Blank.

Its all gone. All my photos and that’s what hurts the most.

So now my whole life is really wiped.Its done. I don’t have any visual proof left. I should try and look on the bright side? Ha. What fucking bright side?

My hard-drive brought the farm a week ago and now all my memories are dust. The shows,the travels, on the train platform,me always trying to make him laugh. Gone.  I don’t know why Elvis is fucking with my tenderest and most sacred emotions.

I feel sick.

The computer shop got ram-raided the other night. I walked past the boarded up windows in shock as my tech-geek waved me around to the side door. They were so kind and helped me set up my life on this thing again that I told them to keep the ten dollars change that they were handing back to me for beer money.I recommended one of my tattooist’s after the younger kid quizzed me about my ink and dragged my sad carcass home.

My Dr’s are hunting me because I have been canceling appointments left right and center.I will not pick up the phone.I have to bite the bullet again tomorrow.Then pull myself together enough to get on a train and play a show. Everything reminds me of something. The last time I was there I was with the one I loved and we sang. He napped on the train and I watched his face so happy that I was loved. Unbelieving that he was really mine…..

I will do 5 songs and run away. My usual trick at this point. I cry when I sing most of the time. Must be like watching a musical car crash.

(The planet is so big and there you are doing what you do.I get letters from people wanting to get tickets to you all the time. I am nothing but a gateway.I’m not even good for that.I answer no mail. I engage in nothing.)

See, I was a true believer in the one I loved. I knew that he would get back on top even of he had to use my head as a stepping stone and my heart as a launch pad.

Memories all over and I just hate it. The Monster Sessions are today. A year gone. I’m not going.I don’t go to anything much anymore.I write not to be read. I dress like a 12 year old boy and run away when people try and talk to me. (” You fuckin hard-tail,fuckin dyke!”) I hear it in my sleep and wake up having a heart attack.I will never understand.Never get it.

Its Saturday. I am going to stay in my cave and pick myself apart. I think that I am a land speed champion at this point if I manage to get out of bed. Ah, the weight of words. I would prefer to have my ass kicked that words. I’m a fucking writer. I remember everything. And that is what keeps me company. History and regret.

I’m not doing to good with this right now and its annoying me.

Fuck it.