Choke.

Its some stupid hour of the morning and I am all knotted up about playing tomorrow night.

I passed out at a semi-reasonable time but my weird dreams of great heights,purple candles and koi fish work me up.Throwing a peppermint tea down my cakehole,I cried while reading a sad story about Lynard Skynard and then decide to connect to the world and see whats cooking ’cause it sure as hell ain’t my fat ass.

My voice is playing fucky and I hope that it decides to be cool come showtime.Why do I do this? I’m ok with it most of the time but the full moon is fucking with my self belief and tender tenuous balance.Makes me wish I was lower in the IQ department and happy working with hot tar for minimum wage. I’m so fucking textbook when it comes to the by products of abuse and abandonment that I bore myself to tears.Ever the child wanting to be wanted.

Yawn right?

I get so wildly superstitious.From the running order of the set list to the pick that my ex used at our last show together,I shit you not.No artist has the right to really claim his output.I am not smart enough to have pulled off half the coups on stage that I have.Truth be told,none of us are.You can practice all you like and Lord Elvis only knows that I do but if you ain’t open to the magic you are fucked.Its just a question of opening yourself just right so that the noise can make it through.We are naught but a motley bunch of conduits.Admittedly with pirate style and fantastic hair but baby?  Its the magic that matters…..

And it makes you weird,not that I had real far to go on that front.The OCD doesn’t really help but you have to have shit a certain way.Chanting  for a strong visitation if you will. Burning hair and saying prayers.I picked up my old girl yesterday and she didn’t want to stay in tune and so then my bitten down fingers decided that they didn’t want to remember a single goddamn chord in some kind of misguided sympathy. Miss Lilli made me dinner (“What do you want to eat?” “Something with vegetables,I have scurvy”) and as we sat outside under a rare clear sky being attacked by mosquitoes  and  the moon admired its big fat reflection in the pool , I sat there like misery incarnate wrapped in an Aerosmith tee shirt and iridescent layers of shimmering anxiety.

Movement is my savior and I ignore it daily only to be consumed by self disgust at odd hours.

Who do I think I am kidding?

When I feel like this I tend to fall into the thought that everyone has an easier time of this caper than me.You only have to read Classic Rock magazine to know that it ain’t true but it sure seems that way when you are standing outside the spiritual studio ,red frostbitten nose pressed against the glass, barefoot in the snow.

Ross is coming tomorrow night.Hope that Mikey makes it down as well.I lived a war with those two.We should have executed the guitar player for treason but you live and learn. Ross confounds me.All that talent and he doesn’t want to play anymore.I get it I guess.Its the grind that makes people give up.I don’t give up out of pure stubborn spite most days.Because no matter how bad it gets if I fade away I lose and I just cant truck none with that outcome.

I will just shut my eyes and wail.

Ain’t nothing’ else to be done.

I always wonder if anyone is going to show up.It eats my nerves clean away.I bet my bottom dollar that I get my period tomorrow.I can hear the full moon chuckling outside my window as I write.

I dream of California more and more but the economic climate is raping my friends over there and it makes me sad.I need to win the goddamn lottery because my work ethic which is usually insanely good has headed south for the winter and is not retuning my calls.I don’t like myself like this at fucking all. It leads to fat and internal disarray. A shabby way to roll all around. I handed out a mess of flyers to my drug deranged infants on Saturday night so it will be most interesting to see if any of them leave their safe zones and venture out to see the girl that they know by another name and demeanor all together.

I will text everyone in my phone though sheer desperation tomorrow.

Again.

Not sure if all my new stuff is ready to air.I will see how I feel.I tend to play shorter sets than most people .I want them to want more,to come back again I guess.That and my muses are real bitches who take their time when it comes to delivering the goods.

Got a charged phone call from my drummer Nathan the other day which lit a spark that I was missing.He went to Cathedral with Marcus the other night who presented Nath with the first six songs on disc of our new band. Nath is a real salt of the earth type so when he told me that he had stayed up till two in the morning air drumming I squealed with glee.That is how I want to feel again.

Suppose that I should try and sleep again.Lord knows I am gonna need it.

The day I don’t choke? That is the day that it don’t matter.