Uncontrolled Substances (huffingtonpost.com)
One already has an opinion… one already thinks something.
Thats how it is. Whatever. Prior rock-star life-style, current unintelligible Brit, physically as dried up as a retired Arizonian in the sun sitting on a lawn-chair with that reflector.
That’s the image. If one is a public figure, one cannot complain about public image.
And I can’t lie… I’m not a public figure to be scrutinized… I’m not a Rolling Stone as I do gather some moss (plus, I’m not a million years old) and awesome… well, as Keith Richards is…. but I am guilty. Based on nothing except hearsay… I feel that we are brethren. This is as bad, if not worse, than someone, based on nothing except hearsay, dismissing KR in the name of jesus or whatever god.
I’m always grabbing at psychological straws, however. And, I’m always, at this point, trying to figure out how “to do it”.
Apparently, there is this book… this memoir… this account of things that may have really; actually have happened.
Life. It’s called.
I haven’t read it in the same way I will not read Anthony Bourdain‘s ‘Kitchen Confidential‘. Because really?!, do I need to think about being on drugs (the latter, in Manhattan restaurants) more than I already do?
Maybe I do… but, currently, probably not.
Because I have read neither, I don’t know what I’m fuckin’ talking about at all. Anthony Bourdain is cool as hell.
But when Keith Richards comes out with a book… current/ex/whatever junkie… or, at the very least, I, have to take notice.
Actually, not have to… I take notice.
This was just supposed to be a meta-post thing to read this review of this memoir.
…but really is the extremist route really the way to treat an extremist? I wouldn’t ask this question if I, didn’t, myself degree-down on my own.
1. a young and adorable-as-hell artistic needle-wielding cocaine user (2 years; daily)
2. a bit older… still very young; questionably artistic meth (and I mean, meth so clean and so clear that I’ve never come across this quality to this day)… (2 years… daily… EV-ERY-DAY… frank (the best business person I have ever known)… needles
3. a move to LA.. and a relative sabbatical of sorts; filled by a daily diet of diet snapple iced tea and sleep … yeah, eating disorders come into play (or the DSM guide or… wait, not a public figure… running under the radar… doing what I want… or just doing what I do)… it doesn’t matter
4. the restaurant on melrose. not looking for anything (my denial works for and against me)… gio.. it’s been a while… meaning both of us have worked in the same, rote capacity for a while. Somehow, this = trust. Trust-esque established and felt, into it, just talking. Casual. He is delivery and it is slow.
I didn’t bring it up. I was, by then, on my own, apple/water/crack-style jamba juice/nothing/2 oranges…. I was doing my thing. And it was strong.
But there was that one day. It was slow. Gio was behind the bar…. chillin’. We started to talk… about drugs… I was and did the whole, “I used to do a, b, c all the time… but that was a long time ago”; then it was:
“I can get anything for you.” Still casual.
But, all of the sudden, it was… meth meth he can get me meth maybe… my brain lighting up… my heart pounding with the mere possibility. A raging and even sexual arousal that I have not felt in my entire time in Los Angeles.
As he went on his deliveries and I worked.
My heart beating at 200 bpm… okay… maybe less. My head as light and disconnected as that flu balloon commerial from the 90’s.
The lack of food and metabolism and drugs rendering me glazed… reflexes slow… all of the sudden, with the possibility of meth on my mind… I was 200 bpm and anxious and paranoid but in the best possible way. this was the longest shift in history.
I didn’t specifically want or need it… but I had to ask.
I did ask.
And thus started my 2nd or so daily meth-thing. Needles for a second… then I realized, unlike NY, meth was ubiqutious here and therefore, one could get it easily… but the quality… well, you know
So, I have tapered down considerably… and even more now… now the speed is pills and then there is this whole benzo thing, but whatever
Why is 12-step the only thing? I’ve worked and succeded at turning it down from 11. I’m not speaking heroin, I’m not speaking needles… which carry their own weight. And I may be 7 (if you like numbers) but I’m absolutely not abstinent.
Why isn’t there another option?