Crash.

I think that I have oh-so much to say till I see the blank screen before me and my addled mind ups and wanders off to drink tequila lay backs,start fights in the carpark and light its farts before passing out leaning on a dumpster in the back alley.

I got a message from an old friend who is bumming around Europe and I get to wondering just how my life has come to such an epic standstill on the world wide wandering front and if it really matters. He was a touch spiteful to me when I was happy in LA being that he was not happy where he was at the time. Told me that I couldn’t  just hang out forever. Now he is doing the same thing.

People really do shit me.

I wonder if and when any of my writing will come to light as my site is down at the moment. I have some very strange and I mean this in the nicest way possible and dedicated readers who jumped to inform me of this fact muy pronto. A  gold star and a monkey stamp to you my little homicidal infidels! Bless you. I am trying to get a hold of my ninja tech-head ex-roommate who now dwells up north in a basement apartment with her wife and cats but to no avail. In the meanwhile I will stay locked in my room and talk to myself yet again.

Talk myself through it all and down from the bell tower.

Apparently, I am now a spa in Argentina according to the browser. How quaint. Hope that she can work it out ,what ever these glitches are have befallen me. Meanwhile I will just keep writing because then when it is all reinstated it  will look like I am far more prolific than I really am.

Kudos to moi.

I seem to have forgotten all my songs in the month off playing shows that I have had. Not a good sign.But do you see me picking up my guitar and trying to work it out ? Noooo. But if you had of been looking in my kitchen window today you would have seen me sneezing all over my roommates meat pies and putting them back in the freezer.

The detritus of my life is slowly creeping up the sides of my beloved oasis of a bed again. Action must be taken.I am absolutely dreading this weekend. Tom “The hook”,one of the DJ’s at the club ( so named due to the fact that his hands are both hooks and no I am not making this up,come to the club and I will introduce you to him.) informed me,a little too gleefully I thought, that this weeks theme is,wait for it, a “Tradie rave”. As in tradesmen.As in the fluorescent clad,drunk driving moron that I have the utter misfortune to live next door to.

God hates me.

I clutched his cold curved steel extremities in my fat bejeweled pink hands and locked eyes with him wailing “Noooooo!” .He was shocked at my reaction and I then commenced babbling about how I have to live in the same house as one of them and that his over-all grossness and stupidity are zapping my admittedly dwindling will to live.

He asked me to get a cigarette out of his pocket for him and as I lit it he told me that I would live.

Live! Ha! I have to deal with a florescent tidal wave of mediocrity crashing through my door on Saturday night and I will live???

Bah!

Like Steve Harley and The Cockney Rebel crooned “Its just test ,a game for us to play”.

Admit it,you are sitting there going “Ohhh-ohhh,la,la,la” right now aren’t you? Its cool ,so am I. If you tamper with stringed instruments I highly recommend belting this one out at top volume.The chords are F-C-G in the verse and Dm-F-C-G in the chorus.

Your welcome.

I just love me a well placed Dm. Ohhh! A Dm7 even more so…..

It will be ok. It has to be or I will open fire on the fairway at the next Easter show.I got to hang with half of the fox-core tonight which always lifts my battered spirits and Miss Nina has got me into fasting so I am full of pious self regard and bocoo soda water. Trying to ride out my insomnia and looking forward to seeing Goatwhore next week.Get my doom on and whatnot. I went mental before and cleaned up my room so its all good,I actually found the floor. It was the pay off for spending the last of my money on a white leather fringed handbag.

And having the brown and black versions on lay-away.

What?!

I  may be fat and fuckless,granted, but there is a lot to be said for nifty accessorizing. These bags are a cross between Daisy Duke,Cher and The Sunset strip in ’89. As my long suffering and absolute saint of a mother is fond of reminding me,I have a rather major problem differentiating between “Want” and “Need”.

What-the-fuck-ever.

Listen up fact fiends ,I am a zaftig homicidal loner who is about an teeny-tiny inch off going completely and irretrievably postal and I plan on sporting a fabulous purse when the shit goes down. Dig?

Oh how I long for a home where I can line up all my beautiful shoes in a jewel like row.A wall of handbags.Racks of my amazing clothes. Meanwhile,back on Planet Shit, I reside with a meat eating life support system for a sofa and a big screen TV with an IQ of about eleven-teen.

Ok…good stuff Madden! Write about the good stuff you whinging harridan!.

I am on a cloud as I type being that I have made the top 10 finalists for Miss Inked 2013. Swoon. Get thee to my face book page and Vote! Vote! Vote! I want a crown! Pay back for being picked on at school! Queen of the underdogs arise!

Saw my big brother on stage tonight. Thank god I still have a big brother after what happened.He was amazing and my face hurts from smiling.

I wore my Indian head dress and forgot half my songs. All in all a joyous event.

Its a dirty job but someone has got to do it.

At your service and by your leave….

Ice.

I forge ahead with bold and daring new endeavors not ready for them eventuating in any way shape or form.

I set myself up every time.I keep thinking that something will eventually shock me back to life.I dare myself to live because I have not the courage for any other option. I think of when I was wanted and treasured and my blood moves slower with the weight of the ice forming in my veins.

I see what was mine from a great and perilous distance. My existence ,full of sweet fuck all,exhausts me. I am good at pining and sleep. All that I hate in others is what I despise in myself.

I keep throwing myself forward.I keep going to see what happens next. Don’t you?

My big brother tells me that he has new strings on his guitar for tomorrow.His courage is awesome to behold,his recovery a blessing. I cannot wait to bare witness to his peerless talent,to see him on stage again as I have seen him so many times before. I thank all the available gods for his continued existence on the the planet at the same time as me. Fuck your notions of blood ties,fuck them swinging. Your true family find you in the end.

I read his text and I smile.I have not played my guitars since I returned from down south where I played my ass off writing for my band. I hate living here so much and no matter how I look at it all it is a Mexican standoff and I know that it will be me to go. This is where I shower,shit and sleep. I don’t feel comfortable playing here. Its beyond dire. The whole family thing? I am so glad,blessed, that I do not have it. Tied to useless people that you have nothing in common with. I attempt to spend as much time out of the house as I can and I shudder and jam my ear plugs back in when I hear a key in the door on a rare night that I find myself ,well,for want of a better word, home.

This is not a life.This is no way to live.

I think that I am going to start packing up my existence once again.Boxes of books as high as the ceiling,clothes I am to fat to fit into. I don’t want to look at my possessions any longer when I cannot be in my supposed domicile to enjoy them.It hurts far too much. I do not want to look at myself. Miss Nina has schooled me in the ways of intermittent fasting and clean food. My body is morphing once more.Shifting its hazy perimeters again. I remember the bones that lie beneath and the clear vision that comes with fury and physical diligence.I need to amass funds and solutions  will come. I need to get my head in the game to play these Wednesday night shows again.

I let myself down.Never gently.

Good things present themselves to me and I am superstitious,I dare not articulate them though fear that they will disappear. My shabby cards are held close to my buxom chest.I stay low to the ground.

We loved each other more than we loved ourselves.I still feel myself bleeding out towards the coast and I wonder if the mercy that we show each other could ever be a firm foundation for our truncated future. Do you want to get it right? Maybe there is no place for me by your side, no place for anyone. I am drawn to our kind.Addicts are so very charming.They have to be as they are always in the position of having to refresh the cast of their lives as they can’t hold onto any one for very long.They always have to make new friends as they use the old ones up at a rapid rate.

Know your animal.

Its a dog and pony show when the monkey holds the reins. Vampires. They suck it all out of you and then move onto the next host.The jones must be fed and the pure hearted are grist to the junkies mill.I didn’t even know that I had a heart until you broke it. Isn’t that just the darnedest thing?

We are as close to forever as our kind can come. We know this. What ever shabby stand-in is by your side? I can forgive you for your bottom-of-the-barrel bonanza. She is a band-aid on a bullet wound. She is a stop gap with a cunt.

Glad that I am a husk.It cuts down on perimeter defense time but rest assured I still walk the point.There is nothing of value left within me. I am a mute.A novice. A celibate cripple. I am less than zero.

Thank you.

I don’t want to play tomorrow.I am so rusty.The ones that think that I will rise again? I am ashamed under the raw light of their misguided faith.I don’t want to let them down. It is freezing out there tonight under the full moon but you have to believe me when I tell you that it is even colder within me. One of my oldest friends,my compadre,so far from me now tells me that “You always win” He is unflinching in this belief and I want so badly to be the woman that I was when he declared it so,back when I lead our band like a pirate queen. He writes to me of my loyalty and how it is one of my finest traits.

I shut down to survive. I am a coward when it comes to relations,to love. I do not have the right tools and I am not mean enough to play the game.

I will sing.

And I wonder somehow if you can still hear me?

Liberate.

Did that thing that I do when I lie around, pinch my fat, listen to mid-70’s rock and try and work shit out.

Stayed in my room round the clock to avoid my male roommate,the pig. I have been feeling so blue for so long about my busted up relationshit. ( note-the spelling is correct) when I got to thinking that its just like everything else that ever drove me forward,that is, if I want it to be.

Rejection and heartbreak is the finest fuel.

The best thing about a)-being adopted and b)– being a comic book fan is that most of my comic book heroes are orphans,disgruntled aliens or foundlings. Superman for example,his whole fucking planet exploded and all he got out of the deal was a fucking cape but did he let that stop him? No, he did not. And he was useless in love as well. Stop laughing! You got to take solace where you can find it.

Well, its always worked for me.

And while I am at it? …Clint fucking Eastwood people. He wasn’t re-reading old texts and crying in the shower in “Unforgiven” was he? No! He was too bloody busy being a fucking bad ass was what he was doing.

I think that when I can jump the hurdle of being unwanted yet again I am going to soar. It worked when I was dumped at birth so I am thinking that if I get my ducks in a row and do this right it should work again. Worth a shot. Maybe mixing with the unwashed masses is my kryptonite. (“Ye gads! I think shes got it!”)

I think of it like its the National Geographic of Rock.Work with me here…. Boys get all their mega expensive cameras and dart guns at the ready and hunker down for weeks at a time by the Waterhole of Awesome ( Located on the Serengeti of Sound if you have misplaced your map. ) They film from dusk till dawn every day,a flock of Hipsters mooch over to the edge of the oasis with their stupid haircuts and split the seams of their black skinnies while trying to bend over to  get a drink ( Note-this embarrassment is what eventually leads to their extinction. Dehydration or hip? Lights out. That combined with their parents telling them that thirty is too old to still be living at home….) The camera men play endless games of cards,drink warm Heineken and eat ding-dongs.They are bored shitless when all of the sudden…..Out from the bush at sunset she saunters,long of leg and sharp of tooth doing great things for hot leather boots and black eyeliner. She sings better than you,plays bass louder,knows more about Lester Bangs,Slayer,The history of the Vietnam war,The Stooges and Hello Kitty than you ever will.She could catch a fish with out a hook ,light a fire with out a match and the way she walks reminds you that you got to wind your watch.

(Digression- Best compliment I ever got? “You are the trailer park Angelina Jolie crossed with a tattooed Victoria’s Secret Angel!” So what it came from a fag? Um hello? Fags have immaculate taste! I don’t care!)

This is it! The moment that they have been waiting for.The moment that they have talked of incessantly and dreampt of! The sunset turns her hair to fire and her thousand yard eyes to ice. She lifts her nose ever so slightly,sniffs and grins right at them with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. She takes a single step forward….

And what do the boys do after their long wait ? They shit their pants,run screaming and hide behind their fucking jeep.

I kill a few hipsters,flick my hair, sigh and head back into the jungle.

My point?

Boys don’t want the real deal.They want a Hot Topic copy of the dream they they are not hardwired to handle in the first place.

The ass-hats.

Bet they left the lens cap on and all.

When I look at blood ties and where it gets you and then I look at most of the relationships around me I think that I am in a pretty good spot in my life. I am still dead from the waist down anyway. The Dead Kennedy’s should write a song about me called “Too fat to fuck.'” Tried to watch porn the other day.Still feel nothing so why bother anymore? No one wants someone who refuses to dumb down and play second fiddle anyway so there is no point really.( The watering hole debacle dig?) I thought that I had it all,that I had finally met my match and I was wrong so why waste my time thinking about it ? ( “You ain’t that tough girl” ) I know right? Ah,if only it was that easy. I think that I will always think about him but its time to start thinking of myself again.

And yelling at myself to stop wallowing and get right.

Nate drummer, mon amour, got the rough mixes the other day.I got a text from him saying “You FREAKS! I love it!!!” Phew! Relief! I have been listening to them over and over and singing when the house has been empty and I have come up with a heap more stuff. Its exciting. I have not done enough acoustic practice for next week though .Thank Elvis everyone is showing up just to see Blackie anyway. Think that I will rustle up a set tomorrow so I am not going in totally blind.

I feel really rusty. Be fun to go in and decorate the room with my crew and what not all over again. I think that this will be my last run with it though. I’m not captivating enough to do this shit every week and expect people to show up for it,I ain’t fooling myself there. I know that my band needs a lot more attention at this point and its time to pick my battles.

Went to use the microwave before and it smelt like some kind of burnt carcass.That is a battle that I cant be bothered to fight anymore. Word to the wise? Never move into a family set up. You will lose every time.I must of had a brain tumor for breakfast to think that this was going to work out for me. Oh well,lesson learned. The hard thing is that I have lived with Lilli for fuckin’ years on and off and we co-exist really well. It bums me out.The joke is on me,I was told her idiot brother was only going to be staying a few months.

Ha ha ha.

Ok,so in conclusion your Honor, I don’t give a rats ass that I couldn’t get laid if I was an egg and that I live next door to an abortion.No! In the immortal words of my beloved Black Flag I shall “Rise above!” Yes. I will use my isolation and my rejection  to reconfigure and realign myself. I will use my magic for selfish ends. I will stop chanting for his whore to spontaneously combust while they are fucking and I will do my laundry.

“Alone”  is not only a rad song by Heart,its the word that sets ya free….if you want it too.

And I do.

Liberate.

Outtake.

Then….

So,I got up on stage with my face smashed in and I sang my guts out. I mean,c’mon! What was I meant to do ? Call is sick? I knew then and there that if I could do this then there was nothing I could not do.And I was right. My eye was a globe of blood and I ignored the looks and whispers as I waited for the fat promoter to pay me after the show.Thin and tired I pushed onwards as there was nothing else to do.The Seattle Space Needle looked like the fluorescent digit of a neon God finger banging the bored dead grey sky. Rock and Roll is a dangerous game.

Now….

One of my infants comes to me for hugs.Blindingly good looking and tempered beyond his years he rests his dizzy head on my rack and sighs .I give him my US flyer’s  jacket when he comes out for a cigarette being that he insists on getting round in not much more than a tee shirt,a cheeky grin and lashings of tattoos even in the middle of winter. He laments his short stature but I think that he wears it well. He looks up at me with those grifters eyes and says straight-faced ” You know even though I am short I have a massive cock” I bark with surprised laughter and delight at his candor from beneath my hot pick furry hat that is in the shape of a mouse complete with ears.A dead mouse because it has gaffer taped X’s where its eyes should be which appealed to my punk rock sensibilities no end as you can imagine. Undeterred and earnest he continued “Soooo you know,I know that you don’t fuck but if you ever wanted to try again,you know,with a friend…”  Retrieving my huge coat I plant a huge kiss on his forehead,not un-tickled by the offer and shoo him back inside.

I am loveless.

Then….

We go to see The Germs at The El Ray. This was at the start of us.I slide my knickers off down long smooth tanned legs and press them into your hand as we watch the band.Our pupils dilate. You drive us home fast with me almost on top of you,one finger buried inside me like you are checking the temperature.I know that I will love you forever.I still have the ticket stub in my wallet along with a jagged piece of one of your teeth.

When I lived in Long Beach I talked to the dogs insistently. I smiled at the photos of Lemmy taken in my back yard at some long ago party stuck on the refrigerator door. I crooned  Gram Parsons songs to the dope plants as I watered them lovingly every morning .I ran twice a day and slept on the floor next to my roommates drums on a big piece of foam knotted and in a tangle of flannel sheets.Everything had glitter stuck to it.I was happy.

Now….

“If I have to go” I ask one of my only friends “Will you still love me?” She plants a kiss on my cheek and sets me free.

I am so fat that the back of my neck looks like a packet of hot-dogs.My thighs touch.I still don’t jerk off. I am dead.I write all the time,I can’t stop. I think of the number one dude on my “Date-a-dead-guy” hit parade,the incorrigible Lester Bangs. He said that you always create something of worth when you are at your least cool. I smile winningly at the picture of him that I stuck to the edge of my mirror with a well chewed wad of pink bubblegum as I paint my eyes heavy with ink black powder,a look that owes a massive debt to both Pamela Anderson and Dusty Springfield. I sing along with lusty conviction to one of the innumerable “Best of Southern rock” compilations that I always manage to accrue while on tour and vow that I will practice my scales tomorrow.I chase ‘ol Skydogs guitar to the ceiling and back again.

( So blood is thicker than water huh?  Tell that to an ice cube.)

There are seven of us. It must be the Italian in me but I decided that we all needed to wear the same ring. They are beautiful black enamel set with a rhinestone Fleur-de-lis. Our motto?  “Ho’s before Bro’s”. I got to work out how to write that in Latin .Trust me here,you can’t tell us shit.

Lend people that you don’t like money.Trust me on this one,it doesn’t have to be much….They will avoid you so that you don’t remind them to pay it back.Its not often you can get a problem solved for ten bucks is it really? I am a fucking genius, me.

Caught a sad song in the sonic net while making Saint Cecilia magic at The Cat Palace.Marcus recorded it. First take you could hear him wetly coughing in the back ground.Personally? I thought it was cool as it reminded me of  “Sweetleaf” ( “Duh-nah*chick* Duh-Duh-DAHHHH-nuh….) but he made me do it again sans the bronchial back-beat. Me playing Marcus’s amazing gypsy guitar,just two bass heavy chords and that big old voice ‘o’ mine….A song about a boy,well,a man really (duh!) who I think affected me a lot more than I did him ( Ahhhh! that old chestnut? again?) He was kinda like a punk Lindsey Buckingham. (alpha prime and i swoon…) He was always next to me when we hung out. I’m so dumb when it comes to subtlety. He was and to my limited knowledge still is brilliant and witty. A diamond geezer with a face that Michelangelo could have done rude justice to given a block of snow-white  marble and a month or two with a chisel .Not too hard on the eye is what I am sayin’. Real rock men are ever so hard to find these dire days dontcha find? Anyhoo,I was day dreaming about him on the train after a hell night at work and I wrote a fully formed song between Redfern and Riverwood. The working title is “Suburbaside” and I wondered as I wailed in a cozy room full of indifferent cats,my guitarist and a Hiroshima sized cloud of dope-smoke if I ever cross his far-away mind.I strenuously doubt it.

Wish I could let him know somehow.The bummer about writing such songs is that all the wrong people think that it is about them.Tools.

Never?….

Could we fuck to “Fun House”?. Would you laugh at me for Praying to Elvis? .Sit in the dark and watch Roman Polanski movies?. Can we waste time and hot water in the tub? Can I wash your hair? Boys like you drive women like me to write whole albums and then go bat-shit insane. I will ignore you for at least half an hour when our paths cross again. Misplaced pride doncha know? Just like Robin Zander crooned ” I want you to want me….”

Then….

It was for keeps.We were magnificent.

Now….

I don’t know what is happening,where you are. I never ever thought that this would happen to us. That 140 cum-guzzling pounds of  drug drenched platinum haired psychopath could bring you to your knees.I thought that we would get a second shot. Oh well. Me? I play my bass till my hands hurt and my back wants to break,I record with my band,I keep my head down.What I no longer do is live in hope for any kind of anything.I beat any kind of need clean out of myself.

I survive.

Fuck.

Its the details.The things that I was always running to fast to notice.Smeared like wax,dripping coma slow on the periphery. But now,in shock,I seem to have all the time in the world. Not that I know what the hell I am meant to do with it.I see the traces of us that you have left behind and it soothes me no end. I was flicking though us online and I found the cute picture of us outside the Annandale when we had just come off tour. Made me happy that you had posted it along with my all time favorite picture of us onstage in Berlin at Whitetrash.We fit each other so well and I think that that is why I have been unable to give myself to anybody else.

Not that I am much of a prize right now…..

Whats the point?

The thought of someone touching me,trusting someone enough to get me naked? Ain’t gonna happen.Be easier running through hell in gasoline lingerie.Think that I am gonna need a damn sight more therapy before the thought alone doesn’t make me toss my cookies.

Its seven degrees out there tonight and although I still want to murder my roommate I am throwing up bountiful thanks to Elvis that I am not outside in my shed even though I miss it so much. That was one cunt of a winter people but strangely I was still happy. I had space and privacy no matter how arctic that’s why.

Working on the material for my beloved band. Poncing around my shoe cluttered bombsite of a room like the bosomy spawn of the illicit gay union of Robert Plant and Chris Cornell .Looks like me and the amazing Miss Nina and going to steal 48 hours in July and head back to “The cat palace” ( aka-Marcus’s house) so I can proceed to kick out some more jams with my dope drenched partner in crime. Nathan,drummer mon amour,has been sent the tracks thus far.Hope he gets a sonic boner for them.I depend on my drummers live so much.Mikey was my anchor in Tourettes as Gene was in Meldrum. Now more so than ever since I am playing bass as well.

Its a heartbeat dig? Keeps me tethered to the stage.

I also have a month of Wednesday night shows to look forward to as well.Feeling a tad rusty but I don’t feel comfortable practicing at home anymore ( living at home,sleeping at home,breathing at home…..) which is pretty much the most low down shame you can imagine. So much for having a sanctuary.Sanctuary,pigs ass.I will have to do it though.

Blackie tells me that he has been playing every day and I am so proud of him.I know that I am going to snivel when I see him get back up there again. He is not getting well as fast as he wants to but as I tell him the progress that he has made is amazing and the fact that he is still here at all is nothing short of a Ron Ashton sanctified miracle.I spend allot of time wishing the most heinous things on the two fucks who did this to him.

Think “Final Destination” and your kind of coming close….

Been felled by huge waves of homesickness for LA.Not being home for the 4th of July two years in a row is utter bullshit in my books. Freezing here under the weight of my weight and a depression that ebb’s only to flow back and fiddle with my shaky foundations like a priest with a choirboy.10 pounds lighter though.

And love is caged. I find myself walking more.I walked to Central station the other night.I trot all over the place broke and cold but able. I am able to do what I want when I want. The thought that you are not feels like a steel cap boot stomping on my heart. I want to send you miles of words on paper that smells like me but you have left me alone in the ether. I call your number senselessly hoping against hope….

Hung with the Foxcore tonight for a much needed catch up. My amazing friends who make me feel like I am worth so much more than I think I am. I am so lucky to have some amazing friends.

Its cold and I am tired. I wish that I knew what the hell was going on back there. Look at me hanging in the wind.

Does this hurt and confusion make my ass look big? Is it my color?

If I told you how much it hurts me you would take me out back and drill a bullet though my brain.

Return.

To what?

And the 64 grand question in play here is “Can you?”.

Can we ever return?

Missing the past can get you into an absolute world of hurt with no clearly marked exits and maybe a more practical bent is needed for such delicate repairs,one that my fat fingered self does not possess.Us sad humans and our big boo-hoo hurts…

People don’t really want to give you a clear slate and on that note maybe its better to leave well enough or in this case  not well enough the hell alone.

Even when you want to build bridges some people just live to draw your cowered attention to what they perceive as the “Mistakes” that you once made. Over and over again. Some days the air is rare and the incoming constant. If you want me around just to tell me what you think that I did wrong over and over again what is the point? Why is such precious time being wasted? Either accept my efforts as admittedly sparse as they can be at times through embarrassment or just plain shyness or fuck off.

Simple huh? If no one is going to man up and lay the cards on the table well then I guess its up to me yet again.I figure that every day is another twenty four hours closer to death and why mince words?

Open  ended disclaimer as of now: Ain’t no saint,never claimed to be.

And guess what Einstein? Nor are you so calm the fuck down and get off your high horse.

I write to think in solid form.I write to leave a trail,to have proof.I write because I am a goddamn writer and I am not holding a gun to anyone’s head to read it.Its on you.I don’t care if you find yourself up in this and nor should I have to.Mother to none and one day you are going to have to hold your own hand.

I wonder in retrospect if I was some kind of fine boned imported prize. A trophy. It makes me so sick.I wonder if friendships meant anything pure and true because it seems to me when people didn’t get what they wanted ( a fuck? a relationship??a song?! ) from me my stock plummeted.I feel like the human Black Friday.That is what hurts the most. Were all those good times  a stepping stone to get their fuck on with me? To get me into a band?? I thought they were my friends! Let me lay down some back history here…When I fell in love and for better or worse no matter what the outcome was or what anyone’s opinion was for that matter I did,with my whole black heart and shrapnel shredded soul,there were people who,to put it lightly,were not impressed.Well,when it became clear that I was off the market I was dropped like a hot potato.

A friend indeed.

I was made to pay and it sucked and hurt in equal measure.But that is not the point here.

But the falling in love part? I would do it all over again even if the outcome was the same.

So were they? Were they friends or predators?  Were they my friends or was every action I treasured in their company just an underhanded wooing technique?

And why do I have to keep paying for it?

My relationship consumed me and there were allot of people that were not happy about this.People that I thought really loved me.Funny that ,so many of my friends were so happy to see me in love at last,totally stoked. Rats are smelt….

So now after much dust has cleared I am attempting to rebuild bridges and I am not pointing fingers.Just an honest shy and sparse attempt but I have to tell you its hard to be friends with people who wont move on.Who wont let me move on.If you don’t want to forgive me for my loud life and choices that is cool and your decision that I completely respect but allow me to advise you some about now,don’t keep throwing my life in my face because I have got one hell of a pitching arm on me and my aim is true…now wait, a second…

No.No ,No.No! Because that would be engaging in the very behavior that is infuriating me.

I gotta take a good hard look at this.I know what I did and didn’t do and  I know what I did wrong.I have admitted to it all and am trying to make some fragile amends.I know what I could of handled better and I honestly regret that I did not.But I am not going to continue to eat shit for something that I paid for harder than anyone will ever know.

Newsflash,sometimes I find it amazingly hard to communicate.I don’t play well with others.But I am not a masochist and I refuse to engage in sick reindeer games.

And I will not be flogged for a life less ordinary or because I thought that a friendship was true when it was just a ruse to get me into bed. Fool me once my bad,fool me twice?….

I am glad that I had the love that I did.I am glad that I have been alone since it ended.It was and remains the love of my and his life and I am not looking to replace or relive it for that matter.I have always been good at being a solitary animal.Most foundlings are.We were created to operate as such.How I conduct the matters of my hard heart is my business.

Maybe this is another version of natural selection.I would be lying if I claimed that the thought didn’t cross my mind.The thought crosses my mind endlessly.

Just sayin’…….

Message.

I feel like I am watching myself from a great and thankless distance.

I am numb with the realization of a reality that I thought that you would dashingly dodge once again.You have gotten away with yourself for so long that I never thought that this time would be any different. The thought of you confined rattles me to my very core.Without choice or liberty. The cold air slapped my face as I made my way to the store tonight to stock up with fresh produce for the week ahead.Miss Nina juiced me acres of kale last night and it turned my pee green and energised my tired cells. I wish that I was still taking care of you.I was brilliant at it.I laughed thinking about how you had never met a vegetable that you didn’t want to beat up but how you tried new foods to please me and that I loved you for it.

Can I thank you for loving me the way that only you can throughout the whole shit-fight that this last year has been,peppered with drawn out court dates,miscommunication,longing and a psychopathic harpie with an a-cup rack and a heinous heroin habit?  I love how you have protected me right up to the last minute,the romance of it all.You still make me swoon with your chivalry.I don’t even know where you are now,where they  have taken you.You protected me from that reality as well even though I wish that you had not.I hate not knowing. The phone rings and people ask me how I am and I hang up.

You know how I am.I am broken.

So glad that I got to speak to you for hours when I was recording. That we stole that time before I had to go and play my heart out again,all these songs that we pen about one another because we are cute like that.How you sent me a list of all our favorite bass players with my name tacked onto the end.That you told me that you were proud of me.That made me smile,

I will always be connected to you.Its not as if we have a say in it.It just is.Sacrosanct and infallible whether we dig it or not. Nobody will ever understand that and why I persist in light of such gruesome infidelity and dire behavior. But we don’t care what they think that  they know (“Fools!”) and nor should we. Civilians cannot fuck with foundlings.They don’t understand being raised on insurmountable loss.Of knowing that you were a mistake from the get-go. That is our kingdom and they are not equipped nor welcome.

La Perdida always find our own in the end….

Sleep claimed me as its long lost own after a long night on a freezing door. I nearly belted the stupid clean off one of my infants for unwise folly but other than that I was far too shell-shocked by developments back on the west coast to react to much really.During frosty lulls in the proceedings I re-read your last messages to me on my ancient nokia and my chest thrummed briefly only to duly constrict against what is even more loss.More than I could have ever imagined. But not as many tears as I would have thought.Only later and only in the privacy of the steamed up rainroom after I had dropped a grip of cash on a taxi to get my mourning-for-a-future-I-never-got ass home as the train lines were down yet-a-fucking-gain. I have been here before.I know that there is a chance that I wont stop if I start so I choke it back. In the war of salt and disconnected numbers I am a solider. I know the rules.

It has come to this.

I cannot seem to settle on anything tonight.Its inappropriate to call someone of my present bulk “skittish” but it will have to do.I wish at times,that my memory was not as good as it is.It leads to grudges and revenge.I could recite my first phone number to you as easily as I could sign my name. Do I make contact with our friends? Ask them what they know? Or have you alienated all and sundry once again with your predictable and ever lamentable behavior? I press the redial button on my almost obsolete phone and pray that you will pick up,that a sky wrapped satellite will send my sleep saturated voice deep into your ear.That  we could both stop trying to be so fucking brave for a second.

It rings out and I am desolate.

The roommate that I adore is avoiding me.She knows the signs in me too well,she can sense my disconnection.That given a choice I will leave her to what she has pledged allegiance to in action rather than word.She can say whatever she likes but I know the backhanded ways of her species.How they complain but rarely maim the aggressor.La sangre siepre ilama. It is how and what they are built for.I understand her kind more than she ever could mine.Its a sad state of affairs but we all have our own destiny.I will work and work until I am able to fund great escapes and unblemished vistas.I can only hope that our long illustrious friendship will survive.

Shit in one hand and hope in the other and see which one fills up first.No hard feelings…..

The house is blessedly silent at last.In two months I would have been living here a year and I have still not properly unpacked.What does that tell you? Well,outside of garden variety laziness. I’m not happy here and its just such a shame.The place itself is great,hardwood floors,a pool.I even have a palm tree which served to make me a little less lonesome for Hollywood for a tenuous tainted time but to no avail….My male roommate,on the other hand, should have been born with a target on his forehead.Should not have been born at all.

I am writing to keep from falling.

I am thinking of you. I am sending up flares into the black velvet sky praying that you can see them where ever you are. The last person that fit me was you. It was always you. I stumble onwards alone patching myself together and residing in dreams that at times are almost tangible.I replay the tiniest details.I treasure them.Sauntering around Spain arm in arm,sliding down frozen streets in Norway,churches filled with the sound of our interwoven voices in Italy,our Hollywood apartment,our shack in Australia. I revisit it all and savor the weight of your heavy callused hand in mine.

I am always trying to make you laugh,to shake your bad moods away.

You arrive at my heretic heart with a profusion of obscene roses and passion fruit tea.I bring you parade drinks choking with double caramel and whipped cream .As we imbibe we speak in shorthand like disconnected Siamese twins.I drink clandestinely from your profile,sneak sips of the cool blue of your eyes.I spin my engagement ring and wait for our desire for each other to become uncontrollable yet again. Smiling like the Mona Lisa I know that the wait will not be long.

You do this to me.

(Jail,Rehab or Death.)

I spend so much time in our past that all the days bleed together and leave me behind.

And a whore.There is always a snake in the garden. I naively thought that you would get right and come home but you decided to punish me with what ultimately did the same to you. You lay down with a dog and you got up with fleas.

But away from all of that and what it has lead you to? You are still mine.

And there?

We are on tour forever my love,tangled on hotel sheets,hot and sated after the show.The tar flees from beneath our renegade wheels as we take each town by sonic force and under moonlight. We are bruised and tattooed.I lick the sweat from your flanks and sigh my shaken stained soul past your cunning lips to nestle deep in the inky chambers of your black heart. We fuck like we invented it.We sleep knotted like a flesh puzzle,our ink talks and tangles together late into the night.

We are always and remain inseparable.

Always.

Inseparable.

We are.

We.

Trails.

Really?

There is a dyke in my living room.

Not a reinforced wall that holds back a large body of water either.A bad tempered buzz-cutted sister of Sappho.

This is my fucking life here people,pull up a pew….

I do not know her much like I did not know the random drunk guy who also made himself at home in the very same room a week or so ago,front door open and lights blaring out into the darkness when I got home at two am.I come home to my hut to deal with more of the same shit that I just dealt with in the world.Gimme a break or at least a fucking burrito.Something has gotta give and I am praying that its not my temper. The Dolt,which is the nicest thing that I can call him,now has a playmate to share his lynx deodorant fetish with.Ohhh! Maybe they can go shopping for spangly Don Ed Hardy tee-shirts together.Hang in poser bars and rohypnol fat chicks.

How quaint.

Maybe he can take a long walk of a short pier.

I woke up and hurled in the laundry trough the other day as the smell of hot rotting flesh permeated my already disturbed slumber not to mention the entire house.Upon investigation I saw that the dolt was slow cooking what looked to be the head of a Vagrant simmering in a bouillabaisse of dogshit and toe jam.I lost two pounds via regurgitation so I guess that is something.I then spent a quarter of an hour picking vomit out of the plughole.I am incandescent with blood boiling hatred.

I have to live next door to the living breathing embodiment of everything that I despise in someone with a dick.And the dick is nothing but hear say. He has a hair straighter for god’s sake. I am a bee’s dick off justifiable homicide.

Alcohol fueled tantrums and door slamming.

To say that I am done is akin to Charlie Sheen saying that he doesn’t mind a rail or two before fucking the ass out of a fresh batch of Vivid girls.I am out of the house every goddamn day or locked in my room.Surrounded by douche-hounds and simmering passive aggression.

Ok,go to your happy place…(ummmm?)….I brought a really nice fake Louis Vuitton bag off a junkie last night and one of my biker friends gave me a thrilling ride to central station so I could catch the train home to the suburban fresh hell that I now find myself rotting in.A bag and a bike? Cool. Both those things right there put a smile on my sour head.I need a Harley.Amazing machines. I can understand why chicks date outlaw’s and get horses when they are young.Both are akin to perching on a giant vibrator in public.

No wonder they all look so smug.

“Wanna come back to mine for a smoke?” he yelled as we pulled up to the lights scaring the hell out of a half asleep Maori behind the wheel of a garbage truck.

“Nah darlin’.I don’t indulge so more for you!” He honked with laughter and stepped on the gas.

I am such a hermit too.I love being around all my crap after so many years on the road but I cant even practice my music here,let alone meditate beneath my black velvet Elvis as I feel so uncomfortable in my own domain.I leave my earplugs in almost around the clock.I wish that I was joking….So much for him only staying a few months.(@#@$^%??!!!) My patience has been stretched to its limit. Admittedly it never had very far to go but that is not the point.

This is a fight that I am going to lose no matter what. Blood,apparently ,means something.What that magical unicorn festooned thing of wonder that could possibly be I cannot even begin to imagine.Not that it ever has to me ,thank Elvis. Imagine feeling like you owe a pack of malignant fuck-tards something due to shared DNA? I think bloody not! An asshat is an asshat no matter what skin they are in.People always bang on about life being too short.Fuck that swinging, its too long.Far too long to deal with the cocksuckers that you ran screaming from in a teenage fit in the first fucking place.Sue me but its makes absolutely no sense to me. Its so sad to see people revert to all that they hated and fought so hard to escape.I always think of the amazing Al Pacino in the immortal Godfather trilogy.

“Every time I get out they pull me right back in again.”

The ever amazing Miss Nina is coming to visit my ragged old ass tomorrow night before I have to do Saturday shuffle on the door at my beloved club once again.I have been listening to the great music that me and Marcus have been working on and its cool as all get out.At least I am in a rad band even if I am not happy at home.Its all a question of balance.I just have to keep my head low and my bass in tune and all will become clear.

Ahhh.Mutt and Jeff just got home banging around like neanderthals. Disrespectful cunts.Have you ever noticed that short people make more noise? What the fuck is that all about?

I’m not entirely sure what I am going to do about this situation but its bound to be Ben Hur epic when I finally work it out. The funny part about it is that he is going to think that he has won if I leave. Far from it.Its his sister that I feel sorry for in all of this.I am not going to live with drunks with double digit IQ’s anymore.I have come to far and it has taken too long.I hate that I don’t even want to leave my room. It just sucks.Safer for them though.By a long shot.

Trust me.

Gonna try and get some sleep.

Bully for me.

Studio.

It is raining a fucking zoo out there.

I just saw a bedraggled lion trying to get out of the pool while poop flinging monkeys taunted him from beneath the shelter of an elephant.I may as well be surgically attached to my electric blanket bar the fact that I have to get up to pee all the time.This time of year sucks eggs.I hate it.But let it be noted that I am a new woman! Well, not really,merely one who detoxed from Dr Pepper and Red bull while away and replaced it with cheap soda water and lost six hated pounds in the process.

My skin no longer feels like braille.My wardrobe has a future.Life is peachy.

Me and Marcus were on fire ( To be pronounced “FYA-HA!” .Think Metallica…see! ) from the get go when it came to crafting epic tuneage.You can talk all you want about Brian Wilson et al at four in the morning down a long distance line but if the magic is not there you are fucked.Thank Elvis it all came together.Leefish came around and hung out sporting a new camouflage jacket which was great.He told the story of my beloved bashed up bass  (gotta love a rhyme) and how she was a repo for unpaid rent. We wrote our first song from scratch the first night I was there and it is like nothing else I have ever done before.I am singing my high stepping ass off. All high and Sabbath/ Soundgarden style. Being there and writing and playing non-stop was just what I needed.I slept like a log and ate like a monk. It gave me a sense of security that I had been lacking for so long.I was loathe to leave.

Miss Nina was stellar road-trip company just as I had suspected,not to mention one of my favorite people on the planet and beyond.

Behind my bass I felt indisputable and bullet proof even with the input all loused up.I now have bullet proof fingertips.Marcus takes his time with me and I soar because of his patience. The guitar player from my first band was such an utter cunt always telling me that I couldn’t play and that I was not a musician etc that I pretty much just manned the mike for a decade.Marcus takes all the mystery and fear out of the unknown and hands me skills at an alarming pace and I thrive.He walked me though the scales that had confounded me for years and we ended up jamming the blues for hours while his cats looked on from sofa arms and backs where they were perched like the silent emissary’s  of  cruel Egyptian gods.

Being validated by ones peers is heady shit…..

Got a call last week from my mates Luke and Curly from Hy-Test,one of my favorite Australian bands. Great players that I hooked up with my ex to tour Europe a few years back where they all kicked ass. They are making an album with their new band “Bruce!” .Hip swinging rock at its finest. They had a few songs that they needed me on and came out to pick me and Lilli up last night.Poor Lil,I am bullying her hard at the moment when it comes to candid photography.To catch the moments backstage so to speak. It makes her shitty but I am not going to let up.She brought a tear to my eye the other week when she told Tony Mott that me and him were the reason that she shoots live music.

Bless.

So off to the studio in the rain to be met at the door by John-boy Rock. The 1st time I ever worked with him was a decade ago on the Hard-ons amazing comeback album “Very Exciting”  and he laughed at me then too. I understand why.I’m all chipper,girly and whatnot in the meanwhile and then you get me behind the mic and….Luke told me they needed metal and they got it.

I miss singing like that.Its a very powerful feeling.I still cant believe that that noise dwells inside of me. Its kind of like Tom Araya and Christine McVie living next door to each other I guess.Its been a while since Meldrum and St Cecilia is not the place to unleash the sonic kracken.Who knows? Maybe Meldrum again someday,that would be so cool.Gene has just finished tracking the drums for Dethklok now that Fear Factory have finally let him go after God knows how long and me? I never say never when it comes to shit like that except if its with my first band.

There its etched in fucking stone.

I call it my “Bad dog!” voice because when you think about it a lot of hardcore and metal singing sounds like someone berating a hound for crapping on the rug. Just sayin’.

I still love seeing the look on boys faces when I do it.Sing that is,not crap on the rug. After one particularly hefty take complete with a little James Hetfield tacked on the tail because I am a showoff  like that I yelled into the mike “This is why I cant get laid!!” and of course we all cracked up.Much hilarity all round and so on. Shit is always funny if its true.

The last love I had was the only one who was proud of me and my music. The last time we spoke he reiterated as much and being that he is one of the finest musicians of the last twenty odd years,yes,it does mean a lot.What also meant a lot was the boys trusting me with the vocals and  the direction on two of their tracks.Of me being able to play Marcus the riffs that I had written and us building a song from scratch out of what I had brought to the table.

I have finally earned my stripes and contrary to my much hated first guitarist opinion I am a great musician.He is writing advertising jingles and no one will be in a band with him.Go figure right?

Ha.

I am not ashamed to say that it means a lot when your heroes see you back and on top of that want to work with you. When Michelle passed away I knew that I had to trust and hone what I had as it was due to her and her belief that I moved back to Los Angeles in the first place.Her not even dead a week ,I got on a plane to Vancouver and sealed my fate with the album “Lifer”. Meldrum gave me my wings and my ex showed me how to fly.I used to love standing next to him at the mike in Brad Cooks pink studio high up in the hills of Eagle rock singing or asses off.

We used to joke if we had a kid that it would be the loudest one on the planet.

Great times that I miss but for the first time I can see more great times to come.

That and the smile worthy fact that I woke up yesterday to a grip of Hello Kitty toys on top of the re-release of “Rumours” complete with a bonus outtakes cd sitting next to the kettle where I would be bound to find it. Thank you Lilli White-tiger.

You know that you have been around men too much when you use the bathroom at the studio and put the seat up after you are done.

Miss Metz who is the one who does all my computer devilry and makes me look good in the process is going to do my new band site for St Cecelia. I am stoked.The chick is a site-making  tsunami.Its going to be great.

I’m doing it.

I’m making music again.

Spirit.

The last time was a mess but I got through it and got an album out of it. Grace under extreme pressure and whatnot.I ate myself stupid and returned to Long Beach big a a house. It  enabled me to finally class myself as a musician.

Froze my fat ass off on the door last night. At one point is was raining sideways.Got a nice surprise when my dear friend Diamond Lil showed up with Mr G. It was great to catch up. I rolled my eyes at the news that my ex-idiot still thinks that we were having it off back in the dark days when me and and he were still together. Insecure men cant deal with strong women being friends. I will never date anyone dumber than me ever again no matter how much potential I think they have.

Just got a text from Miss Nina saying “Be sure to pack your finest furs” “The Minions are folding them as we speak” I replied.Its so fucking cold and miserable out there I am going to need them. So happy to be getting out of shitty Sydney for a week. Its been far too long. I came home the other morning to an open door at two in the morning,all the lights on and some drunk random passed out in my living room.Lilli was asleep. Some friend of the ding-dong brothers. She had to babysit them earlier in the night which lead to me getting a text apologizing for all the times I have had to deal with her drunk.

It was all that I could do not to shove a bar of soap in a tube sock ,go into his room and wail on him.No court in the land would have convicted me for my actions.They probably would have given me a medal.

Still no word from California and its hard to keep my head right when I think about how bad shit can get.

Been playing bass to The Misfits all week.My right hand is jelly and down-strokes are the devil.Just sayin’.It feels so good to be pitting myself against myself once again.I don’t know what is going to happen only that it is going to be loud and truthful. In a word? Fan-fucking-tastic. Nixon was over at Marcus’s place digging the riffs just the other night.I just texted my drummer. I am in the band of my dreams.

Big brother is getting better by the day.One long ago night while driving home speaking of training and how life gets you in the end he turned to me as we waited for the lights to go green,a cold light behind his blue eyes and said “I’m not going to rot,I’m going to break.” This statement struck me as pretty much the finest credo to apply to ones life and I have decided that its the only way to go.

Do everything that I do with maximum application,focus and zeal. Its the hot option.

St Cecilia will be a working band by September. I will be back on tour by the summer. I survived this far when I thought that I wouldn’t so its all gravy baby.

Best that I go and make sure that the minions are packing my stuff right. There will be dispatches from the frozen south between running and recording.

In spirit I am where I need to be.

In body and mind I am at war.

……you’d wanna be worried.