We did a fly-out to Vancouver at the beginning of this year. And before we left I had gone off my anti-anxiety medication and replaced it with these tranquilizers called Atavan. I didn’t know the procedure for taking them, so apparently I blacked out for the entire tour?°¦ Apparently, I, being certainly a straightedge young man, was in a drug-induced coma for 72 hours.
I can remember bits and pieces, but for the rest of it I can’t really recall any details. When we were in Vancouver this time, kids were coming up to me telling me things that I had no recollection of. I fell asleep standing up. I quit the band onstage and stormed off, which I kind of remember a little bit of. I can’t remember people I met. People [are] coming up to me and I’m like, “Nice to meet you.” They’re like, “Yeah, we talked for like an hour last time." Apparently we had gotten stuck in an elevator for three hours and I have no memory of that. Whatsoever?°¦ I honestly cannot recall at all being in that elevator. And apparently it was a big deal to me, I told that story at every show we played that weekend, about how we’d been stuck in this elevator, how I’d been traumatized by this whole experience. And I don’t remember that. And apparently the reason the elevator got stuck was my fault. We were in the elevator and I kept trying to hug Mike, our guitarist. And he kept pushing me away. And me being a larger man, I stumbled back and knocked the elevator out of joint and it lodged in between floors. And I don’t remember it. Huge black holes in my life. For three whole days.
I can remember bits and pieces. I remember throwing a Slurpee at Josh, our other guitarist. And I remember getting home and having a nervous breakdown—that’s when I decided to go back on my anti-anxiety medication, by the way. But everything else is just a complete blur. Not even a blur, like it didn’t happen. It would be one thing if it was a blur and I could kind of recall hazy details, but it was literally like it didn’t happen. At all. I have records in my record collection from that weekend that I don’t remember buying! That’s how fucked it was. I might not even say any of it was negative, because I really don’t like touring. So not recalling any touring isn’t that bad. I wish I could get these pills to go to work with, go to school with and not remember any of it. I think we’re gonna try to get a sponsorship. I’m Memento. I’m gonna get pictures of Vancouver tattooed on my body. I probably have Vancouver babies coming. As long as my Toronto wife doesn’t find out, I’m fine!
Pink Eye is the lead singer for Canadian hardcore revisionists Fucked Up. Their latest album, the vinyl-only Year Of The Pig (What’s Your Rupture?), features an 18-minute long title track petitioning for the rights of Canadian sex workers. Pink Eye thinks he may have to write the lyrics on his arm.