Hello, babies.

I’ve been in a tizzy. Car crash. Relationship crash. Body crash. Mind crash.

I’m rebuilding, nonetheless. I’ve tired of allowing my very marrow to be sucked out. Fin.

I’ve been spoon-fed strength, thankfully, for much as I think I know and believe I have survived, there are forces at work that I know nothing of and will not pretend to be familiar with. I’m wiping the slate clean. The smartass has left the building, for I must look up from my life. I am a microverse. No man is an island. Six of one, half-dozen of the other. Whatever rocks your hearse.

Oh; Go see “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” You deserve a break today.

Bless you all.

I see my comrade & dear one Jesse is now appearing live nitely at Online Epiphany. I am over-joyed at this movement. He’s a lovely chap.
He carries my burdens. I carry his as best I can.

My dears, I’d simply run on empty for a bit, there. No well to draw from to give to you. I do believe when I write these little happy-happy notes, I am giving a piece of myself in the process. I fell to pieces. I will fall again. I do.

I’m refueled by new songs. New loves, joys and adornments. I give a lot. I take a lot. It’s nothing new to me! I’m in the here and now. It’s a great time I’m in for. I’ll let you know when I get there. I’m still here, though. And you’re there. And never the twain shall meet.

It’s been quite the week for reflection, my loves.

I have just now begin to realise how very complicated, intricate and delicate the balance of life is. How we all value it and our own personal, sometimes comical, at other times tragic, balancing acts.

We tend to wax romantic about youth. We were line-free. No traces of melanoma. No freshman 10. Full heads of hair.

Remember a time when your greatest worry was colouring outside the lines? Remember the scoldings you’d receive? And that, my friends, was your harshest remark. It was the macroverse to your microverse of pen, paper, crayon and colouring book. Ever bear down on an outline of a sun with a Cerulean crayon? Bold strokes with all the confidence your 6 year old self could muster.

I want to break free. I did then, and I do now. However, at that time, it involved inviting the “weird smelly” kid to my party. Now, it’s all about balancing my checkbook, going to the grovery store, trying to not infuriate my fiance’, attempting to fulfill my own needs and satisfactions, avoiding confrontation, getting that job application in and doing it all with no safety net.

Is *this* what colouring the sun a brilliant blue was all about?
I think we have a problem here.

A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.

Aye.

Here I am, everyone.

I’m itchy, you see. Itchy to say my piece, itchy ‘cos I got some new piercings. I’m not sure which itch I want to tend to more, since both are so very delicious and confront me head-on.

There’s no hiding from you lot, is there?

You know, I am a real child of the fucking 80’s. I love Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, ad nauseum. Even - Spandau Ballet!

Please don’t wish me into the cornfield.

Ever heard “Break It Down Again” by Tears for Fears?
It describes what I feel at the moment.

Because.

It’s in the way you’re always hiding from the light.
See for yourself;
You have been sitting on a timebomb.
No revolution!
Maybe someone somewhere else can show you something new about you and your inner-song.
All the love and all the love in the world can’t stop the rain from falling.

*raises eyebrow*.
Don’t take it with a grain of salt. Or do.
Just don’t be too surprised, hmm?

With a title like that, I guess you shalln’t be expecting tales of carvel cakes, sunday B-BQ’s and or Noxzema commercials.

I’ve been battling flu and a major toe infection this week. Along with the impending doomcloud over my head that is depression. However, I’m still standing.

My lil bout of illness has allowed me to become reacquainted with those things that fill my heart with empathy, mind with understanding and soul with enlightenment. I read and reread classics, modern novels and biographies of those who influenced me. Rimbould, (pronounce it RAMBO and I’ll punch you in the Gob), Larkin, the Manic Street Preachers, so on and so forth.

I’ve also been listening to a lot of Tears for Fears. What a band. So determined, so innovative.

What on earth is it with the past that comforts me? Self-knowledge, realisation? Reminders of happier times gone by? I’m transported back to being 10 again. In so many ways, I am utterly prepared to grow up, and in others, I just want to lie down in my bed and paint or write. I’m awaiting the Bluebird of Happiness right about now. I know it can’t be too much longer, since I’m determined to get out of this mess as soon as I possibly may. Bless nostalgia. Calgon, take me away!

Hi, happy children.

I most heartfully apologise for my absence lately; I’ve been ill beyond belief, and have spent most of my time in bed, attempting sleep, reading and entertaining daydreams. This is especially rough on my end, seeing as I thrive on my co-writer’s tales and optimisn.

I’m saying goodbye until I recover a bit more, which is anywhere from 2 days to 4 or 5. Godspeed me!

Love to all,
Sidbitch

Oh dear.
I’m sorry I disappeared on you all like that.
It was a case of “The Calm Before the Storm.”
Or “Elvis has left the building.”

Pick the one that rocks your cock, I suppose. It’s all the same in the end.

So, what happened?
Well, a lot of work-related stuff has been taking up my time. I voted for one of the awards due to be given out this awards season, and the academy wined and dined me. Working in movie-land sure has it’s rewards at times. It’s enlarged my head a bit, put a silly smile right across this face of mine and added a bit of a spark to my otherwise very dreary at-the-moment life.

On the other end, my personal life has been driven into the deep end with the force and vigor of Mike Tyson at a prosthetic ear convention. Just as you, dear reader, wasn’t quite sure where I’d gone…well, I’m left holding the ball, asking myself the same question.

Where did I go?
I can’t seem to find myself any longer. I’ve not even been able to read my beloved books, or get into my films. I’m in the middle of this vast emptiness that is seemingly consuming me.

Oh. Hey. Do you believe in ‘The One’?

I don’t, for the record. I believe there are a series of ‘The Several” that one encounters all their life. A proto-type of “perfect” if you will. And then there’s timing and luck. That’s a piece of it, as well. Then there’s that thing that sometimes happens…you know. You hit a fork in the road. You realise that if you follow the path that your love chooses, you will hit a No Through Street. Maybe you’ll lose your dreams in favour of his/hers. Is this what you really want?

Right now I’m in a parallel dimension. Realising that if I allow myself to go where I’m currently going, I’m never going to forgive myself.

So give me another love song. This one’s broken. I’m not in terribly great shape either. But I will survive. There will be a morning, this I know.

This is a treat, my loves.

Siddy has broken her 6 month vow of abstaining.

From sex? No, you lambs. We covered that in my last post. Get with it, fuckers. I get laid loads.

I’m off of the wagon. I am no longer refraining from my beloved drink. Guinness! Heineken! Who let the Sid out? On second thought, answer that question and I will beat you with my cock. Okay?

So. I suppose this ought to be about something.
Right then.

What do you do when a very authoritative (did I just make up a word? Hell if I know) figure in your life goes against you in all shape and form? They insist on your following their orders and beliefs, for they know what’s best for you.

The bell tolls for those who know what is in my heart.

Beats the shit out of me.

I’m forming coherent thought right now. At leat Buck thinks I am. Let’s lie to please the masses, shall we?

You know, I’ve been cock-blocked from “fun” for quite some time. I’ve only been to one concert in the past 6 months. I was dragged to a rave once, but that doesn’t count, ‘cos all I did was taunt drug-addled ravers by claiming to be an alien, ready to abduct them and take them on a tour of the Cosmos. I had a fucking congo line of them, all awaiting to meet their Maker.

They are my bitches. Each and every one.

Of course, posting here does count as fun. However, I don’t quite see the point of getting all dressy and messy and applying makeup for you lot. A camgrrl I am not! Ha! I will not fellate any Heineken bottles for you. I refuse.

I hope you’re all having a pleasant monday/tuesday. I certainly am.

You’re all gagging for a shagging. Bless you all.

Have a good one,

Lord, folks.

I’m currently coming out of what I affectionately refer to as “The Grand Funk Train-Wreck of ‘01″….that sense of “Siddyness” that has disappeared for so long is finally rushing back to me, and I couldn’t be any more chuffed.

It’s about fucking time, honestly.

To me, the small things, count. I could be faced with a huge ordeal, and it really won’t make me do much but shrug my shoulders and get on with it. When it comes to the matters some would classify as trivial, though, I’m at a loss for words and actions. I’m not terribly sure if this is a liablity or not. Time will tell.

I’ve had some wonderful feedback from some of you folk. Thanks very much for your correspondence, do keep it coming.

Ass-kissers, y’all.

Flattery will get you everywhere.

Just have a look at the oft-mismatched and crazy-clad Elton John. Kissie-koo to you, Mister Elton. However, I’m rather certain he wouldn’t kiss back, since I’m sure his lipstick traces are no more since his last application, since they’re now marked indelibly upon the ass of Eminem…

But hey. Whatever floats your cock.

As for me, I’m a tad nervous right about now. I can’t remember if I swallowed my lone source of birth control or if it slipped out of my mouth and dissolved in my juice.

Hey Sid, you silly bitch:
How would you like your eggs?
Sunny side up, or scrambled?

fertilised?

Sperm has a decent shelf-life, and my sexlife is…fertile. Let’s all pray that I won’t have to pay for it, Hoover-style. I may be engaged, but I will not have a pre-pre-pre-pre-honeymoon child. I’m going on the Shot. The sad thing? I am extremely well-versed on safer sex and contraception…but I’m in a loving, STD free, monogamous, condom-hating relationship. Shit. Guilt-trip me, would you? Pity Party at my email address.

Slap me around. Please.

Other than that, how are all of YOU doing? Let me know. I’m rather curious, as my own universe of relatively egocentric for many reasons at the moment, and I’d love to know.

Hit me.

Have you ever been so in love with auditory pleasure that you could group your memories to a song, an album or a band?

Last night I spent my time at Los Angeles’ beloved El Rey Theatre. The Sterephonics are paying America a visit, which is a rare and sacred occurance. As Kelly Jones’ melodic voice sailed throughout the venue, carried by it’s own weightlessness and the optimal acoustics of the band, I was reminded of so many times and dreams I had, sung to the tune of “I’m Not Looking” or “Roll Up And Shine.”

I sat wrapped in the arms of someone who I love yet don’t fully understand, entranced by these wonderful sounds ringing throughout my ears. And I asked myself how I got there. How I’ve given up so many dreams lately. Why in fresh hell haven’t I been doing my own bidding, but rather, the bidding others would like to see me do?

Now such feelings are branded unto the new Stereophonics album. What a fucking shame. I ask all of you: What songs go to what memories or experiences of yours?

Do tell.