Tag Archives: Drug

still staring at the hexagons

It was a Wednesday. Mid-week. I am best, theoretically-speaking, mid-week. I have a couple of hours to kill, so I decide to do what I’d always done when I find that I need to kill time. I walk approximately 30 blocks down Madison Avenue toward 23rd street, stopping by a Starbucks here and there to end up at Madison Square Park. I sit on the bench. And stare at the hexagons on the ground.

It all sounds very easy.

I had done this a million times before. Different parks. Usually, it was Union Square Park. Yes, so I had done this a million times before… until it was second nature… but this is now. I hadn’t killed time in this manner in what seems like a million years.

And, I am buzzing.

Not drug-buzzing (though, there is a part of this that we will get to later). The natural internal buzzing. The inability to ‘just be…’, to blend in with what surrounds one and give way to time. That buzzing of years past. I’d include the poem here, but this author is too protective of random things that keep the world in place.

Anyway, that buzzing. The buzzing of indecision and uncertainty.

Somehow, I go with it. Sit on the bench… initially stare at the hexagons… look toward the hexagons almost for some semblance or answer or something. I think cerebral thoughts. I remember that I sort of cherished this sort of moment. My brain crazy with stories. Currently, though, I am blank. Just stare… blankly outward. And I wonder, god, what have I done?

Catastrophizing as your author does.

It isn’t a catastrophe, however. I take the uncomfortable-to-write-in moleskin notebook that is small enough to carry places out of my bag. I write, “so, I don’t know what the middle-ground is. Maybe there is no middle-ground”.

deep.

At this point, though shifting, I am still primarily in cerebral territory.

Yes, I acknowledge the buzzing. This misguided sort of energy. I also acknowledge the blankness in my head. Then, I think of the ADD drugs. The speed in a pill. And this is what I speak of when I say, “middleground”.

I, for the most part, in the broadest of definitions, finally got what I want… what I once thought that I need. …in a legal way that is regulated, even.

And now?

Now, I write, “I can’t do it without the drug… I can’t do it with the drug, either, maybe [as evidenced by today]. By “it”, I mean, “life”.”

Eventually though, I shift (or rather, my cerebral found some cerebral spinal fluid to float within), and as always, it is time that has determined everything. Time. Don’t misunderstand, I didn’t again become the bursting-at-the-seems, artist-writer, of years past. This would be impossible. I can never go back. And though, I could barely wrap my head around how it is I am how I am now or how this version of me has evolved from that one, I recognized the fact and had to light a candle for it’s death.

Metaphorically, speaking.

Kind of like when people die in dreams or whatever. The whole representation of a death of a part of one and the resulting opening of a door. It’s always sad.

But, I guess… “deal with it… because this is just how it is now.”

So, as I sit, wait, stare at the hexagons and increasingly become more a part of my surroundings; I wonder how I could possibly proceed from here.

This [post] would possibly be more interesting if it were more ‘multimedia’. And we do have something.* But… this is a writer’s post. And thus, you get words.

*update (04 Jul 2011): Okay, fine… at 23rd Street, we are a glutton for multimedia:

Just another parable from the folks at 23rd Street.

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Tragic Flaws, Change & Drugs

In reference to In Other Denial for Convenience’s Sake News… (also in combination with it)… I have a stupid sound bite from a ghey show that I used to watch in Chelsea on my 13 in TV that I somehow suspended from the “ceiling” aka the bottom of the loft bed that I lived beneath. Sundays, my only day off, hungover… no meth, just conscious enough to cock my head up toward the suspended box that, if I recall correctly, only really had like 4 stations because it was working off of an antenna …waiting for frank…. passing the blurry time before I could call him. (the dealer).

Disregarding the “you’re not a drug addict” part…

many drug addicts (I believe) rely on the fact that they are sooooo “out of the box”. interesting. artistic.

Bullshit.

I guess, because the way I look at things are exponentially changing these days.

Whatever.

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Don’t need Sunglasses to Dull the Sheen

So, I suppose, as a self-proclaimed ‘drug blog’, the folks at 23rd Street should chime in about Charlie Sheen.

Nope.

I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know. I watched 2 seconds (well, more) of some interview out there on these here interwebs. In these sorts of instances, I don’t really care to judge or have an opinion. I have more of an opinion about the whole CBS/Chuck Lorre effect. This because, I work in entertainment (not Charlie Sheen-entertainment, mind you, ha!).

But however he is; whatever is happening… to him; to CBS; to whatever… he does bring up the most prevalent & seemingly important (at this point in my drug life) question… or concern… or just, what the fuck?! Why is it only AA or NA or something A?

Honestly… I am kind of ready. Yes, I am definitely ready to not be dependent on anything outside of myself… I am an island and always have been. Never dependent. Except for pills and drugs. People?! Fuck you!. But, now, even drugs (maybe with the exception of a time-released version of prescription speed). …I’m just being honest.

So, lets do this thing!

But I don’t have an option… I have 2 apparently: NA or drugs.

One way to get out.

One way to stay in.

Why?

Interviewer: you say you cured yourself of addiction.

CS: yes

I: How have you done that?

CS: I closed my eyes and made it so… with the power of my mind. And unloaded 22 years of fiction and just decided that I don’t believe that anymore and know my own truth and thats what I stand on right now.

I: What kind of fiction?

CS: The fiction of AA. It’s a silly book written by a broken-down fool. …who is a plagiarist. They think that it’s a one-size-fits-all, but it didn’t fit me and I got tired of subscribing to something with a 5% success rate.”

Not saying anything about anyone or anything about anything in this instance… in a vacuum (which I understand this particular person is not in… nor is anyone), but, in a fuckin’ theoretical vacuum… this guy has done the AA program. He’s been there. He’s done it.

and for: 22 years!

That’s well over half of my entire existence on this planet. Thus, he fuckin’ stuck it out.

So, what am I supposed to think?

Again, not going to judge… but though he says that he has found an alternative… “…the power of my mind” is vague as hell. We can re-create cells in a lab… manipulate DNA… and I’m not saying that this is as definitive as just science… but behaviour modification, as well, in itself never lasts… and the pseudo-science of psychology…

…there has to be some combination. Or something.

I don’t have figures; I don’t know what I’m talking about… but why, in this day and age… when more people than a census can count are either addicted or dependent (WTF is the difference?) on a substance and furthermore, die because of these prescribed “dependences” and their blind third eye + their ignorance of swallowing a pill…

I mean, fuck you. Yes, ‘fuck you’ is unoriginal… but exclusively angry here.

I’m just saying, one would think that there would be more than one option to treat than some antiquated betty ford bullshit that was created decades before the drug abuse statistic started to rise exponentially with each passing year.

And, I’m just realizing… it’s probably this way for a reason.

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“how much do I owe you?”

“don’t worry about it… just pay me in drugs“.

I would love to regale you with the following little story.

Just around the time this little blog was born, one could describe me as grey… exceedingly grey. The meth was gone, my head a cloud of dead synapses… um… just grey.

But because I am a jack of many trades within my given realm of interest, along-side my job-job… I decided to edit demo reels… for actors. A demo reel or show reel, for those of you who do not know, is basically a visual video resume. It may seem like a no-brainer or an unartistic venture, but the assembling of said reels takes a bit of skill and talent. Because I was drowning in the sea of name-dropping and kissing ass that is Hollywood, I thought why not inject myself with a bit of creativity? (pun intended) I thought ‘who knows actors better than an actor‘. No, you haven’t heard of me. ‘Who knows how to edit better than someone that understands narrative and flow? Someone that has made films’. …still haven’t heard of me. ‘Who would be able to showcase talent in  a visual manner better than a talent manager-ish’.

And so, even in my exceeding haze, I was able to, compile great reels in a casual manner.

What does any of this have to do with dysfunction and/or drugs? So, I’m working very closely with Actor A in order to compile a demo reel. It was alot of work… but I didn’t mind it. It is always, for me atleast, more interesting to have so many great scenes to work with and have to do more work consequently than to try to create something out of nothing (ie, actors with no material that want a reel). I’ll do either, I’m just saying.

Then, Actor A’s reel: done! My first, I would have to say, quality/professional job. It was great shit. And we both new it. And so, we come full circle:

“how much do I owe you?”

At the time, I didn’t even know. Again, grey/barely able to focus on one thing/this whole art and commerce dissident I’ve had forever. And so, “whatever” is what came out of my mouth.

“Whatever” is not what comes out of my mouth now, however.

Now, I, in fact was actually able to focus on more than one thing. Editing and during editing sessions, sort of softly directing conversation… ever so softly.

You see, Actor A and your author, here, have in common certain past experiences, allegedly. My job was to make Mr or Ms A aware of a general vibe of the aforementioned certain past experiences in your author’s experience. Now, “A” is a client, not only of mine now, but of the company for which I work, and though our policy on certain things are much more lax than anywhere that functions at this level… I still had to be careful.

It didn’t start out this way, but the idea slowly began snowballing a bit inside my head. What idea? Um… “…the just pay me in drugs”-idea. What I did have going for me was that “A”, at the time, did sell pot to one of my bosses regularly. This was no secret. Atleast among my boss and I and “A”.

Anyway, done! We were done. Ahhhh!!! Okay, I just had to do it. I had brought it to a nice awareness point… and in a joking manner, I say something to the effect of, “if you can get me some meth, it’s totally free…. ha ha ha ha…” sigh… Then, it was more like, “no, really.”

You must understand that I didn’t quit using meth the second time strictly because I was ‘over-it’…. though I must say that I was…. but because, for one reason or another, I no longer had a dealer. If I hadn’t been ‘over-it’, I would have gone and gotten one. Like I did the time before and the time before that. I believe that I must have had 5 or so different meth dealers in CA in two years. NY was only one, baby!… he still brings a smile to my face. Baby digressions aside, there is a strange sort of mini-high that comes along deciding that you are over meth and just won’t do it really. This strange sort of very very very mini-high lasts all of a few days, at the most. Now, you have to understand that this was just short of a year after “I’m over it”.

grey as hell and no end in sight. A bag of meth would have been nice.

And it was.

to be continued.

I must say that I might be impressed. This post is a throw-back to the beginning… you know, proper posts, when I wrote stories (semi-autobiographical, at that)… rather than stumbling around on the interwebs and re-posting interesting drug links. yeaaaaaayyyyahhhhh!!!

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Get High Now

Theta Wave Synchronization (Get High Now)

So, whatever. Drugs are still the preferred way of ‘getting high’, if you will. That’s not what this is about. As someone that is a primarily non-drug-using drug addict, there’s this whole sleep thing that sometimes doesn’t happen.

In that capacity, this is kind of cool. Try it.

 

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Holy Cocaine, Batman.

Who the fuck knows?

...or the other coke?

so, that happened.

oh, you know, the whole coke thing. I mean, I really had no real desire to do or not do it. And, by this time I was pretty fucked up, over-over-over the limit drunk. …I believe. Yes, I was.

I only did 2 lines. But it was nice, a nice little “Hello, 2011!”.

Apparently, there were drugs all over this bitch, though. I guess I was just so distracted and unaware. Or maybe it was more like, “try to keep the drugs away from the drug addict“. Eh, either way, it’s probably better. Because really, it’s probably actually better to “keep the drugs away from the drug addict”. It was a small party… and everyone is pretty aware of the extent of the needle-wielding junkie that was I. So, I guess it’s nice.

Anyway, the last time I did coke, I believe was in 2004. Barring any parties or any other incidental times that may have slipped my mind. But I was pretty much self-conditioned in my unintentional Pavlovian shooting so much coke that I needed to drink warm straight vodka from a coffee cup. So, I don’t believe that there were any incidental times in Los Angeles. Ironic… or something, huh? Eh, I guess just leave Los Angeles for a softer, more controlled version of my discontinous though long and hearty dance with my meth. So, it’s nice.

I don’t know why I continue to write, “so, it’s nice”. But I guess, it’s nice because I’ve finally stopped my DT’s and sweating cocaethalyne (the oh so lovely bastard child of coke’s dance with alcohol) out of every pore of my body. And finally feel a bit stable-ish. Now, it’s just the dehydrated exhaustion. And this can be fixed with a little klonopin followed by sleep.

Again, nice!

Anyway, that’s how it went down (minor details, here and there thrown to the wind every time I may have exhaled my physically sweet and physiologically toxic breath this night in question)… I must say I get very self-righteous when properly wasted. Having random though strong opinions about things then having the balls (…or synaptic connectivity) to express said things with a conviction that I rarely ever have if not for the ethanol.

Everyone else went down, but my little friend and I were on the elevator when the ball-dropped. …and no, my ‘little friend’ is not a line of something or a drink in hand… it was an actual friend… like human. And so, out the doors on 46th and 8th. We missed it by a second. …Like we cared. It actually feel it makes me superior… like, really, do I need to see the ball drop, no. But could I have given very little effort? yes. See, I’m not a ‘privileged’ person, in certain ways… so, sometimes, I relish the privilege card.

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Living the Dream: What Kind of Drug are You?

Yes, I acknowledge the general lack of “non-link-to-other-things-online” posts as of late. I acknowledge this fact and breathe it in.

…okay. Enough breathing.

What Kind of Drug Are You?

This is awesome.

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