Sunday, December 28, 2008

Taste of a new sun, rain on my back, diamonds for eyes.

I've known a few dirty floors in my time.

This one though, technically belongs to me, as long as I keep paying for it. And seeing as I am about to stop paying, I'm about to give up ownership.

The dirt though, that's still mine.

And it's all that remains of the structure of that space, mapping out where things were, how it all pieced together. This little fort we built against the outside world. Back when it was "them" against "us", before I became "one of them" too. And "they" became...well, better than me somehow.

I've got to clean this floor, and I will. I'll come back to it, but not today. Today I evacuated town, packed up and shipped out.

And I was amazed at how little emotion that took.

Not because I'm heartless. But because that heart has been chipped away at for so long. Like a toilet wall in Detroit I remember, in a veterans bar. "Dirtiest toilet in America" the bartender proudly proclaims, talking about all the multitude of things that have been flung against it over the decades, and never cleaned off.

The walls of my heart have had so many doubts and insults thrown at them, that's pretty much what they look like. Changed minds, storms, confusing things. That's when the door isn't nailed shut.

It's not good to have a toilet for a heart. Take it from me.

But when it all came down, and I was read my rights, I felt a sense of calm descend. No more use for fighting, for shouting out all the reasons why I actually care. They all got returned to sender.

So I'm calm, as the police take me down, I'm calm in the cells, I sleep like a newborn...dreamless, and for about 2 hours.

And I'm calm when I get on the vessel to work, and again on the way back. And even when I walk into our fort and I see that person who used to be my compadre. I guess I got my calm back.

Calm, despite the strain tattooed on my face. I can feel it down deep. In the dark corners of my machine.

And even though I cried for the next few days, it was in a calm way. I accept how it is, I saw it coming for months. I guess I just hoped for a fork in the road, to take us somewhere better.

And so I packed up my life again, and put it in a truck again, and sent it off to the next place again.

And now I lay my head on a motel bed, sound of the highway in the distance, strange surroundings, new loneliness bubbling up.

But I accept it all...I've been here before, even though I have never been here.

This is the space we people go, to look at dusty patterns on floors, to mourn the death of what was a wonderful beast at times, to look at the horizon and resign ourselves to go looking for whatever is beyond it.

I ran into a fellow traveller, off to the side of the road. Their life had broken down, and they were out of ideas, scratching his head, looking at the steam and the fire. He was sold on the idea of getting out altogether, cashing in his winnings, checking out, you know.

And my burden was already so heavy I just clapped him on the back and wished him well, knowing I can't carry him or his burned out life right now.

I hope he lives, hope he finds a map with a place on it that piques his interest, Hope life sends him a spark in his sleep, and it warms up the cold parts so when he awakes he can keep pushing long enough to find a road that goes somewhere.

I found a road of my own, seems solid enough. No idea what's at the other end, but then, that's part of why I like this one so much.

I know what's behind me, and I don't like that. Maybe not knowing what's ahead will taste better, maybe it will leave me rested.

My heart beats solo, no other warmth next to me in my sleeping bag.

Strange and new.

The sun is on its way up...and that's not something I want to take for granted any more.

I'm heading right for it.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Friday, December 26, 2008

History repeats all right! All the time long.

I wrote this on October 9, 2006, and it's still as true today as it was then...that must suggest something about my behaviour and choices, that's for sure:

I want a pair of eyes to look into. A pair of eyes that captivate me, that shine happiness on me, that want to see me. I want hands that I can hold, hands I can hold whenever they are by my side, wherever we are going. I want a voice that will tell me how it feels, what it thinks, what it wants. A voice that won't lie to me. A voice that doesn't tell me what I want to hear, but has the courage and self-belief to declare who it is to me, and be proud of it. I want a mind that thinks about what it is, and what it does, and its place in the world. I want a mind that wants to know who I really am, not a concept it makes for itself. A mind that can accept my love, instead of always thinking that I am just settling for less. I want ears that will hear me when I speak my truth. Ears that don't block me out, only to believe insecure or paranoid beliefs to make it easier to keep distance. And I want a body. A body that pines when it is not near to me, or at least thrills at the prospect of being near to me again. A body I can wrap up with my body, and hold close, and treasure for as long as I have a body to treasure it with. I want to be in love. And I want to trust that love, and know that even if things are hard, that if both people really love each other and want to understand each other and talk it through, they can. I want to trust, laugh, grow, and rise with someone.

And most of all, I want to lose that feeling I had until a week ago, that the person I was with wasn't truly in it. That all of their jealousy and paranoia was somehow my fault, when I was rock solid in my commitment to her, and had no intention of that changing. That I was to blame for their belief that I was emotionally unavailable, when the real situation was that they wouldn't let themself be loved by me.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Safe Forever...Gyroscope.

Quit analysing everything I say,
Stop policing me.
You have nothing on me,
Blank page, funny that.

Do you remember
every word I say?
Essentially, yes.
Now stare right back at me,
Blank faced, figured that.

Did it for you girl,
Did it for you,
Did it for you, Did it for.

Did it for you girl,
Did it for you,
Did it for you, Did it for.

Safe Forever, Forever...

Friday, December 12, 2008

Polaroids from the West...

I've got that choked up feeling, where you know you're going to lose it, and for whatever reason, you hold it back. Pfft, "whatever reason". Because you don't want that feeling to be real, you don't want to validate it. You don't want to admit that it's all coming down again. Different person, same result.

Same result.

Give me a minute, I can't hold this in.

The thing I hate about me is, I only have myself to blame for the way I'm feeling. I do the most stupid and ignorant things, and then resent myself for wanting sympathy from me. I'm in so much debt, I can't climb out. It's my fault. I know it is. I'm so fucked up, and for all my pontificating about how pathetic people are when we become "consumers", I adore spending money I don't have on things I don't need. I have so much shit, still in boxes, worthless to anyone else. Worthless to me too. Holding me down, pinning me down. But I can't throw it away, because it cost too much in the first place, and to be honest i don't technically own it.

It owns me.

I'd like to think I have learned my lesson there. I haven't bought anything since I realised, and I won't. I'm too scared to. So I guess that's positive.

But this isn't about that.

The fact I'm blogging this is significant. I don't have any real friends that aren't tens of thousands of kilometres away. All the people I love I are interstate. And I really need a friend right now.

Right now, when it's all coming home.

I'm so tired. All the time. I've been drained for years. And I try to put on this mask of being funny or interesting, but it's all a facade. I'm just tired, and I want to rest. I want to climb out of this trap I built for myself.

These traps.

I'm sick of being so forgiving. I put my faith in the wrong people. I know I'm doing it, but I think, "No, they deserve love", and "You wouldn't want them to give up on you". I think that, and they shit on me, and they make me feel like a rapist for supporting them and not giving up. For giving way more of myself than I ever had before. For putting all my eggs in one basket. I know. I did it. And then they shit on me again, and say it's all my fault because I knew they had issues, and if I didn't want to deal with those, I shouldn't have wasted their time.

All or nothing.

Whatever happened to being equal? Or some kind of balance?

How is it fair to abuse someone for not conforming to expectations you have, when you know it's not right or fair to expect those things? That's setting them up to fail, just so you can say to yourself, "See? I was right! I CAN'T trust anyone!" I'm failing a lot lately. I've discovered actually, there's no real way to win. And by "win", I mean, get some fucking peace and harmony.

Wow, it's all about them, and you can go cry to yourself on the internet about it, because you left all your friends on the other side of the country to be whipped by a stranger for a year.

But again, I did it, so I only have myself to blame.

I just had to believe they were different. That I could trust them because they were funny and cute. Because I hadn't yet seen how bulletproof and arrogant their other side is. How they have the proclivity toward self protection at all costs, while I'm already diving right in and loving being carefree and in love and unguarded, open, and at risk of losing everything again. Like a puppy in traffic.

Fucking idiot.

But i hate the thought of having armour. I want to be open and real, at least to the people that matter. I guess I have never lived 'safely', and it still doesn't sound much like life. I have been impulsive and pretty random in my decision making processes, and it's generally taken me to some pretty amazing places. But it's dragged me through the pits too, and I guess me writing this is finally my way of saying to myself "I know I am in the wrong situation". If they won't change, and it affects me this badly, it's time to wake up and realise that 9 months is more than long enough for an audition, and it's time for the next act.

I'm not saying I'm all that.

I don't even know why people like me, let alone why some have loved me. That's probably why it's so scary to let go. But sanity is more important than vanity.

One thing I have learned through all this is, it is never good to get angry. Because no matter how pent up and justified you feel screaming someone down when you're backed into a corner, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WILL WILL CRY IN THE END.

Because all anger does, is it masks fear. It's the 'fight' in 'fight or flight'. It's one of natures ways to react to attack. but there is another one available to people who have the emotional maturity and strength to actually see it through, and that is 'reason'.

That means sitting down, and holding back the rage at being disrespected, and accused of (nothing), and the shock, and the disappointment that it's happening again, and the fear of what comes next, and the anger that you're still not going to get a chance to rest again tonight, and all of that. And just breathe deeply, and not giving in to those amazingly powerful emotions.

Because when I do, I turn into shit. And no one wants to be around shit. It doesn't matter how wronged i feel, I know I just can't give in any more. Because I'm the one who always ends up crying, and in case you're new to this blog, and for some unknown reason have read this far, I'm a 37 year old heavily tattooed ex stage tech for Metallica, not a 14 year old girl.

The chorus for 'Rise' by Public Image Limited has John Lydon repeating "Anger is an energy", and that has become a totemic theme within rock music. I think it was Rage against the machine that took that ball and ran with it.

But I think it should read "anger is the enemy", because as long as we are angry, we are self defeating. I am self defeating.

And when someone who is just praying for a friend to talk to right now, defeating myself doesn't follow much logic.

I want peace in my life, and I'm not going to get that by shouting. Plus, it's just emotionally retarded to do that, and I should know better.

I am, in fact, under attack from myself in those situations, regardless of external stimulus.

Too much destruction in my life, I need construction.

And if I'm not getting it from without, I need to create some within.

So thank you for listening, you've been very helpful.

I need to draw a new map...


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Monday, December 01, 2008

Youthful exuberance, and the Sisters of Mercy- an exploration of the gradual breakdown of standards and expectations in regard to contemporary living.

I am the worst writer ever, because I am horrifically narcissistic, and say things like "If you don't know who The Sisters of Mercy are, then that's your problem".

I have been fired by many of your favourite magazines for this reason, although I'm still on the Xmas card list of most of the editors, and even am occasionally invited to dinner...

...on account of my genius, and supermodel girlfriend(s).

But all that really has nothing to do with this, "this", being either another revisionist history lesson/uninformed rant, or blessing from someone who has been everywhere and done everything, depending on how much you like me, and feel connected to concepts like 'the truth', 'facts', and 'objective reality'.

And so, to begin.

We all know we're dying. At least, we hide that thought away as far in the back cupboard of our mind, in the ventral pallidum- the 'reptilian brain', as it is known to people who spend too much time writing theses, and not enough time talking to sick people or buying things like apple tea.

To people like us, we call it the subconscious, and sometimes, the inner child. The thrust of this is, even though we know without a doubt, we are slowly breaking down, we deny that information to our conscious thoughts, otherwise we'd all be spending less on Blu-Ray players, and substantially more on private health cover and superannuation.

We concentrate on the here and now, which always presents itself as wildly more exciting than some dusty old future...besides, the (perhaps hypothetical instance of) you now is way more important than the
(perhaps hypothetical instance of) you of tomorrow. I'm hungry right now. That's pretty urgent.

So we think about what we're going to do today, and write songs about how we want this moment to last forever, or how in sad songs we want yesterday back so we can do it better this time. I have never heard a song that says "I want a time machine so I can zam myself into the future, to 3 seconds before my death". Not unless we're talking suicide songs, and that, as they say, is a whole other thing.

And music is a great way to get across what I want to say to you.

If you have listened to the Sisters of Mercy (if you haven't, go do it now, and don't come back 'til you do), it's exceedingly obvious that those songs weren't written by sixteen year olds. Typically, sixteen year olds write songs about youth, and fighting things (the system, your rules, each other), and lust (they call it love, but we know better), the things that excite them (cars, sex, sex, and sex), and the things that depress them (not having a car, not having sex). All valid themes, and proven to be bankable also. The point though, is that there is much enthusiasm and energy inherent in these songs. Thoughts of eventual death are generally avoided in favour of passionate exhortations of life right now, or failing that, confronted head on, on the songwriters own terms, because that's the power of youth, and you're never gonna take it from (us) them.

The Sisters of Mercy, by way of comparison, sound like a band that know they're dying. Nine Inch Nails do too, but Trent Reznor clearly isn't taking it lying down. The voice of a life lived (lived with mental illness and a bad habit of not paying your band members), but life nonetheless.

I used to enjoy a lot of depressive music in my teenage years (Einsturzende Neubauten, Bauhaus, *Duran Duran), but now I find more that I identify with it (apart from Duran Duran, whos lyrics are completely unintelligible).

We all think our teenage years will last forever (and if you had a childhood like mine, you pray that they won't!), but 20's give way to 30's, and suddenly you wake up one day and realise that not only has everything changed, but that it wasn't even sudden, only your cognisance of it is. That lizard brain again, holding on to information your eyes really could have used before now, only your subconscious autopilot decided it was on a "need to know" basis.

And I don't just mean slowing metabolism/spreading waistlines, I mean actual attitudes and accepted modes of thought.

We change completely.

To bring this into a personal perspective, since moving across the country, and leaving behind so much of what had thus far made me me, I could no longer rely on established social networks for jobs, housing, etc. Starting again meant I could no longer jump on a tour and work for whichever band was doing a run at that time, I had to actually go and physically look for jobs. And by jobs, I mean, working at a fashion label, or customising mining vehicles, or front desk at a modelling agency. Real jobs, not rock and roll jobs. Start at 9 and finish at 5 jobs. Or 6 and 4. Jobs where the fact you have worked for Metallica doesn't really impress anyone, where they're more concerned if you had worked for Hamilton and Murray, or Country Road.

I haven't.

And I have found myself so preoccupied with just doing these jobs (with the incredible demands they place on your RAM, and even your personal time), that I have sacrificed the very desires and passions that directed me to move here and start again in the first place.

I have become 'This Corrosion' (Sisters of Mercy), when I used to be 'Wild Nights, Hot'n'Crazy Days' (Judas Priest). I sit in dumbfounded silence contemplating how I ever managed to start a band, or write a song, or even stay awake after 11pm. And I mourn the freedom I used to have, to do these things and to feel like I was actually living, as opposed to just getting by. I identify with Bruce Springsteen, which when I was a kid would have made me feel dirty.

Living like this has dropped my expectations of life, but in a surprise move by my awareness, I realise it has dropped them down...to normal levels! A place I realise they have never been before.

When I was in my 20's, I was perfectly happy sleeping in a room with 20 friends every night, paying $20 a week rent, and anything left over on drugs. Girlfriends would feed me, you could shower at the city library, life was pretty awesome, because it was so simple.

I couldn't live like that again.

I need more now. Things like security, and money, and a house with all the regular house things like showers and locking doors. That means a serious job, which eats serious time and energy. It means paying off debts I've had since the dawn of time, it means not acting impulsively and walking out of a job because you have decided you just don't like it any more, even though to be honest, that's what I'm used to.

And why have I decided I need all of this now?

Because I can see what old age will be like if I don't, and I'm considering that future me a lot more than the present me, if that makes sense. I'm not invincible any more, I know "this summer (won't) last forever".

I've turned establishment.

Yeah sure, I have more tattoos than Chopper Read, and all that goes with it, but turned I have. Otherwise I would turn into the real Chopper Read, and one of him is more than enough, believe me.

And with all that need, comes more pressure. And with all that pressure comes more worry, and with more worry comes more depression, and slowing down, and getting old, and dying early, and that's life. But it's life where you get to do it in a house, rather than out on the street or an emergency room floor. And the establishment likes it, because they're selling you stuff, and the economy likes it, for the same reason, and the old money likes it because it keeps you poor and out of their country clubs, and the new money likes it because it makes them feel special, and the kids like it because they have something to rebel against, and everybody likes it apart from those of us who are doing it.

No wonder we stash that truth as far back as we can...it's enough to make you read Nietsche!

That pressure loaded fear, makes me finally realise why people I have known ate so much shit from abusive bosses, or worked with people no one could like, or travelled so far every day to average jobs they hated...because they were terrified if they didn't, they would lose everything. God-awful credit ratings like neon signs over their heads, fragile and constantly in danger from thrown staplers and supervisors employer protected temper tantrums. Even if they're wrong, you're the one who has to empty out your desk and walk out.

Guys or girls with a responsibility to their partner, who can't just say "Fuck it", or they face being single as well as unemployed. People with mortgages, car repayments, course fees.

I realise now how golden I had it in the past, because I didn't have to worry about any of that. And sure, I was hungry a lot, and slept in some very dodgy places on a regular basis, but at least when you're on the bottom, you can't fall further.

You can't fall further.

I'll be marinating on this...


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

*This is an example of exceptionally dry humour. No offence intended to actual Duran Duran fans.