Sweet is the law which nature brings;

Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous form of things;
We murder to dissect.
-Wordsworth “The tables turned”

One foot in the grave, the other on a banana skin.
-James Pride, Head of Clan Macabre.

Lester Bangs and me. The last of the white Niggers babe.

Got a rather terse email from an old friend. Delusions after too long on the glass pipe why must I keep all informed of what I am up to? I have no obligations. And I don’t like thinking about the fact that some of the people that I know or have known are never going to come good.
The proof is glaring. At 17 they were amusing, at 25 annoying, at 30 you stand on the bow of the “SS fuck it I am gone” and wave a crocodile tear filled good bye to them land locked dry on the dock in the country known as “Back in the day”.

Bye bye

[“After all that I have done for you ” I didn’t bite back as hard as I could. There was no point. Why engage?]

Meanwhile “Back in the jungle” to quote the ever-stellar New York Dolls.

And my heart is pierced by shards of ice, with dirty syringes and rusty bathroom friendly blades, carved like the eyeball in Le chien anderlieu. Kisses to you Mr Dali. The sun compounding my headache through the untinted windshield, listening to a band with a dead bass player from my missed dead city and I see from a great height all the lights in my internal grid that I must snuff out one by one. The electric hum gnawing its way down to a whine as they sigh out like broken hearted baby girls. “To survival.” I think at 120 miles an hour, your hand large and easy on my brown thigh.

I adore you baby with a desperation that will do us no favours but while you are good to me and I am burning this bright, get up next to me lover for I am abundant when it comes to you.

“And you didn’t let me go!” I finished smiling triumphantly. He grinned back like a wolf and said “Its still early days ”

And I sink and I sink and I’m gone.

I am utterly dismantled by longing.

[Like a badge / a loser stance / a toast / to zero romance. ]

It’s the anti-good. The songs that never get written. I really have no idea.

I have left such a gap between the reality of my mental state and How I talk to my few people that there is never going to be any hope of them understanding Me. This is what known in laymen’s terms as shooting ones self in the foot.

All sounds interesting in Germany. I wish that I didn’t feel that what ever mattered in me was leaking out of a small pin like hole by the second. Significant other tells me that I should be happy. That I have done what I said I would do. Sharing a bill with Iggy AND Rollins now and I am dammed.

Am I? How does one tell? Are there marks? A smell? Maybe a weekly support group in a dusty scout hall [“Hi! My name is Michele and I have been dammed my whole life this is my 1st meeting and “] I cant seem to write back to anyone, to touch base.'” TV Party” saved my life at 1 in the morning.

I dreamt that I was writing, that I was in the Cross and the lights kept going out, huge gashes bloodless on my shins I woke up at 2pm and promptly sank.

The house is empty now. I wish that I were the same. Have not trained for 2 days. Hate myself more than you can hate me. Significant other thinks that we are as messed up as FNM.Its all me I guess it’s the way that I allow them to make me feel. Its been going on so long and is so deep rooted that I cant see my way clear of it. It does not hurt, it tends to ache.

Europe next year then, I wonder when the abuse will rear its head? I don’t bite back because it is I who would break it. You have the waver if you were drunk/high. You are forgiven for anything then.

You are a / no talent whore / unprofessional / I don’t need you /

I stood in the dark while he raved, the drum guy sitting by the door astounded Endre? Why did you not press record just that once?

We have to pay off the record and there is talk of release soon. I wont quit. That’s what is expected of me.

With friends like this?.

I wont ask you to excuse me because I am bottom feeding at this moment in time. I wont ask for anything at all. What do I want? Mohawk Bens knife that I salivated over by the ice machine. I want to get up, be larger. Maggie just called and everything I said sound small and tinny like it was coming from a long way away.

I do no know how to ask for what I want.

And I do not know how to give it to myself. I feel too small to be pushy. And I can’t find a reason.

Beauty needs an acid bath and I want an eating disorder for Xmas. I am eating tuna out of a tin as I write this on my bed. I am getting worse and Courtney said that emeinem was not going to save her. Well I know that know one is going to save me either .I am a character part that gets killed in the second act. I am a footnote to mediocrity.

I cant even seen to speak English anymore. I trip up. Too ugly darlin’. No one wants that from you. Now when I say I cant talk I hang up as not to tempt myself into saying the dark out loud.

Lists. My brain demands lists that are sure not getting written. I should be out there but I can’t move. Ross and Ash will think that I am lying. I know what they really think of me and that’s what sears like abusive fire. There is no cure. The songs that are coming to me now will soil me for all time, not that I thought I could get much worse .

You can always get much worse.

Always.

He tells me to think of the things that would make me happy.

Today I quit.

SF4L
Michele.