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Bluelighter
The crumbled orange pills gets smashed in the meg-shift mortar and pestle, each crunch reminiscent of the old fashion ice cube cracker my father would use to fill his Hi-ball glasses (but thats another tale altogether). Soon the powder takes on the texture of feathery baby powder emptying the contents onto the antique laquored cherrywood coffee table, I pause for a moment and stare out the bay window losing myself in the bare branches hiding under the pale grey skies that make up the winterized forrest. The resident owl is clucking off its nightly serenade clicking strange images of a Buckdancers choice in my mind. I feel just as lonely as the trees look missing there green foliage.
I get up and switch on some music the sound that radiates from the Bang and Olfsen system is as crisp as the wintered air, as the chilled temperatures have frozen the molecular air making it clean and serene. While I am up I give the fire a couple of stokes and throw on another birch log its snow white bark crackles and whistles as it enters the hearth of the fireplace. The exploding flames briefly cast a huge warm glow across the dim room. The phone rings, I don't bother to check caller-id, or even answer it.
I want to return to my dinner of chemicals a wonderful feast of powderized orange flavored Buprenorphine, two side dishes are composed of the benzodiazapine family: one serving of a 2mg Xanax bar, and one serving of 2mg Klonapin and one serving of four 10mg Thailand Valiums. A glass dish piled high with some fresh, fluffy, frosted buds of a locally grown indoor variety (Nicknamed: The Cough) fulfills my vegetable intake. Missing from my dinner is moisture, liquid refreshment, BOOZE. I grab a short scotch glass, the half full bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and gently pour the amber ambrosia 3 fingers deep. 'Wharf Rat' comes streaming out of the amplified speakers...
Old man down
way down
down, down by the docks of the city,
Blind and dirty
asked me for a dime--
dime for a cup of coffee
I got no dime but
I got time to hear his story
I use a credit card to cut out two 3 inch lines of my main course bupe. SNIFFFFFFF, one up each nostril. The lyrics in the song get me thinking about some 20-something kid I saw the other day, huddled under a burned and stained sleeping bag, dusted in a light snow. He was leaning back against the concrete border that separates the Chicago river from the side entrance to the Ogilvie Train station. A ripped cardboard sign props up in front of him, crudely written in black marker (I wonder if he sniffed it while making his sign?)
"Hungry-Homeless-Broke-Sick"
"Please Help Me"
The orange mediciney taste hits the back of my throat and I feel an immediate tightness in my chest, my limbs start to tingle and my problems and worries disappear quicker than a bubblegum ice cream cone in a sweltering Chicago heat wave. I quickly powderize the xanax and klonapin and pour the powder under my tongue, sublingual action in effect. High Five...
I kick off my slippers and retreat to the lounge chair and recline. Images of my ex-girlfriends bare thighs dance thru my head and her slightly freckled face peeks out from behind her tortoise shell reading glasses. I rub my cock and quickly decide not to jerk off. Instead I pack a small glass sherlock styled pipe with a nugget of cough, flaming the pipe throughly and taking a handful of deep inhales I feel the warmth of the THC and cannaboids start to numb my body.
I try to isolate the exact feelings each chemical is having on my body but I become bored and decide to embrace the intoxication. I flip on the back yard christmas lights and squint my eyes blurring my vision significantly so I can lose myself in a abstract field of view. Colored blurbs of bulbs dance on the wind swept branches, leaving me longing for something more. My life is full from complete and I once again doubt my sensibility in my choice to leave my girlfriend. Shaking my head in disbelief does nothing to help relieve my confused feelings. I unlock the sliding glass door and the cold winter air rushes in blowing snow flurries in with it. I spit on the ground, the phone rings and I answer it.
Me: Yea
Julie: What are you doing this evening?
me: Nothing really, I was thinking of staying in and eating sleeping pills so I can knock myself out of this depressing reality
Julie: Ahhh, come on don't do that...
Me: Why not? Its common practice
Julie: Do you want to go out and have some drinks? Or since you feel like staying in I can come over with a 12-pak or something?
Me: Hmm, sounds tempting but I don't know, let me shower, I'll call you back and see how I feel in a bit
Julie: Sounds good, I'll be waiting. Please don't blow me off at least call to tell me you don't wish for me to grace your presence.
Me: Not a problem, talk to you in a bit.
CLICK
I enjoy Julie's company and she is a beautiful, charming girl but I cant shake the thoughts of Katie-May out of my head this evening. I shuffle up to my room and sit in the dark, I think of the the fresh needle I have in my desk drawer. Its sharp angled tip almost begging me to slide it into a vein. I twirl the syringe thru my fingers and entertain the notion of blowing off Julie, copping some smack, and melting into my down comforter, putting on some nice soft trousers, and slipping on a long sleeve valor shirt inside out so its softness will be enhanced against my body.
Just as quickly as the opiated fantasy entered my mind it abruptly fades away, as I remember I already have a nose full of Buprenorphine a lower opiate but a fulfilling one none-the-less. I don't feel like blowing a $100 in hopes I can break thru its antagonistic effects and get a a good clean 'knock-your-socks-off' rush of the king of opiates Heroin. On your knees bitch praise your king. Everything is going in the wrong direction,
I think I might need some more injections, I just have to get past these rabid infections...
Fuck it, I call Julie back and tell her to head over. I decide to hit the town with Julie with hopes of bumping into Katie-May and making her jealous. Further contributing to my fuct-up out look on life and reminds me how I need to grow up emotionally and act on my true feelings rather than beating around the bush.
"Ring-a-ring-o'-geranium,
A Pocket full of uranium,
Hiro, shima, all fall down!"
Maybee all those counselors, doctors, rehabs, etc. were correct in saying that my drug abuse has stunted my emotional growth, oh well. That nagging feeling of insecurity rears its ugly head I can throw pillls at it all day long and it will eat them up and hide for a bit but its always there.
I turn on Jimi Hendrix's - 'Waterfall' put it on repeat and step into the steamy shower.
Jimi Hendrix - Waterfall
Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all,
my worries seem so very small
with my waterfall.
I can see my rainbow calling me
through the misty breeze
of my waterfall.
Some people say day-dreaming's
for the lazy minded fools
with nothing else to do.
So let them laugh, laugh at me,
so just as long as I have you
to see me through,
I have nothing to lose 'long as I have you.
Waterfall, don't ever choose your ways.
Fall with me for a million days,
Oh, my waterfall...
*I know this is a dumb story but after taking 45 minutes to think/type it out I figured fuck it Ill post it anyways. So bottoms up...?
I get up and switch on some music the sound that radiates from the Bang and Olfsen system is as crisp as the wintered air, as the chilled temperatures have frozen the molecular air making it clean and serene. While I am up I give the fire a couple of stokes and throw on another birch log its snow white bark crackles and whistles as it enters the hearth of the fireplace. The exploding flames briefly cast a huge warm glow across the dim room. The phone rings, I don't bother to check caller-id, or even answer it.
I want to return to my dinner of chemicals a wonderful feast of powderized orange flavored Buprenorphine, two side dishes are composed of the benzodiazapine family: one serving of a 2mg Xanax bar, and one serving of 2mg Klonapin and one serving of four 10mg Thailand Valiums. A glass dish piled high with some fresh, fluffy, frosted buds of a locally grown indoor variety (Nicknamed: The Cough) fulfills my vegetable intake. Missing from my dinner is moisture, liquid refreshment, BOOZE. I grab a short scotch glass, the half full bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and gently pour the amber ambrosia 3 fingers deep. 'Wharf Rat' comes streaming out of the amplified speakers...
Old man down
way down
down, down by the docks of the city,
Blind and dirty
asked me for a dime--
dime for a cup of coffee
I got no dime but
I got time to hear his story
I use a credit card to cut out two 3 inch lines of my main course bupe. SNIFFFFFFF, one up each nostril. The lyrics in the song get me thinking about some 20-something kid I saw the other day, huddled under a burned and stained sleeping bag, dusted in a light snow. He was leaning back against the concrete border that separates the Chicago river from the side entrance to the Ogilvie Train station. A ripped cardboard sign props up in front of him, crudely written in black marker (I wonder if he sniffed it while making his sign?)
"Hungry-Homeless-Broke-Sick"
"Please Help Me"
The orange mediciney taste hits the back of my throat and I feel an immediate tightness in my chest, my limbs start to tingle and my problems and worries disappear quicker than a bubblegum ice cream cone in a sweltering Chicago heat wave. I quickly powderize the xanax and klonapin and pour the powder under my tongue, sublingual action in effect. High Five...
I kick off my slippers and retreat to the lounge chair and recline. Images of my ex-girlfriends bare thighs dance thru my head and her slightly freckled face peeks out from behind her tortoise shell reading glasses. I rub my cock and quickly decide not to jerk off. Instead I pack a small glass sherlock styled pipe with a nugget of cough, flaming the pipe throughly and taking a handful of deep inhales I feel the warmth of the THC and cannaboids start to numb my body.
I try to isolate the exact feelings each chemical is having on my body but I become bored and decide to embrace the intoxication. I flip on the back yard christmas lights and squint my eyes blurring my vision significantly so I can lose myself in a abstract field of view. Colored blurbs of bulbs dance on the wind swept branches, leaving me longing for something more. My life is full from complete and I once again doubt my sensibility in my choice to leave my girlfriend. Shaking my head in disbelief does nothing to help relieve my confused feelings. I unlock the sliding glass door and the cold winter air rushes in blowing snow flurries in with it. I spit on the ground, the phone rings and I answer it.
Me: Yea
Julie: What are you doing this evening?
me: Nothing really, I was thinking of staying in and eating sleeping pills so I can knock myself out of this depressing reality
Julie: Ahhh, come on don't do that...
Me: Why not? Its common practice
Julie: Do you want to go out and have some drinks? Or since you feel like staying in I can come over with a 12-pak or something?
Me: Hmm, sounds tempting but I don't know, let me shower, I'll call you back and see how I feel in a bit
Julie: Sounds good, I'll be waiting. Please don't blow me off at least call to tell me you don't wish for me to grace your presence.
Me: Not a problem, talk to you in a bit.
CLICK
I enjoy Julie's company and she is a beautiful, charming girl but I cant shake the thoughts of Katie-May out of my head this evening. I shuffle up to my room and sit in the dark, I think of the the fresh needle I have in my desk drawer. Its sharp angled tip almost begging me to slide it into a vein. I twirl the syringe thru my fingers and entertain the notion of blowing off Julie, copping some smack, and melting into my down comforter, putting on some nice soft trousers, and slipping on a long sleeve valor shirt inside out so its softness will be enhanced against my body.
Just as quickly as the opiated fantasy entered my mind it abruptly fades away, as I remember I already have a nose full of Buprenorphine a lower opiate but a fulfilling one none-the-less. I don't feel like blowing a $100 in hopes I can break thru its antagonistic effects and get a a good clean 'knock-your-socks-off' rush of the king of opiates Heroin. On your knees bitch praise your king. Everything is going in the wrong direction,
I think I might need some more injections, I just have to get past these rabid infections...
Fuck it, I call Julie back and tell her to head over. I decide to hit the town with Julie with hopes of bumping into Katie-May and making her jealous. Further contributing to my fuct-up out look on life and reminds me how I need to grow up emotionally and act on my true feelings rather than beating around the bush.
"Ring-a-ring-o'-geranium,
A Pocket full of uranium,
Hiro, shima, all fall down!"
Maybee all those counselors, doctors, rehabs, etc. were correct in saying that my drug abuse has stunted my emotional growth, oh well. That nagging feeling of insecurity rears its ugly head I can throw pillls at it all day long and it will eat them up and hide for a bit but its always there.
I turn on Jimi Hendrix's - 'Waterfall' put it on repeat and step into the steamy shower.
Jimi Hendrix - Waterfall
Waterfall, nothing can harm me at all,
my worries seem so very small
with my waterfall.
I can see my rainbow calling me
through the misty breeze
of my waterfall.
Some people say day-dreaming's
for the lazy minded fools
with nothing else to do.
So let them laugh, laugh at me,
so just as long as I have you
to see me through,
I have nothing to lose 'long as I have you.
Waterfall, don't ever choose your ways.
Fall with me for a million days,
Oh, my waterfall...
*I know this is a dumb story but after taking 45 minutes to think/type it out I figured fuck it Ill post it anyways. So bottoms up...?
