Enough said. YEAH GIRLFRIEND!
Enough said. YEAH GIRLFRIEND!
Anyway, slightly off the topic, but when have you ever criticised me for being on topic to start with..?..
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 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.
At least life is okay in one sense — it’s not having to deal with family court and lying shit heads. Is that even positive? It is compared to April and May (June, July too come to think of it…)
“No matter how much I would like to remand NZFIEND in custody, I simply cannot remand a person in custody on a charge that has no merit…”
The second judge said something along the lines of…
“As it stands this case is hardly worth the effort, I urge you (Police prosecutors) to have a long look at this and do something about it. (Prosecutor squirms, Judge notices). I realise you are getting orders from further up on this one, but I will set down a trial for HALF AN HOUR since you are pursuing it.”
This really means the Judge is telling them to piss off and try varying the charge again. They have had two attempts at putting forward a case that would stick, and the Judges have told them “no merit” and “have a long look at it and do something about it”.
Meanwhile the tax payer and myself lose money, time and trust in the silly system and the vindictive Police managing it.
I post tweets, they get instantly deleted. I can see them on my account, but on other accounts they simple never appear.
I had the police show up at 4am demanding to talk to me about a bloody tweet I sent that was supposed to be stupid humour. I was told a well respected journalist had complained about me. She, whom happens to be very well followed on TV – much of her stories are inclined with investigating Police and CCDHB fuck ups) totally did not complain. Someone did, but not her.
The Police (at 4am) knocked on my door. I opened it a little bit, keeping foot behind it.
Police “Hey NZFIEND, step outside, we need to talk”
“These tweet and public media writings of yours”
“what the fuck?”
I open the door so they can see me better. One man with suit and tie and clip board (at 4 fucken AM for godsakes!) and one uniformed officer, looking a little bemused. Who knows how many others were hiding around the corner.
“We have had complaints”
“I have a complaint too –
The police, facebook and twitter are censoring my writing illegally.”
“Oh, well, we aren’t here about that.”
“Of course you fucken ain’t”
“We are here about this tweet reading … __________________________”
“Oh piss off, you are kidding…”
“No, we are not kidding.”
“Are you telling me that
Miss ____ _________
complained about THAT?”
“Why else would we be here?”
“Surely she would have seen it in context of other communications and realised it is intended as humour?”
“Obviously she did not”
“Are you telling me she complained?”
“Why else would we be here.”
I slam the door and tell them to fuck off. A little respect each way would be nice. I left it a week or two and contacted Miss _____ _________ myself and she replied within hours stating she had not complained (probably had not even seen the tweet in the first place!) but her company does have a policy of alerting authorities to such matters.
Even then, I doubt the Police would go to everyone whom made a obvious sarcastic tweet at 4am.
The Police have been looking at my cellphone and my cellphone had told them I was coming home at that time, having been away elsewhere. I was sending texts to someone whom was concerned I was a little too tired to drive etc etc etc…. Ten minutes after getting home, POLICE knock. Interesting maybe.
And this young lady has learnt to drive a manual (stick shift) pretty well. My car is not easy. It is complicated, moody and horrible. Yet it quite likes this young lady.
As do I.
I am proud of me sometimes.
Just need to remember it on a daily basis.
My gratitude list still only ever gets to “being able to walk”.
She is always telling me to make lists.
She is twenty yet considers herself to be my mentor.
I may yet take her advice on lists.
“Of course I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about Detective Fucked-In-The-Face” (“Det’ Fucked-In-The-Face” is not his real name)
They have also told me things about people I don’t want to know. In the case above, I figured much better to have him on my side, than against me, so as soon as Detective Fucked-In-The-Face had his back turned I was spending $2 a minute on New Zealand’s first cellphone to ring the big white guy and get him and his guns over to have a free cook up in my kitchen.
Fair enough. What would you do?!
“Oh, valentines day, oh right, yeah……” (slightly shady blush)
“No” (laughs loudly)
(change of subject approaching rapidly as discomfort level raising….)
Now, back to reality… Has my young lady friend emailed back yet?
When you need a good kick in the head, along comes some really random stuff to do just that.
More specifically, kick my arse out of a rather gravity laden spiral (ie- downward) and into some sort of recovery.
Heading to the Doctors on one of my brief Government approved outings to the real world I see REAL LIVE PEOPLE. And some real life live people know me. They, without realising, give me reason to be proud of the person whom was once me. For they followed some advice, learnt from my mistakes, or just plain thought “that crazy old wanker has a point” about something. Something learnt via my public self deflagrations had improved their lot. This was, although not up to the standard of instant gratification and happiness most junkies aspire to, rather uplifting.
Or was it just being outside in the sun with fresh air and real live people around?
And then, today, there is, after much fretting about opening gmail on my behalf, an astounding email from someone. Someone whom has found my email address somewhere or some other. And, somehow, decided to write something.
This amazes me every single time. People take time out of their own lives to write to me. My, currently rather pathetic excuse for a life, gets a boost from this.
If only I wasn’t yawning uncontrollably and struggling not to get back into bed at 3pm. For it has been a long day, old coffee mate comes over with a coffee at 11:30 so I pretend to have been “up and about” before he knocked. Borrowing his phone to call some members of officialdom whom have more than likely put my number on “block” lists proves futile- they obviously are avoiding everyone, not just me. He shows emotion at some of the communications that have been killing any amount of mojo and turning my head into what happens when you’ve been on a childs merry-go-round half an hour too long as an adult.
If not for struggling with simple things like bothering to check my own chin for food deposits before visiting doctors offices, I would take care to head some of this advice and MAKE SURE I ENJOY SOMETHING DESPITE THE CONTROLS AND STUPIDITY (I added the “stupidity” bit, admittedly) OF THE SYSTEM.
Sometimes I cannot open emails or web pages. For a few hours today I have managed it. It feels good.
Enough recovery for now. Season Three of AMERICAN HORROR STORY and a horizontal position in bed await closely.
I know the feeling of not being able to open certain web pages out of sheer, squirming anxiety….
This was appropriate when I was on home detention/probation for 12/6 months respectively for buyin’ the drugs off the ‘net, and I wasn’t allowed shit that could speak hypertext.
Don’t feel obligated to reply, I’m just writing in support.
Channel your energies into whatever gets you through.
I started cooking really nice food spent well over 600 hours playing open-world games on Xbox.
I remember I made a stollen with a log of marzipan through the middle. Holy fuck, it was good….
The lesson for today is…
He told me to read his books. This, of course, required me to purchase them. Upon reading, and having some eureka moments along the way, I have forever been bestowing the virtues of this man and his work. Subsequently he told me that “they” (yes, you – Wellington Addict DisServices and other backward thinking service providers) could not be pushed into reading his work, they would have to find it for themselves. I have been pushing them ever since. There are many examples of this working. People have been purchasing and reading this work of his. Gabor then suggested to me that “I should probably pay you a commission, but won’t…”
One of the first thoughts around a little of his work is to be found here — CANCER IS NOT ADDICTION —
GABOR talked of his addiction of compulsively buying classical music from shoppes and avoiding the issue of time, finance and the overwhelming desire of his wife to find storage space anywhere in his cluttered shrine to classical music that his wife would prefer to call a house.
GABOR went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings and displaced the “Narcotics” for his “Classical Shopping” problematic addiction.
It seemed to make some sense. Other N.A members commented that his problem and him “were in the right place”.
^^^ This is the point. An article on other addictions. ^^^
This latest addiction could just kill me.