When I am this tired, I wallow. Face down.Pass me my snorkel.

Thank you.Now get out.

Wallowing. Not a trait that I appreciate in myself.

A hippo of emotion flopping into a muddy oasis of sadness somewhere on outskirts of the the Serengeti of shit.Violent vistas.Torturous terrain. Pass me my gun.It was once said that anger is the weed and hate the tree. You don’t want to be walking through my woods after dark if that is the case. ( “And miles to go before I sleep” Thank you Mr R.Frost) Between hateful trees and depressed hippo’s my goose is cooked. Honk. The hours weave together and the wind wails a Coltrane solo (“My favourite things” if you must know) though my shattered ceiling. When I dream, I dream of Los Angeles,the marble smooth fools gold flecked footpaths of Hollywood rising to meet me,your hand possessive and proud on the curve of my hip and I wonder if I will ever see it again.At the saddest of times I wonder if I still want to.It twists my insides like a malicious menstrual cramp.To breathe that rare sugar scented air once more…

(Your name is still a prayer to me.)

Threw on “Hi Infidelity” by REO Speedwagon and burst into tears when “Keep on lovin’ you” came on.Kevin Cronin’s voice tends to have that effect on me.(“When I said that I loved you I meant that I’d love you forrrrever….”)


The only thing to do at times like these is surf plastic surgery websites compiling my dream-list of procedures and focus on  winning the lottery. (“Dear Michele,thank you for contacting us about liposuction…”) And yes,I have a ticket.It’s on my shrine being watched over by Quan Li and Elvis.I am hedging my bets.

(“Luck be a lady tonight! Baby needs a new pair of shoes!”)

It’s beyond hateful.( “Next stop,eternal damnation,please stand clear of the doors….”)I have had insomnia my whole rotten life and it just sucks.Right now my sleeplessness  thinks that it’s Kiss and my brain is Cobo hall.It’s flamboyant ,messy and keeps playing reunion tours while overcharging for merchandise.And knowing that Ace Freeley and Peter Criss are not behind the face-paint  just makes it all the sadder doncha think? Cue the fireworks.Sigh.

(Oh, but if you could have seen the pornographic hunger in his eyes and it was for me,me,me.)

The only time I ever slept well was when I was in love. Because I felt safe ,dig it?.I would be woken with soft kisses and eat endless sodium soaked shrimp cup-of-noodles.I wanted for nothing. I finally got what The Beatles ment when they sang “All you need is love”  (“Dah-dah-dah-dah-dahhhhhhhhhhhhh“).Tell you what i should have done.I should have made a human sacrifice,burnt candles round the clock to St Dwynwen . Anything to make it last forever….Ah love! I wrote a few years ago,rather flippantly may I add,about the difference between desire and love.May I state for the record,in light of what has befallen me, that I had no idea .Smug and clueless.Trust me,I am getting my licks  for that transition now.My emotional back is mincemeat as I bleed tied to the mast.

(“We’ve not seen land for days Capt”)….

Isn’t hindsight just dandy?

Fatigue has a scent.Cloying and lacklustre.I think its chemical composition is close to the open grave like stench of failure.So says the 8th grade queen.Both medicinal and rank.The wreck under the bandages.Oh,how we avert our eyes.In public.But everyone is guilty of some degree of scab picking behind closed doors.Nothing like holier than thou pucker mouthed zealots who claim not to.

Turds,one and all.

I’m not right.I have fleeting glimpses but its so not ok.My life feels like it has been drained of the fluids one needs to be,well,alive and smothered in morticians pan-stick.Thick make up used to hide ligature marks,bullet hole,knife wounds.You know,the fun final stuff. The full stop injuries.Because as one knows , you can’t have an open casket viewing without it.You know what is tickling me today? What has its digit wedged twixt my ribs? I just marvel at how when people get right they think that you are just going to fall into line and everything will be great.Now that everything is great for them the corpses are meant to rise from the battlefield and do a big song and dance number like at the end of “Grease” ?


My therapist asked me to write a list of things that I wanted to happen.

“Michele, “Amnesia” is not an option!” she berated me.” Nor is” she squinted at the creased paper and then at me” Spontaneous combustion?”. She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

Oh well.Worth a try.

That’s how I became mired in all this dental work .She told me to pick a goal.

“Genocide?” I said hopefully.

“How about we start with something else?”


At least with amnesia I could try again.

Is that how it goes? I sleep on my side as the knife is still buried to the hilt in my spine.I don’t even know who I am anymore.I gave and believed until I broke and now I am just wasting time till I die.I hope I die on stage and that its fast.

That’s about it.Oh,and thin.

My Doctor is going away.Panic now please.I will fill books in her absence trying to heal myself. All I do is write the same lists and shit over and over again.What a joke.I sleep round the clock due to depression then I burn awake for days doing nothing and attempting to feel much of the same.I can’t fucking move….and none of this matters because I was just something that happened a couple of miles back right? A bump in the road? I deal with my anger every fucking day.I try and sleep when I can’t (as opposed to when it’s all that I do) and under my sternum  there is an oily twisting sensation. A toxic ball of black worms as thick as your little finger.

Who ever thought that dying was going to be this slow and boring?

How very twee and catholic of me to think that I felt it the most because I am suffering still.I yell at myself.Its operatic.

I will accept no assistance because you always pay in the end.It always gets thrown back in your face.I am not as dumb as I look although many would beg to differ I am so sure.I have fallen for that old chestnut before…..

Head-shy.You keep yelling at a dog,hitting it…it’s going to bite all and sundry eventually.I should have a PHD in flinching.

I was watching all the ugly people the other day when it occurred to me that guys will fuck absolutely anything. Anything.Rub lard on a knothole in a fence and its on.There would be a pack of dudes in a sloppy line  jostling with each other smelling of Lynx,hormones,desperation and Southern Comfort waiting to run a train in it.I was at the store buying applesauce when I noticed that all the women pushing baby buggies looked like soft focus extras from Todd Browning’s “Freaks.” I shit you not.That’s when it occurred to me that some one had had sex with them. They had spawned.They are legion.

I puked a little in my mouth and left.

Eyes too close together,fiveheads over foreheads,stubby limbs.Pockets of fat in weird cottage cheese configurations under velour tracksuits.Mercy! Ugly people making more ugly people.I used to want a gun but it would take far too long.Even on an automatic my finger would be worn to a stub.Rolling thunder is the only answer and logical solution.I want,nay,I need napalm,to call an air-strike.Dial in those foxy coordinates from back at the DMZ. What do you mean am I serious? Did I stutter?

It is the ugly children that offend the most.Poor little beggars.I was one of them and the kindest thing would have been to let them sleep themselves to death.Its nothing but a life of mistrust and heartache ahead.

(our son would have been a king.)

If there is a God he has a perverse sense of humor to say the least.I will stick to fart jokes and  bell tower fantasies.

I can’t even jack off and these mongoloids are multiplying.Sickening.

Dental work laid me low again last week.I have one more wisdom tooth to get out and it will be over for at least a little while.Then come the bridges.Sigh.Someone asked me what I was doing on the weekend. “Staying home and brushing my tooth” I sighed.This is not far from the truth.I have been going great guns because I want it done? Or….because I hate myself and pain feels like home ? Answers in by midnight eastern standard time kids. Nah,I have no prizes to give but by golly,I wonder what the fucking point is.Onto cup of tea number five.

Why do I do it? Why bother to invest in beauty? I do it to try and make myself feel better and some days its kind of sweet but once your dreams have been stripped? Shit gets dicey to say the least.Most days? It’s pointless.For what? I see women primp and pose trying to get a mate.Honey traps.Its so gross.Like I said ,I am just trying to drag my fat ass from A to B and not fall off my high-heels while doing so.What an effort.I had someone make me feel beautiful once and then when I finally felt magnificent it was taken away .I couldn’t win.I could list the transgressions  but that futile exercise, it sends me back to bed for days so I will desist.

Never question why I am insane.Not wrapped so tight no more.Why my corpse is untouched.I will kill anyone in cold blood who attempted to touch me.Not a threat.A promise.Without thought or remorse.Still sleeping with a knife……

This is why I don’t move.Why I hide.

(...hope it tastes so sweet.)

So,to vaguely summarize, ugly people fuck,I am homicidal and brimming with hatred,I have not run today and my wardrobe is a floordrobe and I am writing.Better than thinking. Therapy again. There is,I have been informed, a Post traumatic stress disorder support group.Will I go? Will I fuck. Absolutely not.Locked in my shittacular shed soothed by Black Flag,Bob Seegar and his mighty Silver Bullet band and Fleetwood Mac in equal and brilliant measure I am able to tend to my flashbacks with some semblance of dignity.I take my own inventory.Blankets over the mirrors and Bob’s your mothers brother.The last thing my agoraphobic overweight ass needs is a Church hall full of fellow whack jobs,Gulf war veterans,rape survivors and crap coffee. Look,I don’t even drink coffee.

Miss Otis regrets.

I am so sick of myself.I want to leave myself somewhere and take a vacation without me.I wish.Tell you what else I wish? That I had never found out how great love was. I wish that I had gone my whole ignorant lanky life sans that sexy knowledge.Love is like the 1st time you get high.But better.It’s being finger banged by the Gods ,it completes you and vanquishes all doubt.It’s that amazing but here’s the kicker sports fans….No matter what you do to recapture it,that first perfect sublime vein shaking hit  it’s never that good again.But that ,I think,is an attribute ascribed to me alone because every other cunt seems to be able to move on just fine.They keep trying.I ,on the other hand will not.

And I am not going to chase that dragon.No fucking way.

Anniversaries.Dates that anchor you.Kill me now and make it quick.

I want to back out of doing this show.This always happens to me.I feel like a car crash that people cant look away from.I guess I told people that it was happening so I couldn’t do just that.Vanish.I hate modern life.Just think,a scant 50 years ago all you needed was a elephant sized set of balls ,a shot gun and a fast get away car and you could be on the border by sundown.I dream of that kind of caper. To never suffer though loss like this again.

To honestly disappear.

The guy who served me at the store shocked me today. “Are you still singing?” he casually inquired while scanning and putting my endless jars of soft baby-food,being that its all I can eat due to my dental disarray, into the big basket that Miss Bliss got me for my shit-heap of a birthday last year.. “Um,well,not really” I muttered as I grabbed my change and legged it out the sliding doors. I hate that people once saw me as great by my loves side,our voices swimming languidly upwards into the ether curling like smoke through the rafters. I cripples me how huge the lack is.Hell,I just hate.But the greatest amount is reserved for myself.Ohh….Trust me….

Or not.

I don’t trust anyone.Gimme 10  solid reasons free of greeting card whimsy why I should without getting cranky at me and I will buy you a beer.I have a scant few people that I like well enough but never again will I put myself in any-one’s hands.They drop you just to see what happens.Never will I believe in claims of love.No fucking way.Two alpha’s! What the fuck was I thinking? What ever it was it was wishful,reeked of Calgon ginger body-spray and crashed and burnt like the Hindenburg of hope.( “Oh! The humanity!”) Why do I get the feeling that my next tattoo should say “Sucker” ?. I despise myself for being so broken.For thinking that love applied to people like me.Oh my sides! Love is for gormless civilians…which goes back to my horror of ugly children at the store.These cunts have something that I don’t.They think that they are worthy of love.For one brief moment in time I thought I had made the grade.


My no-brainer of the day….

The last song? The last song I would ever get to play? In my desiccated dreams my last song would be sung to you and you alone.It’s purity would fell us both on the spot.

Don’t think you can get much better than that.

Then I would know how perfect felt.