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

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ADVOCATE GETS TRESPASS ORDER UPDATE

The Capital Coast District Health boards mental health operations manager… Uhm. Fucked if I can really remember his superbly convoluted title, so here is a copy direct from CCDHBDSM webshite…


John Zonnevylle

Operations Manager – Specialty Mental Health & Addictions Services

(Just a quick note John, Speciality is spelt with a bloody i in it,
get “them” to look into it, quick smart)

OPEN LETTER TO JOHN.

DEAR JOHN,

Sorry, bet you everyone starts their letters with “Dear John” and makes a bad effort at humour shortly thereafter. I won’t, it is below me.

Although, it is kind of amusing now I think about it.

Ahem,

DEAR JOHN,

thank you for your call with regards to my being trespassed from ALL HOSPITAL GROUNDS and ENVIRONS within fifty kilometres of Clarissa Broderick and your offices. The first few minutes of your call, spent discussing your creative job title and possible anagrams got me thinking.

With a couple of re-arranged placements we have ;

  • Ham Moss
    Health Addictions Manager – Mental Operations Specialty Services 
    although I will put i’s in specialty from now on for you. The good people at Black Sheep Creative will fix this for you on the site. Just email them. They are a lot more responsive than anything you’re used to.
  • Ash Moms
    Addictions Speciality Health – Mental Operations Manager Services
  • Sham Oms
    Speciality Health Addictions Mental – Operations Manager Services
  • Has Om Moms
    Health Addiction Services – Operations Manager – Mental Services
    HAS – to hold, possess, or accept in some relation, as of kindred or relative position:
    OM – a mantra and mystical sound of Hindu origin, the symbol (right, in orange to suit the robes, is the symbol OM – from levitatingmonkey )
    MS –  title of respect prefixed to a woman’s name or position: unlike Miss or Mrs., it does not depend upon or indicate her marital status.

This last one one is quite neat. There are a dozen more, some could even be considered offensive if you thought hard enough.
Luckily for you, not thinking appears to be well under control.

After the first few minutes spent laughing at your job title, you (somewhat professionally) managed to steer the conversation into a more professional pathway.

You, personally, are not the mystical “LEGAL” people that the other departments had promised would ring me, but your convoluted title did sound reasonably impressive. I have always challenged my daughter to become a doctor, but now nurses get such titles, I may reconsider.

Now, John, you would not discuss anything with me and simply wanted to put me in place an tell me “what for”.

This is not good enough.

The Addiction DisServices you claim to be partly responsible for are constantly screwing with peoples lives.

Here is a really good little point –

You work in a
PUBLICLY OWNED INSTITUTION
and are wholly employed to
SERVE THE PUBLIC.
If you cannot stand one little ounce of
PUBLIC SCRUTINY
or
INDIVIDUALS PURSUING SERVICE 
then maybe you should take a new look at working in such a service.

Others have said to me… “but you know nothing, I have been working in this field for twenty years…”… My point to them is that in twenty years since I was on the methadone programme in Wellington, NOTHING HAS BLOODY WELL CHANGED.

It has even got worse.

 

Since you banned me from any PUBLICLY OWNED HOSPITAL IN WELLINGTON I have had a dozen or more service users contact me with personal stories and complaints. Some are simply moving to other areas of NZ where they get treated better. Some are stuck under your services care. And that scares me John.

Since trespassing me your service has administered the exact care regime my clients were asking for, but you would not supply. I argued for them, got banned, and as soon as I was no longer part of the equation, you gave them what they asked for orginally.

See, John. Look here. I actually do have a reasonable understanding of addiction, drugs and people whom use them. I honestly could be an asset to you and your service if you used me correctly.

I talk with people all over the world. Some very prominent researches both in NZ and overseas. Some very prominent authors from all over the planet. Some lawyers. Some psychiatrists. Sometimes I even talk to the psychiatrists without laying on a couch first.

I have emails and all sorts of contacts from all over NZ and the planet in support of my stance here.
I am not pushing my own barrow. I am simply sticking up for people who are in no position to stand up for themselves. 

I talk with these people as I would with anyone. Yourself included.

Doesn’t matter if you’re a bow tie wearing politician , the head of the NZ Productivity Commission, or the junky in the street laying in a recovery position – I will talk to you all the same. That is a promise. And something people actually come to trust. Just trust me on that one John.

Some people on this list even talk to me. I have recent emails of support from some of them. Some of them, of course, don’t talk to me. Unlike you, John, all these people have seen me face to face and like some of what I do. My heart is in the right place, my morals are good, even if my ethics are slightly corrugated. 

John, when I asked why you trespassed me and you replied that I was threatening and intimidating staff, all I can think of is that when your employed doctor says “the studies don’t support that theory” and I ask “which studies?” the doctors you employ find any questioning of their knowledge intimidatory and threatening.

I hold little hope of the service moving forward. Given the fact that when I asked for further examples of this you basically yelled at me that you “are not discussing this, goodbye” the people under you can be forgiven for doing the same thing.

Just how Clarissa is still under you is another question I am having trouble with.

Yours Sincerely,

mushy

 

 

Ten to one odds on favourite football addict

Probably should not have played goal keeper in the kids section before today’s pro football A-League game.

Probably should not have saved a straight drive shot from seven metres away and lost ball over concourse fence into major traffic flow.

Probably should not have split end of finger, given the state of it this time yesterday….

Football addiction.

Guilty
Forever

football_addict

 

PS- YES THIS DID FUCKEN HURT LIKE ALL SNOT AND BUGGERY.
No, I did not let the fifteen year old punk who drove shot me into hell know I was in the least bit affected by his shot deflecting off my fingertip over a two story high fence and into the third lane of a five lane road… Hell no. No way a fifteen year old with a good right boot gets one past me.
What were you thinking? Pussy’s.

If you take away the ball, the boots, the gloves… Am I still an addict of football?

You should bet your life on it!

Could well be what you are all doing already….

Gambling loss per capita New ZealandGod, give me the courage….

 

Farmville Oral

My back has been sore. Even after the epidural recently… I have been finding a few opiates around the town again. And this is an issue. After a week of tramadol, MST, even some methadone… I gave up again. Too damn dangerous.

  • To work, I need pain killers.
  • To keep up with my daughter  I need pain killers.
    when she is not sitting in front of Minecraft
    (displaying all the classic signs of problematic addiction whilst doing so)
  • To party I need pain killers.

My life without them suffers.

But, what the fuck. I have been suffering most of my life.

And most people I know suffer me.

farville_oral1My Farmville farm really did have all the animals involved in sexual misconduct positions. Even my crops were arranged into crude diagrams or words of R18 nature.

The only reason I got onto Facebook was to give my ex partner barrels for her new red wine vintage.

That Christmas I gave her a red Poinsettia plant.Poinsettia (bloom)-iconIt was labelled “save this plant for 3 XP”. Only thing, it was a real plant, from the real plant shoppe. And it was almost dead. She fucken bought it back to life all right.

 

So. All my tattoo’s of computer games are displays of problematic addictions. The biggest problematic addiction of all computer games was FARMVILLE.

COZ
I FUCKEN HATED IT.
I HATED EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.
I HATED FACEBOOK.
I HATED CUTE ANIMALS.
I HATED PEOPLE WASTING HOURS
DOING NOTHING WORTHWHILE,
ESPECIALLY HOGGING THE COMPUTER

IGNORING THE KIDS DEMANDS OF ATTENTION
and MY REQUESTS FOR COOKED EGGS 

But, mostly, I hated it because I was bloody addicted to it.

At university (yes, I am not totally useless, seriously – If I was totally useless you not see me banned from the whole Government run hospital compound just because I advocate for addiction service victims)

Anyhooooooow….. For clarities sake, I will start that paragraph again, SANS ADHD…

At university one young girl got a five minute tirade and abuse from me about playing FARMVILLE on the University system when kids were dying from hunger just a few thousand miles away.

Her only comeback was “don’t hate on me for my addiction“.

Everyone cracked up.

But everyone who could see my computer screen cracked up harder. Longer. Faster.

For, it was seen, I was playing it the whole time too.

Problematic addictions.

The people who control the addiction services and the health sector are in denial.

Having a few painkillers to help with kids football is not a problem.

Spending so much time on Farmville that you are late for your kids appointments really is.

Especially when most of that time was spent wishing for more pigs to procreate so you could make a larger 69’er group circle….

 

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.

 

 

42 tips and insights for understanding an addicts mind

 

OKAY. The answer to life, the universe and everything was 42.

He missed it by seven.

Oops, do I smell missed marketing opportunity. Someone ring Saachi and Sacchi.

Still, am damn sure I posted something about this. But site stats suggest none of your lazy arses have clocked your eyes on it.

Sort it out people.

I have met methadone victims with more motivation than the readers of my, the worlds shittiest blog, blog.

Warm water freezes FASTER than cool.

Warm water freezes faster than cool

True story.

I am not trying to confuse you with the psycho analytical capabilities of having WARM in BLUE and COOL in RED. I am merely poking fun at those whom think the DSM-V is a bible. Take me to court, anally probe me, gag me and throw me to the hounds. Whilst you’re doing it, compare notes with Clarissa, Tom, Sam and Cameron Slater. 

My theory is (again, forgive me if I am re-inventing the wheel – not my fault someone, somewhere, has already thought of everything and doomed me to a life of mediocrity) …

Warm water has molecules spinning f a s t e r . . . .
Cool water has slower spinning molecules.

Therefore there are more spaces, more “air” in WARM (FAST) H2o than COOL (SLOW) H2o.

When placed in a freezer (let us say a “freezer” is any environment under the freezing point of water – zero celius – at normal gravity, for science majors nit picking….) the water will want to go all nice and solid. I suggest the COLD from the FREEZER can act with more efficacy on the WARM water as the COLD will penetrate further into the more spacious substance.

I have not really paid that much attention to this. Just think it is fair enough.

Cunningly, it also supports my definition of GOD (Higher Power – tm) or whatever the hell you want to call it / him / her.

My GOD (him, it, her) is a collective conscience that I base on WAVEFORMS. “People on same Wavelength” is not a saying you should take lightly. Trust me on this one.

And may many a good co-incidence shoot your stupid arse down if you don’t.

Even RUSSELL BRAND bangs on about it in his latest book. He doesn’t quite get there, but he is always going on about MY god, but using terms such as FREQUENCY and people on the FREQUENCY.

Technical debate on differences between frequency and wavelength available upon request. 

In the meantime, click on this imaginehttp://www.spiritscienceandmetaphysics.com/john-lennons-imagine-made-into-a-comic-strip/ 

 

“One day you will be able to measure happiness VS sadness  by weight – In points of grams.”

I truly believe that neuro science will, one day, be capable of measuring the difference between thought processes in real live grams, ounces, points or at least, Newtons.

The way the brain is working… Firing electrons, chemicals and at different rates, wavelengths, quantities. All this means added volume, different densities, different electromagnetic outputs = DIFFERENT WEIGHT PEOPLE.

But, will a happy me weigh more than a sad me?

Do I actually weigh 90kg (like people suggest when they percieve me as angry) or do I really weigh 78kg (as the scales in the doctors office tell me calmly, without emotion).

 

I confer1hope Rachel presented the poster well at the SERVICE USER conference today.

 

Really do.

And, oddly – This blog has had a dozen or so people from New Zealand look at it over the last few hours of this morning. They can only be describefd as my best clients ever. Staying on the site a long time, downloading a lot of really useless crap and obviously taking the time to have a laugh. Maybe even at themselves? Just a little?

Doubtful.
As I say….

If I cannot laugh at myself, I will get you to do it for me.

Try it.

ps – For those studying “typography level 200”, please do extra homework on the use of Italic when used to describe “fast”. Thank you.