Stay Out

Three radio shows this weekend- details in the sidebar--->

Local legends The Cashmere Jungle Lords will be interviewed during the second show- back in the 1990's I used to play in a band called Mr. Sensitive with the Jungle Lord's drummer- it'll be nice seeing those guys again.
I found an old Mr. Sensitive cassette from 1997 a while back and just finished transferring the songs to my computer. I can barely remember playing or recording this stuff- that's how wasted I was- in one of the songs I sing:

I wish I could get up
off of the ground
and wipe the yellow foam
off of my mouth
how come nobody told me
this is all there was
I'm floating up
throwing up
toilets full of blood

I wrote that in the mid 1990's.
In September of 2005 it came true.

Not only was my toilet full of blood; my tub, sink and floors were all generously coated. I was projectile vomiting little bits of my esophagus and upper GI across my bathroom walls.
I had drank myself to shreds and was bleeding into myself.
Badly.
I drove myself to hospital and fainted in the ER.
They let me out a week later.

Hearing myself singing about my own future death really freaks me out. It's as if I knew what I was doing to myself and I knew exactly what the consequences were, yet I kept going.
And going.
And going.
Until I had nowhere left to go but death.

I had to decide if I wanted to live, which meant a lot of work- harder work than I'd ever done in my life- and I'm a freekin' ant when it comes to work...

OR

I could grab a 12-pack and a 1.75 of Vodka and be dead inside a week.


I haven't had a drink in eighteen months.

Listening to that old song reminds me what alcohol has to offer. That it's never going to fully go away.

It's not coming back into my life. I have too much to do.