impro
Posted: May 12th, 2006, 5:32 pm
Just-in-caser: if you're sensitive&one of your ex-close ones has died because of an overdose, and you still aren't over it, it might not be a good idea to read this. A lot of if's , but right now I'm not in a mood to hurt people.
I'd also understand if you didn't like it, I haven't written dark stories for a long time.
================
Alone in a room
the distant tv is glaring, the others are probably there injecting needles
I feel angry
My arm lashes out, total reflex, I don't control it
as if I was going to slap someone on the face
except that my arm extends as it lashes out
like chewing-gum
and grows so long it rakes against the wall and up against the ceiling, making a hole and breaking tiles and everything
holy shit
I freeze
and don't want to move my arm again
who knows what it'll do
I want to get up
and all of a sudden I'm out of the house, blades of grass stretching all the way up to the night sky.
I want to say something to the moon
and then the moon says
beebeeebeebeeeeeebeebeeeeeeeebeeeeebeeebeeeebeee
and I understand every
single word
and then I lose it
At this point, I'd like to tell you a bit about an sociology experiment on peer pressure.
Ten people are put in a room, nine of them being actors, the last one being the test subject and having been told that the nine others are test subjects too.
There are 2 lines against the wall, line A clearly being longer than line B by a few inches.
The subjects are asked one by one which lines are longer. The nine actors are asked first and say that line B is the longest. Then, the test subject is tested. If he says line A is longest, the nine others are asked to make fun of him while the ones who conduct the experiment go in another room to write down the results.
When they return, the test subject is allowed to go back on his or her decision, and is then tested on a lie detector.
90% of the time, the true test subjects had been convinced that line B was longer than line A. Some of those who'd given line A as a first answer gave arguments like bad lighting in the room to justify their "wrong" choice.
Just to say that without enough self-trust you can let other people dictate your perception of the world, even visually.
I've been living with junkies for more than 5 years now.
I still don't know why I'm attracted to them. But I was fascinated by their placidity, especially during periods between when they were finishing to get stoned and when they needed their next fix.
Especially for this guy with dreadlocks, whose name I technically don't know (I got 7 different names from him).
During that period he is neither awake, nor asleep, nor in a coma. You can talk to him and you might or might not get an answer, which will probably be coherent, or would be if you were stoned too.
And little by little, as their muscles start melting away and as their brain, a system so complexedly wired together, starts connecting everything with anything, wires making knots, cables frenetically reajusting beneath an immobile face, life going godspeed, days lasting seconds while you watch motionless like a puppet on a shelf. And the way the brain seems to... deprogram anything, they forget things little by little, and can end up forgetting even how to talk or eat before they die. I wonder what it could feel like, just a day or two before death (if we can speak of days with their point of view).
So I have morbid passions. Everyone has morbid passions. Me, I have the courage to admit them and pursue them to their very end. Besides, I have nothing against someone taking drugs willingly, even though I've never taken any in my whole life. One's body is one's temple, and the way one takes care of it is one's ruddy own business, me says.
Beside their tendency to die slowly, physically, emotionally and mentally all at the same time, sometimes I hear some of their adventures, especially when I get back from work. In the case of those who are beyond the point of no return, the details would be beyond description itself probably, even if they became lucid all of a sudden. But for those who manage to somewhat control it (thus those who interest me less, because they eventually get rid of their drug habit), the stories are more different, more captivating.
The LSDers's stories are my favourite. One of them was peeing on a sidewalk once and could actually feel his consciousness spreading out on the sidewalk with his pee. His stories were interesting and he was very stable (believe it or not), but he wasn't hooked enough to satisfy my curiosity.
People hooked are LSD are quite rare, surprisingly.
And tonight, I repeat
never even smoked a cigarette since high school
and yet I can see a temple to my right
except it's a house
except it's a temple
and I say "boom"
and a huge cannonball booms out of my mouth
temple smashed to pieces
"stars"
and I vomit a slurge of gold and silver
glitters start filling the air
can't think what to say next
trip and almost say "shit"
and remind myself of the joke with the laughing swimming pool
and kneel down and start laughing with terror
because there is no temple
it's just a house
and by hanging around with junkies too much
I ended up absorbing their universe
except
there is no house
there was no tv
I never was interested in junkies
I'm just having a wierd dream
and am about to wake up
except
there is no dream
there is only me
with a stoneless junkie mask
back pressed against a cement wall
eyeing a crack in the glass window, not blind but seeing nothing
and merely imagining
except
I don't know which version of me is actually true, what is true?
I ask myself that
for a period that stretches
and stretches
and I know I can run as fast as I can, the period will stretch faster
until
it eventually
never ends
I'd also understand if you didn't like it, I haven't written dark stories for a long time.
================
Alone in a room
the distant tv is glaring, the others are probably there injecting needles
I feel angry
My arm lashes out, total reflex, I don't control it
as if I was going to slap someone on the face
except that my arm extends as it lashes out
like chewing-gum
and grows so long it rakes against the wall and up against the ceiling, making a hole and breaking tiles and everything
holy shit
I freeze
and don't want to move my arm again
who knows what it'll do
I want to get up
and all of a sudden I'm out of the house, blades of grass stretching all the way up to the night sky.
I want to say something to the moon
and then the moon says
beebeeebeebeeeeeebeebeeeeeeeebeeeeebeeebeeeebeee
and I understand every
single word
and then I lose it
At this point, I'd like to tell you a bit about an sociology experiment on peer pressure.
Ten people are put in a room, nine of them being actors, the last one being the test subject and having been told that the nine others are test subjects too.
There are 2 lines against the wall, line A clearly being longer than line B by a few inches.
The subjects are asked one by one which lines are longer. The nine actors are asked first and say that line B is the longest. Then, the test subject is tested. If he says line A is longest, the nine others are asked to make fun of him while the ones who conduct the experiment go in another room to write down the results.
When they return, the test subject is allowed to go back on his or her decision, and is then tested on a lie detector.
90% of the time, the true test subjects had been convinced that line B was longer than line A. Some of those who'd given line A as a first answer gave arguments like bad lighting in the room to justify their "wrong" choice.
Just to say that without enough self-trust you can let other people dictate your perception of the world, even visually.
I've been living with junkies for more than 5 years now.
I still don't know why I'm attracted to them. But I was fascinated by their placidity, especially during periods between when they were finishing to get stoned and when they needed their next fix.
Especially for this guy with dreadlocks, whose name I technically don't know (I got 7 different names from him).
During that period he is neither awake, nor asleep, nor in a coma. You can talk to him and you might or might not get an answer, which will probably be coherent, or would be if you were stoned too.
And little by little, as their muscles start melting away and as their brain, a system so complexedly wired together, starts connecting everything with anything, wires making knots, cables frenetically reajusting beneath an immobile face, life going godspeed, days lasting seconds while you watch motionless like a puppet on a shelf. And the way the brain seems to... deprogram anything, they forget things little by little, and can end up forgetting even how to talk or eat before they die. I wonder what it could feel like, just a day or two before death (if we can speak of days with their point of view).
So I have morbid passions. Everyone has morbid passions. Me, I have the courage to admit them and pursue them to their very end. Besides, I have nothing against someone taking drugs willingly, even though I've never taken any in my whole life. One's body is one's temple, and the way one takes care of it is one's ruddy own business, me says.
Beside their tendency to die slowly, physically, emotionally and mentally all at the same time, sometimes I hear some of their adventures, especially when I get back from work. In the case of those who are beyond the point of no return, the details would be beyond description itself probably, even if they became lucid all of a sudden. But for those who manage to somewhat control it (thus those who interest me less, because they eventually get rid of their drug habit), the stories are more different, more captivating.
The LSDers's stories are my favourite. One of them was peeing on a sidewalk once and could actually feel his consciousness spreading out on the sidewalk with his pee. His stories were interesting and he was very stable (believe it or not), but he wasn't hooked enough to satisfy my curiosity.
People hooked are LSD are quite rare, surprisingly.
And tonight, I repeat
never even smoked a cigarette since high school
and yet I can see a temple to my right
except it's a house
except it's a temple
and I say "boom"
and a huge cannonball booms out of my mouth
temple smashed to pieces
"stars"
and I vomit a slurge of gold and silver
glitters start filling the air
can't think what to say next
trip and almost say "shit"
and remind myself of the joke with the laughing swimming pool
and kneel down and start laughing with terror
because there is no temple
it's just a house
and by hanging around with junkies too much
I ended up absorbing their universe
except
there is no house
there was no tv
I never was interested in junkies
I'm just having a wierd dream
and am about to wake up
except
there is no dream
there is only me
with a stoneless junkie mask
back pressed against a cement wall
eyeing a crack in the glass window, not blind but seeing nothing
and merely imagining
except
I don't know which version of me is actually true, what is true?
I ask myself that
for a period that stretches
and stretches
and I know I can run as fast as I can, the period will stretch faster
until
it eventually
never ends