Didgets.

I am not equipped.Its sad how badly I fare with supposed normal integrations of my leggy self and the world.

The weekend was a cluster-fuck as it was Mardi Gras and I am in possession of the worlds shortest fuse.

“Are you a dude?” sneered the civilian asshole ,a bucket of poison in his voice

“I was about to ask you the same thing cunt” I replied with a suitcase full of get fucked in mine.

He ran.Keep in mind I was resplendent in a bra,ripped tee-shirt,full war paint and a snow white Indian feather head dress that went down to my perfect ass.Stacked heels of course.I would have run too.Made me wish that I had of brought my tomahawk.My roommates came down accompanied by my mate Metz and her soon to be wife.I was busy as a one armed man with crabs so I didn’t have a real lot of time to catch up but it was really cool to see her happy and loved up.

There is not a real lot that ever shocks me.I pretty much feel that I have seen it all at this point and have my trip wires in place at all times by every once in a while you get got and the fall out and results when you rest on your dusty laurels can be quite spectacular.

I have forgotten how to fuck.Myself and other people. My dysmorpia puts me in a dead zone as it is and so the question of anyone wanting to get near my mean self makes my defenses act like the Predator sans mask.Good visual huh?

I last got laid in July 2010 and it was a brutal loveless affair.I now know how a blow up doll must feel.It broke my sexual spirit which up until then was doing ok,clean in two. I now live inside myself and stay celibate.There is just no point mixing with the animals.I know that one way or another any kind of contact is going to cost me more that I can afford.What can I afford you ask?

Nothing.Nada.Zilch.Now,consider moi,the wreck that I am and just imagine the shock and can I say distaste that swept over me when a fine young  punk not only expressed interest but….

Requested my phone number.

It fucked up my savior-fare something terrible.

First I had to not only question his taste but his eyesight.This infant had crossed my path before but the cojones on this kid? Impressive to say the least.

Being that my age hovers between 17 (emotionally) 27 (for-fucking-ever) and 125 (In dusty dog years on the experience odometer) I was curious to how old this pup was.With clean green eyes he seared into me and said “24”

24?

Its enough to make me take to my boudoir with the collected works of F.Scott Fitzgerald,a bucket full of generic Valium,a trough of cognac and my 12′ pigsticker  and never leave again.I didn’t even know that they made men that young anymore let alone cocky hardcore punk one’s who think that I am a hot ticket. Look,being as messed up as I am,I am not sure if its flattering or not and I feel like a real turd for being so ageist but child,child,child,I am the most loveless damaged goods on the showroom of life’s killing floor.For the one moment that it stroked my brutalized female ego it then sent me down lower than a snakes ass in a wagon rut.

I have nothing to offer but what I show and give.I do the door every weekend and then leg it back to my cave to hold the world at bay once again.I train from three to five in the morning so deep is my hatred and mistrust of the other animals I am forced to share the planet with.I have been know to growl when approached,…I communicate by way of seldom returned calls and sloppy correspondence.

And this kid says that he is coming to my show.

We spoke for a  while and he seems to be a nice lad but I cant sell myself on again.I can’t muster the song and dance that it takes to be attractive let alone wanted.As I write these words the weight of how sad it must sound is heavy.But I know it to be true. I can never let anyone near me again because the cost is and shall always remain far too great on all fronts.

I would be lying to myself if I though otherwise or acted any differently.

I lay on the pistachio green sofa by candle light tonight.Mark crashed out,Lilli rocking my white wig at Ru Paul so I played my guitar in a trance for hours and got 2 new songs ready for the show on Wednesday night.I will run my set in the bathroom tomorrow when I have the house to myself.It should be a tasty set.I have been dying to play again.

Johnny Thunders,may Elvis rest his shaggy haired Italian soul one sang “You cant put your arms around a memory” .True enough but I have come to realize that you can stay faithful to one no matter if it is a good idea or not.I don’t know what the hell I hold on to most days.A memory? Hope? Usually a bad mood and my beloved Hello Kitty doll as I attempted to sleep though the days as I have done ever since I was little more than a wet teen dream on the longest legs you done ever seen….

I kind of hope that the emerald eyed punk does not show up.Is that bad? My numb responses,my dead heart…

Any kind of hope,my own or anyone elses,brings up a sadness in me that is hard to wrangle. When I sing I shut my eyes tight and feel him by my side when we were good.I still dedicate a song by Mr Cash to him at every show I play.It sounds foolish in light of all the heartbreak but some people are always gonna need a prayer more than you.I express it on up to Elvis and wail like a siren.

Mr 24 made me smile. It was sweet.( thanks kid…)

But the bottom line is that I am just a twisted old fuck who cant see the forest for the trees.

And that is how it goes.