Period or full stop?
I cant quit you baby but I’m gonna have to put you down for a while.
-Otis Rush.
(Visual Set up- choppers deployed,Klieg lights offending the moon,buildings on fire!!!! The camera focuses on a windswept harried woman yelling at someone behind the camera.Sound is off but she is not asking if he is having a nice time.VO-Studio feed….)
"An emotional dispatch from the period perspective! Right from the Fallopian frontline with our fluid retaining on the spot passport Michele Madden! Can you hear us Michele?…."
This is not the time of the lunar cycle where I should be so feeble and self defeating enough to court kindness. It opened a discounted can of vulnerability ( "Only slightly damaged stock!") and it proceeded to give me emotional gas.(*parp!*) Says she with the blue stained forefinger and thumb due to the great blueberry massacre taking place at her leopard print piano while willing her period to arrive ( "Pronto par favor!").
And of course I am not answering correspondence in this fucked and fragile state.Do I look like I had a brain tumor for breakfast here? I am reading and not replying.Later skater…now is NOT the time.I am not having my cunt take care of my correspondence. No way. I am bogged down and overwhelmed. Haunted by Farrah Faucetts red swimsuit and Michael Jackson’s diamond glove.Its gonna be a busy afternoon at the pearly gates.RIP.
Smelling salts! Loosing of the stays!
Gah!
Gram and Emmy Lou for sweet aural company. Ew! My cans are porno huge and seemingly full of rocks,my corpse thinks its a shar-pei dog ,folds and folds of flesh misery…I hate being a woman!
I feel that there is something that I have to straighten out…you might wanna get comfortable, grab a beverage,smoke a bowl….Ready?
Ahem……Once upon a time,well back in 1986….
Alex Cox sold the doomed love story of Saints Sid and Nancy to the big screen with the by-line.
"Love kills"
Dramatic non? Quel sigh….
Sorry to bust your bubble but its a big fucking lie.
Love? Love is a coward. There! I said it! SOME one fucking had to!
This has gone on for long enough! Truth be told, Love would be hard pressed to muster up the required gumption to even manage a Chinese burn at the best of times. Love is a primo candidates for Charles Atlas. A 98 pound simpering excuse of an emotion. A white feather right to Love’s cowering front door as far as I a concerned. Love is fairy floss, all volume and no substance. A red ribboned ruse! A February fucking fiasco of a fiesta complete with a dead martyr who was a Virgin for godsake! Chocolate covered cherries and,and and….ARGH!.
Your heart farts Love….but it BLEEDS Desire. Love answers to little old ladies. Desire dances with Dionysus, does the boogooloo with Bacchus!.( " Pass the amyl!!!")
Love wears a "Promise " ring ,Desire fucks on the first date.Love wears control top pantyhose in the middle of summer.Desire goes commando and offers you five bucks if you can guess where she just had her finger.( "Ok,3 bucks and what’s left of my beer….")
Its Barry Mannilow vs Elvis people! This is the revolution that The MC 5 predicted!!! ROCK AND ROLL! FUCKING IN THE STREET!!???
Who’s side are you on.???
Love? LOVE!!#$$# Just fuck off!!. No!! you cant skate with me this weekend. No,I don’t wanna go to that new seafood place downtown for dinner. Do I have to get an AVO out on you?Just GO!
("Sheesh!")
The bottom line that I am trying to get to here is that Love is too chicken shit to kill you.Love got turned down from the emotional army for having homosexual tendencies and a club foot.Love never did a tour in any Vaginal Vietnam that I am aware of.( "ÏNCOMMING!!!!!")
Its Desire. Has been all along. Nyer,nyer…..nyer.( All rights for the last 3 "Nyer-s" belong to Miss Karen.)
Desire the destroyer honey. That snipers nest? That 1000 yard stare? That fucking cowgirl with Clint Eastwood-its ("Ma’am? I’m so sorry but there’s no cure" intoned the Dr gravely "Wooo-HOOO!" yelled our heroine and took off down the hall dodging wheelchair wrangling nurses and ECG monitors,bare ass hanging out the back of her snot green gown…..) that punched out the paper pushing Lt back in the DMZ who told her that she could not signup for a 5th tour. ….?
Desire.
She is the LURP of the "Emotional war". Behold! A Green nylon string of dead dreams around her neck.( Ears are for the amateurs darling…) Desire is Barnes and Love is Elias. Argue all you want ,I’ll just tune you out, Love is Willard. Desire is Kurtz. Its just not open to discussion so suck it up. You, a faint background noise.The static struck Mexican radio on my bullshit detecting border.Your argument does not have the correct paperwork.No visa? No entry.
Pack it up and ship out.. I’m right. I’m really good at being right.Feel free to ask me,anytime.Line’s are open…
I can her Leizel yelling at no one while limping up and down the hall.I am trying to teach her to address me by name because it saves me from always yelling "What!!???"only to be informed that she was not talking to me.It is an exercise in Zen as she has no volume control on that formidable nasal Jewish voice box.
I turn to my left and there I am in the full length mirror that constitutes the sliding doors on my closet.one foot upon a dusty amp and the other twisting itself back and forth like a little girl with new panties beneath her best Sunday dress..
( "Something not right with that girl" Spat the old woman as little Mish did clumsy cartwheels in the dusty yard "She is wearing the Tuesday panties out of the days of the week set that I gave her this Xmas just passed " "So? "said one of her dumb as dogshit drunk sons "So!" Yelled the miffed matriarch "Its Sunday! SUNDAY!" she yelled just in case he missed it." Mark my words,that girl is gonna amount to nothing good…and plenty of it."…Hearing her name, Little Mish looked up and waved.)
All my limbs disenfranchised from each other.Seperated agenda and battle plans. Its an impasse ,no one is talking.And I am gonna have to take this floundering flesh fuckup on a run tonite.Some hot date THAT will fucking be….("Just don’t come in my hair ok? ")
"Don’t lie."
I found that written on my hand when I pulled off my eye mask as the alarm bled into my fast fleeing dreams this morning Fishing the earplugs out of my cranium I tried to remember what it was that I was referring to before I conked out
I think that was referring somehow to the death of natural progression among other things. The things that we thing that we "Need" The fact that we use the word "Need" in place of of "Want" to make ourselves look less greedy by comparison.
How the weight of our desires is always racing hot footed to some kind of shifting finishing line. How pressure makes my hatches batten down.How I have steadfastly refused to deal with other peoples storms my whole life.( "You can TAKE that fucking umbrella and shove it right up your….")
How I get letters from people thinking that all I do is write veiled references to them. My glittery literary bent does not belly dance in her spare time baby cakes. I am ego incarnate. This is all about me. I have never said nor claimed any different..
I guard the tower.I am unflinching in my duty given no matter how habitual and monotonous. That shining light of nothing but cardiac carnage is kept by moi. ( fully catered and pick your own buffet.) I have been able to stay a romantic. Unrequited is the only way as the death of hope is a harder destination to return from than most.
I have a time share share there ( "Welcome to The Death of Hope! Enjoy your stay!") that I rarely use as when I do, I find that I send no postcards and the surf is a joke. Little Michele no stars. Summer stock.
The things that you think will never change. Ha…hahahhaaaa…..
My mercurial moods ( I am a Virgo.Doomed.Doomed.Doomed.) come in while I slumber and shift the bones in my face while I sleep uneasy. I study at my vain visage more than usual at such times as I don’t know who it is that I find myself living in. A burgled cranium. Its horrible. Ah Dysmorpia! So good to see you again ,you cunt,you…..
And only yesterday in Sunny San Pedro sports fans…
Just to feel again. His voice right in my ear and his body coiled oddly around mine.The weight of his forearm comforting across the scared expanse of my spine as his talent traveled like electricity through the gun and into my skin. I had rigged up a weird arrangement of a white bikini top and a olive green tank that I stole somewhere in Europe with an open back as to provide access to the dermis that I was determined to have him mark. Pete, all ginger kindness, razor mind ,long limbs and superb talent ran a black gloved forefinger over the scars bold as boot boys on my right shoulder. Instantly calmed cat- like I purred and gave myself up to the protection of prolonged pain.
I believe in dirty grace and ceremony.The only corners I like are the ones that place myself in for protection or a better vantage point. Rushed? I will run without a backwards glance. Can we say " Control freak" boys and girls?
I can run 10 miles a day and yet never be as exhausted as I find myself in company.
She is calling me you know?. I can feel the sand under my feet and I look down flooded with the joyous possibility of enforced alienation once again but I find pavements in lieu of beaches. "Why now?" muses the self punisher of the LBC. Life is sweet,miles are tossed behind her like concrete confetti, offers made lazy, panting in the shade of the great maybe tree like smug hunting dogs. And yet…..?
Self defeating perverts one and all.C’mon! Take a bow!
Who haunts me you ask?
She being the Stevie Nicks like siren that haunts my shack on the far south coast of the land of my birth. Its just my period in cahoots with my exhaustion is all. I am there in dreams,I will come home to your top hatted self mama…wait for me,do…
Think that I will give this whole writing thing a miss till my chick bits have jumped the shark so to speak. I am all kinds of wrong right now and its plumb tuckered me out.
I am now going to have a nap.
M
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