Kill.

I think that once you make peace,no fuck that,a truce, with the fact that,

1-It is all shit

2- You are insane

and

3- Who gives a fuck?

Well, you can get your Charles Bronson on and go nuts with your bad self. I am now in the necessary habit of abusing people on pubic transport and making then cry. It’s over legitimate issues such as the combination of the heinous taste in tunes combined with a lack of head phones, killer body odour etc etc.I mean,someone has to school these fools and it may as well be me.Oh and let’s not forget the little Indian man that I harangued so severely and viciously on the bus for taking his shoes off and picking his funky corn chip feet on the seat that he demanded to be let off between stops.

This garnered me a round of applause from those seated around me that I pointedly ignored.Like I need approval from a lilly livered bunch of cowards.I glowered out the window pale rider style and listed to the Johnny Cash songs that I am attempting to learn for the spate of ill advised upcoming shows that I have booked.

Smiles faded foolishly and no one met my eye for the rest of the journey.Cunts.

The rain combined with the heat is reminding me of Louisiana and getting me mean.

Sigh.

I sat up re-reading my life this morning.Journals are a great indicator of what an asshole you are.Were.Whatever.Oh! the shit that I have survived and the wounds that just refuse to heal.I wait for corrupt stealth communications and then wonder why I bother.I pay for the gym so I don’t end up in jail.I try to starve.I want to up and slap the ugly clean off fuckers fool faces at least five times an hour. And no one is ever gonna love me the way that I am.Thank Elvis for that.

Like Rose Tattoo said. “All I want from living is just to be left alone”.

Considering adopting a dog.Am not answering much mail and I have forgotten how to pick up the phone.There are the honorable criminals with whom I mix with like a human martini,equal pats acid and bile,shaken of course. And then there are the lower beasts of the elysian fields of the wanton West Coast.A sepulchre of scum that rises like the cream of the curdled crop.Is this what one chooses to skim off the rancid top of their latte of life? Knock yourself out dumb-ass.I am ten million years tired.

And then there are the days that I lose my language and abuse those that I see failing ,so hard do I attack that it drives them away.I live in a house that has a fridge full of booze and meat.Why? How??? Capped with lame lashings of  small town dumb ass ennui.I am far,far too old for this shit. These tantrums.This movement of mediocrity.

I leave the house and go and write in all night dives.I sit on no fences.I have nothing to lose so I extend my middle finger to passive aggression and all that practice it.Every song I write holds a murder in minor chords.I want to track all the fools who ever fucked with me and hunt them until they lose their minds,

Soft.

Drinking ,smoking,meat eating,PlayStation,face-book dependant half-wits tattooed with the southern cross.I need war.I have found my calling.When the revolution comes they will be searching their empty peanut craniums for the correct status update.George Orwell must be laughing his ass off.I cant wait for the networks to fall.For home delivery to be suspended.This will be Darwin’s finest moment and I will be hunting and killing while they shriek and cower,helpless, from reality.

Yeah, I know.I should go back to therapy.But for what? You can’t cure who you are.Miss K says that I should bounce this off someone.Nah.Think I am going to melt it down and mould it into ammunition.A far more fruitful plan.

Yep.

Seven is the number of the hermit.How I did smile! Looks like a knife wound,my grin. If you know me leave me.Don’t ask.There are miles of answers on the screen before you and if I really have to be bothered with something at this point I do believe it will be a solitary pursuit.

Fuck! I hate people and they give me,silver serve me endless reasons to do so….

I saw the picture of her posing on a BMX that she is too unfit to ride due to a rampant incurable cake and cigarette habit and I laughed.Always calling three shows in a row a “tour”.Fucking dolt.I threw the magazine on the floor and yawned.Hateful projections. And for all I built up I now tear away.I groom and stretch like a predator and I dig that my prey has gotten cocky.I love that they think the threat is no longer there.

All targets.All the time (………..all the time!)

I am shedding possessions and theories.I sit and wipe numbers from my phone and with every digit discarded seraphin sing to me.So sweetly do they serenade….

“Fuck you and you and you and you” carols the Antichrist of suburbia’s hallelujah chorus.Hot dog.

Do I move? Do I disappear? I am going to lose my temper real soon.Wanna watch?

(She dreams and screams…Accused of aborting his child,stealing his money,fucking up,fucking everyone.and screams and screams)

I pray that them and their paranoia have a long sweet life together.Don’t know what you have got till its gone and you scrape the bottom of the world’s most broken arsed barrel just to have a wet hole to deposit in.Gold star and an elephant stamp for a job well done.I could lie but my anger won’t let me. Can you imagine!?

Six foot three of gym toned amazonian inked excellence with nothing to lose and running on hate. ( ….premium,don’t you deserve the best fuel to run your machine?more miles to the gallon and a smoother ride,when only the best will do? hate….) What I wouldn’t give for just ten minutes alone  in the dark  with my target and my pig sticker.Oh Fortuna! I light candles to you hoping beyond hope that one day it shall come to pass.If my genitals still functioned they would be slicker than black ice just thinking about it.

The good stuff is floating further and further away as I make my way up Conrad’s river.A fellow Pole no less,well met sir.The heart of darkness indeed.And I get off the boat.I leave my dog tags hanging off the cabin door.I will not pass this way again.

Hunt.Hunt.Hunt.The prey becomes the hunter and it’s not revenge children,no no,what you are dealing with here is completion and there is,as we all know, nothing,nothing like a job well done.

I can’t talk to the weak because I despise it in myself.A catholic upbringing sadly demands a pound of failure rather than flesh daily.I hate your weakness, I will murder my own by the hour.I hate my pathetic humanity.I hate that I fell for it.To see what would happen.One never does that.

Purge and thrive.Consume and perish.

My small circles.My red bull and bluster.My unsocial hours and blunt refusals that pander to nobody’s feelings.And I divine motion by numbers and imagine pulling the vampires skull apart by way’s of inserting my thumbs into both eye sockets.Apparently a technique perfected during the Vietnam conflict,inflicted upon the VC.

Interesting…apparently,it comes apart like a loaf of bread.This image on a loop,the skull blond and opiated, as I do endless 4am deadlifts and thirty pound curls.My sweat is acid death.

My tee shirts rot before I get them to the wash.

Who knew a trust betrayed ,a life ruined, would create a monster?

Every day out go a little further and stay away from humanity.You are doing humanity one fuck of a solid by taking this course.

No lifeguard on duty.

Fuck off.

Theif.

My room insists on devouring things that I need. Lyrics,picks,my Fleetwood Mac tee shirt,my fucking i-pod charger and my will to live.

Meanwhile drugs take the people I like.Kill’s ’em or strings ’em out thin and slow .And all I can do is watch it from behind the sofa cushions like some shitty fucking b-grade late show.

While rumbling home on the train after a shockingly busy Halloween at 77 I got to thinking while picking the diamantes  from my powdered sternum.

(“Who are you? ” the awestruck line of costumed revelers enquired of their door doyenne. “The muse of Mac Queen crossed with Bjork”. I so suavely replied while keeping my composure under a veil of ten tonnes of tulle,black contact lenses and other assorted crap.)

On the train…

I was thinking about suicide.Not me,well not yet anyway.I don’t think it’s necessarily about death.No,really.I tend to think that it’s more the desire for the terminal cessation of crap and static.A permanent stop to constant disarray.I am playing a show on November 18th and they asked me to send them a blurb for some advertising.You think that would cut it?

I got smacked in the face by the saucepan of my stupidity yet again tonight.Right across the chops. Bo-nnnng! The erosion of loss takes it’s sweet-assed time.Some days gently taking a grain of pain at a time,the waves sucking at the shore and before you know it…BOOM! there goes the fucking cliff face into the sea of misery.Crafty fucking thing this depression shit,this maudlin all consuming miasma and my muddled powers of fast failing description and whimsy.

bah.

First allow me to touch on envy.Awww,what the hell! Let’s just fistfuck the be-jesus out of it and be done with it.In for a penny in for a pound as they say…..This should go to prove just what a pitiful case I have become under my layers of fat,flannelette and bitterness.Behold.They were making out at the bus stop.Both beautiful.She gave me mad hair and low body fat envy.He looked like something out of Abercrombie and Finch.I wanted to push them both into the traffic.I viciously pinched at the roll of flab that I drag all over town currently enveloping my far too wide bones and kept my eyes down.

‘Cause one day I will snap.

With everybody dying around me or just being chronic with themselves I got to reading.

And I research I did and I wept with the futility of it all.The death of hope..Long term use.Side effects.Symptoms.Relapse statistics.I run to the bathroom,vomit pouring hot through my fingers.

And then….(just to top it once again)

Lost another one this week. LMM was on and off the methadone.Started using again.Huge shot of meth on top of it all,a seemingly innocent swollen foot and ta-da!  He-llo blood poisoning.They flew her ravaged body back to a long ago land in Europe and that’s that. I am too sad to be tired and to tired to be sad.Let’s get back to me being a terminally naive dumb fuck in the face of addiction shall we?

Peachy.

A hole and a heart beat.I could have been and am feeling like I was anyone.Just like the Kinks sang “Who will be the next in line?” The me of me didn’t matter.I thought it did but as time rolls on and the pain continues I realize I was not.Poor you/Poor little ego….

And check me out would you? I thought I was bringing such a neat package to the table and hey!I thought that mattered.I have lost my referral letter to my shrink.I am a wreck.I am writing the most horrible songs.

Love/Love/Love/Love…..She thought that she could beat it,the thing that owned the one she loved.That she was enough.She had no fucking idea what she was up against.( let me love you baby,lets have a happy ending.lets make it out alive.let me help.let me save…..)

No.

I am not entering into any personal correspondence right now.You love it? Its  gonna do nothing but leave or die.Don’t ask me how I am doing.I want less and less.I am too afraid to care about anyone or anything anymore.It extracts too much and leaves to little and I have far too little,if anything at this point,left.I am spare with it.Full of water and less and less sustenance.I regain control via denial and  restriction while all I ever loved loses it and I have been to too many funerals.I am lost for words so please expect none…I am in no fit state for company or conversation at this tender point.I can’t believe that I thought that I was worth it.That I was different.

No punch line.

I am a junkie magnet. Fucking methamphetamine.

Fuck the desert and fuck it all.Chemicals.Fucking thief.Cunt.Stole what I loved and ruined it.I didn’t have a hope in Hades did I? (“Nope”) and that’s what stings so bad….

(the crystal meth took her baby away,took him away ,away from her…..)

I’m not ok with this.Nor will I be.Ever.

Fuck it.

Lament.

I wonder what it is that drives us to mythologise the supposed rebellion and freedom of junkies?

I  have stood as guilty as anyone on this front and have now had yet another torn from my life.I will get to that….But you know what? I am done with it.Done.There is no poetry or honor.It’s a fucking great big rort and a thief.

Death or jail.

Can you please tell me this? How,exactly, is it rock and roll to be a slave? Where the fuck is it punk to be a sheep? Tell me do. Life is tiring enough doncha find and there you go chaining your self to the chemical equivalent of a formula one car cross bred with a rabid rottweiler? Go team.You are over.You are done every for the rest of your life.

And I am the dick who will put flowers on your grave.I am the one who has to miss you.Who will strain in time to remember the cadence of your voice,the touch of you bitten fingers on the back of my hand as I sit and write in all night cafes.I look up and smile.

fuck you/love you/fuck you asshole.im sorry i dont mean it untill i do but im gonna miss you miss you miss you my fresh dead friend.

With the amount of judgement thrown at recovering addicts who are trying to get well I can see why they think that its not worth the bother.That they should go back and be done with it.It’s a hard cross to bear.Even when you have been clean a while,years for that matter,some people will still tar you with the same brush.It’s hard to take.I think it was Fitzgerald who said “There are no second acts in American life.”

I don’t think that its exclusive to America .It is a universal disdain.

Elvis only knows that there are members of my lost and not lamented supposed family who still see and remember me as the teen-aged habit I once was.Never mind what I have done sober in the many,many years since my magnificent fall from grace.

The trick is to get out and stay out.

But my latest loss did not.She came back and it killed her.

CL was so thin and so very small.I could see the machinations of her blood beneath the ragged veins in her fine scared wrists.Almost transparent ,a cocaine fueled axolotl.She had a lisp and crooked smile that all at once exposed and hid the rotted grey stumps set in her jaw.She was ill.A grand a day kind of sick, all forty one kilos of her.She was so kind to me at the pinnacle of the heartbreak that I thought would kill me and I in turn thought that she would outlast us all.

It never gets any easier.

I am not a stupid woman.I know how it ends.Dead or incarcerated.And it has stolen and continues to steal so many from me.

I love all the crap that I told myself as I sobbed my heart out on the train.Pathetic bonmots of pure fantasy fueled bullshit.That if you live by the sword and so on.

Me? I get high on hate.I medicate my damage with miles run and lines written.With seething self hated and abstinence.At times,I can’t lie, I envy them and their religion.That’s where the myth making comes in.We romanticise them because they have truly given up.Its harder than it looks and takes allot of work.Hundreds of dollars a day must be earned for that kind of amnesty.I don’t have it in me.I never did.

My shrink asked me once what keeps me clean.”Vanity” I replied only half kidding.

I remembered the last dirty room I sat in doing watch over a friend who had shot too much.(dont let me die/i wont/get the ice if i/dude,i wont/dont fall asleep or/dude,i fucking wont/thanks/its cool/ya reckon?/nah/and we laugh cause what the hell else are ya gonna do?) I read a book by the window and sat vigil on an almost overdose once again wondering how and why I find myself in these places.Knowing that we are all lost in one way or another and that some one has to bear witness and that tonight, it is me.I circled her thin arm as she teased an almost non existent vein from the hamburger abscess that scaled and scared her arm like some kind of infected moss or mold.

At least you can visit them in jail…..

She lay in her own waste for days felled by a massive stroke.A stroke. They told her at the hospital,a scant few months prior,  that if she didn’t get the valve in her heart replaced that her days were numbered and if she did she would never be able to shoot coke again.When I saw her on the street she still had the I.V port attached to the side of here neck like some kind of freshly hatched alien.I watched fascinated as a rivulet of pale pink fluid ran elegantly to pool in the cave of her starved collar bone.

So she knew.She called the shot.

Oh.Didn’t you know? In the end that’s pretty much the only vein that’s left to the professionals in the end.As you read this I want you to take your hand and find the pulse on your neck. Got it? That big meaty artery under you fingers? Feel it? That’s one fuck of a highway right there ain’t it? That’s your life pounding right along. Straight to your heart.

Now,back to junkie veinology 101….When you have successfully blown out your arms and ankles,and you will, when you are trying to catch the veins in your feet and hands with teeny-tiny insulin needles ,well,when all those wells have run dry you are down to  the big artery in you groin or the gold mine that is throbbing beneath your fingers right now.

That’s it.All those minuscule millions of miles of vascular variety and you have 2 options left.Amazing how we chose to destroy ourselves isn’t it?

I hugged her too tight but she didn’t flinch.

So that’s that.She knew and she made her decision.I wish that it had of been like a fuse.Just blown .Done.Finite. Three days.Three agonizing days.Paralyzed in her own waste and unable to call for help.Three days watching the sun rise and set outside her window.Her lips falling off with dehydration.When they finally came and got her into the ambulance her organs took a bow one by one and shut down.

She used to get angry at me for caring.For kindness.For recognising her because I know how wretched I am too.

Gone.

She was better than all the suits and fakes I see day in and day out.All the clowns that I deal with on the door on a saturday night,hopped up on pill’s with mummy and daddy as a safety net back on the northern beaches.They live and she dies?

I am so fucking angry tonight that my vision is blurring.

Dead or Jail.Just magic.

And I get left behind.

And you question my faith?

(R.I.P CL.xxx)

Bile.

I plum forgot to get out of bed today.

Bear witness to the most boring decline in history.I did one load of laundry,came back to bed,slept for two hours.Got up,weighed myself.I am now 22 horrific pounds overweight.I then ate everything in the house in random order because I knew that getting dressed and going to the store was not going to happen.

I am such a crappy extremist and I have been here before.I get it wrong and then with complete malevolence toward the self I sit back and see just how wrong it is going to or has to get before I do something about it.

While I sat on the tattoo shop floor at 4am last night Laz was tattooing Luke’s foot with a very realistic skeletal structure in grey and black.I fed Luke a candy snake and sighed.

Laz enquired sweetly to my well being as the powersource hummed behind him and gave life to the machine in his latex clad grip.

“I am in a rut” I sighed while the boys played poker with Luke to keep his mind off his mind.Remembering my long ago foot tattoo I winced in sympathy.

“Rut eh?” Laz drawled the vaseline slick on the fast filling skin beneath the ugly florescent glare “Happens to me every six months or so,you need a vacation”

“Only one problem with that” I said

“What that?”

“I would be there”

He gave me that look.The one that sees everything and made his fantastic old Greek man face that makes me feel all of nine years old.I went and got my usual salad and caught the 1st train home.There was some fat yob in a whitesnake tee-shirt in what I like to think is my exclusive carage so that put me in an even worse mood….which has led me to here.twenty four later in my mess of a room trying to work out why I am so broken.

I don’t even have the “Fight or flee” instinct anymore .I have the “Weep and pass out”.

At least when I am angry I tend to be busy.This is fucked.

I was meant to call Miss Emma tonight and slept through that.Read a schlocky 400 page novel and then cried through a spate of crappy 80’s movies.That in itself points to nothing but being premenstrual.( Why would you settle for Andrew Mccarthy when John Crier was so cool as Ducky or for that matter why not just hook up with mush mouthed James Spader? Ahem, my evergreen penchant for the boy who will do one the most damage,how early your evil seed watered by endless low self esteem is planted…) That and the fact that my tits are the size of volleyballs.And I have a zit on my ass.Being Polish that is a brain tumor.

I have lofty plans and stunning intentions but they all want to come to rather noisy fruition between the hours of 2 and 6 am when the rest of the house is asleep.This house thing is going to lead me to my fucking grave.Lilli’s younger brother is sweet and all but….I hate living this close to other people.It is going to drive me spare.I drink tea all night and have a bladder the size of an infant and then I feel guilty for creaking around going to the bathroom.The White Tigers both have have day jobs.Not windmill tilting and epic procrastination like your slob scribe here.Who am I kidding? I need to get a disability pension and live in a yurt in the middle of nowhere.Me attempting to relate to the human race is never going to get any better.

If I am going to continue to get it wrong with such rabid consistency why not just cut the cord for good and go.The only thing that really keeps me tied in is guilt? I guess….I am so fucking loused up and I seem to have misplaced the rose colored glasses that have enabled me to get thus far.

Can I lay some of this misery at the feet of my birthday? Don’t mind if I do.My Ma was a kid when she had me.That was why she had to give me away.She didn’t even admit to herself that she was pregnant (“That only happens to girls out west!” ) for the 1st four and a half months and I have been picking up the slack ever since.

Deny.Deny that I am here.Try and skate through my life with zero commitment to anything and a list of aliases as long as my arm.Change the color of my eyes with cosmetic lenses,new hair,fat ,thin,pull all my teeth out and start again.Because even as fuck all but an ill planted seed I fucking knew…..

I knew then just as I know now.

I used to wonder,you know,why love never lingers by the likes of me.And for my lost “him” for that matter.It’s because the thrown know.We were conceived with the knowledge,it’s in our marrow,our blood.We spend half our lives attempting to enthrall the masses and the other half denying ourselves and everyone we cross paths with.

I follow his pattens effortlessly, without even trying much like I follow my own because they are the same.I won’t talk,make contact, if I am ugly and hating myself as I am right now,he won’t if there is new ass afoot or if he is on a tear.It all comes down to good old fashioned garden variety embarrassment.

(gee wiz shucks fucked up again)

And I speak for my fat self here when I say that I bore myself because I know better and  still I let it slide.I read somewhere once that if you don’t grow up right then you never get to grow up at all….I am doomed.

I had it good.Its not all Dickens and the Jerry springer show you know.My family,the one I ended up with,really tried to love me,gave it their all but I am defective and the older I get the easier it gets.I tend not to fill the spaces or bridge the gaps.I don’t want it for the sheer fact that I know that when it comes down the wire I am not meant to have it.

No harm.No foul.

I wondered why she didn’t get an abortion.I have thought about it my whole life.Because she wasn’t pregnant you see? Denial.I was born a ghost.A magnet for the damaged.No wonder my greatest peace comes only when I am running and starving.And blessedly alone.Escape and denial.If I could find my shoes I would be running now.They are buried under all my crap.I wanted to get up and start sorting yesterday but my depression covered me like the sweetest quilt and lulled me under.

The brother is now tap dancing up and down the polished wood hallway that runs outside or rooms.Think cheap rent woman.Grrrrrrr.

I think that I am only here,in this town,this house because I have no where else to go or be and I quite frankly do not care.I could be here or anywhere.Lilli is as constant source of amazement to me putting up with me.Not a gift that I take lightly.I wonder if I will ever care again.It shimmers like a mirage on my periphery some days but what is the point?

Miss Emma sees me pulling away,as far as I can and is every so valiantly trying to tempt me back into living again.A year since I stood side of stage at Metallica and deep in my battered heart I hoped that I would be so much further along by now and I wonder why he is and then it occurs to me that maybe only one of us bet that farm and who would have thunk it?  It was moi.

Idiot.

So this is birthday bile at its finest.And I still have evil days to go.Why do people insist on trying to force me to celebrate this shit??? Not that I am.I think I have successfully dodged decades.Misha Bliss sent me a text from France where she and her beloved cheese eating surrender monkey are married and happy in the south.She is magnificent and oh so missed.She also has the right idea.A text.That’s it .

Perfect.She cooked me dinner last year bless her.

I am going to find a bell tower and get sharpshooting.I am going to amputate the last limb of redemption and kindness that foolishly keeps extending itself back to you…..You ain’t gonna care about yourself why the fuck should I?

I don’t hate ya,I save that all up  just for me.

Green.

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

I can adjust to a green bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ho-hum.

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

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

Everyone is a winner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby steps.

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

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

Sigh.

Bloodduster……

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

Wow.

A band.

Thank you Elvis and G’night.

Move.

The thing that I think that I like the most about being tattooed by Luke is that he is a completist.He sets the scene.As I lay on my fat side he made sure that The Stooges were blasting out of the computer.I went to my happy place as the needle ate through my over abundant flesh.I thought it was going to hurt on the ribs but color me pleasantly surprised enough to be getting my left side done next week.

The symmetry thing,you know.Then the back piece.We realized how big it was gonna be last night and looked at each other with not a small bit of awe.I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of this corpse so I am going to town on it.

I made it out of bed today and purchased twenty homeless person bags or as my big brother informed me ,otherwise known as “Afghan samsonites”.Nowhere near enough.Think I will be getting another twenty today.42 handbags people.I shopped and horded when I got my heart kicked in and now with my depression running the grand nationals I have DD cup boobs and the biggest gut outside of the annual Sturgis bike rally and professional darts.Teeth are almost done so I have no excuses not to train anymore.Just have to get into the new house with my 113 pairs of shoes( what am I a fucking centipede?) and realign.

Happy to now be sporting a great big Stooges inspired tattoo though.I keep pulling up my shirt to look at it.Well chuffed! Just have to drop the fat under it now.I was thinking about my corpse and the fact that it will never be fucked again as I was getting tattooed last night.Luke was leaning on me as he had to stretch my skin and I got a bit teary.

“Does it hurt?” He inquired

“Nah” I said as my eyes cleared “This is the closest I have been to another body in a year,it’s a bit weird”

“That’s sad cause I know it’s true,your ok mate” He patted me on the hip and kept going.

I do think about it,you know,fucking, but I know that I would cut someones cock off if they came near me (You gonna eat that?” Jeffery Dahmer to Lorena Bobbitt.) That’s why I have to train.Exhaust the corpse.One of the major signs,well red flashing lights in my depression is when it gets bad I cut myself off and get real fat or real thin.Unfortunately this cycle has lead to fat.I am to rectify that in the coming weeks for sure.

So.

Packing up my life.Its a bonafide  bummer ( how could you stick your cock into someone who doesn’t dig the Ramones???) I will be packing all day tomorrow.Being in a practical panic today I brought a Chinese green satin lined jewelry box and a Micky Mouse tee shirt.Sigh.The White-tiger tells me that we will be net free at the new house for two weeks.Meh.She has an I-phone and doesn’t care a bit.Moi? Well,net cafes if I must.Might be nice to fall off the face of the earth for a while.Could do me the world of good.

Communication tends to lead to misery.

Time to get my licence too.Got my mind on a bike so why not.Mr G,chop shop master and my boss at Club 77 makes bikes and cars so why not? I should prove to myself that I can do something vaguely adult for once in my life.Always fancied myself on a chopper.

Later….

I am back to eating clean food again and that’s a good start.That means all fresh all the time.I am about to launch (wishful thinking) myself into packing up the second half of my room.More bags have been purchased and I want it just to be me and a mattress in here by about midnight,Can do little red engine! I was drooling over my built in wardrobe and hardwood floors last night.Coat Hangers! my first real room in half a decade.I feel like a slack jawed yokel (Ma! MA! I dun got a mirror!”)

And at least I wont have to listen to that moron next door singing Eagles songs non-stop anymore. I really should get out of bed but I can’t be fucked.I got really sad just before I turned out the light last night.This is where I lived with my ex.The pace that we shared and he complained about,bless him, when we were together in this country.Why do I always feel like I am losing more than I gain?

So ,I guess that I will be offline for a while.

Send a carrier pigeon if its urgent and hopefully I will see you on the other side.

I would much rather a holiday than change.Sigh.

Cake.

Denial.

Total and complete.

We are meant to be out of here by September 5th.I set my alarm to get up and pack today.Woke up 3 hours after the fact.I have lived in this hunk of shit garage for eons,millenia.I don’t wanna go.

My big plan is to buy 20 stripey homeless people bags ,dump my whole life into them and voila! I have moved.First things first though.Getting a great big hunk of ink smashed into my corpse by Luke tomorrow night.I cashed in all my silver coins in at the bank and there you have it! Tattoo money.Fuck eating,I can steal food….

Anyway.Go to buy toilet paper and eat your way though the fresh produce section.Burp.

Wonder what it is going to be like living in a house again?

Sigh.

I hate September and all its folly.Fuck off,fuck off,fuck right off. Oh -HO ,the despised day of my birth is upon us once again.Not only does my sainted mother, who also happens to be a guilt ninja,want to bust my bahakas on my birthday she is also rumbling like some kind of festive Krakatoa about Christmas.I am stuck in country,No tour to save me.Impending doom in ten,nine,eight,seven….

Yeah great.I am another year older,closer to death and none the wiser.Cake will help.

This limited effort will have to do for now.I have big stress on the 30th and I need to focus all my purple ,bruised, unhealed heart across the ocean while I can.I keep starting these things and not finishing.Tonight I will finish, even if the content is shoddy.No one reads this crap anyway,it just gives me something to focus on so all the days don’t bleed together for good.

Meh.

I’m acting cool to cover my terror. Am I ready for my close up?

Elvis.

Nothing helps.

(unless ya wanna help yourself…do you wanna?…are you able?….c’mon.)

Not really.

I need a boot-camp.I need to structure this sugar freebasing disaster that I have become before I abandon all hope.Time away is,unfortunately not an option so I have to do it on my forlorn frozen home turf.Boring but oh-so necessary.My ass is beginning to drip down the back of my thighs like melting wax.Bikini season is just around the corner and the last fucking thing I need at this pinnacle of low self esteem is Greenpeace throwing damp hessian sacks over me and trying to roll me back into the churning surf.

Time to get a Rollins playlist together and run.

Sigh.

I thought that answers would be the answer.Its kind of like giving your murderer the top three choices of how you would like to be killed.

I think it assists rather than helps per say.I am so numb.It tends not to.No matter how badly you want need or desire it too.Shame really.Even when you get the answers that you have been craving,that you think are going to solve and soothe wounds that refused to heal.The shrapnel shredded gapers that won’t knit closed.If it was that simple everyone would have at it and my shrink would be doing food demonstrations at the local mall.

(“It slices! It dices! It Julianne’s! Call now! Our operators are standing by.”)

If it’s easy it’s usually going to hurt in the long run.

But much like my beloved Jay Gatsby we beat on,borne back into the tide…

Love kills.Just like Dee Dee said but it was not thorough enough with me,it’s workmanship was shoddy and left much to be desired.Guess I should be thankful that I didn’t end up under a sink at the Chelsea in a pool of blood felled by a junkie wielding a cheap knife from a souvenir shop on 42nd street.I am some kind of emotional paraplegic and there are no wheel chairs for the heart.

Me? I talk too much or not at all.Finally have to box my life up and go again.Mystery is the the only thing that makes me attractive on any front.At least some days are better than others.

See ya.

Want to change my name.Find a new skin to live in.When I think about him pumping that scrawny ding-a-ling swamp donkey that he shacked up with I barf. ( blurghhhhhhh!! )Well I guess an ass is an ass is an ass right? LA junkies are the pits quel absolute. They never die.Zombie apocalypse on the Sunset Strip.My beloved West coast is a magnetic vortex for such wasters.

Bret Easton Ellis is not fiction.Believe it baby,I have seen it roll with my jaded blue eyes.

Quiet.

Where has this year gone and what does it matter? Think in terms of the summers that you have lived,it’s far more pleasant I find.Years are cruel and finite.It’s August and freezing.I have a kilimanjaro of filthy laundry backed up by my door as the rain has been messing with available drying time.Not to worry,I wear the same thing everyday anyway,it’s not as if anyone is looking.The explosion of jasmine that hugs the porch of my beloved shit-box shack is about to do  just that.The scent will weave with my nightmares.Its almost 7 am.I woke up hours ago.

It’s hard to sleep when you worry about people who tend not to worry about themselves.

It never stops.It just changes shape is all.

I’m living on tea.Clunking round in my ankle weights.Being that my flesh has seemingly swallowed my sharp bones its time to starve them back to the surface once again.Back to the gym.Ho-hum.Control issues much? Hey,I never denied it.

The slow healing site of my last wisdom tooth spewed out another rotting shard of bone last night.I gingerly picked it out and gagged at the stench.My corpse is a mess.

Elvis is a good and benevolent God.

He brought me a tattoo last week.Well,if you want to be technical, two of them due to my life long slavery to symmetry.

He is so rad and omnipotent and shit.I love him! I loved him hopped up on speed,divine and delinquent thin in Jailhouse Rock and I loved him clad in white,fat as a pig on ‘ludes in Vegas and I now have solid etched in flesh proof that he loves me too…..

Shut up and listen…..

I had a dream a few weeks ago of wings severed and denied.To pluck a feather from each for the memory of flight.I told Luke that he would have to deal with me gracing his chair once more.He rolled his eyes ever so sweetly and I laughed.Being that cash not being forthcoming nor abundant at this point I wondered how it would come to pass.

A grumpy Monday night.To lazy to train,to tetchy to write and to sad to dream I went to go and get yet another can of Dr pepper.

“My failure ran 11 inches deep,his washed up dirtbag whore I long to beat” I sang soullessly to the tune of “Walk the line” by Mr Cash under my breath as the bell dinged to herald my fat assed arrival into the fluorescent drenched over-lit store of convenience.I placed the beverages on the counter as the Syrian grinned,fumbling for straws and asked after my health.

“Shoddy” I replied wondering if Luke would take an IOU.

In for a penny in for a pound I decided that I may as well eat chocolate.I ducked down to peruse the selection and lit upon the pillar box red pack of Maltesers.And the crisp yellow 50 dollar note lying limply at its side.The currency disappeared into my pocket as I rose like the Titanic to place the confectionery on the counter.

“What a score! “I thought to myself and made to leave.The Syrian said something as I was almost out the door and I turned with a smile.

“I think I will take one of these too” and I swiped a bar of Cookies and Cream  and the second 50 dollar note.

(!!@$$$#!!???)

The end.

From my mouth to Gods ear.

Thank you  and goodnight.Half an hour later I was swooning under the needle,early Monster Magnet spewing out of the sound-system..A Phoenix feather on each forearm.

For wings lost .

I came home and listened to his gospel recording and fell asleep.

All hail the King.

Later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ho,ho,ho.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The latter I do believe..

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

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

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

To paraphrase John Lennon “How do you sleep?”

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

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

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

Sad wittle critters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quel sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

Fucking period.

Negative.

Oh, go on then,say what thou will.

*yawn*

Honk,honk,honk.

Let’s just keep in mind,shall we, that it is you knows who I am,that it is you reading me,you twisting my name and life into a spiteful pretzel on forums…..

Just remember,I have the inside line.I am the inside line.

You,on the other hand I imagine, have cystic acne,no life,live at your mothers and have Wi-Fi and for all I know ,no genitalia.I know for a fact that you have no balls…… Ho-hum.I am strangely flattered.I can’t believe that you took precious time out of your hectic World of War-craft schedule and epic online porn dalliances to google and comment on little old me! Shucks!

End game my fast melting little fuckicles.And while your at it? I am begging you,please come to my show.Then I get your money and I get to laugh in your face.Everyone’s a winner. You think that I am going to fall apart in light of much  publicised recent events? You think that is how I roll huh?

You are as stupid as you are ugly.

Meanwhile back in the jungle.

Mo left his phone in the back of a cab in true rock-god style and here was me,paranoid as ever,thinking that I was being ignored.But we are back in touch and he is playing with me at the show.Phew.We have a jam locked in on Thursday night after I get back from the Doctor’s.He is a fucking saint to do this with me.I sent a wild set list though to him and he responded with the grace and calm of a displaced monarch.Thank you baby Jesus!

In other news, all my friends are opting out of rock and roll and having kids and I wish them nothing but the best.Congratulations Meatball! It’s raining and I have scurvy.I want the magic pixies to come and clean up my room.That about covers it really.I have taken all the suggestions in about what covers to play at the show.I have picked out one or two….I think that I will leave the sub par Lady Gaga covers up to the wanna -be -hipster-loser-stuck-in-the-90’s-almost -ran’s-of -Newtown.

Thanks.

It’s too cold and wet out there to go and make tea.The White Tiger has crashed early so I guess I will stay up write and clean.Homesick for the west coast and the distant summer,I pummel my kidneys with endless cans of Dr Pepper,knowing that I am doing harm but unwilling and unable to stop.I drift on inconsistent tides and the feisty full moon of a few days ago did me no favors.The hardest lesson learnt? The rose colored glasses smashed?

Love is not enough.Loud is good.Blood is better and fucking was the father the son and the holy ghost.

I moved train carriages 3 times a few nights ago like the unstable wack job that I am.The numbers were not in my favor you see?. I grinned at the Whitetigers flyer for the show resplendent with a picture of Kate Bush.77 and 22.The digits all fortuitous.Can I get an amen? Distilled down to a nine.The God’s shall rally and rumble that night.Beneath velvet and by candles, loud and bossy on Persian rugs.Huge bouquets of funeral lilies and cunning incense smoke clouding all proceedings.We shall call on Goethe’s great forces and I shall sing till I break into a million mirrored pieces.

Not to get precious about it or anything.

You are back in our lifetime of places shared and I revisit them in dreams, my physicality too tired to move anymore. We the road burnt gypsies.Twin troubadours.In my minds cataract covered eye I can see the bars we frequented and the icy streets that we slid along hand in gloved hand.Me and you in the cold land of my grandmothers origin.I wailed like Merry Clayton over one of your songs and I saw the pride flit over the blue in your eyes.I knew all along that we were us.I trusted in why. You didn’t or maybe couldn’t.

Saint Cecilia appraises graciously from the heavens  the wax forest of tapers I reverently light and the excessive and obscene pouting red roses that  turn my dim lit room into a mafia funeral.I beseech the  malicious gods of misadventure to take mercy on your beaten soul,to leave you be.For you to get out of your own way.I know that obsession and history will always bring us back to one another and that it is our blessing and our curse.

A windfall would mobilize my much desired disappearance.The sea is churning mad on the far South coast and its anger and solitude calls to me as strongly as it did when I was a child.Me and the elements ,soft lit nights alone in my whitewashed cell like shack on the edge of the world.A bigger discipline that the one I afford myself in a city that I no longer love nor loves me in return.But it is here that I hone my meagre skills and wait out some kind of sad purgatory.

And I write.

My big brother informed me recently that Jimi Hendrix slept with his guitar and then sheepishly admitted to the same folly.The clang of my poor guitar falling off the end of my book and paper covered bed usually wakes me with a start but as for sleeping with it? I shall pass.I think the heat from my overtaxed electric blanket would warp her fickle tuning even further.This weather is so miserable.The meteorological version of murder.I should get up but due to the fact that my roof has caved in,panels hanging from the beams like skin from a lepers bones it is a most unappealing prospect.

And I think of the tenets of desire and where one ends up while in the service of Venus.I felt like a kid as I pushed and dragged you up the River road in a squeaking  green grocery kart.You drunk and me sober as ever and laughing my ass off,wanting the feeling to never end.I thought,I fervently believed ,that my love was communicable,that you would catch it and love yourself the way that I did.

The way that I loved you.