It's getting cold up here, man. I have been thinking about Oscar so much lately. Today I started giggling at him while I was building some little platforms to paint on. I get so fucking sensitive about shit like that. It often lasts for years. I was outside screwing scraps of wood together, thinking. As they say, "One man's trash is another man's treasure." I guess.
I was dating a girl for a little bit when we adopted him. We were together for a couple of years or however long. I don't even know what that was to be honest. Oscar lived with me though. As always I fucked it all up again somehow and she split for some other dude. I just don't like being up someone's ass 24/7 nor do I like it happening to me. I'm not gonna do anything wrong if you just give me space. I don't give a shit what you do, just don't lie or cheat, I'll do the same and we are golden. Simple, right?
So, growing up with her around a lot, she was his fucking Mom. Then she wasn't around and it was just us and a bunch of Hollywood leftovers for quite a while (If you know what I mean). So She pops back up many months later and we are hanging out again. Not like before but trying to remain friends type of shit. We had a pretty heavy relationship. Extremely complicated. We are still cool. I don't give a fuck what she does anymore and she is the same but we are pretty protective of each other still. Like a don't fucking hurt her or I will cut you really bad type of thing. Dig?
Oscar was apparently the same way. I think we went to lunch one day or something and went back to my place. She wanted to see Oscar. I had to do something to my car so we were outside and I was messing with my car, she and Oscar were sitting outside in the grass. This person came walking by with their dog and it went up to the girl I have been talking about. It was just going up to sniff her or something. Nothing bad. Oscar flipped the fuck out. He was snarling and barking. He never did shit like that. EVER. He was very passive actually. Not that day. I actually had to go and calm him down.
Oscar wouldn't even bark if there was a knock at the door. He would just walk over and stand there staring at it. That is how I would know if someone came over when I had my headphones on or the music up too loud. It's like, "Hey Dad, someone is knocking. Don't worry though, I won't say nothing." Good thing for socks and peepholes because a lot of the time I "wasn't home" so to speak.
Another time, I was laying on the floor drinking whiskey and reading a book. Johnny Cash's first book The Man in Black. It was probably around midnight. I lived off of Sunset Blvd. near the strip. A lot of party spots and shit right there so I could hear the people laughing and having a good time up the block. It was a nice night. Just me and my son chilling' out. I would sometimes buy Oscar a beer. He loved beer. I would always get him a good one. I guess they were good ones, I would pick out whatever label looked coolest to me, that was how I would choose. I really don't like beer at all. To me it is like drinking a loaf of bread that tastes like dehydrated mule excrement or ear wax. Ever ate your own ear wax? I tried it once when I was about 8 years old. It is gross. I can swing Rolling Rock or Coor's light. It's like water, that's why. Anyway, Oscar had is beer and I was sipping whiskey, reading, beautiful night... I set two glasses up next to me and put a shot in each. Plopped back down on the rug and started reading again. He stumbles over and licks me across the face then he just stared at me. I grabbed my shot and cocked it back. He shoved his tongue into the other glass of whiskey and started growling. He was showing teeth and pissed. He didn't like that at all!!! I was laughing so hard. It' was like he got bummed out with me and walked away, kept looking back at me all fucking mad. I guess he thought I was trying to pull a prank on him. I wish someone else was there to see it. I nailed that fucker back too and then walked over to him but he wasn't having it with me. He was mad at me. He ignored me for about an hour afterwards. Then we went to bed and cuddled and he got over it.
THE END
Friday, September 28, 2018
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
I Miss Him...
I love you Oscar.
Thursday, September 20, 2018
It's Good Food...
I had the strangest dream last night. It was so vivid and I have been thinking about it for hours.
I was driving a Jeep, like a Daisy Duke kinda Jeep. A female police officer rear ended me at stop light. We pulled into a store parking lot to check it out. It wasn't bad and there was no damage to either vehicle so we just shook on it and she took off. For whatever reason there was a toddler in her car too. I remember wondering why but I don't know... Again, it was very vivid.
I decided to go into the store. It was like a Target type of place and I ran into a couple of friends, said hello and all that. I ran into my friend Anya and were in a check-out line just talking. I never bought anything, I was just in line for some reason. She pays for her things and I walk on through the line. I was just standing there and people were walking by, I'm still in the store. This black man walks in. He is obviously homeless. He was barefooted, and his hair was all messy and dripping with sheen. Imagine a filthy Easy-E but no shades or hat, totally dirty and without shoes. That is the best way to describe him. He was pushing a cart. Not a shopping cart either. It was like a small canvas cart. I was just watching him and he started handing out magazines to people. The magazines looked brand new and he comes up to me and gives me one. He says, "It's good food."
I take the magazine and it was a cookbook, magazine. I look at him and the him thank him. He just stands there staring at me with grease dripping from his hair, then points up his index finger as in telling me to hold on. Then starts rummaging in his little cart thing again. I am just standing there and he pulls out a cloth with something wrapped inside of it. Inside is a severed hand with tattoos of writings all over it. It wasn't all bloody or anything. It was like it had been cleaned. It was just a severed hand with a stump at the wrist, as if all the blood had already dried. He hands it to me and I take it. I'm looking at the hand and all the tattoos are addresses and names with dates under them. I am reading it and he is just standing there watching me. I wrap it back up and give it back to him. He puts it away and does the finger motion again as if he wants me to wait. Then he pulls out a small box with plastic draped over the side and a large ladle. A big soup ladle. Now keep in mind of his appearance. Then he see sets the box on a check-out counter, meanwhile people are just casually walking by as this is going on. He dips the ladle into the box and fills it with this black, tar looking liquid that is now dripping over the edge of the large spoon. He goes to hand it to me but I decline, so he shrugs like "okay then" and dumps it over his head. Now he has all this black greasy shit running down his face, onto his dirty clothes and barefoot onto the floor. He puts the box back into his cart and rolls it away, out the door.
The only words he ever spoke were, "It's good food. The rest were simply hand gestures.
Another strange part of the dream is that not once did I feel afraid or intimidated, shocked. Nothing.
Then I woke up. I am still thinking about it though.
I was driving a Jeep, like a Daisy Duke kinda Jeep. A female police officer rear ended me at stop light. We pulled into a store parking lot to check it out. It wasn't bad and there was no damage to either vehicle so we just shook on it and she took off. For whatever reason there was a toddler in her car too. I remember wondering why but I don't know... Again, it was very vivid.
I decided to go into the store. It was like a Target type of place and I ran into a couple of friends, said hello and all that. I ran into my friend Anya and were in a check-out line just talking. I never bought anything, I was just in line for some reason. She pays for her things and I walk on through the line. I was just standing there and people were walking by, I'm still in the store. This black man walks in. He is obviously homeless. He was barefooted, and his hair was all messy and dripping with sheen. Imagine a filthy Easy-E but no shades or hat, totally dirty and without shoes. That is the best way to describe him. He was pushing a cart. Not a shopping cart either. It was like a small canvas cart. I was just watching him and he started handing out magazines to people. The magazines looked brand new and he comes up to me and gives me one. He says, "It's good food."
I take the magazine and it was a cookbook, magazine. I look at him and the him thank him. He just stands there staring at me with grease dripping from his hair, then points up his index finger as in telling me to hold on. Then starts rummaging in his little cart thing again. I am just standing there and he pulls out a cloth with something wrapped inside of it. Inside is a severed hand with tattoos of writings all over it. It wasn't all bloody or anything. It was like it had been cleaned. It was just a severed hand with a stump at the wrist, as if all the blood had already dried. He hands it to me and I take it. I'm looking at the hand and all the tattoos are addresses and names with dates under them. I am reading it and he is just standing there watching me. I wrap it back up and give it back to him. He puts it away and does the finger motion again as if he wants me to wait. Then he pulls out a small box with plastic draped over the side and a large ladle. A big soup ladle. Now keep in mind of his appearance. Then he see sets the box on a check-out counter, meanwhile people are just casually walking by as this is going on. He dips the ladle into the box and fills it with this black, tar looking liquid that is now dripping over the edge of the large spoon. He goes to hand it to me but I decline, so he shrugs like "okay then" and dumps it over his head. Now he has all this black greasy shit running down his face, onto his dirty clothes and barefoot onto the floor. He puts the box back into his cart and rolls it away, out the door.
The only words he ever spoke were, "It's good food. The rest were simply hand gestures.
Another strange part of the dream is that not once did I feel afraid or intimidated, shocked. Nothing.
Then I woke up. I am still thinking about it though.
Monday, July 9, 2018
Well, Fuck Me Runnin'...
Last night I was a murderer. It was a strange dream. I killed my friend's Mother and don't even fucking know why. All I remember is that I was bashing her head in with my bare hands. I kept on smashing away with every part of my fists. It's like the dream a started right there. No dream foreplay what so ever...We were in a living room and my adrenaline was going crazy, I was going crazy. Then I dragged her into the corner of the room and propped her sloppy body there.
I walked out of the apartment and down the street to my girlfriend's house (who happened to be portrayed by one of my old neighbors in Hollywood). "Did you do it?" - "Yeah, but I have to go, give me a t-shirt." She kissed me. Then I ran down to this area that looked like the Metarie side of Lake Ponchartrain's bank. It was freezing and I slept on a bench there. The next morning I woke up and my friend was calling me. He told me what happened and I had to identify his Mother's body for whatever reason. So, I went to do that. The cops were questioning me and I played surprised and dumb. They let me go and I went back to my girlfriend's place. It was trashed. It looked like a party was had or something. Ashtrays, meth bags and booze bottles, clothes scattered everywhere... Just a big fucking mess. She was laying in bed in a t-shirt and panties and someone was in the bathroom. I could hear whomever taking a piss. (I still don't know why I killed that woman. In real life she always annoyed me so maybe that is why my brain went there. In my dream, I was so stressed out.) I shook my girl awake and asked what had happened, what was going on... Then she started screaming at me and hitting me as a guy came out of the bathroom. He looked like Kid Rock but he wasn't, just that vibe. I flip the fuck out and he and I start going at it while she is still freaking out, screaming, punching and scratching me. Furniture going everywhere. It was hectic, like it was real or something. Fucking drama, man. I ended up smashing that dude's head in too, but I used a jam box to do it. Then I dragged her nutty ass out into the yard by her shirt. Started smashing her face in and stabbed her to death with a broken stick. After that I grabbed a sledgehammer from the shed and I took off running again. Woke up later in the evening next to a fire with an old man sitting next to me. It was freezing again. He was rubbing my hair back and staring at me. Then I really woke up all stressed out, shaking, confused. Not even a nightmare. More like a pain in the ass. At least I didn't end up in prison. Shit.
I need a bike ride and a Coke.
I walked out of the apartment and down the street to my girlfriend's house (who happened to be portrayed by one of my old neighbors in Hollywood). "Did you do it?" - "Yeah, but I have to go, give me a t-shirt." She kissed me. Then I ran down to this area that looked like the Metarie side of Lake Ponchartrain's bank. It was freezing and I slept on a bench there. The next morning I woke up and my friend was calling me. He told me what happened and I had to identify his Mother's body for whatever reason. So, I went to do that. The cops were questioning me and I played surprised and dumb. They let me go and I went back to my girlfriend's place. It was trashed. It looked like a party was had or something. Ashtrays, meth bags and booze bottles, clothes scattered everywhere... Just a big fucking mess. She was laying in bed in a t-shirt and panties and someone was in the bathroom. I could hear whomever taking a piss. (I still don't know why I killed that woman. In real life she always annoyed me so maybe that is why my brain went there. In my dream, I was so stressed out.) I shook my girl awake and asked what had happened, what was going on... Then she started screaming at me and hitting me as a guy came out of the bathroom. He looked like Kid Rock but he wasn't, just that vibe. I flip the fuck out and he and I start going at it while she is still freaking out, screaming, punching and scratching me. Furniture going everywhere. It was hectic, like it was real or something. Fucking drama, man. I ended up smashing that dude's head in too, but I used a jam box to do it. Then I dragged her nutty ass out into the yard by her shirt. Started smashing her face in and stabbed her to death with a broken stick. After that I grabbed a sledgehammer from the shed and I took off running again. Woke up later in the evening next to a fire with an old man sitting next to me. It was freezing again. He was rubbing my hair back and staring at me. Then I really woke up all stressed out, shaking, confused. Not even a nightmare. More like a pain in the ass. At least I didn't end up in prison. Shit.
I need a bike ride and a Coke.
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
Here I Go Thinking Out Loud Again...
Yesterday was interesting even though I didn't really do a whole lot. Thought a lot. I woke up around 7AM today which isn't abnormal really. The way that I function is strange, well maybe it isn't. I can't tell. Maybe it's completely normal.
The reason that I am writing about this is because I was having a conversation with my buddy last night after work. I usually plan shit to where I can multi-task as I move throughout my day. Like, if I see a board or whatever that I know I want to paint on I always put it aside neatly to prep for whatever I am gonna do with it. I have a stack. Then as my days progress I always have something there to fuck with in "the meantime" of everything else I may have going on. Like as I am moving along I am also prepping for the next idea. What time I am gonna start whatever it is and all that like at least a day in advance sometimes more. Like yesterday I had to work all day today so I prepped for 2 days ahead since I was going to lose one... Get it? Makes sense to me somehow.
A huge run-on paragraph:
For instance, today I knew I had to mow the lawn. It's the day I chose this week and is one of my chores, therefore it gets slapped into my routine. So, I woke up early and poisoned a bunch of weeds and thistles before most people would wake up. I didn't want to be mowing while my friend or the neighbors are sleeping so I started there. It's quiet. Yesterday I worked at the shop, so in my down time I started organizing everything for a picture that I wanted to start drawing today, which I did start. After the poison shit I came inside and set my stuff out to draw for later. Ran downstairs and started a painting for another idea that I had. That shit has to dry so I ran back upstairs and started organizing my clothes to wash while listening to some tracks that I am working on. Checked my emails and all that shit then went and layed another small coat on the painting. Went outside to mow as the paint dried again. Cut the grass then put that shit away. Got it over with early so I could do other things that I enjoy doing with the rest of the day. Now it's like 10:30 AM or so. The way I work is if the yard was on my mind the whole time, I would not be able to focus on anything else that I want to do. Took my bike to the store for a soda. Most like coffee, I like a Coke. Came back, threw that in the fridge and went to breakfast with my friend. Got home and finished a shirt I am messing with (can't be dressing like a fucking robot) then threw the laundry in the wash. I was waiting to finish the shirt before I washed everything. More painting. Back upstairs. I sat down and tried to watch TV for a bit but dozed off. Short nap. Got up, threw the clothes in the dryer and checked the painting. It can wait because I had to start the drawing. My stuff was already layed out. Got that drawing mapped out then took a shower. Wanted to wait till I was good and dirty.
Now, I am finishing this writing as to wind down and add to this blog page which is another stupid project I started. Alright. It is 10:20 PM now. Time for folding clothes, sunflower seeds, my soda and a horror flick. Then zzzzzzz and start over again. That's my day pretty much every day. Different chores though. I try to do those first as you can see. Get that shit over with first while other stuff is in the oven. Lazy motherfucker huh?
Now, I am finishing this writing as to wind down and add to this blog page which is another stupid project I started. Alright. It is 10:20 PM now. Time for folding clothes, sunflower seeds, my soda and a horror flick. Then zzzzzzz and start over again. That's my day pretty much every day. Different chores though. I try to do those first as you can see. Get that shit over with first while other stuff is in the oven. Lazy motherfucker huh?
Website coming soon. 
Sunday, July 1, 2018
Welcome to Humidity City...
It's been really hot the last few days. I was sitting down, working on some music and I took my headphones off. It's raining!!!!! Man, the last couple of nights have been a bitch to sleep through. The heat gets trapped inside of the house and and there is no A/C. I was sweating like crazy, tossing and turning, sticking to the sheets and itching. I was pissed as fuck. It reminded me of withdrawals.
I was going to cut the grass earlier but it was so hot I figured I would wait until this evening when it cools down a bit, then it rains... The yard can wait a couple more days anyway. It really isn't that bad. I potted some cherry pits and some lemon seeds the other day. Guess I will see if they sprout. Earlier I did some jalapeño seeds. If all of that shit sprouts then I will be surprised. If not then fuck it, it was fun I guess. Other than that I have been painting and drawing a lot. Music stuff too. I wrote another punk riff. Getting that harder itch again. Not metal really but just nasty punk/rock -n- roll shit. Not cute either. Really mean and raw. Cut throat shit. I can't do cute at all. Everything has to be fucked up to a degree for me to get it. To understand it. Maybe once I start pushing this acoustic shit I will meet some musicians out here and start beating the piss out of harder stuff again. We shall see. It would be interesting.
I may have mentioned the gas station lady in another writing. She works down the street at Mobile. I am not attracted to her at all but she always smells good and is really nice. I think she is from Russia or some shit like that. She is super cool and reminds me of someone that my Dad would be friends with. Not sexually but like a friend of his' wife or something. Not a really nice way to word it but like someone who would run in the same circe of friends as his or whatever. He has some rad friends but definitely not the type that you would want to cross type of folks. Make sense? Probably not. If they like you then they love you and if they don't then just go find some other motherfuckers to hang out with types. I like that shit. The kind of people who can whip your fucking ass but can also sit back and cry in front of you. The ones who know that they can confide in you and trust you. The kind who let you know without any baby bullshit when you you are being an asshole and fucking up. The kind who understand you and won't let you fall or leave you hungry. That shit goes both ways too because they are the kind that you would listen to and also reciprocate the same actions when the tables turn. That is real friendship. My Dad is a prick but I know the other side so it keeps me in check. For instance... I can slap the shit out of him but if I see someone else do it, it's fucking on. I have done both so that ain't just talk either. So has he. I am rambling now.
Anyway, that Mobile chick reminds me of those types. It's cool because we are friends kinda. I go there just about every day for sunflower seeds or a soda or whatever.We shoot the shit and laugh. I am usually alone so it's nice to have an "outsider" to crack jokes and short talk sometimes. She was mopping last week and I told her that I could see her ass crack. I wasn't being dirty, just fucking with her. She said something back but I couldn't understand her because of her accent. She seemed kinda pissy. I told her it was a joke and I hear it all the time too. My ass crack is always showing. My ass cheeks are made up of nothing but a slit that goes from the top of my thighs and up my lower back. My butt cheeks are basically non-existent. Who cares? I would be a gay man's worst lover. His buddies would probably laugh at him. My girlfriends always have picked on my tiny butt. They call it cute. Good thing I ain't gay, I guess. What would a queer call it? Absent?
I saw her gas station lady, the other day and she was short with me. Maybe she is bummed with me. I didn't really do anything. Maybe she has something else going on... Fuck it. What can you do? This is the stupidest blog that I have ever written. Gonna go draw. Maybe I am just so happy about the rain.
Now the sun is out again... Motherfucker. Humidity City.
I was going to cut the grass earlier but it was so hot I figured I would wait until this evening when it cools down a bit, then it rains... The yard can wait a couple more days anyway. It really isn't that bad. I potted some cherry pits and some lemon seeds the other day. Guess I will see if they sprout. Earlier I did some jalapeño seeds. If all of that shit sprouts then I will be surprised. If not then fuck it, it was fun I guess. Other than that I have been painting and drawing a lot. Music stuff too. I wrote another punk riff. Getting that harder itch again. Not metal really but just nasty punk/rock -n- roll shit. Not cute either. Really mean and raw. Cut throat shit. I can't do cute at all. Everything has to be fucked up to a degree for me to get it. To understand it. Maybe once I start pushing this acoustic shit I will meet some musicians out here and start beating the piss out of harder stuff again. We shall see. It would be interesting.
I may have mentioned the gas station lady in another writing. She works down the street at Mobile. I am not attracted to her at all but she always smells good and is really nice. I think she is from Russia or some shit like that. She is super cool and reminds me of someone that my Dad would be friends with. Not sexually but like a friend of his' wife or something. Not a really nice way to word it but like someone who would run in the same circe of friends as his or whatever. He has some rad friends but definitely not the type that you would want to cross type of folks. Make sense? Probably not. If they like you then they love you and if they don't then just go find some other motherfuckers to hang out with types. I like that shit. The kind of people who can whip your fucking ass but can also sit back and cry in front of you. The ones who know that they can confide in you and trust you. The kind who let you know without any baby bullshit when you you are being an asshole and fucking up. The kind who understand you and won't let you fall or leave you hungry. That shit goes both ways too because they are the kind that you would listen to and also reciprocate the same actions when the tables turn. That is real friendship. My Dad is a prick but I know the other side so it keeps me in check. For instance... I can slap the shit out of him but if I see someone else do it, it's fucking on. I have done both so that ain't just talk either. So has he. I am rambling now.
Anyway, that Mobile chick reminds me of those types. It's cool because we are friends kinda. I go there just about every day for sunflower seeds or a soda or whatever.We shoot the shit and laugh. I am usually alone so it's nice to have an "outsider" to crack jokes and short talk sometimes. She was mopping last week and I told her that I could see her ass crack. I wasn't being dirty, just fucking with her. She said something back but I couldn't understand her because of her accent. She seemed kinda pissy. I told her it was a joke and I hear it all the time too. My ass crack is always showing. My ass cheeks are made up of nothing but a slit that goes from the top of my thighs and up my lower back. My butt cheeks are basically non-existent. Who cares? I would be a gay man's worst lover. His buddies would probably laugh at him. My girlfriends always have picked on my tiny butt. They call it cute. Good thing I ain't gay, I guess. What would a queer call it? Absent?
I saw her gas station lady, the other day and she was short with me. Maybe she is bummed with me. I didn't really do anything. Maybe she has something else going on... Fuck it. What can you do? This is the stupidest blog that I have ever written. Gonna go draw. Maybe I am just so happy about the rain.
Now the sun is out again... Motherfucker. Humidity City.
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
Delirium and other Delicacies...
Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have taken a nap today, well yesterday. I knew it. My sleeping patterns are all over the place so I have been trying to get up really early and blast through the day then turn off around 10PM and go to bed before midnight. Balance everything out that way I can work through the day and watch movies at night, then fall asleep. They put me to sleep. I need some kind of background noise like music or movies to crash out, otherwise my head won't shut off. I get distracted all up in there and end up pacing the floor for a while or bouncing back and forth with different shit that I am trying to create. There is no fucking off switch in my head. Like tonight, I just can't focus so I am screwed which is why I am wide awake at 5:46AM typing this unimportant bullshit. Maybe staring at a screen will make me sleepy. If so it probably won't happen until around 8AM...if I am lucky. It is so fucked up. Then when I start playing out again, everything will flip around. So, why bother trying to harness anything when it's just uncontrollable in the first place?? I ain't into pill popping and all that shit either so there goes that idea. Out the window. Melatonin does absolutely nothing.
In other news, I don't like drinking out of plastic containers so I buy glass ones to store water and tea in. I boil the water and when it cools dump it into the glass containers. Old milk or juice bottles. I was watching some movie and got up to walk around. I saw a bottle of apple cider vinegar on the counter and grabbed it. Grabbed it, took off the cap then realized that it wasn't one of my water bottles just as I was about to take a huge chug of that shit. I was about to fucking go for it too. Man, that would've sucked a bag of dicks so bad. Probably would've started coughing and puking... Who knows? Thank whatever that I didn't find out the hard way though. Fuck this, I am gonna try another movie. This is senseless rattle. I am a little tired now. I am so fucking bored... maybe that helped.
~Bye~
~Hello again~
Well that went along just as I figured it would but definitely not part of the plan. I watched 1/2 of a movie and zonked out then woke up around 10:15AM. Best (insert sarcasm) part is that I woke up to a voicemail from my Mother to let me know that my Grandfather had passed away this morning. He has been ill for quite some time now, and in the hospital. It was inevitable to say the least. As sad as it is to face the truth, it was also expected. So, I went for a bike ride on The Plymouth Whip. That thing rides smooth. Thought a bit.
My Mother's Father was 80ish, maybe early 80's in years. I don't know that exactly. He was a cool cat from what I knew/know about him but he definitely battled his demons. He was a heavy drinker in his prime and had 7 kids total. He gave up drinking with some treatment and through working the program. From what I have gathered throughout the years is that there was an extended period of time where most of his own children wouldn't even speak to him. I ain't one to talk. I didn't know him like they did. He was always the same man to me. Well, somehow he managed to dig himself out of all that mess. He was a heavy smoker for most of his life as well and even fought off lung cancer not so long ago. He definitely saw his share of shit. Put it that way.
When I was a kid and would see him which was not all that often, he loved fucking with me. He would tell me that he had a fake eyeball and that I better behave or else he was gonna pop it out. That would scare the shit out of me. Other times he would just call me over and pretend he was digging it out to simply show me. He didn't have a fake eye. At least I don't think he did. It used to scare the shit out of me though. He would laugh about it. He also smoked a tobacco pipe. I loved the smell of it. The best way for me to describe him is that he looked like Popeye's dad from the Robin Williams movie back in the early 80's or whenever that was that it came out. He always reminded me of that character. I told him that once as an adult and he got a chuckle out of it, "Could be worse I guess."
Everyone knew it was coming. Yet, most people don't want to admit death's arrival is nearing. Those people come up with all of this "woe is me crap, I am losing a loved one". I call bullshit. Most but not all of those people are just crying for attention and losing a close friend or family member is first class in self loathing department. Everybody wiping your little butt and and all that. They died dumbass, not you. Not yet at least. It's fucking true and if you are reading this you know it is. Most people are selfish maggots in my opinion. I have been there. What trips me out is that the worst ones with said behavior are the ones who get everything handed to them anyways.
A close family member and I were talking about this event about to turn the corner just a matter of days ago. He told me that he was "breaking apart or down". Something like that. Mind you this is a man who never bothered to call the now deceased in the first place. They would talk on occasion but to set it straight, he barely even knew the man aside from family holiday crap and all that type of crud. He asked me what I thought and basically why wasn't I all bummed out and mopey about the situation. This was roughly my response, though not verbatim yet in a nutshell I said:
~ Well man, the way I see it is like this. You weren't close enough to him to be breaking apart or being over dramatic about it. It would be selfish of me to feel that way or behave that way because I wasn't either. Yes, I loved him and the time we spent together. He is my Grandfather. He had a long life when he shouldn't have. With all the shit he has been through he should've died years ago to tell you the truth but he wasn't and ain't ready yet I guess. Shit, now that I am thinking about it, I should be dead by now too. To me acting surprised about his approaching demise is fucking ludicrous. He had already avoided death so many times while fighting off his demons and illnesses, had a nice sized litter of kids and lived to be this age to smile about it? I say he is ready. I think he knows it too. Yes, I love him and as selfish as it may sound, Godspeed to him. ~
He didn't like that answer. It's the truth though isn't it? Think fucking logically. People hate the God damned truth. That's why they lie so fucking much. Fact. They also hate admitting when they are proved wrong. Well, I may have to fly out to NOLA tomorrow if I can make the funeral. I'll know later today. I apologize if this read got a little morbid but then again never mind. I don't.
In other news, I don't like drinking out of plastic containers so I buy glass ones to store water and tea in. I boil the water and when it cools dump it into the glass containers. Old milk or juice bottles. I was watching some movie and got up to walk around. I saw a bottle of apple cider vinegar on the counter and grabbed it. Grabbed it, took off the cap then realized that it wasn't one of my water bottles just as I was about to take a huge chug of that shit. I was about to fucking go for it too. Man, that would've sucked a bag of dicks so bad. Probably would've started coughing and puking... Who knows? Thank whatever that I didn't find out the hard way though. Fuck this, I am gonna try another movie. This is senseless rattle. I am a little tired now. I am so fucking bored... maybe that helped.
~Bye~
~Hello again~
Well that went along just as I figured it would but definitely not part of the plan. I watched 1/2 of a movie and zonked out then woke up around 10:15AM. Best (insert sarcasm) part is that I woke up to a voicemail from my Mother to let me know that my Grandfather had passed away this morning. He has been ill for quite some time now, and in the hospital. It was inevitable to say the least. As sad as it is to face the truth, it was also expected. So, I went for a bike ride on The Plymouth Whip. That thing rides smooth. Thought a bit.
My Mother's Father was 80ish, maybe early 80's in years. I don't know that exactly. He was a cool cat from what I knew/know about him but he definitely battled his demons. He was a heavy drinker in his prime and had 7 kids total. He gave up drinking with some treatment and through working the program. From what I have gathered throughout the years is that there was an extended period of time where most of his own children wouldn't even speak to him. I ain't one to talk. I didn't know him like they did. He was always the same man to me. Well, somehow he managed to dig himself out of all that mess. He was a heavy smoker for most of his life as well and even fought off lung cancer not so long ago. He definitely saw his share of shit. Put it that way.
When I was a kid and would see him which was not all that often, he loved fucking with me. He would tell me that he had a fake eyeball and that I better behave or else he was gonna pop it out. That would scare the shit out of me. Other times he would just call me over and pretend he was digging it out to simply show me. He didn't have a fake eye. At least I don't think he did. It used to scare the shit out of me though. He would laugh about it. He also smoked a tobacco pipe. I loved the smell of it. The best way for me to describe him is that he looked like Popeye's dad from the Robin Williams movie back in the early 80's or whenever that was that it came out. He always reminded me of that character. I told him that once as an adult and he got a chuckle out of it, "Could be worse I guess."
Everyone knew it was coming. Yet, most people don't want to admit death's arrival is nearing. Those people come up with all of this "woe is me crap, I am losing a loved one". I call bullshit. Most but not all of those people are just crying for attention and losing a close friend or family member is first class in self loathing department. Everybody wiping your little butt and and all that. They died dumbass, not you. Not yet at least. It's fucking true and if you are reading this you know it is. Most people are selfish maggots in my opinion. I have been there. What trips me out is that the worst ones with said behavior are the ones who get everything handed to them anyways.
A close family member and I were talking about this event about to turn the corner just a matter of days ago. He told me that he was "breaking apart or down". Something like that. Mind you this is a man who never bothered to call the now deceased in the first place. They would talk on occasion but to set it straight, he barely even knew the man aside from family holiday crap and all that type of crud. He asked me what I thought and basically why wasn't I all bummed out and mopey about the situation. This was roughly my response, though not verbatim yet in a nutshell I said:
~ Well man, the way I see it is like this. You weren't close enough to him to be breaking apart or being over dramatic about it. It would be selfish of me to feel that way or behave that way because I wasn't either. Yes, I loved him and the time we spent together. He is my Grandfather. He had a long life when he shouldn't have. With all the shit he has been through he should've died years ago to tell you the truth but he wasn't and ain't ready yet I guess. Shit, now that I am thinking about it, I should be dead by now too. To me acting surprised about his approaching demise is fucking ludicrous. He had already avoided death so many times while fighting off his demons and illnesses, had a nice sized litter of kids and lived to be this age to smile about it? I say he is ready. I think he knows it too. Yes, I love him and as selfish as it may sound, Godspeed to him. ~
He didn't like that answer. It's the truth though isn't it? Think fucking logically. People hate the God damned truth. That's why they lie so fucking much. Fact. They also hate admitting when they are proved wrong. Well, I may have to fly out to NOLA tomorrow if I can make the funeral. I'll know later today. I apologize if this read got a little morbid but then again never mind. I don't.
Tuesday, June 12, 2018
Cyborg Children and Reasons Why I Would Rather Fuck a Cactus these Days...
Worked at the tattoo shop yesterday, which I enjoy. Had to buy new phone too. It is pleasant that my service provider has a store location right next to the shop. It was a smooth day over all. Then I came home, curled up on the couch and watched a couple horror films. Open House and Human Centipede. Open House was pretty good and Human Centipede in my opinion was really fucking stupid but absolutely disgusting. I am not into anal anything so I kinda wanted to vomit a lot but other than that it was dumber than a tightrope walking, suicidal retard. If you don't mind feces and buttholes then have at it, champ. I was avoiding it for years because a couple of friends who love horror films said it was really gnarly. I just thought it was stupid and disgusting.
Thinking about it, it's almost sad how much we rely on all of these stupid devices these days. Children even have cell phones. WTF? That is absurd to think about. To me at least. A fucking 10 year old kid with a cell phone? AND, it's nicer than mine? Wild. It's just sucking up their childhood and youth. Now they play video games, text and shit like that instead of going outside and climbing trees or riding their bicycles, skateboarding, going fishing or whatever else. Glad in my days growing up, we didn't have them. My first one was when I was like 27 or something like that and living in Los Angeles. I got to Los Angeles at 25 too. Bought a fucking pager. Fuck it, I didn't know. Pretty soon women will be giving birth to cyborg infants. Humans with actual wiring and memory chips/cards plugged inside of their fucking skulls. Hell, you may even have to plug them in the wall by their assholes to charge them up, use batteries and whatnot... Hopefully I will be dead by the time they start building weapons and shit. A bunch of angry, robot children building massive weapons. The world already fucked so what's next? Surprise me. I forgot what that feels like.
Been busy otherwise on my end. A lot of drawing and painting. A lot of working on music. Should be done soon with the record now. All my stuff started crapping out on me, tape machines and such. It was bumming me out and had me all moping and feeling like throwing my hands in the fucking air and giving up. Today, I got my bearings and am back on track with it. Had to force myself and it worked. I want this thing to be as real as possible though so it's worth waiting for. Almost done now though. Even if nobody likes it I know in my heart that I tried. That is enough for me. It's getting close now and it makes me antsy. Haven't put a record out since 2005 or something like that...? 13 years. Fuck...
Went out to this little pub for a burger with Doug tonight. It was my celebratory "be a fat ass and treat yourself to an overpriced bacon cheeseburger for dinner because you solved a big problem and deserve one" meal. It was delicious though. "I'll just have a water". Like I said this last week chewed my mind up. At least I didn't fuck it all up with booze. I ain't got no big timeline on that adventure. Maybe I will drink again one day. Maybe not. Right now I don't. I don't even crave it much either which is something that I never thought would ooze from my brain into words. Matter of fact I know that I will drink again one day, just not like that psycho shit I was doing to myself. I am happy where I am at now so I will just keep doing what I am doing. Seems to be working. If I do I do, If I don't I don't.
I even found myself checking out girls again tonight. odd because for the last 2 years I have been completely disgusted by girls and humanity as a whole. Still am but crawling out of my shell does feel better. Looking at a woman and thinking hmmm... what's her story? Not like a rapist scumbag but genuinely though cautiously curious. Saw a couple nice ones. One in particular got my head kinda twisted up. She is a waitress at the place we went to eat. I keep thinking about her. She was beautiful and seemed very happy. Maybe she isn't, I was just observing and she smiled a lot. Fuck, for all I know she could be completely miserable. She wasn't waiting on us so I never spoke to her at all. I was just a hobo spectator at a table with my buddy... I did bust her looking at me a few times though. Ain't my first rodeo. Good thing I "fixed" my hair and put on clean t-shirt. Ain't tooting my own horn or nothing either but I noticed. Maybe I still got it after all? Shit, I ain't been laid in so long that probably wouldn't even know what to do. All I know is that the next time I stick my pecker in a chick I want to actually like her for starters. Secondly, feeling comfortable knowing that she, at some point, hadn't already fucked or sucked every other guy in the room without my knowing about it to some degree. You know? Fair warning at least would be appreciated. That would be a Godsend and relief to me. There is nothing more embarrassing or humiliating to a me than finding out that as my already toxic relationship (most are and it's always my fault so they say) evolves that my girl has seen more dick than a men's urinal and that I just shook hands with 5 different guys in 3 minutes who have skull fucked her before getting to her vagina while sticking fingers up her ass. I have had guy friends of mine tell me the didn't give a fuck what's been up in there, I think it's gross. Goes both ways with certain cretins I guess. Some don't care some actually do... I am a guilty party but at least I admit it. I have done more than my share of whoring. Nowadays I think about it like this - You want it respected then start with you first. I'm just not a fan of that awkward surprise of feeling totally blindsided and stupid is not a fun one. Then comes, "Hey, let me buy you a shot!" ~ "No thanx, man. I'm good." Point being is that I don't mind waiting for a good catch at this point. Matter of fact I would rather wait. Patience is a virtue to me these days. Besides, I am busy. Like mad scientist busy. A chick would only fuck everything up colliding with just another reason that Lil' Sambone will stay tucked away down there for now. I honestly cannot believe that he and I walked away unscathed from the battlefield of what they call "love" and sex. It's the equivalent of a Vietnam War miracle of sorts. Done with my rant.
Alright, green tea and horror movie time until I fall asleep. Got a long recording day tomorrow and I have a few days to make up for. Goodnight cruel world.
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
Sure Beats Pissing Head On into a Fan...
About 8AM. It's a thing called depression. It's been my best friend and worst enemy for my entire life. Some days are better than others but it's always there breathing on the back of my fucking neck. The last two I woke up with it next to me and it just followed me around all day like a ghost, lurking. This morning I opened my eyes and she is still here.
It feels like I've been blindfolded, gagged and buried for so long. I guess I have been to a degree. Years and years spent emotionally deprived and trying to crawl out of a hole. At least 3/4 of my life to say the least, but at least I ain't the only one.
It's that feeling where you make your way to almost being out of that deep fucking chasm filled with both verbal, physical, sexual abuse and enough anger to frighten the fucking Devil. You then get older harnessing these emotions and you put them in a box in your mind knowing that you are a better person than the one staring you back in the mirror. So, then you beat yourself up again with alcohol and you open that little box and fuck with yourself some more. It's all of the things that you know. What you've been taught, therefor what you have learned. There you are at the crossroads again, never really knowing which road to choose which in turn basically leaves you nowhere. So, you flip your last coin without many options and leave your choice up to the universe. Then time after time, right after you crawl back to the edge ~ there it is again. It steps on your hand, looks at you with a smile, changes your blindfold and gag... then it kicks you back down into your mess and starts throwing the dirt on top of you again. You feel weak. Maybe you are. No one understands you or why you react to certain situations in certain ways. You're alone in this ditch knowing you aren't the only one but feeling like you are. Well, that is how I feel. All of the time.
Doug just came downstairs and is going to work. guess I will go with him. What better place to sit and draw that at a fucking tattoo shop. Maybe I need the air and a walk around town. Gonna eat at the diner across the street. Alone preferably. Write more tonight.
I ended up coming home and didn't feel like writing anymore on this. My day ended up pretty good after all though. I brought some drawings that I have been working on to fuck with some more, pens, etc. Set them inside the shop and skinned out to the diner across the street...
I wanted to sit and have breakfast somewhere alone anyway so that is when everything started to fall into place. There was a man in an older, white Cadillac (80's/early 90's). I couldn't make out his face from the glare on the windshield. Not that it matters but he reason I knew it was a guy is because he started his car and then lowered the door window. I never even saw him get in the car but it was definitely a man. Then "I HOPE THAT I DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU" by Tom Waits came on as the Cadillac Man backed away from his parking spot and slowly rolled away. If you are at all familiar with Tom Waits (it's a huge disappointment if you aren't) then you would know that approaching a diner alone as a white Cadillac departs under an overcast sky with that music going is pretty fucking nostalgic. Oh, if you happen to be from another dimension or planet and don't know who he is then do yourself a favor. Quit reading this and look him up because if you are in fact reading this then you obviously know what the internet is. Anyway, to me it felt it was like a fucking movie. That's the kind of shit people would normally make up to dress a storyline and set the tone. To me at least. I ordered some breakfast and stared out the window for a while. What to do, what to do??I love that gray weather. Ate, went back to the shop and drew for a while.
A couple hours later I decided to go for a walk. It was nice being out of the house with my pals at the shop. Everyone was working and stuff but where I was is a lounge area where they come in and out to eat lunch and just break for a few minutes. We were cracking jokes and telling silly stories. That kind of shit. I do prefer to be alone most of the time. I don't like distractions like, "Hey, want to go bowling?" and other fun shit that I love to do. I am trying to stay focused on my projects at the moment. I have a lot in the works so I only hang out or associate with certain people to keep it that way. Focused. It is my law. I don't allow myself many distractions and I work at strange hours. It is just about all I think about. Everything else is obsolete to me. My point being is that it was nice to go out for a good walk where there is a bit more of a town type of area. Target and Wal-Mart, Walgreens and CVS, little coffee shops, restaurants, cars passing by and people walking around. No sirens or horns pissing me off though. I am always alone like I've mentioned a million times so, I guess I came up for air a bit and it felt nice. There I said it. It felt nice to come out a little. Like an old hermit crab. My whole thing is that I don't fucking trust anyone. At least not enough people to count on both hands. I would still have some empty fingers with question marks on them. My Mom literally just called me to let me know that my Grandfather had been admitted to the hospital. Great. He is a cool man. Seen a lot of shit too, but he is old. On my walk yesterday I was thinking about the day I would get that call. Looky at that shit... Enough negative shit for now. I was crawling out and see what I mean? Kicked. Not today buddy.
Well, on the walk I found this little antique and collectibles place. There wasn't really sign out front either, just a poster board with that shit written on it in marker placed in the window. A least I didn't see a sign. Maybe from the street view the have one. Anyway, so I went inside. The place was so small but packed to the hilt with rad stuff. Old badass vinyl, 8 track tapes and old cameras, old toys and cool paintings in sick frames, mirrors and toys, bunches of books and old comic books...a lot of stuff. I will leave it at that. I had to leave. The guy there told me that if there was anything that I liked and wanted to haggle a bit to let him know. I told him that I was just walking by and would definitely be back. I wonder how long that place has been there. How does it stay open? There was no one in there. Crickets were chirping in that motherfucker it was so dead.
I went to Target and walked around there for a while. Looked at random stuff while wondering if I needed anything. No, just walking around. I looked at the toy section for a while then remembered that I needed soap! bought some soap and walked back to the shop. Ate the leftovers from breakfast and drew for a couple more hours. Then Doug went and I went eat some chicken wing spot that is pretty good. I usually get my food to go so that I can watch TV at home while I eat while I wind down. The place had a Tom Petty station on and we agreed that losing that guy was such a heavy blow to music. What a tragic loss. Came home and stained a painting in the basement while my food heated in the oven and started watching a Thor movie while I ate hit pause and did the dishes. Tucked in on the couch to finish the movie but zonked out in the middle of that. Slept good.
Woke up today around 8AM again. Threw on some crappy clothes and was cutting the grass by 8:30. I like to do all the shit that I don't enjoy doing with my days first that way I can enjoy the rest of the day doing shit I like... Dig? After that I made myself breakfast and finished the the Thor movie. Dishes again, I hate dirty dishes, then I remembered a big ass box that I couldn't fit in the recycle bin. Trash pick up is tomorrow. Guess I could've cut it up but decided to burn it instead. More fun. Then I went down by the creek for a few minutes and started gathering old limbs and shit for the fire pit. If it gets chilly again tonight maybe I will light it up. If not then I will just keep adding more until the time is right. Hurry up recorder. Gotta role out the bins to the road, Sambone. Gonna go draw. There I go talking to myself again. See what happens next I suppose...
~THE END~
It feels like I've been blindfolded, gagged and buried for so long. I guess I have been to a degree. Years and years spent emotionally deprived and trying to crawl out of a hole. At least 3/4 of my life to say the least, but at least I ain't the only one.
It's that feeling where you make your way to almost being out of that deep fucking chasm filled with both verbal, physical, sexual abuse and enough anger to frighten the fucking Devil. You then get older harnessing these emotions and you put them in a box in your mind knowing that you are a better person than the one staring you back in the mirror. So, then you beat yourself up again with alcohol and you open that little box and fuck with yourself some more. It's all of the things that you know. What you've been taught, therefor what you have learned. There you are at the crossroads again, never really knowing which road to choose which in turn basically leaves you nowhere. So, you flip your last coin without many options and leave your choice up to the universe. Then time after time, right after you crawl back to the edge ~ there it is again. It steps on your hand, looks at you with a smile, changes your blindfold and gag... then it kicks you back down into your mess and starts throwing the dirt on top of you again. You feel weak. Maybe you are. No one understands you or why you react to certain situations in certain ways. You're alone in this ditch knowing you aren't the only one but feeling like you are. Well, that is how I feel. All of the time.
Doug just came downstairs and is going to work. guess I will go with him. What better place to sit and draw that at a fucking tattoo shop. Maybe I need the air and a walk around town. Gonna eat at the diner across the street. Alone preferably. Write more tonight.
I ended up coming home and didn't feel like writing anymore on this. My day ended up pretty good after all though. I brought some drawings that I have been working on to fuck with some more, pens, etc. Set them inside the shop and skinned out to the diner across the street...
I wanted to sit and have breakfast somewhere alone anyway so that is when everything started to fall into place. There was a man in an older, white Cadillac (80's/early 90's). I couldn't make out his face from the glare on the windshield. Not that it matters but he reason I knew it was a guy is because he started his car and then lowered the door window. I never even saw him get in the car but it was definitely a man. Then "I HOPE THAT I DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU" by Tom Waits came on as the Cadillac Man backed away from his parking spot and slowly rolled away. If you are at all familiar with Tom Waits (it's a huge disappointment if you aren't) then you would know that approaching a diner alone as a white Cadillac departs under an overcast sky with that music going is pretty fucking nostalgic. Oh, if you happen to be from another dimension or planet and don't know who he is then do yourself a favor. Quit reading this and look him up because if you are in fact reading this then you obviously know what the internet is. Anyway, to me it felt it was like a fucking movie. That's the kind of shit people would normally make up to dress a storyline and set the tone. To me at least. I ordered some breakfast and stared out the window for a while. What to do, what to do??I love that gray weather. Ate, went back to the shop and drew for a while.
A couple hours later I decided to go for a walk. It was nice being out of the house with my pals at the shop. Everyone was working and stuff but where I was is a lounge area where they come in and out to eat lunch and just break for a few minutes. We were cracking jokes and telling silly stories. That kind of shit. I do prefer to be alone most of the time. I don't like distractions like, "Hey, want to go bowling?" and other fun shit that I love to do. I am trying to stay focused on my projects at the moment. I have a lot in the works so I only hang out or associate with certain people to keep it that way. Focused. It is my law. I don't allow myself many distractions and I work at strange hours. It is just about all I think about. Everything else is obsolete to me. My point being is that it was nice to go out for a good walk where there is a bit more of a town type of area. Target and Wal-Mart, Walgreens and CVS, little coffee shops, restaurants, cars passing by and people walking around. No sirens or horns pissing me off though. I am always alone like I've mentioned a million times so, I guess I came up for air a bit and it felt nice. There I said it. It felt nice to come out a little. Like an old hermit crab. My whole thing is that I don't fucking trust anyone. At least not enough people to count on both hands. I would still have some empty fingers with question marks on them. My Mom literally just called me to let me know that my Grandfather had been admitted to the hospital. Great. He is a cool man. Seen a lot of shit too, but he is old. On my walk yesterday I was thinking about the day I would get that call. Looky at that shit... Enough negative shit for now. I was crawling out and see what I mean? Kicked. Not today buddy.
Well, on the walk I found this little antique and collectibles place. There wasn't really sign out front either, just a poster board with that shit written on it in marker placed in the window. A least I didn't see a sign. Maybe from the street view the have one. Anyway, so I went inside. The place was so small but packed to the hilt with rad stuff. Old badass vinyl, 8 track tapes and old cameras, old toys and cool paintings in sick frames, mirrors and toys, bunches of books and old comic books...a lot of stuff. I will leave it at that. I had to leave. The guy there told me that if there was anything that I liked and wanted to haggle a bit to let him know. I told him that I was just walking by and would definitely be back. I wonder how long that place has been there. How does it stay open? There was no one in there. Crickets were chirping in that motherfucker it was so dead.
I went to Target and walked around there for a while. Looked at random stuff while wondering if I needed anything. No, just walking around. I looked at the toy section for a while then remembered that I needed soap! bought some soap and walked back to the shop. Ate the leftovers from breakfast and drew for a couple more hours. Then Doug went and I went eat some chicken wing spot that is pretty good. I usually get my food to go so that I can watch TV at home while I eat while I wind down. The place had a Tom Petty station on and we agreed that losing that guy was such a heavy blow to music. What a tragic loss. Came home and stained a painting in the basement while my food heated in the oven and started watching a Thor movie while I ate hit pause and did the dishes. Tucked in on the couch to finish the movie but zonked out in the middle of that. Slept good.
Woke up today around 8AM again. Threw on some crappy clothes and was cutting the grass by 8:30. I like to do all the shit that I don't enjoy doing with my days first that way I can enjoy the rest of the day doing shit I like... Dig? After that I made myself breakfast and finished the the Thor movie. Dishes again, I hate dirty dishes, then I remembered a big ass box that I couldn't fit in the recycle bin. Trash pick up is tomorrow. Guess I could've cut it up but decided to burn it instead. More fun. Then I went down by the creek for a few minutes and started gathering old limbs and shit for the fire pit. If it gets chilly again tonight maybe I will light it up. If not then I will just keep adding more until the time is right. Hurry up recorder. Gotta role out the bins to the road, Sambone. Gonna go draw. There I go talking to myself again. See what happens next I suppose...
~THE END~
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
One for the Good Times...
Probably gonna keep this one a little shorter than normal. Pretty tired and just ate dinner. Watch a movie or two and drift away to sleep. I recorded for a few hours and got another 2 songs done today. Four down, six more to go. It was really quiet and nice out. It usually is around here but it rained which I love. Pretty soon I can start working on merch ideas (stickers and t-shirts, record cover, all that fun shit). I love designing that crap. One step at a time. I need the music done first. Moving at a good pace though. Getting there quick. Sent the book off to be edited yesterday and even sold a couple of my pieces online. I tell you what, putting down Ol' Grandpappy's Cough Syrup works wonders. I am finally back to myself again and it feels great. I wasted years of my life hooked on that fucking sauce. Years, all day and night. I wanted to do all of the things I am doing now but I had no drive at all. I would start drinking in the morning, every morning and just sit around like a fucking sack of skin and bones. I was always a drinker but mostly at night. Then I spent an entire decade as the skin sack bones. All day, every day. In all honesty. I wanted to die. I was tired of feeling let down tired of myself. Severe depression. Booze don't help that shit. None of that shit helps. It's a temporary remedy.
All day I thought about that. I WANTED TO DIE MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. Literally. At least that's what I believed. Today I thought about how I tried and tried to drink myself to death over and over again. Over and over and over again. Always woke up and started trying again. Sometimes in the lobby of the apartment building that I lived in. Sometimes on the floor of my apartment naked in a pool of my own piss and vomit, sometimes blood and destroyed things. I woke up on the roof of the building like that a couple times. I must have not been able to get in my own apartment so I climbed the fire escape.. Then I would just spend the day, sometimes days without a shower and naked, wouldn't eat anything or brush my teeth. I would stay locked in my place doing it all over again. Man, Io weeks without eating just drinking booze and water. and puking it right back up...for days on end. Sometimes I would eat fruit or something but not very often. I would just order fruit, Cliff Bars and more booze. I would have it delivered so I didn't have to put on clothes or go anywhere. It was always just straight, whiskey or vodka. I had a tequila spell for a while too. Same results. I always woke up. Usually, the way I described before (puke, piss, blood, broken furniture and other things). Never any "real" drugs though. Never appealed to me. Just a never ending booze drip. Empty bottles all over the place. Obviously it didn't work.
I even sort of got busted once try to off myself. That was in like November 2017 I want to say...something like that. I was sitting on the little porch, had my .38, the fields of sugarcane surrounding were high. I think it was November, maybe October. The fields go on for miles around there. Even just fields in general and wooded areas. Miles. I had it all planned out. I was gonna get fucking wasted which I did, walk deep into the cane and blow my brains out. Easy. No one would hear it and no one would find me or smell decay for a while if I went far enough in. Maybe a plow would just run me over while cutting the cane and not even know it ran over my decomposed body. That would be clean up.
I was just about to walk into that shit and our neighbor came walking up. She needed to borrow something. I hurried up and hid my weapon. Whatever it was, she didn't see but I could tell she sensed something weird. I was hammered. After that I just passed out again. I remember it being really fucking hot that day. Then I woke up and started drinking again.
Glad I never got to pull it off now. I am actually doing everything I have wanted to do for years and it is fulfilling. Don't get me wrong, I still got shit done when I was behaving like a train wreck but not at this rate. Anyway, I ain't ready to die yet anymore. So there.
The detoxing basically alone is what almost did me in. I really thought I was a goner. I remember laying on the floor then embracing the toilet puking up bile and sweating like a whore in church, half naked asking myself, "Now you're gonna do it? Great job asshole". Still didn't happen.
~THE END~
All day I thought about that. I WANTED TO DIE MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. Literally. At least that's what I believed. Today I thought about how I tried and tried to drink myself to death over and over again. Over and over and over again. Always woke up and started trying again. Sometimes in the lobby of the apartment building that I lived in. Sometimes on the floor of my apartment naked in a pool of my own piss and vomit, sometimes blood and destroyed things. I woke up on the roof of the building like that a couple times. I must have not been able to get in my own apartment so I climbed the fire escape.. Then I would just spend the day, sometimes days without a shower and naked, wouldn't eat anything or brush my teeth. I would stay locked in my place doing it all over again. Man, Io weeks without eating just drinking booze and water. and puking it right back up...for days on end. Sometimes I would eat fruit or something but not very often. I would just order fruit, Cliff Bars and more booze. I would have it delivered so I didn't have to put on clothes or go anywhere. It was always just straight, whiskey or vodka. I had a tequila spell for a while too. Same results. I always woke up. Usually, the way I described before (puke, piss, blood, broken furniture and other things). Never any "real" drugs though. Never appealed to me. Just a never ending booze drip. Empty bottles all over the place. Obviously it didn't work.
I even sort of got busted once try to off myself. That was in like November 2017 I want to say...something like that. I was sitting on the little porch, had my .38, the fields of sugarcane surrounding were high. I think it was November, maybe October. The fields go on for miles around there. Even just fields in general and wooded areas. Miles. I had it all planned out. I was gonna get fucking wasted which I did, walk deep into the cane and blow my brains out. Easy. No one would hear it and no one would find me or smell decay for a while if I went far enough in. Maybe a plow would just run me over while cutting the cane and not even know it ran over my decomposed body. That would be clean up.
I was just about to walk into that shit and our neighbor came walking up. She needed to borrow something. I hurried up and hid my weapon. Whatever it was, she didn't see but I could tell she sensed something weird. I was hammered. After that I just passed out again. I remember it being really fucking hot that day. Then I woke up and started drinking again.
Glad I never got to pull it off now. I am actually doing everything I have wanted to do for years and it is fulfilling. Don't get me wrong, I still got shit done when I was behaving like a train wreck but not at this rate. Anyway, I ain't ready to die yet anymore. So there.
The detoxing basically alone is what almost did me in. I really thought I was a goner. I remember laying on the floor then embracing the toilet puking up bile and sweating like a whore in church, half naked asking myself, "Now you're gonna do it? Great job asshole". Still didn't happen.
~THE END~
Friday, May 25, 2018
El Borracho...
All bullshit aside, I am by far the worse drunkard that I know. I mean that with all sincerity. My eyes would open and I would start until they closed. That went on for many years. The word alcoholic is a fucking joke compared to what I am talking about. I've been an alcoholic for 20 years at least, The last 8 is when I became a full blown drunk. A straight up drunkard. Plain and simple. Never any hard drugs. Never even tried any. I wouldn't even know what any of that shit feels like. Never impressed me. Smoked weed, that's about it. I think weed is great for people who enjoy that stuff. Ain't my bag though. Hate it. I just like my liquor, not beer or wine, the real shit and straight. I live, breathe, collect change that I find on the ground just to make sure and have a back-up plan to buy little $2 nips (half pints) if that is all I can can get. I wake up periodically throughout the night just for a shot to shut off the nightmares and shakes. My loved ones know how bad it can be and are terrified by it to the the point that they will even buy me cheap vodka just so they don't have to see me die. I have had more seizures than I can count because of it. Absolutely no idea. I keep a handful of friends and immediate family very close. They have all seen the seizures first hand, hence the reason they give me booze. Again, they do it because they are fucking terrified. Let's see... I have had seizures in parking lots, bathtubs, airports, people's homes, restaurants, social events, jobs, probably in my sleep and don't even know it, you name it and I probably had one in that environment. I normally don't have a clock-in type of job, I fly under the radar mainly. In November of 2017 I got a "normal" job in as a line cook. That was the first time in years and I was proud of myself. The people I worked with with were really cool and the pay was good. I was making enough to get my shit together and still had plenty of time to drink. Of course not even two weeks into it I had a fucking seizure on the line. Got some pretty lovely grease burns up and down my right side ribs and my right arm. I don't know what degree the burns were, never asked, but they were bad. Got big brown, hard scars all over from that. Shit is still fucked up and that was 6/7 months ago.
After a few years of tolerating a very abusive and toxic relationship I found myself homeless. That was fall of 2016. It would be unfair to put all of the blame on her. I was crazy, but never violent towards her or cheating shit. She has a lot of hidden demons, I am not afraid to show mine. She is. Many secrets that hurt me came out after I was already neck deep and drowning. Never any of that on my end. I have nothing to hide. It really isn't worth talking about anymore as I am already over cooked on the subject as is. To put it in simplest form, it was like mixing oil and water, adding fuel to a fire. Two alcoholics don't work well together. Especially when the extremely bipolar one enjoys watching others suffer. I tried to pry the demons out of her, even brought up therapy upon admitting my demons on repeat. Fell to my knees. Nothing. I wasn't even attracted to her at all. The whole thing was a disaster from the start. Like I mentioned it's not worth even thinking about anymore. Done.
So, back to being homeless. Literally. You learn who your real friends are fast. I would find places to crash out with some and family here and there as I traveled around the country, but many, many a night I spent sleeping in alleys or parks, wooded areas and shit like that. I lost everything, had nothing but a terrible addiction in tow. After roaming all over this great land in squalor, I wound up in Detroit with my friend. He has duplex of sorts which he is in the process of rebuilding and buying. From the outside it is one house but on the inside it is two separate, stacked apartments if that makes any sense. It looks like a 2 small two story house but in reality it is two completely different apartments I guess is a better way to describe it. One on top of the other. He has his own kitchen and bathroom, washer dryer set up and a all that like a single apartment. I live on the bottom floor with the same set up. There is a stairway in the house to get to each other's apartments as we please. Mine is on the bottom and his is upstairs. That's about the best I can explain it. He got fucked over pretty hard, well very hard by his ex and lives here alone now so he told to me nicely to quit being a fucking idiot and just come live here rather than die in the streets of Hollywood. Useless. We are both artists so that makes it fun. We get along really well too. He is like the Big Brother I never had. It's cool. Throw in a few bucks here and there for bills and such, do my chores ~ lawn keep and other things. Groceries. I like to cook. Poison for the weeds and insects. We live in a wooded area so to speak so we get a lot of ants (big, black ones) not the ones that are nasty, no roaches or anything but wasps, centipedes and shit like that.A wasp stung me the other day in the shed. Grabbed that fucker and threw his ass. Surprised he didn't sting my hand too.
Thinking about it, I don't know what I was looking for wandering them Hollywood streets. Happiness maybe? Filthy fucking city. It has a place in my dirty little heart though. It definitely wasn't love. The only love you'll get out there is herpes or the clap and that's if you're lucky. I know a lot of drug addicts and alcoholics and most of them are very sweet people. Most are my pals and somehow I weeded through the mess perfectly to the point where I don't associate myself with the junkie thieving types. I hate thieves and liars. Just tell the truth when you mess up. Own it. Everyone fucks up here and there. It's inevitable. That is one quality I have that I am very proud of. I can read a piece of shit human being in 2 seconds flat. Even before they open their mouths. Then I usually vanish. Ain't got no time for all that dumb bullshit. Probably from being raised by all of them perverted, fucking maggots. Pals and friends are totally different entities in my book. I keep them separate. I don't mix that shit at all but I also don't hang hang out with trouble makers either. That just makes you a fucking fool. What people do on their own time is their fucking business as far as I am concerned. My motto is "Just be fucking nice". It's easier that way but if you got to be mean then don't hold back at all. Rip it apart and burn it down. You have to to go to blows then don't stop until either you or it is broken. That is the fair way. Like I said though, just being nice is way easier. Usually.
Go figure, the Sun just came up again. Pulled another all nighter. Watched a lot of TV tonight but did get some painting done. My stuff takes a long time to dry and the other pieces were still a little wet so I let them rest to dry more then I will proceed. I like to layer my work so that you can actually feel it when you touch it. I ain't no fucking Bob Ross but you can feel my art. I like to touch it and feel the hardened paint. Substance.
Painted for a while tonight. Wasn't coming... It happens. Stained a couple things and called it a night down there. Can't force shit like that. Sucks because I like hanging out in the basement. Came back up to the kitchen and prepped some vegetables for a stir-fry tomorrow. That'll be my lunch. Gonna draw a diet and watch some TV. Mellow out and try to call it a night rather than a morning.
Shit, I ain't had a sip of booze in 11 days. No seizures either. Look at that. Well I'll be. Feels pretty good.
After a few years of tolerating a very abusive and toxic relationship I found myself homeless. That was fall of 2016. It would be unfair to put all of the blame on her. I was crazy, but never violent towards her or cheating shit. She has a lot of hidden demons, I am not afraid to show mine. She is. Many secrets that hurt me came out after I was already neck deep and drowning. Never any of that on my end. I have nothing to hide. It really isn't worth talking about anymore as I am already over cooked on the subject as is. To put it in simplest form, it was like mixing oil and water, adding fuel to a fire. Two alcoholics don't work well together. Especially when the extremely bipolar one enjoys watching others suffer. I tried to pry the demons out of her, even brought up therapy upon admitting my demons on repeat. Fell to my knees. Nothing. I wasn't even attracted to her at all. The whole thing was a disaster from the start. Like I mentioned it's not worth even thinking about anymore. Done.
So, back to being homeless. Literally. You learn who your real friends are fast. I would find places to crash out with some and family here and there as I traveled around the country, but many, many a night I spent sleeping in alleys or parks, wooded areas and shit like that. I lost everything, had nothing but a terrible addiction in tow. After roaming all over this great land in squalor, I wound up in Detroit with my friend. He has duplex of sorts which he is in the process of rebuilding and buying. From the outside it is one house but on the inside it is two separate, stacked apartments if that makes any sense. It looks like a 2 small two story house but in reality it is two completely different apartments I guess is a better way to describe it. One on top of the other. He has his own kitchen and bathroom, washer dryer set up and a all that like a single apartment. I live on the bottom floor with the same set up. There is a stairway in the house to get to each other's apartments as we please. Mine is on the bottom and his is upstairs. That's about the best I can explain it. He got fucked over pretty hard, well very hard by his ex and lives here alone now so he told to me nicely to quit being a fucking idiot and just come live here rather than die in the streets of Hollywood. Useless. We are both artists so that makes it fun. We get along really well too. He is like the Big Brother I never had. It's cool. Throw in a few bucks here and there for bills and such, do my chores ~ lawn keep and other things. Groceries. I like to cook. Poison for the weeds and insects. We live in a wooded area so to speak so we get a lot of ants (big, black ones) not the ones that are nasty, no roaches or anything but wasps, centipedes and shit like that.A wasp stung me the other day in the shed. Grabbed that fucker and threw his ass. Surprised he didn't sting my hand too.
Thinking about it, I don't know what I was looking for wandering them Hollywood streets. Happiness maybe? Filthy fucking city. It has a place in my dirty little heart though. It definitely wasn't love. The only love you'll get out there is herpes or the clap and that's if you're lucky. I know a lot of drug addicts and alcoholics and most of them are very sweet people. Most are my pals and somehow I weeded through the mess perfectly to the point where I don't associate myself with the junkie thieving types. I hate thieves and liars. Just tell the truth when you mess up. Own it. Everyone fucks up here and there. It's inevitable. That is one quality I have that I am very proud of. I can read a piece of shit human being in 2 seconds flat. Even before they open their mouths. Then I usually vanish. Ain't got no time for all that dumb bullshit. Probably from being raised by all of them perverted, fucking maggots. Pals and friends are totally different entities in my book. I keep them separate. I don't mix that shit at all but I also don't hang hang out with trouble makers either. That just makes you a fucking fool. What people do on their own time is their fucking business as far as I am concerned. My motto is "Just be fucking nice". It's easier that way but if you got to be mean then don't hold back at all. Rip it apart and burn it down. You have to to go to blows then don't stop until either you or it is broken. That is the fair way. Like I said though, just being nice is way easier. Usually.
Go figure, the Sun just came up again. Pulled another all nighter. Watched a lot of TV tonight but did get some painting done. My stuff takes a long time to dry and the other pieces were still a little wet so I let them rest to dry more then I will proceed. I like to layer my work so that you can actually feel it when you touch it. I ain't no fucking Bob Ross but you can feel my art. I like to touch it and feel the hardened paint. Substance.
Painted for a while tonight. Wasn't coming... It happens. Stained a couple things and called it a night down there. Can't force shit like that. Sucks because I like hanging out in the basement. Came back up to the kitchen and prepped some vegetables for a stir-fry tomorrow. That'll be my lunch. Gonna draw a diet and watch some TV. Mellow out and try to call it a night rather than a morning.
Shit, I ain't had a sip of booze in 11 days. No seizures either. Look at that. Well I'll be. Feels pretty good.
Thursday, May 24, 2018
The Sun...
Spent all night painting and drawing. I don't know what time I went to bed but the sun was coming up when I did. Woke up at 8:32 AM. So I squeezed in about 2 1/2 hours of sleep or something like that. I guess. Then I went out and and mowed the lawn. I like to get all the shit I don't feel like doing done first when I can. Then I get to enjoy the rest of the day while I wait for the night to return.
A friend of mine gave me an opportunity to stay with him and get my shit together which drug me out to Detroit. Got my own little apartment again. It's minimal and nice. We will get to all that shit later. I hadn't seen him him in a long time and he found out about my current situation, which we will get to later. I have a record to make and my my mind is a machine that doesn't turn off. It has no organization what so ever though. Everything is always firing at once. Best way to describe it is thinking about my songs and how to approach them. I tried working with different producers and all that bullshit that comes along with that territory. They mean well but always fuck it up. They don't hear what I hear. Nor do they even want to. Robots. I will just do it myself. Then I can I can only blame myself, which I prefer. I don't like big computer recordings. Honestly, it makes me sad to sit in control rooms at big studios. I usually just go outside. Music is supposed to be heard and listened to, not looked at as wave lengths or patterns on a big computer screen. I want mistakes and raw sounds. I mean not mistakes that sound like shit but that give a beautiful song flavor rather than a dead, contrived heartbeat. True noises. I want to really record those trains, etc., and really beat the shit out of things to capture the sounds ~not look them up online and punch it in on some track. To me that is cheating it, I want the real shit. Get out of your air conditioned comfort zone, off your fat ass and record that fucking shit. Still, that is just how they do it these days. Not for me. I can't be a part of that which in this day and age will probably be what ruins my process. In my opinion one can't feel music that way as far as I am concerned. It is lazy. When music first started being captured on recordings those artists and producer/engineers had to actually do it. That is where the beauty came from. Now these geeks use computers to mimic what those people used to sweat to create. Then they order food delivery and whatever else. What a fucking joke. I've been there. I can't do it again. It's goes against everything I believe in. Probably my downfall. We'll see I suppose.
Anyway, while all that is going on up there I am also thinking about paintings and drawings I want to make. Writings and lyrics. My friend is helping me create a mental file cabinet to slow down and take one thing at a time. He sees something there and is patient in his trust in me. I am a very stubborn and hard headed man. He understands that which is refreshing. Which is also why when he found out my situation he stepped in, again we will get to that soon. I promise.
It was getting dark so I came back inside and started writing thoughts here. Funny, I went to bed with the sun rising this morning, and just a few hours earlier I was sitting outside watching the sun go down through the trees. It was beautiful. Alone. That is how I prefer to be most of the time. It's better that way. Gonna go fucking paint or something.
Here is a link to some music I made with my old band THE DOGMEN. You can download it here if you like. It's only $5 or some shit. Do or don't. I'll never see a dime from it so it ain't about that.
https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/45-ep/id1301639036
A friend of mine gave me an opportunity to stay with him and get my shit together which drug me out to Detroit. Got my own little apartment again. It's minimal and nice. We will get to all that shit later. I hadn't seen him him in a long time and he found out about my current situation, which we will get to later. I have a record to make and my my mind is a machine that doesn't turn off. It has no organization what so ever though. Everything is always firing at once. Best way to describe it is thinking about my songs and how to approach them. I tried working with different producers and all that bullshit that comes along with that territory. They mean well but always fuck it up. They don't hear what I hear. Nor do they even want to. Robots. I will just do it myself. Then I can I can only blame myself, which I prefer. I don't like big computer recordings. Honestly, it makes me sad to sit in control rooms at big studios. I usually just go outside. Music is supposed to be heard and listened to, not looked at as wave lengths or patterns on a big computer screen. I want mistakes and raw sounds. I mean not mistakes that sound like shit but that give a beautiful song flavor rather than a dead, contrived heartbeat. True noises. I want to really record those trains, etc., and really beat the shit out of things to capture the sounds ~not look them up online and punch it in on some track. To me that is cheating it, I want the real shit. Get out of your air conditioned comfort zone, off your fat ass and record that fucking shit. Still, that is just how they do it these days. Not for me. I can't be a part of that which in this day and age will probably be what ruins my process. In my opinion one can't feel music that way as far as I am concerned. It is lazy. When music first started being captured on recordings those artists and producer/engineers had to actually do it. That is where the beauty came from. Now these geeks use computers to mimic what those people used to sweat to create. Then they order food delivery and whatever else. What a fucking joke. I've been there. I can't do it again. It's goes against everything I believe in. Probably my downfall. We'll see I suppose.
Anyway, while all that is going on up there I am also thinking about paintings and drawings I want to make. Writings and lyrics. My friend is helping me create a mental file cabinet to slow down and take one thing at a time. He sees something there and is patient in his trust in me. I am a very stubborn and hard headed man. He understands that which is refreshing. Which is also why when he found out my situation he stepped in, again we will get to that soon. I promise.
It was getting dark so I came back inside and started writing thoughts here. Funny, I went to bed with the sun rising this morning, and just a few hours earlier I was sitting outside watching the sun go down through the trees. It was beautiful. Alone. That is how I prefer to be most of the time. It's better that way. Gonna go fucking paint or something.
Here is a link to some music I made with my old band THE DOGMEN. You can download it here if you like. It's only $5 or some shit. Do or don't. I'll never see a dime from it so it ain't about that.
https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/45-ep/id1301639036
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