WITHDRAWALS OF THE MISUNDERSTOOD PART 1

Hey Spacedog here….

It’s been a while. There was not going to originally be a post until next week but I just decided yesterday that enough was enough. What is it that I am coming off of you ask?

Well first off, my absence from here is mostly pandemic related. Out of all the billions of individuals in the world, I am probably in the top 1% of people with insane paranoid reactions. Eventually though I kinda grew to like it. I got to wear a mask so no one would know who I was. I didn’t have to worry if suddenly after 8 years of grand mal seizures today would be the day and I’d go straight into the Delaware River on my way to my doctor’s office. And I didn’t have to have any house guests! I became the Maybelline Girl. Maybe she’s born with it maybe it’s Maybelline! I was born for this.

Anyway….

So I’ve got to say I have been quite a bit off about one thing I have been telling people recently. My sobriety date from alcohol…. I really thought I drank this year. Nope the receipts clearly show November 17, 2019. Not that the difference between that and February 1st really matters much to me. All I know is the last 3 times I drank were rum, beer, and sparkling seltzer in that order.  The rum tasted stale so I ended up dumping 4 ozs of a 14 oz bottle. The beer I ended up having to just toss after 5 of 12 because frankly it made me feel beyond shitty. As for the sparkling seltzer it was surprisingly good but actually still made me feel awful afterwards. Most of these manifestations I describe above were physical.

I sorta just quit. I did not need any bells and whistles or pats on the back. I kinda just did it on my own and it was mine and mine alone. No one could brag about how wonderful of a person they were to get me sober (while doing meth on the side, thanks AA Sponsor #6) or how they were so vital to my recovery (Here looking at you Sponsor #4, enjoy the oxys). Frankly I just did not care anymore. I guess I’m at day 275 or 276 or something for those who are counting. Frankly I’m not…..

So what is it I am coming off of right now? It’s nothing sexy or dangerous like meth or heroin or molly or crack or coke. Just some plain old cigarettes and coffee.

I can honestly say I feel entirely better than I thought I would at this point. I am a master at coming off of drugs, but sadly I am a bit rusty. I feel between all the antidepressants, heroin (several times), alcohol, and mood stabilizers I have been in this moment at least 30 different occasions before.

This occasion is really mild. The heroin was the worst by far but only when I was snorting it. I honestly only even got minor withdrawal no matter how much I shot. Alcohol I had about 2 Leaving Las Vegas spells in my 20s, but not really any withdrawal other than that.

The anti-depressants quite honestly to me were the biggest joke as well as the hardest legal drugs I have ever had to come off of. Depakote, lithium, effexor, paxil, prozac, seroquil, serzone. A laundry list of harm to me. Suicidal, emotionless, too much fake joy, sexless, mania, and winner winner chicken dinner homicidal respectively.

I seriously called poison control when it came to the Serzone. I kept thinking of what kind of knives my neighbors had and what it would be like to use them. And my nails look like I applied a bright coat of dark pink nail polish.  P Control literally had no idea how to help me with what was going on. I called my friend Seth on the phone a few minutes later and he informed me he was on that garbage and to have some milk. A minute later my nails returned to normal, my thoughts came back shortly after.

Honestly coffee was going to be a battle for next week to give up but as I settled in on my couch at home I smelled the faint scent of flowers. It was mostly roses but maybe some lavender or lilac. I usually get this when my spirit guide is nearby. Anyway so I figured I’d just go to bed. At 6pm.

Then woke up at 130 and started writing this blog. I think I wholeheartedly can say that 1:30AM is a shitty ass time to wake up. I suppose this would be the absolute perfect time to wake up if I were say a rapist. Boom sober, boom bar, boom victim and whatever else rapey people do in between. Spray themselves down with the most vile of scents. I’m sure there are nice smelling rapists but frankly none of my rapists were Glade Scent Stories inspired. Obscure reference I know…. glade scent stories were this little thing that looked like a CD Walkman and you put the CD in and it would through a few scents per CD.

Physically though I’m feeling pretty good all things considered. I was highly disappointed that I was not able to pick out any online courses last evening but if my path is less than 24 hours off I really shouldn’t let myself worry too much. I really am not missing the cigarettes a whole lot especially without that stupid nicotine patch making my arm itch like crazy.

Coffee…. well I’ve just been trying to find any and all negative information. All I know is it comes from a plant and well I am inching oh so close to the Carnivore Diet or something similar. I still haven’t felt right since I juiced kale, zucchini, brocolli and lime. It tasted terrible. Rape victim of the jolly Green Giant terrible. Threw up 30 minutes later and passed out for 2.5 hours after.

So coffee….wheeeeee….. I probably should have tapered off down to 1 cup a day before I quit but I’m always up for a bigger challenge and a better suffering at this point.  I’ve been drinking 3-5 cups a day for a few weeks. All this self imposed lockdown, this suffering, this absence of bliss will pay off in spades one day I tell myself.

I just don’t want to be half sober. I feel all of these people out there in Alcoholics Anonymous and all these other recovery programs are the biggest bunch of hypocrites on the planet. They are following around a plan based on 80 years of complete horseshit and pseudoscience. I guess I get it though. Most people are too weak and broken to get better on their own. They never seek their answers within and only rely on outside counsel. They drink coffee like fish, chain smoke like the marlboro man, and eat some of the worst cookies on the planet. Like seriously maybe I hadn’t been to a meeting in a while, but Chips Ahoy?

I see most of these people now for what they truly are. A bunch of dry drunks going around who like to preach to others because it gives them a sense of self importance. My way or the highway they say.

The absolute funniest thing about these people is they will engage you in normal conversation until you mention that you are not in AA. It’s like I single-handedly broke the matrix somehow. Seriously far more people get sober when not in this archaic broken program. The effectiveness is probably somewhere between aspirin between the knees and self baptism in your favorite local polluted body of water. I guess I shouldn’t knock anyone though it’s just frustrating.

I was put on this Earth to help others and sometimes I think the only way I am going to be able to do it is lie my teeth off. Sure I can lie my teeth off if I meet you somewhere by random chance….. like if I needed to come up with a BS story for my Grubhub driver or a grocery store clerk. When it comes to write though I don’t have that luxury. It’s just not in my blood. Brutal honesty or no writing. Only two options here.

But the moral of the story is it is only day 2 and day 1. cigarettes and coffee. It would be nice to be able to honestly just listen in to an AA meeting but I know I am not welcome at any. Well of course I am just not one meeting in particular I went to drunk because my wonderful sponsor #3 thought that Tori Amos concerts were going to somehow involve me shooting meth and going to circuit parties.

man I pick the winners! I seriously hope I don’t pick a husband as poorly one day as these sponsors. My award-winning sponsor picking is literally on par with Larry King and his fantastic wife picking. (I have no idea who any of his wives are, but I just assume if that many people would willing marry someone he either has a giant penis or a giant bank account) .

Gotta pick courses now will post tomorrow if I am not dead already.

By Spacedog

The F List Continues Baffling Its Creator

As I am sure even if they haven’t read it Readers are aware of two recent Posts Titled F to the U to the C to the K Parts 1 and 2. For those who may not be aware the original Post was a beyond basic “List” if you will of Fucks as in molded in the Fuck “That” format.

The 1st “List” as it were was only meant to be one singular post. Later after it was posted I slowly realized that I had forgotten a few things, and before I knew it I had another whole “Lists” worth of material.

At this point even My Dear Friend SpaceDog whom I have know more years than I can recall right now thought that had to be it.

And so did I.

We were Both Wrong.

The Cycle just reset itself and began once again spawning a 3rd and possibly final Fucks “List” (which is fucking Mind Boggling even for Me)

To say that these posts are not for f-yourblog curious Noobs. This only appeals to the small section of society that truly understand the “Lists”

No One  including Myself wouldn’t blame Anyone for skipping over this or the two prior “Lists” Not by a Long Shot. The One and Only SpaceDog Himself said reading the “Lists” made him feel and I quote “Dirty”

So for those Hardcore enough to withstand the Gruesome Grind I give you List Number 3 in the ongoing F to the U to the C to the K to the series.

The Fucks List Continues:

Fuck Tiny Houses. Fuck Waffle House. Fuck Tail Gating. Fuck the Illogical.

Fuck Colombo. Fuck Nursing Homes. Fuck Coal. Fuck Armed Conflicts.

Fuck Leaky Roofs. Fuck Head Colds. Fuck The Flu. Fuck Foot Notes.

Fuck Traffic Lights. Fuck Neighbors. Fuck Kenny G. Fuck Muzak.

Fuck Flutes. Fuck Ice Machines. Fuck Regulations. Fuck Teletubbies.

Fuck NPR. Fuck AM Radio. Fuck FM Radio. Fuck Satellite Radio.

Fuck Internet Radio. Fuck Chat Rooms. Fuck Shitty Tattoos.

Fuck Manic Panic. Fuck Body Piercing. Fuck Phil. Fuck Jail. Fuck Uniforms.

Fuck Fango. Fuck Fanta. Fuck Soy Milk. Fuck Coconut Water.

Fuck I Can’t Believe Its Not Butter. Fuck Substitutes. Fuck Tori Amos.

Fuck Mr. Brainwash. Fuck Cheap Toilet Paper. Fuck Hand Dryers.

Fuck Port-O-Pottys. Fuck Credit. Fuck Loans. Fuck PayDay Loans.

Fuck The Movie Ratings Board. Fuck Harmonicas. Fuck Loans.

Fuck Finances. Fuck Mortgages. Fuck Predatory Bank Loans. Fuck Loofas.

Fuck Body Spray. Fuck Spas. Fuck Unsolicited Advice. Fuck The Odds.

Fuck Playing It Safe. Fuck Droll Waiters/Waitresses. Fuck Last Call.

Fuck Spray Tans. Fuck Extensions. Fuck Push Up Bras.

Fuck Victoria’s Secret. Fuck Staring. Fuck Foreclosures.

Fuck Insider Trading. Fuck Slow Fast Food Service. Fuck Identity Theft.

Fuck Religious Conflicts. Fuck Home Schooling. Fuck Reunion Tours.

Fuck Being On The Spectrum. Fuck Quiet Riot. Fuck The Beetles. Fuck Yoko Ono.

Fuck Bob Dylan. Fuck The 70’s. Fuck The 90’s. Fuck Dull Knives.

Fuck Dog Racing. Fuck Horse Fighting. Fuck Coming Back Into Fashion.

Fuck Hair Salons. Fuck Sore Losers. Fuck Asshole Winners.

Fuck Dog Fighting. Fuck Gloating. Fuck Howie Mandel.

Fuck Condo Associations. Fuck Middle Men. Fuck People’s Core.

Fuck Hot Yoga. Fuck Carbs. Fuck So Called Upscale Shit. Fuck Cell Towers.

Fuck Dust Bunnies. Fuck Shedding. Fuck Speed Limits. Fuck Spite.

Fuck Malice. Fuck Re Runs. Fuck Whitening Strips. Fuck Date Rape.

Fuck Someone Loves Someone Reality Shows. Fuck The Bachelor.

Fuck The Pick Up Artist Mystery. Fuck Jeff Foxworthy.

Fuck Larry The Cable Guy. Fuck Kevin Hart. Fuck Cialis. Fuck Zoos.

Fuck The Weinstein Brothers. Fuck Beard Art. Fuck Dog Shows.

Fuck Chris Jericho. Fuck Zack Saber JR. Fuck Deep Fried Butter.

Fuck Vince Vaughn. Fuck Decaf. Fuck Papa Johns. Fuck Bell Bottoms.

Fuck Kiss. Fuck Lowe’s. Fuck Property tax. Fuck Non Caffeinated Soda.

Fuck Tim Allin. Fuck Ray Romano. Fuck Jazz. Fuck Noise Bands.

Fuck Synthesizers. Fuck Drum Machines. Fuck Unauthorized Bios.

Fuck Korn. Fuck Morrissey. Fuck Slutever. Fuck Humiliation. Fuck BP.

Fuck Second Rate Sushi. Fuck Tex Mex. Fuck Fusion Restaurants.

Fuck The Cost Of Living. Fuck Maritime Law. Fuck Rush Hour (Traffic).

Fuck Rush Hour Movies. Fuck Steven Seagal. Fuck Dolf Lungrin.

Fuck Jean-Claude Van Damme. Fuck Phish. Fuck The Grateful Dead.

Fuck Petrulli. Fuck Toe Rings. Fuck McRibs. Fuck Ambrosia Salads.

Fuck Jello Molds. Fuck Fruit In Jello. Fuck Fig Newtons. Fuck Flair.

Fuck Glitter. Fuck ARL. Fuck Contradictions. Fuck Cane Toads.

Fuck Fanny Packs. Fuck Snap Bracelets. Fuck Jelly Bracelets. Fuck Mullets.

Fuck Vanilla Ice. Fuck Las Vegas Residencies. Fuck Snake Oil Salesmen.

Fuck Chain Wallets. Fuck Hacks (as in People). Fuck Pokemon Go.

Fuck Cheap Liquor. Fuck Labels. Fuck Swamp Ass. Fuck Anal Leakage.

Fuck Gas Station Bathrooms. Fuck Skiing. Fuck Paddle Boarding.

Fuck Sorry Not Sorry. Fuck Granola. Fuck LOL. Fuck Fisting. Fuck Thrillers.

Fuck Food Porn. Fuck The Unknown. Fuck Love Seat. Fuck Snuggies.

Fuck Voter Tampering. Fuck Dental Vaneers. Fuck Golden Showers.

Fuck Foot Oder. Fuck Bad Breath. Fuck Hashtags. Fuck Lice. Fuck Herpes.

Fuck Bed Bugs. Fuck Bug Bombs. Fuck Trophy Fishing. Fuck Commands.

Fuck Slot Machines. Fuck Full Voice Mail Mailboxes. Fuck Mimosas.

Fuck Homelessness. Fuck Carbon Dioxide. Fuck Braces. Fuck Smoothies.

Fuck Human Resources. Fuck Spanish Fly. Fuck Roofies. Fuck Spyware.

Fuck The Cold. Fuck Vape Shops. Fuck Toe Sucking. Fuck Rhubarb Pie.

Fuck Smoothies. Fuck Fire Ants. Fuck Preconception. Fuck Cosmetics.

Fuck Assumptions. Fuck Evaluations. Fuck Opossums. Fuck Termites.

Fuck Elective Surgery. Fuck Pool Noodles. Fuck North Korea. Fuck 777.

Fuck Web Cams. Fuck Skype. Fuck Microsoft. Fuck Slavery. Fuck Karaoke.

Fuck Vacation Resorts. Fuck Itineraries. Fuck On Schedule. Fuck Profiling.

Fuck Drug Free Work Places. Fuck Netty Pots. Fuck Canned Raccoon Meat.

Fuck Pickled Eggs. Fuck Jerky. Fuck Grits. Fuck Dullards. Fuck Snap Chat.

Fuck The Close Minded. Fuck Vine. Fuck Crabs (Pubic Lice).

Fuck Speed Walking. Fuck Pegging. Fuck Cream Pies. Fuck 7-11.

Fuck Titty Fucking. Fuck Lutefisk. Fuck Canned Meats. Fuck Waste.

Fuck Tea Bagging. Fuck Gristle. Fuck Waste. Fuck Female Circumcision.

Fuck Vice Principlas. Fuck Rats. Fuck Boiled Chicken, Fuck Bottled Water.

Fuck Cheque. Fuck Pasties. Fuck Granny Panties. Fuck The Over Rated.

Fuck False Promises. Fuck Bait and Switches. Fuck Newark. Fuck Trenton.

Fuck South Orange Blossom Trail. Fuck Disney. Fuck Phone Solicitations.

Fuck The Police Athletic League.Fuck The Black Eyed Pea (Restaurant).

Fuck The War On Drugs. Fuck Addiction. Fuck Vices. Fuck CBD. Fuck SWAG.

Fuck Name Tags. Fuck Hospital Gowns. Fuck Social Functions.

Fuck Polities. Fuck Malt Liquor. Fuck The Cost Of Living. Fuck Love Bugs.

Fuck Medical Debt. Fuck Gnats. Fuck Pat Robinson. Fuck Christian TV.

Fuck Gentrification. Fuck Animal Testing. Fuck Mowing The Lawn.

Fuck Jessica Vaughan. Fuck Thomas Homan. Fuck Kirstjen Neilsen.

Fuck Pubic Hair. Fuck Clubs. Fuck Toupees. Fuck Gangs. Fuck The Alt-Right.

Fuck The Proud Boys. Fuck The “I’m Above That” Mentality. Fuck OMG.

Fuck Medical Capitalism. Fuck Pay Per View. Fuck The UFC.

Fuck Sea Monkeys. Fuck Angora. Fuck Corduroy. Fuck Ski Masks.

Fuck Inflatable Lawn Ornaments. Fuck Fake Xmas Trees. Fuck Candy Corn.

Fuck Chemical Warfare. Fuck Water Boarding. Fuck Glory Holes.

Fuck Cheerios. Fuck Table Side Guacamole. Fuck Lectures.

Fuck Thighty Whiteys. Fuck Frozen Rats. Fuck Kazoos. Fuck Mimes.

Fuck Circus Clowns. Fuck Broadway. Fuck Nay Sayers. Fuck Lasik.

Fuck Custom Contact Lenses. Fuck Artificial Vampire Teeth. Fuck Halo.

Fuck Body Modification. Fuck Call Of Duty. Fuck Gamer Chairs.

Fuck Gamers. Fuck Angry Birds. Fuck Words With Friends. Fuck Risotto.

Fuck Candy Crush. Fuck Zucchini. Fuck Invasive Species. Fuck DayQuil.

Fuck Sleep Paralysis. Fuck Red Tape. Fuck Paperwork. Fuck Trivia Crack.

Fuck Sleep Apnea. Fuck Escalades. Fuck Munich International Airport.

Fuck Preferred Customers. Fuck Yard Sales. Fuck Garnish. Fuck Liver Spots.

Fuck Varicose Veins. Fuck IVs. Fuck EKGs. Fuck Nose Hair. Fuck Dipping.

Fuck Cigar Lounges. Fuck Daring Not To Dream. Fuck IQ Tests. Fuck PTSD.

Fuck Bastardizing Dive Bars. Fuck Artificial Intelligence. Fuck  Hair Metal.

Fuck Political Science. Fuck Glam Metal. Fuck Poking (FB). Fuck Toe Rings.

Fuck Revenge Porn. Fuck Trickle Down Economics. Fuck The Boarder Wall.

Fuck Musicals. Fuck Natty Ice. Fuck Day Drinking. Fuck Paddle Boarding.

Fuck Grown Men Who Call Their Fathers “Daddy”. Fuck Mood Rings.

Fuck Promise Rings. Fuck Las Vegas. Fuck Atlantic Shitty. Fuck Dan Hanson.

Fuck Brittany. Fuck Gargling. Fuck Orgies. Fuck Swingers. Fuck Bukacki.

Fuck Nude Beaches. Fuck Patrolman Miller. Fuck Police Corruption.

Fuck White Collar Crime. Fuck Winding Brook. Fuck Designer Drugs.

Fuck Smoking Pot Using An Apple. Fuck Convince Store Coffee.

Fuck Panera Bread. Fuck Above Ground Pools. Fuck Cauliflower.

Fuck Florists. Fuck Customer Service Reps. Fuck Private Schools.

Fuck Ciracha. Fuck Putting Salt In Beer. Fuck Scrapbooking. Fuck Drones.

Fuck Puppy Mills. Fuck Backyard Wrestling. Fuck Matt Whitaker.

Fuck Blue Jays. Fuck Backyard Breeders. Fuck Kellyanne Conway.

Fuck Vatican LAw. Fuck Kids In Cages. Fuck Russian Oligarchs. Fuck Fur.

Fuck Hello Kitty. Fuck Sports Bars. Fuck Shitty Pizza. Fuck Garbage Island.

Fuck Cable Sports Packages. Fuck Phone Promotions. Fuck The Red Tide.

Fuck Revelations (Bible). Fuck Palm Readers. Fuck Ouji Boards. Fuck Q Tips.

Fuck The Evil Eye. Fuck Pier One. Fuck Pottery Barn. Fuck Sharper Image.

Fuck Segway. Fuck Baby Bumps. Fuck Metal Wind Chimes. Fuck Fruit Wine.

Fuck Dean Heller. Fuck Scott Walker. Fuck Oliver North. Fuck Kris Kobach.

Fuck Bruce Rauner. Fuck Pete Sessions. Fuck Dave Brat. Fuck Kim Davis.

Fuck Claudia Tenney. Fuck Rohrabacher. Fuck Percentages. Fuck Huffing.

Fuck Metal Straws. Fuck Cheesy Welcome Mats. Fuck Police Check Points.

Fuck Valets. Fuck Permits. Fuck 3rd Party Billing Agencies. Fuck Sneaks.

Fuck Military Coups. Fuck Double Speak. Fuck Backstabbers.

Fuck People Who Talk Both Sides Of Their Mouths. Fuck Dementia.

Fuck Alternative Motives. Fuck Privilege. Fuck Servitude. Fuck Mentors.

Fuck Back Handed Compliments. Fuck Cheap Shots. Fuck Sucker Punches.

Fuck Walking Poles. Fuck Land Mines. Fuck Hummers (Vehicles).

Fuck Butt Chugging. Fuck Vodka Tampons. Fuck Smoking Tide Pods.

Fuck Sniffing Glue. Fuck Mass Production. Fuck Comfort Zones.

Fuck Haters. Fuck Alienation. Fuck Life Coach’s. Fuck Advisors.

Fuck Piss Jugs. Fuck Men’s Thongs. Fuck Product (Hair). Fuck Tinsel.

Fuck Cosmetics. Fuck Dereliction. Fuck Disadvantage. Fuck Ye Olde.

Fuck Foreskins. Fuck Conditioning. Fuck Gold Diggers. Fuck Trophy Wives.

Fuck Status Symbols. Fuck Recorders (The Instrument) Fuck a Quick Fix.

Fuck Being “Too Good For” Anything.

AND

Fuck f-yourblog.com.

Well if you have made it through the entire list without skipping an entry congratulations thats really some Hardcore Shit right there.

This is The End of the F List……OR IS IT?!

Thanks for Reading  By Les Sober

Awesomeness

I haven’t written a blog in such a long time. Well at least it feels like it.

I want to talk about the show that I went to last night. Wow, what an awesome show. Probably one of the top 3 shows I have ever been too if not the top show. Oh, what did I see???

Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction, baby!!!!!!!

I am still on this natural energy rush after seeing it. It was everything I expected and more. Even the opening band Street Sweeper Social Club (who I never heard before last night) was pretty rockin’. A bit more hip hop mixed in but it probably was the best opening act I have ever since. I have seen some real shitty opening acts in the past ranging from Jack Off Jill to Nate Mathesen to really horrible bands at local shows that are too countless to remember.

I really can’t quote the whole set list for NIN, I’m sure you could look it up somewhere on the web,  but was really excited when they played Physical and well Head Like a Hole they closed with that was kinda expected.

I really really wanted to go to more shows, I could have tonight in Holmdel, I’m sure they probably had a few more lawn seats, but I had to get up ass early in order to get MORE concert tickets. And I am completely and utterly wiped out at this moment.

I may have to get MORE tickets later this week but anyway back to the show.

Jane’s Addiction was everything I expected and more as well. I really never got into them as much as NIN, but after hearing them at the show, I’ll probably throw a few of their songs onto my MP3 player, since my player is a complete and utter disaster. I got really drunk one night and downloaded like 100-150 songs and well that explains a whole lot of the crap on there.

I knew more of their music then I thought actually. It was all coming back to me and well I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Going to see a whole bunch of Tori Amos shows doesn’t compare to music like this. This is my first love. She is just a mistress. I don’t always feel a rush with her. Only in the second row of the opening show last tour.

This show I was in the lawn and felt a rush. I would have given my left nut to be in the pit. Anyway I’m done rambling now…. May actually make a few CDs for my car now so I can drive somewheres with the gas I don’t actually have. Hmmmmmm maybe I can huff gas???? Didn’t they do that shit in the 70s? I was born in the 70s, does that mean it is an inate ability? I dunno.

By SpaceDog  

A Fire Under My Arse

As I woke up feeling completely refreshed for the day at the everlastingly early hour of 9pm, I decided to do things different. This whole equinoxial load of crap had been taking its toll on me. Science says it has to happen but the far trappings of my mind are pure fire and brimstone.

Half and half? Half and half, you say? Well fuck that. Would you really want half and half in your daily life? I mean sure if you are my father you can put it in your coffee. The real world outside of your morning joe says oh the fuck no. Your wife is pregnant, so that is good. But the other half of you is on Maury being told emphatically, “You are NOT the father!!!!”.

You could have only gotten half the answers right on a test. You work at a bank and randomly decided to give half the people the right amount of money. You get halfway to an orgasm. So yeah the general principal does suck a hell of a fucking lot. I want things to be whole. I want myself to be whole.

Truth is when it comes down to it, we are all just a bunch of fragments bunched up into the frame that we were given. Molded together however we so choose to be.

Enough of the crap though this is not why I am really here. I am ready to have a bowel movement. The good kind. The kind a doctor would loom over the toilet bowl peer down at and say, “Why that is a healthy shit sir!”

Don’t you worry though my friend. I am not taking it on you, you or you (yes you, you lazy fuck you know who you are). My sphincter has its eye set on one person and one person alone. That is you Ms. Tori Amos. (thank you Less for getting me all riled up)

The thing is though I haven’t really always hated Tori Amos. In fact, I was one of her biggest fans. I bought all her albums, her b-sides, went to the shows. I even planned to follow her cross country, but alas that is an ill-fated tale for a blog never to be written.

I will say one nice thing about her though and a bit of a counterpoint to Less. Yes, her lyrics are extraordinarily vague but half of artists out there are vague as fuck and then the other half are Justin Bieber and friends. This is actually one of her stronger points. If it’s all spelled out in black and white sure more people might relate. Vagueness does inspire a certain group of haters. I should know I prefer to be vague as it is much better to maneuver around half truths, unspoken words, and the like.

Still though for years and years, I had this deep admiration for this woman. Call it youthful ignorance, call it what you may. I met some of the best friends I had ever had because of the love shared for her. It was a bit Me and A Gun.  Other times it was a Sorta Fairytale and A Cloud on My Tongue.

That all changed on one fateful night. Ten years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I got to meet my hero or well anti-hero. I did not know what to expect.  Someone who was charming and wanted to meet her fans was a good start in my head. I did not want to come across as too cheery but who am I kidding? There is only person in the world who can make me that cheery. Thank you Molly.

This waif of a woman walked over. She was a hell of a lot fucking smaller then I had ever imagined. I mean she is a woman and I did not expect her to be Brienne of Tarth. She just looked like someone who I would walk up to on the street and be compelled to pull a cookie out of my pocket and feed to her. That cookie, you know, I may even have to chew it for her. I instantly knew what the song Girl Disappearing was about it. It was about this cokehead chick.

So you know the celebrity jitters like instantly wore off and my mom’s voice saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything” came rushing through my head. My friend Taylor spouted off some kind of soapy bullshit and had me take a selfie. Then it was my turn. I may have said something nice or how my other friend plays her by ear I’m not really sure. She was just so uninterested that I kinda soaked in the same general vibe. Maybe she caught my aghast scowl.

That night changed me. It was like the last bit of childhood naivety being ripped from my chest. It started the moment I was 10 and found out on the news that the Tooth Fairy was a fraud. It ended with you Tori Amos.

I must say as uninterested as you were meeting the fans with your generalized look of Feed Me, I’m A Professional Widow on your face you did put on one hell of a show. In fact the best I had seen until I had the chance to witness Pearl Jam several years back. It was a cold rainy autumn evening and the playlist was reflective of the sort. Then the song that changed it all played. Famous Blue Raincoat. It was the song that played my innocence off the stage, out of the building, into the ether.

I cannot blame you for all this directly so maybe this blog is more of a Hershey squirt and less of a dirty Sanchez for you. I probably should be thanking Leonard Cohen just as much for that song, but it was you who took me there.  I guess that song playing itself out with my one of my greatest loves I will ever have taking his life and the other love in my life rapidly becoming dead to me.

I could not relate as much to your music, mostly the new albums you dropped. In just that one moment, something shut off inside of me. It may be a good thing, there’s been more calculation and clarity since that moment. I guess opinions vary on the end of innocence.

Everything though about that night. I had to wear sunglasses at the show because of the lighting, I realized that my epilepsy was real and would have to live with it. Just so much of a flood of horseshit that at the time I could not even recognize. So Tori Amos… I have a few choice words for you. Fuck you. Thank you. I’ll Make Sure to Wipe.

 

By Spacedog

Tori Amos: A Quick Clarification

It’s no secret that I’m about the farthest fucking thing from a Tori Amos fan, not by a long shot. I find her music extremely melodramatic with  Heavy Piano, it the only music  that makes Emo look like it has balls. Amos’s Lyrics are Vague and as for “singing” Amos opts to howl, wail, and Yodel her way through every damn song like she’s America’s answer to Iceland’s Bjork.

Its also no secret that Tori Amos has had a long torrid love affaire with cocaine. Tori Amos is essentially a life long cokehead and it shows in her so called music.

There is a popular Tori Amos song (who’s title surprise, surprise I don’t know) BUT the Chorus is;

“God sometimes you don’t come through…”

To be crystal clear Amos’s is not making a profound statement about a religious deity. She is making a exclamation about her Coke Dealer.

Now I’m no Saint or anything resembling one and I’ve been in the situation Tori Amos finds herself in as far as the subject matter pertaining to this song. Its definitely one of the shittiest feelings know to all mankind to be Coked out of your mind tweaking like a Son-Of-A-Bitch and you can’t get a hold of your Drug Dealer.

The intense feeling of utter desperation taxed heavily with anxiety and uncontrollable racing thoughts/pulse, pounding heartbeat, Paranoia, and the intense craving is one of the reasons drug addicts question why they do the drugs they do when their Sober.

The most fucked up thing is I really hate Cocaine, I was never into stimulants, Depressants were my favorite drugs. What I mean by that is Coke made me feel more not less. So I haven’t done Cocaine in 14 years and have no plan to indulge in it ever again.

Thanks For The Read,

Les Sober    

 

The Other Side OF The Galaxy by Spacedog

The other side of the galaxy
The other side………

That is where I have been living the past few days. Isn’t it ironic that was the place I was trying to get to for 12 years or more and now I’ve finally arrived. thanks doctor dippy. But this is not the side I wanted to be on. There is so much pain here and no laughter. I can’t stand it. My favorite memories do not help me. All I have is my music.. My Tori, my industrial, my rock, my dance, mostly things without words well except tori she always wins. I’m not living by words today it’s all deep fused emotions. pianos and drums and synthesizers (sorry guitars not this week). pianos, pianos. I love pianos. errrrrrrrrrr. im actually not sad, that’s why I put indescribable. im useless cheer, if i were regular cheer i’d be on recall like them dell batteries. i need a recharge so my roulette wheel stops spinning. it’s tired of spittin out random numbers. i wish someone could pull me out of “the other side” but this ain’t like some quicksand where I’m like ,”Help pull me out big strong man”, no it’s more like I just jumped from a plane and don’t know where the cord is. im not in danger of splatting. i like that noise tho SPLAT!!!!! back to my piano cove.