| helen of desTROY. | vozhd. | glossolalia. | pseudopodia. | hourglass. | <<. |
| 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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| 31 December 2008 |
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 draw your weapon / draw a blank / draw breath 2008 was an incoherent sequence of washing my hands interspersed with episodes of cutting them off to spite my wrists. can wave a fond farewell as it swirls down the drain & let's have another round of applause for THE FUTURE. just please don't make it a 2007 i can't take that shit again. & i'm too old for another 2006 so. do i jump out of a building or glue things to my forehead or do nothing that would theoretically endanger my well-being as was last year's m.o. do i care. would i like to. if wishes were horses the world would be full of shit--OH WAIT. next time i sigh wistfully i hope a unicorn charges out of my forehead. a life without surprises is no life at all. [writing neurons fried as hell from kicking another semester's ass via extended periods of wakefulness, featuring talking kitchen walls & an irritating snowstorm that would not leave my vision no matter how hard i tried to convince myself it was not in fact snowing. oh aunt phetamine we sometimes wish you would stay locked up in the attic] the book from years ago is getting rewritten, in a miraculously evolved form. never thought that would happen. can't stand to even read the old version as knowing i wrote it? makes me want to build a time machine & shove my three-years-ago self into the welcoming arms of an oncoming train. all's well that fucking ends. |
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| 08 December 2008 |
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new, improved, disproved: butterfly/stomach harmony. i haven't dodged this many guillotines in more than a year & the fun isn't over yet! inventing new & better ways of fucking up. alternately fun & horrifying. writing front-page articles about Other People's Problems instead of talking about them here, or my own matching set of 99, which bores me to tears while it follows me around the apartment tugging at my invisible apron strings. what part of drop dead do you deliberately misunderstand, Space & Time called they want their omnipotence back, but i'm not falling for it this time encapsulated haute couture in a mere six hours when i was first mistaken for a fashion designer [opening salvo was "i love that jacket! is it a yamamoto? it looks like a yamamoto!"] & then for that old standby the great american junkie ["dude, we thought you ODed"]. woke up in a mistake, went back to sleep. time, tide, & terror wait for no man but it isn't for lack of trying. mistakes beget mistakes beget mistakes til it gets downright fucking biblical in here what with all the begetting & you need to open the window. SURPRISE! they're locked & you get suffocated by your own damned metaphors. poetic justice never tasted so good. news flash: THE CUTTING ROOM HAS NO FLOOR [where do i end up now??? the suspense keeps me up at night, though it certainly has help] i mean if the end wasn't so damned near all the time, we could actually have some privacy!!! the apocalypse is a peeping tom. don't let it catch you in a compromising situation. & now we begin what may be the world's singularly most improbable countdown, step outside for a cigarette break, & forget where exactly we've stepped out from. wondering why reality doesn't come with a bookmark. STOP THE CLOCK I WANT TO GET OFF |
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| 20 November 2008 |
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 also, i'll be playing in the Mickey Western show the night before at Gringolandia @ Honey Space...that's the spaceship-saloon hybrid place for those unfortunate enough not to have seen it yet, go! [something tells me that after this weekend i'm either going to finally sleep for more than an hour or just explode] [PLACE YOUR BETS KIDS] |
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