I just received an email saying that "Blame it on Vanity" is finally being shipped! At last!

The book was self published by Denise Matthews herself, and was delayed for years due to her illness. Her website also has it available for ordering at $50 plus $10 shipping.

http://www.blameitonvanity.com

Can't wait to read it!

Save your money.

From blameitonvanity.com:

All I had become was thus painted on my face-vanity-and what i had thus spoken from my vile tongue spewed forth from my juvenile breast of disdain.But this was just the beginning of my surrealistic journey, my make believe “i am the new hoopla” squeezed appropriately, sufficiently, distended in your black box, televising all my oddities up close and effectual. With each new, methodical, despicable movement of my being, i closed my fists around a wretched lie which sought to eradicate my life at an impromptu time and i had built no stomach for the fight. With each new bitterness dispelled formulated by this cruel cold world of which i had become its strange kind, i shut my eyes and with deep complaint muttered words of death and despair, while the hot flames seeped, boiled and burned ablaze under my bottle. I was molding to the likes of mediocrity, vulnerability, having had all the experience of a trained seal, being pushed to the brink of hopelessness,and helpless to perpetuate a flawless, ruinous end.

The devil’s perversities snatched up what little strength that lay within me, seeping and sneaking through, preferably choosing their way into my joints, branding and searing my lungs and oh so much torment from scraping away at my own flesh. He waited patiently for the reading of my obituary. I was unrelenting, unreasonably lost, suffocating in dumbfoundedness, further seeking pleasure in a round glass bottle full of vitriolic venom, which slid me into depression beyond blockades. I should have been thoroughly engulfed in an ocean of careful wondrous dreams with the whole Kingdom beset before me, however my ocean thrust me against the rocks and ripped my sour soul in two, thus rendering my upper half to a tornado and with my lower, i lowered myself to that of a squatting dog, dare i say sucking up his own vomit.

This is my story...........DENISE.

I for one would love to hear the story straight from her.

But if the book is written like this little intro...no thanks.

StonedImmaculate said:

From blameitonvanity.com:

All I had become was thus painted on my face-vanity-and what i had thus spoken from my vile tongue spewed forth from my juvenile breast of disdain.But this was just the beginning of my surrealistic journey, my make believe “i am the new hoopla” squeezed appropriately, sufficiently, distended in your black box, televising all my oddities up close and effectual. With each new, methodical, despicable movement of my being, i closed my fists around a wretched lie which sought to eradicate my life at an impromptu time and i had built no stomach for the fight. With each new bitterness dispelled formulated by this cruel cold world of which i had become its strange kind, i shut my eyes and with deep complaint muttered words of death and despair, while the hot flames seeped, boiled and burned ablaze under my bottle. I was molding to the likes of mediocrity, vulnerability, having had all the experience of a trained seal, being pushed to the brink of hopelessness,and helpless to perpetuate a flawless, ruinous end.

The devil’s perversities snatched up what little strength that lay within me, seeping and sneaking through, preferably choosing their way into my joints, branding and searing my lungs and oh so much torment from scraping away at my own flesh. He waited patiently for the reading of my obituary. I was unrelenting, unreasonably lost, suffocating in dumbfoundedness, further seeking pleasure in a round glass bottle full of vitriolic venom, which slid me into depression beyond blockades. I should have been thoroughly engulfed in an ocean of careful wondrous dreams with the whole Kingdom beset before me, however my ocean thrust me against the rocks and ripped my sour soul in two, thus rendering my upper half to a tornado and with my lower, i lowered myself to that of a squatting dog, dare i say sucking up his own vomit.

This is my story...........DENISE.

I for one would love to hear the story straight from her.

But if the book is written like this little intro...no thanks.

I've orgnoted Ben asking him to up the character count so that I can use that Blame It On Vanity introduction as my signature.

The bile of Vanity's so-called 'autobiography' is urching it's way into a spew I am forced to then reswallow, though in only a small amount.

That's Denise speak for 'I just threw up in my mouth a little.'

QuasarOfRock said:

The bile of Vanity's so-called 'autobiography' is urching it's way into a spew I am forced to then reswallow, though in only a small amount.

That's Denise speak for 'I just threw up in my mouth a little.'

Yeah...that looks like the shit we used to write when we were "trippin" the light fantastic!

We' d read it three days later and realize how fucked up we were.

Are we sure Denise is "clean" now?

Denise is high on jesus now. They ain't called 'jesus freaks' for nuthin'.

akossofi said:

Denise is high on jesus now. They ain't called 'jesus freaks' for nuthin'.

Take away the 'jesus' and what are you left with?

StonedImmaculate said:

From blameitonvanity.com:

All I had become was thus painted on my face-vanity-and what i had thus spoken from my vile tongue spewed forth from my juvenile breast of disdain.But this was just the beginning of my surrealistic journey, my make believe “i am the new hoopla” squeezed appropriately, sufficiently, distended in your black box, televising all my oddities up close and effectual. With each new, methodical, despicable movement of my being, i closed my fists around a wretched lie which sought to eradicate my life at an impromptu time and i had built no stomach for the fight. With each new bitterness dispelled formulated by this cruel cold world of which i had become its strange kind, i shut my eyes and with deep complaint muttered words of death and despair, while the hot flames seeped, boiled and burned ablaze under my bottle. I was molding to the likes of mediocrity, vulnerability, having had all the experience of a trained seal, being pushed to the brink of hopelessness,and helpless to perpetuate a flawless, ruinous end.

The devil’s perversities snatched up what little strength that lay within me, seeping and sneaking through, preferably choosing their way into my joints, branding and searing my lungs and oh so much torment from scraping away at my own flesh. He waited patiently for the reading of my obituary. I was unrelenting, unreasonably lost, suffocating in dumbfoundedness, further seeking pleasure in a round glass bottle full of vitriolic venom, which slid me into depression beyond blockades. I should have been thoroughly engulfed in an ocean of careful wondrous dreams with the whole Kingdom beset before me, however my ocean thrust me against the rocks and ripped my sour soul in two, thus rendering my upper half to a tornado and with my lower, i lowered myself to that of a squatting dog, dare i say sucking up his own vomit.

This is my story...........DENISE.

I for one would love to hear the story straight from her.

But if the book is written like this little intro...no thanks.

Y'got THAT right. Is her best friend a thesaurus by any chance? LOL!...and just LOOK at these run-on sentences! Girl needs to learn how 2 punk-tuate effectively and write more succinctly.

[Edited 10/29/10 19:19pm]

StonedImmaculate said:

From blameitonvanity.com:

All I had become was thus painted on my face-vanity-and what i had thus spoken from my vile tongue spewed forth from my juvenile breast of disdain.But this was just the beginning of my surrealistic journey, my make believe “i am the new hoopla” squeezed appropriately, sufficiently, distended in your black box, televising all my oddities up close and effectual. With each new, methodical, despicable movement of my being, i closed my fists around a wretched lie which sought to eradicate my life at an impromptu time and i had built no stomach for the fight. With each new bitterness dispelled formulated by this cruel cold world of which i had become its strange kind, i shut my eyes and with deep complaint muttered words of death and despair, while the hot flames seeped, boiled and burned ablaze under my bottle. I was molding to the likes of mediocrity, vulnerability, having had all the experience of a trained seal, being pushed to the brink of hopelessness,and helpless to perpetuate a flawless, ruinous end.

The devil’s perversities snatched up what little strength that lay within me, seeping and sneaking through, preferably choosing their way into my joints, branding and searing my lungs and oh so much torment from scraping away at my own flesh. He waited patiently for the reading of my obituary. I was unrelenting, unreasonably lost, suffocating in dumbfoundedness, further seeking pleasure in a round glass bottle full of vitriolic venom, which slid me into depression beyond blockades. I should have been thoroughly engulfed in an ocean of careful wondrous dreams with the whole Kingdom beset before me, however my ocean thrust me against the rocks and ripped my sour soul in two, thus rendering my upper half to a tornado and with my lower, i lowered myself to that of a squatting dog, dare i say sucking up his own vomit.

This is my story...........DENISE.

I for one would love to hear the story straight from her.

But if the book is written like this little intro...no thanks.

She makes it all sound so fun...

QuasarOfRock said:

The bile of Vanity's so-called 'autobiography' is urching it's way into a spew I am forced to then reswallow, though in only a small amount.

That's Denise speak for 'I just threw up in my mouth a little.'

I still wish she would have married Nikki Sixx.

Just so we could all call her Vanity Sixx.

StonedImmaculate said:

I still wish she would have married Nikki Sixx.

Just so we could all call her Vanity Sixx.

she sent me her book over 2 weeks ago now, wrote a special note and autographed it for me. (and i didn't pay anything extra) i read the entire book in one day. it's not easy to read at times. but i did get something out of it, i actually found the chapters about her childhood very sad! she went through some very abusive times.

Pass the crackrocks to the left hand side!

How does it feel when you got no pipe? (you bust out the tinfoil and get buckwild widdit)

Denise has led a very troubled life and has been unhappy for many years. Glad to see her at some degree of peace. Her way of writing is not "freaky" it's just self-expression. Hasn't she always had a unique way of communicating? Perhaps she is trying to be religious and spiritual and eccentric all at once. I hope she sells at least 1000 copies. She could use the money.

Nikademus said:

StonedImmaculate said:

From blameitonvanity.com:

All I had become was thus painted on my face-vanity-and what i had thus spoken from my vile tongue spewed forth from my juvenile breast of disdain.But this was just the beginning of my surrealistic journey, my make believe “i am the new hoopla” squeezed appropriately, sufficiently, distended in your black box, televising all my oddities up close and effectual. With each new, methodical, despicable movement of my being, i closed my fists around a wretched lie which sought to eradicate my life at an impromptu time and i had built no stomach for the fight. With each new bitterness dispelled formulated by this cruel cold world of which i had become its strange kind, i shut my eyes and with deep complaint muttered words of death and despair, while the hot flames seeped, boiled and burned ablaze under my bottle. I was molding to the likes of mediocrity, vulnerability, having had all the experience of a trained seal, being pushed to the brink of hopelessness,and helpless to perpetuate a flawless, ruinous end.

The devil’s perversities snatched up what little strength that lay within me, seeping and sneaking through, preferably choosing their way into my joints, branding and searing my lungs and oh so much torment from scraping away at my own flesh. He waited patiently for the reading of my obituary. I was unrelenting, unreasonably lost, suffocating in dumbfoundedness, further seeking pleasure in a round glass bottle full of vitriolic venom, which slid me into depression beyond blockades. I should have been thoroughly engulfed in an ocean of careful wondrous dreams with the whole Kingdom beset before me, however my ocean thrust me against the rocks and ripped my sour soul in two, thus rendering my upper half to a tornado and with my lower, i lowered myself to that of a squatting dog, dare i say sucking up his own vomit.

This is my story...........DENISE.

I for one would love to hear the story straight from her.

But if the book is written like this little intro...no thanks.

She makes it all sound so fun...

Just about the oddest thing I've ever tried to read...I gave up,

QuasarOfRock said:

The bile of Vanity's so-called 'autobiography' is urching it's way into a spew I am forced to then reswallow, though in only a small amount.

That's Denise speak for 'I just threw up in my mouth a little.'

Cringeworthy indeed. Good thing she has other means to support herself.

nice looking book....took long enough to get it.....2 years? i recommend it

I found it diffficult to read because of the graphics and the font she used. I hate having to strain my eyes when reading. I understand her need to be artistic, but at times the art just got in the way of the text.

It is nearly impossible to follow her train of thought, much less read the font!

Have a look... this is at the American Music Awards where she first meets Prince who tells reporters that she is his wife ....

the cover

Her writing in this book reminds me of the 'Wild Animal' album lyric sheet Those songs are horribly written,especially the last track "Crazy Maybe".

I just got my copy in the mail today! She inscribed it to me in blue marker and drew a smiley face...

SEANMAN said:

I just got my copy in the mail today! She inscribed it to me in blue marker and drew a smiley face...

sweet

I'd like to read it...but that one page gave me a headache with that font! And trying to decipher that other jazz was too much. I'll take the cliff notes.