Green.

The fact that the wind does not run the grand national through my room any longer is ,I must admit,something of a novelty. That I can no longer see my breath as I lay swaddled like the corpse of King Tutankhamun in my bed.That sunstroked lizards no longer do a steeplechase over my shoes.Hell,who am I kidding,having a fucking ceiling is a novelty.

I can adjust to a green bedroom.

It is rather weird opening my door and being greeted with the rest of the house though.I threw my green pee-bucket into the the big red skip with nary a backwards glance and  hightailed it out of there.It’s been a week now and I am only online due to the technical grace and savvy of the most amazing Miss Karen and her wi-fi thinomejig . I stand in the doorway of what will become my study and sigh at the masses of bagged up crap.I have not even begun to really unpack in earnest but I did find a box of boiled chicken and duck bones that I had been looking for for months under my bed so I guess that in itself is a thing.

Being the ever practical devil-may-care perpetual teenager that I am, I spent my first day here setting up my shrine on the shelves above my bed that involves not only Helly Kitty,The Virgin Mary,Mick Jagger and a piece of carpet from the stage of the Whisky au-go-go but my evergreen black velvet portrait of the King.If an earthquake hits there is every chance that I will be killed by a plummeting plaster of paris bust of Elvis and a holographic portrait of Jesus.

This is a good thing.There are worse ways to go.Eaten by a crocodile on your honeymoon comes to mind….

I often thought that an aneurysm while engaged in filthy lurid sex would be a rather nice curtain call.Coming and going at the same time.Not so peachy for one’s partner but that’s life isn’t it? No chance of that for the celibate tattooed disaster piece of the inner west here though.Oh well. Some well meaning gentlemen have attempted to get their flirt on with me but I liken that to the Mount Everest effect.

It’s naught but a challenge that may kill you.

It is sweet but pointless.La perdida del corazon.I am fuck and fantasy free hombre’s.No love to be found here but sweet of you to try…..

I’m at the point in my arrested development when I am either going to take up smoking again,following Nascar and eating chicken fried steak or I am going to stop being a cat turd in the sandbox of life and join the band of my dreams which strangely enough has requested my meagre talents.

Betcha sweet ass and bottom dollar I am scared.Fear is good.It motivates where nothing but a cattle prod would do as well.Fear it is then me hearty’s!  (Great band too.Listen,if you were born anytime after 1985 you probably have no idea of what I am talking about but Lee Ving is a personal hero of mine,check him out,he is 65 now and could still kick all of our asses….) I have restrung my bass.I have seen that there is a guitar and bass tuition center on the main drag of my new hamlet.Is it a sign? I like to think so.And I think that I will take the advice that has been given to me and play through a Marshall.Good enough for Lemmy? Good enough for me.That and there is no way I can rustle up the paper for a new bass rig and still afford rent.

Ho-hum.

Songs are being written.I can’t back out now.I commented to Lilli that we are going to be the Fleetwood Mac of doom.She could not look at me with a straight face for at least three days after that nugget.

This living in a house thing is weird being that there is someone right next door,a wall away and I have to put on pants before I leave my room.It is going to take some getting used to that’s for sure.Its a spilt house thing so there are people I don’t know living upstairs.Or horses that tap dance with cinder blocks tied around their hooves to top 40 crap ’cause that’s what it sounds like down here.There is an illegal chop shop next door and a meth lab for all I know which bodes well for me ’cause you know they won’t call the cops if I am blasting I Hate God or Slayer at 2am or say maybe throwing a casual  kegger out by the chlorinated puddle that calls itself a  pool to commemorate the plane crash that cruelly robbed me of my beloved Lynard Skynard.

Everyone is a winner.

That and the secondhand bookshop and the fact that I am now only a scant 4 blocks away from my therapist is a good thing all over.

Ah you tube! I just saw footage of me grossly premenstrual with a crowned with an ill constructed wreath of  jasmine and diamonds, as one does, playing at the Sando last month.The song is called “Habit” and it sounds way better on the bass with boo-coo distortion.Just sayin’.But it was good.Not great by any stretch but it didn’t suck and comparing that to where I was a year ago musically? That is the gift that I never expected to receive in itself.

Posters abound on my walls.Cant’ find my guitar case but posters?It’s a doddle.It’s a security blanket thing.I cant rest easy until Iggy and co have been staple gunned into place.A friend  was giving me a raft of shit about being a big girl and living in the house now.Vale shed! Oh how I miss thee.Grown up my fat ass.I think not.

Saint Tina is coming up to see me on my wretched birthday and I can see the tight look on her face already when she clocks the decor.

Green walls.A-hem. It’s like living inside Kermit the frog.I have already filled a double wardrobe and my shoe collection has nowhere to live.I can’t find my rebel flag but I did uncover some notes and trinkets from my felonious ex from the west that made me shed a tear or two.I am fooling myself with an early night that will be anything but and saying that I will start tomorrow.

10 years since I left New York and my ex-husband.It only comes to mind due to it being September 11th. Quel sigh.

NY.Land of one of my best and oldest mates.I wonder what the amazing Toddski is up to? Walden in Syracuse that one is,Toddski will never leave the woods and why the hell should he? Well,besides to work in the cool vintage record shop that he has toiled in for eons.I asked him to find me the soundtrack to “Xanadu” seeing that I have wooden floors now and socks work as well as roller-skates and Jeff Lynne singing “I’m alive” is a fine way to start any day.I love me a bit of ELO.I don’t think he was very thrilled at my saccharine request.I though that I hated people.Toddski has still never been on a plane and he is squinting down the barrel at fifty years of age .

I admire it.Like I admire people with no tattoos.And mass murderers.And people who can still fuck.

Spring is taking it’s sweet fucking time,the lazy cow.I cannot believe in anything in the cold.It’s just not going to happen but the heat brings me faith and melanoma.I love it so.It brings hope and I think that that is something that I have been sorely lacking of chilly late.

Bastardfest was on at the Sando last night but yours truly had to work.Well,if you can call it that.My friend Mr Goody has seen fit to hire me to run the door of his club on Saturday nights.Can I just interject at this point in the fable that there are too may assholes and not enough bullets? Thank you.

All the boys that I turn away may as well have “1st year apprentice date rapist” tattooed on their foreheads in 72 point railroad Gothic print and the chubby badly fake tanned girls cannot walk in heels without looking like drunk meerkats.Aw bless ….but they ain’t coming in.

I asked a girl to tell me her favorite band or else  be denied.Hell,it keeps me entertained….

“Linkin Park?” she peeped eyeing off the husky tail hanging from my studded belt with the beer opener buckle that she came about head high to.

“Jesus wept!” I bellowed and she flinched like she had been struck.My security team take this as entertainment and looked on alert and somewhat jaded.I didn’t let her in.But what I did do was tell her to listen to nothing but Bon Scott era AC/DC for two weeks and then to come back and try again.

What people don’t understand is that I am performing a civic duty.I am leading these poor tasteless infidels from the turgid tundras of morbid auto tuned mediocrity if you will,to the paradise of Rock.Amen.Sure,you may see naught but a 7 foot amazon in spray on jeans with half a hound  hanging from her key chain ,sporting hats that are strangely disturbing in the least and offencive and inexplicable at the worst but scratch the surface and you will see a sonic saint,a musical missionary.

In the immortal words of Faith No More “Its a dirty job but someones gotta do it”

I am going to get these ignorant snots listening to the Ramones if its the last thing that I fucking do.

I should stop banning people for not being able to name all the members of KISS though.

Baby steps.

Its a good job.I think it’s quaint that I have a job at all to be quite frank.I get paid to be a bitch and a falafel roll at central station at the end of the night.The DJ also plays Metallica to start every night so that’s a thing.

It is now 3:18 in the morning and there is still shit everywhere.I did find my Voice of the beehive CD though so that was a score.Ah Bastardfest.Lilli was sending me messages all night telling me how great it was.Unfair.Pod People delivered their usual great set but to add insult to injury Nixon got up and played with my beloved Blood Duster.

Sigh.

Bloodduster……

I haven’t seen them since I jumped up on stage with them at the Knitting Factory in LA while wearing a mini skirt that may as well have been a belt and a rag of a  Skynard tee-shirt to delivered the sweet and haunting duet with Tony of the song that all swinging lovers swoon to, “Drink,fight,Fuck” .The Captain and Tennille of metal right there folks.Memories….sigh….I have played some of the biggest festivals in the world but can it just be said and let it be duly noted that that was a top 10 career highlight? It was like being the 5th Beatle for about 3 grind soaked minutes.That and Matt was humping my leg while Gene was taking pictures on his phone.

Sigh.

So while I was dealing with a tide of pastel scum all my mates were drinking snakebites and going postal.Fair? I think not.

So.Marcus is writing.I am writing.I am practicing.I am shitting myself but you know what? I also can’t wait. Haven’t really been in a working band in 2 years but it all happens the way that it was meant to.Even at the worst of times I know that Elvis has a plan for me.I had to go back to zero but if Blackie hadn’t of put me on that first show last summer I have no doubt whatssoever that I never would have played again.I owe him big time.

I was so fucking done with it all.No idea what I would have done in lieu of making a racket but I didnt think that I would ever get up there again.Listen.After 7 years of being in a band with an alcoholic- dip-shit -ego driven -guitar wanking -intellectually stunted -pot smoking-selfish-slit-eyed-mean-bitter- asshat to being cherry picked by Michelle Meldrum to move back to LA only to watch her die in front of my eyes to becoming engaged and touring the world with the love of my life and having my heart destroyed, well, you tell me,,was it any small wonder that food-stamps and welfare were looking like Xmas and the new year rolled into one?

I never take my kin for granted.My chosen family.But I can never reply my big brother for daring me back on stage again.I owe him my life.I love it now.Just being up there with a git-fiddle and letting it rip.I forgot how much it gave me and shaped me when I was a kid and to get a second chance at this point in my life? I bow and have to pay it great respect and homage because I know if I don’t that I will never be so lucky again.

Got another show coming up in October.And a new band. Whoever would have thunk it? Not I,dark horse,not I.

Wow.

A band.

Thank you Elvis and G’night.