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Not Dead & Not for Sale: The Earthling Papers (Anglais) Relié – 8 mars 2011

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--Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché.

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Descriptions du produit



EVERY TIME I TRY TO CATCH UP TO MY LIFE, something stops me. Different people making claims on my life. Old friends telling me new friends aren’t true friends. All friends trying to convince me that I can’t survive without them.

Then there are the pay-for-hire get-off-drugs professionals with their own methods and madness. They help, they hurt, they welcome me into their institutions … and, well, their madness.

Welcome to my life.

Two years ago, my life was self-restricted to a sober living house, meaning that I walked through the doors of my own free will. Within hours, I watched the game of communal free will get stepped on, laughed at, and batted around like a Ping-Pong ball.

One of my fellow patients was a rocker chick just turned twenty-one. She had a problem with depression. We met in the lounge and talked the night away, smoking cigarettes, exchanging words of comfort.

“Am I pretty?” she asked me.

“You are beautiful,” I told her.

“Everyone says I smell because I haven’t showered.”

“Everyone can get fucked,” I told her. “When you’re depressed, you’re not exactly in the mood for a shower.”

She told me a story of grief and confusion. I listened. When she was through, we hugged good night. She kissed me sweetly. She wanted more.

“We can’t do this,” I said. “It’s not right. Not now, not here.”

A day later, I was approached by one of the counselors whom I considered a first-class shit talker.

“Rumor has it that the two of you were intimate.”

“What’s intimate?” I asked.



“She obviously has a crush on you.”

“Okay. What of it?”

“I heard you two had sex in the Jacuzzi.”

“No Jacuzzi,” I said. “No sex. Besides, who has sex in a Jacuzzi?”

“I want to know what happened,” she insisted.

“We were flirtatious. That was inappropriate. So we stopped.”

This young woman was confronted at our next group session. Sixteen hours later, she sliced her leg down past the fatty tissue. She was a cutter. They took her out of the villa and put her in a psych ward.

What can I do about it?

I write a poem, “The Little Villa and Painted Egg.”

Minds squall, alcohol, heroin

The man, the boy, the girl

The little villa where you live

You need to fill that pain inside

Xanex, Valium, barbiturates—they ease the easy side

Of all you fucked-up managerial types

You love to rule by what you say

Not by what you find

Beautiful garden, Easter eggs, those that you never really had

You stole our experiences and stole our baskets

That’s how you found twenty-one out of fifty-seven

THAT WAS LAST MONTH. This week I’m home dealing with those who “manage” my business life, those who, for their own purposes, direct my moves. They are my partners, assistants, and drug coaches (whom we call “minders”). There is no peace, not for an hour, not for thirty seconds. Someone is always showing up with calculated suggestions and implied instructions. I don’t know, but I think I’ve done pretty well for myself, even during my long-lasting, narcotic misadventures—all without the protective bubble of paranoid employees, partners, and helpers—er, minders.

Meanwhile, the facts are these:

It has been eight and a half years since I shot dope and nearly three years since I did coke.

I still drink. A regular garden-variety boozer, I am like any other barfly or drink-alone kind of guy. My relationship to liquor is not romantic the way I once envisioned my love affair with dope. I struggle to stop drinking, but I don’t see it as suicidal. In any event, I’m not drinking today. Today I’m inviting you into the middle of my life and the middle of my head. My heart feels a bit closed off because I’m realizing that there are few people, if any, that I fully trust. That’s an amazing statement to make and brings me to what may be the purpose of this book.

How did I get to this point? One word could probably suffice—loss.

I’m searching for explanations.

Someone recently gave me a T-shirt that said, I’M IN LIKE SEVEN BANDS.

There is a Stone Temple Pilots story to tell. There is a Velvet Revolver story to tell. There is a love story to tell. And a drug story to tell.

AMONG MY GREAT LOVES is that category of substances called heroin. Narcotic alkaloids. Derivatives of opium. I describe this stuff lovingly. I do so at the risk of high irresponsibility. It is not my intention to mislead anyone looking to live a righteous life. God knows that the shit will kill you, inside and out, soul to the bone. At the same time, I am committed to an honest assessment of the wreckage of my past. I loved opiates; I hated opiates; I am attracted to opiates perhaps the way John Keats was attracted to death. One hundred ninety years ago, the romantic poet wrote “Ode to a Nightingale”:

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

With thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

IS DEATH THE MUSE? Is rock and roll the nightingale? Are opiates the key to unlocking the magical kingdom where colorful flowers fade to black? Why should anyone—especially a kid or a man who suspects that he or she may have talent—be drawn to such a kingdom?

I don’t know. Except that the pull is visceral. It may also be an act of self-loating or anger against home or society or even the human condition in which the promise of death shadows us from those first fresh moments of birth.

I think of the young woman overwhelmed by a compulsion to cut herself. The compulsion is heartbreaking and bizarre, but maybe not bizarre at all—maybe it’s simply the most honest compulsion of all because it gets to the heart of the matter. My long opiate-dazed days and sleepless nights were all about cutting myself emotionally. When I got high, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was party or interact with other human beings. I retreated to the dark corners of my room and my life. I stayed alone and disappeared down black holes where no one could find me. I couldn’t find myself. I didn’t want to find myself. I became invisible. Or, as I put it in the song “Dead and Bloated,” “I am smellin’ like the rose that someone gave me on my birthday deathbed.”

© 2011 Scott Weiland --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

Présentation de l'éditeur

In the early 1990s, Stone Temple Pilots—not U2, not Nirvana, not Pearl Jam—was the hottest band in the world. STP toppled such megabands as Aerosmith and Guns N’ Roses on MTV and the Billboard charts. Lead singer Scott Weiland became an iconic front man in the tradition of Mick Jagger, David Bowie, and Robert Plant. Then, when STP imploded, it was Weiland who emerged as the emblem of rock star excess, with his well-publicized drug busts and trips to rehab.

Weiland has since made a series of stunning comebacks, fronting the supergroup Velvet Revolver, releasing solo work, and reuniting with Stone Temple Pilots. He has prevailed as a loving, dedicated father, as well as a business-savvy artist whose well of creativity is far from empty. Not Dead & Not for Sale is a hard rock memoir to be reckoned with—a passionate, insightful, and at times humorous book that reads with extraordinary narrative force. --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Broché .

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Détails sur le produit

  • Relié: 238 pages
  • Editeur : Scribner Book Company (8 mars 2011)
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0743297164
  • ISBN-13: 978-0743297165
  • Dimensions du produit: 22,9 x 16,3 x 2,3 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 3.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 292.674 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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Par Patrick le 14 octobre 2013
Format: Relié
Pour qui a suivi la carrière des Stone Temple Pilots, ce livre pourra laisser un sentiment d'inachevé. "Tout ça pour ça" pensera-t-on. Pour le lecteur qui est moins familier avec l'histoire du groupe et plus particulièrement celle de son chanteur, cette biographie écrite à deux mains ou plus précisément dictée à une voix et retranscrite à une plume, ne permettra de découvrir que certains côtés de l'histoire et sans doute pas les plus intéressants d'un point de vue artistique.

Car c'est essentiellement du parcours d'un homme très talentueux mais terriblement auto-destructeur, instable, immature et nocif pour son entourage dont il s'agit. Une histoire traitée au travers de chapitres courts, suivant une suite chronologique mais toutefois empreinte de nombreux sauts dans le temps qui laissent des pans entier dans l'obscurité la plus totale.

On peut par ailleurs regretter que la lumière soit faite uniquement sur quelques textes de chansons sans éclairer ne serait-ce qu'une part du processus créatif des groupes et projets solo dans lesquels Scott Weiland s'est inscrit au fil de sa carrière.

Une plongée en eaux peu profondes et balisées de la personnalité complexe d'un des chanteurs de rock les plus doués de l'histoire où il sera nécessaire de prêter attention aux petites phrases qui en disent parfois long. Derrière une franchise apparente, il ne sera toutefois pas surprenant de percevoir une sincérité calculée là où un minimum de pudeur assortie d'une analyse moins nombriliste auraient été les bienvenues.
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)

Amazon.com: 129 commentaires
87 internautes sur 95 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
the worst Rock n' Roll Autobio I've ever read 15 mai 2011
Par STP fan - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
I am a huge STP fan, and have been looking forward to this books release since Mr. Weiland first began speaking of it 5-10 years ago. Given that much time to write the book and working with a talented co-author in David Ritz I felt like this was going to be a great read, from the point of view of a man that has lead one hell of a crazy life. instead all we are given is an extended recount of every article that is written about scott. There is almost no incite into the inner-workings of any of Scott's bands, or even expanded interpretations of well known story's of his life.
The book will take most people 1.5-3 hours to read, and approx. 10% of that is lyrics from songs he's written. It's 238 pages but reads like a 100 page book due to the "art", blank pages, and huge page breaks. so How do you cram great incite into the life of someone who's sold 40 Million records, been in rehab countless times, and been a permanent fixture in rock news for 20 years in 100 pages? You don't. Weiland's ex-wife Mary Forsberg's book released last year was much better written, much more informative, and much more interesting then Scott's book. Almost everything printed in this book was covered with more clarity in Mary's book.
If you really want to know about the history of STP, or Velvet revolver or Scott's solo work, there is much more information on-line then is offered in this book. It's incredible how little he delves into this actually. I haven't gone and actually counted but I'm sure the name Eric Kretz (STP drummer) only appears in the book 3 times. surely in 20 years of STP's history, Scott and Eric had SOME sort of note-worthy interaction. It almost seems that he purposely left all the interesting details of his life out. As if he started off with the intentions of baring his soul on paper like Anthony Kiedis did in his autobio, but quickly decided that he'd rather not have any information that wasn't already public knowledge released.
I have no doubt that the Story of Scott Weiland would be a compelling read, unfortunatly it appears that Scott figured out AFTER signing his book deal that he wasn't ready to let the world in on his private life.
36 internautes sur 40 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Underwhelmed 19 mai 2011
Par Lillian Rose - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
It is with sadness that I say that this is the most uninformative biography that I have read to date. I love biographies and am a huge STP fan but, feel robbed. I feel guilty for not writing a favorable review but, feel that I must in all good conscience be honest. There is no meat and potatoes in this bio. I would call it an outline and not a book. Very surprising considering Scott had help with it. I wonder if it's possible to get a refund?
43 internautes sur 54 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
not much insight 13 mai 2011
Par austincara - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
i was really excited about this book, because i read mary weiland's account of things, and i thought it would be really interesting to see how someone else viewed the same events. scott starts with a promise of insight and helpfulness and a desire to be honest, however, when recounting events, very little is actually said. i feel like the same information could have been gotten from wikipedia. i think he had the best intentions when starting, but somehow lost interest in writing somewhere in the middle. if you don't want to share things with the world, i get it, and that's perfectly reasonable, but then don't write a book. there's very little relating of feelings toward certain subjects, and if feelings are shared, they're very superficial, that is, there's mention of guilt or bliss but no further elaborations. every now and then he puts in a random jab at his ex wife that seems to contradict everything he's just said about her. there's a lot of space filler and really just not a lot of either owning up to behavior or explaining his perspective of things. it's very dry. his drug use is more or less breezed over. not a lot of personal stories. like i said, i think he just really didn't want to tell anybody anything, and that's fair. i just don't know why i had to give him money for him to tell me that. i seriously read this book from cover to cover while my daughter watched tangled. i'm certain he could have actually helped a few people by writing more honestly.
8 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Still something to be desired 23 mai 2011
Par Amazon Customer - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
Much like when you write a review for Amazon you write it very rushed and off the top of your head. I feel as though that is how Scott Weiland wrote this memoir. Instead of carefully detailing what should be said and making a very concise, clear, and raw story, it just becomes a string of small blips about his life rather than a readable story. Major events are covered in just a sentence, chapters don't seem to have an order to them, and he has picked and chosen what he wants you to know. After finishing it I feel there is a lot that wasn't told. I also feel it's impossible to talk about this memoir without mentioning Mary Forsberg's memoir, which is a little more detailed than Weiland's. You do get more insight into STP, Velvet Revolver, and his solo work and where the inspiration for the lyrics came from or the story they tell. But some of them are already well known from past interviews and could be found online.

People have put too much focus on what isn't in the book rather than what is. The stories he does tell range from one sentence to entire chapters. The emotions he describes are genuine, but somethings are dragged on while most are just stated and then forgotten about. For instance (SPOILER ALERT) he tells about the morning him and Dean Deleo flew to New York, high and hungover, and recorded the famous acoustic edition of "Plush" at MTV. This takes about half a page. However his break up with his first ex-wife, Janinna, takes about a paragraph. The only thing you can say negatively about the book is what Weiland has left out (or what people feel he has left out). But what is in it is well worth the read for a little more insight into his life.
6 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
I wanted to love this, but... 18 mai 2011
Par sticks&stones - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
I wanted to run through the wicked garden of Scott's mind, emotions and memories. Long time STP fan, saw them first during the tour he speaks of with the Butthole Surfers in Miami, and knew then when I saw him that he was totally in too far over his head substance-wise. I think he may have run off a laundry list of what he was on that night and even thanked the fan that slipped it to him if memory serves me well. (That didn't stop him from putting on a fantastic show mind you.) Just wanted to feel closer to him through his writing with this book, understanding more of his emotions in the eloquent manner with which he writes his lyrics. Even though he touched on the family relationships that shaped who he is, just wish he would have elaborated more. Still one of my all time favorite bands and singers. I feel he could have channeled more of himself and used this writing as a means of healing while helping us understand that level of addiction and relapse.

I definitely recommend "Fall to Pieces" by Mary Forsberg. This one, not so much.
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