Monday, October 31, 2016

The DAM DogRanch is moving...

While the DAM DogRanch has always been a state of mind more than a place, it's physical location has always been wherever I happen to be living at the time.  the Dog Ranch name originally came about when my then wife and I had 6 ranch....

The DogRanch has been in south austin for the last couple of years in a tiny studio apartment. Lots has happened during that time frame and it has served its purpose. Time to move on.

Luna and I are moving to the thriving metropolis of Dale, Texas, about 20 miles southeast of Austin (about 10 miles north of Lockhart, home of our favorite BBQ joint, Smitty's

Thanks with help from my Mom, we bought a little over an acre with a trailer to live in and 2 out buildings to turn into a studio and a metal shop respectively.  The DogRanch is a real ranch now.  Luna wants some goats to herd so that may be in the future.

More soon, but hopefully the art output will significantly increase in the near that we have some space to expand our minds....

so in honor of being out in nature...Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds do Nature Boy:

Wednesday, May 18, 2016 has been a while...

ok...its been some time. I last wrote about my brief encounter with Eddy Merckx at the Las Vegas Airport.

and now months have passed.  i feel like my life has been in turmoil since.

right around thanksgiving, 2 friends died of cancer..

then, my dad went in for what was supposed to be a fairly simple  procedure and did not come out the other side on this side of the soil.  yes, he died.  it was a devastating few days waiting around in the waiting room of the icu in a hospital in san antonio while several doctors debated whether what they were doing was going to pull him through or not. they were all wrong...i think they were wrong before they pulled him in for the procedure...fucking 20/20 hindsight fucking sucks....

the day before he went in to surgery, he left me a message that ended with "i just wanted to talk to you and say goodbye in case it does not work out"... i had been driving when he called so did not answer when he called.  when i listened to the message, i called right back...we talked for a few minutes...he told me he was not worried about the surgery...but when i hung up with him, i just felt strange...

my dad died a few days mom, brother and sister and i were all together when it went down. i am having trouble writing about it now....6 months back. but i need to do it.

my dad should not be dead. the doctors should have been better about figuring out and fixing his heart issues.  but...after years as working as a paramedic, i know that medicine is a guessing game at times.

the bottom line is that i miss my dad; he was an incredibly kind and giving man. he was a great father, a great husband...he had his faults as all people do...he could be controlling and his silence could be withering when he was not pleased....but James P. Martin raised a family, served his country, and could fix the window winding mechanism of a  '49 ford...

i wish my dad was still here, but that is not to be.  about 2 weeks or so before he died, we were driving over to threadgills for lunch...he looked over at the tattoo below my left ear that looks like a stairway....he said: "is that heading into your brain?" "yeah, that's pretty much it" dad then said..."that makes sense"....

that was my dad, as long as it made sense, it did not trod on someones rights, and if the leftovers helped  someone out...bring it on....

i try to end all my posts with liked otis redding,,


Tuesday, October 27, 2015


This is Eddy Merckx. He is Belgian.  He is the best bicycle racer who has ever lived. No one will ever surpass his palmares.  He won 11 Grand Tours (five of those were the Tour de France, five were the Giro d'Italia and so as not to leave the Spaniards out of his conquests, he won the Vuelta once). He was world champion three times. He won 28 classics (brutal single day races like Flanders and Roubaix). He won 17 six day races (grueling endurance races held in smoky European velodromes). His hour record stood for 28 motherfucking years. Of the 1800 races he entered, he won 525 of them. Its no wonder he became known as "The Cannibal". When he got the bit in his teeth, he did not give up, he took no prisoners, often going on the attack in a Grand Tour even though there was not a chance in hell of anyone catching take more stage wins (he has a total of 34 Tour de France stage wins: mountain stages, sprint stages, matter, he went after all of them) He did all this from 1965 to 1978 when he retired at the age of 32. He competed year round, no breaks (a lot of cyclists did back then but Eddy even raced on the track after the road season was over, few did that). 

In 1969, at a Derny (a small motorbike that was ridden in front of the cyclist) paced race shortly after the Tour de France, Eddy and his Derny rider, Fernand Wembst, crashed on the concrete velodrome in Blois, France.  Wembst died; Eddy ended up flat on is back for six weeks with a twisted pelvis and massive head injuries.  He came back to win the Tour again in 1970. Nothing, I mean nothing, keeps Eddy down.   In the 1975 Tour, a spectator punched him in the stomach (he was riding in the lead up a mountain side, spectators, then, as now line the slopes right next to the riders.  Two days later, he crashed and broke his cheek bone and had trouble eating throughout the rest of the race. To insure the his teammates would not lose a payday (the winner gives all of his race winnings to his teammates, once again, still done to this day), he opted to not drop out of the race, ultimately finishing second.

So; anyone still reading this is probably starting to wonder why I am writing all this? Damn good question to which I do not really have a damn good answer for. Just because will have to do.  I fucking love professional cycling. Ok, well. I used to love professional cycling. Lets just say that a certain lying fuck face dickhead with a name that rhymes with Lance "shit for brains" Armstrong kind of put a damper on my love of the sport. I still follow the races. I still ride my single speed bike around some. Cycling is definitely cleaning its act up after years of EPO and blood doping almost put the sport in the graveyard for good. Eddy comes from a simpler time. Was there doping? Of course there was, but it was not at the crazy scientific, doctor led levels it got to recently. Races were harder to read, riders did not follow safe plans to minimize losses, they fucking went balls out and tried to fucking win.

Several years ago, I headed to Las Vegas for a conference related to my then career in EMS. I normally avoided conferences related to EMS like the plague. I did not want to hang out with a bunch of other medics talking about medic shit. However, on this particular year: Interbike, a splendiferous celebration of all things cycling was being held at the same time as the EMS jack off fest was going on. So I jumped at the chance to get a free trip to Vegas (another place I avoid like my life depended on it) so i could go to Interbike . A friend of mine from the cycling world was going as well and had snagged me a conference pass through his job. I did what I needed to do to meet my obligations on the EMS side of things and then promptly would high tale it to Interbike.

I land in Vegas. I get off the plane and head to the luggage area to pick up my bag.  There is a man standing in front of me. I am looking at the back of his head. I'm thinking, huh, this guy looks really familiar. He reaches forward to get a bag going by on the belt and turns slightly to his left. Time stopped, the air thickened, a pale yellow light enveloped everything. Luckily, I had just gone to the bathroom or I would have pissed myself. Eddy Merckx was standing in front of me, retrieving his bag from the conveyor belt. This is fucking ridiculous. Eddy Merckx should have some sycophant doing this for him. As I am thinking this, he fumbles the bag and it falls off of the conveyor to the floor, landing on its side. I immediately go for the bag, righting it, saying: "let me get that for you Mr. Merckx!" (I think thats what I said anyway, its what was in my head, but I was so flustered to have THE GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING BEST FUCKING CYCLIST WHO EVER LIVED...THE FUCKING CANNIBAL HIMSELF...EDOUARD LOUIS JOSEPH MERCKX....EDDY WHOLLY SHIT MERCKX...standing in front of me in the Las Vegas airport baggage claim area, that its amazing any words came out at all).  He thanked me (EDDY MERCKX THANKED ME...fuckity fuckity fuck fuck). I then said something along the lines of what a great thrill it was to meet him (who fucking knows what I said, it was a long time ago and my memory sucks) But I do remember what he said: "Call me Eddy (I think I had said Mr. Merckx about thirty seven times by this point in our brief conversation), thanks for catching my bag." Then he asked if I was in Vegas for Interbike, to which I said yes. Then he said: "Good, I will see you later then." My fanboy brain basically collapsed in on itself like some kind of higgs boson black hole, grinding noises filled the void in my empty head. Eddy (he told me to call him Eddy) then turned and walked away with his bag in tow.  

I, of course, did not run into Eddy(he told me to call him that) again. However, I handled this luggage for him. And that was pretty fucking cool. And he told me to call him Eddy (I don't think I ever did though).

What song for this you ask? Hmmm.....well instead of music, lets go with this Monty Python clip for Bicycle Repairman:

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Little Black Book

I carry a little black book (I call her Fallacy, Fal for short) in the back left pocket of my jeans a great majority of the time. It sits back there with a Pilot G-2 07,
this world renowned gel pen clips into my pocket on the left side, snug against Fal. This has been going on, the carrying part ever since I got out of the 5 month inpatient program I was in for my crazy/drunkard issues.  Fal has actually been in my possession since January of this year, which means she was with me for the last couple of months of said stay. I assume I carried her around during that time period as well, just don't remember. I'm assuming it was in the pocket on the scrub type tops we wore.

Anyhoo...she is chock full of notes, names, addresses, dates, appointments, random thoughts, references, snippets of bullshit, pictures both drawn and taken, cartoons...what have you...

A black and white version of this comic strip has been cut out and taped into the back.
I would tell you the creator but cut the name of the funnies (my grandmother's term for the comics in the newspaper) off and when I googled "alligator playing a trombone", the guy that posted the above pic did the same thing. Anyway, the premise is brilliant.

Fal is pretty beat up, there is lots of tape holding together, I have to retie the elastic holding her together a couple of times so that she is now bowed and  even when the elastic is undone, she will not lie flat. There are bits of paper and folded up napkins stuck inside. One piece of paper has a bunch of random movie titles written on it... 


...the other side of that same bit of scratch are instructions on how to lead a Dharma Punx session.
I don't remember writing either one of these notes. I chaired the Dharma Punx meetings in August, so that is an easy one to figure out. I finally
 figured out that it is probably an order ticket from The Alamo Drafthouse so I must have been writing down stuff from the previews before the previews that show at the Alamo. All of those movies are very obscure trash 'em bash 'em types that came out post the first Mad Max.  Hence, it was probably one of the many times I went to see by far the best god damn movie that has come out this year, Mad Max: FURY ROAD...

...ok...back to Fal...

Fal's front has a picture of my dear friend D holding what appears to be a psychotic cat (aren't they all?).  At the bottom are taped the following phrases: "it happened" and "to remember", there is also a little heart taped there. D is one of the people I will be attempting to write about in more detail later. She killed herself in the hovel (my apartment) where she was holding down the fort while I was inpatient. She is one of the ghosts who haunts me. But really, she can haunt all she wants, she is a benevolent ghost...we love you D.

at the other end is the trumpet playing alligator comic and a small pic of K with the same phrases that the pic of D have. K is another ghost, we love you too K...there is also a promise that I made to one of my counselors that says I will not kill my self, no matter what for the duration that I have some kind of coverage through the facility I was in. (this is an ongoing pact I have with the Gnome)

There is also a quote from Euripides:

"When good people die, good people suffer with them."

also, this quote from Edith Perlman:

"What counts is how you behaved while Death let you live, and how you met Death when life released you."

hmmm...little deathy in there...

elsewhere in the book are has about 30 different meds that I have been on over the years. Another has a list of suicide attempts: slit wrists, couple of strangulation/hangings, multiple overdoses (intentional and otherwise: as in, it would be absolutely fine if I just don't wake up) and the last most serious involving lots to ETOH, medications, and carbon monoxide. There is another quote that says:

 "I want to drift away in my sleep and wake up in another world, as long as it is not this one"...

I googled it and it did not come up attributed to anyone, which means there is a high probability that it came out of my head which makes sense as it is fairly redundant.

There are lists of books, movies and music I want to follow up on.

There are several pages of names and phone numbers.  A good majority of them, I have no clue who the fuck they are.  I met them in the last year obviously, but the permanent ECT fog has obliterated their identities.

There is another list of ghosts from my days at EMS. I guess some may not be ghosts as theoretically they could still be alive. Most however, are people who were already dead when I got there and there was absolutely no way there was I anything I could do to mitigate their particular disasters. An interesting aspect of EMS work in Austin is that Medics are called in to get pronouncements on obviously dead people. Thats a topic for another discussion....back to Fal...

Fal is also a date book so there are a bunch of appointments written down in her. ECT, Aftercare, psychiatrists, doctors...mundane shit that make up chunks of existence. 

There are little snippets on days that say things like: "fucking shit day"..."argument with fat fuck"...

I get surprised, sometimes informative, sometimes joyfully, often perplexingly. I have dug into her many times to try and jog my memory or just to find something out that I then have to contact someone to see what a particular note means.  An example: all my ECT sessions are catalogued so I know when I went. But...I did not write down who took me and I know for sure that there is one person who helped that I have lost contact with but I don't know who it is. I have a nickname but since my old phone took a giant shit on my psyche and I lost a boatload of contacts, I have not been able to figure out who it is.  It'll happen eventually...

Fal is not the only notebook I have, she is just the smallest and the one I have at my fingertips most of the time. I am so used to having her in my pocket that when I reach for her and she is not there, panic sets in. Thank the powers that be she has never been lost for any significant length of time.

Will be looking for her replacement soon so I can start 2016 "fresh"...

So, what piece of music best plays into and supports all of this bullshit?

Well, when in doubt...Nick comes to the rescue.

Higgs Boson Blues....the very first line of lyric goes thusly:  "can't remember anything at all"..

...till next time my gang o' pals

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Consistency is obviously not my strong suit...

Ok...I keep posting cryptic silliness and not following up...I know..for the handful of people who actually read this silly bullshit, it can be frustrating.

I have been on a listless, just need to get through the day routine for several months now. an effort to hold myself accountable, here is what I need to get done within the next week:

Get June Carter (my Triumph Thruxton) registered, running right, legal etc...
Get over to Communities For Recovery to follow up on my volunteer paperwork
Finish cleaning up the hovel
Make another attempt at getting the lathes to work

This is a really boring post, sorry....

I'm not going to make any pledges about consistent posts or anything like that just yet but hopefully that will be coming.

Here is where I am on FaceBook


DAM DogRanch Artworks

Some hopeful messages about Depression possibly:

Depression: We Gotta Break Free

This is Luna's FaceBook Page:


More later this week...I promise...

Friday, September 4, 2015

Tear Down The Walls... suicide talk just yet.

I have been in a class all week. The class I am in is a Peer Coaching Class. I am learning how to maybe, possibly help other people with similar diagnoses to my own substance abuse and mental health issues to navigate the treacherous waters towards the shore.

Whats on the shore, you  may ask?. Well, after fighting off the sharks, jellyfish, piranhas and those little tiny creatures that swim into the opening at the end of one's penis, you have to get all of the gummy oil scrubbed off your skin, the plastic six pack ring cut off from around your neck, and then escape all the self righteous, smelly hippies hovering over you....

The class is great, intense, depressing, boring, weird, enlightening, cringe inducing, amusing, pissy, annoying...sometimes all of these things in the same ten minute time period.

Heres the key:

Learn from the person you are trying to help, use your own experience but do not work under the assumption that everybody is going to take the same path that you are on...