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

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Relié, 8 mars 2011
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--Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
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PRELUDE

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.

“Sex.”

“No!”

“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 une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

Présentation de l'éditeur

The instant New York Times bestseller: the lead singer of the Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver delivers an exhilarating memoir of scaling the pinnacle of rock stardom, plunging into the chasm of addiction and incarceration, and then clawing his way back to the top again and again.

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 une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.

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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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Par Client d'Amazon le 11 février 2016
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Amazon.com: 3.9 étoiles sur 5 208 commentaires
12 internautes sur 12 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Lots of tales untold, but also some good stuff 9 décembre 2015
Par Sal Nudo - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
I was thrilled when “Not Dead & Not for Sale: A Memoir” came out in 2011—and then majorly disappointed. A huge fan of Scott Weiland, I held his book in my hands at a Barnes & Noble and thought it looked too short, way too miniscule to fit all the hefty tales that typical bigtime rock ‘n’ rollers expand on with bravado for four hundred pages. Additionally, seeing all the trite graphics and well-known lyrics by Weiland splattered throughout the pages felt like wasted space and was a turnoff. I put the book back on the shelf and forgot all about it.

Following Weiland’s sad recent death, I had no choice but to revisit his book again. I bought it on my Kindle without hesitation, and it turns out my preconceived notions about the book were both right and wrong. Among his other artistic talents, Weiland was also a solid writer with a knack for the dramatic. His tale was especially riveting in the beginning, where I really enjoyed reading about his home life as a child and his interest in extracurricular activities such as sports and the church choir.

The singer was also a deep thinker who was very aware of his himself and his surroundings. From his boyhood home in Ohio to sunny California, it was back and forth for Weiland cross country during his eventful childhood: two very different dads, two lives, and two ways of viewing the world. Interestingly, it's been revealed recently that Weiland in fatherhood emulated some of the same childrearing habits as his real dad, but that's probably a future story to be told elsewhere. As the book progresses, Weiland relates stories about his past women and other teenage pursuits. When he gets music in his blood and starts pursuing it with abandon, you’ll feel like you’re right there with him in the California sunshine, the clubs, on the stages, and in the dark areas where forbidden fruit beckoned.

The chapters are extremely short, which at first worked for me; they seemed to complement Weiland’s frenetic and fast lifestyle, and the material was interesting, not glossed over. But as I read on the feeling was inescapable that Weiland could have expanded much more on his brief narratives, his circumstances, his surroundings, his music, and his bandmates. The guys in Stone Temple Pilots seemed like either brothers or traitors in Weiland’s eyes, depending on the current state of his habits. Dean Deleo in particular, though close to Weiland in the beginning, seemed to lose patience quickly with his bandmate.

In one of the latter chapters titled “Parisian Nightmare,” Weiland writes about a truly harrowing experience in which he was alone in Paris and persuaded by several men to go to a party. It turns out these guys were bad eggs, and Weiland realized he had to flee from them or risk something fatal. As it was, he was injured from the experience. Just imagine ... because of his wandering ways Weiland could have lost his life to a bunch of hoodlums in Paris. He relates a few other stories in which he’s buying drugs in shady areas and attacked. When I think about events like these it makes me sad for Scott Weiland. In some ways he had a very charmed life, and he seemed to be a charming guy, but “Not Dead & Not for Sale” also reveals many of the disparaging times of his existence, which was both poetic and profane. Probably the way he liked it.
5 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Why NDANFS is this Generation's NOHGOA 22 août 2016
Par Michael P. Naughton - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
No lack of substance here (literally). True, some readers, reviewers and fans might be disappointed by the terse, tenuous and to-the-point chapters of Scott Weiland's autobiography. However, I found his memoir insightful and edifying. I think he was wise to say just enough and the rest can be gleaned from his lyrics and his vast contribution to music, which is most important.

This bio is fast paced, like the author's tempestuous lifestyle, and supports the fact that some of our most gifted artists are often our most troubled (see also my review on Andy Warhol Was a Hoarder). It is sometimes a mixed-blessing, curse or nature of the beast. Like the poet Rainer Maria Rilke once said: "If my devils are to leave me, I am afraid my angels will take flight as well.”

Akin to Jim Morrison's biography "No One Here Gets Out Alive" (NOHGOA), "Not Dead And Not For Sale" (NDANFS) follows a similar trajectory and classic Three Act Tragedy as we watch The Bow Drawn, The Arrow Flies, The Arrow Falls.

Scott Wieland was a self-professed chameleon. He was immensely talented, intelligent, instinctive and most of all deeply sensitive. You can see his influence and "stamp" in all projects ranging from STP, Velvet Revolver and The Wildabouts. He was also a colossal loss, and his lifestyle serves as a cautionary tale.

In the final analysis Rock and Roll, at its best, is a circus show of a business, as dangerous as it entertaining. Scott Wieland took it to the brink as he once wrote in "You Got No Right:"

"I've took it farther on the outside
I've took it nearly to the brink
And if you've seen me on the outside
You would have barely seen me breathe..."

Addiction is one hell of a demon to slay, and it took a lot of guts to share personal issues of abuse and personal struggles and his bipolar disorder. It is a constant source of frustration, disappointment and devastation to those close to the addict, especially true friends and band mates. He got up close and personal with the hard stuff. Jim Morrison, as it was often reported, steered clear of heroin and that substance might have eventually killed him in Paris, albeit accidental or speculative.

Unlike NOHGOA, there is no mystery with Scott Weiland's death and how the Arrow Falls, the hero and author of this tragedy dies on a December 3, 2015, to the world's shock and sadness. He outlived Mr. MoJo Risin' by 21 years (July 3, 1971).

Unfortunately, the dragon or demon known as addiction won in the end with Scott Weiland. He leaves us with great insight and three decades of music to enjoy, resonating and/or relating without having to experience the pain ourselves.

As Jim Morrison once wrote: "There Will Never Be Another One Like You..."

That applies to both Morrison and Weiland.
5 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 An Insightful Memoir! 6 mars 2016
Par susannatalya - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
I LOVED the book. It is NOT a detailed autobiography, but a MEMOIR. It is about feelings and things that he felt impacted him in his life. It is not the blood and guts retelling of being a junkie. There are allusions, and many of the Amazon reviewers seem cheated by this. Well, I'm sure he doesn't/didn't remember that much from those times. Drugs take that away, but they also take away the bad memories, temporarily, and that is the point of taking them. He states that he was raped at 12, and other things that led him to seek respite. He is honest in his inability to stay off drugs despite his sincere desire to do so. I did read the book in about a day. There are MANY photos and drawings. I cried at the end, because he was so hopeful for the future, and did not have that long to live. This is not a tell-all, or a mini-history of the "grunge era." It is a commentary from one who was front and center. I was not a huge STP fan, but like a few songs. I enjoyed the book, and found Weiland to be intelligent and thoughtful, and more of an artist and poet than I had previously known. It was very readable!
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 The Scott Weiland that Scott Weiland wanted you to know. 14 mai 2016
Par Rachel Ann - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
They say in rehab that some addicts are poor personal historians. Unfortunately, with the facts made public regarding his recent passing this addage seems to ring true when it comes to Scott Weiland's autobiography.
I have been and continue to be a fan of both Scott and Stone Temple Pilots. I've listened to their music since I was a young teenager, and it still touches me today as deeply as it did back then. The story of Scott's life is a sad one, and reading this book shed light on the pain and sadness that so permeated his life and led to the issues that he so publicly struggled with. I read Mary's book about eight months prior to reading Scott's (Mary, his ex-wife wrote her own autobiography titled Fall To Pieces). Mary's book discusses much of the same subject matter as this book does, only it goes into much more detail. This book discusses a lot of stories that many long-time fans of STP and Scott will probably know, but they are told from Scott's point of view and in some parts, through his lyrics.
The good: Scott had a chance to tell his story like he wanted to, whether or not it is as detailed as the reader might want it to be. There are a lot of great, personal photos throughout the book and journal entries toward the end that I'm sure many fans will find interesting.
The troubling: As other reviews have noted, Scott has a tendency to jump around a lot. The story is not really linear. As a reader I felt that this book may have been written in response to Mary's book. It feels like it's coming from a place of defensiveness. Scott had a good deal of troubles, and whether or not he was sober or using he was looked at by the public and media as an addict and he was judged harshly in the court of public opinion. He was never able to shake that image and it feels like this book was an attempt to show people that he wasn't just some junkie, he was a person with real feelings and redeeming qualities.
I can only assume that this book was Scott's attempt to remind people that he was human. People have a tendency to forget that celebrities are human. Scott Weiland was a father, a son, a brother, a friend and a person who was loved and will be missed by many. Whether or not this book is an accurate representation of his life is anyone's guess. We may never know the real story of Scott, but if you want to read what he wanted you to know about him, pick up his book and give it a quick read.
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 BUY THIS NOW!!! 15 juin 2016
Par Ann Harenda - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
“Not Dead and Not For Sale” was amazing! I literally could not put it down. I’m a huge Scott Weiland / STP / Velvet Revolver fan so when I saw this, I really had to get it. Admittedly, I bought it after he died.
Anyways, Scott did a great job of bringing me in to his life. I already knew quite a bit about Scott’s life and his tumultuous relationship with his wife, Mary.
What I wasn’t expecting was to actually feel BAD for Scott. I gained a better understanding of why Scott (and Mary) was the way he was.
It was a tragically phenomenal book.
A total inside-look at the “reality” of rock ‘n roll … coupled with the horrid life a person with mental illness suffers.
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