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somewhere somehow someone is laughing   
08:31pm 12/12/2003
  it's all been greatly exaggerated, children.

-the plastic one
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The Death Of Jackson Rake   
10:33am 09/09/2002
  Well, it's hard for me to do this. A bit of time has passed since it happened, but I have been so busy taking care of his other personal and business matters that his Live Journal (which I suggested he start as part of the overall promotional process for his comeback) has been left for last.

Jackson "Jack" Rake died of an overdose on Sunday, August 11th. His body was found around 8 that morning in a hotel room in Flagstaff, AZ. I guess his self-destructiveness finally just got the better of him. Regardless of what anyone tells you, he was 27 years old. Believe me, I know.

There were a number of events, situations and crises leading up to his eventual mental breakdown. Prior to leaving Las Vegas and disappearing into Arizona, he reportedly (according to eyewitnesses... I wasn't there) flew into a rage and literally destroyed his entire Vegas townhouse with a baseball bat and bother various objects. He was also supposedly shooting his TVs and stereo equipment with a shotgun. Following his smashing and shooting rampage, he burned the townhouse to the ground before disappearing later that day.

I tracked him to Arizona based on some calls he made on a company calling card. He was thrown out of two hotels for being disruptive prior to settling in his third, the one he eventually died in. He died close to the train tracks, which I'm sure made him happy.

I know these details are minimal and disorganized right now, but that's all you're going to get. Case closed. Story over. Jack is gone. I hope those of you who got to know him and love his music and personality during his short time on earth appreciated the chance you had.

That's it I guess. There won't be any more postings in this journal anymore... at least it's very unlikely. Tim, Jackson's assistant, is suggesting we let fans post their tributes and memories here. I guess we'll wait and see on that one.

For now though, that's all.

-Leyton Packard (Manager, Jackson Rake)
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I'm done being your whipping boy.   
07:41pm 20/07/2002
  My dog likes beer. That is all.  
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sick. sick? dope sick? sick.   
08:51pm 12/07/2002
mood: sick
So what if it is? So what if I am? So what if a problem is what I have? So what if I am a disappointment? So what if I'm plastic? So what if nothing ever lasts? So what if I vomit 15 times into a metal trash can with a plastic bag? So what if I can't get comfortable in my own bed? So what if I took 8 steaming hot baths over the course of 4 hours trying to get some relief. So what if I had to shove medicine up my ass to fall asleep? So what if they expected me to show up and I never did? So what if I caught a tiny little bug off an unwashed dish? So what if the fairy tale ends when the rest of the pages are torn out of the book and used to smoke soot? So what if I still ache like an old man who can't buy himself comfort? So what if it is/isn't/was/wasn't/will be/won't be my fault? So what? Go home and eat your greasy prossessed fa(s)t food, watch your greasy processed, pre-fabricated network s(h)itcoms, and laugh at your greasy processed carcass choking on plugs of dead beef sticking in your greasy processed throat before you pass out on your puke-stained rug. All my love.
Trashcan Decadence   
08:13pm 24/06/2002
mood: lazy
The old familiar beautiful itch is back. But She's going away far too soon. I'll have to substitute another weakness for Her... something else to cross my eyes and taint my sleep. Something else to stop me dead in my tracks yet keep me from being able to stand still at the same time. Tied together with electric twine. You're fine... energized... but not going anywhere.

I love my Las Vegas trash. It feels like dirty leather pants, eating entire frozen pizzas, gorging on rum and vanilla coke... lifestyle twisted with whiskey. I am modern poetry. I am the sleazy words you love but wouldn't want me to date your daughter. I am dead at 27. I am Mercury. I am not going any farther. Because as unclean as I am, I am not blasphemy. I am dirty. I am high-strung. I am misled... by myself. But I am not evil.

Mother, am I still your son? How does the world like me now? They love me, hands reaching out. Hold me up above the sea of you while I entertain you with my own self destruction. I am a hundred flash bulbs going off at once and simultaneously burning out. I am everything you wish you could taste. I am waste. But I make it look so nice.

Is it all catching up with me? Not as long as I keep running.

Things are great in this neon desert. Sticky hot. Beads of sweat feel like a million tiny little massages while I rust by the pool. Remember to keep hydrated, kids. Morphine cotton candy. Get it right here, folks. Don't miss out on the gorgeous sloppy summer. I will be back on the road in a few weeks. I did a pair of acoustic sets last week at a small local club. I melted like a candle. They wanted more. Black long-sleeved collared shirt, black pants, black tie, black socks, black boots. The socks had gold tips. I left a gold coin as a tip for the waitress that kept bringing me my drinks on stage. She asked for my number. I said, "One." I am the burning leather cowboy of this apocalypse. I made everyone hurt and they wanted more. It was real. Sometimes knives cut more deeply than jigsaws. I left blood, sweat, spit and eyeliner up there. I decayed a little bit for all of you. It's time to plug everything back in soon though. It's time to let the electric company know that I'm still here.

Thank you for all the love. It's on its way back.

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changing the face of sanity   
10:49pm 29/05/2002
  I haven't written in a long time because I've, um, been away.

So I got arrested or something. There was a court appearance and such. It was all nonsense, I assure you. I assure me. I assured the judge that I was sure that he was mistaken in his interpretation of the law. I referred to the court as a "kangaroo court." He didn't like that very much. I was very much belligerent. They had it coming. I had them coming apart at the seams. They didn't seem to know what I meant, I mean.

So I'm waiting for Dr. Robert... Dr. Nick. I'm waiting for my personal physician to pay me a visit. I'm having aches. I'm having pains. I will refrain from discussing the cure in detail. The words pale in comparison to the result. I guess my attorney is coming by later too. Whatever. They can come talk to me while I hold court in the hot tub. Ambient music is a drug. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

It's back on the road in a month or so. My manager called me and said there are some "opportunities" looming on the horizon. Good. Time to go back to hotel hell. I'll be sure to bring my nine iron and plenty of bungee cords. You know the deal.

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I Let My Thirsty Boots Wander All Over And They Come Home With Lies About Women   
01:23am 22/04/2002
mood: high
At last, back in the fat gut of Vegas. The latest leg of the promo tour is over. Dead. Miss him, miss him.

Layne Staley left us... no doubt on one last opiate cloud. We all ride the horse til it eats us.

So nice to be back in the NV, where Dr. Robert hooks me up. That's right, bob, it's that that damn scurvy again. What you say, hydrocodone? I agree. Nothing like a bath of fire to get this deep down dirt outta me. I feel half human again. Time for a bath, some incense, and something that will synthesize to morphine in my brain.

Player hate all you'd like. You will be mowing my lawn next week.

Something's telling me that something isn't right...   
10:17pm 17/04/2002
  I ache... all over. Modelo. Imported cheap beer from Mexico. May you always be free from your pain, my friend. May I. It's hard to keep your head up sometimes. It's hard to keep yourself from watching it all implode and enjoying a front-row seat. I fell asleep in the back of a cab tonight. I was on my way back from somewhere. Where? I have no idea. I don't know how I got there in the first place. I have a scrap of paper in my pocket with a number on it. Whose? I don't know. I don't care. I threw it away, then I set the trash can on fire. From what they tell me, I created quite a scene at the bus terminal. Apparently I was down there ranting and raving something about an ulcer and how it's "everyone's fault." The only thing I remember is ordering a strawberry shake at Jack In The Box. I walked up to the drive through speaker and ordered. Then I wandered up to the window. They refused to serve me because I wasn't in a vehicle. They made me come in and get my shake. Morons. I drank half of it then threw the rest at a Mercedes that almost hit me when I was walking down the sidewalk. Tim and my manager came and got me after security at the bus terminal called the hotel upon me handing them my digital room key and telling them they should all go order drinks for us.

Depressants and depressants make us all smaller than ants. Some of the pills make the woods big.

I hope I sleep well tonight.
They tell me I need to shave.   
03:35am 15/04/2002
  Ahh... hygeine. Hi Gene. Hello Gene. Gene, can I bum a cigarette off of you?

The days have become days and the hours have become a haze. The cigarettes have become few and the crew grows restless and weary. I sense a mutiny. Actually, I sense some fun at hand. It's nearing 4 in the AM and I just realized that my manager left the keys to his rental Cadillac on the dresser in my room from when he was in here earlier begging me not to get us thrown out of another hotel. ::looks at keys::

I believe my journal entry on the events of the day will have to be put on hold for now. I have the Caddy keys in my hand and I am about to head out the door to the parking lot. Wanna come?

He's Been Knockin' - He Won't Leave Me Alone   
12:20am 14/04/2002
mood: amused
I used to do a little but the little wouldn't do it, so the little got more and more. You know the routine.

What is this? My fifth day of press and promotions? I don't know. It's all been a blur of drinks with umbrellas in them, stupid questions, white noise, swallowing anything I can get my hands on, photographs, photographs, photographs, photo sessions, and wearing the same leather pants for... uh... three days now or something.

The guys from this local blues-rock outlaw band found out I was staying in town. They showed up at my door with instruments. I kid you not. The roadie guy had 3/4 of a full drum kit even. I was like, sure. 20 minutes later, me and the guys in Blind Concrete are ripping the lid off of a cover of "Train Kept A Rollin." 5 minutes after that, we were officially asked to leave the hotel. My manager and Tim tried to talk the uptight manager guy down and slip him some more bills like the other night. No dice. We're in a better place now anyway. That place was a hole. I told them that. When we left, I upturned the huge free-standing ashtray next to the elevator and dumped the like ten pounds of sand from it in the elevator. I was so proud. It was like art. I congratulated myself with a smoke in the lobby next to the "no smoking sign."

I don't worry about nothin' no, cause worryin's a waste of my time. Damn straight.

We got here a couple hours ago. Mick the crew security guy and I turned a garbage can over at the end of the hallway of the hotel and chipped balls from 150 feet away with a 9 iron for 20 bucks a game. You had a choice, 2 points for chipping it in, or you could use the putter for 1 point. Each guy got 10 shots per round, and of course i kicked his ass and took all his money.

You gotta keep pushin' for the fortune and fame. At least that's what they keep telling me. My toenails have turned a weird color... almost like mother of pearl. No joke. They did that one time when I was on shrooms. Time for more butals and some vodka/Gatorate bastard cocktail goodness. I think I'm liking this hotel a whole lot better already. The guy in the next room seems pretty cool. I guess he's from some video game company and here on business. I talked to him in the doorway of his room and saw like 40 empty bottles of Amstel and two huge family-sized jugs of some deluxe Tequila on his table. He's gotta be alright. I should have him over later for cocktails and tranquilizers. I gotta split. Room service is here. Oysters on the half-shell. Hell yeah, cousin Jim.

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We Were Voodoo   
05:07pm 13/04/2002
mood: confused
I woke up this morning not knowing where I was. Someone from this traveling circus knocked over the lamp in the corner and someone made really bizarre sculptures out of wire coat hangers in the closet. One of the creations looks like a monkey. Strange. I woke up lying on the floor next to the air conditioner by the window. I still have no idea where my sunglasses went. Someone knocked on the door a bunch of times this morning. Finally I rolled over and yelled, "I killed them all, go away." That stopped them.

My three o'clock interview with some stupid magazine went about as well as a root canal. Two questions in the idiot asks me if my Jackson Rake "persona" interferes with who I "really am." I asked him if being a jackass helps him succeed in life. He liked that. I spent the next 20 minutes making up lies to answer the rest of the questions. These people are prostitutes of the pen. They need to listen for a while and stop talking so damn much. I also told him that he looked like Gene Simmons without his makeup on. He didn't seem to like that so much. Piss on these people. I pay their paychecks. I told him to go get me another drink from the hotel bar. It took him 17 minutes to get back with it. I said if it was going to take that long he might have at least brought me a few drinks. He reminded me that he didn't work for me. I told him to piss off and told him to leave. He did. I'm sure I'll get good press from that rag.

Took me 10 minutes to convince the ass at the front desk to have a new TV brought up to my room. They were taking the old broken one (with full-on shattered screen) out of the room and I said, "No leave that here too!" They looked at me weird and set it back down. I want to plug that sucker in and do high-voltage experiments with it tonight. See what I can do with it.

Whatever. Enough of this nonsense. I'm going to figure out where the pool and sauna in this place are.

Snorting Whatever Is Crushed Up On The Nightstand   
08:48am 13/04/2002
  I have no idea. For all I know the freaking maid left Boraxo on the thing. I just did like Ozzy and the ants. SNNNNNNNNNHHHRRRRFFF. Gone. The phone kept ringing. People wanted interviews. I asked how the hell they got the number. What a bunch of callous people. What kind of gall. I gave one guy a quote and said print that. He won't be able to print it. I think you can only say SOME of those things in magazines. Anyway. So I took the phone, yanked the cord and stomped it. Another knock on the door. Yeah, everything's fine. No I don't need anymore towels. Have room service send up another couple of those fruit platters. YES, the ones I had before. Dumb. It turns out I DID have another bottle of 50 butalbitols in my leather bag. Yes. Even less tension. I turn up the stereo. One speaker in the room here, the other stretched so far into the bathroom that the speaker wire almost clotheslined Bill the photographer guy. He was here doing something for Concrete Viking magazine. Whatever. The speakers have just enough hiss. Ahh... analog. White noise. The guy in the next room loves it. I just know it. I'll turn it up for him.

Yes, I would hawk anything for a buck. And I did. And you bought it. So turn off the TV and read an old book by some dead guy who did more before he was 20 than you will do in your whole life. Your friends are pretend, Gen X!
Making Food Stains On The Hotel Furniture   
02:14am 13/04/2002
mood: annoyed
I don't have much to say right now. My manager says we need to work on new promotions. I told him to get some of his lackeys to do it. He pushed me to do this journal deal linked from the website. Okay, if the kids like it, whatever. Gravy Train.

The hotel manager just yelled at me and I told him where to go. I told him I am his boss. I let him know that. I got beer and food all over the laptop. Who cares. I'll charge it to the label and tell Tim to go get another one. I am sitting here and the keys are sticky with champagne, beer, and food. I think there is some blood on the desk in this hotel room. I already broke the TV. I love standing on top of those things and jumping off them while they're on the dresser. Interactive entertainment. I pimp Mary Hart. Shut up and go listen to the Pixies, moron.