Later.

I tend to ramble on ( cue Zeppelin) about the same things all the time.

One year down.My blackest 365 days and we are gone.What a hateful thing it is.What an absence it leaves.A terrible lack.

This is the limited  but admittedly foxy bounty of leading a small and somewhat insular life.It’s amping up to change ( “Hey San Francisco! Howya doin’?) but let’s just say that I got the year that I needed whether I liked it or not.And the medical support for that matter,all hail my shrink and my GP.I still wobble like a newborn filly when the lights are low but I can live with that.I don’t have much of a fucking choice do I? It is what it is.All I need now is a tame monkey wearing a little red fez and a natty gold trimmed waistcoat who can make a good cup of tea,do laundry and dishes and shit will be not too shabby at all.

So,my nun-like life, it’s all very regimented and so on and so forth then the big things hit and that is when I tend to write the least.Go figure.The secretaries of my addled mind won’t type and file lest they trash their fresh manicures.Whatever .Go blow the boss for a raise.So difficult to find good help these days doncha find?

It takes me a while to sift and sort over the river of reaction.To get the scant gold out.

You take care of your shit and there is usually,if you are lucky, a later.What a gift to fill the rift,a baby onto a volcano admittedly but it’s the thought that counts….

Elvis lives ( in Mexico ) just to try me,I swear.I looked up and winked at my velvet portrait of his majesty then less he decides to strike me dead with the TCB lightning bolt on my next furtive mission to procure more cans of cherry Dr pepper.The carbonated crud,the devil’s piss that is turning my ass into a relief map of the moon’s surface  that appears to be crafted out of cottage cheese .Everything you love does harm.Go on then,prove me wrong.  The night of the show I came fetchingly equipped with a snorkel and  rocked up in an ark. It was biblical weather.I expected to see Charlton Heston at the foot of the stairs.Locusts would have been easier to deal with. The stage looked magnificent as did the 70 or so people who had braved the aforementioned elements to see me spontaneously combust via the joy of song.

Ho,ho,ho.

i am drying the roses so they last forever or close enough.they hang upside down like a corpse of a thief from a strand of busted fairy-lights on my messy porch,i have endless dreams of vacaville and wake up crying with dread,i am terrified for you,this is not the ending i wanted,this is not the fable i crafted nor the script i supervised so lovingly,your poem and postcard,the love you had for me and i treasured,believe me now,believe me always,a million songs for you love,a million prayers and snapshots taken and saved with my heart,not over no one ever for me,i stopped,i began and ended with you and now I’m held in amber ,a fossil ,with you forever….

Marcus broke down half way to Sydney and was duly rescued by a rather brash New Yorker who spoke to me of The Ramones and upon being delivered safely to the venue he proceeded to blow everyone,jaded bar staff included, away.One of the highlights of my night was seeing him look up in shock at the end of his 1st fingertip blistering number and the smile that covered his face at the audiences ecstatic reaction to his brilliance.Total Gold.

Mo’s i-pod sexily spewed The Rolling Stones out over the PA and I felt fat and regretful at putting the whole thing on.It looked a treat though.The few people who have made the arduous trek to my asbestos yurt on the edge of civilization smirked at the fact that I had lovingly reconstructed my bedroom on stage,sans bed.Complete with about a zillion candles,Persian rugs and silver framed pictures of Lemmy,Fleetwood Mac and The Brudda’s.

My internal voice needled me with great audacity as showtime drew closer (” You are gonna suck lard ass!”) The Stones adding to the nag-champra burdened air.A sexy kind of Altamont menace.I should have dressed up like Sharon Tate…where was I? (” One day I woke up…to founddddd.…” Oh Mick! ) No,that’s not it. Seeing Blackie and Marcus play was astounding.What I was regretting was putting my fat neck on the executioners block.

My voice was out of sorts and did not lead to much confidence on my part.Oh well.( Cue peter Green era Fleetwood Mac.) Onward and upward. And I did.And then before I knew it,it was done.Lot’s of tears in the audience and one or two on the stage. I don’t know if it was particularly good per say but I know that it was honest.I also know that I need a new guitar.And to drop 20 pounds.

And here I recline a week on,feeling as sad and stained as the Lindberg baby’s pajamas, trying to put it all together again.To report.It will come back in flashes that will be captured……

Note; under no circumstances read links that people send you.

Do these poor cretins have nothing better to do? Well,no,not by the look of it. Isn’t there a Renaissance faire on the horizon that you have to fold your fat into an overtaxed Hot Topic corset and asymmetrical hemmed size 16 skirt for? Aren’t you late for basket weaving 101? Do you have a life or do you cling to mine in leiu of ?

The latter I do believe..

How can one take such dreck seriously? I mean,you are kidding right? Please tell me you are joking,oh,my bad,you’re the joke and that feeble punch line rolls on and on for fucking ever.Your mama really should have kept her cankles crossed but I guess her brother was  always gonna get up in there sooner or later right? Or was it her daddy? Guess we will never know as its all the same DNA. That explains the three fingered hand growing out of the base of your spine….

Let me see if I have got this right,your main source of output is a fan forum? Um,ok buddy.There you stay hidden in plain view behind a picture,an avatar, that has the qualities you so desperately wish  to portray and covey to the rest of the desperado’s ( thin,famous,clever,good-looking….fail.),to your brain dead brethren and have no chance in this lifetime or the next, by the look of it,embodying in any way,shape or form….my mind boggles at such cowardice.

Jeezum crow! It must suck and swallow to be you.My condolences.

To paraphrase John Lennon “How do you sleep?”

Quite well I gather as retardation does not appear to be such a taxing affliction.Ho-hum darlings.

Bless them Elvis for they know not what they do….Maybe compassion comes before the storm which is quite strange considering how tetchy I usually am before my period .I am not the most benevolent of creatures at the best of times it must be noted but all in all I am feeling sorry for these swamp donkeys and ass-clowns.I know right? Saint Michele of the moronic maybe?  I wouldn’t mind having candles lit to an flower strewn effigy of my fine self….

Look,I can’t even put them in the category of enemies for in reality,my reality,they do not exist.They are not of the correct calibre and stripe to go up against me. No worthy opponents.

Sad wittle critters.

They must adhere ( ever so vaguely mind) to William Blake’s theory of active evil versus passive good.Cancerous creatures.Best I don’t project though. I think that may be a touch ambitious on my behalf considering the level of stupidity at work .Oh well,worth a shot.Off to comic-con with you to harass the heroes you cyber stalk…buh-bye!

Honestly? It was nothing but mildly disagreeable to see my name,looks and skills taken apart by such unqualified barnyard beasts.But it is my lost boy that is copping the most grief and it is he that I worry about.

Dirty California and its chronic Peter Pan-itis. I roam in dreams and my feet don’t touch the ground.Relationships are much like war “You don’t know! you weren’t there!” and so on and so forth. Nothing lights the fuse like love does it not? Beauty illuminated. Uncontrollable fickle,filthy bastard of a thing……

Doom-fest is on tonight and I have not thrown myself into the frey.People peopling all over the place and I don’t have the skills on hand.I have been offered the opening side stage spot at Summonus album launch at The Annandale.I want to do it as the boys are my friends and it may very well be the last time I get to grace the stage at the venerable venue that has played host to many of my high jinx over the years. Justin Hemmes and his brand of bland will swoop down and do their beige damage sooner rather later unfortunately.Cauterize any originality and rock love.So very sad that this city based on carnal crime and corruptibility has no will to be weird any longer.Mediocrity rules the shit stained roost.Cluck.

I shall be driven to coastal exile before I know it.

The show falls around my birthday which is also the time I am meant to be on stage with Miss Emma and Monster Magnet throwing fire and other assorted tomfoolery so I hope that I can do both. Ah birthdays.What utter crap.27 yet again for moi. Me and Dee-Dee on the holy eighteenth day of September. A year since I stood side of stage with Gene at Metallica.

Quel sigh.

Happy to be getting offered shows at all .Astounded actually .I finally get to sing on a couple of Blackie’s songs which I am utterly thrilled about.He played me a duet a few years ago that he is resurrecting and a new one that I get to do backing vocals on. I keep listening to “I’m on your side” by the Divinyls.Me and my lost-boy used to do that one live.I miss him.A year gone….Listening to Kate Bush  is in no shape or form helping the condition of my condition.Mark and Isabelle played in town last night.The Whitetiger and assorted pirates of my acquaintance informed me that it was nothing short of sublime which I do not doubt for a second.I couldn’t bring myself to go.

a year scant year ago i was leaning on the wall at the metro drowning in Lannigans voice ,your dear friend onstage as you toured europe with my friends and you touched my marrow baby with every text,message and call,me longing and waiting to get on the plane to LA  and start all over again,god,how i loved you…

Hurts the heart a little too much.You get to thinking about what was and you before you know it your are dicing with whats left of your heart.

What is left of my heart could almost fill a shot glass if you stopped to pick the shrapnel out.Bottoms up.( Soundtrack for this line “Fallen” by The Bronx.)

I look like I should be climbing Mt Everest.For want of a better word I am swaddled.My ceiling is now non existent.Lilli’s baby brother has moved into one of the spare rooms ( Cheaper rent! Wooooo!) and is quite handy with tools and shit so I may bribe him with a case of beer to do something about it.It’s fucking freezing and July has lasted for about 9 frost bitten weeks.Gross.

Just wept at the sheer beauty of “I believe ( When I fall in love it will be forever)” By His Nibs,Sir Stevie Wonder.

Sigh.

Fucking period.