January 2007


Give me that old fashioned morphine
Give me that old fashioned morphine
Give me that old fashioned morphine
It’s good enough for me

It was good enough for Billy Burroughs
It was good enough for Billy Burroughs
It was good enough for Billy Burroughs
It’s good enough for me

Sister don’t get worried
Sister don’t get worried
Sister don’t get worried
Because the world is almost done – Jolie Holland

____________________________________________________

Date: some summer evening

I was laying in my bed in a half-nod, tunes spining spirals out of the surround speakers, encompassing me in the groove pocket of Thelonious Monk. My eye’s drooping, open just wide enough to watch Mother Nature paint the evening sky with her watercolor pallet. Pinks, purples and oranges, melding into a dark glowing deep purple [smoke on the water]. I know there is a sunrise on the other side, my eyelids slide shut. The phone rings, I dont want to answer it as I feel just too perfect but I know I must as I have people waiting on me.

“Yeah…”
“Hey Drew, whatcha doing?”
“What I do best, Katie…”
“You want me to come pick you up, are you ready?”
“Yeah, sure whatever, take your time…”
“Ok, love ya.”
“Yeah… I’ll be waiting.”

Fuck, now I have to move. First thing is first, I need to pack my party supplies for the night, weekend? It’s always best to be prepared. I open my chest of numbness, rifle around thru various pill bottles dumping some out of some of the bottles, and putting some bottles back. I end up with my pile of pharmies, 10 or so 2mg Klonopins, 10 or so 2mg Xanax wagon wheels, 7 or 8 2mg Ativans, 5-6 8mg Suboxones, 10 or so 10mg Norco’s, 2 Dilaudids K-4’s those arent going anywhere but in my vein. I grab a few sleepers and a small handfull of 30mg Adderall IR’s. I have to use my larger pill case tonite, as a party is on the horizon.
I am a sucker for old 1950’ish pill cases, as I often spend the entire day rummaging thru different antique stores till I have found just the right one, always making sure the cap has a tight fit. I have some nice ones. My favorite is my Mother of Pearl topped pill case, that throws off glimmers of the rainbow in the right light, anyways…

On to the main ingredients… I sit down cross-legged and dump a couple bags of that white fluffy heroin I used to love so much into my pop-can-cooker, I sit back and admire the snow white flakes as I take a few pulls off my bottle of Vodka. Out comes a fresh needle, pin prick point, pin prick pupils, washing the mound of snow into a solution of tan water I throw my cotton in and suck every last bit of poppy elixir out of the cotton. I tap the bubbles out and take a deep breath, praying my veins are in a cooperative mood. I tie off with the string from some hoody laying on the floor. I fall back against the side of my bed, unconscious for a good 5 minutes. I awake in a what-just-happened moment. Ahh, who knows, I am still alive.

I realize that Katie-May will be here soon and I pack a couple more bags of dope and a few needles into my sock, and guzzle some Vodka. The doorbell rings, and I yell come on up, as the screen door is open. In she walks striking beauty, perfect face framed by short messy hair. Katie-May is clad in some tight fitting jeans, and a whiter than white pocket t-shirt. Freckles decorating her perfect face. I dont know what to say as I am struck down by her presence, I mumble something and over the vodka bottle to her.

“Well I need something to chase it…”

Fuckin-A, chicks… I tell her there is some OJ down in the fridge and I will be right down. As she turns to leave I scope that perfect ass knowing its all mine. Quickly I grab a couple CD’s as I can’t stand her music, and swallow 2 xanax bars, realizing I almost forgot my pot I grab a few nice nuggets and throw it into a glass jar. We fuck around in the kitchen taking shots back and forth, I have some old Creedence Clearwater cranked up on the Bang Olufsen sound system, fuck the neighboors. We fondle each others body, groping her ass. In the back of my head I am hoping Dave has that 1/4 ounce of coke he said he was picking up. I toy with the idea of fucking her now but I decide not to.

Into the car and off into the darkness we go, some old Grateful Dead caressing my eardrums, we pass the vodka back and forth till its done and out the window it goes. I am feeling good, but I could always feel better, right? She knows where the party is and I load a bowl and end up smoking most of it to my head. Bloodshot, pinpricked eyes… High and mighty… Katie asks me if I was craving any opiates today? [As she doesn’t think I am using at this point] I lie and say no, my buprenorphine is holding me fine. Well I got you a little present as she reaches in her purse and grabs out 2 nice shiny oxycontin 80’s. I kiss her right there and thank her, knowing I will just pass them off for some coke, as heroin is the only opiate I enjoy besides the occasional Dilaudid shot, preferably speedballed with heroin for a super-rush.

The party is in full swing, the music is loud, my eyes roam the room, knowing whats in each persons pocket I spy. A few people bumrush me, whatcha got… I need some coke, have you seen Dave? Yeah he is upstairs, Katie is talking to some friends and I throw some pills on the table and tally the total. Up the stairs I go, to the first door that I see is shut and locked.  I knock and say…

“Dave?”
“Yeah one sec…”
“I dont got a sec Dave its Drew”.

The door gets open he is with some hot chick smoking base off tinfoil. I ask for a teener, and in seconds I have a shot prepped, into my vein it goes… Ahh that rush, my head rings and spins and I stash my coke. I run down to find Katie, we end up getting drunk on cheap keg beer and fucking in the grass under the stars.

I miss Katie-May often, I was such a dick to her and lied and fed her such shit, She was a nurse and still couldn’t tell when I was high. I remember many times being at her house telling her I was taking a shower and going into the bathroom to take a shower and just turning on the shower and opening the window and smoking crack till I was so geeked out, finishing off with a shot of heroin. Than walking out and listening the Grateful dead hour on Sunday nights laying on a Tie-Dyed blanket under the big old oak tree in her backyard.

I miss you Katie-may where ever you may be…

Peace [of mind],
Seedless

A perfect girl
fallen angel in disguise

It was a typical wake up and score kinda day in NYC, I called the 1-800 number for Western Union my fundage was in place.  I do a measly 10-15 cotton shot just to get a stomach flip.  Down the stairs, my mind is on a girlfriend I left back home in Chicago [As of now I can’t quite recall who it was].  She wanted to come out and crash at the pad, I envisioned speedballs and sex, fresh fruit and unfiltered tobacco smoke trails spiraling into the motionless air.  I could picture her young perky tits bouncing in my face.  I knew I would end up supporting her habit eventually and my habit was as large as the 3 weekly Western Unions, and 1 weekly snail mail check my mother would send to keep me well and most likely keep me from returning to Chicago.

As I walked out on Jones St. [ironic], and walked the 20 feet to Bleecker St. the world of functioning people smacked me in the face.  I was probably wearing the same blood stained pants, and my T-shirt left little to the imagination as my arms looked like a sword fight, an ugly sight.  Out come the sunglasses as I disappear into my world of shadows, I can slightly feel the 3 bars of Xanax starting to loosen my behavior as I made my way into the Western Union joint, right next to the Lock-smith on 7th Ave. I do believe.

I often wish I would have played my cards different while living in New York, but I was to junked out to even look at my hand.  A regret I will always have.  I was far from quiting smack, I was far from even considering it.  I was living my life, professional-slacker-dope-fiend extraordinaire.  I lived for those multi bag shots in some dank, musty bathroom in the basement of some bar on the Lower East Side, I lived for that rush.  I was a ball of chemical confusion with nowhere to go but higher.

Pills, smack, and coke shots was my mode of operation.  I would sleep late, score, drift into dreams or journal my thoughts.  Nightfall would approach and I could hear my alcoholic room-mate clicking his bottles of spirits.  A knock on the door would usually occur around 9, “You feel like picking up some chicks and partying?” the question always the same.  Sure, let me know when your ready.  Out-into-the-night we’d go, from bar to club, club to some chicks pad.  My sex drive was always low than and often I would say I wasn’t feeling well and leave my friend with the chicks we were with.  Soon as my feet hit the pavement, a phonebooth I would score.  In minutes I would be on my way to my dealers, Brenda and I forget his name…  The thoughts of a nice IV coke session would replay over and over in my head.

Past the spray-painted, bent trashcans, past the cornerstore, up the steps and into what seemed like heaven at the time.  Three 10$ bags of coke would start me off, two in the spoon at first.  Gripping the arms of the lazyboy my vision would go white, my heatbeating physically out of my chest, deaf from the bellringer I would choke to catch my breath.  Ahh the paranoia, it will destroy ya.

I miss shooting a few bags and heading down to Washington Square to watch the people watch the people, I’d usually buy a joint of the jumble of dope peddlers, sit by the fountain and nod the dream of numbness.  There is alot I miss about that city, it gives Chicago a run for its money, but the pizza.  I mean come on’…

Sweet Home Chicago there is nothing like it, from the southside ghettos to the northshore bitches.  The time on my watch is still moving but I am still with out batteries.  I need a jump-start, a shock to my head or preferable heart.  Soon I know I will find that special girl that erases my past from my mind and places it on her.  Its a stagnant season and winter has a bite, spring is around the corner and with it I hope for change.  Growth of illumination, and Jolie Holland singing ‘Goodbye California’ quietly in the background as me and my Miss’s relax in a comfortable silence.  My pills will be all gone, my mind as clear as a quartz crystal.  For the days I long for will they be what I imagine?  Will I be happy?  Will I learn to forget, and forget what I remember?  Will I always be a chemical slave?  I will tell you what my gut tells me and it says absolutely not.  You will be happy someday Seedless, your time you spent wasted, is haunting you now, but the sun will break the darkness and a new day will appear.  The question is when will the true Seedless come to fruitation, the juice of the grape will dribble down my lips as I stare into the cloud spotted sky, thinking to myself…   Is this my life for what I sought?

Time will tell, as time has healed most of my wounds I am just waiting for the scars to slowly fade, and for that new day to break upon my head.

Smiling faces, smiling faces, sometimes…
Smiling faces, smiling faces, sometimes…

Peace [of mind],
Seedless

Its a cold day in Chicago land, oyster crackers and Lipton’s Brisk Iced Tea Raspberry flavored fill my empty stomach.  Filtered sunlight illuminates my plants and cacti.  Lost in my thoughts, my mind is blank.  I am happy I am not worried about having to score dope, such an ugly affair.  Nothing sucks more than waking up sick on a sunny Sunday morning and feeling that ache in your bones and the jones in your head.  The sounds of the Rolling Stones spin out of your car speakers, your foot heavy on the accelerator.  Your needles fresh and new, stab stab stab.  Opiated sadness, is a game I will fold on.  Happy with my life, I crave more…  a girl, skinny and waify with big ol’ doe like eyes, blinking at you with that sparkle.  I met one this weekend at some party entitled Dr. Feelgood…  The doctor had pinwheel eyes, she spoke to me, I studdered back, I had nothing to say.  I usually pick the girls that come after me, this time I turned her down.  Typical me, When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, and the white knight is talking backwards, and the red queen’s off with her head, Remember what the doormouse said.  Digital beats infused with Jefferson Airplane the old wooden dance floor swirls with colored lights, swimming in the sea of madness, I warp for my medication.  A slave to the prescription bottle, I care not what you think of me, I do care what I think of me.  I often think lowly, I am not good enough, I am a wreck, I am not worthy, why me?

A little mysterious orb floats thru the air sprinkling a simple concoction called fate.  I certainty I know is just, my mind swirls with out-of-body experiences, a different time a forgotten place.  Estimated Prophet, my time coming any day, dont worry about me, no, Its gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so.  Seems so long I felt this way and time sure passes slow.  Still I know I lead the way, they tell me where I go.  Dont worry about me, no no no, dont worry about me, no.  And Im in no hurry, no no no, I know where to go.  Upside out, inside down.

An urge a feelings toward a girl I cant go near, makes me weak in the knees.  I pray for an angel similiar to her figure to grace my presence.  For one day I will be complete, a smile on my face, and some kinda savant trait flowing thru my brain’s synapses.  Collecting profit to give to the needy, content in a musical envelope.  Me and my angel swing slowly on the front porch swing. Shadows of destiny dancing to the to the beat of my heart.  Eyes alight with glowing hair.  We count the stars under candle light, all are dim but one is bright.  Crickets and cicadas sing, a rare and different tune, while the preying manits is poised in a tantric yoga pose, entranced by the magnetic vibrations that radiate from our entangled posture.  Out of the buzzing air our friends materialize in their familiar shining orbs, encompassing us in a random wisdom dance, the chant of the indians can be heard.  Light beams bend our minds open wide, we awaken by the cool summer breeze.  Vibrate and alive, the voices tell us how to slide…  I into the Library and she into the Garden.  She collects pollen from a blooming flower from our 12 foot Trichocereus pachanoi.  I am engrossed in the warp of a certain crystaline catalyst, a large chunk of smokey quart, a cathedral point.  Slows the molecular movement in my brain, down to the point when I am conscious of my unconsciousness thru the gate, and up the spiral stairs of the stars, into the space.  Tied to my earthly body by my golden umbilical cord.  My mind programed with ancient knowledge, the visualization of human cells strangled with cancerous entities, the power of suggestion and visual disintegration gets coded into my mind.

Just one thing I got to say, I need a miracle everyday.
Lost in Confusion,
Embattled with my mind,
He’s Gone…

0_1_2006_00_larrycarlson.jpg

600_joe_sjpegs2006_018.jpgStill alive, issues with the ol’ noggin lately, I’ll be back refreshed soon… I hope? living in a land of illusions jimi hendrix backwards on fire, waterfall over my back while reading a book on twistingpixels checked out from the liquid library.

upagainstthewall.com
addictclothing.com

Maura Holden Jeff Gibson Jeffery Deitch Jermey Scott John Kessler

Definetly liking Maura crazy cool art http://mauraholdenartworks.com/

There I posted a link for you lazybones, I know my bones a be lazy, and shakey at time… Rat cat alley, roll them bones. Need that cash to feed that jones. And the politicians thrown stones, Singing ashes, ashes, all fall down. Ashes, ashes, all fall down. Twisted like a spoke in a tricycle head-on collision. Did you see the accident out side? The sound of silverware dropped onto the linolieum, struck a chord a the spoon swirled slow motion in air. Speed that shit up, with a bit of junglistic flavor… Young space-cadets out there sipp’n their ayahuasca brews with warped images of tropical native american indians, poised in a crosslegged meditative state. While scrolls of illuminated particals whos pigments so rich and vibrant made you feel like you were really somebody, something… Coiled up in a pre-disposed DNA event on the horizon. Breaking thru the time constraints of the literal man. Past Carlos Castaneda and Don Juan, past the innocent school girl you let your thoughts get away from you.

When all you really need to do is imagine a Chicago greenline train, Graffiti sprayed on you three layers thick, meshes of greens, forest green, emerald green. The bamboo is growing out of the garbage cans. Second layer is words, blurred and bleary eyed I spy a tag ‘Resin” with horns of the beast jutting out each side. I think to myself nice. And back on my train of brainwave stimulators, nothing but good ol’ Organics here. No need to fear that ugly technology and its mechanical, metallic, methodical, gears. As it is meaningless to me, yeah some good art has came out of some recent technical advances. I just hear the whistle of the train as it tries to breath in this biohazard, asthma inducing choking air, its quiet but ever clear shrill can be heard. Decoded to a princeable of astute mathematical proportions, all the dam n whistle is saying is… Mechanical Revolution

Presidents, infomercials, Trump, Pharmaceutical tv ads bending your judgement. Primary colors, and the morning dew. Prismatic effects of the facets of a massive smokey quartz, rutilated and phantoms deep. I cross my legs and my woolen slacks hang heavy yet warm and inviting. My sherlock pipe the ember have been burned out, but an old man I will be someday and things will be the way they are supposed to be.

Things will be just perfect, as I imagine medical school and how much I really want to persue that. The preverbial placibo opiate replacement treatment will be washed from the soiled beaches as I slowly brush my mental imperfections with with a worn whale bone comb. Images of Alaskan Tlingit art sparkling with the ripples of psychedelic nature. The young 18 yr. old is suspended in time as he is remenising about that ‘old blue’ paper that used to be mic’d at 200ug’s and how he just wants to stick his tongue into the amber waves of grain pharmy bottle and munch on a chunk of crystal. Times of mythical legends and war torn hero’s. WWI veterns saluting a rip-torn, blood splattered flag that is made out of crisp $100 dollar bills. Oh so sad…

The masses, who are they? The overwhelingly heard demographic but once again who are they? Is it my sister, who is living the American Dream?, the guy that sold me my chewing tobacco, is it that drunk hobbling outta the bar? The masses dont even know who they are, sure I am part of the masses but I know who I am. If the largest demographic of people, i.e. the masses. If all were prepared to devote time to practice meditation on some level and out of those ‘masses’ a strong group conscious would begin to from like a blob of jello. Watered down liquid at first, but gelatin and structured in 30 minutes. Pray for help, for someone else, for that addict squirmin in cold sweats as she screams on a deaf ear. There is hope, just we need to irradiate the image with pigments of pure imagination.

I prefer the hijacked fumes of a backwards beat d-lysergic acid diethylamide. Hoffman and his molecules shatters the Cartels and their explotation of a god given plant papaver somniferum. Its like the dark clouds of exhust comming out of the bricken factory chimney’s. A suffacating pleasure to some a fact-of-life for others. You KNOW there is some girl in her NYC Bleecker street flat freezing cold, goosebumped flesh, cells in her brain screaming for the urge to to filled up again. A fish flopping out of water, a squirming coil. Luxury of what being an addict having money and being sick at 3-6am because you fucking cant find better dealers.

Well squirm in that fuzz opiated blanket away just be prepared for when it gets ripped away and you have to deal without life behind your blanket, scattered thoughts of images of slick glossy paper encoded in a primitive hieroglyphic. The plants awaken, your mind starts think’n, and them bones be a creak’n but the pineal gland awakens from its long slumber. 60 yr. old hippies chest length beards, tidey and tucked not frayed and tattered, with a sparkle in there eye. /Takes out a can of Krylon Spray paint and sprays over the lens that lets you look into some kid who lives down the block, Jimmy I believe is his name

http://www.mdma.net/alexander-shulgin/psychedelic-chemist.html
http://www.mdma.net/alexander-shulgin/professor-x.html

Your-in Yellow

Based upon jumping conclusions
Caught up in endless solutions
Backed up against a wall of confusion
Living a life of illusion

 

mandalas.JPG

Well it was one of those nights, boring and more boring…  I awoke at the usual time as of late last night at: 6:30 p.m. or so, [dark outside].  My dreams lately have been very strong and vivid almost breaking through to the conscious arena of my mind.  The other day I awoke having a little bit of a asthma attack, I couldnt breath but when I awoke my legs were sitting up [feet on my bed, knees in the air] and I had two different control panels? on my left leg.  On the panel there were a series of 5-7 switches, both panels looked the same except one had an extra switch, a voice in my groggy half awake head told me to flip that switch.  I tried physically doing it but I quickly fell back into subconscious dreaming, and it happened again.  This time I flipped the switch mentally and as I awoke this time, I was know longer having a asthma attack just a big cough and a wad of phlegm [yea, I know you wanted to hear about that] but I thought I would through it out there. [I am a weirdo I know]

Also the past week[s] dreams it is as if I have been on a learning/training mission I should be keeping my dream journal up as I forget alot but I do remember a few I used to have a page on here strictly related to my dreams but I accidently deleted it and sequently deleted it.  A dream I cant forget involves me on tour with the Grateful Dead my riding solo and hooking up with these two girls on a train as we were in a rough European nation, I distinctly telling myself in the dream to memorize one of the girls faces, who later invited me into her sleeping bag under a graffiti’d underpass as our throng of tour-heads were passing thru some town.  In that town, I also went into a small restaurant to use the washroom and was confronted by a man blocking the bathroom door.  He asked me if I had to use the bathroom, I replied yes.  There were two bathrooms, he pointed me to one and said to use this one. 

As I stepped in I noticed multiple lines of a shiney white powder laid out on the toliet paper dispenser, and while using the washroom, more lines on the top of the toliet.  The man pop’d his head in and asked if I wanted to do any speed as he pointed towards the lines, I said sure.  An incoherent tangent I know…

Later in the dream [I wont bore you with it all] we got to one of the Grateful Dead shows, and we could here the skreetching of Bob Dylan belting out some tune, I remember being excited to see Dylan with the Dead which I have in real life.  The strange part of the dream and I havent bothered to look up what the ‘supposed’ meaning was but when we were walking out there were these large fish that were dead and dried out they were staked on a wooden cross the horizontal branch of the cross went thru the fishes mouth and out its tail.  The fish reminded me of the speices, Snook.  They were large fish probably about 3 ft. in length and they were dried out and you could see there thick scales.  There were under a hundred of them in one area I remember that there were Willow trees in the area and it was kinda a marshy area.  Now that I think about it it could have meant to resemble the rivers edge of the town I live in when the carp are spawning.  Shrug.  I put this up here so I will remember to look it up on the internet.

Something strange has been with my dreams lately.  Can’t quite put a finger on it but very strange and like I said vivid beyond description.  The dreams continue on that razor thin line of sleeping and waking.  I remember them very strongly and I probably have 5-7 that I good write a good multiple thousand word essay about, but who wants to read that…  So I wont bore you.  I can chalk up the vividness to 2 different sleep medications I have been taking Rozerem and Risperdal [for sleep, not for psychotic episodes, as much as some of you would like to believe, 🙂 ].  I have been pulling in a minimum of 12-16hrs. of sleep a night.  *Reminder to start keeping an open dream journal next to my bed to jot down some better descriptions.* 

I read in the Chicago Tribune about the FAA trying to rebuke a UFO siting over OHare Airport this Fall they wouldnt give the exact date out, the pilots were clear and positive on what they saw a light hovering over a terminal than its lights changed colors and shoot up Zooooom… straight up into the sky.  The FAA claims it was atmospheric conditions, gimme a frikken break already.

Well I watched the sunrise, as it is partially overcast.  I decided around around 3 or 4 a.m. I was just going to pull an all nighter as I have been sleeping to much.  I had already taken my even dose of benzos and my sleeping medications [which havent been working as quickly as I would like, **Switch back to Seroquel**.  So I watched a movie Dupree and you and me or someshit, quite good.  Than decided to overpower the sleeping medication.  I took my morning dose of 45mg of Adderall early.  I think its about time for my afternoon dose, 7:53 a.m.

Peace,
Seedless

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways,
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’,
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’,
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin’,
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’,
Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’,
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’,
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what’ll you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’,
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’,
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’,
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

I didnt know what I was getting myself into…

Street corners, and Rolling Stones, amphetamines, clouded memory…what was I just saying.  Speed Kills, powders, test-tubes, and bunsun burners.  Inner city blues, shrieks thru the night as the city comes to life.  Red and Blue lights flashing ’round and ’round.  Two for one after dark.  Yellow eyes, shining with infection.  Down with disease, and I am laughing at the begining of dawn, pencil in my hand, and sauce-sized pupils staring back at me.  Depth of field is blurred, you dont care if you live or if you die. 

A fistfulla dollars somebody crying for a fix, another turning trix, yet another robbing you blind.  Conscious of a robot, programed for Stoned Immaculation.  Enter the war zone to get your medicine fix, cartoon like pimps, and scragely street corner tricks.  Industrial size horse needles, 23 gauge you think I give a fuck.  Refill my syringe with a rain puddle, watching the rainbows of gasoline ripple away from the point.  Gotta let that deal go down, your stomache is in your mouth and your mouth explodes your foamy puke, but the dry heaves, oh man, oh man, as the plastic crack smoke comes ringing out your ears.

You kick yourself and bitch and moan, motherfucker its 5am why is my dope spot only selling rocks, I am sick as a dog, why am I smoking crack?  The bellringing, electrifing buzz, rips you into the world of a paranoid.  My mind zips thru the glossy pages of the 2005 PDR I was memorizing while nodding out last night.  Squirming in my flesh.  I flip flop the decisions: should I go to the ‘McDonalds Pill spot’ I know my imprint codes like some people know the current events.  Baseball, hotdogs, applepie, amphetamines, and lsd.  Or should I buy a few more rocks and wait on the bag man and his “15 minutes” and the blows will be out.  [I.E. blows = smack, chunky rocky off white powder behold the power of numbness of the mind].  I decide to buy another rock, head toward the pill spot to try and pick up a gulp fulla methadone, or dilaudid or fentanyl. 

I really dont want eaither of the three but I am sick, my skin is gray, I am a wreck, I think about smashing my car into the stop-light just to get a piddly morphine drip.  Criminal element, tappin the phone.  Riding in second gear in the pre-dawn ghetto, the snow banks are gray, the scene seems to be watercolor washed with a eiree smokey dull gray.  The only light comes from the broken glass as it glitters on the street, thought you had a gram, popin ativan, triple chekcin’ your pockets.  Nose dripping like a ghetto motel bathroom facuet.  My and a friend have been staying at the Shamrock Hotel puffing on botanicals to get our heads clear.  Much like a cold winter night warming around the bonfire.  Except its 8am we have been up since last Friday, minus the unconscious nod-outs.  We met a prostitute next door that instead of turning tricks is more happy to swarm around the red-hot glass pipe, as chunk after chunk of crack gets melted into the brillo.  I have a slight fear about her pimp coming for his money and finding her with a couple of out-of-place doped-up-junky-fucks.  An odd sentiment waterfalls over the scenerio as the prostitute eye’s us both and asks if we want our cocks sucked for another few hits.  Shit naw, we want to flood our bloodstream with a backwash of liquified heroin. RIP>…..

I pass a side street off Independece Ave, on my way towards the Mcdonalds [pills-a-go-go].  Last minute decision I whip the wheel and slide into the turn slipping on the unplwed and icey side streets.  Boom into the curb, fucked up my steering, I spit out of the window as I lean back and flame the craack pipe with two plastic lighters that have been busted open and the flame turned up to a height of about 2-3 inches.

Roast bitch roast.

Clouds of smoke billow out my window as I unroll it at the next corner, I cant hear the dealers at first as I am deaf from the crack rush, my heart beating literally from my chest, addicted to addiction. 

Blows you got blows?  Is all I can must, Yeah Joe… Whatchoo want?  I’ll take 3, no make that 4 [I am not wasting my money, better known dope is to be had].  Ripping the bags open as I drive I balance my upturned popcan on my legs, I drop in 3 bags a mountain of powder gets liquified by my syringe.  Cotton gets dropped in and the nice tan colored water sucken up.  I tie off with my seatbelt and pull over to the curb on some street, I dont care where the fuck I am.  I lunge the needle into my arm pulling it half way out slightly geeked from the crack, my hands are shaking.  I hit a vein and slam the plunger home, ahhh.  Mother dearest I love you but motherfuck do I love you heroin.

I grab some xanax from the glove compartment and pop 4mg to help with my shakes.  I cruize the McPill-spot… typical sellers are out, codiene, hydrocodone, oxycodone, methadose, morphine [only MScontins over priced], dilaudid.  4mg Knoll’s for 5 a pop, I buy 2 and go thru the drive thru ordering a Cherry coke, I crush the pills and empty them into the upturned pop can, I sprinkle my last bag of smack over the pills.  Water, cotton, injection.  FUCKKKkkk… 

I drift back head slaming back into my head rest eyes fluttering riding the rush like a rollercoaster, if I die at least they will find me with a smile on my face.  Straight up fucked up, pulling curbies as I try to drive.  Mirrow, blade, and a pile of pure…   Will I ever change, guess it all depends bottles and cans, seeds and stems, can I borrow another tomorrow.  Gritting my teeth I want more, more, more… 

I stop off a a corner gas station and buy a mini bottle of Vinegar I my way back to my main dope spot the time is approaching 6:13’ish as the morning commute is starting to pick-up I notice the bus-stops are being filled up the faces all a blur to me.  Back at my favorite dope spot at the time, my dealer has finally got his lazy ass outta bed, bout fucking time shit.  I feed this fucker hundreds of dollars a day, I dont even like to think about it after 3 days worth of ca$h. 

Whats up drew…?  Shit man, fucking sick, I need 2 packs and 3 rocks, where were you earlier?  Shit drew this is earlier.  I lean back and adjust the radio, hoping my god will save my soul, talk radio, shitty pop, music, I throw In some Morphine ‘Cure for Pain’ and watch ‘Slim’ run back up to my car with my 24 bags of heroin and 3 rocks.  I notice multiple other cars are starting to pull up as they see the spot is open slanging that super smack.  Slim hands me my taped and sealed packs, and throws me 5 rocks, on the house Drew.  Thanks, catch ya tomorrow I mumble as I am driving away and he is running up to the next car.  I shoot some crack, slam another bag, and than retreat into isolation untill the sickness creeps back.

Inflicted with the madness of addiction and I just cant get enought of it.  I crave it like a 14 yr old craves lsd on home-coming weekend, like a 17 yr old craves, pussy on prom night. 

Just walk away… To much wrong for me to stay, Just walk away…

Instant Karma’s gonna get you
Gonna knock you right on the head
You better get yourself together
Pretty soon you’re gonna be dead
What in the world you thinking of
Laughing in the face of love
What on earth you tryin’ to do
It’s up to you, yeah you

Well we all shine on
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Yeah we all shine on…

The hairs stood up on my arms, as I heard this song wash over the radio I was listening to as I was jotting down incoherent notes as I watched NOVA on the television screen.   Instantly a voice came over than me told me to copy those opening lyrics into a journal post, and than just let what comes to mind flow out.

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