Grenade.

Its history that pulls the pin out of me.Me the big fat four hipped hand grenade.

I mean, just when I am bumbling my way through my dodgy exiled life,behold! Here he comes, Signor hellishly handsome heart hurt. Those fuck-me-daddy eyes complete with a machete hanging like a silver threat from his belt ready to re-open the tenderest of scars and twixt his perfect tombstone teeth like a metal toothpick is the pin.

Boom! Wave bub-bye baby. Here we go again.

The way that it takes you back to who and where you were then. The then that you thought had a future,a permanency since denied. I see your name staining  my screen and wonder as I wait for the missive to open with what you left of my heart in my mouth ( Crunchy.Small.Bitter.A cardiovascular kale chip….) if it will be an epic that touches me hard enough to bruise  or a few careless thrown away lines that make me do nothing but wonder.

We are wary of each other now.Who woulda thunk it?

This dispatch finds me sitting in bed eating fat overripe tomato’s drenched in balsamic vinegar,my cruel lips stained blood black. At the foot of my book cluttered cloud,amongst other queer bibilots and  demented detritus is a 3 foot inflatable Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket half full of neglected laundry,a gold treasure chest inlaid with a zillion mirrors the size of hummingbird turds and a tower of  obscenely glossy shoe boxes taking their leaning cue from Pisa. Manicure done,Stooges tickets secured.Candles burning their sweet scented hearts out before my Fleetwood Mac shrine.

And so it has come to pass that we will see each other once again…..

I think that we are always “us” somewhere out there on the perimeter of sanity and scant good sense no matter what terminal toerag you are pouring the pork into this week. My friends inform me that you are in contact with them.Promises of  backstage passes abound.I wonder how you would react if the situation was reversed?….

Oh Madden…So you get detonated and everyone looks aghast at the carnage.

Move on,nothing to see here…..

Its going to be one hell of a bitchin’ summer that’s for sure. The Soundwave circus is going to provide a smorgasbord of victims for my petulant penetrating pen and quaint old school Dictaphone. All seven foot of me hassling my heroes in the name of great journalism,or so I fervently hope. And my past right there in the flesh.We have not seen each other in so long. That is nothing new. Our lives took us all over the world long before we were ever us. But the connection has never failed.

Tripwires as thin as spiderwebs,cum like dewdrops dripping,throbbing flames illuminate the bullet besmirched perimeter.As soon as I see you I can taste you.Dangerous as the day we met ,we detonate.

I don’t need to over think this. It is a given.Bound to happen again sooner of later.Our alumni so small.Our circles so tight.

Wayne,my compadre at Reversed Records,is ever diligent in sending me reviews now that the Meldrum album is finally out. Its strange reading complementary things about what I do after so many years of nothing of the kind. So fatally flawed I only see what they don’t like and focus on that. Don’t we all? So hard to take a compliment. I shouldn’t be reading any of it at all but its a Pandora’s box to us wanker artist types. I curse myself  out about it daily.

I am bone tired and dehydrated. I am halfheartedly working on a script treatment that I should have had done days ago and research that needs to be razor sharp before I go head to head with Jimmy Bower on Thursday night. “Southern Discomfort” battering the low end of my cheap stereo  as I try to get my ever messy head sorted.The days are doing their cutsey-poo disappearing act and here I am indulging myself tapping out this.Flexing. I figure that it will get me in the swing. I figure a lot.

Its funny what trash works its way out of the woodwork when you are back in the worlds flickering focus. Who sticks their ugly heads up when you are visible once again. People tell me that I tend to only remember the bad things. Point taken. But tell me,what else can one do when they wipe it all away with their deplorable behavior? When they stomp all of the good out of a given and sweet situation with their stupidity and insecurity? Good tends to be precious and rather fragile. The Faberge egg of emotions.To insure its survival one must tend to it lovingly and with great reverence.

Its perishable you feeble minded ass clowns.Dig?

I use my past experiences in my writing to illustrate a point mostly to myself. Writers are all introspective wankers and social retards.We feel that we and what we experience are far more poignant and important than they really are (“La-de-fuckin’-da). Inflated sense of self importance and all that perpetual teenage rubbish.I admit to these disastrous and glaring shortcomings freely but most will not.I never name names and if I was to believe the butt-hurt badly spelt letters that litter my inbox like the crap that they are,no one reads my shit anyway. I laugh.

If no one reads my shit why do you? What do you care?

You would not believe how many people are going to think the last paragraph is about them.

Idiots.

I ain’t no saint. But on a good day what I am is a writer. No names and its all fair game. I leave the self editing to the pressure cooker civilians. All I am doing with my tenure on the planet is dying.I have no blood ties or spawn so who do I have to protect? Me? Sure. Whatever. There is nothing left to defend.Oh this? Honey! This is me not giving a fuck.I know right? How good does it look on me?

I can’t deal with my life in the manner that they do and nor would I want to.I need constant progress,observation,ugly religious iconography,shoes,face-melting orgasms,Iggy Pop,Bullfighters on black velvet and bass strings amongst other things.

Just looked up and gave myself a fright. My wardrobe,which no longer closes due to over population,has huge mirrored doors and I look like I need a lithium milkshake.My eyes resemble two piss holes in the snow.My hair has small bright green birds nesting in it and I have not been for a run today.

Move you stupid woman! Gather ye notebooks and sunscreen.Lose the clothes fat girl! Go gather you some dangerous Vitamin D.The tiny tan line would make your mouth water ,trust me.

Back to the script.I will be out on my sun lounge if anyone needs me.

You cant miss me.I’m the one with no pin…..