Error.

Its four in the morning and I just woke up.Slept from 7am on Sunday and its now Monday morning. Go figure.Strange dreams of Tupac and bubble machines….(???) I glance out the back door and see that the pool has been covered after our non-existent summer.If I am to be stuck in this shit hole with no parole for another,my second,stupid fucking winter,I intend to make it work for me like Lincoln never freed the slaves.Lemons into lemonade and all that shit….

The door was a cold and stroppy place last night. I was rugged up like a chubby bad tempered Eskimo and so far removed from the reality of my situation that yes,I did laugh at myself. I was thinking about the last two shows that I am throwing down before running away and making big noise with Marcus for St Cecilia. About how my depression had hog tied me so severely since last September that my only daily goal is to be present and accountable in my life. That if I had the guts I would throw my i-pod out of the window of an express train because my ex made it for me and listening to Masters of Reality on repeat stirs strange and cruel demons within.

I have lost five pounds.Now for the other forty.

Working my door is like being in a drug drenched John Hughes movie that’s Od’ing on ennui and cookie cutter fashions…Oh to be nineteen and cute.To be able to throw myself away on transient pleasure delivered via pharmaceuticals and ones rubber bits….These infants act out their lives in front of me and I observe,ever the cynic and forever the scribe. I have a few favorites. Strapping lads of bone and salty assisted surfers hair. Post puberty tattooed events of wild fuck and under paid apprenticeships. One of the calls me his “Goddess” while bouncing around on pill aided paws.Paws as I call him “Tigger” because between the ADAD and the drugs he is never still within his skin which leads him to looking slightly blurred at all times.

A stunning and friendly child who brings me Dr Peppers complete with bendy straws and tactile tall hugs.

But if you could see the shockingly hard and ugly configurations of female flesh that he has sex with! I lament. The greatest gift of alpha youth is the staunch belief that age will not find you,that this condition that you find yourself in will remain eternal. That you have braincells,energy and fucks to spare I guess….

I want them to know beauty.To scale the heights. I am in no position to show that to anyone.My once renowned beauty was drained by a bass wielding thief.I am a noivate. But my infants! Ah ! I despair! Beauty children not hookers!….

But in is of no use. Men. Pft! I can’t tell a nineteen year old from a small town as much as I cant tell a forty year old from one of the biggest.

I let them mess up their own lives as we are all prone to do and I write more lyrics that I  know will touch my lost boy when he hears them.As he does for me.  I think his ding-a-ling fuck hole must be incandescent with seething jealousy. I smile just thinking of it….Imagine not being able to live up to a memory and have self esteem so low as to take up with a man that is in love with the one that came before you and has told you as much from the start.His new album is almost ready for release and not only do I sing on it but the whole thing is basically about me,our relationship.

Suck eggs.

When I think about what I have lost and the fact that at my lowest I am not a very good or nice person yes,it makes me rub my hands together with malevolent glee.

“Why are you single Seven?” asked one of my shivering infants last night. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat you stupid zygote?” I parried by way of reply.

One of them showed me that I am the screen saver on her phone while waiting in line .Bless.

Single.

Thank Elvis.

The closest I have come to sex and relationship stuff was offering to babysit for a friend of mine while he and his wife get their fuck on with a third party after a sorely needed night out on the razz. I am a great friend. Miss Nina came around before work last night and we spoke at great length,as we do,of the follies of relationships and life at large. She has been my big brothers other half for well over a year now and I take her words and advice very much to what is left of my heart. As I sat and painted my fantastic blue eyes into bold relief with gold and bronze powder at my dressing table she sat on my cloud of a bed and idly flipped though one of my ludicrously over priced imported fashion magazines. She reminds me of a Persian cat. I envy her fine bones,freckles and spectacular grace. Next to her I am a raw boned,frost bitten peasant with dirt beneath my nails,lumbering back in form the potato fields,moon-face ruddy with cold framed in the circle of a scarf….

“You have to get over him” she announced,her skinny legs knotted into a pretzel. “I know that but it’s not working out that way.” I replied,one eye closed awaiting the arrival of a ton of deftly applied  glue dipped false lashes.” Besides” I continued “There is no one out there for me. He was a close to getting it right as I could get and I said that if it ever ended ..” “Which it has” she pointedly interjected “Which it has in theory” I sighed and continued ” That I would leave well enough alone and remove myself from the game,which I have.”

Then,ever mature,I poked my tongue out at her via my flawlessly painted reflection.

Its different for boys. The need something to fling their fuck into. So as long as I remember that she is nothing but a cum catcher its not all that bad,not really.

Another letter from my far flung past hit the inbox of my My Space and Facebook fan page recently.Do men get off on distress? One wonders…. Hoping that I was ok in light of tenaciously clinging heartbreak and so on. Very strange indeed. I also wrote back to my ex-ex,why I don’t know.Trying to talk sense to a miserable Pisces is akin to putting out a fire with gasoline. Of course I have not heard a peep since.

My lost boy may be an asshole of the first and finest order but at least he knew how to man up.

I am through with it all.I have no desire to reproduce and even less to get my fuck on so what is the point? If I want to sweat I will go on a shoplifting binge or a ten mile run.I can’t imagine going though all the steps to get to know another animal yet again,the thought alone of such effort makes me take to my bed and have a panic nap and a sneaky sniveling cry. Pointless. I am sure on my death bed that I may lament,albeit briefly, the fact that I was quite conservative with my affections but when I think of the vampires who were not I am sure that it will not bother me for long.

I think of a badly aging talentless goth girl that I once knew residing in the Newtown ghetto.She was a badly painted pilot fish ever clinging to the ass of the shark of cool.Forever chasing a partner and forever making the same mistakes.A fake feminist with well used manacles attached to her bedhead. I bore myself but I admit to what I am and why I am not applicable to human relations.I observe her and her ilk and the honeymoon period lie that they apply to themselves in three month installments before it all goes pear shaped and for however rotten I am? I am thankful that I am not of that lowly stripe or caliber.

No matter how much knowledge we acquire we can only be what we are. I admit to my poison. And for a brief fantastic fuck filled time so did the one love of my life.

So my ex and a sweet nineteen year old fuck the dirty ugliest whores I can imagine yet still refer to me as  “The love of my life ” and “A Goddess”. Hmmmm….Maybe its better this way…hear me out before you bite…In my ex’s head,as in mine,we are untouchable by all that befell us,time,distance,his paranoia,my coldness…we are still us locked down and eternal. What do I care if he uses some disease ridden pan-faced,peroxided prostitute to catch his load in my lamented absence? Its not such a big deal.She is furniture. She provides a use,a service.

Like a washing machine really.With genitals.

As for my sweet nineteen year old friend.I will mother him and yell at him to wrap his meat.I will play big sister yet again.He will bring me lollipops and make me smile.

I remain  untouched and untouchable. I think I have found the system that will work for me.

Today I must fumble my way into the city and pay my gym membership which I intend to flog like a mule throughout what looks to be a miserable and low hanging grey winter. I will not weigh in for a whole month,I will not scrutinize every inch of my corpse daily.I shall sweat and burn in that order.I shall reemerge in the spring with a god almighty bang. I will keep my head muy low. I have tours to plan and scheme.

One of my other infants has just secured a fashion scholarship in France and sites me as his muse. I am so very proud.In return for my inspiration he is designing my Halloween costume for this year.If I told you what is was,which I won’t,you would understand the necessity of full on training from now till then. I plan on making the world eat its heart out don’t you worry about that…..

The winter schedule….

I have many more tattoos to acquire before flesh will be exposed yet again. I have to return to the neighborhood of 153 pounds and purchase real estate.No more renting thin for moi! I am becoming a resident. I have to extinguish hopeless hope one mean spluttering pink candle at a time. The margin of error must be reduced.Train your animal Madden. Its not as if you have anything else on your plate and even if there was?

Your too fat to eat it.

Sight unseen my new band has acquired a booking agent.I am dizzy.He says that it is on the strength of mine and my drummers prior work. Its so very rare that anything nice happens to me so I am savoring it. Being that some members of my band have small people,you know, children,everything has to be very concise and I like that.I am too old to meander when it comes to work and what it is that I want to achieve.Its good.

Second last show this week. I am anxious for the new,the amplified,the close up.

Loud.