The Irony of Dying on Your Birthday:

And yes, that is indeed the title to a song by a poppy-screamo-metal band that I have spent WAY TOO MUCH time listening to over the last 2 weeks.

Oh yeah, AHEM! I'm back. Or something that might sort of resemble being "back".

God, this blog took a serious turn for the worse over the last month or so.

Let me say this, for those that are wondering, Yes, I am indeed still alive. No, I was not struggling with any form of writer's block. What I have been dealing with is more than I would wish on my most hated foe.

So here it goes, the story, the way I see it, and the way I want it told. To any and all who have played a part in this, I apologize for involving you in my mess. There I go again, apologizing. Fuck. I feel like Larry David over here.

Friday, September 11, 2009 (what an interesting day to choose to change my life ha!) I went to visit the tattoo shop. Not to get a tattoo, mind you, not at all. I went there to visit with my cousin, bullshit a little, and most importantly, I wanted to get some of that fancy carbon paper they use to transfer the drawing to the skin. I had this genius plan that it would work on canvas, and I had this pretty rad picture I drew sitting on my desk at home, just waiting to be painted.

So there I sit, chowin down pain killers like m&m's to comfort myself from the sense of loneliness and destitude that I have been wallowing in for the last several weeks when all of a sudden, I get the genius idea that I'm gonna get a new tattoo. At this point, I have no fucking clue what this tattoo will be, where it will go, or why I will get it, but nonetheless, I'm getting it.

I settle on the phrase "The Truth Shall Set You Free" over my "heart" or what, at that point, was left of it. So after the hustle of "how much" and alladat, I'm sittin in the chair, not feeling a thing, as I have been, for the last year or so, and 45 minutes later, I get up, go home, and take a look at my genius new insignia. For the record, I forgot the carbon paper all together, and couldn't for one second tell you what conversations I had, and with whom, or what, if anything, those conversations were about.

I go to sleep, alone, as I have been for the last month or so with the aid of my little yellow femme fatales. And no, I'm not talkin about petite asian masseuses, I'm talkin about these stupid little pills I've been force feeding myself to cover up the scars of emotional trauma under the guise of a fairly severe back injury I suffered back in high school.

Sleep is an excellent thing. So excellent, in fact, that I decided I was going to sleep the entire weekend away. Every time I woke up, I just took another handful and passed right the fuck back out. This went on until Sunday Morning...

The bottle is empty.

What will I do now?

That, my dear friends and followers, is when it hit me. I go to the bathroom, take a shower, and read the new ink permanently tattooed into my skin. The shit hit me like a stone Mason's hammer whilst building the Temple of Solomon (sorry, I watched a SHIT LOAD of History Channel in the numerous days to come).

"The Truth Shall Set You Free".

What a fuckin' concept.

The assessment of my life came at the urging from my mother. "You've been locked up sleeping for 40 hours straight, the fuck's your problem?"

And there it is folks.

**Time to get Honest**

I have a severe addiction to pain killers. One that ultimately had planned on sending me to an early grave, that, by this point in my life (Sunday night, not Today), didn't seem so bad.

What the Fuck? Awwwwww Hell Nah. I ain't goin out like that.

Get Real here.

So, Sunday Night I decided to clean up the act and cut the bullshit.

Despite the urging's of family members and other close confidants I said FUCK REHAB.

I am a grown ass man with the strength and will power to get thru ANYTHING.

The next Nine days of my life would prove to be the most difficult days I have ever been thru, or, for that matter, may EVER go thru.

I will not be specific in dosage amounts for sake of comparison to you or your friend's pill habits, suffice it to say, there was a LOT.

I'll do you a favor now and spare you the details of what was set to transpire, but this person I have been and was slowly turning into permanently was going to get the fuck gone, and your boy would be standing on his soapbox triumphant once again.

I can do this...

Whew.

Here I stand today, after 9 days of an agonizing detox coupled with the thrill of taking a loss in the realm of love, proving to myself, first and foremost, that I am capable of functioning without the use of those little crutches.

I guess that just about sums it up.

In retrospect, maybe this post should have been called Sunday Morning? Eh?

Bump that. Young Ollie in the building, and bout to shit all over the internets as soon as I get my strength back.

Thank you.

P.S. There is no chance I would have gotten thru this without the help of a few select individuals. No name droppin' tho, just know, without you, shit wouldn't have happened. LOVE.

I'm almost Back...

-Kevin M. Smith.

Is This What You Call Tact??

2 week layover. Your boy has been straight M.I.A. Haven't done anything noteworthy in that time. Unless of course you count allowing ol' what's her name to penetrate the defenses and metaphorically crush my spirit against my will. But that shit is all over and done with now. Brand new day and a brand new lease on life.

If you all remember correctly, back on January 1, 2009 I made a vow to not make any more apologies for any of my actions ever again. That, obviously, did not work out, as I have spent the last 9 months of my life constantly apologizing for shit I can't honestly say I was ever really apologetic for. It's poetic really. Think about it...

It's just what anyone would do. You focus all of your efforts onto a single project, whether it be your blog, your job, or, in this case, my relationship, and then, when it all hits the proverbial "fan" you're left wondering what the fuck just happened?

I guess it goes without saying, but with my inability to leave things left unsaid, I'm gonna jump up here on my soapbox and spit venom in the form of words to any and all that have done me wrong in the last year. What? You thought you were going to get a pass?

First and foremost, the city of San Francisco, and more importantly that certain NOBODY that, to this day, remains nameless. Fuck you and your whole existence. I'd like to blame you for the tumbling of my castle that I once thought was built of indestructable bricks, but recently realized that shit was paper thin, but the sad truth of the matter is that you were just an innocent pawn in someone else's grand facade. Keep livin' that dream.

Next up on the list... Aww Fuck it. It isn't even worth it anymore. I will not give you the satisfaction of knowing any more than you already do, just exactly what you have done.

I teetered on the idea of shutting down this blog due to it's ties monetarily (definitely not emotionally, what, you think you're owed something?) to a certain memory that has long since subsided and passed thru my system like last night's drug binge. And while I am on the subject of drugs...

#2 Fuck drugs. For real. I've made a few comments in the past to let on to my love for certain substances. For legal and medical reasons, I will not be divulging any more details about my past, current, or future struggles with this specific demon. Suffice it to say, if there was any ONE thing to blame for my current lethargic state and utter lack of motivation, you, my little friend(s?) would not be stricken from the list of catalysts.

I have stayed stagnant for far too long. My pessimistic outlook on life, while at times entertaining, has traversed the lines of comedic necessary evil, and entered into the realm of absolute control.

I'm tired tho. Like, for real, tired of being satisfied with mediocrity. Things have always come so easy for me that I have completely forgotten what it was like to struggle. You showed me that. So I guess if there was one thing I could be thankful to you for giving me, that would be it. You showed me what it was like to be miserable again. You showed me what self loathing REALLY is. "All Hail The Heartbreaker" HAHA.

I have slowly made the transition from what I wanted to be, to not even recognizing the person looking back at me in the mirror. I haven't been "happy" (who decides what happy is anymore anyway) for quite some time. With OR without you. I'll tell you where my happiness comes from now... or shit, maybe I won't cause I honestly couldn't tell you anymore. I know what doesn't work for me tho, and that's all that really counts today.

This post isn't all about "THAT" tho. It's also about "THIS"...

Some things that are great...

-Hope. The name says it all and it is quite fitting what that entails.

-Progress. No matter how much I stumble, I will ALWAYS bounce back and be better the next time.

-Freedom. Out from under the thumb of life.

I am absolutely sure that by now you are all just as confused as I was when I started this rant. Just know that that is to be expected. If you get it, then you're on the inside, if this was lost on you, well I'm sure you could check the archives for something a bit more your speed.

If you came here looking for tits and comedy today, all apologies for letting you down. The path back to greatness is long an narrow, but I'm on it, so I'll be keeping my peoples (if you're in, you know it) up on all the hottest shit just as soon as I get my shit situated and my head back facing forward.

Quote of the week "Is this what you call tact? I swear you are as subtle as a brick to the small of my back."

And, were clear.........................

Or are we?

-Kevin "I'm not Ollie when I'm real" Smith