They run tests on me.

Sexy fucking lab rat with homicidal tendencies. Three doctors can’t be wrong now can they? I mean what is the law of averages on this crap? We could flip a coin if you dig. I have all the time in the wild world it appears….

More tests. I feel like a perky titted pin cushion. My bones move in my sleep so that the mirror will hand me a surprise in the evening when my bed releases me, paroles me for another nights roaming.


I would fail a pelvic examination at this point…

Tests why?

Because I am broken and it is illegal to terminate me. The Catholics,well those degenerate hypocritical cunts say it is a sin to terminate yourself but as they are comprised of kiddie fiddling pederasts weened on boy-cock, guilt and manowitz wine, we don’t give a tinkers cuss what the fuck they think do we now ?

Moving right along .

The plump nurse handled the needle like a ninja. I tried not to focus on the yellow  puss dripping from the puckered wet socket where her left eye once resided. I exhaled as it bit into my fat vein , hungry for answers. The pus ran slowly down her pockmarked cheek as the bluebird on her shoulder recited the Dow Jones index in a strident Russian accent in between trilling lines from some of my favorite Turbonegro songs.

She deftly filled four citron and sapphire studded vials and withdrew the thirsty syringe. I open my Windex blue eyes and grinned, the stars falling from the ceiling making it into a Ziegfeld Follies number. A tetchy lion poked its massive shaggy head around the doorway and sized me up. “Shoo!” I muttered. “Huh?” said the nurse.” Nothing ,It’s cool ,I’m cool” I said sliding down from the stool , gathering up my white tasseled bag and making a break for freedom.

As I made my way down the cool white hall the bulimic giraffe in the X-ray department, with whom I have had unsavory dealings with before, said something snide about my weight as I slunk by. I waited for the tap dancing frogs to march by in their spats and top hats and then  spat a bunch of  typhoid stained violets contemptuously at her ugly hooves and strutted by.

Juice fasts fuck you up for a while.

They bring rabbit-like turds and crystal visions.

I swayed though the sea of sick civilians clogging the faux cheerful waiting room.  I tripped over the rotting and strangely scentless corpses stacked like kindling by the crematorium door and swore. Snow White wept pitifully by the front desk and a pile of out of date Chinese phonebooks not caring who saw her black eye and split lip.Fourteen little fists.Fourteen little feet and the trolls next door finally called the cops. I don’t have time for this shit….

Borne on a low-riding wave of germs, my fox-tail  beating  Greenwich meantime against my chubby thigh ,I hit the street like it had fucked my six year old sister and then sent me the Polaroid’s express post, dizzy with hunger and barely suppressed self loathing. As I stood panting feverishly behind mirrored aviator sunglasses outside the Go-lo discount store trying not to slide down the wall, a giant oil slick black convertible Cadillac drove by slowly. I waved slack jawed and marveled at JFK’s perfect Irish hair and the tweedy nubs on Jackie’s pink Channel jacket. I proceeded to wobble off towards my blighted domestic abode on liquid legs of lithium and other anti-psychotic party favors pour favor  when I heard the gunshot and screaming. I did not turn back.

Zapruder would lovingly fill in the blanks for the rest of time. Pause on frame 137 for the money shot.

My Doctor. Herr Dockter. “It may be your Thyroid fucking you up.”  He says gruffly not for a New York minute taking my shit .No Sir. I scowl at he who ignores my chubby petulance and continues “It may be messing with your weight as well.”  Oh really? Now you have my attention.I will rip it out of my own neck with a pair of nail scissors if that is the case. I buy clothes for who I want to be again. I am set dressing a ghost. I get high on the lack of solids. My knees click. My thighs touch.

I lumber off to a new shrink who finally christens the disarray that I am. And so now I know. Now I know.

I always end up hurting people because I can’t not be who I am. I don’t know how to do all the little dances that make up reassurance in relationships. I warn people but they tell me that they love me just the way I am. (“Don’t go changing,trying to please me…”) Until they don’t. Until it’s just not worth it. It’s not worth it. I told you that,remember? You walk away with my applause following you from the theater of war that I am and it’s ok. The way I am indeed. It’s when they say that I know it is doomed so I hang on and try and enjoy the ride. My being a writer does not help either. I always have to defend or explain what I am writing about. I have lost years because it just wasn’t worth the raft of shit that I knew would befall me “Who was that about?” etc etc.

I will not explain myself ,my motivation and certainly not my inspiration.

See why I should be alone? But I want you so bad…..

I am not a force for good. I end up resenting people who have seen behind my emerald curtain. Trust no motherfucker. I am naked on the bathroom floor listening to the voices that only I can hear. The grout between the tiles is gritty on my tongue. Thank you for helping me up and all but as I am an untamed thing I will surely bite the hand that feeds and attempts to lead me.

I am so not sorry.

I am down from 93kgs to 70kgs. I crap a fruit shop daily but it’s working.10 more kgs to go and I am me again. The depression crept up so low,sinuous and cunning. Slowly,slowly catchee monkey. Cunt. And then there I was no longer able to see my shoes. My left knee does not like me right now. According to x-rays I have a bump on my cartilage which is causing my knee cap to charmingly pop off. In lieu of running one must starve.  And do a lot of slow sit ups.

When I open my eyes under the chlorinated water a school of wafer thin tropical fish glide smugly past me singing Judy Garland songs vacuously .I surface like a whale,un-elegantly and spluttering and spit my snorkel out onto the sun-bleached dry lawn. Diving for gold is a fools game dontcha know?. My tattoos grow lighter as my mongrel skin turns darker as the summer beats on. I thrive, an animal built to survive and prosper in the heat. My hair winds like sodden snakes, nipples pucker beneath the thinnest of bikini tops in the wicked wind. Every pore is open and feeding. I keep baby food in the freezer,I imbibe liters of water.

I stay low and move hard.

Do you want me? Can you pick up my scent ?

The pills take you up drop you down,every pore open and I am up all night. Anti-psychotics you don’t say? I love the way that looks typed on my permanent record.

Could almost make a cowgirl cum. Get’s me chemically wet.

Do you want me baby?

I know you do…scratching at my dirty window.

I listen to Ween and practice my Bass. My falsetto is dating Chris Cornell’s ugly twin brother. My heart is carved from a perfect ruby. I dance on Neil Fallon’s black sand. Cuban heeled and long of sinewy  limb. Asleep under a shroud of red velvet and gardenia soaked  perspiration. I taste your teeth when we kiss. Let me fill your lack, let me straddle your void.

In my brass cage I sit on my swing listless and admire my reflection in the rust warped mirror.

When we fucked I used to push back so hard that it would leave you breathless. You will never find another girl like me. As long as we both live we will be ok. 11 and a half inches slammed  into crying whores and I laugh on the other side of the world.

You licked the aniseed Motorhead tattoo on my little finger. You lay dead flowers at my feet. I weave a million stories into smoke and torn pages. I die every time I close my eyes.

Show me this gland. I will eat it raw.

I take the 5th amendment and craft it into a paper plane. It sails over the dock and as the judge reaches for his gavel the stenographer stifles a giggle behind a cheaply ringed hand.

Court is adorned. Abandoned.

“I heard that you like the bad girls,honey is that true?”-Lana Del Ray.

Till next we meet ? Don’t take any wooden nickles.