Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up



and realgem photos back soon, too

A week ago I was injecting almost a gram of heroin every day. What am I here to write on the fourth day of withdrawal?

How many of you have been here? If you haven't, ah well... Better not ever visit... you're not missing anything... I am: my customary fluency for a turn of word...

What am I here to write? WAR. War interests me. What human experience pushes you to unimagined extremes? I've never been to war. I've been in a war's backyard. My humanitarian parents took me there to bring me up... I've seen a woman burned head to toe in napalm... She was all orange... Don't know if that was the scar tissue, or some sort of ointment... That was when the Soviets were still in Afghanistan. The Afghan women washing clothes in the canal by the refugee camps in the god-forsaken Waziristan desert ran alarmed when we drove up... The only Europeans they'd ever seen the Russians who burned raped machinegunned poisoned their villages?

[AND: I just found a third thing that DOES NOT exist on the internet! I will bring it for you! It is a poem written by a British colonial officer stationed in a remote North-West Frontier posting... "Months of boredom, days of blood... Months of drought, weeks of mud... That's Waziristan..." Don't remember... Let me find it for you... You have to forgive my occasional tendency for Raj nostalgia... It is part of this strange mosaic, as well... And it's also where the heroin comes from, which also makes it part of the story...]

[But surely I would have signed up to go and explore and rule and fight and adventure and learn strange languages and customs in far places if the Empire were still here? Lord Jim, Opium Jones... and KIM! I was Kim...]

And the blood-nails-tearing clawing fight from HEROID back to HUMAN. Heroin is the only real drug. The only one that turns you into a different life-form entirely, changes your cells, mutates you into something else entirely... Check your Burroughs on this one...

SO HOW MANY PEOPLE? How many people ever visit these extremes of mind? Perhaps you've all been here - how do I know? This stinking security. This stifling benevolence. This... this... [Ths is why I resent my (now gone) wife. She has never seen UGLY DEATH in the face, though she thinks she has. Spoiled only-child princess diva, but in my moments of weakness I still cry about her...]

Homeless? They shepherd you through their system of hostels and half-way houses. Addicted? Sent from councillor to detox to doctor to rehab centre. Unemployed? Join this queue, fill this form. AND ALL OF IT: to encourage you to think of yourself as a victim. Fuck them. I will fight them til I die.

To be continued, I must go...