Closure

Pigs ass. Closure indeed!

What am I ? A door? A factory fucking outlet on its last legs?? (Wouldn’t mind if it was for shoes) A play that didn’t make Broadway?

Fuck off.Fuck off.Fuck right off.

I blame reality TV. Now there’s an oxymoron for the ages.Reality TV.(??&^$^#&#!!!!)  Due to this pap I can hardly tell the hookers from the civilian girls come Saturday night as I work the door except that the hookers are more modestly dressed,better spoken and can walk in high heels without looking like a drunk Clydesdale that’s  been hitting the glass dick while these Kardashian/Snooki hybrids leave naught but a nauseating trail of vodka and red bull vomit,chlamydia and fake tan. At least the whores are getting  paid. The hail damage dripping down the back of their thighs seers into my retinas and nauseates me.Nothing is just a”Thing to do” or a “Chore” or “A class to take at night school” any more.

Oh nooooo.Its a “Journey” people.Fucking ding-a-lings and their “Journey”. What the fuck?

Listen up.Since when is you getting off drugs or losing your post baby weight  a motherfucking televised “Journey?” In my book ,both of the latter are usually A)- Court ordered in lieu of incarceration and B)-A diet you fucking glutton.

And once their gotta-loose-weight-get-laid-by-a-has-been-rock-star-become-an-idol (Slight digression here. Um ,hello whopping-great-big-waste-of-money-Catholic education? “Thou shall not worship graven idols.” )

Thou shall worship Elvis Presley,Dee Dee Ramone,Henry Rollins,Geezer Butler and Marc Bolan.Thou shall weep at the Majesty of The Stooges and The Allman Brothers epic twenty three minute version of “Whipping post”recorded live at The Fillmore.Thou shall jump one ones bed to Blue Oyster Cult and Grand Funk Railway.Ok, so the last few were mine but you dig where I am coming from…

WELL!

That’s when these fucktarded load stains get their….. (wait for it waiiiiittt for it,not till you see the whites of their eyes boys…steady now lads….steady..)

“Closure”

Aw.How fucking peachy keen.Could you just pass me that bucket,must have been something I,I,ohhh …blughhhhhhhhhhhhh!*hick!* Oh God! I’m so sorry,wait,let me get a cloth….

Closure.Pft. Even as a theory its gossamer thin and so far beyond moot its a doddle.So you close it.Wee! You will graduate to crayons and wiping your own ass before you know it.Bully for you home-school.Oh and dude?  Mcdonalds called. They want their uniform back….

Examples? I was hoping you would ask….

Let’s say you shut your shitty childhood down,bury it in a shallow grave and coat it in quick lime under the cover of darkness.Done right? Um? Duh people.Haven’t you seen “Pet cemetery”( Ramones do the title song,at Steven Kings request no less,win!).”Night of the living dead?”  You ignorant fools. It will rise again and your looking at an 89% chance you are gonna louse up your own offspring (Source-“Please don’t breed” An in-depth study of stupid people who insist on having Children.By Dr Michele Madden PH(ot)D(amn)) and here we go again.

On fat? You are still you lard ass and once the cameras stop and you don’t have a personal trainer barking at your flabby self like a protein shake freebasing ,steroid abusing officer at Colditz? Its a no brainer so you wont have any trouble with the outcome….You will go back to inhaling ice cream,mainlining soda all the while gorging on Swedish animal pornography on the Internet because you are so gross yet again that you couldn’t get a fuck with a shotgun a point blank range let alone a fist full of fifty’s in Tijuana. Even if you stay thin? You are still going to have the personality of a shaken spider monkey on crack cocaine so who cares?

Next.

One American idol has sustained a career in 12 years.One.Well one that I can recall so that’s what I am going with…The first one,you know,whats-her-name,the chubby one that jumps up and down alot  in her the choruses? Yeah,well her. Why only one?  Because it was a new thing and good luck to her binge eating 3 octave introspective self. Its over kids. And  while I am on the subject, Steve Tyler was Rock and Roll’s dirty Sargent at arms and I demand that the civilians return him at once.J-lo couldn’t name a song off” Rocks”or “Toys in the attic”  if you held a knife to her .

Nice ass though.

Its disgraceful really.

Where was I?….

Closure.Life is always in stasis.The film keeps on rolling. You roll up to the set like a king thinking that your in the lead role,the star, only to get told,by the assistant director no less, that you are an understudy. In the chariot race scene.(Just don’t forget to take off your wrist watch.) Suck it up and shut the hell up. Everyone is in their own movie,don’t you get it?  And some times our parts in each others dramas is not as big as we would like or were lead to believe they would be.Read the contract,get a good lawyer and don’t be surprised if you end up on the cutting room floor.

Such is the depth of personal emotional ties.Shallow,deep…sometimes it don’t float.

Listen up while I expose what a juvenile wreck I am yet again…deep breath….

There are kids from high school that I still want to slowly torture,murder and then leave their bovine  heads impaled on poles in their twee Asian inspired suburban front yards complete with dinky water-features  for their kids to find in the morning ( “Mommy? MOMMY!!!!!!…..) on their way out the door to school.And you know what? You can bet your sweet more-mature-than-mine-ass that they don’t even remember who I am let alone what dire deeds they perpetrated on my  tortured teen-aged self  to plant the seed twenty years ago that has grown into a redwood of seething resentment.

Same goes for lost lovers,friends and family.Its a drift,time is a tide.People just fade away.You have faded away too.And it can and does leave your heart sacred and damaged in a million and one sadistic and sad ways.But that,dear Watson, is the whole fucking point.That,old buddy,old pal is life handing you your ass and letting you know the score.The Sa’ird said in the 12th century.”God will not look for medals,he will look for scars.’

Some times your on top. Sometimes its on top of you.Just remember to roll a rubber onto your emotional retardation,shut your eyes and think of England….

But there is no closure,not really.Only death.So get on with it or don’t ,just quit with the “Closure” and “Journey” claptrap before I come over there and slap the stupid off you with a tire iron..

Even if I could give it,this peace that they desire so badly, I wouldn’t and let me tell you why.For starters,I doubt that I am benevolent enough,in fact I know that I am not ,to provide it,such as it is.Its scab picking.(Ew!!! Leave it alone dirt-hole! )At least don’t do it in public!!! If you don’t learn from history and experience you are doomed to repeat it and if that is your angle? You are on your own.

To whit…

Look at you now,you are finally back on your exceedingly well shod but somewhat unstable feet,shaky but up,when some half wit comes screaming, fuel injected out of your not so recent past and buggers you up all over again “Because” they screech, full of demands and shit while waving self-help books and reality DVDs around alarmingly” I can’t think for myself and I need (yup,you guessed it…) “closure”  This when you should demonstrate the meaning of the word by shooting them point blank with the trusty flare gun that you keep by the front door (The cops ask less questions…)  or alternately slamming the door in their face,driving the deadbolt home and calling the the gang-bangers three blocks over that owe you for that pound of weed to take care of it.

You know that I err on the side of the first choice.

It just brings up all the old shit.Gimme the option of new shit any day,keeps me young,angry and close to the ground.I prefer to be a little more mid 70’s Charles Bronson about it.Get my Steve Mc Queen on if I absolutely must.Its all drama and I am not buying in.I have so many other things that I want to do.Too many books that I have not read,runs I have not taken,songs I have not written.Sir Henry Rollins once barked “There is no such thing as spare time” and I agree. Drama is fuck all but small people making a big noise to make themselves feel significant in the wake of emotion upheaval , lives full of shitty compromises and bad choices. In the end we have no one to blame for ourselves but ourselves.If you need a petrol tanker full of sugar to make that medicine go down so be it.I am tired of ass-clowns that think their trifling existence is a soft focus hallmark movie of the week complete with a tight resolution at the end.They should wish..I ain’t buying what your selling.

Not my problem now get the hell off my property.

We are all guilty.Me too. I am not perfect,nowhere near it but I think that you owe the people around you a duty of care to protect them from the worst of you.It’s the polite thing to do.Christ! You know the deal “Point the finger and you are pointing three back at yourself”  and so on and so forth.Deal with yourself by yourself.(Honk,honk,honk.) There are things that I will probably wonder about to my grave but that is all that I am going to do with it.Wonder.Because in the end that is all that its good for.Its rude on top of all of that,rude to force yourself onto other people with such demands.(fix me,feed me,fuck me,foster me,finalize me..) Emotional assault.

There should be a fine and community service attached to such action.Its criminal behavior of the worst degenerate degree.

I hate bad manners.Fancy pulling that kind of shit on someone.What in the world gives you the right? You ever think about them apples genius? Didn’t think so. Jesus,if they meant anything at all to you when it was good ,respect the memory once you get over wanting to plant explosives under their car and detonate it when they turn the key all the while watching from a tasty well chosen vantage point across the street,one hand down your pants,the smell of gasoline a sensory sensual bouquet..huh?..what?…well,yeah,,blah,memories and so on respect them and leave them the fuck alone. Even if they give you reasons and answers its not going to fix a goddamn thing.

Take it from a fool who tried…Guilty your honor.

And then go and watch “The Unforgiven” with Clint Eastwood and remind yourselves that you are divine.Because you are my little turtle doves.You have class.

Which is more than I can say about all the need mongers attempting to use my fiery self as some kind of heavily tattooed bad tempered catalyst to reach their emotion nadir, their reprehensible redemption..

Piss off.

Shameless I tell you.And not the foxy kind when you wake up in a hotel room in Amsterdam with nothing on but your boots and a dishonest sweat,inexplicable fingertip bruises in hard to reach locations on your person and a police baton wedged under your ass.

I should give seminars in “Need wrangling 101” .Teach from the hip like a pearl handled .44.Help others learn from my mistakes.Pft! Like that’s gonna happen.Um hello? I have to go to band practice.

You know why I chose not to love? Because I am rotten at it.( “C minus Madden.Disgraceful.See me after class.) Proof is in the pudding as they say and my last one, the final fiasco was an utter shit-fight.Problem being that I give myself away totally.Its the emotional equivalent  of pharmaceutical grade morphine and a massive lottery win to me. Fatal .I figure that love, much like everything else, is a learned behavior and you mimic what you see along with what is  what is woven through your DNA .Now,lets just say your cowboy daddy had a hard time not fucking anything on the PTA with a hole and a heartbeat mixed with the fact that you were denied since conception,well?  I would hazard a rough guess that your impulses are going to be just a touch haywire.

So,me as an infant. “Dig if you will a picture” as my favorite midget from Minneapolis would croon so sweet and dirty….I am like one of those kids out of “Village of the dammed” A child of the corn,I mean,I was cold. I have much photographic proof. They say that you are given away.You give someone a gift or a smack in the chops.This is not giving. This is disposal.If you get thrown away it sets the bar.Learned behavior.I have spent my whole life throwing myself away over and over again.On stage all over the world,to the wrong people,to red neon and a million midnights.Trying to win over people who didn’t want me till my heart finally turned to ice.I have eaten ten tonnes of shit with a silver spoon and smiled because in the deepest darkest depths of my DNA it was deemed so.

It was cellular,imprinted into  my very blood.Punched into my plasma.It is what I am.

So anyone coming in to the game at this point thinking that they are going to solve something? For me or them? Shit out of luck.The most beguiling mysteries are the unsolved ones.I am the Marie Celeste of punk rock.

I receive no honest attention from honorable suitors (my wife jest doesn’t understand me) and I would not know what to do with it if I did.(can we just hold hands? is that cool? ) I harbor illicit crushes on men that are half horny and half terrified at the mere thought of me ,that is, if they even know that I am alive.(baby i couldnthandle you) If I told you how little fucking and true affection had taken place in my tenure on the planet you would split your sides laughing at me.Being the beat-up-from-the-feet-up head-shy dog  I am,I am an easy mark for self hating predators if I don’t watch my back…and my front..and all in between.And my dumb ass? I give ’em the works see because I think if someone is as rotten and forgotten as me ? Well then! We will cancel each other out and love will save the day.Right? Right??!!

Ha.Ha.Ha.

HA!HA! FUCKING HA!

So I live with my mistakes I just wish that they would pitch in with the rent.Your co-star is just that,a supporting cast member and don’t you forget it Norma Desmond.You sanity,heart,logic,The great pumpkin,the ghost of Christmas past,I don’t fucking know, whatever it is,well,it changed channel and more often than not it flicked that switch on the remote of existence to actually save your sorry life.Keep that in mind when you wanna be a contestant on “The blame game” .Write that on your mirror in fast congealing murky bodily fluids when you think about going back to a situation or person that will kill you if not figuratively,literally.

Now you have two choices.This supposed “closure” thing (yawn) which will lead to years of that oh-so-tasty wound that you are carting around on your shattered psyche being open and infected with no forthcoming answers, just a well paid shrink and another couple of trillion bucks to Glaxo-Klein for proving happy pills to the unwashed rabble who should have,and this is just a suggestion, tried a hand to hand combat class,became a mercenary for some junta or joined the gym instead .Or you scar up like a Masai warrior and get back in the field.I am a grunt.I need the field and it needs gung-ho motherfuckers like me.It all answers itself in the end anyway.Some shit is automatically closed.Sometimes for you sometimes for them.Its the luck of the draw.

Lock and Load.

Essentially you are always gonna be you and that involves leaning lessons but more often than not making the same mistakes again.So what? Fuck it.Don’t look to someone else to have the answers that you believe are going to suture your emotional hemorrhage weather they caused it or not.Man up for Christs sake! Bob Dylan may have sung ,and beautifully in his own nasal way may I add,that you gotta serve some one but honey? I got to tell you, my emotional waitressing days are through.Those white shoes were doing nada for my sex appeal and the tips were lousy.In closing  Your Honor,I would like to quote another great troubadour, Mr Johnny Paycheck,who so succinctly and tunefully trilled “You can take this job and shove it”

The counsel rests.

Survival of the fittest.I will not bang on about Darwin here but you know where I stand….Make mistakes.Make ’em wearing fierce shoes, hot heavy perfume that leaves a trail of guilty hard-on’s and headaches in it slinky wake and with great slow motion swishy Farrah Fawcett  hair.Make ’em loudly ,strung with abundant bunting,fireworks and red velvet cake for afters.Own them and even more importantly own up to them you heathen little minxes,you burly wild-men,you! Toughen up.It’s hot option and nerves speed up your metabolism so its a win-win situation.Teach yourself.I have found that there is a whole mess of satisfaction in working shit out on your own.Usually harder and takes twice as long but not only are you the star of your own film you wrote the script as well.You are the Woody Allen of the internal cinema of life.

Now just avoid shagging and then marrying your adopted daughter and all shall remain on the up and up….

Well done dark horse,well done.See you at Sundance.

No one can take credit for the re-emergence of you if you do it right.People help and may Elvis bless their kind selfless souls for doing so.Real friends are as rare as non pedophile preachers and should be treasured above all things, but if you go for this closure horseshit? Its handing over the keys to the castle to the one who stormed your battlements and dessicated your internal army  in the 1st place. Moron.I should lock you in the tower for self treason.You get back up? They will take all the kudos and curtain calls for your remarkable recovery and your scars will not longer belong to you,in  fact,no scars for you,you big twit, just open wounds…

Dig the Wagner-esque ring cycle thingy I have got going here?

Pretty slick huh?

Any way ,scars are the business.I should know,I am fucking covered. Leave it open,your life.You will miss out on much random,hectic and amazing shit if you dont and that is a stone cold fact but be smart and guarded,post an armed centurion (Love a man in a leather skirt with good thighs…just sayin’…) or two by the doors to your chamber while you sleep.Be smart and stay gold Pony boy.

Because you never know when you are gonna meet someone who is gonna want to kiss your keloids and baby? If the thought of that alone  ain’t worth the price of admission to life?

I don’t know what is.