…..Slight return.

Cop this.

-Bon Scott.

Just like Jimi’s voodoo childe.

I will take any return ,as slight as it may be for I,at my best and meanest ,am an architect of sorts. And this is my fucking house.And you? You can’t tell me shit….I remember everything. I remember it all.

I am the mark of Cain.I am the 7 day war,the wrong side of the tracks.I am a tactical response wrapped in an air strike.I am a 200 dollar handgun with the serial number ground to a 5th amendment taking memory.I am the regret that you can’t forget  or shake no matter how many beers you pour down you neck or how many pills you take.

I am bathtub speed and the Mann act tonite.I am self immolating with gasoline while breathing fire.I am calling it down and raising it up.I am ruby lips and a poison cup.I am gluttony and nuclear powered.I am greed and desire.I am lip,sip ,sucking and fucking you up and you never even saw it coming.

I want it all.And I’m gonna fucking get it.Dying by the second and taking you with Me.

Violence has its tongue in my ear and its hand on the small of my back.I want it so bad  that I can taste the adrenaline running back through my sinuses like cocaine.My fists itching and my demons unshackled and bitching.

It must have been dark for I could not see the path before me . All the doors that I arrived at, doors that once opened at my command ,had conveniently forgotten the sound of my knuckles. The shape of my scarred fist. I turned. I masked my panic and confusion with a cloak of miles run and punches landed.Of letters never sent.I folded like a losing hand.

But I never stopped. I never gave up. While you danced on my premature grave I was growing wings.

I felt dry for  a million years and there was no language left to me.My neck hollow and my voice a copy of a copy of something that I once knew.Something that was once as natural as breathing. As I sit here here in reflection and rebuilding it all by the second, I can feel my pores open and  drip sweat, the cloying stench  of fire and iron tainted panic batters my senses.

(” Oh baby” she cooed “Welcome home….” )

I have traveled my whole life on a contract of sonic annihilation. And I am good. No, scratch that, I am one of the best you will ever see. No matter the carnage envious motherfuckers have left behind,etched upon my past, a jealous graffiti of acid and small dicked insecurity, I will rise again and again.

I have not hit my reserves in too long.Anger has laid dormant but tonight as I remember  each and every face and name in my veritable  cunts gallery,I can feel my lips peel back in a snarl.I am all animal with opposable thumbs tonight .Honey? I am your worst nightmare.

I am back.

The lights on the perimeter are skidding drunk across the sky,the wires have been tripped.Everybody loves a party,here,let me take your coat.

What a vintage! And here was me thinking that the fire was out and the still was drained dry.There was one match left in the box and one bottle in the cellar.And thats all I need. I can taste my teeth and feel my hair growing.I can see into the next week, my hands could tear your heart from your chest before your peanut brain even registered the hit .

A million miles on the path by the river and you were numb.No words for the heathen immigrant,no shows and endless nights in the van,no stages like cages to forget yourself on and in.Nothing for you but the voices of the betrayers taunting from the darkest recesses of your mind, but you must of known better because…

You are back.

I hate you as much as I ever did.I age and doubtfully mature but know that I will never forgive or forget you, that I deal in poison like pimps deal in skin.I will own you with my triumphs.I will beat myself to death with sound.Reborn nightly.It gets no finer than this.

I get wet thinking of amps and ungrounded microphones.Of the filth of the floor grinding its way into the soles of my feet,of the ache in my gut as it tears out of my broken toothed mouth louder than war,bruises blooming black on my beaten corpse night after fucking night, getting leaner and meaner.

I have the biggest heart in California baby.Did you think that I had abandoned the battle?

Oh! Surprise! Guess what?

I have not even begun to reign down the carnage that is my birthright and duty to deliver. Did you think that I had gone soft? Forgotten what it is I was built for because I spoke of the heart? I am fueled and courageous in ways you can’t even begin to imagine let alone understand.

This is not a warning.Its a threat.

M

7

x

What movement costs.

I love you for who you are not the one you think you ought to be.

-Sly and The Family Stone.

Lord knows I ‘m  a rambling man.

-The Allman bros.

Being that I have not been writing enough ,this is a disjointed mess of brain fart and other assorted rubbish .We shall bounce like tigger down the overgrown garden path of my psyche…we shall have cake…we may even…oh fuck it, read or don’t.

( “Cover me!”  he screamed ,his voice straining to be heard over the battery of hostile fire “I’m going in!!!!” )

For some reason I have a bit of a sad on tonight and don’t know if I am going to make much sense. Enter at one’s own risk I guess.

Movement is the mother of all dreamers. We are in constant motion even when sitting still. So fast is our kind that it is not  even seen by the naked eye . We are a million miles away most of the time ,right in front of you .Motion lead me back to the ever calm shadow of Johnny Ramones  statue at the Hollywood Forever cemetery only days ago.It takes me to stages in countries I never imagined that I would visit and it finally lead me to the only one I could ever call my own. It tore me from any lie of security I could have ever lead myself and onto floors of music lovers with kind hearts.

Please charge your glasses to motion.Thank you.

I have a tour coming up.I have not been the backseat queen in the van for far too long.I am premenstrual and freaking out. I have a solid week of jamming ahead of me.I can do it.Its what I do. Its not as if I have NOT been doing this for the last decade.A friend of mine alluded to me this evening that I have dropped the ball.Sure, it stung.”We all make our choices and this IS what she came here for…” She let it hang like a body of a thief between us,swaying in the cool air, as we listened to the electricity dance down the licorice wires deep into the night.

I have no regrets.Its the first time in my life I have ever been really happy.

My inner Rollins wont even speak to me at this point. In fact ,my inner Rollins is waiting for me after school to kick the shit out of me. And I will cop it sweet. I deserve it.

Liberty can up and fuck your sensitive little overprotected sense of balance any time it damn well wants. I try and cajole my body and mind into a tough as nails state of wanton well being. “Look baby!” I tell it with a maniacal grin that is teetering on the edge of desperation “Water and Fruit!”  My corpse yawns and goes back to flicking through an old copy of People magazine… after so long of tripping the light fantastic, she doesn’t like me at all.

I get back to the places that I know and I am a stranger.Even stranger than usual.I strain towards need and doing the only things that I know how to do. My dog has forgotten who I am and I have outstayed my welcome the planet over.When it comes to a lack of control ,I do not get a gold star. The girls write me letters all bold capitals from the ghetto telling me that the jasmine that blankets my city shack is in bloom and I feel a pull that is physical.

Oh love……Never in my solitary life have I ever wanted to spend so much time with another animal. I never met another animal that could keep up with me. I cant wait to take him home this summer.To get the chance to see the love of my life do his thing every night.To preform with him and watch him shine.Nothing has ever ment so much.Its like being strapped into a roller-coaster  pants less and run by a coke head.

Fear is a powerful motivator and aphrodisiac.

Movement ,at times, is unaffordable but much like the civilians that I hate ,I refuse to look at life any other way. My long suffering mother asked me the other day where I see myself in 10 years and without any hesitation I told her “Louder and older” I wonder if the parents of normal kids ask the same of their spawn? I guess that they must .She meant no harm ,I know.

The lows are terrible but so are anybodies.I make no huge claim on massive hardship. Its an emotional state. From the heart,cunt and gut.Pure animal instinct. My highs involve sitting in the nosebleed seats at The Greek Amphitheatre next to the love of my life singing along to ‘Heaven and Hell” at the top of my leather lungs.Full moon hanging in the cleavage of the night sky,the Taylor-Burton diamond of planets and nestled in mine, a backstage pass because life is sweet when you let it.

I have been a Hollywood Hassa Frou for weeks.We hate to be apart. I know that I have hit the sweet-spot because its the 1st time in my life that I have not slept with a knife. I spin like a fuck- fueled dervish and all the hours come together and decide that the delegation of days is an outmoded concept and not to be bothered with.

Dreaming again of the land of my birth and returning with him to do what it is that we do. Sitting on our bed with his Maton learning all the songs that he has written that provided my soundtrack all the years that we were apart. My parental units heading to LA for my birthday to meet him. Standing by his side in front of the microphone in Brad’s fairytale pink castle on the hill, singing our guts out, hardly daring to look at each other.So sweet,so sweet and who would have thunk it but I get shy.

Back into a lockout with my band tomorrow to do what it is that I do.Shows all over the West coast and some days my life amazes me. But this is what I made happen.I never gave my allotted time on this planet any other choice BUT to happen. I get amazing letters from beautiful people showing me tattoos that I have inspired with my unorthodox approach to pretty much fucking everything. They tell me that I get them there,provide a map to hostile territories. Can I say that they do the same for me? That all I wanted was to be noticed and my gratitude is a forever thing? That I will never stop telling you that if I can do what I do, that you can?

Because its true….

I have not been here enough. The month since I was on set has flown. I should tell you what it was that I was up to on the Gold Coast for 2 weeks ….

A couple of years ago with my old band we made an epic filmclp for the song “Gear” directed by a furious talent by the name of Judd Tilyard. Fast forward to July this year when I receive a bewitching email that stroked my ego like a cat. Judd had finally get his pet project off the ground.A script that he had been working on based on a story by James O Barr the creator of “The Crow” entitled “Frame 137”.

During developing the story and the character of Achron,the head of a gang called “The Greys” he said that he could not get me out of his head. Here’s me in Long Beach reading this with my jaw hanging. Just goes to show that you never know who’s imagination you may be inhabiting at any given time. But the twist? Its being made in Australia. “Oh irony” sighs our bemused and smirking heroine “I live in the movie capital of the the world and have to go home to make a film”

Due to my usual lack of funds and ball clenching fear I turned it down at first but took the job of soundtrack advisor. I roped my big brother in to do the score and my other half to cover “Dog Food” by Iggy Pop to be played over the titles. But Judd was relentless with his vision and that is the kind of drive that always speaks to me ,so I manned up and before you know it, after a day in the air, Ross was picking me up at Sydney airport.

I flew into Brisbane to be met by Miss Verity Fiction ,Make up artist and baby pink haired vision.She swept my lagged ass into her little yellow car and drove me to Brisbane proper where I was to be fitted for my costume before heading to Sydney for 2 days and then back onto set on the Gold Coast.Down to the West end via Vulture Street which set forth a torrent of Powderfinger streaming non stop on my ever running internal i-pod.

Its been a while since I have met someone that I feel I have always known but Tiffany Beckworth-Skinner is one of them.She is the wardrobe queen magna cum Laud and an instant forever. As she draped my swaying form in miles of red velvet and kindness I came undone.Onto the plane she hustled me with a care package, oranges like jewels,pine nuts and seaweed. Bless.

How strange to be back again.From the summer into the winter .Lili set up the spare room for me ,full of flowers and my Hello Kitty crap. It was so beautiful.I slept like a log.Up the next day to go and see  my much missed and beloved friend Misha Bliss and spend a million hours at the hair dressers.Lee Joo is a Korean masterpiece.A hair ninja. 345 hours and a dead ass later ,I emerge triumphant and flicking my main like a thoroughbred.Takes a team for this machine baby.

Back to the Goldcoast and its a blur.Stuntmen falling all over the place,prosthetics for days.Everyone was made to look like right grots because ,as we know ,the future is a most hostile and dirty place,except for Queen Snot here. Eyes popped on the 3rd day when Miss Tiff finally sewed me into my costume.And in my costume I stayed for the day.Trying to go to the bathroom was an event in itself . By the time I filmed I was so frazzled that being as evil as possible to the 10 year old lead actor was a cakewalk.He picked up on my energy so well that we were both snarling and shaking at each other take after take.

The trip home was so long.Touching down at LAX was amazing. 2 weeks away felt like a lifetime. I was back in my baby’s arms by that night.Hundreds of text messages exchanged between us while I was gone and I ran up the street to meet him before he had even stopped the car.

Adventures to the best soundtrack in the world…..

In reflection ,I should have called this one “What motion gives” I am the luckiest piece of whitetrash in LA tonight.

M

7

x

The big easy.

Gimme,Gimme,Gimme…..

-Black Flag.

Love,Love,Love.

-The Beatles.

Finally home in LA and writing again.As I sit here undertrained and grinning like an idiot waiting for my laundry to dry I dont know how long I will write for tonight but I wanted to dip my wick, just for a second ,even if that is all that I have in me.

The full moon messed with my already genetically disturbed particles.I have been feeling weird for years kids….

So I got to be evil in a movie.Evil in long red velvet and my rack in a cage.You have got to love sci-fi.Its called “Frame 137” and any one who is familiar with “The Crow” will know what I am talking about.It was great and I cant wait to do it again.

The Big Easy.

I’m not referring to my beloved NOLA nor the film of the same name .

I am talking about the one who holds my heart and the fact that I am letting it be held.That I have met my match…..He knows that I pray to Elvis,freakout if I can’t workout.He loves that I am tall and thinks my high heel fetish is finer than paint.Plays the devils music like Jenna Jamerson fucks and makes my heart  ( along with other parts of my anatomy ) fart Hello Kitty shaped bubbles….

I feel like a big kid. For the 1st time in my life I get it.And am finally  ( “FINALLY!!!!” bark and trill the tattooed choir of seraphim’s that have ever laid dormant in my soul until now.) someone gets me and my big loud life.Could be due to the fact that his is even bigger and louder.

File grateful under “Duhhhhh!!!”

Being that I have dragged my ass out of  my Hot Hollywood heaven for a night and am due in the studio tomorrow I will take leave of you now.Sleep is a rare and fine pleasure at this point.Who am I kidding? I look like I have been shagged through a hedge backwards while dosed on Mexican Quaaludes. Writing great music and singing my worshiped ass off.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Y’all can call me “Mrs Everything”

M

7

x

Period or full stop?

I cant quit you baby but I’m gonna have to put you down for a while.

-Otis Rush.

(Visual Set up- choppers deployed,Klieg lights offending the moon,buildings on fire!!!! The camera focuses on a windswept harried woman yelling at someone behind the camera.Sound is off but she is not asking if he is having a nice time.VO-Studio feed….)

"An emotional dispatch from the period perspective! Right from the Fallopian frontline with our fluid retaining on the spot passport Michele Madden! Can you hear us Michele?…."

This is not the time of the lunar cycle where I should be so feeble and self defeating enough to court kindness. It opened a discounted can of vulnerability ( "Only slightly damaged stock!")  and it proceeded to give me emotional gas.(*parp!*)  Says she with the blue stained forefinger and thumb due to the great blueberry massacre taking place at her leopard print piano while willing her period to arrive ( "Pronto par favor!").

And of course I am not answering correspondence in this fucked and fragile state.Do I look like I had a brain tumor for breakfast here? I am reading and not replying.Later skater…now is NOT the time.I am not having my cunt take care of my correspondence. No way. I am bogged down and overwhelmed. Haunted by Farrah Faucetts red swimsuit and Michael Jackson’s diamond glove.Its gonna be a busy afternoon at the pearly gates.RIP.

Smelling salts! Loosing of the stays!

Gah!

Gram and Emmy Lou for sweet aural company. Ew! My cans are porno huge and seemingly full of  rocks,my corpse thinks its a shar-pei dog ,folds and folds of flesh misery…I hate being a woman!

I feel that there is something that I have to straighten out…you might wanna get comfortable, grab a beverage,smoke a bowl….Ready?

Ahem……Once upon a time,well back in 1986….

Alex Cox sold the doomed love story of  Saints Sid and Nancy to the big screen with the by-line.

"Love kills"

Dramatic non? Quel sigh….

Sorry to bust your bubble but its a big fucking lie.

 Love? Love is a coward. There! I said it! SOME one fucking had to! 

This has gone on for long enough! Truth be told, Love would be hard pressed to muster up the required gumption to even manage a Chinese burn at the best of times. Love is a primo candidates for Charles Atlas. A 98 pound simpering excuse of an emotion. A white feather right to Love’s cowering  front door as far as I a concerned. Love is fairy floss, all volume and no substance. A red ribboned  ruse! A February fucking fiasco of a fiesta complete with a dead martyr who was a Virgin for godsake! Chocolate covered cherries and,and and….ARGH!.

Your heart farts Love….but it BLEEDS Desire. Love answers to little old ladies. Desire dances with Dionysus, does the boogooloo with Bacchus!.( " Pass the amyl!!!")

Love wears a "Promise " ring ,Desire fucks on the first date.Love wears control top pantyhose in the middle of summer.Desire goes commando and offers you five bucks if you can guess where she just had her finger.( "Ok,3 bucks and what’s left of my beer….")

Its Barry Mannilow vs Elvis people! This is the revolution that The MC 5 predicted!!! ROCK AND ROLL! FUCKING IN THE STREET!!???

Who’s side are you on.???

Love? LOVE!!#$$#  Just fuck off!!. No!! you cant skate with me this weekend. No,I don’t wanna go to that new seafood place downtown for dinner. Do I have to get an AVO out on you?Just GO!

("Sheesh!")

The bottom line that I am trying to get to here is that Love is too chicken shit to kill you.Love got turned down from the emotional army for having homosexual tendencies and a club foot.Love never did a tour in any Vaginal Vietnam that I  am aware of.( "ÏNCOMMING!!!!!")

Its Desire. Has been all along. Nyer,nyer…..nyer.( All rights for the last 3 "Nyer-s" belong to Miss Karen.)

 Desire the destroyer honey. That snipers nest? That 1000 yard stare? That fucking cowgirl with Clint Eastwood-its  ("Ma’am? I’m so sorry but there’s no cure" intoned the Dr gravely "Wooo-HOOO!" yelled our heroine and took off down the hall dodging wheelchair wrangling nurses and ECG monitors,bare ass hanging out the back of her snot green gown…..)  that punched out the paper pushing Lt back in the DMZ who told her that she could not signup for a 5th tour. ….?

Desire.

She is the LURP of the "Emotional war". Behold! A Green nylon string of dead dreams around her neck.( Ears are for the amateurs darling…) Desire is Barnes and Love is Elias. Argue all you want ,I’ll just  tune you out, Love is Willard. Desire is Kurtz. Its just not open to discussion so suck it up. You, a faint background noise.The static struck Mexican radio on my bullshit detecting border.Your argument does not have the correct paperwork.No visa? No entry.

Pack it up and ship out.. I’m right. I’m really good at being right.Feel free to ask me,anytime.Line’s are open…

I can her Leizel yelling at no one while limping up and down the hall.I am trying to teach her to address me by name because it saves me from always yelling "What!!???"only to be informed that she was not talking to me.It is an exercise in Zen as she has no volume control on that formidable nasal Jewish voice box.

I turn to my left and there I am in the full length mirror that constitutes the sliding doors on my closet.one foot upon a dusty amp and the other twisting itself  back and forth like a little girl with new panties beneath her best Sunday dress..

( "Something not right with that girl" Spat the old woman as little Mish did clumsy cartwheels in the dusty yard "She is wearing the Tuesday panties out of the days of the week set that I gave her this Xmas just passed " "So? "said one of her dumb as dogshit drunk sons "So!" Yelled the miffed matriarch "Its Sunday! SUNDAY!" she yelled just in case he missed it." Mark my words,that girl is gonna amount to nothing good…and plenty of it."…Hearing her name, Little Mish looked up and waved.)

All my limbs disenfranchised from each other.Seperated agenda and battle plans. Its an impasse ,no one is talking.And I am gonna have to take this floundering flesh fuckup on a run tonite.Some hot date THAT will fucking  be….("Just don’t come in my hair ok? ")

"Don’t lie."

I found that written on my hand when I pulled off my eye mask as the alarm bled into my fast fleeing dreams this morning Fishing the earplugs out of my cranium I tried to remember what it was that I was referring to before I conked out

I think that was referring somehow to the death of natural progression among other things. The things that we thing that we "Need" The fact that we use the word "Need" in place of of  "Want" to make ourselves look less greedy by comparison.

 How the weight of our desires is always racing hot footed to some kind of shifting finishing line. How pressure makes my hatches batten down.How I have steadfastly refused to deal with other peoples storms my whole life.( "You can TAKE that fucking umbrella and shove it right up your….")

How I get letters from people thinking that all I do is write veiled references to them. My glittery literary bent does not belly dance in her spare time baby cakes. I am ego incarnate. This is all about me. I  have never said nor claimed any different..

I guard the tower.I am unflinching in my duty given no matter how habitual and monotonous. That shining light of nothing but cardiac carnage is kept by moi. ( fully catered and pick your own buffet.)  I have been able to stay a romantic. Unrequited is the only way as the death of hope is a harder destination to return from than most.

 I have a time share share there ( "Welcome to The Death of Hope! Enjoy your stay!") that  I rarely use as when I do, I find that I send no postcards and the surf is a joke. Little Michele no stars. Summer stock.

The things that you think will never change. Ha…hahahhaaaa…..

My mercurial moods ( I am a Virgo.Doomed.Doomed.Doomed.)  come in while I slumber and shift the bones in my face while I sleep uneasy. I study at my vain visage more than usual at such times as I don’t know who it is that I find myself living in. A burgled cranium. Its horrible. Ah Dysmorpia! So good to see you again ,you cunt,you…..

And only yesterday in Sunny San Pedro sports fans…

Just to feel again. His voice right in my ear and his body coiled oddly around mine.The weight of his forearm comforting across the scared expanse of my spine as his talent traveled like electricity through the gun and into my skin. I had rigged up a weird arrangement of a white bikini top and a olive green tank that I stole somewhere in Europe with an open back as to provide access to the dermis that I was determined to have him mark. Pete, all ginger kindness, razor mind ,long limbs and superb talent ran a black gloved forefinger over the scars bold as boot boys on my right shoulder. Instantly calmed cat- like I purred and gave myself up to the protection of prolonged pain.

I believe in dirty grace and ceremony.The only corners I like are the ones that place myself in for protection or a better vantage point. Rushed? I will run without a backwards glance. Can we say " Control freak" boys and girls?

I can run 10 miles a day and yet never be as exhausted as I find myself in company.

She is calling me you know?. I can feel the sand under my feet and I look down flooded with the joyous possibility of enforced alienation once again but I find pavements in lieu of  beaches. "Why now?" muses the self punisher of the LBC. Life is sweet,miles are tossed behind her like concrete confetti, offers made lazy, panting in the shade of the great maybe tree like smug hunting dogs. And yet…..?

Self defeating perverts one and all.C’mon! Take a bow!

Who haunts me you ask?

She being the Stevie Nicks like siren that haunts my shack on the far south coast of the land of my birth. Its just my period in cahoots with my exhaustion is all. I am there in dreams,I will come home to your top hatted self mama…wait for me,do…

Think that I will give this whole writing thing a miss till my chick bits have jumped the shark so to speak. I am all kinds of wrong right now and its plumb tuckered me out.

I am now going to have a nap.

M

7

x

The Heart. A users guide….

I like lots of things but there are three things I like the most, love,love and love.

-Anita Ekberg in "La Dolce Vita"

( I run.)

I am starting to think that I may very well be a figment of the imagination. Who’s? Well, I don’t rightly know nor am I sure that I want to.Who ever they are ,they have alot to answer for and I fear that they would not be answers that I would want or be equipped to hear.La,lala,la,la…..

My banner cracks like a whip in the wind, makes the rubes on the midway salivate and swoon as if touched by quick religion before Marcel has even torn a ticket at the darkened doorway to my tent. "A gypsy goddess"" they mutter awestruck moving forward opiate slow and utterly charmed.

 I smile, invisible when I need to be, my light dimmed and hidden I lean and listen "Goddess? Hell no!….White trash from the dirty south is all…." I whisper under my breath , turn on my sorrowful heal and go get ready for the show.

( I pick up speed just under the 4th street bridge…)

I am in the geek pit of celibacy beheading maybe’s instead of chickens, thrown by heartbreakingly beautiful and equal parts mean red headed boys who re-bruise my carneys heart by the elephant shit scented, popcorn strewn minute. 

I sink my opalescent teeth into the fragile jugular of the stunned half promises and shocked soon to be slain flirtations flung to the floor of my recessed well lit pit

Everybody loves a show dontcha know…..

( I run further….)

The show over for another night I wave to the pin heads and sigh as they stumble,sleepy and giggling back to their caravan, whispers and stares gamboling like puppies, playful  in their oblivious wake.

The colored lights hung high and candy coated make me happy in ways that I can’t explain,I take a suck on my hip flask and cross my eyes slightly  to redouble my visual pleasure,more bang for the occular buck,juniper scorching my tongue, I grin and burp gently.Sçuseme.

 Legs akimbo,I perch on a dented red bucket up ended by the silent stipped stage entrance..my barker licks his thread thin lips,tounge toying with an ivory tooth pick( "My granddaddy was gifted this by Marie Lavou and he gifted it to me Mon ami ,I would lie to you,no?") he smiles over at me, a ballyhoo barracuda from the swamps of  catfish country .Greedy fists clutching bouquets of crumbled soft green backs Everyone is a winner.

He spits into the shabby carpet of sawdust curled golden ,the beard of Zeus shawn at your fine boned bird like feet as you follow the trajectory of the titan tressed tormenters of  your pulp novel paper laced trimmed romantic heart.

"Thes’ collage towns are a doddle! 3 yards and a full house Cherie!!"  Leans over and kisses me like a crooked politician  laying one on an ugly baby come re-election time. "Save it for the fan dancers Marcel! " I laugh shaking him off like a Cajun chill.

He barks a short laugh and pats my head. "Don’t be betting on the boys cheri…you are special and he will  find you" (  pat,pat….and you aint gonna cry .)  Kisses the top of your head and turns to the fan dancers tent and leaves you alone with your thoughts,the stars and your stupid heart…..You looks up as the carnival winds down and the marks make their way to the lion jawed gates.

You sigh like a memory, a soap bubble as your idea of boy meat perfection trips down the fairway back to a reality that is a foreign to you as  you are in all of your diamond dotted,sin clotted glory to them.

And never the twain shall meet.

( I will run forever…but try as I may,I can never outrun my heart….)

Training without music is like fucking without comming.Sure, you break a sweat and its not that its NOT  fun and all but….I worked out for two hours today without the vinegar stroke so to speak.Didnt matter though.Mama has a new katana and my arms feel like they are made out of beef jerky.Your zealot scribe is clocking in at somewhere around 159 pounds.

Obsession seems to suit me. I love and do what I do until my last.I see no point in tempering ones self. I did once upon a sad assed long ago time.Gave me nothing but gas and a pissed of imagination who wouldn’t even look at me when we fucked.A sad and sorry state of affairs’s for all involved so now I do what ever the hell I want.

("Fiddle-de-de Miss Scarlet!")

You bet your sweet ass sunshine.

Granted,I may try and act like Mr Eastwood in any number of his Sergio Leone numbers and don’t do too badly if I may say so myself  but internal its a whole different story.Internal?  It dresses in velvet and goes down real slow.Lives in a shotgun shack the bayou and collects wayward hearts like snowdroppers collect smalls.Under the cover of darkness with an illicit illegal glee.Can I get a hallelujah?.

My stocks plummeted for a while there…well,over the weekend.

I shook my voodoo doll like a rag bound rattle,teething for magic and a silver bullet. If you recall I was asked on a date a while ago. I was looking for the hidden camera to tell you the truth, I mean ,it is me that we are talking about here. But, I accepted,eyelashes lowed like a matching set of jet  narcoleptic butterflies on my blushing Russian cheek bones.What is life for if not to be a tad scared and to put yourself out there every one in a scant while,I ask you?.

"Children! Do you know what a "Moron" is?" said Miss sunshine standing by the blackboard, shone upon by 23 cherubic little faces hungry for knowledge and peanut butter,for gold stars and red crayola colored love.

Hard reaching for the sky, almost passing out under the weight of the correct answer fair crushing her! Help the child Miss Sunshine! Save her before her infant self explodes!

"Me Miss! I know ,I know!"our young scribe doing the twist,bladder cha cha chaing full of chocolate milk tying her in a knot! Give the kid a shot for the love of  Pete! It aint Broadway but it will do…..

"Michele! Do you know?" Smiles the most loved woman in the room…"What’s is a moron?"

Lights,camera and action!

"Well Miss,its me right?"

( "And the winner is…….OH my stars!!!!! Its Michele Madden for "I’m a Moron!!!")

Ticker tape! Cadillacs! Baton twirler high kicking and knickers flashing,your ass propped on white leather,arms full of red roses and Vaseline on your teeth for a smile that wont quit,wave! Wave you silly cow! Wave damn it or its your ass……)

I should have known really.I mean , he was the kind of boy who’s name I would have written on my jeans surrounded in ball point stars at school. The sort of guy that I would have worn flat shoes for.For the love of Elvis! Jesus please us?!

 ("File that in with the "Hens teeth" Miss Madden!" yelled the Dr eyes shooting sparks,shocked she questioned him  "That rare Professor Chicken?" eyes porno wide and baby moist enquires our nubile young lab assistant shaking slightly at the brevity of the whole clanging kit and kaboodle.The Professor takes her by the hand and pats it softly as if calming a dumb but distressed dog."Yes Miss Madden"he intones like he ate Charlton Heston on toast for breakfast "That rare……" He coughs wetly and wanders back to the lab to shove his well manicured  PhD’ hand up a monkeys butt.)

Many txt’s ensued over the following week fogging up the phone and the widows on the double wide that housed whatever good sense I have from the testosterone tornado hopping all over the trailer park of my sadly neglected desire and oft ignored girl bits.

So, Friday night rolled around like a lip glossed kiss high on helium and ….( "An age old tale full of blah,blah and blah…boring…..self doubt….blah….and now back to our regular programming") …said that in a nut shell that ,well this is what I  got out of it, wasn’t worth the drive! And that was that! I have not heard from him since.

And here we are…back t olife in SoCal…..Shall we?

Ah! The wild assortment of hats that are thrown into my ring like roses to the matador.Ole!. Sigh. The Brooklyn rottwiler has been leaving harried and happy messages all over my electronic paper chase informing me of many dates all over  America to forfill over the 30 day span of the despised month of my sky blackening birth.Back to tampering with myself post show in the shower cubicles of Days Inns once more…..

Nothing ever really prepares you for seeing yourself emblazoned over the front of some dudes chest on a teeshirt.Take my word for it. Ace,the pimp of the aforementioned fine apparel, is back from alien country safe and sound.I think that a dinner is in order.I have a burning desire to know if his butt was probed.At least that means some one I know got lucky even if it was with a pointy silver speculum an alien craft…I mean,I wouldn’t say no if they called again.It strikes me all as arather hygienic and adventuresome winner.Two thumbs up.

All my boys are heading back to California.I lay down sonic seed for only the hottest homing pidgons.Ahem….

I have a twin.Have I told you this? His name is Mark Gardner and together we are…drum roll please…."The Whiskey twins" we know that we have magic powers we are not sure what they are as yet but we are working on it. I am avery lucky little desperado. In the Hollywood shuffle,the Californian quagmire,mountain sides of morons give way to a sea of superficial shallow spite.But Elvis has sent me the cream of the curdled crop and I Clutch them to my heaving bosom like a scarf flung from the Kings own finger tips right to me at Caesars palace in the steamy summer of 72′ deep in the dirty Vegas night.

Darling twin is plundering his way through Europe with his dear friends Masterdon.He writes and tells me of bars closing down before boarding the nightliner (The rock equivalent of a road raging bitumen bound modern day Jolly Rodgers doncha know?) Mark smiles with his whole body and I could feel it in his pirate missives across the sexy seas back to my proud-as-punch self in the bowels of the LBC.

Joseph Campbell .A stand up guy I am so sure. "Follow your bliss!" he exclaimed Primal Scream made me shake my tush to much of the same "Getcha rocks off honey!!! "sneered Bobby Gillespie all snide and British and I don’t mind if I do.

Stupid boys can eat a bowl of dick sans salsa …I mean really…rather look at what I have got rather than what, for a scant, and yes I admit,somewhat  moist moment thought that I lacked…Fuck em! Its them who is missing out, not me. Me? I get to thinking after the smut laden smoke clears under the force fan of my ever brutal logic,is that yet again I dodged a bullet.  A bullet with a dick and more often than not a crazy ex girlfriend but a bullet none the less.

Yey me and my Brillant Friends.

I have a sexy summer sneaking upon me,Ace the alien abductor,Mark the whiskey twin,Marty and my beloved and revered 4th St illuminati,a tour shimmering before my hungry eyes and black heart  like the sequins on a snake charmers skirt,Leizel who amazes by the hour….

So I keep beating off? Big deal.

Its my movie and I am in mad love with my cast.Date? Shmate!

I will never dumb down nor will accept less than what my hyper heart is worth.So there.

Right now he is off  somewhere breathing heavy but one day I know my prince will come.

And I will be waiting….sans knickers.

"So" I will smile up into his eyes as we stand in a hickory wind blown field at sunset "You love Bon era AC/DC right?" "Of course baby" he growls sounding like a honey dipped flame broiled Memphis messiah..

"That and going down like my life depends on it" Grinning, he sweeps me off my feet and over his shoulder,my bare ass sunny side up, I mouth a silent thanks to Elvis and whoop like a cowgirl.

( Fade to credits…..)

M

7

x

Dispatch from the LBC

You showed me how to give this selfish heart of mine.

-The Divynals..

Lets make a little music Colorado.

-John Wayne.

The Lord believes in starts.

-Mrs Greig.( teacher.)

Well, so said my 3rd grade teacher.She also on occasion called me a heathen.But back to the starts.The clean pieces of paper.( Wrapped for your protection and for all I know ribbed for her pleasure.)

To be the first. Boldly so on-ing and so-forthing .The first footprint in the sand delivering you to a perfect days surf. The first time you feel the lust and lips of the one you desire beneath the pressure of your kiss.

Roll away the rock like a good little Catholic and lo! Three holy days later (not,mind you, the same three days that Jane’s addiction sung about henceforth  hot wiring my harlots heart in the process…) but the Easter Three .The Jesus trifecta. Dead? Beaten? Hung on a cross and betrayed? No problem! Here’s your second shot.And a chocolate egg….Lactose intolerance be dammed.!

Starts…..beginnings.

And there it was.Mrs Greig planting the seed in my short timed soul of seven sweet summers clad in shortie pajamas and scabbed knees,of Santa and ….The seed of renewal and chance.Heavy duty artillery for one of such tender years,granted but a get out of free jail card to be prudently filed away even at such a young age.

( Mama didn’t raise no fool )

Meanwhile, back in southern California our heroine,full of sashimi and spitfire,goes about her business….

Ah! San Pedro.Dryer than a spinsters kiss,strip malls mating with body shops on endless roads to heat and homicide. I always think about D.Boon and Mike Watt arguing in a van,teenaged punk dreams caught in a crushed velour wrinkle in time…

I met my new Tattooist today.All red hair and charm is Peter.He will be digging his needles into the burnt hide that houses all my miscellany ("REO Speed wagon tee shirt from the 1981 tour?" "Check."….) and organs next week and my mouth floods with saliva just thinking about being bent over a chair,stretched like so much canvas,Gene Krupa heart,baa-dang-dang-dang,( " I want you all to put your hands together now and give a warm welcome to Miss Goldrush 1924!" ) and?….well,being marked yet again.

( note: The last sentence was doing amazing things wearing something long in a bias cut cream satin with a fox stole.Thank you and now back to the show.)

New running shoes have my Band-Aid bound feet thinking that they are spring loaded.The fat black transvestite who lives in a shanty by the Anaheim underpass now smiles and waves at me as I do my lumbering glory lap twice daily. ( Tickets available for the matinee at the candy bar) my sinews sweat as the clouds menace my leggy self, bully me to push it like a wheelbarrow full of fat  up the syphian hill of Hades fueled by lean dreams….I got a saucy jetsons-esque alarm clock in dull silver plastic to shake me from my dirty dream populated slumber and get me out there  and moving before I even know that I am awake.

What the card punching desk dicks fail to realize is that freedom takes more structure and discipline than their clock punching numbers will ever understand.No one tells me what to do, granted but if I didn’t tell myself it would end up looking like a cheerio dotted sofa surfing Monet .Waterlillies? I think bloody not.

.It would bend and bleed together.

This  thought occurred to me while lying on a forest green and red serape eating blueberries in the yard yesterday wearing little more than a cowboy hat and a rakish grin.

ahem.

Ok,so it does look like an endless summer.But the pay off is not having anything….who am I kidding! I love that as well!

I make it look easy.I swore that I would after the day that I hid behind the wall and Mrs Greigs "Start" theory seemily handed to her by the lord God Elvis on high himself, finally bloomed in the atrium of my 7th grade soul……

Starts! I was thinking about starts!

Internal seasons and watching the deadwood fall away. Miss Suzanne tells me that LA does not deserve me.To a sharp and hazardous point I know what she means.But I only flirt with the dead center.I am a Beatles-esque day tripper upon the hallowed and sin soiled strip and a cowgirl of few words to the desperados that chose to inhabit it.

I am a ghetto girl I swing low and loud in Long Beach and make it all roll up like a red carpet to my same hued double locked front door.

Leizel smiled at me today as we were waiting for the lights to change.I  was busy converting a pair of golden leather boots on a Korean girl who was slowly crossing bad tempered as the lights yelled their red lit change, all bad teeth and heavy blunt hair when my comrade in the drivers seat up and  sucker punched me.

"No fair!" I yelped" I didn’t see a VW!" ( Maturity-0. Michele-1)

"No punch buggy"she smirked throwing the jeep into gear, grinding the cogs like a cooch dancer,"I am just glad that you are here"

Now what do you say to that?

Nothing. I grinned out the rubber sealed window hole at my dirty little face in the rearview mirror ( objects may seem closer than they appear) Palm tress falling off faster and faster in the reflection, a chorus line of  Busby Berkeley dancers……

(Here I am loved.)

Back to the formative years for a brief and brutal moment now…..

And so it came to pass that she took herself away.

Far from the frigid flat vistas of her solitary youth.Armed with a rusty knife and a serpents tounge she twisted and hoped over oceans and booby traps.She tap danced over tripwires while invisible crowds held their collective breath in awe of her cowgirl devil-may-care thigh flashing corral fence jumping daring.

("Ohhhhhh!" they inhaled "Ahhhhhh!"they sighed turning the big top into a candy striped collective canvas lug…)

She mooched,she meandered ,long limbed and doe of eye. Pale of billowy lip over mine fields she learnt the ways of great and cut snake mean women and set upon a path of high heeled heartbreaks and step-one-two-three-TWO-two-three revenge.

(Back into your memory bank sweetheart for it is time to make a wicked withdrawal..Swirly mists and mirrors,just like the movies baby…..)

You were sitting where they couldn’t see you.You fat and disgusting excuse of a child, smelling of polyester sweat and high school hatered.Bitten and dirty fingers working the hem of your blue plaid skirt like a novice nun manically mauling her roasary.You dirty kneeded nobody.

They sat on the wall above you.Sporting acne and smoking Winnfield Blues.Foot ball honed barrel chests soon to migrate south to take up residency as beer guts scant days after graduation and it was you that they spoke of ,the subject was you.

"A double bag for sure" ( * ) said those teenaged lips Exclaimed with glee.

"Fucken oath mate!"spat a stooge to his Sergeant at evil arms,words filtered through a tomato sauce drowned mouth full of four and twenty meat pie.

"Insurance" continued the 10th grade king of comedy sagely.

(A pause…a beat….a punch line…. )

"Insurance for if the first one fuckin broke while you were on the job!!!"

( * : Re- "Double bag" A woman so ugly that two paper bags are to be secured over her head prior to fornication.)

And like hyenas they bayed,Crows rose from the surface of the blacktop where they had been camouflaged ,disturbed by the ruckus emanating from the wall.Up into the sky,widows weeds on the wing.

You wanted to tear your face off and throw it at them didn’t you baby? Wanted to rise like a wave and drop pain all over them like toxic confetti..

And so it began.Poked its head from the dirt of your bowel,the poison garden internal towards a thundering light far on the horizen.And from its branches? From the never-to break boughs swung a fake ID and a one way ticket out.A pump action shot gun.Maps and gold chains.Bottles of heavy scent and blackmail fodder… Poison fruit.

Eve unto the apple, you bit ,juice flooding you. Free.

And that was your debut, the 1st time out. Cruelty broke the hymen of your childhood and there you bled.Your fist pushed into your mouth, tears barging their way down your face to mix with the witches brew of drool and snot.That was the 1st time that you thought of a new time and place.A country bound by night and wicked red light where you could be all of your heroes and not answer to that which you had been tagged,named….

The witchfinder general and his crones depart your wall.You reached out and pluck the still smoldering half smoked cigarette that had been flung in their bastard wake…choppy seas ahead you narrowed you blue eyes and took a bone deep,lung lacerating drag.His lips still warm on the filter.Your assassin.Your murderer.

Slowly you rose.Regal for the first time ,claws dug into your fast future.Ciggerette hanging from your bit bottom lip, you pressed a hand flat to your stomach and sighed.The seed moving and winding through your very core.

And you smiled because at that moment you knew everything that you would ever need to know.

There you are legion.

M

7

x

On second thoughts…

Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.Nah.Nah.Nah.Nah.

-The Birdie song.

(Which, by the way,I want played at my funeral.)

"So just think of the shit that makes you happy then"

"What,getting it?"

"Sure,I guess…."

"Dude,where the fuck am I  going to get me a Hello Kitty monster truck with a drivers side flame thrower?…Hmmm?..you still there???….Yeah,I thought so…I gotta go."

-Conversation earlier today.

Mired as ever in practicality, I sit, (stood up no less), on another endless Friday night banging away, spewing it all out into to the eather at my cluttered citadel of crap.And I looked so damn cute tonight as well Bugger it.Big mouthed punk princess with fairy queen hair and a rock fired heart.

Pft!

 I think that I need to find a virgin to sacrifice to Elvis which,I believe, is going to be impossible in LA. To find a virgin I mean. Oh no! Wait! here I am right here! Verging on the fucking ridiculous and feeling sorry for myself and it sucks.

At least I enjoyed "Slayer day"

But then again everyday is Slayer day to me.

Ahhhhh!!!! LA, you have some explaining to do…Woody says that people here don’t know what they want. I adore Woody .He dresses in Technicolor,talks too fast and rolls like a force of nature .Gently buzzed on frozen margaritas at my kitchen table he continues "Girl,you have to tell them what they want!" But ever mindful of rejection I keep my trap shut.

Still training like a fiend.Doing so much abdominal work twisting like a a pretzel I often feel like I am going to crap calligraphy .I ache constantly and feel guilty if I don’t. Fucking Catholic school education.

Leizel is home tommrow.She sounds like a very happy fish and I am glad..That also means that I go back to training  twice a day which is also cool.I am almost happy enough with my corpse to start shooting again.Good times indeed.

Writing and playing more than I have in years and my top register and falsetto are so strong due to all the running that the dogs loose their shit in spades when I hit a high C.Its the little things that make one smile.

You know,I thought that I had something to say tonight but I dont.I have a headache and a lingering mist of pain hovering behind my ribs.

As any of the Goodfellas alumni would say with great conviction and throwaway style that would make a lesser man bow his head and sigh…

"Fuggedaboutit"

M

7

x

Long dark night of the blah,blah,blah……

Do not consider painful what is good for you.

-Euripides.

I fear the man who drinks water / and so remembers this morning what the rest of said last night.

-A Greek anthology 7th BC.

Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.

-Tyler Durden.

( Cue-Herb Albert and the Tijuana brass sounding the festive alarm to my resurrection…or something…)

Hail ! Wooooo!!!

Hail my foxy return from a day of  period damage,cleaning up cat puke,small circles and Howard Hughes-ese type behavior.

I think that the dogs shit more when they know that I am here alone and don’t want to deal with it. Canine spite at its pooping finest. I mean, honestly. They look up at me so proud of their steaming or regurgitated effort "How ya like THEM apples??" their beady little eyes transmit up to me malevolent and true.

"You little cunt!" I mutter darkly while simultaneously holding my breath and fumbling behind me for the paper towels.

All the live long fucking day yesterday I felt as about as worthwhile and attractive as a mule that had gone through the front windshield of a family sedan full of Mormons.

Miss K tells me to suck it up as it was only one down,one shit-tacular day off the body dysmorpic Rollins cycle that I call my life.She,as ever,was correct.As the cloud is still hanging like a gray velvet drape over the city of sin-struck angels I am gonna run like Forest today and by God , I need it.

Codeine and the aforementioned hated time of the month ("Its shark week!" he wrote  to my sofa dependant self loathing fat fleshed self and made me wanna throw the phone….)  took me to a shady internal location  resembling the bar scene in Star Wars crossed with the Marquis de Sade’s prison cell last night, well, lets just say by the time I stopped messing round painting my face and pulling faces in the mirror while listening to 70’s era Elton John and finally went to bed.

I mean, do I know how to have a good time or what?

 My neurotic ball sack of a dog just slunk around the suit of Armour that stands a silent guard to my left with a guilty expression on her foxy little head which leads me to hoping that she has not left a surprised package anywhere for my gold tipped toes to discover in the dark.

Was text-ing my ( hopefully) new photographer last night about a Helmut Newton-esque shoot in my bathroom which is what lead me to make up and Captain bloody Fantastic crooning to me till the glitter soaked wee hours.It made all my clothes fall off as well . (….ahem.)

 "Hmmmmm?? She’s right! " pondered the Queen of Siam as she remembered something her drunk wife had cackled the week before as she studied her buff brown, make up marred,  blue eyed visage from every conceivable ( and some not- so- quite for the inflexible among us ) angle.

 "I DO have the ass of a 12 year old boy!" and off she merrily tripped, naked as a jaybird down the spooky gray hall  to pull on a pair of boots onto her mile long gams….

Random,random,random…..

My Space wont let me change my default picture from the tit gripping image that I have had up forever,the ones you like don’t like you back, I wrote a cool song and I am still home alone.Its been quite fun and clothing free amongst other things….

I received a manic call from The Brooklyn Rottweiler (my Manager ) on Monday afternoon which led to me being picked up in a flame bedecked SUV by my dear ( new and amazing) friend Ace and being ferried to the front door of The Rainbow upon the cresting wave of his fine company and the dulcet ever nudging and winking tones of Bon Scott.

Hurley ( the clothing company ) felt the need to show us ( Blagging rack jobbers,wanna be’s,assorted barfly’s and your  idiot scribe) its spanky new Motorhead tee shirt line.

Charmed I’m sure!

My name checked off and a black leather wristband clamped onto my sinewy arm.Ready for what ever adventure may choose to befall me, I entered the sacred portal and promptly lose my dashing escort and my desire to be out in public yet again. Typical and never a suprising state of affairs.

The only place I would not be the tallest person in the room is a NBA awards dinner…ever the boot bedecked beacon, I slunk my way to the refuge, which to me in these rock fueled reoccurring situations that I frequently find myself in ,tends to be the end of the bar.A free seat next to the video machine.Score.The flickering light momentarily catches my attention and I grin as I notice that Lemmy’s name holds the top spot.

As I went to claim my throne, a black clothed trestle table groaned under the lactose weight of pizza’s  the size of hubcaps and steam tray of Florida-tan- fried god-only- knows what.

I held my cherry gum scented breath as I sauntered by, lest I inhaled any fat isotopes and planted myself on a Jack Daniels stool at the open bar and asked the sloe eyed gothic Tammy Faye serving for a 7 up with a marciano cherry.She arched a comic book eyebrow up,up and away into the shadows of a ink black hairline and sniffed haughtily at the tip that I placed before her.

Feeling like the sober stain that blights all and sundry’s good times in bars the world over I dug into the gaping maw of my eternal red patent faux D&G survival pack and fished out my ever present journal while the tiny tattooed girl next to me drooled drunkenly and stared wide eyed and strangely unfocused.

 "Heyyyy…"she slobbered through tiny terrier leather glossed candy lips "Yooo should write down my numberrr" she slurred, pulling the R’s like bourbon infused salt water taffy. My eyes watered in the dark brown mist that she exhaled like the fog machine at a Journey concert.. Continuing, like all that populate Hollywood, she is immune to protocol or disdain.

 "I am a hairdresser ( burp in lieu of an exclamation mark.) Oops! ‘scuse me!.You know,we should hang out,Whatchoo writin’anyhow???" she looked miffed at my smirk and lack of total attention.

"It’s called "On the road." I disarmingly and chummily smiled at her, hands folded before me like a newscaster ,all attention now apon her. She bloomed,a badly inked night orchid.

"Wow!" she sighed "That sounds amazing!"

"Well…"I replied heartily  "History has proven you right on that front".I offered my hand like a bullshit powered traveling salesman to a valium addicted attention starved Midwestern housewife.

"Michele." I grinned like a state lottery winner "Michele Keroauc,pleased to meetcha!" I pumped her tiny timid hand up and down like a car jack, not breaking eye contact. Her dodgy wanna-be tough guy biker escort started to squirm beside her.

"Zee!" she squeeled "Like the letter!"

"You betcha!" I winked and cocked my fingers at her like a pistol.

"You Polish?" he sneered,the result of a life time diet of shitty Stephen Segal movies,ambition mixed up with ability and dubious bathtub speed.

"As the sausage and he holiness the Pope darlin!" I grinned like a retard.

He hissed and lent back. Animals to dumb even for my jaded ass to fuck with for long. I excused myself and went back to the page as they discussed me in bad stage whispers and looked up every once in awhile from their bottles of frosty Bud to behold the pen wielding Pollack and crafter of road fables seated before them.

Thank god for Black Lable Dave and Scotty in his full SS regalia to save and entertain me. Seeing Scott all dressed in Lemmy’s World War  Two finery made me a touch misty eyed for Ron Asheton.

Hollywood is chock-o-block full of ghosts for my ever open fans heart. I could just see him in his Afrikaans corp uniform striding into Rodney’s English Disco to whip Iggy to a pulp….

And here comes Beautiful Sir Todd with his Peter Grant like charisma ,keeper of the Motorhead flame for over 20 years.Ever suave and devil eyed,mentally tying me virgin- like to a stake.I love a man who can make me blush like a schoolgirl and coo like a dove….

Dawn informed me that "Yours and Nick’s are the last 2 names on the list…." "Wouldn’t be the 1st time!" I pondered darkly while txt-ing his royal punk ass to inform him of our holy door dimming status.Alas, I would be sailing the sonic sea’s without him this fine evening as he was otherwise detained. Turn that frown upside down young lady!…. yeah,yeah….Bummer in the fledgling summer as he is one of the only people populating this fickle fault line that I know who speaks my language….

It turned out to be quite peachy all in all.I put my book away and made an effort. Made the acquaintance of  Cool Cody. She and I are going to hook up for coffee real soon.A gift! A new girlfriend…cool. Matt,who daringly asked me on a date….Us all in the corner cackling away at the unwashed masses….I am guessing that Daddy-O is working his ass off with Fear Factory.Freida wrote to tell me that she made it back to Sweden.I.miss her already. Leizel calls me from the land of  leis and lava,sending mad love.Laura is teaching kids how to wail on the guitar in San Diego, which does NOT mean "Whales vagina" although I wish that it did.

Dreaming of the next time that I am gonna get up there and do my thing. Writing and playing alot. I cant complain.

Time to get out there and work it all off yet again.

Don’t get none on ya.

M

7

x

Speechless.

Home sweet home.

-Motley Crue.

Bound by wild desire,I fell into your ring of fire.

-J.Cash.

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

-The Rolling Stones.

So I will write instead.

I have been chatting to the dogs on and off all day in between massive bouts of running and beating my punching bag like it fucked my mum and stole my TV.I swore that once I had the place to myself that I would be steel when it came to getting my corpse where I want it….I got it to where I wanted it on Tuesday night though…I got it all the way to the stage of The Whiskey in Hollywood.

I shake like a fault line in waiting just thinking about it

You know,as I was flying along the tow path today I kept thinking of sitting here and what I would tell you and how. Like all perverts I think that I will go backwards….and sideways….

I waved as she pulled away.My magnificent roommate Leizel,on here way to a well earned rest in Hawaii…all of us with some kind of post traumatic stress disorder…The house thrumming silently behind me,the 1st day dying that I didn’t run since I got home to Long Beach almost a whole month ago,my body full of codeine,PMS and pain.both from holding back everything so I could get the job done and from the brute physicality that I expended through the pure joy of being unleashed on a stage again after almost a year and a half.

The cats winding their soft slutty loops around my battered shins,I cooed gentle and they slunk through the door.I lolled and locked it behind me,leaning on it I slid to the floor and finally sobbed my stupid fucking heart out.

I have got survivors guilt like you would not believe.

Like my beloved Gatsby I too will beat on….

( Pre-Tuesday….)

I never liked band  practice before, but here and with this band? I couldn’t wait.Fear Factory kindly lent us their jam space, so every day we would cross over.Day shift, all boy sweat and D&D song titles that I would gleefully pay out passing the twilight baton onto the 6 titted carnage machine in vintage tee shirts and obscene skirts that is the frontline of Meldrum.Daddy-O already upstairs having pulled yet another heroic double shift behind the kit.

 Byron, Dino and Burton grinning as we fall out of the car like a metal version of Josie and the pussycats."You got a roadie for the show Michele?" said Burton re-wrapping a bandanna round his wrist like a bandage while the girls talked to Byron,the sun swallow diving into the LA skyline,magnolia leaves stuck on the soft top of the jeep,Me all colt legs and wolf grin."I guess I do now." replies yours truly blushing an odd shade of  pink….

He was late so I fired him.

( Tuesday…early…)

And there’s Byron stage managing everyone,I gotta go and hide out backstage so I don’t talk, Big gray beanie and my fucked up Aerosmith shirt, Raquel is here! Messaging me from the front of the club! I run through the door like someone lit my feet on fire and my ass was catching right into her arms,She cackles and says I got a butt like a 12 year old boy while she goes for another handful, BL Dave majestic by the door,Tulsa teching for Freida,Laura calling me "Kiddo"and ready to shread,new members of Mondo Generator! Hey Hoss, Heya Michael, good to make your acquaintance…

Nick txtíng me, calling me a badass making me smile instead of stress,Rocky George with the sweetest smile just going where its taking him,Daddy ripping into the drums for " Institutionalized" as we finish " Äce of spades"

("ÄLL I WANTED WAS A PEPSI!!!!!)

Me grinning so hard that you would think that the top of my head is about to blow off, Jason Mc Masters smiling at me from behind his bass and off we go into "Rock and Roll outlaw" by my beloved Rose Tattoo.I do my sneaky snakey dance over to Nick as he plays the rhythm guitar parts as sweetly as two drunk angels fucking on moonshine.Gene up behind that huge kit swinging deadly and precise as the executioners blade and I am home

I stole the running sheet off the wall backstage when no one was looking.I know that it was me….I know that it was my band but I need proof.

Next time you see me ask me what’s behind the picture of Iggy Pop that I carry in my wallet gatefold .I will remove it from my back pocket,open the plastic slip reverently and smile at the look of confusion that crosses your face as you gaze down at the coiled woolly fibers, the bits of carpet that I pried ever fleet fingered and sneaky from the sacred stage during a lull during sound check……

Proof.

Mondo on now and me hanging off the front of the stage, swimming through a sonic tsunami leaving me a castaway on the island of cool…"Shawnette"…and a sly smile at my sweaty ass when he sings the tourettes line…I laugh myself stupid…Raffles being drawn by DJ Will and Leah,money being raised for Jake,so many friends and family that I have not seen since the funeral so I go and hide cause I cant fall apart not yet….

( our set….)

I take to the stage after Moa has sung a few of the old songs.She is green eyed perfection.There are no "Former " members of this band. Not now.Not ever….

She howls my name "MADDDDEEEEENNNNN!!!!!" and I smile as I walk down the stairs and pick up the mike.Heart a humming bird…so ready…I bring it up to my mouth and face a bewilderingly bright lit crowd cause we are filming all night bay-bee so that one day Jake Thomas can see how much is angel Mama was loved and respected by some of the finest…

Faces turned up to me and I open my mouth and sing….

"And I will say the only words I know that you’ll understand…My Michelle…."

And there you have it, the beginning of my new life,

M

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How the west was won.

You may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer.

-The Beatles.

We’ll never die.

-Looking Glass.

The girls have gone to the swap meet to pick up Freda’s new rollerskates.The sky is low and if I was smart I would be out running before it burns off again Listening to Leaf hound,eating almonds and trying not to throw this computer into the wall.The space bar jams up and makes steam come out of my ears.

I was riding a dear friend about her training or lack of.She shot back that if I updated this beast that she would get moving.Step away from the play station and sweat baby…I only yell at those I love.

I have not won the west yet but I am working on it. I know that I am home because no one answers your calls unless there is something instantly gratifying in it for them and people talk about everything in great detail until the moment has passed along with the buck and nothing is done but blame laying and finger waving

.I would make a fortune if I started a "Passive aggressive’s" anonymous in LA.

Much like Randy Newman, I too love LA.

Hell,its not so bad.Looking Glass just came on my I-pod.

(Here’s my navel…wanna look?)

All you really get is angry and that ain’t so cute.Not that cute was where you were heading towards at any given point but a girl needs a bit of hot pink sparkle trimmed whateverness even if it is on the inside.

Let me tell you about the malaise that I have that is flaring like an SOS signal, feels like your balls are being squeezed and your only home now for a holy 7 days.

Allergic to company.

You know better than most that jaded is a cover for afraid.Your too un-cool to be jaded.No hope there but fear still makes an unscheduled appearance nightly.You find yourself walking round with your headphones on and no music playing just so people wont talk to you.

You do nothing but question motives.You have learned well young Jedi…

Your temper is more pathetic than anything else.

So here I am back in LA Running everyday by what my mate Christian calls "The drainage ditch"otherwise known as the Los Angeles river. I run under 4 dirty shitstained  bridges and back again. Blisters the size of  fists on the arches of my feet. The bums and crazies seem to dig my fat ass and smile and wave as my eyes water at the ammonia stench that they omit so heavily that they are visible to the eye like pig pens squiggly stinkwaves.But I always wink and pound on dreaming over another level of unhinged glory.

Allen just showed upon and rubbed my shoulders for 10 minute…bliss.When ever I get a massage it piles drives how angry I am all the time even when I think that  I am  not.I store it all in walnut sizes knots along my upper back.He has gone out to play with the dogs so back to you and this endless bullshit that I spew.

You find yourself tender around volume and company.Just your luck to have it poke its head out now.11 days till the show.Looks like you are going to be singing " Äce of spades" with Lemmy .In your head you go all the way back to high school, mired in time , the V-8 powered dope smoke shrouded date rape central that you once called home.

You catch sight of your acne scarred visage in a window,your huge frame marred by fat and lumbering and somehow you know that shit will get better if you can survive it, survive this tour of unwelcome duty through an unforgiving youth.

And you did.And here you are.

The Whiskey au go-go.

The stage sweated upon by all your masters. Led Zeppelin doing 5 triumphant nights in a row while Miss Pamela and her posse panted like puppies in the heaving undulating front row fogged on chalky Quaaludes and the thought of wanton delights waiting back at the Riot house on Sunset after the show…..

Ánd on another lost night?….  Ray Manzeracks haunted fender Rhodes driving everybody’s favorite leather clad Dionysian god to greater heights of motherfucking father killing glory…

 Iggy contorting and haunting gravity, abdominal and cock like a compass lead to Ron’s sexual sonic riff thuggery like a fuck fueled David come to life.

Tommy Lee and crew in the 80’s shuffling hair sprayed into every strippers heart on the strip…..and now you…..

Excuse me while I go and throw up.

I tell myself than I am going to talk to you,tell you more.This is a warning.This is foreplay,this is the 1st shoe shuffling date…can I hold your hand? You hair smells amazing….

M

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