The Hold Fast.

I always thought that I would be better than I am.

-Harry Crews.

You remember that last hit of acid? Well, I took it.

-Lance.

And so it came to pass,Titania waked and straight away fell in love with an ass.

-Shakespeare.

 Its empty here.I try not to think about it. (” Hows that wokin’ out for you dumb-ass? ” Internal voice of doom.) I have been sitting here for hours and to paraphrase the Bard I am “letting time waste me. “

Feel like I have had something large dropped on my head.Something large and maybe novacaine infused because I cant seem to feel a whole hell of alot right now. My anger like one of those small annoying dogs.Tires itself out raging at nothing that can be fixed or changed. Then falls asleep where everyone is gonna up and trip over it. ‘Scuse me, sorry….

Ah Jake…..

And here was me not knowing what end of the kid even crapped a few months ago and now I am all worried that his guitar hero daddy is gonna get sick of his new toy,his son ,when he gets it home. Remember! A child isn’t JUST for Christmas…..

Bitter? fuckin’ a. Hoping that he is OK. He doesn’t even know what is going on. He’s gonna wake up on the other side of the world. Mommy is gone now, no Grandparents and no big -dumb- in -love -with- him Me. Fuck ,fuck,fuck. I don’t want him to be scared. There is time enough in life for that shit…not at 3.

( “Almost 4!” he yells at me….)

My head is spinning and I am full of dust.

And just enough shit and hustle to stay an outlaw.

This is when I rally and fight.

The Leefish told me sometime in the not so distant past ” We are grunts M, We are neck deep and glorious in the field.You need to get something done? That’s us.That’s what we do.War ready.The dirty work,the shit no one else wants to handle?.That is where we shine…..”

Goddamn right.

All the “I’m am gonna be your friend forever!” Types have fallen off in a crisis just as I knew that they would. That never bothers me. Anyone who has to announce their intentions all the time ,as if convincing themselves. Doin’ the hard sell on below-par faulty merchandise if your asking my opinion.The ones that think that they have to fire damage stock sale themselves to you. I don’t need the dog and pony show. My ranks are closed anyway.

I leave to put myself into Rob Shallcross’s able hands in 5 days. Vancouver eh? been a while….Known as “Chicken” He is a  true friend of Gene’s and soon to be  mine. Its gonna be me and him up there for a little under a month making this album come true. They tell me that its a live-in studio and that there are plenty of places to go running… I have missed that so much. That and singing. The swaet and burn….Guess that I will pack my stinky gym gear and wing it.As with most things in my life outside of  pissing people off, masturbation and rock trivia I have no idea what the hell I am doing.

Never stopped me before. And my black dog is circling. Just like the Son of Sam I guess. Keeps telling me to get on a plane and just give up, head for the shack and go under forever. Its all smoke and mirrors. I wont quit. Ever perverse I know that it would make too many of my enemies happy and that just wont  do.

Do I write it to convince my self? Betcha fuckin’ ass I do pardner. What ever works for you. No one is ever gonna pull me back into line but me. (“Take a memo Miss Madden….”)

I owe my dead. I carry a veritable graveyard on my back. I am starting to look like a skin mausoleum covered in tattooed dates and tributes. I parry and thrust against minus hope on a bad day for my departed.

Whatever works right? I started loosing friends way too young and although prone to some pretty fatalistic bullshit at the best of times,occasional flagrant disregard for the skin that I find myself in (“My scars tingle when I think of you baby-bee…”) I know that this life caper is not something that you back out of ,not somthing that you give up without a fight .

I have the one thing that they don’t.I have another shot.That is,until I don’t. But as I am still breathing lets see what kinda trouble I can get my ornery old ass into this time right?

Right.

I am also in possession of ( Last time I checked ) an unrepentant bad attitude,a fist full of grudges,a big mouth and more legs than a bucket of chicken. I have far too much to do. I mean, whats not to love and what is there to lose?

The Metz-o-rexic tells me that you are all out there.She is the one who rules this page. I still believe in postcards and carrier pigeons so if was not for her….She tells me of traffic (“Tire tracks all across your back I can see that you’ve had YOUR fun”) . Thousands of you she says amazed.As am I. I try and imagine who you are,what you do and why the hell you are reading what I write.Ok ,I admit it,I wonder what you are wearing… 

The phone is ringing but I aint gonna….I want to know HOW you found me I guess.And why you come back. Me? Why do I persist? Why do I do it?  Its this or a killing spree.This or a lobotomy. The only lasting thing that I have ever had in my shockingly filthy life is with words. Words and sound.

What and where that gets you if you take it by the tattooed hand is something else all together. Nihilist yoga time.Bend over,inhale, pucker up and kiss your ass a sweet rosy lipped good bye. Sayonara suckers.

Oh yeah. ( exhale….inhale…exhale…ect ) On and on I roll.

My ink is itching like hell today. Healing I guess. I sent Miss Vicky at “Yer Cheatin’ Heart” Tattoos a black and white postcard featuring a sad eyed Indian brave that I got at Venice beach on the weekend.Also nabbed a new pair of mirrored aviator’s and a Plasmatics tank that makes my rack look superlative . The postcard? Just to say thank you. What can I say? St Tina raised me right.

Sitting bent over the back of a glittery red vinyl chair,the rosary that Lilli white-tiger and The Metz-o-rexic gave me for Xmas loose and dripping through the fingers of my slack left hand ,like a rope of frozen grey crystal tears.Head resting on my folded forearms Bob Marley calmly crooning over a top end sound system “Every-tings gunna be awl-rite now..”

“Is it?” I thought as the slow gun scars me Hispanic gangsta grey wash and florid style under Miss Vicky’s skilled administrations, thinking how Mr Marley mus-ta thought that all was peachy keen 24-7 due to all the herb he ingested….

Cause nothing seems even remotely ok to me at this time.Nah,That’s a lie, it all looks wantonly lysergic. Cruel ,surreal ,exhausted and bending..(” We used to go up and sit on the lookout at Black Mountain too! Baked and tripping! Woah! those lights on the lake! Must have been some kind of right of passage huh? lol!….wish I had of shared it with you…)

Now this is where shit gets dangerous. I have been body slammed by loss. It can all change so fast. One second its all good then BAM! Gone,gone gone…And I get to thinking about telling certain parties in my life what they really mean to me. Believe me this not a new thing by any stretch of my overworked and spastic-ally underpaid/fed/appreciated imagination . 

Noooooooo.

In the deep fetid bowels of my mind its always the RIGHT thing to do

( “This broad is a fucking nut!” he coughs and relights his stogie . “Preaching to the converted brother. You want we go get a beer? ” Thus intone the Internal voices of doom *cough* )

And the fantasy (“Cause that’s what it is sports fans…!!!!” yells an overexcited Howard Cosell.) tends to end  with the greatest soul shaking furious fuck of my entire life (“This is what I want you to remember when your out in LA” evil grin high above me and I come buckets ..You bastard.) ….But its not about that (“liar!” *pft!*…) Well ok, a bit..(“A BIT! Not only is she a nut she lies like a friggin’ dog!” Internal voice that I THOUGHT was off to get a beer? *taps foot while looking at watch eyebrow arched* ” I’m goin’ I’m Goin!” *slams door*) Ok! Enough already! More than a bit. Sheesh!..The point that I am trying to get to,what is ringing my cracked bell is the “loss” thing.

( We fuck/ perfect/ diamonds spill from our kisses / Bowie does the soundtrack / I lick the sweat from your stomach / you go down like the Titanic / I want you to break me with the force of your desire / wont be happy till it hurts…..)

What if I never got to say it?.

What if they never knew what it was that they meant to me? 

( Um der, everything??). Ok, there is the gross high school mortification side of this that would mean getting shunned by my inamorata while they ran screaming from me.Forever *shudder*.

Its the risk that you take I guess. I am a pussy right now ( ” Miow”) I don’t know if I could do it…

Fuck it….

Life doesn’t really get around to helping a useless romantic much.I mean you don’t clock up frequent flier miles for using “Dumbassed emotionally retarted Air” ( “Tea? Coffee? Peanuts? Lithium??”)

Hell, everyone I know is high on zanax and delusions of grandeur. High on their own reflection.( Try sniffing that off the mirror…) You know that you are nothing but a spear carrier in the banquet scene in the movie of their life. ( “You! To the left! Adjust your toga….annnnnnd….ACTION!”) Oh man.

So I think that after I am Gene’s date along with my coterie of LA female fox damage ( Leizel, Laura and Leah ) at the Wiltern for the Deathclock gig this Friday that Leizel and I are going to run amok at the Long beach Tattoo convention on the Haunted docked Queen Mary sometime this week end. She has just dyed her Chinese crested hairless dog Ollie’s mohawk pink so maybe we should take her too. You have gotta see what Ollie looks like. Google it. Scary. Its like Salvidor Dali and Satan collaborated on a hound. I love her. So ugly that she’s beautiful….The best kind.

Had an interesting conversation the other day about lust and funerals. How people really do get lucky at wakes. I mean ,think about it.Nothing hammers in the fact of your own fragile mortality more than seeing life snuffed out right before you. You want to feel alive again and god only knows a dirty great big fuck can be pretty existence affirming at the best of times.Right?

And everyone looks good in black.

Even fat goth chicks if its dark enough and your hammered.

Not that I see myself getting lucky anytime soon.I know that Skoota would love it and laugh his ass off if I credited a greif induced shag to him.That and me setting off fire works as I came would be the perfect tribute to him. Nah, no joy there for me right now.

My rubber bits are definitely out of commission right now. I have too much to do anyway. And wanking is easier by far. Me and Mish called ourselves “The spider sisters” on account of all the cobwebs…

Sex and Death. The french call the orgasm “La petite morte” the little death…Oh and food. Sex,death and vittles.I am living on popcorn and apples. Mersyndol and daydreams of hot boots and Iggy pop….

And here was me thinking that I had shit to write about today.

Gonna go and attempt to be human. You know, mix with the other animals? Yeah…Toddski said that he was gonna call me tonight. Call me what?

I will be back later.

Tell you some stories ,shit that I pulled outta my filter. Dreck and fascination. You wanna be my date? You wanna kiss me?……

M

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