Saturday, January 6, 2018


 The faint glow of a computer monitor illuminated Jake's room. The corpses of discarded envelops sent from the far reaches of the Dark Net littered his floor. The paper ghosts Fent pills, etizolam, methamphetamine hydrochloride and various others (all tested at 85-95% purity) all stood watch, crowded together in the ambiance of awkward silence, all cued to the symphony of a life breaking down;

(4:33 is a three-movement-composition by American experimental composer John Cage. It was composed in 1952, for any instrument or combination of instruments, and the score instructs the performer(s) not to play their instrument(s) during the entire duration of the piece throughout the three movements. The piece consists of the sounds of the environment that the listeners hear while it is performed, although it is commonly perceived as "four minutes thirty-three seconds of silence." The title of the piece refers to the total length in minutes and seconds of a given performance, 4′33″ being the total length of the first public performance... this may seem tangential but the silence.

 The fucking silence... is quite relevant to this tale. Anyway...)

"Whose there? Who the FUCK are you?!?" Jake yelled at his door.

"It's Sera.. please. Please open your door so we can talk."

"I do not consent to search or seizure of my person or property."

Jake said, echoing his mantra. One of the only things to binding him to some semblance or normalcy after "the voices" had made themselves known.

Another pharma-ball (a small dose of fent plus methamph) and another obscure benzo-derivative taken as a sacrament to stay one step ahead of the paranoia... or was it paranoia. No way to tell at this point. The situation was rather (for lack of a better term) nuanced. This had been day 4 going on day 5. Now, the only reality was slavish consumption tinged with a dose of irrational fear.

"Heh, irrational." Jake said (whoa responding to my narrative. Nice 4th wall break if I do say so myself)

"Rationale hasn't done much for me lately. Rationale is subservience to the whims of a police state founded on dead morals." He said again. Lighting a cigarette after sucking back the drip from whatever concoction he'd snorted methamph and... other stuff. Oh well.

I don't remember where I was when this was happening but I do remember having shut my phone off. Social interaction was never my strong suit. The few friends I had were batshit insane and at the time, drinking myself into a stupor... getting lost in some hedonism of my own, seemed like a better time than dealing with any "drama."  The message he'd left was scratchy sounding. Conspiracy theories about some sex trafficking ring, references to Camus and his thoughts on suicide and, towards the end what sounded an awful lot like a door being broken down . A couple fortnights later, Jake was out of the hospital.

"Holy shit man are you okay?" My own voice probably sounding a little scratchy over the phone.

"Yeah, I'm good..."

"I... I'm sorry."

Jesus, I'm sorry? 20 some odd years of seeking out dark places and I still have no clue what to say.

"It's alright. I'm a lot better. The new meds help."

After finishing what remained of my beer and offering a few more platitudes of encouragement, I eventually said goodbye followed with a;

"Hit me up whenever."

It all seemed... fake at least on my end. The rest of it. The chaos and uncertainty. The feelings of hope and a new lease on life. The tears (both hysterical and joyful at various points on the timeline of the last 2 months) shed by his family, strangers to me but all too real. I decided against calling my plug and shut off my overhead light before whispering;

"I'm glad you're alive man. I hope the new meds really are working. I... I wish I could have been there. I wish I never would have helped you cop your first pill. Shit... seems like a lifetime ago...I wish I could have been better too. "

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

A Training Camp for Gods

The following is a highly stylized "trip report." Thew in some links to further reading material for exposition/shits and grins.

"Ding!" rang the caustic sound of the microwave. I'd (for whatever reason) decided to fix some Mac n' Cheese during the come up but that all became a distant memory as all of the 600 and some odd milligrams of DXM hit me.
"Holy shiiiiiiiiiiiiit." My voice rang out. Warped beyond any form of recognition it stretched on into a vast abyss. Some sort of Lovecraftian Macroverse that was coming more and more into view as the drugs took hold.
I looked around. Surrounded by the forms of the: "the unmanifested 'Father,' the semi-manifested 'Mother' and the Universe, which is the third Logos of our Brahmâ,

( It's worth noting that I, your humble narrator, had already been down the rabbit hole which is The Secret Doctrine before knocking back the gel-caps. This... whatever it was... It's always hard to tell when you're caught up in the moment, added a palpable fear to the whole thing. It was exhilarating because it was real and that scared the shit out of whatever remained of my rational mind).

I stared down at my new body and felt a surge of power at the base of my spine (akin to Kundalini...another interesting topic if you're so inclined; 

( shoot through me.
"I... I know everything. I am everything. Thing... thing... thing thing..." Was all I was able to muster at first.
(the inevitable) "I am God" came seconds later.

A voice that was like my own but didn't belong to the meat. Rang out to me. It came from somewhere else and hit my psyche like a fatal car accident.
Some time passed and I soon felt the hand of another entity upon my waist and ("touching" me in the  same way that it didn't exactly speak. There was no mathematical harmony to any of it. Expressions devoid of Syntax. The primal shit that William Burroughs warned us about. It picked me up and attached me to the flesh interface. From my pod, I stared out. A nearly infinite Cartesian plane surrounded me filled to the brim with other gods in other pods.
"I... am ready." I said closing my eyes and breathing in.
I came to in the middle of my kitchen. An oven mitt in one hand and a wash towel in he other. What a way to spend an afternoon.


Somewhere update and Requiem for a Dopeman (my 50th post)!

This is a story I wrote a while back which while fictional is based on someone I knew. Originally my plan was to feature this in an anthology (working title of Somewhere; Tales from a Strungout  Suburbanite). A project which has slowly been coming together for the past year and a half or so (maybe more?) but this one is much more experimental and quite different tonally. As a caveat, I should also mention that it contains some transgressive subject matter pertaining to race... this is not intended to offend or be, edgy or "anti PC" (at least in the way that term is thrown away nowadays) for the sake of it but was rather a personal challenge to myself to "paint with different strokes" if you will.

As for the anthology/book/novella thing, I'm finally getting close to having enough material to throw something  together. Inspiration has waxed and waned I also don't like to sit still for too long and dislike the idea of being tied to a single genre. In any case, I'd like to offer my thanks to the various people and obscure online communities who've offered their interest and support over the past year. Cheers  to a happy 2018 :)

I. Requiem for a Dope Man (the first installment)

Boo J woke up to the sound of Lupe Fiasco’s Words I Never Said, blaring through the tinny speakers of his I-Phone.

“Aye P what up boy?”

“Eh not shit man. Kickin it with this white boy. Dude’s lookin for some a dat Hey-Ron shit. You good?”

“Hey-Ron? Nah man I don’t fuck wit it.”

“Shiiit nigga. That’s where the real paypa’s at. Kids can’t get enough a dat shit.”

“That’s no joke man. My people back in Chi town droppin like flies off dat skag… Brotha’s, white boys Mexicans. I’m seeein dat shit on the news e’rey day. It’s bad dope an it’s all bad…shit’s notin to fuck wit, an you know I don’t play.”

“Aight nigga, maybe next time. Peace.”


Boo J showered, splashed on some cologne and grabbed his back pack. An ounce of AK-47 (vacuum sealed) and his music theory/appreciation textbooks sat side by side coalescing in a place of dying memories and identity crisis.

“Boy, I swear you always gonna have one foot in da grave in this town…. When you gonna outta here and pull yo self up?”

She coughed. Her eyes closed. Boo J left his mother’s small, dusty bedroom behind. The room he’d shared with his four sisters. The bed that he’d crawled underneath of, to check for monsters more times than he could count. The floor where he’d held his mother’s head as she sobbed. The closet where he hid his family when his old man was on a drunk... Terminal cancer, two words that nobody ever wants to hear, especially after you’ve just retired from a life of toiling away at some shit laundry mat in a shit neighborhood… Boo J swallowed the lump in his throat and headed to the bus stop.

“Today we’ll be covering the circle of fifths, quite the interesting concept when you think about it. You see, the fifth note of every scale introduces one more sharp or flat depending on how you look at it, note than the previous scale. So, if we start with C major which as we all know contains only whole tones. We play up to the fifth note G, which uses the same shape, but in order to keep the same modality, requires us to play the…”

“Uh, F#.”

“Yes, very good Brian.”

“Uh, it’s Boo. You uh… you can call me Boo, Ms. Stevens.”

“That’s Dr. Stevens to you Boo… but in any case, well done. Somebody’s been cracking their book,” Dr. Stevens said with a smile.

“What I find fascinating about the circle of fifths is that it can be applied to many things outside the realm of music. Like people for instance. Human behavior and all that it entails. If you think of scales as people and the shifting nature of keys as circumstance, it can really get you thinking. Fundamentally, we are all the same. We all breathe and smile and cry…We all follow a path of sorts. Just like the C major scale, but just one simple deviation from that path, such as, well for the sake of the metaphor, adding a sharp or a flat can drastically alter the sound and create something entirely new.”

Boo J sat in his car coated in silence. No music, no sparks from his Bob Marely lighter or coughing fits from the blunt behind his ear.  Nothing but the long trains of thought that come from those in-accessible moments of clarity. Something that can’t quite be understood working its way into the back channels of grey matter soaked sensory inputs. Eventually, Boo headed back to his humble abode on East Mayberry Ave, right behind the ruins of the Apollo schoolhouse. As the night passed away in a haze of smoke etched silhouettes, a company of ghosts, coming and going, motivated by the promise of marijuana and whatever else they could grab. Boo kept reflecting on the events of the day as the film-screen of the status quo played in front of him. After being stuck in the loop for a while

“Yo Tre, you ever wonder why we stay in the game? Why we gotta do the shit that we do? Ya know…” AV took his series of puffs from the lit blunt filling the room with its essence, (the ritual of the Dope Game, as Boo had always called it).

“Weird ass Boo. Gotta love him but that nigga be on some otha shit.” AV thought to himself.

“Shit man, a real nigga’s gotta be on his grind. It’s survival. I mean shit, it’s a fuckin jungle out there man. You see any a those fortune 500 hundred mothafuckers offerin me a job? Hell no…we gotta do us man. All that otha shit is what it is.”

Tre, realizing that the weed was thoroughly cashed out dropped his roach into an old PBR can and exhaled.

“What you think about all a dat shit Boo? You gotta have an answer… All a yo weird ass philosophizin and shit.”

Still lost in his thoughts, Boo for an undisclosed amount of time (maybe to add depth to his character or something but anyway), remained silent.

“I got nothin man. One a those things out there that we got no control of. Tre’s right I guess…it is what it is.”


II. Somewhere Beneath the Sunshine.


Jason woke up in a cold sweat. The culprit being one mother-fucker of a using dream combined with the first signals of the harvest.

“The microbes that hide inside of the heroin keep me feeling…normal. But if I don’t let them feed, or if I forget to make my offerings to them. They start stealing my organs. Just little pieces here and there but the longer it goes on the worse it gets… My spleen is almost gone. It’s down to 30 maybe even 20% these days.”

Jason saw the look in his mother’s eyes behind the plexi-glass window of his room at the Mount Vernon mental health institution. Things had gotten better sense he’d left the hospital but there were still good days and bad days...

“Jesus, fuck,” he screamed knocking his copy of Naked Lunch to the floor while frantically rummaging through his nightstand.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

He was out of dope. Not a crumb in sight. Defeated, Jason rolled over and clutched his withdrawal pillow (the huge body pillow that never gets washed, its sole purpose being to absorb the putrid effects of junk-sickness).

After shooting one too many a cocktail of experimental amphetamines, angel dust and whatever else was lying around, Jason had been forced to switch to heroin (and the occasional temazepam). It was the only thing that gave him some relief from the voices. There were too many to count but some stuck out more than others.

“Smash head! Break teeth. Cut body.”

An odd mix of Swahili buried underneath the sound that people make after chugging a bottle or two of cough syrup, the voice of an animal.

“I can’t do this again. Not again…” Jason sobbed.

He kept a tight hold of the withdrawal pillow, burying his face in the toxic-waste of days past.


III: The Phone Call


“Hello,” I said (groggily) after being rudely awakened from my excursion to Oxy-land.

“I’m in some serious fuckin shit man!”

“Wha… What’s up?” I said in between nods.

“Fuckin Jason man. He’s dead. My biggest plug for K-pins and he’s fuckin dead!”


“Ricky was silent.

“So… so I mean that’s shitty and all but uh… I mean it’s not like you need the money or anything. Besides wasn’t Jason a little… you know off?”

“Yeah, yeah he was but he literally had an unlimited supply of pills for dirt cheap. I uh, I guess you could say I took advantage of that… So I have these girls that, well shit man I’m gonna put it bluntly, they let me fuck em for dope. They’re all dope whores and I get my dope, the dope I uh, exchange with them from Moon see and…”

My heart literally skipped a beat. Moon from what I could gather, was one of the most vicious people alive. An enforcer for the Barrio Syndicate (the closest thing to the cartel we had around here), rumor had it that one of his favorite hobbies was to break into people’s houses and stab them to death in their sleep… He’d done countless stretches in county a drug bust here an armed robbery there, but never anything beyond that. He always seemed pop up on the streets a month or so later.  He was bad news in every sense of the word.

“And he fronts it to me as long as I can get him his K-pins… this is not gonna end well for me man. How in the hell is he gonna get his shit now? This is gonna be a time of war man. Straight up Macedonia in this bitch... Jesus I’m fucked. Sweet, sweet Jesus…”

Ricky, (as per usual) was strung out on speed, (Moon was a resourceful guy to say the least. He’d be able to find more pharmaceuticals). I tried my best to talk him out of his delusions of grandeur and offered to share some of my Oxy to help with the crash je would inevitably be experiencing soon. But regardless, a person, scratch that, a person I knew was dead… this should have been a wale up call, but that’s enough of my existential woes for today… this story isn’t about me.


IV: A literary device used as a catalyst to the story’s climax…Spoiler alert


Jamal, parked outside of his plugs house, sat in his car smoking a cigarette. It would be an understatement to say that he had mixed feelings about what he was doing. His cousin had warned him about… well, everything; the crazy needle-freaks that sold bad dope to unwary street kids, but an offer like this was too good to pass up. Jamal wasn’t doing it to get high. Sure he’d have to sample the product but this was about more than the instant gratification. He was coming up in the game quick. If he kept at it, he’d have make something of himself before summer.

“Love gona get us out the ghetto.”

Words from an old song whispered sweet nothings between Jamal’s ear canals, were interrupted by the slamming of a screen door and a set of approaching footsteps.

“Aye man, you don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel to fuckin good either,” Jason said, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“The microbes and… well that’s not really important.”

“You good on that tweak shit bro? I got yo Hey-Ron, some guy named Moon got me some fire.” Jamal asked after an awkward pause.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here... I think it’s called Snow Leopard. It’s a wild, wild ride man. I can’t shoot it anymore because of the voices and the harvest and all that, but you should be okay. You look like a smart kid…You love the Lord don’t ya?”

“Uh, yeah… Thanks man.”

Jamal weighed the product after getting back to his safe house.

“Damn Jim tha’sa solid quarta. You lookin at 7 grand fo nothing but a dub of H shiiit.”

T sat back and cracked his knuckles after tearing the cellophane off a fresh pack of Newports.

“So uh, we gonna get down on this shit or what?”

“I dunno man. Dude was sketched out like a mothafucker. Sides I ain’t no junkie.”

“You gotta take a taste nigga… It’s just a part a da business and we business men.”

Jamal looked down at the pile of off-white powder in front of him and let out a sigh.

“Aight man. Let’s blow.”


V: Requiem for a Dope Man; Part Deuce


“Brian Roach?”

“Yeah, this is Boo, I mean uh Brian. What up?”

“My name is Dr. Arnold Sanders, calling from St. Francis Medical. It’s uh… I’m calling regarding your cousin Jamal Nathaniel. You were listed as his emergency contact …we’re going to need you to come by as soon as you can to answer a few questions.”

“Bad dope… Just like you always be sayin man. Nutin but trouble when a nigga starts fuckin round wit that powda.”

Later that day, AV passed a joint to Boo J who (for obvious reasons) sharply declined.

“What you gonna do man? I mean dude killed him… well he didn’t really, might as well have though…” AV said breaking the silence after finishing his smoke session (déjà vu).

Boo J didn’t answer him.

“One deviation from that path can drastically alter the sound…”

“I know the dude who’s slingin that shit. Lives over on the North side. I guess he got schizophrenia or somethin.”

Brian Roach had never fired a gun before. He’d seen enough of that growing up but there’s a first time for everything… They say that when the drugs fade away the mind meets itself. All the tangled, glass embedded ends of neurons penetrating into dark ambitions with nothing to numb the pain of it all. Once the drugs leave the demons come out to play.

“Are you hear to make the voices stop?”

Boo J sat on the curb. A fresh coat of blood splatter mixed with the veil of sweat and tears. He could hear sirens in the distance and knew it was time. The still warm-to-the-touch barrel pressed against his left temple, Boo’s hand shook under the weight of a bullet.

“Doe Ray Me Fa So La Tee Doe”

He sang in between sobs.

“Drop your weapon. Put your hands up and drop your fucking weapon.”

“We’re all on a path of sorts… just like the C major scale.”








Wednesday, December 6, 2017

Sharing is Caring

Greetings! So, a fellow Reddit user reached out to me the other day wanting to collaborate. This is a link to his stuff lxstboys and let me tell you there is talent and entertainment abound here! Check it out and support us artsy, underground types :) This is a personal favorite of mine... You'll have to click the link for more.
Acid’s still lingering in my system. It’s been a little under twelve hours since I dropped, but lucy’s still altering my vibrations. Tingling with exuberated awe and undertones of delirium, I’m depleted while still vibrant.
‘Shit, sleep ain’t gonna be a thing in this condition.’

Monday, December 4, 2017

The Affirmation 1: The Alley

The following is an older piece of mine (circa 2012 that was my first attempt at bonafied  Sci-Fi (this is the first piece in what was meant to be a loosely strung together anthology of dystopian stuff) . Though I gave up on the initial project, it did serve as the basis for my novel (currently on hiatus as I've been exploring other creative avenues) and shit I've always liked this one. Thought it might be worth a share and may revisit it some day. I hope it's enjoyed by whoever finds it. Cheers - A.



“Hey boy.”

The child looked up and saw a straggly, grey haired homeless man sitting atop a discarded mattress in the middle of the alley.

 The crumbling industrial buildings and crowded market places of Ura Bin were home to many transient’s; Addicts, resistance members, fallen soldiers and the failed genetic experiments of The Affirmation were not uncommon sights in the gutter. Timothy looked over his shoulder twice before going any further.

“Boy, could ya spare some change?”

“My mom said I aint suppose to talk to no one. She told me to go straight to the market and back home…I’m sorry.”

 It’s oaky son. I won’t bite…please. It would mean a lot to an old man.”

After some hesitation, the boy reached into his pocket to grab some change, handed the man a fistful of coins, turned his back and started walking away.

“You got a name son?”

The boy stopped and turned around to face the man again.

“Timothy, Timothy Epley. What about you?”

“They call me Leo.”

“Hi, Leo” Timothy responded, frantically waving his hands. Up and down. Despite all of his cautious behavior, he was still a child and apt to waving his hands around just for the hell of it.

 The man chuckled, exposing his worn, yellow teeth.

“Well Timothy, thank you very much for helpin an old man out. I don’t suppose you wana hear a story?”

Timothy looked around. He could see the market from where he was standing. He could picture the people spread throughout the road going from stand collecting food, and batteries and toothpaste. He was so close. It was his first journey away from home by himself…he figured that he’d have more than enough time to stick around for just one story, besides what child doesn’t want an adventure every once in a while.


“Well alright then. Come a little closer and I’ll spin ya a yarn.”

Timothy moved closer towards the man and looked him in the eyes. It’s something his father had taught him before he had left. Always make eye contact. He didn’t remember much about his father but that grain of advice had always stuck with him. Leo gave a nod of approval and began to speak.

“A long time ago, before the Great War and The Affirmation, I was a young boy about your age. That’s when I remember things bein different. Before things were…like they are today, I lived on a farm with my dad. It was a very simple life but I loved it. I would wake up early in the morning and help my dad take care of the livestock. We had a horse that I called Sarah, named her after my mom….Anyway I would visit her every morning. Sometimes I would sneak her a sugar cube and oh my God, she would gobble that up and lick my hand till there was nothin left.  It was wonderful.”

“Then, as I got older I kept hearin things about a war and a shortage of energy. I was still too young to know what it all meant but I was old enough o know that soemthin wasn’t right. It wasn’t too long before my dad sold the farm and moved to the city. With all of this talk of war and what not, he wanted to get all of his affairs in order in case anything happened and boy did things start happenin.

“We’d been in the city for a couple months when…when the war caught up with us. There were airships everywhere, all the time. They covered the sky and when they weren’t busy hoverin around, they were busy droppin bombs. My dad went out one day getting some supplies and I never seen him again. I cried myself to sleep for a month straight until I realized that he was never comin back and I uh…I been on my own since that day.”

Leo paused and took a syringe out of his pocket.

“Boy, I don’t wanna do this in front of ya. Can ya turn around till I tell ya when?”

Timothy turned his back on Leo as he tied off and plunged his rig into his arm. He hit the vein instantly and that warm, surreal feeling that only DREAM can produce coursed through his body.

“Okay boy…you can, uh…you can turn around now.”

Timothy turned around and faced Leo once again.

“Now, where was I?”

“You just got done talking about how your pa died sir.”

Ah, yeah. That whole mess.” Leo paused yet again, this time to cap the needle and put it back in his coat pocket.

“Well, after…after all a that, I stayed at my dad’s old place for a while. I watched the war unfold from my bedroom. It was bad, real bad. There were times that I couldn’t leave my house on account a the bombs and the bodies. Those were the worst. They would pile up in the streets blood and guts all over the place and it stunk to high heaven. But there were some good times too. I would go door to door sellin rations or anything else that I found layin around. It was a good line of work to be in. I made decent money and I like to think that I helped a lot of people get what they needed at the time. That went on for a few years until I met a nice girl and settled down.”

"Where is she now?" Timothy asked

A bereaved look spread across Leo's face as he spoke.

"I don’t know...I had to leave her."

"Why's that?"

"She wasn't safe. No one was safe really but I've...I've done a lot a dirt in my day and the people I was hangin around with...they just wasn’t no good for her…or my son."

Timothy stared in wonder at the old man.  Never in his life had he heard such incredible stories. He’d never dreamed of a time before The Affirmation and had never heard of any Great War. He was hooked and wanted more. Mom’s rations could wait.

“It was when I was doin all a this delivery business stuff, right at the tail end of the war when I first heard about Nero.”

“The Leader?” Timothy asked.

“Yup, The Leader.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Nope and I don’t know a soul who has but I remember when he came. It was a confusing time for a lot of people and he swooped in with the answers that people was lookin for. He said he came from a place across the sea, and spoke of a world where people lived as one. No war, no crime, no hunger. He said that people were happy and free…he put on a one hell of a good show that’s for sure and it wasn’t long before he started to win people’s trust. He founded this city Ura Bin, he built that big church up town, Capitol and after that he built all sorts of factories and housing units. People went along with it because Capitol gave them a sense of purpose and the weapons plants gave them a fightin chance in the Great War. Things seemed to be goin well for a while. Our military doubled in size and we fought off all a the enemy airships and expand our territory. Then things started takin a turn for the worse.”

“What happened?” Timothy asked. Genuine concern rang in his voice. Leo couldn’t help but smile, to be a child again, to be so young and full of wonder…

“Nero made somethin, somethin bad. He called it DREAM”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the stuff I’ve been puttin in my veins for twenty-two years.” Leo replied.

“It makes you feel alive, and on top of the world. You see things that aren’t there. You feel like you can do anything you want and everything that’s happening around you is okay and then, once it starts to wear off, you get sick. Really sick and you need more and more just to starve off that terrible sickness. Nero gave this stuff out to everyone; pastors, soldiers, children and once they came back for more... that’s when he got em. That’s when things went from bad to worse. Nero spent all a the spoils of war on more weapons and more soldiers. Pretty soon the streets were crawlin with em and there wasn’t anything you could do that they couldn’t see. People started to see less and less of Nero. He set up camp on some island a million miles away from here and just stayed there with his guards and his airships and all a his money but he still let everyone know who was in charge. Capitol became the official meeting place for party officials. There were guards stationed there twenty-four seven and the priests…they were evil just pure evil, still are in my book. They sacrificed people on stage and auctioned off their bodies to the research facilities in North Prova so they could use em in their sick experiments…They said they were doing the work of God but I just can’t bring myself to believe that.”

“What did you do after all of that bad stuff started happening?”

“I ran away. I tried to help people any way that I could. There were all kinds of resistance movements but none of those ever worked out. It’s too hard to fight for what you believe in when you’ve gotta stick a needle in your arm every three hours. I’ve been layin low ever since. Keepin quiet and waitin for things to change.

“You think they will?”

“I sure hope so kid.”

Leo paused and looked at Timothy.

“Boy, I’ve told ya too much. A fine young man like you shouldn’t have to hear about things like this. I’m sorry if I frightened ya at all.”

“No…you didn’t. I thought it was a really good story.”

“Thanks boy. Now go run along. Your mother’s probably worried about ya.”

“Okay, thanks mister. I hope I see you again someday.”

“Yeah kid, same goes for you.” Leo said with a grin.

Timothy stepped out of the alley and made his way to the market. Leo sat quietly for a few moments staring off into space.

“Ya turned out all right kid.” He said under his breath.

“Ya got my curiously and you’re mother’s eyes.” He could feel tears trickling down his face as he spoke.

“I really do hope things get better someday…I sure hope they do.”

 A massive airship hovered over the market place consuming the sun.

 “A new day has dawned friends. Rejoice in a new day of the Lord.” said the hissing robotic voice of the mid-day announcer.

 Leo huddled up on his dirty mattress and closed his eyes.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

The Dope Show

9:00-ish AM

"There are final hits and there are final hits."

- Irvine Welsh

Hit the pipe for the first time in a long time. A familiar taste (lodged somewhere between battery acid and burnt plastic) followed by a burst of power long reserved for the Gods... and a lot of people would be much better off if it had stayed that way. Prometheus' gift of fire came with more of a price than his liver paid... Shit, rambling on and on and on. This is some gooood stuff but it's just the first hit. We'll see how it goes from here.

9:25 AM

M comes over. Green eyes, legs for days and hair that reflects the sun bringing an iridescent hope inside the the blacked out windows of my apartment. We're each other's soulmates. That's the mutual conclusion we came to one day after running into each other at some dive bar and fucking in the bathroom on an acid/coke "flip" (whatever the kids are calling it these days). Friendship, romance, most people's ideas of "love" (however lofty and/or naive) don't fit what we have but whatever it is possesses us when we're together and rips holes in our piles of fucked up brain-matter when we're apart. We blow a couple lines and suck back the sweet, sweet drip in unison, before busting out the ball gag. 

9:38 AM

As I enter her. Divinity (or you know... something like that) enters me. Another form of dark beauty not meant for mere mortals. We taste all manner of forbidden fruit in each other's meat and ingest our sacrament as needed. She snorts lines and I hit the pipe... not even once, twice... ten times. 

10:02 AM

Water, water, water, water, water.  Gotta stay hydrated.

11:00 AM - 3:00 PM

The next few hours are a blur. I smell like sex, stale cigs and cheap beer. M is frantically lacing up her combat boots and fidgeting with her skirt. Something about having to pick up her kid.

"I'll be back," She said.

Her voice like autumn leaves. A cloud of cigarette smoke followed her whispers out the door.

I'm alone for the time being. I pinch off some dope, swirl the pipe over the flame, inhale... exxxxhale. We'll see where this leads.

3:12 PM- Uh...???

Through me you enter into the city of woes 
Through me you enter into eternal pain, 
Through me you enter the population of loss. 
. . .
Abandon all hope, you who enter here. 

- Dante Alighieri

Shit what time is it? 6,7, 8 when? What day? Oh well.

Knock. Knock.

"Who's there?!?!" I yell over the white noise illuminating my television set. The South Park DVD I'd put in a while ago had run it's course. The first tingles of paranoia are setting in. Coded messages buried somewhere in the TV snow. No.. No! Fuck that. I need to sleep. I have a few 25mg Hydroxyzine  and half a Seroquel. It'll have to do.

? - 8:04 PM 

"Hey it's M."

"Oh... hey, C'mon in..."

I ease out of my pharma-nap and unlock the door.

"You okay man? I have subs."

"Nah, I'm good. Already knocked myself out a bit ago... Be careful with those. Like... don't get hooked. Coming off that shit is murder."

"Eh, dude owed me and didn't have any glass. Had to settle for em. I'm not a huge fan but it's sort of nice to chill out instead of... well you know, the other thing."

"No doubt"

She plops down on the sofa and we hold each other close. Melting into the lower-middle-class fabric of  my humble abode.

9:00-ish PM

Well, that didn't last long. Off and running again. Snuggling led to more sex. Sex led to an undisclosed amount of methamphetamines. Rinse and repeat.

"Jesus..." M sighs. I give her short which she happily accepts. I sniff a line off the of her left breast before we collapse into each other again.

"I wonder what the neighbors are up too."

"What?" She asks (though she probably knows full well where this is going).

"I.. uh, I don't know. They've had their lights on for a long time now. I just...wonder."

"Darling... might it possibly be time for some more Seroquel?"

"No, no. I took the last of that a while ago," I said robotically. My eyes peering from the tiny, tiny, tiny creek I'd strategically made in blanket reinforced shade, locked on the neighbors patio.

"I should go..."

"Hey no, no. You don't have to do that."

"I have to work in the morning... and probably sleep. Be careful okay."

My laser-beam focus momentarily broken.

"Yeah, yeah of course."

She kissed me on the forehead, picked up her purse.

"I'll call you before I go into work. Please... please be careful. I mean last time... with the hospital and everything."

"It's cool," I said.

"It WON"T be like that ever again. Trust me. I've got a system."

"Okay," she chuckled.

I was alone again... God damn, I can't let it be like last time. I smoke the last crumbs I managed to scrape from my ever-dwindling bag and brace myself for the crash. The euphoria is long gone. It's getting harder to write this down. Keeping track of it all is.. exhausting. Signing off for now. Sweet dreams.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Cocaine Blues

There it was. The faint glimmer of steel, a lost treasure of old buried within foreboding ruins... or in this case weeks old food and cigarette wrappers. My hands after finally reaching the uncharted depths of my trash-can, clenched the orange crowned prince and after haphazardly running it through some lukewarm water I was ready to go to work.

My arm was on fire before the needle broke my skin (cue some long-winded post-structuralist rhetoric about the symbolism of the phallus penetrating the human form and bending it to its will through sex and endorphins). Once I registered, the icy, chemical taste hit the back of my throat and the all mighty bell ringer weaved its way between my ears. For one fleeting moment, I was a god among men. My meat, straining to make sense of it all collapsed on my floor. I heard the scurrying of roaches and God-knows-what-else on their way to gobble up the strands of blackened deli meat at the bottom of the same trash an that I'd dug my old rig out of before blacking out.


I heard her voice. An unnamed woman lying next to me. I didn't know her name but didn't feel like I had to. A primal thread ran through us, un-quantifiable but present. Something that felt more real than anything else I'd encountered in... a long time. Can't be bothered with specifics. I've enver been good with those... Anyway.

"Yeah," I said groggily.

"Are you okay? You were tossing around and yelling again."

"Ah shit. Must have been another nightmare... sorry."

I flipped on the lamp and grabbed my glasses from the nightstand.

"It's alright. I wasn't asleep. Just reading."

"Oh yeah, what about?"


"Jesus, now that's the stuff of nightmares."

She laughed.

"I don't know. He was misunderstood... I've always thought his ideas were hopeful or you know, wanted to be hopeful. He's not nearly as bleak as he's made out to be."

"I haven't really delved into any of his books since college... or many other books. Fuck grad school"

She laughed again. There was something so organic about it. That un-quantifiable thing that made me feel at home.

"Yeah, it sort of ruined reading for me too. Save for a select few. I mean... listen to this."

“What, if some day or night, a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life, as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh… must return to you—all in the same succession and sequence—even this spider and this moonlight between the trees and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned over again and again—and you with it, speck of dust!’ Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: ‘You are a god, and never have I heard anything more divine!’ If this thought were to gain possession of you, it would change you as you are, or perhaps crush you. The question in each and every thing, “do you want this once more and innumerable times more?” would lie upon your actions as the greatest weight. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?”

"Huh.. you're right. That is hopeful... In a roundabout way."

Her hand grasped mine.

"If you look hard enough, you can find hope in a lot of things."

I leapt up from my kitchen floor in what could only be called a reverse crash sequence. My heart was still racing as I let out a series of equally violent breaths. Two-steps away from hyperventilating, I made my way to the medicine cabinet in search of Xanax... or benadryl... or seroquel or... something. No such luck. I stripped, sat on the toilet and let a stream of cold water run from the sink (my utility bill be damned). It was withdrawal time.

Some time passed, and I eventually slept. The next morning (or was it past noon at this point?) I found myself in the kitchen again digging around in the black sludge/dead roach filled trashcan in hopes of finding some however-many-days-old residue that I could throw into a spoon for a little fun.

"Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus?" I said to no one.

I guess you could say I was hopeful... Questionable motives aside, I was hopeful.