Deal.

Its all relative correct?

I am making handshake deals in empty parking lots at three am with the monkey on my back who also just happens to be the chairman of my internal downward trajectory board .This is the flip-side of manic and far more tiring than the upswing.The upswing leads to thoughts of riotous immortality and so on.This? I find it hard to brush my teeth,breathing is obnoxious,a beating heart is tertiary at best.This exhausts all goodwill and possibility of movement.Its not like I don’t know the terrain.I made the map.I am the Bourke and Wills of bummed out baby.

Hand me that protractor! Step away from the pencils.I am getting down tonight!

But we made a deal see?.Sunday is day zero.The ape chewed slowly on his pound of flesh with huge yellow teeth,ropey strings of fat falling slowly onto the lapels of his Armani suit and I shook his hairy hand ill with anxiety.His diamond cuff-links winked and snickered obscenely in the dim light  from the trattoria that stayed open all night, fast with illegal card games and fenced goods . Dino’s timeless voice drunk and knowing from the Wurlitzer “Like a fella once said,ain’t that a kick in the head ” .He dropped my hand and made his way over to his idling Cadillac with a mean wall eyed orangutan smoking behind the wheel….

Those crumbs in my bed are from the cookie that has obviously crumbled.

I crave silence.All my words turn to mush and I am too salty to explain myself so I don’t.Met up with Ross for dinner at a broken sushi train in the city(a sign?) last night.It was good company and passable food.A decade since I threw him the party to end all parties.His boyfriend snorting crushed up Valium and falling through the window,Persian rugs on the lawn full of a plethora of perverts in fancy dress and me doing a  naked photo shoot in my room with a stoner friend of ambiguous sexuality and a great camera.I have to laugh.

We were fucking magnificent.

Its a wonder that I don’t have bed sores.My Proustian efforts go unread and unrewarded but that doesn’t stop me,no sir.The clicking of the keys soothe.Scratches my sinfully self indulgent itches.Down’s last album on the stereo floating my southern soul.No dispatches from the wanton west but that is to be expected.And today I don’t think that I really care.

One hundred and fifty three is the magic number.

Woke up muffled with codeine ,Hello kitty’s ass wedged in my sleep creased  face and empty Red bull tins under my nest of damask covered pillows.Feel like a life support system to my depressingly massive rack.I look like a cross between a shar-pei’s ass and Jabba the Hut from the ribs down.I flinch in the sunlight and think of my room as a luxury fortress that insulates me and my ever present anger from the lamentable masses.My actions so specific and sedentary right now.Going crazier by the hour and watching it befall me.

Till Sunday…..

I have the anchor of my door duties tomorrow complete with a fly by visit from Miss Emma.It will rouse me and force me to communicate.I guess this is a tenacious thread,I suppose that it is necessary and good.My main mission tonight will be to span my suburb nose burred in a book,secure Japaneses food that is ludicrously over priced and come back to the bunker to work on the seven songs that I have decided will constitute my album.

To keep burning all night long.

Tongue tied and trying to be the pale rider of suburbia can really grate on a cowgirl.The weeks slide by and I watch dispassionately.I wait for orders from my internal DMZ but the lines are filled with static or down completely.Do they want to push me over the edge? I make up briefs that defy the Geneva convention and my platoon look at me disbelievingly but march on my command.The jungle makes you crazy but then again its all relative right?

Sunday mama,enjoy the next 24 hours because this is the end of the line.You are getting off the boat…..

Alpha males send me signposts from beyond the grave,Elvis love ’em .Sam Peckinpah informs me that “Despair is the only unforgivable sin,and its always reaching for us” Reaching? Reaching?? Its chasing me down an endless hall way with a Crisco dipped fist.It sends me cum stained hate mail.I don’t know how I am staying so calm.I guess because I don’t have the energy to panic.I can hardly muster the necessary atoms to roll out of bed and take a leak.I am hording myself for far more fortuitous destinations or at least that is what I am telling myself.

I better get a vision soon though.Dreams- I was real estate hunting with Ryan Reynolds.(?????)

Ross asked me last night why I didn’t move to San Fransisco this time last year.”For the same reasons I didn’t move to Berlin with you” I sighed over a very average soft shell crab roll. I had nothing in me to bring forward .Emotionally sucked dry and weak with it.The thought of fronting a band this time last year was a godsend in ego stroking theory but even making it out the door of my asbestos riddled shack to get to therapy on time was a gold star worthy effort.How in the fuck was I going to get on a plane in that condition?

This truce will lead to good things.It will lead me back to the self that has been stagnant.I am letting the more dainty of my acquaintances drift because I know how abrasive I am on the changeover and I don’t wish to offend their frailer sensibilities. This is a fault that I have never manged to rectify and feel no real urgency towards doing so all in all. Bigger fish and so on and so forth.

Wonder if my i-phone ever turned up again.Heaps of personal pictures and videos.Living with junkies in Hollywood will clean you out every time though.There were sweet pictures of mine and my lost boys hands twined together with our matching tattoos.Shame.Would have liked to have seen those again. And to think that even last year even though we were seperated but talking all the time while he was on tour that I got even more ink commemorating what I thought could be healed and saved.( What he assured me we were working on and aiming to fix.To be together again.silly bunny! )

Victims want other victims or whipping boys.

Or trash.

I was thinking about the phone and the photos as I did an interview a few weeks ago and was asked about the ink that I have for my ex.A tattoo related publication so there you have it,not totally random. They inquired to if I would keep them or get them removed .”I am cool with mine,I guess ’cause I ment it” I replied “But I’m pretty sure his girl must get burned up over his.” The interviewer laughed and we moved on.I wonder if he will keep his or if his charming high strung piece of  primo high class ass (cough!) will nag him to cover it. Who can say?

The longer I watch the world do its thing the surer I become of certain behaviors .Mine and other peoples.Tiger ain’t never gonna change their stripes…

One hundred and fifty three. Seven songs. Sunday.

I pull myself up and slowly exhale as the Cadillac rolls out of the narrow lane and gets swallowed by the night.Pulling my .45 from the small of my back I flick the safety back on and re-holster it securely under my arm.I crack my neck and head home anxious to begin again.I whistle “That’s Amore.” and the dark swallows me whole…