A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || September 24, 2002 || 12:47 am

Show me a junkie who proclaims like a rabid street preacher that they never-never-no-never-ever wanna fix again and I’ll grin like a shitheel and spit baccy in their fervent and lying face. Then I’ll calmly explain to them that they are in one of those little stages that you hear so fucking much about: The monstrous and grandiose one known as denial. For some people, denial can last a lifetime, because it’s safer there in that little box. Denying is what causes you to slide into a comfy little tryst with the shit in the first place. You are denying life as it exists for you in order to embrace an alternate, self-regulated (HA!) reality that is ‘as it should be’ and (at first) seemingly without the stark bitter taste of the one you were born into.

Maxim and I talk about this sometimes, and it is mostly late at night, when the stillness lies between us and we recline, forehead nearly to forehead, whispering loudly over the scream of quiet and darkness. He asks the questions that I am not afraid nor ashamed to answer….just sorrowed to. Always he comes around to it, to the point where he confesses that it’s his biggest fear in all the world — the fear of losing me to the abyss crafted of a needle in the thigh and a pleasure center in the brain.


It’s okay to fear this, is what I have to remind him. Sometimes fear keeps me awake and alive.

You see, a real junkie, practicing or non-, will tell you that fuck yeah, drugs are cool. They are sexy. They are fun. They are delicious and the embodiment of God (but not the actualization of Him, if you can dig). That’s if they are being real with you, if they are telling you truly and exactly how they feel rather than some politically correct, watered-down NA version of The Truth. The same junkie, still being honest, will tell you that it’s the aftermath that’s Simply Not. The aftermath is the antithesis of the preferred substance. After all, it’s not the high that you are chasing after a (sometimes deceptively short) time, it’s the Avoidance Of Aftermath.

So, in essence, it’s not so much that I no longer want the stuff in my body as it is that I don’t want the consequences that putting it there renders….because, believe you me, the body still knows the ache. It may be sporadic and very rare, but my body still knows that heated want and agonized cravings.

I am more afraid of the fallout than that actual fall. So I stay clean. I don’t play with all the pretty colors and all the ways to ingest them into me in order to get them across the blood-brain barrier as quickly as fucking possible anymore. I never fucked anyone but myself for drugs. Yeah, I fucked myself plenty….I fucked myself over, I fucked myself up, I fucked myself out of a purity of mind and body. I can’t say in all honesty that I wouldn’t do it again if given those choices, my past, back. But I can say in all honesty that the fear I’m supposed to carry is there. It’s not the garden-variety blanket fear that has me jumping at shadows and other tedium, but one of a higher purpose that keeps me in the here, in the now, and reminds me to avoid certain street corners or parts of town or people. It reminds me to be vigilant, to be cognizant of my system. It reminds me not to run for the medicine cabinet for the simplest of aches, because what if one tylenol isn’t enough next time and I take two? And then what if two isn’t enough and I have to have four? And if plain ol’ tylenol isn’t enough, and I have to have must have need something stronger??

I am a junkie, motherfucker, and yes, I want drugs. I want to smokesnortpoppushwallowin them. It’s easy to float. The comedown is grueling. I choose The Real, though, because while it’s difficult and not regulated by me, the latter is infinitely more complex and divine than either of the two former.

I am worthy of divine things. Fuck the synthetic and its’ aftermath. I deserve the reward of the divine.

But I will never, having said all that, tell you that I don’t want drugs. I want them, I choose (sometimes with a great deal of consternation) not to have them. To say it any other way would be an outrageous lie.

5 worked it out »

  1. waistdog 9.25.2002

    EVERYONE wants drugs.

    It’s part of the built in escape button.

    Drugs can be religion.

    They can be Government approved, like tobacco and booze.

    People don’t want to have to think about “what the fuck are we doing here?”

    It’s too complicated.

    And we make it more so, by trying to figure it out.

    So, instead…..we get fucked up.

    Doesn’t matter if you’re loaded on drugs.

    Or loaded on the Lord.

    It takes the burden of figuring it out, away from us, and puts it elswhere.

    But beyond that.

    Don’t be sticking pointy things in your body, girl……it hurts.

  2. fish 9.26.2002


    The more i read you the more i like you.

  3. Johnny T 9.26.2002

    The tenssion you described is depressing. Can’t wait for such tenssions to be eliminated — hevean!!

  4. clayton 9.27.2002

    nothing gets me high like your lullaby…

  5. Jett 9.29.2002

    waisty: right. RIGHT. you and I disagree a bit on the whole ‘Lord tip’, and my take on it is that those people who sit on their fingers and expect God to magically right an issue without any effort on their part are foolish. likewise, so are people who stick pointy things in their bodies.

    fishaaaay: spank you. no, really. REALLY. SPANK you. *wriggles eyebrows grotesquely*

    johnnaaaay: le sigh. i am quite looking forward to being blown away by all the absolute KNOWLEDGE. the whole, ‘now why didn’t *I* think of that??’ clarity…the thought of it really excites me.

    claytone: if remembering is passion, my memory is blue flame and white heat…


RSS feed for comments on this post.

(you know you want to)