Seed.

Ok,so you got me.Quit smirking at me like that,c’mon! Quit it,I mean it!

I can admit when I am full of shit and/or deluded.I admit it,ok? Sheesh!

I came over all like a white female Gandhi by way of Mother Theresa with a killer rack saying that I am all zen about shit.I am so not that that it’s not even vaguely amusing. That I wish no ill will and so on and so forth,blah,blah,blah.That is fresh! I must have had a brain tumor for breakfast.Blurgh.My seething anger and sordid sense of self righteous retribution clad in a tie dye cheesecloth fucking caftan,no less, handing out flyer’s to ambivalent civilians about an EST workshop.Kill me now.

I am taking the fifth.

So sue me.At least I am trying,well,…um….some days?….Oh fuck it. Due to fools being stupid in flimsy flammable santa hats,tacky in tinsel and topped off by the utterly fucked fact that my laurel bough of stellar friendship is rejected yet again in the face of more pressing priorities? I say screw  it.

I am now spending my precious time more wisely.I am lighting candles for chaos to befall thine enemies and all kinds of charming calamities.

(” Let me get this straight,what you are telling me you found his cock wedged down his throat?“. The young constable,still dripping wet behind the ears and only two months out of the academy,tasted the cheese and bean burrito he had for breakfast start to return on him as he nodded mutely at his commanding officer. They stood by the front door, freshly blasted off its hinges by the swat team,the whole mess wrapped in yellow crime scene tape. Above the CNN vultures circle.The blades of the choppers softly blatting the black satin sky,stirring silent screams and chaos into the muggy night air. “Balls too?” enquired the older man and stepped back nimbly as the mexican food made its projectile reappearance all over the poinsettia bushes lining the walk…..)

I am not going to let people take the piss. If you can’t make it on your own I am done with ferrying the lame.I will always help out the ones that I can see really need it but I am a mother to none and that is that. Me, the salt strewn mule-less 30 barren acres.A field of despair.No way man.I got me a new plow and I am turning over the dry ground. Blowing boulders of brown dust out of my sun-burnt nose at the end of the longest days known to mankind.My honest sweat into the soil bitches, best you believe it. Gonna get me a bumper crop of “Kick ass ” planted and blooming into the new year.

A old friend died at his work Xmas party last night.Heart attack.Lights out.A couple of toots,a scotch or seven and wham! He was dead before he hit the mat. A timely yule reminder of how fast you are gone,boom! .Over and outski,your number is up. In shock I came to the stunning and timely realization that I refuse to buy the farm thinking of someone who,quite plainly, does not give a rotten rats ass about me.

Especially when I have people who think I am the cats pajamas.

Oh children! Gather round and listen to your Aunt  Michele,it’s the vampires that thieve all you have that you have got to watch out for.Them,with their big,greedy take it all eyes and morning after apologies, that tether you to their super damaged excuse making sides. (“Oh baby,c’mon lover,you know I didn’t mean it….”) Beware and remember that they can’t come in unless you invite them….

I am ,at the eternal grand age of 27,(*ahem*) way too old to be fucking about with sub standard drug addled reindeer games and emotional espionage.Fuck being the water-boy to the wasted. So it hurts.I think that it always will but I can put it in its rightful place now. Hurt happens,life does have a rather cruel and unfortunate tendency of doing that to you dontcha find? .But much like Mick and Keef so poignantly put it,so bloody poignantly as a matter of fact,that I have it tattooed across the tenderest expanse of my inner forearms.

“I have my freedom but I don’t have much time.”

With that alone as a foundation? I would say that I am made in the fucking shade here.

Blinkers off.

Advance.

Cha-cha-cha people. (” I am the best dancer at St Bernadette’s!)

I am preening. Big old lazy cat mooching on the front stoop of long awaited redemption.,floorboards warm and smooth beneath my fur.Lazy with it and high on possibility ( “Don’t Bogart it man! Pass it along you greedy fuck…) Almost collapsed with heat stroke at the gym.Run fat girl run. And go for it,be war ready and able at all times.It is yours for the taking. You with your miles of brunette stoicism and logic.I had forgotten just what I package I am when I get my eye on the target and here is a  a lifetimes worth of pillow-lipped pollack kisses to the hallowed few who continued to remind me.

Muah! Muah! Muah!

Can I just tell you how sad it has made me throughout my life when paramours both landed and thrillingly pending have informed me  “I would not be able to handle you Michele” .

Now you tell me,what kind of trumped up hellacious bullshit cop out is that? What is there to handle ??? ( Besides my fast shrinking corpse) I am the most boring and low key wench you are ever likely to meet.It’s the fool’s that inhabit and pitifully prance along King street ( Insert Sunset Blvd if in California and Christopher St if in New York, you get the picture.) poncing about like their life is a reality show.Being all that because they can’t do it on stage,they have no outlet ,no purpose besides tempting me to kill them at every available opportunity,they are the handful! Not Me! Christ on a crutch! All it do is read,train,write and play guitar. I sound like a morbidly obese 14 year old who listens to Jethro Tull and is a dungeons and dragons fanatic from Reseda sans the X-box addiction.

With great stems.

Yet,at times,  I have been known to be  a magnet for mongoloid stalkers who want my dirty underwear to wear pulled over their face to sniff while they jerk off ( I have the letter to prove it, German. Naturally.), drunk and drug addled tortured artists who tend to produce the same work over and over again, tetchy small town ice smoking tattooists blessed with a false sense of entitlement ,jealous rock-stars who spiral doubting my dog-like loyalty and iron clad fidelity,dark-side dwelling dick jokes in converse and skinny jeans with expressive and non-ironic hair and for all I know, mass murderers.

Let’s just put it this way,I have a lot of fans who have parole officers.

What is it with me?

But then there are the rare Princes that keeps me wondering what happens next.The Princesses that take my late nite calls from the deranged dark side and still love me later….

Ah the romance! Good grief.

Every once in a while the God’s deign to throw ones heathen ass a faith restorer .( Cheers for the thoughtful gift  Ron Ashton,Randy Rhodes and company…) Not a lover, just a cool person to scrape the dust off your horizon.Someone to patiently hold the binoculars to your red raw tear torn eyes  and gently tilt your head to gaze forward into the unexplored land of possibility. Sent  full of goodwill and tangible gusto to crack the code of your misery ,a true selfless friend. People who make the planet smaller and kinder by merely existing.Late night talkers and languid long limbed listeners.

I am winking at myself in shop windows,quite the foxy minx and find that the migraines are becoming fewer.As I trained tonight ,my carriage graceful and my shoulders back,I felt correct,happy to be in my corpse and it absolutely floored me.This feeling? It stems and comes from people you think of highly  thinking the same of you in return.

Hail fellow,well met.

For so long now I have thought that I was not worth the effort but all of the sudden it seams that I am.Holy shit! All the things I was lead to believe didn’t make the grade are collecting their diploma and flinging their mortar board high into the air.( “San Dimas football rules!”) Listen,I know that this is not the be all and end all but I would be lying my daily diminishing ass off if I claimed that my ego and pride are not licking their very satisfied chops for the first time since I fled Los Angeles so long ago.

Kind hands plant seeds in hostile ground.Fearless gardeners, I salute you.You didn’t have to but you did.I told you it was pointless and you didn’t listen.My gratitude has a huge red ribbon tied around it and a .385 hemi under the hood.

The Diamond Lil wrote to me today.As did Miss Suzanne of the tundra’s welcoming me back.So sweet,so,so kind. (I was terrified that I was lost  forever).I was thinking of them and their names graced my screen.Tiny kindness that I hoard.Correspondence that rescues me from myself….

And I will tend my empty garden.I will prune with a surgeons grace, leave shallow saucers of flat beer out to kill the slugs.Weeds will be pulled and borders kept from anarchy.I shall train wisteria vines over fifteen foot trellises crafted from old railway sleepers to create a cool emerald bower that one day will bring us shelter.It is there that I will serve you strong black tea cooling and lemon garnished in  fine china cups and red velvet cake,vanilla iced. My bare feet in your lap,strong by way of miles, hypnotized by the gallant grace of your chevalier company. The birds sing for you,the grass sighs beneath your weight with tart green gratitude. Rendered motionless and dazed by the midday heat, sunshine shimmering though the sprinklers,prisms slow dancing on our skin, we breath in unison.Diamonds of  golden light fall through the leaves as your alabaster hand forms a bracelet around my ankle.I sigh.

Safe at home as my adored Gram Parsons would croon.

From a seed,a small kindness I am re-animated and clear of disarray,unless it is sonic and that I welcome with a carnal candy coated tongue.It need not last.I am cool with that.

I know now that it can happen  and that was all I needed.

Effort.

My body clock is out on bail and high on Dilaudid.Cold shaking and shooting into its neck,the dirty fiend.I ain’t go answer its calls so long as it goes on behaving this way….

It’s tripping hard.I am getting to sleep at the weirdest times and well,fuck it. I just happen to be a rare creature to be sure as my dear Miss Emma concurred over a whispered phone line at 6am.

My body clock going mental is the least of my worries truth be told.In fact ,my worries,thank Elvis ,are diminishing by the day.

Now,who woulda thunk it?

I happily sang all the way home on the train.Give my fool self an empty carriage and I think I am on Broadway.My shrinking reflection grinning back at me in the dark windows as I flail round like a rock driven epileptic in skintight jeans,my corpse aching from the usual assault at the gym.Every joint pissing and moaning and I am so vital I feel like I am giving off sparks.

Tasty.

All I could do was think how great Joey’s eclectic phrasing is and how The Ramones cure all that ails me,how lucky we were to be on the planet at the same time as the brudda’s.Sigh.The soundtrack saves you right? You know what I mean,don’t be shy.When I have nothing else music throws me a line….I was dancing around my smelly gym bag to “Its gonna be alright”.( ….its the year of the monkey everything is real funky…) If that is not the embodiment of punk rock bliss? Well, I am not sure I am qualified to say what is.

And nor would I want to be for that matter because in my often jangled and jaded perspective,it was perfect.

My faced crumpled like an empty chip packet,so wide and face consuming was my smile.

And I like it out here alone.I am good at my weird life.A bonafide A-1 fully bonded professional,step aside assclowns.I like that I have no one to answer to,no children or mortgage repayments.That I called the shot when I was but a mere amoeba and knew the anomaly that I was and followed the call.Saint Tina once told me to find what I was good at and stick with it. So here I am.Longing,singing,obscure fact regurgitation,running,punk rock,…Suspended adolescence?

I wear the crown and wield the sceptre.

This coming from someone who will be getting  their long awaited AC/DC tattoos tomorrow night.Because I fucking well can.Ner. My songs are getting to where they are ment to be and I play everyday.I have someone interested in managing my unruly butt and that makes me feel like The Igsters million in fuckin’ prizes.

Go team.

People are going to be what they are and do what they do and now I have the ability to cut them loose with no malice or ill will.Shit will always up and kick your teeth in when you least expect it and I am not gonna lie to myself any longer,hold out hope what what I know is hopeless. I am loyal to the last. Wounds can be reactivated at the slickest touch,the merest memory.It tends to be scent and sound for me.But you ride on (A day with out Bon Scott is a day without sunshine people.Take note.There will be a quiz.)

Or as Mr Rollins would so succinctly bellow “Sometimes things don’t work out! ”  And that is that. They don’t.I am pretty tightly wrapped when it comes to control so, at my lowest ebb ,that tends not to sit to real pretty with me,I can admit that .But really? What are you gonna do? Get an helmet and shut the hell up,that’s what .

I have no more time to lose on other people not loving themselves.I have a hard enough time with my own weird wiring,thanks for coming hope you enjoyed the show.Patch your own goddamn fuses.What am I? An emotional electrician? Fuck off out of it.

So where does an upwardly mobile damaged rock goddess and part time muse go? I’ll tell you where her fine ass hightails it to,she goes to the boiler room,thats where. After stoking the absolute bejesus out of it all the while looking like one of those louche and taut Helmet Newton pictures from the 70’s,she then heads  to the war council.Wearing great high heels,a tight pencil skirt and very,very serious black framed glasses and do I even need to point out that her hair is up and exposing the back of her very oh-so  biteable scented neck? ( No? Didn’t think so,now can we move on?)  Flicking her main around like the thoroughbred that she is, she proceeds to delegate her time and move forward making it look aggressive,sexy as all get out and as easy as The Commodore’s Sunday morning.

The deal? Put in the effort and reap the reward.

I failed.I loved and I failed.

So what?

(GASP!!!!)

You read that right….

I gave everything I had and it didn’t make the grade.There is nothing more I can do.Water finds its own level. I thought that the one that I gave it all to on a silver platter deserved the leggy dynamo that I am.He ,on the other had thought he deserved a wackjob opiated hose-beast. Who am I to argue? I am jumping up and down on my bed to Grand Funk Railroad and done with the dogs.

You get what you *ahem* shall we say “Settle” for…..

My knees feel like two lumps if throbbing coal.Roadwork will kick ones ass every time.But the weight is leaving and there is bone action on the horizon.A mildly hungover Zack ,due to the festive season work bash ,told me tonight that he is going to get to work on my sketches soon.I am soooo stoked.My back is going to look amazing!

If I didn’t know better I would think that my ovaries are attempting to bungee jump from my snatch using my fallopian tubes as cords.My period thinks its Genghis Khan.But I have not bowed to my nasty assed sugar Jones and am feeling quite pleased with myself.

Have come up with an album title and a really cool idea for a film clip that I think I will have to rope Jeremy Belafonte into making for me.Plans,plans,plans.I am going to pass out and dream.Of foot massages. Quel sigh.

As Etta would croon

“At Last……”

Bet your sweet ass I am smiling.Because as we all know,living well is the best revenge.

Mojo.

The smallest things can offer the greatest comfort.Great,now I am going to the the pin-up saint for tampon dicked men the world over.Not that kind of small thing.The finer points people,not to worry….This fine morning I am thinking about the kindness of women,the return of mojo and fresh clarity.

Ever the analytical Virgo with her details.

I am finding affirming solace in the most stunning sounds and details.It’s almost like some kind of crystal clean acid flashback .(Joey Ramone is now singing in my head “Somebody put something in my drink.” )

Whatever it is I have a pulse again (“CLEAR!,c’mon you ungrateful bitch! Breathe for me dammit!”) and the angles are weeping vodka and glitter.Thank you Elvis.Here! Have a Quaalude,I love you.

I’m back.

Done with sticking pins under my fingernails to see if I can feel anything but I ain’t getting cocky with my blue eyed amazonian self just yet, nuh-uh,no fucking way,baby steps for me .But I am out of the cotton wool and the long night of the blah,blah,whatever,you get the picture..Hallelujah.I am the emotional equivalent of Bambi on ice some days but hey,you work with watchoo got.

The coterie of fine and fierce woman that have bolstered me since my  stricken return to these shores well over a year ago.62 kilos of torment and heartbreak.I looked like I was dying and I believed that I was.So,unfortunately did my long suffering mother.Oh the guilt. But my friends who saw me when I could not see myself? Remembered all that had been wiped from the hard drive of my hollow heart,the hundreds of text messages that the show like flaming arrows into my impenetrable dark,never giving up? Gold.Pure gold.I don’t know what I did to deserve them but I thank Ron Ashton and all the available saints for them daily.

I was working with a cool as fuck chick at Club 77 a few months ago who bailed to go back to school.All indie cred and rock-star hair ,Miss Kelly took a shine to the bruised fruit with great boots that I was upon arrival. We spoke of The cruel Sea and stupid poisonous boys.I informed her that my sex drive had been duct taped,kidnapped and executed somewhere on the Jersey shore.Effortlessly through brunette bangs she snorted like a stallion and fetchingly rolled her eyes.The next week I arrived,all tits and legs down the dark stairs well before opening time to find a white CD on the low coffee table by the bruised Chesterfield lounge suites that coughed ashamedly when sat upon.It read “Micheles’ mojo Mix”. I laughed my pirate butt off and sprang for a bucket of sashimi that we ate leaning on the bar as I studied myself with a critical eye in the mirror between the bottles and she hacked up a stack of lemons…and into the breech once more.

I threw it in the stereo the next afternoon.A pulsating raunchy mix of everything from Patti Smith to Bob Log.I did laundry to it while decked out in pink terry toweling hot pants and a Motley crue tee shirt.I looked for my mojo as I hausfraued to the swinging sexy sounds but alas to no avail.

But it was such a kind gesture.

My friend Glen from Skinlab has a pug named Mojo who I want to kiss the face clean off ,a fine and noble hound for sure.It’s a great magazine that I pay far too much money for each month on import from England….but mine? My mojo?

M.I.A.That’s “Missing in action”.Not the chick who sings “Paper planes”.

A-hem.

Kindness.I don’t know what I did to deserve it, Allow me a roll call of some of the fine  wenches who didn’t give up on me.Don’t mind if I do.

Miss Belle emailing me to Miss Marissa giving me a stamp that tells people exactly how they can fuck off.Miss Emma,my gift of a friend and super-talent who always knows when to say the right thing and Lili White-tiger on the front line heroic and usually slightly tipsy.Miss Karen white blonde and eternal,Miss Suzanne of the tundras and Lisa Faye of the LBC.Miss Nina in her shack by the ocean and the Diamond Lil…

I never thought I was ever going to see my way clear but the gifts people! The gods of small places…

Listen to Sam Cooke,run to Raw Power,glitter pens,ramen noodles,perfect grapes,scaring idiots on public transport.I know,this shit sounds like I am gonna get hit by a bus or that my lithium has kicked in.But I mean it.This is what my exasperated shrink would term “A breakthrough”

I was shit out of luck and hope.I thought I was going to feel faulted and despondent forever.And now here come the faintest and foxiest chink of light through my black out curtains since the dawn of fucking time ( That would be,according to his Royal fucking brilliance,Sir Bon Scott,may he rest in peace,1955.When White man had the schmaltz and Black man had the blues. …Listen,if you, for some clinically insane fucking reason that I cannot even begin fathom let alone begin to understand, don’t own a copy of “Let there be rock” never darken my doorstep again you heathen fucks.) The little Prince kisses scars and removes cataracts and I am on my knock knees with gratitude.

Saved and safe..

I dug me.No lie.I fell into my flesh and resonated for the 1st time in almost two shit lashed years.At that last show I could taste my words,the weight and power .And I swooned as they swan dived off my tongue and into the microphone.I heard my voice roaring out of my pouty old cake-hole on the weekend and I liked it.

The next day I sat down with my guitar and practiced.I finished songs.I have secured recording time in the new year.

It finally sank in through the good grace and overwhelming kindness of others that maybe,just maybe, certain things,situations beyond my control that I took hard enough to almost kill me were not my fault or problem at all. Since this befell my thick cranium much like a Slayer fueled anvil in a cartoon I have been dreaming again.God,how I missed it!

Roaming around in my addled mind picking daisies and looking dangerously hot.I aint gonna drop my eyes no more.Hell no.Not going to let anyone near me either but that’s not the point.The point is that I am gonna get near me and no, I am not talking about rubbing one out although it’s not totally out of the question at this stage of the game.I was gonna start with holding my own hand is you really wanna know…Man! If you could just see the look of animal cunning on my fine boned feral face right now…I look like I should have a fucking canary feather stuck on my wet bottom lip.

Meow.

Alive! Alive! Alive.Woooo!

Clean fuel into my leggy corpse if you please!I have not inhaled a tic-tac in three  whole motherfucking days!!!  (I know,I am hearing the Jane’s Addiction song now too and that is as fine as paint,fine as cotton candy… ) Sugar free red bull and the gym opens like a knife wound at my shady 3am arrival.And I sweat.I drip,I am soaked,I sweat all the times I was hurt,all the times I was looked through,all the nights I was not kissed and made to feel insane by proxy.It runs cloudy and stains my grey sweats and I don’t stop.

You must have mixed me up with some former flame or underestimated me.I am never going to stop.Boo-ya sucks to me.

I am soaking in it.Pouring off my dermis and I can see and sense more at long lamented last.I can taste the air and I roam,I rebuild and roam.I think of my new band and wonder what I have left to hock to get a new amp.I write till my hand cramps, in long neglected yellow covered spirax note books.I stand a little taller and find my self remembering that I am a real live girl and it makes me blush.A drunk old homeless man serenaded me with blistering off key renditions of mid-eighties Rod Stuart songs on the train tonight and I grinned. “YOO are a ROOL stunner love!!! ” he bellowed smelling of dirt,desperation and cheap red wine .He  looked around the carriage  for affirmation.The three business men across from me smiled and one winked kindly and intoned gravely,with what I would like to believe was utmost sincerity “Absolutely.”

I turned a charming shade of puce and floated off at my stop.

La,la,la….Hot pants,tube sox,roller skates,green toenails,Sticky Fingers….mmmm…mmmm….mmmmm…*sigh*

I’ll  tell you what is safe? War on the outside and all the tricky hot shit that makes your heart go faster and sing along to Motorhead on the-slowly-being-rebuilt- inside. Held aloft by broken guitar strings and shrouded in lurid Mexican serapes,mismatched crystals stolen from palace chandeliers fill the floor to ceiling windows and vomit rainbows onto the pristine white sheets upon which my healing Hello Kitty heart purrs and smiles in her sleep.Yes!Yes! YES!!!!

Look,I know that it’s all ragingly PG,but I am done,done,done with empty porn and dead eyes thank you very bloody much! You can shove that up your ass sideways and be gone! This is my imagination and my script ( stamps foot petulantly) …  I dream of a hand in mine,an almost kiss, callused fingertips tracing lips swollen with the wanton after effects of a monster make-out session,sly looks,stolen contact,heart palpitations,dilated pupils and candy sweet shared spit… See,my theory is,if it is all so peachy keen pre-teen and only in my imagination I can not get hurt again.Why waste time with reality when I can sit though the sweetest loops of make believe projected on the white walls in my mind? Exactly.

The sheer mind boggling fact that these thoughts and dreams are making a wet and wildly welcome return to my frigid fine self makes me happy as all hell,have no doubt there, but also so very relieved.

I am fucking brilliant ,me.

The best relationships I have ever had never even existed.There is a lot to be said for romance and longing….

Because I want to feel beautiful again.Because I finally know that I can.Blame the gym.I can feel my shape shifting.Thank Miss Ash for forcing me to get ready to be a shoot-able object of somewhat fickle and specific desire.Blame my military instincts instilled when I was a kid that make me man up and stop whining at the 11th hour,thank Elvis in his pink Cadillac on high.Amen.

And the fact that if I quit and die my enemies win.By the way,fuck my enemies.They are so sub-par and I have to go get a pedicure.Important things  to worry about ,dig?

My hair swinging,my teeth done.I can smell my perfume and it makes me feel hot and dangerous and fuck it! Ain’t that just the way a white-trash rock powered cowgirl is meant to feel? Hell yes.Yes it is.

I was told “Get your wings”

It’s time ,so I believe that that is exactly what I am gonna do.

Maybe wings and mojo constitute the same thing? There is a thought…I don”t know if that is the case but I plan on having one hell of a time finding out….

Now ,if you will excuse me?  I have a rather pressing appointment in my over fertile and epic re-booted  imagination to audition as one of the Rolling Stones back up singers in 1971.

Off.

I almost burnt the house down tonight.Well,I could have. And I blame punk rock. Totally.

Let me set the scene….

So it’s one in the morning.Unwisely I have chosen to wear my dove grey Stevie Nicks suede boots.I look hotter than a four alarm fire but my feet are fucking killing me.But they match my Russian fur hat and awe inspiring  lace lashed cleavage.Big lipped Pollack killing machine.What can one do?…

There I am,abusing the unwashed masses on the door as it is Saturday night once again when a sinuous slip of a girl breezes by and says “Michele,you smell amazing“. She swoons and I smirk. “Why,thank you honey!” I reply “It’s Bulgari..Shit! ….excuse me!” and I bolt to the bus stop and dial Lili White-tiger’s didgets.

“Wake up,wake up wake UP” I mutter in a panic as the phone threatens to ring out.

“What’s up mama?” says the white-tiger sounding all warm and fuzzy

“DUDE!” I bellow with no small amount of relief ” I left my Bulgari candle burning on my dresser!”

So the poor kid,woken by my dumb ass ,stumbles into my bombsite of a boudoir which by now smells like a high priced hookers knicker drawer and averts disaster.

Phew.

So why is it punk rocks fault?….

Because my feet haven’t touched the ground since I saw OFF! at The Annandale on Wednesday night.

I am walking into stationary objects,I am listening to everything on eleven,I am laughing in fool’s faces.I am powered by punk rock and you can’t tell me shit.

Elvis wept.

I never really go out or do much anymore.I fib to well meaning friends and say that I have dengue fever and have to stay home and practice my solo stuff, which really means playing Lynard Skynard songs and not getting dressed in anything more complicated than a bikini and usually my Indian head dress and not answering the phone nor the  door.But there are some occasions that you know are going to be holy,that the planets will align and you will feel like some kind of fucked up flesh conduit for mucho raw power.You feel it in your waters.One can get retarded and high from that much ohm.

And I did.

My errant ex told me that I had to go and see OFF!  when they got here.I was going to anyway,um hell-o?, duh.I mean the punk rock pedigree that was going to lay waste to one of my all time favourite venues? C’mon! And then you have the fact of The Hard-ons doing the support mixed with Lili’s birthday.

Let’s just file it under sure thing shall we?

Can I just say here,for the warped record,that I have pretty much seen and been blessed enough to play with some of the greatest bands of all time.( Bar Elvis and Lynard Skynard and heaps of people that brought the farm way before my existence.) That said,The OFF! show made my top 20 shows .I opened for the Germs in Norway,stood side of stage for Motorhead at Wacken,Saw Ronnie James Dio under a full moon in LA……my list is awesome and goes on.

Wednesday night was up there.

I had my hand over my mouth for half of it.(“Oh the humaity!”) When I get around that much power and electricity and every pore and cell in my body opens up and blooms hot.I am Bon Scott’s live-wire baby.My heart and genitals have been as dry as a Mormon wedding for eons but something in me sprung a leak as I stood halfway to hardcore heaven by the bar swooning,Matt and Dan Rule,the brothers who own The Annandale smiling at me and passing me free drinks.I don”t know if it was the red bull or the raw power but tears were running down my face at the sheer majesty that I was beholding. Stage divers flailing,Keith Morris, a punk preacher handing it down for all the ages.My Black Flag tattoos itched and I was home.

First time in twenty long fucked up barren months and I was home.

Because for the orphan’s,fuck ups and lost boys? Sound is where we dwell,it is our shelter.If you don’t get it? You are not of our kind and you never will.

I thought I was going to have to peel myself off the carpet it was that good.

I felt beautiful and alive.Electric and hot. I knew it wouldn’t last and I didn’t care. Locked in a moment,wanton and greedy, I sucked it from the air and swallowed  whole.I was utterly ruined by it. Destroyed and delighted at the fact. All hair, hips, tits and lips.A tsunami of rock ruled wench. The music engulfed my being, licked me with flames and redeemed me. This is religion baby.This is the alter when my heathen ass kneels and worships. The sacrament of sound placed on my soft waiting tongue. Hungry,starving….Dunked by drums in the raging river, gilded by guitar,baptised by bass. Brothers and sisters this is the Gospel.

The pub was packed and steaming,seething with it.Glorious!  And everywhere I looked I saw familiar faces that lit up to see me in return! What a gift! .Hy-Test Luke, a beer in each hand,Mo Mayhem leather clad and dangerous from the Hell City Glamours,The Rule Brothers,Blackie,Ray,Murry,Matt “Fuckin'” Reekie in a blur of red wine.Lil in the front row shooting the war. These are the times that I want to bottle so fucking badly. The glorious times that you survive your life for. The shows that make all the shit fade away. The nights that you wish would double back into the darkness from which they came and start over again on a loop for a sweet fucking teen-aged forever.

It’s better than falling in love.It is love.

The only one that will never leave me…..

New friends and old. Of course the only person who doesn’t drink ends up behind the bar serving all and sundry after the show. I remembered all the nights that I have spent up those stairs as an artist and a guest and I smiled.  Caught up with Nate who told me that Pat was sick and that was why he didn’t make the show. Bummed. Last time I saw him was when we opened for The Germs in Oslo freezing our asses off.. A fine dude. Told Nate about my new band and the two bass attack,he laughed when I told him that I wanted so much low end it made people shit. He is so cool. Kind guitar god Dimitri and I worked out that we are pretty much one degree of separation away from everyone but Los Angeles, like all small places, is like that. It felt good to have a laugh.

It made me miss the West coast so bad.Gotta tell you,it’s hard when the circus rolls out and you are not with it.

I couldn’t sleep till the next day.It got me that riled up,Slayer shows have been known to have the same effect on me except that after Wednesday night I didn’t come home and kick everyone out of my house.( True story,1998.)

Went and played a show in Wollongong on Friday with Blackie.Kick ass acoustic at a hot shit record store.I had that great lonesome feeling coming home on the train when you feel sullied and indestructible.Watched as a drunk and two 15 year old girls got into a yelling match and then continued to read Vera Ramones book which hit home a touch too much (Two Bon Scott era AC/DC references in one entry? I rule.Its ok,thank me later. Bow if you must…)

I then had to catch a bus.I got in round 3am and felt like I was doing what I was ment to be doing which is a rare and welcome vibe not to be sniffed at.It’s a kick that people come to see me play.I feel like I should be paying them.It was different when I was playing with bands.You can duck and weave you dig? But this? This is just me,usually with my foot and my mouth and my eyes shut tight.

And sometimes,not always,but in some silken moments,the noise that comes out of me is better than any fuck or drug.It rattles me to my tired core. Hardwired to my heart and cunt.Just magic.There is nowhere else I ever have to be.I soar.I almost fell off the stool.

And that is the high that keeps you chasing it.

I got told that some people get the call and don’t answer.Me? I work at the telephone exchange,baby,I connect the calls.I put you through to the party line and I have the best phone voice in the goddamn world.

I waited for the call and like a good little flannel clad foot soldier I followed the battle plan to the last decibel and detail.(“Sir! Yes Sir!”)

I was built for this…

Not only was the acoustic show cool, I scored some Emmy Lou Harris vinyl which has lead me to sing in a higher register in the shower between doing my eternal rainroom interview with the late lamented Lester Bangs.It has also lead me to think that I need the ankle length hooded cloak that she is wearing on the cover.

And I scored a Roky Erickson doll. Hello?

To quote Nine Pound Hammer….

“It don’t get no better than this.”

A-fuckin’-men.

Pick.

A large tool use to smash and pry.To separate.

A choice.

It was such an outside bet Madden.The odds almost comical in their size.Like Mr Thunders would sing,you were born to lose.

And you did.

Honesty devastates, it is the hardest thing to deliver but it is also admirable.So I admire you.You just passed “Know your animal 101” with flaming and flying colors.The truth.Its usually something that you know but don’t really want to hear due to the pain it brings and the time that you know you are going to have to funnel into recovery.It’s seven in the morning and I just woke up.

Having it said to you makes it real.You can’t un-hear it.It takes up residence and squats like something fat and stagnant.Immovable and learned of all its rights as an unwanted tenant.You consider burning your property down when you know it is inside,asleep and vulnerable.This is also know in some circles as cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.If you look close enough you can see the track of stitches round my roman profile as I have fallen to this fallible folly before.

So that’s that then.I don’t know what to say.What to do.

Saturday on the door was no great shakes.I had to get changed half way through the night as my kimono top was no match for the gale force winds that were barrelling down Williams st.My hair was perfect as Warren Zevon,may Elvis watch over him,would sing.

Have decided that I want a flare gun to fire into the open windows of cars that drive by screaming abuse at me.My boss yelled at me as he drove by and then cracked up at the look on my face mid-tirade as I realized it was him.The prick.

It was a hospital rave this week.Hooky messaged me about three hours prior to kick off.”Do you have a sexy nurses outfit?”  it read “I didn’t know you cared!” I replied.So much for that costume opportunity. Themes! I make my own!

With the soundtrack for Xanadu hopefully driving my roommate to suicidal distraction at top volume,I decided that it was Johnny Thunders/Ninja night.Naturally.I could barely see from behind my bangs. One of my regular infants sighed,kissed my hand as he waited in line and said “Boy,you really know how to dress”.Amen to that.And my abs are peeping out again so I had my stomach barred and it felt good.One of my beloved fags lost thirty something kilos recently and gives me lashings of encouragement each and every week to keep going.

A great fight outside the convenience store.Pepper spay in the hands of the riot squad.Of course the perpetrators got away.Just another night…

Much like my big brother before me I am now addicted to the UFC.I wrote and told Toddski this to which he replied “What is the UFC?” and went on to tell me about the choices on the jukebox at our old haunt in Syracuse.Bless him.Walden of vinyl.He works at “Rare Necessities” and has been known to ferret out the most hard hiding pieces of sonic scripture,a veritable Mike Hammer of sound that one is .Just tell ’em I sent you.

I dream of the octagon.It’s on a the gym almost all the time.I get my security team to show me new and more frightening techniques all the time.I am learning how to use my height.I could open your face with my elbow if I chose to.Addicted to sweat once again.

The lard arsed ding-a-ling that lives upstairs was fucking round with a weed wacker outside my window all Sunday which lead to me,when I finally drifted back off, to sleeping right round the clock.This will lead to much red bull and cleaning of the hovel today and then back to the gym tonight.I am so entrenched in my anti-human contact night routine again I feel like the celestial school teacher (Ah! high school,do you ever end?) is going to yell at me for wandering the earth without a life pass.

I will go stock up on groceries as long as the weather holds.A cold and strange December to be sure.Usually sweating way up in the hundreds right now.If the Mayans were right, it’s all over in a month anyway and at least I will die a little thinner.

I can see limited forever’s in their pill poached pupils.I drink the neon from above the door all night long,electric nectar and flex my calves in high shoes.I hand out candy and fashion advice.Moo.

I got the demo for the new band and I don’t know how or what I can bring to such greatness.But I will try.I refuse to be a band-less troubadour any longer.I have a show this Friday with Blackie down in the ‘gong.Will get to see his great girlfriend, the incomparable Miss Nina and then do my lonesome cowgirl thing on the train back to Sydney to be ready to man the door come Saturday night once again. Today is a boon in more ways than one since I will be able to work on some new songs.It cracks me up.Blackie always has the tunes and me the words.It’s so hard for me to come up with the sonic side of things due to limited skill and talent.

Ho-hum.

There are letters that one takes time in answering.Wanting to say all the right things and leave the reciprocate breathless and so on.To chose the right words,to silence the internal editor until the next time and the next time and the next….

When a choice is made that is not as favorable to you as you would like it takes time to get right with it.You walk away,study it at a heat hazed distance.You pluck a sample of discontent from it life beaten hide and stick it beneath the microscope crafted from all your mistakes.Its long to give up clues let alone answers.It drives you utterly mad. When you are beaten by forces beyond your control the ego wails like a war time klaxon.It strips your defences and puts them in stocks in the town square.When you believed that it was a fight that you could win and did not. Can I say that is frees as well as destroys?. The death of hope is reminiscent of the funeral of a child.Pointless loss,cruel and on the long term scaring and game plan changing forever.You react to things in a whole new way eternally bowing to the duty of your loss.

The thing that you carry that is gone.

I am a sore loser.I don’t roll with it politely so it is a good thing that I am quarantined from the masses at this point because I would just be embarrassing myself.I have been set free,cut loose. But for what?. I am dry and a hollow vessel. I adore the trash tabloids when the newly thrown or dumped proclaim “I still believe in love!”  Well rah,rah,rah and good for you.I believe in Gibson Guitars.The Bon Scott era of AC/DC,Nars cosmetics,rip off  designer handbags,salt water,The Ramones,his name on my spine,books,orange tic-tac’s,Red Bull,tenacity,starvation,solitude,Apocalypse Now,Darwinism,neon,glitter,The Dukes of Hazard,Evil Kenival,Hello Kitty, impractical shoes for all occasions,Elton John in the 70’s.

But Love? I can’t say that I do.Or that I would want to again.

Leave a white feather on my pillow for I am a coward.

I wish that we could have been alone together,us.

When you can hardly tolerate yourself and the peccadilloes that make you just that ,a mess of deep seeded suspicion takes root in your fertile field of foreboding and commences to kudzu all over the proceedings. Insidious doubt,a perennial that can survive the elements of the heart with minimal water and brutal conditions.And it does,it does.

So now my priorities are shuffled and pinched into new shapes.I have decides to never grow old and to answer to no one.To spurn all advances and to write my life away.To hoard my limited good times and sink them into my fickle future.To discipline and and reign nothing but myself.

I tend not to think about fucking.But I do think about kissing.How good the air between me and he tasted. Drinking his driving profile as we rambled over LA and the world.He hates himself as much as I do me.And that is why I have to laugh and wave . Because I am just as bad. My phone just lit up,the white tiger telling me that we are going to see OFF! at the Annandale on Wednesday night.Mr Morris takes the wheel and runs us to the border.Brilliant.Did not get to see The Misfits.Was sad that Hy-Test got bumped from the bill by the dim and perpetually drunk promoter whom I once wanted to beat up due to past discretion’s but now I just pity.

Let it be noted that I would rather be feared than liked.Less detritus in one’ s way,less corpses to hurdle.

Just found the Hard-on’s CD that I lent my dulcet tones to under a pile of crap loitering on my floor.It cracks me up.Blackie always wants me to do the sweetest voices in my arsenal.I sound like a 12 year old.But it works.I like recording with them because I arrive having no idea of the song or what they want.Its nerve racking to say the least.And I can see my floor again so it’s all good.

Goodbye is never is epic as it should be.Smile and wave,smile and wave.

And let it be of small solace to you that the choice in the end was not  yours.

Smile and wave.

Damp.

I am trying to work out what it is exactly that constitutes a wet dream and if that is what befell me during the best sleep that I think that I have had since the motherfucking womb.

I even remember thinking as I slumbered ” This rules!”

OK, back to the dream…I didn’t cum.I am hazarding a guess that it puts me out of the running in the wet dreams regatta but nevermind. Christ,I haven’t blown a load in what? Nineteen months?! I think my snatch has grown over but I can’t say that I really care enough to go messing around down there to find out for sure.

So,I’m running this amazing bar that just happened to be in the library of my old grade school and there was a dude there.Lanky,no tattoos and kind.Don’t know how I could tell that he was kind but I could and it was nice to be in the same space.He made all the people he was talking to stand up straighter and work harder at their end of the conversation.I was thinking that I liked not being the tallest  person in the room for a change and not being the center of attention.

He dug me.Didn’t say or do anything overt to indicate the like-age but it was there.He didn’t fuck me over the file cards or anything ,it wasn’t one of those “Dear Penthouse forum,I never believed the letters that I read on your page until one day…” type situations  but he was around and he liked me. He was secure in digging me and let me know so without laying a finger on me and man,can I just tell you,I was shining like someone had spent a lifetime polishing my ass and waiting on the genie.Seriously blinding.I mean,he wasn’t doting or anything but I was all lit up and down with some one digging on me.

Amazing.

Can I just take a minute out of the no doubt gripping fable that I am laying down to illustrate how completely sad  not to mention pathetic  it is that the closest thing to feeling anything at all for over a year is not even real, let alone some utter Caligula of a fuck-fest,it’s a dream of someone being kind to me.Barf. My therapist is gonna just love this clanger….

Onwards…..

Then the frog who was taking the bookings at the front desk smiled at me as I watched this dude at the bar wrapping the room around his finger and said “Such a nice boy” he simpered “and such a historically correct  mohawk for a 19 year old.”

And I woke up.

(19???!!#$!?)

Refreshed and somewhat confused.What is up with the Mrs Robinson angle? Well.considering nothing went down I guess there isn’t one.Thank Elvis for that ! What in the hell would one do with a 19 year old? Colouring in? Are they even toilet trained? I can feel a migraine fingering my cortex  just thinking about it. That is why I chose to think of it as a “moist” dream rather than a wet one.And not “moist” in the rubber bits either.Moist in the arid plains of my tumbleweed choked self esteem.

Doesn’t the word “Moist” make you think of one of The Three Stooges saying the word “Most” ?  Just me then? Moving right along…

Come to think of it,I hate the word “Moist”.And the word “Gusset.” while I am on the subject. I am changing my mind as it is a women’s prerogative to do.It was a “Damp” dream.

Ner.

I have felt like a million in prizes all day.A total sad case but hey,I will take my kicks where I can get em’ at this point.

Weird.

Back to what kids its self as my “real life”…..

Mixed messages abound as always.I am a mellow mama who accepts pretty much everything,that’s not to say that I  have to like it but I am cool.I don’t know why people think that they have gotta lie to me.It ain’t like anything is gonna shock me at this stage of the broke down game is it now?

My friend Zack is back from the other side and wielding the tattoo machine like the Elvis given genius that he is.I have not had any work from him since he gave me my most loved Ramones tattoo’s and I am thinking that that has got to be pretty damn close to a year ago.I caught up with him and his brilliant papa tonight which is always a joy and was lucky enough to grab some ink from Zack.

We are both Apocalypse now obsessives.I mean line for line? We are the business.I had been desiring a permanent scar pertaining to Francis Ford’s magnum opus for fuckin’ eons and now I have. Zack grinned when I gave him the lowdown on what he was gonna carve into my dermis and what it meant and voila! I am one happy camper.

Now that he is back in the mix I can finally start chipping away at my back piece which is great.

A nice solid work out at the gym.Running again.The weather is shit-house.Rain every second day.This is not the summer that I signed up for.Pah.Still being rather lackluster when it comes to entering into personal correspondence because people ask “What’s new?” and I ain’t got nothing.

Just ghosting and training my way through the next two months as I have to be war ready to shoot with Miss Ash come the end of January.She won’t take no from me any longer so best I get right.

Got the new Rolling Stone so I am going to attempt to read myself under and see where it leads me today.

I can hear  the world waking up.Lilli coughing up what sounds like a wet hammer.

Time for me to check out.

Exile.

Hobbled by what seems to be chronic inertia and a staggering lack of ambition I desire nothing more than deep dreamless sleep and soda water.I traversed and conquered the day and made it back to my black curtained girl-cave with groceries and yet another a new handbag,sweating like a pedophile on a jumping castle.I then proceeded to work out hard,lamented my bulk,bathed and am now nude, smelling delightfully of pink grapefruit (I cannot be trusted in drugstores) and happily ensconced in my cloud.aka:bed.

The last entry was meant to inform in the 1st line that I live nocturnally.Insomnia leads to mistakes.My bad.

I will be good and goddamned if I will venture out again.Why bother? The bummer about being home at night is dealing with roommates.Sigh.I still adore Miss Lilli but it gets mucho  hard to keep my temper when her moron brother smirks at me as he overturns all the rules that she set in place one by one all those months ago.If he is not careful he will wake up to find me at the foot of his bed with my katana drawn and thirsty for his peanut head.

Why does Elvis keep putting morons in my way? Why must I traverse the mongoloid minefield? What is it that I am meant to be learning here ,do tell ? Or is he setting me up with an idiot game reserve that I can hunt on at will? Yeah! A safari seeking the wild stupid? Sign me up sahib! I smirk ,imagining the heads adorning the wall of my study,all decked out in mahogany and deep velvet.Crystal decanters and fourteen foot ceilings and the like.Nice.Very nice….

Bliss.And rest assured that I would gut,dress and mount every kill with an intensity that would have Ed Gein wanting to fill my dance card.

I am knackered.I go so hard for so long that when I pause it all falls down .My corpse is all “I Gotcha!” and it does.I had this coming,I have been beating it like a red headed step child in the gym.Today I will bow to its desire for sleep and whatnot. I don’t want to leave the house and there in lies the problem.I do nothing but leave the house.Why is that you ask?

The stain that is my neighbour.Put yourself in my shoes.The cunts that make my fists itch every weekend when I am in the door? You got it.I live a wall away from one. Sigh.

Aussie flag as a curtain? Check. Addiction to heavy deodorant that lingers in the hall like the word of a liar for hours after his departure? Check.Listens to chart bothering music that I didn’t think straight people even knew existed and loudly,L.E.D lights in car,southern cross seat covers,meat eating,full cream milk guzzling, drinking,smoking,hair straightener owning….Look,I may as well go and spray paint a big red tick on his door.I know that he hates me and complains to his sister about me but being a coward runs deep.Yep.More passive aggression.

On his behalf not mine.I rag him for calling his mother and complaining about the big bad city.I don’t give a fuck.

This leads me to never being at home .I know if I lose it,I mean really go off, it will all be lost.I asked Lili yet again if she wanted me to go.She lost her temper but she folds to the shallow shape of his mediocrity and it pains me.I will lose.It’s the family thing.Never mind that they all left her for dead all those years ago……

What I have to do is what I have always done.Invest in no one and when disappointed cauterize the wound and move on.

I was at least hoping that all and sundry would be leaving at Xmas,you know,being all “Family” inclined and what not.No such luck.I will be M.I.A for the season.Saint Tina and I are going to bail for the shack when all the drones have to head back to work.It is the least I can do for her being that  refuse to celebrate the lie.I will cook and keep the woman in red wine and menthol cigarettes while I flail over sand dunes with a weighted pack on my back attempting to get to a mean 65 kilos.Fun in the sun.

But Christmas,Passover,Easter….?

They can all go and get royally fucked.

The human animal is not only deeply flawed but also full of shit.I hate people and they hate me. Duh. It’s a no brainer.But don’t go wrapping it in festive paper or stick it in a shredded tissue paper basket full of eggs once a year and smile and expect me to act like the other eleven months are all good in the ‘hood you corporate cocksucking cumbuckets.Don’t piss on my neck and then tell me that its raining.

Fuck you. No really,fuck off and die.Don’t get me wrong,I have my fun. I am sugary sweet to the clock punching ding-dongs that I have to deal with.My manners and language flawless.I do this because I know that it confuses them and that in turn makes them angry.It was even more of a treat only a scant  few years ago when heavy tattoos were still the flesh bound calling card of the outlaw and the underground…oh well….

They only perk up and behave nicely when the calender tells them to do so.When a bunny craps a chocolate egg or a fat child molester in a red suit does a break and enter leaving behind gifts for thankless brats and semen stains on the sofa .Wrap these contrary cunts in tinsel and they act charming for a few weeks.It makes me fucking sick but what could I be lead to expect from people who’s IQ doesn’t even exceed the speed limit in a school zone?

Exactly.

Now you tell me to have a nice day? Now you smile??? Fuck you and you and you and you to infinity and back again.I want to topple your trees and roast your reindeer.And its not just me they pretend to like, its their own families.

Hypocrisy.Makes me want to call an air strike on a church.Fat fake fucks.

So yeah.I will be sitting in my secret coffee shops and tolerant bars drinking water and filling my note books thank you very bloody much.Monopolizing the gym.

Funny thing is ,as a kid I flat out loved it.No shit,Christmas,all the crap that goes with it. Till I started seeing what it really was. Till my chainsmoking grandmother started with her sly asides, (” You don’t resemble anyone do you dear?.) ,till my cunt cousins from the inbred badlands stated tearing me apart.Nothing but babies out of wedlock,fat asses and failed marriages for that tribe now.Good. I couldn’t stay true to the illusion.I went home once in the 90’s with flame red hair and amazing high heels for the charade,almost put a cousin through the drywall and never returned again.

Its a whole different ball game now,well,so they tell me,trying to entice me back,more gentle and so on but I will not buy in. A turd is still a turd no matter how much you polish it. Age does not mellow me,it bring a new sharpness and a crueler perception and I welcome it. I bake it a cake and don’t mind when it uses all the hot water .

Being that I thought that I would be married to the love of my life right now I had hoped that it would change as I wanted to give him everything that he had been denied as a child.Cooped up in a shithole motel somewhere on the road ,we lay wrapped in each others limbs out from the cold and under polyester sheets.I lightly scratched his back and cooed “I will get you a tree…” and went on to describe how we belonged to us now and  we would make it all better.

What a fucking schmuck I was.Christ! I hated the festive season before now how do you think I feel? See where love can lead you? I am still picking the egg off my face and hating myself over the whole debacle.

I hope that this time of year finds him on the road and not knotted up with some junk wasted fuck-hole in the bowels of West Hollywood.It will find me alone,avoiding everyone,up all night,guitar sometimes ,pen more often than not.It will find me honing my eating disorders and polishing my dysmorphia with a rag lovingly dipped in my ever bubbling and endless spring of self loathing.Control and not The Joy division variety.

I love me a routine.Doing the same thing over and over.Getting harder ,getting colder. And why not I ask you? It works for me.I will never have a child.I agonize over owning a pet or even a car.I drift on my own tide and if you are for or against me I no longer care.One. That is all it comes down to.I am a dog and pony show.I dazzle you and leave you wanting .Why trot out one’s fable searching for approval or a warm corpse to plunder? Its all a lie.

I chew on my fingertips and run scales on my guitar in the dark.Everyone and everything pisses me off,grates on my finer sensibilities.Hunter had Colorado.I need to amass cash and flee to a compound far from where I find myself now.Deluxe is in Germany but I have nothing there to return to.Sydney is a fake titted hooker with running make up.She is my mom for now but its not here that I need to be.I thought it was my beloved California but it was always his,never really mine.

So for now I run on the spot.

I annoy and hate myself most of all.Cramped with it.Wish that I was as dumb as them some days.I almost envy their stupid lives.Drunk=Band aid.Cigarette=Band aid and so on and so forth….Lili is reminding me of Al Pacino in the Godfather.She escaped and did good but now she is returning to type.It devastates me.All this crap of blood being thicker than water.It sucks her back in again.

I devastate  myself.Let that be duly noted.I don’t want any kind of family.My bio-tribe out of the woodwork.What do they fucking want? I have nothing.Took me years to get out from under the ones that I ended up with bar Saint Tina and The Leefish and needless to say my brothers,one of whom I never even talk to.Family is a crock of festering shit.It keeps you down and guilt ridden.It cripples and kills.

I was born to be an orphan.It is ingrained in me.I can’t even hold onto my friends.My intensity drives all from me sooner or later so why try? It takes far to long to recover.And that in my thin book,is not worth it.

I just  heard the door slam.I don’t want to be at home but I am too tired to leave.To broke to live alone.I miss my garage so much it pains me on a physical level.I wonder why I hate what is regarded as normal so much? It looks like nothing more than surrender to me. I see it woo people that I once looked up to and it makes me sad.Its just giving up with a no interest payment plan.

Since I was a kid I have been looking behind the door and under the bed.To be afraid,to be challenged.To conquer.I have always wanted more of what ever was in the wrong direction which is why I don’t drink or get high.I would have gone the way of too many that I have known long before now.I got sad realizing that its been a lifetime since I planted one of my only childhood friends.He was the first to sign out by his own hand.I was so fecklessly drunk at his funeral at the royal age of 14 that I almost came off the back of his uncles bike because I refused to let go of my bottle of bourbon.Ah Eamon,you were the first person to see anything worth seeing in me.

My ankle length black skirt flaring in our wake like the angel of death’s wings.We were going to live forever.I puked on the marble steps of the cathedral.

I miss you.

Miss Emma called me before.We lament over stupid love and understand the pain of each others travails implicitly.We wonder aloud what is worth what.The divine Miss E is a live-wire.Stunningly,heart stoppingly beautiful ,kind and talented.A well rounded triple threat.A reward to those who are lucky enough to know her.We lament over our chosen who dip their wicks into the foul,ugly and fat.These men that we hold sacred in our true and battered hearts who for some reason sabotage anything of lasting value in their loud lives.But yet we persist and wonder why.

And the whores that they give themselves to! Good lord! Pass me my bucket if you will….this is why beautiful women have such a hard time keeping their self respect in tact.Men pursue beauty and when they get it they don’t know what to do with it.Pathetic.And you wonder why I refuse to date or sport fuck? Give me a fucking break? Its a fleeting thing that can only do you harm.I have seen them become numb and jaded,saturated by porn and drugs.All the natural receptors blown out.

I have no interest thank you, now move along.

I had a small bracket when I did believe in love.Not now.I am too tired to hard sell and peddle my fable to anyone for affection.I just don’t care.I don’t want any new friends nor a partner.Everything dies.It leaves.My books,my guitar,my gym.They don’t leave, no sir.They are always there.7 miles run was 7 miles run yesterday and so it will be tomorrow.

“Highway to Hell” will continue to be ageless and scream from my headphones when I push play.The Rolling Stones,Roky Erickson,The Motown back catalog.Slayer. This shit is real and it is what matters to me.My Tattoos,the art that cannot be stolen.The hours that the world is mine alone.Silent communications with dead planets by the pool on my aqua blue sun lounge.

This is mine.

I dig the sure things.Sue me.

I give myself away on stage.That is as close as you will get.You can take it or leave it.I don’t really care to be honest,all I want is to better my last effort,I am still going to do what I do whether anyone shows up or not. Hide in plain sight.A friend in LA used to answer a lot of queries with the rejoinder “Whatever’s clever”. Words that I find myself living by as I battle to keep the mediocrity from creeping like smoke beneath my door.I don’t know what I am fighting for but I refuse to let up.People let it creep over them,they allow the slot rot .They welcome the infection, they offer no resistance but it gives them something to complain about.

I can’t get a straight answer and the numbers are stacked against me so I stay alone and in my own head.

Saw the wanker that used to play guitar in my old band the other day.Tool.I chuckle when I think about him and his German Yoko.He kept fucking her,he informed us,so he didn’t have to live with the rest of us,the band.We turned from him in disgust,not for the first or last time. Ah! Once a whore always a whore.She followed him home to Australia and he married her.All the shit that he used to give any of us for being in relationships.Revenge is sweet I have to tell you.He writes add jingles and trades on past glory.

John Lydon once said that anger is an energy.True that ,but only in short bursts I find.I prefer hate.Hate is peat and coal.Blistering fossil fuel.Mercury and cyanide .At least it is real.It does not lie to me or try and break me.It is cool and concise and at certain time of the season,gardenia scented. If I harnessed anger I would be consumed by the thought of those who have wronged me.Hate is far more economical.Could have been designed by the Swedes it is so thoughtfully put together.Hate is available on demand and very specific.Just my kind of emotion.On tap and on fire thank you.I can take it out and use it when I need it where as anger tends to rally like a meth fueled toddler.Exhausting,confusing,draining and destructive.

Thank you but I will pass.

I will be up all night to flip my tattered body-clock once again to my preferred waking hours of darkness.I have more respect for the so called scum than I will ever have for the suits.This time of year really does twist my Mellon so the unwashed masses should be grateful that I have re-upped my gym membership to temper my temper and stay the fuck out of my way.

My corpse amazes me with its muscle memory.Already hardening up beneath the excess and I chose to think thankfully and gratefully that I am back on track at long last.I have no choice.If I stay fat I am all the people that I despise and that is not acceptable.It is a thought that drives me to heavier weights and more miles by the day.Trust me.

Listen,bottom line?

Everybody wants something.

They won’t get it from me.

South.

To be aware of all that is around me with crystal clear clarity is a real clanger at eight in the morning.I suppose I should suck it up and get shit done that is usually off limits to me due to the nocturnal sleeping pattens of a life time.

Laundry has been tendered,room is getting cleaned in small spurts and here I lie on my eiderdown choked white cloud of a bed in Mickey Mouse hot pants and a distressed Rage Against The Machine tee shirt circa ’95.The kids next door wail demands at their mother like Islamic fundamentalists on a sugar binged prayer rota.The pool cleaner sucks and gurgles ominously in the murky green depths and I don’t listen to music when I know it will harm me.

Hence a month long ban on The Descendants,Johnny Thunders,Trash Talk and Thin Lizzy.These are the sonic levers that edge  under psychic scabs that would best be left alone at present.Take my crooked word for it.

I spent Saturday night on the door as always being rude and getting paid handsomely for it.I quizzed one gurning group of try-hards with my usual parry of  “What is your favorite Ramones song?”  The gaggle looked blank and I was about to launch into a profanity laden tirade when a fey young faggot with Oscar Wilde’s hair piped up from the back of the pack “53rd and 3rd” he simpered timidly and was swept up in my tattooed arms as I hooted with delight.He looked as if he was going to pass out while his wannabe mates looked on aghast ,addled and utterly mystified.

“YOU!” I bellowed at the pack “SHOULD PAY DOUBLE!!!” They shrank back into the window of the tattoo shop next door.”But you darling” I cooed to the butt loving punk nestled quite happily beneath my tattooed wing “Are getting in for free” .I threw a look of pure malevolent thunder back at the infidels who ceased muttering and dared not make another peep.That shut ’em up. As I walked my trinket to the door he stood on tip toe and beckoned me forward to place the lightest butterfly fart of a  kiss on my spectacularly high-lit cheek bone.”I love Dee Dee the most” he whispered before scampering down the stairs.I swooned ever so briefly in his sodomy searching wake.

Gathering myself I got back to work.

Bless.

I also yelled at an emo in a Maiden Tee and a prat in a Ramones number.Wankers.

Due to the trains being down I bartered with an exhausted fat Indian cab driver smelling rather strongly of saffron and sleepless indignation to take me home for 5o dollars.He agreed and proceeded to tell me of  Madras in India and all I could see in my tired minds eye were ancient sadus clad in golf shorts praying to nine irons.Insomnia kept me up all day and I finally passed out at five in the afternoon which has brought me all the way around the clock almost twice and to being awake during civilian hours.

I have lost nine hated pounds due to heavy nocturnal gym abuse and a healthy dose of semi starvation.My hips are heading out of hibernation at long last.Not bikini ready by a long shot but no longer quite so suicidal over my corpse ,but Elvis only knows,there are days…so there you have it.Miss Ash has told me that we shoot in January come hell or high water.So that is that.There is also a tasty movie role on the horizon which will call for maximum physical fitness and being that I have slid so far the climb back will be long and difficult.Serves me right.Going to aim for 9% body fat.Both awesome and fearful to behold.

I am fending off the well meaning.But here is where I confess and rightfully so,I am guilty of what I hate in others. I make myself hard to love.I fired off a line into the trenches of Hollywood asking why the reciprocant made it so hard for the ones who desire to do so,(ie;moi.)  to love him.I then retreated into the quagmire of my inbox and saw all the well meaning missives from those who try desperately hard to hold on to me while I am determined in nothing in life anymore but to fade away.

Twisted ain’t it?

Bio-mother wants to meet up for coffee.I don’t.My dear friend Miss L of the LBC asks me “When are you coming home?” meaning my lost LA. Diamond Lil telling me tales.And Saint Tina informs me with a voice filled with granite and angry wasps “People will give up” and in a pastel whisper on the long distance line I sigh by way of reply “Good”

And Elvis help me but I know in what is left of my heart that I mean it.

And I wonder why I can’t love myself and I know the answers.I have always known.

Strange things happen on my patch of pavement come Saturday night….I live in my head and in the dark.People think that I am gregarious and brilliant.Ho,ho,ho.Smoke and mirrors.Great make up.I snigger thinking of how I strip that persona off and leave it like spiderweb shroud on platform 23 when the night is done and I have been paid.For money.I am the finest actress you will never know.I get on the train spent and retreat back into myself ,communicating with my memories and my faults.

There are a few who tolerate me and one of them is my boss,Mr G. I met him a long time ago,dangerously under-aged and tempered by violence he sensed a vulnerability and closed ranks around me.I was protected and pandered to.I was a mascot and a door kicker.When I think of how it could have ended for me at such a tender age on such cruel streets I know that in a lot of ways I owe him my life.We always pick up where we leave off. No questions asked.

After returning from Canada ,desperately sick,broke and afraid waiting to get into hospital,he swooped down in one of his long line of huge high powered cars that attract speeding tickets from envious pigs and girls like bees to honey  and promptly sequestered me into a red room above a shop in Enmore. I worked for him in lieu of rent and hoped that I was not going to die.He gave me back enough self respect to keep writing and meandering down the left hand path.

Club 77 was awash in GHB and beer.The Bang Gang ruled the roost and we were packed to the rafters every drug addled week.It was a licence to print money and we took all we could,laughing at the pastel clad hipsters that we were fleecing all the way to the bank.I wore a bandanna pulled low like Mike Muir to cover the tumors sprouting from my ears that itched and stank like rancid meat as they rotted on my head and corroded my confidence.Matted dreadlocks swept the length of my spine and converse clad my fast  feet.I worked the bar with a seven foot cross dresser  named Dave with a shock of blonde hair and carried a knife in my belt.The barback had a mohawk and backed me in every fight I got into eyes flaring and fists flying.

I have an uncanny nack of forgetting who I am and what I have done.There was a young rock inclined bar girl who would observe me with huge eyes,study.So young you could still smell the tit milk on her.Nice kid.I wrote another album full of secret messages and slept my days away and she drank me in,me unobservant and locked in the war against my fast failing corpse.She played in a band while I tried to forget that I did as well, due to the hatred that festered in my gut for the  drunk guitarist I was stuck with and despised.I called her princess and life,as it does, moved on.

She came back to the bar on Saturday night.Five years gone after playing a show with her band.Told me things that I had said that I could not remember, we are so caviler are we not?.I carry words of people who have forgotten that I exist in the same way.She sent a message home with my big brother when he was on tour in Adelaide.It was bocoo sweet. I don’t know how I can mean anything to anyone but there you have it.She told me that she has followed everything that I have done,read and listened to it all and that I was her hero.

“And here I am ,still working in a bar” I laughed like a drain. She pretended not to hear me and thanked me again.

For what? Being a fuck up in public?

I gave her a hug and her eyes looked wet.A bunch of our mutual friends came and swept her away.I stood there and wondering what it all means.Apparently the last thing I said to her before Germany beckoned and spirited  me away was “I will see you on the road.”

“I did it Michele!”

“SO you did….” I replied and the night and her band swallowed her.

And I though of thanking Mr Rollins in much the same way after we watched The Beasts of Bourbon deliver sonic gospel in the forty degree heat.Hanging out with Dimebag and him telling me I could rule the world as I lay on the floor chain smoking Marlboro’s and he sat on his bed drinking beer before sound check.Layne’s copy of “The Prophet” tucked snug beneath my pillow in the cold Melbourne winter kicking my frozen ass in the mid 90’s a million fucking years ago unaware that my drummer was about to steal every cent I had made and saved to get our band to America and spend it on some fat harridan in Europe.My dead friends,my lost friends to time.The asides that we treasure,that sustain.The backstage passes and load ins.

The shows I roared though barefoot that I thought wanted me dead.

And somehow,by way of all it’s parts,shallow victories and staggering losses, it’s a life.

I hold too much stock in the past.I dwell there and am then shocked to find that a decade had slid by and I am a foot note.I keep the flame,always happier in my own company.To wit….

I laughed like I hyena when I opened the magazine that I had found crumpled and forgotten on the floor of the train and saw his wedding laid out for all to see.Peeling off my high heels in the empty carriage I flexed and cracked my long feet and hunkered down for the journey,both home to the suburbs and to the past.So I go back into the ether….he was slick,no doubt.Practiced in his shallow slight of hand.A poser to be sure.A private schoolboy from the north shore with a fast line and a host of punk rock pretension.I watched him woo a minimally  talented,over processed friend of mine while claiming to be separated from his hard faced wife.

She told me tales of getting nailed in the back of his range rover ,parked down dark twisted streets,her head banging against the booster seat in the back seat.Oh romance! Ah folly! Captivated by this sordid suburban seduction,I ran into him at a long forgotten show at the Annandale and dressed like a boy,my hair hidden under a black beanie I held him spell bound while all the make up plastered rockabilly girls spat and spluttered in my wake.

Sherazade of pop culture with a machine gun mouth.He was spellbound and I toyed with him.

He wrote to me in blood.A necklace slipped beneath my door.Smitten.

We made out on a park bench once and proceed to torture each other with e-mails.Being adored for my brain was the salve that I needed.The physical paled and was soon forgotten.I called him from fleabag motels on tour and chuckled at his desire.I held myself away from it all.It floundered as such things do and I filed it away.

So  a daunting decade on from said disastrous debacle, I read the gushing tale in lurid color.I wonder how long ago wife number one was left in the dust? I hope he doesn’t cheat on this one. Leopard and spots though right? But today buoyed with sleep and fresh laundry I’m gonna hold out a little hope for the dead dreamer within.She looks quite sweet,a touch simple but sweet.She would have to be.Something has to make up for such lacklustre bedroom skills and lack of length if the tales I heard from his ex conquests are true.I chortle and slide the magazine out the window speeding away from Kingsgrove station.It pinwheels back into the darkness.I sigh and settle down to a heap of AC/DC blasting from the stolen I pod that my felonious lost love programed for me on Beachwood so long ago.

I will continue to hide myself in plain sight.George the limo driver assured me as I sat on the end of the bar surveying the end of the night,that if I ever needed a car to call him.Glen sidled up and gave me the fifty dollar handshake and a dry peck on the cheek.My 19 year old bar-boy Povy hands me my cranberry juice with a grin and all is well.

My veneer is alluring and misleading but I need it so I can walk out the door.I have been asked out twice in as many weeks and it has disturbed me greatly as I see my self as dead behind the ribs and below the belt.I am admittedly graceless in my refusals,ever so sorry.I say that I am celibate and broken hearted and I don’t see it changing anytime in the future.Poor guys were just asking me out for dinner.The second one even admitted to me “Your not the kind of girl that I am usually drawn too”.

I answered that I am not the kind of girl that anyone should be drawn to.He sees that I am being honest and knows that it is not some kind of flirtatious challenge being thrown like a gauntlet into some kind of carnal ring,thank Elvis, and retreats.Povy tells me that I am a comic book heroine come to life as I swish up the stairs cleavage barred in a lime Green bra beneath one of my skin tight customized jackets,huge blue contact lenses shining like stolen sapphires from under the sultry shade of three sets of ink black lashes.Skintight ,I smile and drop a slow wink over my shoulder and undulate away.He is delighted.

Back to the velvet ropes.For the next six hours I decide your fate.Be nice kids.I hand out lollipops and insults.I get paid for this.

Then’ post shower and locked in my dark room I put her in a box for another week,sleep,wake up and go back to the gym.

Quite.In plain sight.

Another six pounds and I get another tattoo.A show in Wollongong with Blackie this Friday.Chris Haskett is home soon and I can’t wait to play with them both.The Punk rock Highwaymen? Cool. I think that I will be Waylon Jennings to Blackie’s Johnny Cash and Chris’s Willie Nelson.I always get a charge around Chris. The countless times I drowned in his work with The Rollins Band through my still persisting misspent youth.( Shut up.). He is a charming and sweet man and it will be a honor to share the stage with him.

I know how lucky I am.

Finally got my hands on The Hard ons single I sang on. Which gets me to thinking about when they supported the Foo Fighters and Dave watched me make a fool of myself at sound check. Chatting with him in the glassed in greenroom after the show was surreal.I can’t remember what we spoke about but till my dying day I will never forget what he said with a grin before leaving “You have got to meet my friend Nick…” “Who?” I thought and straighted up my white Stetson barely believing I was getting to play with my friends in such  hallowed company.

Just trash from the south.The 2615….

Map.

Orange tic-tac’s are not a food group no matter how hard I try and convince myself that they are,perched happily on top of the food pyramid,smug with sunshiny goodness….I feel sick.Due to the sheer amount that I have inhaled over the last few bed bound hours, I think that my shit will fire like buckshot and shatter the bowl.Ew. As I dither on the screen before you my gut is producing sounds like those crappy cd’s that hippies  love of whales communicating. Heinous.

Aw! Who am I kidding?  Its not just my period,the whale noises,my sadness and the tic-tac’s. It’s knowing that upon one’s return to the sun-stroked Sodom and Gomorrah that I too used to call home that all communication will be null and void and in the dearth of facts my imagination tends go on a bender that would have had my hallowed Hunter.S.Thompson in fetal position crying like a colicky infant.Hail my infected imagination! It roams,it batters and barters for sweets and souls! It’s an evil thing and I don’t have the money for bail.

In lieu of facts ,fantasy takes the wheel and mine has its own armory.If you ain’t gonna set me straight with the common decency it takes to drop a dime an honor a friend I am just gonna fill in the blanks all on my raunchy lonesome.Spin my wheel of misfortune and win the showcase , just see if I don’t. (“Can I have an “F” for “Fake” please Howard? )

What can a poor goil to do? (Thank you moisissures Richards and Jagger,mon amours….)

Just wait for smoke signals from the granite grin of the San Andres fault I guess.Don’t depress the didgets and make the call less I start a fire that cannot be put out.It is I that is put out you best believe.Rumbled and forever rattled.Out of sorts and out of season.Shook by the aftershocks of others stupidity so very far away. I need a gun…..Like Mr Thunders sang “You can’t put your arms around a memory”.Point taken.It fucking sucks the root though.Hateful.

So…..on my left side,just where you would stab me twixt the ribs to get to my shoddy excuse for a heart,I designated a large patch of my battered despised dermis once again  to my dear friend, Luke “Bones”Downey. Do you know what I mean when I tell you that I needed another tattoo? Do you ?? Saint Tina is fond of telling me that I had never quite worked out that “Want” and “Need” are not the same thing,bless her.And she has a point,not that I give a rats ass.

I needed it. The map of mayhem that I am charting on this flesh.Clever lifetime lasting cartography delivered at 3am to dirty howling rock and roll and baptised by nasty night long neon. I am the one your mamma warned you about.Betcha didn’t see that coming didja sailor? ( “Sad Siren goes the distance! More news at Eleven….”) Bang,bang your dead. ( i mean you gotta be right? why else would you be fucking a corpse?…) Maps! Maps! Maps! Mean spirited directions to nowhere that anyone would ever want to go.Dead end roads and ghost towns.And it’s all mine now.For keeps, forever ,for good.Till I rot. I love that I have removed myself from the game.The “Fuck” thing,The “Love” trade of skin upon skin and sweet dawn draped nothings beaded in fast cooling sweat-oh-my-fuckin’-sides-please-stop-your-killing-me.

Barf.

The thought of touch that sickens me so.Oh, but I am a certified sick girl now if you want to believe the reams of paper that my Doctor’s scribble on thoughtfully and hide,post appointment, in great big cabinets full of fellow nut jobs frightening files. I am dead and walking.I am free of flesh and it’s demands.I smothered lust with a silk sheathed feather pillow in in her sleep.I carjacked desire and let her bleed out on the soft shoulder.You see,Little baby Madden can keep a promise.I am finished. A meth head on the train simpered at me though crystal corroded teeth “You are an angel!” .That and the Tasmanian whack job at the show last night making cow eyes at me.I am nothing but a pin-up to the peculiar and perverted.A siren to the slurring stupid.

Blah.

No fucking wonder I stay pure and alone.To scrape the bottom of life’s barrel does one need a hazmat suit? One does wonder and enquiring minds want to know.

So the tattoo? It announces that the heart is lost and dead.For keeps and for real and now I do my time with the ink to prove it.

H.L Meckin once said that love is like war,easy to begin and very hard to stop. Hoo-weee! You just said a mouthful brother. How and when does it stop, if ever? Guess I will have nothing to do with its eventual cessation and that pains me greatly. All seems like nothing but one grief  loaded onto another.A grief short stack at the international house of misery…

I dreamt restlessly of long milky ropes of pearls interrupted by great jeweled clasps.Emeralds like cats eyes hypnotic.I was sleeping on a metal shelf under meager covers and there was a room of people dressed like me through all the stages of my life awaiting my company.They were so glad to see me and as I looked out into a room filled with what I had been. I felt strong and lonely.

Woke up way earlier than intended,tried to get back to sleep and failed.I should be out sunning my fat butt my bed holds me captive only releasing me to brew tea or go to the bathroom.Sound-check is at seven tonite.Then I guess I will hole up in a Chinatown cafe and write for a few hours looking lacquer lit and suitably sordid.Miss Karen is said to be making a mad dash from the airport to catch the show.I told her not to bother and she became miffed so I left it alone.Miss Lilli will be out punishing her young liver with the devils piss and Blackie has a show somewhere on the other side of town.

Lilli’s metrosexual ding-dong of a brother has a hard time remembering to close and lock doors.To say that I am close to core meltdown is an understatement of staggering magnitude.I have no idea how the two of them are related.He is a dolt.She is smoking again and I can hear the phlegm overture rattle through the house as she wakes up.

I am learning allot though.The life,the grind.He is of the worker bee’s with limited smarts and an inexplicable addiction to deodorants that linger in their lacking wake for hours.Being that the passive aggression is rife and they don’t have the aforementioned smarts to dig their way out,if its not “Complain” which they do in stereo and spades ,its “Maim”which is how I see them trying to let off steam every weekend at my club.I pity them but I would exterminate them if given half a chance,I cannot tell a lie but the apple tree was not me…

They slop around,bang doors,mumble,drink. Impotent drones.I thank Elvis for my megre blessings in the face of civilian servitude.I am lucky.

I think,rarely,in mad flights of whimsy,that I should attempt to reconnect with my life but it all looks like a rort from where I sit. The few people I think are great are better off away from me and my malignant malaise. Saint Tina is more than understanding but my existence does nothing but damage those who can’t understand.Hell,most days I don’t understand.

Better to hang alone,strip the skin from my corpse and write.

But the few I adore are doing their thing and shine so bright and I must admit that brings me some peace. Miss Emma is making great strides and is in character.I told her when she informed me of her well deserved role to get and and stay in and that I would talk to her when it was over.I miss her company very much but could not be prouder of her.The Leefish has a new job and sounds well.My beloved treasure of a goddaughter got on the phone to thank me for the hot pink ukulele that I purchased for her.

She sounds so laconic just like her papa and my knees turn to jelly.She is a staunch little thing.The Madden DNA is dry as a bone.She will ask Lee for something and when denied she huffs

“Your not my friend” and regally saunters away.

This is a child who started a fight in at her first gig at the age of two.In the pit at The Wiggles she cleaned another little girls clock for having a dolly the same as hers.Two.

Proud? Bet your sweet ass I am.

(I would have given him,my lost love, a son…..)

So is it still love or is it a memory that I hold some kind of sandalwood spewing endless prayer over? Incense barfs and billows into the stagnant air as I try to hold on to what amounts to,in reality, a fast fading sweet fuck all.And it hurts like hell. And, I guess more to the point,does it really matter ? I am letting my passport and visa run out. Buh-bye. The thought of getting on a plane is alien and stupid and has nothing whats so ever to do with me any longer. Admittedly,I did have some lofty day dreams of surprising him on his 40th birthday but not knowing whether he had taken out the trash so to speak I let the idea go. I remember the plans that we had for his 40th. So sad,a life derailed.

No one makes me smile like that.No one touches my soul  like that…..

Back to work at 77 tomorrow night. I have had no calls this week so I am assuming that there is no theme or that no one could be bothered to call me .Not that it matters ,I am so fat I wear the same outfit every week and make sure I have perfect make up .Miss Lilli wants to take me to the pictures on Sunday night but I will demure and shrink back into the shadows.My lonsdale bag has been lovingly packed with fresh workout gear for the upcoming assault that I am planning on my sadly neglected corpse.My thighs touch.It is disgusting.I want to kill myself for this abomination that I have become.More fat people should feel this way.Really.Just think how much shorter the line at the buffet would be.

Like the coach of one of my all time favourite fictions says “You have to get obsessed and stay obsessed” .My God! It is so true.I lost sight of myself for a minute and now I look like a mid-1970’s La Taylor sans the jewels,talent, fantastic caftans and foxy Richard Burton.He used to call her “Ocean” in his love letters because “You,my love,are so overwhelming” Quel sigh…..

So yeah,a communication breakdown is needed ( Admit it,you are hearing the song on your internal I-pod as you read…it’s cool…I am humming it as I type…) I have to lock into myself before I am crowned queen of the pig people. ( oink! ) A control freak with a lack of the aforementioned is a real sad sight to behold and a destiny that must be avoided at all costs. Lock in and stay under and don’t think about not loving and how it’s like losing all over again when it fades away.In fact,do your fat ass a favor and don’t think at all.

Life will be allot sweeter my little grunt!

Getting tattooed again next Tuesday night thank Elvis.I dropped by the shop today to lock it in and was happy to run into Laz.I gave him the thing that I wrote for his upcoming exhibit and he was well chuffed.That made me smile.

What also made me happy was that I found ot that a neo-Nazi fuckhead who has rubbed me the wrong way for years lost his job today.”Well that’s one down for the six million dead! “I crowed with joy while the boys cracked up.Now he can go and apply for a job as a speed hump.Payback is so very sweet and it does come around in the end.

Have you ever noticed that all the white supremacists look like they fell out of the top of the ugly tree and hit every fucking branch on the way down?  Long sighted ,squinting,fat,bucktoothed,ugly, short motherfuckers ? Master race my star of David toting ass!

Heh.

I should try and get a set list down.When are new songs ever really ready I ask you? I think I would do allot better if they would let me sing in the dark.Me and my voice are not getting along real well right now.To punish me she is fucking with my perfect pitch which is making me look like a rank amateur.Not impressed.

Parramatta at some cafe tomorrow night with Blackie.I have a heap of shows coming up with him that I treasure even if I do sound like two cats fucking compared to him being the Brian Wilson of punk because it is the only time that I ever get to see him.My rare few friends and La familia. I am finally getting a pick up put into my old gitfiddle over the comming weeks.She has songs in her and I know what it feels like to be pushed aside for next years model and I won’t do that to her.All guitars and cars are girls.

A-hem.

What to you do,I wonder,with the teeth you have removed and the hands that you have severed at the wrists? Hmmmm. I think fire disposal in a undiscloed and unrelated location is the way to go.Teeth to the ocean at differt points? I am sure that body disposal was alot simpler in days gone by.Hell,John Waye Gacy collected his in the crawlspace for long enough.Go on,if you must,make all the “Ewww!” faces you want,I know I am not the only person who thinks about these things.Best of all I know that the ones I dream of destroying would not be missed.In fact,I should get a medal for wiping them out.

This all ties back in with me thinking that my perfect job would be Darwin’s natural selector.

Let me tell ya what haunts me if I may?. It’s hard to feel special when you know that men will fuck anything.I was chatting to an aquatince about it recently.

“Look” I sighed over my eternal can of Red Bull “I would have understood if he had ended up with a stone cold fox,it would have been a real “Ah-ha!” moment ,dig?”

“Not really” said Miss R with a frown”But do continue”

“Well, here’s the deal.That fact that he is dropping his load in a hound? Well then,what does that make me? A former hound???”

“No!”

“Sure it does.If he was with a babe that means that I was a babe but hes not so it tends to mess with the atoms of my confidence some,ya see?”

“Oh! but you are a mixed up thing” Laughs Miss R. “Everyone else would be happy that their ex had fallen so low as to fuck a …what is it that you called her?”

“Huh? Oh.An opiate drenched malignant swamp donkey wack job whore?”

“That’s it!” Spluttered Miss R  “Where do you come up with this stuff?” I shrugged.She smirked and continued ” But not you! Nooooo!”

“But do you get my point?”

“Vaguely” she replied patting my hand  “You are one of a kind that’s for sure…..”

And I guess that she is right.Shouldn’t I revel in the fact that my 3rd rate replacement is a trash heap with a heartbeat and an IQ hovering somewhere in the low 20’s? Wish that my mind worked like that.

But alas, it does not.

Gonna re-string my guitar and go and serenade the palm tree next to the pool.

String.

Well, I made it to the shower.

Washed my mop of hair 4 times until the water ran clear.Blunted a razor on the vast expanse of leg that holds me up. Thought about which disease I would use as an excuse to get out of the show tomorrow night and sighed.( Leprosy).I then proceeded to break a string on my guitar which means I will have to leave the house.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

Its going to take me hours to get out of here.I file it under “Way too hard” .Messages from my Dr’s clog my inbox.Because I am hiding out again.And I was asked today on a long distance line why I am so hard on myself.I replied sobbing and raw as sashimi…..

“Because I failed”.

“Why must things be so final? ” was the next question.

Well,because they are.

The low cloud is pushing my headache right to the front of what’s left of my mind.It feels like impending doom.I should have been a nun,a mad aesthetic,a vision seeker.As it stands I am a car crash with an unreliable voice,30 pounds overweight, wondering why she bothers.Still can’t wank.Still can’t feel.Still wonder why I care.Whoops! That’s right! I don’t.

And therein is the problemo.

Being awake during the day feels some what novel,quaint even.My depression finally knocked me out and I slept around the clock.Fucking strings.Fuck.It all seems too hard and that’s because it is.I would give anything to go back into one of the manic cycles that keeps me angry and active.Superstitious and mired in mighty routine and how I burned.

Why you so obsessed with me huh? You see the lack in you?

You stupidity is starkly affecting. Junkies are always so busy with so much  nothing.It’s a lifelong study for me.Mired in mayhem.Thinking that they are winning ,pulling the wool over  the world’s eyes.So tiring and sad.

I dreamt of California last night and woke up weeping.How strange to have nothing to aim for or look forward to any longer.Must people always kill what they love? Well! Hot damn! He must have loved me the most then because besides the pesky breathing thing that goes on day in and day out I seem to be deceased.

yawn.

I have got to stop saying yes to shows.I am just some ones washed up ex now.They come to see a car crash.I don’t need this shit.I am good and goddamned if I can work out what I do need but I know that I want for nothing.Amused myself looking at “The faces of meth” website today and doing research on body disposal.Hobbies are good. My dear friend Laz Gein asked me to write a blurb about his brilliant artwork and I was mucho flattered.I am baffled as to why people hold me in any kind of esteem at all.

I am only writing because I am putting off the day outside.I have to go pay more money at the gym.This time I will not pay them in bags of twenty cent coins.They were not happy or even vaguely amused with that effort last time.Then on my wild string hunt.I HATE the day time and all that dwell in its tame and tedious ranks.There are people out there peopling all over the place and my fuse at this point is non existent.

Sooner I do this the sooner I get home.

later…..

So,I got into a fight on the train with a fat Asian man who was eating a pear like a rabid pig going after truffles.In no uncertain terms I told him that he was making me sick and to get his ass back to the trough etc etc.To tell the truth I am starting to scare myself.I scared the hell out of him.

Oh humanity how I despair of thee.

My big brother met me outside his gym with a few packets of strings and some words of encouragement .Bless.Everything after that was a blur.But when I got home I had a new Indian headdress,a paid up membership at my gym and the receipt to prove it and a bloody huge bottle of Bulgari Jasmine Noir and a heap of sushi.

I cannot be trusted during retail trading hours.

I practiced for a few hours.Voice wont behave its self again. I don’t think anyone can fully grasp how hard it is for me to get up there when I am on a low  ,last show I did my mind was miles away in a courtroom in downtown Los Angeles and I dropped the ball.Not cool nor clever.Blackie tells me “Well,at least you got your shit show out of the way” .Too kind,too kind….I’m in the upper half of a pretty packed bill and I am going to wear my Indian headdress for courage.I will look like one of the fuckin’ Village People but that cannot be helped.

Kindness and support comes from where you least expect it.

“I tell people how great you are so don’t make a liar outta me….”

Ah,you know better than anyone else .That is a forever thing.

Cleaned the hell out of my room today and found my psychiatric referral for the next blistering round of self discovery that I have been avoiding like Christians and the plague.I think that Elvis is sending me signs.I have a jar full of silver coins that I need to sort and cash to get my Graceland  tattoo next month to honor his greatness and guidance. Time to get back in the ring.Got to.

If I don’t mine enemies shall reign victorious.Will this happen? Will it fuck.

Someone saved my life tonight……