Once you go Orange, you keep coming back. I guess.

The halls are haunted with friends who came and went.

We’d smoke and play cards in the back, talk shit about everyone, and run amok being mischievous fuckheads in town or playing video games after the meeting was over.

Now I don’t know anybody anymore, the walls and the halls are no longer bursting with life and laughter, and they quickly disperse after the closing prayer.

Anne ran off and joined the Orange Papers. Every so often she makes contact and asks if I’m still in the “cult.”

Anne? Sweetheart? You do realize that I host that website, too?

12-step groups aren't for everybody, unfailing lifelong abstinence from alcohol isn't necessarily everyone's goal. Some people are desperate to leave and there's a whole community around that as well.

I can't stand the moderators of their Facebook groups -- they seem to have a penchant for shunning and banning people from their little circle jerk for the pettiest of reasons, or for no reason at all.

I guess if you want to trade one "cult" for a different cult based around the personalities and whims of one to five assholes who will cut you off from your newfound support network because they're having a bad day or you dared to have a fucking mind of your own -- go for it.

I am an objective / neutral maintainer of its content and I don't give a fuck what people use it for.

Despite its inherent anti-AA bias, there's an unparalleled and fascinating trove of AA history on there.

Maybe being helped "into" the program is the type of help some people are looking for.

Maybe being helped "out of" the program is the type of help other people are looking for.

That's none of my business.

Posted at at August 28, 2018 on Tuesday, August 28, 2018 by |   | Filed under: ,

Don’t fucking hug me


Posted at at August 28, 2018 on by |   | Filed under:

“I still smile when you come around”




Posted at at August 24, 2018 on Friday, August 24, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

Special “K Hole” Bloopers Reel! Volume One

My first “bad trip” on drugs was at 13 years old during what was supposed to be a minor outpatient procedure to remove a PIC line for chemo from my chest.

They administered intravenous ketaset and then they were supposed to inject me with Valium to counteract the dissociative effects.

Ketaset is used in children up until age 13 or so. It is thought that children do not experience the dissociative effects of ketaset/ketamine.

They are mistaken.

We would later discover that some idiot used a needle in my PIC line, punctured it with the Valium slam, and all the Valium went out the side of my PIC and onto the floor.

So there I was, high as fuck on a ketamine slam floating above my body casually watching them work on me in a “K hole.”

It was fine until they figured out that there was a cuff of skin growth preventing them from pulling it out. They decided to make an incision in my chest, thinking I was sufficiently sedated.

Except that I wasn’t.

They started cutting into my chest.

At that my observer — mind you, I’m a child — switched from trusting the process to worrying:

Wait, something’s wrong. What are they doing?

I felt no pain but I saw blood and I lost it. My instinct to protect myself kicked in:

I fought through the drugs and started screaming and fighting them off of me.

They grabbed another syringe of Valium and that’s when they realized they had punctured the PIC line and not administered any Valium whatsoever.

My progress notes say that I’m apprehensive about receiving medical care.

Fuck, you would be too!

It would take 8 years for me to use Special K recreationally and go “this is what the hell I was on!”

I knew.

End of story.

I still had to confirm it:

I got copies of my medical records when I was 21... and yeah, sure as shit, “ketaset.”

Then and only then did this extremely bizarre perceptual experience make any sense whatsoever.

I had been left to parse and process that one all on my own for years.

I’d been rebuked for swearing like a sailor and inventing a few new curse words as I fought them off.

That was pretty much the only feedback I got from anyone about this experience.

Posted at at August 20, 2018 on Monday, August 20, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

30-days Guaranteed or Your Money Back

Update: The Popper Nazi was none other than George Zelichowski, known to some as George St. George, who unbeknownst to me had passed away on October 29, 2016. I liked to call him the Popper Nazi because he told me it would be "funny" if I put a Nazi Germany flag in my North facing window to intimidate my elderly Jewish next door neighbors.

I did not think that would be "funny."

He had proposed to me and he had all but planned the entire thing.

I couldn’t accept, it was the first time I got clean and had 30 days. And all he did was bitch and moan about “fucking CMA” and offer me drugs.

I had to say no thanks and let him go.

He was a textbook case of NPD and predictably “got even” with me.

First, I found this note taped to my door:


Second: he called 911 and claimed that I was his "boyfriend" and that I had "punched him.”

I spent seven months fighting that case before it was dropped and expunged, during which he had an effective criminal restraining order against me -- and he would use as a shield, to directly and indirectly harass me through third parties.

The bitch lived next door and named his WiFi network “protective order.”

Narcissists have “flying monkeys” to do their bidding.

You’re directly abused by your abuser and then indirectly abused by your abuser — at the hand of of whoever else they can get to harass and abuse you.

The whole time he had people in San Francisco and Michigan on my blog comments taunting me about how I was going to go to prison.

This was more or less why I disabled blog comments, except now my code is all fucked up and I don't really remember what I did to turn them off or how to turn them back on again at this point.

For what he did to me, I would be both proud and pleased to be able to say that I had punched George St. George if it were true.

I’m pretty sure I’m never going to snap and kill anyone because if ever did that, it would have been him.

For awhile there I wanted to shove him in a garbage can or throw him through a storefront window if I ever saw him on the street.

But then it happened one day and the anger had left me. I just glared at him and he ran like hell.

Fucking loser.

All these people said he was “so nice.”

Maybe he was nice to you but ... no... he was not nice. He was a vindictive piece of fucking trash.

He falsely accused multiple gay men of rape, assault, violence etc... exacting his revenge by any means necessary if they broke up with him.

He carried a two inch thick folder of police reports , and if you showed up at Berlin or whatever he’d go show the bouncer all his police reports and have you thrown out.

After the case got thrown out, I obtained either a three or four year restraining order against him.

I got to watch him get served by Ralph in the courtroom:

“Oh. Hello Mister Zelichowski. This is for you.”

George read it and his mouth fell open.

Never heard from him again and he had first moved to Michigan... and then India... and died there.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he fucked with the wrong person in the wrong country and had a little help going over that railing.

But the whole time I went through this ...

Nobody believed me.

Not even mom.

Posted at at August 18, 2018 on Saturday, August 18, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

“I’m done partying. I’m ready to settle in with a good man.”



Posted at at August 16, 2018 on Thursday, August 16, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

Lunar Eclipse

I had a dream I was looking out my window late at night and I saw a lunar eclipse.

I called out to some friends to come to the window and look at it with me.

When it had passed, a brightly colored symbol appeared in the sky below the moon. It looked like fluorescent colors underneath a black light.

Whatever it was, I was awe stricken.

When I woke up I knew exactly where the fuck I was.

When I wake up I still know this room and I still know exactly where the fuck I am now.

Posted at at August 13, 2018 on Monday, August 13, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

Kathy’s Office

[ Kathy summons me into her office. ]

[ She is not smiling this time. ]

[ She glares at me and presses play on a big clunky silver Panasonic cassette player. ]

“Uh, so that’s .. F as in Frank. W as in Walter. And T as in... uh, I don’t know. TWA Flight 800?”

[ She presses the stop button. It makes a loud clunk. ]

[ She hasn’t said a word. ]

Finally: “What if that had been one of the survivors?”

I looked puzzled.

“There weren’t any survivors, were there?”

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE.”

Posted at at August 10, 2018 on Friday, August 10, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

Ow, my nuts!

If the groundskeeper yells at me and asks me if I want to get in the head with a golf ball or something, this time I’m going to yell “aim for my nuts!” and do a few cartwheels.

Posted at at August 10, 2018 on by |   | Filed under:

Wheels

“Dude, you’re in the same apartment?”

The one where you’d kiss me on the forehead as you headed out to your construction job at the crack of dawn?

Yeah. “That apartment.”

“Come over and hang out, I’ll take you shooting or something.”

I thought you’d never ask.

I’d have been “driving as fast as wheels can turn.”

Posted at at August 05, 2018 on Sunday, August 5, 2018 by |   | Filed under:

“Because dreaming costs money, my dear...”

It's beautiful out today 
I wish you could take me upstate 
To the little place you would tell me about 
When you'd sense that I'd want to escape

Texas is a land-locked state 
It's a little bit far away 
From the water, from the home that I've wanted to make it
Somehow, in the city, you make it there and you make it anywhere
But I've been anywhere and it's not what I want 
I wanna be still with you

You keep your socks on in bed 
Keep our hearth warm 
"See the trees' shadows lie in black pools in the lawns" 
You're the breeze in my Austin nights

— Mitski, Texas Reznikoff

Posted at at August 05, 2018 on by |   | Filed under:

I was never addicted 
to one thing;
I was addicted to filling 
a void 
within myself
with things other 
than my own love.   — yung pueblo

Posted at at August 05, 2018 on by |   | Filed under:

Sights in the City


Posted at at August 01, 2018 on Wednesday, August 1, 2018 by |   | Filed under: