rants n raves
by tom miller
rants n raves
by tom miller
11/07/98 - 11:10 A.M.
cocaine, jail, and cat vomit
i'm especially happy these days.
it's because the writing has found me again and it is good. i was in a patch of darkness (what some writers except me like to call, writer's block.) but now i have seen the light.
and the light is truth.
in choosing to keep a journal and to be uncompromisingly honest; in choosing to publish things that may bring me harm; in choosing to confront everyday topics that everyone thinks about but nobody seems willing to discuss, i have found my voice.
once a writer stops writing butterfly poetry and cuts to the truth, there's no stopping the flow of language. it becomes effortless. it becomes meaningful.
that's why i'd like to discuss cocaine.
*****
i'm in the club last night with a mission. to drink as much beer as i can for twenty dollars and play darts and look at all the beautiful people. it's a great life i have. such lofty heights i reach in my aspirations. so easy to achieve my goals.
this guy comes over. he must have been nearing fifty. he was drunk; drunker than me. he was friendly. all the bartenders hated him. i said hello.
i like talking to strange friendly men. maybe it's because my father was a weak man and an alcoholic. maybe it's because my mother was a shrew. maybe it's because i was adopted. maybe it's because our family dog tried to eat a frog and died from poisoning. but i'm strange like that.
and boy, could he ramble on about nothing. but i was engaged in his conversation because i knew he was annoying everyone else in the bar. this is the technique i have used for over two decades to meet most of the geniuses i know.
"i'm in real estate," he said.
"yeah?" i asked.
"sure i am."
"okay," i said.
"i been to jail. got about thirty tickets. drugs."
"uh huh."
"yep. but i'm better now."
"sure you are."
"want some coke?"
"sure."
he handed me a device that looked like a crystal bullet. in a way, it was a crystal bullet.
"you know how to use a bullet?" he asked.
"sure." i replied.
i went off in a corner and snorted a metered dose out of the chamber and then brought it back. it hit me smooth. it was clean and crisp. best shit i've had in years.
"so i'm in real estate."
"right."
"i'm married, but i like to hang out in gay bars."
"okay. yeah. sure."
"can i buy you a beer?"
"sure."
i drank it. he drank a gin and tonic and complained that he paid $3.25 for his drinks downstairs, but upstairs, the bartender was charging $2.00.
i explained to him that the drink was on special and the downstairs bartender must have forgotten.
"so, do you think i could go downstairs and get a free one?"
"sure," i said.
"want another bump?"
"okay."
i went off in a corner and hit the other nostril. that's all i needed. it was a great buzz all night. he went off and got another drink. now he was good and drunk.
the bartenders hated him.
i thought he was great.
*****
after most of the people had gone home, i needed to use the restroom. i asked the doorman, james, if i could go upstairs and use the one up there. he unlocked the gate and i went up and pissed.
when i came back down, the gate was locked. i put my hands on the bars and pretended i was in jail. i pretended i wanted to get into real estate. i pretended i was fifty.
i waited for five minutes, but no sign of james. so i went back upstairs, unlocked the back door, went down the back stairs and out onto the dance floor. everybody was moving their bodies and throwing their arms around and making poochy faces with their lips and thrusting their hips, but nobody was dancing.
i went up the front stairs and was about ready to get out of there, when james confronted me, and boy was he mad.
"did you unlock the back door?"
"yeah," i said.
"you shouldn't have done that. you know better than that." he was scolding me like a child. he was acting like a little anal retentive girl.
"i was locked in up there. you locked me in."
"well," he said, "you're not supposed to unlock the back door. you shouldn't have done that. you know better than that."
"sorry," i said. "it's just that you locked me in there and i wanted to get out. i waited five minutes for you."
"you know better than that," he said.
it was like i had just lit the club on fire or killed one of the patrons or taken a shit on the turntable.
i tell ya, first, they lock you up. then you get out and find the world can be a bitchy whining cunt.
some people are better off in jail. not me. i like bitchy whining cunts.
i like james a lot. he's a great guy. he does a great job. i respect him for his military service to the country. i just wish he would pull the tampon out of his ass every once in awhile.
*****
tom's intake for friday
3 cups coffee
half a joint
two bumps cocaine
1 shot tequila
1 vodka & coke
3 amstel lights
8 killian's
*****
the next morning, i woke up and eliminated some beer from my system and replaced it with coffee.
patty (she's the beautiful girl that lets me live in her house) came back from the store with a case of pepsi.
"hey," she said.
"hi," i replied.
"i made some coffee," she said.
"thanks," i replied. "it's great."
"you know what's funny?" she asked.
"what?" i asked back.
"the dogs wait around by the cat when she's eating because they know she's going to throw up. then they eat it."
"that's great," i said.
and it was.
back...