Flaw.

Ah! My lethal humanity.How I do vigorously disappoint myself day after endless fucking day.

Is the mighty messenger Mercury out of phase? On long service leave from Valhalla? Where is my almanac?  To quote The Pixies ” Where is my mind ?”

Because no matter how hard I try? Right now? I suck.

Leizel and Professor Chicken are undoubtedly having a great time back in the LBC.Hanging with the hounds and going to the all-you-can-eat sushi buffet. You could set my massive emerald green jealousy in a ring and flog it to Elisabeth Taylor.Got an email saying that they miss me.Which is kind of weird really because I miss me too.

What a bad machine I am.What a asinine adolescent. Eugh. Sue me, but I was thinking about the conduct of attraction.Its all very scientific in the light of my continuing nun-like abstinence.Pheromones and what have you.How one wants and gets wanted in return .The chemicals that we secrete. How we so callously overlook the ones that love us for all that we are and even more importantly all that we are not.Who adore and appreciate our presence and potential,untapped and otherwise .And how do we replay such myopic magnificent adoration? Why we aim for the universe devouring wormholes that will never sate nor satisfy of course! Fools one and all. Me at the top of the list if you please.

Let’s just say that I am a real pie-in-the-sky kinda broad.A cake shop in the clouds.A romance retard.

Recently I have been loitering around and hiding behind burnished copper potted palm trees  in the forecourt of The Ritz of self loathing ( Note: The clotted cream generously dolloped with chunky strawberry preserves on  fresh scones that they serve in a most charming afternoon tea must be experienced.Divine, somewhat like angel cum or non addictive opiates one imagines…) in a Burberry trench coat,with the collar turned up, eavesdropping like a complete sneak,while others discuss my ridiculous reprobate reputation over tart apple martinis and spite spread thin on cruel crackers.

A horrible place to find oneself in when the reserves are low and the troops AWOL.Barricades unprotected and such.I know better,I really do but human nature is soft in the gourd and selling pens for charity outside the train station.

The cavalry tends not to arrive and the portly concierge keeps giving me dirty looks from the front desk while whispering to the bucktoothed bellhop by his side clad in ill fitting moth bothered red velvet.A most gratingly severe lack of beatitude is shadowing my every paranoid move.You ask yourself,on repeat,what the hell you are doing but to no avail.There is always more of “them” than you unfortunately  and sometimes this is the way that the chips fall no matter how debonair you are with the flying of your mighty freak flag….

Loathsome.

But at such reckless,feckless times it pays with healthy interest to remember that your reputation is merely what the unwashed masses think about your brilliant bodacious self. It is best to let them have it,trust me you don’t need it and like carrion they are they will pick over the bones of your singular greatness while trying to debase you while you should be off doing other things.Worthy things.Sleeping and Riverboat gambling are two that come to mind.

Get to it then.

Easier said than done,I know, but it is a start.

It is ones character that one must nurture and focus upon. That is what you are baby.Stick figures to Caravaggio Mon Cheri,Merlot to lighter fluid,Tiffany to Target….getting a grip on the general gist here ? Good, now moving on….the other,being the reputation, is what they say you are and who gives a five flavored fuck what ill thought out,badly phrased petty poppycock they are going to come up with. Oh, besides the other malignant morons in the coven of cunts that make up the general populace of peons of which, my darling, you will never be a member.See? Entirely unworthy of ones time. So get your derriere behind the bar, and mix us up a jug of  mint julep’s and come join me on the porch,there is a nice breeze slow dancing up off the river and I know that I am utterly parched from all this jabbering .Don’t be stingy with the bourbon honey…

Fuck them all.

Me and the gym have been locked in a battle of wills all week.I swear that Elvis lays trip wires for me,little toughen-the-fuck-up tests to keep me on my still overweight toes….So up the stairs I limp dragging all my crap,four pound weights taped around each wrist and ankle as if it wasn’t all hard enough as is. I lumber like Dr Frankenstein’s bride.I scare camera wielding pods of  wide eyed Japanese tourists while the riff from Blue Oyster Cults “Godzilla” pounds away on my ever trusty internal i-pod. I swipe the little doohickey that beeps me in and my eyes swing automatically to one of the big screen TVs that is spewing Channel V into the empty room above the treadmills lined up like stormtroopers against the back wall. And boom! Wouldn’t you just know it? There is my heartbreak incarnate swinging like a sexy gate in high definition no less.Live on stage the year that we met.I hear him say “Thank you!” (…that voice used to say it loved you,your name as it came.,a prayer….) to the rabid crowd as the tune ends and the screen goes blank.This feels like being smashed in the back of the head with a fence palling.It makes my ass clench and my stomach turn to stagnant water.

I only just make it to the bathroom.

Cleaned up and only slightly more composed I grab the 10kg dumbbells from the curved rack and hunker down on my trusty bike for an ass numbing hour on level 20.My knees grind like unoiled gears .I tell them to shut up and think of mini skirted great gammed glory.They calm down and we ride nowhere for sixty sweat soaked minutes.

A boon! Steve Tyler was on “Ellen” and I had the place to myself so when I was bellowing “Dream on” at the top of my lusty lungs I was not only sweaty but secure and shameless.

So I guess it all balances out in the end does it not?

Today’s lesson? Fuck your reputation,cherish your character and under no circumstances watch music television.

I wait on correspondence that never comes.My sultry salutations sadly un-reciprocated.

Doors that are fraught and hot-wired with only the funnest kind of sexy peril remain unopened but tempting or so I want to believe,oh so desperately....( knock-knock? ) I ask Miss Emma if she thinks that I am ever pondered upon,pictured in compromising positions complete,one hopes, with lashings with aorta aggravating lust .She replies,carmine of lip and ever kind of heart that she cannot imagine for one second that said person has stopped thinking of me. Hoping against hope that my sage gamine friend is correct,I lay my tired head against her hip  and she absentmindedly plays with my hair,fingers wandering over my scalp ,soothing me as I sigh and relax. The movie in my Orson-epic mind (….rosebud.) has a new star,a virtual Valentino and I wonder if I will ever get it right. Sheer folly,utter caprice,I know,I know…Doubtful but the dialogue is reminiscent of Bogart and Bacall and the kiss will be worth dying for.

Two of my infants went down on bended knee at the door and presented me with a cellophane wrapped rose last night. Huge face opening smiles and jaws grinding at light speed they both kissed me,one on each cheek and fell down the stairs encased in a mist of youth and amyl nitrate whooping like Indians as I attempted not to cry.I never think that anything sweet is going to befall my statuesque self so when it does I come undone.I held onto it all night,both the flower and I wilting as the Valium slow night bled out arduously towards the dawn.

That and the eighteen year old that keeps asking me out,snaking an arm around me which I slap.”Where would we go?” I inquire from my great height into his clear brown eyes ” Mcdonalds?”  “If you like baby!” he winks.I have to smile and shoo him away.This kid has got balls the size of coconuts.I told Jr and Wendy about him when the came to my side of the city for dinner last night.He raised an eyebrow as I whined over a Japanese meal “What would one do with a child?” I sniffed waving my chopsticks around “Tell him about the 90’s” said my dry witted baby brother. I have tee shirts older than these delinquents.That I still wear.

I am a novitiate to noise.Sister Michele.

I have decided that my wardrobe,my look at this point in time, is a rock version of  my beloved VS angels.The hours that I spend on the pec deck at the gym and the amount of bras that I own ( Better not to ask ,but somewhere in the vicinity of two drawers full…) have deemed it so.I am a storm in a c-cup.I think that I will flag the wings though,well at least until next Halloween.

I am tickled that some of my Club 77 crew are coming to see me play next weekend.I keep all the component’s of my life so separate.Every once in a while a lost rock-child finds their way to my neon drenched door and the look on their face is priceless and ever so ego affirming “What are YOU doing here?” they gasp while all my infants look on puzzled from behind the velvet rope. Photos are taken on phones and complements kindly accepted . “What was that about Seven?” lisps one of my baby fags handing me a red-bull complete with the bendy straw that I requested as not to louse up my lipstick .I push his purple fringe behind his ear and plant a kiss on his throbbing temple by way of thanks. “Mistaken identity honey” I reply with a Mona Lisa smile.

They don’t know who I am here and for some reason it calms me.I get to recreate.Here I have no weight of any past on my shoulders.To them I am just the door-girl with a sigh inducing rack and a rapier wit,not a mass of seething anger and fierce volume,not some reprobate rock royalties ex-fiancee,not my former and present bands personified . And its just lovely.I like it, flexing my femininity,channeling Blondie and all my rock heroine’s. Playing dress ups.It’s a cute way to make a lazy photographed living. Taking a break from ones self,selective schizophrenia,is something that I highly recommend.

I got into trouble for bawling out a rude suit tonight.I have known Glen,my boss, since I was a baby brat and when he gave me that look,you know the one that means  “I am not angry, just disappointed” I felt like shit but then he said that its hard to tell me off because I am so funny. That made me feel better.

Fucking ass-clown …I called this tit fuck a “Home-schooled advertisement for abortion” and then went onto say that his girlfriend had a face like a dumpster fire and legs like a piano. He insulted my grey rabbit Russian issue army hat. What is a girl to do? Not one of my most feminine moments I admit especially when capped with a stadium worthy bellow of “FUCK OFF YOU CUNT!!!!” complete with throbbing neck vein,to seal the deal. A-hem Miss M….I saw one of my hydra of security from the corner of my eye shaking with ill concealed mirth,biting the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing out loud.

When I was on the road with he-who-stomped-my-heart we had a tour manager  who said to us both with no small amount of slack jawed awe “Neither one of you has a firewall!” We laughed and  heartily agreed. I don’t. And nor do I want one.There is no five second delay on Chanel Michele,you don’t dig the program? Change the station cowboy….

It was all ho-hum after that until…..

I saw someone,a lanky self possessed lad, who echoed some of the finer points of someone that meant (means?) everything to me in the early hours of this morning. It was all I could do not to lay my hand on his forearm,to test his presence.He and his girl were so very sweet and I was not feeling anything carnal or untoward you must understand,nothing of the kind.It was some kind of reflex in my memory.A spasm.A trigger that I could have done without being pulled. A cold shock laced with longing for the unobtainable.

( Bloody Pavlov…..)

He was physical reminder.

I wonder where you are ,what the state of your state is in the state on the fault-line.Who you are with and if you are well.

So little time and such scant contact but give me an inch and I take a mile. I build castles,empires that balance on one brick of illicit and stolen time.An architect of the absurd,that’s me.I weave roads and bridges from screaming feedback and sweat stained tee shirts.I see you in my dreams heaving alabaster above me,spit a tightrope between your mouth and mine.Eye to eye.Your heartbeat a metronome to the steady beat of my long dormant desire. Reactivated by your wanton interest,your appreciation of my soft white underbelly,my hidden vulnerabilities, I was hooked in a hit…… (I need more ,please don’t go….) There was not enough time and like a fool (“Idiot!”) I exercised my seldom used rusty restraint,afraid of driving you away ,wanting so badly to show you all that I am.

Knowing somehow that you were much of the same.Knowing that you could handle it.Hold-fast in the knowledge that I saw you.Please.I know that you saw me too.

And now you are gone.

And I remain flawed in the absence of your company.