We are living in strange times, yes? Anybody over the age of, say 35, should be capable of demonstrating experiential, anecdotal synopses of living in both the 'Before' age and the 'Now.'
By 'Before' age, I simply mean a time prior to computers and machines and gadgets playing such a dominant role in our daily lives. An age when we actually memorized dozens of phone numbers or wrote them down on our palms and in those little address books, because we had no alternative -- remember? It wasn't so long ago, but it seems prehistoric. Of course we hadn't yet been exposed to the digital 'contact list' of the 'Now' which requires us to remember nothing other than mostly first names and face pics.
From time to time I take advantage of my unique perspective on the state of affairs in the U.S., given that I no longer view and gather information from inside the U.S., but rather from my perch here in Toronto, Canada, the most culturally and ethnically diverse city in the world.
After having spent thirty years in the U.S., and having the world's news/current events bombarding me solely through the all-American lens otherwise known as the U.S. media, these past three years in Toronto have provided me with a much more realistic picture of how the U.S. is regarded around the world by more civilized nations like Canada, Britain, Scandinavia, western Europe, etc.
The picture is not a pretty one. I quickly learned that U.S. based media outlets are largely full of shit, for want of a better term. Nothing down there comes close to the level of intellectual reporting, relative objectivity and news gathering of, say, BBC or CBC. Even Al-Jazeera is more journalistically honest than the best the U.S. has to offer in the form of CNN, Fox News and others. There are many reasons for this, the most obvious and glaring being the fact that private enterprise controls the U.S. news machine, and the private sector corporate behemoths only care about one thing -- MONEY. In fact, they are legally obligated to do whatever it takes to increase the share price of their stock. The result??? News outlets that feed the masses the kind of information that keeps them glued to the screens -- the TV, the smartphone, the tablet, whatever. It's all contrived bullshit, typically engineered to keep the public in fear of the unknown.........so that they'll keep watching to see what happens next -- glued to the little screens.
This ends up creating a populous that in aggregate enters more queries on Google and Twitter for Miley Cyrus 'twerking' on the same day the U.S. is contemplating going to war in Syria. A mass of people who seek comfort at places like 'Fatburger' and Las Vegas. Hookers and cocaine and guns and gangbangers. Rich white kids buying 'music' created by street-corner drug dealers who fancy themselves as 'artists.' Cyberbullying, suicide, entrenched racism that has nothing close to a solution in any of our lifetimes, and a litany of deep-rooted problems that nobody in the U.S. has the balls to properly address. Political correctness is prioritized above reality, security, education, healthcare. All the politicos care about is that they don't offend the sensibilities of one group or another. In other words, they care more about 'hurt feelings' than actual democratic progress and success. A bunch of fucking babies.
The most important news item for most Americans - this is a fact people.
This is one of those moments when I actually feel glad that I was deported from the U.S. to Canada (the country of my birth) in 2010 for my 'horrendous' crime of trying to pass a phony prescription for Vicodin (Percocet) in the U.S. while I was struggling with a life-threatening addiction to pain pills. This, after having lived in the U.S. for thirty years. I'm just one of many -- and you will soon be hearing from more of us -- who had his life turned completely upside down and destroyed for minor technical bullshit.
Today I think I'll talk about life in prison. As most of you know, I have significant firsthand experience and knowledge regarding this particular topic. But I'm not going to talk about that kind of prison -- the jails, 'correctional' institutions, detention centers, or any other of the multitude of human warehouses which occupy a rather large allocation of government property throughout America from sea to shining sea. Today, I'm talking about the kind of prison that almost anyone can relate to...
About an hour ago, as I was walking down King Street toward Bay Street in the heart of Toronto's financial district, I noticed a crowd of people snapping pictures with their smartphones of a man whom I can only assume was in the midst of some sort of performance art display. The man was dressed in a business suit, kneeling prostrate on the sidewalk at the southeast corner of King and Bay, with his head fully inserted into a pile of soil located inside an open suitcase also laying on the ground. There was a small rope tied into a noose knot on the concrete ground next to him, along with a carafe of clear water.
I too wanted to take a picture of this somewhat shocking sight at the busiest intersection during rush hour in Toronto's equivalent of Wall Street and Broad in New York City, but there were a lot of people surrounding him and taking pics and pointing and remarking, etc. The crowd of people surrounding him were also mostly dressed in business attire, given the location, but their heads were definitely not buried in dirt. So I just kept walking along, somewhat curious and impressed with the man's brave display of something, although I wasn't quite sure what that something might be. Only the man/artist truly knows, but now, upon further reflection, I now know what it represents to me.
When I think of what I saw while I was staring at this man along with everyone else, I kept having flashbacks of my experience in prison (actual prison) in Texas a few years ago. Alone, locked up in a small area, surrounded by concrete and steel and insanity. It's a hard feeling to forget, and it pops up from time to time when I feel stuck or powerless, scared and alone, regardless of the actual location or circumstances. It's a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness and solitude. In other words, it feels like shit.
To me, the display I witnessed by this man at the busiest time of day at the busiest intersection in the heart of Toronto's financial district, represents an all too common human experience in our 'free' society. Now, before I go any further, I need to say something, which is this: relatively speaking, in terms of numbers, there are a few people in our society who are fortunate enough to be able to work in a profession they actually enjoy -- a 'calling' -- people who love what they do and make a lot of money doing it. That's great and I'm happy for those people. Given that we live in a 'monetary' society, it would only be fair that everyone should be in such a position. But that's not the way it is, except for those fortunate ones. So I'm not talking about those fortunate ones.
I'm speaking to the human being who is presumably sick and tired of living in a society in which he is effectively forced to spend most waking hours of his days, working at some job he doesn't particularly like, being sent around to places he doesn't particularly want to be, all just to simply make the money he needs in order to 'live' a 'normal' life. Further, it made me think that it doesn't matter what kind of job a person has or how much money a person makes. What matters is that there are a lot of people in our society -- maybe even most people -- who do things they don't enjoy doing in an attempt to enjoy a bit of time while they're not busy doing those things they don't enjoy doing. You may need to read the previous sentence again, because it sounds weird, I know. But it makes sense.
Some people call this 'sacrifice,' or 'paying dues,' or 'gotta work hard to play hard,' or whatever else people say to convince themselves that they're happy in life. That they are content. 'Normal.'
Did
you know that your body is programmed
to develop cancer and die? I know, it
seems counterintuitive, but it’s true. This
isn’t classified. It’s not a
secret. If nothing else kills you, and
you live long enough, you will get cancer.
And die.
The
human body contains certain mechanisms that regulate the growth of cells. Our cells grow at a certain rate, and
ultimately, with the passage of time, our built-in cellular growth-regulating mechanisms wear down and fail. When that happens, some cells start to grow
uncontrollably. And that’s cancer.
This
means that cancer is perfectly natural. In
other words, it is not a foreign ‘bug’ or virus. It’s more like a self-contained time
bomb. This actually makes sense if you
think about it. I mean, if the human
experience is supposed to include the reality of mortality, it’s logical to
assume that the body has a way of
destroying itself at some point in time.
Certain
genetic or environmental variables can increase one’s risk of developing cancer
earlier than ‘nature’ intended, which
is why we have things like skin cancer and lung cancer and breast cancer.
Cancer
comes in many different ways and many different forms. It is capable of invading all parts of the
physical body. Some cancers are worse
than other. It comes in varying degrees
of severity and complexity. It is a
cunning adversary, and it is also very patient and powerful. And it has baffled doctors and scientists for
many, many years.
Cunning, baffling and powerful. Cancer.
The exact same words – “cunning,” “baffling” and “powerful” – are used
to describe alcoholism in the basic text for Alcoholics Anonymous.
Cancer of the Soul...
==========
I
suppose any number of diseases, disorders and other medical maladies may
contribute to a person feeling lonely and isolated. Sad and depressed and anxious and frustrated. And scared – absolutely terrified.
Cancer
for sure. Blindness. Severe burns.
Obesity. AIDS. Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia and other ‘mental’
illnesses. Multiple Sclerosis. Assorted debilitating phobias. Amputations and congenital physical
deformations. Stomach-related
issues. Heart failure. Whatever.
All kinds of horrible sickness. And on and on and on.
However, the disease of addiction might be the only medical
condition that actually intends to
cause a human being to feel lonely and isolated and fearful. The specific aim of addiction – its actual modus
operandi, for want of a better term – is to totally isolate a person. And then to kill the person. Alone in a room, usually a small, unpleasant
room.
Addiction,
through its cunning and baffling tactics, methodically and progressively sets
out to destroy its host. Sometimes quickly,
but much more often very slowly and deliberately. Like cancer, addiction is generally defined
by the medical community as a chronic, progressive, relapsing disease with no
cure. It is a terminal disease that
ultimately results in death – a very painful death. It can
be successfully treated and even permanently abated, but only for a relatively small percentage of
those truly afflicted with the illness.
But unlike cancer – which left
untreated will also completely destroy its human host and result in death – addiction
negatively impacts and severely damages anyone and anything related to the afflicted
individual. It severs relationships with
loved ones. It tears apart families,
businesses, and all manner of material property. It warps the lives of children. It results in bankruptcy, loss of certain
freedoms and privileges. It is by far
the largest contributor to jail and prison populations in Western society. Addiction is at the root of most domestic
violence. It leads to endemic levels of
suicide. Accidental and fatal
overdoses. It often results in the death
of innocent ‘bystanders,’ so to speak, in the form of drunk driving accidents,
drug deals gone wrong, armed robberies, burglaries, and the list goes on.
Addiction further burdens its host
with the very heavy weight of an antiquated social stigma, derived from long-standing
misconceptions and ignorance about the disease.
Back in the days when nobody knew what addiction was, when such a
‘sickness’ was believed to be nothing more than a morality problem and a weakness
of the will, the addicted were regarded as disgraceful reprobates, devoid of
will-power. And these poor souls were
judged accordingly. The sick and dying
addicts were simply treated like any other categorically insane mental patient. They were often locked up in dungeons and
asylums. Some were sent to live in exile
on island colonies or placed on large ships that never made landfall. Addicts were deemed ‘lost causes’ who were
quite a nuisance to civilized society at large.
Presently, the collective scientific
knowledge and wisdom about addiction is light years ahead of where it was just
fifty years ago. Great advances in medical
technology and increased sophistication in the specialty of addiction medicine have
provided doctors and scientists in multiple fields of study the ability to
demonstrate that addiction is an identifiable brain disease; the modern medical
community has clearly shown time and time again, through all kinds of studies
and clinical trials, that, at a biochemical level, the brain of an addict is
literally hijacked by the addictive
substance (e.g., alcohol, cocaine, heroin, prescription narcotics, etc.). In other words, when the addict is actively
using his or her addictive substance(s) of choice, said addict loses control of
the brain – a biochemical ‘hijacking’ that puts a monster at the control
panel. Even when the addict decides to
attempt a life of sobriety, the neuropathways in the brain have been forever
altered, which effectively means that, on certain occasions – the most severe
cases – in certain individuals, the brain is ‘hijacked’ before the addictive
substance even enters the addict’s body.
It’s an incredibly complex mechanism, but it does become quite clear and
logical if one is simply willing to learn about this disease that plays a
significant role in the destruction of modern society.
Nevertheless, quite a large
percentage of the ‘general public’ still believe that the only thing an addict must
do to be cured is to merely make the choice
to stop. That prisons are full of
addicts who want to be there. That millions of otherwise perfectly rational
and reasonable human beings would actually choose
to suffer repeated, progressively worse, humiliating and ultimately fatal
consequences brought about by addiction.
That the homeless wino passed out on a park bench in a snowstorm just decided
that it would be a good idea to die of exposure. It’s a tragedy that addiction causes so much
damage to society in so many different ways, and it is because of that damage
that the stigma is perpetuated.
Nobody chooses to be an
alcoholic. And no-one wakes up one day
and says, “I think I’d like to become a drug addict. And then I want to give up everything I love
for everything I loathe. Furthermore, I
hope to spend some time in prisons and hospitals. After that, I think I’ll retire, penniless
and alone and dig my own grave and die.”
Yeah, sounds like a great idea.
==========
This
story is a true tale of addiction and consequences. Addiction is a chronic, progressive relapsing
disease. And that’s what I am – a
chronic, progressive relapsing alcoholic and drug addict. Addiction personified – that’s
me. No Hollywood rehab or celebrity
crackhead or slaps on the wrist. No, no,
no. This is real. This is addiction in its purest and rawest
form – and it goes on everywhere – and its sick and twisted and angry and focused,
and it causes so much more damage to society than most people can possibly
comprehend.
I truly think addiction is a cancer
of the soul. In addition to all of the
tangible, evident damage addiction causes to its host and everyone else, and
once the afflicted individual has been rendered totally dysfunctional, the
disease eats away at the very humanity of the sufferer. It kills the soul. It takes away everything about the person it
afflicts – everything that makes that person more than just a physical shell. It eradicates dignity, self-respect,
creativity, compassion, love, sex drive, appetite, intellect and anything else
that makes the person who he or she is or was in the eyes of those who have
known the person since the pre-addiction days.
Once
the addict has lost everything and gets to that point where he or she is holed
up in that dark, lonely little room waiting to die, addiction continues to eat
at what’s left. It takes away the desire
to live. The will to continue existing
in such an impossibly painful state of being.
It takes away the soul. Soul
Cancer.
****end****
(The following is to be read at Walter’s remembrance ceremony at The Retreat, April 13th, 2013 in Wayzata, MN on behalf of Jeremy Nerenberg)....>>>>
Greetings from Toronto, Canada. My name is Jeremy Nerenberg.
The Blogger
It pains me greatly to say that due to circumstances beyond
my control – and I mean that quite literally – I cannot be here in person for
my brother Walter.
I can explain. You
see, the United States Department of Homeland Security deported me to Canada in
2010 – yes, I’m serious. As a Canadian
citizen living in the U.S. since 1978, I ran into some trouble with the law
several years ago. And, ultimately, due
to my inability to stay sober and play by the rules, I was not-so-politely
removed from the U.S. and dropped off in the city of my birth, Toronto, where I
sit today. I had many, many chances to
get my act together and avoid such a drastic consequence.
There is only one other person I know who is capable of
irritating someone to such an extreme extent – someone so gifted in his
capacity to annoy, aggravate, infuriate and exasperate other human beings to
the point of insanity…
I first met Walter Buckner six years ago, right here at The
Retreat. I had just flown in from Aspen,
Colorado (where I was living at the time) in yet another attempt to ‘get
sober.’ I had been here for about a week
at the time, when some friends of another Retreat guest came out here to
Wayzata from St. Paul to visit their comrade.
I noticed one of these guys in some designer sunglasses, smoking a
cigarette and talking n on his cellphone off in a corner of the courtyard by
himself. He was brought over and
introduced to me as it was known that I grew up in Dallas, Texas, and
apparently this guy had also grown up in Dallas.
Walter and I quickly learned that we had actually grown up
just a few miles from each other in Dallas.
But since Walter was a few years older than me and we went to different
schools, our paths never crossed until that day – in Minnesota of all
places. Walter had arrived here many
years earlier of course in an attempt to deal with his own issues, while I was
still years away from the darker part of my life.
I ended up staying on in St. Paul after my thirty days here
at The Retreat. As fate would have it, I
moved into a sober house on Lincoln Drive (or Avenue, I don’t remember), and
Walter was one of my new housemates. I
quickly learned that this guy was a monumental ‘piece of work.’ Sarcastic, obnoxious, unbelievably direct and
way too cool for his own good. He was
impossibly difficult, insufferable, intolerable and insane. I absolutely loved it. We were soon as close as only brothers-in-arms
can be.
We developed an unbreakable bond, one like only soldiers
united against a common foe can experience.
Many of you in this room know what I’m talking about. It’s a magical byproduct of this program –
this fellowship – this wonderful, colorful, beautiful, tragic, painful world of
recovery.
Even though I only knew Walter for six years, and even though
we only lived in the same city together for two years, I consider Walter to be
one of the closest friends I’ve ever had at any time in my life. You see, Walter was sober the entire time I
lived in Minnesota. I, on the other hand, continued down a path
of periodic relapse, trouble, madness and chaos.
Walter had my back the entire time. When others turned away from me, Walter
sought me out and made sure I was okay.
He would not leave my side as I struggled.
For much of my time in St. Paul, I too was sober, and it was
during that period when we were both healthy at the same time, that I cherish
most with Walter. We were very much
alike – we had the same tastes in music, clothing, and many, many other of the
finer things in life that two ex-rich kids from Dallas, Texas acquire a taste
for. We argued about everything and
agreed on everything at the same time. I
saw myself in Walter and he saw himself in me.
We were both neurotic as hell and we bickered at each other like an old
married couple.
And neither one of us gave a shit about what anyone else
thought of our mutual Southern arrogance.
Walter was a walking contradiction. No writer of fiction is creative enough to
come up with such a character. He’s
impossible to properly describe in mere words.
One must experience his presence and personality in order to get a
glimpse of such a curious creature. He
had the very rare combination of character traits that enabled him to help
someone like me – someone equally impossible.
Walter was clearly jaded and traumatized by his many past
experiences, as many of us are. But
Walter also possessed the innate gifts of compassion and empathy. He was a restless soul with a spirit that was
not comfortable within the confines of the limited human body. He was misunderstood by most, because he let
very few people inside. I was the same,
and I know many of you sitting here today could share similar experiences in
that regard.
I never had an older brother – I was the oldest in my
family. During my two years in Minnesota,
Walter was my big brother. My guardian
angel. I will not go into detail about
the many specific ways in which Walter helped me – it’s too personal and
painful to rehash in this way, in this room.
There is enough pain in this room already. Granted, I’m fairly certain there will be a
lot of laughter in this room tonight too.
My thoughts and memories of Walter over the past couple of years
generally result in me laughing out loud at the sheer absurdity of some of the
things I witnessed around Walter……actually, “absurd” isn’t a descriptive enough
word. The man was capable of evoking the
most ridiculous, preposterous, silly, outlandish, devious and totally
irrational events in any situation, at any time, regardless of location.
Walter had a profound impact on my own personality. Sometimes I’ll notice the way I’m moving or
the way I’m talking or even the way I present myself, and I’ll realize that
part of my personal style and disposition represents the special relationship I
had with Walter Buckner.
I am shaken to the core by the circumstances surrounding
Walter’s untimely passing. Walter was at his best when I was at my worst, and I
will always regret that I could not be there for him when he slipped back into
the darkness of addiction. But no distance
can separate his heart from mine. And no
matters of mere mortality can break the bond between our two souls.
Walter watched out for me.
He helped me when I could not help myself. He was a soul rebel. A modern-day folk
hero. I miss him terribly.
Bob Dylan said “A man is a success if he wakes up in the
morning and goes to bed at night and does what he wants in between.” Well, no-one was more successful in my eyes
than Walter Buckner.
May he find the peace he deserves and sleep softly tonight in
the knowledge that he will always be surrounded by love.
I am very disturbed by the current state of affairs regarding Rock and Roll -- or rather, lack of -- it seems to be disappearing. I simply cannot stand idly by while the music-business-machine-corporate-engine effectively drowns out rock and roll in a dull beige fuzzy electronic artsy emotive loopy sea of manufactured sonic garbage. The kind of music being produced and arranged and promoted and played these days sounds like it was made in a very boring assembly line-type factory full of state-college-music-business-management-school MBA drones. Quite simply, the music business has taken the emphasis off music and focused squarely on business for a long time now. Too long, and it's gotta stop.
Creativity is being shoved aside and swallowed up by the music execs and computerized producers who determines what type of 'sound' will SELL, SELL, SELL tracks to the kids in America. Computer geeks and video game nerds have suddenly become the record producers 'du jour.' Yes, it's true -- they have evil names like Dr. Luke and they record and 'create' songs on their MacBook Pro's. Instruments?? What instruments??? Who needs a guitar or a keyboard when one can simply download music production software for free. And, terrible, terrible bands with terrible, terrible names like One Direction and Nickelback are catapulted to the top of the music-corporation-universe, riding a wave of perfectly polished, albeit horribly bland, generic beats and licks and melodies that make me dry heave when exposed to such crap. That kind of 'music' has no heart. It has no soul.
I want my rock-and-roll back dammit! Where did it go???
Jimmy Page
The guitar god...
Robert Plant
The androgynous frontman...
John Paul Jones
The mysterious, obscure bassist...
John Bonham
The hard-pounding/partying drummer...
Dave Grohl
The BAND, man! The B-A-N-D is disappearing. Thank god for guys like the Foo Fighters, struggling to keep rock and roll alive. Dave Grohl, former drummer for Nirvana, current frontman/axeman for the mighty Foo Fighters. Without guys like Grohl, rock and roll would die for sure. Thank god for Dave Grohl.
And don't even get me started on MTV. Does anyone even remember what the "M" in MTV stands for?? Well?? "Music." Yep, music, man. Music television. 'Music television' my ass. MTV? Fuck MTV!MTV sold out long ago, straying far away from anything that even remotely resembles "music." MTV used to be cool -- about 25 years ago. MTV used to be awesome -- Headbangers Ball -- the Unplugged series. Now?? NOW??? Jersey Shore and Hip-Hop -- that's the MTV of today. Pathetic. 'M' TV....more like Monstrous Television.
I have news for the kids out there -- they are being brainwashed by a very slick, commercial group of very large companies who have been buying up decaying and depreciated pieces of the music business over the past 10-15 years as the music business itself struggled for its very survival through the age of free-file-sharing-Napster-Limewire-bit-Torrent-etc.
The music business has sold itself to the highest bidder, and the highest bidder cares about one thing, and one thing only -- MONEY -- yes, money, the root of all evil is now trying to take down rock and rolll as we know it. Something must be done about this. And fast. So here's my message to the next generation of music lovers -- the younger ones who haven't been exposed to really great music:
Okay, kids, listen very carefully. Put on some noise-cancelling headphones -- make sure they're good quality. Okay. Now, go to your little I-Tunes "Genius". Do you follow? Okay, good. Now, I have 2 words for you to input into the machine. And those 2 words are -- now pay attention -- the 2 words that you must very carefully enter into the music "cloud" -- 2 words that will blow your mind and change the very course of your life. Those 2 words are (1) Led and (2) Zeppelin.
When Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones and John Bonham took the Mississippi Delta Blues and shook it up -- and beat it against the wall of sound that was THE British music scene at the time and gave birth to "Hard" rock -- modern rock-and-fucking-roll. Learn it. Embrace it. Love it. Pay it forward. It is your duty.
