poniedziałek, kwietnia 03, 2006
Tweaker
1979. Frank was an awful guy but a great roommate. He was never around. It wasn't safe for him to enter Travis County, and so he'd slip in once a month in the middle of the night around the 3rd and leave his share of the money in cash on the TV set. The building manager was this Mrs. Roper type who wore big billowing florid Muumuus and never had a kind word for anybody; she wasn't as crazy about my having Frank as a roommate because the cops were starting to show up looking for him with alarming regularity and she didn't feel this reflected well on the building. Frank was the guy who introduced me to shooting speed.
Back when he could still safely enter Travis County we'd all shoot up in the bathroom of this chick's place and play new-wave 8-track tapes and shoot up some more; the rush was like being fucked by God, this giant body fucking meth and adrenaline blast that would leave me spent and quivering and dying for more. I'd wind up shooting so much speed during a two day period just to keep experiencing that God fuck rush over and over that I would be far too loaded to even move. We'd all sit around the chick's dining room table and someone would be talking and talking and talking and talking and everyone else would be clutching at the sides of the table like we were in the starting blocks waiting for the gun each of us hoping that the talker would take a deep breath and that we would be the first one outta the blocks, so that we could talk and talk and talk and talk and talk while everyone else clutched at the sides of the table waiting for that deep breath. Did anyone ever say anything? Who knows? No one was listening to the words, just for the pause. The starter's gun.
We all hated each other. And the same 8-track would play over and over and over, an endless loop of cheesy new-wave, running non-stop for a day and half, we were out of speed and all so loaded that we all feared a sudden move would cause us to explode splattering speed soaked blood guts and viscera all over the chick's walls. And so we sat there clutching the table waiting for the pause. Tweaker projects? We were way too loaded for any fuckin' tweaker projects. We were paralyzed. I never wanted to get high. I wanted to get low. I never understood why people took "mind expanding" drugs. Expanding my mind was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to contract it, shut it off, turn down the deafening white noise of my thoughts, and if I couldn't find anything that would do that then maxing out the volume on everything outside was the next best thing. A three day speed shooting binge gave me a sense of equilibrium.
Frank started fucking this very sad woman who worked at Le Femme massage. She had two kids. She wanted to open a clothing store. She was making decent money as a whore, and giving him whatever she had for free, so he started coming back into Austin. He got busted in a huge raid just on the other side of I-35 in East Austin; the cops blocked off the entire street and went in there with guns. I never knew what he was wanted for. I didn't keep in touch after he got busted. He was an asshole and completely useless to me when he was in prison. After he got out, he hooked back up with the massage chick. I saw in the papers he got busted for burning the kids with cigarettes.
He was a piece of shit, but he always had good speed.
undedo at 13:28