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Ramblings of a Dope Fiend

plazma

plazma

Bluelighter
Joined
Jul 24, 2001
Messages
4,993
Location
Behind Conroy, with a Chainsaw...
This is the first in a series of writings, I'll post more as they appear.
They're all written while I'm high on opiates, and that's about all they have in common, I just thought I'd post some of them to get a bit of a response.
Ramblings from the mind of a dope fiend.
Down here, on my level, down here in the mire, its so simple, so elegant. You feel the world gape open for a second, and close behind you. It pulls you in, deeper and deeper, the memories, other pasts, different futures, tantilising you with the gifts you never had. Dazzling me for a moment with a memory of the smell of dust in the air, the electric scent of an approaching storm, and two young men, boys really, walking through fields and pastures, up hills and into little valleys, talking, oblivious to the coming storm, until the very air cracks open pouring sheets of rain upon them as they run for shelter.
Down here is where I found god, down in the cracks of your tabletop, in the gabs between the pineboards. But you would never understand, or would you? Perhaps I consider myself superior without reason. I'll never know, but tonight, there's no option but to trust you. feeling myself floating, ephemeral, above the fabric, the landscape of my life, seeing, feeling, being again, but only for the most infitessimal space of time, the person I was before, living the memories all over again. Dipped in that honey scented balm of nostalgia, knowing that I will never be able to go back and live them again, knowing that while I love those closest to me, they too will perish when the wheel turns.
Its hard to know how to deal with it, sometimes you just know its okay, that you can cope, other days its like a feather could break you down.
Bittersweet is the only word which comes close to describing my attitude to life right now. Its a sugar spun sadness, that when you first bite into it, fills your mouth with flavour, sweetness, and your heart with warmth and hope. But then, you're left wondereing why the sweetness turns to bitterness of acid bile on your tongue and your heart holds more pain than hope.
How did we arrive here, in this world? Did some whim of fate decide that so many should live and die in this acreage of dirt, in the corners of the galaxy? A single ant colony in the midst of an ocean, poised atop a rock, just above water level. Always in danger of being pitched into the ocean, yet oblivious to its beauty. I want to look up into the night sky, and instead of lights, see a thousand tiny dots of light, just sprinklings of pure irridescence, scattered with a careless hand across that great expanse of the sky.
As a species we seem to be unique in defining our realities by our biases and opinions. A lack of self insight which being perpetuated by almost all humankind at the present time, will quite concieveably lead to our extinction within the next few decades. Yet here I am, more concerned about my fortnightly pay cheque than with the workings of the universe, such is the duality that I must live.
Here I am
Arms outstretched to welcome you in
Standing on the brink
Of the eternal void
Praying for company
Here I am
Throwing it all to the winds
A life so misspent
I can't imagine it
Without the sadness
Here I am
A kiss on straining fingertips
Blessed deception
But always for the sake
Of those I loved
Here I am
The gentlest of touches on my face
Each nerve stretched
To a million of this moment
A favourite song on repeat
Here I am
Summer's heat, humidity and closeness
The end of the world is coming
And just this once
I wish it wouldn't
I wouldn't give a million lifetimes
To have one more day
To truly live
But I gave the only one that really matters
Here I am...
-plaz out-
[ 21 December 2002: Message edited by: plazma ]
 
Like the the flow of your words Plaz. Reading it felt like a conversation; first impression I got was a degree of simplicity to it. That is, the vibe and tone was familiar.
Unexpected was the frequency of the piece giving me the big finger just I was about to nod (in relative stoned comfort), thinking 'I've heard this type of thing before'... :)
Nice work.
 
One should note, that high for me denotes opiates. ;)
But yes. Its just a kind of freeform expulsion of thought, which I'm finding quite stimulating as a form of expression at the moment. :)
Danke for the complements vaile! :)
-plaz out-
 
Plaz man, u gotta hook me up with ur doctor!! ;)
This poem does remind me of painkillers. Elation, or the false sense of calm, in the midst of great anxiety.
Respeckt-ah!!
 
plaz some of the things you write are so beautiful in their sadness that it makes me want to... i dont know.. sit here wondering what i should do with this kind of sadness. heh.
I wouldn't give a million lifetimes
To have one more day
To truly live
But I gave the only one that really matters
Here I am... this is the part that i really loved!! its the one piece out of all that you wrote that fits in with my view of the world the most.
by the by, you should read "Diary of a Drug Fiend" by Aleister Crowley, its about the beauty of the world while on heroin.
Click to expand...
 
there's beauty in the world when on heroin?
aw geez. I totally missed that.
all i got was bloody and insane and broke and hated and dirty and sad and lonely and ridden.
well, maybe that's what he meant.
seemore
p.s. be careful. she can get away from you just like that.
 
SelectionIll: "People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise, we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid" - Trainspotting, on the subject of heroin usage
 
come on. you've got to look closer than that. have you ever met a dope addict that's happy being a dope addict. nope. they all live in the basements of houses that other people rent, never eat, fear, and just want to fucking quit. we all make excuses for why we do it, and then most of us die.
sorry to get a little preachy, but, i want to make sure people get both sides of this beautiful thing called heroin addiction. it is the worst thing that ever happened, and still, not of my accord, happens when i'm not careful.
everything starts out as fun, this thing just changes to not fun alot faster than most.
seemore
 
I agree with you entierly. when i said "while on heroin" i mean while the substance is physically in your system, not while you have your addiction. i have known and lived with many junkies, and yes, their life is a living hell most of the time, but ive never seen anyone happier than they are 5 seconds after a hit. this is all i am saying. trust me, i am NOT supporting herion use (im pretty sure plazma's opiate useage hasnt escalated to herion just yet anyway) but there has to be an up side to it, otherwise the multitudes of addicts never would have started would they.
plaz: sorry to hijack your thread like this :)
 
Dipped in that honey scented balm of nostalgia, knowing that I will never be able to go back and live them again, knowing that while I love those closest to me, they too will perish when the wheel turns.
Its hard to know how to deal with it, sometimes you just know its okay, that you can cope, other days its like a feather could break you down.
wow... this really touched me, like most of your works do. but the way you describe things... so beautifully and vividly... i just love that.
Click to expand...
 
Wow, glad to have provoked such a nice wide range of responses.
To answer a few questions.
Yes, to me, the world is a beautiful wonderful precious place, especially when I am under the influence of opiates.
No I do not use heroin, I haven't tried it, but I'm looking forward to at some point in the future.
I am glad that so many of you have got something out of this, hopefully I'll be posting some more after this weekend. :)
Thanks.
-plaz out-
 
You
We
I
Always
Constant
Neverending
Nodding, off to sleep like a child, the bevvy of angels watching on poised wings. Suspended in nothingness, in the black between this world and the next, between one reality and another. The children who are never born live here, as do the souls of those who have died. This is the house of nothing. Surrender to us, give in to us, and yet you must welcome us to your heart, acceptance of the nature of fate.
And now I'm awake, with no knowledge of what came before, only the mildest of intuitions, and a pen in my hand, left to chart the world that I was shown. The world where nothingness is everything. Breathing deeply, tasting the air, the metallic tang as the city presses closer towards me, crowding. Now the victims of our own creations, aren't we so smart?
Give it over, surrender to your own greed, let the snowball grow and roll, you're going to die beneath the avalanche that you created. I'll stub out my cigarette on your gravestone.
Being whirled onto a plain of infinite proportions, stretching white and gleaming for a million miles in every direction. Now know who you are, now know who you were, now know who you will be.
Pause
Stop
Halt
Understanding
Comprehension
Enlightenment

Flying through the sky, above all your creations, above your lives, above your very existence. Such a lonely place here, the price for such beauty at ones fingertips. Please pull me back from the brink I'm standing on, please hold out your hand so I can grab it as I start to fall. I don't want to be left hanging over that abyss, I'm terrified of falling, and I'm terrified of falling in love.
-plaz out-
 
theres a magic, a secret power in words that makes me pause... all the errors and failing of the human race are, for a moment, justified; life is painfull, terrible even, but not quite so agonisingly futile when there is something to weigh against the tide.
your beauty and your words, reminder of why i even bother flailing onwards through this sea.
that and the next episode of the bold and the beautiful..
damn you plazma, i'm finally corrupted beyond all hope of repair.
 
Flying down the highway, feeling the road ripping away beneath and behind me. The trees, clustering in close to the road, being torn away by the velocity of my movement. Tarmac curving back and forth like some gigantic serpent's back, taking me inorexibly towards the sunset. Its an overcast day, when you can still taste the recent rain in the air, the fresh grass and leaves. Inside I feel it cleansing, purifying me, stripping away the dull paint and concrete dust, the fumes of the city, leaving me leaner, faster, less burdened.
The clouds hand low and fat above the land, dipping and rising in inverted islands, patches of blue, edged with stray grey cotton wool fragments, stretching outwards in every which direction, to the horizon. Further out, they'r eedged with the light silver and gold of the sun's late light, and in some directions you can see the dark veil of rain still falling on some tree covered hilltop. The vibrant greens contrast so starkly with the city, the incessant greys and its harsh jarring jumble of alien colours, here, nature is dominant.
I want to feel the wind ruffling my hair with manic hands, the brisk cold bite of it in my throat, freshening my lungs, I'd love to own an open-topped car, to just drive, forever and onwards, over the highways, through the valleys, the wide open plains and over the rolling hills, following this black path towards infinity. Watching a solitary poplar tree, bent and bowed by gusts of wind, yet still standing arrogant in its defiance. Pine trees, in clusters, huddled together in unnatural forests, their dark green seeming to exaggerate the surrounding landscape.
From every direction, possibilities assail my mind, a dirt track, winding and thin, off to one direction, seeming bumpy, as it fords a tiny creek, long since devoid of any water, and yet, in a second it's gone from view, leaving just the road and myself, those constants, continuing through this changing land. The shortness of life is so stark here, knowing deep inside there's so many roads that I will never travel down, yet knowing that many will never travel anything but the straight and narrow path they build for themselves, I don't pity them, its their domain, but never mine.
I spill out of a narrow cut through a hillside, seeing the landscape once again open up in front of me, the black smoothness of the tar changing in a flickering half caught instant into the grey blandness of concrete surfacing, becomign smoother, as another hill rises slowly in front of me. Over and up, and onto a plateau I fly. Driving to nowhere in particular, just with one destination in mind, adventure.
Seeing a lone motorcyclist fly past, wind buffetting his jacket to something like a black michelin man, the helmet turning him into an insect, as he seems to glide effortlessly forwards, the windows insulating me from any noise. I wonder if he knows how much I envy him, or her, as it well could be. A famous author once said that you can never go home, it has always changed from the home you knew, to something else. Rarely is anything so desolately correct, its a cold icy shroud of loss, that what you know and love can sometimes only live on in the pale sepia tones of memory, and even that will fade and vanish with time.
Am I older than time? I wonder if perhaps we all are, everyone, and this is just another game to entertain some greater power, living chess pieces in some far more intricate game, manouvered, sometimes willingly, and sometimes not. Perhaps my driving down this highway, heading south, is a greater strategy, to gain some triumph at a point so far in the future that I cannot even imagine it, and I, a pawn so insignificant as to never warrant acknowledgement or mention.
Sometimes if I listen closely, I can hear the monster in my heart, crying like a squalling baby, desperate. The monster's caged, but never gone, Perhaps I'm free this time, but I think not, for always that poisoned teat will draw me back, the scent of poison more alluring than any perfume or sweet. I'll drink so greedily I'll have my fill, and for a time I'll believe myself content, convince myself I'm better off this way, before a switch flips, somewhere deep inside me, and I turn around again, running far away, as far away as I can, on the treadmill of my life.
My musings are interrupted by a crest over which I sweep, with the grace of a bird, onto a hilltop from where it seems a great model has been presented for my appraisal, a wide range of sharply accented hills, coated in dark green mottled trees, sharp lines of clearnings and grass growing, and the tiny patchwork of fences, shiny tin roofs. Then I descend, my heart leaping into my throat, through exultation and the simple perfection of it all, and ahead the break in the clouds lights up a subtle creamy shade of yellow, the grey edge of the clouds dipped in shiny mellow gold. Grey mellowing to something akin to purple, and the flat basin rushes up to meet me.
The road twines tightly to the curve and slope of the hill, embracing it, bringing me around into full view of the glory of the setting sun. The creamy yellow transformed in the short time my eyes left it, to a shining colour, a bright and vibrant colour that fills my heart, and the edges of the clouds shining as if afire, while the purple grey bulk of the clouds is softly tinted with rose, the magnificence of this wide open space so poignant, reminding me of a childhood not even distant, and yet receeding into the past as surely as a river flows to the sea. Over this the ethereal strains, and deep beats of the music I'm playing touch my ears like nature's voice, guiding me through and along the road I travel.
Then, in a blaze of glory, the sun, fat, shining gold and painful to the eyes, peeps out, shyly from behind the clouds. Illuminating the landscape like a flare, shading parts of it yellow, yet too weak to leave shadows. And just for a moment, I can feel something greater there, something glorious and beautiful shining along with it, shining behind it, through it, and over everything. But only for a moment, as the sun retreats, softly behind the bank of cloud, both the fat, pregnant grey swatches of wool, and some highlighted far above, touched with shades of yellow, little more than whisps painted on the vast blue bowl of the sky.
Ever onwards I'm rolling, feeling the road unroll beneath me like a carpet again. Onwards I move and upwards, heading south.
At last, the clouds are gone from the horizon, and the last light of the sun, glaring like a tigers eye, staining my vision with a myriad of dots, clones of its perfection. Looking balefully down on us, with the knowledge of the night to come, and its own immortality above our short lives. Poplar trees line the road, standing tall, pointing upwards to the pink and purple clouds, while away from me the paddocks stretch, reaching out to greet the embracing arms of tree covered ridges. The feeling of something coming slowly to its end encroaches. My life, my destiny, all so very short, and yet, they're mine, for all that I can grasp from them. As will my life end, so well the journey that symbolises it, logic dictates it, though emotion attempts to defy it, like a willful child. In the end, all will topple and crumble into dust, as shall I be buried, or my ashes thrown to the winds. Yet with the sunset's colours sillouetting a bank of cloud, turning it to a raibow pallete of gold, pink and purple, I cannot help but feel that for my end, when it comes, as come it must, I will stand with grace. I will settle down and know surely that as the wheel of life turns again and again, so will another take my place, for those I know, and those I love must leave with me. One can only acknowledge the beauty in the permanence of the world, and the impermanence of life, one must love accepting that impermanence, far from limiting the joys of love, makes them more poignant.
Far above me now, a tiny trail etches its way across the sky, heading towards the horizon I have been travelling away from, for every action there is a reaction, and as the sun turns slowly orange, and sinks below the horizon, leaving a surreal outline of pink and red clouds behind it. I understand the purpose of this moment. Ripeness is all. For the beauty never vanishes from the world, only our ability to interpret and understand it. THe land is darker now, and yet I'm warmer deep inside, content with the fill of knowledge, understanding and acceptance I have drawn.
I cannot find a satisfactory way to end this, as for me, as ever it will continue on, perhaps for those who know me, they will see some reflection of it in my eyes when we talk about love, beauty, immortality and impermanence, but for those who'll never looked into my eyes and never will, know that you can also see from your own, the things that I have seen. Though of course, what you do with that vision, is your choice alone...
-plaz out-
 
and i especially like the last paragraph
"they will see some reflection of it in my eyes when we talk about love, beauty,immortality and impermanence"
you've got green eyes
you've got blue eyes
and you are the strangest person, that I, have ever known -TRAINSPOTTING
(if anyone knows the proper words to this song please tell me ;) )
[ 30 December 2002: Message edited by: belisimo ]
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plazma, your writing engulfs me!
Blake: "To see the world in a grain of sand."
Your 'streaming' travelogue reminds me of passages from Kerouac, 'On The Road'...
... often the minitiuae of our experiences allows us to encounter the sublime.
As for a form of writing which reaches for truth via a disordering of the senses... This is a long-standing tradition: Coleridge, De Quincey, Rimbaud, Kerouac, Ginsberg, Burroughs, etc. I am a firm believer in the possibilities this opens up, however when 'stoned' or otherwise altered, I find it difficult to string the words together.
 
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