Vintage Audiocide
Bluelighter
So I knew it had to happen some day.
I think I am doing something wrong here, but my password to my old acount of "Audiocide" no longer works, or I am old enough to forget it.
Over this past week, I went back into addiction.
------
Tuesday
17.00
I am phoned and asked to drive the 5 minutes into town to see a "stranger who's looking for me." I make sure to have a small snub-nose in my jacket pocket, just in case.
I end up sitting around for an hour with the local farmboys, telling stories of old with this stranger. He just so happens to be a highschool buddy of mine, one I partied hard with back in the late 60's.
19.00
We arrive back at the home and I introduce him to the family. He asks me where we can talk privately. I show him the library, so he reaches into his pocket and brings out an eighth of cocaine. I buy it. He gets to spend the night.
20.00
I try some in the bathroom after some stiff company leaves. Wow. Reminds me of my youth, and gives a bit back. The feeling of complete control is overwhelming on even a small line, and it's just too good. Got to have more.
I finish the eighth much too quickly, and I can't get enough. My heart had to have been working at peak the whole time.
------
Wednesday
09.00
Wake up feeling trashed. Friend with the blow offers a pick-me-up. I accept, and ask him how much more I can buy. Turns out I can find money fast whenever someone says "an ounce." I'm gonna need some needles.
11.00
Do two massive rails and go searching for my syringes. The feeling of hopelessness trying to find anything in all of my hiding spots is veiled by my surity that I will get that rush again. I have to have it, and can hardly stand to think of only doing lines. Find syringes while coming down, so I break out the bag and go for injection. Instant relief.
Continue looking around, and finally find what I'm looking for: Mason jar with many small odds and ends in it. At the bottom, baby food jar, half gram of heroin.
19.00
Heroin seems to have disappeared, but for some strange reason I don't care much. Five syringes left. Don't want to have to drive 20 miles to get more. So I send a family member for groceries, and call up a sterile hookup. He leaves.
The coke is missing. I yell at people for a good fifteen minutes. Someone had to have stolen it. I threaten to kick people out of my home.
21.00
I find what I'm looking for under my pillow. I apologize to everyone and give out 7 free grams. Family is family. I shoot up some more.
24.00
The guys take the coke from me. Tell me I need to back off. I tell them I need to just finish off what I have and then I can stop. They listen to my addled reasoning for a while, and I get two lines. I offer them some, and eventually everyone is rocking, and I get my coke back.
------
Thursday
Still partying hard. Any event short of using the bathroom deserves at least a line.
12.00 and on consists mainly of me inviting a few friends over to play some music, and a lot of injected cocaine.
------
Friday
The guys with the band want to know if I have any more blow. Nope, I'm all out.
I go off to take a shower. I turn on the water and let it run while I prep an IV shot.
I come out of the bathroom stumbling about and apparently I fell on top of a glass lamp. My arm is badly cut up. Overdosing sucks.
The guys help me to sober up, and I feel horrible. Some leave, and I go to find my syringes. Notice that they are all broken in the trash can. I do four lines. Only have a couple grams left by noon.
------
Saturday
I finish it very quickly, all before noon. I feel like I've been beaten. I can vaguely remember the feeling now, and trying to remember it makes me hurt more. My head feels like it's going to explode, my face feels like it's on fire. I don't want to move. My friend offers me something to take my mind off of it.
So we end up smoking a very tiny amount of heroin. That works for a short while.
------
Sunday
Here I am, feeling as though my skull has been pounded into an odd shape, barely able to speak, shaking as I type. My eyes can't take the sunlight on the monitor, so I wail about it until someone comes and puts the curtains together. I said thanks, and I don't even know who it was.
Every time I breathe in I feel like I am doing something criminal to myself. I feel very dry.
My fingers slip off of my glass before it gets put back down. I slosh a bit of tea onto myself. My head feels empty.
Cocaine is evil.
--mic
I think I am doing something wrong here, but my password to my old acount of "Audiocide" no longer works, or I am old enough to forget it.
Over this past week, I went back into addiction.
------
Tuesday
17.00
I am phoned and asked to drive the 5 minutes into town to see a "stranger who's looking for me." I make sure to have a small snub-nose in my jacket pocket, just in case.
I end up sitting around for an hour with the local farmboys, telling stories of old with this stranger. He just so happens to be a highschool buddy of mine, one I partied hard with back in the late 60's.
19.00
We arrive back at the home and I introduce him to the family. He asks me where we can talk privately. I show him the library, so he reaches into his pocket and brings out an eighth of cocaine. I buy it. He gets to spend the night.
20.00
I try some in the bathroom after some stiff company leaves. Wow. Reminds me of my youth, and gives a bit back. The feeling of complete control is overwhelming on even a small line, and it's just too good. Got to have more.
I finish the eighth much too quickly, and I can't get enough. My heart had to have been working at peak the whole time.
------
Wednesday
09.00
Wake up feeling trashed. Friend with the blow offers a pick-me-up. I accept, and ask him how much more I can buy. Turns out I can find money fast whenever someone says "an ounce." I'm gonna need some needles.
11.00
Do two massive rails and go searching for my syringes. The feeling of hopelessness trying to find anything in all of my hiding spots is veiled by my surity that I will get that rush again. I have to have it, and can hardly stand to think of only doing lines. Find syringes while coming down, so I break out the bag and go for injection. Instant relief.
Continue looking around, and finally find what I'm looking for: Mason jar with many small odds and ends in it. At the bottom, baby food jar, half gram of heroin.
19.00
Heroin seems to have disappeared, but for some strange reason I don't care much. Five syringes left. Don't want to have to drive 20 miles to get more. So I send a family member for groceries, and call up a sterile hookup. He leaves.
The coke is missing. I yell at people for a good fifteen minutes. Someone had to have stolen it. I threaten to kick people out of my home.
21.00
I find what I'm looking for under my pillow. I apologize to everyone and give out 7 free grams. Family is family. I shoot up some more.
24.00
The guys take the coke from me. Tell me I need to back off. I tell them I need to just finish off what I have and then I can stop. They listen to my addled reasoning for a while, and I get two lines. I offer them some, and eventually everyone is rocking, and I get my coke back.
------
Thursday
Still partying hard. Any event short of using the bathroom deserves at least a line.
12.00 and on consists mainly of me inviting a few friends over to play some music, and a lot of injected cocaine.
------
Friday
The guys with the band want to know if I have any more blow. Nope, I'm all out.
I go off to take a shower. I turn on the water and let it run while I prep an IV shot.
I come out of the bathroom stumbling about and apparently I fell on top of a glass lamp. My arm is badly cut up. Overdosing sucks.
The guys help me to sober up, and I feel horrible. Some leave, and I go to find my syringes. Notice that they are all broken in the trash can. I do four lines. Only have a couple grams left by noon.
------
Saturday
I finish it very quickly, all before noon. I feel like I've been beaten. I can vaguely remember the feeling now, and trying to remember it makes me hurt more. My head feels like it's going to explode, my face feels like it's on fire. I don't want to move. My friend offers me something to take my mind off of it.
So we end up smoking a very tiny amount of heroin. That works for a short while.
------
Sunday
Here I am, feeling as though my skull has been pounded into an odd shape, barely able to speak, shaking as I type. My eyes can't take the sunlight on the monitor, so I wail about it until someone comes and puts the curtains together. I said thanks, and I don't even know who it was.
Every time I breathe in I feel like I am doing something criminal to myself. I feel very dry.
My fingers slip off of my glass before it gets put back down. I slosh a bit of tea onto myself. My head feels empty.
Cocaine is evil.
--mic
