it's because that's what i was. we only know our life. sure, we take the TVs word on some pertinent issues. and the expressions (say more than volumes of dictionaries, dust, maybe even a two dollar bill bookmark stuffed in..that actually happened to me years and years and years and years ago when i first got breakfast of chapmions by kurt vonnegut. turned out to be a true masterpiece) and words of the people and the music and the preachers and the promises and the imbalances in the brain and the voices that creates.. we listen to that. listen to all that shit.
but we only know us. that person that when your taking a shit and it's so quiet you can hear the echos of thy heart and your shit plopping in the toilet. even the flutter of an eyelash is amplified by the solitude and can sound like angry hordes of monarch butterflies approaching from horizons unseen.
we only know us. and that's what i was. i was a selfish, hedonistic, perpetually child minded, talk is cheap spittin bullshit nonstop walking, smoking black and milds, giant slabs of meat somehow stuffed, perhaps up the ass or cunt, with a soul.
i was a junkie. it was a horrible way to live. i don't know if i was punished for something in this life or something in this past or maybe it's something i will do and there is nothing linear about time other than we just perceive it that way. perhaps retribution happens whenever it needs to. i suffered in advance. because addiction is hell. it is true demonic possession. you don't sleep, you nod and those nods are fleeting. every waking hour, day and night is "how am i going to get as many bags of heroin as possible. what do i have to do. who do i have to steal. who do i have to lie to. who needs to be fucked/fucked over. what pills can i trade." it's endless. it's maddening. truly. it's the only way i can articulate it the feeling of being wrung out so tightly, like a sponge, inside fucking out.. your eyes bulge outta your head, veins on your eyeballs even, fat, like little worms that sipped water under a blood moon
the memories are under yellow scabs, almost calcified because i always pick them just to peak and see underneath.. here... look.. i'll show you. lets lift this nice big crusty scab right here...
i'm in a basement. it's were i live. laundry is hung from the ceiling prison and tenement style. shoelaces drapped over beds, draws and socks wrung out, rinsed with dirty old soap. me and a few other junkies live there. it's a halfway house. it's usually raining so we sit in bed, nod, smoke.. me and my friend jim read. we trade books. the others look out the window. the older guys think a lot. i don't blame them. they must have a lot to consider. they have lived longer than me. some of the young ones.. young black boys, fresh outta prison, have the 7 p.m. curfew but we talk and they slip me a few cigarettes and gimme a call and i sneak them in my window. i like to let people enjoy themselves. the man did some time. he wants pussy. i'll assist the man by whatever means possible in his search to obtain some vagina so put his penis in. he was in a correctional facility and when i look in his eyes he looked like a child. he loaned me his bike... he looked like a child. why do we hurt our children and our parents and friends and animals and adults.. why do we hurt? i know we were hurt, but why can't we stop the hurt.. please..
but look, i'm showing you what's under the scab. everyone is asleep. only me and jim really slam dope. my needle is filled with water. I already had gotten high that night so i was slipping in and out heavy eyelid crescent eyed biting cigarette tip nods. i was shooting ants with water. my needle was locked and loaded and i was shooting them. the basement was infested. there were hundreds in the basement. i was sitting on the toilet, pants down, belt around my arm, dried blood on my forehead, cock hanging between my legs in the toilet, head falling, jerking it back up, smiling, shooting ants with water..i was smiling but everything hurt. it felt as if instead of oxygen broken glass was in the atmosphere. i breathed it, got it in my eyes, it got in my throat when i cried out for help.
i don't know what happened. i don't do hard drugs anymore but i still see the world from the perspective of the hidden crevices, the darkness where just enough light enters so you can see the eyes of those around you are grey and there smiles.. a yellow like a dead moon.
don't let them take you without a fight.
.
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