Out of a pipe made of mouse bones, no less.
According to NME, former-musician and creative prospect Pete Doherty was kicked out of the exclusive Chiang Mai rehab clinic The Cabin today. According to Dlisted, the notorious junkie was allegedly booted for "smoking [his] own blood in a pipe made from mouse bones." (Sure, they've shown no sources, but we're suspending our disbelief on this one.) Doherty checked into the pricey treatment center—nearly 8,000 British doll hairs a month!—less than three weeks ago, but has already been sent back to his hometown on a big, pushy airplane. The Cabin's director made an official statement about the rock star earlier today:
"Pete was discharged today for therapeutic reasons. It is important to maintain the integrity of the treatment programme for the other clients to have a good chance of recovery. Pete understands this and therefore the reasons behind why we have asked him to leave. Although our parting with Pete is amicable, we are of course disappointed to see him leave. We hope some of the things he has learnt here will help him in the future and look forward to the day when Pete decides to consider recovery again."
Remember when things were going kind of well for Doherty? He was wearing cute outfits, writing brilliant pop songs, and dating Kate Moss. Sure, he did his back-and-forth junky dance between "I'm doing pretty decent" and "I'll play your birthday party for dope money," but he was creating music that people respected so his habit was okay. Now, rehab doesn't even want him. Drugs and rock n' roll are like the devil's peanut butter and jelly (plus, they are a lot of fun compared to a shitty sandwich). However, the line between having a habit be semi-glamorous (in the sense of rock n' roll glamor, like how dirty hair, beer soaked pants and anal sex is "glamorous") and having it just seem pathetic is being creative. We've seen it happen with so many rock stars, actors and cultural figures. Drugs are fine, as long as the work keeps coming. As long as the make-up artist can turn those track marks into invisible paleness and that song is still beautiful and poignant, the drugs are okay. But doesn't that seem kind of fucked up? At some point, addicts have to get better or just die. And that death can be one like Doherty's, a death where you are a blown-up, yellowish version of yourself who has lost your craft, or the death can be the Amy Winehouse kind. You know, real death.