Map.

Orange tic-tac’s are not a food group no matter how hard I try and convince myself that they are,perched happily on top of the food pyramid,smug with sunshiny goodness….I feel sick.Due to the sheer amount that I have inhaled over the last few bed bound hours, I think that my shit will fire like buckshot and shatter the bowl.Ew. As I dither on the screen before you my gut is producing sounds like those crappy cd’s that hippies  love of whales communicating. Heinous.

Aw! Who am I kidding?  Its not just my period,the whale noises,my sadness and the tic-tac’s. It’s knowing that upon one’s return to the sun-stroked Sodom and Gomorrah that I too used to call home that all communication will be null and void and in the dearth of facts my imagination tends go on a bender that would have had my hallowed Hunter.S.Thompson in fetal position crying like a colicky infant.Hail my infected imagination! It roams,it batters and barters for sweets and souls! It’s an evil thing and I don’t have the money for bail.

In lieu of facts ,fantasy takes the wheel and mine has its own armory.If you ain’t gonna set me straight with the common decency it takes to drop a dime an honor a friend I am just gonna fill in the blanks all on my raunchy lonesome.Spin my wheel of misfortune and win the showcase , just see if I don’t. (“Can I have an “F” for “Fake” please Howard? )

What can a poor goil to do? (Thank you moisissures Richards and Jagger,mon amours….)

Just wait for smoke signals from the granite grin of the San Andres fault I guess.Don’t depress the didgets and make the call less I start a fire that cannot be put out.It is I that is put out you best believe.Rumbled and forever rattled.Out of sorts and out of season.Shook by the aftershocks of others stupidity so very far away. I need a gun…..Like Mr Thunders sang “You can’t put your arms around a memory”.Point taken.It fucking sucks the root though.Hateful.

So…..on my left side,just where you would stab me twixt the ribs to get to my shoddy excuse for a heart,I designated a large patch of my battered despised dermis once again  to my dear friend, Luke “Bones”Downey. Do you know what I mean when I tell you that I needed another tattoo? Do you ?? Saint Tina is fond of telling me that I had never quite worked out that “Want” and “Need” are not the same thing,bless her.And she has a point,not that I give a rats ass.

I needed it. The map of mayhem that I am charting on this flesh.Clever lifetime lasting cartography delivered at 3am to dirty howling rock and roll and baptised by nasty night long neon. I am the one your mamma warned you about.Betcha didn’t see that coming didja sailor? ( “Sad Siren goes the distance! More news at Eleven….”) Bang,bang your dead. ( i mean you gotta be right? why else would you be fucking a corpse?…) Maps! Maps! Maps! Mean spirited directions to nowhere that anyone would ever want to go.Dead end roads and ghost towns.And it’s all mine now.For keeps, forever ,for good.Till I rot. I love that I have removed myself from the game.The “Fuck” thing,The “Love” trade of skin upon skin and sweet dawn draped nothings beaded in fast cooling sweat-oh-my-fuckin’-sides-please-stop-your-killing-me.

Barf.

The thought of touch that sickens me so.Oh, but I am a certified sick girl now if you want to believe the reams of paper that my Doctor’s scribble on thoughtfully and hide,post appointment, in great big cabinets full of fellow nut jobs frightening files. I am dead and walking.I am free of flesh and it’s demands.I smothered lust with a silk sheathed feather pillow in in her sleep.I carjacked desire and let her bleed out on the soft shoulder.You see,Little baby Madden can keep a promise.I am finished. A meth head on the train simpered at me though crystal corroded teeth “You are an angel!” .That and the Tasmanian whack job at the show last night making cow eyes at me.I am nothing but a pin-up to the peculiar and perverted.A siren to the slurring stupid.

Blah.

No fucking wonder I stay pure and alone.To scrape the bottom of life’s barrel does one need a hazmat suit? One does wonder and enquiring minds want to know.

So the tattoo? It announces that the heart is lost and dead.For keeps and for real and now I do my time with the ink to prove it.

H.L Meckin once said that love is like war,easy to begin and very hard to stop. Hoo-weee! You just said a mouthful brother. How and when does it stop, if ever? Guess I will have nothing to do with its eventual cessation and that pains me greatly. All seems like nothing but one grief  loaded onto another.A grief short stack at the international house of misery…

I dreamt restlessly of long milky ropes of pearls interrupted by great jeweled clasps.Emeralds like cats eyes hypnotic.I was sleeping on a metal shelf under meager covers and there was a room of people dressed like me through all the stages of my life awaiting my company.They were so glad to see me and as I looked out into a room filled with what I had been. I felt strong and lonely.

Woke up way earlier than intended,tried to get back to sleep and failed.I should be out sunning my fat butt my bed holds me captive only releasing me to brew tea or go to the bathroom.Sound-check is at seven tonite.Then I guess I will hole up in a Chinatown cafe and write for a few hours looking lacquer lit and suitably sordid.Miss Karen is said to be making a mad dash from the airport to catch the show.I told her not to bother and she became miffed so I left it alone.Miss Lilli will be out punishing her young liver with the devils piss and Blackie has a show somewhere on the other side of town.

Lilli’s metrosexual ding-dong of a brother has a hard time remembering to close and lock doors.To say that I am close to core meltdown is an understatement of staggering magnitude.I have no idea how the two of them are related.He is a dolt.She is smoking again and I can hear the phlegm overture rattle through the house as she wakes up.

I am learning allot though.The life,the grind.He is of the worker bee’s with limited smarts and an inexplicable addiction to deodorants that linger in their lacking wake for hours.Being that the passive aggression is rife and they don’t have the aforementioned smarts to dig their way out,if its not “Complain” which they do in stereo and spades ,its “Maim”which is how I see them trying to let off steam every weekend at my club.I pity them but I would exterminate them if given half a chance,I cannot tell a lie but the apple tree was not me…

They slop around,bang doors,mumble,drink. Impotent drones.I thank Elvis for my megre blessings in the face of civilian servitude.I am lucky.

I think,rarely,in mad flights of whimsy,that I should attempt to reconnect with my life but it all looks like a rort from where I sit. The few people I think are great are better off away from me and my malignant malaise. Saint Tina is more than understanding but my existence does nothing but damage those who can’t understand.Hell,most days I don’t understand.

Better to hang alone,strip the skin from my corpse and write.

But the few I adore are doing their thing and shine so bright and I must admit that brings me some peace. Miss Emma is making great strides and is in character.I told her when she informed me of her well deserved role to get and and stay in and that I would talk to her when it was over.I miss her company very much but could not be prouder of her.The Leefish has a new job and sounds well.My beloved treasure of a goddaughter got on the phone to thank me for the hot pink ukulele that I purchased for her.

She sounds so laconic just like her papa and my knees turn to jelly.She is a staunch little thing.The Madden DNA is dry as a bone.She will ask Lee for something and when denied she huffs

“Your not my friend” and regally saunters away.

This is a child who started a fight in at her first gig at the age of two.In the pit at The Wiggles she cleaned another little girls clock for having a dolly the same as hers.Two.

Proud? Bet your sweet ass I am.

(I would have given him,my lost love, a son…..)

So is it still love or is it a memory that I hold some kind of sandalwood spewing endless prayer over? Incense barfs and billows into the stagnant air as I try to hold on to what amounts to,in reality, a fast fading sweet fuck all.And it hurts like hell. And, I guess more to the point,does it really matter ? I am letting my passport and visa run out. Buh-bye. The thought of getting on a plane is alien and stupid and has nothing whats so ever to do with me any longer. Admittedly,I did have some lofty day dreams of surprising him on his 40th birthday but not knowing whether he had taken out the trash so to speak I let the idea go. I remember the plans that we had for his 40th. So sad,a life derailed.

No one makes me smile like that.No one touches my soul  like that…..

Back to work at 77 tomorrow night. I have had no calls this week so I am assuming that there is no theme or that no one could be bothered to call me .Not that it matters ,I am so fat I wear the same outfit every week and make sure I have perfect make up .Miss Lilli wants to take me to the pictures on Sunday night but I will demure and shrink back into the shadows.My lonsdale bag has been lovingly packed with fresh workout gear for the upcoming assault that I am planning on my sadly neglected corpse.My thighs touch.It is disgusting.I want to kill myself for this abomination that I have become.More fat people should feel this way.Really.Just think how much shorter the line at the buffet would be.

Like the coach of one of my all time favourite fictions says “You have to get obsessed and stay obsessed” .My God! It is so true.I lost sight of myself for a minute and now I look like a mid-1970’s La Taylor sans the jewels,talent, fantastic caftans and foxy Richard Burton.He used to call her “Ocean” in his love letters because “You,my love,are so overwhelming” Quel sigh…..

So yeah,a communication breakdown is needed ( Admit it,you are hearing the song on your internal I-pod as you read…it’s cool…I am humming it as I type…) I have to lock into myself before I am crowned queen of the pig people. ( oink! ) A control freak with a lack of the aforementioned is a real sad sight to behold and a destiny that must be avoided at all costs. Lock in and stay under and don’t think about not loving and how it’s like losing all over again when it fades away.In fact,do your fat ass a favor and don’t think at all.

Life will be allot sweeter my little grunt!

Getting tattooed again next Tuesday night thank Elvis.I dropped by the shop today to lock it in and was happy to run into Laz.I gave him the thing that I wrote for his upcoming exhibit and he was well chuffed.That made me smile.

What also made me happy was that I found ot that a neo-Nazi fuckhead who has rubbed me the wrong way for years lost his job today.”Well that’s one down for the six million dead! “I crowed with joy while the boys cracked up.Now he can go and apply for a job as a speed hump.Payback is so very sweet and it does come around in the end.

Have you ever noticed that all the white supremacists look like they fell out of the top of the ugly tree and hit every fucking branch on the way down?  Long sighted ,squinting,fat,bucktoothed,ugly, short motherfuckers ? Master race my star of David toting ass!

Heh.

I should try and get a set list down.When are new songs ever really ready I ask you? I think I would do allot better if they would let me sing in the dark.Me and my voice are not getting along real well right now.To punish me she is fucking with my perfect pitch which is making me look like a rank amateur.Not impressed.

Parramatta at some cafe tomorrow night with Blackie.I have a heap of shows coming up with him that I treasure even if I do sound like two cats fucking compared to him being the Brian Wilson of punk because it is the only time that I ever get to see him.My rare few friends and La familia. I am finally getting a pick up put into my old gitfiddle over the comming weeks.She has songs in her and I know what it feels like to be pushed aside for next years model and I won’t do that to her.All guitars and cars are girls.

A-hem.

What to you do,I wonder,with the teeth you have removed and the hands that you have severed at the wrists? Hmmmm. I think fire disposal in a undiscloed and unrelated location is the way to go.Teeth to the ocean at differt points? I am sure that body disposal was alot simpler in days gone by.Hell,John Waye Gacy collected his in the crawlspace for long enough.Go on,if you must,make all the “Ewww!” faces you want,I know I am not the only person who thinks about these things.Best of all I know that the ones I dream of destroying would not be missed.In fact,I should get a medal for wiping them out.

This all ties back in with me thinking that my perfect job would be Darwin’s natural selector.

Let me tell ya what haunts me if I may?. It’s hard to feel special when you know that men will fuck anything.I was chatting to an aquatince about it recently.

“Look” I sighed over my eternal can of Red Bull “I would have understood if he had ended up with a stone cold fox,it would have been a real “Ah-ha!” moment ,dig?”

“Not really” said Miss R with a frown”But do continue”

“Well, here’s the deal.That fact that he is dropping his load in a hound? Well then,what does that make me? A former hound???”

“No!”

“Sure it does.If he was with a babe that means that I was a babe but hes not so it tends to mess with the atoms of my confidence some,ya see?”

“Oh! but you are a mixed up thing” Laughs Miss R. “Everyone else would be happy that their ex had fallen so low as to fuck a …what is it that you called her?”

“Huh? Oh.An opiate drenched malignant swamp donkey wack job whore?”

“That’s it!” Spluttered Miss R  “Where do you come up with this stuff?” I shrugged.She smirked and continued ” But not you! Nooooo!”

“But do you get my point?”

“Vaguely” she replied patting my hand  “You are one of a kind that’s for sure…..”

And I guess that she is right.Shouldn’t I revel in the fact that my 3rd rate replacement is a trash heap with a heartbeat and an IQ hovering somewhere in the low 20’s? Wish that my mind worked like that.

But alas, it does not.

Gonna re-string my guitar and go and serenade the palm tree next to the pool.