2009 July:

2009 April:

2009 March:

2009 February:

2009 January:

2008 December:

After living five-years under a thick and dizzy spell of mixed uppers and downers,
there are only two ways to quit (without relapsing).
One being death (duh)
and the other being hitting rock bottom,
(a stepping-stone til’ the black wardrobe comes to fashion).

It was a Tuesday,
and this day was the highlight of my seven-day-circle.
My friend visited me on this day only,
her name’s Ruby.
She was a pharmacist;
she was intelligible and knew her dope well.
When a convulsing addict,
a friend like Ruby is a divine gift.

I was unconsciously catatonic awaiting Ruby with queer ears. She wore steel-boots with a heavy cowboy-click, so when I heard her Texan-stomp, my feet kicked with Charlie-Chaplin excitement while jerking the knob to welcome my friend.
“I’ve got m-mo-orphine…. and uh, diamorphine! um…
c-coodeine….paracodeine!.. lorezepam, d-d-d-emorol,
annnddddd, four pellets of m-methadone!” stuttered Ruby ever-so casually as she strutted through the door with her high-hat on tight.
I, without hesitation prepared my works, warped-spoon to my left, hot-pot cranked boiling-pure-high with my cap sealed.The sober-jitters overwhelmed my bones; the pre-physicals were childishly orgasmic,
wiring my Catholic-school-girl-vulnerable veins to a full-fledged functioning fiend.
“I got the goods, aint’ you even gonna greet me?” questioned Ruby, implying I be polite and say hello, so, knowing this, I bowed to the queen.
Then she generously handed me the heavy bag of heavens. I cautiously pulled up my blood-stained sleeves and brushed the sweat beading off my forehead into my scruffy bangs.
“You-r-r arm!” cried Ruby.
“You’re –a-a sore b-bug-you!
You’re infested! You gotta go to-go-to a doctor!” she continued to ramble.
I was anxious for adventure,I didn’t want to have to explain the disparity of a fishing trip.
“Ruby, the blood-bank was dry, so what?” I rebutted,
awaiting a sympathetic response.
“Your c-c-contagious d-d-amnit!”
I was contagious, the abscesses-jelly was moulding to a volcanic gush out the pinprick poked in my arm, the spot was my last hope. A real poker, is like a wise fishermen, who with full concern continues to fish when the worm is out of site, hooking to nothing but a yee-ol’ excruciating infection.
“I’m t-t-tellin’ ya, there aint’ no-n-no pleasure pleasant enough to
p-p-lease that monster.”
Ruby was right, I was all out of veins; the throb was still fresh,
which meant I could have easily needled through the maroon-crust and melt in the
forbidden nectar! But……….. I didn’t want to be like One-Armed-Willy.
“Do you r-r-emember O-one Armed Wi-l-ly?” muttered the mind-reader,
as her shoulders shrugged in empathetic understanding.
“Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh, I knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww………. UGH!” I yawned, unable to find satisfying words.
“W-w-ell, I am a-a pharmacist, I c-c-a-n easily insert r-r-rectal
sup-p-ositor-ries…………..” suggested Ruby, while sneering half-moon lazily.
I knew my fever was an irresponsible fiend so…………………………………………………………………………………………...“I guess I’ll be more cautious than curious today” I said pouting like a puppy.
“B—b-end over!” demanded Ruby while standing with four pellets of methadone clenched in her ready-to-box fist. I unbuttoned my jeans (that I stole from my nearly-neighbours clothes hanger,)
breathing heavily (asthma almost,)
while bending over like a penniless whore, silently begging Ruby to give it to me.
“O-o-oooooooneeeeeee
t-t-twooooooooooooooooo –
three, f-f-f-ouuuuuuur, p-pellets up your ass!” shouted Ruby,
while clumsily touching my baby-bare-skin, staring at the cold-meat shake off my bones as I danced to find comfort in the pellets piled in my arse. “How long til’?” I questioned.
“ u-u-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…………………………………… n-now!”

Instantaneously, all auditory concepts melted to a toneless drunken slur,
my sight cognac-swirled,
then began to honk violently like
coked-up taxi-drivers off the meter.
The fiery urge to drop a Mexican load flamed,
the fire exploded, accelerating to exit
out the once-was-virgin peep-hole of my anus.

Ruby and I lye,
bone-less bodies mopping in a stinking sewer-pool of methadone and unusual bodily-fluids.

It was Tuesday, October 3rd when I hit rock bottom.