Effort.

My body clock is out on bail and high on Dilaudid.Cold shaking and shooting into its neck,the dirty fiend.I ain’t go answer its calls so long as it goes on behaving this way….

It’s tripping hard.I am getting to sleep at the weirdest times and well,fuck it. I just happen to be a rare creature to be sure as my dear Miss Emma concurred over a whispered phone line at 6am.

My body clock going mental is the least of my worries truth be told.In fact ,my worries,thank Elvis ,are diminishing by the day.

Now,who woulda thunk it?

I happily sang all the way home on the train.Give my fool self an empty carriage and I think I am on Broadway.My shrinking reflection grinning back at me in the dark windows as I flail round like a rock driven epileptic in skintight jeans,my corpse aching from the usual assault at the gym.Every joint pissing and moaning and I am so vital I feel like I am giving off sparks.

Tasty.

All I could do was think how great Joey’s eclectic phrasing is and how The Ramones cure all that ails me,how lucky we were to be on the planet at the same time as the brudda’s.Sigh.The soundtrack saves you right? You know what I mean,don’t be shy.When I have nothing else music throws me a line….I was dancing around my smelly gym bag to “Its gonna be alright”.( ….its the year of the monkey everything is real funky…) If that is not the embodiment of punk rock bliss? Well, I am not sure I am qualified to say what is.

And nor would I want to be for that matter because in my often jangled and jaded perspective,it was perfect.

My faced crumpled like an empty chip packet,so wide and face consuming was my smile.

And I like it out here alone.I am good at my weird life.A bonafide A-1 fully bonded professional,step aside assclowns.I like that I have no one to answer to,no children or mortgage repayments.That I called the shot when I was but a mere amoeba and knew the anomaly that I was and followed the call.Saint Tina once told me to find what I was good at and stick with it. So here I am.Longing,singing,obscure fact regurgitation,running,punk rock,…Suspended adolescence?

I wear the crown and wield the sceptre.

This coming from someone who will be getting  their long awaited AC/DC tattoos tomorrow night.Because I fucking well can.Ner. My songs are getting to where they are ment to be and I play everyday.I have someone interested in managing my unruly butt and that makes me feel like The Igsters million in fuckin’ prizes.

Go team.

People are going to be what they are and do what they do and now I have the ability to cut them loose with no malice or ill will.Shit will always up and kick your teeth in when you least expect it and I am not gonna lie to myself any longer,hold out hope what what I know is hopeless. I am loyal to the last. Wounds can be reactivated at the slickest touch,the merest memory.It tends to be scent and sound for me.But you ride on (A day with out Bon Scott is a day without sunshine people.Take note.There will be a quiz.)

Or as Mr Rollins would so succinctly bellow “Sometimes things don’t work out! ”  And that is that. They don’t.I am pretty tightly wrapped when it comes to control so, at my lowest ebb ,that tends not to sit to real pretty with me,I can admit that .But really? What are you gonna do? Get an helmet and shut the hell up,that’s what .

I have no more time to lose on other people not loving themselves.I have a hard enough time with my own weird wiring,thanks for coming hope you enjoyed the show.Patch your own goddamn fuses.What am I? An emotional electrician? Fuck off out of it.

So where does an upwardly mobile damaged rock goddess and part time muse go? I’ll tell you where her fine ass hightails it to,she goes to the boiler room,thats where. After stoking the absolute bejesus out of it all the while looking like one of those louche and taut Helmet Newton pictures from the 70’s,she then heads  to the war council.Wearing great high heels,a tight pencil skirt and very,very serious black framed glasses and do I even need to point out that her hair is up and exposing the back of her very oh-so  biteable scented neck? ( No? Didn’t think so,now can we move on?)  Flicking her main around like the thoroughbred that she is, she proceeds to delegate her time and move forward making it look aggressive,sexy as all get out and as easy as The Commodore’s Sunday morning.

The deal? Put in the effort and reap the reward.

I failed.I loved and I failed.

So what?

(GASP!!!!)

You read that right….

I gave everything I had and it didn’t make the grade.There is nothing more I can do.Water finds its own level. I thought that the one that I gave it all to on a silver platter deserved the leggy dynamo that I am.He ,on the other had thought he deserved a wackjob opiated hose-beast. Who am I to argue? I am jumping up and down on my bed to Grand Funk Railroad and done with the dogs.

You get what you *ahem* shall we say “Settle” for…..

My knees feel like two lumps if throbbing coal.Roadwork will kick ones ass every time.But the weight is leaving and there is bone action on the horizon.A mildly hungover Zack ,due to the festive season work bash ,told me tonight that he is going to get to work on my sketches soon.I am soooo stoked.My back is going to look amazing!

If I didn’t know better I would think that my ovaries are attempting to bungee jump from my snatch using my fallopian tubes as cords.My period thinks its Genghis Khan.But I have not bowed to my nasty assed sugar Jones and am feeling quite pleased with myself.

Have come up with an album title and a really cool idea for a film clip that I think I will have to rope Jeremy Belafonte into making for me.Plans,plans,plans.I am going to pass out and dream.Of foot massages. Quel sigh.

As Etta would croon

“At Last……”

Bet your sweet ass I am smiling.Because as we all know,living well is the best revenge.