Ay, but there is a difference between unable and unwilling.
Pound a Rhythm - - - lyrics??
I hear, “Put down the dollar bill, fool…”
Someone please tell me I am imagining this.
Vector for blood borne pathogens. HIV dies too fast upon contact with air, but Hepatitis C, methicillin-resistant Staph. aureus which colonizes people’s nasal mucosa, the Neisseria strain that gives you fulminant meningococcemia and highly lethal meningitis that likes to establish itself in the nasopharynx - fair game.
Seriously?
Cocaine?
Fucking weak, man. I was already having a shitty day.
Seriously?
Like dollar bills weren’t dirty enough as they were.
The single dirtiest drug out there. Politically, economically, ecologically, sociologically, AND physiologically.
o Cocaine toxicity can cause a variety of cardiovascular sequelae including: cardiac dysrhythmias, coronary artery vasospasm, myocardial ischemia/infarction, and aortic dissection. The central nervous system is also commonly involved with seizures, intracranial hemorrhages/infarctions and hypertensive encephalopathy being common. Mesenteric ischemia can occur, as well as rhabdomyolysis.
Rhabdo is when muscle breakdown clogs up your kidneys inducing acute renal failure. It’s not pretty. Your aesthetics may well differ from mine, but. Nothing about cocaine is pretty. Come meet the people with dilated cardiomyopathy and consequent congestive heart failure that come through the special revolving door entrance of the hospital on a daily basis. It’s the saddest epidemic in this town.
... Really? Seriously?
And I was starting to get the strange sense that I’d been hanging out with the wrong people.
Man, bummer. I am imagining these lyrics, right? It’s not really it, is it?
If it ~IS~, so then, is the song ‘Train’ talking about rails?
Man. What a let down. Speak of disturbing -
I recently saw a 38-yr old man, with no relevant medical history, literally drop dead in the Emergency Dep’t. Sudden cardiac arrest from a massive heart attack. He died on November 13th, in Room 13 of the ED. His wife and daughter were in the room when resuscitation was finally stopped, after one whole goddamn hour. That was my first time telling a 12-yr old boy that his father had just deceased. It felt like SHIT to deliver the news, but I cannot imagine being on the receiving end. I step away from the dead man’s room to try to shield myself from absorbing the pain of the man’s wife holding his pulseless hand and shrieking in grief, and I look at the chart. (Because, surprise surprise, as it turns out, I’m an HSP…) Intellectualization = neurotic defense mechanism = psychological shield. The man’s birthday was on New Year’s Eve. On Dec. 31st, 1971. Barely 39 yrs old, not even. I look up and away thinking, “Too fucking young. No medical history. How can this be?... Who do I know around that age?” and my eyes land on the nearest computer screen, which is displaying an open internet browser—and the page open is the physicians’ internal paging system, “SIMON WEB - On-Call Search.”
Great, Simon. Good going. Way to take care of your heart.
Please tell me those aren’t really the lyrics I’m hearing.
You know what? We actually live longer than ‘a’ day. We’re actually ~still~ alive. Unless, of course, you take that “sex, drugs & rock ‘n’ roll” attitude to the grave, and knock yourself out.
I’d say you not only owe it to yourself but you also owe it to the 12-yr old boy who’s been inspired by your music, to put down the goddamn dollar bill, fool.
Can someone please cheer me up and give me an alternative interpretation of these lyrics? I am totally imagining this, right? Just another figment of my imagination - for art creates itself in a silent, sterile vacuum, contrary to what they tell me - correct?
