Ok,so you got me.Quit smirking at me like that,c’mon! Quit it,I mean it!

I can admit when I am full of shit and/or deluded.I admit it,ok? Sheesh!

I came over all like a white female Gandhi by way of Mother Theresa with a killer rack saying that I am all zen about shit.I am so not that that it’s not even vaguely amusing. That I wish no ill will and so on and so forth,blah,blah,blah.That is fresh! I must have had a brain tumor for breakfast.Blurgh.My seething anger and sordid sense of self righteous retribution clad in a tie dye cheesecloth fucking caftan,no less, handing out flyer’s to ambivalent civilians about an EST workshop.Kill me now.

I am taking the fifth.

So sue me.At least I am trying,well,…um….some days?….Oh fuck it. Due to fools being stupid in flimsy flammable santa hats,tacky in tinsel and topped off by the utterly fucked fact that my laurel bough of stellar friendship is rejected yet again in the face of more pressing priorities? I say screw  it.

I am now spending my precious time more wisely.I am lighting candles for chaos to befall thine enemies and all kinds of charming calamities.

(” Let me get this straight,what you are telling me you found his cock wedged down his throat?“. The young constable,still dripping wet behind the ears and only two months out of the academy,tasted the cheese and bean burrito he had for breakfast start to return on him as he nodded mutely at his commanding officer. They stood by the front door, freshly blasted off its hinges by the swat team,the whole mess wrapped in yellow crime scene tape. Above the CNN vultures circle.The blades of the choppers softly blatting the black satin sky,stirring silent screams and chaos into the muggy night air. “Balls too?” enquired the older man and stepped back nimbly as the mexican food made its projectile reappearance all over the poinsettia bushes lining the walk…..)

I am not going to let people take the piss. If you can’t make it on your own I am done with ferrying the lame.I will always help out the ones that I can see really need it but I am a mother to none and that is that. Me, the salt strewn mule-less 30 barren acres.A field of despair.No way man.I got me a new plow and I am turning over the dry ground. Blowing boulders of brown dust out of my sun-burnt nose at the end of the longest days known to mankind.My honest sweat into the soil bitches, best you believe it. Gonna get me a bumper crop of “Kick ass ” planted and blooming into the new year.

A old friend died at his work Xmas party last night.Heart attack.Lights out.A couple of toots,a scotch or seven and wham! He was dead before he hit the mat. A timely yule reminder of how fast you are gone,boom! .Over and outski,your number is up. In shock I came to the stunning and timely realization that I refuse to buy the farm thinking of someone who,quite plainly, does not give a rotten rats ass about me.

Especially when I have people who think I am the cats pajamas.

Oh children! Gather round and listen to your Aunt  Michele,it’s the vampires that thieve all you have that you have got to watch out for.Them,with their big,greedy take it all eyes and morning after apologies, that tether you to their super damaged excuse making sides. (“Oh baby,c’mon lover,you know I didn’t mean it….”) Beware and remember that they can’t come in unless you invite them….

I am ,at the eternal grand age of 27,(*ahem*) way too old to be fucking about with sub standard drug addled reindeer games and emotional espionage.Fuck being the water-boy to the wasted. So it hurts.I think that it always will but I can put it in its rightful place now. Hurt happens,life does have a rather cruel and unfortunate tendency of doing that to you dontcha find? .But much like Mick and Keef so poignantly put it,so bloody poignantly as a matter of fact,that I have it tattooed across the tenderest expanse of my inner forearms.

“I have my freedom but I don’t have much time.”

With that alone as a foundation? I would say that I am made in the fucking shade here.

Blinkers off.


Cha-cha-cha people. (” I am the best dancer at St Bernadette’s!)

I am preening. Big old lazy cat mooching on the front stoop of long awaited redemption.,floorboards warm and smooth beneath my fur.Lazy with it and high on possibility ( “Don’t Bogart it man! Pass it along you greedy fuck…) Almost collapsed with heat stroke at the gym.Run fat girl run. And go for it,be war ready and able at all times.It is yours for the taking. You with your miles of brunette stoicism and logic.I had forgotten just what I package I am when I get my eye on the target and here is a  a lifetimes worth of pillow-lipped pollack kisses to the hallowed few who continued to remind me.

Muah! Muah! Muah!

Can I just tell you how sad it has made me throughout my life when paramours both landed and thrillingly pending have informed me  “I would not be able to handle you Michele” .

Now you tell me,what kind of trumped up hellacious bullshit cop out is that? What is there to handle ??? ( Besides my fast shrinking corpse) I am the most boring and low key wench you are ever likely to meet.It’s the fool’s that inhabit and pitifully prance along King street ( Insert Sunset Blvd if in California and Christopher St if in New York, you get the picture.) poncing about like their life is a reality show.Being all that because they can’t do it on stage,they have no outlet ,no purpose besides tempting me to kill them at every available opportunity,they are the handful! Not Me! Christ on a crutch! All it do is read,train,write and play guitar. I sound like a morbidly obese 14 year old who listens to Jethro Tull and is a dungeons and dragons fanatic from Reseda sans the X-box addiction.

With great stems.

Yet,at times,  I have been known to be  a magnet for mongoloid stalkers who want my dirty underwear to wear pulled over their face to sniff while they jerk off ( I have the letter to prove it, German. Naturally.), drunk and drug addled tortured artists who tend to produce the same work over and over again, tetchy small town ice smoking tattooists blessed with a false sense of entitlement ,jealous rock-stars who spiral doubting my dog-like loyalty and iron clad fidelity,dark-side dwelling dick jokes in converse and skinny jeans with expressive and non-ironic hair and for all I know, mass murderers.

Let’s just put it this way,I have a lot of fans who have parole officers.

What is it with me?

But then there are the rare Princes that keeps me wondering what happens next.The Princesses that take my late nite calls from the deranged dark side and still love me later….

Ah the romance! Good grief.

Every once in a while the God’s deign to throw ones heathen ass a faith restorer .( Cheers for the thoughtful gift  Ron Ashton,Randy Rhodes and company…) Not a lover, just a cool person to scrape the dust off your horizon.Someone to patiently hold the binoculars to your red raw tear torn eyes  and gently tilt your head to gaze forward into the unexplored land of possibility. Sent  full of goodwill and tangible gusto to crack the code of your misery ,a true selfless friend. People who make the planet smaller and kinder by merely existing.Late night talkers and languid long limbed listeners.

I am winking at myself in shop windows,quite the foxy minx and find that the migraines are becoming fewer.As I trained tonight ,my carriage graceful and my shoulders back,I felt correct,happy to be in my corpse and it absolutely floored me.This feeling? It stems and comes from people you think of highly  thinking the same of you in return.

Hail fellow,well met.

For so long now I have thought that I was not worth the effort but all of the sudden it seams that I am.Holy shit! All the things I was lead to believe didn’t make the grade are collecting their diploma and flinging their mortar board high into the air.( “San Dimas football rules!”) Listen,I know that this is not the be all and end all but I would be lying my daily diminishing ass off if I claimed that my ego and pride are not licking their very satisfied chops for the first time since I fled Los Angeles so long ago.

Kind hands plant seeds in hostile ground.Fearless gardeners, I salute you.You didn’t have to but you did.I told you it was pointless and you didn’t listen.My gratitude has a huge red ribbon tied around it and a .385 hemi under the hood.

The Diamond Lil wrote to me today.As did Miss Suzanne of the tundra’s welcoming me back.So sweet,so,so kind. (I was terrified that I was lost  forever).I was thinking of them and their names graced my screen.Tiny kindness that I hoard.Correspondence that rescues me from myself….

And I will tend my empty garden.I will prune with a surgeons grace, leave shallow saucers of flat beer out to kill the slugs.Weeds will be pulled and borders kept from anarchy.I shall train wisteria vines over fifteen foot trellises crafted from old railway sleepers to create a cool emerald bower that one day will bring us shelter.It is there that I will serve you strong black tea cooling and lemon garnished in  fine china cups and red velvet cake,vanilla iced. My bare feet in your lap,strong by way of miles, hypnotized by the gallant grace of your chevalier company. The birds sing for you,the grass sighs beneath your weight with tart green gratitude. Rendered motionless and dazed by the midday heat, sunshine shimmering though the sprinklers,prisms slow dancing on our skin, we breath in unison.Diamonds of  golden light fall through the leaves as your alabaster hand forms a bracelet around my ankle.I sigh.

Safe at home as my adored Gram Parsons would croon.

From a seed,a small kindness I am re-animated and clear of disarray,unless it is sonic and that I welcome with a carnal candy coated tongue.It need not last.I am cool with that.

I know now that it can happen  and that was all I needed.