"his vision of her ... kept widening its rings in his mind,"

i just read that line in a story called bluebeard in ireland by john updike.
thoughts do that, dont they? they tend to echo, ripple through time, to be considered for days and experimented upon in dreams.

anyway.
pearls show night before last was a lot of fun. i brought some bottles with me bc i like to take care of my man, but security stopped mr jim beam at the door - they checked both my whiskey and my veuve. the crowd was there for the headliner but the pearls won them, and thats always fun to see. after, johnny and marty and i ran some ninja shit and got the booze out of the security office and into the dressing room. if you ever need to sneak booze any where, i recommend those two. theyre dedicated and stealthy - mostly bc they always wear black. actually, no, theyre not stealthy at all, but they can be when the prize is whiskey.
oh, i heard scott weiland was at the same theatre that night, but im pretty sure i would recognize scott weiland if i saw him, and i didnt see anybody there who looked or sounded like the guy from stp.

spent all of yesterday in bed with my axman listening to the rain. there are beautiful pictures but im not going to share them with you. theyre Mine. you know that lou reed song that goes "its such a perfect day / im glad i spent it with you"? i had it stuck in my head the whole day. i know lou would hate that ive attached sentimentality to that song, and im sorry lou, but i am only human. i strive toward your standard of authenticity but i write on a google blog, im a sell-out like everybody else.

ive been getting some shit about this blog lately. again. lately. its all the fuckin same.
anyway, its coming back around to the question of why i tell the stories i tell, and whether theyre my stories at all.
in one sense this is a record of what i do, something i need personally because my memory of my own immediate history tends to be extremely inaccurate, if not completely missing.
but why publish that?
cynically, because a compelling blog is the key to a book deal. maybe my ego needs the constant feedback, maybe this is the only way i can say the things im too pussy to actually say, maybe i get off on the aggressive vulnerability of sharing secrets.
what i cannot stomach is that thought that im allowing myself to be used by the gaga-obsessed (those are two words that mean the same thing) for "access."
i cant tell you this enough:
i do not have access.
if thats what youre here for im embarrassed for both of us.

that show on wednesday precluded my trip to new orleans with my man, so we're now planning an upstate escape. except it keeps getting pushed back. sad face.

but the sun is coming out, and i just bought all this stuff to groom nelson. i was going to do it in the country but central park will do for today. and ill get to work again tonight, so thats good. check out this bone i got him. i cant figure out what animal it came from - the package said mammoth but im betting cow or horse.


sinking and sinking and sinking...