The older I get, the more life experience I accumulate, the more wisdom I acquire in my middle(ish)-age, I can only come up with one certain truth, which is this: There is simply not one shred of evidence that life should be taken seriously....at all. Yes, I'm serious...
Here are ten random headlines plucked from the most popular online news sources about an hour ago:
1. " Texas Governor Rick Perry compares homosexuality to alcoholism at a San Francisco business conference." (not a terribly brilliant move by Perry once again)
The esteemed Governor Perry of Texas
2. " Iraq's roads are littered with decapitated police and soldiers...as medeival sharia law is imposed." (yes, they're really adapting to the modern age quite smoothly over there)
Iraqi Al-Qaeda, very nice-looking young men...
3. "Naked 73-year-old man in wheelchair attacks 92-year-old." (LOL)
crazy old wheelchair dude
4. "Mom of seven dies in jail over unpaid school fines." (good old-fashioned American 'justice')
5. "Harrison Ford injured on Star Wars set." (couldn't possibly care less)
6. "Condom use drops among teens." (that's because condoms don't feel as good, duh...)
8. "Donald Sterling is hiring four different PI firms to dig up dirt on other NBA owners." (no comment)
9. "Oh My God, Here's Chris Christie Dancing." (again, no comment)
10. "Man impersonates Twilight actor to lure girls." (not a bad idea)
Oh yeah, one more important headline: "Japanese red eels put on endangered species list." (I really don't care about fucking eels -- I care about humanity)
So as the large majority of humanity continues to devolve into a cesspool of ignorance, impoverishment, evil, absurdity and reality -- and while the privileged 'few' continue to look the other way and offer all sorts of uncredible platitudes and opinions on those things which they have not ever personally experienced -- I can't help, but sit back and laugh. Because this world is a joke. I welcome anyone to convince me otherwise.
As I may have mentioned before, I speak from a relatively interesting perspective as a former/future one-percenter and current ninety-nine percenter. I've seen how money has ruined this planet and completely warped and deluded those who never had to go without -- and I mean truly go without, as in without food, shelter, basic necessities. Funny how those people do most of the talking though, isn't it?? Wonder why that is.....oh yes, access, I mean money. Again. It all comes down to money.
In our society, money equates to intelligence and character, morality and productivity. It's a fucking joke. I have more character as a poor person than I ever had as a clueless rich kid with a headful of academic 'knowledge' based on nothing more than rote memorization and a few observations. I have more morality and 'intelligence' too -- much more. And as far as productivity goes, all I used to care about was money, so I went to the office and made money. It was easy. If that's considered productive to anyone reading this, then you're a moron and you need to get off of my blog. Like, right now. I mean it -- I'm watching you......(Google Analytics is a wonderful thing).
I apologize that my blog posting has been rather sparse this year -- I'm busy working on other creative endeavours that, I hope, will make me a ton of money.....at which point I will sit back and laugh even more than I ever have before.
There seems to be an awful lot of judgement and criticism circulating around the return of US prisoner-of-war Bowe Bergdahl. I find this to be unbelievably inappropriate. Here's why:
Bowe
This poor guy Bowe just spent the last five fucking years in Taliban captivity. I've been held in captivity before, in Texas, which is inhumane enough -- but it can't possibly compare to five years as a prisoner of war of one of the most evil extremist groups in the history of humankind. NOBODY is entitled to judge the circumstances -- ANY of the circumstances surrounding the release of this poor kid. And he IS just a kid -- well, actually, the past five years surely toughened him up enough on the inside to be a man. But he was only a kid when this shit went down five years ago. It doesn't matter what his personal views were, because he was a fucking child. Do those talking heads in the United States not understand this very material fact? You send children over to foreign countries to engage in organized murder (aka WAR) and you expect everything to go smoothly. You expect no emotional, psychological, spiritual variables to enter into the equation.
I don't care what this kid Bowe believed or didn't believe, and I don't care how many other kids may have been killed while looking for Bowe. They were SENT by their superiors to do so. So any mothers and fathers who are pissed off because their child died looking for Bowe -- you need to direct your contempt toward the United States Department of Defense. The commanders and officers are the ones responsible for sending your children into the lion's den. Plus, it comes with the territory. War is a ridiculous concept to begin with, especially when it ignites absurd discourses across America about how a certain kid was murdered and why and where and what went wrong.
My point is this: There is NO HONOR in war. It's violent. People enter into war with the intent of murdering other people. So people die. Everybody knows this. So I don't want to hear any parents crying about their kids being killed in war. It is not honorable. They're not 'defending' anything. Patriotism is bullshit -- it's just nationalism covered in sugar. It is sad. Very sad, that children are sent to do the business of men. I think you know what I mean. If you have a functioning brain, this should make sense.
So leave this kid Bowe alone. He's been through hell, and unless you've walked in his shoes, you have no credibility even discussing the matter. I can't watch CNN anymore. It makes me want to vomit.
I've been trying to come up with an example that would illustrate -- in no uncertain terms -- how pathetic, childish, commercial and totally devoid of talent -- relatively and objectively speaking -- the American 'Pop Music' Business has devolved into over the past three or four decades. So, here it is:
According to Billboard, the official researcher of such things, the Top 5 'Pop' songs so far in 2014 are:
1. The Monster (Eminem, featuring Rihanna)
2. Timber (Pitbull, featuring Ke$ha)
3. Dark Horse (Katy Perry, featuring Juicy J)
4. Happy (Pharell Williams)
5. All of Me (John Legend)
Now, here are Billboard's Top 5 'Pop' songs for the year 1970:
1. Bridge Over Troubled Waters (Simon & Garfunkel)
2. Let It Be (The Beatles)
3. American Woman (The Guess Who)
4. The Long and Winding Road (The Beatles)
5. Tears of a Clown (Smokey Robinson and The Miracles)
It's obvious to anyone who knows anything about music how ridiculous the 2014 list looks next to the 1970 list. The only song on the 2014 list that is even tolerable, from a talent and melodic standpoint, is John Legend's All of Me. That's because Mr. Legend is an actual musician, who plays an actual instrument (the piano) and sings quite well. Granted, his song is derivative and sounds like a thousand other love songs that were popular over the past thirty years or so.
A fucking Joke
Eminem, featuring Rihanna is #1. Neither one of these two talented performance artists are actual musicians. Eminem writes rhymes, and he's very good at it, but let's face reality for a moment -- he's no Bob Dylan. Eminem's rhymes are for children, and apparently the music market in the USA is made up of millions of little kids, because they buy this sonic garbage in massive amounts. Rihanna has a good voice, and she looks good, just like thousands of other girls in the USA.
Pitbull, featuring Ke$ha have the #2 spot so far in 2014. Not only is this a terrible song by any measure, but it also exemplifies the fact that kids can still be brainwashed into 'liking' anything that is perpetually shoved down their throats via the 'radio' stations and promoters who are responsible for bringing such bullshit to market. Kids will listen to anything that is shoved down their throats. It's not their fault. They don't know any better. As for the millions of adults in the USA who also love this garbage, the world would be better off without you. I recommend suicide as soon as possible.
Katy Perry, featuring someone else. What is it with all of the 'featuring' nonsense these days. It's like heroin for puppies. Any idiot capable of coming up with a three-second-long 'hook' that happens to be catchy to listen to, is suddenly inserted into the structure of a song, because corporate researchers have determined that these little 'hooks' cause children to spend money to keep listening to the hooks. Heroin for puppies -- you'll start to understand what I mean as you digest the truth that I'm throwing your way. As for Katy Perry, she has a good voice, like millions of others. Song quality? Garbage. No depth or musicianship to speak of. But the masses will keep buying what the moneymen are selling because that's the way this monetary society works.
Wanna-be porn star w/a decent voice
Pharell Williams, Happy. This song is no better than thousands of commercial 'jingles' people of my generation grew up to. People call this guy a genius, because everything he touches turns to money. If money equates to genius, then all of these people would be correct. If one takes a look around the world, one would find plenty of very wealthy morons. Pharell is a 'jingle' writer. He belongs in an ad agency, writing jingles for Coke, or Pepsi, or Gap or Lululemon. His 'genius', if you break it down, is nothing more than an ability to come up with five-seconds-long 'hooks' repeated over and over and over again, ad nauseum. It's like disco plus Adderall. The kids in America will buy this shit and swallow it up and defend it at all costs. Like I said, heroin for puppies. Pharell deserves a permanent role on 'Sesame Street,' nothing more. If you're interested in learning about a genius music producer who actually produced music, I have two words for you: George Martin.
So, now take a look at the same list from 1970, also compiled by Billboard, using the same metrics and variables. The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, The Guess Who, Smokey Robinson.................all brilliant musicians and vocalists. Music for grown-ups. There is nothing more to be said.
Actual Musicians, remember them?
It's unfortunate that the American music market has turned into a cesspool of commercial jingles. Because the tragic reality is that there are tens of thousands of brilliant musicians in the U.S. who will never get the exposure they deserve. Once in a while, someone great like Jack White or Dave Grohl will make it to the top -- sadly this is probably due to luck more than anything.
Unfortunately, any time I've ever taken some sort of personality test at various points of time in my life -- as a schoolkid, a collegiate, a psychology major, a psychology patient (a few times on that one), and as a curious human being living in the modern virtual world -- the results always concluded that I am a 'thinker.' Or that I think too much, over-analyze, spend too much time stuck in my own head, doing too much thinking and not enough acting. And that I'm either overly critical, too sensitive, intolerant of incompetence and imperfection, manipulative and occasionally an unrepentant, unapologetic, obsessive narcissist. That being said, for those of you who believe that man was made in God's image, then logic would dictate that God too is, in short, a selfish, calculated, perfectionist prick. Or that God is at least capable of being that way.
My latest objects of obsessive thinking have been those nasty little esoteric concepts surrounding the nature of God and man. Is there a God? If so, is God a loving God? Did God create man in God's image like it says in the bible? Does God hold man in higher regard than the lower animals like it says in the bible?
My default setting on these types of questions, naturally, is that all of those concepts combine to form one big, steaming pile of childish bullshit. Concepts created and written down by human beings with their own motives and agendas in order to persuade the ignorant masses, through fear and false hope, to follow them straight down humanity's long, twisted road of good intentions straight down into the Hell that this planet has been consistently devolving into since the beginning of humankind.
I recently saw the new movie 'Noah,' which is a very interesting interpretation of the famous biblical story about what happened the last time things on Earth were in such a dire state -- allegedly. God simply murdered all the humans except Noah and his family and the innocent ones (i.e., the lower animals) in a great flood -- allegedly. Then we were given a chance to start over and try again, at which time humanity once again immediately proceeded to turn this planet to shit with due haste. All sorts of wonderful things started to happen again. Epic wars that lasted for centuries, the introduction of money into society, famines, pandemic diseases that wiped out whole generations, the slaughter of innocents, intractable civil wars, and so on and so forth. On and on and on, century after century.
God
I mean, Christ, the fucking Holocaust just happened 70 years ago -- the most impossibly evil chapter in the history of history JUST fucking happened, relatively speaking. An entire country (Germany) of supposedly civilized people, devoutly followed an obviously psychotic, deeply troubled lunatic (Hitler), and methodically created an actual murder factory in order to annihilate six million innocent people (the Jews). They also murdered a few gypsies, homosexuals and mentally ill folks, but the primary stated purpose of Hitler's Germany was to dehumanize, enslave, starve, torture, steal from and very carefully murder six million innocent human beings. Why? Because of jealousy, misdirected rage, ignorance, and, of course, money. And the Jews are supposed to be the 'chosen ones.' Chosen for what? Perpetual isolation, alienation, oppression and murder every few years?
Now, as a Jew and a direct descendant of Holocaust survivors, I obviously take the particular matter of the Holocaust very seriously and very personally, so I will spend a bit more time on the matter. For something like the Holocaust to happen in a modern civilization, it takes an entire world to literally look the other way. While little children were sent into the gas chambers, the free world did nothing. Even the United States, that great hypocritical promoter of equality and freedom for all mankind, did NOTHING until 1944 -- talk about too little too late you lazy, selfish, greedy Yankees.
The Holocaust is the most troubling event for me to reconcile with the concept of a good, loving God. Remarkably, many of the Jews held onto their faith while they slaved and starved, waiting to die in the death camps. There are many stories of hope and faith and courage, even though these people knew they faced certain murder. I don't understand it. It was a favorite pasttime of the Nazi guards to say to the Jews on their way into the gas chambers, "Where is your God now?"
Children of the Holocaust
Some like to cling to the belief that it was such hope and strength that allowed the few survivors to somehow actually survive and make it out alive. There are others, such as the famous Holocaust survivor, Nobel Laureate, and esteemed writer Elie Wiesel who did not believe this to be the case. Because the brutal reality is that most of even those strongest, most devout and brave prisoners of Germany's concentration camps were also murdered. Wiesel says that the only logical reason that some managed to survive was due to one thing and one thing only -- LUCK. Luck. Nothing else.
A Nazi murdering a Jewish woman and her child
So, for example, while my paternal grandfather watched his young wife and son being fed into the gas chambers at Auschwitz, he then had the 'luck' to survive another two years in the camps and somehow made it out alive. Two years of daily unimaginable horror. When he was liberated at the War's end in 1945, he shortly thereafter met my grandmother -- who also survived due to luck (she escaped a Polish ghetto because an SS guard happened to turn his head in distraction for a few seconds too long) -- and they were soon married and gave birth to my father in Belgium in 1947. They emigrated to the United States a couple of years later and ultimately made it to Toronto, Canada, where they worked hard and became quite prosperous and successful -- from a financial standpoint. But my grandparents were haunted day and night -- tortured by their experience -- every single day for the rest of their long lives.
A Nazi guard trying out his new firearm.
According to the science of epigenetics, the collective trauma of my grandparents was imprinted onto the DNA that was passed down to my father. As the firstborn grandchild in my family, I too inherited a portion of that trauma -- it is literally a part of my genetic code -- a part of my identity. These traumatic bits express themselves in varying ways and degrees. For example, my father has felt a deep, unrelenting pain in his heart for his whole life as a result. He also inherited the 'survivor' mentality -- a persistent, obsessive ambition and drive to succeed in life at all costs -- because my grandparents taught him that he must be successful, he must build his own empire, and that he must never stop building because everything can be taken away in the blink of an eye.
My experience has been different. I inherited the ambition without the drive -- the necessary drive to succeed without the true willingness to work hard enough to build my empire. I was fortunate to have a very privileged childhood and young adulthood. I had every opportunity a child could have growing up as a kid in America in the booming 1980's and 1990's. I was blessed to have a good education, and I went to school for as long as I could in order to avoid the 'working' world. It's true -- I mean college and university were a given -- it's was expected of all privileged Jewish kids in my generation. Even law school was a given -- it was expected. I initially wanted to go to medical school and follow in my father's footsteps, but I went to university in Boulder, Colorado, so I spent a bit too much time skiing in the majestic rocky mountains and too little time attending class. I was actually pre-med my entire four years of university and I took all the required courses. But due to my boredom and lethargic attitude toward my coursework, my grades weren't good enough to get into a respectable medical school -- or really any medical school in the U.S. So my laid back nature and indifference to life in general led me to do the next logical thing, which was to go to law school. I figured that would give me at least another three years of fun and avoidance of the 'real world.'
I was very entrepreneurial from an early age, and I created and developed many of my own projects business concepts over the years. But I could never seem to follow through with most things, and I was always changing my mind about what I wanted to do with my life. One day I'm a lawyer; the next day I'm a wanna-be rock star; failed empire builder. Maybe a doctor, businessman. I even went back to graduate school for a year (business school) in my late twenties, because it allowed me to put off making decisions about who I wanted to be. Consistently unsure of myself and always questioning my own motives.
I also felt a pain in my heart -- all my life -- because of the Holocaust. I still feel that pain, and it does not diminish over time -- it actually seems to get worse as time goes by, as I grow older and wiser. Obsessively questioning everything -- and distrustful -- about my world. I've spent much time pondering the reality about what human beings are capable of doing when ignorance and evil collide. About the unspeakable pain that my grandparents must have experienced. I have felt guilty at times -- like I needed to feel that same pain in order to accept the fact that most of my family was wiped out in cold blood at the hands of the Germans. An anger that never goes away. A fierce hatred of injustice. Overly critical, resentful, intolerant, and a rage cloaked in undeserved feelings of shame and guilt.
I learned to numb my pain with drugs and alcohol. Sex. Risk. Money. Entitlement and material possessions. Humour. Sarcastic, jaded wit. Anything to numb the pain that never goes away. All of those devices eventually stopped working. So the pain grew. I fell deeper into darkness and despair. And I experienced several years of very real pain -- all kinds of pain and suffering that I've written about before in other venues and in my book Soul Cancer. For me, I experienced unthinkable loss -- loss of every single material possession and relationship. Complete isolation and alienation from my world. Imprisonment. Unforgiving. Fearless. Suicidal.
But always the pain in my heart was there. And it remains. A jaded, yet realistic, view of humanity -- perhaps 'inhumanity' is a more appropriate term. Self-destructive to the point of homelessness and loneliness and more and more darkness -- more despair. Fear of no human being. No fear of pain or death. A cold-hearted desire to seek vengeance for all injustice in this world. A prisoner of my own mind, my own twisted philosophy and ideology borne through the sum total of my life experience.
Yet, along the way, I also experienced profound 'spiritual' experiences and moments of light in the darkest of places. I grew into a different man. I acquired things like compassion, sensitivity, generosity, and a relentless supporter of the 'underdog.' I found a joy in helping those who could not help themselves. I grew up. I became a man and I acquired knowledge through experience. I guess I became enlightened in a way. A proper adult who came to the realization that our world is ruled by greedy little children. Human beings have hidden the truth about our world from our children for generations. In an attempt to keep the children 'innocent.' The problem with that methodology is that the kids eventually grow up to rule the world -- generation after generation of 'innocent,' ignorant, uninformed children in adult form become the politicians, money-men and other criminals who control the fate of this planet.
Me, grown up.
Children who believe stories in bibles about prophets and prophecy and Armageddon. Christ, the Bible is the largest children's book ever written. 'Intelligent' men who use the only human faculty for decision-making -- logic and reason -- to make decisions about anything at all, cast aside that same logic and reason when it comes to the Bible, the Qoran, Fifty Shades of Grey, and other books that deal with certain things. Why does this happen? Why? Because the large majority of these men of power are still children, and children will believe anything they are told by the 'adults.'
Let me ask you a very simple question: If something doesn't make any sense to me, then why would I believe it? That's called wilful ignorance, otherwise known as blind faith.
So what do I believe at this point in my life? I believe in logic and reason -- man's sole faculty for solving or deciding anything and everything in life. Because it makes sense. And don't tell me that God is too big for me to understand. Or that I just need to have faith in something that doesn't make any sense. Because if man is made in God's image, then I should have no trouble at all understanding all of the bullshit written in the Bible or any other 'godly' work. Everything would be crystal clear to me. I would be omnipotent and all-knowing, loving and completely insane.
Well, I am none of those things with the exception of love. I love my family and friends. I love whiskey and women. I love any human being who does not have evil written on his/her heart. But I also believe in fairness and justice. And I think humanity is due for another Flood. And I think I'll build my own Ark. Any human being with goodness and love in his/her heart is welcome to come aboard my Ark. And the innocent lower animals too -- the ones that don't smell too badly.
Who is not allowed onto my Ark? Well, obviously the Germans, just to be fair. And also any person with evil in his/her heart. Those who are wilfully ignorant too. And certainly those who covet money. And, for purposes of morality, Kanye West, the entire Kardashian family, Donald Trump, anyone who owns a firearm, Liza Minelli, and the asshole who recently stole my Ray-Bans. For all the rest of humanity, I only have this to say to you: grow the fuck up, seek truth at any cost, and help one another -- then you too can join my party boat.
And just in case I haven't irritated you enough yet, if you're still reading this, guess what? I actually do believe in God. But it's not the God of the Bibles. It's the God that resides inside my heart, and I only found him after walking through the deep, dark void of my soul long enough to reach the divine spark at the center of my heart -- a heart, that despite immeasurable odds -- still keeps beating, keeps thinking and keeps spreading my own personal message of truth, based on experience. And I will continue to question everything and learn about my world until I die.
Aspen, Colorado - March, 2007. [excerpt from new chapter in 'Soul Cancer']
Kills more people than heroin, cocaine, marijuana, prescription painkillers combined.
Shit, I'm still shaking. I must somehow force the remainder of my dwindling bottle of 1-litre solution (90% vodka, 10% Gatorade) down my esophagus, into my stomach where it will be absorbed into my bloodstream......and hopefully stop the shaking. I'm not in any shape to leave the house like this, so I've got to stop the shaking. I notice I have a few pills left of Xanax in my 'last resort' pill bottle, meaning it's the only thing left in my house that might get rid of the shakes. So I down the vodka/solution, vomit a little bit, but manage to keep most of it down, and then I swallow the 4 or 5 Xanax pills I have left in the last-resort bottle. All this in an attempt to appear presentable enough to 'drive' to one of the local liquor stores to procure some more 'solution,' which will then allow me to repeat this hellish process over again, because my brain is telling my body that I have no choice -- it must be done. The fact that I was contemplating driving my car in such a state was a non-issue -- I had to do what was necessary to stay alive, and to me, at the point, staying alive meant consuming more booze and drugs.
The combo of the vodka solution and Xanax makes me a bit too woozy to focus. After all, I haven't eaten in days, so the booze and pills are absorbed much more quickly into my bloodstream than they would have if I had some food in my stomach. But I didn't, and I start to wane and wobble. Thank god I still have about an 1/8 of an ounce of pure-grade powder cocaine lined up on my bedside table for just such an emergency. I cut it up and snort the entire 1/8 ounce in two big rails (lines) with due haste. Whooooo! Now I'm alert. And the shakes are gone. I look like shit, but it's ski season here in Aspen, so I cover up my appearance with a big snow jacket, a hat, sunglasses and a hood. I now look like any other yuppie ski bum headed for the slopes. Only I'm merely headed for my favourite liquor store at the bottom of Ajax Mountain in the village of Aspen. Somehow, I manage to make it out the door, drive my car smoothly and slowly all the way to the liquor store where my daily schedule really begins.
I walk into the store. All the guys there know me, just like they know the other alcoholics who show up around opening time mid-week to purchase large bottles of straight liquor. I'm way passed any feelings of shame or embarrassment by this point. These guys see me several times a week. After all, Aspen is a small town, so there are only three liquor stores within driving distance, so they all know me. I don't care anymore. My body's need for alcohol far supersedes any hesitation or reluctance on my part to get what I need. And what I need for the day is a gallon-and-a-half of straight Absolut vodka, plus a few bottles of Gatorade to temper my palate. Without the Gatorade, I wouldn't be able to keep the booze down.
I buy my booze, get back in the car and drive back home. Relief. I now have enough booze to last me through the day and hopefully the night too. There's just one problem -- I consumed my remaining cocaine supply before I left the house. This is not good. I need to order some more, ASAP. My brain requires it, just as it requires air to breath and water to drink -- it's a primitive survival mechanism buried deep in the animal part of my brain -- at least, that's what the doctors tell me.
Fortunately, my cocaine dealer delivers. I call him up and tell him I need a 'full carton of cigarettes' -- this is code for an ounce of cocaine. He says it'll be the usual price ($850) and that he'll be over in an hour. I said fine, the sooner the better. In the meantime I start drinking b/c the shakes are coming back. 45 minutes later, my dealer arrives, and he asks me if he wants him to cook it up for me -- 'rock' it up. This means cook into rock form, aka crack cocaine. This is an offer I cannot refuse, b/c the stuff is pure, and the pure rock is ecstacy.
I hate powder cocaine. I can't stand it. But it allows me to stay up longer so that I can drink more booze. This will make absolutely no sense to a normal human being, but it is perfectly logical for an addict. Now, crack cocaine, on the other hand, is a whole different story. Good rock cocaine can get a person about as high as anything else in this world. And I need to feel that high, the escape, the oblivion. I need to numb myself so badly so I can forget my miserable existence....at least for a little while.
One Day Supply of Rock
So Reggie, my dealer, cooks up the ounce of cocaine into beautiful crystalline rock cocaine. I share some of it with him -- his reward for being a master cook. And then eventually he leaves, and I spend the next 24 hours getting high as a kite in the sky, using the vodka as a way to even myself out once my heart rate starts pounding so fast that I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack. You see, it's a constant balancing act. The crack skyrockets me into space, and the booze brings me back down somewhere close to earth. The cocaine makes me paranoid as hell, so I spend hours at a time peeking through my curtains to make sure there's not a SWAT team trying to break into my house or hiding in the trees or anything. My own private reality.
This scenario I just described above went on for about three months. Straight. The entire ski season in Aspen, from December to late March passes me by as I hide in my house, shuddered away from the terrifying reality of the normal world outside. I only leave the house to go to the liquor store, and my only visitors are my drug dealer Reggie and the occasional 'girl(s)' who will do anything for the drugs I may or may not want to share, depending on my mood.
I was totally psychotic, delusional, paranoid, malnourished and dancing with death for those months hidden away in my mountain cabin in Aspen. Refusing to answer my phone. Cutting myself off from reality. Slipping further and further into the darkness. What a life. I remember writing out a few different codicils to my will, in the event I overdosed and died. It was a very morbid existence to say the least. I hid in my closet, in my shower, anywhere I thought I'd be safe from the imaginary police officers I thought would break in at any moment.
Eventually, an old friend of mine came and found me in my house and convinced me to go back to rehab. I think he really saved my life. His name is Jay C, and I'm forever indebted to him. I was no longer a human being at that point. Simply an automaton with a radar for cocaine and alcohol. I had no control over my decisions. The monster -- the addict inside me -- had completely consumed me at that point, and no amount of willpower, strength or logic could help me help myself. I needed to be rescued, and luckily I was.
It's hard to believe I could fall further from a morality standpoint than I did during that lost winter in Aspen, but I did. I really did. (more to come).
Am I still asleep? I think so. I can't see anything. I open my eyes. I still can't see anything. I have a blanket wrapped around my head to keep the light out, so I see black even when my eyes are open.
Is that chirping? I'm hearing something. I think it's the chirping. 2, maybe 3 chirping sounds. Damnit. It must be the birds. The fucking birds chirping. There's no avoiding it now. I must face the fact that a new day is, indeed, beginning, and that, reluctantly, I'm still here, alive and breathing, to witness this terrifying ordeal. I am awake. And I'm horrified.
I first try to pretend it's not really happening -- that it's still dark out -- that the new day has yet to begin. So I can just slip back into unconsciousness -- back into the darkness. Alone. Quiet and alone. But my brain has other ideas -- it keeps reminding me that a new day is upon us, and that I must wake up (officially) and get out of bed. I dread the thought of accepting such a profoundly discomforting suggestion.....the suggestion that I simply 'be.' Just be. Exist. And continue to exist until one day when perhaps I will never again awaken when the morning light and the dramatic chirping continue to torture my soul to no avail. Yes, that would be nice.
Morning Ritual
I feel it now. The rapid heartbeat. A symptom of the anxiety coursing through my veins. The anxiety itself a symptom of my alcoholic condition that imprisons me in this privately logical world in which I exist. I must seek relief from this relentless anxiety.......a nervous state with such profundity that it prevents me from functioning at all. I've got to get some booze or some pills in me so I can think, so I can function. But first, I must vomit. Because simply the thought of consuming the poisons to which I am addicted is so incessantly nauseating. I heave and heave, emptying the contents of my stomach into on or around my toilet. Violently. Like a projectile. Projectile vomiting. Only there is nothing inside of me -- I hadn't eaten in a couple of days -- what comes out is just some strange bilious fluid that smells rancid, which makes me nauseous. So I vomit some more. All in all, I devote about twelve minutes to vomiting in order to properly start the day.
I'm dehydrated. Feel like I'm dying of thirst. I manage to drink a few sips from a bottle of spring water to soothe my dried out innards. And then I vomit that up with due haste. What I'm really reaching for is that bottle of vodka. That one litre bottle of medicine. The solution. It contains a mixture of my own making. 90% vodka, 10% Gatorade -- something my palate can just barely tolerate. But it does the trick, nonetheless. The difficult part is getting a large amount of the solution into me via oral consumption without vomiting any of it up, rendering the vomited portion economically wasteful and physiologically pointless.
Ahh....relief.
I manage to take a few sips of my solution, gagging several times, yet able to keep myself from vomiting for the time being. What a relief. This is wonderful news. This means I will likely be able to get properly drunk this morning without the usual accompanying mess.
Yes, a few more sips, and my stomach warms. As does the blood flowing through my arteries and veins and into my brain. Only now, just now, and just a small window of now, do I fell, somewhat, normal.
