Thursday, March 26, 2015

WTF with the craziness...1..2...3...go!

ok, we talked about anhedonia recently.  I went to my primary mental health provider medication type person yesterday. Her name is Cat (not her real name of course). This was the first time I got to see her.

She works through Travis County's Integral Care system, known as ATCIC.  It used to be called MHMR until what I assume was a move towards political correctness on the County's part. Us retards struggling to get by and work through our myriad of silly issues do to like to be referred to as retards. Actually, I don't really care what you call me.  Not that I am fairly well plugged into the system, I am pretty much getting what I need to stay alive another day, so call me whatever the fuck you want...
I will wear it like a fucking badge: 

So I had a conversation with Cat and we decided that it is true: I am really depressed, I have convinced my self it is not going to get better, and I would be better off dead.  That being said, I have somehow managed to surround myself with entities (family, friends, mental health professionals, and of course Luna)  that do not want me to be dead.  Cat and I laughed about the fact that I am not very good at suicide as that I am still alive.  She tweaked my medication some,  mainly increasing my dosage of seraquil so I can sleep better, gave me the name of a med called


 that has some fairly potentially nasty side effects such as dive bombing my white blood cell count and other things considered not positive for ones well being.  Plus it is a benzo which I have a huge bias against as that I am an alcoholic, I consider benzos to be booze in pill form (yes, that is simplistic but I am a simpleton as indicated above about the retard badge)

The biggest issue Cat and I talked about though is this:
 OK-thats not exactly what we talked about in exact therms,
We talked about ECT

Electro Convulsive Therapy, I have been obsessing about ever since the Honey Badger, my primary counselor at the residential treatment program I was at for 5 months fairly recently (most folks hate it, other than the fact that I only got to see Luna every couple of weeks, I was ok with it for the most part, was fed and watered, worked on the weekly movie crew and because I was polite and nice, I to music channels on my dorm TV).

I hate to put too much into any kind of valhalla dream that I have but I really want this to work. I really do not want to be fucking despondently sad all of the fucking time and I do not want to have to concentrate so fucking hard on dealing with being so fucking despondently sad all the fucking time.

Does that make sense? Probably not but there you go. Welcome to my daily battles/conversations/debates with Bob.

As I am insanely anxious about the ECT process and getting it started, i am going to stop writing about it now.  The Fixer is doing some inquiries for me in the morning and I am just going to let the professionals fight for me for the next few days. We will definitely being coming back to all of this for sure.

In the meantime, here is a book that I have been using that were suggested by the Benevolent Gnome:

The Happiness Trap

This is a great book that sinks the idea that to be happy and content, you just have to tell yourself to be happy and content.  that is complete and utter are who you are, you do not have to fix yourself. Accept yourself for who you are, work with the thoughts that are useful and valuable and safe and tell Bob to go pound sand with those thoughts that say you should jump in front of moving vehicles....but do it nicely, Bob does not really know better...

Also- whenever someone tells you to just be happy...give 'em a big old shit eating grin and tell them to go worry about their own selves, you are fine just the way you are...if that does not work and they still keep bugging you...just start talking gibberish to an unseen person next to them...go full one will get near you then...

holy fuck sticks...rough day but processing this makes my life slightly more effective....thanks to the Gnome and the Fixer for their support today...

No mental health shit for a few days...the next couple of blogs will deal with creative endeavors...

see ya later...jmart & Luna

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

WTF with the craziness part too: meet Bob

OK...back to our earlier episode, when my keyboard went tits up. Turns out it was the not the keyboard, its the ipad I use at the coffee shop was not cooperating. Now, the repalacement keyboard I got, while it works, is a piece of shit. I am using the apple keyboard that I was using for my desktop that I use to edit video I have to wait for the keyboard I ordered for that to come in so I can turn the apple one back into my portable one....yeah, fucking first world white people problems for sure...

so what does all that have to do with mental health. it's these little issues that make me fucking nuts.
it just increases my anxiety to astronomical levels that cripple me and make me not want to get out of bed in the am...or brings to the forefront all the suicidal ideation that constantly lurks around in my brain and trys to turn it into a plan.

Here are my various diagnosis' as given to me over the past years as I have journied down the rabbit hole.

Chronic Depression: I have the kind that does not go away. It's not situational though situations make it significantly worse. I am generally just at a low ebb pretty much all of the time. Anhedonia is a good term that more or less describes my affect.


I feel empty and bereft of any kind of feeling a lot of the time. I don't always look dire or dead in the eyes. I have developed the skill over the years of being able to fein interest and excitement. I desperately want to feel good and joyful about what I do and have found that if I force myself really engage, I do get some relief in the moment. The nasty side effect of this in my case is that post this positive  experience, I am dead exhausted and takes a long time to recover to my normally low level from the even lower level I launch downwards towards like a Texas dry well dig....this is called going down the rabbit hole. The deeper I get, the harder it is to get out. It's looking up towards the opening and watching the light at the entrance get smaller and smaller, the iris constricts, the light becomes a pinpoint, then disappears. I am so far down the hole now, I can't see to find my way out.

Oh  yeah, was supposed to introduce to the 3 people who read this worthless endeavor who Bob is:

Bob is named after Bob Dobbs, he of the Church of the Subgenius, the ultimate giver of slack.
The voices who speak to me that are not helpful, useful or valuable are collectively known as Bob. I use this thing called ACT: Acceptance and Commitment Therapy to talk to Bob.  But more on that laterr, I need to go to Radio Shack to return some useless crap they sold me recently. Not entirelyy their fault, partly mine but nonetheless,  need to deal with it plus the stupd I ppad is ffreaking out again as you can see....

More diagnosis later as well

for now, here iss Luuna siinging for the sick andd  injur:ed   

sorry foor the weird typso...the idad is possessed byy demons at the moment:

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Instructions for getting BBQ in Lockhart


Recently, my friend and head of my support network mental health wise, the Benevolent Gnome (name has been changed not because she is innocent by any means but because she is the size of a gnome and is very helpful) emailed me to ask for a BBQ recommendation in Lockhart as she had an out of town guest visiting. She suggested I post the instructions I sent her, so here it is:

Remember, it's Smittys. On the way into Lockhart, you will see a new looking building with a big nice parking lot. Pull in there, have everyone pile out of the Gnomemobile. Face the the building and jointly scream: "fuck your electric smoke pullers"-pile back into your transport, pull out of the pristine Kreuz lot, farting out the doors as you go. Drive over the bridge, look for the Blacks sign, ignore it and turn right into the shitty, and this weekend, muddy parking lot.

You will now be at the back of Smittys.  As  this is your first time, you are not allowed to use the back entrance. People have been known to get too excited and pee themselves. The alkaline of the urine fucks with the smoking process.

Walk around the building to the front. Go through the front screen door. You are now in the Cathedral of Meat. Sit down on the benches there and breath in the goodness, this also gives you a little time to calm down so you won't urinate on yourselves.

Now keep walking. You will come up on a line. Get in the line. Send someone else inside to the other line. Oh yeah bring cash, Smittys don't truck with no plastic shenanigans. They did put an ATM machine in a while back but I have never known it to have any money in it. Not that I would use it anyway, cuz when I go to Smittys I either have cash or I always have a check in my wallet for said purpose. You are new, bring cash.

The meat line person should get the following as a minimum:

1/2 pound brisket per person. Take what they give you. Do not dare ask for lean. I will never speak to you again (I will continue to email however). You are allowed to ask for burnt ends though, in fact if you don't or say you don't want any if they offer it, immediately turn around and leave, you do not deserve to darken their doorway, leave one of your party in the fire as a tribute, probably the visitor as he will not be missed for a while. 

2 hots per person (one to eat there and make white trashy amuse bouche* out of), 1 to take home and put in fridge to eat later with rat cheese on crackers)

1 pork chop-y'all can share this, it's fucking big.

Shit load of ribs. these are good cold as well.

Ask for some chicken When they stop laughing, just pretend you were not serious and silently curse me for making fun of you. Of course they don't have fucking chicken, vegetables are not allowed in the smokers.

Whatever other meat you want is fine, just make sure you get the basics.

Crackers and white bread. WHITE not even think about asking for wheat bread....

Do not ask for sauce, they just use it for profiling and the tang is from the urine collected from first timers who did not know they were not supposed to go in the back entrance.

The person inside needs to get:

1 pickle
3 jalapeƱos
couple of chunks of rat cheese
drinks (frosty orange soda is best option but I'll leave that to you to figure out)
1 avocado
1 tomato (optional)...actually fuck the tomato, you don't need it
big slice of onion

Go sit down, sit near the people dressed in camo who are quiet and have well behaved silent children who are so gorged on meat, they cannot speak.

Eat till you pass out, go back to the meat line, repeat, do this till they throw you out.

*White Trash Amuse Bouche:

slice of hot ( I assume that because there are men (and you) in this journey (the Steve Perry version, not the Filipino boy man) for meaty coma, that there will be at least 3 sharp folding knives, one of which should be serrated and a lock blade, there should also be one fixed blade in a pouch on a belt, if not borrow one from one of the camo guys, give the them some burnt end in exchange)
dash of Louisiana hot sauce
square of rat cheese
slice of pickle
slice of jap (no not the camera toting tourists sitting not to close by, the pickled vegetable kind)
bit of avocado

Pop the whole thing into your mouth, wash down with orange soda or drink of your choice…...

Friday, March 20, 2015

Thank you Miss Chrissie....schoolboy crush 1979...Brass in Motherfucking Badass Pocket....

OK-this is gonna be a brief one. It's 10:35 on a Friday night. We just got the new mac mini up and running. An old friend from my San Antonio Punk Rock days works for Apple now and got us an insanely cool deal on a state of the art (yeah, I already know it was obsolete before the payment cleared, but give me my small victory here) mac mini, highest end of what is currently available. We are an analog household with a begrudging respect for technology.  On the vintage veterinary table the mac is on, right next to it is a 1941 Presto K8 Record Lathe that we hope to be soon making real live records, "hand cut" one at a time. To our left, X's Under the Big Black Sun is playing on the turntable. Yes vinyl, music sounds better on vinyl (yes, live is bad ass as well, but recording wise, its vinyl). We were listening to Poison 13's "First You Dream" earlier. To finish off the night, we are going to listen to side 2 of The Pretenders first album.

I lived in England in the late 70's.  The Pretenders came out with "Brass in Pocket". They had a video in which Chrissie Hynde wore a waitress outfit and the boys in the band came into her diner. Pete Farndon, who was actually coupled with Chrissie at the time looks like a complete badass in the video and on the cover of the album, greasy rocker hair and that fucking cool leather jacket with the Triumph Motorcycle patch on the left shoulder. Honeyman-Scott is wearing a fucking snap western of all things and Martin Chambers' sideburns are sharp enough to poke your fucking eye out.  But its Chrissie in the red leather and the smoldering eyes.  And that fucking video. My first schoolboy crush....thank you Miss Chrissie....

Brass in Pocket

Also, here is an xray of Luna's recent travails: those olive shaped objects in the space right in front of her hip bones are bladder stones, they are fucking ridiculous. The Doc took them out so Luna is a cone head at the moment. She has to go back to the vet tomorrow for another antibiotic shot and to get the wound sight checked.

For those of you waiting with baited breath for more mental health news, stay tuned. hopefully, within the next couple of days, I'll get some done. I don't write about that troublesome shit from the Dog Ranch locale or especially this late at night or Bob will tear me a new one.  I do have some updates but it will have to wait till I'm off sight. 

The record is almost done playing...we fade out to "Mystery Achievement" 

Monday, March 16, 2015

Back at the ranch

Every thing went it's sleepy time...

LUNA Under the Knife Part Deux

Luna is under the kind care of the great folks at Travis Country:

She will of course do absolutely fine there but that does not make me any less of a fucking giant, swirling, soul sucking shit brained, neurotic mess. I will be in this mindset until this afternoon when I get to see her again and bring her home to the ranch. She will be wearing the cone of shame but I paid extra for the extra special pain meds so hopefully she will be comfortable.

By the way, if you take your companion to the dog doctor and don't pay extra for the extra special pain meds, you are unworthy of dog companionship, if you are reading this and you are one of those people, go fuck yourself.

Anyway, as noted previously, Luna is my best friend and fairly constant companion. We have been together for 11 years and trying to imagine life with out her around is daunting, mind numbingly depressing with sadness flavored icing and entirely counterproductive to my generally crappy mental health status. To think of this is extremely useless and does not meet my values, so Bob, I appreciate you bringing this to my attention but I'm not gonna ACT on this thought.

Bob is the name I have given my thought processes. He is named in honor of Bob Dobbs, the Ultimate Giver of Slack:

Bob, is of course the figurehead leader of The Church of the Subgenius:

We of course believe in absolutely non of this shit just like we do not believe in any other religion, deity, Beelzebub, rat god, sphagetti monster...etc...etc..

Anyway, I have a lot of conversations with Bob, mainly telling him to relax. I learned about this from a book recommended to me by The Benevolent Gnome (She of the "you  need to unfuck yourself" mantra) called "The Happiness Trap":

Its a defusion technique to separate these unkind thoughts from reality. Thats my interpretation anyway and it seems to be working in the moment so I just keep doing it. We will discuss more of this later.

Send your thoughts Luna's way. I need her back in one piece (minus those olive sized deposits in her bladder which I asked the Vet to save for me so I can take a picture and post here later and maybe make a magical amulet out of).

Ok, my head hurts and the keyboard is acting up again (new one is hopefully arriving today after which I will be beating this one with a hammer wihile the Bad Brains play Pay To Cum:

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Luna Goes Under the Knife

OK-this here blog has already far outstripped the last blog I had up. It was called the DA Dog Ranch...I probably managed an entry every 18 months or so or something like that. A combination of lethargy, depression, delusions of grandeur, all that shit....anyway, I was going to start this on with a shit load of mental health stuff. I will get to that later but the main area of contention in my addled brain at the moment is Luna's well being.

Who is Luna, you ask?  Luna is the Camp Boss at the DAM DogRanch. She has been hanging out with me for eleven years or so.  We got together when she was about 6 months old. I was probably about the same age mentally.

She was residing at the Town Lake Animal shelter here in Austin, Texas. The shelter is now no kill but was not at that time. My then wife and I had been fostering some dogs and I had gone in to clean up some paperwork related to those endeavors. Also, Didjit, my mom's favorite Grand Dog had died after hanging out with me for about 16 years (she is the D in DAM). I was fucking sad beyond repair and still am about Didjit dyeing. Anyway, i was talking to one of the guys who worked there at the time and we stopped next to the pen where Luna was habitating. She walked up to the fence and stuck her paw through.  Tender guy told that she never did that, pretty much hated everyone and other dogs and was about to be moved to the kill side (yes, the proper term is euthanasia, but lets call a duck that fucks, what it is, it's a fucking duck). So, we took her to the play area and she basically just sat down next to me and put her paw on my leg. I took her home. My then wife was not overly happy about it but that marriage was dyeing before it even got started so I made the right choice.

It turns out that Luna is a Blue Lacy which just happens to be the State Dog of Texas. They were bred in Central Texas by the Lacy family starting in the 1850's to herd cattle and hunt wild hogs.

They were bred from coyotes, greyhounds and wolves.Hows that for a combination.

So, Luna is solo pup at the ranch at them moment. She coexisted with Moby and Allie for quite a while but more on them later.

Luna is going in for surgery in the morning to get some olive sized crystals taken out of her bladder. I am going to ask the vet to save them so we can make some weird fucking jewlery.

I am freaked the fuck out. Luna is my best friend and over the last few years has taken on Service Dog duties related to my various mental health debacles.

Yes, this is easy surgery, yes, I trust the vet. I am still freaked the fuck out nonetheless.

Post surgery, I'll write more and post the xrays, etc....send kind thoughts our way....

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

WTF with the Craziness

OK-so I spent 5 months in a facility to help me deal with my mental health and alcohol abuse issues. Both of these are long standing issues with me. I have been trying to deal with this crap off and on since I was about 28 or so. It existed long before then but I just ignored it and drank away my issues in an attempt to off myself through attrition.  Dutring my 20s, I was under the assumption that I would be dead before I was 30, either by my own hand, somebody elses hand, or through some horrigic, spectacular incident involving explosions, twisted metal, flames, body parts laying everywhere.

I had discovered punk rock in my late teens, partially through living in England for my first two years in High School. My British friends turned me onto The Stranglers, The Damned, Buzzcocks, etc.
I discovered the very small but intense hardcore punk rock scene in San Antonio, Texas where I spent my last two years of High School and two years of junior college.(talk about culture shock, the school in England was fantastic, teachers were paid by the Department of Defense, wnated to be there and actually tried to im[art some kind of useful wisdom. I read Dante's Inferno in my Sophomore year. The San Antonio school was a massive fucking chasm of a shit hole. More on those formative experiences later)

I dived in with a passion, once using a pell grant to pay to put on a Black Flag show at Villa Fontana, which was built for the 1968 World's Fair in downtown San Antonio. In the mid 80s, it was a broken down vast chamber available for rent to various folks for parties, etc. My fellow punks and I rented it out for the bigger shows, trolling smaller clubs for the shows that did not bring in enough to pay the fees at Villa.

Ok, that was a tiny bit of history, future bloggos will delve more into those rabbit holes later.

Mentally, I was depressed. I generally thought at the time it was just tee/.....ok--iit would appear that I have spilt too much shit on theis keyboard  and it is not longer wanting to work properly so I guess its time to get a new one so we will have to continue this particular entry later....god damn technology! fuck you apple keyboard, why cant you take a little bit of coffee and topo chico spilled on you without freaking the fuck out.....ook- ebay here I come...more later..........E

Wednesday, March 4, 2015


OK- This is the official DAM DogRanch ArtWorks page.

We will talk about Art, Motorcycles, making vinyl records with a WW ll era lathe, documentaries about crazed local animator Roy Taylor, the Clash's mysterious Texas Punk Rock connection, Graphic Novel projects about Travis County's Finest Bed and Breakfast (the Dell Valle jail) and Travis County's Finest Spa and Rejuvenation Center (the SMART Treatment Center), Coffee Table books on Texas Prison Tattoos, musings about public transportation (or the lack thereof) in Austin, Texas and....Luna of course, will be watching over the whole endeavor as the DAM DogRanch ArtWorks wrangler and trail boss. Also whatever the fuck else we happen to think of at any given point in a 24 hour period.

wait for it comes.....don't be's gonna be OK...

MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES!!!!!! (cue surprise horror music here) We will talk about how shitty the mental health care system in Texas is, what you have to be committed to do (and be committed into) to get effective care . It does exist, you have to be fairly patient and creative to get the care needed to stay somewhat sane and productive in our big bad worlds. There are some amazing caregivers out there (one of which is a Benevolent Gnome, just try and figure that one out, as they share DNA with Trolls) and they are just as frustrated as the goobers (myself included) who desperately need their input to stay alive, not curled around a bridge abutment with a sign that says "I fucking just don't fucking care what happens to me, I don't even have the energy or wherewithal to kill myself...please run me over or give me a dollar for a tallboy, your choice"

Depression, Bipolar, Anxiety, PTSD, Ghosts and Nightmares, Suicide (attempts successes and otherwise)...its all fair game....and quest for Electro Convulsive Therapy...yes One Flew over the McMurphy malarkey....

Oh and we will post some shit for sale, etc....this is a gosh darn business for Sweet Baby Jesus get ready to spend some money...gotta have resources for treating the abject crazy occupying my brain (Bob) who is trying to kill me....don't be scared, it will be mostly funny with some semi useful crap inserted in there at random and inopportune times. We welcome comments of any type, however we reserve the right to go off on vicious self depriving diatribes (especially anything to do with Journey being a great band, its not true, they are Satan Spawn, they suck so bad that middle of his head parted crooner, geographically knowledge impaired Steve Perry wont even front them anymore. They had to troll the inter web to find a Filipino man child wearing leather underwear to be their new singer.)  

Speaking of Journey:

Watch this:

It is the absolute worst music video ever made. Fuck you MTV. The fact that there is a Bic Mac commercial right before it just proves how horrifying Journey is and what they have done to the human race.

Now watch this:
A shot for shot remake...fucking brilliant except for the song is singing in the would be infinitely better if there was a Ron Jeremy porn soundtrack playing in the background (that reference is for you Fixer)

Enough for now...yes, I know there are a lot of misspellings and typos in this first missive. We forgot to turn on the spell check and don't feel like going back and fixing any of if your are a grammarian (that's probably misspelled as well), have fun with this...feel free to post corrections but we will come back with some very non PC criticism of your have been warned...