The Devil and the Dope God…[Remixed, Re-Edited, and Remastered]…

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I fixed some videos on the night page, there are playlist to come soon, as well as more Audio Reviews, Articles, and the always popular Doc’s Mega photo post!

Also as I posted before, Coming Soon the new series “Bastard Saint”~

Stay Tuned….


As I entered the medical complex I was subdued by the blue tiles and chrome fixtures that adorned the stairwells and foyers for each floor. The paradoxical patchwork for calm, an oasis, in a building which seemed barren and tucked away in a corner of the violent city ghetto. A strange eerie calm permeated the solitary structure as would an abandoned grade school between classes, there was not a sound or a person in sight. All I could think 900x900px-LL-6880f2e6_2775610896_1d4e45377eof, was I in the right building, the address was what I had written down but there was no signage one would usually encounter in a building with medical doctors. So I did not know the floor or the office for the doctor I was coming to see.  I wandered around knocking lightly on few doors with the hope to talk to anyone who might give me direction as to where I should go.

After about ten minutes or so of wandering aimlessly I saw a plaque on a door down at the end of a hallway and I thought I could make out the sound of a television with a boisterous crowd cheering and jeering. It was faint but I was comforted by a faint pulse of humanity in this seemingly soulless hall of sedation. As I got to the door I could now see the plaque up close and there it was the name of the Doctor that I was looking to see. I went for the door handle and as I opened it I came upon a waiting room with several couches packed with a carnival of people. Full 20006aFLPfamilies and shady characters abound, no one looking each other in the eye, as if to not acknowledge that anyone else was there. There was a large console color TV in the corner with a wooden finish, straight out of the 1970s with a tinfoil antennae, where Jerry Springer was holding court.  On top of the television where two spider plants which looked as if they had not been watered, well ever.

As I scanned the room I saw an open office with a half door, off of the waiting room, which screamed to me “check in”. Although there was no sign, there was a bright light emanating from the room. It seemed only right to see if there was any sign of life in there. The drab unwelcoming waiting room, gave me the uncomfortable urge to just sit down and wait for something to happen. A bizarre display of lifelessness hung over the room as young children would occasionally break the silence with there screeches directed toward their parents in Spanish asking different variations of when this would be all over and they could go home.

Making my way through the sludge, I arrived at the adjacent office and in there was a small adult woman answering an overwhelming tide of calls. Pressing the blinking buttons with rapid fire precision and asking people “to hold” in Spanish. After several minutes of this and a finger wave prompting me to wait until she had a moment to attend to me. At some point she said to me in English, “Are’s you ‘ere to zee zee Doctor?” After answering in the affirmative…she told me her name was Rada, and directed me to fill out the patient form attached to a clipboard complete with a ball point pen tied to the clip with a string. Rada then told me to bring it back to her when I was done filling it out. There was nowhere to sit so I filled it out while standing at the waiting room entrance. This place was from another dimension in time and you could cut the uncomfortable dysfunction with a knife. It’s odd to 9002a say, but there was a strange comfort in that. As I always say welcome to mars. How do these situations always find me with ease? When I was done with the form I returned it and went and stood quietly again by the door…just in case anything normal happened I could burst out the door and get the hell out of there in an a flash.

As I stood waiting, one woman wanted to change the channel on the TV and apparently had no intention of letting everyone else know. She twisted the channel knob to reveal only three local stations available and the picture was wavy and spinning full of static. As soon as her intentions were clear another woman got up and tried to start a fight with her over changing the channel. WTF they were going at it in their native tongue, pushing each other back and forth…I pulled out the proverbial bucket of popcorn in sheer joy as I had a front row seat to this ridiculousness. After a few minutes of arguing and manhandling each other, Rada come out from behind the door and said, “No chang of channel, cud it oud!” as she put the channel back were it was before and everyone calmed down and sunk back into their seats. Oh my God, the humanity!

After twenty minutes or so, after more of the patients who were angry over things as small as making slight contact with other patients in the room, the door to the doctors offices opened and a tall man with grey wiry wild hair and a spaghetti tie walked into the room. This man obviously the Doctor, looking like Colonel Sanders entered the room and instantaneously all hands went up, and they all began to talk to the doctor at the same time in several different languages. Was this for freaking real? The Doctor redirected them like dogs with a sharp squeal , “chit…chitt!” He addressed them by name in a strange diatribe of noises, interspersed with slang from a cornucopia of languages. One by one he calmed them down. I came to find out that the Doctor did not go in terms of order…he picked and 7f09_-1-Lchose people who it looked like he was either trying to get rid of them or playing favorites to quell the drama, I could not figure which. It was then that arguments would break out over order, saying that they were here before them and the doctor would just make his choice and taking the patient, he would close the door.

At some point after a good hour the Doctor came into the waiting room and finally called my name. I also had noticed that everyone who had seen the doctor would leave with several prescriptions in hand and leave the office, finally calm, seemingly getting what they had come for. So as the Doctor prompted me to come in, I was anxious to finally get out of that cage and as I hurried in to his office came a flurry of hoots and hollers, hands all raised in the air relentlessly complaining that they were before me. This was the first time seeing the doctor and he seemed to prescribe me whatever I suggested. Never had that happen so easily, but it was happening.

I would go once a month from then on and every time something absolutely nuts would go down in the waiting room. It became very routine…this Doctor was a strange man, he told me he was from Romania, with an accent but a firm grasp of English. Every time I came to see him he was always eating cold fava beans from a glass bowl with a spoon…odd that. It got to the point where he would have me sit down and after telling him what minor problems ailed me, he would say so what do you need today. I would just say whatever 3t51qhlargecame to mind specific tranquilizers, opiate pain meds, muscle relaxants. As time went on he even would ask me to tell him what dosages and how many times per day. As my pharmaceutical nomenclature progressed I would be spitting out a bevy of meds that would tranquilize a small town.

After I few months I new the drill and I did not think anything of taking anything he suggested to try out and I would pretty much tell him what to prescribe. This was before the days of doctor shopping and the modern pay pain clinics that are a mainstay in today’s treatment regimes. I would leave with heavy prescriptions of Soma, Flexeril, Xanax, Klonopin, Valium, Oxycodone, Percs, Vics, Hydros, Dilaudid, Morphine, Adderal, etc.etc. the list goes on and on. My favorites were tincture of Opium/ Laudanum (When I could get it as it had to be ordered, but he would write the scrip) Codeine Prometh, fentanyl. I would not get all these at once but as I would get a tolerance to a certain drug and I would have breakthrough “Migraines” as well as other aches and pains, the Doctor would prescribe something stronger with every visit. There were a lot of other drugs but those are just off the top of my head.  I was also taking street drugs and alcohol as well, wow, what I could achieve with my daily Brompton Cocktail.

With all that said I must stress that I did not seek out this Doctor, it was just by chance that this fun loving droogie would happen upon this madness. I was young as well so if the doctor prescribed it then it must work. Well it worked that’s for sure. It would be common for me to leave with as many as eight prescriptions per visit. I remember one time where a covering doctor who was standing in for my regular doctor, wrote my scrips that were posted in the notes of my medical folder, and she kept looking at me funny only to finish by 900x900px-LL-3957547f_Beyerdynamic_DT770_by_Pas1990saying, “You know you should really cut down on these meds, especially the benzos, you could have a severe seizure and die, if there was ever a problem getting them filled.” I nodded as if to agree, and she wished me “good luck”.

As a result of a lot of people in our circle of friends with good connections for substances we would trade and share what we had. Over time I was given the name Dr. X, because shall I dare say it, I embarrassingly at the time had a fanny pack which was a pharmacy to go. I will not get into depth as to why I got that name. I’ll leave it to the imagination. Let’s just say I used to have a plethora or assortment of uppers, downers, and all arounders…to cure all that ailed ye!

So that sets the stage of the dimension my life was taking. I could work and take my drugs and I got good at it so that I knew the exact amount to just keep me functional. When I had time off I would let loose. I was basically knocking myself out at night to sleep. I would wake up to the alarm the next day and dose up so I was always able to go high. For some reason even though I was really careful at raising dosages so I would never OD and I had the tolerance of an elephant so I never even felt like I got close to an overdose. The drugs made me feel normal and there would always be a buzz of euphoria but I always felt in control. I’ve had one speeding ticket in my life and never got in any trouble. In the city I blended in easily into the crowd.

At the time, this was before I was working in the music industry, but I moved around a lot from state to state, city to city. Having all this availability to get all the pharma grade substances, as you would expect it was easy making friends who would let me crash at there house for as long as I wanted. Every night was a party, partied hard! So between attending concerts and festivals I would come back to town and stay with a few circles of friends. At the time I carried a gun everywhere I went…I hate saying that, as I would never do such a thing today. It was a crazy life though, and there were several times when people would try to rob me or I would get mugged but they never got anything out of me even under threat of having a gun pointed at my head. The worst thing that ever happened 46070_hto me had nothing to do with a gun, was one time I had a 40oz beer smashed over my head and I was punched with brass knuckles by a gang of 8-10 gang members…I just went to the hospital got slung up and they loaded me with more meds.

So I was running with a group of characters in one city and there were like ten to a dozen of us living in one huge house all partying 24/7 and then sleeping for days. One guy was a great cook and he always cooked us crazy good meals. Another friend was a music prodigy who would stay awake for days writing wacked out progressive metal and he could play just about any instrument. Another guy had all these meds from all these wild disorders and he bred pet rats. Pet Rats, I’ve held them, but I think their the only animal that creeps me out. There was another guy that made chain male by hand and made good money doing it.

Then there was my most “normal friend” and his girlfriend, we dug the same music and liked doing the same drugs. I was dating a girl from the group at the time which was fun. Finally there was the Satanist, WTF….yup there was one of those, and although I did not share his ideology, he was quite a nice guy. It’s just that when he was drunk and face exploding red, he would scream at the top of his lungs, in a fake pseudo tongue spewing nonsense words supposedly direct from Prince of Darkness, and attesting to his love for 900x900px-LL-d3d2555c_62aced3e4d84b644e0a9ba890e06his favorite band “Deicide”. No Slayer was not evil enough for him, this guy was a real character. To be honest he was fun to be around, as strange as that may seem.

The Satanists name was Damon (really Damon, I could’nt make this stuff up if I tried) I will not say his nickname even though it would give a good laugh. I don’t know if you have ever known a “Real Satanist”. He was not even one of the logical ones like Marilyn Manson who actually don’t believe in the devil. Damon was a real life “Lesser Demon” and he was fucking serious…he worshiped a red guy  with horns and a pointy tail. I have to laugh at it now as it seems quite silly…but he never seemed to hurt anyone except himself.  Self destruct right before our eyes, was not uncommon. He would always be the guinea pig  to try the home made meth a neighbor of ours would make…I would never touch that stuff, it was highly adulterated crank (You could 900x900px-LL-d0see the left over chemicals in the cut) and he would do huge amounts in a single line. I mean I’ve tried meth but the real stuff (glass)…I never liked it. Yuck…I was not made a tweaker. I did like pharma stims (amphetamine salts) though.

The other thing about Damon that was interesting was that his personality was a cross between Charles Manson and Aleister Crowley without the killing. Damon would always tell me about his love for heavy girls and the next thing you know he would be introducing me to his Harem. This group of six heavy girls (I have nothing against heavy girls…that’s not what made it humorous to me, just that this situation existed in our presence was remarkable.) They would follow him around and he would orgy with them in the next room with us shaking our heads thinking WTF.  I can’t say it enough, the girls really seemed to like it and I never saw him do anything mean…he just indulged extravagantly and they used him in that way back. The orgiastic debauchery was mutual between participants, I can say this today, that I cannot believe anything that we were already doing could be trumped, but the regular Satanic orgies did just that.

So what is the moral of this story? I have no freaking idea. I guess just another silly story but it seems quite a poignant period of time in my life. I left a lot out just because I don’t know what more to say, and don’t want to ramble. Or maybe there are other experiences relevant to this time period, check. The Hells Angels come to mind…that will have to wait though.

By the way I was looking into what happened to Dr. Feelgood several years ago, and I heard that he was under investigation by authorities for fraud and/or over prescribing. I never gave his office any money, insurance covered those visits for candy. I also heard that he fled prosecution to Romania…and that’s the last I’ve heard of him.

As for Damon the Satanist I found out many years ago that he passed away only a few years after last seeing him, that he had contracted full blown AIDS and hepatitis. I can say now that if there was anyone destined for a torturous death it was Damon. He lived harder than any person I have ever seen. Speak of the Devil.


Cheers and Bless Bless!


CM ☕


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