan at least three times a day.It connects to something in me that I have no words for.I know,I know,Steely fuckin dan….

I can’t love.I can only just do the dog and pony show that garners me enough attention to know that I am still alive.

Can I say that I am angry at presumption? That I wanted to stay missing? Because I am and I did but people come out of the wood work and I wish that they had left well enough alone. Its been about thirteen years since I have seen my adopted father.He has stayed gone and that is how I want it to stay.We had the time that we needed to be father and daughter what ever the hell that means and entails and then it was done.He got a girlfriend a few years older than me, broke my mothers heart for the last and final time and I threatened to kill them both with his own gun.”Don’t miss” he said “I won’t and you wont see it coming” I replied and hung up the phone .Done and dusted. Last I heard he was living in a tent with his autistic son.Good luck to him.

I never saw him again. Why anyone thinks there is a vacancy is beyond me.I don’t want to align myself with any kind of family unless I chose to.I have chosen them,they know who they are.Case closed.

Love is not for me.I have never felt worthy of it and run from it almost every chance that I have been given.I don’t have the right skills,they come with the factory model or they don’t.You do not acquire them..I would be lying though my recently rebuilt teeth if I didn’t admit that at times that it tempts me,because it has and I am sure that it will again but I always get it wrong.I don’t want people coming back out of my past to make some kind of amends with me.The stress of my conception and concealment imprinted themselves upon me. The relationships that I chose to honor and call my own are massively dysfunctional and sporadic when viewed from the outside but then again,so am I.

My story can claim no happy ending.And that is a relief because all the supposed happy endings that I have been privy to over the years? Can I say that they look anything but?

I am angry because it took me twenty odd years to construct this mass of tattoos and scars that you see before you.I have invented my own history.I don’t want anyone barging in with their rude and unnecessary version of the truth.I don’t want to know where I came from and where my bloodlines lie.I just don’t fucking care and this was made sure of long before today.I don’t have time for this shit.I am dying,getting older by the fucking second and I am not a nice or kind person.Heal yourself and live with your mistakes.You made sure that I fucking well had to so there it is.

I have felt the void in me for as long as I can remember.But it’s mine.We are fine together my supposed lack and me,we compliment each other not that I expect anyone to understand this dynamic nor do I care if they do or don’t.I am sure of it,like Piglet would say to Pooh Bear and that is all that matters in the long run.Its when meddling fools think that it needs filling and that they are the chosen ones with the correct tools for the job,that is when I shut down and turn off.I was born and duly left with fucking nothing and that is what defines me and how I have chosen to define myself.It is the only thing that no cunt can take from me and me and my void? We don’t need you.

People wanting shit from me leaves me cold.Their expectations.My chosen ones I would open a vein for. My Big brother,my sainted long suffering Mother that I keep at a safe distance,my few friends,my band. But when something is expected of me? It ain’t going to happen.

I was cut lose at birth.You cant corral me now.

The fact that all this crap that I had buried years ago is on my fucking mind again pisses me off and hinders me no end.It has aggravated my terminal melancholy and I wish that well enough had been left alone.I have been angry about this shit my whole life it seems and I had gotten it just to where I wanted it.It was naught but fuel.Now its a tanker explosion and you can bet your sweet ass that I am pissed off.I got broadsided and used my good manners when I should have shut down.I was fucking ambushed.

I despise bad manners.

I don’t want a family.I never have.I never wanted children and my first marriage when I was little more than a kid failed within eighteen months.I don’t know what I was trying to prove.It is never going to work  for me.The only time I have ever loved with my whole heart was another abandoned lost child like myself and he was so far gone that he threw me away as well.Hurt people hurt.I forgave him miles back.At least it was true and as lost as it is remains so.

So back the fuck up off me.Stay away. This is how I was created. This abomination is what I am. I don’t give a rats ass how you are with this as a fact because I am fine with it and that is all that matters.

Its a big old lie anyway….

Fuck these tattoos are swollen. Told Luke that I want some Roky Erickson lyrics next.Cursive,grey and single needle fine from one shoulder to the next only interrupted by my fat neck.Every time I hear his Texas tainted yowl deliver them it sends a shiver right to my core.“In the night,I am real” he sings and me and my lost boy,well we know that it is for us alone.A hymn to our duel damaged heroism.Palm trees silhouetted in the inky night sky a large Mr Pibbs full of ice and a fish taco,tangled in foil falling apart in my hungry hand .My man loving me at my side ,us singsonging away at the top of our lusty lungs,windows down with forever on our side ,driving home to the dark depths Hollywood once again.

In the night,I am real.

I’m too fucked up to love a pot plant let alone a perfect puppy.My patience is non existent and my fuse shorter by the day.I was not built right.Not like people who take love as a birthright.I was deemed  trash the minute I was born and that,as they say, is that.I can only own myself.I can only give to my few the little that I have got and only when I am able.

Know your animal right? I know what I am.I have always known.

Not willing to try at pursuits that I know culminate in certain failure.Rather hone the few skills that I have and stay in my bunker till its time to deliver on stage.Of this fantasy of a fickle skill I am sure of.This is what I am.This is what I know.

No puppy for the lost girl.

Because the fact of the matter is that I have just not got enough heart left.

Cordite.

Maybe all it is is a question of diligence and ignorance. Selective thinking if you will.

Naive and safe in equal measure and I need a break from the hurt.Its grinding my dreams to dust.

To be diligent in the pursuit of the you in you and ignorant when it comes to taking anyone else on board.That sounds about right at this point.

We compartmentalize do we not? Edit and feign certain ignorance.I know that I am hidden in a dirty mind or two like buried treasure.I get high on my own perfume and kid myself that it is so,my tattered ego needs the salve that it provides you dig? I imagine that I creep around said selected frontal lobes dressed in wispy scraps of next to nothing with a flawless tan and a crooked smile.As far as I can ascertain from what the scant objects of my desire have told me with massive boners and much regret is that apparently its all I am good for really.

I get told that I am the “Dream girl”….ha.

In reality no one seems to be able to deal with me so there you have it.It cracks me up.Every time my press or public presence has swelled I get adored albeit from a distance but adored none the less.A select few can tell you that my tongue tastes of Cherry Dr Pepper,larceny,cordite and carnage.Once sampled? Never forgotten or bettered.

Ner.

Sink your manhood into mediocrity if you absolutely must but see my face when you cum.

You know what? I am starting to think that it is better this way.To be suspended outside of any mundane reality.To be the the ideal,the wank fantasy,the dream woman…..Hmmmmm?…..this is defiantly food for thought.

I miss kissing more than I miss fucking and I am good and god-damned if I can explain why.

Enough of my teenage smut and horny navel gazing.Lets get back to the music….

Nathan,Saint Cecilia’s most excellent drummer told me that he sent the new mixes to me today,on cd because I like to flood the house with sound when I am here alone,living the terry toweling hot-pants clad dream and my computer does not have the oomph that I need to move me baby. “I am doing the happy dance!” I replied upon receiving the news “Dance on! Strut!” he answered “Mick Jagger circa 1978 bitch!” I shot back and he laughed.Its been so long since I have tangled my sonic dreams with another’s but I know that time and temperance has led me by my bitten fingertips to this place.I have to give each track the words they deserve and its a heavy load to lug but this is what I do.

I want to be on the left hand side of the stage when this beast comes to life.Ross was always to my left in Tourettes and that is what anchored me live and gave me the ability to soar.It will be my bass bedecked tribute to him complete with a Hello Kitty strap.In a perfect world I would be wailing on a white ’68 Fender P-bass but I will settle for the crappy Japanese Rickenbacker copy that I have my eye on.Meh.What can you do? As my much missed and beloved Dimebag would say “Its hard to be first class when your white-trash” Amen to that.

Throwing myself under Luke “Bones” Downey’s super talented tattoo gun tomorrow night.I am stoked to say that I am almost out of room on my arms.I cant wait,its such a sweet release and high.About the only kicks that I can get my grubby mitts on at this point and I gotta pay for them,quel sigh…. The weather is shit,I am fat,depression is knocking and there is not much else to float my boat so let’s do it.

(“When the little blue bird who has never said a word starts to sing…..”)

That kid that asked for my number a few weeks back? Let me begin by saying that the youth of today are fucking pathetic.A wet noodle where their spine should reside.He didn’t show to the gig much like I predicted and so I sent him a short but succinct message…

“Knew you wouldn’t show.Lose my number”

“Oh wow,harsh ok.” was the pathetic reply.

I am not going to chase sub-par post adolescent ass around and be nice.I’m not chasing any one full fucking stop! What part of me looks like its going to be nice for Christ’s sake? Fucking inner city trustafarian hipsters who think that Bondi is Australia’s answer to Williamsburg.Pft! Fuck off and die.I look at it as a mere experiment that proved me right as always just as I knew that  it would.I am too old to baby sit without getting paid for it anyway.

And if I ever chose to break the seal on my reinstated virginity? Its going to be for someone amazing in Technicolor and with a full orchestra playing a selection of songs from The Butthole Surfers and Fleetwood Mac.End-of-story.

I have more pressing things on my mind anyway,like how I am going to score a ticket to see The Sonics again.And what leather boots I want to have custom made for me care of my amazing friend Blythe.And how one acquires a tapeworm without going to India.See! Important shit right there.

I also have to work on the set that I am going to be playing at my dear friend Laz Gein’s serial killer exhibition.I was so honored that he said yes to me preforming and I am going to deliver the goods.Six flawless songs. He is paying me in canvas’s too so I am beside myself with happiness on that front.I have been lusting over his massive portrait of my beloved Ramones for a few years now and have just the place picked out for it.I am also going to raffle one of his pieces at my residency.I am such a kind soul…heh.

So,in conclusion….

More ink,more fantasy.Less fuck-wits and infants.

Yup,sounds about right.