Time, Clock of the Heart (Lifestyle remix)

Sex Rehab. It’s a TV show, it’s a religion.

Terror is recognizing you in those people. And I know terror.

Even their simple, made for TV techniques, however, have made a difference.

This week it was Amber Smith that showed me something about myself.

She was having a session with Dr. Drew and her mother about her now-dead alcoholic father. Somewhere in there, she starts wailing about the years she lost in a bedroom on a drugged-out haze. The time, she pleaded. Where did the time go?

Early this morning, when I first began struggling towards consciousness, I had a very vivid realization. All of THIS—the drugs, the porn, the debauchery—it’s all a reaction to a gaping hole of lost time in my life that has yet to be filled.

I’m not going to get into right now, but there was a long, drawn out stretch during my high school years where I became very acquainted with madness, and eventually the cold specter of death.

In many ways, I was a most unwilling warden of a makeshift prison hospital. I was a teenager. I was dealing with one of the hardest things humans have to go through, and I was completely unprepared for it.

As a result, there is the aforementioned hole of missing time in my life. Compounded with the fact that I was raised by good, hardworking people not exactly versed in the art of parenting, the results have been profound, to say the least.

For one it explains my last two relationships in alarming clarity.

It makes me realize that to be happy in life and in love, I have to finally make some hard admissions to myself. Then I have to deal with them.

Decisions that I only wish the people that came before me had been allowed to make. That they even knew that such options existed.

This one’s for both of you.

2. "Do another line and unzip my pants."

Snort the pain away

It's just weird, especially given the way that we ended. It was all so open-ended and "not the end of us, not by far." I should have smelled that for the bullshit it was. But my dumb ass totally took the words at face value. Stupidstupidstupid.

It's all right there. Pictures, funny little inside jokes (shared for all the world to see, of course), happy fun time and yay aren't we all so very happy?

Um, no.

There simply isn't enough cocaine. After tonight, I will have blown through an 8-ball in less than 72 hours. All by myself.

More, more, more. I'm actually tempted to say fuck it and grab two grams tonight instead of just one. Why the fuck not? I don't have anything to do tomorrow. I don't have a fucking job.

Ah, slow your roll, player. Dr. Feelgood isn't going anywhere. Besides, at some point you're gonna wanna call your OTHER Dr. Feelgood (the one that brings the kind buds to your door).

Yay, drugs?

"Cute and cuddly pothead nympho playmate"

This is MY Xmas wish. Please, Santa? Pretty please with sugar and hot fudge and cherries on top?

I just did a line of cocaine for the first time in what feels like forever

The first one didn't seem to faze me. I waited a few minutes and did another one. That was about five minutes ago. Right now I feel very warm and tingly and my heart is beating really fast. I can feel blood rushing towards my groin.

I wanna be down in the LBK

Because in Lubbock, Texas, there are girls like Rachdro and Cam711. Girls so magical that they score weed in the shape of tiny hearts. That's why I wanna be down in the LBK.

Vacation, pt. 1

Usually I can spot a set-up from a mile away. It was the person doing the setting up that completely threw me. It’s just so not of his nature at ALL. It’s like finding out that Lemmy holds tiny kittens and quietly weeps when no one is around.

So there I was, standing at the bar with him and this kind of hot, kind of hot little woman. Introduced as a “fetish model.” OK, tell me more.

We’re chatting, and this girl is just making 80-yard-Drew-Brees-into-the end-zone passes at me. I’m eagerly catching them, mind you. She’s tiny, but her fire was tremendous. She starts showing me pictures of her fetish model work. It’s the ones of doing ‘suspension,’ or hanging from hooks in the flesh in her back, that I found the most intriguing.

Soon enough, the setter-upper is nowhere to be found. I’m at the bar openly flirting with this woman. At some point we just started making out at the bar. She put her hand on my dick. The bartender gave me a thumbs up. This, ladies and gentlemen, was officially a vacation.

So Happy I Could Die*

I love that lavender blonde
The way she moves, the way she walks
I touch myself, can't get enough
And in the silence of the night
Through all the tears and all the lies,
I touch myself and it's all right

Just give in
Don't give up baby
Open up your heart and your mind to me
Just know when
That glass is empty, that the world is gonna bend

Yeahhh

Happy in the club with a bottle of red wine
Stars in our eyes 'cause we're having a good time
Eh eh, so happy I could die
Be your best friend yeah I love you forever,
Up in the clouds we're both higher than ever
Eh eh, so happy I could die
And it's all right

I am as vain as I allow
I do my hair, I gloss my eyes
I touch myself all through the night
And when something falls out of place
I take my time, I put it back
I touch myself 'till I'm on track

Just give in
Don't give up baby
Open up your heart and your mind to me
Just know when
That glass is empty, that the world is gonna bend