Seedless

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]

Colorado - 1994

Returning back from a short visit to the parental figures and the innercity, Jimmy is strapped with a multiple grams of heroin as he steps of the small airplane, glad to be on the ground and back home in Crested Butee. His friends are in the lounge waiting with fingers crossed. I grab my carry on bag and join them, small talk ensues and the main issue is brought to light. How much did you bring? I laugh and tell them just enough for me, your going to have to stick with your tar smack, while I hit the slopes with my rocky powder. We all get into the old battered 4-Runner and zoom back into town past the downtown strip and into our condo. Where’s the dope? Alright call down, here is a gram for you Brent, a gram for you Kris and a 1/2 gram for you Zieter, that leaves me with 3 grams before I have to switch back to colorado dope, yucky tar. Although this town is a Sitterpharmaceutical free for all from all the ski/board injuries I prefer illicit medicine to ease my pains. We all sit down in front of the roaring fire-place and rig up together, I just do a small shot as I have been banging dope the whole day across the country and in the sky. I settle back with a Fat Tire Ale and listen to the gossip about whats been happening in town since I left. Nothing the but usual wild parties, insane amounts of cocaine, and girls. What day it is is unimportant to me as everyday is the same, wake up late, click into my bindings and ski skate out our back door and ride the gentle slope to the ski lift thats a 2-3 minute glide for us. No waiting on the ski bus. I want to see Jenny but she is off visiting her parents for winter break, all the better I am to stoned to get it up.
Zip————–

New Hampshire 1997

I open the door to the growroom and I am met with a bursting aroma of heat, slight humidity all intertwined with a handful of strains [Shiva Shanti, Northern Lights, NL #5, Skunk red hair] all the real deal aquired from a trip across the sea. I figure on 3-8 days till harvest depending on what plant. They are being starved of water these previous days in an attempt to squeeze every nanogram of THC and its friends into the arm length buds. I shut the door and sit on the floor and look at my face in the crinkled mylar attached to the corners of the room as to not loose any light. The two 1000 watt HPS suns are glowing strong. I can hear taylor downstairs blasting some beatles music… Quote: It’s getting better all the time, I used to get mad at my school, the teachers that taught me weren’t cool I lay in the neatly organized rows of plants and marvel at this grow bumper crop for sure. I will do 2 more watering 1 today which is a mix of carbonated water and fruit punch. The dry plants soak up the sweet tasting brew and I hope my intentions will be realized and I will have a little bit tastier smoke.
Zip——–

California - 1999′ish

I really forget lol stoned on the beach some girl I have known for 2 months trying to convince me not to rent a sleeping space in one of the sailboats in the harbor, why dont I move in with her. Whaaat…? was my reply. I just happen to get involved with this girl on a random notion I was bored. I dont like her place even though its nice I just dont feel right about it. I stay for a week and make up my mind no matter how good the sex is I dont want to live with her. Thinking back I wonder what could have came out of that scenario? Shit I could be a movie star, or dead, or a model, or a beach bum, or strung out on speed and shitty tar? Who knows maybee I would have finished school as UCSB. What would have been will never be known. Its days like this that I wish I would have taken that chance just to see what it brought me. Instead I didnt for reasons I know not. My eyes dripped with tears the day she drove me to the airport to return home. I should have given her a chance. Oh, well thats life.
Zip—–

New York - 2002

Another place where I wish I would have given a better change there were many opportunities out there for me as strong connections were abound, instead I wasted away shooting coke and heroin. I should have stayed. Who knows where I’d be today. Dead? Or successful? Its an expensive place to live our rooftop apartment rented out for 3500$ a month?!?! Insane, just as I was. Thank god for friends and Western Union and Mommy and Daddy. Bad place to try and clean up, I’ll leave it at that.
Zip—–

Chicago - 1995′ish

Our small apartment was set back from the street and I drownded myself in booze to avoid negative forces pulling me back into narcotica. Too many drugs to many problems. The city just wasnt in my plans this season as I needed leafy quite retreats not a 10 minute jaunt to heroin heaven. I remember somebody filling up the needle out of my fishbowl to shoot a shot of rollercoaster cocaine, I had enough. Bail on the lease.
Zip——

Outskirts of Chicago - Summer 2005

Going slowly insane and tired of medications tired of life and tired of everything. I am protected from life living here as everything is frozen in time. I still get a daily allowance, I still have needles stashed, I have a nice car, I have a bank account, I have copious amounts of pill bottles, I dont work, I party part–time [which is probably 60 hrs a week to most ppl] as of late. I have everything I need but a damn girl friend the last 2-3 g/f’s I flew thru were of no real interest to me just a mere fuck or suck, although I do seem to have a strange attachment to the last one even though I truly didnt like her and its still fucks me up. Its only been 5 months since my last girlfriend and I need a new one badly, mainly for my emotional state. I know something will happen soon, I will make an outgoing attempt soon as I am a pussy and just wait for girls to come to me. I dont want this to be a summer of 1-5 night stands. I want a girl that I enjoy her company to lay with me in the wooded backyard at night drinking booze till I feel looped just holding her in my arms content. I wonder if it will happen, time will tell I guess. 11 years of undetailed memories.
“Down To The River To Pray” As i went down to the river to pray Studyin about that good ol’ way and who shall wear the starry crown? Good Lord show me the way! O sisters let’s go down Lets go down, Come on down O sisters lets go down Down in the river to pray As I went down in the river to pray Studyin about that good ol way And who shall wear the robe & crown Good Lord show me the way O brothers lets go down Let’s go down, Come on down O brothers lets go down Down in the river to pray As I went down in the river to pray Studyin about that good ol way And who shall wear the starry crown? Good lord show me the way O fathers lets go down Let’s go down, Come on down O fathers lets go down Down in the river to pray As I went down in the river to pray studying about that good ol way And who shall wear th robe and crown Good Lord show me the way O mothers lets go down Come on down, don’t you wanna go down? O Mothers lets go down Down in the river to pray As I went down in the river to pray Studin about that good ol’ way And who shall wear the starry crown? Good Lord show me the way O sinners lets go down Lets go down, come on down O sinners lets go down Down in the river to pray As I went down in the river to pray Studyin about that good ol way And who shall wear the Robe and crown? Good Lord show me the way whats next I ask you?

[old post] Will this summer be different than the last? A question I always tell myself it will be. I would give my pinkie finger for the ability to change my lifestyle. I can do it, I just have to make the effort.

Scattered signs of the insanity of the world are projected onto my eyelids [theater screen] as they hang heavy and droop peacefully only to drift of to a dream land chalkfull of deja-vu. I think to myself, what am I doing? Why cant I be happy? Why do I have a nostalgic place in my heart of homeless, cold nights, fingers frozen from panhandling pennies on a holiday evening, blood stained jeans, and ‘I’ll try to eat tomorrow as all I want is chocolate milk but first I’ll cop another bag and rig up up on the old NorthWestern train tracks’ attitude rips thru my mind and leaves me pondering the backbone of what life really is.  You can say my life is real but its a fantasy or rather an illusion at the moment. I get what I want and I do nothing to deserve it [or do I?].  Am I fake or make believe?  Am I dust or am I dirt?  Am I alive or am I dead?
I sometimes miss those bleak, cold, Chicago afternoons where my pockets would be filled with powderized poppy in the form of number four. Writing my name in blood, graffiti’d park benches that are encypted with my DNA spelled out in the letters: H   E   L   P.  Nothing matters, you dont care, she didnt care and I sure as fuck didnt care.  My blood seeps into the absorbent wooden park bench merging dead organic tissue with my dying biotic blood cells.  I nod off sideways jerking out of a dream and back to the reality.  The world of pain and addiction.  The land of greed and dollar signs.  The neighborhood of cures for pain and certain death. These streets and corners have taken the lives of many, some remembered by a etched stone [R.I.P].  Underground my childhood friends are devoured by maggots and worms swim thru thier flesh, breaking them down into compost.  I notice a guy watching me, laying in wait.  He is waiting to strike like the snake he is, trying to catch me unconscious and raid my pockets.  I am not stupid, I know the deal and its not going down.  Leave me be with my memories of the demented thrills I would get from a 80 unit shot of 300-400mg of heroin united with a palm full of pills.

I walked to the dope spot that day, sticking out like the inflamed abscess on an inner-elbow.  The pain drums to the beat of my heart each beat a twinge of pain. Its early evening as I walk up to meet the local dope peddlers, who tell me to wait as they are waiting to re-up [the story of my life].  I buy a rock and sit in between two cars on the curb a spotter is watching me with one eye and scanning the street for the pac-man to make his drop off. Or maybe that slickboy in his legitimate plates is catching his eye.  What’s on his mind I think as I exhale a cloud of plastic tasting, numbing smoke.  My ears are ringing, ahhh.  I sense he is worried about a girl, not just some whore he fucked at some house party but this is a good girl.  Goes to church, not to mention school.

My lighter flickers and the pipe sizzles.  What would it be like to live his life? Would it be any more ‘real’ than mine?  What does he know that I don’t know?  Would I eye each car turning down my block, knowing each car is good for at least $50?  Would I be concerned about the crew from over from Lawndale and the beef over the control of a 2 block stretch of a high profit dope spot, or would I not give a fuck?  Would I be cold as ice?  Would I shoot to kill? My gun is tucked under the bushes that outline the brick apartment.  Thoughts run thru my head of what I would do.  Dive for the groud, grabbing the gun before my body would hit the ground and fire back.  BOOM, BOOM.  There are no traffic lights here, no time to stop, no time to yield, always go, go, go.  I decide I wouldn’t want that life, its not for me or else I would have been born into it.  Instead as the evening sun hangs low its casts a shadow of his body elongated onto the gravel parking lot and I flick my lighter.
A window is open a few floors up and I hear Marvin Gaye [Inner City Blues (Make Me Want To Holler)] floating gently out into the atmosphere. I lean back and grove on a sunny day. I feel a time warp wash over me, I feel as if I am in the 1970’s. I can see the musical notes riding on the minute molecules of oxygen.  A masterpiece songwritter, wooden platform shoes, with frayed bell bottoms.  Low potency smack of the brown powder variety.  Strung out, afro’s with jaundiced eyes staring you down like a owl in the night.  I live to the beat of a different drummer.  A methodical beat, rhythmic in nature, organic in structure.  I live to learn how to live.  Memories of a far off galaxy twirl in my skull.  My soul is all encompassing, I am everywhere at once and nowhere to the rudimentary human eye. Fragmented star dust blows thru the circle ‘protocol of elevated learning’.  I am way past middle school as my dimensional ‘quote-unquote’ body is made up of pure energy a collective consciousness.  I am just a part that makes up the whole.  To compartmentalize your afterlife as nothing, will land you back into the transcendental class room of life.  So complex in its explaination but so simple in its being.  The paradigms of lifes lesson’s are seeded into your gentic coding.  Once you are deemed fit and you are decided on a life to live you emerge from between her wide open legs. Screaming… Where am I?  The knowledge of the key to life is clear and known. You shout in your sleep, is the price to steep?

Bent needles and butchered arms, hands reaching out of the darkness trying to grab hold of you.  My heart flutters at the thought of injecting cocaine, warped and dark the sounds of silence creep to life.  Is that footsteps on the roof?  Baffled with my insecurities I curse my life and my? choices.  I can bask in the littered bedroom, hundreds of empty pill bottles dot the landscape.  Loosing the sense of time, jarred from impact back into life.  My confusion is defined.  I am afraid, afraid to lose the battle.  I wish to release the shackles and the ball and chain, and bask in a spring rain letting the acid rain disintergrate my negative traits.  I crack my spine and blink my eyes, and wonder what is happening around me in a dimension I can occasionally poke a hole into and enter my head.  Wishing on a star in the evening sky, I wish for the ability to make others happy and help fulfill thier hopes and dreams.  Not exactly what many would wish for.  Help the poor, ha you surely must jest but yet I dont feel complete.

Uncomplete like the half dozen paintings I have been to unmotivated to paint.  A pharmacuetical twist to a set of reptilian aliens.  The four fingered ones that reach for some as the brain goes into hibernation.  Scared of the dark, absolutely.  The darkness that shades the underbelly of the fat hog nicknamed ‘addiction’.  The insanity, the crime, the lies, the disrespect, the deception, the robbery of moral essence, the spiritual coruption, the constipation, the robotic lifestyle that is oiled with poppy latex.  Slippery is the slope of the angle of injection, 23 degree’s.  Methodical numerical, preperations, rinsing of the syringe in sequences of 3 or multiples there off, oh god not me OCD.  I’ll wither in psychosomatic manifestations of numberical twists of fate.

Looking out my window into eternity.  I pray for a life I dont know, is it locked up in a audiogenic tone, a vibration that will awaken my dorment memories of the baby I once was.  The Enoch and the Watchers patiently waiting for there chance to slip into my conscious mind, spreading like a virius.  Gray, almond eye’d, leathery, waifs positioned in a aerial location.  Watching, waiting, for what?

Flick the flame, reach for the glory deep down inside.  Golden and white the softened edges of the flame lights the path.  Color therapy cross pollenated with the ancient traditions of accupunture can work wonders, if you allow it to.  Add a dash of meditation and shatter the glass stem into a million little pieces.  If your lucky the light will strike a fragement in just the right way blinding you to the waste of societies numbness.  Floating thru your lifes, roots growing strong in the asphalt, the liquid Starbuck’s latte spills on your MP3 player and you take it out on your co-worker.  Uncontrollable?  Uneducated?  Or just dont care, thats the problem.  Our ‘Milton Bradley’ game of life is what it is, different for everyone.  Structure from chaos, sight unseen.  Seperation, compartmentalization, isolation.  Has the suns rays refracted of the particles of pollution floating in the jet-stream?  Or is that just a smudge on your new Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, over sized to hide from the truth?  Why does others preoccupy themselves with assets, toys, gossip, and the cousin of destruction the dollar bill.  In itself it shows you the winding path to enlightenment as the pyramidal eye stares at you never batting an eyelash.  You dont need eyelashes when you cant see in the first place.  So take a seat on your soul and let you Pineal gland cushion your fast-food shaped ass.  The third ventricle from the sun filters the master hormone [as if].  The suicidal antioxidant receptors are the agency responsible for learning and memory.  Massage your mind and seal coat your DNA from manipulation that occurs from behind the stars, twinkle, twinkle little star how I wonder where you are.  Mellow-tone-in.  Visual dreaming on the rollercoaster of illicit psychedelics might be just an object presented to mankind to lead some down the scholarly pursuit of wisdumb.  The religion of science, ‘Endogenous Dimethyltryptamine 101′, did you take the class or just cheat and read the Rick Strassman Cliff notes?  The caapi vine could tie the randoms offerings my brain brings to you this evening together: The Pineal Gland, Mellow-tone-in, and you have to open your eyes to let your brain see.  Loosen your collar, take a break.  Unwind and float upstream, project mockingbird will sing you a song.

A song about a stranger, loaded with danger, ganggreen and yellow needle-like crystals, a bubble-gum wrap sheet, out of place, a plastic bed sheet, oral syringes and piles and piles of pills. Oh my.  Wood grain swirls and purple pearls, on the neck of a tan 20’something, she pop’s the cork, I hate dry whine.  I left the house, I went to the pharmacy, I was buggin out, My mind siad just head south, just head south.  I was forced to ration my blue footballs, because I felt like it.  Orange stop signs, tang dust.  Dont fuss, just take a breath.  Yea, your in,  Told you the shit is good.  A green organic pulp, shinky white crstals, density high.  Are those silver flowers, ahhh loook there shimmering. Fractal mess, injection rejection, red blotches.  Itch it with you tongue, I told you 132mg, two for one, lets have some fun.  Give it a try, some shit 2CB-FLY.  Ill stick with nature.  I am going to browse the PDR, alprazolam drops you say?  Ill stick with my vial of Ativan.  nice glass shelfed medicine cabinet, Halogen bulbs, pill cutters, and crushers.  Manufacturer’s bottles, I give um to all the skinny models.  Bottle in hand, feeling bland.  Need a pick me up, pre-mixed 1 gram of adderall in 7mL of water.   No I dont barter, here a squirt there a squirt.  The moon is yellow, reminds me of a 100mg Seroquel.  Pills in the sky, no wait thats a saucer, a saucer full of secrets.  Turn on the Dead, I cant stand this shitty music. I dont care sure, I guess.  Here I hold your hair. uh huh. collapse into the couch, cute as a mouse.  I need to pee, so my song about a stranger is over.  ok turn over.  fuck yea I am sober.  Whatta think I am a fucking junky.  I steal your pills if you call me that again, go ahead say it, come I dare.  Dibs on the Norcos, Dibs on the Roxanol, dib a dab on your tongue.  Kiss me, Ms. I have four arms.  What did you put in that wine?  You are turning into a indian tapestry, lets go for a magic carpet ride.  In the moonlight you can be my bride.  I will forget about it come morning but, I will just blame that on the meds.  Its not like I didnt kinda remember you bent over the couch.  Breasts bouncin ’round, a face fulla heaven.  A mind full of mathmatics, ahhh. 1+1=2 2+your stash equals 3, You know thats my favorite number.  Yea, yea, call her up.  We have enough. think she will suck it at the same time as you?  Damn right who do you think your talkin to. Uh huh I see.  well lets shoot some more morphine, no I wanna shoot some K, well do what you want.  The shits over there.  eat for all I care.  Think she left yet.  Fucha ja were set.  Ok I am sliding it in on the count of three.   dont fall down on me.  you know what your doing I see.  Whats your name again?  Ahh thats right, nice and tight. you like? Will give her a pot brownie and have her masterbate in front of us.  Ohhhh yea.  Wait till you see her tits, fuckin perky as shit.  LIft up your shirt your nipples are raisins im starting in on brunch, she can join us for lunch.  I’ll fill err up for supper.  Jeeez you have alot of drugs, I got electronic butt plugs?  WHAT?   On the run, spread um wide. Its time to ride.  Pass me the bottle, I betchoo like suckin glass.  man what a piece of ass.  Argh shit, you too good, Let me sit down in the chair.  Hop on backwards, yeah Ill take a sip.  Im not going to cum before she gets her.  I gonna spray both your tits, grab each other by the wrists, well you know the rest.  Im gonna go get the drug chest I feel like some morphine and valium mix. Yeah I just use a 3cc barrel.  Errr. maybe I hold off on the valium and will finish off the coke first.  You got a fresh box a rigs right?  Oh were gonna have a party tonite.  Right.  I am outta here ambiens and im stealing your girl I’ll have her bent over the garden knome.  Give her a taste of home sweet home.  Yea that vein, pull back your in me oh shit… phew.  that was a hit.  I need some air, take off your underware.  I want you to roll in the wet dew.   Honey-suckle triple double.  What fun.  lol yea you will be hurtin a ton.  but shit how often to we get to do this especially with your best friend.  I know I cant wait either.  Call her up, tell her to take her pants off, shes wearing a dress?  her lips are plump and wet.  Well I am set suck on my dick, I wanna stay hard.  Yea slurp on those balls.  God I love your tits, you love suckin cock dont you, you dirty little sex pot.  Aww shit I see her headlights lets get inside.  Will ambush her from both sides. You dive down low I wanna lick her neck, lets go lets go were off to see the wizard the wonderful wizard of OZ. Goddamn.  I neeed another shot, no you cant pour vodka on my cock, well if you want.  lap it up, slap that dick across your face. Man you guys are gonna have some fun.  In the wacked out world of the upside down violinist play me a jig, while your at it grab some fresh rigs.  Im gonna have a smoke, maybee a little toke.  Meet you back down here in 5.  Lauren is gonna be so surprised.   Alright.. see ya in a bit.

.
Follow me…

Tuesday 14th of March, 1999 Opiated, cracked out mess…

It was just an normal day, routine pick up of heroin and crack and my running mate was known for his contstant OD’s and wasnt the best driver when loaded, duh’. Kristopher and I were driving the Volvo on the expressway we both already shot a few bags and were feeling good. I was riding shotgun and packing the rock pipe and was pretty geeked out. We were driving in the fast lane going about 70′ish [mph] when Kris started nodded off at the wheel, I nudged him and kept my hand on the steering wheel so we wouldnt veer off into the median. He woke up angry and ranting [as usual], he grabbed the wheel and didnt realize the situation and turned it hard right. As luck would have it we were right next to a semi-truck and our car veered to the right as the hood of the car went crashing underneath a semi-truck trailer. The front dash was pushed in far, the shattered but intact windshield was right on my face.

So here we are with the hood of the car lodged underneath the trailor and we are getting dragged down the interstate sideways stuck under a speeding semi trailor. Kris was alert yelling, What should I do? What should I do? I remember telling him to hit the brakes and whip the wheel, I couldnt think of anything else to do but thinking back we should have just let the truck slow down and stop. Although who knows what would of happened? As we spun loose from the trailor we spun a few 360’s accross the 3 lanes of traffic [how we didnt get hit by another car is a miracle unto itself]. We flew off the shoulder of the road and got stuck in a earth embankment.

Whoa… What the fuck just happened, I am in a state of shock and my hands are all cut up and blood is all over the place. I ask Kris if he is ok and all I get out of him is a breathy reply….

“I think so, I think so”…

I had to throw all my weight into the car door to get it open as the crash had fucked it up. I immediately ran up the hill and tossed all of our needles and pipes as far as I could took the dope and stashed it well on my person [stupid thinking back]. Soon the cops and an ambulance showed up and started asking their questions.

“Our tire blew and we fish-tailed uncontrollably and slid under the truck next to us, next thing we know were skiding sideways stuck under the truck”.
Was the excuse we gave.

The car was totalled and a complete loss, to this day I still think it was because the car was a Volvo that it withstood the abuse from the wreck. The cops were pretty cool, I remember them asking whats with all the loose brillo in the back seat they couldn’t get in any of the doors because it was all smashed up. All I said was, “I dont know”. The ambulance EMT’s bandaged up the cuts and scrapes all over my hands. After the police did a run on our backgrounds, we were frisked down but they didnt come close to finding the dope. Kris had an outstanding warrant and was whisked away in the back of the police car [what luck at least he was high though]. I hopped a ride with the tow truck driver and got dropped off at some impound lot, called for a ride and went back to my apartment. That was the 2nd car Kristopher totalled in a period of one week.

The second wreck was not quite as intense but still a stupid mistake on his part. He was doped up as usual and was buzy picking up the pieces of crack he spilled all over his lap. Not paying attention that he was approaching a tollbooth going easily 50 mph. Kris rearended some unlucky motorist stopped waiting in line to pay his toll. On impact the Lincoln Contenental [a large roomy nice car] just plowed into the stopped car. All his dope and gear went flying thru the air. That time he did get arrested for possesion as there was no time to clean up the evidence as the authorities were there in a heartbeat.

After totalling two cars with-in a week and getting arrested both times he was booted out of his house and of course I had to let him come stay at my place. Which was stressful as I mentioned above he was notorious for OD’ing. I would wake up in the morning and he would be up before me locked in the bathroom shooting up his morning shot. On more than one occasion I had to bust thru the door only to find him unconscious, blood still dripping from the injection site. He was one of those users that would get extremly grumpy after he got high, something I never understood. After slapping him around and giving him mouth-to-mouth CPR he would jump out of his overdose and start accusing me of trying to steal his dope. It started to bug me after awhile as I was saving his life and here I get some angry kid accusing me of trying to steal his dope when I had my own. Not to mention the fact of having to pay for the damages of breaking down MY bathroom door. It just got uglier and uglier after that. Soon I would come home open my pantry and see 4-5 purses stuffed behind some boxes on the floor. I told his come on, at least have the common courtesy of ditching the purses outside and not in my apartment.

It wasnt long before the police started coming by knocking on the door asking me questions. As on multiple occasions people say they saw him running into my apartment [a house 2-flat] with a couple of purses. Cops being the dickheads they are assumed it was me and soon there was a squad parked down on the corner most of the time. I was reaching my limits with him and trying to maintain my habits without the added irritation of constant police visits. Once I was trying to quit heroin using pills and meth-amphetamine and I was up for a few days with no sleep. The meth was distracting me from my the sickness of not taking heroin, but I was slowly loosing my mind at the same time. I would snort a line, smoke a few hits, and than spend ungodly amounts of time trying to register a hit with the needle. I was to sped up and just plain out of it to hit a vein let alone see straight. Than one day after repeatingly stabing myself at least 20-30 times trying to hit my veins, the doorbell rang. Not thinking straight I thought it was somebody coming over. Not this time it was the midddle of winter and I was wearing nothing but shorts, buckets of sweat dripping off of me. Who is at the door? You betcha the good old friendly police. The started questioning me about some car burglary that happened down the street. I said I have no idea what you are talking about, when they switched subjects and started asking my why I had blood dripping all down my arm. I was just gone, out-of-it, clueless to the fact that its 8 or 9 degress outside and I am shirtless, dripping blood and soaked in sweat. Trying desperately not to let my twitching jaw start rambling on about nonsense.

They left that time, unbelievably. Only to return a few days later to arrest me on 7 counts of credit card fraud, and 6 counts of some other felony relating to the credit cards. I was on probation at the time and I absolutely did not commit those crimes, that case went on for two fucking years before they finally dropped the case knowing they couldnt get me. Even though I was at work when these events transpired, even though a Private Investigator we hired tracked the time it would have taken me to leave work on lunch [as they claimed] and go make all the purchases which were time stamped because of the credit card usage.  It didnt help that I had lost that job because I was coming down from a meth-amp binge and up for a few days than shot a few bags of dope in the bathroom, woke up on the toliet a half-hour later and proceded to make it to my desk where I passed out face first into my keyboard [to be brief my former employer wasn’t too cooperative in colleberating myside of the story aka the truth].

Of course it turned out it would have taken me a good 2-2.5 hrs to commit all the crimes and get back to work but my work could absolutely verify I was gone that day for .5 or 2hrs on lunch, fuckers, err [see above as to why, thats another post another nightmare though]. They had a photoline up that they brought to each of the places I was accused of using the credit card to but such insane items as a door knocker, a bagel sandwich, a set a screwdrivers, a candybar, and one or two just as ridiculous purchases.

If I stoled a credit card I sure as hell wouldn’t be buying that, I probably would have went straight to the power tools and stocked up only to resell at a pawn shop. Of course this photoline up had 10 pictures total including me, my photo was the only one with a black background all the others were white background. After the Private Investigator got ALL the witnesses to recant on there statements and prove that the photoline up was completely unethical and borderline illegal. The store owners told the PI [which all the interviews were tape recorded] that the police held the photo line up to them with ther ebig fat pudgy cop finger pointing right at my picture, saying “Are you sure this isnt the guy?”. Still the state wouldnt drop the charges they were out for a kill or at the very least a plea which would involve me violating my probation and off to jail. We eventually had to hire a handwriting analysis to state that in no way were the signatures mine, they tried to get me to write handwriting samples at the police dept. which I outright flatly refused. Fuck you, prick do your fucking job. At that point after a 2 year trial the state FINALLY dropped the charges. They have been after me ever since. Again with these last cases I had poss. of heroin, poss of a hypodermic needle, DUI [drugs], disorderly conduct, resisting a police officers, etc, etc. they would not back down. I was caught pretty much red-handed but they still would not back down and wanted jail time, I am not in jail fuckers. Leave me alone.

Its unfortunate my record will follow me around forever, last count I think I have been charged with 32 felonies, and god knows how many misdemeanors. Fortunently I have only been convicted of 2 felonies one of those I had expunged off my record, and a handful of misdemeanor convictions. So when the fucking cock-sucking States Attorneys see my record they get a little pissed I have beaten so many cases and they come at me hard. This last case they brought up some bullshit about burglary in my bond call, a charge I beat yet they still brought it up to the judge, fucking me over and increasing my bond to 100K [10 thousand to walk], after a bond reduction hearing we got it down to 25K [$2500 to walk] but all those idiotic adventures and mistakes I made in the past will always be there to haunt me in my life. Good luck getting any kind of decent job with a background like that unless I have a good connection or I have own business. If I wasnt able to afford a lawyer and duly have good representation I surely would be sitting in a jail cell, like a handfull of my friends are today. Its boils down to having great supportive parents who hate the cops and the bullshit the spew out of there mouths, even though I have been a horrible son they have always stuck around to help me out. I don’t even want to think of the money they have doled out on Lawyers and Private Investagators and Specialists, Doctors, Shrinks, meds, and the list goes on and on. On legal representation alone we are pushing 30-40K easy, its not a subject I like to bring up as I am always reminded very quick what they have done for me.

The legal system is so corrupt and money orientated its disgusting, especially when your dealing with the Chicago court system one of the most corrupt state govt’s. in the country. Some of the sneaky tricks my laywers have had other people pull so there hands wouldnt get dirty are straight out of a movie. Direct cash pay-off’s, a wide circle of inside friendships with judges and other prosecutors, have kept me free and on the streets. I have used the same firm from day one and they are great to say the least, although I am a little pissed at my latest sentence, eh but what can you do? Its just is sickening to think what a little money can get you I feel so sorry for those poor, black, inner-city youths who are forced to use Public Pretenders who basically work for the State assuring that the subject will at least plea out, another conviction on the books and off the the state pen.

The county I am at now has a 90% conviction rate for felonies, and I read in the paper the other day the S.A. saying he wants to do better than that. WTF? I had a chance to beat my case but the odds were stacked high against me and if I would have taken it to trial [bench trial most likely, fuck a public jury] I most likely wouldnt have got the same sentence I recieved but they stack those odds against you so high that if you do take it to trial and you lose your straight fucked. I would either be in jail for 2-5 yrs. or I would have had a fenlony reduced to a misd. and have not even been placed on probation. It was so tempting to fight it as I had no heroin in my possession all I had was a tincan cooker which they swabbed and the residue came back positive so they charged me with poss. of heroin even though I had none. That would be like the State scraping a pot pipe and charging you with poss. of marijuana, come on.

Although it does get worse currently a friend who coincidently got a lighter sentence than me on the exact same charges I had except he had 8 or so bags of heroin in is possession, I am surprised they didnt try to charge him with ‘intent to dist.’ the fuckers. Anyways, he got off lighter than me and recently OD’d and somebody anonymously phoned in a tip to his probation officer that he over-dosed. Now they are charging him with a VOP [violation of probation] for the OD and get this charging him with poss. of heroin because it was in his blood stream. I mean get fucking real. We are not hardened violent criminals, we are massively drug addicted HUMANS who have a problem. It sickens me that they try to fix the problem by throwing us in a state pen, where is costs something like 30K a year to house a inmate. Where as placing a defendant in a drug rehab costs almost half of what it costs to keep him in jail. When will the govt. and state wake up and pull there heads out of there fat asses and realize that the world doesnt revolve around money and tax dollars, it revolves around caring, nurturing, and love. Doing whats best for your fellow man, its not coincidence that this country and its ethics are falling to pieces. Stop treating addicts like criminals and allow them the help they deserve, so what if its his 12th time in rehab. Addiction in my eyes is a disease and justly should be treated as one. Someday, they will see the light but I have a disgusting feeling it will be well to late as the world comes crashing down upon them. I am sure god will have mercy on those ignorant, greedy, people out there. It just saddens me so much the state in which our society is in, we are not going to last much longer if this keeps up.

Ok I went off on a huge tangent and skipped over alot that I wanted to bring up concerning the treatment of addiction and the choices available to the destitute in America. Just keep them confined to their neighboorhood or jail and provide them with cheap state funding for the syrup of destruction aka Dethadone. I wont even get started on that…

Just to let you know I plan on starting my detox off of Suboxone [buprenorphine] any day now and I plan on documentating it here, fully. Including my dose schedule, my taper, my supplemental medicines to help decrease my withdrawl symptoms. I am pretty well stocked on all my detox meds I just need to pick up some more clonadine to add to my cocktail. Currently I am taking roughly 4mg a day and that is spread out into 2-4 times a day insufflated. I wont get into that here as thats another post and this is long enough already.

5:56 am tweeked, cant hit my veins I am shaking so hard from the coke, no benzo will help only a strong opiate.

Drug sluts all around wanting some thing.
Ballooned veins, missed shot madeness, rub it in.
Burned fingertips because you cant put the pipe down.
Stupid ass dumb shit.

Rake my crumpled body up with the cracked autumn leaves
Burn it and let some young kid smoking pot outta a pop-can smell my ash.
Hopefully it will spark a nostalgiK meaning for him, because its is all a puzzle with many missing pieces for me. What are those missing pieces…? and where did they go…? Is it in those days I dont have a sticky green bud in my coin pocket or heroin, coke, pill doper, methadone drinking basically insane mental, posssibly OCD, bi-polar, FREAK.  I gotta pop Mothers little helpers before I even need help, the delay in onset can mean a needle in my arm or a relaxing afternoon.

Hot late summer evening, smacked up and relaxed drinking hot chocolate with 3 sugars wearing a sweatshirt and watching the sunset into a palet of relaxation, my girlfriend begging for sex, I am to engulfed in the beauty of nature to care right now, maybe later honey, I dont feel like it, sorry.

19 yr old girls that purposely bend down in front of you showing of their ass, if I wasn’t so geeked off the nightmare of the dark cloud of insecerutiy. I woulda stopped those nice, innocent young cocaine non-stop talking mouths and stuff um fulla my cock or something like that. Weed huh, Blue label pour me a drink…

Lick, suck, fuck my dicks not hard. Why dont you suck on it for a bit, what pills are in your pocket and pass the remote while your at it?

The old New Balances hit the wet pavement and slowly shake and shuffle back and forth, as his hand extends the foil packets get delivered to there target. Bombs away…. Ahhh we got a miss-fire, you stupid fuck. Blame it on the traffic, blame it on the shitty tie-off with the seatbelt, blame it on the dull needle, shit blame it on me, but don’t blame your habit on me.

Wrapped up warm, waiting for the day when the blanket gets ripped away and forced to sleep on cold broken (probably like your mind) concrete again. Lick the sidewalk you like that, drool like the fool you are? Go masterbate on the public drinking fountain. While I take a pill, get stoned, and think about some girl in pigtails, multi-tasking.

Drugs my inner mind loves, the crack of the old oak tree, lick my face and sucka my balls. Man I am bored and tired of my girlfriend and drugs and endless miscellaneous bullshit. I am so addicted to the lifestyle of abuse, chemical that is. Cold hardened idiot, dope fiend, jail pasty boy, lunatic, or just the new messah to usher us into the the next decade of shit. Chicago has offically de-criminalized maryjane, about time. Bring on the medical marijuana next damn it. I’d rather smoke a joint than endlessly pop colored pills. Heaven forbid our govt. does something constructive.

Your face is pale it the opposite of that blottly injection on your forearm you just missed. itchy, itch rash.  They don’t call it the 1/2 hour rash for no reason. Does it matter though becasue your high and you could give a shit about a blotchy injection site. God I could ramble about stuip shit all night but I need to packer up, swing for the fences, fall down and just stare at the stars… not rock-stars not trax-stars, but outerspace shit. You know like when you were 15 yrs old droppin a postage stamp of grade A, blu blotter on your tongue having the whole world figured out, bliss in a hot-tub under the harvest moon

Silver space ships flying accross the sun,
what neil young?
I am perpetually young
forever young or forever insane or insanely stupid

No matter as I am not strung out today, I am saddened by many things I wont get into but what has become of me? Where did my dreams go when I was smacked out for 15 yrs. Is it all a big joke or is a planned event?  I’ll pray the rosary tonight, maybee a shaft of light will shimmer into my window…

Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light
Rising up to paradise, I know I’m gonna shine
My time coming, anyday, don’t worry bout me, no
It’s gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so
Seems so long I felt this way and time sure passin’ slow
Still I know I lead the way, they tell me where I go
Don’t worry bout me, no no, don’t worry bout me, no
And I’m in no hurry, no no no, I know where not to go
Chicago, a prophet on the burning shore
Chicago, I’ll be knocking on the golden door
Like an angel, standing in a shaft of light
Rising up to paradise, I know I’m gonna shine

No man is sane who does not know how to be insane on proper occasions
- Henry Ward Beecher
__________________________________________________________
The wise man is claimed insane, secrets whispered into his ear on the eve of reconstruction. Clad in prison garb he is strapped to a stainless steel bed with leather padded leg and hand cuffs.

I catch a glimmer of his eye when I was escorted past to the medical clinic. As I passed this man and struck eye contact as soon as contact was established a movie played in lightning speed thru my mind. Just brief moments stuck with my actual physical memory as most was set back in my subconscious only to dust itself of to replay itself in a typical, Monday ‘movie of the mind’ flashback dream.

I was on my way to scam higher doses of Librium and Ativan, as I paused briefly in the sterility of the setting, the smell of anti-septic, the puke green walls, the worn laminate floorings, the wire-reinforced windows, the clip boards, the red lines showing the path I cant walk out of, the persistant sceam of lunacy slowly all drowned it self out.

As the all familiar white bees came in few the metallic buzzing reverberated a pitching my head as there pin-points of light body structure had them soon swimming in a swarm of mass. I was enveloped into the white haze disappeared from with-in, I am unsure of this place is it a place angels are afraid to leave the footsteps as I see no clear path to follow.

I see a random young girl probably around the age of 8. She was clad in her yellow rain coat, matching boots, and hat. Her eyes were hidden beneath the brim of the hat. Bouncing from one puddle to another with such excitement that only a childish mind good receive enjoyment from such an act. She seemed to springboard form one puddle to the other in such a slow speed that I could wash the splash of the water in a time-frame speed normally not eligible in unless taken with a photographic memory camera with the setting turned down low. A water color wash of rainbow transparency is the backdrop of this illusion?
In the hallways of my mind the climate can be alter like that of a flickering flame. A fleshy shadow silhouetted in white environment caused me to spin.

I was viewing myself from a 3rd persons vantage point a spinning baby in fetal position womb wrapped I was. Spinning in the cosmos, infinite in every position I wished to be, bound by nothing but my imagination. The stardust caused such a refraction from the gaseous orb creating a visual landscape none of the modern painters could ever hope to achieve.

Behind and above me an unmistakable battle of angels and dark angels engaged in a visible struggle. The bright white cloudy arms of good arm-wrestled the grey forms in a swatch-buckling of white and grey soon it imploded into itself forming a great golden orb. Floating above my head spinning counter clock-wise [if that matters to anyone] below my twirling body was a smaller bright white dot. With a blink of the eye they both were collided into my body.

I awoke laying on the jail hospital floor with one of the guards staring down at me. He had a touch of grey and looked like he had worked a hard life. At that moment I felt a strong rush of overwhelming endorphins I saw the movie of the shackled man play back again backwards. Instantly I knew he was set on this earth to atone for sins he committed in a former life. He was a modern day sacrificial lamb onto himself. The hitchhiker of dreams caught a free ride this time leaving me to squander its meaning.

Meaning of what…

The city avenues awash with back-peddling dreams,
caught switching gears.
I entertain thoughts of a miracle,
a mosaic of purple shells made me run around the corner.
Run-down-Run-away…
Captian Johnny grey hair is frayed and frenzied as he signals his horn carved from a beast, encrusted with limmericks of a different sense.

‘Haven’t flashed a smile in a long time’

jail