“I’ve seen a lot of people walking around with tombstones in their eyes.” 1
So began an odyssey of disillusionment, playing the games of the dealers we drew, or quasi-knew, best. "Waiting For the Man" (as romanticized by Lou Reed), is only one of the pettier crimes, and wastes-of-your-time, brain-drains manifested by the Dealer. He / She (It, in some cases), having nothing but time and tricks up their sleeve, and in possession of a deadly brilliant, unquestionably twisted, I.Q., know full well (being on an intimate basis with Hell) they hold the exact "cards" you want; assessing how badly you need them, bidding against you, and doling out stuff on their own sweet accord, are just some of their sadistic ways of playing God.
We sorely tried to maintain an intellectual stance with them, of the gist of things.....(pleading "in all fairness", etc.)....BLAH BLAH BLAH....WOUAHHH!.....Get a grip! Allergic / anemic to playing fair, meticulously maintaining the upper hand, dealers are OBSESSIVE CONTROL FREAKS, relishing in and capitalizing on the fact....admittedly....tangible physical qualities of..... discomfort are involved...and the bottom line is....NYAH NYAH NYAH.....they're holding and you're not. This lowest common denominator tied our fates together, bringing us down, way down....dirty back alleys downtown.
We sought peaceful and soothing flights of fancy, our experiments flourished on a continuous, and guaranteed pure, source of supply. This is impossible dealing on the street level, navigating the chaos of tangled emotions, manipulations of the human spirit, and brute forcefields of control and persuasion. We had neither stamina nor patience for dysfunctional interminglings with jaded junkies and unholy vampires. We attempted bonding a trusting relationship with a select few; it proved a joke. They are all jokers - bloodsuckers and flesh eaters. Our bodies and minds aren't part of the bargain, kind Sirs and Madams. We do not trade flesh sex for flesh stone, nor do we play capricious mind games for fronts.
Sigh! the inevitable inevitably occurs, the unfortunate wearing of one's reserves under strain (itching, scratching, aching, languishing). Desperate situations arise, whereby one resignedly negotiates the selling of one's Soul to the most blatant of satyrical satanic saints, for nothing more than one lousy, super-cut, fix. And once having done so, it becomes easier to do again, irrevocably coming back to haunt one forever (in scary flashbacks and estranged memory glitches). "Dirty deeds done dirt cheap"...with the infamous dirty needles to boot.
Outrageous sums were thus obtained and unwillingly handed over. We tooled out over a hundred dollars a day to maintain our "habits" - scratch that - "experiments", and still ended up getting screwed every time. M's car accident left us with a steady disposable income; it was no fun turning it over to cannibal cretins (slowly eating us alive). Consider our Dealer - Cyclopean Scar-faced Lurch - an unsavory persona, bullshitting a sleazy palsy-walsy with us, under the arrogant pretense we belonged to a "higher class" of junkies (due to literary, pseudo-intellectual, homoerotic (on his part) hero worship of the writer William S. Burroughs). Lurch maximized our displeasure (having paid him upfront) by playing hooky all over town; invariable no-shows, and multiple metro exit / entrance sightings gone south, incited incriminating phone tag ("NO compromising his terms"). Meanwhile, we knew full well he was home shooting up the goods, skimming the top off our end, adding various poisons to beef the weight, and laughing Hideous Kinky at our expense.......
There's natural additives by which a dealer ensures his token percentage; baby laxatives, baking powders, sugars, etc. Most dealers trade a full menu of substances, and have readily available
pills of lesser opiate quality to throw in the mix; crushed Percodan,
Percocet, Codeine, 222's, Tylenol....arsenic, strychnine, or rat poison (if you are highly unlucky, and they're rivaling black magicians keeping a death count (badass fentanyl arrived way after our time). Smack's nauseous reputation / reaction is legendary on its first dates, with daily usage an endorphin receptor threshold is reached which overrides the puke spasm. Every street purchase we made started out hopeful...... moments later, hours of retching misery, Sufferin’ Succotash from those nasty, elusive, tainted, cutting agents (or we were total wimps). Granted, every drug has its hosts of side effects,
still....chills, devastating migraines, 60-watt-lightbulb-inducing-searing-eye-blinding-pain, and total sun anathema (shades, anyone?) is no groovy enlightened vampire's idea of fun. Drawing the blinds, crawling eyeless back into the womb.....crashing fetal in the closet / coffin, all for DELING DELING, a Scammer's Fist of Nothing (Dealer’s diabolical laughter echoing).
1 Steppenwolf, "The Pusher"
So began an odyssey of disillusionment, playing the games of the dealers we drew, or quasi-knew, best. "Waiting For the Man" (as romanticized by Lou Reed), is only one of the pettier crimes, and wastes-of-your-time, brain-drains manifested by the Dealer. He / She (It, in some cases), having nothing but time and tricks up their sleeve, and in possession of a deadly brilliant, unquestionably twisted, I.Q., know full well (being on an intimate basis with Hell) they hold the exact "cards" you want; assessing how badly you need them, bidding against you, and doling out stuff on their own sweet accord, are just some of their sadistic ways of playing God.
We sorely tried to maintain an intellectual stance with them, of the gist of things.....(pleading "in all fairness", etc.)....BLAH BLAH BLAH....WOUAHHH!.....Get a grip! Allergic / anemic to playing fair, meticulously maintaining the upper hand, dealers are OBSESSIVE CONTROL FREAKS, relishing in and capitalizing on the fact....admittedly....tangible physical qualities of..... discomfort are involved...and the bottom line is....NYAH NYAH NYAH.....they're holding and you're not. This lowest common denominator tied our fates together, bringing us down, way down....dirty back alleys downtown.
Dave Simonds cartoon
Another "trickle" of truth in the trade....."The Pusherman’s"2 a USER, MAN (at the very least, using you as his dope). A very sad state of affairs, for one's best interests are hardly taken to heart by another ...addict. So-called "Precious" is cut by each palm it crosses, Word. There's no way to pay "extra" before the goods are "modified" - this is primo black market territory, everybody along the line from the Taliban down gets a share. Who do you know? What favors can you stockpile? The only way in / out is to cultivate “friendships” ("favors" - sexual or otherwise) with dealers, or to be a supplier of "stuff" (preferably in demand). We'd taken these trade routes in the past, forsaken silk roads proven completely inimical to our present code of ethics......We sought peaceful and soothing flights of fancy, our experiments flourished on a continuous, and guaranteed pure, source of supply. This is impossible dealing on the street level, navigating the chaos of tangled emotions, manipulations of the human spirit, and brute forcefields of control and persuasion. We had neither stamina nor patience for dysfunctional interminglings with jaded junkies and unholy vampires. We attempted bonding a trusting relationship with a select few; it proved a joke. They are all jokers - bloodsuckers and flesh eaters. Our bodies and minds aren't part of the bargain, kind Sirs and Madams. We do not trade flesh sex for flesh stone, nor do we play capricious mind games for fronts.
Sigh! the inevitable inevitably occurs, the unfortunate wearing of one's reserves under strain (itching, scratching, aching, languishing). Desperate situations arise, whereby one resignedly negotiates the selling of one's Soul to the most blatant of satyrical satanic saints, for nothing more than one lousy, super-cut, fix. And once having done so, it becomes easier to do again, irrevocably coming back to haunt one forever (in scary flashbacks and estranged memory glitches). "Dirty deeds done dirt cheap"...with the infamous dirty needles to boot.
There's natural additives by which a dealer ensures his token percentage; baby laxatives, baking powders, sugars, etc. Most dealers trade a full menu of substances, and have readily available
pills of lesser opiate quality to throw in the mix; crushed Percodan,
Percocet, Codeine, 222's, Tylenol....arsenic, strychnine, or rat poison (if you are highly unlucky, and they're rivaling black magicians keeping a death count (badass fentanyl arrived way after our time). Smack's nauseous reputation / reaction is legendary on its first dates, with daily usage an endorphin receptor threshold is reached which overrides the puke spasm. Every street purchase we made started out hopeful...... moments later, hours of retching misery, Sufferin’ Succotash from those nasty, elusive, tainted, cutting agents (or we were total wimps). Granted, every drug has its hosts of side effects,
still....chills, devastating migraines, 60-watt-lightbulb-inducing-searing-eye-blinding-pain, and total sun anathema (shades, anyone?) is no groovy enlightened vampire's idea of fun. Drawing the blinds, crawling eyeless back into the womb.....crashing fetal in the closet / coffin, all for DELING DELING, a Scammer's Fist of Nothing (Dealer’s diabolical laughter echoing).
1 Steppenwolf, "The Pusher"
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