So life is finally starting to gain some sort of normalcy. I have my own room in a basement apartment with two of my bets friends. My room is starting to come along awesome. Ditched my shitty futon bed and am going for that simple, spartan mattress on the floor vibe. Since I have Greg "I Can Fix Anything In The Fucking World" Dias just on the other side of the bathroom, I get to hang my actual paintings up for the first time in a while. The first thing up was some custom flash by friend Mark Mitchell. If you live in Atlanta, you should get tatttooed by him because he is the shit.
This week's plans include more writing, music collaboration, new gigs, and finally getting a someone out of grad school hell so socialization can occur.
As far as my health goes, I am still waiting on a date for the MRI. That plus two drug tests and i should be ready for the endocrinologist should tell me when my shit comes out of my head. Lately I have been throwing up a lot in the middle of the night. I also have this spells where I feel dizzy and tired. I feel the need to consume sugar for some reason, even if I don't want to. This shit is fucking weird.
It would cool if you locals hit Eli's Wednesday, or Goospeed Friday or Saturday. The Godspeed shit is new and its New Year's Eve and Day so shit will be poppin' poppin'.
I feel a thousand times better in my own space, but I still have a long way to go. Sigh.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Future Is Looking Bright Actually
One of the most challenging parts of dealing with my health situation is having to move in with my grandparents. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate them taking me in and taking care of me and feeding me and helping with me money when i needed it. I love them so much and they have gone above and beyond what anyone could to to take of me.. However, they live in a small apartment, are older, and have a their routines and their stuff and their things. I am 30, and even though I am in poor health and not really out doing all that much stuff, I can't really do what I want to do while living here. I can't have friends over, I could never bring a girl over here (which really hasn't been much of anything I've wanted to do all that bad, but still), and understandably, my grandparents get upset over things like coming home late, or basically doing whatever autonomous thing I choose to do as an adult.
Alas, on Monday, I will be moving into my new place with my good friends Sunshine and Greg. As sick as I was, I didn't participate at all in the house hunt, so tonight was the first time I saw the place. I have to say, it was the nicest house I ever saw in Oakland. My new room is cozy, and has the potential to be the perfect space that I have been lacking really since July because while I appreciated livning at the Hive, I never really made my room my own and I got so sick so fast that I was rarely there. I am really looking forward to moving in, having my own space, which I hope will ease my anxiety. Sunshine and Greg have already moved in, so I got to catch up with Sunshine for a minute. She got a new job at a bar not far from our house, which is leading to me getting a new dj gig over there, and allegedly I may have another new gig lined up at Pop's over in San Francisco. I am super excited about branching out into new places and, of course, stacking that paper.
On the health front, not much else has changed except my insomnia has gotten worse, and I'm pooing in a weird colors. I haven't gotten an MRI date, which means I haven't gotten a surgery either. So again, another stagnant holding pattern.
I will say, however, that over the past few days, I have seen some of the greatest sides of some of the greatest people, some of them new, some of them old. I have some incredible creative projects in the fire. I cant wait to get them going.
Each day the outlook gets better. I added another chapter of my book tonight. I can't wait to write about that.
I'd like to thank the following people for being fucking awesome to me this week: Koji, Mingo, Danielle, Carl, Chloe T, Beckah R, Sunshine, Paisley, Mary, Grace B, Grace A, Cang, Jack, Leanne, Carl at Action PR, and you the reader. See you tomorrow.
Alas, on Monday, I will be moving into my new place with my good friends Sunshine and Greg. As sick as I was, I didn't participate at all in the house hunt, so tonight was the first time I saw the place. I have to say, it was the nicest house I ever saw in Oakland. My new room is cozy, and has the potential to be the perfect space that I have been lacking really since July because while I appreciated livning at the Hive, I never really made my room my own and I got so sick so fast that I was rarely there. I am really looking forward to moving in, having my own space, which I hope will ease my anxiety. Sunshine and Greg have already moved in, so I got to catch up with Sunshine for a minute. She got a new job at a bar not far from our house, which is leading to me getting a new dj gig over there, and allegedly I may have another new gig lined up at Pop's over in San Francisco. I am super excited about branching out into new places and, of course, stacking that paper.
On the health front, not much else has changed except my insomnia has gotten worse, and I'm pooing in a weird colors. I haven't gotten an MRI date, which means I haven't gotten a surgery either. So again, another stagnant holding pattern.
I will say, however, that over the past few days, I have seen some of the greatest sides of some of the greatest people, some of them new, some of them old. I have some incredible creative projects in the fire. I cant wait to get them going.
Each day the outlook gets better. I added another chapter of my book tonight. I can't wait to write about that.
I'd like to thank the following people for being fucking awesome to me this week: Koji, Mingo, Danielle, Carl, Chloe T, Beckah R, Sunshine, Paisley, Mary, Grace B, Grace A, Cang, Jack, Leanne, Carl at Action PR, and you the reader. See you tomorrow.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday with the Wizard Playlist 12/22/10
om: at giza
blue oyster cult: dont fear the reaper
parchman farm: too many people
the stooges: down on the street
the suicide file: i hate you
black sabbath: hole in the sky
off!: i dont belong
quest for fire: strange vacation
deep purple: child of time
fu manchu: eatin dust
iron age: dispossessed
judas priest: one for the road
pentagram: walk in the blue light
scorpions: in trance
the white stripes: dead leaves and the dirty ground
bad brains: re ignition
crowbar: planets collide
ghost: con clavi clon dio
karma to burn: nineteen
kylesa: spiral shadow
royal thunder: sleeping witch
ted nugent: stranglehold
baroness: a horse called golgotha
mastodon: oblivion
queens of the stone age: if only
saviours: we roam
torche: amnesian
witch: seer
sleep: dragonaut
mc5: rama lama fa fa fa
legend: the destroyer
hulmo del cairo: nimbo
quicksand: head to wall
the sword: lawless lands
helmet: give it
high on fire: snakes for the divine
acid king: evil satan
bison bc: slow hand of death
danzig: she rides
trash talk: worthless nights/walking disease
black breath: i am beyond
rzl dzl: ignorance is bliss remix
the blood brothers: set fire to the face on fire
christian mistress: desert rose
leaf hound: freelance fiend
ozzy osbourne: crazy train
clutch: big news II
black sabbath: planet caravan
barn owl: visions in dust
jesu: tired of me
neil young: cowgirl in the sand
blue oyster cult: dont fear the reaper
parchman farm: too many people
the stooges: down on the street
the suicide file: i hate you
black sabbath: hole in the sky
off!: i dont belong
quest for fire: strange vacation
deep purple: child of time
fu manchu: eatin dust
iron age: dispossessed
judas priest: one for the road
pentagram: walk in the blue light
scorpions: in trance
the white stripes: dead leaves and the dirty ground
bad brains: re ignition
crowbar: planets collide
ghost: con clavi clon dio
karma to burn: nineteen
kylesa: spiral shadow
royal thunder: sleeping witch
ted nugent: stranglehold
baroness: a horse called golgotha
mastodon: oblivion
queens of the stone age: if only
saviours: we roam
torche: amnesian
witch: seer
sleep: dragonaut
mc5: rama lama fa fa fa
legend: the destroyer
hulmo del cairo: nimbo
quicksand: head to wall
the sword: lawless lands
helmet: give it
high on fire: snakes for the divine
acid king: evil satan
bison bc: slow hand of death
danzig: she rides
trash talk: worthless nights/walking disease
black breath: i am beyond
rzl dzl: ignorance is bliss remix
the blood brothers: set fire to the face on fire
christian mistress: desert rose
leaf hound: freelance fiend
ozzy osbourne: crazy train
clutch: big news II
black sabbath: planet caravan
barn owl: visions in dust
jesu: tired of me
neil young: cowgirl in the sand
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Occasionally I act like real writer
http://sfist.com/2010/12/19/sfist_attends_wild_949s_wild_jam.php#comments
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Highs and Lows
Today was a day I had been looking forward to for a long time. Make fun of me all you want, but today was Wild 94.9's Wild Jam concert featuring Drake, who as pop as he may be, is one of my favorite rap/hip hop/urban/whatever artists currently out there, and my good friend was able to get me into the show for free. I was super fucking excited to see a dude who I had been pretty fucking into since last summer, and it was going to be nice to get out of town for the night. So I finished up a rather lackluster night of Djing at Eli's last night, sped home, and fell asleep as early as I could, but it was hard because honestly it was like how a little kid feels trying to sleep on Christmas Eve.
When I woke up today, I had a couple of missed phone calls from my internist. I am not a particularly big fan of using the phone in general, so I figured I'd get back to him when I was damn good and ready, and hopped in the shower. I hadn't been in the shower for more than three minutes when I heard my grandma pounding on the bathroom door and telling me that Dr. Chen was on the phone, Now, as I have stated in earlier posts, tensions in this apartment have been running a tad high due to being in such close quarters under the stress of me being sick combined with the generational differences in methods of coping with illness and stress, but I know that my grandma wouldn't be pounding on the bathroom door mid shower for no good reason. I told her I'd be out in a minute, turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and went into the kitchen to get the phone.
On my Tuesday doctor's visit, my doctor ordered some blood tests, specifically for my liver, kidney, and thyroid. Almost in passing, I had mentioned to him that my sex drive had been more or less non-existent over the last two months. I told him I'm aware that a 30 year old male shouldn't have that perma-boner, fuck anything that walks libido of a teenager, but I figure I am going to tell my doctors anything that's weird or out of character for me because it may lead to finding an end to all this suffering and bullshit I'm going through. My doctor decided to test my testosterone for the hell of it. Low sex drive is normal in people suffering from depression, but hey, what the hell? They already were sticking a needle in me anyway, what's a little more blood, right?
He had called me back to tell me that my liver, kidney, and thyroid tests had all come back normal, but something was seriously wrong with my testosterone. I asked him to explain to me what that meant.
According to my doctor, the average range of the testosterone level of an adult male is between 200 and 800. A thirty year old male in relative good health should be somewhere around the 500 range. What level was I, you ask? 34.
Yeah, you read that right 34. Not even in triple fucking digits. Not even the low side of normal. If you want my term for being that far off of the normal range, it would be PRETTY FUCKED UP.
He had ran some tests regarding my pituitary gland, and the findings to that were also not up to par. He told me he had already referred me to an endocrinologist, order two very specific blood test that the endocrinologist would need to start her work, and ordered me an MRI for my brain. His early prognosis is that I have a tumor in, or near my pituitary gland, which is located a the base of my brain at the top of my neck, and that it would have to be cut out in order to render this problem solved. He said that while it isn't necessarily related, he wouldn't rule out all of my gastrointestinal issues being a side effect of this gland problem, but that would have to be something that was studied and documented after i had addressed the pituitary issue.
So, to sum that up in a real short sentence, brain surgery is in my near future.
When I got off the phone, I didn't really know how to feel. On one hand, this was the first bit of medical info I have gotten since all of this started that actually had like, a tangible end to it. It was the first thing a doctor had said to me that made some sort of sense, and discovered a problem that had a solution. On the other hand, its a fucking TUMOR that requires fucking BRAIN SURGERY. That's a little more of a big deal than like, getting your wisdom teeth pulled.
I called my parents, let my besets of friends know, let some other people know, then got it together enough to head down to the show. I mean, tumor or not, fucking Drizzy was playing tonight and I wasn't about to miss that for anything. His set was incredible, and it completely got my mind off of my health for 45 minutes. However, I headed back to Oakland from San Jose, stopped by a friends, and before I knew it, I was back to being alone in my room with the weight of this new found discovery bearing down on me like a whole new, much larger monkey is now on my back,
So now its 2:23am, I'm eating graham crackers and drinking cranberry juice, and riding a pharmaceutical buzz (sorry family, you drink wine or smoke weed, I eat the valium that I'm prescribed, accept reality). I have lived through hard times, walked through the fire, made mistakes and took lessons away from them, and am not one to cower in the face of adversity. It still kills me, however, to think back to June of 2010 and think of how happy and normal my life was going. I had a girlfriend I loved, a job I could tolerate, plans to go to grad school, was playing great music with great friends, and watched all of that slip away from me as I puked and shitted and cramped and cried alone in my grandparents' guest room. I am not asking for free ride. I am not asking for life to be easy. I just want life to not be complicated for like, a year of my life. I want to not have to fight, to be brave, to be strong, to have to endure misery, just for like, a year. How the fuck did I go from riding my bike freely down Broadway every morning to work, bullshitting with Greg, making dinner with Paisley, and playing shows with Loose Endz, to losing 30 lbs and screaming at my grandmother about how i have given up hope on ever finding a cause for my sickness and how I have thought about throwing myself off of the seventh floor balcony of their apartment on more than one occasion? And now, when an answer may have finally presented itself, it mostly likely will involve cutting the base of my skull open to remove some shit from a gland? What the fuck bro?
I've cried more in the last six months than I have in my entire life. I've thrown up more in the last six months than most people probably do in a lifetime. I won't get into the diarrhea because its just downright unpleasant. I have tried to keep my head up and to not put this on everyone I know, and been told I was too self-absorbed to be a good friend. I have cut out negative elements of my life. I have been told that I am too candid in public about how I feel, and that the few small things I do to keep the illusion of having a regular adult life are either counterproductive to my health or detrimental to my feeling better. Essentially, I am failing people at even being sick. I have taken all of this and still I pull myself out of bed, in the morning, in the afternoon, and sometimes after dark. I have done everything every doctor has told me to do. I shit onto saran wrap and scooped into vials and dropped them off to be mailed somewhere and examined. I have gotten so much blood drawn I have track marks. I take antibiotics, anti depressants, anti nausea meds, anti anxiety meds, all of which have side effects that make me feel just as sick, albeit different sick, than i feel anyway.
After doing all that, I now get told that the key to getting this all fixed is going to be a bone saw, a scalpel, anesthesia, and an incredible amount of pain and discomfort.
While I am happy to finally get a lead on something that may actually put an end to all of this, the severity of what the cure may actually be is incredibly soul crushing, and its very hard to smile and keep my head up when brain surgery looms over my future like a squall over open ocean.
I just want a few months of nothing. Of just existing. I don't even remember what that's like. I don't even remember what being me in average health feels like anymore.
I'd like to thank Dre Stewart for getting me into the show tonight, and continually doing me favors like that whenever he gets the chance. I don't ever take what you do, or our friendship for granted, and I look forward to gladly being able to return the favor in any way I can throughout our friendship in the future.
I'd like to thank my family and friends for putting up with me and all of this, and for putting up with however this unfolds in my future. I am fucking scared and angry and puzzled. I am sure I will snap on some of you, say horrifically scary things to others, or perhaps clam up and fall off the face of the earth and not be around for others. I am only a 30 year old with less than perfect social skills who has never been this sick before in his life. I am doing the best I can, and I know that sometimes my best sucks. Just bare with me. I wouldn't wish how I feel right now on anyone in the world. Not even anyone on that very short list in the back of my mind of people who I fucking despise with every inch of my being.
I just want to be me. I am scared of what my future holds, and fuck, I don't even know how to keep talking about this. I am crying all over my keyboard right now. I should probably just shut the fuck up and go to bed.
Either way, today was a day that for 45 minutes, I felt like I was on top of the world screaming along with 15000 other kids to a Canadian rapper who knows to sing, and was pulled to the lowest depths of hell dwelling over the fact that I have to get my skull cut the fuck open.
"...and you just tell me what you down for. Anything you down for. I know things have changed; know I used to be around more, but you should miss me a little when I'm gone. i just hope you miss me a little when I'm gone...gone...gone..."
When I woke up today, I had a couple of missed phone calls from my internist. I am not a particularly big fan of using the phone in general, so I figured I'd get back to him when I was damn good and ready, and hopped in the shower. I hadn't been in the shower for more than three minutes when I heard my grandma pounding on the bathroom door and telling me that Dr. Chen was on the phone, Now, as I have stated in earlier posts, tensions in this apartment have been running a tad high due to being in such close quarters under the stress of me being sick combined with the generational differences in methods of coping with illness and stress, but I know that my grandma wouldn't be pounding on the bathroom door mid shower for no good reason. I told her I'd be out in a minute, turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and went into the kitchen to get the phone.
On my Tuesday doctor's visit, my doctor ordered some blood tests, specifically for my liver, kidney, and thyroid. Almost in passing, I had mentioned to him that my sex drive had been more or less non-existent over the last two months. I told him I'm aware that a 30 year old male shouldn't have that perma-boner, fuck anything that walks libido of a teenager, but I figure I am going to tell my doctors anything that's weird or out of character for me because it may lead to finding an end to all this suffering and bullshit I'm going through. My doctor decided to test my testosterone for the hell of it. Low sex drive is normal in people suffering from depression, but hey, what the hell? They already were sticking a needle in me anyway, what's a little more blood, right?
He had called me back to tell me that my liver, kidney, and thyroid tests had all come back normal, but something was seriously wrong with my testosterone. I asked him to explain to me what that meant.
According to my doctor, the average range of the testosterone level of an adult male is between 200 and 800. A thirty year old male in relative good health should be somewhere around the 500 range. What level was I, you ask? 34.
Yeah, you read that right 34. Not even in triple fucking digits. Not even the low side of normal. If you want my term for being that far off of the normal range, it would be PRETTY FUCKED UP.
He had ran some tests regarding my pituitary gland, and the findings to that were also not up to par. He told me he had already referred me to an endocrinologist, order two very specific blood test that the endocrinologist would need to start her work, and ordered me an MRI for my brain. His early prognosis is that I have a tumor in, or near my pituitary gland, which is located a the base of my brain at the top of my neck, and that it would have to be cut out in order to render this problem solved. He said that while it isn't necessarily related, he wouldn't rule out all of my gastrointestinal issues being a side effect of this gland problem, but that would have to be something that was studied and documented after i had addressed the pituitary issue.
So, to sum that up in a real short sentence, brain surgery is in my near future.
When I got off the phone, I didn't really know how to feel. On one hand, this was the first bit of medical info I have gotten since all of this started that actually had like, a tangible end to it. It was the first thing a doctor had said to me that made some sort of sense, and discovered a problem that had a solution. On the other hand, its a fucking TUMOR that requires fucking BRAIN SURGERY. That's a little more of a big deal than like, getting your wisdom teeth pulled.
I called my parents, let my besets of friends know, let some other people know, then got it together enough to head down to the show. I mean, tumor or not, fucking Drizzy was playing tonight and I wasn't about to miss that for anything. His set was incredible, and it completely got my mind off of my health for 45 minutes. However, I headed back to Oakland from San Jose, stopped by a friends, and before I knew it, I was back to being alone in my room with the weight of this new found discovery bearing down on me like a whole new, much larger monkey is now on my back,
So now its 2:23am, I'm eating graham crackers and drinking cranberry juice, and riding a pharmaceutical buzz (sorry family, you drink wine or smoke weed, I eat the valium that I'm prescribed, accept reality). I have lived through hard times, walked through the fire, made mistakes and took lessons away from them, and am not one to cower in the face of adversity. It still kills me, however, to think back to June of 2010 and think of how happy and normal my life was going. I had a girlfriend I loved, a job I could tolerate, plans to go to grad school, was playing great music with great friends, and watched all of that slip away from me as I puked and shitted and cramped and cried alone in my grandparents' guest room. I am not asking for free ride. I am not asking for life to be easy. I just want life to not be complicated for like, a year of my life. I want to not have to fight, to be brave, to be strong, to have to endure misery, just for like, a year. How the fuck did I go from riding my bike freely down Broadway every morning to work, bullshitting with Greg, making dinner with Paisley, and playing shows with Loose Endz, to losing 30 lbs and screaming at my grandmother about how i have given up hope on ever finding a cause for my sickness and how I have thought about throwing myself off of the seventh floor balcony of their apartment on more than one occasion? And now, when an answer may have finally presented itself, it mostly likely will involve cutting the base of my skull open to remove some shit from a gland? What the fuck bro?
I've cried more in the last six months than I have in my entire life. I've thrown up more in the last six months than most people probably do in a lifetime. I won't get into the diarrhea because its just downright unpleasant. I have tried to keep my head up and to not put this on everyone I know, and been told I was too self-absorbed to be a good friend. I have cut out negative elements of my life. I have been told that I am too candid in public about how I feel, and that the few small things I do to keep the illusion of having a regular adult life are either counterproductive to my health or detrimental to my feeling better. Essentially, I am failing people at even being sick. I have taken all of this and still I pull myself out of bed, in the morning, in the afternoon, and sometimes after dark. I have done everything every doctor has told me to do. I shit onto saran wrap and scooped into vials and dropped them off to be mailed somewhere and examined. I have gotten so much blood drawn I have track marks. I take antibiotics, anti depressants, anti nausea meds, anti anxiety meds, all of which have side effects that make me feel just as sick, albeit different sick, than i feel anyway.
After doing all that, I now get told that the key to getting this all fixed is going to be a bone saw, a scalpel, anesthesia, and an incredible amount of pain and discomfort.
While I am happy to finally get a lead on something that may actually put an end to all of this, the severity of what the cure may actually be is incredibly soul crushing, and its very hard to smile and keep my head up when brain surgery looms over my future like a squall over open ocean.
I just want a few months of nothing. Of just existing. I don't even remember what that's like. I don't even remember what being me in average health feels like anymore.
I'd like to thank Dre Stewart for getting me into the show tonight, and continually doing me favors like that whenever he gets the chance. I don't ever take what you do, or our friendship for granted, and I look forward to gladly being able to return the favor in any way I can throughout our friendship in the future.
I'd like to thank my family and friends for putting up with me and all of this, and for putting up with however this unfolds in my future. I am fucking scared and angry and puzzled. I am sure I will snap on some of you, say horrifically scary things to others, or perhaps clam up and fall off the face of the earth and not be around for others. I am only a 30 year old with less than perfect social skills who has never been this sick before in his life. I am doing the best I can, and I know that sometimes my best sucks. Just bare with me. I wouldn't wish how I feel right now on anyone in the world. Not even anyone on that very short list in the back of my mind of people who I fucking despise with every inch of my being.
I just want to be me. I am scared of what my future holds, and fuck, I don't even know how to keep talking about this. I am crying all over my keyboard right now. I should probably just shut the fuck up and go to bed.
Either way, today was a day that for 45 minutes, I felt like I was on top of the world screaming along with 15000 other kids to a Canadian rapper who knows to sing, and was pulled to the lowest depths of hell dwelling over the fact that I have to get my skull cut the fuck open.
"...and you just tell me what you down for. Anything you down for. I know things have changed; know I used to be around more, but you should miss me a little when I'm gone. i just hope you miss me a little when I'm gone...gone...gone..."
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
12/15 Wednesday with the Wizard Playlist
for those who dont know, i dj at elis mile high club on wednesday nights from 7 to 11. its mostly a metal night, with an emphasis on stoner metal, doom, classic metal, and basically dirty sounding shit. heres what i played tonight:
earthless: sonic prayer
humo del cairo: nimbo
black sabbath: the wizard
kyuss: supa scoopa and mighty scoop
george thorogood and the destroyers: one bourbon, one scotch, one beer
quest for fire: bison eyes
judas priest: one for the road
ghost: con clavo con dio
zz top: tush
titan: sweet dreams
royal thunder: sleeping witch
the white stripes: icky thump
pentagram: 20 buck spin
ted nugent: stranglehold
graveyard: evil ways
danzig: tired of being alive
high on fire: hung, drawn, and quartered
kylesa: spiral shadow
parchman farm: mirror spirit
blood ceremony: master of confusion
doomriders: come alive
kvelertak: mjod
black breath: unholy virgin
saviours: we roam
white zombie: thunderkiss 65
helmet: meantime
karma to burn: nineteen
torche: amnesian
the sword: lawless lands
clutch: sleestack lightning
the high confessions: mistaken for cops
dead meadow: babbling flower
queens of the stone age: go with the flow
turbonegro: sell your body to the night
murder city devils: lemuria rising
fu manchu: shit kicker
baroness: a horse called golgotha
the melvins: a history of bad men
13th floor elevators: youre gonna miss me
sleep: dragonaut
eyehategod: 99 miles of bad road
witchcraft: wooden cross
acid king: dry run
christian mistress: desert rose
thin lizzy: boys are back in town
every time i die: the new black
sonic youth: white cross
black flag: i love you
born against: nine years later
leaf hound: drowned my life in fear
serpent throne: wheels of satan
diamond nights: destination diamonds
crowbar: planets collide
earthless: sonic prayer
humo del cairo: nimbo
black sabbath: the wizard
kyuss: supa scoopa and mighty scoop
george thorogood and the destroyers: one bourbon, one scotch, one beer
quest for fire: bison eyes
judas priest: one for the road
ghost: con clavo con dio
zz top: tush
titan: sweet dreams
royal thunder: sleeping witch
the white stripes: icky thump
pentagram: 20 buck spin
ted nugent: stranglehold
graveyard: evil ways
danzig: tired of being alive
high on fire: hung, drawn, and quartered
kylesa: spiral shadow
parchman farm: mirror spirit
blood ceremony: master of confusion
doomriders: come alive
kvelertak: mjod
black breath: unholy virgin
saviours: we roam
white zombie: thunderkiss 65
helmet: meantime
karma to burn: nineteen
torche: amnesian
the sword: lawless lands
clutch: sleestack lightning
the high confessions: mistaken for cops
dead meadow: babbling flower
queens of the stone age: go with the flow
turbonegro: sell your body to the night
murder city devils: lemuria rising
fu manchu: shit kicker
baroness: a horse called golgotha
the melvins: a history of bad men
13th floor elevators: youre gonna miss me
sleep: dragonaut
eyehategod: 99 miles of bad road
witchcraft: wooden cross
acid king: dry run
christian mistress: desert rose
thin lizzy: boys are back in town
every time i die: the new black
sonic youth: white cross
black flag: i love you
born against: nine years later
leaf hound: drowned my life in fear
serpent throne: wheels of satan
diamond nights: destination diamonds
crowbar: planets collide
Monday, December 13, 2010
These Days
It hasn't always been the easiest thing to be me, and lately its been really hard. If you read this nonsense, you're probably sick of hearing about how hard it is. However, I am having one of those moments of positive inspiration that lately I would call rare, but in my earlier years seemed to be much more frequent.
First in foremost, my best friend had his first son, and second child over all today. I can't even pretend to have any idea what that's really like, but I know a) that he and his girlfriend are so incredibly happy right now and that b) while I go through some pretty serious bouts with pain and discomfort, I'm pretty sure the worst of this isn't quite on par with pushing a football out of a vagina. I mean, I've seen some interesting things in film, and those girls looked like they were enjoying themselves, but I'm sure that's not what having a baby is like.
Hearing the news that the lil guy arrived put wind in my sails. While I can't wait to hang out with the little guy, and see how happy he makes his parents and sister, it obviously didn't make the nausea that kept me in bed until 3pm any easier. However, the news of his birth makes me feel hopeful. To be honest, and friends and family, please don't take this as a slight or that I take all that you do for me for granted, its the first time I've felt hopeful and positive about my own life in a long time. I don't really know how or why its effecting me like this. I am in no way trying to take the spotlight from someone else's life event and pin my horse shit situation to it, but when you're having a hard time, you try and find whatever light that comes your way in the dark. While he isn't my son, he will always be close to me, and that's about as bright as it gets no matter how dark your light may be.
I got the news while I was walking up Piedmont Ave. as part of my new regiment against sleeping like a vampire. Since I was struggling to keep from throwing up during most of the hours whilst the sun was up today, I opted to walk on what's probably the only street in Oakland where you are in zero danger of being fucked with by anyone after dark. I got frozen yogurt, which tasted great but wasn't the funnest thing to ingest in the 56 degree and somewhat damp evening air. I was happy to know that 400 miles to the south, one of my closest friends was beaming with joy and pride, and for whatever reason, it made me feel like even though I can't put my finger on exactly what, how, when, where, who, or why, that there is a reason to see what's on the other side of feeling like absolute shit every day of my life and enduring constant digestive upheaval.
Thanks Jav. For everything and no less than one thousand times over.
First in foremost, my best friend had his first son, and second child over all today. I can't even pretend to have any idea what that's really like, but I know a) that he and his girlfriend are so incredibly happy right now and that b) while I go through some pretty serious bouts with pain and discomfort, I'm pretty sure the worst of this isn't quite on par with pushing a football out of a vagina. I mean, I've seen some interesting things in film, and those girls looked like they were enjoying themselves, but I'm sure that's not what having a baby is like.
Hearing the news that the lil guy arrived put wind in my sails. While I can't wait to hang out with the little guy, and see how happy he makes his parents and sister, it obviously didn't make the nausea that kept me in bed until 3pm any easier. However, the news of his birth makes me feel hopeful. To be honest, and friends and family, please don't take this as a slight or that I take all that you do for me for granted, its the first time I've felt hopeful and positive about my own life in a long time. I don't really know how or why its effecting me like this. I am in no way trying to take the spotlight from someone else's life event and pin my horse shit situation to it, but when you're having a hard time, you try and find whatever light that comes your way in the dark. While he isn't my son, he will always be close to me, and that's about as bright as it gets no matter how dark your light may be.
I got the news while I was walking up Piedmont Ave. as part of my new regiment against sleeping like a vampire. Since I was struggling to keep from throwing up during most of the hours whilst the sun was up today, I opted to walk on what's probably the only street in Oakland where you are in zero danger of being fucked with by anyone after dark. I got frozen yogurt, which tasted great but wasn't the funnest thing to ingest in the 56 degree and somewhat damp evening air. I was happy to know that 400 miles to the south, one of my closest friends was beaming with joy and pride, and for whatever reason, it made me feel like even though I can't put my finger on exactly what, how, when, where, who, or why, that there is a reason to see what's on the other side of feeling like absolute shit every day of my life and enduring constant digestive upheaval.
Thanks Jav. For everything and no less than one thousand times over.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Transylvanian Hunger
This morning my grandparents and I went out for breakfast. I didn't really feel hungry at all, but I knew it was morning and that I needed to eat because about twelve hours had passed since I enjoyed a bagel and cream cheese for dinner last night. My stomach doesn't ever get that "hungry" feeling. I can count on one hand the times I've felt hunger pangs since the onset of all this back in June. You could give me complete and total control of every aspect of the menu for any given meal, and I still doubt that I'd feel hungry or really all that excited about eating in the first place.
I started thinking about the word hunger, and ways that it is used in simile and metaphor for other aspects of life. I spend most days resting (save for my super bitchin' active walks I've been all up on since Thursday's date with Dr. Destiny) because I don't physically feel well. I don't have the strength or the drive to do things that are overly active. I can't work. The one time I attempted to ride my bike since wrecking it as a result of dehydration was a horrible idea that I somehow walked away from unscathed. I more or less sit on the sidelines and try and fit myself into the busy lives of my friends who all have very important shit going on. It dawned on me today as I stared at a rather unappealing plate of eggs, italian sausage, hash browns, and toast, that not only do I never feel hunger in terms of food or nourishment, but I'm starting to lose the hunger accompanies living. Aside from picking up the pieces of my physical well being, once this issue gets resolved I am going to have to pick up the rest of my life. I tried to think about exactly what my life is going to look like on the other side of this awful mess, and well, nothing came to mind.
Now I am a firm believer in taking each day as it comes, and I have never been the world's strongest long term planner, but aside from not even being able to picture a healthy me living some sort of life beyond being chained to the commode, I am lacking the motivation to even pursue what that life is going to be. I see moving out of this state of waiting and testing and feeling 4 to 6 out of 10 on my best day as undoubtedly the most daunting trial life has placed in front of me yet. Five months of having your hopes dashed by non-event diagnostic test after non-event diagnostic test has drained me of having positivity as my number-one, go-to frame of mind.
Short of this blog, a memoir that's turning into less of a memoir and more of stories of my poor decision making strewn about my mindless babbling on all sorts of topics relating to making poor decisions, and taking Hipstamatic pics for my tumblr, there isn't any sort of tangible life I'm longing for upon getting healthy. There are people who I love that I want to hang out with and spend time with, but I am less than thrilled about the best possible scenario for a life in Oakland at full health (and the worst case scenarios are fucking unbearable to even imagine), and there aren't really any other cities or situations that come to mind as progressive and proper plans for continuing my life post recovery.
Not trying to be dramatic, and believe me, after last week's near 5150, this isn't a cry for help that hasn't already been heard and worked on, but I'm somewhat worried as to where to go from here. I do enjoy putting my bullshit into print, and apparently its not a complete waste of time to read according to some of my friends (and please, if you're saying that just to be nice, stop or ladies, if you're saying that because you want a piece, I'm way easier than that), so maybe if I keep hammering these keys I can write my way into something that pays using my brain versus punishing my already shredded body for an hourly wage again.
I am feeling my depression change as each week goes by. Last weekend was undoubtedly an aggressive outburst and how I managed to keep sharp objects entirely out of my hands may be proof that there is some sort of supernatural, omniscient being hard at work throughout these coptic times, but as the week has gone by and while I don't necessarily feel any better about anything at all, the emotional suffering has evolved. Depression throbs through my body like a dull, deep ache. Today as I walked through the Costco in San Leandro, I felt the ebb and flow of depression carry me down each aisle like currents in the Mississippi River. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel, because if my current relentless battle to stay composed is more exhausting than soccer, and there are times when I feel like I'm losing both the battle and the war.
"Burning inside (I cross myself, it doesn't help) Because I'm not smart enough (I'm digging into hot white) Learning not to lie."
I started thinking about the word hunger, and ways that it is used in simile and metaphor for other aspects of life. I spend most days resting (save for my super bitchin' active walks I've been all up on since Thursday's date with Dr. Destiny) because I don't physically feel well. I don't have the strength or the drive to do things that are overly active. I can't work. The one time I attempted to ride my bike since wrecking it as a result of dehydration was a horrible idea that I somehow walked away from unscathed. I more or less sit on the sidelines and try and fit myself into the busy lives of my friends who all have very important shit going on. It dawned on me today as I stared at a rather unappealing plate of eggs, italian sausage, hash browns, and toast, that not only do I never feel hunger in terms of food or nourishment, but I'm starting to lose the hunger accompanies living. Aside from picking up the pieces of my physical well being, once this issue gets resolved I am going to have to pick up the rest of my life. I tried to think about exactly what my life is going to look like on the other side of this awful mess, and well, nothing came to mind.
Now I am a firm believer in taking each day as it comes, and I have never been the world's strongest long term planner, but aside from not even being able to picture a healthy me living some sort of life beyond being chained to the commode, I am lacking the motivation to even pursue what that life is going to be. I see moving out of this state of waiting and testing and feeling 4 to 6 out of 10 on my best day as undoubtedly the most daunting trial life has placed in front of me yet. Five months of having your hopes dashed by non-event diagnostic test after non-event diagnostic test has drained me of having positivity as my number-one, go-to frame of mind.
Short of this blog, a memoir that's turning into less of a memoir and more of stories of my poor decision making strewn about my mindless babbling on all sorts of topics relating to making poor decisions, and taking Hipstamatic pics for my tumblr, there isn't any sort of tangible life I'm longing for upon getting healthy. There are people who I love that I want to hang out with and spend time with, but I am less than thrilled about the best possible scenario for a life in Oakland at full health (and the worst case scenarios are fucking unbearable to even imagine), and there aren't really any other cities or situations that come to mind as progressive and proper plans for continuing my life post recovery.
Not trying to be dramatic, and believe me, after last week's near 5150, this isn't a cry for help that hasn't already been heard and worked on, but I'm somewhat worried as to where to go from here. I do enjoy putting my bullshit into print, and apparently its not a complete waste of time to read according to some of my friends (and please, if you're saying that just to be nice, stop or ladies, if you're saying that because you want a piece, I'm way easier than that), so maybe if I keep hammering these keys I can write my way into something that pays using my brain versus punishing my already shredded body for an hourly wage again.
I am feeling my depression change as each week goes by. Last weekend was undoubtedly an aggressive outburst and how I managed to keep sharp objects entirely out of my hands may be proof that there is some sort of supernatural, omniscient being hard at work throughout these coptic times, but as the week has gone by and while I don't necessarily feel any better about anything at all, the emotional suffering has evolved. Depression throbs through my body like a dull, deep ache. Today as I walked through the Costco in San Leandro, I felt the ebb and flow of depression carry me down each aisle like currents in the Mississippi River. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel, because if my current relentless battle to stay composed is more exhausting than soccer, and there are times when I feel like I'm losing both the battle and the war.
"Burning inside (I cross myself, it doesn't help) Because I'm not smart enough (I'm digging into hot white) Learning not to lie."
Friday, December 10, 2010
I'm About To Have A Nervous Breakdown...
Actually, I'm not about to have a nervous breakdown, I actual did have one Saturday morning. It wasn't pretty. While I am pretty candid about what I share here, the gory details are going to be omitted because well, it was awful and not everything is for the prying eyes of the more than likely, uninterested public. The short version is that I received the results of my colonoscopy from November 23rd on Friday afternoon, and what shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone, there was nothing abnormal afoot in my anal area. This news itself wasn't so frustrating, but when I was told that I wouldn't be able to get a follow up appointment with the doctor regarding any of his findings until early February, that was enough to make the Corvair that is my heart, brain, and/or soul to become even more unsafe at any speed.
Let me say this though, I made a real effort to keep it together that day once I got off the phone with his receptionist, who's incredibly friendly voice and helpful demeanor only made the perceived reality of my situation at that time sting even more. Every cell in my body ached to be whisked away on a recreational/self-medication vacation from reality with a side of bodily harm that, as grim as this may be to read, could have resulted in me shedding this mortal coil sans regrets. But, I didn't go off the deep end like that. I got stoned off of a pre-rolled joint from a dispensary off Divisadero in the City, and ended up killing a few hours in various record stores and donut shops waiting for a friend to be free of obligations before shooting back to Oakland to be in the presence of another source of strength for me in the face of all this anguish, and tried to ride out the wave of hopelessness and do as little damage as possible. As time is want to do, it slipped away, and I didn't find myself returning home from this adventure in positive coping until 7:00 AM Saturday morning. This act of coping didn't sit well with some of my biggest supports, which lead to a meltdown from the constantly oppressive pressure and tension that ebbs and flows throughout this apartment I'm staying in like the dull, achy pain a deep, vividly discolored bruise. The ensuing outburst switched participants while never faltering in intensity or insanity, so it was decided that it was in my best interest to get out of town and off of the radar for a couple of days.
So I left the mean streets of Oakland to the rural roadways of Carmel Valley, where I spent most of the part of my childhood that any adult actually remembers. While I struggled with the notion of moving myself from self-imposed isolation to real deal, friendless void part of the state isolation, I was too emotionally drained to board another train of thought, and surrendered myself to the control of my parents. There were many moments of my time away that were incredibly refreshing and much needed for my brain, which is now in officially as bad of shape as my digestive tract, but there were also cold, lonely moments that were glaring reminders that my life has gotten seriously fucked up by the events of the last six months, and the idea of climbing out of this hole only continues to get larger and more daunting as days go by. My mother unleashed her keen ability to wheel and deal upon the receptionists in my doctor's office and somehow, by the grace of God, Jesus, Alllah, Krsna, Shiva, Buddha, Lemmy, and John Smith (in no particular order, so I don't need any boo fucking hoo comments out of you religious types), totally weaseled an appointment with the doc himself on Thursday, December 9th, which if you can't do math very well, was yesterday. Much faster than waiting until February 2011, right?
Yesterday's visit was my first with the doctor himself since consulting with him way back in September, and we discussed some things that are going good about my disorder, things that aren't going so good about my disorder, and how to sustain the good while improving the not so good. Another CT scan was booked, this time of my small bowel, and I was told to work on getting my sleep schedule back to that of a normal human, and not someone with severe, multi-continental jet lag. While it isn't really treading new ground, and remain skeptical of this being an area in which the key to this identifying and remedying this fucking Pandora's Box of of grim Life felt it needed to unleash on me. I have a lot ahead of me to fix, but things look lighter today than they did Friday afternoon of last week.
Over the last two weeks, I have began to write down some of the better fucked up stories I've lived through for a sort of anthology or memoir I intend on publishing. Between that and the often overwhelming anxiety and uneasiness of feeling shitty all the time, sometimes writing in here is stretching me very thin. I am, however, always the asshole fucking with his iphone. I downloaded a few of the camera apps, which have direct connections to Tumblr, so I have created caffeineorme.tumbr.com. It is more or less the visual accompaniment to this blog. Sometimes pics will correspond with blog entries, other times they will be they're own entities.
caffeineorme.tumbler.com
I could get into why this took so long, but its weird, so I wont.
Let me say this though, I made a real effort to keep it together that day once I got off the phone with his receptionist, who's incredibly friendly voice and helpful demeanor only made the perceived reality of my situation at that time sting even more. Every cell in my body ached to be whisked away on a recreational/self-medication vacation from reality with a side of bodily harm that, as grim as this may be to read, could have resulted in me shedding this mortal coil sans regrets. But, I didn't go off the deep end like that. I got stoned off of a pre-rolled joint from a dispensary off Divisadero in the City, and ended up killing a few hours in various record stores and donut shops waiting for a friend to be free of obligations before shooting back to Oakland to be in the presence of another source of strength for me in the face of all this anguish, and tried to ride out the wave of hopelessness and do as little damage as possible. As time is want to do, it slipped away, and I didn't find myself returning home from this adventure in positive coping until 7:00 AM Saturday morning. This act of coping didn't sit well with some of my biggest supports, which lead to a meltdown from the constantly oppressive pressure and tension that ebbs and flows throughout this apartment I'm staying in like the dull, achy pain a deep, vividly discolored bruise. The ensuing outburst switched participants while never faltering in intensity or insanity, so it was decided that it was in my best interest to get out of town and off of the radar for a couple of days.
So I left the mean streets of Oakland to the rural roadways of Carmel Valley, where I spent most of the part of my childhood that any adult actually remembers. While I struggled with the notion of moving myself from self-imposed isolation to real deal, friendless void part of the state isolation, I was too emotionally drained to board another train of thought, and surrendered myself to the control of my parents. There were many moments of my time away that were incredibly refreshing and much needed for my brain, which is now in officially as bad of shape as my digestive tract, but there were also cold, lonely moments that were glaring reminders that my life has gotten seriously fucked up by the events of the last six months, and the idea of climbing out of this hole only continues to get larger and more daunting as days go by. My mother unleashed her keen ability to wheel and deal upon the receptionists in my doctor's office and somehow, by the grace of God, Jesus, Alllah, Krsna, Shiva, Buddha, Lemmy, and John Smith (in no particular order, so I don't need any boo fucking hoo comments out of you religious types), totally weaseled an appointment with the doc himself on Thursday, December 9th, which if you can't do math very well, was yesterday. Much faster than waiting until February 2011, right?
Yesterday's visit was my first with the doctor himself since consulting with him way back in September, and we discussed some things that are going good about my disorder, things that aren't going so good about my disorder, and how to sustain the good while improving the not so good. Another CT scan was booked, this time of my small bowel, and I was told to work on getting my sleep schedule back to that of a normal human, and not someone with severe, multi-continental jet lag. While it isn't really treading new ground, and remain skeptical of this being an area in which the key to this identifying and remedying this fucking Pandora's Box of of grim Life felt it needed to unleash on me. I have a lot ahead of me to fix, but things look lighter today than they did Friday afternoon of last week.
Over the last two weeks, I have began to write down some of the better fucked up stories I've lived through for a sort of anthology or memoir I intend on publishing. Between that and the often overwhelming anxiety and uneasiness of feeling shitty all the time, sometimes writing in here is stretching me very thin. I am, however, always the asshole fucking with his iphone. I downloaded a few of the camera apps, which have direct connections to Tumblr, so I have created caffeineorme.tumbr.com. It is more or less the visual accompaniment to this blog. Sometimes pics will correspond with blog entries, other times they will be they're own entities.
caffeineorme.tumbler.com
I could get into why this took so long, but its weird, so I wont.
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