Clint Eastwood with a rack…

Gonna lose your mind in Detroit Rock City.
-KISS.  

So.  I totally rocked at the BDO.Bernie and Rossco Deluxe made it oh-so-easy. You have got to have the right people around you. They make me shine so damn bright….It was a long and very hot day peppered with absolute morons. I felt hunted every time we went out into the rabble. Shirtless breeders drunk and sunstroked.Giving my most excellent cowgirl self grief.  

Oh! But how I lament over the barren rock and roll vistas of today. It was like A Clockwork Orange clad in board shorts and Southern Cross tattoos.Fucktaular little heathens all of them.Everytime I wanted to clean some smarmy little motherfuckers clock I imagined Lester Bangs and me watching The Stooges ripped to the gills on cough syrup. This always seems to work for me in times of big stress or when I know that I will only get to land a few punches before I get torn apart. Pick your battles right?  

Serj from SOAD was wonderful. We spoke of rare Miles Davis bootlegs. Chatted about Phil Lynotts cock with The Living end, Died Pretty were hard but sweet, Clint from The Butterfly Effect a gentleman as always…… Let me back track some because as a scribe I have been letting y’all down. Even Lee fish berated me on my lack of updates…..  

The Beginning. I have a big mouth and absolutely no shame.Hence never having a job.  I am also lucky enough to count my bass player from my last band as my best mate.Rossco Deluxe is a tireless self taught renaissance man. A musician, writer, chef, yogi, film director….and resident of Berlin (soundtrack for this passage-Heroes-David Bowie).

 The dude is a monster hustler as well. While I was off grief struck and frying my brain recording in Canada on Big Gene’s dime last year he was working for Rock alarm TV in Europe both behind the scenes and interviewing an amazing array of diverce musicians all over the festival circuit. He decided that he didn’t like being in front of the camera….but he happened to know someone who would fit the bill…..  “Little Mishy gets a job!” Can you dig it?

And doors just up and flew off their hinges for me. Ken West gave me the most amazing interview and the biggest hug.” It’s so great that you are doing this!” He crowed and I melted. There are some people in the industry that are so gold (Pony boy) that you forget about all the laminate swinging little big man amoral pigfucking wannabes who give it all a bad name and  even worse smell.  

Well, not me, not really. I remember everything….

Back to the good guys. 

Francis Smyth, one of my oldest and dearest friends was TM for Cog so catching up with him was utterly awesome. He was my one true believer over my whole career thus far and I have not seen him in too long. Cog were playing the main stage and as I barreled up the ramp in my stacked boots ,mini skirt and Thin Lizzy Tee shirt doing my best Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse Now impersonation I got to run straight into his arms. It made my day. We couldn’t stop laughing…. Because success is the best revenge can also say that plain old garden Varity revenge is the best revenge also… 

I can’t for the life of me on days like this work out how I ever ended up in a job where I have to deal with people. 

So this weekend will find me and my intrepid crew at The Annandale Hotel covering The Devils Kitchen Festival. 14 amazing bands and I get to grill them all. 

Is this telling you anything that you want to know? I am honestly feeling somewhat brain damaged at the moment. I think that I am going to get back to work and so on. A giant Lizard has decided to become my roommate as well. Last I saw him he was heading for the back of my dressing table. I was freaking out about it to Miss Amber-roo from Bugirl who laconically replied.
“Mate, its Australia”

 My site has crapped itself so I am doing this on word. I suck. It confuses me so I am going to go. But by the by? How fuckin’ sexy is my new layout?Take a bow Metz-o-rexic. 

M7
x

Sunday night bullshit.

We’re to young to reason,too grown up to dream.

-Roxy Music.

I’m in the phone box its the one across the hall.

-Blondie.

(Vale Mich Mitchell.R.I.P)

(So what is it that I want? I want you to know that I would never….Forget it.I will tell you someday when we have time you know? Until that comes around I will just keep on writing songs about you.)

I said that I would do this hours ago but I have been buzzing around high on creative energy since me and Miss Whitetiger put on “Heart’s greatest hits” and shot mad sexy photos in my shack.

Never underrate the full sensual raw rocking power of pouting nude on a white fur rug in sweet bugger all but a pair of dangerous looking gold heels that look like they just escaped the disco gulag (“Release the hounds!!!”) while “Barracuda” leaps from the speakers at a fuck worthy volume.

Brilliant.

Its great working with someone I trust this much. (“Stop pouting! Relax!!! Shut your mouth!!!Quit with the “I have never seen a cock so big!!!” eyes .!! Jesus Michele!!!!” ect ,ect..)

We have decided to come up with one stupid and solid idea a week and then go ahead and shoot it on the lords day of rest.Ahem.So if you hear of police helicopters being deployed to chase a woman in thigh high boots and a samurai sword through the backstreets of Bankstown…..

I must be flinging around some mighty potent vibes at the moment.I decided that I would aim all my foxy woman beams at the object of my disgusting desires (“Can you point,here on the doll,to where the horrible rock and roll woman touched you?”) but I think that some of them have bounced off said inamorata’s cool and nonchalant hide because I am getting some weird contact.Weird…..

A few summers ago I held a momentary somewhat spluttering and silly flame for a bass player of ill repute and major  fame.Ho-hum.We gazed longingly at each other across crowded catering tents and festivals,We sent veiled messages with other member’s of the sonic Illuminati across the planet. My brother gravely informed me that “he” had told him that he liked me while Dave Grohl beat every one to a sweating and drunk pulp at ping pong behind us in the VIP pavilion.It was giddy,charged and utterly doomed.I beat off in a porta potty while he did drugs and set hearts and knickers aflame.Then he shagged my sister.

This is my love life sports fans.This is why I stick with my crushes and Hustler collection whilst keeping my rather ample trap clamped shut.Along with my legs.

So.

While on the phone to MFR ,Gonzo editor,ninja and all around stand up guy,he tells me that on a recent sojourn to our fair land said heart-breaker was asking after me.Good for my battered ego indeed.

But I don’t date the creatures that I wanna be when I grow up.(Or who shag my sister.) My world is too small you dig? And I have always been one of the boys ( cue Rose Tattoo…….) Guess I will run into him when I get home to Long Beach.

That and a few other heads from the past popping up on my leggy horizon like lust addled Meir cats,prowling the dry perimeters of my Serangetti of smut while all the while the one I want (” I don’t WANT that guitar god daddy, I want THIS one and I want him NOW!) is cool hand Luke with a crooked smile,a mind like a steel trap and my number ( “—– cannot take your call right now leave a details message after the tone and then hang up”)

I wish I was that cool.Now when I think that I am gonna do something uncool I call Leeroy who tells me to pull my head in.( “Michele? ” “What?” “Pull your head in “.) I am prone to monster bouts of being uncool.Its like how I spend 2 hours getting ready only to say “Oh! This old thing???” when flooded with compliments.Go figure. ( FYI: Chicks do this ALL the time.If there was a secret chick league of which I would probably not have ever been invited to join anyway, I reckon they would kill me for disclosing this information…)

Is it natural to be so in love with ones bass guitar? Je adore! Oh Leeroy of Fish! How you do deliver….My trip to Canberra a few weeks ago to get ground to a fine and fragrant dust by some of rocks dirty finest was brilliant.Truth be told everything has been a bit of a let down since.It was filthy in all the right ways.Worth the bus trip brilliant.Worth the fight we almost got into outside The Greenroom brilliant.Matt Skitz still floors me after all these years and small town yokels still don’t know what to do with an amazon in a mini skirt….whatever.

Back to the Fish. I was telling him about Dee-Dee Ramone visiting me in a dream and so on when he told me that he had a bass for me! When dealing with the ,let’s say more salubrious end of the Madden clan ? (Who am I fucking kidding?? I am talking about me and Lee here….) Its best not to ask so many questions,dig?.If we are not minding something that dislodged its self off the back of a truck we are usually seeing a man about a dog….

I dont care how he got her,we were meant to be together.

My beautiful Bass! Her name is Corey and she likes long walks on the beach,The Stooges,distortion and ME! I am not ashamed to say it,we are in love.Nothing like the love between a girl and her instrument.I did porn shots with her tonite.We are getting married.

I can play the beginning of “The battle of nevermore” on the mandolin now as well.Bow and pay great homage.

4;36 in the morning.I am addled.

M

7

x

Summertime and longing.

What the fuck is this?

-Pod People.

Wait,they don’t love you like I love you.

-The yeah,yeah,yeah’s. 

 I am doing my utmost damnedest not to be in a stinking foul mood.I am failing with fireworks..I am not gonna be here….

In fact, in my imagination I am hanging out with Lester Bangs at CBGB’S and flirting with Debbie Harry while Chris Stein is in the bathroom.Lester and yours truly. Man! That’s a bonafied  laff riot guaranteed.Yeah, riding outthe sweaty summer of 77 black outs in NYC. like a punk fueled stallion.We are a little bit in love.Drink cough syrup and argue all night about Lou Reed’s “Metal Machine music” and chain smoke till the dawn cracks like a fire egg over our bursting speed addled heads……

Nah,I am on the Deck of my shack on the Me-kong delta looking out past my Vietnamese issue palm trees onto the million mile ocean clad in my tiger-skin bikini,my Ak-47 and an Errol Flynn smile,No action on the perimeter but I note that one of the trip wires has been detonated.A dud? I radio for back up and wave to the Huey as it makes its way back to the DMZ……

Or?

I am front row as Bloodduster who, after years of dwelling in the fringe are catapulted onto the main stage at Ozzfest,They dedicate ‘DFF’ to me and I cry like a bitch…….

I would settle for anything right now.Its raining a refuge of assorted retarded animals out there and I am eating salt and vinegar rice cakes which have caused my mouth to pucker up like a cats asshole.The fat heifer who sat behind me on the train today smelt like 3 day old roadkill and I would drown a bag full of kittens in front of a class of 1st graders for a licence to kill and Brad Pitts abbs in Fight club.

That all said ,bogged in the mire of the midweek blues ,I did have a stinky sexy brilliant week end.I got to see Chris Haskett play some really cool slide blues  songs about pets and hear him call my Big Brother “The Man”by way of introducing him to the stage. 

Blackie thought that he played like crap but as he sang songs that make you feel like you are in the John Hughes bit in the movie of your life and are just about to  get the kiss that you have been waiting forever for or get dumped or even worse, get the kiss and then get dumped, Evan Rox and I sighed  simultaneously and swooned.

He’s fucking brilliant.

Then we hoofed it to the Landsdown for the AC/DC launch.Complete with cover-band.Me in the worlds flimsiest excuse for a skirt and knee sox.It was ace.I told Blackie that I would flash my rack if they got the breakdown at the end of “Whole lotta Rosie” right but they didn’t do it and so the pub was denied the majesty of my cans.

I have been writing heaps of new songs that I am hopefully gonna sing when I play in a few weeks time.Back to my stinky nylon string roots! Weeeeee!!!!

And back to another installment of “Michele bangs on about Sex”

I think that I need a fuck or a fight.Or maybe I could have a fight with —— and its is so good right,that we end up just doin it on the floor. ( Oh brother) I have not had a good carpet burn for ages.I would say that maybe I need a hobby but I have plenty of those so yep,its a root that I am lacking.I will just end up going and getting more tattoos in lieu of.

Well,I was gonna get more Tattoos any way but,you know…..

I am happy to be home but I feel that something is amiss.A bit spooked.At least I have a road-trip to look forward to.Something new, even if it is just for a few days.Its still pissing down out there.This is my summer??? This is what I fucking get???

I want sweat and incense!I want,nay! Demand 100 year old blues filtered though a broken gin steeped heart and a emphysemics lung ,direct from the cross roads.I desire a devil wind blowing through the gold,purple and green beads from my beloved New Orleans hung over a nail by my silver 7 branded door.Heels on dark roads clicking like dice in a skeletons hand.Gimme danger and leather hipsters and secret love affairs ,Gimme Dante and Beatrice and 10 large in unmarked bills…….

I want a bacchanal.To be panting and somewhat out of sorts with my knickers in a twist.(“Miz Skarlett! Miz Skarlett!!!) Well,that would be if I had any on at the time.Hark! I think that the deluge had ceased. I will swim out to my room in a moment.

I cant wait till Metz the Diminished gets home.She is ordering me my full head synthetic haired Chewbacca mask.See? That’s the kind of shit that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.She’s communing with nature some where in Buttfuck Utah at present.Gold tops have been ingested.Spells have be cast and I was informed via text message that Fleetwood mac had been reverently played at the pub at the end of the universe in my absent honor.Bless.

I am gonna keep rambling as Lilli whitetiger moved a lounge chair to the computer area which is where I find my fat ass typing this in relative comfort for a change.Ner.

I have decided to throw a big party.I want to see the people That I love and who love me in return all in my back yard getting pisssed on cheap plonk to Led Zepplin under Jasmine and fairy lights.I want to tell them all what they mean to me before life tears me away again.I would give anything to see Mish and Skoota walk through my back gate that day let me tell you.That’s it really isn’t it? Let people know while you still have the chance to do so.

So yeah.My yard is gonna look like Marrakesh and I am gonna look like a heavily tattooed Stevie Nicks and my birthday will be celebrated at last.

The underwire in my bra is trying to stab me to death.The front of my AC/DC tee shirt looks like it has dandruff (See:Rice cakes) My ass is fat ,the surf is flat and no one calls ya baby when ya need it the most.

I’m gonna go and knock the top off it in the shower and then go to bed.

M

7

x

Problem Child.

I am hot and when I’m not I’m as cold as ice.

-Bon Scott.

Every sin is the result of a collaboration.

-Stephen Crane.

Let the good times roll.

-Cajun motto.

Woke up with what tasted like a mouthful of someone else’s phlegm.

A meat eating chain-smoking bum by the taste of it.This is a shit way to wake up.So I went and camped out at my Dr’s till he gave me more drugs.I love my Dr.He doesn’t even raise his eyebrow at my extra toe or anything.So, he gave me drugs which lead to me sleeping round the clock and then waking up and fucking with my hair and poncing round in my gold high heels to AC/DC all night

I think my new look is a mix between a Sicilian widow,a secretary and Jessica rabbit.It made a dude in a mud splattered ute run a red light the other day so maybe I am onto something here.[ “Sir? Um,excuse me but these papers have to be signed right away…”]

Watched some really crappy porn while doing my nails.Russian Nymphos in space.

Nail polish ended up getting smudged.I have been a fuck free zone forever.

Its dire.But I think about all the messing about and sweat …..and then what if they cant kiss?.Here is me all dolled up to the nines smelling like a hookers knicker draw [Usually Opium or Samsara] and and get a shit snog? This is why I stay at home and totter through my fertile imagination dressed in bugger all and getting what I want everytime.

No contest really…..

“Hark! a Message!” carols our forever teen-aged tofu fueled heroine [ Yes,Me!]

It is none other than Roscoe Deluxe calling me from Deutschland to tell tales and make me grin like a mean snake with innuendo and all manor of malicious hoo-ha.Bless.He has trouble for me to get into all summer and a Mohawk. I am gonna be a busy girl.Cant fuckin’ wait.

More ink for me on Monday…..

In the meanwhile I am venturing to Canberra to see Pig Destroyer with Leefish after they blow me away in Sydney next week.Alas ,did not get to see Meshugga but was told that it was mighty and mathematical in all respects.Come to think of it I haven’t really been doing fuck all but getting better and customising clothing. A social life? Whatever….Powerehead Paul said he was expecting to see me at Down.I think that I was expecting to see me there too…No matter,the summer is parting her dewy thighs and I am diving on in.

Being that it is too fucking cold to be nude I am rocking my skanky Iggy pop Tee-shirt and pink terry-toweling hot-pants. Because as Lilli Whitetiger will tell you ,if questioned on the subject “Michele Madden. All class,All the time.” Apparently.

Have been doing positive visualisation for my big Brother in his quest for finding a home.I shut my eyes and all I can see is John Travolta in a plastic bubble.I’m working on that.Come Friday I will be watching him and Chris Haskett of the mighty Rollins band do their thing at the Surry Hills X.Blackie has told me that I am doing the next round with him.We have the cutest song that we sing together.He wrote it so of course its perfect.

As perfect as the Platoon action figures that he got me for my birthday wrapped in hand drawn paper featuring a skeleton hang off a tree singing the Beatles to me…..sigh.

So I am playing heaps of guitar trying to get ready.I keep dreaming of Dee Dee Ramone.I cant work out if this means I am meant to stop playing bass or play more?

Its four in the morning.I am gonna go and watch Apocalypse Now again.

M

7

X

A taste.

How you like that? You cant stop progress.

-Clutch.

Every time I see her start a fire, I get higher.

-Type O Negative.

All be waiting for you if you ever wanna be there.

-Fleetwood Mac.

They left Me! can you believe that??? My roommates made plans and got gone.I think that they are fuckassing around in Portland at the moment although I did get a message telling me it was raining in Tokyo.If I am a good girl I am getting new aviator’s and diet pills.

Pants free Rocktober!

Nah,Its all good.I have not got dressed in days.I cleaned the house in the nude listening to Iron Maiden today so what the hey right? I can deal with being a bit chilly for the liberation factor.Guess that they will be home by the end of the month.Be safe.

No complaints here {“Liar!”}

Ho,ho.

Spoke to The Lee-fish for hours tonite.Like a couple of conspiracy theory fueled teenaged girls.We think that we are going to suffer from terminal Rollins-itis  forever.I also think that I am gonna pull a road trip and go and see Pig Destroyer with him.He twisted my rubber arm .Twice in just over a week? Sign me up for that….

Missing Gene and Laura.Everyone got together for what would have been Mishes 40th birthday,Just when you think your getting it together and boom! Knocks you right on your ass again.Laura brought the new mixes back from Vancouver and Liezel said that they are brilliant.I know that Gene is fully obsessed with it and its yet another reason to love him.I miss playing and I miss my Long Beach family.

I am still shaking off the remnants of that filthy big sick that struck me down for my birthday.Pulling alot of Nana naps and lying in the sun.Managed to get my shit together to get a long overdue tattoo the other night from my amazing Luke though.No shit,here is the fable….

I am writing a painfully dense story at the moment filled with heaps of really cool characters,I mean,I have spent more time on them than the plot at this point and they tend to run unchecked through my imagination at all times.There is one sad eyed babe in the mix by the name of Miss Stevie.She nurses a broken heart like a  baby doll and owns a coffee shop and has serious roots delving deep into the lifer’s elixir that is rock and roll….so on and so forth….but here is the thing.I dug her and her style so much that I got the same tattoo as her.You read that right.I copied a tattoo off a character that I created.

What are you gonna do? She is so much cooler that I.Not that that is so difficult but you know what I mean.When I see her as I write she floors me with her single minded grace and melancholia. Shes all that I am not and I think that I have a bit of a crush on her.

Weird

Miss Stevie has a thing for a certain long limbed guitar wrangler who is very cavilier with her affections.She also has two grey Burmese cats called Mick and Keef….

Oh! the Tattoo! In cursive across the inside of both my elbows.You know ,above my thick black bands? The vein highway that looks like its begging to be bitten? Yeah,well that tender expanse now is inscribed in black cursive with some of the most ass clenchingly brilliant lyrics ever committed to vinyl.

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

Oh the romance! I get a swoon on when I look at them.Nice way of saying a girl boner.

So what else is going on with planet me? I seem to be allergic to my emails at the moment.Pot or kettle.I get the shits when people don’t get back to moi.I don’t have a whole heap to say right now so I keep playing guitar and writing.New stuff for the next Meldrum album and some other shit that I have on the go.Reconnected with J.Devoy who is doing magical things with his band Ink.Seeing that I am home for the summer we are gonna be wring some shit together.I love working with good people.I am a lucky girl.

Expect a Kate Bush cover.

Like I said,I cleaned like a mad woman today as the worlds hottest Vegan aka,Blackie is gonna be crashing with me for a while.Punk rocking the bejesus out of the ‘burbs meat free and devil may care.Its gonna be great.I haven’t lived with him since that shit box in Saint Peters in 04’ time flies blah,blah….I have actually got him listening to Clutch which is something.

In the spirit of flesh free living with his royal punkness I went nuts and got high on bleach and goodwill AND decided to defrost our piece of shit bar fridge along with the “De-meating” [His words not mine] of the kitchen.

As I sit here and bang  away I look over and quel horror! There is something emerging in the bowels of the freezer.Jimmy Hoffa? Nazi gold? By the look of it I wont be able to tell for the next 48 hours.

I fibbed.I wasn’t nude.I was wearing my tiger slippers.

Mo Mayhem is a dreamboat.I woke earlier this week not only to the new Hell City Glamours platter but a rack enhancing skin tight white tee shirt with the glamours babe emblazoned across the front in gold.Spoilt beyond my wildest dreams and in love with the track “Josephine”.Je adore!

I’m off to bed.Been having heaps of pervy dreams so whats the point of being awake? Duh.

M

7

x

Did you see me waiting?

A love like ours / Could never die / As long as I have you near me.
-Lennon-Mc Cartney.

Look to the end no matter what you are considering.Often enough god gives man a glimpse of happiness,and then utterly ruins him.
-Herodotus.

It was you all along.You know that right?.I Will be here waiting……. 

It was a beautiful night.Warm and hospitable .Jasmine in long unhindered careless swathes down the center of a white linen table.Us ,so beautiful under tiny lights.Miniature holes in the sky.Dead stars blowing million year old kisses for us alone.Pillar candles like guardians of fallen virtue and forbidden pleasure clustered ,as if conspiring ,around delicate condiments caught in glass cut like crude diamonds,Salt locked in silver,wine soft in gold…..

That night we were all perfect.Never to be matched or beaten.Gifted and in love .In love with the weighted air of the summer night,the tastes upon our rapier sharp tongues and with each other.

Oh my darlings,You were magnificent and I could not keep myself from you,wanton random intimacy’s that were so far from my usual locked state.You intoxicated me.I lent my head sighing upon shoulders.I tangled my roaming fingers in soft hair at necks napes.I lent back swooning into the easy circle of muscular embrace.

I stared unflinchingly into eyes,my ears finely tuned and drinking your allegory.Fire flies and squat pots of angry red citronella ,strong-holding the ink black-velvet darkness at bay,the lonesome perimeter.The end of the world.And how you shone me with your words,precise ministrations buffed me to a careless easy sheen. Your attentions passed from lips to finger tips….

I loved you so.

I am a shitful little heathen with a killer tan and an over active imagination.

I have time on my hands…..not blood. Watching karma deal with the shit-heels.Wearing heels so damn high. New Pod People on high rotation.Glad that my heroes are my friends.

Door-listed for life.Eye on a new Bass.White like the teen aged heart I hide deep inside that the likes of you are never gonna see.

More tattoos tommrow.

More more more.Like little Ollie Twist but louder and hotter than hell.

Miss me?

M

7

x

Ring-a-ding-ding.

I am not what happened to me.I am what I chose to become.
-Carl Jung.

Your the meanest woman I’ve ever known.
-AC/DC

Lay my faith in a red Dodge Chevy
Hangin’ at the Rainbow drinkin’ Jack with Lemmy
New gold chains turnin’ my neck green
‘Cause baby you know trash like me always makes the scene.
-“Money-shot”

Daddy says that I am the best kisser.
-Idle Redneck boast.

Nowhere that you can find me.

I am not wanting to be found. Mexico,Long Beach, Hamburg? It don’t matter none…..I am an afterthought. You would think that at a rather hefty (” Get thee to a treadmill!” Voice of God.) 6 foot 3 and covered in tattoos that I would be an easy target. But as I live to disappoint? Well, I would have to tell you that you are wrong.

Small is the order of the day.

Nothing but the long literary bent shadow that sees and records all of your sins. Well, if I could be bothered that is. Right now I have far too much self flagellating and sin slaying of my own to worry about. Trying to channel Alfred E Newman and Gretta Garbo ( A gormless freckle faced “What Me worry? ” crossed with a double dose of terrifying ice queen German accented “I vant to be left alone” .)

Cute huh?

Fucking about with sharp things and hollow point deliverance. Can y’all hear the Banjos? Oh baby, if I wasn’t poison we could make some slow time…..

I have a few tours coming up that I am going to be all too happy to be working on. That’s something I guess.( As opposed to?….) If you see a blur of mini skirt and thigh high boots topped by white blond hair flying by at 100 miles an hour ,laminate flapping in my leggy wake  ,don’t be afraid. Just little old killing machine moi.

Love doing merch. Love that I get to work with my mates.

Road dogs like me move too fast for fleas…..

So many fables that I want to tell you.I am a writer. (“But oh-so-so guarded now ain’t ya Miss Damage ’08?”). I have a kind of emotionally retarded Fort Knox thing going on a treat right now. I cant seem to remember who to trust and I guess until I get a grip on it the safest and wisest move is not to trust anyone at all.

Least of all myself. Naught but a sniffling tantrum encased the brindle skin of a broken heart.

Boo-fucking-hoo right?

(“The tall angry lady will have the wamburger with and order of french cries and I will have a whine-e-kien.”)

So ,I sit here wasting time only to write to say that I cant write.(” There’s something in that for all of us I think….Now if you would all be so kind to turn to page 212 in your hymnal for Amazing grace”….) 

 Is it fear? I think a little bit of fear never did nobody no harm. I think that you should be able to buy it in soft gel form at the GNC. Take it once a day with your fish oil, multi’s….down the hatch with the rest of the pills.

Elvis used to be able to take something like 20 pills at a time. Used to have one of the Memphis Mafia put ’em in a champane glass by his place setting at the head of the table. Right there next to his 3 pounds of bacon and banana’s mashed into a hollowed out loaf of bread. I think that I can do about 12?

God.Trust me to want to emulate some one who died a recluse on the crapper full of Dilaudid ,wasted potential , unhinged glory,peanut butter, angst and a ton of diamond studded calcified shit compacted in his royal  colon…..

Sigh.

Where was I ? Oh yeah, Fear. Like I said in my usual round about way,is good.I am all for it. Its just the explaining right now…… Oh, and connecting….well ,anything to do with civil human relations at all if push really has to come to shove (“Ow!”).

Me and Jean Paul Sartre baby…I guess that I just don’t have the energy. I tend to be like a sick  dog at times like this. Smell bad,crawl under the house where its cold and dark and then don’t let anyone near me.

What does it taste like?

A medicinal thing. Dirt and infernal damnation. Like gunpowder and Geezer Butlers bass tone.

It saunters like someone who wants to do hardcore things to your neither regions and it smells like baby powder and summer. I lost my mind a fair few miles back and to tell the truth I am just happy to be on a computer that I don’t want to throw through a window. I dream of nothing but redemption. Wonder what it would be like to have the energy to set people straight.

You know the deal……

I keep my mouth shut and roll on . Sitting here I thought that I was really going to carve one up you know? Flex the tendons around the literary artery (” Andddd ONE and TEW and Push!…ect,ect…..”) ,tap the plague vein but in the void I am finding it hard to build up speed. What can I tell you? …yeah you….c’mon over here….closer.

All the friends.Oh! I was kidding myself. I know that I am better off without them but it still rubs my fur all kinds of wrong. Brings static and bad news on black wings.

Me an Liezel have been pounding it at work.Some of the most amazing photography I have ever been involved in and I have got alot of miles up in front of the lens. Can you see them? In a word….no.  But take my word for it it will all be worth the wait.

Laura and Gene working their magic up in Vancouver with the mighty Chicken. I miss them so much. The support that I get from my band blows me away. I listen to the unmixed album all the time and I ache for Michelle. It is honestly physical.I want her back so much. I carry some of her ashes in a small silver vial  with me wherever I go now,deep in my pocket ,clenched tight in my sweaty fist…. and knowing that I will never see her again knocks me off my feet at least once a day. It never gets any easier.

There is a song called “Money-shot” on the album and at the beginning of the take I can here Mish sigh and then cough. Take after take as I was standing in that fucking tent driving Chicken mad it was all that I focused on.  I could hear her fingers scratch,bite and catch on the strings…..

 Not that I have been tripping the light fantastic on any kind of regular thing up here but in relation to when I shall return? Hmmmmmm??? Its much like “Chinese Democracy” ever being finished or the second coming.If you are waiting on it? Get comfortable.

I could be out a while or back here live and on fire every night. I have just had my butt handed to me and I guess I am trying to work out what to do with the sorry assed shape that I find myself in right now.As is my want to do.

Nyer.

M

7

x

Unwise.

When everybody knew what they wanted.
-Portishead.

Its 7 in the morning.I cant sleep.Hence the title.
I am back from Canada. Alot of people will be happy to know that it almost killed me.

If I could only get the fucking spellcheck to work on this fucking thing.I write to Metz and Miss Karen.They think that I am making it up as they seem to be able to fix it.

I,alas,cannot.

This is just another thing that wants to guide me handheld into a nervous breakdown.
Not being able to write my ass off up here is giving me stomach cancer.Or somthing.
Its fucking driving me mental.

“Why is it so important to have a spell check?” I hear you ask.

The answer, Oh genteel reader of my bile and glitter?

Your scribe is fuck all but an angry dyslexic who can’t type with an 8th grade education.

Charming, non?

Like I said.Unwise. And knowing my temper ( Foul,fast,distructive and violent) and the fact that this is not my computer I am gonna take leave of you now.

Try and imagine what my fat ass went through the last 30 days in the studio and know that even those of you with the most bitter of hearts and cruel minds will not even be touching the sides.

Not even close.

I got an album done.All else is static…….

M
7
x

19th Nervous Breakdown.

Here it comes.
-The Rolling Stones.

And the wreck of you.
-Soundgarden.

Love is gone away.
-The Violent Femmes.

So overwrought that I am scratching.
My nerves fuck me blind.Really.
Big florid welts the color of smoked ham.

I feel like I have insects all over me and my stomach is going insane and trying to digest itself. Oh! But Little Miss Marginal does not deal well with lack of control.
” God give me the power to accept what I cannot change” Fuck that in the ear. God? if you are real and you want me to believe then give me an assault rifle. Amen.

Knifeknifeknifeknifeknifeknife…………….

She’s so tall that she looks miss-shapen and somehow offensive. Bitter to the sensibility and the eye. Abundant in flesh and road damage. Far to many badly driven miles decreasing value and the chances of re- registration, let alone resale. The key sticks petty in the lock. The door squeals like a slow scalded cat. Interior smells of marshmallows, cloying- cute- kitty, and fluffy- bunny- finger-fuck sweetness over something darker, something decomposing.

(“I told you to throw that out weeks ago you fucking moron!”)

Her novelty value will always be at a premium. Autopsy on heels. Car crash. Dead baby. Disaster at the air show…
Hindenburg with a cunt (“OH the Humanity!”)

Roll up roll up

Oh but so different and flashy! Something that your friends will smile in amusement at when you pull up laughing.
She knows that you’re lying. She just got sick of rebuilding the bridges and patching the battlements.

She wants to kill you. She wants to be the last thing that you see.

What was that crap about the road of good intent blah blah blah littered by fools like me? Something along those lines anyway. So get this I am writing this because I don’t want to talk anymore. Oh boo hoo what a fucking wanker (*inhales cigar*“She writes a thing for people to read because she doesn’t wanna say anything???…. I TOLD you that this chick is a nut job” voce of doom internal.)

Why are all my internal voices from Chicago circa 1951?

Nut job is better than a hand job.I guess.

Reading Hustler cause Mr. Plow got a review in it and I am so numb that it’s sad. You could stick Jenna Fine in front of me right now and tops I would probably ask for a fucking hug.

I have busted my voice again. Problem being that its tuned super high and we were going to change it but….I get so fucking mad. I want her back. I want her to have it all at my side.
I am feeling like I want to slice my fingertips off and run…

Who the fuck has to temper themselves at all times? All I do is damage patrol. I exhaust myself, my few loved ones and just about every option that doest run away from me screaming. This is not what I thought my life would look like.

Been getting some sweet letters. Misguided but sweet. Thinking that this is a thing that I hide behind that inside is some sweet girl who just needs some one to set her straight and get her right. Oh lord, been here before and I doubt that it will ever stop. Yes there is more to me than what you are reading but not by much. Don’t kid yourself. I don’t. Not for a long time now.

What the fuck is that all about anyway? That
The right person will show up my tattoos will melt off and I will be miraculously transformed into some kind of stepford wife fuck hole?

Oh leave me alone.

Except for you Michelle. You I want back and by my side. People sweetly informed me that she was going to be the angel on my shoulder through all of this and so on. I don’t buy it. I close my eyes and see miles of sand and my spook radar is not picking up jack shit.
I see you in the hospital bed. I see a machine breathing for you and I am in mourning for the shit that we never got to have together.

I am so furious that I am numb.

We taped everything on a little Dictaphone. She left it running all the time. Before I left I was listening to some shit that we had been jamming….not to shabby but she forgot to turn it off and there was a whole conversation right there. I wish that I had more evidence like that. More proof that the ones that I loved and lost were real. You can forget what a voice sounds like…She was talking about Chris Cornell and how she was so happy that I was here. All the shit that we were going to do and now I feel cheated.

I can feel the carbon dying on my tongue, don’t want anyone near me. I am at battle stations with my corpse yet again but and too shell-shocked to be destructively and or even constructively angry.

I want out. It’s a battlefield internal. My big brother says, “You must almost be done!” Yeah except I feel like it’s doing me not the other way around. Everyday that I don’t hit my self imposed mark I come undone “Why do you tell so much?” muses Chicken looking over the cathedral of his interwoven fingers right into the dark heart of me “The only thing that I want people to know about me is nothing” he says.

Smart guy.

It would be a cop out to say that I don’t know “Why I do it” cause I do know, I have always known. This is what I am and what I do. And I am doing it badly.
And there I go thinking that I have made great strides. A- ha ha. I’m still a teenaged tool. I still focus on the shit that is not important, on the people that don’t even know who I am. This is almost enough to drive me back into meetings but I couldn’t think of much worse right now than sitting in a basement with a pack of addicts just like me mirroring it all back.
Can I go now?

Sleep is where it’s. Till the dreams start anyway…

I am a writer. An asshole musician. Look at me! God, I am making myself so ill right now, Dreaming of peeling myself with a blunt knife.

I cant stand myself tonight.
Enough,
M
7
x

Canada [ Roaddog ]

But its time to face the truth,I will never be with you.
-James Blunt.

I dont need heavy trips ,I just do what I wanna do.
-Iggy Pop.

Let him that would move the world first move himself.
-Socrates

Just a fast one.I cant find the spellcheck and its sent me into a bad mood.Cunt of a thing.
Letting go of what gave me a heart is horrible.No pictures up on the walls for me no more. Its all going away….but making room for what I wonder?

Thers always gonna be another tour.Another long road that I think that I am duty bound to be at the head of.I have sung to break point.Have you evah? Its strange when you can’t summon the one parlor trick that ever made you even remotely interesting to anyone in the 1st place.There is a rasp and hook in my voice that you could catch a nice sized brim on.Its making me throw alot of shapes vocally in my ewock tent in the studio that I have not had the guts to expose since I was a kid…Mama! I is singing!
Ewock tent…

I put myself at the mercy of people who understand the dynamic of sound. Chicken is one of these people. Now, You get to a studio and its usually a huge bloody room,Carpet scared with the masking tape markings of a million prior sessions ( “I said move the bass drum an inch you fucking ‘tard! An inch!! Same lenghth as your dick? …” “Fuck you princess! I did what you said YOU move it!! “. ect ect)

But being that its just me and my big voice we spent the 1st day building a tent and lining it with blankets and so on.Its quite nice really. I turn off the overhead lights ,Pile up all my papers on a thoughtfully provided music stand ,wait for my cue and proceed to have a nervous breakdown.

Gene called from the road last night and said that he is proud of me that everything that I am laying down is killer. Poor Chicken! He has to polish the turd that I am daily. He is so good at it too. He makes me feel really good about this.He is as mentally unstable and moody as I am so in a way we cancel each other out which leads to good tunes, good times and a weekly event called “Bikini friday.”

I got to do “Greenlee” Yesterday and that made me miss Skoota even more.If you are into it go and google Karen Greenlee. I think that everyone should have a corpse fucker of choice and she is mine.

I am trying to tear through this before Chicken gets here to start the day. We are going from midday till god knows at stupid o clock in the morning and as I washed the dishes last night ( “I am not gonna cook and clean” said Chicken “Why ever not!” exclamed Miss Fat Ass mc Indignation from the sofa ) I saw the big fat make- me- wanna- murder moon hanging over the dockyards of North Vancouver and shuddered. I am not in the mood….

Had the studio to myself last nite which led to hairwashing and bad Macy Grey inpersonations in the shower till the hot water ran out and I had to chuck my clothes in the dryer. Its a really cool area.I can see the welders sparking up overtime on the dry dock late into the night from the window where I hang with the cats. I have not been out all that much though.Have not been running or seeing any of my friends because all I can think of is getting this right. I just had to take a deep breath there,My shoulders were coiled up around my ears.Stress. Its self inflicted and never gets any easier for me….

Saint Tina tells me to get thy ass back to The shack pronto.I can see where that is comming from and while being dunked under the waves of “What the FUCK an I trying to do here???” That tend to break apon my fragile shore at disapointingly regular intervals at present, its all I want to do… but like Francis wrote to me last night,”You have fought your whole life for this.I know that you wont back down”

And he is right.He has made a habit of being so since I was a kid. I just need to make it out in somthing that resembles one peice.

Monkey writes and tells me that Mondo Generator are heading to Australia and that The Hard- ons may be doing the support. I think that I may be back some time in August? On the road with Zimmers Hole. But fuck,I have alredy changed my fuckin ticket a billion times.

I have to stay a while in Long Beach with my redneck brother in crime Leizel.In my absence she has been lining up the most awsome shoots and props. (” Your severed head arrived today Bobbi jo!”) Bobbi jo is my trash name.(It had to be somthing with a hyphen in it.) So thats what I am gonna be up to.I think that I get to see Gene for 5 seconds before he and Laura end up in the studio doing their thing on the album.

Coolest thing for me is the people that are putting their hands up to play on it and some of my rock gods that I have aproached that have told me, quote ( said one ) “It would be an honor to play on anything you asked me too.”
Not gonna tell you who yet.But its blown me out of the water. Just hope that Michelle can see and feel it where ever she is now.

So I am sleeping on another floor.I think that its doing my back some good to tell you the truth. Canada does not believe in the kind of summer that gets me all squirming in my pants but compared to winter anywhere I will take what I can get.

Time to circle the wagons.

M
7
X