An "old" friend (56,like me) and I were discussing the life and times of a dead comrade yesterday. "He took too much dope, his mind was gone," said my old buddy. "We did as much as him," I said. "You did more than he did" says my pal,"that's what's wrong with you." Well, now. I always wondered exactly what's wrong with me.
I don't think anything is wrong with me. Not a popular position in the psychoculture of ex dope fiends I find myself wallowing through the American morass with. I'm supposed to be sorry. Ha Ha Ha. I'm not now, never have been, never will be. Neither was our pal. So, fuck you Dennis, and your little dog "Pete." You're still mad we didn't take you when we got all that good acid and black hash and went to see "Hellboy" with your girlfriend and your sister.
I was fucked up before I ever got high. Alcohol (my fave) and drugs kept me glued together till I was ready to do something about it. When I was ready the shit stopped working. There was a fairly brief and horrible period where it didn't work and I couldn't stop but I got straightened out on that after a while. I'm still kind of fucked up but much less so. As drugs go, alcohol's about as bad as it gets but I don't blame the booze. Like I said, I'm glad it was there.
ReplyDeleteIt all worked well for me, if you could ever call me well, anyway. I was loaded for 30 years, it bothered me the last five. My favorite breakfast was a joint, 48 ounces of cold (had to be cold) shlitz malt liquor and a big blast of opiates of some kind. I stopped liking it. I got clean and boy am I ever glad I did. It's good for me to talk or write about it, it handles the "thoughts" I always have in the morning. It's hard getting used to a new religion. HA!
ReplyDeleteIf I had gone for the glue I may have some regrets worth singing about. People are like horses: some never make it to the races; some can only sprint; some prefer grass; some are stayers; some can only do what they do with a shot of cobra venom now and again.
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