October 8th, awesome day, but 9th totally fucked me.

Having just wrote four hundred words on cellphone and WordPress lost it all, I am simply going to sum up… My best mate and beauty girl has to go. Used needles, so upsetting behavior.  Awake twenty hours, splitting headache, roosters crowing and I want sleep. Am not heartbroken, am truly shattered and just needing to get this yarn out. No matter how embarrassed I will be later, fuck you all. The cellphone screen is a blurry haze and my pathetic attempts at oblivion came to nothing, as they always have.

25 years of trying to destroy yourself, you think you’d have it sussed by now…

My young friend is awesome. Her future could be so great. She cares, she took me to family court, she is beautiful inside and out.

But she is complicated and dealing with addiction and mental health issues. She is also capable of some ruthless violence. I love her, admittedly.

Have tried, truly. We have had such a brilliant two days, and then seriously almost killed eachother. We faced up in public area. I admit that sometimes I see exactly what I am going to do, and it was not pretty. She had already managed to not cut me up or rearrange my skull, I could see that. But half an hour went by and she was still so shitty she was holding back from attacking me. She pissed me off so much I saw myself doing some stuff that I needed not to do. She has never seen me angry and not giving a fuck. It may surprise her. We were so close to seriously hurting eachother. I had already decided which bit of concrete her head would break on, but outwardly I was calm. I talked and joked with staff at the premises, I stole her cellphone from her lap as she went to drive off without my tools and bags. She refrained from whatever grizzly and horrid things she had planned. Even though we sat within hitting distance (oops, that was me. She kept moving away, although she was main aggressor, odd she was so keen to be violent yet stayed away..)

And, then an hour and she was still not talking and driving and stopping at gas station for hour without saying anything.

Another half hour of this driving down the motorway and I opened the door to get out. She stopped me by grabbing me, I think. No way was I allowed out.

Why would someone who wants me gone, stop me from leaving ?

Why is this crazily beautifully hearted young lady so willing to dismember me. Why aren’t I scared in the least of her? What hell will ensue if we both are bad at same times?

fuck. it is BaD enough without broken bones and blood. We would both give a decent job at that.

Fuck this. It will be jail. She cares, but everything is about her. Sometimes the world is not all about you. Hate to burst your lovely little 20year old haze of bubble.

She is lovely.

Yet I need her out my life right now.

Condemning myself to knowing no one in the area and financial and vehicle stress is not a nice thing.

She’s my best mate

And my most dangerous addiction.

I have to make her Not My Problem.

Am sorry and sad. After such a brilliant 40 hours, her Mum came out when we drove up to make sure we didn’t fight. I love this little scrawny LEGS girl.

I tried. I moved from Wellington for less drama and for a good friend. Looks like failed on both.

For I went and stuck a needle in my arm. I was crying and confused by my young friend. I was angry. I had been to family court and they treat me like shit. She was there, looking stunning in her jeans that are more see through lace than jeans.

Fucked if I know why she is my friend.

Or was my friend. For I did not her in that capacity for a while. Now it’s really fucked.  Wish she would let me, or others, help. I care and we can compliment eachother. We can
complicate eachother.

.

Almost killing your lovely LEGS best mate and most trusted secret keeper is not the path I want to be on.

90Percent of her is great. 10Percent leads me to smoking, needles and jail.

Can’t risk it any more. I loved some of the times together, and care for her and her problems more than she will allow me to help with.

She opens up to me like no one else, she claims.

But this old ugly man is closing the doors and locking them.

She has to be let go. But I am the one taking the fall. Sad. But house is rented to me. She has heaps of friends and family here. She should be fine.

Sent my only friend a message saying we can only spend five minutes a time with eachother and asked why she decided to care and look after and be my most trusted friend.

Got no reply.

Really sad, and not like me  but
NOT MY PROBLEM

I gotta stay out of jail, rescue some financial crisis and stay off drugs

I understand her past. She has good reason to be the way she is.

But can only grab what is in front of you by dropping whats in your hands…

Love you Legsies, good luck. Wish my friend will come back someday.

Aroha Nui girl…..

Time for this old worn out acne prone cripple to find some new friends.

But, no doubt, they will all be screwballs too

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Got dumped. I think. :-(

TODAY…
I need another kid,
not more adult babysitting

Saw a young couple I have chatted with at various op-shoppes in Newtown. Saw them the other day with my coffee mate, “NIGZ”. She walked slower to avoid the “boyfriend” noticing and gave me a huge and enthusiastic wave, smile and some decent”eyes”. For she has eyes. And legs. And a bloody good attitude.

Today I offered them both a lift…. For the first time ever. Don’t know why. Bored? Interest? Bored interest? I have just been dumped, of course.

I stop the car and jump out…

“How far you going, you want a lift?”  she was sweating, walking fast. The walk and the heat did not fully explain the amount of sweat.

“We’re going over to xxxxxxx to score some smack, and I’m late. So, yes” she says already having dropped boyfriends hand and sliding into front seat. An attractive slide it was too.

Turns out they were off to score some “smack” from someone I know of in Wellington. She did a little spiel, although very nice, culminating with something along the lines of “turns out I am a fucking junkie” with a classic self depreciating smile.

Look here my dear, you really think I would have talked to you about the need for safe injecting rooms and the amount of effort I went to in order to defeat hep C if I had not pegged you as a junky. 

– I did not say,
but did think all too loudly

“Turns out I am a fucking junkie” she says.

“Hope that’s working out well for you” says I…

“We’ll see” says she.

“How much is it costing you?”

“$120 a day, but only recently. Was $60 a day. But recently…..” she sighs, and loses train of thought, looks straight at me with eyes wanting help, but not wanting to quit. Just wanting cash.

I hold her gaze for a minute with the best blank look I can muster. Driving a car means ignoring passengers at 90 degrees away from the view over the bonnet.

We were almost at their destination. I have seen this sort of couple before. She is motivated, attractive and smart. She stands out in a crowd. Things will come to her, whether she likes it or not. She can manage most things herself. But her “boyfriend” is a slightly dopey guy who she can use to get in the way when she wants to. I do not know this for a fact in this instance, but in previous observations of this sort of couple, it is true that the “boyfriend” lives off her dregs and she supports them both in order for the “protection” a smelly male can provide without pre-amble. He will follow her around until she implodes or leaves his leash tied somewhere else. He may return to his bitter punk mates and take up drinking cheap alcohol. Probably won’t even go through withdrawals.

We reach our destination. She is starting to realise I am / was / is a fucken junky too. She’s looking for avenues. Obviously.

I ask if they have a safe place to shoot up and tell them both to take care. Real care.

If they had no real place to shoot up, what would I have done? Offered them my place? My car? If they had not been able to do it properly and caused marks and harm to their arms, would I have helped and shown them how to do it properly? Would I have shot them up if they couldn’t?

FUCK ME. No no no no no no no no no no no no.

That is enough to finish me off too. They need saving. When they are ready. A few dirty tastes and blocked veins may speed up the process.

 

She looked a bit rough around the edges. Sweating out skin pores that didn’t exist this time six months ago. Her boyfriend smelt unwashed. Old stinky Paul smell. These two people are a shame.

They remind me of me. TOTALLY.

And I hated older people trying to help or show me how to do things. Once there was an older lady, very petite, very sweet and (now I am older and aware) she was obviously an ex-junky. She snuck up behind me and pulled me to once side and could have said so much and taken me home and made me cups of tea and watched me withdraw and I would have loved her and not gone with stinky exhibitionist punk girls and gone to jail and had years of crap.

At least, not in her mind. Until the moment past and she looked away wistfully and off I went. I was 18, wearing black, tattoo’s coming out ripped singlet, hair a mess, black jeans, army boots, needle marks, and not giving a fuck.

Guess I was more like this young lady than the young guy.

Wish I could help this young lady in some way. So full of life and energy, yet today, hanging out, she had grown bitter. Not twisted. Not rejecting the world. But really wishing that she had given up. For a small period of time.  Before she scores and the world becomes sweet. Nice. Happy. The opiates flood her head. Feelings of accomplishment and fulfilment. I know. For I love that feeling. It’s just that it is FUCKEN FAKE. 

Real Life is spending time teaching a bunch of kids stuff that you love.

And seeing them love it.

And seeing your daughter love you for it.

2014_11_30

Damn I hope my kid doesn’t become a junky. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. I just wish she wouldn’t.

With the knowledge gained from years of trouble, both her mother and I know what to look for.

Look at my life… Or, maybe don’t….

This girl whom just left my car left me with feelings of impossibility.

Kids will do what kids do.
Even if there is a fence at the top of the cliff they will climb it.
And, eventually, need the ambulance at the bottom.

Just wish I could fight it with them. Or for them.

This is half of what happened this morning.
The rest is here. 16 February 2015.

Need a real life.

If only there was more time…….

 HONESTLY, BEEN DUMPED?

Not sure what to feel about this.

A post written in 2013 was called I GOT DUMPED. HELL YEAH. Couldn’t agree more with that old post. I got dumped. Best thing that ever happened to be fair. That person is back. At a distance. But that lovely young borderline personality disorder mess person is not the issue.

The issue is the really fun friend, whom I fucken loved spending time with… No shit. I really did appreciate the time spent with her… She is so much like me. So cheeky. So clever. So full of honest, brutal humour. The worst junky, punk, obnoxious fun possible. Without the junk, punk or beatings…

I loved spending time with her.

But then there was a serious moment or two.

And then, I can only guess, something or someone got into her mellon.

From a million texts and calls a day to ZERO over night, without explanation. I think my number is on her “blocked” list as rang it once yesterday and once today… Rung once and went straight to answer phone. Tried texting today (the text was three dots ““) and got nothing.

Guess I have been dumped. Flat. On face. Without even having a boot or bat slapped around the back of my head. Even if you don’t get a bat, or boot, it is nice to get a good-bye, an explanation, a final word.

Without this final word, some people would get really annoyed and even violent and stalkerish. Thankfully for the world I am not what you all make me out to be.

No matter how much fun being really annoyed, stalking and violent sounds, I promise you that is not me. 

Maybe it should be. Wouldn’t mind an answer as to what the fuck happened there.

Reading this blog may have done it. Ho hum. Ring me and tell me girl. You know you will see me around Newtown sooner or later anyway. Then what? You’ll run and hide for no reason? Fuck me. Who cares. I need more kids. Not more adult babysitting.

STILL BANNED FROM CCDHB etc etc

 

ccdhb

Have been onto Hospital grounds many times. This is getting stupid.

I can sit, stand, talk with Police. I can do anything on hospital grounds at all.

Other than one little thing.

As soon as I ask one little question or try discussing a persons lack of care or response they simply tell me to leave as they have called the Police.

The police have yet to turn up mind you.

I have been to a hospital building not specifically listed in the trespass order acting as official advocate for one young lady. They did exactly the same as Blair Bishop and Clarissa Broderick at Addiction (Dis)Services. That is — They followed the Capital Coast District Health Board guidelines…

  1. Ignore the advocate outright
  2. If client has properly acknowledged advocate and advocate seems to wanting to engage in a positive manner
    RING POLICE
  3. Tell client they must leave
  4. Tell advocate they must leave

This is the third time now. They tell my client to leave and my client then wants to leave for fear of losing medications or what-have-you.

I am left trespassed from all CCDHB grounds on the basis of writing this blog.

Maybe I should show them my middle finger.

Samtsirhc Yrrem

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

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

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

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

Signed his name backwards, he did.

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

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

It still does.

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

slaterCLICK ON PICTURE FOR MORE

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have pain.

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

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

O for OarSum. Simply freaken Class A.

geoff_crammond

 

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

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

But the drugs will not take the pain away.

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

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

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

you can’t fuck the pain away

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

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

Some turn and wink.
Some turn and abuse.

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

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

Hi, NZ FIEND.

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

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

For fucksakes, bugger. Fuck me. 

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

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

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

Capitalism addiction is the bloody worst.

You can keep it….  Your capitalism addiction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

 

Letter to Health and Disability Commission

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

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

My heart just stopped.

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

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

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

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

chchc

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

Piles of shit may produce good roses. One day.

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

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

It is broke. It needs fixing.

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

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

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

van

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

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

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

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

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

This is me.

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

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

What was the point of all this again?

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

 

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

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

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

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

What would help greatly is being listened to properly.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Life. It is not for everyone.

Life on the pharmacists terms is not for anyone.

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

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