Hey everyone, hope you are all nursing a nice hangover. Trust me, it could be worse. It could be much WORSE....
Consider being me, for example. I haven't slept. I haven't eaten. I have been on a long, hard trodden self distruct mission since I saw some of you in Reading station last night. I shan't bother you with the details, but it got messy quickly and then went down hill from there. Eeekk!
Anyway, to the point, I come asking for help. A friend of mine, Lef, had work today and despite us using some pretty hardcore peer pressure for him to stay up and continue the session (and call in sick today...) he stuck it out like a trouper and went to sleep at around 3.30. Me, my girlfriend and Lucy (another friend) stayed up all night planning our revenge. And we truly stooped to some seriously low levels. Read on if you dare....
We knew that Lefs alarm was to go at 8am. We went into his room about 2 mins before, with the intent of just staring at him strangely. Unfortunately, our sniggers woke him early and he was far from ammused. Unlike decent people, we decided that the fun was just getting started. Unfortunately, being the only man in the room, I was the only one who could wake him by gently, rhythmically applying my genitalia against the small of his back. Surely he could take that as a joke? Well, unfortunately not. He simply told me to "fuck off" and we took that as all the fuel we needed to take things that bit further....
It was at this point that I started caressing him all over. I am ashamed, truly ashamed, to say that at one point I tried to finger his ring. He was cusing my name to high heavens, at which point I should have stopped. However, being the glutton for punishment that I am, I felt that now was the time to truly denigrate myself to levels of shame for which I can never be truly forgiven. I took two pieces of frozen toast and did a small turd upon one corner. I then attempted to present this to him as "breakfast in bed". He was seriously pissed off by now, but managed to sleep in another 20 minutes. At this point, we were left with a small turd on toast, and no-body willing to share our joke. After about 30 seconds deliberation, we decided to leave the turd on the toilet. In such a fashion that it was sat on top of the seat and lid (which were both down) so that when he needed to go to the toilet, he would need to lift my plate of turd, so that he could raise the lid and seat and have a nice quality piss. I have no idea of what he did in the end to relieve himself, but when we checked the toilet afterward, he had, rather sweetly, left the turd in the precise place we had left it for him.....
After coming out of the shower, he walked in and out of the living room, looking seriously PISSED OFF. We returned the favour by laughing in his face long and hard. In between some serious pangs of guilt, I am still laughing.
But long after the joke has turned into nothing but a distant memory, he will be manefesting a true sense of hatred towards all of us, and worst of all, most specifically me. How can I ever hope to say "sorry"? Seriously, this man is one of my best friends, and I have just showed him nothing but drunken contempt. I am used to having to make some genuine apologies after having consumed one or two many shandies the previous night. In fact, there are lengthy periods of my life which are notable and memorable only for the amount of apologies I have had to make to totally innocent people who have come into contact with me when I am in a sorry state. I don't remember what I said to them, but I sure as hell remember having to apologise the next day (normally with the line "I don't really remember what I did, but I know I was a tit. SORRY!!!").
But this goes beyond words. Please, someone make some helpful suggestions as to how I can make this better. I await your responses with no easy amount of heartfelt trepidation......
Love to all, Jonathon
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Prison Break (spoilers)
Priosn Break, hey? What is it? Where did it come from? How on earth can a show which makes 24 look realistic be sooo enjoyable? But it really is brilliant. The twists and turns don't so much keep your interest as grab it right out of your eye sockets and glue it to the screen. If only anyone involved had a clue about such trivialities as "charecter development", "acting" or "continuity", we might have a genuine classic on our hands....
But, I jump ahead of myself. For those that haven't seen it, Prison Break is much like the title would suggest - the story of some men who decide to break out of prison. But it isn't all so simple as that. Michael, the pretty-boy main charecter (played by a man who makes women cream their pants simply by walking past them, Wentworth Miller - nice name, Wentworth...), is a succesful structural engineer who has never done a wrong thing in his entire life. Until, that is, the day he walks into a bank, demands money and promptly surrenders to the police. It soon transpires that Michaels brother is on death-row for a crime he did not commit (what other sort of crime can you be on death row for on TV?). Michael works out a deal to end up in the same prison as his brother.
Now here comes the juicy part - the series' main gimick is that Michael has had the blue-prints of the prison tattooed onto his body and then cunningly disguised them as a piece of art. With these, he has nearly everything he needs to get out of the prison. Unfortunately for the show, this is it's first major down-fall as it is blindingly obvious that the blue-prints ARE NOT THERE. The show tries hard to convince you otherwise, by using CGI to paint them on. This provides the impression that they are there, but it is transparently clear to anyone other than easily impressed 15 year old boys (and easily turned on 15 year old girls) that there are no blue-prints. This idea must have looked fantastically good on paper and also looks fantastically clever to thick people. The rest of us just feel patronised. However, this is hardly the first time a high budget US TV show has asked us to suspend disbelief in the name of a good story, so onward we move.
Michael gets underway with recruiting the people he needs to make his plan work. And a more thorough lack of imagination has ever been shown by TV producers and writers. We have Mob Boss, Token Black Guy, Token Latino Cellmate, a fantastically OTT "Wigga" and an old man who may (or may not) have stashed millions of dollars in the Utah desert. Oh, and the campest red-neck paedophile your TV could ever hope to throw at you, T-Bag Bagwell (played by one Robert Knepper). Performances are bad all-round, but Kneppers charecter really does stand out for extra scrutiny. Being the one individual who seems to have had some work put into charecterisation, Knepper clearly has fun with his role. Unfortunately, the rest of us don't. T-bag minces around the set like Austin Powers gone "gay 'n' KKK", yet at the same time attempts to carry an air of menace that is frankly laughable. This guy would last about five minutes in a real prison before he'd get shanked. His accent is the best thing; a slight lisp, a high-pitched Southern US drawl, the way he occasionally makes his voice sound all husky (usually when threatening a young boy with a solid bumming), if he'd as turned up as Vern Schillinger in Oz, we'd all just have laughed long and loud before switching to something more realistic. Like the teletubbies.
Actually, comparisons with Oz are unfair - this is a piece of pop-corn fantasy and Oz is heavyweight drama. But, comparisons are also inevitable and I'm not fair, so here we go. One lazily looks for easy answers as to how to break out of prison, the other never settles on any easy answers as to how a prison drama can break the mould. Both rely on archetypal goons, but whereas Oz attempts to turn these archetypes on its head, this takes them and runs with the vibe. One takes a look at the issues surrounding US penal system, the other takes the issues surrounding the penal system and turns them into a conspiracy theory....
Ah yes, the conspiracy theory element. I shan't go too deeply into it (mainly because I'm only halfway through season 2 and don't know everything yet) but it involves everyone from the vice president of the USA to the secret service to Michaels dad. I love conspiracy theory shows. I hate conspiracy theories, but I love stories about them. The fact that you get to the end of season 1 and the conspiracy is only half tied up leads one to believe that the writers and producers don't really know where they are going with this element of the story line. Not neccesarily a bad thing (look at Lost), but certainly indicative of Lazy Television.
Anyway, so I've told you the bad, but I also mentioned that this is incredibly watchable TV. So, what makes it so? Well, it's all about the twists and turns. One thing the writers have done incredibly well on is to end each episode on the most dramatic cliff-hanger possible. You simply have to find out how Michael is going to get out of this latest scrape. Actually, that's only half true. There is a big part of you that is silently hoping that "miss goody two shoes" Michael will somehow have slipped up this time, that he will be caught and thrown in a cell with "Big Phil the Man Rapist", a fait which awaits one of the shows only half likeable charecters, towards the end of season one. Why they chickened out and couldn't have shown Michaels already fairly constipated face after a heavy night of having his "sh*t pushed in" is a matter of constant speculation for me. But anyway, he always "gets away with it" in the end, no matter how tight the scrape and no matter what "it" is. Usually the way he gets round suddenly presented obstacles is highly dissappointing and lazily scripted, but as they often say "it's not always the getting there that matters, sometimes the journey is what counts".
In short, if you are a fan of high-end US drama, get this in your DVD collection. It is to Oz what 24 is to The Wire, but is that such a bad thing?
But, I jump ahead of myself. For those that haven't seen it, Prison Break is much like the title would suggest - the story of some men who decide to break out of prison. But it isn't all so simple as that. Michael, the pretty-boy main charecter (played by a man who makes women cream their pants simply by walking past them, Wentworth Miller - nice name, Wentworth...), is a succesful structural engineer who has never done a wrong thing in his entire life. Until, that is, the day he walks into a bank, demands money and promptly surrenders to the police. It soon transpires that Michaels brother is on death-row for a crime he did not commit (what other sort of crime can you be on death row for on TV?). Michael works out a deal to end up in the same prison as his brother.
Now here comes the juicy part - the series' main gimick is that Michael has had the blue-prints of the prison tattooed onto his body and then cunningly disguised them as a piece of art. With these, he has nearly everything he needs to get out of the prison. Unfortunately for the show, this is it's first major down-fall as it is blindingly obvious that the blue-prints ARE NOT THERE. The show tries hard to convince you otherwise, by using CGI to paint them on. This provides the impression that they are there, but it is transparently clear to anyone other than easily impressed 15 year old boys (and easily turned on 15 year old girls) that there are no blue-prints. This idea must have looked fantastically good on paper and also looks fantastically clever to thick people. The rest of us just feel patronised. However, this is hardly the first time a high budget US TV show has asked us to suspend disbelief in the name of a good story, so onward we move.
Michael gets underway with recruiting the people he needs to make his plan work. And a more thorough lack of imagination has ever been shown by TV producers and writers. We have Mob Boss, Token Black Guy, Token Latino Cellmate, a fantastically OTT "Wigga" and an old man who may (or may not) have stashed millions of dollars in the Utah desert. Oh, and the campest red-neck paedophile your TV could ever hope to throw at you, T-Bag Bagwell (played by one Robert Knepper). Performances are bad all-round, but Kneppers charecter really does stand out for extra scrutiny. Being the one individual who seems to have had some work put into charecterisation, Knepper clearly has fun with his role. Unfortunately, the rest of us don't. T-bag minces around the set like Austin Powers gone "gay 'n' KKK", yet at the same time attempts to carry an air of menace that is frankly laughable. This guy would last about five minutes in a real prison before he'd get shanked. His accent is the best thing; a slight lisp, a high-pitched Southern US drawl, the way he occasionally makes his voice sound all husky (usually when threatening a young boy with a solid bumming), if he'd as turned up as Vern Schillinger in Oz, we'd all just have laughed long and loud before switching to something more realistic. Like the teletubbies.
Actually, comparisons with Oz are unfair - this is a piece of pop-corn fantasy and Oz is heavyweight drama. But, comparisons are also inevitable and I'm not fair, so here we go. One lazily looks for easy answers as to how to break out of prison, the other never settles on any easy answers as to how a prison drama can break the mould. Both rely on archetypal goons, but whereas Oz attempts to turn these archetypes on its head, this takes them and runs with the vibe. One takes a look at the issues surrounding US penal system, the other takes the issues surrounding the penal system and turns them into a conspiracy theory....
Ah yes, the conspiracy theory element. I shan't go too deeply into it (mainly because I'm only halfway through season 2 and don't know everything yet) but it involves everyone from the vice president of the USA to the secret service to Michaels dad. I love conspiracy theory shows. I hate conspiracy theories, but I love stories about them. The fact that you get to the end of season 1 and the conspiracy is only half tied up leads one to believe that the writers and producers don't really know where they are going with this element of the story line. Not neccesarily a bad thing (look at Lost), but certainly indicative of Lazy Television.
Anyway, so I've told you the bad, but I also mentioned that this is incredibly watchable TV. So, what makes it so? Well, it's all about the twists and turns. One thing the writers have done incredibly well on is to end each episode on the most dramatic cliff-hanger possible. You simply have to find out how Michael is going to get out of this latest scrape. Actually, that's only half true. There is a big part of you that is silently hoping that "miss goody two shoes" Michael will somehow have slipped up this time, that he will be caught and thrown in a cell with "Big Phil the Man Rapist", a fait which awaits one of the shows only half likeable charecters, towards the end of season one. Why they chickened out and couldn't have shown Michaels already fairly constipated face after a heavy night of having his "sh*t pushed in" is a matter of constant speculation for me. But anyway, he always "gets away with it" in the end, no matter how tight the scrape and no matter what "it" is. Usually the way he gets round suddenly presented obstacles is highly dissappointing and lazily scripted, but as they often say "it's not always the getting there that matters, sometimes the journey is what counts".
In short, if you are a fan of high-end US drama, get this in your DVD collection. It is to Oz what 24 is to The Wire, but is that such a bad thing?
Thursday, 10 April 2008
419 the 419 documentary makers
sent by me to 'documentary419@hotmail.co.uk', apparently an email address for a channel 4 crew making a documentary about the old nigerian 419 scam.
Hi there,
I heard about your upcoming documentary on interweb and was much interested in taking part. I have been involved in 419 scam for many years and my crew makes upward $25million since 2005. It is highly likely I could provide an insight of uniqueness to this program.
Of course you may ask why an individual such as me or my junior would help with this program. Isn’t this going to highlight a scam so well known for its prevalence that us operators are getting slimmer and slimmer?
Well, as I said, I have collected several millions of dollars and am now ready to retire. Unfortunately, for peoples of my religion, Nigeria is no longer safe. I have decided to migrate to the cold climes of United Kingdom. However, the political system in this country is such that I cannot get the relevant travel papers or get my money over to the UK. Over here, sometimes it isn’t what you have but who you have.
With this in mind, I will be happy to take part in your documentary would you invest in my return to the new UK? Bribing embassy afficials should cost no more than UK$10,000, and ensuring my retirement money is “clean” should be no more than 5,000. I can promise returns of up to 250% and a guarantee to show you tricks of trade like no other man left alive.
Please get back to me soon and remember, shhhh, “loose lips sink ships”.
Respectfully yours
Mr Graham Loe
Nigeria
Hi there,
I heard about your upcoming documentary on interweb and was much interested in taking part. I have been involved in 419 scam for many years and my crew makes upward $25million since 2005. It is highly likely I could provide an insight of uniqueness to this program.
Of course you may ask why an individual such as me or my junior would help with this program. Isn’t this going to highlight a scam so well known for its prevalence that us operators are getting slimmer and slimmer?
Well, as I said, I have collected several millions of dollars and am now ready to retire. Unfortunately, for peoples of my religion, Nigeria is no longer safe. I have decided to migrate to the cold climes of United Kingdom. However, the political system in this country is such that I cannot get the relevant travel papers or get my money over to the UK. Over here, sometimes it isn’t what you have but who you have.
With this in mind, I will be happy to take part in your documentary would you invest in my return to the new UK? Bribing embassy afficials should cost no more than UK$10,000, and ensuring my retirement money is “clean” should be no more than 5,000. I can promise returns of up to 250% and a guarantee to show you tricks of trade like no other man left alive.
Please get back to me soon and remember, shhhh, “loose lips sink ships”.
Respectfully yours
Mr Graham Loe
Nigeria
Friday, 4 April 2008
a belated april fools....
so here I am, home, alone, feeling depressed, bored, physically run down and basically on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Thats just part of life in the 21st century, I guess....
But on April 1st, I actively managed to avoid being pranked. Small blessings, because I doubt I would have seen the funny side. I certainly didnt today....
Last night, my sister phoned and asked if I would take my nephew to nursery today. Now given one of the few benefits of unemployment is the right to get up whenever the hell you damn well please, this was a pretty big ask. But, being the nice guy that I fucking try to be, I agreed. So I set my alarm for 7.00am and went to bed. But then an unusual thing happened - I couldnt sleep.
I survive on a solid 8 hours a night - I can handle 7, but it will see me a tad ratty. So last night it gets to midnight and I hit the sack. But I can't get to sleep. Even after two beers and a mild sedative, I am wide awake. I put BBC News 24 on in the back-ground, which normally instantly sends me into a semi-comatose state of relaxed boredom, allowing my mind to wonder to....that place of random thoughts you have just before drifting off. But no, tonight my mind stays interested. I lie on my side, but for some reason I'm finding the Zimbabwe election report engaging and interesting. Then something about a court case involving plane blowing terrorists, just to really calm the nerves. Then a weather presenter who will never progress in his field until he realises that the weather cannot be reported in a way that will attempt to engage the viewer, that the less analysis of the whys and the whats of Scotlands "rain on Friday" the better. He ended it with something like, "In summary then, this weekend will be shit", or words to that effect.
This was going on until 2.00am. I finally slipped into a dreamstate shortly after. I wont bore you with the details of my dream (I cant remember who said it, but the saying goes "only thing more boring than other peoples dreams is other peoples drug experiences" - and they are right), but I will state that this dream involved a "drug experience", which was fucked up beyond belief. Not a pleasent nights kip....
Then at 7.00am my alarm goes off. I struggle to keep my eyes open. My sister wants me to look after her nephew from 7.30am till nursery time, 9.00am. I wait for her to shout down to me, keeping one eye open. I have left the TV on BBC2 all night, and there are now some horrible kids programs on, but I can't bring myself to grab the remote and turn them off. I'll only go back to sleep and never get round to helping big sis. So I lie there, half awake, half asleep, kids TV (which I always find strangely disturbing at the best of times....) blaring in the background, infecting the dreams that I'm having.
Eventually my phone rings. It's 9.30 and my mother wants me to get out job hunting. I tell her about my awful night to little sympathy. I try to get off the phone as I know that the longer I talk the less likely it is I will be getting back to kip. Mum keeps moaning, and I know the game is up....
I lie there watching "The Wright Stuff" (an enjoyable alternative to the nasty Jeremy Kyle show, on Channel 5 - check it if your a lad/laddette of leisure.....) and know that I wont be going back to sleep. My legs are aching now. The day has barely started, and its already fucked....
So thanks big sis, you really "got me this time". I know you'll never read this, and I mentioned I was a little upset on the phone earlier, but what I meant was FUUUUCCCKKKK YOOOOUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But on April 1st, I actively managed to avoid being pranked. Small blessings, because I doubt I would have seen the funny side. I certainly didnt today....
Last night, my sister phoned and asked if I would take my nephew to nursery today. Now given one of the few benefits of unemployment is the right to get up whenever the hell you damn well please, this was a pretty big ask. But, being the nice guy that I fucking try to be, I agreed. So I set my alarm for 7.00am and went to bed. But then an unusual thing happened - I couldnt sleep.
I survive on a solid 8 hours a night - I can handle 7, but it will see me a tad ratty. So last night it gets to midnight and I hit the sack. But I can't get to sleep. Even after two beers and a mild sedative, I am wide awake. I put BBC News 24 on in the back-ground, which normally instantly sends me into a semi-comatose state of relaxed boredom, allowing my mind to wonder to....that place of random thoughts you have just before drifting off. But no, tonight my mind stays interested. I lie on my side, but for some reason I'm finding the Zimbabwe election report engaging and interesting. Then something about a court case involving plane blowing terrorists, just to really calm the nerves. Then a weather presenter who will never progress in his field until he realises that the weather cannot be reported in a way that will attempt to engage the viewer, that the less analysis of the whys and the whats of Scotlands "rain on Friday" the better. He ended it with something like, "In summary then, this weekend will be shit", or words to that effect.
This was going on until 2.00am. I finally slipped into a dreamstate shortly after. I wont bore you with the details of my dream (I cant remember who said it, but the saying goes "only thing more boring than other peoples dreams is other peoples drug experiences" - and they are right), but I will state that this dream involved a "drug experience", which was fucked up beyond belief. Not a pleasent nights kip....
Then at 7.00am my alarm goes off. I struggle to keep my eyes open. My sister wants me to look after her nephew from 7.30am till nursery time, 9.00am. I wait for her to shout down to me, keeping one eye open. I have left the TV on BBC2 all night, and there are now some horrible kids programs on, but I can't bring myself to grab the remote and turn them off. I'll only go back to sleep and never get round to helping big sis. So I lie there, half awake, half asleep, kids TV (which I always find strangely disturbing at the best of times....) blaring in the background, infecting the dreams that I'm having.
Eventually my phone rings. It's 9.30 and my mother wants me to get out job hunting. I tell her about my awful night to little sympathy. I try to get off the phone as I know that the longer I talk the less likely it is I will be getting back to kip. Mum keeps moaning, and I know the game is up....
I lie there watching "The Wright Stuff" (an enjoyable alternative to the nasty Jeremy Kyle show, on Channel 5 - check it if your a lad/laddette of leisure.....) and know that I wont be going back to sleep. My legs are aching now. The day has barely started, and its already fucked....
So thanks big sis, you really "got me this time". I know you'll never read this, and I mentioned I was a little upset on the phone earlier, but what I meant was FUUUUCCCKKKK YOOOOUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Ego and other sins
I have a massive ego. Huge. I think I'm better than you. I am better than you. This is how I think. Someone is cleverer than me, well then I'm a more likeable person. Someone is more popular than me, then their just an attention whore. Someone is better looking, well let's face it, they're probably pretty thick....
My mind has worked liked this for as long as I can remember. Having an ego this big is a mixed bag. On the one hand, it compels me to succeed: failure, for me, is crushing so I chooose to succeed. It gets me the things in life that I want. It drives me.
On the other hand, as I say, failure is a nightmare. I can't cope with it. I can't admit it to myself, I can't admit it to other people. Why the fuck would they want to know anyway?
As I said in my opening blog, I recently got the sack from a drugs worker job for...taking drugs. This has been pretty hard on me. My ego is most certainly dented. In fact, it's fucking killing me. My mood is swinging so much I don't know whether to jump off a building, shoot up a playground, skullfuck an alsation or all three.
Yet I also know that it's my ego that will make me bounce back. No fucking way am I gonna pass any of my old colleagues in the high-street and be doing anything other than smirking at them for sticking in the same old job on shit wages, no doubt moaning about the same things they always did, same bosses giving them the same grief.
Got a prozac prescription this morning - these blogs will cheer up soon!!!!
My mind has worked liked this for as long as I can remember. Having an ego this big is a mixed bag. On the one hand, it compels me to succeed: failure, for me, is crushing so I chooose to succeed. It gets me the things in life that I want. It drives me.
On the other hand, as I say, failure is a nightmare. I can't cope with it. I can't admit it to myself, I can't admit it to other people. Why the fuck would they want to know anyway?
As I said in my opening blog, I recently got the sack from a drugs worker job for...taking drugs. This has been pretty hard on me. My ego is most certainly dented. In fact, it's fucking killing me. My mood is swinging so much I don't know whether to jump off a building, shoot up a playground, skullfuck an alsation or all three.
Yet I also know that it's my ego that will make me bounce back. No fucking way am I gonna pass any of my old colleagues in the high-street and be doing anything other than smirking at them for sticking in the same old job on shit wages, no doubt moaning about the same things they always did, same bosses giving them the same grief.
Got a prozac prescription this morning - these blogs will cheer up soon!!!!
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Getting back into blogging
It's been a while since I've done any blogging. I used to a lot on MySpace, but everyones on Facebook now and no one blogs there. But I still have the occassional urge to jot down something whimsical that might pop into my head, and where better to do it than here? The only thing is - will anyone be listening? Will this part-time vocation fulfill the narcicist in me who craves attention, longs for the massess to realise that there I AM THE UNDISCOVERED TALENT of 21st century Berkshire? Fuck knows, but I guess I have to start somewhere. So here goes, a little about me....
I'm a cunt. A wretched, vile dispicable excuse for a human being. I've stolen from my grandmas wallet at my grandfathers funeral. I've cheated on every woman who's ever loved me. I'm an ex crack and heroin addict. I once gave a guy his first bit of heroin - two years later he died of an overdose. I am incapable of the emotion of love....
I'm also a nice guy. I volunteer with an alcohol support group. I'm generally well liked by people (with some notable exceptions). I helped change a bit of derelict land into a community garden. I actively try to do my bit to make society better.
So why am I telling you this? Well, until recently I was working in addiction treatment (helping junkies, if you prefer). The thing was, I was doing a fair bit of recreational drug abuse on the side. I got caught, I lost my job. Can't really complain. But this has left me thinking about my life. About my mistakes and successes, about what to do now. My mum says I should find something in life other than drugs, so why not write....
So what can you expect to hear from me in the future? Well, I'll try not to be too cliche (how do you put that funny thing above the "e" in "cliche"?) about it all, so hopefully not too many rants about everyday annoyances or my political opinions (for those that care, anarchist or nihilist - I've yet to decide....). Expect some humour, some mysanthropy and the occasional shocking true story....
I'm a cunt. A wretched, vile dispicable excuse for a human being. I've stolen from my grandmas wallet at my grandfathers funeral. I've cheated on every woman who's ever loved me. I'm an ex crack and heroin addict. I once gave a guy his first bit of heroin - two years later he died of an overdose. I am incapable of the emotion of love....
I'm also a nice guy. I volunteer with an alcohol support group. I'm generally well liked by people (with some notable exceptions). I helped change a bit of derelict land into a community garden. I actively try to do my bit to make society better.
So why am I telling you this? Well, until recently I was working in addiction treatment (helping junkies, if you prefer). The thing was, I was doing a fair bit of recreational drug abuse on the side. I got caught, I lost my job. Can't really complain. But this has left me thinking about my life. About my mistakes and successes, about what to do now. My mum says I should find something in life other than drugs, so why not write....
So what can you expect to hear from me in the future? Well, I'll try not to be too cliche (how do you put that funny thing above the "e" in "cliche"?) about it all, so hopefully not too many rants about everyday annoyances or my political opinions (for those that care, anarchist or nihilist - I've yet to decide....). Expect some humour, some mysanthropy and the occasional shocking true story....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
