Saturday, August 7, 2010


I can't sleep, my head hurts. I'm remembering odd, disjointed things, sitting here in semi darkness. Past scenes dancing in my mind, my brain aches from it. Maybe I have an aneurysm?
 Mike Harvey died when his brain exploded. Devoted heroin addict, dead from a rupture, ironic. He had white blonde hair, his mother's name was Georgia, why do I remember that? He was older than me by 6 or 7 years, he taught me where to fence boosted movies and weird shit like batteries and aspirin. The Arabs in the ghetto stores give 25%.
Driving up and down East California Ave and East Truxtun selling stolen tools to the crap auto yards that were most likely fronts for drug operations anyway. We got paid in the front and bought our dope in the back.
The alley off Brown St where every morning cars would line up for drive thru service, money through a hole in the fence, H over the top with a free dime of coke as an incentive to keep coming back. Fixing while he drove us home. He stole brake pads and put them on my old Regency so we could keep the money my mom gave me to take it in. He drove a red Volkswagen Beetle.
I told my grandmother he was my boyfriend so he could sleep at the house. I was fucking someone else. I sold my horses and we went to Vegas, the Heroin was gone before we crossed the city limits.
Sick in Vegas, tossing, turning, first real bout of sickness. Miserable. My mother wires me enough money for gas to get home and a little extra. We score crap dope cut with lactose and it gets us well enough. Fill up the car with a stolen gas card and drive from Nevada straight to the connect in Bako, finally real relief.
Back to the grind, drive, hustle, score, shoot, nod, rinse, repeat. I miss Mike. I miss my mint condition blue 77 Regency. The police called it the junky jalopy.
Got stolen and stripped when I was living with Casey off Union and Hwy 58. Cops found it a week later, the car was naked. No more junky jalopy.
Middle of summer, on foot, walking miles up Brundage to beg a front. Get well, hustle, hustle, hustle. Make $50, owe $20, what a bitch.
Dr. Swanson pill detox, $150 got you valium, clonodine pills and dermal patches, compazine, chloralhydrate syrup, soma, melatonin. I took some of everything and fixed on top, woke up with Casey, Joe and Will in a cold shower, they had to search and peel all the patches off me.
It's a blur, it's a blur, it's a blur and I miss it. I miss my supposedly wretched junky life. I miss being 16 and thinking that I'd be dead and buried in 3 years and not giving a fuck about it anyway. I miss doing speedballs in the hot summer heat and then sitting on the back steps, letting the waterhose run all over me, clothes and all. It felt like jello and my ears would ring and ring.
I need to lie down, give my head a nice, soft pillow to explode on.

Arrested Development Won't Help Me Here.

I love it when someone, anonymous of course, leaves me what he or she presumes is a biting comment and then fucks it all up by making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Yes I am a junky, possibly dumb although opinions vary but what the fuck does rationalizing hafta do with that particular line from my last post?
I wasn't quite as evolved in my drug use at that point in time and certainly no junky, so how does the way I felt then have one single, solitary thing to do with who/what I am now?
Is it rationalizing to admire someone for doing something so beautifully distasteful and unnecessary that it becomes awe inspiring? Yeah it was gross and kinda creepy but the fact that he even went there is almost poetic in it's own vile way. Respect is subjective, not to be lumped into one single category, one might assume that a person as mentally gifted as yourself would recognize that.
Moving on, I have no stories of young boys selling their virtue for a taco this evening, interesting as they may be. I am restless and have no patience for such things.
I am doing my damnedest to make this thing with Adrian die a quiet, peaceful death. I think it was sometime last week that I came to the realization that when one's life begins to resemble a Pat Benetar song, it's time to take action. I only thank God that Richie is far, far away and thus unable to complicate matters any more than they already are. I've been so fucking scattered these past few months, I don't think I could handle it.
I went for a ride with Maniac to kill time and ended up somewhere I shouldn't be, dealing with morons who have no place in my life at all. Some rotten toothed, arrogant, greasy business contact of Rainman's got a bit too pushy and I was escorted back to the truck after telling him that I refused to be dictated to by some Bobby Peru looking motherfucker who didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground! I couldn't help it really, that jerk off truly looked like he had been dining on crunchy gravel for the last 20 years and IFC has been running Wild at Heart all week. You can understand how I made the connection.
I went gladly and waited out the transaction, no foot dragging here! That house smelled exactly like his teeth looked, no great loss to sit in the car. I wasn't interested in their speed or their bullshit and was also preoccupied with the Adrian situation.
Once I got home, ate the dilaudid that R-man gave me and sat to try and figure shit out, I decided to attempt the pussy way out and just not answer the phone/door...ever again. I would've worked beautifully if not for the fact that Casey was in a pissy mood and the incessant ringing was driving him crazy.
I don't have the energy to go into details right now but let me just say, if love is a battlefield this has all the makings of a massacre. I'm just not in the right frame of mind to be nice about anything and my patience is deteriorating at an alarming rate.
If there was ever a time that I thought my arrested development put me on the same level as Adrian, I am over it now. I'm so glad I was done with highschool before I had to deal with crap like this. My experiences concerning the opposite sex were of a much more adult nature when I was his age and I always had the sense to know when something was done and over with. I never wanted to be that girl who was too stupid to know when to kick rocks and I never have been. I don't plead or try to bargain, I get out while the gettin's good and that is the best advice I can give anyone.
I sincerely wish Adrian was as good at reading the situation as I was, this soap opera is getting exhausting! I'll take as much responsiblity as is mine but no more than that. I obviously blurred the lines between innocent slap and tickle and serious involvement, yes I did. I also took it for granted that he would understand the difference and not be such a girl about it! *sigh*
Anyway, I'm working on this issue and asking myself how someone who looks like Adrian can be such a bitch about all this. I've been told that my attraction to him lies in fact that his being younger than me makes him less threatening but to agree with that would give credence to that voodoo they call psychology and that is something I won't do. I've been surrounded by threatening guys most of my life, why would I start to care now? Exactly, I wouldn't.
So I will go on my merry way, watch movies til dawn and hope that I will fall asleep at some point, not likely but I can dream.
Champagne wishes,