~*Courtney Poety and Journal Entries*~
*Future Date*
I love you forever
I'm going to be your wife
I'm going to keep you around
For the rest of my life
I finally got all these flies off of me
And I got my eyes set on a future date
A future date who is just over the horizon
Just on the tip of your tongue
I will destroy anyone who gets in my way
I will kill anyone - every lousy lay
Cause I got my eyes set on a future date
*Girl On Death Row*
"I am the girl on death row
I am the girl with no soul
One above and one below
Disguise our bondage
As we will
It's women women
Purging still"
*Just A Little Limp*
It's just a little limp.
It looks just a little limp.
I don't think it's getting very hard.
It seems just a little limp.
It seems like it's falling down.
I guess I'll go with it.
I guess I'll go with it.
We wish you all the joy in the world.
>hr>
Gag Gag Gag
I'm in the cherry pit
And I'm covered in hate
Blind fucking me goes mad
So baby eats from the bloat plate
Some fucking spider
Curled up inside her
Some fucking spider
Curled up inside her
I am running from yr snivelling little stories
It all has something to do
With how you made me blind
How yr world vomits me up
Like a sick drunk
She has a big head. It's huge.
Her heart is a dog
Lock up the whore house as satin is the moon
Sucking. Dick. Out in the yard
Slit open her sky let out her stars
Slut her open for the gutter
You all want to kill her - sugarheart
Rape her down and kill her sugarcoat
Biggest Scar In Yr Sky
Far off most secret and inviolate rose
Enfold me in my hours of hours
I will be the biggest scar in yr sky
Run naked jagged down your chest
The seven gash in heaven
Blows buds of barren flowers
Desires and dreams and powers sleep
That porno Miss Mousy
And everything but sleep
Your Little Crown
That's the knife they used
To gut my face
Mother vulture
Evening star
Put on your block and speel
And your little crown
That's the crown that you get
For falling down
Hunt my eyes for something
Other than my used yellow liver
Only weakness
Pure Glamour
In the spotlight she begins to sing
The bittersweet blues about saint sickly sweet
His smell still there and teenage heartache
For many Manhattans and Chesterfields,
But she's still got her looks
She adjusts the microphone to it's proper height
Her skin tight guitar knit black formal kisses
Every pore is crying
Everyone grows violet,
It moves into a frill of tune
Black open fuel pumps complete this sugarheart
Nightclub singers ensemble.
An angel enfolds her.
She'll be like this lots before catching the bus to Juarez,
Life is moving inside her
A rosary sticks to her skin
Inside her strapless wholebone girdle
She wishes lavendum was still there
And hopes that god will forgive her.
Babydoll
Babydoll in your nazi car
Can't believe what a whore you are
My sweet tooth has burned a hole
Into the nazi kitchen you call your soul
He is cold give him a candy coat
Like the black lung in his throat
Then I lost it all
Beauty Slashing
I one eye gulp the honeyblood
the honeyblood of my sugarheart
beauty slashing wierd laughing ha
my sweet tooth has burned a hole
kum kandy porno cherry
beauty slashing wierd laughing
Ugly As Me
lily lily you are as ugly as me
blessed water cherry cherry you are as ugly as me
thread my bones through your clean needle
be the brokeopen promise that the frost killed
she comes to crucify you -
in her best sunday dress
she comes to crucify you
choking on her candy flesh
>hr>
Withering
in your city of roses with your dolly head
she drinks drown soda
she left her child in the cannery
now she is withering
i am not free
i am withering i am witherine
mother vulture
Gag 1
Gag 1. Dont have children with people who will repulse you in the future
2. repugnance of the blood coming out of my limbs does not appreciably differ
from vomited food. repungance is only one of the forms of stupor caused by a
horrifying eruption of the disgorging of a force that threatens to consume.
I AM FREE TO VOMIT MY OWN BEING
Journal Entry #1
Courtney describing Liverpool at the age of fifteen:
"I haven't entered into a description of Bedsit because it would be painful. Picture plastic chairs, a view of garbage, broken fridge/lights/doorbell, prison door, broken window, and lower class swirlfudgesludgepatterned earth tones carpet
lining up smartly with sheetless mattress (that I've had a weird time on), textured tawny-beige-green and brown-silver and white-old-human wallpaper. Plague coloured kitchem (like walking into a smoker's lung). And the inevitable Formica fire.
Sumptuous.
Journal Entry #2
Courtney writes about Kat Bjelland (1989)
"She is now starting to bother me and it is my own fault.
I didn't spawn her and I didn't create her ingenuity and
it's not my fault that she is shorter and cuter than me, but
it is starting to bother me nonetheless that she is making
headway on my shtick. Simply because my own shtick is
suddenly her shtick. It is ugly. I taught her my shtick, month
after month, year after year, and voila! What did I expect?
My shoes don't seem like my shoes anymore. I look at a
dress and wonder what it would look like on her before I
buy it. I hate my guitar, I want a different one. She says
it's destiny. Feels like penance."
Journal Entry #3
First Encounters with Kurt
"It was so cozy and dirty and cool. He told me he loved
me and I know that he does. It just feels so unreal - those
silvery eyes burning holes into me. It made me want
to protect him, keep him from the people that would hurt
him/use him . . . I want to spend a long time with him. Last
night I could not sleep and I half dreamt of us making love
and I woke up crying with a GUT ache, and I had to call him,
I felt like my heart was going to break, but then I talked
to him and I was so happy. SO HAPPY."
Journal Entry #4
Before marrying Kurt
I'm nauseous on the bullet train sitting next to K Cobain.
Torturing myself in fine pointy ways. My fame. ha ha. It's a
weapon, kiss my ass, just like morning sickness . . .
It's private but I hate my talent more and more I think it's
worthless and I don't care. Could it just be the commercial
effect of too many sales and a semi freak accident semi meant
to be but I'm starting to think I can't sing can't write that esteem
is at an all time low and it isn't his fault. God how could it be . . .
Don't you dare dismiss me just because I married a ROCKSTAR."
Journal Entry #5 - In detox
"Bell Jar"
I have the best taste in this town. My bedroom is peach. Faux Victorian, I finally
have an eiderdown quilt. 27 years. I deserve fresh flowers . . . I can barely write
even this I am so uninspired. God I need all the help I can get . . .
Here we are the corporate power grunge couple and everyone is already
bored of us. We're an instutution already. He's a bowl of cereal. Very mysterious . .
I want neckrubs so bad that I don't even mind giving them. Someone asked Janet
if I'd LOST MY DRIVE. I don't even know how to drive . . . I lay prone, gutted,
desperate, and empty, I swear, soulsick, not dead because my taste and love of
texture and smell but almost dead. This is the most I've written in over a month . .
I just vomit violently and try to pretend this hasn't happened to me. I love him.
We lock like a locket.