The Martyr Exploded

What a trip.  I say that a lot, don’t I? What a trip.  Yeah i guess I do.  Well that’s ok.  I’m superfuckingcool, thus I do whatever the fuck I want.

OK so here’s the deal.  My Uncle Burford has been paying close attention to my blogs.  Too close attention.  The guy is out of his gourd.  He hates me and rightly so.  I spent a significant amount of time dating his daughter (my cousin).  Most of you think that’s wrong and that’s fine.  If you saw this girl, you would date her too.  Even if she were your own sister.  You’d still date her.  And don’t tell me you wouldn’t because you would.  I’m never wrong.

So the subject of my love and burning desire, and cousin.  Her name is Penelope.  That is not pronounced PAH-NELLA-PEE.  It is pronounced PEENA-LOPE.

So Penelope and I dated for some time.  Oh for fuck’s sake.  I can hear you in your head not pronouncing the name correctly.  I’m just gonna call her Peenalope.  Better?

So Uncle Burford has never liked me.  I’m free-spirited, sexy, fairly demented, and I don’t bend.  Uncle Burford HATES that.  He is rich as Hell.  Well not rich next to someone who really is rich.  But he’s richer than people living in Oshawa.  Let’s go with that.

He’s used to being surrounded by a bunch of emotionally and creatively bankrupt malcontents who BEND because they don’t want to be in the bad graces of a semi-wealthy man.  And who would?


Ok without going into the really juicy stuff (I’ll save that for another day), Peenalope and I aren’t together anymore.  Uncle Burford has made it abundantly clear true love is unacceptable in his world of tedium and financial stability.  I walked away from the whole thing, not because I was sick of his shit, but because Cousinlove is wrong.  I saw the err of my ways and wanted to return to a world of REAL debauchery.  I wasn’t into the whole let’s all be bored out of our fucking skulls and talk shit about people who aren’t around to defend themselves.

Regardless,  Uncle Burford is reading my blog daily.  He has deemed me a threat to life and is doing his noble duty of keeping tabs on me.  I really crossed the line a little while back when I expressed my disdain for cottages.    I apologized publicly and humiliatingly, so hopefully I don’t have to worry about me disappearing one day.  Rich people can do that.  Not to mention, what kind of a horrible asshole disrespects cottages?  I have put contingencies in place should an “accident” ever befall me.

I can’t be as X-rated in my blogs as I would like to, because Uncle Burford is watching closely and takes it out on the lovely Peenalope whenever i say something wrong.  If you knew Peenalope, you would know she doesn’t deserve the scorn from any other human being except for me.  I can scorn her all I want because I am macho, and oriental.

Moral of this story?  Don’t fuck your cousin.

Actually I don’t think that’s it.  The whole time I was with Peenalope I was led to live in fear of Uncle Burford who I hadn’t met.  I made concessions and tried to make changes for her because I love her.  That’s what you do when you love someone.  Love is so fucking beautiful.  Love is that favourite song.  It’s just fucking love.  Everyone needs to stop trying to intimidate love and let it have its day.  All the acrimonious squabbling doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.  When there is love, it just doesn’t fucking matter.  I love love.  And there is no power in the universe that could ever stop Peenalope and I from loving each other.

Regardless, now the whole thing is over.  Instead of trying to change and become a better person, I decided to accept the person that I am.

I’m the bad guy.

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The Culling

This is MY blog.  I will blog about what I want.  No one is putting a fucking gun to your head.  You don’t have to come here.  No one is forcing you to read any of this.  There are days that are good.  There are days that are ungood.  Get your fucking head checked.

If any of these blogs piss you off, then there is an excellent chance you’re just fucking pissed off in general.

You are allowing a mentally ill 43 year old with NOTHING to get to you.  I am going nowhere.  I aspire to do nothing more than live out my last days on earth not so fucking miserably.  I am not a threat to you.  I ask nothing of you.  I’m not hurting anyone.

Grow the fuck up.  Go away.  You don’t like what I have to say?  Don’t read.  It really is that fucking easy.

I’m just a smokescreen for the real problem.  YOU.

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Point Me To My Grave

Hey guys.  And so it begins.  I’ve found a list of the AA meetings available in the Durham Region.  I find this the most accessible list.  I did do some research believe it or not.  I hope this helps.  Here is the link to the meetings.

Try answer any of the following questions honestly. (below)


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Sanctuary Zero


I am at Sanctuary Zero.  Sanctuary Zero is a place that only I can access.  No one knows where it is, save for the stooges guarding the place.  No one can find me here.  Should you dare to try, you will be cut down by some extremely scary monsters.  Try me.  This is my sacred place.

FIrst of all, thanks.  Thanks to every one of you who took the time to email me and persuade me to not give up music.  The response was overwhelming.  It made me a tad misty, I’m not going to lie.  Oh wait, I don’t lie.

Don’t you people worry.  Tamara Leclair raised a good point when she told me in not so many words that my music helps people.   She is right and that pleases me to no end.

Don’t worry.  The music won’t stop.  I can’t promise you a live performance unless it’s in a sober coffee house.  But I will continue to make music.  I will also back up my brothers, Lumpy and Prentice, in whatever musical endeavor they choose.  They deserve that.  They helped me do what I had to do musically.  And they did it like men.  Thank you Jay Prentice, and Craig Argyle for your friendship, and help.  I’ll always have your back.

Back to Tamara Leclair.  Yes Tamara is sketchy.  Yes she inserts herself out of place.  Yes she’s the worst kind of attention whore.  But she’s like a dear dear sister to me and I love her.  I’ve been accused too often of keeping her around because I like to go against the grain.  But fact of the matter, she is extremely important to me.  If any of you Oshawa starfucking clones have a problem with her, you have a problem with me.  And we all know there isn’t a human being alive who can handle that.  Tried, tested, true.

So yeah.  The music won’t stop.  I’m ready to drop a brand new album of brand new material.  But we’ve been through that already.  Hopefully I will have the help of Trole, who remains one of my best friends and biggest influences today.

I’ll get back to Oshawa in due time.  But right now I am charging my batteries.  I don’t know how much longer I’ll be alive.  I don’t fear death.  Not as much as I fear life.

End transmission.

So they’re all dead huh?


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Doug Hell: Unplugged


I’m an alcoholic.  Just because I barely ever drink, it does not mean I’m not an alcoholic.  The happiest, most serene people I’ve ever met in my life are recovered alcoholics.  I’m going to start going to AA meetings.  I want to be a part of that magic.  While I don’t necessarily agree with their ideals, it will be good to meet other people who don’t rely on alcohol to exist.

With these new life decisions I will be able to achieve my goals of helping others who need help.  Perhaps I’ll become an addictions counselor.  I’ve lived my life selfishly for me, my whole life.  I can’t stand my existence.  If I am going to continue to exist then I am going to at least put myself to good use.

I vow this.

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Near-Life Experience

Tomorrow was such a long time ago.

I’m fucking demented.  It’s becoming more clear every day.

I am ready to die.

This is not me being melodramatic.  I’m not suicidal.  I’m not depressed.  I’m just done.  There is nothing left I want to do in life.  I’ve exceeded all my expectations.  I survived my past.

My body is failing me.  I passed a stone a month ago and have been walking with a cane ever since.  I can’t even tell when I have to pee any more.

Psychologically I am at an all-time low.  My inability to function socially has made it almost impossible to do what I love to do.  Play music. I’ve become literally fucking useless.  I don’t aspire to do anything in life at all but stay in my room.  I don’t do anyone any good.  Everything I touch turns to shit.

There is only one thing left to do.  I need to find a way to help people.  If I can’t manage in my own life I need to find a way to help other’s lives become more manageable.  There are people who need help.  There are people who need love.  I have a lot of love to give.  But of course that would mean human interaction.  I’m getting worse at it.  I really am.

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The Flowers Become Screams


I’m done playing punk rock.  I just don’t have the stamina anymore.  It’s weird because this is the first time I absolutely love the band I’m playing in.  Lumpy and Prentice are as efficient in brotherdom as they are at their instruments.  I know brotherdom is not a word, but you’re a cunt and I don’t care.

It’s time for Radar Hate to die.  We’re playing one last show tomorrow and then it’s the curtains.

*   *   *

About a month ago I passed a kidney stone.  It was the worst pain I’ve ever had to endure in my life.  Forget about everything you think you know about pain.  My back has been quite fucked ever since.  I’ve been walking with a cane.  My first cane broke because it was flimsy.  That and I am grossly overweight.  I have a new cane that is a little more solid.  I’ve been eating a lot better and have started walking everywhere.  And I do mean everywhere.  I’m going to get healthy.  8 months ago I quit smoking.  That was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.  I’m going to get in shape.

*   *   *

I need to make changes in my life.  I’ve put way too much energy into saying fuck you to everyone.  It really hasn’t gotten me anywhere.  Granted it’s earned me respect in less than profitable places, but I’ve shot myself in the foot too many times, simply because I’ve ever refused to bend just a little.  I’ve learned so much in the last 6 months.  I’ve made an ass out of myself, whilst clinging to my principles for dear life.  It’s one thing to have principles and stand by them.  But it’s another thing to fuck up your life ten ways from Sunday to defend them.

*   *   *

I really don’t know how to control my emotions.  They’re a force.  A person can tell instantly if I don’t like them or not.  They feel it hit them like a ton of bricks.  I need to get a handle on that.  I have this curse.  It’s this internal radar that can gauge whether a person is good or not.  It takes about all of 5 seconds.  Then bam, my instant dislike kicks in and they are pulverized by it.  They can tell I don’t like them, and respond in kind.  Let be honest.  I like few people.  But I can get along with anyone.  It takes three seconds to be nice to someone.

*     *     *

And just like that.  The flowers become screams.  Everyone take cares of yourselves.  You owe it to yourself and everyone you love.

And just like that, the flowers become screams.


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Interlude Of Consequence

Some people need to die so others can live.

Tick tock.

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We’re Human Beings But We Don’t Care


Misery doesn’t love company. Misery just doesn’t wanna be miserable anymore.

I’m not hard to find. Right now I’m chasing echoes. Somewhere along the way I made a deal with a nameless, faceless, entity who thought it would prove to be a remarkable idea to visit my intentions. We made a deal. I don’t remember the nature of the deal but it has somehow left me playing out a bad hand.

My mirror took a chance in looking at me, my destiny beckoned.  The mirror person and I looked at each other for a while.  I’ve got to say the mirror person loves me because I take care of his problems before I take care of my own. Not bad for a poet living in the shadows.

Loneliness isn’t a game. It happens when you let go of a loved one’s hand.

I’ve been neglecting my means to an end. It’s of no fault the mirror person. He’s just trying to understand this life I have chosen for myself. And his.

I don’t need to see your face to know that you’re an angel. I’ve got your heart here at home with me. I will try to forget, but I’ve not forgotten. I could have been someone but I was having just too much fun.

It’s always beautiful in the beginning. A new smile. A new touch. The promise of what once was and what will be once again. You know I’ve been thinking. It’s time we had a talk. It fell in love with me running from it’s wildest dreams

I still see your graveyard smile. I still feel your streetcar embrace every time you teach me that lesson in marytrdom. I still hear you calling every time I hear those melodies in the morning. Those are the very same melodies that provide a soundtrack for my dreams.

In this emotional wreckage there is only one thing left to do. Fear nothing. I am at one with this night. Brother to the owl.

Don’t pretend you forget. Don’t forget that you pretend to care. When you fear, turn and look behind. Don’t back down.

You don’t need this. We don’t need this. We don’t have to posture to get the things we need in this presentation. We’re two strangers whose story-lines have conflicted. We’re fighting for the same moment that isn’t even long enough to enjoy a kiss.

Two months ago was the fourth time this year I had my dying dream. It didn’t quite grasp me until I was awake the next day. What I thought to be a routine hangover turned out to be the hand of Death grasping me, reminding me who was in charge.

I tried to wash away its touch for a great length of time in the shower. It took some time for me to calm down and realize that I had a say in the matter too. I’m not afraid. I’m willing and fearless. You’ll see it in my eyes.

Last night I had a different dying dream. The mirror person was dead.

But I was ok.

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I Can Go Back There Anytime


I am not a man without conscience.  You may have a hard time believing this.  Actually, no you wouldn’t.  Every single one of you who follow me know that while I am flawed, and idiotic, I am not a mean-spirited and heartless man.

But I went too far this time.

I’ve been known to make many controversial statements in my blogs.  Some more severe than others.  And these comments need to be taken very seriously.  They are words after all.  Couple that with the fact that they are on the internet, you best believe they’re fucking true and should be revered more than your own desperation to survive in such a crazy, crazy world.

Yesterday I went too far however.

I expressed my disdain for cottages.  This was unacceptable.  I’ve said some shitty fucking things.  But never before yesterday, have I sunken  to such a low.  I disgust myself.

I hope you all can somehow find room in your hearts to forgive me.

Here is a link to beautiful cottages to make this right.  Thanks everyone.


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