Friday, 30 January 2009
I can think
the first time
in a decade
Thursday, 29 January 2009
The rock star cast in marble
torso taut and biceps pumped
abdominals rippling, arms intact,
limbs not yet decapitated by time.
Genitalia ambiguously rounded
and unthreatening atop sturdy thighs;
hip confidently cocked like
Michelangelo’s boy David;
bare feet planted to a plinth
that announces nothing but
the presence of an Olympiad
demi-God of the modern arena.
(He himself prefers The Winged Victory that
he saw in the Louvre, Nike of Samothrace
headless, her back arched to the heavens,
wings poised dramatically, anticipating flight).
Byzantine in stature, his silence
speaks unwritten volumes -
an iconoclastic warning to
challengers, his form fills the room
and inspires gasps of awe, wonder
devotion and puzzlement, transcending
myth and concept to become a reality
in ways the real rock star never could.
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
That bit is easy.
Then details get
(he was in The Replacements,
who pretty much ruled)
Brian ‘Brain’ Mantia
that dude Buckethead
Ron ‘Bumblefoot’ Thal
Sebastian Bach, kinda
Teddy ‘Zig Zag’ Andreadis
and some other guys
Oh and me, Axl
- it’s my fucking band.
I bought the rights.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
All this goes on without Axl.
I mean, the guy’s just not around.
He only shows up when he knows
he doesn’t have to deal with musicians
which is weird because he’s in a band
but whatever, I can be pretty wacky
myself, so, you know, people are people.
But then he shows up all pissed about
the “vibe” that my porn is having on
the album and he even tries to get
into the chicken coop. The dude crossed
a line, basically. Everyone in the camp
knew no-one goes in Bucket’s coop
so that was when things broke down.
Plus there was these puppies running
around the studio and one of them
took a dump in my coop and I was like
Ooh, I love the smell of dog poop, and
refused to let anyone come in the coop
to clean it up. It was my little world
and they – he - needed to respect that.
So Axl took me outside where it didn’t
smell of dog poop and had a word with
me, and I had had a few words back with
him, some of which may have included
“get” and “fucked” and not long after that
I packed up my straw and my porn and I
was, like, OK, thanks, my work here is done.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
My mom’s a hen
my dad’s a rooster
I was raised in a
the only place
I feel comfortable.
So naturally when
you’re dealing with
the creative process
you gotta be at ease
you gotta be in your
comfort zone for
So I tell all this to
Tom Zutaut, who
they brought back
in to put the squeeze
on Axl and do
whatever it takes
to get the album done.
Zoot doesn’t laugh
he just makes some
notes, makes some
calls and two days
later I’m shredding in
a chicken coop happy
as a pig in a pig shed.
To his credit he did
a neat job of it: chicken
wire, chicken parts,
rubber chickens hanging
from the ceiling and a
DVD player for my porn.
Awesome. Just awesome.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Daylight becomes the enemy
the room becomes a womb
silence is the reward for a
decade’s toil in combat.
Koons and Rothko on the wall
magnums of Dom on immortal ice
the lighting tempered just so
the weft of the carpet just right.
Yet riches and trinkets mean nothing
to the man who wanted everything;
that silence craved is only found
between the hours of 4 and 5am
and even then the sirens fill the sky
sounds to remind of riots gone by
curtains tacked to the walls to
kill the encroaching light that
fights its way through gaps and cracks
turning corners; enemy of the night.
They laughed at Jacko, wept for The King
now hermetically-sealed he idly wonders
what the future might bring. Death
or glory – or maybe the madhouse
trussed up, whacked-out and terminally
neutered, babbling riddles of gold discs
so beautiful and the women – the women! –
oh man, you should have seen them
but I guess you had to be there.
Is this what my destiny holds?
A padded cell and a nurse looming large:
“It’s time for your medication, Mr Rose.”
Monday, 19 January 2009
Axl in repose in the souk, hookah pipe in mouth.
Axl in the Guggenheim, considering a frieze.
Axl barefoot on a prayer mat, brow to the floor.
Axl throwing fistfuls of rice at puzzled children.
Axl and Bono arm-in-arm, singing ‘Danny Boy’.
Axl amongst the antiquities; Axl at the Parthenon.
Axl swimming with dolphins, microphone in hand.
Axl in Red Square, drunk on vodka.
Axl in the Andes with poncho and pan-pipes.
Axl dangling from the North Face of K2.
Axl in a bath-house; Axl lost in the steam.
Axl on the beach in Bermuda shorts, signing autographs.
Axl in a cabin in Alaska; Axl fishing a snow-hole.
Axl in a knife fight in a bar.
Axl in yarmelke at the wailing wall.
Axl in detox; Axl in Malibu, Axl in the studio.
Axl in China, Axl taking notes.
Friday, 16 January 2009
as the rock
you just know that
the world is
up than ever.
But then I
Thursday, 15 January 2009
A couple of years after I left this, friend of mine calls me up and
goes, ‘Dude, there’s all these old clips of you all over the internet,
you should check them out’ and I’m like, ‘First of all, what in the
hell is the internet and secondly, where can I score some?”
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
May 10 1994.
The doc tells me
that at the time
of the explosion
my pancreas had
the texture of
foie gras and
that I should
even so much
as look at
again if I want to
live to see
May 11 1994.
Monday, 12 January 2009
He wasn’t such a bad kid, I guess.
I guess he just wasn’t born to cut it.
I guess maybe things got on top of him.
Shit though, I won’t late fame change me.
If you see me bitching or slacking
you have permission to shoot me too.
Friday, 9 January 2009
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
I think of Manson locked away,
an American idle who
said “no sense
I think of the way
those kids must have had to
scoop up Sharon Tate’s blood
to do that writing
and what it must
have felt like when
the fork slid into
Leno LaBianca’s swollen belly.
I think of this when
I do the vocals for
our version of his
I think of Manson
and I think:
have been me.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
So that’s it.
I hope I didn’t
leave the gas on.