Chippy put me on the door for Helmet.What can I tell you? I am a spoiled snot.He gleefully texted me from sound-check to inform  me that it was going to be super loud. With him on the desk? I would expect no less.

Did I go?

One of my oldest and best friends is in town tonight with her new amazing, by all accounts, boyfriend that she wants me to meet.They have invited me for a charming vegan dinner.Did I accept only to be felled by a massive panic attack which lead to declining?

What do you think?

Being the star that she is she understood and forgave me.I wish that I could understand and forgive myself.

But I don’t and I can’t.

A Zombie? No,a ghost.

Still all over my life darling and you know it….all you have to do is read what I bleed…..

(No one had ever loved me better….)

If anyone thinks that I don’t still care then they are a fucking moron.I loved and backed the biggest winner I had ever met and for that I am proud.Shame it cost me everything.My silence costs me more than anyone will ever know.I wish that I could like myself too.The damage is so great that I sit with my head in my hands and weep for what should have been.Bad timing? I don’t know where to start.My brain is so fried.I want so badly to explain myself but I have tried all that before.

It scares me because it was the only time I ever gave myself totally.

I keep an eye out.I know what’s going on.I knew that he would rise to the top once again.I always knew and I am proud like a mama lioness.I got in the ring time and time again because under all the shit and pain, I saw the love of my life and that man was and is a star.I have never seen anyone burn brighter.I am glad that he can see that now and is where he is ment to be.He deserves this.To be happy,calm,busy and free of demons.A talent like that is too true,rare and mercurial to lay dormant.

My heart,what’s left of it ,has only ever belonged to one blue eyed boy and that is the way it shall remain for the rest of my life.

I don’t know how to get back up.And I miss my best friend……

Meanwhile life rolls on and over me like a jailhouse snitch. I love the idea that people have of me.My huge life. Anything but.I think I deserve a reward if I shower and train.If I remember to eat,to pull my manky hair out of the braid that it exists in.If I do laundry. I behave like a fear struck stroke survivor. A gold star for Fat ass mc shut in! Yeah team! I disgust myself.

The last time I smiled I was reading an article on genital mutilation.

No that’s a lie.

I had a nice daydream on the train of taking a cattle prod into the middle of the dance-floor at a rave and going to town.Think about it…No one would hear them scream over that shit house music.Its a cinch.

I almost missed my stop.

I don’t know why people feel the need to abbreviate my name.To make it sound cute? To foster a sense of familiarity? Approachability? Whatever,it makes me want to peel my forearms with a linoleum knife.I guess that’s what people do. Make my skin crawl and try to act cute.Bless ’em.I got a nice letter the other day asking why I don’t desire “Sunshine” in my life.Where I come from there is no ozone layer.Sunshine brings premature aging and  cancer.In the end you pay for a tan just like you pay for being happy.Is this fatalistic? Potato-potato if you catch my drift.This is my personal experience.This is what happened to me.This is what I know.I am not into risking the scant sanity that is left at me to be a slogan on a Prozac paperweight on some shrinks desk.

I like my walls and I like my weapons.You get no brownie points for swaying my opinion,not that you ever could,trust me on that front .

Life is not “The Breakfast Club” no matter what John Hughes or a bunch of bitter members of Generation X would have you believe.You are not Bender.For that matter,nor am I.


Thank you for your sweet misguided concern.I mean that.Now get off my lawn.

My Tattooist Luke “Bones” Downey  is back from his much needed vacation in Hawaii.Time to bother him anew about my back piece.Imagine if there was invisible ink? I would get a whole body suit and be erased by the mercy of the needle. Laz Gein is working on my ribs.I am lucky to be surrounded by such talent.I decided that I needed a tattoo on my left side.Over the dead heart that I wish would break down like fat cells and let me crap it out.He hasn’t said anything but I know that he thinks it’s a sad thing to have etched into ones side forever.This coming from a guy with”Murder” written in reverse across his neck in dripping red ink.He just gives me that look.

Who cares? I don’t.I am going to completely desecrate my corpse.

In a rare moment of clarity I added up all my dream procedures that would successfully turn me into someone else. So if anyone has a spare fifty grand  give or take,mouldering away beneath their mattress and finds that they wish to embody the living spirit of generosity look no further for your charity case.Here I am Daddy Warbucks!

(“Toooo-morrow,Tomorrow,I love you tommrow,your only a daaaaayyyy a-wayyyyyy!”)

Then comes the lobotomy and I am home and hosed.

There is a terrible finality,I am sadly working out,that comes with true love.You find yourself fiercely guarding remnants.Standing watch over the remains.As I type this there are two cats tap dancing on my roof.(“No stupid! Its two,two three four! How many fucking times do we have to go over this?….”) And I find that I am listing to classical music non stop. No memory laden lyrics to blow up in my fat face you see. Amber from Bug girl once asked me a long-assed time ago when I was living in Hamburg at “The Hospital of Death” as our domicile was fondly known, why the Cold War era radio in my room was constantly tuned to the classical station beaming out of Berlin.

“It makes me feel like I could be better than I am” I replied to her dumbstruck face.

I blushed at the weight of my disclosure and rapidly rambled down the hall to make another cup of peppermint tea.We later kept everyone awake singing Heart and Alice in Chains songs at the top of our  formidable lungs, jamming late into the kraut night.

I wonder what happened to the woman that I was. The gypsy.

Well,today she is lying in her womb of a bed munching chia seeds clad in a once white Black Flag thermal that I got on Hollywood Blvd back in 05′ when I was living on Romaine and Santa Monica with the amazing Sin Fisted and her then Husband who went by the name of Three and two dogs, one of whom was a pug which led to my ongoing love affair with the breed,my ex’s navy blue track pants that I plan on being buried in and red thigh high socks crowned with 3 white bands biting into my lumpy thighs. Magnifique non? What a prize.

Miss Bliss wrote to me today with tales of love,summer,fromage and France.I wish that I could be there to see her walk down the isle.

Ah weddings.

I dragged myself from the mire last weekend to celebrate my brilliant step-fathers birthday at a Greek taverna in the city. My dress sense obviously tainted by the lashings of Stevie Nicks that I had been listening to that day.Just like the white winged dove indeed. Resplendent in three different shades,no less, of velvet ranging from my slouchy brown pirate boots to a deep jewel green jacket and my ancient 2 foot long well traveled Armani scarf,I looked like I should have been reading the tarot at the Pigalle fairgrounds at the turn of last century.

Or just locked up for heinous crimes against fashion.Rock on Gold Dust Woman.

So, there was my baby brother and his serene Hitchcock blonde wife whom I adore.My stepfather’s stunning daughter with her new husband,his cool son and my Saint of a Mother and her Birthday boy.

I should have just sent a card. A hamper from a swanky food store filled with tempting obscure morsels clad in a crinkly shell of cellophane.I can’t do this anymore.More to the point,I just shouldn’t.Don’t get me wrong,it was lovely ,the food was good and filling and many plaster plates were loudly and joyously smashed on the mosaic floor and all I could think of was that I never made it that far.That it never mattered to me,being alone,until I had found out how great it was to meet the person who completed you.

That’s when you really get your ass handed to you.

I still dream about my wedding dress.Of the nights we used to plan the big day.I wanted to take your breath away.

(Don’t worry baby,I would have given it back…..)


Fear of being hurt so badly the next time that it kills you.The only thing that is going to kill me is me.Ever the control freak.I get to wondering if this needed this to happen to me?

(“Michele! You get down off that cross right now young lady! I am going to count to three and if your not down here by the time I….”)

Some people are built different.Cannot love.Do any of us get the love that we truly desire? I did.For one brief time in my life and I am irreparably broken by the loss

I am great at lavishing attention and when on top of my game I am an incredible cheerleader but there is always a distance within me.I wonder if that is fear or wiring? But the one time I let go? The only time? I was electric with it.A million ballads and poems that I never would have whistles or wiped my ass with were all of the sudden sung and written just for me.I would have been better off shooting Mexican tar into my eyeballs,Playing chicken on the Long Island express way blindfolded on magic mushrooms tripping balls,chowing down on discarded tumors pilfered under the cloak of darkness from the medical dump like caviar.

It would have been safer.

I have learnt more than I ever think I needed to know about myself over the last year.I am like an emotional Ikea bookcase.The end result looked fabulous erected on the floor at the shop but when you get that fickle flat box home and the instructions are written in what appears to be a Swedish Mandarin hybrid, well,your fucked aren’t you?

There are rare times (“How would you like your steak Sir?”  “Just wipe the cows ass and send him over” ) that I imagine doing great things.I got a message from one of the girls that I worked on that last film-clip with.She is presently going to all the big metal festivals in Europe.She told me that she had met a couple who raved about me as I had taken the time to hang out with their young son at some meet and greet and sign his leather jacket in ’07.I can’t even remember being that person.But I sure as a two in the-pink-one-in-the-stink finger fuck wish that I could forget who I am now.

My guitarist has been ill and my panic is rising as I need to teach him new songs for the next show.I am also going to sell my bass and buy a new guitar. You gotta do what you gotta do and since I have not been having any more rad dreams about Saint Dee Dee of late maybe its time to let the dream die. I sucked anyway,it’s not like Geezer Butler was ever shaking in his shoes or anything.I am sharing the bill with two of my absolute heroes which is exacerbating my nerves no end.

I have been blessed on more than one occasion to support Blackie and its always a pleasure .The other gift on this bill is Marcus Depasquale from Looking Glass.I can’t believe that he accepted the gig. To those of you who have not seen Looking Glass, they are one of the few bands in the world who leave my jaw hanging every time I am lucky enough to witness their greatness live.Marcus is the lead singer and guitarist and I cant wait to see what he brings to this occasion.

Why am I doing this to myself ?.

I avert my eyes when I see people connect.  Sex is a memory. I move train carriages when I see people in love. I blanch and my mouth floods with bile merely imagining a face looming closer and closer to mine wanting to kiss. I break out in hives.I dread my period because it means that I have to deal with my genitalia.I  fill the patches in that have pulled from my eyebrows with a soft brown  pencil.I get nervous and tug the hairs out you see.It’s a follicular twitch Do the same thing to my eyelashes.

I look profoundly retarded.

Let me tell you somthing……

I am so fucking far from perfect.I change my birth date like I change my underwear,I don’t want to grow up or get old,I am vain and stupid,I fish for compliments,for attention.I lie,I bleed,I am so fallible and human.I am stubborn and self loathing.I am boring and well read.I am loyal and compassionate.I have no blood of my own so I built my own family because I wanted something to belong to so badly.To lay the cards on the table, I am more than a few deli platters short of the buffet.But with all my flaws and mistakes I did nothing but love  with all my scars and my big heart.I thought that my love was perfect because of his unrepentant flaws.I thought that he thought the same of me.

I didn’t realise that it didn’t work that way.What did I know? That some people need the honeymoon over and over? Is that it? For someone so smart I really am dumb.While I was being silently toppled from the pedestal that I had been placed lovingly on a scant few months earlier I was happily mapping the foundations to lay beneath what I foolishly believed was a shared palace of dreams.

I could have bloomed.But I guess that was never in the grand plan was it now?

I despise feeling like an idiot.Its takes up the biggest wedge of pie in the chart of my depression. (“And as you see here,highlighted in green….”)

I don’t drink,don’t get high.Don’t sport fuck.I don’t surf singles sights looking for corpses with negotiable self esteem to be the suture on an ever hemorrhaging sexual wound.I am dry.The mere thought touch of human flesh makes me retch.I can live without it all.

And I do.

I Should move to Texas and hang out with Roky.What I should do is finish this fucking album.I have to do it now.I have painted myself into a corner.

Kinda like that Raymond Pettibon picture.


This could shape up to be my ” Exile on asshole street”

I don’t know what to say.How to start. Did you ever think of that? I am afraid but that never occurred to you did it?……..The roses are beautiful……