The end of day two. I really should be sleeping, but instead I’m sitting on Lenora’s back stoop, smoking a cigarette in my skirt. Sleep doesn’t seem to matter much these days – there are more important things to do, but fuck, I’ve done them. I’ll sleep after this.

Started taking pictures to document the adventure today, nothing that special but they will come. We spent the day running errands around Hollywood – checking out a cool store or three getting stuff for our performances at the San Diego shows, bouncing around. No one seems to walk here – it was funny. We would hop in Kevin’s car to drive to places that were just a few blocks away – but I sure didn’t mind. I’m barely running on fumes these days and energy is low.

I wonder what the weather is like back East.

Hell, it doesn’t matter – I have everything I could need for any conditions.

Homeless? The hell I am. Look – it’s right here in these bags. I carry it around with me. Like a hermit crab.

I could probably even fit into my big bag quite easily if need be. Maybe I’ll try that sometime.

I’m down to a bit over $40. Most of the little I had went before I even stepped on the flight here.

Over three weeks left.

This is going to be interesting.

Hell yeah, it is.


it begins.

I made it. I’m in L.A., safe, comfortable, and watching fucked up movies with  
and Kevin. And Ellie, her miniature Doberman Pinscher.

I had a small hiccup with securety at the airport due to the
“Explosives” sticker on my laptop, I had another when I was told that I
can only check two bags or be carged $80 for each extra.

Surprise, it worked out. Ingenuity.

there are so many beautifol thngs I want to say about Lenora, and she
deserves anything I could say – yet in this exaustion all I want to do
is stop writing.

She’s glorious, I’m dead.



for a lust of words…

I am now apparently known as “Pimp walk” at the corner store. The sign says “Nicks” but I was told tonight that it is known as The 2 4, due to it’s corner on 24th.

And, apparently, I have a distinctive walk.

And you –

you can sing me anything.

The memories that The Magnetic Fields invokes…

wings and prayers

Okay, it’s happening. Don’t have too much of an exact idea how, but hell – since when have I?

Somewhere around the 27th or 28th I’m getting flown down to L.A. to (probably) do some klowny work for/with  
, then we and two others are driving down to San Diego for the Dresden
Dolls/NIN shows on the 30th & 31st, where we’ve set up quite a
spectacle for the shows – a suspension. Not me, someone else – but
perhaps my time will come some day. Should be quite tasty.
Then, since my folks are going to be out of town I’ll probably head
back up to L.A. for a day or two to enjoy their breed of insanity, get
flown out to Boston for the Dresden Dolls DVD shoot on June 5th (to be
announced soon, don’t start emailing me yet – please!)- and then, this is where it’s going to get tricky
– when the DD fly off to their tour of Europe, I’ve decided that I’m
going to just to hang out on the East Coast for a few weeks, bouncing
off of as of yet unknown couches (I hope), making my way to NYC to
visit Michelle and a few old haunts, hanging my hat in random places
there, then probably back to Boston for my flight back to S.F. sometime
in the third week of June.

Heh. Don’t know how the fuck it’s going to turn out, but it will be
fun. Stuck on the East coast with only my hopes and a few bucks in my
pocket, no phone since Metro PCS won’t work there, and just see how the
cards play themselves out.

Goddamn I’m excited about this. Not only do I get to meet all the
people I’ve only interacted with through email for the past number of
months and become strange kind of friends with, but  I get to go
back East after, what –  12 years?

Somehow, someway, it will work out.

It always does.

I get it.

All the people on the corner by the liquor store, all of those people you pass asking for a few desperate coins – all they want is to ghange their vision, to imagine their lives are a bit more than they are. They spend it on booze, or dope, or cigarettes.

the simple pleasures.

Such little poing on spending it on food – a person can go a couple days without eating, and hell yeah, you’re hungry, but after you get used to it the hunger pains go away, and the stomach shrinks. Eating again only reminds you of the inescapable hunger and the fact taht when this food is gone you will only want more because you have been reminded of how much your body needs nourisment, and it wants. There are no flavors anymore, only the insatiable hunger when you eat. The hands shake. the body craves – and then it is gone.

Drinking, smoking, are the pleasures that are available. It’s strange how I spend so much less on alcohol when I know that I can buy food tomorrow, but i understand now – I get it. I escape in the alcohol, it doesn’t leave me wanting, it alleviates the pain of the incessant hunger.

It erases the reality of the situation for the time being. A nibble and a pint of bourbon a day, and I am on my way down the hill with no brakes.

I think back to better times and realize how little I drank. I haven’t had those times in years.

I need to be paid. The only thing separating me from the people on the corner are my friends and a roof.

Maybe not even that.

Desperate times call for desperate pleasures, but the pleasures quickly turn to all there is to look forward to.

all there is

and I drown.

in darkness I write before I go to watch over a friend who I haven’t seen for ages. He says he needs one, and I don’t want to leave, so yearning for a quiet anonymous night at this place I call home – but he says he needs one.

A brief fight within myself, then realizing the inevitable. If Killian has called me out, then things must be bad – I haven’t really talked to him since he played the benefit for me. Over a year ago.

I need to be there.

I sacrifice the last of the money that Naia has loaned to me for a BART ticket across the bay – money that should have been spent to get to her sometime within the days to come.

This broke thing sucks. I actually considered saying no because of it – but there are times when it just isn’t possible. The message he sent me was pure desperation, and…

I need to go.

I need to go because he needs someone, and I’m that someone right now.

days of passion

The journey gets a bit more interesting. L.A. for a friends video, San Diego for the DD/NIN shows, then off to a stay in Boston/NY to milk what I can out of the couch surfing there and create some sort of reality in this dream, a strange unearthed vagabond with everywhere and nowhere to lay his head, no home save for that of the unknown around every next corner. It’s always the next corner, it’s always like the perfect thoughts in hiding that always come in the half asleep mind where all the tensions of the day are released and the dreams and ideas are the most vivid and we see where we could be if now was where we were able to live…

Locked for friends because it hasn’t been announced, this entry, locked because we’re shooting the DVD on June 5 in Boston, and locked because I feel like it. I’ll unlock it when I am able to. I’m excited about this. Those who have been true and beautiful will be able to be a part of it, and though I would have loved to have the S.F. show on the DVD this one will be honest and beautiful and full and perfect and pay the appropriate homage to all of those who have given so much to all we have become, WE the Dresden Dolls, we, me. A strange and beautiful excitement engulfs me as I feel again as there is so much to do and so much to figure out and so many people to contact and so many people I can’t because hell this is hush hush right now to help preserve and ease the madness but hell, that’s just somewhat rediculous ain’t it because it’s all madness and if it weren’t it wouldn’t be what I do because all I do has that metallic sugarry taste of desperation and if it weren;t there then why would I be doing this I would be doing it out of love I am but the obsession that it has become surpassing all others is what I have become and what I am and everything I have dreames of ever being. It’s the half asleep dreams that are so perfect, it’s the half asleep perfection that we all want our lives to be, when we’re laying there so comfortably and the pen and paper are a few feet away yet so far out of reach because if we interrrupt this it will go away and we swear that we’ll remember this but we never do – not in this clarity…

A bourbon rambling. A dream that is almost realized, a dream that before a few months ago was only that. A dream that fills me so completely with almost everything I need to be able to exist I have, but I would starve if it weren’t for Naia, starve for so many things. Locked. i can say this, and unlocked as it will be, i should. I don’t want a girlfriend. I told her that. I told her that. I love her. I told her that. I’m consumed by what I do, I’m the Freak Wrangler first. I love her, I feel as if I am cheating her. I don’t want a girlfriend, I love her, I have her, she has part of me but will probably never have all.I feel as if I am cheating her. She tells stories, beautiful and entertaining stories, but I can’t focus on those and when they come I go to my what I need to do at times as I am never able to escape that, and this time, I feel that it is good for me. This time it is. It is me and all I want to be. I dream that soon I will be able to take care of her the way she has been taking care of me with her scant earnings which are millions compared to mine and we will suspend the rain and dance through it with me feeling so much better about this but I feel as if I am cheating her and I feel that she deserves so much more someone who could be so entirely there for her but – I can’t.

I don’t want a girlfriend. I told her. Unfairly, I didn’t give reasons – it’s not until I write that I can find reasons my head doesn’t work like that my head doesn’t work in a way I can explain many things unless I wrote and the previous post might explain where it always is always distracted always elsewhere with something of a coam front because it’s all survival and this is the way my head has found a way to exist when everything is happening and everything is the most important thing and everything else is only everything else and I may get to that in time…

The extacy and anguish of dreams being realized.
The beauty and clarity of a half-asleep mind.
The promises we make that we believe in and
The promises we know we may fall short of
when nothing is clear.

These are the days of passion
These are the days of dreams
These are the days
where everything that might make sense
an we never know the conquerer
of these internal battles…

stream of unconciousness

(huh??? Am I actually going to save this?…)

Smokin’ and drinkin’.
The two things that will rip apart my health the quickest are the two
pleasures I enjoy the most right now as I live this life with my toes
hanging over such a precarious precipice and I have these pleasures and
these pleasures alone in their decadence and in their strange kind of
loss, In their words and their absence. I’ll give you everything –
there really isn’t that much more that you would find in any bumper
sticker Living life under the idealism of supposed beauty, it does
exist – it surrounds me , encompasses me, saturates me without knowing
– but that’s a lie.
I live a life that I can follow with only the words to make it real,
only the words to make it something that may be the language of a dream
that could be true – and that is nothing but plagiarism from a dream
that was created from a dream from nothing. All of my dreams are from
nothing, but reach for all the things they have. It’s just the way it
goes, and I accept it with nothing to give back.
Nothing right now.
A dear friend that I don’t know playing a guitar that sings to me, the
words lost in an area where we all forget ourselves when it is right
and we want to escape. It works.
He puts the guitar down to smoke, but the sounds and the life of them
continue as he stands up and exits the chair, asking if it’s cool if he
smokes a cigarette.
Of course it is.
He starts plain lost chords – his chords – on the guitar. This time
it’s his song, and he plays it with much more frustration – he’s a bit
more particular, a bit mor insecure of his own words – but without a
reason that I can hear… There is love that he tries to express, there
is a longing that he stops shor of because it’s his song and it’s
personal this time.
The it continues to anothe guitar player with the same singer with the
same passion and the same knowledge and the same thirst to say
something and I wish that I could and the guitar changes hands again
and I only wish that I had the confidence to be a part of what I should
be —-
So much simple beauty, so much ease in his words, so much depth and
beauty in something that is so simple or him….
If I could express myself through music, if I could write the things
that make people around me know that I am speaking for myself but
giving them all that I have so that they could feel it and it could
twist them and it could give them an answer or something to relate to
or something to find themselves in or something to release themselves
in or something to make them find a reason to find everything and find
themselves and find all that they have inside of them and find the
freedom and find the return to what we need to be and what we are.
Just give me one thing
that I can hold on to…
I write with no restraints, and no logic. I write with no belief in
flow or meaning, I write at this time in absence of everything that
might make sense without careful consideration.
I write like a strange rain, falling on an imagination that bleeds and
suffers in it’s want to be more.
I write and say what wants to be said without the filters and with no
sense and don’t give a damn. I write and leave all the rest for another
day, if it comes.
It won’t.
I know better.
I lie and know better again with an amused smile.
I write like Joyce but much poorer, as the words say nothing together
but a cleansing of simply putting them down as they came into my head.
Hell, they aren’t even making it through my head before they’re spat
out here.
His eventually said something. – or so I’m told. I never could finish
those books…

transient times

…and again, so much to say, but so tired.

Last night was the first time in far too long that I was able to read more than a page and a half. I’ve tried, but usually end up succumbing to the exhaustion of these past weeks before I get through only a few paragraphs – sometimes before the book has even been picked up…

Strange shit in the last place that housed me, the day before an understanding that I would get back to my chores after things with the DD settled down, then the next morning being asked to leave. Hard to find a place for a dog and his boy in two days. I feel confused, hurt, – insulted.

I’m now in a warehouse in Oakland, and Bean is in San Francisco with a friend who is caring for her dearly, and loves having her there – but I miss her. H couldn’t be more of Bean’s dream, and the guilt I feel in not being there for either of them is excruciating, but I’m locked in Oakland without even fare to get there much less reimbursement for the food and love she and her daughter have given to Bean, and I start to question myself – due to many things that have happened recently…

Am I a user?

I have the best intentions, but follow my dreams – and as a result alienate the people who care about me. I don’t speak of what I’ll do too much, I’d rather DO, and I think that is the largest problem. I have made too many promises that have been unfulfilled and therefore prefer to wait without words until I am able to live up to them, and though inside I know what I intend, they don’t – but it has been so ridiculously long that I’ve had to depend on others – for food, for shelter…

Hopefully, it will soon be over, this vagrant existence where I take all that is offered because I need to but don’t have the resources or time to give much of anything but a “thank you” back.

I loathe that. There is no worse feeling for me. I try to be good, I try to be everything to everyone, but I always fall short these days.

I follow my dreams, and I won’t stop – this dream is all I have left, and it is becoming a reality. I help people become what they are all over the world, but in the process as it stands now, make the friends I have here sick of me in my needs, in my lack of physical appreciation, in the way that I can orchestrate beauty thousands of miles away but don’t have the means to even buy myself fare to go visit my girlfriend.

Yes, I’m a user, but unintentionally. All I have right now is the obsession with making this dream come true, and the kindness of those who can still tolerate me.

Everything I do is with the intention of someday giving back.