I am a window. I am fragile, transparent, and I protect you from the rain, whilst getting rained on myself.
You should have believed me. You should have believed me when I said never again. But as usual, you weren’t paying attention, or were far too willing to call my bluff. I didn’t realize it was a bluff until now. But now it’s real.
The sound of your voice was once wind chimes to my psychology. Now it’s a death knell. You best shut the fuck up now. I’ve stopped listening, deeming you powerless in your blight of humanity.
Your voice will never drive me wild again.
* * *
Next step is repairing. A radical change in environment. A lifestyle change. All the chess pieces are in place. This is a game I can’t lose. And shut the fuck up Smiley, I know you constantly humiliated me at chess. I’m speaking in metaphor.
It has become abundantly clear this album of mine has to be made more than ever. I know in my heart it will help people. It will remove the blinders. It will provide shelter. I finally manned up and got a track listing down in stone. It’s hard to say it’s my best work when I have such a goldmine of material. But it’s pretty damn good. It will be done with a full band, including members of Canadian Indie heavyweights, Trole.
* * *
I am afraid I won’t be seeing many of you ever again. But I love you all.
When I was in my early teens, my friend Smiley, and I, used to terrorize this mentally handicapped guy. I never knew the nature of this man’s illness. He was in his thirties. His name was Franky. If you ever asked him to borrow his radio he would snap. Just plain snap. He would start ranting and screaming like he was passing a stone. I don’t know how someone discovered he would react that way if you asked him such a question.
I’m becoming Franky. My mental faculties are starting to go. I live in a punk rock house by the Erimosa River in Guelph. It’s just me and two other guys. The basement has been converted into a big jam space. It works out nicely.
I try to get out once a day. I loathe to leave my room but I am in horrible shape. That and my countenance has gotten quite bad. There is only one bathroom in this house. I’ve been back here since the 20th of June and I had to crap in a bag three times because the bathroom has been in use.
This makes going for walks problematic. I guess I’ll buy a bedpan. I’ll just walk up and down the Erimosa River. I’ll smile too. Because I am getting that crazy person perma-smile. If you happen to be walking along the Erimosa River and see a big smirking grossly out of shape galoot lumbering by with a bedpan. It’s me. If you don’t see me it’s because I’ve ducked into the woods to take a heave. I would rather you not come looking for me. I will fling poo at you. Generally taking a crunch is a time I like to spend alone. I apologize in advance to the wildlife of Guelph.
Why do I share this? I know you’re asking this. Is it embarrassing? No. It’s really not. I am dead inside. I don’t feel embarrassment. The older I get, the less I give a ripe fuck. I am an entertainer however, and if my shortcomings can coax a laugh out of the more fortunate, which is pretty much everyone, then I am more than happy to do it.
The last few years of my life have been fucking hell. I still feel as though I am emotionally being held hostage. I want to be free. I don’t want to be burdened by things like love and compassion. I know this negates what I was saying about being dead inside. I rock hypocrisy. If I have a weakness, it’s hypocrisy.
Often when I make a fleeting whimsical decision, I hold an imaginary press conference on social media declaring my big decision like it means something. More often than not, after giving some thought about it for a few minutes, I realize that’s not what I want to do. So I’ll just go ahead and switch plans without informing anyone. Then while everyone is busy trying to acclimate to my previous decision I get frustrated when no one has caught onto the new decision they haven’t been informed of. ASK MY PREVIOUS BAND MATES!
Right. My band. My music. That’s pretty much all I have left. But it’s enough. And it will always be enough. I’m not ever going to be famous. You can’t tour the world when you can’t even leave the room. I can’t do anything that is required of any successful musician. I suck. I lack focus. I lack motivation. My mind changes like the tides.
I’ve been writing and re-writing my album that is 7 years in the making for the last 7 years. I have hundreds of demos. I have hundreds of drum tracks. They’re all just sitting on my hard drive. I suck. I can’t do this anymore. I just be.
Back to getting older and crazier. That’s me. I’m dying. I have no interest in the things you need. I don’t need love. Love is burdensome and a succubus. Love makes all the things that I like about myself disappear. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. I don’t derive any pleasure from anything other than making music.
Even this blog is getting wearisome. I can’t stop though. This blog is therapy. I need therapy. But I can’t afford therapy. The government doesn’t even want me to be alive. I am an expense. I am an expense to taxpayers, and I am an expense to everyone who is fucking retarded enough to care about me.
What is your dream? What do you need to be happy?
My idea of being happy for me is being in assisted living. I suck at taking care of myself. I don’t need anything more than a room. Yesterday I ate nothing but chips, a macaroni sandwich, and Taco Bell. My laundry is piling up and I don’t have the courage to go do it. I want the family I never had. I can’t seem to mentally get past 16. I’m not a danger to anyone. Just a burden it seems.
This is end times. I’m ready to die. I have nothing left to give life. I have nothing left to offer anyone. I am unreliable. You can’t love me. I will destroy you. No one loves me unscathed. I’m not a bad person. I’m just not right in the head and I will hurt anyone and anything to survive. I am a survivalist. But I don’t want to survive anymore. Living has lost its thrill.
Every day I wake up I am terrified of what the day will bring me. My heart hurts for all the people in the world who have been left behind.
Let people die who want to die. You have no right to expect someone to live who doesn’t want to live. You have no right. Suicide isn’t selfish. Expecting someone who wants to die not to kill themselves because you’ll be sad is selfish.
I’m not depressed. I’m just done. I have no use for life. I want you to be happy for me. Don’t be a whiney little bitch. Don’t be sad for Chester. He was dissatisfied with life so he spined the fuck up and did something about it. I’m proud of him. i envy him.
And Oshawa, don’t you pathetic cunts hold some stupid shindig for me in my honour at some rathole bar, you pathetic fucking swines. Honour me by sharing my music. Or don’t. You can go dance the fucking hullygully for all I care. With the exception of about 3 people I actually care about, I think you’re all a fucking joke anyway. But you know that. 😉
Don’t put me on suicide watch. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have the nerve to hang myself or throw a toaster in the bath. But I certainly wish I was dead. The longer I live, the more painful everything gets, and I do mean everything.
There’s nothing left to do but exist. I will exist until I die. Hopefully it happens sooner than later.
Thanks for tuning in guys. I’ve been working my ass off on this album. I keep starting all over a lot but at least I am doing something. If any of you in bands need songs let me know. I am a better songwriter than you, I don’t care about the genre. Well maybe not jazz….
Check your head. Don’t be so quick to jump all over something. And most of all, don’t judge.
* * *
Don’t be so enthusiastic about romance. Men are from earth. Women are from earth too. The best part of your relationship was that time when you were wooing each other. You were both on your best behaviour. You hid all your darkness. You behaved. You did whatever you had to do to nurture and advance your relationship. And look at you now.
You fucked up. Slowly but surely the chinks in your armour began to show, and some point you decided it was ok to bleed. It’s never ok to bleed. Not if love in a conventional sense has something to say about it.
It’s time to stand down and be real.
* * *
My Strat is out of the shop. I am thrilled to no end. I can’t stop playing it. I love this guitar like I’ve never loved another guitar. I’m not a fan of the Trem system however. I think I am going to block it. I loathe the idea of a guitar going completely out of tune because a string breaks. I would trade this sucker for a Tele. I don’t have my Firebird. I lost her. She’s gone and isn’t ever coming back. But I love her. It’s a love that will never go away.
* * *
Adele fucking rocks. Deal.
* * *
For now I’ll just kiss her finger. Don’t play with me, cuz you’re playing with fire.
And there it is. He races out of the gate with the strength of a lion. Just like that. It’s right there in the title. Doug Hell can fucking write. You’re riveted. Imagine how I feel having this power. I don’t have a God complex. I AM a fucking God.
Well it seems my shenanigans have exceeded me once again. I managed to piss off a very good friend of mine, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how. It’s not like he is apocalyptic pissed off but I managed to vex him somewhere along the way,
This may be routine for some, but I generally only seem to piss off people who deserve to be pissed off. This person doesn’t. This person believes in me and my talent more than I believe in myself sometimes. We’re still cool and everything but it inspires me to check my head a little bit.
It also makes me feel a little sad for some of my haters. Thankfully, there is no one of any real consequence or substance who is rooting against me. I still get Wednesday 13 fans giving me the dickens. One of them went as far as telling me they have a closed group of people on Facebook who actually make it their business to seek out every video I post and add dislikes to it. That doesn’t actually bother me. If I get enough dislikes I may get up to 666 and that would be cool, no?
Again, I am sad for these people. You best believe it too. Maybe not the Wednesday 13 fans but there are people out here who have NOTHING. Perhaps they have a home or a job or whatnot. Great. You hate your job and you can’t keep your home without working it. You’ll do this till you retire. Bravo. But these people also don’t have a single person in their life who have their back. Their entire life is a manipulative facade.
I can only give you this advice. Do what you have to do to be happy NOW. As in now. And I mean healthy genuine happiness. Don’t suffer in vain to create an illusion of happiness. That is laughable. I’ll choose genuine happiness any day. I don’t particularly give a ripe fuck if anyone believes I am happy or not. Because I’m NOT always happy and it’s fine that people know that too. Ahhhhh to be real. It’s just so fucking liberating.
So I jammed with a bass player last night. He is in one of Canada’s biggest punk bands already but has the time for me because I’m a gnarly dude who deserves good things. Also when I actually take off there is no way in hell he’ll fight the good fight in a band that can’t sustain itself. The Doug Hell brand is totally going to be a lucrative endeavor. I have too much sway as it is and huge connections. I just have to stay focused and stop fucking around. I’m my own worst enemy.
I can’t wait to get on a stage again and be the envy of every man and the product of every woman’s desire. There I will be moving fucking air while you’re standing there with your tears of frustration glaring at your imaginary fruit baskets on either side of you, wishing you were a part of my amazing energy.
The King Of Cocky Antagonism comes out swinging with his first blog of substance in a while, only to make several typos. I realize my grammar can be pretty horrible but I’m ok with that. What I can’t stand are the fucking typos. Fuck those typos. Fuck the cadences and structures too. They don’t matter. You can take them or leave them. Not only that, but these words flow out of me with zero effort. I sneeze and beautiful art comes out. It’s my curse.
But I can’t stand fucking typos!!
That being said, I’m 44 years old. I’ll let that sink in. This site has been going for three years. In that time I’ve written a full length screenplay. I have another two half done. I have a producer.
I told Get Bent Records to get bent. I haven’t received a penny in royalties and I know for a fact I was their best seller. I know this because a little bird told me.
I signed with Skin City Records. I was supposed to have an album out in February.
I was going somewhere with all of this but of course my train of thought has derailed.
There is a new album coming. I swear to Christ. Acoustic Doug Hell is dead. Let’s face it. I sing horribly. 75% of my material is sang in this bullshit raspy voice. My voice is not raspy. I twist my vocal cords to get that effect. And I sing from my throat and head. Any trained vocal instructor will tell you that’s a piss poor idea.
Anyway, do that over top acoustic guitar and it doesn’t really sound the greatest. It’s time to plug in again. No more bass. I can’t play bass and sing the way I would like at the same time.
So I am a guitar player. It should also be noted I am the best guitar player in the world. With the exception of Sparkles, I don’t trust anyone else to play guitar the way I want to hear it. I finally found my sound too. I play an American Highway 1 Strat through a Marshall V265 with an extension cab. I user very little distortion.
The Strat is the only guitar I have ever enjoyed the sound of my open chords through. Even my GIbson Firebird (the Hanging Girl guitar) didn’t cut it for me. The Strat is one badass guitar. All the greatest guitar players in the world swear by them. David Gilmour, Gord Gano, Dean Ween, Paul Leary, Mark Knopfler, and Rivers Cuomo are just a few. I don’t feel an overwhelming urge to list them all. This is all about me. I HAVE FOUND MY GUITAR SOUND!
So this new album will essentially be some of my acoustic ones plugged in. There are some spectacular new ones too.
My guitar tech currently has my Strat. Fuck I miss it. He’s going to give it a killer setup and block the tremolo system for me. I can’t wait. I am ravenous to do this album. It’s going to set the world on fire.
To those who are emailing the crap out of me, just be patient. I WILL get back to you. It likely won’t be as soon as you would like but I swear to get back to everyone who reaches out.
The internet is fucking great. You don’t even have to be original anymore. This is the information age. But information aside, you don’t even have to be creative. Need something witty to say? The internet is FULL of memes. Need something creative to say? Again, the internet is full of art and beauty you can pass off as your own. You don’t like someone and you don’t have the stones to tell them to their face? Relax! You can wreak havoc in their life and make them miserable. Just find a way too access them. Maybe it’s by email. Maybe through their website! Guestbook! Comments section! Why do something to make someone feel good when you can make them feel bad! The INTERNET has been making this easy.
Everyone can be someone now. You don’t even have to look good. All you need is chops. But you’re not getting anywhere without the chops. It’s nice to look good. It’s nice to have the desire to have talent, but you know in comparison to having chops? YOU’RE NOTHING!
It’s good to be back. I was in a slump there for awhile but I’m back. Where have I been? Growing. Learning. KICKING FUCKING ASS. I’m so proud of everything and the growth I’ve accomplished these last few months. I really raised the bar on being strong.
Avoid the destroyers. It’s all they’re good for. Destroying. But they’re no good for creating. I’m a creator. I bring relevance and beauty to pretty much anyone and anything associated with me. That is why people cling to my energy. It’s why girls don’t get over me. It’s why you’re here. You can loathe me, just don’t stop reading. 🙂 I’ve said this once and I’ll say it again ten million times. THERE IS NO LIFE AFTER DOUG HELL.
The destroyers are offended gigantically by people like me. It’s bliss for a creator. All I have to do, is make myself happy and do what I love, and it DESTROYS the destroyer. There is no fury like the fury accrued through being denied my attention.