Oh, man, I'm so deep.
Yeah--moving on. Hard to believe it's Friday again already. I stay so damn busy throughout the week that the days fly past at an alarming rate.
My iPod's headphone jack died on me last night. I am pretty much dismayed over this turn of events, as that beautiful piece of plastic has provided me with a lot of entertainment.
I have nothing really interesting to say right at the moment.
What did Ginsberg say? Something like, "No point writing when the spirit doth not lead." ??? Yeah, I think that was it.
(And then, in direct defiance of A.G., Ross continued to spew out nonsensical bullshit. On and on he babbled, entertaining no one, infuriating few, in truth read by almost no one. He tried to keep his spirits up regarding the state of his blog, but it seemed the whole enterprise was turning out to be a dud.)
I guess I promised at some point that I would put some of my Hi-LAR-i-Ous letters from rehab on here. Maybe I'll just spruce them up into a little manuscript and start sending it off. I'll be RICH!
Or...out some stamps.
Love & Kisses & Unagi-caked Dalmatians,
Rosswell
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Your little hoodrat friend makes me sick...
...and after I get sick I just get sad. Cuz it burns bein' broke, hurts to be heartbroken, and always bein' both must be a drag...she's been callin' me again...
Yeah, there's some Hold Steady for ya. Enjoy that.
Moving on, then--my life is pretty much fawesome at this point. It never really slows down much, but I like to stay busy...so, yeah, nothing to complain about there.
And that's the best part of my life these days--I have no real reason to complain about much. It doesn't do us any good to bitch and moan about the boring minutiae of our day to day lives anyhow, so why bother with all that bullshit? I have my new BFF (HIIIII Tyler!) and I have tons of supportive new friends in general and I have Quest (my outpatient center) and I ... etc.
There is so much to be grateful for--we need only open our eyes.
Not much motivation to post some huge thing right now--but I am planning to post some (rather edited) hilarity from letters I wrote in rehab. I think you'll all enjoy them--all 5 or so people reading this blog, that is.
Plastics make it possible,
Rosswellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Yeah, there's some Hold Steady for ya. Enjoy that.
Moving on, then--my life is pretty much fawesome at this point. It never really slows down much, but I like to stay busy...so, yeah, nothing to complain about there.
And that's the best part of my life these days--I have no real reason to complain about much. It doesn't do us any good to bitch and moan about the boring minutiae of our day to day lives anyhow, so why bother with all that bullshit? I have my new BFF (HIIIII Tyler!) and I have tons of supportive new friends in general and I have Quest (my outpatient center) and I ... etc.
There is so much to be grateful for--we need only open our eyes.
Not much motivation to post some huge thing right now--but I am planning to post some (rather edited) hilarity from letters I wrote in rehab. I think you'll all enjoy them--all 5 or so people reading this blog, that is.
Plastics make it possible,
Rosswellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Freedom.
So I'm reading Jonathan Franzen's new novel, "Freedom" and it is pretty much amazing. Not a huge surprise, there, but I've sort of been pontificating on the subject of freedom today. What with the word staring out in bold slanting white letters every time I look at the cover of this book, I guess it was inevitable that I would give it some thought.
I used to think of my life as a junky as being a sterling example of what it meant to be free--free from society's constraints, free from unwanted responsibility, outside of the mainstream and free to be an outlaw. Well, as it turns out (and this will surprise, probably, no one) being a drug addict was in no way freeing or liberating or admirable or worthwhile. I lived in a state of self-imposed imprisonment for years. When you're addicted to heroin, you wake up every day wishing you were dead. Merely getting out of bed and facing the world, doing things that for most people are not a huge chore, all that day-to-day bullshit becomes utterly impossible.
The days of my addiction which are most vivid in my memory are the days when I would wake up beside Danielle, both of us soaked in sweat, pupils dilated, the sharp smell of two kicking junkies (sour, metallic, sweaty) thick in the air. There were so many times when we would decide that it was time to kick, and we would make it (at most) two days before that waking horror would drive us to get right back into the swing of things.
And that's one of the hardest parts of my past for me to let go of--the swing of things, the daily grind; it kept me busy, if nothing else. These days, I can't really allow myself to get bored. It's essential to stay as busy as possible--at least for now. Otherwise, well, I might have to think even more than I already do--oh, this racing mind--and the inside of one's head is a dangerous place for an addict in early recovery.
Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
By allowing myself to become "a part of" instead of "apart from" in AA, I have come to a place of accepting what I have to do in order to stay sober. I used to think that giving in and accepting the herd instinct prevalent in 12-step programs would equal a sort of intellectual death. At this point, I don't really give a damn. Better to be a joiner than to die a junky death.
More later--
Love,
Rosswell
I used to think of my life as a junky as being a sterling example of what it meant to be free--free from society's constraints, free from unwanted responsibility, outside of the mainstream and free to be an outlaw. Well, as it turns out (and this will surprise, probably, no one) being a drug addict was in no way freeing or liberating or admirable or worthwhile. I lived in a state of self-imposed imprisonment for years. When you're addicted to heroin, you wake up every day wishing you were dead. Merely getting out of bed and facing the world, doing things that for most people are not a huge chore, all that day-to-day bullshit becomes utterly impossible.
The days of my addiction which are most vivid in my memory are the days when I would wake up beside Danielle, both of us soaked in sweat, pupils dilated, the sharp smell of two kicking junkies (sour, metallic, sweaty) thick in the air. There were so many times when we would decide that it was time to kick, and we would make it (at most) two days before that waking horror would drive us to get right back into the swing of things.
And that's one of the hardest parts of my past for me to let go of--the swing of things, the daily grind; it kept me busy, if nothing else. These days, I can't really allow myself to get bored. It's essential to stay as busy as possible--at least for now. Otherwise, well, I might have to think even more than I already do--oh, this racing mind--and the inside of one's head is a dangerous place for an addict in early recovery.
Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
By allowing myself to become "a part of" instead of "apart from" in AA, I have come to a place of accepting what I have to do in order to stay sober. I used to think that giving in and accepting the herd instinct prevalent in 12-step programs would equal a sort of intellectual death. At this point, I don't really give a damn. Better to be a joiner than to die a junky death.
More later--
Love,
Rosswell
Saturday, September 18, 2010
A hand to hold, an excuse to be bold
So anyhow, it seems to me that the way out is through, through with the bullshit, yes yes yes.
Hung out with Tyler again today--he's pretty much my new BFF. We even shook on it, so don't bother trying to argue with me, my decision is final! He's the best thing since sliced Challah.
Moving on--I've been informed twice in the last two days that I have a flaming lisp and that I might as well put on a damn pink tutu and mince my way down the block, wrists limply flopping and hips gaily swiveling.
Homo.
Went to Ground Kontrol ( http://www.groundkontrol.com/ ) again today -- OMG it is the best thing ever. I played about 500,000,000 games of Centipede. Tyler and I nerded out there for a while and then hit up NW for the 5:30--yes, indeed.
After that, went back to his house for his potluck--a splendid time was guaranteed for all. Few things in this life nearly so fun as listening to embittered gay men wax mincetastic about their hatred for all things unbearable.
Yes.
In summation, that, my friends, is where babies come from.
Love & kisses & wants & wishes,
Rosswell
Hung out with Tyler again today--he's pretty much my new BFF. We even shook on it, so don't bother trying to argue with me, my decision is final! He's the best thing since sliced Challah.
Moving on--I've been informed twice in the last two days that I have a flaming lisp and that I might as well put on a damn pink tutu and mince my way down the block, wrists limply flopping and hips gaily swiveling.
Homo.
Went to Ground Kontrol ( http://www.groundkontrol.com/ ) again today -- OMG it is the best thing ever. I played about 500,000,000 games of Centipede. Tyler and I nerded out there for a while and then hit up NW for the 5:30--yes, indeed.
After that, went back to his house for his potluck--a splendid time was guaranteed for all. Few things in this life nearly so fun as listening to embittered gay men wax mincetastic about their hatred for all things unbearable.
Yes.
In summation, that, my friends, is where babies come from.
Love & kisses & wants & wishes,
Rosswell
Fawesome, indeed.
So, yes, here I am, rock you like a hurricane.
Went to Ground Kontrol with Tyler & Mark tonight--that place (it's a barcade)--is pretty much the coolest thing in the history of coolness. Word to yo' mother.
They have a wide variety of classic arcade games and pinball machines. Just so y'all know, Portland is cooler than anywhere else in the whole world--wanna fight about it?
Man, I am hungry like the wolf--it's time to cook something, anything.
Yes...this is uninteresting and I'm blathering, so Goodnight Kids!
Love,
Rosswell
Went to Ground Kontrol with Tyler & Mark tonight--that place (it's a barcade)--is pretty much the coolest thing in the history of coolness. Word to yo' mother.
They have a wide variety of classic arcade games and pinball machines. Just so y'all know, Portland is cooler than anywhere else in the whole world--wanna fight about it?
Man, I am hungry like the wolf--it's time to cook something, anything.
Yes...this is uninteresting and I'm blathering, so Goodnight Kids!
Love,
Rosswell
Friday, September 17, 2010
All you need is love, apparently.
So I've been in Portland for...well, not that long...and it already feels like I have a fuller, more interesting, and altogether more fulfilling life than I ever had before. I have tons of new friends, I go to interesting places and do interesting things, and I'm...get ready for it...F-ING SOBER! Holy Hell! Who would've thought a person could be happy & enjoy life without being high out of their flippin' mind pretty much 24/7?!
As it turns out, the world is not a cold dark place. There is so much more to this life than self-destruction and nihilism and dank, black and drear. Wow. Who-da-thunk, eh?
There is a big, wonderful world, just waiting to be discovered. I've heard it said many times before that the gates of Hell are wide open--most people just don't get up and walk out. My experience has proven this saying to be abundantly true. I wallowed in a morass of self-pity and self-imposed exile for years and years on end, never daring to turn my gaze upward to the sun. I shut the light out and decided I was to be a lost cause--and ya know what? Bullshit pretty much sums up that whole "way of life" (in truth it was a daily death)--it's callow, it's cowardly, it's hollow and it's pointless to languish in mediocrity and decay when there is a way. goddamn. out. of all that hideous morbid tripe.
I no longer have any justification to return to a daily dose of oblivion. I have no excuse. Yes, indeed, there has been trauma and hurt in my life, but it would be the ultimate cop-out to descend back into the old comfortable shoe of shoot-a-shot-and-become-the-dead. I walk down these city streets at night and see the hollow-eyed, meth &/or heroin-addicted zombies shuffling along in their dirt-caked jeans, lips all chapped with exposure and ruin, burrowing into their filthy blankets, souls afflicted with poison and dourness, "the buckling beams of [their] hopes & dreams" on excruciatingly public display...and I think to myself, "There but for the grace of God go I..."
I'm just a shot away from plummeting to the streets, myself. It is important for any addict to bear in mind that one little slip can send you a long damn way downhill, crashing through brambles to the muck of harsh reality. Addiction's not a comfy robe, some soft option--the so-called "normies" (i.e, the non-addicted) sometimes seem like they believe it's the "easy way out." I call bullshit on that line of illogic. There is nothing soft or easy about being a junky or a drunk. It is a hard, miserable life, fraught with peril, after a time lacking in any true escape. Yeah, it is, to paraphrase Elliott Smith, fighting problems with bigger problems, but after a certain point the drugs stop working.
I reached that point myself, and let me tell you, it is a terrible position to be in--too sad for sober, yet numb to every drug. There comes a jumping off point, a moment of clarity, when the utter unacceptability of what you're doing to yourself becomes agonizingly apparent, and the only thing left to do is--Whoops!--jump! Let go of the needle, put the plug in the jug, and at long last make an honest attempt at living a better life.
Free at last, indeed.
Love,
Rosswell
As it turns out, the world is not a cold dark place. There is so much more to this life than self-destruction and nihilism and dank, black and drear. Wow. Who-da-thunk, eh?
There is a big, wonderful world, just waiting to be discovered. I've heard it said many times before that the gates of Hell are wide open--most people just don't get up and walk out. My experience has proven this saying to be abundantly true. I wallowed in a morass of self-pity and self-imposed exile for years and years on end, never daring to turn my gaze upward to the sun. I shut the light out and decided I was to be a lost cause--and ya know what? Bullshit pretty much sums up that whole "way of life" (in truth it was a daily death)--it's callow, it's cowardly, it's hollow and it's pointless to languish in mediocrity and decay when there is a way. goddamn. out. of all that hideous morbid tripe.
I no longer have any justification to return to a daily dose of oblivion. I have no excuse. Yes, indeed, there has been trauma and hurt in my life, but it would be the ultimate cop-out to descend back into the old comfortable shoe of shoot-a-shot-and-become-the-dead. I walk down these city streets at night and see the hollow-eyed, meth &/or heroin-addicted zombies shuffling along in their dirt-caked jeans, lips all chapped with exposure and ruin, burrowing into their filthy blankets, souls afflicted with poison and dourness, "the buckling beams of [their] hopes & dreams" on excruciatingly public display...and I think to myself, "There but for the grace of God go I..."
I'm just a shot away from plummeting to the streets, myself. It is important for any addict to bear in mind that one little slip can send you a long damn way downhill, crashing through brambles to the muck of harsh reality. Addiction's not a comfy robe, some soft option--the so-called "normies" (i.e, the non-addicted) sometimes seem like they believe it's the "easy way out." I call bullshit on that line of illogic. There is nothing soft or easy about being a junky or a drunk. It is a hard, miserable life, fraught with peril, after a time lacking in any true escape. Yeah, it is, to paraphrase Elliott Smith, fighting problems with bigger problems, but after a certain point the drugs stop working.
I reached that point myself, and let me tell you, it is a terrible position to be in--too sad for sober, yet numb to every drug. There comes a jumping off point, a moment of clarity, when the utter unacceptability of what you're doing to yourself becomes agonizingly apparent, and the only thing left to do is--Whoops!--jump! Let go of the needle, put the plug in the jug, and at long last make an honest attempt at living a better life.
Free at last, indeed.
Love,
Rosswell
Sunday, September 12, 2010
One more: "Amnesty for My Days"
Amnesty for My Days
The end never came, world spinning on.
Here in the fluorescence of my duration
No drugs now sopping spirit,
No opiate can match the blinding summer sky
No shot shall lay waste to the beauty of being.
Each morning now so sacred, as if
A multitude of angels would herald each
Crowning dawn. That is to say the dawn is
Born the same as any infant; each day
A newborn aging into night, deceased at moonrise.
The vastness of this life is oceanic and symphonic
And although we've grasped yet one more chance
"The center cannot hold"--
at least, that is, secure will crumble
If we go on numbing,
And killing off all days to come would be
a spirit genocide, infanticide, love horrified
by how we'd dare to wither.
Capitulation to despair can never be okay.
The obligation, clearly cast, is opting for ascension.
Eternity of lifetime will not be quite so eternal
If we choose the path of spoons and pipes
and cans and broken bottles.
There is yet a chasm six feet down to catch our end.
The question, then, is whether you will gently lay,
or burning, descend.
7-20-2010
The end never came, world spinning on.
Here in the fluorescence of my duration
No drugs now sopping spirit,
No opiate can match the blinding summer sky
No shot shall lay waste to the beauty of being.
Each morning now so sacred, as if
A multitude of angels would herald each
Crowning dawn. That is to say the dawn is
Born the same as any infant; each day
A newborn aging into night, deceased at moonrise.
The vastness of this life is oceanic and symphonic
And although we've grasped yet one more chance
"The center cannot hold"--
at least, that is, secure will crumble
If we go on numbing,
And killing off all days to come would be
a spirit genocide, infanticide, love horrified
by how we'd dare to wither.
Capitulation to despair can never be okay.
The obligation, clearly cast, is opting for ascension.
Eternity of lifetime will not be quite so eternal
If we choose the path of spoons and pipes
and cans and broken bottles.
There is yet a chasm six feet down to catch our end.
The question, then, is whether you will gently lay,
or burning, descend.
7-20-2010
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