John Oliver VS Capitalism and Addiction

Remember FOX NEWS said “BUSH HAS WON THE ELECTION” so all the other news outfits started doing it so as to not be behind, or miss the scoop. The thing is – BUSH DIDN’T WIN. He lost – but the other guy, hearing that he had lost, threw in his towel and conceded, at which point he was fucked. Don’t forget FOX news was run by one of the Bush family at the time…..

Anyway, slightly off the topic, but when have you ever criticised me for being on topic to start with..?..

We need more honest proper journalism and independent investigative journalists. Nowadays you can spot errors in about every single story on every page of every newspaper. Main TV news seems to be more and more like the internet news of old every day.

And therein lies the problem.

People want cute cats, death and mayhem.

The mass public will not sit through a thirty minute story showing both sides of an argument properly… 110km/h on highways kills people.. Boy racers are all druggies with bald tyres. Cute cat.

John Oliver Does Drugs

Sorry about taking some saturation out of your overly coloured American TV face John old Boy…

And then there is JOHN OLIVER. 

He did his usual fifteen minute of TRUMP BASHING, and to his credit he manages to keep this fresh and interesting each week – or maybe it is just due to the fact Trumpt comes up with so much shit each week he is simply too easy, and then progressed to do an opinion piece on the state of addiction in the good ol’ U S of A.

Not a bad effort… Other than he took great pains to ridicule the term “pseudo addict“.

A term I hadn’t heard of. A term which sounds, on the surface, to be total bullshit.

Good on you John, you are the man.

In the context of a drug company trying to show the world it’s drugs are not the cause of addicts problems, it possibly is bullshit. More than possibly even. Plausible denial anyone?

But wait — There’s more…

(yeah, yeah – you guessed it…. Unca Fiendipoo has a spanner. And a good throwing arm.)

Start scratching under the surface (or maybe just start scratching depending how much of an addict you really are) the theory is quite sound. It may come from the mouth of a pseudo scientist, but someone who exhibits addictive drug seeking behaviour may be no more of a problematic addict than you or I (queue Americans favourite laughing track – the auto chuckle)… 

Fiend says –
“Pseudo addict” may just have a place in this debate on how to deal with the problems of addiction in capitalist environments.

Let us just say… Just for debates sake… 

If I am in pain (me? never…) and need a few opiates to coach my kids football team, I go to the doctor. The doctors glasses slide down his nose and he looks at me sideways. No matter how much they know about my pain, my back, my lifestyle, my parenting or my need to participate in life on terms agreeable to me, the maker and the pharmaceutical companies – the doctor will always look at “addict” potential first and my quality of life second.

Purdue, we have a problem.

And, by the sounds of this John Oliver thing, so do hundreds of thousands of Americans.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have not gone all soft in my old age. Americans can all go still fuck right off and suck Clintons dick / clit dry as far as I am concerned.

However, I feel for the pain and the difficulties the poor people who are controlled by the whim of the pen. On a good day the doctor will write. On a bad day, the doctor wont. The days are not so much swayed good or bad by his kid playing well at football — more the pressures put on him by media, drug companies capitalistic ways and the controlling bodies antiquated views of addiction.

This week John Oliver has told the world the drug companies are confusing the doctors. They obviously need to play with their own product some more.

John Oliver. Take time to read GLOBALIZATION OF ADDICTION.

Or, since no one has an attention span any longer than a thirty second sound byte (I know – I am ADHD super hero number 666) …

Dear John @iamjohnoliver

please look up Dr. Gabor Maté  on YOUTUBE.

Thank you, and goodnight.

John seems to have pitted himself against capitalism AND addiction. The first time anyone in history has managed this. A little like … hell … cannot quite work out what it’s like.

Maybe I am very much every inch totally drug fucked as the idiots at Wellington Addiction Services would tell you.

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Was glad to have been of service…

In an absolutely stupendous way, am glad to have been of service.

A number of the unfortunately afflicted, otherwise known as those whom deal with Wellington Addiction Services, have contacted the author of this, the worlds shittest blog, either asking for advice for upcoming meetings, or commenting on their own experiences with the said Addict DisServices.

Some of the best service I have been, to both the afflicted and the DisService, has been verified today. This is a POSITIVE OUTCOME of a USER LEAD APPROACH to dealing with a perceived LACK OF ENGAGEMENT FROM THE SERVICE.

WHEN GOING TO THE SERVICE AND MEETING WITH
CLARISSA “Yes Mistress” BRODERICK
AND
TOM “Baa Baa like a sheep” FLEWETT,
JUST REMEMBER THE IMAGES YOU HAVE IN YOUR MIND OF THEIR
STRAP ONS,
WHIPS AND CANES.

Imagine Clarissa in a head mistress uniform strapping your bare arse with a cane. Imagine Tom keeping her away from the animals…. Imagine whatever you like that helps you deal with them fucking you.

http://scripts.iucr.org/cgi-bin/paper?S0567740877002544 Some public speakers use the technique of imagining their audience as being naked. This works reasonably well when attempting to control nerves and self doubt etc. Given the possibility that you do not have access to high levels of PROPRANOL this is entirely relevant. Just remember the rumour that CCDHB has a huge supply of sponsored strap ons supplied by visiting drug company sales representatives and imagine vividly what they do with them whilst looking them in the eye.

It will stop you presenting to them as annoyingly angry when they deny your well thought and well researched treatment regime to coerce you into their antiquated and highly dysfunctional therapy system.

Remember to praise them both for having nice arses on your way out to score elsewhere.

Community Work

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Here We Are.

Periodically doing Detention. Community Work New Zealand department of corrections style.

Spent an hour talking with kids about addiction. Spent an hour talking with an ex school teacher about ADHD. Diagnostic antenna twitching left right and centre.

But, all the good I do for others is irrelevant to Department of Corrections, Justice  or Police.

I am here purely to paint this old bunker Gray…

130Km wind and all.

Community Work

image

Here We Are.

Periodically doing Detention. Community Work New Zealand department of corrections style.

Spent an hour talking with kids about addiction. Spent an hour talking with an ex school teacher about ADHD. Diagnostic antenna twitching left right and centre.

But, all the good I do for others is irrelevant to Department of Corrections, Justice  or Police.

I am here purely to paint this old bunker Gray…

130Km wind and all.

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.

And then there is life.

Am writing from cellphone as daughter is MineCrafting after this mornings football…

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Yesterday was valentine’s. Something not really on my radar.

It seemed only fair to spend a little romantic time with another single person. Although having a few possible hug and cuddle contenders, I had accepted the idea put forward by a single lady whom was feeling especially single and down on a day advertised by our corporate leaders as a “must have” otherwise you’re not as happy as you should be.

For once I cove to corporate crap. I gave a quick visit, present and hug to a beautiful young lady whom could be a great fun friend, long term. If only she felt the same… Sigh.

Then received odd Valentine’s day comments from some very young and possibly fun friends.

But ended up spending the evening, uer, the night, with someone else. She snuck in, once daughter asleep, jumped into bed without preamble, started a dvd and greeted my return from shower with a genuine smile and hug. I am never going to love this lady, hell, I don’t even like her that much.

But right then and there we were both what eachother needed. Poor girl.

I was stressed. My daughter came for a weekend without a change of undies or socks. Three days in same underclothes, on top of other repeated adhd style behaviours started doing my head in.

Had a nice chat with lady from previous post. She knows about this blog. She may have read yesterdays entry. Whatever the reason she has not returned texts or calls today. Hope she ended up having a nice Valentine s. Was thinking of her, just couldn’t be with her.

Fucken life.
.?

 

Just sent this text to the four players whom showed up for this mornings soccer football…

Was good having time after game . I have a really screwed up lower spine so takes me a while to get going. Was neat having time after game to have a kick and give attention to each kickers style. Will give them homework and fitness drills next week…
Lol
🙂

Spending time with four kids and their mums n dads n aunties was A fucken PLUS use of my life.

 We only had four players, the manager of the other team had a beautiful smile, a nice wink and a warm handshake. The team was from a rich suburb. All the mums were well presented and young. This, believe it or not, was not noticed until later. Right now, however, we borrowed a player.

My kid and her got along really well. We had a great game, some good moves. Some of my advice and nagging was evidently working well… Parents on all sides are starting to see the madness that is me making sense. The kids are starting to love playing Sunday footy. It was cold and wet and for the first time in history, not one single kid or parent mentioned, nay, complained, about…. weather

We got there at 8. We left at 10.30 even tho we only had a half hour game at nine.

We didn’t want to leave. The fields were needed for adult games. Kids all learnt. I taught one kid something. I taught another kid something else. I have grazes from goalie diving on artificial turf. Kids have sore legs from kicking a ball more than most ever have. Parents seemed stoked. Dad and Coach worn out.

Sometimes I love my life and think I am truly an awesome guy.

Really. This is a new thing for me. Having spent the better part of three decades trying to live as though you didn’t want tomorrow goes with the territory of loathing. Of the most dedicated “I don’t give a shit” variety.

And then the kids go, the nice mums stop imagining fifty shades of football coach, the energy fades like the come down from some watered down NZ purchased cocaine…

We have twenty dollars to go to a festival, yet we’re sitting at home. She is playing MineCraft. She creates some amazing things and I am so proud of my slightly adhd bundle of enthusiasm….

Need another life. A family. A real family unit.

Without, there is a large deficit of happy.

A happiness deficit of any magnitude is a dangerous thing.

Artificial happiness is available.

So, prey, is oblivion.

It is bloody hard trying to chose life, fucken life. On a daily basis.

Mushroom tripping from Wellington Regional Hospital

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Once again running the gauntlet of the CCDHBDSM and its snappy poodle watchdog, Clitassa Breederock, I got to take this photo. Amazing what comes back to you whilst sitting bored in a Hospital waiting room. Especially when trespassing to be there.

Back in the day, when just a young junky spending a bit of time with the more hard wasters of Wellington, I lived over the hill at extreme left in this photo. https://goo.gl/maps/eEyuJ We called it the Hinau Hilton. We were full of wit and charm. You should have seen this place. In fact – You can… Peter Jackson used this silly lot for Brain Dead….

brainhouseMy room was one in top, middle, with balcony.
Mattress on floor,
blood on walls,
particular smell in carpet,
sleeping bag at ready,
pit bull bitch, BONI at feet
&
drugs and paraphernalia coming out ears.
And holes in walls.
And…. And… And…

Guess Sir Peter Jackson didn’t really have to look far for a more perfect house or bunch of people to help with his “goriest movie of all time”.
The blood on my walls was art from various tender cuts and spray messages from squirting out syringes to re-use later.
The smell in the carpet was “home”. 
The pit bull bitch at my feet got severely jealous of any female coming anywhere near me. Human mainly, but would also launch at canine, feline, bovine… 

 In the days before proper needle exchanges… WTF. Am amazed we didn’t all end up a lot worse off than what we did.

Harm reduction. Will harp on about this until death.

cine_massacre

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talk:Braindead_(film)#Censorship

Anyway, we did some nice tripping missions to the hills around Wellington known as the “Town Belt”.

Boy, we tripped our faces off. Good GOLD TOP MUSHROOMS (Psilocybe Cubensis) 3am, sliding down 100m of hill on cardboard boxes in the pouring rain. Split skin, laughter, paranoia. Jaw clenching confusion. No baby sitters. Just awkward moments. Happy moments. No violent moments. All sorts of things thrown into a short evening. Being too hallucination inebriated to climb out of various crash positions, a lot of time was spent trying to find eachother. Hell, I spent a good amount of time trying to find myself. Once the grass worked out what the fuck we were doing, it was bloody good times.

After hours of freezing, in cold mud, damp clothes and various states of undress, it was no comfort getting home to our flat with no windows that would shut, holes through the walls and girlfriends whom spend more time in eachothers beds than ours.

Freezing.

But at least not being able to feel it.

Bloody good fun. Just not able to feel it…

Nowadays I would aim for Red Bull sponsorship and turn this into a professional event.  

800px-Biosynthesis_of_psilocybin.svg[1]

hill_slide

Thanks to thenzgccdhbsmallwell

NZ Government, Capital Coast District Health Board and Wellington City Council

for providing the Psilocybin, the terrain and the security.