Read.

I got a compliment.

Being that it was four in the morning and I was as done with shit as you can get without having a hand gun and a fast getaway car, I didn’t know how seriously to take the aforementioned and unexpected but the sick and sorry need in me that I chase through my endless dark corridors daily with a machete,that I hunt to exterminate with extreme prejudice,did its spastic Hello Kitty- dancing- with -unicorns -and gummi -bears ( “Lallalala!” ) thing while I attempted to remain outwardly stoic.

How was I not going to have a cunt of a night? If you can tell me then we will both know even if it is in retrospect. I got chewed out for my superior skills on the door and then had to suffer through the fact that it was a “90’s” party.My misspent wasted youth is now retro? Pass me that knife if you would be so kind, mucho obliged ….Resigned to my fat addled fate and poor as a church mouse (*) I dug out my favorite paint stained Metallica tee-shirt (Early Pus-head art fucking owns it.) ,wore way too much eyeliner,tied a flannelette shirt around my portly mid-section and sucked it all up.

(*)Which has never really made much sense when you think about how Rome has been raping the gullible peons  for eons, lifetimes,I mean,even the rodents would be high on the hog in Vatican city right? Right?…Hello? Operator?…..

What the hell am I doing here?

So there I am,done with work and sitting on my perch (“Oh,I’m sorry home-school,I am not fluent in “stupid” .Get the fuck out of my sight.”) at the end of the bar counting the minutes till I could bail to catch my train ,aching  feet relaxing into my junkie-shagging-ex-inamoratas road weary black converse,done with heels and fools for another week.Then ,out of nowhere and for no apparent reason,dude there up’s and tells me  ” You are a great writer Michele”. I know right?  Which means that I am getting read.

(Astounding.)

You should have seen the look on my bitter head. “In addition to being a great musician.” he shyly tacks on at the end.You could have knocked me down with a feather.

Well,maybe on Jupiter anyway.

If you could mike up an abortion sodomizing a hangover with a caulking gun you would have a pretty accurate  idea of the music that the plays in my club at that hour of the morning for the pill mangled masses. But as I bungled my way to the staff room to collect my assorted bags of notebooks,boots and crap I could have been cake-walking on marshmallow bunny butts to Chopin. It wasn’t even the compliments,not really.It wasn’t even that he said I was great or that he dug that I write how I talk but there mere sheer fact that someone reads this.That I am under the wheels sending out flares and someone reads this shit?

Dang.

“Its a turning point.” says Miss K  vehemently earlier tonight on the emotionally retarded,nicotine nailed hot-line from the humid jungles of the far north as her insane cat yells through the mesh screen at a rooster in the yard who is giving back as good as it gets .It better be a fucking turning point or else the jailers better start searching my filling for cyanide capsules.

Its all so ill defined and I don’t approve.

I may be a fuck up of the first and finest order,granted, but buried under all this ink, blubber and seething hatred and residing in the spot that my dead heart used to occupy, is a flawless diamond of analytical precision when it comes to my war. So this is fucking with my game plan and I am not amused.

So many things awakened in me over the last year that I have to hunt, to kill. Things that I didn’t want to deal with,that I washed my callused  hands of oh so long ago.(“Skirmishes! I’ll show them a fucking skirmish.Motherfuckers! This is bullshit.How long till my tanks get here? What do you mean you don’t fucking know? I don’t want to hear it! …..Well go and find the fuck out! “) The perimeter is quiet which heightens my sense of foreboding even more.(“Friendly fire? Friendly fuckin’ fire? I got yer friendly fire right-fuckin’-here!”) Correspondence has thankfully ceased on many fronts and if you could taste my relief it would melt on your tongue like Kobe beef or under-aged trim.

I had to call the Saint tonight and tell her that I cannot be the dog and pony show for a few weeks.That the condition of my condition is unappealing,offensive to the naked eye and that the stress of having to preform the universal lie for love is not in my script revision right now.Texts from friends and I don’t answer because if I cant explain this palaver to myself ? How in the hell am I going to explain it to anyone else.

The solipsist has dug in her trench and is activating radio silence.

Maybe Norman Mailer had it right.To exist outside and encourage the psychopath within.Not that mine ever really needs much encouragement.( For that last sentence? Picture- Illegal pit-bull fights,hardcore porn and a mounted machine gun armed by a 17 year old cowboy from Nowhere Ohio being  fired into the endless rice paddy’s below from the open door of a Huey. Soundtrack-“TV Eye” by The Stooges.Loud.) Not knowing what would help me,I hassled my favorite promoter and scored a show on March 7th at The Sandringham.That salubrious inner city shit hole filled with the human versions of  “All tomorrows parties”.(The song by Nico and The Velvet Underground not the poser strewn self congratulatory festival.) Got my brilliant big brother on the bill as well.Its the only time I get to catch up with him and Miss Nina so its a score.He has all his new songs to air out and I have the sacred seven that I am arduously plodding along with for the album that I want to do so much.

Hello Kitty is glaring at me with pure malevolence as I bang out this sturn und drang crap-fest.I know, I am projecting out of pure disgust yet again.Its one am now and I am only just coming to life.I am all kinds of wrong.I dream about running by the Los Angeles river,my blood hot and my aim true.( Remember how good it felt to fall in love,to play music together,to go to amazing shows )

That’s gone to the whores and the hounds in a barbwire hand-basket. And moi?  Well,I am the radioactive dust that remains.

(Ahh-CHOO!)

You know you are fat when you knees ache.Wish I was high like all my lost…….Ha,ha,ha.I kid,I kid! .I gotta hand it to those cunts though,credit where credit is due I say. For their lack of sanity,teeth,a future grounded in any kind of reality whatsoever  (“Oh my sides!stop!!STOP!!!You are freakin’ killin’ me here!!”) and not to mention sense they end up with the best physiques ,the immoral scum sucking fuck bags. My sweat used to burn like phosphorus. Now its condensation,opiate slow,collecting on the mass of me, forming lazy liquid allegiances for its dewy decent .

I forgive my bones in advance for giving up.(“Its ok,I know you tried,c’mon,no need for tears…”) My cheek bones swamped.My hips buried. My lines charcoal.My lines blurred.(in nomine padre,in spirituous in santos.amen)

And I can’t and more importantly wont apologise for what I am because it would be a lie.It is what it is,you don’t have to stick around and besides,the gun isn’t at your temple honey now is it? I have always had it locked steady on my own so there ain’t nothing holding you here.

On your way now….

The less I carry the faster I move and baby you ain’t never seen nobody leave as pretty as me.( Mmmm-MM! ) Can I just tell you that I am a four star masterpiece when it comes to going? You precious little baby! Ain’t you just the sweetest thang!

I was built and reared for nothing but.

But I always arrive back here.Back to myself.  Back to ground zero and day fucking one.My objectives are hard to define and I have a haunting suspicion some motherfucker has been riffling round though my footlocker and that kind of breach in my security makes me nervous about the mission that I am nervous about anyway.It keeps changing.The target is not clear.The machine is not ready but still I have to go….

This is the real deal because it is unsure ,unclean and real.Maybe I should burn the rules and LURP it out.Leave my dog-tags and addled alliances behind and try and prove myself to myself while I still have time.

Now that? That sounds like a plan.