– Heroin


I would rather post this video, Lennon – Mind Games but I cant embed it, here is the link.  Something to listen to when and if you bother to read about my life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OO5LkJJlpTU&feature=related

Well today is my last day on Tramadol.  I have been taking it for 2 weeks using it to ease the w/d from bupe.  I have felt in slight w/d this week, and I am hoping that since tramadol is weak that I let some of the bupe symptoms dissipate, make sense, ha.  I started taking 5 50mg pills and over the course of 2 weeks went down to 1.5 50mg pills.   This weekend is going to be unproductive but is absolutely fucking needed in order for me to be who I want to be, CLEAN.

I am nervous though about my benzo use as I have been taking them daily for the 2 week step down to Tram, and will most likely even though I know I shouldnt take them a bit longer.  Why?  because I am stupid and lol maybe I am just used to always feeling like I am in w/d for the past year so whats another month of being uncomfortable, they prevent me from doing something irate like scoring dope.   I like to tell myself that even though I know it’s an excuse but do I really care?

We were talking about opiate addiction and w/d in one of my classes today, I was totally shaky and coughed a couple times almost dry heaving in class.  Fuck man I can’t hang like that this has to end.  I am not going to classes tomorrow, I am supposed to do homework and lunch with this girl from class but there is no way I will be functioning on a level that wont make it obvious something is going on.  Maybe she already knows?  Who cares?   I should call and cancel but I don’t think it’s needed and will just blow it off like I did the other week.  I don’t know why I do the things I do.  I feel like a relationship will be a positive thing in the upcoming months I just need to get well first.  Plus I am picky.

Worry, worry, worry about nothing, what the fuck this is not how I am used to functioning.  I need some sunshine as much as I hate to admit it I feel a sense of fear and its a bit unerving. sigh.

I been thinking about this old OD a friend had and how it was just a horrible experience.  I think I will write it out to remind me what can happen if I slip.

I think it was in late fall, shit maybe 10 years ago?   My best friend and drug cohort were doing what we did, get high.  I think that night it was xanax bars and excellent Nigerian imported heroin that was so rock hard it sometimes took a litte bit to get it into solution.  We were stoned and decided to go get malts at a local ice-cream place.  Where we ran into a friend who had been living in Colorado at the time.  Talk turned to drugs pretty much instantly and he was coming off a tar habit from west coast dope and wanted to get high.  I remember sitting in the booth with him and you could tell he was blitz’d on some tranquilizer.  We asked him your not high on xanax, this dope is strong etc. blahblahblah.

‘Nope no xanax here’ was his reply

Yeah ok sure.  So lets go get high.  We drove back to my friend’s house and we all proceeded to fix up.  I remember the Colorado friend [I will call him B] kept egging my other friend [T] on a little bit saying oh come on just a little more dope in the spoon, just a few more pebbles.  He got what he wanted.  I remember him walking out of the bathroom needle still in his arm seconds after shooting, and saying OH SHIT this shit is strong.  He than proceeded to bounce of the walls trying to walk to the couch.  He made it as far as the kitchen table where he just fell out.  His beer bottle bounced off the carpet spilling all around him as he lays starting to turn blue.

FUCK!!!  Shit I knew it.  What the fuck are we going to do?  We were in a panic the only logical decision was 911 because it just needed to be done so my friend T scrambles around cleaning up all his dope and shit and stashing it under the deck out back.  In minutes an ambulance and cop arrived.  Questions, questions, questions…  I distinctly remember looking at T and he just looked like a ghost pale white, short sleeve shirts we both wore and tracks on our arms.

I told the medics he was an old friend from Colorado and we went into the bathroom and came out stumbling and fell.  I said he mentioned something about tar heroin.  It was an obvious OD.  It took the paramedics awhile to get him with it.  Longest and most dramatic I have ever witnessed.  Two shots of narcan and he wasnt coming around.  One of the paramedics had me holding a saline bag over his head for dripage, after a while [minutes] it was really taking a toll on me watching what was going on and the police officer took over my position.  Than they said his heart stopped and pulled out some defibrillator and set it on the kitchen table.  I remember thinking this is not good, I still can see the little electronic screen on the machine.  They shocked him once with it and something started happening.

By this time they already had him secured to a dolly and in restraints for violence upon waking.  B started convulsing and then started throwing up this just black, dark, alien looking puke something I have never seen since.  It wasnt your normal charcoal puke, pump your stomach shit.  A couple more minutes and he started to come around restrained by the straps he didn’t know what was happening.  Me and my friend were just frozen looking half dead ourselves.  A few elementary questions from the police officer, he didn’t care he knew what was up and I believe he thought we just went thru quite a shocker and probably thought we would learn our lesson, not for quite a while longer.  Have I learned my lesson?  What the fuck kinda lesson?  Drugs are bad?

B soon started to say he was fine and didn’t want to go to the hospital but it was going to happen no matter what.  In seconds everybody walked out the front door and wheeled B out.  We shut the door and just kinda looked at each other.  I know personally I was used to events like that at that time of my life and I have never really let OD bug me or even as much as I hate to say it deaths bother me.  I just kinda wouldn’t think about it, tune it out, I am numb already.  I sometimes wonder if by not talking about all those things that happened back than has done something to me.  I don’t think so but I can’t tell you for sure.  Not dealing with traumatic issues can have consequences.

The rest of the night is kinda hazy.  I am sure we shot some more dope and I think we watched some music DVD’s and probably said fuck man what happened a few times.  B started to call the house from the hospital wanting us to pick him up.  T didn’t want to and I didn’t blame him.  I believe his parents ended up getting him and he either continued using for a bit or went into rehab and then continued using for a bit, don’t recall.

I really miss the friendship I had with T, things went down and people moved.  We still continue to fight our own battles.  It just sucks these days I don’t have many friendships like I used to have.  I have some friends but I am usually avoiding them.  There are AA and NA friends but it’s just not cutting it for me.  Whatta drag.

I think I checked into rehab a few months after that event and eventually got kicked out and continued using, obviously.  I think I even wrote about the first day at that rehab.  I do have a handwritten journal of that stay there and I only wrote one page, three words.  In very shaky, scratchy handwriting were the words, pills pills pills.

Here is the post on rehab that day, wrote at a later time.

https://seedlesss.wordpress.com/2006/03/05/rehab-visit-1/

I don’t know why those thoughts came into my head perhaps I am just trying to reinforce the negatives that can come from even just one little slip up.  That and I am bored and restless.  I went to a lunchtime AA meeting after school and will probably go to a NA meeting tonight.  Just to do something as the more I sit around the more I think and my thinking can kill me quickly.

Peace, Pot, Microdot,

Seedless

Well I cant sleep,  its only 2:55 am. I just have that not going to sleep soon feeling.

I took 150mg of trazadone, 5mg of klonopin

Drank a beer than went out to drink more.   Bad idea I was achy, restless, and edgy.  Drank 4 beers

Things are not too bad minor w/d.  I was laying in my bed for the last 2 hours tossing and turning.  Constantly stretching and a dry heave,  Nothing that is new to me but it still sucks.  I am praying things start to turn for the better as I dont want to keep taking these benzos.  I finally said fuck it and switched on my light so I could stumble out of my room easier, nope the fucking thing burns out, zap.  So went downstairs made  a cup of Red Zinger tea and got stoned,  it sure is a quiet night.  I wish it was summer so I could hop on my mountain bike and go lay down on a hill and watch the stars, it might make me feel more human than this ill fated robot I feel like,  So yeah.

Now I decided to write on here to well do something.  Plus I always like the click of the keys on the laptop while sitting in the dark, soothing somewhat.

I feel ok for like 1/2 hour than like shitty achy fish-out-of-water.  I think I think about it too much but its hard not too.  I definitely have been thinging how nice a bag of H would be, and how easy…. too easy.  I hate this shit.  Feeling like jello plastic that is uncomfortable.  I could probably try to relax and get some sleep but those thoughts that pop in and out of my head drive me to not sleep.  It only seems when I can divide those thoughts, forget about them and than boom I am in a zen like pre sleep.  GOD I hope tomorrow is better.

Well I… fuck computer just shut down outta the blue, I got stressed and I can chalk up another 4mg of kpin down the hatch.  Thank god wordpress saces enteries like every 30 seconds.  So I think I am going to listen to Peter Gabriel – Secret World, I love that cd.  Feel like shit/feel ok.  Fuck at least I am not in the throngs of H w/d dry heaving green foam and just praying to god for it to stop so I can catch my breath.  I got nothing else.

Peace,

Seedless

I sometimes miss those days where my life was spent in a opiated haze.  I was so oblivious to any other type of lifestyle and the only worries were, who had the best heroin.  I tend to gloss over those nights where I was flipping around in my bed like a fish out of water.  Twisting my body trying to ease my aching muscles, feelings like somebody was trying to drive nails into my calve bones.  That sense of nothingness after cooking up a couple bags to get my sick off and not being able to register a hit in my veins.  My hands trembling as I realize fuck my damn syringe is clogged and I dont have another fresh one.  Taking a lighter to the end of the needle hoping to burn out whatever is blocking the opiated water from entering my bloodstream.

One specific memory pops into my head when I think about clogged shots.  I was copping in Chicago and I was riding the L from the ghetto to Oak Park where it was just ‘easier’ to find a bathroom.  With a robotic rhythm I would shuffle with a quickness to a bookstore and walk straight to the restroom bathroom stall, filling up a glass of water at the drinking fountain if I didnt already have some water on me.  Which was rare unless I was super sick as dope paraphernalia was almost always in my pockets.  Lighter, a cigarette filter, and a pop can ripped in half.  Fingers and/or pants leg smudged in that black soot.  Most of my clothes had drippings of bleach on them as syringes were not sold over the counter than.  My scarred arms can still attest to fact I was stuck using a dull needle to get the job done.  Occasionally I would have to do a little ‘Junky 101’ and wet sand the burr off the tip of the needle using the gritty striker pad on the back of a patch of matches.  Back and forth, up and down, wash out with water, repeat, etc.  The thought of maybe not cleaning out the barrel of the needle all the way was a fleeting thought as it simply did not matter.  Whatever was needed to be done was done.  I wish I still had that insane twisted drive in my life [albeit in a positive manner] as the only thing that was going to stop me from getting high was the police.  Twisting on the concrete floor of some cold holding cell was just not in my plans.  That motivation to get that next hit was an intense feeling and puzzling as I think back on some of the stupid shit I would do.

The only thing standing between 50 units of an ice-tea colored elixir and my vein was usually some foreign substance blocking the needle.  Was it a shitty cut?  I had a few shitty cuts in my day, one of which I still recall scoring that day from the Southside of Chicago CPH buildings [Chicago Public Housing] the bags that day were ‘black spades’.  Big one inch by one inch square little ziplok baggies with black spades on it, [duh!].  Those southside bags you would always get much better dope not to mention bags that were almost twice the size.  That was some fucking good heroin, beige and clumpy.  This was probably 1999 or so a few years after the westside was completely flooded with dope and the quality there started to fall off after a huge influx of young suburban dopefiends started to look like walking or driving dollar signs.

Anyways it must have been an off day that day as the dope was still excellent but what ever they were cutting it with was probably best left to cater to the snorters.  A little residue was left in the cooker, gritty and sludgy.  A couple times I recall pulling a hair out of my head and than patiently using the hair to floss thru the tip of the needle as that was the only thing small enough to fit in there.  That was next to an impossible task to thread the needle as I was usually shaking like a leaf in a spring thunderstorm by that point and steady hands was something I just didnt have.

Thankfully I dont have to deal with that crazy lifestyle anymore.

Peace,

Seedless

This is a tale from the past, Winter 1999 to be exact.  I was definitely a full blown addict at this time.  My main line of discomfort was IV heroin although I was basically a drug dustbin during these days.  To put it mildly I was gone.  I was 22 and I was in my prime of using.  I knew I was an addict and frankly I could careless, the poppy had me hook, line, and sinker.  I was using close to a bundle a day and was not looking to change.  My ethics at that time were questionable at best.  I was staying at my parents house doing nothing and they were fed up or just didnt want to see me wasted day in and day out anymore.  I was loaded on H, pills, coke, booze, and weed always.  Prior to this I had been to a few rehabs, been on methadone, and have had a few drug arrests which thanks to a lawyer had gotten dropped.  I was not working just using fulltime.

So my parents [more so my Father] booted me out of the house and my lovely Mother rushed out and got me an apartment.  I never even mentioned wanting one was probably just going to couch surf and party, shit not much really mattered to me except for that heroin in my spoon.  So I move in and set-up shop.  I was hanging out with a girl friend at the time and what was on the agenda that morning?  Scoring.  She pulled up to my place as I shuffled out towards her car, I pop’d some Xanax and Valium prior to leaving to keep the sickness from creeping in.  It was a cold winter morning and I was ready to get fuct up.  We pulled away and were soon in the city making a right onto Independence Blvd.  The dope spot I was frequenting during that time was the original ‘pony-pack’ spot.  We pulled up and bought a strip [12 bags] of their dope to test out.  At that time they were one of the very few dope spots that were marketing their dope [in Chicago] in an East coast manner, stamped bags.  The stamps were a picture of a horse with the word, ‘Unbelievable’ written underneath.  We hopped onto the expressway to shoot a couple bags and get well, normal run-of-the-mill stuff.

When-we were returning to buy [stock up] I wanted to get some crack also.  The girl I was with just hated crack for some reason and would hate when I did it, especially with her around.  So I picked up a few $10 bags of yellowish rocks and started to smoke them on the way home.

-Load the pipe, bell-ringer, twinges of paranoia, g/f bitching about crack, inject another bag to relax a little, smoke another rock, more bitching from g/f, another shot, cottons, blackened spoons, digging for a clean shot, relaxation, numbness bliss behind the dashboard.

I decided to save the last bag of crack for when I get back to my new apartment but the damage was already done as the girl was pissed of at my using crack in her car without her permission.  Yet it was ok for her to inject her dope while we were cruising down the expressway at 70 mph, whatever…

I shot a few more bags on the ride back and was nodding out feeling real good.  All of a sudden I got a huge craving for KFC mashed potatoes and she drove me up there.  Remembering I just moved in and needed some vinegar to break down the crack for injection I asked her to stop at a store, thats when she blew up and said after this I am just dropping you off at home and were not hanging out.  Fine with me as all I could think about was that rush I was going to get from the IV crack.  We shot another bag each out front and than I stumbled out of the car completely wasted.

I was staying in an old historic house that was a 2-flat so we had a communal entry with an old twisted wooden suitcase leading up my apartment that was on the top floor.  I was struggled with the keys dropping them, not being able to get the key in the door, nodding off, etc.  All while balancing my cup of KFC mashed potatoes and bottle of vinegar.  Damn was I high, real high.  The benzos I took were really adding to my intoxication.  So I finally get in and start to walk up the first few stairs when I trip and fall down.  My face landing in my mashed potatoes, spralled out on 3 or 4 stairs.  I ended up nodding out, unconscious for quite a while.  I dont even know how long but long enough for the mashed potatoes that were on my face and all over the stairs to turn crusty.

I woke up to someone shaking me, ‘Are you all right?!’

“Ugh, ehhh… what’, I mumbled in slurred words.  

I shook my head and slowly the effects prior started to kickin.  Oh yeah I scored dope today.  Fuck I musta passed out while laying on the stairs, face covered in mashed potatoes.  Fuck! nice move Seedless nice.

“Well you must be the new guy living upstairs right, my new neighbor?”,  was her reply 

“Yup thats me, my name is Jimmy.”

“Hey Jimmy, I am Jenny… What happened?  Are you alright?”  She seemed a bit taken back.

“Oh I dont know I think I tripped and knocked my head.”

“Are you sure you were pretty out of it.”

“Yeah I will be fine, nice meeting you.”

 Boom I ran up the stairs unlocked my door and than shut it.  I stood up against the door thinking what the fuck just happened and slowly slid down to the floor trying to recollect what happened right before walking into the house.  Zing…  Fuck thats right I have crack to inject and boom off to the races again.  I did wipe the mashed potatoes off my face before getting out all my gear.  I tried to avoid my neighbor from than on and we greeted each other briefly and with the bare minimum.  That was one of the worst and most embarrassing time of moving into a new place and one that still makes me twinge with feelings of disgust and ‘what the fuck was I thinking’.

Peace,

Seedless

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.

dice.jpg

Chicago mid 1990’s

I was a strung out to high hell dopefiend, all that mattered to me was that next fix. Fuck who or what was in my way… Chicago was littered with high quality heroin at every corner, the southside projects were like something I have never seen, outside the decrepit CHA [Chicago Housing Authority] buildings in the courtyard would be 10 or so males and females, that would lunge at you soon as you made the walk up to the entrance. Each yelling out and totting a different brand of heroin, ‘Black Diamonds’, ‘Puke’, ‘Pitchfork’, they would leech onto you each fighting for a sale, each under cutting the other in price. The Nickle man was always a good bet, as the size of the bags on the South Side were double that of the West Side [which catered to suburbanite junkies, and deliveries to your car]. If you wanted the best heroin this is where you came, the South Side Projects, that were a stones throw away from the Chicago White-Sox Stadium. The gangs ruled those buildings hands down, they would have armed soldiers with 30 odd 30’s staked out on the roof along with the members with binoculars and hand-radio’s to communicate with the sellers on the ground that cop’s were coming.

Which at times would happen in an ambush attack, as there was really one road into the project buildings and one road out. At times they would come flying off State street, tearing through the swatches of grass, fishtailing as they got there rocks off by slamming on the gas storming the project building and taking it by as much surprise as possible. It was a site to see, if you were caught in the project parking lot, and they didnt find dope on you they would arrest you for tresspassing. It was the biggest crock of shit, but thats just the tip of the Iceberg for ‘Crook County’s’ finest the crooked Chicago Police.

You usually always new which brand/bag of dope was the best thru the network of junkies, so once you open your mouth and said… ‘Black Diamonds’ the guy would literally grab you buy the arm and escort you away from the other sellers, at times you would hear bottles smashing on the concrete behind you. Walking into the entrance you were told to stand up against the wall ala arrest stance, as you were quickly frisked down for weapons and than led down a concrete corridor that reaked of urine, puke, alcohol, and death. From there you were pointed in the direction of the bags you wanted. Be it up a flight a stairs or around the corner, passed the gangstars throwing dice, sipping on cheap malt liquor. Eyeing you with intention. They made it seem like you were safe, but in truth there was nothing safe about it. There were rapes, deaths, and robberies on a daily basis. I would just stare at the floor and shuffle up in line as I got to the seller who’s partner would ask how many you wanted and take your money, the seller would be holding a paper lunch bag just filled to the top with fat 1 inch x 1 inch square plastic baggies. A sight that would make my eyes sparkle, oh how many times I dreamed of just grabbing that bag and making a mad dash for it. I would have probably made it a good 5 feet before being sprayed in a hail of lead. I always surmised if I packed a loaded Uzi I could mow down enough people to make it outside. My sidekick would have to drive up the parking lot onto the front landing and pick me up. A dream once dreamt.

After seeing the same dealer day after day, sometimes multiple times a day. They would warm up to you and start to tell you where the best dope was or start cutting you deals. I would grab my bags, quickly wrapping them in paper or something and palm them and walk with a extremely steady pace towards the exit. I had to run a couple times for my life, but another tale another day. You would walk past the skinny crack head women, ‘I’ll suck your dick for a bag’ some would beg for money. It was a disgustingly sad sight. What happened in those buildings, would surely make a grown man puke in disgust. Finally I made it past the crack whores, and into the outside. Once outside a spotter would tell you if it was ok to go or if the police were circling, which you usually would have heard about before you got to the exit as the security system they had in place was untouchable.

Usually the first words as you slid into the car was ‘You got um all right?’ or ‘You didn’t forget my crack?’ Out of my pocket a pile of huge bags of oh so perfect heroin would sit on my lap almost making my dick hard. My buddy would usually already have the rigs filled with water and quickly hand me a cooker and as for a few bags for him/her to rig up as god forbid they wait till I am done. I would usually have a shot in my bloodstream with in minutes of getting in the car, pushed back into the car seat from the rush, my eyes would flutter and those brief seconds were what I lived for. Nothing else mattered, and nothing was going to get in my way of getting my shot[s].

After we would get those first few bags in us to get our sick off, out would come the pipe or the vinegar. Myself, I was a sucker for that IV rush from the crack. The quick build-up in my body, soon reaching my head with bells ringing so loud and fast I could do nothing, ahh my heart is beating fast as I type this. Under gray skies we would escape from the lawless southside and return to our places to shoot dope till we were unconscious.

Reckless abandon was implanted in that gram
Pop’n Ativan’s to chill the shakes
The plunger I would slam
Homerun… Stoned Immaculate
Oh’ the mistakes
narcotic fever, sweating beads of rain
Robotic madness, controlled by forces unknown
A day in the life of getting blown
Shadows of the devil I would spy outta the corner of my eye
I could never quite catch him and he hasn’t caught me yet
As I wake up drenched in sweat
Thank god those daze are gone
Withdrawn

Life is full of pain, but the pain I feel is the pain of fleeting joy…
Excess rules everything I do…

Time: Sometime during the Fall of the year 2000?
Location: Outskirts of Chicago, Eden’s Expressway

Full fledged dope fiend I be couldnt even tell you how long this run has been but its been at least a few years with out a day of a needle piercing my skin. Sitting in traffic, another day of feeling nothing. I woke late in the afternoon scrambled to get dressed thru on a hat and sunglasses and hopped into my Volkswagon Jetta. My car has taken the toll of being a junky, I am probably a good 10K miles over getting an oil change, let alone your basic upkeep, its always tomorrow, its simply I don’t care. Unfortunetly this would be the last day I would drive my Jetta, fairly new 97 or 98 I forget, I probably had about 60-70K miles on the car. It was my favorite dope scoring machine.

On this unfortunate day, I was stuck in your typical Chicago rush-hour traffic. Instead of sitting and playing brake dancing with the car infront of me I decide to ride the shoulder and pass all these smucks stuck sitting in traffic. All my needles are stashed and I dont have anything else on me but cash so I could give a fuck about getting pulled over and ticketed, the 20-30 minutes I save riding the shoulder of the expressway is definitely worth the sickness that I am feeling.

Humming away on the side of the road, having to break for the random trucker that swings into the shoulder to stop me from my goal, heroin in my veins. Seconds are critical, as I swallow back the dry heaves. 10 minutes from the dope spots, I notice that my car has been driving WAY in the red and it should have overheated by now. My opiate depleted receptors tell my logical brain fuck stopping your almost there, you’ll make it. I agree and continue flying down the shoulder at a cold 50 mph as the traffic to my left sits in stop and go. Somewhere in my daydream of me fixing up my shot and hitting a vein my first try I hear a loud snap and I start to loose power. Motherfucking shit!!! Luckily I was right by an exit ramp and coasted up the exit, coasted thru the redlight and pull right into a gas station on 17th Ave. if I recall correctly.

I try to get the car started again but knowing in the back of my head that I just killed my car, I blew the fucking engine. Fuck it, I dont care. I am sick as a motherfucker and I have to get some dope in me immediately. As fate would have it that sun-spotted day the first person I walk up too is my savior.

He looked about my age but probably was 5-6 years younger, he was rummaging around on his floor of his car for change to fill up his gas. Immediately with all the red flags going off I know the skinny kid is a dope fiend. I approach him from the front as I didnt want to scare him as this isnt exactly a ‘nice’ neighborhood. ‘Hey’, I call out and give him my schpeel about how my car just brokedown, and I am stuck up here. Slowly testing the waters. Which way are you headed? ‘East’, How far East are you going? ‘Into the City’. Ahh I see, you wont be stopping at Independence Ave. by chance would you. We eye each other carefully, both of us skinny, runny noses, and looking like we havent shaven or showered in a week, time skips a beat as he replies ‘Yeah thats where I am headed, know any good dope spots?’ The fuck I do, look I’ll buy you a couple bags and throw you a 10 for gas if you save me the trouble of having to cop on foot as I am much to sick for that.

He is down hook line and sinker, we get in the car and he starts to tell me his story a story I have heard a thousand times… Well, I just got out of rehab about a week ago I have been on a run ever since. I stole my ma’s car and broke my little sisters piggy bank to scrape up enough cash to score a bag. With the bat of an eye he starts puking into a plastic garbage bag he has rigged up right next to the drivers door. His eyes tearing as he wipes his mouth clean he gets back to the details of the story. What rehab he went to? Where he has been cop’n his dope? He continues to puke right up to the dope spot. Thankful he took my advice and went to one of my reliable spots at the time rather than some of the shitty spots he reeled off as to where he was cop’n from. The spot we went to were selling $5 nickles and I picked up 2 packs: 100 bucks for 22-23 bags. I give him four nickles in addition to the 2 nickles he bought. He shot one and was blown away, high as hell. I thought nice, at least he will be happy he scored some good dope. The nickles were a good 100mg’s and potent off-white vinegary smell when you opened up the bags sealed in double-sided tape the heroin clumped together and just by looking at it you knew you were in for a good high.

I ask him if he would be so kind as to drop me off at the train station and he would have none of that, he insisted that he drive me all the way home even though it was well out of his way as he was from the southside. I was curious as to why he wasnt coppin from the southside instead of the westside but kept my comments to myself.

I had the car towed to some lot where I donated it to something similar to Toy’s for Tot’s I forget??? I ended up geting a nice tax write off that I didnt even need but it sure saved me from the headache of getting a new engine and all that jazz. I was carless for a short period of time when my parents blindly gave me a nice Cadillac, which I lost in my last arrest for being passed out in a gas station with a cooker and needles on my lap, windows rolled up and doors locked. Woke up to cops rapping on my window with their billy clubs quite the nice awakening. Ending a well needed heroin run and since than I have been sober with the help of buprenorphine albeit a few slip ups in the begining but alls well that ends well, I guess. I miss my crocodile and hope she is doing well :\

All good things in all good time, someone once said…

Reach for the sun, catch hold of the moon
They’re both too heavy but what can you do?
Reach for the stars, smack into the sky
You don’t want to live but you’re chicken to die
Chicken to die

Run, run, run for the roses
Sooner it opens, the quicker it closes
Man, oh, man, oh friend of mine
All good things in all good time
All good things in all good time

Reach for the rose, get caught on the briar
You’re warming to love, next thing there’s a fire
The trouble with love is its other face
You just want the cup, you don’t want the race
No, you don’t want the race

-Seedless [cutting this landscape short because I am tired of typing]

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