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.

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You know that glue sniffer alcoholic from a couple of posts ago… Well…

PACMAN PEOPLE TATTOO

Whilst I was there, babysitting her drug overdose attempts, (click here) I could not help but notice I was sitting on an overturned home stereo speaker. She has a mattress on the floor. She has no furniture. Yet she does have an ankle bracelet that does not allow her to remove herself from the premises.

Sucks to be her.

Walked around the front of the housing block just now to see if she was there. Her windows were open, so I walked up the stairs.

“HOLY SHIT, IT’S YOU

Yes, it is me

“Holy Crap, sorry about the other night, I was… Ueeerrrr….”

Really fucked up and using heaps of glue?

“Ueeeeerrr… Yeah…..”

Hey, all good. You want a couch and a seat or what?

“Fucken Aye bro. Thought you were full of shit.

Nah, I have a large three, two and one seater on the roof of my car. Been there for ten days now. Looks like it might rain, so better move them off the roof…

“Choice bro. Fucken unreal. You’re not kidding me?

No, I will be back in a couple of minutes.

“I would come help, but I can’t leave the whare(*) aye bro”
(pointing at ankle bracelet)

Yeah, all good… See you in a minute.

 The most amazing thing about this exchange was she remembered me at all. She remembered I told her had a couch for her was therefore not that amazing. Amazingly, although completely nuts and abusing every mind numbing substance known to man, she looked at me clear eyed and she honestly looked as though she remembered all the good things we had shared between the bouts of conscience killing “rest periods.”

So looked at me with respect, tolerance and knowledge. 

This may have been as I treated her with respect, tolerance and shared knowledge with her that night when babyshitting her.

I did not tell her we had met before. Nor will I tell you. 

This is the only trickle down effect that the worlds economists will ever find true…

Second hand furniture, car parts and clothes.

Without them, the global economy would be totally full of shit.

Couch on Ford Futurlane

Found a guy to help me carry the stuff up to her flat. Would only just fit up stairs and through door. Did not tell the guy I had skinned a knuckle and cut my thumb. He was only helping me, and I was only helping someone else. Did not seem correct to complain about him pushing when he should have been pulling. Even if it did make me wince.

You see, this girl really appreciated this. She probably didn’t even appreciate the couch and chair as much as she appreciated someone doing what they said and not “being full of shit aye bro”.

She looked so fucken grateful.

You can take all your “boundaries” and “ethics” and shove them.

Upon leaving she frowned. I walked back and brushed the frown off with a stroke of a finger on her forehead.

You cannot do that as a registered counsellor or other professional employed in such a capacity without some rather dodgy charges being laid… 

For me, it was worth it. Seeing the frown replaced with a smile and a warm goodbye is okay.

My boundaries are declining to tell her my name, flat number or contact details.

See –

I am learning. Has taken a hell of a fuck up or two. But it is am learning. Even evolution.

(*)
WHARE a Māori hut or dwelling place
pron far-ee (kind of – you roll the R into an L a little… Far-le…. Sort of.

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.

 

 

This post bought to you by…

This post bought to you by some New Zealand made 1970’s Philips 90W 8ohm speakers and Bic Runga played quite friggen loud. 14″ Bass, high range, tweeter, mid and… Well… In my small concrete box of a flat the door has to be locked to avoid neighbours throwing shit.

This is the seat mentioned in previous post… one-rule-one-law-for-all-fails

It’s all about the seating baby.

bic

http://www.bicrunga.com/

http://www.drugfoundation.org.nz/work-for-us

click advert not from google