whiskeyfightpit

My "Nick Cave Occupying Two Spaces Of Corporate Airtime At The Same Time" prophecy has come true. Naturally, riches have not come my silly way. New, and interesting health problems are a-brewin'. Friday was a fucking dull and dreary day at the pawn shop. The weather was cold and rainy and the customers were exceptionally smelly. Like old fast food work clothes and ripe ass smelly. East Toledo's Finest. In their natural habitat. Bring on Marty Stouffer and a tripod with a big bag o' Glade Plug-Ins....come armageddon, come. The whole bit, my dear. But it wasn't "I'm Going To Hang Myself In A Vacant Garage" bad. In fact, I got out a little early for working over weeks prior. So I rested for a time alternating between reading a WIRE UK mag and fighting my boxer puppy with a can of Black Flag and a roman trident. Like Spartacus sharp. Call PETA if you want. The heathen mutt can take a million tridents swung by a million enslaved Moors and still come back for dessert. I had even made plans to go out and entertain some peasants with my eccentricities. But suddenly around nine thirty PM, I was just struck with this incredible sadness. Granted, people get sad or lonely often but I imagine that it doesn't just HIT like a ton of bricks all at once. It just seems unnatural to be in a level mood and then just bawling at your kitchen table. I don't believe I have a bipolar disorder. That would require moments of unnatural or unwarranted joy, right? My mood is typically the same all around with no extremes in any direction. But I was just hunched over my kitchen table and bawling like Old Yeller was just shot and Sasquatch raped my first born son with a swordfish and put on a Mandy Patinkin cd. Then the crying became mixed with heavy breathing and uncontrollable twitching and shaking. At some point, I ended up on the floor, unable to get up while the crying became a kind of screaming and the shaking and twitching continued. I don't remember much after that. All I know is I somehow called my mom and my brother in this time. My brother came over and put me in a chair and I remember it being around 10:30. I remember him talking to me and asking me questions and that I had a hard time organizing sentences and stuttering alot. I had no pains in stomach or chest, so perhaps it wasn't a virus or heart attach. Lord knows my ticker wants some payback for all of the sports bar food I've stuffed into the poor bastard. It sounds like the ole WhiskeyFightPit might be headed to the looney bin. This just pisses me off....right off. I don't want to be the crazy guy that mumbles shit to himself on the way to the vegetable stand. I mean, If I had wrote Arnold Layne or See Emily Play...I would be comfortable with the schizo neighboor role. But that's not the case, is it? Do any of you folks have any idea what this may be? I don't have any history of mental illness, schizophrenia, or retardation in my family. We all mainly die or get sick from working too much and eating poorly. I was diagnosed with clinical depression back in July, but I stopped taking the medication after two weeks. The Wellbutrin was giving me a kind of "narcotic" high so I gradually took myself off it. I just didn't trust the guy. It was partly to do with my reading of the "Meds Spiffs" that doctors get for writing scrips of certain pills. I just found it odd that he had diagnosed my problem and found MY proper meds after only being in the office a half hour. No two people are alike, right? I dunno. Maybe you guys have some insight to this shit. I could sure use some advice...call me crazy!

SOUNDTRACK OF THE DAY
Sandie Shaw "Girl Don't Come"
Rev. Charlie Jackson "Fix It Jesus"
Michael Viner "Apache"
David Bowie "Queen Bitch"
Throbbing Gristle "Subhuman"
Tom Waits "Jesus Gonna Be Here"
Tom Waits "Innocent When You Dream"
Birthday Party "Mutiny In Heaven"
Love "Always See Your Face"
Dusty Springfield "Windmills Of Your Mind"
Sparks "Equator"
Morrissey "November Spawned A Monster"

November spawned THIS monster, so there!