Darby Crash, You’re My Hero

Posted in Rants on January 14, 2016 by dissectingthefetalpig

Let’s get it very clear. I have a drug problem. I would like to lie about that, honestly. I may not totally admit it. But I’ve definitely got one and pretty much always had one.  But I’ll always admit that life is better when you’re fucked up. It’s not to say I do drugs all the time. It ain’t that bad. But I’m always down to do them and when I’m not on them I certainly miss them.

Though I’ve steered from some of the more serious shit like Crack or Heroin, I can’t say I haven’t always avoided the hard stuff. I guess I started the whole thing ass backwards. I was doing shrooms and acid before I was sipping whiskey and, sadly, I most definitely was doing lines of coke before I discovered the wonders of marijuana.

Go big or go the fuck home.

I didn’t mind pills, but they were never my thing. I’ll admit they are fun, but I consider them a good consolation prize to an injury. Or, the perks of living fast. No percocette jokes there folks. That shit will kill me. I got an allergy to codeine.

I even enjoyed making bad narcotic decisions. Though those were also special occasions and usually controlled experiments. I mean who doesn’t want to drink a forty of Old Gold with your buddies in a parking lot one high school afternoon after donating blood to later eat a tab of ecstasy and a 10 strip of LSD? Or smoke a bowl of weed while tripping on shrooms, get a couple of beers in, nurse a 20 bag of coke, enjoy a snack spread and do fun stuff like play video games or movies  for the first few hours to only later to get weird and queue up some self depreciating level of porn and masturbate while huffing poppers till you pass out in your bed cock in hand on your first day off in weeks. Both, coincidentally, were weeknights. Decades went between.

Like I said, it ain’t that bad.

It ain’t that often either. Except booze. That was a constant, sadly. If there is truth to anything I write, ever, it’s that alcohol is the biggest gateway drug known to man. Coke was another bad habit that I picked up and it would come and go in phases. Late teens and again from my mid to late 30’s. While it is a fun drug, and many of my adventures involved it, it’s most definitely an asshole drug. If you doubt me, think of the type of people you’ve met while doing it or perusing for a minute and get back to me. Or even take a second to think of the shit you’ve said, thought or done while on it.

Shame on you too, motherfucker.

Pot was discovered later in life. I always hated that my friends scrambled around looking for it when we were supposed to be doing other shit. Regrettably, I wish I had started smoking the stuff earlier. I probably wouldn’t have done half the shit I’ve done if I had been toking earlier in life. I like it a lot and it has a medicinal value that applies well to me. It was what I had been looking for all along. It’s probably my last vice.

I never was one to go too balls deep, though I didn’t fuck around either. I never borrowed money to do it or compromised my bills. Though I can’t say the same for my savings. That doesn’t mean I would say no if you were treating either. I always maintained an ethic of trying to be as generous as my friends with anything I ever had. Unless my extinction agenda was set to high. Then it was best to let me play my hand through and let me cash out when I damn well please. I kept a budget. Or I’d sell some of the fat off my record collection to sustain it. I mean, what good is a record collection is it ain’t gonna get you money, pussy or drugs anyways?

Hubba Bubba

Posted in Uncategorized on September 17, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

There is a game involving used bubblegum that exists. Perhaps there is one sole player in human existence who plays this odd game with these particular and peculiar rules. 
It is played on the platform of any train station that has a wall behind the third rail. One must first chew a piece of gum until it is bland and no longer sticky, yet has some bounce to it. 
The object is to throw the gum at the wall at an angle hard enough to hit the wall, bounce under the rail and back into your mouth. So far, this has become an impossible feat. However, there is also a point spread.

 
Points are measured in Skrillions which are basically shrimp bullion cubes. They are also a tasty snack worth it’s weight in gold to amphibious mercenaries from Epsilon Arcana located in the far west part of The Kindred Solar System. All Skrillions accumulated from game play are locked in a secret vault until you’ve finally and successfully performed the full goal of bouncing the gum from the wall, to the floor under the third rail an back into your mouth. Upon which the gum will transform into a pegacorn (not quite a unicorn and not all Pegasus) which will fly out your ass and guide you to the vault and unlock it with it’s magical horn and multiple tails. 

Scoring points is easy enough. I your gum sticks to the wall and goes no further, 10 Skrillion. If it makes it under the rail, 20 Skrillion. Completely around the rail is an automatic 1,000 Skrillion. I you win on your very first try you receive an unlimited supply of Skrillion and two fleets of the intergalactic space pirates of your choosing. If the gum is too sticky and remains stuck to you there is given the option to put the gum back into your mouth and chewed to a better suited game piece at the cost of 100 Skrillion or to forfeit the game altogether. 

I’ve been playing this game since I was a child and I swear to god that by the time I win I will be able to hire enough mercenaries to give the entire population of the world one big simultaneous wedgie. 

Papelón

Posted in Deep Thoughts, True Stories with tags , , on July 30, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

309997_3784422283647_1146279901_nHe was an enigma among enigmas.  No one was sure about where he had come from or how he came to be. Rumors circled about him.  He was an American.  Or at least I presumed, as he never spoke Spanish and his English bore no accent.  Some had said he was a successful business man who snapped and evolved into this homeless mentally ill man who I had come to watch and study.  Others had mentioned that his family had moved there and that upon their deaths he was left alone to wander.  I’ve even been told that his name may have been Arturo and that at one point his mental illness hadn’t been so bad.  Whatever the truth may be, I’ll never be certain.  What I am certain of is that his mental faculties had been frayed beyond repair.  He showed signs of schizophrenia and perhaps had multiple personalities.  It wasn’t uncommon to see him have a conversation with himself, sometimes shuffling from one side of where he was perched to another as if he was doing a one man play.  Nor was it completely unusual to see him bang on walls with all of his might and scream his lungs off in the middle of the night.

Papelón was interesting in his own right.  He would take pieces of metal or rocks that he found and rub them on the street till they were shiny and looked like some sort of raw metal nugget.  He’d trade his currency for cigarettes and other goods.  So it is not to say he didn’t have a little pride. It also wasn’t unusual to catch him masturbating in the street or drinking rusty waters from the gutters during a heavy rainfall.  He also had a thing for drinking hot sauce. I at first had only heard about his peculiar taste and thought it to be absolute bullshit.  That is until the day I actually had to stand next to him on-line at the grocery store as he purchased a small bottle with some spare change he had scraped up and proceeded to open and drink it as he sauntered out of SuperMax.  The dealers in La Perla would even give him some free weed time and again too.  As much as he was harsh on the senses, he was in fact part of the neighborhood.

Almost every morning I’d see him in front of Senzala, where I worked.  He had a thing for sleeping in front of the shop.  I would shoo him away to the next stoop with very little hassle.  Rarely did he cause any problems.  And, if he did, it was usually during like what seemed to be a bad mood swing.  Occasionally he’d leave a bodily function as a present.  After a while he’d see me coming from the end of the block and move.  It was fairly civil for what it was.

There was one incident that always haunted me with him.  I was stumbling home drunk and coked out of my mind, which was my own horrible way of self-medicating my own mental illness at the time, and he was sitting under the doorway of an old abandoned building towards the end of Calle San Sebastian where he would also sleep occasionally, grinning and laughing to himself.  As I got closer, his laughing was louder and he looked dead at me and said “You’re gonna be like me” or something to that effect in his usual multi-pitched and comical sounding snarl.  It chilled me for some reason and still leaves me feeling rather perplexed.  What did he mean?  Was he studying me too?  Perhaps.  He was, after all, a man with nothing but time on his hands.

When I left back for The States, I would think about him and the other motley characters I’d see on the island and wonder how they were holding up.  Recently on a visit back to PR I ventured throughout the old city and saw no trail of him.  The Cat Lady that wore too much make-up was still around as were The Junkie Sisters (one of whom I thought had died long ago). The Little Brown Submarine, The Cougar, The bum I had mentally named Clancy and even The Iguana Man were still easily to spot, but Papelón was nowhere to be seen.  I had felt cheated.  Sadly, as I was collecting my girlfriend’s suitcase back in JFK, I got the news.  He had died.  Part of me was saddened to never see him again.  He was pretty humorous in the sense that he was homeless and lived his life like a very twisted permanent vacation.  I’ll never see him wearing clothes left by tourists or his paper hats anymore, nor will I ever get to learn his mystery and that, in its own right, is a tragedy.

Sleep well, Papelón, may your new shelter be more cozy and luxurious than your former.

Coming Attractions!!!

Posted in Rave on July 6, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

With the internet age upon us and DIY aesthetics firmly in place, Dissecting The Fetal Pig is planning to move forward and put out a collected various works of released and previously unreleased material in Ebook form.  This should, hopefully, be out soon for everyone to purchase on Amazon.

 

Stay Tuned!!!

The Reluctant Nose Goblin That Refused To Leave Home

Posted in Rants with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig
010-A Conversation with the Nose GoblinsOnce there was a young nose goblin who feared the outdoors. When pressured to leave he would say “What for? It’s comfy here. Why shall I go forth? It’s dreary and gloomy. The people hate us so!  They bind us in tissue and toss us in trash. They flush us in toilets and wipe us on sleeves. They fling us on strangers and claim that we carry disease. There’s nothing out there for me, I’ll stay, if you please.”
Great gusts of winds and large fleshy probes would could not pry this goblin from his big comfy nose. No matter the struggle, he never gave in. No matter the cost, the goblin would win. He was rooted deep in the depths within. In the thicket of nose hairs far from where any finger could reach.
“I’ll leave when I’m ready! I’ll leave when I please! I leave when I feel like it, no matter your pleas. This is my home born and raised and I’ll remain here till my last dying day. My time is short lived, regardless the course, so deal with the discomfort. My life span is sparse. I’ll vacate the premise when I’m dull and I’ve withered. I’ll go out with a bang, not like a slug and slither.” And with the outside he never did mingle. Till he gave up the fight and dropped down like a tired old shingle.

A Father’s Lullaby To His Unborn Child

Posted in Deep Thoughts, True Stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 11, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig
So sleep, little one, sleep. Let your eyes grow heavy as I tell you a tale of woe and redemption. Let me recant to you the tale of my life. Of my often turbulent and troubled youth and how it became a daily pattern of disturbing and often repugnant behavior. My life had become a dark series of twists and turns with the occasional tale of glory. All of these things had an integral part making me who I am today. Listen as I fondly recant how I had met your mother and how her love started to put me on a better path. Let my voice be calm and soft, though it may often quiver, as I tell you the tale of the night that I bolted upright and in a fit of panic as realty came to conquer. Allow me to retrace for you, my child, the exact pivoting moment where I decided to best possible human being that I could be as I realized what terrible and awful human being I had been. I had been a poor excuse at best. Maligned and with a less than pleasant disposition. It was the night I sat up with a fright and and had awoken your mother, who was then not bearing you. I just had a complete flashback of my life and saw myself for who was and what I really had been throughout the years. It was an exquisite pain at first; to see the full picture from an outside view. I suffered a tremendous anxiety attack as I realized that I deserve nothing less than the pains of hell and what a terrible sinner I had been all throughout my life. How I had been exactly like my father and his father before him.  And, how then, at that exact moment, triumphantly decided, that no matter the outcome, I, your father, would break that vicious cycle and would ensure that by the time you came along that you would never know such hardships, such pain or the endless hunger no matter how tough the times may be. That I would be the best role model a father could be.
May my words fill your little heart with courage and confidence. Pray that you drift off into sleep always knowing your fathers love, so that he, too, may sleep soundly in his final years to come.

Good Night, Sweet Prince – Part 2

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Music, True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 9, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

GNSP15 I found this sweet prince on the same corner as the last prince.  It’s the corner of Calle Tanca and Fortaleza.  Not only is there a dive bar across the street, but next to the dive bar is a pizza spot that also happens to carry fancy beers.  I can’t say the pizza was the greatest, but it was nice to be able to grab a fine crafted beer from time to time as opposed to the usual; Medalla Light.  On this particular evening, I had met up with some drinking buddies before we decided to go on a tear.  I couldn’t tell you what day it was.  It seemed like everyday was Friday while I lived there.  There was no need or special reason to go out and get ratty, it’s just what you did.  I guess that’s the local way of dealing with island fever.  I did say that those people know how to party, didn’t I? I had recognized this guy from around.  He’s always trying to hustle up some scratch to get loaded.  There’s a lot of that on the island.  It gets a little depressing at times.  I felt bad for this guy and left him a bottle of something a little fancier than his usual fare. I figured it was a nice thing to do to.  We all need a little kindness from time to time.

GNSP16There is a casino in Viejo San Juan that I frequented more often than I’d care to admit.  I always felt like it was a goddamned trap as I always had to walk by it and almost always felt drawn to give it a go.  This sleeping beauty was passed out by the post office which is right across the street from the El San Juan Hotel and Casino.  I was on my way to post office to pick up a money order so that I could pay my rent.  A chore that I dreaded because my landlord was kind of an asshole and this meant I was going to have to deal with her momentarily.  I had been late with the rent the month prior.  Two weeks late to be exact.  I was pretty ashamed about the whole ordeal to begin with and how I got in that jam is a complete comedy of errors to be told at another time.  The woman who was my landlord had already had a preconceived notion about me based on appearances.  Now, she wasn’t totally off the mark in her assumptions.  I was a fuck up and I was also in a dark place at that time.  I couldn’t deny that.  But I also didn’t think it was cool of her to hand me a pamphlet on heroin addiction when I went to pay all that I owed, late fees included.  That really got under my skin and just the idea of dealing with her was stressing me the fuck out. I snapped a photo of this tired gentleman, grabbed my money order and decided that I would kill some time before I went back to my place and paid the piper.  It was a lovely day that day.  It was very bright and sunny out, it wasn’t too hot, all things considered, and the view of the harbor that laid just ahead was astounding.  The HMS Bounty was docked and in plain sight amongst the massive cruise ships and I always loved the way that ship looked.  A couple of months later the boat had a massive spill at sea off the coast of North Carolina due to Hurricane Sandy and I would never see it docked there again.  I had enough of the sun and dipped into the aforementioned casino to try my luck.  When a cruise ships come into town it meant a couple of things were certain; all the American fast food spots, like Burger King, were going to get mobbed by those that didn’t immediately decide to set up camp at Senior Frog’s across the street from the docks, the casino was going to get packed and the slots were going to get primed. This usually meant a good run with a one-armed bandit for me.  Which it was.  I walked out of that casino with about 600 bucks.  I hit jackpot on the same penny slot twice in a row and damn near shit myself.  Instead of pushing my luck further I decided to treat myself to a Cuban Sandwich and coffee at a lovely spot called Siglo XX and from there I would face my dreaded hag of a landlord with vigor.  My landlady had a very young and somewhat pretty daughter,who liked to dress very promiscuous despite her age, and also happened to work in the office  This gave me an idea.  Feeling cocky and triumphant about my day I marched into the office and proceeded to pay my rent on time.  With my rent was a pamphlet warning against teen pregnancy which I handed to the duo with a shit eating grin.  I claimed my receipt, winked at the daughter to piss off the mom on the way out and figured it was a good day to be alive.

GNSP14While I was living in PR I met a wonderful young woman and quickly fell in love.  We are still together and she means the world to me.  Hands down she is my favorite human being of all time.  She had convinced me to move back to the states with her so that we could continue our life together.  We would start with NYC and from there venture out into the world till we found a place we could truly settle and call home.  In the initial stages of this plan I had moved stateside first.  I had a job lined up and I figured I could rough it out on my grandfather’s couch in The South Bronx to save up for a place for the both of us for a few months until she arrived.  That particular grandfather is a hard act to follow in terms of temperament and not the easiest man to get along with.  This I say politely and respectfully.  So with that said, I would disappear a good chunk of any day that I had off and venture about the 5 Boroughs.  On this particular day I had ventured into Brooklyn to cop some weed and Xanax so that I could deal with my grandfather on the days I that I couldn’t venture out and to also see an old friend who I genuinely enjoy getting stoned and shooting the shit with.  On my way back I found this fucker sprawled out on the bench of the train platform.  As high as I was it was still very hard to fight the urge to kick this balding twat in the teeth.  Allow me to better explain.  This is the platform of the Bedford Ave. L Train.  Ground Zero for the hipster epidemic.  It used to be a an unloved and neglected part of town which I used to enjoy very much.  Now it is overpriced and fully gentrified hell hole. Here before me was an able-bodied Caucasian looking male, clean clothed and sleeping on his newly purchased Apple laptop from J&R Music World and Electronics.  I guess the over-privileged have just as much a right to sprawl out and take a nap in public as the homeless, but the reason why escapes me.  This is still NYC and I don’t care how much this city has changed or how safe it’s become; you still don’t do shit like this.  It’s like counting money in the street.  Why not wear a shirt that says “Potential Victim” or invite strangers into your home while you are not there?  Fuck this guy! Give me a nodded out junkie any day.

GNSP17Allow me to take a large step back with this guy.  This Sweet Prince is what I believe to be the very first of the heap.  I took this photo while I lived in Jersey City, NJ while taking the PATH train home at night.  I worked nights then, much like I do now, working security at a live music venue.  I hated living in NJ and I hated the PATH even more.  New Jersey mass-transit is terrible as a whole, but the PATH is its most repugnant after midnight.  It kind of has a mind of its own and your wait for a train could be much longer than you anticipated.  The train ride itself was cross between an oddities exhibit and a zoo in equal parts.  During my late night commutes from NYC to NJ was able to witness a woman stroke her pet hedgehog will sweetly saying she wished she had some flat bread to put it on so that she could eat him all up (I have a pic to prove it!), I watched two young girls pass a big gulp container back and forth to vomit in after a hard night of clubbing and I’ve also woken up to a guy masturbating violently under his book-bag while staring at an attractive woman who was sleeping on the train.  That got interesting, but I’ll tell that one another time.  I’ve also seen bums make love to each other on that train ride home and watched a tranny rip lines of blow off the seat and then point out to her other tranny friends that her boner was clearly visible through her leggings.  All this and more is what waits for you on the PATH after midnight!  But that is also not to say that it was all bad.  I mean, look at this guy.  I love this guy and I don’t even know who he is.  Obviously, he had a hell of a time.  He’s stone cold drunk with lipstick smashed into his forehead and he couldn’t give two shits.  While he’s nowhere near as bad as the homeless, it’s quite clear he’s fucked.  And, while he’s probably better off financially than I am, he’s not throwing it in my face by sleeping on his brand new macbook.  He was just a man on a mission to nowhere and I could appreciate that.

GNSP12This was the most recent of my Sweet Prince photo journey.  A dead bird.  From the looks of it this fellow had taken that first leap that either makes or breaks birds.  In this case our young fledgling failed and plummeted to its death.  But that’s life in a nutshell, or, in this case, eggshell.  You can either do or die, but you have to at least try.  Everything is a gamble and your odds start at 50/50 and either increase in your favor or decrease along the way.  I could relate to this as I had left home at a considerably young age and had to figure most of it out on my own.  I’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way.  I’ve also managed to somehow stay afloat, though often times barely.  I found this poor guy on my way to see my friend whom I have my herbal powwows with.  On my way back home, which is now in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, I stopped and stared at this bird some more and pondered on things some deeply, as most stoners do.  This could have been me.  It could still be me.  Eventually it will be me.  Life has only two promises; you will be born and you will most certainly die.  What you do in-between is entirely up to you.  The obvious choice, to me, is to make the best of it regardless of what is stacked against you.  So with that I wished this poor baby bird, long deceased, a good night.  I thanked it for its perspective and wished it a long journey in its next life.

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