Hound.

She’s is somewhat of a zealot being that she has a few of her own.Tells me that its time that I got “Grounded” and that “This will be good for you!”.

She is more than likely right.

I lent on the door jam of the tattoo shop and listened to her say her piece as my forearms swelled and bled under the saran wrap that Luke had tenderly applied over my new work “Your bleeding tonight!” he exclaimed as I winced beneath the bitchy-seemingly- sharper-than-usual needle.Bet my period starts tomorrow.I feel like a storm cloud wrapped in a Skynyard tee-shirt.I felt tender and hard done by as the sky’s opened and pissed all over the grotty street.

I sighed deeply as she delivered the hard sell.

She told me that its unconditional love.”Maybe that’s what I am scared of ” I wisecracked back.She did not look amused.I told her it was and 80% yes.She looked happy with that.

If I chose to accept the challenge and the responsibility there is a pug puppy heading my way in four weeks.I see some right fucking morons who manage to own dogs daily basis,my neighbours included,but I just don’t think its for me no matter how much I want it to be.It was different when I lived in Long Beach as there were already six dogs there and Henry arrived to a ready made family.

This dear friend of mine is not the only person in my life that thinks that I need a furry pooping machine to ground me and get me out of my own head.Mr Goody my boss at Club 77 has sung the same aria to me often over the millions years that we have known each other.His dog George lived to the ripe smelly old age of twenty four. He now has a 107 kg mastiff that drools like a broken spigot. They make it look easy.I don’t think that I find anything easy when it comes to such endeavors.I am wrapped too tight.

Miss Emma has been a paragon of kindness to me as always.I better stop talking soon though,to my friends I mean.My core deep melancholy is playing washing machine with my stoicism and well being.I treat myself like a bottom hitting science experiment and I don’t know why and even worse I cant seem to snap myself out of it and stop.I come to life briefly once a day in the wee small hours ( Sorry,slight music related detour,” In the wee small hours” is one of Ol’ Blue Eyes best albums in the Capitol years.Post Ava Gardner.The dude is broken.If you are a useless romantic much like my fine self ,check it out…) when bed jumping to Slayer would not be appreciated by the day dwelling brother and sister team that I reside with.

Miss E coos to me and says that I will get back up when the time is right bless her cotton socks. I have to do it sooner rather than later because it wants to kill me.Rosco Deluxe ,man of means and devil-may-care rake inflamed my anger today when he asked me to go on a road-trip with him. I was pissed because that means that he has not been listening to a goddamn word that I have been saying over the last dark few months.Um dude? I have a weekly residency coming up and what part of “Soup kitchen broke” don’t you get ?

You know what I should have done?I should have stayed in California with my dog and grown medicinal dope for medical supply stores. I should have kept my stupid mewing needy heart to myself. Been cool.Got cold.All the things that I aspire to and fail on a daily basis.Should have been a right heartless motherfucker with iron running grey though my bullet proof vascular system.

But I foolishly didn’t  and most unfortunately for my fat assed self, am not.

My room smells of heavy clove incense,rotting gym-wear that I cant seem to locate,not that I have really tried and the criminally expensive jasmine perfume purchased stolen from junkie thieves that I drown my obese self in.I heard today that “Sweat is fat crying” I like that.I should make mine sob.Its miserable and I have not seen the hardwood of my floor in a fortnight or more.Its all I can do to get out of bed every evening assisted by room temperature cans of red-bull and even then I wonder why,for what?.I listen to “Do it again” by Steely Dan at least three times a day.It connects to something in me that I have no words for.I know,I know,Steely fuckin dan….

I can’t love.I can only just do the dog and pony show that garners me enough attention to know that I am still alive.

Can I say that I am angry at presumption? That I wanted to stay missing? Because I am and I did but people come out of the wood work and I wish that they had left well enough alone. Its been about thirteen years since I have seen my adopted father.He has stayed gone and that is how I want it to stay.We had the time that we needed to be father and daughter what ever the hell that means and entails and then it was done.He got a girlfriend a few years older than me, broke my mothers heart for the last and final time and I threatened to kill them both with his own gun.”Don’t miss” he said “I won’t and you wont see it coming” I replied and hung up the phone .Done and dusted. Last I heard he was living in a tent with his autistic son.Good luck to him.

I never saw him again. Why anyone thinks there is a vacancy is beyond me.I don’t want to align myself with any kind of family unless I chose to.I have chosen them,they know who they are.Case closed.

Love is not for me.I have never felt worthy of it and run from it almost every chance that I have been given.I don’t have the right skills,they come with the factory model or they don’t.You do not acquire them..I would be lying though my recently rebuilt teeth if I didn’t admit that at times that it tempts me,because it has and I am sure that it will again but I always get it wrong.I don’t want people coming back out of my past to make some kind of amends with me.The stress of my conception and concealment imprinted themselves upon me. The relationships that I chose to honor and call my own are massively dysfunctional and sporadic when viewed from the outside but then again,so am I.

My story can claim no happy ending.And that is a relief because all the supposed happy endings that I have been privy to over the years? Can I say that they look anything but?

I am angry because it took me twenty odd years to construct this mass of tattoos and scars that you see before you.I have invented my own history.I don’t want anyone barging in with their rude and unnecessary version of the truth.I don’t want to know where I came from and where my bloodlines lie.I just don’t fucking care and this was made sure of long before today.I don’t have time for this shit.I am dying,getting older by the fucking second and I am not a nice or kind person.Heal yourself and live with your mistakes.You made sure that I fucking well had to so there it is.

I have felt the void in me for as long as I can remember.But it’s mine.We are fine together my supposed lack and me,we compliment each other not that I expect anyone to understand this dynamic nor do I care if they do or don’t.I am sure of it,like Piglet would say to Pooh Bear and that is all that matters in the long run.Its when meddling fools think that it needs filling and that they are the chosen ones with the correct tools for the job,that is when I shut down and turn off.I was born and duly left with fucking nothing and that is what defines me and how I have chosen to define myself.It is the only thing that no cunt can take from me and me and my void? We don’t need you.

People wanting shit from me leaves me cold.Their expectations.My chosen ones I would open a vein for. My Big brother,my sainted long suffering Mother that I keep at a safe distance,my few friends,my band. But when something is expected of me? It ain’t going to happen.

I was cut lose at birth.You cant corral me now.

The fact that all this crap that I had buried years ago is on my fucking mind again pisses me off and hinders me no end.It has aggravated my terminal melancholy and I wish that well enough had been left alone.I have been angry about this shit my whole life it seems and I had gotten it just to where I wanted it.It was naught but fuel.Now its a tanker explosion and you can bet your sweet ass that I am pissed off.I got broadsided and used my good manners when I should have shut down.I was fucking ambushed.

I despise bad manners.

I don’t want a family.I never have.I never wanted children and my first marriage when I was little more than a kid failed within eighteen months.I don’t know what I was trying to prove.It is never going to work  for me.The only time I have ever loved with my whole heart was another abandoned lost child like myself and he was so far gone that he threw me away as well.Hurt people hurt.I forgave him miles back.At least it was true and as lost as it is remains so.

So back the fuck up off me.Stay away. This is how I was created. This abomination is what I am. I don’t give a rats ass how you are with this as a fact because I am fine with it and that is all that matters.

Its a big old lie anyway….

Fuck these tattoos are swollen. Told Luke that I want some Roky Erickson lyrics next.Cursive,grey and single needle fine from one shoulder to the next only interrupted by my fat neck.Every time I hear his Texas tainted yowl deliver them it sends a shiver right to my core.“In the night,I am real” he sings and me and my lost boy,well we know that it is for us alone.A hymn to our duel damaged heroism.Palm trees silhouetted in the inky night sky a large Mr Pibbs full of ice and a fish taco,tangled in foil falling apart in my hungry hand .My man loving me at my side ,us singsonging away at the top of our lusty lungs,windows down with forever on our side ,driving home to the dark depths Hollywood once again.

In the night,I am real.

I’m too fucked up to love a pot plant let alone a perfect puppy.My patience is non existent and my fuse shorter by the day.I was not built right.Not like people who take love as a birthright.I was deemed  trash the minute I was born and that,as they say, is that.I can only own myself.I can only give to my few the little that I have got and only when I am able.

Know your animal right? I know what I am.I have always known.

Not willing to try at pursuits that I know culminate in certain failure.Rather hone the few skills that I have and stay in my bunker till its time to deliver on stage.Of this fantasy of a fickle skill I am sure of.This is what I am.This is what I know.

No puppy for the lost girl.

Because the fact of the matter is that I have just not got enough heart left.