-You understand that its not insecurity right?

-Yeah, I know.
-It’s that I am totally broken.
-I know baby.

Don’t worry
You’ll find yourself
Follow your heart and nothing else.
-Lynard Skynard.

Neil Young is blaring in the blood red living room downstairs. Reminds me why I sided with Lynard Skynard.Both the house and the night are soft and hot, alive with activity. Comings and goings.

It is so hot in my room that all my posters are shimmying to the floor. I rescued my big ugly Jesus picture from downstairs and it is keeping company with the mixed media piece that Pornstar made of Sid Vicious.
My treasure chest of mirrors and burnt sandalwood secrets is begging and flirting with me this evening but I will look forward.
There is nothing in there that will serve me by this moon. Pictures of the lost that are burnt into me anyway. To hold them would mean less than nothing. Negative anything plus a helix of never foreverness.
I am the key
I am the tattooed doorway.
My corpse tends to negate my wings.

Sunsets from the other side of the world. A year Miss Suzanne.365 days from your empathy and still I am flooded with gratitude. I find myself slowly returning to your town in my dreams now, Miss Annie’s hand, tiny and sad beneath mine. Teenage longing and pills for all your ills on black sheets. Jeff Buckley so sweet with your beautiful mother and her angel voice, the snow that never stopped falling, Miss Corrine and the coffee shop where I read the paper and hid from my lack of talent in the face of it all every day I Remember you all.

That is where I outlast the world. I wrote it all down and for all the goings that cripple me in the flesh, in the library of my mind and my million miles of paper, I carry you all until I die. I will never let you go.

My ears are paining me again but until I have a moment that is mine alone I don’t want to think about it. Miss Maggie, upon my bed today
-They are growing back aren’t they?
-Yes.

[How long have you got? I can give you a million reasons why I cant deal with this right now.no; let me rephrase that, why I don’t want to deal with it right now.]

I can’t take myself to any of the dives in my hard heart where Despair and me used to hang out. Not right now. I don’t have enough to get a round in. and if Misery finds out that we have been on a bender with out her? There will be Hell to pay and I still haven’t repaid Hell from that last lost evening that involved dark green liquids and broken promises .

Tapped out and owing my emotions? I choose to be ignorant.

I have much to do. And I have had quite enough of doctors.

The theme of the nite is bored and snotty. Miss lily and I are both in the mood for cake. I shall not bend to the desires of my shitkicking womb. I have lived on spiralina, masturbation and Nurophen for days. I am a golden god surrounded by shitheads, polesmokers and walking targets. I have seen my hipbones infidels. There is no turning back.

Songs are turning up and begging for admittance. I brush them away and snuggle back into the arms of morphious the dream king swaddled Christ like in my lovers blood and cum stained tee-shirt, my hello kitty doll locked in the crook of my carved arm.”Fuck off” I mutter “until you are ready to rule a stadium full of swaying lighters .”

I want only the truth now.
The cream.

One o clock in the fucking morning again.

Deluxe is working up in Queensland right up until the BDO.I guess that we will get to Jam a few times. It’s so soon but I am kind of numb. I feel like an am watching myself go through the motions.

I am happy that we are getting to play a thank you gig on the 28th at club 77.I know that not everyone can get to the BDO so this is for you

And here I sit like some big fat jabba the hut in my neat room. Ross tells me that when he walks in he is taken back to Calgary. I shudder but I know what he means. I have lived in this room my whole life. Shit stuck all over the walls and piles of rotten band tee shirts mouldering away in the corner.
I carry myself where ever I go.

Ah! the evolution of romance. You surprise and adore me, nothing is finer than you and I am throwing myself beneath your wheels.

She was beautiful and leaning on him at the bar. I didn’t see them both again for an hour and as I lent over to hear what someone was trying to tell me over the din of some shithouse 3rd rate band, I threw up in my mouth and swallowed like a heartsick trooper because part of me is always gonna see someone I let myself love long ago with a fat blonde in a New York winter getting his cock sucked cause I was NEVER gonna be enough You came back and pulled me back to now.

You are not that and I have to get the fuck over myself. My dumb past and me.

By small measure you save me. We fucked all morning until my memories died and rotted like those sped up art films of fruit and meat decomposing. This is the gift that you give me. This is the greatest gift I have been given.

I am thinking about people. I call Miss Karen every fucking day. She is tired and housebound. I have not been in town all that much and I feel like I am a shit friend. I don’t have any answers. It’s been 2 weeks now and I hope that she is ok.

Miss Anna lee of the coal black hair writes me with love and news. LA is still holding on and my band returned safe and tired. She said that she saw Ross and was sad that I was not there too. She listened to the most massive outpourings of grief from me and I wish that I could send her flowers daily to repay her massive kindness. We talked in cafes that you have seen in movies and I would cut my eyes to drink her profile on the sly.

When its dark we are all niggers here my dear.

Bones are showing me secrets and the heat infected all the crosses that I carved on my sternum crooked and unsteady. Me and my band, man, we don’t talk that much anymore and maybe that’s ok too, maybe that is just fuckin Amos and Andy. I need noise to fuck me till I call mercy and swear that I will be good this time .

Fuckin tools.
All I asked for was one support with my Big Brother. One show. Did I get it? What do you think? Fucking cockhead indie shoe gazers . All this 80s revival shit makes me want to immolate myself on stage. Set it off like the 4th of fucking July
Yes, I hate you
Yes, I am up on blocks
No, I have no Internet.
Fuck this fuck youuuuuuuuuu.

I have cut down on my thieving pirate ways since the New Year. Getting busted with pockets full of religious icon candles is not real high on my list of priorities right now.

I got a letter from the sister of a guy that I used to date. She is a cool hellcat who plays guitar and smokes more pot than is wise. She used to stay up all nite with me and eat macaroni while Casanova was passed out and confiding in his friends that my scars freaked him out. He dumped me and that was that. I wrote her a postcard from somewhere and he saw it. She tells me that he was stoked that I remember them

I remember her and I am left with traces of his cruelty. His friends were worth more that he will ever be.

I don’t know why I keep trying when it comes to relating. I must have been low. White guys with unhealthy Bob Marly obsessions. Quel shudder. Heres me all maudlin listening to Sigour ros.
Again.

Its either that or mobile zitfarms pretending to be terminal in Joy Division tee shirts. Hobbling in circles on crutches of youth of derived in equal parts angst, goon wine and bus passes.

By god I am pissy today. Almost completely nocturnal again. A shitful state of affairs.

Later, the fucking sun is coming up.

SF4L
Michele.