Friday, February 29, 2008

I'm just an average squirrel

trying to get an average nut before the asylum calls
before the dew drops fall
no way am I gonna cop to feeling as crazy as I think
that would be blasphemy
and one thing I am not sir is a blasphemer
a scheming bastard yes I am
I just dont got no hustle left
nobody gives a damn about the protocol we once held so dear
these truths self evident?
oh fucking no

Found Slumped Over

Thursday, February 28, 2008

aussie Rules

Junkie surfer comes over from sydney as a young lad, surfing stops but junk continues, gets involved with the mob and the hells angels but junk has him wind up on the streets, something happens to piss him off, someone fucks with his girlfriend perhaps and he decides to get clean in order to exact his revenge on the bikers and/or mobsters that have betrayed him, when it's all over he considers going back to junk but decides to go back to australia where he surfs and works as a drug counselor.

Repost of an email from my father, WWFS What Would Freud Say?

"Your joke is very funny.It reminds me of something that happened 14 years ago. I first heard it in a Holiday Inn where I was staying in May, 1994 in Colorado Springs. I was due to make a talk to a group who's annual meeting was in a estaurant at the top of Pike's Peak. The guy who told me the tale was an elderly busboy, cleaning up after morning coffee.

I realized that I had left my medicine kit at home in Alexandria and went back to my room to call my doctor back home. He told me that it was a serious problem and to get the name of a pharmacy and call him back with the pharmacist's phone no. Idid so.

The drug store was located a couple of miles away in a strip mall. I went there and got the medication. Upon leaving I saw a black and white dog running around in the back of a pick-up and as it was a cute critter, I went over to pet it. When I did, 15 year old girl ran out of a Dairy Queen. She said, "Mr. Doyou want that dog? You can have it." Isaid , "What's wrong with it?" She said "Nothing. It was running around the parking lot and I thought it might get hit, so I put it in my truck.

I said, "I ppassed a city dog pound yesterday. It's right where I'm have to turn to go to Pike's Peak. I'll take the dog there and leave it off." So I did.

The story gets more intriguing. As I approached the dog pound my passenger went berserk, JUmping and howliing from front to back. It appeared to me that this was not the first time this particular animal had worked this trick. He had been here before and did not like it.Determined to rid myself of this wild beast, I grabbed his collar with my right index finger and dragged him into the parking lot where the dog began spinning around and broke my finger in three places. God. did it hurt.

On my way up to Pikes Peak, I spotted a "doc- in-a- box" establishment and pulled in. I could hardly drive, my finger hurt so much.The Doc fixed me up and told me to see my regular doctor back home then turned me loose to resume my trip up the mountain.

When I got to the restaurant I learned I was too late to give my talk and since was in cardiac rehab back home, I was wearing a purple work-out suit (I had intended to use the work out room before the speech.) The attendees listened to my tale of woe and I left to retreat down the mountain.

Now, here's the part that causes me never to forget your joke, or everyhing else that happened that day: as I drove down Pike's Peak, a mountain over 10,000 feet in elevation -- where I had planned to exerciise that day -- I passed a sign that said 5,800 ft. Suddenly I recalled my heart specialist telling me that my five bypasses were likely to fail if I ever Iexcercised at more than 5,000 feet!

Since the Dairy Queen girl had introduced me the dog which may have saved my life, I went back there to tell her how the day went and get her name. I diid both. And when she told me her name I was sure I had a of morestory for a religious magaziine. Her name is Angel."

My Myspace blog in its entirety, ridiculous it is

Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Yall can just go F_CK Yourselves Current mood: pissed off
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes
Thass right I said It Bitches as of 2 am this morning every motherfuckin one a y'all is on my permanent shitlist
I'm going back to the trenches 9th and O st NW DC
Belmont and 15th NW DC
11th and I SE DC
Georgia Avenue DC
7th Ave Lower East Side Manhattan
Turk and Taylor Tenderloin
I like fat 20 dollar bags of china white cut with quinine and the occasional dime of shake caine to throw in the cooker
Blue Top Works please
32 oz Heine in my left hand
Oz of weed and a 3 foot graphix in my right hand
3 cell phones in my jacket
Triple Beamin Money Schemin
They call me Mother Fuckin Johnny Lightskin
AKA Go Go Chilly Love
32 Automatic in my sock
Try to take my shit you will get dropped
I'm not playin
I'm not playin
Dont push me cause I'm already over the edge
Motherfuckers, every last goddamn one of ya
Currently listening : We Cant Be Stopped By Geto Boys Release date: 25 April, 1995
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Monday, April 30, 2007
Updates to my fabulous life Current mood: ecstatic
1. Passed the Hep C test technically cured, hard to believe but true.
2. Divorce papers filed stll living together mostly amicable, ex wife to be has a boyfriend (4 months), I'm absolutely ecstatic, helped me to move on instantaneously, not jealous at all, blood would have spilled otherwise.
3 Bought a Harley Sportster 883r 2006 brand new on 4/26 has 350 miles on it already, lovin' it.
4. Back on the dating scene after 14 year hiatus, y'all should lock up your womenfolk.

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Thursday, March 22, 2007
where the hell have I been? Part 1
I'm going to try and recap the last 20 years or so of my life so I can pass this on to all the friends I've recently connected with. This will be the short version, too much has happened to really get into precise details.
I think I'll start from the present and go backwards.
March 22 2007
I live in a house that I own with my current wife (Syntha) in Vallejo, CA that we bought 2 years ago. We are filing for divorce but so far it's an amicable split and we both feel better having made this decision.We have been married for 7 years. She is a Marriage Family Therapist with a masters in Expressive Arts Therapy. I work for University of California San Francisco Dept of Psychiatry, Division of Substance Abuse and Addiction Medicine as counselor with the title of Social Work Associate. I mainly work in the area of Opiate Replacement Therapy at San Francisco General Hospital and various city clinics. I've been in this field of social services/ mental health/ drug counseling for over 11 years. Clean for almost 13 years. I also have a small business selling data networking and telecom supplies online on ebay and in my web stores ( and that I hope to turn into a full time job. We have 2 dogs Skipper and Ginger that are our surrogate children. :)
Prior to Vallejo I lived in SF for about 14years, mainly in the mission or noe valley or south park. I raced road bikes (bicycles) for about 5 years (masters cat3) but stopped when I moved to Vallejo. I recently completed 11 months of chemotherapy for the Hepatitis C virus which I've had for at least 15 years. I find out this week whether the treatment was successful it was one of the hardest times of my life recently but no matter what the outcome it was worth it in terms of learning how strong I can be if I have to.
More to follow
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Wednesday, February 27, 2008


could this be dynamite the cooling water for my mind
i've got reason to believe that the warmth of my blood is cooling 1 degree a year and will prove to be my undoing
They entered the room a group of men with bulging muscles anger in their eyes the abilty to hurt maim and kill in their souls

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Yes Doctor!

Lea told me that in the end she could no longer hit herself and had to pay "The Hit Doctor" down on 14th and R St. NW to inject her with the ten or more speedballs she did a day while hooking on the streets of DC. "The Hit Doctor" was missing a leg herself and eventually an arm, but people still payed her 5 dollars a hit or in drugs for her unerring accuracy in finding a vein in even the most abused of bodies. Her patients were forever grateful and shouts of "Yes Doctor!" could be heard on the street outside. You had to watch the doctor though as she was known to squirt a little of your dose mixed with blood into a bottle on the shelf for her to accumulate a stash to inject later when all the customers were gone. Perhaps this is why she lost her limbs at the early age of 47. People who injected into exposed wounds were not uncommon, some said that using a cut of quinine which was particular to the heroin scenes of DC and Baltimore contributed to a premature burning of the flesh. The truth will set you free, sayeth the bingy, amen.

Are YOU Hip To This?

Addiction isn't a weakness; it's an illness. Now vaccines and other new drugs may change the way we treat it.


I keep thinking you are thinking about me but it cannot be true. I remember the day your husband found my motorcycle parked out front of your childhood home. You told me it was over but you never told him and now it's too late. You will lose everything and your children will hate you. I know it's not my fault but I should have loved you from afar. I was in prison for 4 years two weeks after we met and thought of you every waking second of every day and dreamed of you all night. I was amazed when you found me in my uncles hotel bar and took me home where we fucked and cried all night. Your husband caught us and he beat you as I watched. I wanted to kill him but I won't go back to prison even for the love of my life. I should have loved you from afar, now I know for sure. Adios amiga.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Stop censoring myself now!

That is my message to me today. I started a new blog hoping to increase my writing skills and in a peak of hypo mania sent links to my blog to mi familia and friends. Friends were OK, familia , not so much. That's mainly my problem because I am cutting short my blog entries because I'm already anticipating them reading it and so I am not posting what is on my brilliant mind. Wrong, wrong wrong. I believe if you are honest and let the chips fall where they may without being cruel or manipulative than you cannot go wrong. This self honesty crap is harder than I thought, Goddamnit.
In other news: The judicious use of commas is an art form and I am in agreement with a certain former so and so that correct spelling is sexy, damn sexy.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Report: Security relaxed at Obama speech

Report: Security relaxed at Obama speech
Yes I drank the Kool Aid and spammed my friends, and Yes I am beginning to fear for Mr. Obamas life, the Secret Service needs a swift kick in the balls. My friend Mollena posted this on her blog first.

philz coffee 24th and folsom sfca

the caffeine addicts friend

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Mission Baby Sportster

Mission baby sportster
Originally uploaded by johnny94110
my baby called and said I need you here
too bad it's raining, dream on dreamer
upgrade to 1200 coming soon

suicidal ideation as a form of stress release and fun

In California we have the 5150, which is the legal code number for the states ability to hold on to you and observe you for 72 hours if you PLAN to hurt yourself or someone else AND have the means to do so. If you just have vaguely suicidal thoughts you're fine, no one can lock you up or pull you away from the rail at the Golden Gate Bridge, as long as you don't verbalize a plan. (I guess if you were at the bridge you would have means at your disposal but I digress and I love to digress)
I bring this up because my family read the first post of this blog and called me to see if I was OK. They did the right thing and I appreciate their love and concern immensely but the fact is as someone who has assessed hundreds of people for possible 5150 referral to an emergency psych unit aka PES, my statements would not have warranted the blinking of an eye, so everybody can just chill, ok?
Here is my personal take on suicide: I have had thoughts of suicide probably close to a million plus times in my lifetime, but I am sure that the chance of me actually, overtly, intentionally, hurting myself are close to nil nada zilch zero. My personal belief is that I'd rather be in excruciating unending pain (which I have been in many times for long periods of time) than to cease being a sentient being here in this social construct we call reality. That includes emotional pain, physical pain, spiritual pain; you name it I'm not going out like that over it. I'm ok with watching the apocalypse and smiling as the mushroom clouds rise (hopefully) in the distance. Even if it is my own apocalypse I'm curious to see what happens next. I have the ability to examine and question the multitude of strange and terrible thoughts that float through my head rather than act on them (I'd have been dead a long time ago otherwise). I am grateful to be a witness to my own process, there are many who do not have that luxury, most of them Republicans.
The people who successfully commit suicide rarely talk about their plans to anyone. The good docs down at SF General PES have used their powers of intuition many times to hold on to people who swore they did not want to kill themselves. They did protest too much. Unfortunately they can't always guess right because a determined suicidalist will find a way. I remember stories of patients being discharged with a cab voucher to take them home and telling the unsuspecting driver to take them back to the bridge to complete their task of hurling themselves into the icy waters below. I have several bridge stories to tell but they will be individual posts of their own.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

when the drugs aka junk foods stop working

It's a sad day when
Little Debbie Zebra Cakes
lose their magic ability to comfort a troubled soul. Stuffing them down with a double espresso was my drug of choice and typical breakfast for many a moon. As long as I was riding a bicycle 200 plus miles a week my sugar jones only affected my mood and the hydrogenated oils clogged my arteries, but I didn't care. I was used to the slash and burn mood swings of a junk food junkie. I saw it as a right and privilege to indulge this way I mean I'm not hurting anybody right? Unfortunately like any good addict I found ways to cause collateral damage with foodstuffs. I was as petulant as a 3 yr old if I didn’t get my sugar fix. Planning ahead to make sure there was Rainbow Flavored Nerds and Chubby Hubby ice cream at the house, enough to get me through another night of my living hell of a marriage. Maybe if I had taken that stuff away I wouldn't have put up with so much abuse and BS. Then again maybe not, all I know now is that comfort foods are not working and I lost close to 40 lbs this past summer. When I try to fantasize about a big steak dinner at Black Angus I just get sick to my stomach. That is sad but then again heroin stopped working too, what are ya gonna do. Many of my post illegal drug use addictions have fallen by the wayside, food, porn, gambling, Counter Strike, Unreal Tournament, cigarettes (a long time ago), cigars etc. Oh I still eat, sometimes its junkish, sometimes I check out "pron" (and with the open minded females I date watching it with them really takes away the furtive taboo shame I once reveled in), sometimes I buy a 1 dollar scratcher ticket, (but never a Super Lotto I don’t want to win a million dollars, believe it or not), but I never play video games anymore. None of it allows me to wallow in escapism, something has changed and I am more comfortable than ever in my own skin so I don’t need "comfort" foods as much as I once did. Goodbye Little Debbie our May-December romance was never meant to be.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

13 years clean

almost to the next one, but still crazy as a shithouse rat, just not a shithouse rat on drugs, which is an improvement, trust me.

Please do not read my blog

I am feeling the need to expose myself so watch out. I will not however, vomit emotional spew just for the sake of showing off my technicolor yawn of a psyche, but I will try to censor myself as little as possible. My LIFE, in the past three years I have bought a house, done a year of chemo thereby kicking the Hepatitis C Virus, and seperated from my Ex Wife To Be (I'll save the bitter rant for another post, thank your lucky stars). We have been seperated for over a year and are in mediation to figure out the financial details. I suffer from clinical depression and ADHD (see my blog on that which I have not updated since november, ugh) Both of these maladies are a source of pride not shame, by the way. Recently, like this week my migraines returned in force, hoo fucking ray. I believe that the average man would have been crushed by what I've gone through but I am not average, not necessarily superior but not average by a long shot. I am a struggler who has to fight for everything even the small things that I think others get to take for granted. Writing is helping, writing will not pay my bills I am not in competition with Norman Mailer, but I have stories to tell that are clogging up my mental hard drive.

Monday, February 18, 2008

22 years ago skinny weird and smoking

Originally uploaded by johnny94110
If I recall which is not easy I was high on LSD and had been wandering South East Washington DC drinking with random folks I met on the street like Funky Frank who wore jewlery made of pop tops and car parts, used zip lock bags for hats and played a mean busted in half guitar.

Listen up you beautiful bitches you

2/18/08 Today’s Sermon
Very often lately the act of shooting myself in the head seems plausible, probable and desirable, oh fucking well. That’s why I don’t own a gun, nuff said. That Elliot guy has flow I'll give him that but I think I have flow too. Ralph Tiger Jones, another patient I stopped going to see because there was nothing I could do for him nothing until I found his picture on a website devoted to old fighters that had disappeared 99% percent of them drunks like that guy Don from New Orleans, who wears a helmet to hold his brains in now. Punch drunk to begin with once they became alcohol dependent and began occasionally running out of booze and or passing out for too long they went into withdrawal and were highly seizure prone. But I will say this they are generally more colorful in character and demeanor than your average mush mouth alkie and more fun to talk to if you have to unless and until they get mean and piss off the nurses who will then be pissed at you for chatting up this guy who’s about to blow diarrhea out his ass like he’s playing the trombone ( “Saints Come Marching In” anyone?) if you don’t get him out the door and into detox yesterday… I hung old boxing promo pictures of Ralph Tiger Jones by his bed and instantaneously the nursing staff and doctors treating him gave him oodles of respect that is until he died. Definitely it was ten times better than wasting time telling him to go to AA mtgs which he would never do. There was nothing I could do for him counseling wise he was too far gone and those are the breaks if you fuck up your brain bad enough (aka constitutionally incapable as the AA’ers love to say) you wont get sober or clean unless you're institutionalized and even then if you have even a milligram of cunning you can drag your ass showing in a hospital gown self down to the liquor stores that are always a block from any city hospital or SNF like Laguna Honda and get a pint or a high gravity lager or whatever, or have your cousin bring you some crack that you smoke in your room with impunity even though each hit means a session with the nebulizer while your lungs crackle like bacon in a frying pan.
I remember the first seizure factory, alcohol inhaler from the ER that I couldn’t help Glenn something or other. His wife and child had been killed in a car accident, there was no consoling this man, telling him things were going to get better, they weren’t, if he had another child maybe I would have had an in, something to shame him into living for. He hit his head on the concrete one time too many times during a withdrawal seizure and died from the legendary subdural hematoma. Getting clean for your kids is perfectly alright by me, fuck the conventional nebulous wisdom of the "therapeutic community" type of drug treatment that is dying out in SF at least thank god. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t give a rats ass about yourself if you have kids you have a purpose and that purpose is to raise them up right the best that you can whether you're dying to get high every second of every minute of every day, too fucking bad, you fuck up an innocent child after you have been given a chance, a real chance to get clean and stay clean then hell is way too good for you. This is not to say if you're schizophrenic or psychotic for some reason including past drug use that you may very well be incapable of properly raising a child but I have seen people who swore that Jesus Christ was sneaking in to fuck their ear hole with his green glass penis at night who took their meds and sent their phenomenally normal children to college. Sayeth the bingy, amen.