Pyre.

As seems to be my habit of late I can’t be bothered to do a goddamn thing.I have had enough of it.

This is not good.This is hard place to come back from.In short? It sucks.But I have got things to do…..

It’s time to get back in the ring.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

(Short burst of manic steel pedal guitar. Pan from head to toe of a back female silhouette.The shadowy figure raises her arm and shoots the camera.Screen turns red….)

( Voice over,classic male announcer.) “And welcome back to an all new season of  “So you fucked with the wrong cowgirl!” (applause) .And heeeeeere she is! Michele Madden!”)

(Michele walks on stage through red curtains. Studio audience goes wild,close upon random faces in the crowd who lose their  collective shit as they see themselves on the monitors. The band is tearing through a s-mokin‘ hot rendition of “Gimme back my bullets ” by Lynard Skynard as Michele makes her way to the front of the stage in a pair of jeans that would be illegal in at least 19 states. They wind it up and crowd falls silent but heavy with expectation.She smiles and speaks.)

“Thank you! No really,thank you so much!  Your too kind.So glad that y’all could make it back to witness my triumphant return.Yes, I have had a  a bitch of a time since last August,as ya’ll know ( Crowd makes sympathetic overture) No, its ok! (Killer close up of her face)   Boy-oh- boy have I got some sweet revenge in store for you! (applause). So sit back and relax while I go and kick some ass and remember kids? ( Close up) don’t try this at home.”

(Cut to add break)

Depression relapses are fucking shocking.And here was me thinking that I was finally getting somewhere (*pft!*) All the days bleed into a big shitty mess. Its looks like Monet’s “Waterlilies”.I hate fucking Monet! All blurry wishy-swishy take -a-Valium-and-let-it-go crap! Gah! I have a black sequined teddy bear named Henry! I live for high heel boots! I have a silver framed picture of Lemmy on my table next to a knock-off Ming vase full of light up orchards. I .Don’t.Do.Subtle.The end!

I hate that I am back here again.All sad and sleepless.Going to meet up with my tirelessly excellent friend Miss Emma in Bondi tomorrow.I am so down and faithless.She gives me mucho great advice and is all round great.I am giving myself crap advice and am not great in the slightest.I am making myself ill. Time to look for inspiration again.And fat is not an option.Half of my formidable wardrobe is orphaned at the moment because I am a gross 15 pounds overweight. I hear them crying at night “Mama!”  sob my now too small garments to my chubby ears “Get your ass running!”they moan “I miss you mama!” wails my size 6 (us) black shift dress. I cant take it!

ENOUGH!

(This is a true story.)

I wish that I could find a shady Doctor who would do gastric lap band surgery on me. One can dream…..

I must be dehydrated because my skin is looking like a relief map of the moon.Scurvy wouldn’t be that much of a shock at this point in the proceedings.I am starving myself out again.I hate being big.I hate fat in general.Ohhhhh! Time for a  “Shit that I hate!” list…Wait,I’m gonna add myself to that list as well as gangs of Lebanese in their too small hats and stupid haircuts,civilians in general,women with too many cats who write shitty poetry,people with bad manors,lack of control,blame laying,denial,your new fuck-hole whore….Whoa! this could become a long fucking list.

I see targets on their faces,on their backs.

( Does she think that you love her? I wonder if you do.At least you have a body to go home to and that is what you want.Me? Alone. I can never fill the space that you claimed in my heart and more to the point would never try. I am strong and respectful to the ghost.All I ever wanted I had with you.No one could ever come close. I hope she looks up and sees my initials on your arm.I hope it burns her the fuck up. But I guess its different for boys.All they care about is a warm hole to drop their load in right? Do you kiss these days? If you do,you snake,close your eyes and think of me.Open your eyes to the disappointing reality….I wonder,how do you sleep these days baby-boy?……)

Excuse me while I go and punch another hole in the drywall.

On the up side I did get to sing on the new Hard-on’s ep. Went in and got my parts done cold in under an hour. It was my slightly wobbly 12 year old in a choir voice they wanted. “Don’t sound too fucking good!” said my brother from the control room as I adjusted my levels on the console beside me .I let out  a big snort of laughter  straight into the mike which caused the polite Chinese assistant to look up with concern. Blackie writes such great lyrics.I am still singing them under my breath. ( “But like a dumb dog I keep wagging my tail….”)  I am always trying to be too clever I think. He cuts it to the bone and says it like it is. I like singing other peoples stuff better than my own. Got a nice letter the other day from some one complimenting me on some you-tube clip of “Four corners” ( do you ever remember how great we were together ??)

I turned off my computer,went back to bed and stared at the ceiling for a few hours.

Since my computer crashed,(Well, what did I expect buying old stock refurbished from a school? You get what ya pay for right? Mine still has the kids name on it. Hello Angus Jameson who ever you are…I digress…) I have not downloaded anything that enables me to watch videos. Why bother? I would sit up and watch old stuff of us for hours and mourn. Its hard enough staying away from Google images.( Nice brunette in Glasgow by the way….)

(“Miss your face”, sure you do)

The lord helps he who helps himself. Apparently.

Is it our obsessions that make us beautiful or are they the very things that damn us?

I don’t feel too fucking beautiful at the moment. Bitter flesh and too much of it wrapped in my ratty old Down long sleeve that still has  hot pink  stains on it from when I decided to paint the atrium at The Ranch about a million years ago.It went a treat with the lime green walls and black and white checker board floors. I think I decorated that whole house in the grip of an acid flashback. My bottom half is resplendent in leopard print pajama pants. I am a nightmare. I managed to get my laundry done and am doing the dishes in an installment plan. I can’t spend another day locked up with ennui and  inertia. It shits me to tears.

They are a persuasive pair I will give them that.

Oh.Completely off the subject of me being a retard….If some one dies? And they are your size? Score.I have a black garbage bag full of unworn lingerie with the tags still attached courtesy of a shopaholic with an  aggressive tumor .I will have to sort through it all soon.

In between inspired bursts of domesticity I am going to write all night long. And get my set ready for the show on Saturday. Not feeling so crash hot so I am going to go to the doctors tomorrow to complain about it.He will try and sway me towards antidepressants.I will threatened to slash his tires. The usual.Good times.

My hair is a bird-nest and I don’t have the shekels to get it done.Woe.I want to go a whole new color.

The winter has fallen on Sydney like a fat chick on ice skates.Horrible. Going to make up some paper and plaster of paris to block the holes in my roof. Blah. I hate the cold so much.

(Do you feel the absence like I do? Is that why you kept pushing  me,because it was too much that someone finally loved all of you,all your past and all that you could be? I loved and accepted you. Always did. Shame you didn’t feel like extending me the same courtesy…your loss..)

I was full of good intentions last night to get up and tackle today but its getting harder and harder to find a point to it all.I re-wrote my will yet again last night. I am gonna be an organ donor ( Just had a visual of a dying man dragging a Wurlitzer down a snowy deserted street.) Whatever is not fucked the doctors are welcome to.Guess that rules out the heart.

Raquel can have all my shoes,at least they will fit her.The two Lilli’s can divvy up my vintage tee shirt collection. My Big brother can have all my books and music stuff,don’t think my little brother will want any of my crap.The Lee-fish can have all my art work and so on. The Goochmonster and Toddski? Rossco? I will work it out…..I spend my life writing lists.

( …he used to say that I would not care if he died,that I wouldn’t even show up.Idiot.I would have sold a kidney to be at his side….I wanted to tell him the story of the Indian bride but this was when he was not listening to me no matter if I spoke or wrote ,so it would have been pointless to try and explain, but….

The pyre burnt hot and true sending ashes and sparks into the muggy night air. He was gone and the whole village was in attendance as the fire claimed him.Ashes to ashes.Shiva claims all in the end.Howler monkeys lamented in the surrounding tree tops as more wood was added. Music full of wails, bells and flutes met the darkness head on as the flames grew higher. The corpse cooked and tenderly fell apart. All of the sudden a great silence fell over the mourners. Even the monkeys canned it. From the perimeter of the crowd she came. Her long hair lose and wound with jasmine ,her bare feet peeking from beneath the hem of her simple white dress.His bride once more.Her smile was warm and calm.They parted like the pages of a dropped book at her approach. She stopped before the pyre and extend her arms to her love. The flames licked at her finger tips with a cat like slyness. She laughed. Soundlessly lit she climbed unflinching into the infernos blasting embrace. She stretched sinuously across the flaming wreck of her husband as if settling into a clean bed made up of the finest silks and linens. Still smiling ,her dress ash,her features dripping like wax,she closed her eyes and thrust her arms down and around the corpse beneath her.The wood spit in a crackling hallelujah chorus. It engulfed her. Limbs became snakes of fire.The jasmine blossoms popped like stars. Together they burnt eternal…..the women in the stunned crowd swooned at the romance and pledged themselves to the same fate when their time came.

This is a love story.)

Men don’t want fast,funny ,smart good looking women,no matter what they say.The want mediocre fuck holes that they can project all their self loathing onto and into and then go out and cheat and complain.They want fat drunk hairdressers and  kiwi backpackers. They want neurotic artists and failed  tweaking actresses. They don’t want to man up and build a future. They don’t want to take a shot at the real thing.Excuse me for a moment,I’m gonna be sick.

Just saying.

Other final wishes….

Have also decided that I want to be cremated. Gotta get some of my ashes sent back to California. I don’t know to who. I want a vial of my dust to be taken to the Whiskey and rubbed into the carpet on the drum riser. The view is great from up there.I would also like some fed to my dog.,Sir Henry Rollins of Black Flag,(esq) ,who lives in Long Beach.I end up as pug poop. That’s kind of cool. I still wish that God hadn’t of got the invoices mixed up. He took the wrong Michelle. It was meant to be the Michele with one “L” .Not the one with a young son and a future.The world would have got over me faster than rabbits fuck.I’m sure that it was meant to be me and not her.

Its sad and annoying all at once.

Listening to “Celebrity Skin”. Miss Love crafts a fine tune. I love this super polished pop. Books everywhere as I went to the secondhand bookshop in Padstow after therapy last week and blew the rent on a heap of escapism. Laz’s spooky portrait of Ace from Kiss stares through me above the old nail-bomb tee shirt that I have strung across a piece of dowel on my wall.” Feels good to be a punk rock loser” trumpets the  print on the back of the ratty shirt. Well,some days maybe but I think that this little punk rock loser is having a non starter today.

(Dear Miss,please excuse Michele today as the dog ate her life,yours sincerely…..)

I am strong. I will pull my shit together. I do have a show to play after all.

Get out of my way.