Hypertext can be bloody dangerous, you’re correct.

When you need a good kick in the head, along comes some really random stuff to do just that.

More specifically, kick my arse out of a rather gravity laden spiral (ie- downward) and into some sort of recovery.

Without allowing my ADHD out of the confining bag labelled “making sense to you, the unwashed masses” and delving off into the world of “recovery writing” I continue….

Heading to the Doctors on one of my brief Government approved outings to the real world I see REAL LIVE PEOPLE. And some real life live people know me. They, without realising, give me reason to be proud of the person whom was once me. For they followed some advice, learnt from my mistakes, or just plain thought “that crazy old wanker has a point” about something. Something learnt via my public self deflagrations had improved their lot. This was, although not up to the standard of instant gratification and happiness most junkies aspire to, rather uplifting.

Or was it just being outside in the sun with fresh air and real live people around?

And then, today, there is, after much fretting about opening gmail on my behalf, an astounding email from someone. Someone whom has found my email address somewhere or some other. And, somehow, decided to write something.

This amazes me every single time. People take time out of their own lives to write to me. My, currently rather pathetic excuse for a life, gets a boost from this.

If only I wasn’t yawning uncontrollably and struggling not to get back into bed at 3pm. For it has been a long day, old coffee mate comes over with a coffee at 11:30 so I pretend to have been “up and about” before he knocked. Borrowing his phone to call some members of officialdom whom have more than likely put my number on “block” lists proves futile- they obviously are avoiding everyone, not just me. He shows emotion at some of the communications that have been killing any amount of mojo and turning my head into what happens when you’ve been on a childs merry-go-round half an hour too long as an adult.

If not for struggling with simple things like bothering to check my own chin for food deposits before visiting doctors offices, I would take care to head some of this advice and MAKE SURE I ENJOY SOMETHING DESPITE THE CONTROLS AND STUPIDITY (I added the “stupidity” bit, admittedly) OF THE SYSTEM.

Sometimes I cannot open emails or web pages. For a few hours today I have managed it. It feels good.

Enough recovery for now. Season Three of AMERICAN HORROR STORY and a horizontal position in bed await closely.

I know the feeling of not being able to open certain web pages out of sheer, squirming anxiety….
This was appropriate when I was on home detention/probation for 12/6 months respectively for buyin’ the drugs off the ‘net, and I wasn’t allowed shit that could speak hypertext.
Don’t feel obligated to reply, I’m just writing in support.
Channel your energies into whatever gets you through.
I started cooking really nice food spent well over 600 hours playing open-world games on Xbox.
I remember I made a stollen with a log of marzipan through the middle.  Holy fuck, it was good….

The lesson for today is…

Hypertext can be bloody dangerous, you’re correct.

Also useful, given the errors WordPress online editing adds during cut and paste sessions…. 😉
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Board Shitless

Stuck at home, ankle bracelet attached, house a mess, bored. Some people come to visit… Which is awesome. Without them would have no food or happiness… But some random girl at 8am in the morning demanding breakfast and coffee when you’re asleep in bed?

Note to self – Start remembering to shut the front door…

Family Court papers need to be done, but have issues with that too . It is so upsetting that taking a million valium and sleeping until my kid is sixteen is a consideration. Right now it is my football teams training. And this… Well… What the hell…

tears_smiles

Cannot go to the court in order to get their new requirements for submitting affidavits and the like. My criminal lawyer has all the paper as he used part of it to help get bail. I have to learn to put my foot down. Have two days to file 100 pages and don’t even have the documents that I am supposed to be replying to.

Have finally got appointment to get a Winz benefit... Having no income at all for 7 weeks before this happens is not good.

And then the 0800 EMBail “team” did not answer the Winz ladies telephone advances, so have not been able to confirm any of this. The Electronic Monitoring Bail requires all appointments to be confirmed and approved with days notice.

You know what… ?
(You don’t know what…)
almost guarantee it…

Being a druggy and having no life outside of drugs seems quite attractive just now. You may not deal with life on life’s terms, but at least you’re numb to all the pain.

I am lying in bed, pretty close to throwing in the towel.

Am used to confining myself to this flat to avoid trouble. Now it appears being confined here could result in worse.

Wonder if my old Spiritual Advisor (TM) is still talking to me?

image

Life is a shambles. 

With, or without, the gear.

All these little moods, depression and feelings of being worthless will pass.

The shambles may not.

Why on earth is life like this?

Life is not of this earth. Scientology has a point, if they are a couple of Boeing 727’s and an H Bomb short of a real off world picnic.

The real people whom are not of this planet are politicians denying people a quality of life.

People like Clarissa Broderick and the CCDHB Addict Disservices whom seem to make things worse for those at the bottom. I have had time to think recently. Twenty hours a day locked in a 2.5 x 4m concrete box does that to a guy with half a brain.

All the annoyance, all the unjust treatments. All the people whom have died with needless pain. Some have been my friends. Some have not.

I wish #LecretiaSeales had been. I wish we could all be as capable in putting forward our little beefs and ideas for our planet spaceship. It is all about evolution. To be a true Darwin follower you need a decent revolution.

Lecretia Seales, 1973-2015

http://lecretia.org/the-kindness-of-strangers/

I am saddened doubly to say I am stuck at home on 24/7 G.P.S monitored ankle bracelet and cannot attend funeral today. I would have been at the back. I would have done nothing. I would have known no one.

I just really want to show my respect.

I respect her greatly. 

Being outspoken and attempting to change old (ancient) attitudes towards the rights of the individual to have a say in their own quality of life is a noble thing.

So, for today, this is the only post I make. Even though there is so much to share after having just been released from jail to live at home 24/7 with a G.P.S ankle bracelet. 

For today is Lecretia’s day.

Even if the law makers and judges don’t give a fuck, I wanted to show that I do.

Gap or no gap.

Lecretia would have seen this ferry (in the video) everyday by looking out from Island Bay too. I grew up here. We are almost exactly the same age. The background photo of this silly graphic was shot by me roughly seven years ago when my kid was taken away from me and I went to jail. Life is a happiness deficit full of co-incidence.

http://www.ves.org.nz

A lot to think about. Not unusually.

Yesterday was wasted. The day before was fucked.

Recovery Perspectives Title

A post yesterday contained some graffix produced by my good self in relation to DRUG ADDICTION RECOVERY and what it means for a service provider and a service user in the environment of our absurd Recovery Industry 2.0 and the medical model of ADDICTION = [medical] DISEASE.

I use “[medical] DISEASE” purely so as not to get into tertiary arguments with people over meaning of “dis” and “ease”.
Really, go away.
No, really. Piss right off. Go tell God I am a Sinner, Left Handed Bugger.

Within the first few months of stopping, after struggling to work out whom I am (what is it we are recovering from?it was time for me to work out whom I wanted to be (what are we recovering to?….)

It is no measure of recovery to join, and blend into, a sick society.
For the millionth time, BRUCE K. ALEXANDER’s “Globalization Of Addiction” is available at most libraries now.
You should be saying “”Thanks NZFIEND. “”
“Thank me by reading it FFS.”

..”& just what
prey tell Mr Narcisist NZ Fiend
are you recovering to?”..

The worlds best Dad would be a bloody good start. Wellington’s best delinquent kids football coach. A half decent advocate for addiction (dis) services clients. A reliable friend. A good neighbour. A creative soul.

And, after that little list, maybe even become someone else’s “better half”.

But, right now? Right now I would settle for being a good Dad and creating a half decent soul.

Yesterday was wasted. The day before was fucked. Violence. Domestics. Kids screaming whilst Mum and Dad abuse and hit each other at 4am…. Birth Mum told to fuck off. Fists. Weapons. Sore heads. Going on drug hunts. Insane driving.

I have books and research on all these topics. From very dirty fighting techniques (had nose or ear bitten off lately?, thanks Dave Courtney) through to how to a brilliant guide on how treat your missus like shit and yet she will still cook you those fucken eggs (Once were Warriors by Alan Duff).
Spending my NZ Government sickness benefit on anything other than limited amounts of mediocre quality food for daughter and me is a big deal. Gabor Maté’s “In the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts” was worth every single lost calorie. I was broke addict struggling to understand. I now understand. I am a broke addict.

This is, currently, my New Zealand. This is my Wellington Housing New Zealand environment.

Hoary Maori BBQ’s. They will get drunk, hit, complain, abuse, intimidate. All amongst themselves. But, when outside my window at 2am, it starts involving me.

Skinny arse junkies will hang out. Whine and moan. Do nothing about it in a positive manner. Start begging at my door. Therefore, involving me.

And, yet, in between it all… Some very good conversation and intellectual progress (on an occasional tertiary level – BEAT THAT!)

Yesterday, attempting to explain proved fruitless.

There were no vegetables in the vicinity. My ADHD writing, therefore, was also devoid of vegies… Quit for the day, vegetableless and fruitless.

Which is close to happening again write at this very moment.

When having less is not more.

Having more ADHD occasionally results in less. Having more PAIN. More STRESS. OBLIGATIONS.

More or less.

I can hear my Spiritual Advisor ™ cringing loudly from a kilometre away.

“JUST STOP IT”

She is probably screaming between eyes screwed shut.

DEEP BREATH. BREATHE. CENTRE. Relax. Repeat keyword. 

Click For Music, and continue to read in bliss
heyho
Time for some music.mushy Time to get on with it.
Time is hitting me in the backside.
It is beginning to itch.
I Wanna Be Well.

Quoting from above…

“Yesterday was wasted. The day before was fucked. Violence. Domestics. Kids screaming whilst Mum and Dad abuse and hit each other at 4am…. Birth Mum told to fuck off. Fists. Weapons. Sore heads. Going on drug hunts. Insane driving.”

If I was ever on a TV news show john_campbell_will_spewwithout having to be violently arrested during some outrageously fortunate (and purely co-incidental) bDSM-V’ing featuring a leather clad Clarissa Broderick ejecting me from the Mein Street Addiction (Dis)Services complex it may go something like this…

“So, you, NZFiend, had a bad day starting early in the morning of Friday..?”

Why, yes John. It was pretty lousy. Not the worst, but pretty lousy.

“Without trying to sound too much like a registered shrink of highest magnitude, could you tell me, and the viewers, more. In your own words, your own time. TV3 is tightening my budget, so just talk away. We may edit it later, but really don’t have the cash…”

Wow. You will wish you didn’t say that shortly. Just don’t pretend you’re a doctor and try to tell me your historic and incorrect views of addiction.

“You’re wasting time……”

Oh, right you are. It all started around midnight. Put a DVD on that had taken me three or four sittings to get to half way. Did I mention my ADHD issues John?

“Oh for fucksake……”

Sorry John, won’t happen again. Will try staying on track…. What was it you asked again? Ahh right. Yeahp. Riiiigggghhhtt……………

Was watching a DVD at midnight…

New Zealand endorses the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in April 2010.

Although falling asleep whilst having THE RAMONES END OF THE CENTURY DVD playing loudly on the TV, got rudely fucken awoken about 2am by some 100kg Maori biatches slapping and cursing each other. Disappointingly normal behaviour in this small enclave of under educated, yet over drugged, misfit abodes.

Unfortunately for me the human brain does not really differentiate between physical pain and mental pain. Whomever said “sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me” was either deaf or stupid. Or, most likely, selling some sort of religion with large tithe’s.

Other peoples stuff effects us. How can it not?

At two in the morning someone must have rung noise control or police or something. After yelling out the window for them to “please quieten down your over assertive use of language” peace was restored.

“Honestly, that is the most shit story I have ever heard………”

Sorry John, you’re quite right…. An hour later, after sleeping some more and hearing some quite funny tough guy Te Reo along the lines of ….

Ay bro, fucken sum1 narkd on uz cuz. fuk if i fiund owt hooo da fuk narkd on uz cuz. gonna fuk dem up broz. fucken a cuz. yo fuk wotch.” (those who know the awesome sound of real Te Reo will be astounded to know these Maori speak closer to L.A Gang, but with the rythum and speed of Bob Marley on valium. Try this for an example…. NZ, you rock!)

… the mummy and the daddy start slapping each other in the apartment just across from mine. Kid is screaming. Everything is turning to shit. This happens very often. Cops may have arrived. Punches may have been thrown.

I don’t know what happened. I just turned up my favourite Jew gone bad and listened to some good lyrics…

“You mean Jesus? The jew gone bad, right? Out-stanndd-ingg”

You old git. You know damn well I meant Jeffry Hyman of Queens, New York whom became JOEY RAMONE?

Stop trying to upset me John… The DVD stopped and you could not block out the noise. Hearing kids screaming and slapping and punching going on is not good.

And then my head went to other places. My own upbringing. At least this kid knew its Mum and Dad. At least he knows his heritage. He will probably turn out better than me.

I text my Mum with “Not even so much as a text or facebook for your only son and grand kid over Christmas and New Year?

She replied very rudely with some good lines about “get off your high horse“, “anger management classes“, “I will send your daughter something for her birthday”

FUCKEN WHAT?World of Wearable Arts

My own “mum” doesn’t tell me she is in Wellington staying at a motel just down the road for the WORLD OF WEARABLE ARTS SHOW and goes home without even a cuppa with her only offspring… This “mum” who… Well… Fuckit. I am over it.

She finishes the text by saying “DO NOT REPLY“.

Fuck you Mum. Here’s twenty replies. Inclusive of ten variations on “fuck off and die” and ten with variations of “if you go behind my back and contact my child I will actually be angry.”

Don’t know how much you believe in attachment theory and how it relates to ADHD, but there are many and comprehensive studies suggesting such things. Check out my own thoughts in LEFT HANDED IS A CURSE FROM THE DEVIL

So, the day got off to a good start. 

May save the stories about driving, drug quests and others for another day. More likely, they will never see the light of day. But, then again….

“Wonder if the TV3 executives will resort to crowd funding to get this crap edited…………”

Funeral today are ARO ST COMMUNITY HALL.  Old stomping ground of many a young punk style teen... Communists everywhere. Surprised property prices have not declined.

Funeral today are ARO ST COMMUNITY HALL.
Old stomping ground of many a young punk style teen…
Communists everywhere. Surprised property prices have not declined.

My mate died recently. He really liked the Ramones too. Another mates ex missus was mates with this mate. Another mate, whom lives in the apartment two over from me, knows this other mate. Our mate plays in a band. And the other mate is an old bikey gang guy. Another guy has heaps of dodgy tattoo’s and has spent years in jail.

Ooops. Come to think of it. Pretty much everyone in this story has dodgy tattoo’s, jail time and very few teeth. Other than the band member guy. Even the girls in this story have no teeth and shocking tattoo’s. Even tho they are still sexy as all buggery.

“Your Spiritual Advisor ™ will whip your ass for that comment…”

I will deal with that, thanks [winks]…

Years ago someone was murdered. The kids of this person had attachment problems all right. Mainly due to the plain fact their caregiver was now dead.

Pavlova is a meringue-based dessert named after the Russian ballet dancer Anna Pavlova.[2] It is a meringue cake with a crisp crust and soft, light inside, usually topped with whipped cream and fruit.[1] The name is pronounced /pævˈloʊvə/ or /pɑːvˈloʊvə/, unlike the name of the dancer, which was /ˈpɑːvləvə/.[3][4][5] The dessert is believed to have been created in honour of the dancer either during or after one of her tours to Australia and New Zealand in the 1920s. The nationality of its creator has been a source of argument between the two nations for many years, but formal research indicates New Zealand as the source. Picture from http://www.annabel-langbein.com/recipes/fantasy-pavlova/62/ whom NZFIEND was photographed with and used in brochures for local community help groups. Just saying.

My mates other mates mate mate sells some crystal meth from time to time. My other mates mate mate ex-missus was being put down. So my mates mate went and had a word to my other mates old mate. One guy was acting pretty cool, getting pavlova out the fridge and sitting there eating loudly.

Rather than try and explain “mates mate mate” we will simply say “person A” huh?

A was eating loudly being the man
B was sitting elsewhere
was sitting there
was my mates mate (oops) with a bit of a grudge.

A had been saying a few things about C ending up like the murdered person whom was murdered about fifty metres away from where I am writing this…

D did not like A for selling shitty drugs. D also goes way back with C.

A started acting all strange, hitting D‘s knuckles with his head whilst laying in a foetal position on the ground doing something similar to crying. A fifty year old biker with jail tattoo’s all over him was laying on the ground hitting his head repeatedly into the floor and D‘s closed hand when an even stranger thing happened.

B came out of nowhere and at about that time a hammer hit the back of D‘s head.

Personally, I have purchased shitty drugs from the area before too. Having consumed them with the dead guy – although still alive at the time – the dead guy then didn’t want to pay me for the drugs he consumed with me. The dead guy knew A too. The dead guys house contained some metal artifacts capable of projecting projectiles rapidly in a forward motion. Some of these things may, or may not, have been pointed at good old NZFiend during some disputes that followed. Only made peace with dead guy a few months before his death. Person C may have been at his deathbed. Person D … Well..Knowing him as well as I do… Really asking him to go easy on person B. Even employedperson as a builders labourer. He was useless with a hammer. Which shows in the lack of impact he had on D‘s shaved head.

 should really not have done this. B is in no way a tough guy. Hell, he can hardly swing a hammer. He has trouble enough brushing his own hair.

Yet, hair we have it. Gave B a lift home from the supermarket after getting a tattoo done last week. He really should not have got involved with all the other mates mates mate mate problems.

The other mate matey mate (D) is more of a genuine tough bastard. He is now not happy, understandably, with having a hammer dropped on his noggin.

Personally, I can totally relate to this. Having been hit from behind with a 4×4 foundation post, a three foot long plumbers crescent, a hammer and a bottle. After being stabbed. After being on wrong end of guns… Well. I feel D‘s pain and annoyance. At least it wasn’t the police with the guns mate. They are the scariest bunch of people when they get their tools out. They are not calm. They are, frankly, a danger to themselves and the public at large.

So, after all this, D gets E to contact good ol’ NZFIEND and look for some crystal meth’. I drive there. I drive here. I drive every-bloody-where. I don’t ask for money. It is a good deed.

Part of my HARM REDUCTION strategy. Harm reduction of a most grass roots nature. Something that the doctors and idiots at chemists, doctors offices, drug treatment centres and N.A would never understand.

For I really do care. 

Doctors and addiction centre workers… Workers the world over… They do not understand that lives like mine do not revolve around set routine. I do not get up at 7am, go to the office, and come home five or six days a week. Collecting medication at an exact amount, at an exact time will not work for us. Complete abstinence will not work for us.

Engraving of Hippocrates by Peter Paul Rubens, 1638

Drugs, when and how we need them. Just like any person in the world. The opportunity for us to be part of this normal medical model was taken away from us the moment we presented with “addiction” or “dependence” issues. We show up in need of painkillers with a bone sticking out our skin and they will only give us panadol. Did these people ever read the Hippocratic oath“First do no harm” (Latin: Primum non nocere) originated with the 19th-century surgeon Thomas Inman, not the good old Hippocrate at all.

Most drugs are given on a “take two pills, when and if required” basis. As soon as you’re an addict, or mentally deficient in the eyes of the capitalist medical system, you must take EXACTLY 51mg’s of this and 62mg’s of that at 8:57am. Forget the fact that you are busy one day. And sitting on your arse another. You are awake all night dealing with girls and drama one night. The next tossing, and sometimes turning, yourself to sleep and you don’t wake until midday. After that you have to drive to the middle of nowhere to comfort an overdose victims grieving sister for a day. You miss your 8:57am appointment with the drug hander over people and you get into trouble……

HEY, ARE YOU AWAKE?

“zzzzzzz…… zzzzzzzzzzzz…. wh-whatt? oh shit….. En-thrallll-innnngggg…..”

Here I am. Here we are. I have been having very little sleep this week. A lady came over one night resulting in about one hours slumber. Then various parties in near apartments. Then I had to look after a girl whom turned up at midnight, just as going to bed. And that meant no sleep, no sex, no drugs. No rock n roll. Just listening and making appropriate noises until the men with the white coats could take her away. Advocacy and caring is not for me full time John. I take it too seriously. Then… Well… Whatever. You get the picture.

“If a picture told a thousand words, would it shut you up?……”

Now now John. Here’s $5 for some video editing time…. Can we blank out all the references to real people John?

“What, all that crap wasn’t just made up……”

No, John. That isn’t even the half of it.

“Fac-sin-nate-innnngggg….  I was afraid of that……”

Now defunct meeting that resulted in drama and me deciding for the third time to tell N.A to get stuffed.

Now defunct meeting that resulted in drama and me deciding for the third time to tell N.A to get stuffed.

(anonymous is something Narcotics Anonymous should actually practise – they could learn from me John… When  saying “My mates mate mate mates cousins mate ex girlfriend….” you would never guess I am talking about the girl whom is arriving on a bus and staying the night tonight.)

Sorry John, that has to be the end of the stories for now. I need to find some way of getting veges for the dinner she is cooking.

These stories make me think.

And that is not such a bad thing.

“You reckon?……”

The day was not fucked. The day was an experience.

My input, help and mitigation helped others experience of that day be less harmful. Without being able to talk about so many things, I am proud of some things that day.

Not so much the dealings with my undiagnosed mother.

And how all this helped me become a slightly better Dad? 

God Knows.

I believe in miracles…. Ramones again.
For I have made a ringing noise in my ears get louder and my ability to hear even less during the course of writing these three thousand words. http://youtu.be/V1VczvVrD_I

Samtsirhc Yrrem

Once upon a time there was a little boy who hated Christmas carols and shopping centre festive music.

He liked titles by the likes of Joy Division, Depeche Mode, UB40 even Iron Maiden and Sex Pistols. He was born in ’73. That means music was responsible for the way this guy turned out. Bloody EMI. Click on the band names. The favourite song will load in a new window for your pleasure whilst reading this, the worlds shittest blog.

He wrote his own computer publication and signed himself off as “Sir” K..Ynot.

He was, some would claim still is, left handed.

Signed his name backwards, he did.

Arguably there is a tenuous link to reality via some far flung theory combining left handedness and learning to write using fountain pens and ink wells.

Years later the “K.Y” part of the backwards name turned out to be useful.  6d makes more sense to him than 69. 

It still does.

At age fourty there is another guy who writes crap,
puts a narcissistic “Sir” in front of his handle,
thinks he is clever and even
claims to be capable of rigging elections.

slaterCLICK ON PICTURE FOR MORE

Mr Slater (click above) is a bit of a right wing knob.

Me, being left handed, know all about the way the right suppress the lefties. They call us “reds” and organise witch hunts, wars and pick at as mentally with subtle things like calling us sinister.

Mr Slater and I agree on one thing. We both like CHARLOTTE DAWSON. I like her for all sorts of reasons. I think she may have been left handed. And adopted. There are statistics and those who think these things go hand in hand….

You know what I think about addictions and mental health. Problematic ones that is. Non problematic addictions can go take a running jump. If you need drugs to play football with your kid, or converse with people on your deathbed, then go tell CCDHBDSM and it’s head Mistress to go tie herself up some place nice and quiet. Leave a cellphone just out of reach and leave saying “if I am gone more than an hour, call me”.

After all, it is what they do to a bunch of mental health and addiction clients whom need to sort out their medications over the holiday period.

Addiction to power. Different from being a right wing knob addict. But probably similar enough to have problems getting proper diagnosis.
The Discipline Sadism Masochism for Virgins Manual (DSM-V) will sort out these discrepancies in its next edition.

I have pain.

Constant pain. Sometimes crippling. Mostly just a bloody pain.

I get tattoo’s and the pain in my back seems less for a day or two. Hell, I got these ones over the last fortnight. My birthday and Christmas presents to myself.

O for OarSum. Simply freaken Class A.

geoff_crammond

 

  • Bill Bennett has not sent me a Christmas card.
  • Cameron Slater neither.
  • Nor Clarissa Broderick, Sandy Baigent, Lucy Politini…
  • Tom Flewett would never send me a card. Clarissa will not allow him. 
  • Neither did I get a card from one of my best mates sons who died.
  • None of my mates who died since I gave up drug abuse last year.
  • But wait. No one from N.A has either.
  • In fact, no living person has given me a card or Christmas wish without me sending one first.
    This is Christmas and I can’t be fucked. 

Makes me want to go and use drugs. Hard and long. Repeatedly. Like wanking with a needle full of smack.

But the drugs will not take the pain away.

The day they find a cure for pain is the day I throw my drugs away.

http://youtu.be/985JGeGq_tc?t=34s

But then, I have another eureka moment.
Definitely re-inventing the wheel again.

you can’t fuck the pain away

Not even according to Peaches. And she should know. She looks worthy.
I can just tell.
Some girls get a shock if you say “nice arse” or
flick your tongue out and air guitar with it as you walk past.

Others have worked out you may be a little more than the average pervert builder.

Some turn and wink.
Some turn and abuse.

Some lift their bums higher with their heels and strut off,
leaving a vapour thin trail of expensive perfume and
pheromone like particles discharged by overt displays of power and authority.

Hi, I am NZ FIEND, and I am an addict. 

Hi, NZ FIEND.

Today I am going to share about getting Chlamydia in my eyes………. I may not be Brad Pitt. Nor Stalone. Nor even the rough teddy bear guy that girls want to take home and nurture. But, I am worried. Has anyone here got a “how to tell if you’re an addict” SLA style?

http://www.slaawellington.org.nz/40Q.htm

For fucksakes, bugger. Fuck me. 

Should I really jump into bed with another group of dysfunctional addicts?

Their definitions of recovery seem to be “shut up, have a totally boring life and do all you can to be a good capitalism addict.” Becoming a good “economic unit” is part of every definition of recovery from the industry. “Having a job” is listed by a lot of addicts. This just shows how capitalism has screwed you hard and fast. Shouldn’t having the skills to bring up your kids be more important. Even capitalists should see this.

The kids are going to be much better capitalists if they’re not in jail, on drugs and chasing skirt all day. Spending more time with your kids would probably even stop ADHD (along with banning TV adverts, of course….)

Capitalism addiction is the bloody worst.

You can keep it….  Your capitalism addiction.

I’ll keep mine…. Compulsion to please females pubic areas.

After all, it is not hugely problematic………..
Well, not to the global economy or capitalist markets. I will not change the price your house sells for (unless the purchaser notices the rock climbing equipment anchors in the cieling – in which case the price may actually go up…)
…………….unless you are an ex-partner who kicked me out for giving other ladies orgasms. (sorry)

Unless you are the girls whom I want nothing to do with (other than your sex, of course) as you all give me headaches telling me shit. (sorry)

Unless you are the person whom is so damn straight you got a surprise and crashed when you saw a couple having sex on top of the entrance to the main motorway tunnel. (sorry)

If you’re the policewoman whom complained about a lady with long blonde hair bobbing up and down in front of my waist whilst standing in front of five thousand people at a New Years gig… (sorry you were ten metres below us and couldn’t join in…)

I owe all of you people a great deal of amends.

I owe you.
Would that be cash, credit card or oral?

 

Well, that is Christmas wasted. One step at a time. Entirely fucking backwards.

 

 

Letter to Health and Disability Commission

health_buttonAs published previously, there are guidelines for complaining about and managing your care… Health and Disability Commission is one such avenue. They will advocate for you in a complaints type process. Myself and them have had a few contacts over the last year and a half. Most recently a few weeks ago where the idea was put forward of getting together a number of people with similar complaints and recording their concerns and approaching the “powers that be” collectively.

I like this idea. A LOT. The people suggesting it seem to actually listen. And care.

My heart just stopped.

There are MANY MANY people all over Wellington with similar issues. When in Christchurch last week I was bloody well astounded to hear the same stories from those poor fuckers. Four hours I spent talking with addicts and methadone victims in CHCH. Only two of them told me about people being injured or dying in earthquakes. But every single one of them had a complaint and serious issue (anger) with the methadone programme. Now known as some stupid acronym (those who read this regularly will roll their eyes fully expecting me to produce some more of my own world shatteringly clever acronyms – I will refrain, just this once – you owe me) like CORS or some shit, they are the cause of angst and stress amongst many people already suffering dislocation from society.

GOOD ONE CORS. You can thank me for reading all the works of Bruce K Alexander (RAT PARK et al) later. Saves you the bother. Copies now available at Wellington public library. Bruce has never offered me royalties. Not even jokingly. Life is not fair. Life is not for everyone.

http://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/news/9855871/Methadone-Liquid-handcuffs

This article is eight months old.  Some things have changed. A little. Very little. Some things have even got worse.

chchc

The people at MATUA RAKI bestow the efforts of CORS to include a “strong consumer voice” in their presentation to the “ADDICTION LEADERSHIP DAY CONFERENCE”. Fuck me people. Is it just as some politically minded people were there? Or do you REALLY believe everything is coming up smelling of roses?

Piles of shit may produce good roses. One day.

(Banana skins would be a much better point from a purely horticultural view – Unfortunately this would be lost on politically wrong Wellingtonians. So, PILE OF SHIT it is.)

Without people spotting errors, spotting things wrong, complaining and changing the system…. Nothing would change. The world would still be flat.

It is broke. It needs fixing.

Telling me you have twenty years experience and therefore giving your opinion that my opinions don’t matter is just garbage. A catch 22 of pile of shit.

You have been working on something twenty years and it is still broken?

Go get another job. Honestly, you people deserve a cake.
A cake made from Double U-O Globe Number 4. Mock cream in middle 50-50 mix Psilocybin and Lysergic acid diethylamide 25. Iced with Ice (of course – chortle chortle).logo

van

Vanessa Caldwell is actually really neat. So are most of the people I have met over the last year and half of dealing with addiction. Most really do mean to make a difference with their lives, both in their capitalist job sense and for the addicted masses.

I have managed to control my obvious dislike for those with gold watches and cars with plates newer than 2010. I’ve controlled my ADHD a little. I have managed to converse well with a number of people whom will never talk to me again once they realise I am an invalids beneficiary who flies around the country for no reason what-so-ever. Just to annoy them really. Go on, ask them. They will agree whole hearted. Champagne glasses in their manicured hands.

For I have no agenda. No barrow. No income.

Imagine this, the worlds shittest blog, with its own http address and a flash name like Whale Oil. O for oar sum.

I live in a very run down block of housing corp flats. I live on the bottom floor. I get rotten walls, damp mould. I get things landing outside my window such as butts, syringe wrappers and empty pill packets. My block has eighty odd flats. There are ten people on methadone. There are three drug dealers. There are many on P. Many alcoholics. Many problems. Many gangs.

This is me.

I have a strong sense of social equity. I talk to all people the same. The judge, the politician (hey there Peter Dunne, apologise to Jacinda for my silly, yet sincere, house husband proposals next time you see her…) or the junky laying in the gutter in a recovery position with a slow respiratory rate. They all get the same respect and the same voice from me.

They will, equally, get the same ear bashing if they start quoting wrong facts and figures. They may learn, as did my politically errant in laws, that if people like me actually start arguing we are damn well sure to have enough back up facts to make the argument worth while.

What was the point of all this again?

Have I taken enough Ritalin today? God, grant me the serenity.

 

“””My Dearest [good person at Health and D Comm’]

just letting you know we have been getting nowhere rather rapidly (or slowly) with a few things. The major concern seems to be that “ADDICTION” takes precedent over all other health diagnosis. Unfortunately it has reached the stage where my client has threatened to “write a letter detailing what you c***s are doing and drive head on into oncoming cars in order to highlight what you c***s are doing to me.”

Believe it or not, I have seen this sort of thing before. I have seen people cut off programmes and maintenance regimes and end up in jail with days as they feel robbing a pharmacy and telling their story to a judge and newspaper will help change things.

It doesn’t. [look at the guy who would not get a blanket from Work and Income, so shot three of them]

What would help greatly is being listened to properly.

The staff at ADDICTION SERVICES (CCDHB) today advised my client that they could provide an advocate for him “who would have the run of the hospital” and be much better than the current advocate (me). They also said that they felt uncomfortable with me at meetings and wished him not to bring me in future.  Their basis for this is that I write a blog. If they have ANY issue with the content of my public ramblings, they could approach me and advise me that I have made an error. I am fully prepared to stand up in court and prove every single fact.

They, basically, do not like scrutiny. Nor do they like the idea of hundreds of people every day reading about them. [just to clarify this – The record was over 800. But, lately, most people just read about LORDE and leave – But then 40 individuals have looked here in six hours, half from NZ, mainly USA and Great Britain fill the remainder. They each looked at 1.8 pages (mostly the most recent post and, of course, LORDE…]  

Nor do they like the idea that there are many many more people out there whom are having the same issues but are too ham-strung to speak publicly.

Anyway, I am going to send my client your way very soon. Facts and sense seem to make no difference to these people. 


I attend meetings with my client, as official advocate, and they will not let me speak. They openly ignore me and will not make eye contact. At previous meeting I even had to intervene as one staff member became very angry and was one level below shouting at my client – even though it was her protocols that were causing her anger.

Can we meet in person, or shall we write basis of complaint and forward to you?

Sorry to trouble you. This system is broke. It needs work.“””

And, so saying, that is another ranting post from me. The last for the day. Tune back tomorrow once the mushroom cloud has cleared from your neck of the woods…

Cameron Slater (Whale Oil) has now been blocked from my phone. Honestly, dude, calm the fuck down! Might even get t-shirts printed. But that is a story for another day. My previous post about John Key being a psychopath may have got his g-string in a bundle.

This day has produced it’s headache quotient already. After going to say a quick farewell to one of my oldest junky mates, I get hit with a bunch of crap from other old junky mates. Only to do it all again tomorrow at other old junky mates funeral.

Life. It is not for everyone.

Life on the pharmacists terms is not for anyone.

Funeral today are ARO ST COMMUNITY HALL.  Old stomping ground of many a young punk style teen... Communists everywhere. Surprised property prices have not declined.

Funeral today at the ARO ST COMMUNITY HALL.
Old stomping ground of many a young punk style teen…
Communists everywhere. Surprised property prices have not declined.

Life is not simple. Should it be?

einsdtien4

Ahhhh, for a simple life. Would I love one? Probably.

For about three days. Things going smoothly, things going well. Aiming for mediocrity. Mediocrity is the new brown.

Went to get a “lower lid lesion” cut out of my eye on Friday. Typically for me, WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE SURPRISED, the five minute local anaesthetic only procedure turned into an hours worth of comparatively high drama, fun and frollick.

It started with the surgeon saying “I don’t think it is too cancerous….” and ended, one and a half hours later, with “Fuck it, it’s not in the rubbish, nor on the floor. I will check all the benches carefully as they are cleaned. But, don’t worry, I don’t think it was too cancerous. Would be nice to find it and get it sampled to know what it was though….”

Yeahp, typically for me… I related to Ozzy Osbourne. Adhd addled mess he is.

I relate to the surgeon. For I, too, would have got confused where the inch of flesh cut from my lower lid had gone. After an hour of lazers burning, blood pumping, every surface within metres being half drowned in red stuff previously known as NZFIENDS HEP C system….. Well…. I totally understand how the hell you lost the bloody “non” cancerous thing Doc. I don’t blame ya.

I do blame the police. New Zealand Police. #NZPOLICE. Wankers. First degree. A+ assholes.

My car tyres got stabbed. They didn’t interview the witness for two months, and then showed him a “photo montage” and he could not identify the people responsible. The police refuse to show me the montage as it is “confidential”. The police constantly refer to this piece of shit as my “partner” or “ex partner”, even though we have NEVER been close at all. The police tell me that “there are no further lines of inquiry and the case is closed”. But, WHAT THE FUCK? “MM” told me she would damage my car. “MM” told others she was going to stab my tyres and damage my car. Someone fitting a perfect description of “MM” is seen stabbing and damaging my car a few weeks later. 

“MM” has got me convicted of ASSAULT as she tried hitting me and I sat on her briefly. 

The Narcotics Anonymouse crew all say shit like “why do you help these people, it only gets you into trouble“. All these capitalist ladder climbers will never understand.

Sometimes I doubt my self.

But then, just one time, I answer “without people being different the world would still be flat. I would be shot for saying the earth is a fucking bowling ball travelling around the sun. People like Einstein, Tesla and Bell would not exist.”

This is, quite simply, nuts. Comparing myself to Einstien?

No, not in the slightest. Not intentionally. 

But then, later than night – A quote arrives via FACETUBES…. Fucken EINSTIEN agreeing with me. Co Incidence. Explain that via neuroscience Marc Newson.. (I have – It is my higher power)

And the next day a cancer victim walks up and down the stairs to get his tissues as he is coughing blood.

bro, sit the fuck down – next time you stand up to walk up those stairs I will knock you fucken out and bring the whole bedroom down to you.”

“Oh, shit, right you are NZFIEND. It’s just that you’ve done enough for me already…..”

Fuck me. All those people whom know this guy. All those who care. To me he is an acquaintance, at best. One whom was involved with a certain manslaughter case a few years ago. One whom should have done better with life.

But one whom has lung cancer.

And a methadone script.

And was being fucked around by Wellingtons Addiction DisServices.

Although claiming to be aiming for boring and mediocre, it is just not possible.

I am me. And that is not entirely a bad thing. Ask the kids on the new football team. Ask the lung cancer guy.

Ask the police.