Bet your bottom dollar I am!

(bitter…it bit her…bitter,it bit….her…bit her….)

Big fucking deal.Why would I deny it? I feel cheated and I have to work out what I am going to do about it and how I am going to fix it.

The “-ide’s” seem to feature quite heavily.You know. Homicide,suicide…ho-hum.The first is looking tastier by far.

Sit ups help.Lots and lots of repetition. I drifted off for a few hours a while back and my nightmares woke me up so here I am. Joy.

I am too awake.I find myself in this state because my body decided in its over burdened exhausted wisdom to suck up twenty,count em,twenty hours sleep.I think that I must have somebodies misplaced jet lag. Or dream lag.I my dreams I return to Hollywood,as always, sad and sordid pounding though my blue veins. I was stuck in the cellar of the Capital records building,which is now apartments. I can”t sleep. I remember a long time ago he told me that he really wasn’t that “into tattoos on girls” eyeing mine slyly.He used to drop foul little asides all the time.To undermine me I am so sure. But his hot little opium soaked hooker du jour is just covered. So go figure.

I can’t sleep.It’s too cold to get up and my brain is on some kind of hateful red alert. ( Many sirens,flashing red lights,narrow underground corridors fill with running henchmen in black.) I have so much to  do tomorrow its not even funny.The moon is full and leaking through the cracks in my shed telling me to kill,kill,kill! Or not. Too cold for homicide but as ever there was fight on my street tonight.Some one was trying to kick the tweaker houses door in.To steal their trash collection? The broken bikes that clutter the yard? The mind boggles.

I hung on my cracked front step and watched,of course. Free entertainment is not to be sniffed at.

I am feeling rather hateful this stupid hour of the morning.I am not a big or a good person when it comes to the ravagement that has taken place upon my heart and psyche.Or the fact that I am going to have to be awake for an 8 am call on Sunday.Boo hoo. I hear that my beloved pug dog now has another to keep him company back in LA. Henry Rollins now has ,wait for it, Frank Zappa. They are bonding.I am chuffed.

I miss my dog and my life. I miss my friends ,the few that I still have left. I hate the ruin that I am and the fact that my once beloved is rolling onward with some piece of shit Hollywood hooker. That to “get over” he “got under” . Of course,I mean,what did I think was going to happen? Am I the only person in the fucking world who meant what they said? I don’t know if my resolve makes me stronger or sadder.A girlfriend. How fucking quaint. I hope she falls into the La Brea tar pits and drowns. I hope he does too, trying to save her wretched ass.

What was I saying about not being a good person?

Fair? There is no such bloody buggery fucking thing.

I wish that well meaning individuals would stop trying to “hard love” me out of my broken state. I know that they mean well but I don’t need to hear about his groupies ,his transient fuck holes on his down days of touring,little miss nothings standing side of stage as he roams my country….., Bless them .The well meaning individuals not the groupies. And here he is, with a hole at home and trash on the road.What in the hell would he want or need with little old me? To hold the video camera? To go on beer and lube runs to the drugstore? And to think that it took every bit of strength that I had in me not to go and seek him out. My self esteem is non existent. I mean, really?

Back to therapy with me.

And I just lost a whole day to sleep.Gah! To be expected though.I go for huge stretches of time only getting five or six hours a night and over training the way that I do? Hell, my corpse saw an opportunity and took it. Shame it buggered up all my plans though.

My sole remaining parental unit returns for Europe shortly.I have sent requests for duty free perfume. I had the misfortune to sit in a carriage on the train the other day near a woman who had slam dunked herself into a vat Christian Dior’s “Poison” before exiting her domicile.I wobbled from my seat besieged with memories . It was the perfume I wore when I was thoroughly stupid enough to believe that I was loved.

I feel ill just thinking about it.

I keep entering the lottery my brain wallowing in fantasies of disappearing to the wilds of Costa Rica or Mexico forever. No more stress.No more people. Seafood and surfing. I was also considering becoming a nun. Severe back does amazing things for my lofty bone structure and seeing that I shall never fuck again maybe its time that I did something good for the world.

Or not.

Tried to beat off the other night. It felt like nothing.Like massaging a bowl of cold bacon. I fell asleep. I am going for the world record in living without an orgasm. At this rate my Dr’s are going to write me up in medical textbooks. Great. I think it has improved my training though.All that anger and energy has got to go somewhere right?. I imagine that the battered exercise  equipment sighs with relief as my bulky self stumbles out the  gym door to catch the freezing five am train back to my hovel in white-trash suburbia.

My big brother leaves on tour soon.Not that I ever get to see him.Life just gets in the way. Europe in the summer should be boss. Rossco called me from Berlin. He sound well.I sound like an afterthought. I don’t tend to think that much matters anymore and in the saddest way you can imagine,and that itself  feels ok. Sad  like Mazzy Star doing “Fade into you” feels. You know. My temporary filling floods my mouth with the most foul medicinal taste. Oh ,the merry cack handed race towards extinction! Yey!

I have the winter to spend under the eternal burden of my own rank and fetid company in the confines of the gym which has become my church. A Sistine chapel of sweat and self flagellation.I am a September baby.I wait on the warm winds and king tides.I do fetching things for salt soaked hair,suntans and big Stevie Nick’s style white skirts of which I own not one, but two. Of course .Maybe Thailand? Or Bali.Alone and boiling on the equator. May I never grow up.

It is now 4:28 in the morning and that bastard rooster next door has already begun yelling at the horizon. Every time I shut my big blue eyes I can see them,my ex and his hole, fucking somewhere in the foothills of  Hollywood. At the places we used to go when I could get him out of the house,hovel or hotel room. Drunk.Bet she drinks right baby? Unlike boring old me….fuck it.

If it wasn’t so early the drywall would have another hole in it.


To the last  drop.