Showing posts from May, 2015

No Man is an Island- guest post from a loved one

Names have been changed  No Man is an Island   June 24th 2009 my phone rings.   On the other end is my wife.   For five minutes  all  I can hear is alternating between crying and screaming.   Finally  she  breaths  enough  to tell me her son is dead -- come home.   It had happened as it often does.   He had been found in his Grandmother’s bathroom  cold  and  blue. Benzodiazepine and heroin were the cause.   He had just gotten out of detox  but  was also facing time for possession.   His addiction was so strong that even  after  g etting popped for copping he went right back to the same spot and got busted  again .  He was scared of the prison time that was coming.   We will  never know if  it was an accident or running away from jail.   John  wasnt  always like this.   Addiction was  a slow and steady progression.   The  drunk  wrecking of his Dad’s truck  didnt  stop it.   The broken ribs and punctured lung  didn't  make him miss a beat.   The near death experience of just making

The World is a Better Place with You in it

It wasn't often that I felt love.  It wasn't often that I felt anything. Except the prick of that needle.  Except the sting of my tears.  I grew up to believe that love was some complicated mess of emotions never to be trusted. As a child growing up in suburban Ohio, having a two parent household wasn't a luxury. It was business as usual. Until I was much older, I never understood why my parents stayed together when it seemed like they stopped loving each other many years prior. He drank and she tried to get him to stop drinking. It was like like Ying  and Yang, the darkness and the existing in the same place. They were connected yet always apart.  It would be a stretch to say that no one loved me. My family certainly had problems but loving me wasn't one of them. I was easy to love. I was a chubby little smart ass kid who wanted to know everything. I used to kids in the school gum and candy to get them to talk to me. I was a trick before I knew what one was- always rea

Skeletons in my closet- Guest Post

Skeletons in my closet "You are only as sick as your secrets.." a phrase that has stuck with me for many years, as it is some of the truest words that I read in all my years. It means your sickness can be measured by the secrets you keep. The more you have, the sicker you are. I suppose it is intended to suggest that talking about your problems is healthy, while keeping them secret is unhealthy. I've carried secrets with me for as long as I can remember, and rarely would they ever be exposed to another person. There are secrets that I will take to my grave, but hopefully this inside look into my life will be the outlet for me to finally let them out. There have been things that have happened to me in life that I am ashamed of, the fear of being looked at differently because of these secrets is why I keep them inside. There are 2 people thatyou should   never lie to in life, your doctor and your lawyer...and during my psych appointment I've let out some of my deepest s

The Morning After

I noticed him from a 1/2 a block away. I was in my own world, to say the least, but he caught my attention. I noticed a small figure rocking back and forth. I wasn't sure who it was at first. These alleys drew a cast of characters. Because they were a few streets away from both the male hustler bars and the corners were females sold there services, anyone could turn up near my encampment. These people were transient. They came and went. Or I should say they came, they got paid, and they left. People like myself, we were the ones who were left holding the world on our shoulders. I lived here. I didn't not live in San Francisco. I did not live in the Tenderloin. I did not live- I existed. I was here on the fringe of human activity. I could scurry away like a rat when I was approached. I wasn't good enough to exist in the world of normal people. I found a place in Fern alley. It was close to a liquor store, a gas station where I could use the bathroom and a movie theater. It

I can pretend

He tossed the uncapped syringe at me, narrowly missing the side table. I eagerly grabbed my share of the drugs. I made a mental note to myself- yell at him later- as I started to wrap the rubber tie around my thigh. I was already naked from the waist down. Sometimes, I could find a vein right next to my snatch. My skin tight boxer shorts got in the way. I wore leggings under boxer shorts because I felt like it made me less rapeable. In this lifestyle, any female was seen as a whore with little ability to say no. I figured if I passed out, the perpetrator would have to make some serious effort to cut off my underclothes. "I took 50 and I gave you 30", he told me. As if this was okay somehow, because he told me. Offense number two. I wiped off my vein with an alcohol swab. I am not sure why I bother anymore. It seems like every month I am getting another fucking abscess. This shitty tar heroin. Cut with shoe polish, baby laxatives, and coffee. It smells like Folgers instant

This was my life

"Shhhhh. Shhhhhhh!!!" he tells me. "You hear that? They are out there." Oh my, I think to myself. This is why you should never EVER get a date some crack. "There is nothing out there" I tell him. I see the sweat start beading up on his forehead. He starts to unbutton his shirt as he moves towards the window. He hisses "turn out the lights!" I am not turning out the fucking lights. I know this for a fact. This is my room. I am not turning of the lights and getting stuck with this dude. He is pretty big but I can take him if necessary. I keep a knife under my pillow. There is also a broken pool cue under my bed. In reality, I just need to holler out the window. My room is just below my homey. He is up there selling speed. He would run down in an instant if he isn't up there tweaking and freaking with some delicate flower that hit her prime about ten years back. This dude, Ali, he is full on paranoid now. He starts stroking his dick throu

May all my dirt stain you- guest post from France

May all my dirt stain you soon A few lines of dope for you to know.... Does it worth It? I don’t think so. But I need them to think, Coz they make me speak... And I want you to know Coz you make me sick. I ve been a prostitute, my mistake an escort girl, A precious classy type one but I’m still a whore Made of your blood & sharing the same last name on our mail  Also making true your dream of a five stars hotel lifestyle I’ve been a drug dealer, a cocaïne Hustler, Carrying my stuff around in Paris by Night in my underwear, I didn’t know the cold, couldn’t remember the pain, Filling up my fancy bra with Sir Money and Brothers Dollars To buy myself the same designer bag as yours, So, Auntie, I’ll never be ashamed of my non possessions again. When I was daddy’s little girl, doing it all well, For the sake of your love, I even didn’t get a phone call, I fought most of my life, penniless, studying hard I ve cried each night out of 15 years. Noone cared.  Praying

Segment I did for the Huffington Post live