Doom and Gloom? Impossible.


Old ARC welder that sat in a carport on Wellingtons south coast in the salty sea air for two years… Got some electrodes for ten bucks off TradeMe and was amazed the thing still worked. Just like an old Ford six cylinder, park it for years, turn it on, and away you go…


Still looking at getting MIG (gas/ageless model) so as to convert 1994 Falcon six cylinder four litre EF front end to 2004 AU3 XR6 suspension, steering, brakes, engine mounts… Will then use AU engine block with my mildly worked, cam’d and extracted 1998 Xr6 head…
Combining the new steering geometry with the large two pot brakes and my huge sway bar… Should do better than my current best 1:32 around Mansfield race track…
Just need to find a house, get a license back, and rob a bank… oh, and stay away from ludicrous amounts of drugs and addicts…

Advertisements

Just had to write something

Has been a while. Really should write more, contemplate less. For, after all, it is better out than in.

Unless you are contemplating walking around with your penis out

Have had no time at my computer for quite some time. Re posting other peoples good work on twitter, facebook or wordpress is a copout. So, no way I would ever simply fill a gap in my own pathetic attempts to keep my life in order via journal. Hell no… http://wp.me/p3xGVw-KX

As part of the GILEAD drug trial for what is now known as Subosifor (or some shit spelt similar) it is sad that people like me will not be able to get the drug in NEW ZEALAND for some time. I spent my own money and time for this research. Although there will be a tattoo of ED GANE’s signature on my liver (hey ED – You still have not sent me a copy of your signature – I will have to make one up shortly….) there will be no love lost between NZ and GILEAD.

My Doctor (G.P) claims to be on a “board” which is looking into the pharmac funding of these drugs… It is interesting in this world of capitalist fucking clowns that hundreds of thousands of people in poorer countries are getting the very drug that JOHN KEY and NATIONAL right wing politics denies us here.

 

sobisssoore

So, just had to write something today. Was looking for PHEONIX FOUNDATION VIDEOS (specifically this one…)

and just HAD TO write something….

Subscribing to MEMPHIS CHANNEL the video at top of page was 3,666 views. You just cannot beat people on the same wavelength.

a6663

I have two days to move all my stuff and find a place to live.

Instead I am relying on my old motto ;

1 ) UNLESS THEY KILL ME I WILL GROW STRONGER AND BE BACK.

2) THEY CAN’T FUCKEN KILL ME.

My higher power

needs a reminder

 

My place….

image

How on earth can you not be happy after half hour in scalding hot bath?

image

my photos on wall…. Yuhp, wasted as most of the time, didn’t stop creative

image

Emac letterbox. Eletter box?

image

beach 100metres away

image

Some of my plants… Knew all that misspent time growing cannabis would be good for something

Recently I have been in jail

I have been in jail for a short while, true.

Would love to have enough energy for the bother of converting the badly hand written dairy entries into something worthy of posting on this, the worlds shittest blog.

No energy can be spared. As I type this nearing 1am, the one eye is shut. The other thinks it saw a mouse scurry around the skirting. It may have. It may not have. There is little food in the house, so if  there was a mouse, who cares? There are large stabs from the dull knife of mental pain.

The brain does not differentiate from physical pain and mental pain awfully well. Thankfully there is more than enough of both that the borders between the two are blurred. More than blurred – the effect where the cold southern ocean and the warm waters from equatorial pacific conjoin in a lovers embrace more sums up my existence within my 182cm, 81kg frame.

Jail is full of characters. Some very intelligent people whom are waiting trail for murdering some idiot.

One guy whom represented his country at war (a few steps above FIFA under twenty ALL WHITES for commitment) has a bullet wound or two. His two mates got killed each side of him. He was found unconscious by an American patrol. He had pulled his side arm and killed two people whom were intent on finishing him off. He came home to good old John Key’s New Zealand and ACC was too hard to deal with. WINZ weren’t helpful once he was out of hospital. His Dad died. His shot leg and head injuries cause a bit of issue. The shrapnel thrown off by the grenade that cost one friend the entire left side of his brain, skull and upper torso is throughout his body. He is in jail for robbing TV’s, stereos and jewellery from richer people than he. Some of them probably know John Key. Some of them definitely would know (or were) Military brass types. 

I have the book rights. Thankfully for the world when you leave me in a cell with two or three people for an hour they will talk to me about PTSD, ADHD, DYSLEXIA, PSYCHOPATHY and, arguably, worse than the whole lot – ISSUES WITH THE MISSUS AND KIDS.

Addiction, mental health, bad luck….. To study inmates and their issues you really need to be an inmate. I have crazy stupid tattoo’s. I have few teeth. I have just enough intelligence to keep up with the clever and encourage the not quite so. Just like running the Mental Health unit Narcotics Anonymous meeting, I can not only empathise, but identify with these people and their plights.

There are some real stories there. Stories your average reporter would not find. Links between being locked up and your ex partner seeing you with a hotter young lady are obvious. But when you have been split up for ten years the Courts will laugh it this. I believe it. For I have had one or two myself.

deadbeat

 

After spending six weeks in jail throughout May and early June, I am sorry to report staggering examples of Police ruining peoples chances at life by spreading information unlawfully.

It could be considered worse than unlawful, for it is criminal.

 
 
 
 
FRIDAY, APRIL 10th.

 
After being told there was “no warrant to arrest” on a charge in the District Court I went home with my 11 year old daughter. 
 
One hour later the police arrived, arrested me in front of my daughter and told me that we would be half an hour whilst they filled out paperwork. I left daughter with a friend. As soon as I was in their car they told me I would be there overnight as the court had shut for the day although it was 1pm….
 
Against my express wishes they rung my daughters mother and told her all about me being in trouble and being arrested. I specifically told them that they had no right to tell someone else about my arrest and that my daughter had her own phone, knew how to contact her mother, grandma and other people.
 
They went on to furnish their story stating that I had left my child in the care of someone they considered untrustworthy. My daughter has stayed with these people before, and has slept overnight there with the couples daughter whom is only a month or two older.
 
The mother of my daughter picked our daughter up at 8pm, which shows she was unconcerned about any threat to our child. 
 
The police also tried to ring her new partner at work and tell him about it. Although he has never met me properly and has no say in the day to day care of myself our my child, the Police exaggerated the circumstances and generally made the situation into something it should not be. 
 
I was released the next morning about 10am and the mother of my daughter was obviously not in the least happy.
 
 
 
TUESDAY, APRIL 28th.
 
For the first time ever my kids Mum and her partner came to football training. I am the football team coach, and have been for two years with three different teams. 
 
My child’s mother took our daughter early and was perceived to be looking for trouble by other parents. Subsequently to this, the mother of my daughter punched me five times in front of many witnesses.
I carried on playing football with the children and tried to handle the situation. Her new partner rung police after he pushed me and had decided that I was assaulting his new partner. She stands at the side of the field and shouts abuse, including that I am a paedophile and should not be allowed around children. 
 
 

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 29th

 
I presented at Wellington Central Police station to tell them about the mother of my daughter hitting me five times in front of the child’s football team and parents at football training. Officer {**18} told me directly that “you (I) are full of shit and that matter has already been dealt with“. 
 
I recorded the conversation from that point on. The matter already “being dealt with” was basically them trying to find a way to stuff me with something. The facts are that I was assaulted by two people in front of fifteen children and many parents during our football team training.
 
 
 
FRIDAY, MAY 1st


Police came to my house in some numbers and charged me with assault by way of issuing a paperwork summons to appear in court. Why they needed so many officers and why they acted so aggressively is obvious – They were trying to get me angry and acting badly so there would be a proper excuse for another arrest and charge – resisting, disorderly behaviours or similar. 

After being charged with assault they rang the football club I was coaching for and told them that under no circumstances should I be allowed to coach football. I do not know what is being said, by whom. I do know that the football club is run by two ex Navy accountant types whom are probably good friends with the higher up Police… Maybe they all sit down at the Wellesley together and discuss issues. Maybe I was worthy of thirty seconds of their time as they nudge nudged and guffawed…

 
EMAIL FROM “L”TO ME, 3rd June 2015…
 
“””Dear NZFIEND
I am writing to you with regard to your role as a volunteer coach for the Grade 11 _________________ AFC.
In my role as Chairman of the club I have received communications from Capital Football and the NZ Police that I am now burdened with acting upon. The advice I have received is that the club should not employ you in a volunteer role as a junior coach. While I am not in receipt of detail as to specific circumstances it is incumbent upon me to heed this advice because regardless of any possible militating factors the club cannot take any risk in regard to the way it manages pastoral care for junior members through volunteers.
As a result it is with regret that I must now let you know that your volunteer coaching role must end, effective immediately. I understand that the coaching you have carried out for the club has been enjoyed by the children in the teams with which you have been associated, and I thank you for the contribution you have made.
Regards
LS – CEO of the AFC“””
 
 

I have asked three times in writing for information regarding WHO rung the club and WHAT was said, but have not even received an acknowledgement of my request. I guess this is what you should expect from a bunch of high ranking military people and police.

If I am accused of being a paedophile or a danger to children, I WANT TO KNOW! I now have to use official information act and / or privacy act requests to find out what is being said, and whom is saying it.

Louis appears to have secret discussions with police…At the time of my ex partner getting ME arrested for assault, I sent her some text messages and commented on some of her Facebook photos with what I thought of her partner pushing me, trying to get me to fight him, and then ringing police when I didn’t take the bait.

 
 
 
SATURDAY, MAY 2nd 
 
The police sent me texts and phone calls saying they want to speak to me at odd hours like 6am. I replied by text and voice call to a voicemail asking them why they wished to see me again. Also, quite clearly, I asked if it was urgent and what they wanted. They said “come in and see us urgently” but would not explain why. I declined to take up their nice offer as I had a football team to run and was due in Porirua at 8.30am. Last time they told me I would only be an hour “at the most” I was kept overnight and my daughter is now very perturbed when she see’s police. My daughter also jumps when there is a knock on the door and is worried the Police are coming to take Dad away. Anyway – Our team played well and we got a 3-3 draw. The best result the team has had, ever.
 
 
 
MONDAY, MAY 4th
 
Police have been coming to my house every few hours throughout the weekend and the neighbours have been interviewed and are getting annoyed by Police waking them up by kicking on my door. I have been elsewhere. Being happy and entertaining.
 
At approximately 8pm I am walking home and see a Police car drive past me a few times and park half a block from my house. I got the shop, buy some things and walk out as the car drives off again
 

At 9pm I received a text from a member of the football club saying that my daughter will not be part of the team any further as her Mum is taking her out of the team and not allowing me to see her. I send a text to my childs Mum…

4 May 21:31
Idiot.
Let ***** [our daughter] play football, she loves it.
About time you started doing what was right for the whole family we have, not just yourself.
You need to talk, but you ran across a field screaming like a stupid crazed animal and punched me 6 times.
You are stupidly carrying on [like] this.
 – direct copy of txt from cellphone
 

The neighbours come out to tell me the Police were there again. At approximately 9:35 pm I am talking to a lady police officer on the telephone whom says “MAN UP AND FACE THE CHARGES.” What charges? What are you on about? “BREACH OF PROTECTION ORDERS”

TUESDAY, MAY 5th


So, in the Police station, we have a video interview at 1am. I have been awake quite a lot with worry about the situation with my child and also have spent a couple of nights in others beds, so I am worn out and very tired. 
 
It comes as a surprise when I am kept in a court cell for the whole morning waiting for my appearance. I stand in the dock and find the Police are objecting to bail and want me in custody. I have not properly at all (the police have no pillows and since my clothing had string in it around the hood of the “hoody” top, they had removed those – it was cold, there is no bedding other than a cover that extends from feet to belly button. I was due to be at football training at 3:30pm and that is something to b taken very seriously. Letting down a bunch of kids – some of whom come straight from school so would be their unsupervised – by having their coach abandon them is a bloody serious thing.
 
The “Public Defendants Office” Lawyer told me that there is no way I could bail today and that “in these situations we keep you in for three or four days and let things cool off and then you will get bail on Friday.” She repeated this later with “Tony, we simply have you on a cool off period for a few days and then you will be bailed. Just do not apply for bail today.” I was charged with 5 BREACH OF PROTECTION ORDERS for sending some five text messages after she punched me repeatedly with children (including our own child) watching. The protection order has been in place 13 years. If I had so much as raised my voice at this person during 13 years I would have been charged with a breach already, yet Police claim in court I have been threatening and abusing and repeatedly and consistently disrupting the lives of my daughter and her mothers new family. One of these offences is the above text message, which is claimed to be ranting, abusive and threatening.
 
I told her I did not want her “legal” advice and represented myself. Bail was denied, even though the judge made many errors including deciding that I had committed “male assaults female” against the mother of my daughter last year. I have never, once, assaulted the mother of my daughter. Full stop.


The Police have lied the whole way through in order to keep me in jail. I was going to write exaggerated, as there are plenty of examples of that. But actual lies sum it up better…

The Police state that I knew they were searching for me, that I was actively running from them and they had to catch me. They state, in court documents, that I was actively hiding and taunting Police. I was, according to them, abusive to officers and was showing off that they could not catch me.. However, I had rung police every single day for four days and they would not tell me why they wanted me. I have told them about being assaulted and I thought that they may be serving me with Family Court papers. They finally told me what they wanted (breach of protection order for texting) and I told them to come and pick me up. In the end I had to jump out in front of the car and flag it down as they were driving straight past me. Yet the judge heard I was “evading and taunting police”.

I have recorded all these telephone conversations with Police and kept all text records.

 
I was sent to Rimutaka prison with a new court date for Friday 8th.
 
 
 
FRIDAY, MAY8th
I had stolen a black ballpoint pen and got a nice guard to give me a bit of paper from one of the computer printers and drew a picture. It shows my hand and my demons being pulled out of the mire by my daughters hand. Although, you can turn the picture upside down and see that me and my past demons and lifestyle are trying to help her out of some pain and difficulties. Call it a mental health exercise…
P119
 


After spending all day in a small cell out the back of Court1, Wellington District Court, I finally appeared at around 4pm. The Police were serious on keeping me in custody. The lawyer, KEITH JEFFERIES, proved to be the worst lawyer I have ever met. He did not come to see me with regards to the matter even though Police had given me new paperwork and what have you. He therefore stood up and even the Police prosecutor said “Keith is probably not aware, but here is the latest stuff….”
I tried to enter a GUILTY PLEA to sending text messages so that they would have no further reason to hold me in custody.
 
The Judge said that I needed time to consult and instruct a real lawyer and remanded me in Custody until JUNE 25th for this to happen.
 
About this point in time I realised my football coaching was over and that there was little hope of being a proper father to my child for a long time. My rent and bills were starting to worry me and I stood to lose my flat, its contents and my car parked in the off street parking that comes with the rental. 
 
 
 
TUESDAY, JUNE 11th
 
Other inmates told me I should go for “e-bail” and I had filled the paperwork out. 
 

The Police opposed my release from jail (even though I am 24/7 on ankle bracelet locked in my flat) as they claim the victims are so scared. These are the same people whom attacked me in the first instance. There was no fear shown there.

The Police also opposed my release on the grounds I would destroy cell phone evidence. Vodafone, 2Degrees and Spark could all track the texts if they were asked. Also, the texts would still be on the phone I sent them to. The Police wanted me to hand them my phone. I need my phone for evidence. It has recordings of the Police lying to me. It has recordings of the mother of my daughter screaming at me telling me I would never see my daughter again. She claims I would ring her and be threatening, ranting, screaming and abusive. These calls are all recorded and I have told the Police this. They constantly tell the Court that I am a threat to the safety of others based on the “facts” that I am so abusive and threatening on the phone and texts.
 
I was led into court room 1 (directly from the back of a Corrections Department prisoner transport van) just as the Judge was reading out conditions of my release. They include 24/7 home detention. My lawyer had rung or talked to me, as he had promised, and had therefore not put forward the fact I live by myself in a housing block. He had not put forward the best case for my release at all and had not read the file, nor the handwritten notes I had sent regarding the perceived threat and safety of the text message victims. There is no provision in my bail for me to leave the house to get shopping. If I leave the house I will go straight back to Rimutaka jail. To go to doctors, hospital or other appointments I need 24 notice. I am wearing a GPS ankle bracelet.
 
At least I still have a house. There was paperwork taking me to the tenancy tribunal over unpaid rent, but that is now okay. I am not allowed to the carpark where my car is in order to clean it out or move it as it has been sitting across two car parks since my arrest.
 
I needed to get out of jail as I have hand written fifty pages of rebuttal of allegations submitted to the Family Court which removes my parenting order and denies me all contact with my 11 year old daughter. I need to type these up, collect evidence from my phone (including all texts and voice recordings) and convince the Corrections Electronic Monitor Bail “TEAM” that I need to go into town, print out court paperwork, find a J.P or someone who can witness and sign the stuff, and then present it all to the court in Balance St. 
 
The Police would not lay charges against the lady whom stabbed my tyres and destroyed my car as “she said she was elsewhere” even though three neighbours provided excellent descriptions of her and her friend. The Police showed up with a page of photos of girls, all of whom was so similar to the offender that none of the witnesses could positively I.D them. The Police have denied my requests to view and copy the I.D parade they provided. I doubt  it even had a photo of the real offenders on it. So, they tell me their case “does not reach evidential standard” on a number of issues.
…..

Until all of this happened I was seeing my daughter, was being as good father as I was allowed to be. We had a Family Court Order that intended we work together and move forward by ourselves after ten years of bickering. It had taken me a year and a half to go from every second weekend with my daughter to having Tuesday nights as well as every second weekend. Whenever the mother of daughter felt like it, she would take away this Tuesday night as “I only gave it as a good will gesture”. What effect does this have on our daughter? What effect does all of this have on me?

 

DEAD BEAT DAD’s have something going for them…

They get to keep a tenuous link to reality.  

Even if they are in Australia,
not seeing their children
&
hiding from the NZ tax man.

Talking publicly may help. Other ways probably not so much…

Mr. Boulware was also involved in a custody battle with his mother over his 11-year-old son. A hearing was held last Monday. Ms. Hammond said in court documents that in the fall of 2012, Mr. Boulware “talked obsessively” about the mass shootings at the movie theater in Aurora, Colo., and at the elementary school in Newtown, Conn. “He claimed,” she wrote in court papers, “he had known about them beforehand because he had dreamed about them.” She also stated that he bought two new guns in 2013 and “began talking about getting rid of people he didn’t like.” NEW YORK TIMES <- click here….


That bloody mouse was real. Has taken twenty five minutes for my cloudy head to compile this post… The mouse, I feel, is laughing at me. Having sauntered across the side of my vision heading into my bedroom, it has had it’s fill of whatever mouse culinary delights abound within and jogged back, converting whatever protein it found into pure lean muscle mouse.

penfold

EMAIL from a blog reader… And ball kids at pro footy game…

wpid-img_20141120_101621.jpg

Astounding me is the ability of service providers to tell the Government that health consumers are happier than ever (etc etc)… Apparently the consumers have a “strong” input into services and the changing of the way services are provided.

What a load of shit.

I get email from readers of my blog sometimes. And all the people I talk to on the street. I just got one such email from a guy “S” whom has contacted me before. We have all the same issues as eachother. As does other people. Mr “A”, whom really hates the services in Wellington and has talked about burning the building… Same stories. Every where. ALL THE TIME.

If only 1% of service users say “they are happier with the service” the Government will be told “more people than ever are happier with our services“. The truth is NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON WAS POSITIVE ABOUT THE SERVICE LAST YEAR. 1% NOW SAY THEY AREHAPPIER“.

This is a positive to the people that need the Governments money.

To the rest of us, it is a load of old bullocks.

Another person whom supports me and the crap I do has been writing.

Another “S” has been in Mental Health Ward again recently. He “suicided” late last week and was taken off life supports today. He is breathing for himself for first time. Send him your love. 

All these stories just don’t stop.

They keep coming. And the way the service providers deal with them has got worse.

Yet, they must show growth in this capitalist world. And that they are.

ASSHOLES.

All these stories just don’t stop.
Yet, I am the only one attempting to bring them to you?

Phoenix Wellington Football Soccer

My daughter was a ball kid at the big game on Friday night. Being parent helper was awesome too. Got a pass to go ANYWHERE in the stadium, but just stood on the field near the left hand corner flag. You can see me on tv replays filling up the back of some shots with computer game tattoo’d arms.

The best part of the night… The PHOENIX event organiser comes past and asks if the kids are behaving themselves.

YES” says me

Oh really, WHAT ABOUT YOU?” she says somewhat too encouragingly…

ME? I feel you need to give my arse a decent hard slapping

After a quick look of shock passes, “Heheheeh, you may be held to that….

Made a new friend there……… A little worried the microphones stationed only a few foot away picked it up on TV broadcast. But hey, she chuckled without ill feeling when I mentioned that possibility and we really should have swapped numbers. Although that may allow her many beaus to find ways to smash me…….

 

…….

I am having a TOTALLY SHIT DAY TODAY.

Sometimes I just feel useless. I saw less of my daughter over the school holidays than I do during normal weeks. Combinations of being arrested, other childrens’ birthday party plans and football have left me feeling lonely and useless. Some friends (girls mainly) appear to have ditched me having not replied to any contact from me… One girl I really like, for she really does think and help others, has flown the coup.

So, I go and visit Dad.

The same Dad whom always argues, always tells me I am wrong. Always told me I am ugly.

Just why I would go to my parents house for the first time in months when I need some family and love is beyond me.

What a fucken stupid thing to do.

Now am just getting through the day without doing anything stupid. When your definition of stupid has widened to include “getting out of bed” you know you’re in trouble.

Lucky I have a kid and no drug addictions. Means you just have to look positively.

Self harm is not beyond us. Any of us.

death

…………….

repco

Twenty years ago I was involved with doing some of the first live internet broadcasts out of New Zealand.

http://www.racetothesky.co.nz was one of them.

MONSTA HAS JUST CRASHED OUT OF THIS EVENT.

I should have been there. But, then again… Maybe not. Running around these events, using drugs, perving and inhaling jet fuel…

Triggers.

Better off staying at home feeling like the world sucks.

For it does.

 

 

PCL-R PSYCHOPATH TEST. This post proves I am totally insane and should qualify for all sorts of state funding.

I was looking at this sites statistics, and ten people looked at fifty pages in one hour. That does my head in. Would I be labelled totally paranoid if I thought nine of those people looked at two pages and the other one person viewed 48, downloaded all of them and is contemplating some sort of court case?

Anyway, one of the pages clicked on and downloaded was the above test –

http://arkancide.com/psychopathy.htm

Since I was using my cellphone at the time, I clicked on the link having long ago forgotten what it was.

I did the test again. Today. 1st April 2015.

I gave myself a ZERO for a couple of things.

But – FUCKIT – I still scored 31. 

What is silly is that I have the stupidity and balls to tell you about it.

I also have a theory that IDENTIFICATION and EMPATHY could be used more effectively in this sort of test. Being VERY good with mental people, kids with autism, teaching people things with learning issues, it COULD be that I identify with them. I see myself in them. At night time I can’t sleep much. I chose not to dream as I kept seeing my daughter die. So dreams are rare now, but they are good and useful when they are allowed. I cannot switch of my brain. I think about the kids and how to get them playing football. It is hard when you have a lot of kids and some have real issues to deal with. A few ADHD, a DEPRESSION case, definitely more than one diagnosis for a bunch of them lacking in any form of self confidence. Teaching them they CAN kick with both feet. Taking the total AUTISTIC kid by the arm and SHOWING him where to run. Trying to get the kids who are good at something to show the others. NEVER GIVING UP until kids, parents and ME are happy. When the kid finally gets something right, he or she may not see me react straight away but they will see me proud as punch congratulating them and then telling their parents loudly how they have done something special (unless you’re autistic or really lacking in self confidence – ten year old girls have some real things going on!!) … When kids who are too young to understand a guy covered with tattoo’s, acne and missing teeth is a bad person, they all look at me. I look back. Today there was a kid crying. She had fallen over. She puts her arms out to her Mum, whom lifts her up, comforting. I wish I had that. I look at the Mum, and the kid, and I identify with them as a whole. The Mum and kid pass me. The Mum doesn’t notice but I had winked and poked my tongue out at the kid. I glanced at the kids knee. The kid saw me and stared into my eyes, half way through letting out another scream of hurt. I glanced at the knee. Pointed at it even. I looked back into the kids eyes and smiled. I had turned and was walking backwards. The kid was looking at me over Mums shoulder. Her other kid was older and saying “she should be more careful, she’s useless Mum.” The other kid has issues of her own. But, right now, I was trying to sort out a crying kid before she made a problematic scene in the shoppe they were about to enter. The kid was looking at me, non blinking. Just fascinated. I know, I know, this whole thing is narcissistic. But, if you think that, you can piss off right now. Go on, piss in a bottle and drink it. For you have not understood a word of me, or whom I am. The kid is three, at a guess. Possibly two. She is staring at me. I am staring at her. I give her knee a glance, I look back into her eyes. I give her a thumbs up, a huge genuine smile and, although kids may not understand “thumbs up” she got the message that everything would be okay. I waved at her. She waved back. I waved with both hands and smiled again. She had stopped crying and was grinning as her mum patted her back and held her close. All in the space of four or five seconds. Maybe eight. Counting the time it took to get into Mums arms, maybe ten. I may be completely mental, I may need little white jackets with no arms. I may have to stop being so open and honest with my writing. There are a number of things I could fill my days with that would not end with people wanting to practise their guillotine skills on my pimply neck. I may be totally imagining things. My ears may be prone to audible hallucinations. Synesthesia anyone? But no. Fairly sure I heard the Mums exasperation at her child for yelling so loudly and stopping instantly. The kid must have been faking it for attention. The kid is two or three. The kid deserves your attention. The kid may even deserve your identifying with its plight.

More than one parent of the football teams I coach has said “my kid is impossible to teach, yet for some reason, she has latched onto you and …..”

More than one parent has expressed their disappointment when their child is no longer in my team.

Other teams coaches and parents let me be referee for the whole game as I seem to do a good job of helping coach, teach and encourage the kids from both teams.

In the crowd the kids parents are mostly professionally employed.

I see doctors, lawyers, a judge, the odd person I know from school, and even the odd POLICE MAN / WOMAN. Some high ranking. They are all pretty impressed. I say this not from narcissistic tendencies, but from simple observation.

NZ POLICE
I also note, with interest, that when in the police cells, a couple of the kids parents will come down, in police uniform, and give me a little wink and I nod in recognition before ignoring and forgetting them.

I also note the lawyer whom stopped in his tracks when he was applauding the referee and laughing with his wife as I asked his daughter “how many fingers am I holding up?”

But, it’s my ankle, not my head” she says

Oh, bugger. Well, if I pick you up by your ankles.. ” I pick the kid up by the ankles… “now I can pretend it’s your head. So, how many fingers?

Two… Two… Two. Put me down…” laughing and fighting and embarrassment.

See, you’re fine. Off you go…

 Turns out I am clever. Embarrassment is a ten year old girls magic cure for all pain.

The kids Dad, the well known and prominent lawyer, saw me at court the other day. He stopped in mid sentence and just stood. A little like the kid in the story opening this post. He just stood. In Court, surrounded by Police, prosecutors and criminals. He stopped, stood and tried to get my attention. I was trying not to recognise him, or anyone else. I am not interested in court, criminals or lawyers. I want IN and OUT. In the end, although it was only a couple of seconds that most people would have thought was just him having a thought or clearing his vocal chords, I gave in and made eye contact. He then knew I recognised him, had recognised him at football, his kid had said at the end of the game “that coach is cool Dad” and the soccer mums from his team had all come and chatted after previous game days. A split second look gave away the simple fact he knew a lot about me from paperwork, criminal proceedings and sitting in court whilst I represented myself and attempted to turned the court into a jesters stage. He has seen judges, astoundingly to most, look me up and down, blink and re-align their thought patterns as to the ability of the criminal in front of them. This lawyer has seen me with his kid and other kids. He has seen me deal with the official football delegates with no regard for them, or their rules, but with the kids best interests at heart. For I, seeing the kids could all kick very far, moved the portable goal posts and took the corner flags out about ten metres making the field bigger. The kids had a more open game where they could pass and have space to make decisions for themselves. The OFFICIALS CAME WITH THEIR NOTEBOOKS AND CAMERAS AND REPORTED ME TO THE NZ FOOTBALL (FIFA) PEOPLE. The lawyers, the doctors, the pretty trophy wives who wear skin tight pants and look slightly annoyed when ignored by the dodgy tattoo’d ref with a drug habit and no money. At least I don’t smell that bad. They do want to be looked at. They want attention. Even the two other things they want – affection and appreciation – are really just code words for ATTENTION. They are all so perfect, so showing off their assets, so oddly intrigued by the stupid ref who will swear at officials in front of the kids and simply put the goals back when the officials try moving them. This guy then stands in the middle of the field and says quietly, to no one in particular, “the kids are loving it, the game is brilliant, the girls are learning to play in positions, there have been some good goals, some good defence, the other coach and spectators have all backed the idea and yet some bald old man with a notebook and a carrot in his bum is upsetting kids and seems happy to cause disruption and problems. He couldn’t even wait until half time. He had to do it now. This guy is psychopathic. Luckily, I know a bit about this. I will take his psychopathic and raise him a hundred criminal convictions.“… Another lawyer heard this and absolutely burst out laughing. He had to hold his hand over his mouth. And even then there was spit coming out. The official guy turned, looks me in the eye, and left promptly offering only mutterings as to his reasoning. Coming back and complaining to the mother of my daughter when noticing the fields for other games had started becoming larger. She told him “the other team did it this time, and everyone is happy, including the kids – Look for yourself”. I have not seen him since. Nor his notebook. Nor have I heard from the club I coach for, nor FIFA or anyone else. Although supposedly being a volunteer at the YOUTH WORLD CUP, they have not contacted me. But, fuck them. The kids in my team, and some others, had a great game in the sun that day. And no one watching said one word against it. Everyone whom spoke to me supported the concept, if not the confrontation the ensued. One parent of my team is a well known psychiatrist character. He commented I was correct in some ways, but could choose “not to engage”. I said “yes, thank you sir.”… In my head I thought “fuck mate. I don’t mind making a total cock of myself and getting an undeserved reputation as a problem as long as the kids have learnt something new and had a bloody good time doing it.” Really, that sums up my sort of personality.

I can pour beer all over a strangers girlfriend, and then clean her white mini dress almost entirely with my mouth. If you have issues with this, or don’t believe me, read this….  

This is not a random thing. This is a split second of looking at her, her legs, her dress and him. This is a conscious decision to liven up the night club. This is fully understanding that things could go very badly. My breathing does not speed up. My heart doesn’t either. I go calm. I take someone elses beer (why waste mine) and look her in the eyes. Totally ignoring him, sitting slightly behind and to her left, I walk slowly over after telling the girls I am with (blonde sisters, wearing tight mini skirts as well) to “watch this”. I put one leg on each side of her crossed legs, looking down into her eyes. I don’t look at her legs, crotch or breasts. The jug of cold beer is poured slowly onto her up turned chin. She opens her mouth. Allowing one single drop to hit her mouth, the beer moves down her exposed neck, is poured over half a jug onto her chest. It runs down, covering her tights white dress with liquid. Everyone can see everything about her, if it wasnt for me standing over her blocking their view. The guy who was with me and the girls yelled “fuck mate, jeezus”. I ignored him. Had to maintain eye contact with the beer soaked young lass in front of me. Otherwise her boyfriend might actually realise he wasn’t dreaming and this odd looking red headed prick was actually standing over his girlfriend covering her with someones beer. And the someone was a little annoyed with his beer going missing. About thirty seconds of this ensued before the music is no longer worthy of my attention, the barman is shouting for the bouncer and I consider the options… The last third of the jug was just dumped into her lap, where it formed a beautiful looking pool in her crossed legs (crotch). Without removing eye contact, I hand her boyfriend the jug, who just reaches out and blandly takes the jug from my hands. I drop to my knees, and quickly lick her bare chest, she instantly shakes (trembles even?!!!) and I drop my stomach onto her knees and my face into her crotch, I drink beer by the mouthful until I have to reach around her legs, put my hands between the back of her knees and pull them apart whilst my mouth and tongue attempts to prevent any beer from being wasted by running down her and landing on the seat. I AM NOT GOING TO SUCK BEER OUT A SEAT CUSHION AT A NIGHTCLUB. You must think I am stupid! Although losing a little bit to the seat, the seal between my cheeks and her inner thighs, my chin and her perineum, my bottom lip and her libia majora… My nose was not part of the seal allowing the consumption of beer, but it was not entirely left out of the action. Not at all… So, all too quickly, the puddle and flow of beer had stopped. I started thinking the boyfriend needs to pour his beer on her. We could all take turns. The other girls could be convinced to participate in some way… But the bouncer was approaching rapidly. Her clit was starting to appreciate my nose a little too much. And there was limited time before the boyfriend awoke and smashed the big glass beer jug over my exposed skull. I pulled her skirt bit out and up. She lifted her bum as one hand was under it and lifted her. Guess she did help with this, she wiggled. Allowing me to lift her soaked dress above her waist exposing the world to her small, bright yellow G-String which had amazingly returned to it’s proper position covering her modesty. As deemed not dry enough, it had to sucked of the beer before it got sticky and messy. I sucked that thing harder than anything sucked before. For about one second. I swallowed and got a half mouthful of beer and… What was that?.. Pheromones?!!! Heheheheh. The bouncer, although ready for a certain fun time of throwing a skinny white man down the steps of the second story nightclub, had slowed somewhat. This girl had an awesome body. The best in the club I would say. Her boyfriend was a big boy and could look after himself. Besides, he was holding the jug of beer, and the girl was covered with beer. And she was obviously really enjoying herself. Everyone in the club on that side was watching her before her boyfriend tipped beer on her and this ginga guy with pimples was, for some reason as yet unfathomable, entertaining him by turning his girlfriend into some sort of drink dispenser. The bouncer slowed down. The bar tender had jumped the bar, but had stopped at the edge of the dance floor. The girls I were with her squealing girly type squeals of delighted and fun. The guy I was with was just staring. Along with most of the club by now. Some girls on the dance floor had stopped and were looking over the frosted glass barrier – right down on her breasts and the back of my head. I knew all this as I moved tongue, lips, nose and reluctantly, my chin. Moved them up, not all that quickly, making sure to keep pressure on, keeping the seal intact, keeping almost all the beer of drinkable quality. After finished the cleaning of skin from clit to ribcage and putting her slightly misshapen clothing back over her waist (having removed hand from bum, it was not possible to return the bottom skirt part to correct and socially acceptable position without risking serious stretching to garments involved…)… Holding the material slightly away from her skin, the beer was sucked out of the skin tight white dress. I pulled the top down, exposing one breast to my beer cleaning mechanisms. About one second later it was the other breasts turn. A quick fully open mouth, a huge suck, and then pull your face away. Makes a large popping sound as suction is broken. A quick flick of lips and tongue on the nipple, just to show I was sexually interested, and, just in case she hadn’t noticed, that I could be capable of more than just cleaning her from some stupidly spilt beer. I look back into her eyes, she is totally “away with the fairies”. She is not communicating anything with her eyes. Having half stood up, I finished standing up. See a spot of beer on her forehead and gently brush it with a finger and lick my finger. I reach out, take the beer jug from her boyfriend and apologise for not cleaning the top of her clothing where her breasts are. He finally thinks about smashing my head into his knee and for a brief moment he was going to. Being bigger than me, and better placed as I was still supporting my weight by leaning on his girlfriends legs, the only thing to do was suggest he suck the beer out of her bra and top in that area as I didn’t want to offend them. He was probably more angry than he has ever been. He was now over his dormant shock and was close to ending in jail on a murder charge. Figuring this would happen sooner or later, I kissed the girl quite gently and her eyes focused on mine. I looked at the boyfriend, she looked at the boyfriend. The kiss was over instantly. Hands on each side of her head, I turned her head to him. Blinked and jumped. And walked slowly back across the open space between cubicles to my table with the sisters and the motorbike racer friend whom was now looking as though he wished it was him and probably has been trying stupid things of his own ever since. I don’t know, I got a lap time on the track the next day on a bike slower than his. I had over taken him. When we got back to home after the next fortnight spent with the girls and spa pools, motel rooms, running from bikers, doing some fucked up stunts… Well… He told people MY LAP TIME when asked his times by his sponsors at the bar we frequented. I overhead this. My girlfriend overhead it. Other people did. No one corrected him. My girlfriend (who was always pretty keen on the guy, he was awfully good looking, rich as fuck and had many nice motorbikes, V8 cars and small european sports cars to entertain her with. I entertained him by pulling her swimsuit right up places it was not intended and having prolonged contact of a sexual nature with her in front of him having told him that if he touched he would be in trouble. He loved it really. She liked turning him on and using his stuff. No one could work out why the hottest bodied blonde in the area was with me. Maybe it was the way she sanded and painted my bike for days on end. Maybe it was the way she baked me cakes. Or maybe it was the way she came, played with my only working thing, and gave me Jack Daniels bottles every day when I had smashed myself into a car at over a hundred kilometres an hour and could not walk for quite some time. Getting to the toilet after drinking myself to a pain free stupor was an issue. She even held the thing whilst it pissed into a bucket and emptied the bucket and hid everything from my mum. I was 16 at this point. I loved her. Just why the hell I thought it was okay to tour the south island with two horny as hell sisters (one of them was a virgin who had never even seen a guy in a g-string. She purchased a tight pink g-string for me, I put it on, wiggled and waggled and her eyes popped out her head as she ran from the room, down the hall and out the house. Although the g-string was a little small, it looked the part, so she was soon being chased by a badly tattoo’d teenage ginga male with a bit of an issue requiring one hand to slip bits back into package. We got about a hundred metres down the road before she couldn’t run, squeel, and breathe consistently any more. Don’t know why they say females can multi-task. Shit. Upon catching up, she was doubled over with shame, shock, fatigue, loss of breath, but not looking anywhere else.. Just at my waist…. The traffic had a green light, but everyone had not noticed and was still stopped at the red it once was. She was double over, and at waist height. To get her completely over her shame, the pink g-string hit her near enough to her mouth. The hands holding her hair and head may have helped her overcome her fear of the male anatomy and she rubbed her face back and forewards and then, between giggles, said “okay, okay”. Picking her up and slinging her over my shoulder I walked slowly back to the block of flats they stayed at. The slow walk prevented the need for package re-adjustment and maybe helped convince the local red neck population not to ring the police. Spa pools, shared camping cabins with all the mattresses thrown onto the floor and standing at the roadside over motorbikes with the sisters and the friend were just what a seventeen year old needed. But you know what? It wasn’t enough. I was also hiding a syringes filled with opium treated with “AA” and filtered down to a real nice opiate hit in the seat of my bike. There were majic mushrooms (saved in the freezer from mushroom season eight months prior) in the lining of my helmet. A sheet or two of LSD had been waterproofed and put into the end of a handlebar. I carried nitrous oxide and a system to dispense it of my own design. The motorbike, though, had no kick starter to save weight. Clever guy, me.

Today though, I’m stuffed. My life without using opiates all day, every day, is not turning out to be all that brilliant. Spent a few hours in a police cell being very uncomfortable and having trouble co-ordinating movements most would take for granted – walking, sitting, standing, leaning. They all required EFFORT and patience to achieve. And all became very annoyingly pain ridden quite promptly. Life like this is hard. People are very annoyed at me for leaving car parts, whole cars, beds… Stuff… All over their properties. I am annoyed at myself. I am spewing at myself.

For the first time since finishing the acute withdrawal process from methadone street addiction, I caught myself saying “I am going to kill myself now” as stepping out the shower saw someone looking back in the mirror whom I did not like and did not want to be. This person was stuck in a bad posture. His stomach looked like it was fat. He looked really stupid and lazy and out of shape and really really worn out and worthless.

The man in the mirror did not look like he could enjoy life. He looked twenty years older than me. Without thinking, I said out loud “I am going to kill myself now.” I heard me say it. Instantly I was concerned others had heard me.  What do I care if others heard me? I care because I don’t want them to think anything is wrong. I want my sore back and unhappiness to go without notice. I want to be known for giving a glue sniffing, broke and lonely lady a couch and seat for her bare flat. I have noticed she has a few visitors nowadays. She has somewhere for them to sit and act out a proper community pass time – stopping over for a cuppa or to watch a DVD. For she will only ever act out these things. These proper community and social things look good on tv. You do them to socialise and gossip. If you eventually find people annoying or unable to discuss the meaning of life with conviction and purpose… If you possibly just really want to spend your life wasted or sniffing glue… These silly humans sitting on your seats, consuming your coffee, are rather surplus and irritating. Possibly me and her identify with each other at some level. Although I love having people stay, I love it when she goes into town and spends time happily getting drunk or wasted with her mates whilst I sit on the computer, watching sport or shooting up drugs.

You see – Life without drugs is life changing. You have to change things. People. Places. I only have sitting on the computer or watching sport now. It leaves a huge hole.

Oh my god. This is story time again…….

My young friend, “Karma” from a recent post, moved out of Wellington as she was getting too much involved in a lifestyle and path that were obviously dangerous and not really all that good with long term prospects. I wish I could help her. I could if she bloody had told me and allowed me. I was and am confused as to this situation. We get along so well. She doesn’t want to tell me she’s in trouble. I don’t want to push her. I want her to stay here, eat some food, get up before 3pm and we can help eachother with so much. She makes lists. She understands my ADHD and only the second night here she saw me looking for something and said “keys, sink, bathroom” in a matter of fact, no nonsense tone. Fuck me. The girl has seen the mess in my house, my car and my life. She started making lists for her to help me do little tasks. She had started taking mental notes of where I put everything so she could find it for me. She is one of the prettiest females whom currently give me the time of day (that list is pathetically short…).. If I showed you a photo of her or the others whom there is some type of “wink wink, nudge nudge” possibilities you would ring the mental health team instantly, as I obviously am disillusional. There are so so many things I like about her. Her beauty is just something I have to deal with. For she is. When others see her with me they cannot work it out. They don’t believe it. Their brains do not allow them to compute this data. I should be with really ugly old chicks, whom are broke, smelly and have three large incontinent dogs that sleep on her bed. There is no way this beautiful young lady could spend time with the likes of me without free will being destroyed and a large amount of duct tape and chloroform. Somewhat ironically, the longest relationship I have ever had is with a slightly older lady than myself. I was never attracted to her looks, but then I consider myself ugly, so being put off by her looks would be entirely two faced, shallow and rude. What, arguably, is equally shallow and rude is that we met just for quick sex. I sometimes promise people that I will do something, or will not do something, before meeting them. I promised her a half decent massage and tease, and six or seven years later she kicks me out as she couldn’t trust my lies about other females any more. I am useless. I am an addict. But I have been learning to say no. Have even said no a few times. Although I love the challenge of giving orgasms, there lies a problem. 

My god, I really could do things with this lady. She is awesome and impresses me in ways she is not aware of. I have not told her either.  I, believe it or not, am reasonably astute sometimes. And I am impressed. She was not even the preferred option on any of  the lists such as “I need a regular, no drama, person in my life”, or “I need someone to hang off the ceiling and watch as she has multiple orgasms at my control.”  But she is the one whom has gone out of her way for me AND has not been overbearing. IN fact, the opposite. I’d love her to share her problems and difficulties. But she truly doesn’t want to burden me. And I don’t want to burden her with mine. When together, she does creative things. She impresses me. Left alone in my house she uses the tools available and creates positive things. Art and Humour. Music, and, Facebook. Well, she is a girl with a facebook account after all. Grrrrr….

SO WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?

She is less than half my age. Why on earth a beautiful 19 year old who everyone wants at their parties spends a single second of her life with me is open to interpretation. All I can say is that she trusts me, has enjoyed everything I’ve thrown at her or tested her with and is not shy. We get along too bloody well. In a number of ways. I can’t think of any reason not to settle down and tie her to my bedpost. Other than her spirit is such that it needs freedom to explore and travel. And I am, just quietly, lacking in energy to left my own arse out the computer seat. Never mind keep up with her. 

I like her. I like her a lot. Stupid old me told her that if “you are really upset about me calling you bitch, you can fuck off…” She didn’t text or ring for over a week. And then rung and texted which I replied. We then called twenty times in one hour. Hahahahahaha. Love, is it?

She saw a card and small teddy bear in the car. She turned, no longer self aware of the need to pull her tiny skirt down and keep her modesty. Who cares?. Naturally she thought it was for her. She is a very clever young girl. She does not know that I know anything about dopamine, receptors, neurons or whatever. She knows I am half cripple and can kick a football pretty good, splitting my skin open from kicking a flat football with no shoes on. Slide tackling her on concrete and not even blinking or looking at my skinless knee. She started talking about drugs. I let her tell me about receptors, dopamine, deficiencies in things causing unhappiness. She told me about Ritalin missuses. I, carefully, was prodding and encouraging her to tell me more. One annoying thing about young people is that they think they know it all. She has tried to show me many things she thought she knew better than me. I let her show me. Then, sooner or later, she see’s me do it better than she could, and better than she described. She has yet to comment on this. And I don’t comment on it either. Tucking her into bed with a teddy bear and treating her like a three year old is great fun. She takes it on the chin. But, like all girls, attention is her number one thing in life. And, although I am taking the piss, giving her grief… Although my tongue is in my cheek, I can pat and caress and hold and massage and stroke and care for. Some people have never been treated in such a way. Some of them come out with stupid things like “I love you” and wrap themselves around me. You don’t love me. You love the idea of being loved, and although my hands and caring and soft tone are loving… Very loving… They ARE TEMPORARY RELIEF FOR YOU DEFICIT OF LOVE AND ATTENTION. I will make you feel as perfect as possible for a time. You may get away with saying “I love you” once or twice, but then you may get rudely dropped off and the texts and phone calls may go unanswered for days on end. Loving me is not an option unless you show empathy (identification even, if you can control it a little), are very much a person not to say “no” until you have been shown, tried or researched the idea or proposition. If you come back to me time and time again, I will really appreciate some of the same from you. If I have to ask, you’re probably going to find a wet spot right on your forehead. The lady with whom I spent six years or so had no job when we met. I had never been with someone of that weight. Or with HUGE BREASTS like she had. I am more of an arse man, and titties never interested me. I was there for sex. So was she. We must have done something good for eachother, as after a few sexual plays, she was at my place during the daytime having walked two kilometres in about five minutes to get there. Without any ado whatsoever, she initiated some pretty good sex. The curtain wasn’t even shut, it was daytime and, my god, she had her titties reduced many years later. They were perfect large breasts for a time. They gave her a crook neck and back. Although never being able to fix this for her, there were many hours spent trying to ease and help with this. All the other females I had sex with during our time together were told that I was with someone else with kids and that I did not want to lose that. I also told them my real name  (I only ever use my real name, although about 50% of girls call me different names in the morning and probably 25% call me different names a week or two later. Some even call out the wrong name when they orgasm… And then they ruin it by apologizing and losing the buzz… I don’t care who the hell you think I am. If you love MARK or TIM then just imagine it’s their tongue on your clit and make the most it. Besides, it makes it easier for me to get you cumming…. ).. Does this make it any better? I can claim I am an addict, or something. I can say all sorts of stuff. But, at the same time, I actually love providing females with things they love and cannot get enough of, I would do the opposite and go out of my way to show them I was a wanker not worthy of their respect or attentions. For I truly hated myself.

 

Am constantly finding more about myself and trying to do positive and creative things for the world.

I am still a fuckwit. But have really learnt to laugh at myself. For I can. You can too.

Am a fuckwit who owns being a fuckwit.

I really don’t mind if you don’t like me. I am not writing this for you. I am writing it for me. And hope that by highlighting some issues, YOU will spend a couple of nano seconds thinking about them.

By writing this, it helps me process and sort out some headaches induced by inability to make sense of all the data coming in.

The likes of N.A get you to  write stuff down. It is a good thing. Try it.

Although, be prepared for all sorts of shit if you do it in public. Even some young hot girls deciding you’re truly mad.

You lot, my esteemed followers, occasionally send me emails. Have had support from the most unexpected quarters. Anonymously, of course. 

Unlike most of NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS members or most stupid gossip ridden addicts, I really can do ANONYMOUS. 

I think a little control on your tendency to identify with others, rather than empathise, is a special thing.

I also think most people would just think “an apple fell on my head.”

It takes a pretty special mental condition for someone to think “an apples fell on my head, I am going to explain that via mathematical formula.”

It is not easy having a
little bit of an I.Q and
no sense of self preservation. 

I would be the first to throw my life away for the chance of saving a group of others. I may take a couple of you with me, but then the group will thank our corpses later.

And, really, who the hell else would talk like this publicly? Given that my doctors, psychiatrists, friends, enemies, occasionally even I tell a sex partner or two about this blog. I have met people through this blog who love it. They are surprised when they finally put a face to the words. They always say hi and are good people.

It’s just plain idiotic, publishing things like this for people to actually read. Not that anyone does…… Unless I mention sex and big dildos. Or provide details of great sex with ugly people. Or crap sex with beautiful people. Fuck sex. Long term, it is the way you talk. They way you listen. The consideration. The help. The way you finish eachothers sentences. The fact you are PEOPLE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH.

Most people think jumping off buildings, jumping buses (with a motorbike on the road in traffic), playing soccer football with broken bones in your foot…. This is all idiotic… But fun. And dying has to happen at some point. A little pain along the way is okay. If it provides happiness to others, entertainment to a few or saves others hardship, count me in. If I kill you in the process, sue me.

And that makes me a good person to have on your side, or your team. Just not the figure head, or the person to promote your not for profit health trust.

You may hate me. You may not invite me to your wedding. But years later you will remember me for something really good. Probably you will remember me for a hundred really fucked up things, but the one good thing is what makes me proud of myself.

I am really sorry if you were on the other team when we were losing and spent time in hospital or I found another way to win which upset you and your grandad for years to come. There were some pretty hurt and disappointed faces on other teams. Some grandads even try hitting me with their walking sticks to this day. My team was happy, but would avoid the back of the bus if I was sitting there.

So, WAS I a psychopath?

The 200px-The_Psychopath_Test_(Jon_Ronson_book)_coverNew Zealand probation service may have thought I was. Given the tests they tried to put me through.

My original response to a Doctor thinking I may have ADHD was to visualise putting my fist through his nose into the back of his skull.

Turns out he was pretty correct. Bugger him. Must sneak onto the CCDHB DSM against the TRESPASS ORDER they have given me and apologise to the guy one day. Yeah right. He also decided to stop giving me strong halcyon (two a night) and 60mg Codeines (over a hundred a fortnight) just because, according to court and police documents) I hacked into his computer to find information about my daughter when estranged from her.

I did it, yes. But only as he broke the law be denying me information on the health of my child. The law is pretty clear on this. He wasn’t. I took it upon myself to find the information myself. I withdrew from Halcyon and Codeine a little bit. I returned to buying drugs on the street. 

What a wanker.

I could be labelled a psychopath. But anyone could be, given certain events, stressors.

I feel everyone has mental illness. It is like a graphic equaliser on your expensive Yamaha amplifier from the nineties.

If you’re listening to old school metal, you will wind the bass up. If you’ve got Talking Heads going you might add a bit of mid range and tweeter.

Same with life and mental states.

Given the fact someone just about ran over your child and your morning drugs have not kicked in – you are in pain and broke and have not even paid rent for three weeks due to buying food and paying for your child to do things… Given those facts, when the guy whom just about ran over your kid is ridding his motorbike on the footpath exactly where your kid got run over. When you stop him and ask him politely to slow down. When he ignores you, looks at you like you’re a fuckwit and then revs up his bike and tries to push past you.

Does YOUR HAND COMES OUT AND GIVE HIS HELMET A BIT OF A CLIP AS HE TRIES TO PUSH PAST YOU?

If you answered YES, then fair enough. If you had to think about it for a split second, you are possibly not, currently, psychopathic. And yet you read this far?!

You can identify with me. You imagined yourself in this circumstance, didn’t you?

Did you feel empathy? Anger at the unjust way this situation unfolded?

Or did you stop reading this shitty blog about a seven thousand two hundred words ago?

one_year

 

And you know what is really annoying me lately?
The fact is that, given a subject matter other than “myself and drugs and wankers at methadone clinics” there is, on occasion, some acceptable writing of creative and factual variety. I am getting sick of writing “I”. I am getting sick of using short sentences and a limited vocabulary.
I am not getting sick of being open, honest and willing to accept new ideas and others input. I am never sick of really good co-incidences and people on same wavelengths connecting at whatever level.
If you can find any errors in any things I claim to be fact, please advise. The foundations of my thinking are pretty sturdy, even if the delivery is too much for your sensible shoes.

Well, you have to cringe…

board_shitless_outline

Am getting this tattoo coloured in sometime.

TENDER! Took over two hours. Very fine needle for the whole outline and then a rather raw feeling on the colouring in. Helped kill my back pain for a short while.

And hey –

Unfortunately there are people I care about who have stuck up for me at levels higher than I can reach myself… In order to distance them from the fallout generated by me being me, I have had little to do with CCDHBDSM, ADDICTIONS or anything else for a while.

Trust me, this does not mean I have not been working away with various nameless people and organisations on drug reform issues.

Trust me, I will be a pain in the arse again.

Clarissa, John and all those idiots who carry on like their gods.

I know they are not gods.

For I have met god.

Genuinely, I can clarify….. Clarissa is no where near.

(Sorry to burst your bubbles Blair Bishop General Practice Liaison Officer and John Zonnevylle of convoluted title covering the fact he is a doormat – her legs, tits and smile may have you hook line and sinker, but the rest of us find she has little hold over us. The minute she actually looks into my eyes and opens her mouth with anything approaching honesty would be the exact same minute I provide her with a face shot. Besides, Blair,  I can provide photographic evidence that much better exists. You should come look in my bedroom window some nights…. I kid you not. One or two of my associates can vouch for this. And they have not even had the face shot)