WacoWas AnAccident
Ex-Bluelighter
I really don’t think life is complete until you’ve had an addiction.
What is it like to be a white guy in the ghetto copping dope from a 12 year old kid? Ever been dopesick, stretched out on a moth-eaten couch like a boiled noodle looking for something of value to pawn? The real irony is that you’ve already pawned anything worth a shit, and you know you’ll have to go out and steal or scam someone to get that next fix. You look around the apartment, but you already know. In some way you’ve already accepted it. You might not even know it, but you’ve accepted it. The minute you signed on to be a dope fiend, you accepted it.
Life isn’t complete until that experience becomes part of the pantheon. When your parents divorce and your girlfriend breaks up with you, you might think that’s sad. You might think you know depravity. But lemme ask you this. When your girlfriend dumped you, did you go through physical withdrawal? Did you sit up for days and days fiending and vomiting and being sick, so goddamned sick that it’s impossible to do it justice with any description? You don’t give a fuck about anything, want to die, but even more than wanting to die you want to shoot up again. That is depravity. You don’t write angsty poetry about this kind of depravity. You don’t go to therapy and talk about it. You just live it. Or you die by it.
And that is life, in its most unobstructed form. Life isn’t a nice car and a 30 second ad spot for Tylenol. No, that’s not life. That’s an illusion. That is ephemeral trash. Life is being so desperate that you’ll have sex with a 37 year old man with greasy black hair because he’ll give you a line or two afterward. Life is telling your boyfriend you’re pregnant and need money for an abortion so you can cop some more dope. You’ll steal from your parents. You’ll stab your friends in the back. You’ll do anything. And it’s not about being anything. You’re not doing it to feel good. You don’t do it to be cool. It’s about surviving.
And who even cares why, after a while you forget why. Maybe your parents treated you like shit, maybe you’re chemically imbalanced, maybe you just wanted to pull back from the razor edge of reality and creep your way into the abyss. It doesn’t matter. Who even knows anymore?
What is it like to be a white guy in the ghetto copping dope from a 12 year old kid? Ever been dopesick, stretched out on a moth-eaten couch like a boiled noodle looking for something of value to pawn? The real irony is that you’ve already pawned anything worth a shit, and you know you’ll have to go out and steal or scam someone to get that next fix. You look around the apartment, but you already know. In some way you’ve already accepted it. You might not even know it, but you’ve accepted it. The minute you signed on to be a dope fiend, you accepted it.
Life isn’t complete until that experience becomes part of the pantheon. When your parents divorce and your girlfriend breaks up with you, you might think that’s sad. You might think you know depravity. But lemme ask you this. When your girlfriend dumped you, did you go through physical withdrawal? Did you sit up for days and days fiending and vomiting and being sick, so goddamned sick that it’s impossible to do it justice with any description? You don’t give a fuck about anything, want to die, but even more than wanting to die you want to shoot up again. That is depravity. You don’t write angsty poetry about this kind of depravity. You don’t go to therapy and talk about it. You just live it. Or you die by it.
And that is life, in its most unobstructed form. Life isn’t a nice car and a 30 second ad spot for Tylenol. No, that’s not life. That’s an illusion. That is ephemeral trash. Life is being so desperate that you’ll have sex with a 37 year old man with greasy black hair because he’ll give you a line or two afterward. Life is telling your boyfriend you’re pregnant and need money for an abortion so you can cop some more dope. You’ll steal from your parents. You’ll stab your friends in the back. You’ll do anything. And it’s not about being anything. You’re not doing it to feel good. You don’t do it to be cool. It’s about surviving.
And who even cares why, after a while you forget why. Maybe your parents treated you like shit, maybe you’re chemically imbalanced, maybe you just wanted to pull back from the razor edge of reality and creep your way into the abyss. It doesn’t matter. Who even knows anymore?
