MGMT - "Time To Pretend"
I'm Feelin rough I'm Feelin raw I'm in the prime of my life.
Let's make some music make some money find some models for wives.
I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.
This is our decision to live fast and die young.
We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.
Yeah it's overwhelming, but what else can we do?
Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute?
Forget about our mothers and our friends.
We were fated to pretend.
I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms.
I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world.
I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home.
Yeah I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.
But there is really nothing, nothing we can do.
Love must be forgotten. Life can always start up anew.
The models will have children, we'll get a divorce,
We'll find some more models, Everything must run its course.
We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end.
We were fated to pretend.
*****************************************************************************************
I used to think this was life. That I was living it to the fullest. Modeling, showing up to events to be the pretty girl sitting around at high end night clubs and getting paid for it. Then ripping lines of the back of a toilet in my party dress I was given to wear. Then back to my VIP table set up above all the others and pounding high end champaign. I didn't think about how bad it looked leaving the west village after an "after" party at 1pm in a fur coat and 7 inch heels hailing a cab. I thought I was living the life. Live fast, die young and leave a pretty looking corpse.
I had no clue at the time how wrong I was. Eventually I ended up being up for days, not 24 hours. Not just getting free high end coke at events but also buying my own. I was in full blown dependency mode. Within a year is when I had the epiphany that the next time I used I'd be dead. I quit it all cold turkey in my own home alone. Not the safest way, but I'd never done anything the conventional way. And to be honest, that was the hardest way. No counselors, no cushy room to detox in, no pats on the back or yoga sessions at a rehab clinic Malibu. That hell kept me from relapsing.
After a year of my head adjusting to the real world, clean and sober with new eyes I had jobs coming my way in the modeling industry higher than I'd ever hit before. But that's trivial. The most important part was that I didn't give a shit about dope or booze. The shit disgusted me, and the users did as well. My ego was out of control, I'll be honest. I still feel the same way but without the god complex.
Do I still carry a heavy disdain for junkies, users and drunks - fuck yes. I sneer involuntarily. The fact that Seattle is giving the option for no incrimination if the junkies start overdosing and call 911 irritates me. To me, let them die. I never called for mine. Other people did, but I don't remember. I'm grateful that I'm here and cleaned up, that I can do my service work. But how many of these dicks are going to that? If my future was to die - well it was my choice to ingest shit loads of fucking poison, so be it. So why should I want to reach out and feel empathy for the heroin and meth zombies crawling around the city? Granted it's situational. If it's young kids being doped out to trick out by some dealer I feel for them - those are the people I want to help and take down the assholes behind it. But do I give I give a good god damn about the people drugged up sleeping under bridges and shooting up? Tweaked out in doorways? Fuck no. You do too much and OD, to me, that's natural law. If I could dig myself out of hell by the beds of my fingernails, they could have too. So I have no sympathy or empathy. Do you think these people won't break into your house or jump you when they're out because they're dope sick and desperate? If you think not you're naive. I'd say you're a pacifist dumb fuck, but I'm trying to be nice... But hell, fuck it.
What triggered this rant? This testimony of my past way of thinking to present? The amateur hour holiday called St. Patrick's Day. When every dumb fuck takes it as a reason to get shit faced and justifies it because it's a holiday. It's about a saint, not a pint of green beer, assholes. And I'm pretty sure old Pat wasn't the patron saint of alcohol... But feel free to correct me if I'm wrong...
So how will I be spending my day? In the passenger's seat of a cop car. Learning, watching and seeing with my own eyes what kind of loser I used to be. There's a satisfaction in that. My change. My rebirth and my flip to the other side of the law. These ride alongs empower me to be my best self. To help other people, the innocents in my future career.
So this holiday, don't be a dumb fuck. Don't follow along with the sheep that run in order with what society deems a drinking holiday. Say fuck that. You'll save yourself a hangover and possibly an overnight in the drunk tank. And if you do, take a cab. Don't put other people's lives in danger, the ones who made the right choice. I've got two DUIs so I can talk shit. Go ahead - point your fingers. I used to be a dumb son of a bitch. I thank the universe every day that I never hurt or killed anyone. But if you think I don't feel remorse for being that piece of shit, you're wrong. That's why I'm going into what I am. I flipped the script. I'm working to help clean up the society I spent so many years shitting on and making a mess of.
Let 'em die or clean up, that's my stance on it. If my ass with 13 years of substance abuse could do it - anyone can. There's no excuses. And if this upsets you, grab a Kleenex and click close window on my website.
Blessed Be.
For further reading:
Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
There's No Good Campfires Left In Hell on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H7CZ590
I'm Feelin rough I'm Feelin raw I'm in the prime of my life.
Let's make some music make some money find some models for wives.
I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.
This is our decision to live fast and die young.
We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.
Yeah it's overwhelming, but what else can we do?
Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute?
Forget about our mothers and our friends.
We were fated to pretend.
I'll miss the playgrounds and the animals and digging up worms.
I'll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world.
I'll miss my sister, miss my father, miss my dog and my home.
Yeah I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.
But there is really nothing, nothing we can do.
Love must be forgotten. Life can always start up anew.
The models will have children, we'll get a divorce,
We'll find some more models, Everything must run its course.
We'll choke on our vomit and that will be the end.
We were fated to pretend.
*****************************************************************************************
I used to think this was life. That I was living it to the fullest. Modeling, showing up to events to be the pretty girl sitting around at high end night clubs and getting paid for it. Then ripping lines of the back of a toilet in my party dress I was given to wear. Then back to my VIP table set up above all the others and pounding high end champaign. I didn't think about how bad it looked leaving the west village after an "after" party at 1pm in a fur coat and 7 inch heels hailing a cab. I thought I was living the life. Live fast, die young and leave a pretty looking corpse.
I had no clue at the time how wrong I was. Eventually I ended up being up for days, not 24 hours. Not just getting free high end coke at events but also buying my own. I was in full blown dependency mode. Within a year is when I had the epiphany that the next time I used I'd be dead. I quit it all cold turkey in my own home alone. Not the safest way, but I'd never done anything the conventional way. And to be honest, that was the hardest way. No counselors, no cushy room to detox in, no pats on the back or yoga sessions at a rehab clinic Malibu. That hell kept me from relapsing.
After a year of my head adjusting to the real world, clean and sober with new eyes I had jobs coming my way in the modeling industry higher than I'd ever hit before. But that's trivial. The most important part was that I didn't give a shit about dope or booze. The shit disgusted me, and the users did as well. My ego was out of control, I'll be honest. I still feel the same way but without the god complex.
Do I still carry a heavy disdain for junkies, users and drunks - fuck yes. I sneer involuntarily. The fact that Seattle is giving the option for no incrimination if the junkies start overdosing and call 911 irritates me. To me, let them die. I never called for mine. Other people did, but I don't remember. I'm grateful that I'm here and cleaned up, that I can do my service work. But how many of these dicks are going to that? If my future was to die - well it was my choice to ingest shit loads of fucking poison, so be it. So why should I want to reach out and feel empathy for the heroin and meth zombies crawling around the city? Granted it's situational. If it's young kids being doped out to trick out by some dealer I feel for them - those are the people I want to help and take down the assholes behind it. But do I give I give a good god damn about the people drugged up sleeping under bridges and shooting up? Tweaked out in doorways? Fuck no. You do too much and OD, to me, that's natural law. If I could dig myself out of hell by the beds of my fingernails, they could have too. So I have no sympathy or empathy. Do you think these people won't break into your house or jump you when they're out because they're dope sick and desperate? If you think not you're naive. I'd say you're a pacifist dumb fuck, but I'm trying to be nice... But hell, fuck it.
What triggered this rant? This testimony of my past way of thinking to present? The amateur hour holiday called St. Patrick's Day. When every dumb fuck takes it as a reason to get shit faced and justifies it because it's a holiday. It's about a saint, not a pint of green beer, assholes. And I'm pretty sure old Pat wasn't the patron saint of alcohol... But feel free to correct me if I'm wrong...
So how will I be spending my day? In the passenger's seat of a cop car. Learning, watching and seeing with my own eyes what kind of loser I used to be. There's a satisfaction in that. My change. My rebirth and my flip to the other side of the law. These ride alongs empower me to be my best self. To help other people, the innocents in my future career.
So this holiday, don't be a dumb fuck. Don't follow along with the sheep that run in order with what society deems a drinking holiday. Say fuck that. You'll save yourself a hangover and possibly an overnight in the drunk tank. And if you do, take a cab. Don't put other people's lives in danger, the ones who made the right choice. I've got two DUIs so I can talk shit. Go ahead - point your fingers. I used to be a dumb son of a bitch. I thank the universe every day that I never hurt or killed anyone. But if you think I don't feel remorse for being that piece of shit, you're wrong. That's why I'm going into what I am. I flipped the script. I'm working to help clean up the society I spent so many years shitting on and making a mess of.
Let 'em die or clean up, that's my stance on it. If my ass with 13 years of substance abuse could do it - anyone can. There's no excuses. And if this upsets you, grab a Kleenex and click close window on my website.
Blessed Be.
For further reading:
Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
There's No Good Campfires Left In Hell on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H7CZ590