My Court-Ordered Personal Record

Ugh.

Cleaned off the bright colours and put on Susanclothes, and went down to the postmodern club on Sinth Street. Told em I was a media studies graduate with a video installation. They've given us twenty minutes tomorrow night.

I just want to play fucking music again.

Ne: didn't ask permission cos I didn't need it. Figure we get one of the fans to dress up 'normal' to distract the suits, then we dart through a side door and we're up and playing before they know it. Pack the place with the converted, and brainscrew the rest into enjoying it.

Boy Wonder: drum machine?

You all better fucking come, or we'll find you.

It's - fucking - gone.

All of it, everything. Not even any stretch marks left behind, no bleeding, nothing. Like the end of a fucking nightmare with no consequences. None of my clothes fit.

Did someone do something in my sleep, yeah? Is this magical bullshit, boy blue?

_...Ne?

So I smashed my way into my old flat, for about the eighty-seventh time, to find Neon and Jones dancing away like electroshock spastics. And Ne really dances when she dances, you know, I mean it's like controlled rioting to a beat. She must have been pretty fucking exhausted, her make-up had all run and she was sweating, all red in the face - Jones was the same, pretty much, except the boy wonder had the good sense not to throw his arms all over the place. Dancing away from our electro queen to avoid a smack in the mouth from her flailing limbs, that sort of thing.

Smashed up the decks, or tried to. Didn't work. I'm no fucking slouch in the smashing, neither, and I brought all my weight (shut it) down on that thing, didn't even make a dent. Couldn't unplug it, wasn't plugged in, and none of the buttons or shit made any difference.

Herself and the painted sailor were shouting something, but I couldn't hear it through my earplugs - and what I could hear, some kind of bass line that I could feel through the soles of my feet, was already starting to get into my brain with a go-on-Ultra-go-on, like, I haven't had a good kickabout in fucking ages.

Didn't figure for getting rid of the decks, so got rid of the dancers. Window was the closest thing. If I'd pushed you down the stairs you'd've hurt yourself, yeah? You should be thanking me, not screaming at me.

So I did what I had to, yeah? Ne, stop shouting, for Ferry's sake. And get off the kid.

Think they've stopped dancing, but they are both twitching a lot. Called an ambulance, boy wonder's leg looks a bit off. From up here. She'll slice me if I go down there.

Put a blanket over the decks, but it doesn't seem to have made much difference. Someone come deal with it, yeah? Not my fucking problem. What the shit is going on around here, anyway?

I've got a job. (And you can fuck off with your wageslave nine-to-five gripings before you even start, because it isn't, and I'm not.) I'm Dajve's new assistant. And before you all start thinking, 'ooh, Ultra is our very special pal, she'll get us autographs and photos and interviews', remember what happens when people ask me for favours, because this is a seriously professional thing, yeah? I had my knives sharpened and everything.

So far it's mainly yelling at people and kicking overenthusiastic fans in the head, and yeah, alright, fuck off - I do miss the fucking music, but this is the closest I can get to it while KO is on unspecified hiatus, and you never know. Dajve says I could go far, and I don't think it's a line. Not completely, anyway. And free woman, aren't I? No one has claims on me, not any more.

Re: that other thing, fuck off. Make decisions when I'm good and ready, alright. Ne, you might fucking - I haven't - well if you want to play the silence game then fucking fine. I can do that easy. Look at all the silence I know, yeah?

Claire tastes like freshly-baked bread dipped in honey.

Boy in the dress: clear a room, I'm staying at yours for a bit. Can't think in this flat. Decisions need making, and all I'm doing is faffing. Figure spending some time with the childminded retards you call flatmates will make my mind up one way or the other.

Fucking, rain of shit, my life. Fuckers.

Short story long: went out for a walk this morning as part of the whole keep-fit thing - as in, Neon woke me up at six with a cup of ice water to the face and threw me out of the flat - and yeah, alright, it's early. Girl needs a pick-me-up that time of day, and I took two or three of those little fizzy things that herself hides away in that place she thinks I haven't found.

I'm ambling along, skipping my blade along the railings, tapping on car windows, just your usual childlike pleasures, and I don't exactly remember a little boy but I did have a lollipop at some point, and anyway I was taken down the police station for a lovely chat and a cup of tea.

Hello to all the old faces, hello shiny bars, hello drunk man who won't try it on again now that he only has one eye - and oh how they love to search all of my nooks and crannies for weapons after that little incident - and some bright spark points at my wide eyes and innocent grin and says, she may have taken something. They hold me down for a blood sample, and I take a few of my own, and then it's a few hours - probably - later, that I'm standing in a room with a doctor and a policeman, and I think, if Barley's given me AIDS, I'll fucking kill him.

Charges and hints are dropped. I hate when the filth know more than I do. Woman in your condition, danger to yourself, should be thinking of the baby, and everyone has these massive fucking grins, oh Susan, we're so happy for you. I'm supposed to visit my 'family doctor', like, if that means the drug peddler, that'd be Neon. If you mean the last person with a hand in warm places, same. If you mean a man with a medical degree, that'll be me back off to the prison infirmary, will it?

So right now I'm in the park, on the swings, glaring at small children and mothers alike, and, fuck. Fucking fuck. And it's going to rain any minute and I don't fucking care, alright?

Neon, get your fucking white arse out of hiding, girl. Haven't seen you since this morning. Best not be larking about with anyone I don't know.

Everyone else: Kraftwerk Orange are back on. Electro Boy Wonder mixed us up some tracks, Neon and I got down with the music, it's all fucking sliced and sorted. Figure a few gigs to get back the old crew - I miss their scars and their bright eyes - then we can threaten ourselves a publisher and have this out in time for the post-festival bumrush.

Ne, been thinking of titles. What say to Blade Between Your Legs? Think of the artwork!

And the zip won't go up as smooth on my tracksuit. Quit sneaking sugar in my tea, you cunt. Keep saying you're not fat, you're just shorter, alright? Need you as you are, and me as I am - inflating me is only going to piss me off, my sparkly fuckwit.

Lock up your daughters and hide the fine china, because Ultra is back. I'm here to do heroin and fuck.

I'm all out of heroin.

Laters, tosscunts.

I GOT A NEW HAT!!

Um okay I should start at the beginning really because it's not good for me to jump into the middle of things. It disrupts my personal timeline.

So I had my first day at work today and it was really good! I mean I was so nervous because I don't really have a suit and I was still wearing my hat (and okay leave off the hat, guys! haha) and when I get nervous I start to stammer a bit and blush and sometimes duck under tables. But the librarian lady was really nice! I mean it was clear that she didn't expect much, they must send a lot of ex-cons there because all she did was tell me to keep away from the till and give me some books. She was sort of impressed that I knew the Dewey decimal system, hee!

And then later I was going through the books that we try and sell because no one reads them any more, and they had Simone de Beauvoir, and I was all 'aw, isn't it sad that no one reads Beauvoir any more' and she was all 'lol you know Beauvoir?' and I was like 'lol I read them in prison! Beauvoir Butler Dworkin Plume and Greer!' and she said I could keep it!

And after that I went to Vince's flat and it rained a bit but it was okay really. I met Claire who was really nice if a bit um um no I won't say it she was just really nice. But I think maybe she'd had too many 'cigarettes'. Still each to their own! Bollo was great and he's an actual talking gorilla which is so cool! He gave me this big bear hug (gorilla hug haha) that lasted about five minutes, all squeezy and furry and warm and lovely.

Naboo was a bit odd, he kept mumbling stuff at me and then looking confused, and he made me recite tongue twisters for about an hour but I think he liked me because he said 'well I'm buggered if I know, good luck to your non-stabbing self' and left for Prague ON A MAGIC CARPET!! This whole flat is like Aladdin, it's crazy!

And then of course Vince who was just lovely. He was all jumping around and excited and we went through maybe a million hats (So. Many. Hats.) before I found the one up there in my icon! Vince said I should try and look more um I forget the name of the man but he showed me a picture and so that's me trying to look serious but really I was giggling the whole time. He said I should write more poetry and maybe he'd try and sing it! He has a band! Only his best friend sort of ran away so the band isn't so good any more. Um I think it's really horrible of a best friend to run away and not say anything, I really can't think of anything more awful than that.

So it was a lovely day but

well

this is supposed to be a therapy journal after all and if I can't be honest here then I can't be honest anywhere. So on my way to Vince's I was reading my messages on my Feedleash, and there was something about my therapist I think? And I must have blacked out for a bit, because when I woke up everyone in my carriage (oh um I was on the Tube) was hiding against one wall and staring at me, and someone had written 'C*NT' on the window in lipstick (only without the star) which is really really odd. I mean I don't think it was me because I don't have any lipstick and also it makes me nervous just to read that word let alone write it. Someone must have come in behind me and done it and also jumped up and down on my hat (but I have a new one now so it's okay).

um neon it wasn't you was it? um.

OMG!!!!

Okay okay. I'm currently typing this out from NATHAN BARLEY'S BATHROOM!! Yes I know! Can you believe it!

Okay so I got out of prison and the day was dark and gloomy and there was no one there to meet me and I got a little sad. But these Feedleashes are pretty useful things, and Nathan said that I could take a cab to his hotel and he'd pay for it which was really nice as I don't actually have any money (although I do have my Minnie Mouse purse, which I refuse to travel without). Um and we had a drink (but I only had orange juice so it's okay) and he sort of KISSED ME. ON THE MOUTH. Eeeeee! And I felt a bit funny because it's been a long time because that sort of thing doesn't really happen in prison - or well it does actually but the stubble is sort of new - and we took a cab back to his flat and he told me all about the fire, and the coma, and his mother, and the poor thing just needs someone to look after him, really. Poor, poor Nathan. I mean you should have seen him, I think he was nearly crying. So we went back to his flat and talked for ages and then sort of one thing led to another and

I think I'm in love!

Um I'm not sure what my therapist is going to say about all of this. It can't have been a Bad Thing surely because I feel so happy right now, but you can never be sure. Maybe I'll call her. And I feel a bit bad about Claire because I did say she could stay but I think we're dating now? I'm not sure. Anyway it's still fine by me but I think Nathan might be the possessive type!

I'm going to go and make Nathan breakfast with whatever I can find. In the kitchen, silly!

Hi. Er, this is awkward.

Part of my therapy programme, under the conditions of my parole, is that I write a journal every day. And I forgot, but I already had a journal - here - only it's under a different name that I don't really recognise. It's got a lot of pictures of me in it, but it doesn't really look like me.

But my therapist assures me that it is me, so. I suppose I'll use it? For now?

Er, I don't know. My name is Susan. I'm currently in prison, but I'll be out tomorrow. (Yay!) My memory's sort of spotty, there's big bits that I don't remember, but I think I'm in a band. Or I was in a band. The parole board have set me up with a library job somewhere in South London, so I suppose I'm Susan the Librarian now. Heh.

Let's see. I have brown hair, brown eyes. I like to read, and listen to music. Razorlight are good, as are Oasis, Bloc Party, those kind of people. Oh, and I quite like jazz, although I don't really know much about it. Sort of, Nina Simone, Miles Davis. Older stuff.

And if you're one of the people I've...er...attacked, in the past. Or insulted, or made feel bad, or acted in any way other than a good human being should - I can't begin to explain how sorry I am. But I really have changed.

Er. Sort of, can't remember where I live. A little help?

Apparently there was some kind of box thing, I don't know, I don't care. Don't think I was there, but then again, waking up in strange rooms with a headache and light stab wounds is nothing new for me, so I can't swear I'd remember it if I was.

KO is still together, as far as I know, but I haven't seen Neon in god knows how long. We've still got our arrangement about Ashknob, but the way I hear it, he has other diversions these days. Ick. I didn't think there could be any combination worse than him banging my trusted bandmate, but this is coming close. I'm retching just thinking about it.

No sign of the article yet, and my stabbing hand is getting weak from under-use - I'm just saying, if the law's reading this. No bail condition stops me from saying stuff, does it? But word to the wise, certain people better make good on certain deals, or certain people will wake up without certain appendages that they seem to be using a lot more, these days. You don't want to be known as just "Ash", do you, mate?

Neon blew me out on a gig last week anyway, and the fucking club manager demanded his advance back, which I'd spent on her bloody keytar, so we won't be playing there again. Got something else lined up tonight, but I can't find herself again, and I called that monkey who normally covers but he's "busy" or whatever. Can't rely on no one but myself, as always.

I'm horny as hell and someone drank all the vodka and I'm sitting here on my own, which is sometimes how I like it and sometimes not. If anyone wants to find out which it is, I'm in the book and the door's on the latch.

Since no one's heard from Two Hats since that night for which I have a perfectly good alibi, I figured someone ought to write ( lyrics )

I've done my bit. Someone (Neon? where the hell are you?) come up with the bass line while I do my hair.

Right... I don't remember much about last night, but my hand hurts, so either I was djing my electric heart out or I punched someone. If it's the latter, i want you to know that I'm not sorry since you probably deserved it.