Being a drug addict is like having an imaginary friend who is a real cunt. All you hear is how junk will help in whatever situation; that it will somehow makes you perform better. Like other people can’t tell you’re out of it anyway. When you realise how far down you are going, it’s too late. It has you by the throat and won’t let go until your every day of existence, that you remember, is the all over body aches of withdrawal. The runny nose, the temptation of trying it just once more... you know, to help with the detox symptoms. But then you enjoy it so much and before you even realise what is happening, you’ve been drug fucked am entire week, a month. Time flies when you’re high like that, numbing your brain to the stuff that is unpleasant. It becomes a full time job, where every action, every day revolves around dosing up.
And you make promises to yourself every single fucking day.
This is the last time. This time its only for pain. This time it’s just to get through *insert normal everyday activity here* and then we’ll stop. Easy!
It started as a way to make chronic pain go away. Since I started drinking early, I eventually decided to take more than what was recommended and noticed that it had a great affect on my mind. The rapid thoughts percolating in my mind with no end in sight slowed down. It became my cure, my way to deal with life and not the problems I obviously had. I’d already been on various medications to help with sleep and severe anxiety issues.. anti-depressants, anti-epilepsy meds, anti-anxiety meds. So to take this easy to buy, over the counter remedy seemed like a no brainer. By the time I was 18 I realised that something was wrong... after a day or two of not dosing I got the sweats. I didn’t know what it was, and suddenly I was reading about Opiate addiction. “Addiction” was something I didn’t even understand the concept of, and despite reading about what this entailed, I was in some hard denial for a good few years. I had managed to suppress the memories of friends telling me to stop, that it was shit and I was fucking myself up. I still don’t remember most of these years. I’m told my extreme overuse and combination with alcohol would be considered by some to be suicide attempts.
It wasn’t long until all my classmates in my first attempt at tertiary education thought I was a massive stoner. I remember hearing people say how stoned I looked. I’d go for a weekend without any and I’d go on the Monday honestly wanting to stop. It didn’t take long for me to get the sweats right there in class, mind wandering, lost in my own personal hell. During the break I’d hotfoot it to the pharmacy. And being able to get a taste over the counter like that really makes it unbelievably hard to stay away. I’ve often thought of this bullshit as a love-hate affair. I hate how it makes me act, how it makes me look, how it makes me feel. But that warm wave of numbness that envelopes my entire body can feel like Heaven. I’ve fallen off the wagon a few times, but I don’t deny that I still have a drug habit. At least now, I am clean a lot more often than I am stoned, and for me, that is a start.
People have commented on me looking better, one chick even told me I had a positive aura about me, or something similar. I like to think I’m a likeable person, but having this rapid cycling of thoughts leads me to over-analyze normal social situations. This is, for me, the real bastard of opiate addiction. It has this incredibly subtle way of manipulating my emotions and creating massive anxiety and feelings of dread out of nothing. Without the drugs I’d feel alone, depressed, tense, anxious and when you feel that horrid, drugs have a halo above them. They are sent from the heavens to calm and help you. In reality they are from hell, and when they weasel their way inside your brain you do have Satan inside your head. Temptation becomes the name of the game and nothing is sacred. Anything that will line the pockets for another day of drug-hazed peace becomes a target. eBay became a great tool. The reality of the next day being just as bad is denied, the reality of taking a step back in life instead of striding forward.
I think I have come pretty far this past year; I was a mess at my last house. I moved here in late ’08 and have since made a lot of positive changes. I think getting my dog was a great idea, I’ve raised him from a pup and it gave me a responsibility, something to wake me up to the fact that I’m not the only one I need to care about. He is the best dog in the world and resembles me in numerous ways. I no longer drive around with an eye darting to every single sign that says “Chemist” or “Pharmacy”. I no longer am holding back with my drumming, our sound is unfolding as a bizarre mesh of punk and crossover with speed/black/thrash metal. Two years ago I was living with the dude and we never got anything done. I was a drug addict who he barely tolerated. Now I have six hours of pot-fueled mania, time to cut and paste. I see this project is another responsibility; I certainly cannot play the way I am right now while drug-fucked. Time shall tell, I’m now on a ‘therapeutic dose’ of mood stabilizers that are actually anti-epilepsy meds. Anti-psychotics help me sleep when I just can’t, but are no good for during the day. I am feeling dizzy occasionally though so my aim is keep up with meditation and to exercise so I wear myself out, therefore lessening my need for an aid to sleep. A noted side-effect of the anti-psychs is this sort of dizziness and I can’t really do much if every time I get up from a seated position I almost pass out from dizziness. Not cool, especially when my ultimate goal for 2010 is to be training MMA and boxing on a regular basis.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Saturday, December 12, 2009
On the border of reality
Borderline disorder. Heh, makes sense. As dumb as it is, knowing that it changes nothing, i feel comfort that my doc has realised the intensity of my situation and what is wrong with me. It reads like such a teen thing, but it seems to mean overly emotional, no self worth, lack of identity, splitting, impulsive behaviors and hell bent dedication activities that have no purpose. On the edge of reality, and taking drugs certainly can't help this last symptom long term.
But oh they are just so good and any state of mind beats dealing with the toilet of the world. I can't watch the news or research like I used to about the global economic/political/'news' media oil/arms/building industry/pharmaceutical conglomerate.
But when it falls into my lap its nice to know that I'm not the only one. I'm not crazy. They are trying to use Climate Change as a scare tactic to force us to pay taxes under the false guises of:
a) taxes go to the countries we (white fucking bastards) fucked up the arse originally, whether it be political, drug related or weapons dealing. Usually all three.
b) CO2 emissions have been SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN to have have jack fuck to do with Climate Change. With oil and coal plants everywhere (while waves crash into our southern coast like a bull being raped - you're telling me that WON'T generate a shitload of energy?!), cows farting and volcanoes breathing, us using the essentials we live off is NOT hurting the earth.
This is pure propaganda and its nice to know I'm not the only one. But fuck, how do I not love drugs when in this world, protectors in America are beaten to shit at G20 economic summits while we hear NOTHING. Zip. Nada. No one even knows it happened. And then there were revolutionary SOCIALIST movements in the London conference. 7 days I think, it will be interesting. This one is in Copenhagen. I wonder how the Danes feel about this situation. Are they are brainwashed to the trush as this country? We are always a bit behind but fuck, nothing like this would ever happen here! And its NOT REPORTED ON THE NEWS!!!!!!
There. A very extended example of why i can't watch the news, I get obsessed very easily and when I'm obsessed I hyper-focus and hyper-perform, but researching knowledge doesn't get you very far at all. In fact, it got me nowhere. People just think I'm smart, which has this stigma attached to it anyway in this devolved society. I don't want to be smart. I want to have world smarts and be dumb as my dog, who is smart but dumb enough. Then we could hang more cos I wouldn't be all fucked up in the head.
Most my my impulsive behavior has some purpose attached to it because its a part of me and the un-raveling of my life. I even tried to get a fight when a guy was looking for someone my weight a month ago, on this forum I love to use when I'm bored and have the internet. I would have got destroyed! I never train with other people, its always my own crazy garage shit. I really need to hit up Riker's Gym again, last time I went there people complimented me on holding my own on the ground against dudes who had considerable size on me.
I have always looked in the mirror not knowing if it was really me looking back. I had no idea if I was good looking or ugly, fat or thin, I could and still now can't really tell. People say I have a nice smile so I guess that is a start. They also say I look a lot better now, what without a mop of un-brushed manic lions hair that went down to my shoulders.
I seem to look at everything from a different angle to everyone else, I don't pre-judge and I'm very mathematical. Actions have reactions, force will spark retaliation. Printing money out of nothing will lead to Economic Depression.
I live forward, never look back in regret as there is nothing I can change with my fucking thoughts. Doesn't stop the over-over-over thinking of everything imaginable, but I never feel guilty because I know deep down I'm a good person who looks after the people in my life.
Huh funny how I always think... man, how long with this feeling of being 'content' last? Xmas coming up, as long as I don't have to see my mother I won't relapse again. Xmas had always been when my shin splints get very painful even lying down and I dose myself for the pain of my body and family. But my step mum (I like to consider her my mum, she is a lot closer to a Mum that my birth mother) has a cool family and they really like me, so it should be nice and peaceful and RELAXING. Oh fuck its nice to actually notice a few times recently where I have felt... ahhhhhh. I'm relaxed, not busy doing shit, fuxkin around, doin' whatever with some photo. Its nice.
But I again ask, how long will this last?
But oh they are just so good and any state of mind beats dealing with the toilet of the world. I can't watch the news or research like I used to about the global economic/political/'news' media oil/arms/building industry/pharmaceutical conglomerate.
But when it falls into my lap its nice to know that I'm not the only one. I'm not crazy. They are trying to use Climate Change as a scare tactic to force us to pay taxes under the false guises of:
a) taxes go to the countries we (white fucking bastards) fucked up the arse originally, whether it be political, drug related or weapons dealing. Usually all three.
b) CO2 emissions have been SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN to have have jack fuck to do with Climate Change. With oil and coal plants everywhere (while waves crash into our southern coast like a bull being raped - you're telling me that WON'T generate a shitload of energy?!), cows farting and volcanoes breathing, us using the essentials we live off is NOT hurting the earth.
This is pure propaganda and its nice to know I'm not the only one. But fuck, how do I not love drugs when in this world, protectors in America are beaten to shit at G20 economic summits while we hear NOTHING. Zip. Nada. No one even knows it happened. And then there were revolutionary SOCIALIST movements in the London conference. 7 days I think, it will be interesting. This one is in Copenhagen. I wonder how the Danes feel about this situation. Are they are brainwashed to the trush as this country? We are always a bit behind but fuck, nothing like this would ever happen here! And its NOT REPORTED ON THE NEWS!!!!!!
There. A very extended example of why i can't watch the news, I get obsessed very easily and when I'm obsessed I hyper-focus and hyper-perform, but researching knowledge doesn't get you very far at all. In fact, it got me nowhere. People just think I'm smart, which has this stigma attached to it anyway in this devolved society. I don't want to be smart. I want to have world smarts and be dumb as my dog, who is smart but dumb enough. Then we could hang more cos I wouldn't be all fucked up in the head.
Most my my impulsive behavior has some purpose attached to it because its a part of me and the un-raveling of my life. I even tried to get a fight when a guy was looking for someone my weight a month ago, on this forum I love to use when I'm bored and have the internet. I would have got destroyed! I never train with other people, its always my own crazy garage shit. I really need to hit up Riker's Gym again, last time I went there people complimented me on holding my own on the ground against dudes who had considerable size on me.
I have always looked in the mirror not knowing if it was really me looking back. I had no idea if I was good looking or ugly, fat or thin, I could and still now can't really tell. People say I have a nice smile so I guess that is a start. They also say I look a lot better now, what without a mop of un-brushed manic lions hair that went down to my shoulders.
I seem to look at everything from a different angle to everyone else, I don't pre-judge and I'm very mathematical. Actions have reactions, force will spark retaliation. Printing money out of nothing will lead to Economic Depression.
I live forward, never look back in regret as there is nothing I can change with my fucking thoughts. Doesn't stop the over-over-over thinking of everything imaginable, but I never feel guilty because I know deep down I'm a good person who looks after the people in my life.
Huh funny how I always think... man, how long with this feeling of being 'content' last? Xmas coming up, as long as I don't have to see my mother I won't relapse again. Xmas had always been when my shin splints get very painful even lying down and I dose myself for the pain of my body and family. But my step mum (I like to consider her my mum, she is a lot closer to a Mum that my birth mother) has a cool family and they really like me, so it should be nice and peaceful and RELAXING. Oh fuck its nice to actually notice a few times recently where I have felt... ahhhhhh. I'm relaxed, not busy doing shit, fuxkin around, doin' whatever with some photo. Its nice.
But I again ask, how long will this last?
Friday, December 11, 2009
Hooray for the right meds
I think I'm now finally on something that will calm everything down a notch, so its not so intense all the time. My mood does seem to need stabilizing so it makes sense to me to try mood stabilizers. Just slept like a baby so that is a start.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Note to self:
Not seeing shrink when planned can lead to unexpected consequences!
So I'm off in Salisbury fixing this fucking computer for dad's work and suddenly I'm massively late for my appointment. It was perfectly timed too, just after I got my little pisspay from the government. But I missed it and was really needing to talk to him and didn't get to so the guitarist got to hear it all. After four tabs of LSD, no less. I think after it all I realised how much of a cunt he really is, masquerading as this nice person but will take that opportunity when you are least suspecting it to stab you in the back and twist it. Talking down to me, telling me how drug fucked I am asking him to explain something 'he just told me 20 minutes ago' when he in fact, hadn't, told me any reasoning at all. Just, I'm a pussy. I want to change this now. I want to sound like this now because I am the Guitarist. Bow down and stroke my ego as it gets larger and larger, holy shit its throwing the earth out of its orbit!!
Soooo... now I gotta hook up with my mate's cousin who just ditched their drummer who apparently was shit and holding them back, and they want to sound 'harder'. I can certainly help in that regard! Also waiting for my mate to come back from Melbourne so I can hear what he has been up to in the last fuckin' 6/7 years. I haven't seen him since at least Grade 11, I can't remember much from 15-22. I just know he has been down with the local hip hop for a long time and I'd love to be a part of that.
How many fucking hip hop groups have a white pasty cunt holding the beats down?
Mood has been very.... depressed as of late. Haven't really felt depression since I was living with my parents, still bored with everything but with a dash of "I really, really don't care if I die right now. It would be a blessing to me."
"death and darkness; death is viewed as the only way to find salvation. Death, within my lyrics, is actually described as erotic; I desire death and long for the day when I shall enter the grave. The overall message must thereby be that death is your salvation and tonight would be a good time to achieve it".
Kinda like that guy, feeling a lot like that right now.
All I have is my dad and my dog. And my music. I think some people take the basics for granted.
So I'm off in Salisbury fixing this fucking computer for dad's work and suddenly I'm massively late for my appointment. It was perfectly timed too, just after I got my little pisspay from the government. But I missed it and was really needing to talk to him and didn't get to so the guitarist got to hear it all. After four tabs of LSD, no less. I think after it all I realised how much of a cunt he really is, masquerading as this nice person but will take that opportunity when you are least suspecting it to stab you in the back and twist it. Talking down to me, telling me how drug fucked I am asking him to explain something 'he just told me 20 minutes ago' when he in fact, hadn't, told me any reasoning at all. Just, I'm a pussy. I want to change this now. I want to sound like this now because I am the Guitarist. Bow down and stroke my ego as it gets larger and larger, holy shit its throwing the earth out of its orbit!!
Soooo... now I gotta hook up with my mate's cousin who just ditched their drummer who apparently was shit and holding them back, and they want to sound 'harder'. I can certainly help in that regard! Also waiting for my mate to come back from Melbourne so I can hear what he has been up to in the last fuckin' 6/7 years. I haven't seen him since at least Grade 11, I can't remember much from 15-22. I just know he has been down with the local hip hop for a long time and I'd love to be a part of that.
How many fucking hip hop groups have a white pasty cunt holding the beats down?
Mood has been very.... depressed as of late. Haven't really felt depression since I was living with my parents, still bored with everything but with a dash of "I really, really don't care if I die right now. It would be a blessing to me."
"death and darkness; death is viewed as the only way to find salvation. Death, within my lyrics, is actually described as erotic; I desire death and long for the day when I shall enter the grave. The overall message must thereby be that death is your salvation and tonight would be a good time to achieve it".
Kinda like that guy, feeling a lot like that right now.
All I have is my dad and my dog. And my music. I think some people take the basics for granted.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Sick of all you stupid, pathetic, brainwashed people
Everywhere. You pollute the earth everywhere and nowhere with what you like to think as all seeing eyes, but you see nothing. You think that you are well adjusted but you AREN'T because you fucking shut off when someone presents an alternate, conflicting point of view. Is this a bad thing? Should I worry that every single one of these fucking human specimens doesn't share my point of view?
No. Fuck everyone. When it comes down to it, I have myself. I have myself to stay clean from painkillers, even though they fucking mask EVERYTHING that is shit. FUCK THAT. If anything now I need to experience these rides on a natural fucking ground. Instead of fucking drugging myself up for every. single. endeavor. Even right now I'm pissed off because this fucking LSD isn't working like it did last time. Cunts.
I no longer care about anything that doesn't concern me, or those that I love. More than I, they need all the love and nuture I can give them in their times of need. God knows I can empathize. And that is all I want to do. None of this fucking, 'oh that reminds me of when I did....' blah blah blah fucking BLAH. No one wants to hear my shit, and I know it but it is still DEPRESSING AS FUCK to have ALL THIS SHIT, 23 years of nothing but fucking struggle and mental torture and all people can do is nod like they pretend to understand. Its okay, everything will be okay.
Well it won't. Nothing ever changes. Clean, straight, rip-snorted, none of it makes a fucking difference. So, so sick of it all. Sick of all these slugs disguised as humanity, when all they care about is themselves. And possibly themselves. Probably their genitalia also. But fuck it.
I just don't give a shit anymore. I really, really, really don't give a shit. Every story, I try to empathize, and I do my best to be that supportive person who people turn to dump all their shit on. I'll happily be that guy. But I just can't help but feel, every single time, my head just screams at me:
BEEN THERE! DONE THAT!! SEVERAL TIMES!!!! ENOUGH ALREADY. I SHOULD BE DEAD. BUT I'M NOT. SO GO FIGURE, AND DEAL WITH IT.
But I don't like to be a cunt, so I try my best. Sometimes my best isn't able to pull himself from bed in three days, I don't know how I'm going to hold down a fucking job. No boss prick will ever understand me or my head or my issues or my LIFE'S FUCKING EXPERIENCES which would qualify me in any number of fields, so now what? I'm so sick of the bullshit government payouts that lazy sonsofbitches take for granted and do everything they can just to fucking get this pisspacket of money, and here I am in a completely motherfucking different situation receiving the same payments.
No help. No, ummmm, "your medical certficate says 'severe anxiety'. Seeing anyone about that?"
No no noooooo!!
I should talk to my fucking doctor and get this fucking severe anxiety shit sorted out. It certainly isn't how I feel most of the time. Its just a part of my head. Its just there. Always.
BUT ANYWAY:
"Your medical certificate runs out at the end of year, after that you'll need to bring in your work forms and looking for work forms and other forms that we just made up to fuck with your head, because you are just another scumbag of the system who we have no intention of helping mentally, just dealing with for two weeks until you come back, broke, because your scumbag arse hasn't gotten yourself proper employment yet."
Its probably a good thing I'm sitting here drinking at home. I really feel like I could start a fight with anyone right now. This fucking wog cunt at the servo looked me up and down, and it just brought back high school memories. They called me dogger, a white ranger australian apparently. I called them greasy wogs. I got in trouble. And I don't doubt for a second that i'd be hospitalized by them or their fucking cousins. And I really wouldn't care.
The only thing that I'd object to is being locked in a fucking hospital. Urrrgh.
No. Fuck everyone. When it comes down to it, I have myself. I have myself to stay clean from painkillers, even though they fucking mask EVERYTHING that is shit. FUCK THAT. If anything now I need to experience these rides on a natural fucking ground. Instead of fucking drugging myself up for every. single. endeavor. Even right now I'm pissed off because this fucking LSD isn't working like it did last time. Cunts.
I no longer care about anything that doesn't concern me, or those that I love. More than I, they need all the love and nuture I can give them in their times of need. God knows I can empathize. And that is all I want to do. None of this fucking, 'oh that reminds me of when I did....' blah blah blah fucking BLAH. No one wants to hear my shit, and I know it but it is still DEPRESSING AS FUCK to have ALL THIS SHIT, 23 years of nothing but fucking struggle and mental torture and all people can do is nod like they pretend to understand. Its okay, everything will be okay.
Well it won't. Nothing ever changes. Clean, straight, rip-snorted, none of it makes a fucking difference. So, so sick of it all. Sick of all these slugs disguised as humanity, when all they care about is themselves. And possibly themselves. Probably their genitalia also. But fuck it.
I just don't give a shit anymore. I really, really, really don't give a shit. Every story, I try to empathize, and I do my best to be that supportive person who people turn to dump all their shit on. I'll happily be that guy. But I just can't help but feel, every single time, my head just screams at me:
BEEN THERE! DONE THAT!! SEVERAL TIMES!!!! ENOUGH ALREADY. I SHOULD BE DEAD. BUT I'M NOT. SO GO FIGURE, AND DEAL WITH IT.
But I don't like to be a cunt, so I try my best. Sometimes my best isn't able to pull himself from bed in three days, I don't know how I'm going to hold down a fucking job. No boss prick will ever understand me or my head or my issues or my LIFE'S FUCKING EXPERIENCES which would qualify me in any number of fields, so now what? I'm so sick of the bullshit government payouts that lazy sonsofbitches take for granted and do everything they can just to fucking get this pisspacket of money, and here I am in a completely motherfucking different situation receiving the same payments.
No help. No, ummmm, "your medical certficate says 'severe anxiety'. Seeing anyone about that?"
No no noooooo!!
I should talk to my fucking doctor and get this fucking severe anxiety shit sorted out. It certainly isn't how I feel most of the time. Its just a part of my head. Its just there. Always.
BUT ANYWAY:
"Your medical certificate runs out at the end of year, after that you'll need to bring in your work forms and looking for work forms and other forms that we just made up to fuck with your head, because you are just another scumbag of the system who we have no intention of helping mentally, just dealing with for two weeks until you come back, broke, because your scumbag arse hasn't gotten yourself proper employment yet."
Its probably a good thing I'm sitting here drinking at home. I really feel like I could start a fight with anyone right now. This fucking wog cunt at the servo looked me up and down, and it just brought back high school memories. They called me dogger, a white ranger australian apparently. I called them greasy wogs. I got in trouble. And I don't doubt for a second that i'd be hospitalized by them or their fucking cousins. And I really wouldn't care.
The only thing that I'd object to is being locked in a fucking hospital. Urrrgh.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Cravings, Valium and the Emmisions Trading Scheme
Wow, I just slept two days. Weird, fell asleep Thursday night and next thing I know its Saturday morning. Nice, two valium tablets to wake up to makes it a hell of a lot easier to get up.
I'm now trying to write my sniper book but I just cannot stay focused on it for any period of time at all. The cravings to go buy painkillers right now is unbearable, I'm fine when I'm with my family or friends, but once I wake up at 7am and am by myself, all I can think about is the warm fuzziness surrounding my entire body, making my thoughts clearer and less ten-thousand-observations-all-at-once. I really, really don't want to but I really, really do want to. I've been clean for a long arsed time and have only relapsed once. Should I make it twice? Maybe. Once the thought of driving to the chemist is in my head it takes everything in me to push it out. I've been doing this every day for over four months and its killing me. I really can't imagine a world where this shit is never on my mind. I'm fucking trapped and I really can't find a way out. Its all mental strength and willpower I suppose.
I still get pissed at people who can't quit smoking though. At least when you stop, you don't drop bucketloads of weight while shitting rivers, bedridden. You just feel like another smoke. I'd like to see these smokers get pumped full of morphine for two weeks straight, then see how they fucking feel. Like MORE, and they would do anything to get it.
***************************
Wow I really am in shock that this ETS bullshit has been passed through. In addition to food inflation being FUCKED, we'll now have to pay more for gas and electricity.
Why?
Because of the C02 emmisions!! Emmissions that are a fraction of a percent when compared to cows farting, the trillion dollar fossil fuel industry or active volcanoes.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
I can already barely afford to feed myself and they now think electricity could go up 12 percent. Fucking fabulous. Lets tax the already struggling people on complete bullshit, a farce that has NO scientific evidence behind it, just Al Gore's dipshitted, moronic and utterly backwards ramblings.
"Look at this Polar Bear trapped on a broken piece of ice. That's because of Global Warming!"
NO, SHEETS OF ICE BREAK OFF ALL THE FUCKING TIME, MORON!!! Oh, also... POLAR BEARS CAN FUCKING SWIM!!!!!
How can so many people be sheep herded into believing all this bullshit green stuff? They are guilt-tripped into buying new cars, into recycling, when none of it matters!! If we're going to continue to burn coal and dig for oil, then none of this will make ANY difference. None whatsoever. THERE ARE SIX BILLION OF US!! Sorting your fucking garbage into certain piles is NOT going to help when SIX BILLION PEOPLE need there fossil fuels. Not to mention to cows farting, they'll probably try to tax that next.
How about our retarded state government make use of our MASSIVE URANIUM DEPOSITS! Yes, we have major stashes of uranium that is just sitting there. We are also the only country part of that G20 bullshit that DOESN'T utilize nuclear energy. Hmmm.... clean energy with little CO2 emmissions.... or charge a new tax and rely on the old methods. Sounds like a no brainier for a corrupt government. Cha Ching!!
OUR BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY IS BEING RULED BY MORONS.
Now this could be said for any number of nations. But our retards blindly follow what the American retards tell us. So, essentially, we are America Jnr. Almost as fat, just as obsessed with working to buy useless shit we don't need, addicted to television. No one THINKS FOR THEMSELVES anymore.
And this sickens me. I'm surprised I have any friends in this day and age, most people I come across just strike me as having beliefs that I'll highly disagree with. And I'm usually right. They believe what the TV tells them to believe. I believe what scientific research and actual PROOF tells me. Ya know, PROOF, kinda integral in scientific endeavors. And then they get all defensive when I prove them wrong, and suddenly I'm the arsehole.
Right.
I'm now trying to write my sniper book but I just cannot stay focused on it for any period of time at all. The cravings to go buy painkillers right now is unbearable, I'm fine when I'm with my family or friends, but once I wake up at 7am and am by myself, all I can think about is the warm fuzziness surrounding my entire body, making my thoughts clearer and less ten-thousand-observations-all-at-once. I really, really don't want to but I really, really do want to. I've been clean for a long arsed time and have only relapsed once. Should I make it twice? Maybe. Once the thought of driving to the chemist is in my head it takes everything in me to push it out. I've been doing this every day for over four months and its killing me. I really can't imagine a world where this shit is never on my mind. I'm fucking trapped and I really can't find a way out. Its all mental strength and willpower I suppose.
I still get pissed at people who can't quit smoking though. At least when you stop, you don't drop bucketloads of weight while shitting rivers, bedridden. You just feel like another smoke. I'd like to see these smokers get pumped full of morphine for two weeks straight, then see how they fucking feel. Like MORE, and they would do anything to get it.
***************************
Wow I really am in shock that this ETS bullshit has been passed through. In addition to food inflation being FUCKED, we'll now have to pay more for gas and electricity.
Why?
Because of the C02 emmisions!! Emmissions that are a fraction of a percent when compared to cows farting, the trillion dollar fossil fuel industry or active volcanoes.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
I can already barely afford to feed myself and they now think electricity could go up 12 percent. Fucking fabulous. Lets tax the already struggling people on complete bullshit, a farce that has NO scientific evidence behind it, just Al Gore's dipshitted, moronic and utterly backwards ramblings.
"Look at this Polar Bear trapped on a broken piece of ice. That's because of Global Warming!"
NO, SHEETS OF ICE BREAK OFF ALL THE FUCKING TIME, MORON!!! Oh, also... POLAR BEARS CAN FUCKING SWIM!!!!!
How can so many people be sheep herded into believing all this bullshit green stuff? They are guilt-tripped into buying new cars, into recycling, when none of it matters!! If we're going to continue to burn coal and dig for oil, then none of this will make ANY difference. None whatsoever. THERE ARE SIX BILLION OF US!! Sorting your fucking garbage into certain piles is NOT going to help when SIX BILLION PEOPLE need there fossil fuels. Not to mention to cows farting, they'll probably try to tax that next.
How about our retarded state government make use of our MASSIVE URANIUM DEPOSITS! Yes, we have major stashes of uranium that is just sitting there. We are also the only country part of that G20 bullshit that DOESN'T utilize nuclear energy. Hmmm.... clean energy with little CO2 emmissions.... or charge a new tax and rely on the old methods. Sounds like a no brainier for a corrupt government. Cha Ching!!
OUR BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY IS BEING RULED BY MORONS.
Now this could be said for any number of nations. But our retards blindly follow what the American retards tell us. So, essentially, we are America Jnr. Almost as fat, just as obsessed with working to buy useless shit we don't need, addicted to television. No one THINKS FOR THEMSELVES anymore.
And this sickens me. I'm surprised I have any friends in this day and age, most people I come across just strike me as having beliefs that I'll highly disagree with. And I'm usually right. They believe what the TV tells them to believe. I believe what scientific research and actual PROOF tells me. Ya know, PROOF, kinda integral in scientific endeavors. And then they get all defensive when I prove them wrong, and suddenly I'm the arsehole.
Right.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
#50: Time to take this blog seriously
Post number fifty, and its not gonna be horseshit. I'm going to try and channel my attention the best way I can. This is my first attempt at trying to describe my life in detail by removing myself from the evil and looking inside my head from a perspective that isn't from my soul, ie - over-emotional.
So I have been taking these new meds for over a week, almost two. Off and on alcohol drinking, off and on pot smoking. Its hard to stop everything, I still have constant cravings for junk despite its repertoire of awful, shitty side effects. Its very hard to not want to alter my state of mind when my normal state of mind makes me want to kill myself. When my normal state of mind overloads my brain with panic EVERY SINGLE FUCKING MORNING I WAKE UP, I never even know what fucking day it is, what time of day, whether I have plans. I have to remind myself, Memento style. How fucking pathetic.
I’ve already tried the most pussy way there is to off oneself – a drug overdose, with a bottle of wine to go with it – many times over when I was 19-20. Many times. Somehow I didn’t actually fucking die, which defies logic really, considering the absurd amounts of junk in my head mixed with bottles of wine, and the amount of times I did it. So while I know I’ll never take a knife to myself, its very hard to care about normal, day to day worries when I just feel like driving really recklessly, or jumping into a cage fight with fuck all experience. I have no care for my physical well being anymore, just a desire to look after myself mentally after so many years of neglect.
But, I guess in contradiction to this, I have bulked up in the months I’ve been clean. I guess that is normal for a junkie to be skinny and pale, people mainly notice the contrast between either fat me and now, or overly skinny me and now. I used to weight 115 kilos when I was 18, then lost a majority of it when I first tried to detox cold turkey. I was in between 70 and 77 kilos for a long time, including detoxing while I started this blog, but I'm now up to 83.
But none of this really concerns me, to be honest. I can’t shut my brain off, it is always taking in information and presenting it to me in a worded form. I don’t HEAR voices, I’m not schizophrenic. But I hear a mixture of my critic, my conscience, a judgemental prick, and anxiety in my head pretty much constantly. This makes it very hard to concentrate on anything, as before I know it I’m listening to my brains opinion on what I’m watching or doing and suddenly I haven’t been concentrating for… minutes? I can’t even tell.
When I drive I’ll drive tens of kilometres without any recollection of it, purely lost in my head. Overthinking any aspect of my life, my illness, people in my life, and driving through instinct. I’ve never crashed when clean from drugs, but it seems like a hazard to others’ safety. And I can’t fucking control it, I meditate every damn day and I take these fucking drugs and none of it helps. None of it slows my brain down, and therefore my moods swing up and down like a fucking yo-yo several times a day.
I can be manic and laughing because I’m smoking cones with my mate. We could have a really good conversation and he’ll leave and I’ll feel really good. Two hours later I’ll be unable to concentrate on anything, unable to not listen to my brain's warped fucking opinion on everything. I’ll writhe around on my bed crying, wanting to die but not having the balls to go through with it. I’ll react violently to situations that aren’t calling for it at all, then an hour later I won’t react at all. At this time I seem very apathetic, but its just because I don’t care anymore. I’ve seen it all before.
Then there are times when I’m hypomanic, where I don’t have the depression, just an anxiety for things to happen quicker. Music sounds slower, people seem to talk slower, and I motor mouth people into submission, often jumping out of my chair to illustrate a point. Then I’ll hear a song I love and I’ll begin to shadow box all around the place. People who don’t know me well are a little put off by this.
But fuck I have some sort of mental illness. I’m not fucking DANGEROUS. I’m not going to fucking schiz out at someone for no reason. This stigma attached to mental illness sickens me, I feel like I am holding a massive part of my personality back all the time, just to not ‘scare’ people with my un-normalcy. I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it, people can stare, I just don’t give a shit anymore. If I look dangerous then maybe drug fucked losers in this city won’t fucking touch me. So a score in that area.
My appetite is very much affected by my mood as well, so it too fluctuates like a thin, swinging rope bridge being stampeded by baboons. I’ll have my appetite one minute, then I’ll get some food. By the time I get the food ready I’m unable to stomach it. This isn’t a regular occurrence but it has happened, and it does swing like that from one day to the next. Sometimes I have massive trouble stomaching a freaking apple, or peaches. Then another day I’ll be eating anything in sight and loving it. Then another day I'll plain forget to eat at all until 1600, where my stomach feel likes it is been hacked into by small gut trolls, armed with pick axes. To say I have some sort of eating disorder would be an understatement.
No surprise then that I have completely fucked up the arse sleep patterns. Three hours sleep here, forty hours awake here. I have developed an ability to function on no sleep, though it makes me loopy and I make horrible decisions when like this. My brain literally plays tricks on me as I hallucinate and am wrong footed by optical illusions.
I try to put on music and my brain overloads, taking in all this information about the tone and atmosphere of the album, what the drums are doing, too much information all the time. This gets worse when I try to sleep because I’m lying there not DOING anything. I put on some minimalistic ambient stuff and my brain just wanders off into tomorrow, trying to plan things I can’t control, trying to logically sort out the hard fact that I’m dead fucking broke and can’t afford to feed myself.
Doc reckons I’m not BiPolar. Well, judging from the people I’ve met who HAVE been diagnosed, I seem to be a pretty textbook case. But whatever. I finally acknowledge, now, that I have some sort of mental illness. I don’t care for labels, so he’ll have a name.
Jeff is a cunning, evil cunt who constantly tries to put me off the path I know I need to tread. I saw him when I ate mushies that one time - horns poking out from my forehead. I saw it with my own eyes, that were bulging in and out of my eye sockets rhythmically at the time. He is my addiction, my anxiety and paranoia, my rage, my depression. My negative.
Fuck him, I’ve been through fucking hell and back and I aint letting this cunt in my head dictate my life actions. Its fucking hard. But everyday I get better at dealing with it. Its just waking up that is really bad, and that fear makes it very hard to sleep. These new anti-psychs seem to help with the sleep, but my moods are still up and down constantly and its becoming very draining. I’m surprised I’ve managed to write this post in the time its taken me, this blog is evidence really to how fucking up and down I’ve been. Perhaps Doc should see all of it and then decide.
Either way, I need more help. Three weeks in between appointments is too long. Too much stuff happens in ONE week, how the fuck can I remember every thing that happens in three? Well, time to actually use this blog properly. Time to actually document what my actions and BEHAVIOURS are, rather than what my fucked up head is feeling at the time. Having both documented seems like a good idea for the future. All I know is I have more than ‘severe anxiety’, because most of the time Jeff isn’t worrying like he used to. He’s just telling me how to think after taking in any information around me. I even have to close my eyes or focus on one thing while I’m drumming! If I start looking around my brain takes in the visual information, turns it into words and I fuck up and lose the beat.
Each hour feels so long. I'm never sure which one of my personality states I'm in until I have to socialise. Its hard to tell, right now I'm under the influence of meds but my brain is racing like a motherfucker, hence this post. If it doesn't stop I could write another 1,500 words of bullshit. It never, ever, ends.
So I have been taking these new meds for over a week, almost two. Off and on alcohol drinking, off and on pot smoking. Its hard to stop everything, I still have constant cravings for junk despite its repertoire of awful, shitty side effects. Its very hard to not want to alter my state of mind when my normal state of mind makes me want to kill myself. When my normal state of mind overloads my brain with panic EVERY SINGLE FUCKING MORNING I WAKE UP, I never even know what fucking day it is, what time of day, whether I have plans. I have to remind myself, Memento style. How fucking pathetic.
I’ve already tried the most pussy way there is to off oneself – a drug overdose, with a bottle of wine to go with it – many times over when I was 19-20. Many times. Somehow I didn’t actually fucking die, which defies logic really, considering the absurd amounts of junk in my head mixed with bottles of wine, and the amount of times I did it. So while I know I’ll never take a knife to myself, its very hard to care about normal, day to day worries when I just feel like driving really recklessly, or jumping into a cage fight with fuck all experience. I have no care for my physical well being anymore, just a desire to look after myself mentally after so many years of neglect.
But, I guess in contradiction to this, I have bulked up in the months I’ve been clean. I guess that is normal for a junkie to be skinny and pale, people mainly notice the contrast between either fat me and now, or overly skinny me and now. I used to weight 115 kilos when I was 18, then lost a majority of it when I first tried to detox cold turkey. I was in between 70 and 77 kilos for a long time, including detoxing while I started this blog, but I'm now up to 83.
But none of this really concerns me, to be honest. I can’t shut my brain off, it is always taking in information and presenting it to me in a worded form. I don’t HEAR voices, I’m not schizophrenic. But I hear a mixture of my critic, my conscience, a judgemental prick, and anxiety in my head pretty much constantly. This makes it very hard to concentrate on anything, as before I know it I’m listening to my brains opinion on what I’m watching or doing and suddenly I haven’t been concentrating for… minutes? I can’t even tell.
When I drive I’ll drive tens of kilometres without any recollection of it, purely lost in my head. Overthinking any aspect of my life, my illness, people in my life, and driving through instinct. I’ve never crashed when clean from drugs, but it seems like a hazard to others’ safety. And I can’t fucking control it, I meditate every damn day and I take these fucking drugs and none of it helps. None of it slows my brain down, and therefore my moods swing up and down like a fucking yo-yo several times a day.
I can be manic and laughing because I’m smoking cones with my mate. We could have a really good conversation and he’ll leave and I’ll feel really good. Two hours later I’ll be unable to concentrate on anything, unable to not listen to my brain's warped fucking opinion on everything. I’ll writhe around on my bed crying, wanting to die but not having the balls to go through with it. I’ll react violently to situations that aren’t calling for it at all, then an hour later I won’t react at all. At this time I seem very apathetic, but its just because I don’t care anymore. I’ve seen it all before.
Then there are times when I’m hypomanic, where I don’t have the depression, just an anxiety for things to happen quicker. Music sounds slower, people seem to talk slower, and I motor mouth people into submission, often jumping out of my chair to illustrate a point. Then I’ll hear a song I love and I’ll begin to shadow box all around the place. People who don’t know me well are a little put off by this.
But fuck I have some sort of mental illness. I’m not fucking DANGEROUS. I’m not going to fucking schiz out at someone for no reason. This stigma attached to mental illness sickens me, I feel like I am holding a massive part of my personality back all the time, just to not ‘scare’ people with my un-normalcy. I’m getting pretty fucking sick of it, people can stare, I just don’t give a shit anymore. If I look dangerous then maybe drug fucked losers in this city won’t fucking touch me. So a score in that area.
My appetite is very much affected by my mood as well, so it too fluctuates like a thin, swinging rope bridge being stampeded by baboons. I’ll have my appetite one minute, then I’ll get some food. By the time I get the food ready I’m unable to stomach it. This isn’t a regular occurrence but it has happened, and it does swing like that from one day to the next. Sometimes I have massive trouble stomaching a freaking apple, or peaches. Then another day I’ll be eating anything in sight and loving it. Then another day I'll plain forget to eat at all until 1600, where my stomach feel likes it is been hacked into by small gut trolls, armed with pick axes. To say I have some sort of eating disorder would be an understatement.
No surprise then that I have completely fucked up the arse sleep patterns. Three hours sleep here, forty hours awake here. I have developed an ability to function on no sleep, though it makes me loopy and I make horrible decisions when like this. My brain literally plays tricks on me as I hallucinate and am wrong footed by optical illusions.
I try to put on music and my brain overloads, taking in all this information about the tone and atmosphere of the album, what the drums are doing, too much information all the time. This gets worse when I try to sleep because I’m lying there not DOING anything. I put on some minimalistic ambient stuff and my brain just wanders off into tomorrow, trying to plan things I can’t control, trying to logically sort out the hard fact that I’m dead fucking broke and can’t afford to feed myself.
Doc reckons I’m not BiPolar. Well, judging from the people I’ve met who HAVE been diagnosed, I seem to be a pretty textbook case. But whatever. I finally acknowledge, now, that I have some sort of mental illness. I don’t care for labels, so he’ll have a name.
Jeff is a cunning, evil cunt who constantly tries to put me off the path I know I need to tread. I saw him when I ate mushies that one time - horns poking out from my forehead. I saw it with my own eyes, that were bulging in and out of my eye sockets rhythmically at the time. He is my addiction, my anxiety and paranoia, my rage, my depression. My negative.
Fuck him, I’ve been through fucking hell and back and I aint letting this cunt in my head dictate my life actions. Its fucking hard. But everyday I get better at dealing with it. Its just waking up that is really bad, and that fear makes it very hard to sleep. These new anti-psychs seem to help with the sleep, but my moods are still up and down constantly and its becoming very draining. I’m surprised I’ve managed to write this post in the time its taken me, this blog is evidence really to how fucking up and down I’ve been. Perhaps Doc should see all of it and then decide.
Either way, I need more help. Three weeks in between appointments is too long. Too much stuff happens in ONE week, how the fuck can I remember every thing that happens in three? Well, time to actually use this blog properly. Time to actually document what my actions and BEHAVIOURS are, rather than what my fucked up head is feeling at the time. Having both documented seems like a good idea for the future. All I know is I have more than ‘severe anxiety’, because most of the time Jeff isn’t worrying like he used to. He’s just telling me how to think after taking in any information around me. I even have to close my eyes or focus on one thing while I’m drumming! If I start looking around my brain takes in the visual information, turns it into words and I fuck up and lose the beat.
Each hour feels so long. I'm never sure which one of my personality states I'm in until I have to socialise. Its hard to tell, right now I'm under the influence of meds but my brain is racing like a motherfucker, hence this post. If it doesn't stop I could write another 1,500 words of bullshit. It never, ever, ends.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
so bored...
Everything seems really slow. All I can focus on is really fucked up movies, I can watch south park for about one episode, then I collapse from laughing too much and feel like doing nothing for a long arsed time.
Had my first day of working hard clean on tuesday. Felt great, my entire body hurts from shovelling and wheelbarrowing but its good pain, the sort of shit that will make me stronger. So I like that. Being stronger can only be a good thing.
I've managed to put on some weight, which i am really happy about. I'm actually over 80 kilos now, and since I'm almost 6'2", this is a plus.
Been too busy to fucking get actually STARTED on my book, this is frustrating. Every time i sit down to write my mind goes blank. Well, not so much blank, but thinking about everything BUT what I'm writing. Need to get this shit started, I know I can write a killer fucking book, I just need to get STARTED and it will flow. Maybe.
It is about a sniper, who is involved in some war in an alternate reality that I haven't fully fledged out yet. Its a pity, I can hardly get into the mindset WHEN I CAN'T FUCKING ROLL A SMOKE TO SAVE MY LIFE. I feel like destroying something right now, I feel like a fucking retarded autistic child.
Ugh
Had my first day of working hard clean on tuesday. Felt great, my entire body hurts from shovelling and wheelbarrowing but its good pain, the sort of shit that will make me stronger. So I like that. Being stronger can only be a good thing.
I've managed to put on some weight, which i am really happy about. I'm actually over 80 kilos now, and since I'm almost 6'2", this is a plus.
Been too busy to fucking get actually STARTED on my book, this is frustrating. Every time i sit down to write my mind goes blank. Well, not so much blank, but thinking about everything BUT what I'm writing. Need to get this shit started, I know I can write a killer fucking book, I just need to get STARTED and it will flow. Maybe.
It is about a sniper, who is involved in some war in an alternate reality that I haven't fully fledged out yet. Its a pity, I can hardly get into the mindset WHEN I CAN'T FUCKING ROLL A SMOKE TO SAVE MY LIFE. I feel like destroying something right now, I feel like a fucking retarded autistic child.
Ugh
Sunday, November 15, 2009
now i know why i loved drugs so much
They took me away from feeling like this. Fucking bored and very, very weak. Despite the latter I can't sleep at all, or even lie still for very long, if at all. Doc gave me old school anti-psyhcs, cos the new ones would cost me over 100$. Pericyazine. So now my entire body feels weak and almost useless, but my mind is still fucking racing.
Got my tattoo on friday night after a bottle of gin and lots of doodling. Have only got compliments so far, which is cool.
Now. Sleep, hopefully. I'll try some Bill Hicks, my Puppa said to me to try to listen to someone talking instead of trying to sleep, so I'll give that a go.
Got my tattoo on friday night after a bottle of gin and lots of doodling. Have only got compliments so far, which is cool.
Now. Sleep, hopefully. I'll try some Bill Hicks, my Puppa said to me to try to listen to someone talking instead of trying to sleep, so I'll give that a go.
Friday, November 13, 2009
...and the system works
So I got 320 bucks back from tax. Ahahahahahahaha!!!!!
I did five weeks PAID training, 'earned' three grand. After the training I told them to get fucked. Literally. And maybe figuritively also. Who knows? All I know is that someone complained about me eating tablets, and probably my appearence. In a CALL CENTRE, where appearence should mean nada. The tablets were for my endless stomach cramps, and they thought i was munching.... who knows?! What kind of retard would eat drugs in the open?!?! A stupid retard, that's who. And I may be stupid, but I'm not a retard.
They called me to the office after five weeks and told me I might not be suitable for the job, and people had complained.
"About tablets I take for STOMACH CRAMPS?!" I said.
Silence. They looked scared.
I knew my time was up so I let loose. With many obsceneties, I told them that my 'buddy' was a bitter old bitch, and that my Muay Thai teacher could have taught me better through some positive encouragement.
"You need to be able to do the orders yourself, the buddy isn't there to hold your hand."
This really fucking pissed me off.
"YOUR SOFTWARE IS FUCKED. IT ERRORS NO MATTER WHAT I DO!! The program has just been upgraded, so everything I've learned about it is IRRELEVANT. How the fuck do I get anywhere in this situation when my 'buddy' is constantly lambasting me for errors I CANNOT FUCKING CONTROL!"
They politely asked me to leave. I felt better once I left the building, I didn't want to be a part of a filthy scheme that convinces ignorant people that they need 160 dollar internet security packs. The whole training was essentially a class on brainwashing for profit.
So I have moneys when I thought I'd be broke for a week! Hooray!!!
So far I have bought a bottle of gin.... but I've decided. I have wanted a fucking tattoo for a very long time, and now I actually have cash than NEEDS to be splurged.
It will look something like this... i have been drawing random shit all day and I need to pick one.
I did five weeks PAID training, 'earned' three grand. After the training I told them to get fucked. Literally. And maybe figuritively also. Who knows? All I know is that someone complained about me eating tablets, and probably my appearence. In a CALL CENTRE, where appearence should mean nada. The tablets were for my endless stomach cramps, and they thought i was munching.... who knows?! What kind of retard would eat drugs in the open?!?! A stupid retard, that's who. And I may be stupid, but I'm not a retard.
They called me to the office after five weeks and told me I might not be suitable for the job, and people had complained.
"About tablets I take for STOMACH CRAMPS?!" I said.
Silence. They looked scared.
I knew my time was up so I let loose. With many obsceneties, I told them that my 'buddy' was a bitter old bitch, and that my Muay Thai teacher could have taught me better through some positive encouragement.
"You need to be able to do the orders yourself, the buddy isn't there to hold your hand."
This really fucking pissed me off.
"YOUR SOFTWARE IS FUCKED. IT ERRORS NO MATTER WHAT I DO!! The program has just been upgraded, so everything I've learned about it is IRRELEVANT. How the fuck do I get anywhere in this situation when my 'buddy' is constantly lambasting me for errors I CANNOT FUCKING CONTROL!"
They politely asked me to leave. I felt better once I left the building, I didn't want to be a part of a filthy scheme that convinces ignorant people that they need 160 dollar internet security packs. The whole training was essentially a class on brainwashing for profit.
So I have moneys when I thought I'd be broke for a week! Hooray!!!
So far I have bought a bottle of gin.... but I've decided. I have wanted a fucking tattoo for a very long time, and now I actually have cash than NEEDS to be splurged.
It will look something like this... i have been drawing random shit all day and I need to pick one.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
fuck you all
Satan sitting behind the eyes of technology, shaded by light staring at and through me. Soulless, empty, all seeing and doing eyes. The system is falling and failing around me, my eyes can see but can my mind? My ears can hear, but can my mind? Stop thinking, stop listening, stop watching. Surveillance over a land built in purity, monitoring those who stand for peace. Hypocritical, a-typical, un-mystical. Practising not what they preach, but practising the religion of surveying the beach. Pulling the strings, watching, laughing at the herd running around in circles going nowhere quickly. From above, the ants work to support those they love, the sheep follow to provide for themselves and it is all so wrong. Backwards incompatible, technology is failing around me. Flashes, crashes and car smashes. Human evolution is unfolding around me, nature revolting against the idiocy of mankind. This society they have created leaves me feeling emancipated, unwanted and unloved. Nature against man, battling the all seeing, all encompassing eyes of above. Pyramids of peace are forming in a land based on courage, honour and mateship. Dunes reach for the sky, trees reach for the sun as gravity becomes meaningless. The sand has seen the eyes, and is rebelling, expelling and sprinting upward. I know not what I am, who I should be or how I arrived. But I must march forward and only retreat with honour.
No regrets. No Remorse. No Anxiety. Paranoia has no place in me.
No regrets. No Remorse. No Anxiety. Paranoia has no place in me.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Need something to do....
I need an adventure or something fun to do. I have all this time and I still haven't gotten properly started on my book. An old mate from HS wants to catch up, he's into his hip hop shit and I'm a drummer so this should work well. I need to go do something like this or I'm just going to become a loser drug addict again.
Then why am I procrastinating ???
I'm not entirely sure but I think it has a bit to do with this ABSURD HEAT WAVE. If you are reading this - don't bitch about the weather unless you've experienced a South Australian heat wave. I don't care how cold it is, put on more clothes. I can't exactly take OFF more clothes so I'm sitting in my own sweat. I quite like the insane heat, but it sucks when I need to sleep.
They say drug induced sleep isn't real sleep. Well, fuck THEY! When my body needs a motherfucking rest after days of manic activity, I'm pretty sure it doesn't give a shit whether I used something to give me sleep or not. I'm fairly sure its just screaming, in relief: "REST! Sweet rest...."
I'm counting down the days until I get to see my doc. Its not like he has prescribed valium for me in the last couple of years, so I shall demand some at the very least as a temporary measure. Grrr still 50 hours left.
Bored. Its 7:23am and I already feel like drinkin.
Then why am I procrastinating ???
I'm not entirely sure but I think it has a bit to do with this ABSURD HEAT WAVE. If you are reading this - don't bitch about the weather unless you've experienced a South Australian heat wave. I don't care how cold it is, put on more clothes. I can't exactly take OFF more clothes so I'm sitting in my own sweat. I quite like the insane heat, but it sucks when I need to sleep.
They say drug induced sleep isn't real sleep. Well, fuck THEY! When my body needs a motherfucking rest after days of manic activity, I'm pretty sure it doesn't give a shit whether I used something to give me sleep or not. I'm fairly sure its just screaming, in relief: "REST! Sweet rest...."
I'm counting down the days until I get to see my doc. Its not like he has prescribed valium for me in the last couple of years, so I shall demand some at the very least as a temporary measure. Grrr still 50 hours left.
Bored. Its 7:23am and I already feel like drinkin.
Monday, November 9, 2009
woops
so I was supposed to go to class about five minutes ago. Then I couldn't find my shirt and realised I just can't be fucked. Its 38 fucking degrees outside and at least 50 in my car. I have no sunscreen and I'll fucking tomato if I try to even drive anywhere. I also don't particularly feel like sitting through slow bullcrap I've already learned while my gut sends daggers of pain all across my abdomen. Not today. Today I try and fucking relax... without drinking. Huh....i wonder how long this day will last sober.
cigarettes...
Must stop now. Only two years and I'm feelin it. Maybe i'll buy a pouch, seeing I can't roll a smoke to save my life.
Might try and sleep now... Soundtrack: 1993 - Enter the Wu Tang (36 Chambers)
Might try and sleep now... Soundtrack: 1993 - Enter the Wu Tang (36 Chambers)
Sunday, November 8, 2009
MMA....
So its come to my notice that my obsession with Mixed Martial Arts has somewhat dissipated over the last few months.... nice that I got my flatmate obsessed with the sport, I was reminded that Fedor was fighting. This is always good for me to regain interest. I haven't seen his last fight but it sounded decidedly Fedor-esque.
I haven't done any training in ages. I need to fix this soon!
I haven't done any training in ages. I need to fix this soon!
good weekend
Lots of drumming, jamming, good food and good pot. We are actually getting a whole shitload of stuff we can use for a demo, there are a lot of ideas. I got home some time saturday night and woke up some time on... today. Righto. Its Sunday now and prettyfuckinghot outside. Really sunny... and sunny... and dry. I am really tired but brain is going uberspeed lately so some vodka should help.
Has come to my attention that, unlike I had first suspected a week or so ago, my anxiety is still in the back of my head yelling shit at me. Only difference is now I don't make it apparent at all, so it stays inside. Then it comes out if I'm drumming or releasing everything I have, so its kinda nice. Extremely hard to not let it dictate my actions though, but I just force myself through bullshit what ifs because I know, either way, my overthinking it isn't gonna change anything.
So, for a two week period, I might list the various... feelings I have experienced in a two week period. For doc.
insomnia
anxiety
paranoia
compulsion
obsession
apathy
rage
violent
disconnection from reality
seeing everything as some twisted joke
losing comprehension of language
invincible
depression
increased sensitivity to visual stimuli - HDTVs
hyperactive
pain for no apparent reason
no pain where pain should be apparent
reckless
hahahaha look how technical my jargon is... not! I just need to give this list to doc and maybe get an observation from my dad or Bam, with a list of observed... things. Then I can demand exemption from all the working bullshit, then maybe get put on something that will make me operate at a more level-headed level. Yeah...
Has come to my attention that, unlike I had first suspected a week or so ago, my anxiety is still in the back of my head yelling shit at me. Only difference is now I don't make it apparent at all, so it stays inside. Then it comes out if I'm drumming or releasing everything I have, so its kinda nice. Extremely hard to not let it dictate my actions though, but I just force myself through bullshit what ifs because I know, either way, my overthinking it isn't gonna change anything.
So, for a two week period, I might list the various... feelings I have experienced in a two week period. For doc.
insomnia
anxiety
paranoia
compulsion
obsession
apathy
rage
violent
disconnection from reality
seeing everything as some twisted joke
losing comprehension of language
invincible
depression
increased sensitivity to visual stimuli - HDTVs
hyperactive
pain for no apparent reason
no pain where pain should be apparent
reckless
hahahaha look how technical my jargon is... not! I just need to give this list to doc and maybe get an observation from my dad or Bam, with a list of observed... things. Then I can demand exemption from all the working bullshit, then maybe get put on something that will make me operate at a more level-headed level. Yeah...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
fucking rollercoaster
Saw Suffocation on Tuesday night. They are from NYC and the vocalist is the stockiest mofo I have ever seen. The best stage presence EVER. There is no way I'd even talk to the dude wrong, but he's still a fucking legend. He talks a lot about killing people who fucked you over. He also told us that if we used a woodchipper.... for a person, that we should run some wood through it afterwards before taking it back.
Why was I the only one giggling like crazy?
I lost it when I saw them. The drums are so spastic and loaded with time changes, I was jumping around headbanging like a hyperactive child. I saw at least three people out of my peripheral vision looking at me strangely, muaha. My eyes were probably bugging out my head, this seems to happen when I hear metal.
I didn't really sleep despite being dead when I got home, my neck is all fucked and I think I killed several brain cells with half a bottle of vodka and some relentless headbanging. But instead I sat in the chair, half asleep, staring balnkly at a TV. Fuck I hate television so much. I ended up going to bed at about 1-2am but woke up again at 5-6am. Had the intention of getting more sleep but my Bi-Polar buddy wanted to come round and smoke up. Not gonna say no there.
After getting to know this dude it seems I might be Bi-Polar. I actually suggested this to a shrink a couple of years ago, but was warned to not self diagnose. Well, if no ther cunt if going to fucking find a diagnosis, I'll do it myself and show my shrink this shit. These ramblings are all from a totally level headed mind.
After Bam left I slept until now. So... 5pm to 4am. A new record, 11 hours straight! I have never done that before clean... I'm sure Mr Seroquel helped me out though. Speak of the DEVIL, I might take some more. Its kinda fucked, I have 25mg tablets and 300mg tablets. I'd have to cut the 300mg one in quarters to handle it, I took one 300mg tablet once and it was.... fucked. Very fucked.
Apparently i can't get a prescription for these unless I'm diagnosed Schizo, which I now know I'm not. Of course, I had to research this as no one would give me fucking DETAILS. So hooray for living of sample med packs.
I see my doctor again on... 14 days after the last, which was October 29th. Hopefully something can be done about these manic states where even 250bpm thrash metal doesn't sound fast anymore, I try to sleep but my brain just turbo thinks and swtiches from subject to subject while providing me with believable closed eye hallucinations. It gets to the point where I MUST watch whatever is in my head to get it out.
These problems were obviously exacerbated by my indulgence in drugs, but they were why I started in the first place. I remember seeing the most fucked up stuff in my head for as long as I can remember. No wonder I hit the bottle at 15.
Choices.... I can either stay crazy, not sleep for days and days on end and have this culminate again in me sucker punching my flatmate for speaking shit to my dog. Or... I can take these fucking DRUGS on a regular bases, and become yet another stupid sheep endlessly being led into bullshit by the world, a soulless lump of meat with no creativity and aspirations.
Sigh. Mr Seroquel says sleep now, its not 4:45 so I won't move until the sun comes up.
Why was I the only one giggling like crazy?
I lost it when I saw them. The drums are so spastic and loaded with time changes, I was jumping around headbanging like a hyperactive child. I saw at least three people out of my peripheral vision looking at me strangely, muaha. My eyes were probably bugging out my head, this seems to happen when I hear metal.
I didn't really sleep despite being dead when I got home, my neck is all fucked and I think I killed several brain cells with half a bottle of vodka and some relentless headbanging. But instead I sat in the chair, half asleep, staring balnkly at a TV. Fuck I hate television so much. I ended up going to bed at about 1-2am but woke up again at 5-6am. Had the intention of getting more sleep but my Bi-Polar buddy wanted to come round and smoke up. Not gonna say no there.
After getting to know this dude it seems I might be Bi-Polar. I actually suggested this to a shrink a couple of years ago, but was warned to not self diagnose. Well, if no ther cunt if going to fucking find a diagnosis, I'll do it myself and show my shrink this shit. These ramblings are all from a totally level headed mind.
After Bam left I slept until now. So... 5pm to 4am. A new record, 11 hours straight! I have never done that before clean... I'm sure Mr Seroquel helped me out though. Speak of the DEVIL, I might take some more. Its kinda fucked, I have 25mg tablets and 300mg tablets. I'd have to cut the 300mg one in quarters to handle it, I took one 300mg tablet once and it was.... fucked. Very fucked.
Apparently i can't get a prescription for these unless I'm diagnosed Schizo, which I now know I'm not. Of course, I had to research this as no one would give me fucking DETAILS. So hooray for living of sample med packs.
I see my doctor again on... 14 days after the last, which was October 29th. Hopefully something can be done about these manic states where even 250bpm thrash metal doesn't sound fast anymore, I try to sleep but my brain just turbo thinks and swtiches from subject to subject while providing me with believable closed eye hallucinations. It gets to the point where I MUST watch whatever is in my head to get it out.
These problems were obviously exacerbated by my indulgence in drugs, but they were why I started in the first place. I remember seeing the most fucked up stuff in my head for as long as I can remember. No wonder I hit the bottle at 15.
Choices.... I can either stay crazy, not sleep for days and days on end and have this culminate again in me sucker punching my flatmate for speaking shit to my dog. Or... I can take these fucking DRUGS on a regular bases, and become yet another stupid sheep endlessly being led into bullshit by the world, a soulless lump of meat with no creativity and aspirations.
Sigh. Mr Seroquel says sleep now, its not 4:45 so I won't move until the sun comes up.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
oh well...
vodka will have to doo. And it does well. Vodka is now my business...... and business is GOOD! I have not drunk vodka since I was living with my father and his partner at... maybe 19 or 20. I think I had the right idea. One shot and I feel a lot better than 20 minute ago. Its always great to not spend money at Coles or Woolies, their duopoly can suck my dick. I'll get cheap dog food there, and that's all they'll get from me, fucking puppetmaster cunts.
I support my local fish and chip shop. Do you? Do I? I think fifteen dollars is pretty good for a mushroom salad, potato salad, bag of chips with salt and two 1.25L bottles of Schweppes goodness. Wait, is Solo Schweppes? Hmm...
Solo Schweppes, that'd make a good racehorse name. Apparently its Melbourne cup today.... or yesterday, I'm not entirely sure. But people seems to enjoy getting pissed and dressing up real nice in the SHITTY FUCKING TURD WEATHER OF MELBOURNE. Figures, I guess. I don't really understand it, unless your putting money on it.... but fuck, you can do that with any sport! Racing horses isn't a sport, damnit!
Suffocation in....... a few hour. Drinking is fun and is to be encouraged by all to all.
tjhe end
I support my local fish and chip shop. Do you? Do I? I think fifteen dollars is pretty good for a mushroom salad, potato salad, bag of chips with salt and two 1.25L bottles of Schweppes goodness. Wait, is Solo Schweppes? Hmm...
Solo Schweppes, that'd make a good racehorse name. Apparently its Melbourne cup today.... or yesterday, I'm not entirely sure. But people seems to enjoy getting pissed and dressing up real nice in the SHITTY FUCKING TURD WEATHER OF MELBOURNE. Figures, I guess. I don't really understand it, unless your putting money on it.... but fuck, you can do that with any sport! Racing horses isn't a sport, damnit!
Suffocation in....... a few hour. Drinking is fun and is to be encouraged by all to all.
tjhe end
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Addict-ed to Insomnia`
now i think i can sleep...
"Worlds rolling over worlds; From creation to decay; Like the bubbles on a river; Sparkling, bursting, borne away."
"Worlds rolling over worlds; From creation to decay; Like the bubbles on a river; Sparkling, bursting, borne away."
Saturday, October 31, 2009
FIRE
Fire from son, hatred from sun
aimed at everyone and no one
pits of flames light the desire
to destroy hell with fire
with ice and with sleet
hail and thunder reigns down upon the weak
shattering souls and rebuilding spirit
to give one energy to mosh in the pit
aimed at everyone and no one
pits of flames light the desire
to destroy hell with fire
with ice and with sleet
hail and thunder reigns down upon the weak
shattering souls and rebuilding spirit
to give one energy to mosh in the pit
I FUCKING LOVE PLAYING DRUMS
http://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=batch_status&batch_id=Z01Qa3NlcTJRWUtGa1E9PQ
Jammed drunk the night before this, found it very hard to play properly after eight beverages. Sober, with a little bit of pot, brought this out of me. I'm not sure what's happening most of the time, but I enjoy it. And that is what fucking matters.
Jammed drunk the night before this, found it very hard to play properly after eight beverages. Sober, with a little bit of pot, brought this out of me. I'm not sure what's happening most of the time, but I enjoy it. And that is what fucking matters.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The second attempt at Detox
The year was 2007. I'd just moved out of dad's house, after my mother kicked me out without telling me why. She literally got my dad to come around and say, 'pack up your stuff, you're living with me,' but thats a whoooole 'nother story.
So upon leaving the oppression of being 20 years old and living with parents, I started smoking pot again and fucking around with cough syrup. It certainly helped, but the fact that my flatmate was a bit of a cunt at the time didn't. September of this year, I made my second legit, cold turkey attempt at beating codeine.
Saw the doc, who said i was hypomanic, one level below a manic episode. Whatever, I felt pretty fucking manic. I went to my oldest friend's 21st bday party, and gave a speech at the end:
"This bird is a fucking legend. I've been off in my own world with my own shit, and every year she calls me to say happy birthday. She fucking rules, so CHEERS!"
Seemed to go over well, heh, so I decided to hop in my car to get smokes. I had consumed four cans of draught over three hours, so I figured i was all good. I was FAR from being drunk at all.
Stuuuuuupid. I was manic and driving like a fucking race driver, and managed to catch the attention of cops. The shop was AROUND THE CORNER. And my idiocy caught their attention. So they pulled me over.
Motherfucking PIGS. I somehow blew TWICE the legal limit, and they wouldn't let me buy my smokes, or even make a fucking PHONE CALL. I wanted to call my friend at the party, but no.
MOTHER. FUCKING. PIGS.
So they took me off to another booze bus to get it double checked. I'm waiting on the pavement, sitting cross legged. I suddenly punch the concrete carpark as hard as I could. Freaked one of the cops right out, fucking dipshit.
So my DUI receipt (yes, they gave me a RECEIPT!!) said i was pulled over at 11:11. The party started at 8,. and i was there early. I had someone counting my beers, so HOW THE FUCK i was over the limit I'll never know. But time started losing meaning as they made me sit there and wait, then tested me again to make sure i was drunk when i was more fucking coherent than half of the fucking drivers in this city.
By the end I was so fucking sick of it, and they then told me "you can't drive your car, we'll take you back to where you were"
Yeah, thanks you fuckheads. Leave my car parked at a fucking PETROL STATION and then take my license.
HOW EXACTLY DO I RETRIEVE MY CAR, FUCKHEADS?!
When they said they were taking me back to the party, i let loose. Verbal abuse at its best, I fucking mouthed off like there was no tomorrow.
"You fucking cunts. There are fucking lebo gangs in the city right now having fucking gang wars, and you're wasting your time on some dude who isn't drunk, who needs his car to make it to doctor's appointments. YOU FUCKING CUNTS. YOU FUCKING USELESS, SOULESS, PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR HUMAN BEINGS."
"we're just doing our job, mate"
Yeah, exactly. Fucking bacon dressed in a uniform.
This continued on the short ride home, and culminated with me leaping out the car at my friends house, slamming the door of their car and yelling:
"GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING NAZI WANKERS! FUCK YOU!!!"
Or so I'm told.
I ran inside, hugged my friend (who was worried sick, hence me wanting to make my FUCKING PHONE CALL), assured them everything was alright, and drank until sunrise. Had a blast.
No license for a year though....... not fun at all. Not fun. Public transportation is evil, but that's another story.
The SANFL grand final was the next day i think, and my team had FINALLY made it in. We were playing Centrals, who had fucking won 8 of the last 9 Premierships, or something bullshit like that.
They kick the first goal. All the Centrals fans light up flares, throw shit onto the ground. Then the cops escort them out, and we all cheered. When the cheering died down, i yelled something like:
"FUCKING OATH, PIGS!! TAKE THEM BACK TO THEIR FERAL KENNELS WHERE THEY BELONG!"
I was fucking lucky i was surrounded by our cheer squad, or i would have had the shit beaten out of me. Probably stabbed. Then the yelling really started. I screamed at every player to summon the powers of heavy metal. I yelled at Benny Hart to summon the strength of Bruce Dickonson, and some dude behind says:
"WHO THE FUCK IS BRUCE DICKONSON?!"
"THE LEAD FUCKING SINGER OF IRON MAIDEN!! WAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Madness ensued, don't remember a lot. Some dude asked me at one point what I was on.
"I'm high on heavy metal, mate!"
"Shit, I gotta get me some of this metal!"
Hahaha, fucking classic.
Is there a point to this story? I guess... don't do drugs. And if you do, MODERATION IS KEY! I had developed an elaborate fantasy world in my head because i was a fucking loser drug fucked addict. Quitting it cold turkey led to the above episode. I'm still pretty fucking crazy, but I don't think that will subside. I should be dead. I ate entire packets of painkillers with whole bottles of wine. Most consider that a suicide attempt, I was just trying to escape. I never had the balls to EVER harm myself, so I dunno. I should have died when I passed out at the wheel of my van and went up someone's arse at 60 km/h. But i was unscathed.
I know death, I've seen it and I have wanted to be it. Now I'm the happiest fuckin chappy on the planet, with some hypo episodes that I have to control with constant meditation and the occasional valium if I really need it.
So upon leaving the oppression of being 20 years old and living with parents, I started smoking pot again and fucking around with cough syrup. It certainly helped, but the fact that my flatmate was a bit of a cunt at the time didn't. September of this year, I made my second legit, cold turkey attempt at beating codeine.
Saw the doc, who said i was hypomanic, one level below a manic episode. Whatever, I felt pretty fucking manic. I went to my oldest friend's 21st bday party, and gave a speech at the end:
"This bird is a fucking legend. I've been off in my own world with my own shit, and every year she calls me to say happy birthday. She fucking rules, so CHEERS!"
Seemed to go over well, heh, so I decided to hop in my car to get smokes. I had consumed four cans of draught over three hours, so I figured i was all good. I was FAR from being drunk at all.
Stuuuuuupid. I was manic and driving like a fucking race driver, and managed to catch the attention of cops. The shop was AROUND THE CORNER. And my idiocy caught their attention. So they pulled me over.
Motherfucking PIGS. I somehow blew TWICE the legal limit, and they wouldn't let me buy my smokes, or even make a fucking PHONE CALL. I wanted to call my friend at the party, but no.
MOTHER. FUCKING. PIGS.
So they took me off to another booze bus to get it double checked. I'm waiting on the pavement, sitting cross legged. I suddenly punch the concrete carpark as hard as I could. Freaked one of the cops right out, fucking dipshit.
So my DUI receipt (yes, they gave me a RECEIPT!!) said i was pulled over at 11:11. The party started at 8,. and i was there early. I had someone counting my beers, so HOW THE FUCK i was over the limit I'll never know. But time started losing meaning as they made me sit there and wait, then tested me again to make sure i was drunk when i was more fucking coherent than half of the fucking drivers in this city.
By the end I was so fucking sick of it, and they then told me "you can't drive your car, we'll take you back to where you were"
Yeah, thanks you fuckheads. Leave my car parked at a fucking PETROL STATION and then take my license.
HOW EXACTLY DO I RETRIEVE MY CAR, FUCKHEADS?!
When they said they were taking me back to the party, i let loose. Verbal abuse at its best, I fucking mouthed off like there was no tomorrow.
"You fucking cunts. There are fucking lebo gangs in the city right now having fucking gang wars, and you're wasting your time on some dude who isn't drunk, who needs his car to make it to doctor's appointments. YOU FUCKING CUNTS. YOU FUCKING USELESS, SOULESS, PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR HUMAN BEINGS."
"we're just doing our job, mate"
Yeah, exactly. Fucking bacon dressed in a uniform.
This continued on the short ride home, and culminated with me leaping out the car at my friends house, slamming the door of their car and yelling:
"GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING NAZI WANKERS! FUCK YOU!!!"
Or so I'm told.
I ran inside, hugged my friend (who was worried sick, hence me wanting to make my FUCKING PHONE CALL), assured them everything was alright, and drank until sunrise. Had a blast.
No license for a year though....... not fun at all. Not fun. Public transportation is evil, but that's another story.
The SANFL grand final was the next day i think, and my team had FINALLY made it in. We were playing Centrals, who had fucking won 8 of the last 9 Premierships, or something bullshit like that.
They kick the first goal. All the Centrals fans light up flares, throw shit onto the ground. Then the cops escort them out, and we all cheered. When the cheering died down, i yelled something like:
"FUCKING OATH, PIGS!! TAKE THEM BACK TO THEIR FERAL KENNELS WHERE THEY BELONG!"
I was fucking lucky i was surrounded by our cheer squad, or i would have had the shit beaten out of me. Probably stabbed. Then the yelling really started. I screamed at every player to summon the powers of heavy metal. I yelled at Benny Hart to summon the strength of Bruce Dickonson, and some dude behind says:
"WHO THE FUCK IS BRUCE DICKONSON?!"
"THE LEAD FUCKING SINGER OF IRON MAIDEN!! WAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Madness ensued, don't remember a lot. Some dude asked me at one point what I was on.
"I'm high on heavy metal, mate!"
"Shit, I gotta get me some of this metal!"
Hahaha, fucking classic.
Is there a point to this story? I guess... don't do drugs. And if you do, MODERATION IS KEY! I had developed an elaborate fantasy world in my head because i was a fucking loser drug fucked addict. Quitting it cold turkey led to the above episode. I'm still pretty fucking crazy, but I don't think that will subside. I should be dead. I ate entire packets of painkillers with whole bottles of wine. Most consider that a suicide attempt, I was just trying to escape. I never had the balls to EVER harm myself, so I dunno. I should have died when I passed out at the wheel of my van and went up someone's arse at 60 km/h. But i was unscathed.
I know death, I've seen it and I have wanted to be it. Now I'm the happiest fuckin chappy on the planet, with some hypo episodes that I have to control with constant meditation and the occasional valium if I really need it.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Slumber
Uncountable is the time of my struggle, my slumber disrupted by thoughts from asunder
Never ending, never ceasing, like thunder from down under
Through hail, shine, sleet, burning, ice,
I arch my back and march FORWARD with pride
with the tide I'll flow on into eternity
when i leave this world, at least I know
My friends will miss me.
Never ending, never ceasing, like thunder from down under
Through hail, shine, sleet, burning, ice,
I arch my back and march FORWARD with pride
with the tide I'll flow on into eternity
when i leave this world, at least I know
My friends will miss me.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Awake
Three days and counting, is it it four, could be five, sounds I cannot ignore,
To win the war, one must Retreat, building cunning, strength, courage.
Raw
To win the war, one must Retreat, building cunning, strength, courage.
Raw
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A Letter addressing pure sport
A lengthy, logical letter is being written about MMA. It is going to be spammed to the world using humanities most beautiful creation.
Technology. The internet.
Wait and see.
=)
Technology. The internet.
Wait and see.
=)
Bill Hicks
What an amazing man. I have lost count of the days I've been awake but every word he says is to me.
"Why isn't their a reformed drug addict helping people through COMPASSION rather than fucking CONDEMNATION, IMPRISONMENT and INSULT. They are fucking sick, and jail isn't going to fucking help them. It will compound the problem many times over.
He loved Australia, and said he felt he had found his home.
I hear you Bill. I made my choice and now I'm on my fucking ride, finally.
"Why isn't their a reformed drug addict helping people through COMPASSION rather than fucking CONDEMNATION, IMPRISONMENT and INSULT. They are fucking sick, and jail isn't going to fucking help them. It will compound the problem many times over.
He loved Australia, and said he felt he had found his home.
I hear you Bill. I made my choice and now I'm on my fucking ride, finally.
Randomly decided to head to the cranker, called by best mate who was considering leaving. I drove in and turned out another one of my bros was coming. We ended back at the latter's house smoking doobies, and I realised I didn't know him at all. I remembered nothing about him, and spent the entire night pissing myself because he is a funny bastard. To the say the least.
They explained to me all these memories of me being me, that i literally i have NO recollection of whatsoever. It made me realise that I have always looked around everything, while missing what was directly in front of me.
They explained to me all these memories of me being me, that i literally i have NO recollection of whatsoever. It made me realise that I have always looked around everything, while missing what was directly in front of me.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
What a night
Went to an old hang out to see more people who gave a shit. Everyone was so happy I was happy, and several people commented on my positive energy. Apparently my 40 hour DOI trip while watching 2001: A Space Oddessy was somewhat unique, as this shit has just hit my town. Got massive inspiration from a cool dude to create further my avatar.
Jordman, the anti-me. But still me.
Then a cool as fuck Canadian dude came up to me, cos I was wearing an old as fuck Meshuggah t-shirt that hangs off me now, its XL.
"Duuude, I'm, like, a totally naive metalhead but, bro, i KNOW Meshuggah!"
Fuck I love Canada. He was from the same city as a bud I know on the net. He said he moved here and found his home. He blows glass, I can't wait to go check out his art.
Spoke to a cool chick who happens to have Celiacs too. She played this AWESOME song called "Nazi Cunts are Fucked!"
I loved it. Not knowing the name of the band, I asked before I left. Blood Mason!
"NO FUCKING SHIT?!?!" I headbanged to you guys like fucking crazy when i was drunk as fuck at 18.
Coincidence is bullshit. We are all one. Entropy. Bio-Diversity. Everything on this planet is one and the same, and none of it is real.
I look forward to when I die of whatever cancer I've given myself a high probability of getting, because I know I'll be going to a better place.
But hey, I'm having so much fun in this world that I don't care. Roll with the waves, go with the flow, be honest, and everything will happen that you want to happen.
"We all must meet our Moment of Truth."
Jordman, the anti-me. But still me.
Then a cool as fuck Canadian dude came up to me, cos I was wearing an old as fuck Meshuggah t-shirt that hangs off me now, its XL.
"Duuude, I'm, like, a totally naive metalhead but, bro, i KNOW Meshuggah!"
Fuck I love Canada. He was from the same city as a bud I know on the net. He said he moved here and found his home. He blows glass, I can't wait to go check out his art.
Spoke to a cool chick who happens to have Celiacs too. She played this AWESOME song called "Nazi Cunts are Fucked!"
I loved it. Not knowing the name of the band, I asked before I left. Blood Mason!
"NO FUCKING SHIT?!?!" I headbanged to you guys like fucking crazy when i was drunk as fuck at 18.
Coincidence is bullshit. We are all one. Entropy. Bio-Diversity. Everything on this planet is one and the same, and none of it is real.
I look forward to when I die of whatever cancer I've given myself a high probability of getting, because I know I'll be going to a better place.
But hey, I'm having so much fun in this world that I don't care. Roll with the waves, go with the flow, be honest, and everything will happen that you want to happen.
"We all must meet our Moment of Truth."
Friday, October 16, 2009
Bas Rutten - The Legend
I have owned Bas Rutten's entire fight career for years, watched it at least 15 times all the way thru. He put a giant R on his left hand to help him remind himself not to lose his cool, as he was a 'hothead'. This is me. I have a giant R on my left hand so tonight, I don't get overexcited, I don't bore people with wandering stories that take hours to arrive at their destination... the POINT!
He was a drummer.
He was a drummer.
Boy, do I feel better now
A hypothesis for lost and lonely torn souls,
A conscience littered with cleanliness,
Eyes closed I can see the door,
Today is no more.
Tomorrow is ripening each second minute,
The sun is piercing through the thick cellar door
It makes it harder, accepting that,
Today is no more.
A conscience littered with cleanliness,
Eyes closed I can see the door,
Today is no more.
Tomorrow is ripening each second minute,
The sun is piercing through the thick cellar door
It makes it harder, accepting that,
Today is no more.
Never again...
...at least for a long arse time. Tripped out for way too long and now can't sleep at all. I closed my eyes and saw Michael Jordan standing over me. How can I sleep when my brain doesn't shut up, ever? This has bothered me for my entire life. The Machinist will give me chills each and every time. But I had really deep conversations with those truly close to me, and started the rebuilding process of the friendships of people who actually stuck around though all my shit. I've met this chick who is as eccentric as me, and if something good happens, then never again.
On Tuesday I leave for a week long vacation to the middle of nowhere on the west coast of South Australia. I've been there once before, am going with my Dad, my drum teacher and my dad's mate who employed me at 15 to do insulation.... before it wasn't itchy as FUCK. He is a fucking funny cunt.
I can't wait. No cars, no city bullshit. Just the wind, the waves, and of course my music. I'd go insane without it, my camera, my sketchbook and my journal.
On Tuesday I leave for a week long vacation to the middle of nowhere on the west coast of South Australia. I've been there once before, am going with my Dad, my drum teacher and my dad's mate who employed me at 15 to do insulation.... before it wasn't itchy as FUCK. He is a fucking funny cunt.
I can't wait. No cars, no city bullshit. Just the wind, the waves, and of course my music. I'd go insane without it, my camera, my sketchbook and my journal.
Basketball is in my blood
I have mad NBA trivia skillz. I played it for seven years. When the sun rises I'm going to drive to the basketball hoop.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
You know you live in a sweet city...
...when you're neck is stiff from headbanging to a band called Space Bong.
Audition
So an old mate needs a drummer. I'm not the biggest fan of the music, but the drumming is something I can do and enhance on, so I have his recording on repeat on my iriver so it gets into my brain. Just gotta get someone who knows their shit to fix my kit up, and I'll be laughing. He and his mate seemed really happy to hear from me, I had no idea how all these people cared about my well being and worried about my addiction for so long. I had no idea at all. If it weren't for these people I'd still be trapped in my head.
Now it is time to furiously dedicate myself to drumming. And writing, or drawing. And a night fill job opportunity has presented itself, so I'm giving that a shot.
Now it is time to furiously dedicate myself to drumming. And writing, or drawing. And a night fill job opportunity has presented itself, so I'm giving that a shot.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Don't think. Just Do.
What a fucking weird few days. Got to meet Dave Lombardo, shook his hand AND he signed my drum practice pad. Now I need a new one. I also got to ask some really intruiging question and he really elaborated well on what i said, then he'd demonstrate it. Mindblowing. He'd say how its always been in him, how as a kid he pulled out pots and pans and smacked them. Heh, I did exactly the same thing.
Got high and went to get munchies last night at 4am, and randonly start talking to all these crazy tripped out people on who knows what. Ended up standing around for an hour, barefoot, in wind and rain smoking ciggies and chatting. Offered them a lift and nicked off.
I went to the city today to get some clothes, and see the same group of trippers in the clothes shop.
"Stalkers!"
So we just hung out in the city smoking, doing fuck all. Awesome day, got some great clothes and hung out with some really cool people. The dude at the shop I saw them in remembered me from months ago, and gave me a discount. Legend!
I'm really trying to stop thinking so much, all the chatter in my head just does NOT stop. Every time I catch myself, I need to bring myself back to the present. Play a song, play some drums, write bullshit. I need to stop listening to my head so much.
Got high and went to get munchies last night at 4am, and randonly start talking to all these crazy tripped out people on who knows what. Ended up standing around for an hour, barefoot, in wind and rain smoking ciggies and chatting. Offered them a lift and nicked off.
I went to the city today to get some clothes, and see the same group of trippers in the clothes shop.
"Stalkers!"
So we just hung out in the city smoking, doing fuck all. Awesome day, got some great clothes and hung out with some really cool people. The dude at the shop I saw them in remembered me from months ago, and gave me a discount. Legend!
I'm really trying to stop thinking so much, all the chatter in my head just does NOT stop. Every time I catch myself, I need to bring myself back to the present. Play a song, play some drums, write bullshit. I need to stop listening to my head so much.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Drugs are baaad, mmkay?
It still amazes me that Pot can still be illegal in this day and age, when multiple benefits are apparent and the cons are pretty well established. At the same time alcohol and cigarettes kill millions of people, being free, legal, advertised heavily and taxed, while jumbo boxes of codeine are available over the counter, while doctors prescribe tranquilizers, zoloft, anti-psychotics and who knows what else to young adults who have insomnia, or stress, or depression, or another general ailment that can be helped without drugs.
And they are never wrong, because they are doctors. No wonder the US is so fucked up, the education system has long being a complete joke, and the pharmaceutical industry turns over billions of dollars per year. From personal experience, I know what these drugs do. They stop repetitive thoughts. They prevent dissent. They effectively create sheep.
Trouble dealing with the normal stresses of day to day life? Adolescence, maybe? Here, take these pills, they’ll help you avoid the issue instead of confronting it and making progression!!
Anyway, I’ll save that rant for a longer day. Put simply, their ‘war’ on drugs means substances that can help for certain situations are impossible to get ahold of. I’m pretty sure if I’d tried DMT when hooked on painkillers, I’d have seen the light a lot sooner. Pot is great for the endless stomach pains, the insomnia and the complete lack of appetite. Mushrooms and acid, while I made classic rookie mistakes, were huge mental lessons for me. Hell, even using speed was a lesson – to try and keep my trap shut when I need to, to try and keep paranoia in check when I can’t sleep, to not take speed ever again! I think I finally got to the point where I was happy that I had learnt everything I could from having my mind altered. That realisation combined with studying non clinical mental health has really helped bang this message in. The fact Megadeth and Slayer are hitting my city in October was the sealer; there is no way in hell I am going, only to have a dazy, spotty memory of the gig.
Unfortunately, being of the illicit variety, I was unable to try pot for many years, and had developed a raging codeine addiction by the time I was 18/19 and had my first toke. A good friend of mine, seeing I was fucked, offered free quantities of pot to help me kick the bad shit. Such a supply did well for the addiction, but I had essentially traded one for the other; without personal reflection the weed just became a substitute for painkillers or alcohol. The whole addictive personality thing is bullshit – to me, a person will be attracted to mind altering chemicals if they have an overactive mind. It is as simple as that, but its how they were raised, their principles, their mental toughness – not their genetics – that will decide if it becomes an addiction. I’ll be honest, I find it very hard to empathize with people who complain about quitting smoking. The symptoms are very, very minor when compared to a codeine detox, or something worse, and not only that, but chemists sell patches to help them get off the shit! If I wanted help I needed to tell my whole story to a doctor… this is something I still haven’t fully done, there is simply too much shit to tell.
Fast forward to now, and ironically enough pot is the one thing I am having trouble stopping. Its for my health – if I wasn’t aiming to get in awesome shape to fight, it wouldn’t be a concern of mine. I function very well unless I have a giant sesh, and even then I just look overtired – which I am always anyway. I’ll always remember in year eight, a ‘brother’ said to the grade co-ordinator he thought I was on drugs. They even asked me – I was thirteen and didn’t know what drugs were, really. Fucking Catholic, all boys school – who’s fucking idea was that?
Personally, I think its idiotic to ignore the benefits of pot. Chemo patients could get past most of the awful nauseating feelings with a little pot. People with eating disorders would suddenly put on weight because of munchies. People like myself could get some REAL sleep, as opposed to tranquilizer induced comas that leave you feeling hungover in the morning, despite 10 hours of solid sleep.
There is also the creative kick that it provides. This is of course a matter of opinion, but for me, in my life, it is plainly obvious to me. If I’m high I have an infinite number of drum beats in my head, and when I listen to recordings of myself I’m reduced to laughter – I often can’t believe that I’m listening to myself. Many of the basics of MMA were taught to me by my Sensei, and the best drills that have stuck in my head despite a massive codeine fuzz were the result of his creativity coming out. The metaphors he’d use to describe how to throw a kick; the drill to improve footwork, they are all very subtle. He has often told me how great it is to just get high and watch MMA, and it is because he see’s the action and can see unorthodox ways to win – moves that no one in the pros are using.
My drum teacher gave me my first lesson in years, and the simple drills he has created he admitted were the result of a weed induced jam. He woke up in the morning and thought, ‘hey, that is really simple!’ and turned it into a fantastic drill. I went there needing to work on my stick control and overall technique – air drumming has given me mad co-ordination but shoddy stick skills. In thirty minutes he gave me five or six drills to practice, and I could hear him doing the drills fast and realised how insanely applicable the theories were to my drumming, even if what I’m drumming is nothing like the music he enjoys.
Eddie Bravo used his flexibility to design a whole new system of jui jitsu that unfortunately gets a bad rep down here because Joe Rogan doesn’t fucking shut up about it on UFC broadcasts. But the dude choked out a Gracie, is a legit grappler, and just watching one disc of his Rubber Guard instructional it becomes obvious how much thought, brainstorming and honing has gone into his system. There are counters for counters, counters for the counter you knew he was going to try, its crazy. And then you watch the segment ‘rolling stoned’, and he submits everybody.
I’m not saying pot makes this happen, quite the contrary. Everybody is put on this planet for a reason, every one has a talent. The fun of life is finding what you love, and throwing yourself into it. For me, for my drum teacher, my Sensei, our passions have a definite creative element. When looking at the history of music, to deny the creative influence of drugs seems to be insane. Where those great musicians went wrong, though, was excess. I’m lucky enough to be blessed with as many lives as a cat, and I’ve learnt my lesson.
I've found that a great way to force myself to be creative is playing with half a drum kit. Not having two crash cymbals or even hi hats forces me to be more intricate with my cymbal work, since repetition quickly bores me.
And they are never wrong, because they are doctors. No wonder the US is so fucked up, the education system has long being a complete joke, and the pharmaceutical industry turns over billions of dollars per year. From personal experience, I know what these drugs do. They stop repetitive thoughts. They prevent dissent. They effectively create sheep.
Trouble dealing with the normal stresses of day to day life? Adolescence, maybe? Here, take these pills, they’ll help you avoid the issue instead of confronting it and making progression!!
Anyway, I’ll save that rant for a longer day. Put simply, their ‘war’ on drugs means substances that can help for certain situations are impossible to get ahold of. I’m pretty sure if I’d tried DMT when hooked on painkillers, I’d have seen the light a lot sooner. Pot is great for the endless stomach pains, the insomnia and the complete lack of appetite. Mushrooms and acid, while I made classic rookie mistakes, were huge mental lessons for me. Hell, even using speed was a lesson – to try and keep my trap shut when I need to, to try and keep paranoia in check when I can’t sleep, to not take speed ever again! I think I finally got to the point where I was happy that I had learnt everything I could from having my mind altered. That realisation combined with studying non clinical mental health has really helped bang this message in. The fact Megadeth and Slayer are hitting my city in October was the sealer; there is no way in hell I am going, only to have a dazy, spotty memory of the gig.
Unfortunately, being of the illicit variety, I was unable to try pot for many years, and had developed a raging codeine addiction by the time I was 18/19 and had my first toke. A good friend of mine, seeing I was fucked, offered free quantities of pot to help me kick the bad shit. Such a supply did well for the addiction, but I had essentially traded one for the other; without personal reflection the weed just became a substitute for painkillers or alcohol. The whole addictive personality thing is bullshit – to me, a person will be attracted to mind altering chemicals if they have an overactive mind. It is as simple as that, but its how they were raised, their principles, their mental toughness – not their genetics – that will decide if it becomes an addiction. I’ll be honest, I find it very hard to empathize with people who complain about quitting smoking. The symptoms are very, very minor when compared to a codeine detox, or something worse, and not only that, but chemists sell patches to help them get off the shit! If I wanted help I needed to tell my whole story to a doctor… this is something I still haven’t fully done, there is simply too much shit to tell.
Fast forward to now, and ironically enough pot is the one thing I am having trouble stopping. Its for my health – if I wasn’t aiming to get in awesome shape to fight, it wouldn’t be a concern of mine. I function very well unless I have a giant sesh, and even then I just look overtired – which I am always anyway. I’ll always remember in year eight, a ‘brother’ said to the grade co-ordinator he thought I was on drugs. They even asked me – I was thirteen and didn’t know what drugs were, really. Fucking Catholic, all boys school – who’s fucking idea was that?
Personally, I think its idiotic to ignore the benefits of pot. Chemo patients could get past most of the awful nauseating feelings with a little pot. People with eating disorders would suddenly put on weight because of munchies. People like myself could get some REAL sleep, as opposed to tranquilizer induced comas that leave you feeling hungover in the morning, despite 10 hours of solid sleep.
There is also the creative kick that it provides. This is of course a matter of opinion, but for me, in my life, it is plainly obvious to me. If I’m high I have an infinite number of drum beats in my head, and when I listen to recordings of myself I’m reduced to laughter – I often can’t believe that I’m listening to myself. Many of the basics of MMA were taught to me by my Sensei, and the best drills that have stuck in my head despite a massive codeine fuzz were the result of his creativity coming out. The metaphors he’d use to describe how to throw a kick; the drill to improve footwork, they are all very subtle. He has often told me how great it is to just get high and watch MMA, and it is because he see’s the action and can see unorthodox ways to win – moves that no one in the pros are using.
My drum teacher gave me my first lesson in years, and the simple drills he has created he admitted were the result of a weed induced jam. He woke up in the morning and thought, ‘hey, that is really simple!’ and turned it into a fantastic drill. I went there needing to work on my stick control and overall technique – air drumming has given me mad co-ordination but shoddy stick skills. In thirty minutes he gave me five or six drills to practice, and I could hear him doing the drills fast and realised how insanely applicable the theories were to my drumming, even if what I’m drumming is nothing like the music he enjoys.
Eddie Bravo used his flexibility to design a whole new system of jui jitsu that unfortunately gets a bad rep down here because Joe Rogan doesn’t fucking shut up about it on UFC broadcasts. But the dude choked out a Gracie, is a legit grappler, and just watching one disc of his Rubber Guard instructional it becomes obvious how much thought, brainstorming and honing has gone into his system. There are counters for counters, counters for the counter you knew he was going to try, its crazy. And then you watch the segment ‘rolling stoned’, and he submits everybody.
I’m not saying pot makes this happen, quite the contrary. Everybody is put on this planet for a reason, every one has a talent. The fun of life is finding what you love, and throwing yourself into it. For me, for my drum teacher, my Sensei, our passions have a definite creative element. When looking at the history of music, to deny the creative influence of drugs seems to be insane. Where those great musicians went wrong, though, was excess. I’m lucky enough to be blessed with as many lives as a cat, and I’ve learnt my lesson.
I've found that a great way to force myself to be creative is playing with half a drum kit. Not having two crash cymbals or even hi hats forces me to be more intricate with my cymbal work, since repetition quickly bores me.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The real test
So for my first two training sessions, i was hypomanic as fuck and they just flew by. The last week I've improved massively thanks to friends and seeing a mental health doc. It was a 50 minute appointment and we were there for almost two hours apparently. He was of the opinion that it'll take my brain months and months to adapt to reality properly, considering opiates significantly hinder the process of learning. Everything I watch, listen to, whatever, has this massive life lesson in it for me, its bizarre. I watched CHOPPER the other day, fuck that is one of the best Aussie movies ever. When it finished I watched Saving Private Ryan. I remember the movie moving me when i first saw it as a youngin, but watching it now that I know all the history behind it, I know what and why everything is happening, its pretty fucking full on. No wonder I have hated war for as long as I can remember, this was my introduction to it. The scene where the dirty German slowly stabs the Jewish soldier is bone-chill inducing, still.
Siiiidetracked. So Thursday I get home at 1430, mate is picking me up at 1500. I had thirty minutes to crank out the triple S and to put some food in my belly. I did everything at hyperspeed, finished up my shower just as the bacon defrosted, and I stuffed as much as I could into my stomach in ten minutes. So i'm ready in time, only to get a call ten minutes later that he's running late, could I drive?
Having only recently got my shit together, he wasn expecting me to say 'yeah mate!' before picking up everything i needed, which i had put in the one spot beforehand, and jumping in my car. He actually swerved in front of me halfway there, which was a nice occurence as I was about to pull over to check how to get there.
The soundtrack for the drive South was Mayhem - Chimera. Mind bending stuff, got me good and ready. We actually got there early, so I got to speak to the dude who runs the place, fuckin' champ and a war history buff too. So while warming up we were having conversations about Post-Stalingrad Serbian POW camps, I don't think anyone else knew what the fuck we were talking about.
There weren't many people so I got a lot of one on one time with this dude, and fuck it was awesome. He's a fucking genius and his jab has been described as 'running headfirst into a brick wall.' His jab!! We were doing wrestling drills where you have to remember at least five things at once to get it right... where your head is, where your feet are, how you're using your legs, the correct grip.. its crazy. But I got it eventually, I shot in and hoisted him up off the ground.
"good lad! You just lifted 95 kilos!"
He's about 6'3", I'm somewhere inbetween 6'1" and 6'2". Not too fucking bad for a skinny, pasty bastard sitting at 77 kilos even! I wrestled against this dude who was 6'4" at least, fucking massive. I got armbarred eventually both times, but he was way more tired than I was, so at least I tired him the fuck out before he got me.
"HE! IS! THE PAINKILLER!" Yup that song was made for me, and I love this sport. I hope I get to fight in my state one day, fuck going interstate. I'm a poor student.
My right hand is still like a baloon, but as MANGLED as it is, I can still drum like a demon. My right knee is purple and has a weird lump in it, but today is Saturday and its jamming time. Bruising doesn't even come into question when we're playing at 240 plus BPM, it takes every ounce of concentration I can muster just to keep the kick and snare appropriately placed at that speed.
PUNISHABLE BY DEATH! Cheesy as fuck, but hey, this is 80's thrash, so cheese is part of the parcel. And its fucking memorable. Some TOOL (fan) complimented me last weekend on my 'spot on' air drumming (to a song I didn't know) and tried to say, 'six months, listen out for....' Well, I wasn't drunk, but the band name was SO FUCKING PRETENTIOUS it went in one ear and out the other. So I said, 'three months mate, listen out for PUNISHABLE BY DEATH' in a raspy hayfever voice. Hahaha the tool looked down on me, 'dude it takes time to write songs and hone them, its hard!'
Yeah, if you're a pretentious wanker trying to play 'progressive metal', that'll happen. I smiled and said 'we'll see, eh?' The fact that the 'progressive', condescending prick underestimated me completely just makes our music feel so much better to us.
We know we're good, and I know that that same twat is gunna hear our first gig, or see a gig poster, and he'll remember.
Siiiidetracked. So Thursday I get home at 1430, mate is picking me up at 1500. I had thirty minutes to crank out the triple S and to put some food in my belly. I did everything at hyperspeed, finished up my shower just as the bacon defrosted, and I stuffed as much as I could into my stomach in ten minutes. So i'm ready in time, only to get a call ten minutes later that he's running late, could I drive?
Having only recently got my shit together, he wasn expecting me to say 'yeah mate!' before picking up everything i needed, which i had put in the one spot beforehand, and jumping in my car. He actually swerved in front of me halfway there, which was a nice occurence as I was about to pull over to check how to get there.
The soundtrack for the drive South was Mayhem - Chimera. Mind bending stuff, got me good and ready. We actually got there early, so I got to speak to the dude who runs the place, fuckin' champ and a war history buff too. So while warming up we were having conversations about Post-Stalingrad Serbian POW camps, I don't think anyone else knew what the fuck we were talking about.
There weren't many people so I got a lot of one on one time with this dude, and fuck it was awesome. He's a fucking genius and his jab has been described as 'running headfirst into a brick wall.' His jab!! We were doing wrestling drills where you have to remember at least five things at once to get it right... where your head is, where your feet are, how you're using your legs, the correct grip.. its crazy. But I got it eventually, I shot in and hoisted him up off the ground.
"good lad! You just lifted 95 kilos!"
He's about 6'3", I'm somewhere inbetween 6'1" and 6'2". Not too fucking bad for a skinny, pasty bastard sitting at 77 kilos even! I wrestled against this dude who was 6'4" at least, fucking massive. I got armbarred eventually both times, but he was way more tired than I was, so at least I tired him the fuck out before he got me.
"HE! IS! THE PAINKILLER!" Yup that song was made for me, and I love this sport. I hope I get to fight in my state one day, fuck going interstate. I'm a poor student.
My right hand is still like a baloon, but as MANGLED as it is, I can still drum like a demon. My right knee is purple and has a weird lump in it, but today is Saturday and its jamming time. Bruising doesn't even come into question when we're playing at 240 plus BPM, it takes every ounce of concentration I can muster just to keep the kick and snare appropriately placed at that speed.
PUNISHABLE BY DEATH! Cheesy as fuck, but hey, this is 80's thrash, so cheese is part of the parcel. And its fucking memorable. Some TOOL (fan) complimented me last weekend on my 'spot on' air drumming (to a song I didn't know) and tried to say, 'six months, listen out for....' Well, I wasn't drunk, but the band name was SO FUCKING PRETENTIOUS it went in one ear and out the other. So I said, 'three months mate, listen out for PUNISHABLE BY DEATH' in a raspy hayfever voice. Hahaha the tool looked down on me, 'dude it takes time to write songs and hone them, its hard!'
Yeah, if you're a pretentious wanker trying to play 'progressive metal', that'll happen. I smiled and said 'we'll see, eh?' The fact that the 'progressive', condescending prick underestimated me completely just makes our music feel so much better to us.
We know we're good, and I know that that same twat is gunna hear our first gig, or see a gig poster, and he'll remember.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
you know you fucked up when
You're father pulls out a year 12 photography assignment you don't remember doing. Photos I don't remember taking. Comments I don't remember writing. Comments from my teacher I probably didn't bother to ever read until now. A Brainstorming process I don't even remember doing but it was obviously me, as it started with music and ended up at distincly Australian nature, which was what my whole final project was based around. All I remember doing was thinking "why are we using a design process for photography, I don't need to design my fuckin' shots" so I took my photos first, and then worked backwrds, so it looked really smooth and actually looked like I worked my way up to my photos by looing at the photography of other people and commenting on photos I liked. What a bastard I am. I guess it worked, I got 19/20 for the subject apparently. What really fucked my head around a bit was seeing all my photos framed in thick black card, with the edges cut at an angle to make it look spiffy. It took me a while to realise that, yes, I actually did that too. I fucking meticulously cut frames for photos that now, look amazing to me. I obviously didn't feel that way at the time.
Reason # 209 not to go back. Ugh.
Reason # 209 not to go back. Ugh.
Monday, August 31, 2009
I've decided I want to scream.
I'm gunna put an add out everywhere that says
HEAVY VOCALIST, WITH THE LUNGS OF A CHAINSMOKER LOOKING FOR A HEAVY BAND.
Influences include:
NIRVANA
EXODUS
SLAYER
MUNICIPAL WASTE
ODB
AC/DC
MOTORHEAD
Because, face it man, you can't drum and sing at the same time. You could try, but you'd fuck up and get angry. Plus it seems a little to lar$ like, so i'd like to scream for any band that'll let me, their lyrics or mine, s'aaall good! =D
HEAVY VOCALIST, WITH THE LUNGS OF A CHAINSMOKER LOOKING FOR A HEAVY BAND.
Influences include:
NIRVANA
EXODUS
SLAYER
MUNICIPAL WASTE
ODB
AC/DC
MOTORHEAD
Because, face it man, you can't drum and sing at the same time. You could try, but you'd fuck up and get angry. Plus it seems a little to lar$ like, so i'd like to scream for any band that'll let me, their lyrics or mine, s'aaall good! =D
Saturday, August 29, 2009
coolest band ever
I saw the best band last night, great pub rock/hardcore with a reeeeally smokin' chick singing and screaming and telling everyone they sucked for not dancing. It was great. I'd been headbanging but the last song screamed for insanity, there was an awesome build up to a tiiny bit of silence.... then a breakdown from hell. I shoved to the front during the build up and became a one man mosh pit, with my sennheinsers around my neck going fucking apeshit mental, following the lead of the awesomely hot singer who was headbanging and stomping the floor!
Pure Awesome! The Vampire Project I think they were called, fun as fuck. Fuck I love the cranker.
Pure Awesome! The Vampire Project I think they were called, fun as fuck. Fuck I love the cranker.
Why are people so blind?
what is wrong me?
what is wrong with me?
what do I think what I think?
Haaaaaaate your enemieees
Saaave, saaaaave you're friiiieeeends
Fiiind, fiiiiiind yoouur plaaaaaaace
speeaak, SPEEEAAAAAK THE TRUUTH!
Every person seems to think Kurt's lyrics make no sense. Well I must be nuckin futs then because they all make perfect sense to me. Maybe its the meditation, its slowly unlocking my subconcious and i'm hearing lyrics from these albums from my childhood..... and listening now its like they all define my life or my personality. I think that is the true beaty of music, where any person can decipher their own meaning from a song.
What I find funny is the first movie I ever loved was Officespace, came out when I was nine years old and I was too young to even know why I loved it. Watching the movie now cracks me up... no wonder I've never been able to hold down a fucking job!
Just call me Mike.
what is wrong with me?
what do I think what I think?
Haaaaaaate your enemieees
Saaave, saaaaave you're friiiieeeends
Fiiind, fiiiiiind yoouur plaaaaaaace
speeaak, SPEEEAAAAAK THE TRUUTH!
Every person seems to think Kurt's lyrics make no sense. Well I must be nuckin futs then because they all make perfect sense to me. Maybe its the meditation, its slowly unlocking my subconcious and i'm hearing lyrics from these albums from my childhood..... and listening now its like they all define my life or my personality. I think that is the true beaty of music, where any person can decipher their own meaning from a song.
What I find funny is the first movie I ever loved was Officespace, came out when I was nine years old and I was too young to even know why I loved it. Watching the movie now cracks me up... no wonder I've never been able to hold down a fucking job!
Just call me Mike.
Ow!
Just woke up from my second training. I can barely walk, ice on my right groin and my right hand is swollen like a balloon. Mentally feel fan-fucking-tastic, but its hard when I have this constant urge to get up and do something, only to feel it immedietely. I’m supposed to be drumming today, no double kick for me.
Last night was a really fun, learning experience. I got myself a little too pumped by listening to Reign In Blood start to finish on the drive there. My Sensei’s best mate got me in an armbar and either wasn’t wrenching it properly or I was on another planet, because I was struggling to get out but didn’t feel my arm in any pain. Suddenly I hear him say ‘jords man I’m gunna snap your arm!” so I tapped, and the trainers were saying ‘these are drills, not a real fight! You want your arm for next time!’ I apologised, I think I got a bit of an adrenaline dump. I learnt though, every other time someone got me I tapped straight away. It happened about.... five or six times I reckon. When we switched and I was on top the coaches taught me how to set up an armbar, I knew how cause I’ve seen it a bazillion times but it was so... cool. I performed my first ever armbar!
The submission/wrestling coach has the best accent ever, Polish/South Aussie, can’t get much better than that I don’t think. He was teaching me some great stuff, we were wrestling on the ground and he asked if I was a jui jitsu boy and I said I’d never done jits in my life, which is true. I took that as a compliment, I was doing something right but then he flipped me straight onto my back. I asked, “how’d you do that mate! What’d I do wrong?” I didn’t have enough weight on his body with my head, so he was able to rock me back, and then roll the other way to flip me right over. “Like a see-saw?” I asked, and he smiled. I wanted to learn it from my back, so he told me everything I needed to do to get him off. And I did it! He obviously let me because he is twice my size but it was awesome when he said ‘exactly!” I was exhausted, took some deep breathes, and he says ‘you alright, mate?’. I just replied, ‘that was AWESOME!’ He laughed, patted me on the back and went to help someone else. When we were breaking between sessions we were supposed to be relaxing, and I was jumping around being a manic crazy person. So he says in the best accent ever “you jumping all over when you should relax! Breathe and be calm! You crazy person!”
Best part was at the end, the head trainer said “alright we finish up when Jarrad gets tapped again.” I’m so GULLIBLE I yell “its jordy!” and I can hear my mates laughing in the background, haha the bastard was giving me shit. I almost fell over from laughter next when he said, “alright, we finish up when Jasmine gets tapped again!” Half cause of Dr Perry from Scrubs and also because I’ve been called the wrong name soooo many times, this just cracked me the fuck up. The guy had a really good guillotine/front choke and he got me so easy twice because he is strong as hell. Third time was when the trainer yelled out… it certainly drove me, I held out WAY better despite being EXHAUSTED, didn’t get guillo’d, but he ended up dragging me to the floor. I kept my chin tucked and didn’t get caught for a while until he finally got his hooks around me, got my back and hit me to distract me long enough tp sink da choooke.
I learned of a counter to someone who loves guillos like that, so hopefully next time he tries it I’ll pick him up by his crotch and slam him on his back! Then my balls are in his face. I was also able to get a few sweeps from the bottom that my rolling partners complimented me on, so hopefully I’ll slowly become the only skinny pasty fuckin beast out there that ate so many mushies his dogs mouth morphed into an open jaw of demons and lizards crawling out. And I’m a drummer, I know how to use all my limbs seperately, so that’s gotta help! Bas Rutten plays drums, I think. Steven Quadros definetely does and he knows his stuff.
I love this sport. On The way home I decided on an appropriate drive playilist album to centre myself. It included some Wu Tang, Gang Starr but then I thought, what was the first real music I ever heard?
“If you ever need anything please don’t
hesitate to ask someone else first
I’m too busy acting like im not naïve
I’ve seen it aaaaaaaalllll, I was here fiiiiirst
I’m Very ape. I’m Very nice. Sounds like me.
Kurt ‘alledgly’ had stomach pains his entire life, which was why he sought out so many drugs. Just thinking about that... There is no therapy for me that could outplace Kurt’s music.
RIP
Last night was a really fun, learning experience. I got myself a little too pumped by listening to Reign In Blood start to finish on the drive there. My Sensei’s best mate got me in an armbar and either wasn’t wrenching it properly or I was on another planet, because I was struggling to get out but didn’t feel my arm in any pain. Suddenly I hear him say ‘jords man I’m gunna snap your arm!” so I tapped, and the trainers were saying ‘these are drills, not a real fight! You want your arm for next time!’ I apologised, I think I got a bit of an adrenaline dump. I learnt though, every other time someone got me I tapped straight away. It happened about.... five or six times I reckon. When we switched and I was on top the coaches taught me how to set up an armbar, I knew how cause I’ve seen it a bazillion times but it was so... cool. I performed my first ever armbar!
The submission/wrestling coach has the best accent ever, Polish/South Aussie, can’t get much better than that I don’t think. He was teaching me some great stuff, we were wrestling on the ground and he asked if I was a jui jitsu boy and I said I’d never done jits in my life, which is true. I took that as a compliment, I was doing something right but then he flipped me straight onto my back. I asked, “how’d you do that mate! What’d I do wrong?” I didn’t have enough weight on his body with my head, so he was able to rock me back, and then roll the other way to flip me right over. “Like a see-saw?” I asked, and he smiled. I wanted to learn it from my back, so he told me everything I needed to do to get him off. And I did it! He obviously let me because he is twice my size but it was awesome when he said ‘exactly!” I was exhausted, took some deep breathes, and he says ‘you alright, mate?’. I just replied, ‘that was AWESOME!’ He laughed, patted me on the back and went to help someone else. When we were breaking between sessions we were supposed to be relaxing, and I was jumping around being a manic crazy person. So he says in the best accent ever “you jumping all over when you should relax! Breathe and be calm! You crazy person!”
Best part was at the end, the head trainer said “alright we finish up when Jarrad gets tapped again.” I’m so GULLIBLE I yell “its jordy!” and I can hear my mates laughing in the background, haha the bastard was giving me shit. I almost fell over from laughter next when he said, “alright, we finish up when Jasmine gets tapped again!” Half cause of Dr Perry from Scrubs and also because I’ve been called the wrong name soooo many times, this just cracked me the fuck up. The guy had a really good guillotine/front choke and he got me so easy twice because he is strong as hell. Third time was when the trainer yelled out… it certainly drove me, I held out WAY better despite being EXHAUSTED, didn’t get guillo’d, but he ended up dragging me to the floor. I kept my chin tucked and didn’t get caught for a while until he finally got his hooks around me, got my back and hit me to distract me long enough tp sink da choooke.
I learned of a counter to someone who loves guillos like that, so hopefully next time he tries it I’ll pick him up by his crotch and slam him on his back! Then my balls are in his face. I was also able to get a few sweeps from the bottom that my rolling partners complimented me on, so hopefully I’ll slowly become the only skinny pasty fuckin beast out there that ate so many mushies his dogs mouth morphed into an open jaw of demons and lizards crawling out. And I’m a drummer, I know how to use all my limbs seperately, so that’s gotta help! Bas Rutten plays drums, I think. Steven Quadros definetely does and he knows his stuff.
I love this sport. On The way home I decided on an appropriate drive playilist album to centre myself. It included some Wu Tang, Gang Starr but then I thought, what was the first real music I ever heard?
“If you ever need anything please don’t
hesitate to ask someone else first
I’m too busy acting like im not naïve
I’ve seen it aaaaaaaalllll, I was here fiiiiirst
I’m Very ape. I’m Very nice. Sounds like me.
Kurt ‘alledgly’ had stomach pains his entire life, which was why he sought out so many drugs. Just thinking about that... There is no therapy for me that could outplace Kurt’s music.
RIP
Monday, August 24, 2009
So, it begins....
So.....
I just turned 23, and have tried every drug under the sun while dealing with a six year opiate addiction. I beat it many times but it repeatedly reared its ugly head. I don't even remember making the choice to relapse, each time it was caused by an incident that the little fucker anxiety likes to make as bad as possible. The possibilities of failure are endless when paranoid and suffering from anxiety, but it was my own fault. Each time I beat the shit I'd notice the anxiety dampening, but like a turd doubled back on myself. I've had a six year fucking struggle against myself, quite literally. Being introduced to pot helped the first cold turkey comedown, it lasted a few months until it was time to work. Dollar dollar bills make the fucking world go round and it sickens me. I guess I was destined to become a courier, driving around like a chimp would high on opiates. I barely remember any of the three months, except that I sucked at my job and eventually lost consciousness long enough to see the stationary car in front of me before I hit it at 60km/h. Fate decided it wasn't my turn, the car drifted right as I was out, so the passenger side was completely crushed. If it had drifted right, I probably wouldn't be able to use a computer anymore.
I was next able to escape when I finally moved out from dad's house, about to turn 20 and my new flatmate introduced me to dissociative substances. This sparked a fantastic period that lasted from Oct 07 until Sept 08. Creative, productive, happy. Here was when I got to try amphets of the highest potentcy... it made Megadeth ’07 incredible, but still hazy. But hey, chronic pain is a bitch and when you need money to keep yourself alive, painkillers are a fucking easy thing to turn to. So I helped my Sensei gyprock, tile, gutter, he was a jack of all trades. If I fucked up he'd rip on me for it, the Aussie way. He didn't know, I didn't because i was drug fucked, but that was where things started the slow climb back up hill. Tough fucking love. I worked at it for as long as I could but the pain and the pills were too much, so again, a jobless loser stoner I was. That label was given to me by someone I thought was a friend, more on that in a sec.
After realising half the fucking city can't find work I started trying everything I could find. Had a ball on MDMA, no wonder they used the shit for marriage counseling. Thanks to the US Government for making it illegal and everything for no apparent reason. Pity the same fuckhead mentioned told me how much of a mate he was, and how it was awesome it was that we were living together and the music was gonna be awesome.
Then he stole my rent money and fucked off before I found out. Wouldn't pick up his phone, the pathetic peice of shit. Third strike, I'm waaaay too fucking nice for my own good. Third time he fucked me, the last time was not associating with me for two years because i got too drunk at his girl's uncle's karaoke party. We only spoke when they broke up, and like the chump I was I fucking forgave and forgot.
Tell me, who DOESN'T want to hear WANNABE MY LOVER and Nothing Else Matters by the shittiest band on the planet growled so loud the walls vibrate? Huh? HUH?! Exactly.
Then I took acid for my first and only time. Made every rookie mistake possible, no babysitter, my dog was seven months at the time and after an hour I took the next one. Then I put on 2001: A Space Oddessy. Hahahaha that was was a fucking trip and a half, the trip took the shape of the movie and I thought I could see around everything. Everything was round and in circles. First and only 36 hour trip of my life.
Had mushies about a month later and had my dog's mouth turned inside out, while I looked in the mirror and saw each eye bulging out of its socket rhythmically. Horns also seemed to be growing from my forehead. I saw a video of myself in this state, basically staring at a completely blank wall with an amazed look on my face. Pretty humorous, pity my blackberry got nicked that housed the video. Oh well.
At this point I was really wanting to get off the painkillers but had no motivation to stay clean. All through this time of exploring psychedelics i was on and off codeine, try and failing over and over and over.
Then I was tasked with looking after a house, two cats and an emotional dog. No more selfishness, there was someone else involved. I detoxed like crazy and went rather insane, taking cough lozenges to ease the process.
Next, like the twat I was, I took it and combined with alcohol like a MORON the next weekend. Met heaps of cool people without remembering a single thing. I got dragged into a cab (Apparently) the Friday night and the Sunday morning when I woke up, I had no idea where I was, which suburb, who was nearby, nothing. I then turned and saw a note from my best mate’s girl, saying not to leave, to wake her up and she’d show me the busses. I didn’t really know her because of the painkillers, and since my best mate wasn’t there we just chatted and listened to awesome hip hop. She cooked me eggs and tomatoes since I can’t eat anything with wheat in it. I realised why my mate loves her to bits and when he came around, I invited them around to chill at where I was staying. I got more stoned that I have ever been, no surprise since there were no opiates floating around in my brain, they got drunk. Of course after a bit she became less coherent, not my mate though, guy drinks like a fucking Sherman.
Being clean, I’d think of all these great stories to tell them. And everytime she’d say JORDY, you’ve said this story twenty times! This kept happening over and over throughout the night. It really, really hit me then what the fucking shit did to me. It made the cup half empty. It made me forget... not activities, where I went, but how I felt, what I said and the emotions I was feeling at the time. Six years of drug hazed memories with no feelings. A memory of Scott Ian pointing at me and telling the crowd to follow my lead of going apeshit fucking mental, but no emotion behind that memory, no feeling. Just a story. Its awful.
I still hadn’t learnt my lesson though, had I? Bumping into some random guy on the bus I ended up scoring something I hadn’t tried before. Slow releasing pharms, amphets with a happy feel good feeling that lasted forever. So I took one.... then two...... then three. Had a fucking blast until I’d been awake fifty hours and was in a big unfamiliar house by myself. The paranoia was the scariest thing I have ever experienced. I ended up having to call my dad to come pick me up because I was literally losing my mind. Every tiny miniscule possibility of me fucking up this house I was responsible for, this dog he loves dearly entered my head. I hid things in the craziest of places convinced the cops were gunna come in and find my weed stash, like its a concern of theirs’. It took me soooo long to find my stash, but when I did I instantly remembered putting it there. Weird.
The dude watching over me for my Sensei came around while I was.... a bit chatty and lost it when he saw the messy place, the robitussin packets, told me to shape the fuck up. I apologized profusely and promised change. Then he called me the next day and said I should come down with him to train for my first REAL mixed martial arts training session. I’d learnt stuff from my Sensei, obviously, a fuckload, but we never did ANY real work. We fed off each others laziness which is an easy thing to do, but I learnt soooooo much. Since I was still trying to cope with Celiacs I had a completely empty stomach, so i bought some eggs and made them taste nice with awesome two minute noodle flavouring. Unfortunately, though, two days before this session i was practising at home on a big bag on the floor, keeping a tight side mount and throwing short, HARD forearms to the solar plexus to distract my opponent to give me the mount. I got a little too carried away, and used my already fucked right hand on the bag. Without gloves.
How dumb can one person be?! The hand was still healing after I first missed the striking dummy and gave the hall archway my right hook. It was healing well for a few months until my best mate had a bday party at my house. “Cmon, lets spar man!” A few beers later I forgot that I had a broken hand, and ended up re-fucking it with a body rip.
So I go the training session with a slightly bruised pinky finger and a index finger that has healed backwards, can’t make a fist with it. There’s my motivation to not drink again. Just as we’re in this country town, towards the gym, my FAVOURITE song right now comes the radio. BEASTIE BOYS WITH NAS! I’d been listening to the song hundreds of times, and it comes on and finishes just as we rock up to the car park. Awesome!
The place is incredible. Small country town, beautiful nature, people riding on horses.... and a fat HOWITZER replica next to the gym, which is an ex-farming shed with a white screen door. There is a sledgehammer and tractor tire down the side. No securty, its the Australian country. Everybody knows Everybody.
I go in a bit worried about my cardio and my hand.... and then we start. And I just went. And went. And went. I didn’t stop. I didn’t feel any pain in my hand at all and the 90 minutes felt like 30. Afterwards when it was over, I was wanting more, instead of wanting to quit at the first tinge stomach pain, knee pain, back pain, whatever. When wrestling on the ground, if I’m on the bottom my goal is to get underhooks – sliding my hands between my opponets body and arm, under the shoulder, to get get control of his body, the goal being to get two (double) underhooks and my hands gripped together behind his back. Fishing for underhooks, purely that motion, is what made my slightly bruised pinky turned into a blue and purple swollen mess. Pain is mental, and it can be embraced, or it can be shut out.
I got my back waxed for the first time and for the first half, I meditated through the first half and felt nothing at all. I just focused on my breathing and my own personal visualisation techniques. Then halway through, Brad Pitt slapped me in the face! EMBRACE THE PAIN! DON’T BLOCK IT OUT LIKE THOSE DEAD PEOPLE DO! So for the second half I lied there and focussed solely on the pain. I had to brace myself for the ones down my side as I’m ticklish there, but I embraced the pain completely. And it felt good. A handy lesson when I was about to be invited to experience my first training the next day.
And so here I am, clean as a whistle for... well, i think counting how long i’ve been off is bullshit. I just don’t think about it all together. I found a box of ibuprofen with codeine in the bathroom of the house I’m looking after, and the serpent didn’t even enter my head. It didn’t even come in to say hello. It didn’t even knock. So I laughed and went back to writing my rhymes. I’m a drummer, so I’m gonna be the pastiest cracker rapper you’ll ever see... but I’m a drummer, so I understand the rhythmic element to rhyming.
I’m in the process now of experiencing all the music and movies that meant a lot to me throughout the years.... but I didn’t know why. My subconscious did of course but that’s opiates for you. Now I listen to Anthrax or Gang Starr or LTJ Bukem and I can really feel why I liked them so much as a kid. I bought my first Anthrax album when I was 16, and just listening back to it now I realise it not only defines my personality in its lyrics, but the drumming style of that album is very much a part of my style. The subconscious is a beautiful thing to have access to.
Not having the internet at the house I’m at really helped too, as it can be a timewaster. So here I am at dad’s, trying to put down what has happened over the last three or so weeks. I started a blog the last time I came off with robo, but i deleted it after I convinced myself it was all garbage.
But now the glass is half full. I know what its like to want to take your own life. I have experienced the lowest of lows, struggling against myself inside my head. So now I’m writing a book about a lone sniper, while studying non clincal mental health/advocacy. I know I can help people in trouble with themselves, with drugs, because I’ve been there.
There’s no experience like personal experience.
I just turned 23, and have tried every drug under the sun while dealing with a six year opiate addiction. I beat it many times but it repeatedly reared its ugly head. I don't even remember making the choice to relapse, each time it was caused by an incident that the little fucker anxiety likes to make as bad as possible. The possibilities of failure are endless when paranoid and suffering from anxiety, but it was my own fault. Each time I beat the shit I'd notice the anxiety dampening, but like a turd doubled back on myself. I've had a six year fucking struggle against myself, quite literally. Being introduced to pot helped the first cold turkey comedown, it lasted a few months until it was time to work. Dollar dollar bills make the fucking world go round and it sickens me. I guess I was destined to become a courier, driving around like a chimp would high on opiates. I barely remember any of the three months, except that I sucked at my job and eventually lost consciousness long enough to see the stationary car in front of me before I hit it at 60km/h. Fate decided it wasn't my turn, the car drifted right as I was out, so the passenger side was completely crushed. If it had drifted right, I probably wouldn't be able to use a computer anymore.
I was next able to escape when I finally moved out from dad's house, about to turn 20 and my new flatmate introduced me to dissociative substances. This sparked a fantastic period that lasted from Oct 07 until Sept 08. Creative, productive, happy. Here was when I got to try amphets of the highest potentcy... it made Megadeth ’07 incredible, but still hazy. But hey, chronic pain is a bitch and when you need money to keep yourself alive, painkillers are a fucking easy thing to turn to. So I helped my Sensei gyprock, tile, gutter, he was a jack of all trades. If I fucked up he'd rip on me for it, the Aussie way. He didn't know, I didn't because i was drug fucked, but that was where things started the slow climb back up hill. Tough fucking love. I worked at it for as long as I could but the pain and the pills were too much, so again, a jobless loser stoner I was. That label was given to me by someone I thought was a friend, more on that in a sec.
After realising half the fucking city can't find work I started trying everything I could find. Had a ball on MDMA, no wonder they used the shit for marriage counseling. Thanks to the US Government for making it illegal and everything for no apparent reason. Pity the same fuckhead mentioned told me how much of a mate he was, and how it was awesome it was that we were living together and the music was gonna be awesome.
Then he stole my rent money and fucked off before I found out. Wouldn't pick up his phone, the pathetic peice of shit. Third strike, I'm waaaay too fucking nice for my own good. Third time he fucked me, the last time was not associating with me for two years because i got too drunk at his girl's uncle's karaoke party. We only spoke when they broke up, and like the chump I was I fucking forgave and forgot.
Tell me, who DOESN'T want to hear WANNABE MY LOVER and Nothing Else Matters by the shittiest band on the planet growled so loud the walls vibrate? Huh? HUH?! Exactly.
Then I took acid for my first and only time. Made every rookie mistake possible, no babysitter, my dog was seven months at the time and after an hour I took the next one. Then I put on 2001: A Space Oddessy. Hahahaha that was was a fucking trip and a half, the trip took the shape of the movie and I thought I could see around everything. Everything was round and in circles. First and only 36 hour trip of my life.
Had mushies about a month later and had my dog's mouth turned inside out, while I looked in the mirror and saw each eye bulging out of its socket rhythmically. Horns also seemed to be growing from my forehead. I saw a video of myself in this state, basically staring at a completely blank wall with an amazed look on my face. Pretty humorous, pity my blackberry got nicked that housed the video. Oh well.
At this point I was really wanting to get off the painkillers but had no motivation to stay clean. All through this time of exploring psychedelics i was on and off codeine, try and failing over and over and over.
Then I was tasked with looking after a house, two cats and an emotional dog. No more selfishness, there was someone else involved. I detoxed like crazy and went rather insane, taking cough lozenges to ease the process.
Next, like the twat I was, I took it and combined with alcohol like a MORON the next weekend. Met heaps of cool people without remembering a single thing. I got dragged into a cab (Apparently) the Friday night and the Sunday morning when I woke up, I had no idea where I was, which suburb, who was nearby, nothing. I then turned and saw a note from my best mate’s girl, saying not to leave, to wake her up and she’d show me the busses. I didn’t really know her because of the painkillers, and since my best mate wasn’t there we just chatted and listened to awesome hip hop. She cooked me eggs and tomatoes since I can’t eat anything with wheat in it. I realised why my mate loves her to bits and when he came around, I invited them around to chill at where I was staying. I got more stoned that I have ever been, no surprise since there were no opiates floating around in my brain, they got drunk. Of course after a bit she became less coherent, not my mate though, guy drinks like a fucking Sherman.
Being clean, I’d think of all these great stories to tell them. And everytime she’d say JORDY, you’ve said this story twenty times! This kept happening over and over throughout the night. It really, really hit me then what the fucking shit did to me. It made the cup half empty. It made me forget... not activities, where I went, but how I felt, what I said and the emotions I was feeling at the time. Six years of drug hazed memories with no feelings. A memory of Scott Ian pointing at me and telling the crowd to follow my lead of going apeshit fucking mental, but no emotion behind that memory, no feeling. Just a story. Its awful.
I still hadn’t learnt my lesson though, had I? Bumping into some random guy on the bus I ended up scoring something I hadn’t tried before. Slow releasing pharms, amphets with a happy feel good feeling that lasted forever. So I took one.... then two...... then three. Had a fucking blast until I’d been awake fifty hours and was in a big unfamiliar house by myself. The paranoia was the scariest thing I have ever experienced. I ended up having to call my dad to come pick me up because I was literally losing my mind. Every tiny miniscule possibility of me fucking up this house I was responsible for, this dog he loves dearly entered my head. I hid things in the craziest of places convinced the cops were gunna come in and find my weed stash, like its a concern of theirs’. It took me soooo long to find my stash, but when I did I instantly remembered putting it there. Weird.
The dude watching over me for my Sensei came around while I was.... a bit chatty and lost it when he saw the messy place, the robitussin packets, told me to shape the fuck up. I apologized profusely and promised change. Then he called me the next day and said I should come down with him to train for my first REAL mixed martial arts training session. I’d learnt stuff from my Sensei, obviously, a fuckload, but we never did ANY real work. We fed off each others laziness which is an easy thing to do, but I learnt soooooo much. Since I was still trying to cope with Celiacs I had a completely empty stomach, so i bought some eggs and made them taste nice with awesome two minute noodle flavouring. Unfortunately, though, two days before this session i was practising at home on a big bag on the floor, keeping a tight side mount and throwing short, HARD forearms to the solar plexus to distract my opponent to give me the mount. I got a little too carried away, and used my already fucked right hand on the bag. Without gloves.
How dumb can one person be?! The hand was still healing after I first missed the striking dummy and gave the hall archway my right hook. It was healing well for a few months until my best mate had a bday party at my house. “Cmon, lets spar man!” A few beers later I forgot that I had a broken hand, and ended up re-fucking it with a body rip.
So I go the training session with a slightly bruised pinky finger and a index finger that has healed backwards, can’t make a fist with it. There’s my motivation to not drink again. Just as we’re in this country town, towards the gym, my FAVOURITE song right now comes the radio. BEASTIE BOYS WITH NAS! I’d been listening to the song hundreds of times, and it comes on and finishes just as we rock up to the car park. Awesome!
The place is incredible. Small country town, beautiful nature, people riding on horses.... and a fat HOWITZER replica next to the gym, which is an ex-farming shed with a white screen door. There is a sledgehammer and tractor tire down the side. No securty, its the Australian country. Everybody knows Everybody.
I go in a bit worried about my cardio and my hand.... and then we start. And I just went. And went. And went. I didn’t stop. I didn’t feel any pain in my hand at all and the 90 minutes felt like 30. Afterwards when it was over, I was wanting more, instead of wanting to quit at the first tinge stomach pain, knee pain, back pain, whatever. When wrestling on the ground, if I’m on the bottom my goal is to get underhooks – sliding my hands between my opponets body and arm, under the shoulder, to get get control of his body, the goal being to get two (double) underhooks and my hands gripped together behind his back. Fishing for underhooks, purely that motion, is what made my slightly bruised pinky turned into a blue and purple swollen mess. Pain is mental, and it can be embraced, or it can be shut out.
I got my back waxed for the first time and for the first half, I meditated through the first half and felt nothing at all. I just focused on my breathing and my own personal visualisation techniques. Then halway through, Brad Pitt slapped me in the face! EMBRACE THE PAIN! DON’T BLOCK IT OUT LIKE THOSE DEAD PEOPLE DO! So for the second half I lied there and focussed solely on the pain. I had to brace myself for the ones down my side as I’m ticklish there, but I embraced the pain completely. And it felt good. A handy lesson when I was about to be invited to experience my first training the next day.
And so here I am, clean as a whistle for... well, i think counting how long i’ve been off is bullshit. I just don’t think about it all together. I found a box of ibuprofen with codeine in the bathroom of the house I’m looking after, and the serpent didn’t even enter my head. It didn’t even come in to say hello. It didn’t even knock. So I laughed and went back to writing my rhymes. I’m a drummer, so I’m gonna be the pastiest cracker rapper you’ll ever see... but I’m a drummer, so I understand the rhythmic element to rhyming.
I’m in the process now of experiencing all the music and movies that meant a lot to me throughout the years.... but I didn’t know why. My subconscious did of course but that’s opiates for you. Now I listen to Anthrax or Gang Starr or LTJ Bukem and I can really feel why I liked them so much as a kid. I bought my first Anthrax album when I was 16, and just listening back to it now I realise it not only defines my personality in its lyrics, but the drumming style of that album is very much a part of my style. The subconscious is a beautiful thing to have access to.
Not having the internet at the house I’m at really helped too, as it can be a timewaster. So here I am at dad’s, trying to put down what has happened over the last three or so weeks. I started a blog the last time I came off with robo, but i deleted it after I convinced myself it was all garbage.
But now the glass is half full. I know what its like to want to take your own life. I have experienced the lowest of lows, struggling against myself inside my head. So now I’m writing a book about a lone sniper, while studying non clincal mental health/advocacy. I know I can help people in trouble with themselves, with drugs, because I’ve been there.
There’s no experience like personal experience.
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