We’ve Only Got Porn

No one is enough. Not one of us, no matter how talented or fucking intense or beautiful is enough. No, not for anyone. You are not enough for me, and I – I am not enough for you. I’m starting to think that I was born empty and whatever was supposed to fill that space has fucked off laughing with the hottest girl I’ve ever known. I will always be empty. I just have to live with it.

Listen, if need dictates each of our connections, then what the fuck is this problem about simply caring for someone enough not to hurt them? Seriously, I’m asking here. Am I doomed to this? I mean, animals use instinct to get them through the day and you don’t see them needing to build 10 million dollar spas on 500 meters of the most blinding white sand on the Pacific Ocean. How can we ever be satisfied if our instincts tell us THIS is just not enough?

And if we’re never satisfied, how can we ever be happy? And by “we”, I of course, mean “me”. I once wrote a long time ago “If you don’t love me, you need help.” Well, baby, I’m the one who needs help these days. And I have had it with these fucking days.

Back Stage At The Record Launch

Back stage with Sally and Melsha we wonder where the tray of cocaine is. Here I have the girls but I forget the fucking drugs. Damn! We laugh at the irony of life.

The girls remark at the really un-glamorous condition of the back stage. I tell them about CBGB’s in NYC (RIP). Ramones throwing up on the ceiling and a toilet on a pedestal. Truly a punk throne for such mad kings as have never been seen since.

Such ripped and torn eyes from California look at me with an excuse that there are many boring places there, never mind Hollywood and Vine or the illegal thought processes. Oh, Sally, I have a feeling wherever you are, it is plenty interesting. [Read more →]