Posted by marko on 12/31/2006, 8:28 am the word heroin was created as a brand name by bayer scene 82 it looked like a pipe bomb had gone off in the second the further west the better, we thought. california was scene 84 it was intolerable. having someone care that much about me. scene 85 a dented hip flash filled with bourbon, sometimes mixed scene 86 there’s no way i can map it out for you, for the simple
65.167.39.211
scene 81
pharmaceuticals—the name your family’s grown to
trust, after being synthesized from morphine at the
turn of the 20th century. they used it for a cough medicine.
it was also thought to be effective in treating morphine
addiction. every small-time dealer thinks he’s a big-
time gangster now. wears a piece in a shoulder holster.
talks machismo though they’re scared & paranoid as
hell. almost on the scale of crankheads. not the type
to trust with firearms. it’s imperative to play it cool
no matter what the situation. my cousin’s daughter
was indicted on conspiracy charges. she faces ten to
life because she didn’t cooperate in the case against her
boyfriend who was still on the run then. they caught
him. they said he was worth 3.5 million dollars. well-
to-do society ladies used to serve morphine at afternoon
tea parties. they would send away the servants & shoot
each other up.
story apartment on the east side of cleveland, a predominately
polish neighborhood. many of the neighborhoods were
strictly segregated by nationalities, & of course race.
that was twenty years ago. i don’t know if anything has
changed. every window was busted out. seven in all, counting
the window in the door that opened to the fire escape where
i stashed my cheap wine since i was supposed to be dry.
she would bring me home the occasional joint when she
got off work. that was ok. though she wouldn’t partake
with me. it had been coming for a couple months. it had
nothing to do with our relationship, which was good at
the time. at least that’s how i remember it. it was about
circumstances concerning only me. i’ve gone into it
previously. if i haven’t—i will at another time. one afternoon
i exploded. the police were called & i was taken to the
psychiatric ward at johns-hopkins. she got the charges
dropped by paying for all the damage. i was released after
a short, mandatory stay. she even took me back in for another
year.
scene 83
the ultimate last stop. land of milk & honey, honey-
skinned beauties & endless rows of top grade grain.
we packed up & set out a few times. once we drove.
the other times we hitchhiked. always in the summer
when the pavement was incredibly hot, sitting on
our bags, waiting for rides. getting picked up &
asked for i.d. then called in for outstanding warrants.
given pieces of advice. told it was only legal to thumb
rides on the ramps leading onto the highway or
turnpike. of course the only people that ever picked
us up were heads, that always had smoke, sometimes
speed, occasionally something stronger. almost all
carried guns in the console or glove compartment.
& naturally we’d miss our exit, & lose our bearings.
once two states south of where we thought we were.
we never made it to the pacific. to fun, fun, fun in the
the warm california sun.
too much for me to emotionally handle. in addition to not
feeling worthy of someone’s love, i lived in fear i’d screw up.
when you’ve got a good thing there’s a lot of pressure not
to blow it. not like when you’re in a casual affair & it’s
looser, & you’re free to bolt without much commotion.
all the tears & accusations. but when someone has your heart
& your soul, it’s both elevating & constricting. there’s so
much at stake. every moment together seems to be an
oversized valentine waiting for you to cover it with words.
& even if your a word man, a poet, there are days they
don’t come. every conversation begins to feel guarded,
too careful, stilted & methodical. every small gesture seems
to have so much riding on it. it becomes difficult to let down,
& be yourself. i saw it as a reason to get away. it felt puzzling
& uncertain—the opposite of what it was in reality. & i still
can’t say i understand it all that well.
with coke, was a constant companion. that steadied my grip
initially, then left me unsteady on my feet & in my thinking.
a hard & fast rule that made it easier to break the others.
i’d moved to the hard stuff from beer when it began to
require almost a case a night to get where i needed to be.
which was oblivion. i needed to not care. i needed to forget.
i needed many more things that it couldn’t provide. it had
gotten out of hand after high school. i was mixing the alcohol
with any drug i could cop. it was an era of easily accessible
pcp, or angel dust, or dummy dust, though we’d refer to it
as thc which wasn’t close. coffee cans full. the only thing
that curbed my drinking was psychedelics. but after twelve
hours of tripping a few drinks could ease one back to reality.
alcohol brought me more women than i’d ever had, since
it made me more outgoing, unafraid of putting my emotions
on the line. it also bought me more trouble than i’d ever had
before, for much the same reasons.
reason i don’t know how i got here. it was irrational
& reckless. & it’s difficult to trace these lines since
they’re so unpredictable. it doesn’t matter how much
experience you’ve had. if you’ve been down that
crooked path or not. because chances are you’ve
forgotten the details, & most of those details were more
aberrations than checkpoints. i could give you a thousand
words but it wouldn’t bring you any closer to understanding
my behavior, or what motivated that behavior. it would
sound like a close call at best. it would read like a broken
mirror. it would leave me in too many positions to gain a
sensible pattern or logic. it would be rambling & roundabout,
& veer all over the road, possibly causing a terrible accident.
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