But today, a bright hot july my forth day of uninterrupted consciousness Up all night with a friend and all her troubles. She had called me away from the bar after two lagers twelve rum and cokes a buttery nipple and something blue out of a drag queens high heel.
Being sober around someone on six grams is it?s own sort of marathon, matching wits through drowned senses is a one way ticket into the grave of their delusions. That?s why I thought
?Shit not this again? as she tossed the contents of the top drawer of her dresser with ritual desperation. Callings from the chaos by sheer force of week will a battered faux antique tin.
Coke heads and tweakers get the same unnerving smile. Maybe it?s the way their eyes threaten to explode in some sort busy glittery mess. But it?s a smile that suggests to many incongruent things all locked together in the same confused death struggle. A smile that could eat you kiss you curse you and bless you, drag you to the moon and undress you. Not to mention pleasure a boy while pilfering his pockets. With angel corps lips and yellow teeth.
I couldn?t sneak a word in with a Sherman tank as an escort, it would just get lost in a pointless twister of self defeating quasi spiritual dribble that all coke heads spout. That moment of powdered epiphany they all share when they start seeing DEA vans every other block. Disturbingly enough they start off with different images but their stream of consciousness always seems to eddy restlessly in the same rut. It?s always the same perverted Jungian pabulum that doesn?t allow for any real conclusions. I am not down playing Jungian thought, but under the devils dandruff it is a hopeless thing to watch logic sink.
Finally she called me her only friend and cried herself to sleep in my arms. My brain was no longer subject to the to and fro motion of a dingy in a sea of alcohol.
I held back the bile all night but my head was completely unforgiving. It was time to slip out of the now rigid and childlike arms and into the hostile morning.
The light rushed in like a battering wind, or a call from your creditors at 6am Pacific Standard Time, or a particularly long lecture from a complete stranger who swears she is you maternal aunt Helena. My head was being thoroughly excavated by the creatures that hid in the rocks in my garden, it was for the good of science or something. By the time they had blasted the good bits about my child hood, Christmas, and the names of the fifty states in alphabetical order I was left only the slag of finding a room mate and how long it will take me to drain the swamp in my kitchen.
