~*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.