Chicken Soup for the Soul, Tomato Soup for Your Ass, and a Cure For Pain
Calling M. Sahm…
I’m three hours into my self-inflicted morning of misery. I finished off Knopfler and Harris. My cube — yeah, I’m a fuckin’ cube dweller — is assbiting cold today, which is a nice switch from yesterday’s 10,000 ballsweating degrees. Every temperature of every room is room temperature to me on most days, but today is not most days.
I need… MORPHINE! Of course I’ve led a sheltered enough life that I’ve never taken anything stronger than fuckin’ Advil. I must not look trustworthy because the four times I’ve been to a doctor and been given a prescription for pain, it was always glorified fuckin’ Tylenol. Everyone else gets muscle relaxers and Vi–co–din (spelled that way because of spammers and government snoops). I get marked-up fucking Tylenol. Chalk another one up for racist, White America. The point is… I don’t know if I’d like morphine or not. I don’t know if this is what a narcotic haze feels like. I don’t know if this is what you feel like when you’re in need of narcotics. What I do know is Morphine’s classic Cure For Pain, with its baritone sax, a two-string slide bass, drums, and a nocturnal voice has hijacked my senses this morning. I don’t know if I’ll return.
Filed under: Tags: Morphine
Did you know that every time “M. Sahm” is typed on the web, a red analog phone on my desk rings? :o)
You know, for all of the Morphine songs that actually sound like audio, umm well morphine, there are a handful that are semi-upbeat. Like Honey White from “Yes”, or the b-side “Mile High”. Maybe those are the ones you need.
Another song that amused me when I was in a cubicle was ‘Cubicle’ by Rinocerose… great track that was used in a iPod commercial.
That’s good to know. I can summon you at my will.
You’re not wrong about not all Morphine songs fitting that description. “French Fries With Pepper” and “Early to Bed” don’t. They had some songs that were a little more upbeat. I tend to like the nocturnal ones better.
I prefer the “Quitstay Anthem” when I’m in the cube.
Vi-co-din . . . blech. I had that after I had my gallbladder out, it was awful, awful stuff. I know the kids love it, but I’m not build for medificatin’, apparently. Advil, Tylenol, and the like, that’s about all I WANT to be on.
As for Morphine, the band, that is, I’m going to have to call in a prescription for The Night when I get home. I don’t see it get much attention, but I think that’s a great, great album.
The Night was a little uneven to me, but there are some really nice moments on that one.
My son was on morphine when he snapped his arm in two a few years ago. He told me in the ER that he knew he had broken it, but he didn’t care, because he had morphine…he said it was all rainbows and lollypops, glorious morphine!
Of course, this is the kid whom I could not get to take his pain meds when he got home, even after two surgeries. Go figgure.
A painkiller conversation broke out this morning and that’s what a couple co-workers told me, something very similar to your son’s experience.
After hearing their stories — technically they were talking about muscle relaxers they had been legally prescribed — I termed it like this: Your back is still in 23 different knots, but your pain receptors have been sent on vacation. They’d care about the seriously jacked up back if they were home, but they’re on a beach somewhere drinking fruity drinks with umbrellas and you have gone along for the ride. Your muscles don’t relax, your brain does.
I also figured out why these drugs wouldn’t do anything for me. I already don’t care. I’d have to care to feel the effects of the drug. I guess I’m addiction proof. Once again, I beat the system. Go me!
Addiction proof?!? Coming from the man who needs to attend “Remastered-Box-Set-Buyers Anonymous”? Ha!
All right, maybe I should have been more specific about the kind of addictions to which I might be immune.