| helen of desTROY. | vozhd. | glossolalia. | pseudopodia. | hourglass. | <<. |
| 01 October 2009 |
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 LET IT BE KNOWN THAT just because i'm not all up in your shit bringing the sweetness & light 24/7 doesn't mean i'm on a dream-date with death. but if it were suddenly reported that i died, what would be the immediate suspicion of All Whom It May Concern? a) murder/intrigue [incl. suspicious "accidents" reeking of Foul Play, etc] b) OD ["we never should have gotten her that Tickle Me Overdose doll, ted!!!"] c) someone let that bitch get behind the wheel of a car again d) self-immolation as "art project" e) boring old REAL accident of some kind f) doesn't actually die / spends rest of life riding the subway swatting imaginary bats off herself [we all make fun of hypothetical bat-lady because a lot of us fear becoming her some day, & i blinked an L train car full of bustling vaguely menacing prohibition-era travelers into & out of existence one night last week when the real passenger count of the train car was around 5, not 200, & it's only one small step for mankind from there to imaginary bats. who are all these people & what are they doing inside my eyelids] *disclaimer: killing people is wrong!!!!!  reality + i are still at war but i'm going to win this based on the fact that reality doesn't know it's a competition. & won't until it's TOO LATE. go on & call ignorance bliss until all the oxygen abandons your lungs in disgust, but for example wouldn't you rather know about that guy behind you with the machete? & while you're looking over there...EXCUSE ME MISS WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THAT HAYSTACK sorry, thought i dropped something... i have finally found a job; being off tour & unoccupied was going to kill me, & still may if i can find the time to be killed. applying to grad school because my brain is rotting in my skull & i am incapable of rescuing the poor beleaguered thing, instead sleeping with the proverbial enemy, busily lining up the neurons for the firing squad & handing out last cigarettes like that one cheerleader who periodically nods off & catches her hair on fire. so: an attempt to plug the ever-expanding burning hole in my pocket/head/alibi by "keeping busy." stalking another train, playing detective through elaborate daydreams. have a fountain of rocket fuel now available in new legal flavor thanks to the unlikely wonders of wondrous unlikely things, & JUST IN TIME because i need to accomplish everything five minutes ago. or else. when there are at least three tasks at hand at all times & unmultitasked hands are the devil's playground & who let that BEAST loose in the pharmacy can someone call security--oh wait--we are security, & we are 100% fucked ladies & gentlemen please be patient we are building the rocket ship that will get us out of this hole. we expect to be finished on approximately 17 september 2012. watch this space, cuz it's watching you & a watched plot never spoils. we are methodically replacing the butterflies in your stomach with pterodactyls, & it's going to get seriously meteoric in here. b.y.o.bathos or sidle up to the bar & ask for a gin & catatonic courtesy of the host body, it's going to be a loooooong night.  [& for those curious, CLICK+OBSERVE, this is your bonnaroo on _____] |
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| 04 August 2009 |
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good advice from bad people: don't go crazy unless you're sure you know the way back. cross my mind & hope to die. someone stuck a needle in my eye but i swear it wasn't mine, officer semiconscious in a series of rooms is no way to spend the future, & the slippery-slope argument is possibly the last i'll ever have with myself--heartfelt philosophical extremes beating each other within inches of their lives for weeks, then i start swearing Never Again, then "again" happens, regular as clockwork & probably more so given my propensity for melting clocks & breaking watches. i know it's all in my head, but so am i. the snake choked on its tail a long time ago & we have yet to dispose of the body. please select a gravesite after the beep. i made my decision quite some time ago, lit up in helpful neon against a cosmetically-darkened night sky for your viewing pleasure & if you missed the public announcement i still wear it on my sleeve 24/7, not even necessarily of my own volition! your unwillingness to SEE the writing on/off the wall is more of an affectation than anything in the sold-out braille arena, but everyone wears sunglasses these days so slipping under the radar is as easy as 123blastoff. groundcontrol is on an eternal lunch break, though it never seems to eat lunch, hope you know how to pilot that thing. spending too much time by myself is guaranteed to skew a few perspectives, not all of them mine, & without practice i'm absent the requisite pack of lies to deny everything. blame it on the weather, blame subway delays, blame the economy. a whole 52-card deck of blame. i'll need every single one by the time this is over. there is a science to Giving Up, & also an art. "guess which one gets laid more often." van gogh's ear was quickly repackaged & sold as a sex toy--EARotica. you know you want some. then every time i interview for a job the whole meeting falls flat on its face by which time i'm already mentally half out the door to avoid the semisweet sorrows of parting. it's all fun & games til your own adventure chooses you, especially out of a police lineup. i mean they said make something of myself, A Mess seemed only natural! it's my CALLING. nothing new here: distancing myself from reality by cloaking it in stilted terms associated more with hideous outofcontrol science projects than human emotion, because, as a star delusion-architect i feel it's my duty to accomplish this with as many unnecessary flourishes as i can get away with. & then some. because, the more the merrier. cultivating disasters for company. someone snap me out of this please.  [not to mention, again: "oh you've lost weight!" sorry that was just my mind it ran out to play in traffic & never came back i think it got abducted by FAILiens can i interest you in some of this nice supple cult literature really it doesn't bite i promise ok no come back some other time with, like, money. no i don't want to talk about it, no i don't want to talk, can't you just talk to yourself like everyone else] |
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| 18 July 2009 |
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THOU SHALT NOT BOTHER [then it's old habits: "why die hard when you can live forever?"] tunnel vision effectively dynamited by a month of touring, a dutifully shattering earth, & an unrelated black eye. yes, again. but eyes aside, there was the much-needed reminder that i belong on stage with these bands rather than floating half-buried in muted heaps of plush nowhere, especially accompanied by the colossal mindfuck that was glastonbury [fire-breathing vehicles with functional claws! attempting to sell bibles autographed by jesus &/or satan while dressed as jim jones in order to publicize our show!] or even the hippie-saturated fields of bonnaroo where we "artists" were treated royally & drowned in free vodka hello: Fuck All This Shit, I Wanna Be A Rockstar. again. even the microscopic venue we played for one of our london shows where it was almost impossible to play without hitting an audience member. onstage-bliss cancels out all the inconvenience of 12-hour flights, layovers in toronto full of angry airport bartenders, cheap tents in fields that let the rain in--hey look what i get to do. & whatever mess of my life i make back here i can say: i didn't LOSE my shit, i MISPLACED my shit. whole notebooks full of Observations from the festival just itching to be transcribed. keep itching you fuckers. hell is slowly but surely freezing over. give me a few more existential crises & you might notice the NYPD car flapping its wings just outside the window--it's not just your eyes playing tricks on you. silly eyes, tricks are for prostitutes. but: committing acts of Real Live Journalism is not implausible. need to set a deadline but i fear deadlines, have nightmares about them rising up out of the realm of metaphor to wrap themselves around my throat & strangle me. actually my nightmares have far less substance but uh. similarly discouraging of sleep. but my new SECRET WEAPON ensures i don't have to. & now that i've been back home for a week or two am settled back into my seat under the microscope with the glassy-eyed hypnotic edge-of-seat audience leaning out with drool pearling on their lower lips waiting for me to fuck up. hey news flash: i fuck up EVERY DAY. the cat no longer wants to come out of the bag, did i get stuck with a defective cat? AM i a defective cat? & who's to determine which side is IN the bag & which is OUT? i am alive & you are dead. [the existential equivalent of fingers-in-ears LA LA LA I CAN'T HEEEEAAAAR YOU] was walking down 11th ave & a woman with cameradude in tow runs up to me earnestly asking What Is Your Weight Loss Secret? Is America Fat? & i had to exercise all the restraint in the universe when responding. the universe is no longer in restraints. so it punched me in the face & that as you can see is why i have this beautiful black eye. the end. & they all lived happily ever after, if you call that living. |
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| 07 June 2009 |
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 if i can get all my publicity shots taken with a .22 rifle we’ll have nothing to worry about ever again i promise . . . spitting in the future's eye is not recommended. when things get too transparent someone pours ink in the tank & we all put on our wool glasses, it's third rate second nature what do you expect. there is a lot of catching up to do. i graduated [!] & am going on tour [!] with two different bands in two months [!!] & hereby disown the recent past with a flourish worthy of a bank-vault full of sequins, i'm simply relieved to be getting the technicolored fuck out of here. the last few months have been somewhat like prolonged immersion in a tank of cement. "but seriously i can get out of this any time i want!" HA again. i hate to say i told me so but that's what other people are for, right. IF YOU PLAY WITH FIRE YOU ARE LIKELY TO DEVELOP A FIERCE & INSATIABLE APPETITE FOR NAPALM. or maybe i was born with it & i wish i could say i REMEMBER graduating but there's a little hole in my memory there which is only too perfect considering what the four years leading up to it were like. there are great beaming photos of me looking like cat-choking-on-canary in my silly square hat but hey! they weren't taken close up enough to see the OUT OF ORDER sign behind the eyes! score one for selective unconsciousness, score two for THE AMERICAN WAY. & for my next trick, i shall disappear completely, off the face of the earth, for an extended period of time--stop me if you've heard this one before... it won’t be pretty, & neither will the aftermath. quit while you can, pet the jelloid kitten sitting in your skull where your brain used to be, remember you did this to yourself. bed is made, commence telling the truth in it, or b) wake the fuck up & smell the towering inferno. just because a horse can be led to water does not mean it is not a plot if i am asked to follow it. ie: what the fuck do I have to gain out of this being-led-to-water, i have a full bottle in my purse, are you going to try to drown me while the public is distracted by the bucolic scene of this stately stallion sipping at the stream? is the pope blue in the face? who would jesus do? why haven’t my vitamins been turned into amphetamines yet? all these goddamn questions are making my eyes climb out of my face like it's a burning building which well,  the point: here tomorrow, there in a few weeks, & anything in front of that may as well be an oncoming train, sometimes it's not worth taking your sunglasses off oh yeah &: Ask Me About My 90 Page Thesis, hahaha |
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| 05 April 2009 |
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 THE FUTURE'S SO BRIGHT IT EXPLODED! details after the jump, from seven stories up with love rewrote the textbook definition of Living Dead in hope of sealing myself out of the deal, sort of like 'prying' open the jaws of death with a mean right hook but violence is the tried & true method for a reason, kids, it's hard to tell a lie with half your teeth knocked out & even harder to believe it. THESE THINGS THEY GET BETTER. in a few months i get my much-needed vacation my fleeting chance at stardom & my ticket out of here all at once. better not fuck it up, right? CUE LAUGH TRACK. only thing keeping me from excitement-induced combustion is the little matter of may, the merry merry month thereof, you know i hang disasters over my head like fucking christmas ornaments nothing like a little "adversity" to put the spring in your step & the winter in your discontent. but like won't it be funny when i graduate college. i thought so. & reintroducing miss underbelly 2009 & while the vowels all falling off my keyboard testify to the fact that i am indeed writing see it's going somewhere, it's For A Cause, it's for effect & the lights haven't even come up yet & we're still fishing our stuntmen out of the east river. i mean. just can't wait for this all to be over, i'll wake up one day with Accomplishments & away goes trouble down the [hatch] drain. trouble travels by vein anyway or so i've heard. falling out of my chair in the middle of the night to make gravity jealous. turning green like it stumbled into the ATMosphere & got asked to play a bit part.  i propose a toast to going places i shouldn't, & for a semi-annual denial of being dead, incarcerated, in rehab, comatose, etc--methinks the lady doth protest too little. in this twilight-zone-stuffed minesweeper universe where curiosity regularly goes on killing sprees even in the absence of my daily-renewed bouquet of freshly-plucked deathwishes i can only respond by becoming fatally mellow. & my component molecules turn away from each other arms folded like they aren't gonna speak til someone gives in. meanwhile i hear the roar of a big machine, & see the future getting fat off the present. would you rather pass go or collect $200. 
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| 14 February 2009 |
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"you look...dusty." happy as a filled-in blank i tell you. statistically delicious. you can have my walls when you pry them from my cold dead peripheral vision. & there's me switched into grinning-idiot mode for an incongruously rosy future. lead us not into temptation? you're WALLOWING IN IT. permanent midnight in the garden of good & two-shoes. [the illustrious & fabulously costumed mickey western band] this picture was taken the night i dragged my unblinking self from station to station up & down impossible stairs white-knuckled gripping the rails having left my eyelids somewhere on gates avenue. putting on my makeup in the mirror watching my pupils migrate to opposite sides of my eyes, disinterestedly. but you can't tell. DEATH'S DOORBELL: RING & RUN. this was also one of the best shows i've ever done, by all accounts? better living through chemistry, right, hazardous materials with hidden agendas. walk like a public service announcement talk like a menace to society. stand up fall down repeat as necessary before you finally learn your lesson. these things don't happen too frequently & we could be here all night. in fact we have been. what's your excuse. getting more full of holes than my plotlines. mayday mayday preternaturally relaxing weekend later aboard schroedinger's bus to the frozen north, fireplace basking & all was however temporarily right with the world. fast-forward button is back on but it's ok i'm becoming one with the evidence. you can pay in cash, credit, or attention. you are the sum of the sleep you lose. THERE IS NOT / THERE WILL NEVER BE anyone on the other end. ground control called, they said they quit. in a voice strangely like my own. funny how that works funny how i don't, life lived as an out-of-body experience is imminent because one of these days the way back in will have occluded entirely "while i was out." this isn't just a parade of deadlines it's a veritable beauty pageant of the fuckers, watch them twirl, bat deadline-eyelashes, & perform while your own life inexorably climbs the scaffold. my, what big problems you have! the better to bore you with, my dear. i make sheep's clothing look damn good. |
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| 29 January 2009 |
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oh, this ol’ thing? i got tired of waiting for the aliens & decided to kidnap myself. two weekends of sold-out shows, fork-in-the-light-socket for my wilting delusions of grandeur, now we can carry on like this for ever & ever or at least until we forget. new year means no more vague-fuck-up-as-self no now when we fuck up it's going to be INTENTIONAL & SPECTACULAR. but: oh, the places you’ll GO!! more importantly, oh, the places you WON’T!!! we rearrange your priorities like dudes in dark alleys with blunt instruments rearrange your face. this is what happens when you play with fire after its bedtime, & coded language so rarely works with my content these days it seems useless to try. no time to complain about how little time i have to DOT DOT DOT three little bullets all in a row they're like blind mice but less cuddly but still harder & harder to ignore the neon glowing FAILURE sign on the horizon i mean the sandworms are getting restless in the hourglass. time is running out [of money? but time IS money! & you see this is how we make the logical loops we hang ourselves with]. ambitions. right. i know i left them around here somewhere, right between the rock & the hard place, where could they have gone. better luck next time i guess since in this warm fuzzy wannabe-parallel universe there is always a next time there is no last chance because that implies a cutoff & warm fuzzy shrinks back from sharp edges like plagues or economic downturns. ie, not well enough, obviously, look what a pickle we’ve gotten into!! at least i didn’t exactly have a job to lose. aside from my publishing bitchwork filing contracts for titles like now that i’m educated, why don’t i have a future? [NOT MAKING THAT UP. filed that one a few days ago. shivers up my spine brought their friends & had a goddamn party in my vertebrae. tapping my phonecalls isn't enough now they've gotta tap my SPINE well i] “i lost my soul, can i borrow yours?” oh silly, you forgot to say please. never get anywhere in life that way. bridges will burn you before you open the matchbook. reality beat fantasy at its own game for the first time in a very long while & i am understandably unsettled all moth-flame harmony about it. they say someday i’ll feel this way about people but fuck that honestly. can't depend on them, i mean shit look what i’m capable of, look at what i’m not. misery may love company but it loves currency more, i mean, that’s what i hear, wink wink, don’t budge. i’ll be back with reinforcements. don't hold your breath. 
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