Pick.

A large tool use to smash and pry.To separate.

A choice.

It was such an outside bet Madden.The odds almost comical in their size.Like Mr Thunders would sing,you were born to lose.

And you did.

Honesty devastates, it is the hardest thing to deliver but it is also admirable.So I admire you.You just passed “Know your animal 101” with flaming and flying colors.The truth.Its usually something that you know but don’t really want to hear due to the pain it brings and the time that you know you are going to have to funnel into recovery.It’s seven in the morning and I just woke up.

Having it said to you makes it real.You can’t un-hear it.It takes up residence and squats like something fat and stagnant.Immovable and learned of all its rights as an unwanted tenant.You consider burning your property down when you know it is inside,asleep and vulnerable.This is also know in some circles as cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.If you look close enough you can see the track of stitches round my roman profile as I have fallen to this fallible folly before.

So that’s that then.I don’t know what to say.What to do.

Saturday on the door was no great shakes.I had to get changed half way through the night as my kimono top was no match for the gale force winds that were barrelling down Williams st.My hair was perfect as Warren Zevon,may Elvis watch over him,would sing.

Have decided that I want a flare gun to fire into the open windows of cars that drive by screaming abuse at me.My boss yelled at me as he drove by and then cracked up at the look on my face mid-tirade as I realized it was him.The prick.

It was a hospital rave this week.Hooky messaged me about three hours prior to kick off.”Do you have a sexy nurses outfit?”  it read “I didn’t know you cared!” I replied.So much for that costume opportunity. Themes! I make my own!

With the soundtrack for Xanadu hopefully driving my roommate to suicidal distraction at top volume,I decided that it was Johnny Thunders/Ninja night.Naturally.I could barely see from behind my bangs. One of my regular infants sighed,kissed my hand as he waited in line and said “Boy,you really know how to dress”.Amen to that.And my abs are peeping out again so I had my stomach barred and it felt good.One of my beloved fags lost thirty something kilos recently and gives me lashings of encouragement each and every week to keep going.

A great fight outside the convenience store.Pepper spay in the hands of the riot squad.Of course the perpetrators got away.Just another night…

Much like my big brother before me I am now addicted to the UFC.I wrote and told Toddski this to which he replied “What is the UFC?” and went on to tell me about the choices on the jukebox at our old haunt in Syracuse.Bless him.Walden of vinyl.He works at “Rare Necessities” and has been known to ferret out the most hard hiding pieces of sonic scripture,a veritable Mike Hammer of sound that one is .Just tell ’em I sent you.

I dream of the octagon.It’s on a the gym almost all the time.I get my security team to show me new and more frightening techniques all the time.I am learning how to use my height.I could open your face with my elbow if I chose to.Addicted to sweat once again.

The lard arsed ding-a-ling that lives upstairs was fucking round with a weed wacker outside my window all Sunday which lead to me,when I finally drifted back off, to sleeping right round the clock.This will lead to much red bull and cleaning of the hovel today and then back to the gym tonight.I am so entrenched in my anti-human contact night routine again I feel like the celestial school teacher (Ah! high school,do you ever end?) is going to yell at me for wandering the earth without a life pass.

I will go stock up on groceries as long as the weather holds.A cold and strange December to be sure.Usually sweating way up in the hundreds right now.If the Mayans were right, it’s all over in a month anyway and at least I will die a little thinner.

I can see limited forever’s in their pill poached pupils.I drink the neon from above the door all night long,electric nectar and flex my calves in high shoes.I hand out candy and fashion advice.Moo.

I got the demo for the new band and I don’t know how or what I can bring to such greatness.But I will try.I refuse to be a band-less troubadour any longer.I have a show this Friday with Blackie down in the ‘gong.Will get to see his great girlfriend, the incomparable Miss Nina and then do my lonesome cowgirl thing on the train back to Sydney to be ready to man the door come Saturday night once again. Today is a boon in more ways than one since I will be able to work on some new songs.It cracks me up.Blackie always has the tunes and me the words.It’s so hard for me to come up with the sonic side of things due to limited skill and talent.

Ho-hum.

There are letters that one takes time in answering.Wanting to say all the right things and leave the reciprocate breathless and so on.To chose the right words,to silence the internal editor until the next time and the next time and the next….

When a choice is made that is not as favorable to you as you would like it takes time to get right with it.You walk away,study it at a heat hazed distance.You pluck a sample of discontent from it life beaten hide and stick it beneath the microscope crafted from all your mistakes.Its long to give up clues let alone answers.It drives you utterly mad. When you are beaten by forces beyond your control the ego wails like a war time klaxon.It strips your defences and puts them in stocks in the town square.When you believed that it was a fight that you could win and did not. Can I say that is frees as well as destroys?. The death of hope is reminiscent of the funeral of a child.Pointless loss,cruel and on the long term scaring and game plan changing forever.You react to things in a whole new way eternally bowing to the duty of your loss.

The thing that you carry that is gone.

I am a sore loser.I don’t roll with it politely so it is a good thing that I am quarantined from the masses at this point because I would just be embarrassing myself.I have been set free,cut loose. But for what?. I am dry and a hollow vessel. I adore the trash tabloids when the newly thrown or dumped proclaim “I still believe in love!”  Well rah,rah,rah and good for you.I believe in Gibson Guitars.The Bon Scott era of AC/DC,Nars cosmetics,rip off  designer handbags,salt water,The Ramones,his name on my spine,books,orange tic-tac’s,Red Bull,tenacity,starvation,solitude,Apocalypse Now,Darwinism,neon,glitter,The Dukes of Hazard,Evil Kenival,Hello Kitty, impractical shoes for all occasions,Elton John in the 70’s.

But Love? I can’t say that I do.Or that I would want to again.

Leave a white feather on my pillow for I am a coward.

I wish that we could have been alone together,us.

When you can hardly tolerate yourself and the peccadilloes that make you just that ,a mess of deep seeded suspicion takes root in your fertile field of foreboding and commences to kudzu all over the proceedings. Insidious doubt,a perennial that can survive the elements of the heart with minimal water and brutal conditions.And it does,it does.

So now my priorities are shuffled and pinched into new shapes.I have decides to never grow old and to answer to no one.To spurn all advances and to write my life away.To hoard my limited good times and sink them into my fickle future.To discipline and and reign nothing but myself.

I tend not to think about fucking.But I do think about kissing.How good the air between me and he tasted. Drinking his driving profile as we rambled over LA and the world.He hates himself as much as I do me.And that is why I have to laugh and wave . Because I am just as bad. My phone just lit up,the white tiger telling me that we are going to see OFF! at the Annandale on Wednesday night.Mr Morris takes the wheel and runs us to the border.Brilliant.Did not get to see The Misfits.Was sad that Hy-Test got bumped from the bill by the dim and perpetually drunk promoter whom I once wanted to beat up due to past discretion’s but now I just pity.

Let it be noted that I would rather be feared than liked.Less detritus in one’ s way,less corpses to hurdle.

Just found the Hard-on’s CD that I lent my dulcet tones to under a pile of crap loitering on my floor.It cracks me up.Blackie always wants me to do the sweetest voices in my arsenal.I sound like a 12 year old.But it works.I like recording with them because I arrive having no idea of the song or what they want.Its nerve racking to say the least.And I can see my floor again so it’s all good.

Goodbye is never is epic as it should be.Smile and wave,smile and wave.

And let it be of small solace to you that the choice in the end was not  yours.

Smile and wave.