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(no subject)

Dear journal,


Sorry I have neglected you so in the preceding weeks, I’ve been busy with the business of life…I think our time together has come to a close, it’s not you, it’s me (classic break-up line). I went for a walk yesterday morning, right after the coffee, the sun beating on my face and I realized, ‘I feel really good’…junk has been erased from all segments of my existence, sure I still pass the spots and sure I know what’s going on inside, but I feel removed from all of that. The hustlers don’t even make eye contact anymore, as though I’ve lost their respect for becoming a square. I know somewhere a head shinker would say that it’s unhealthy to ignore the past, and continue living life as though you were never a hype, but that seems to be the case, and it’s working for me.

Change is in the air, fliers for events on Bradford beach being stapled over by indoor shows are a testament to the closing of summer. I will not be writing here anymore because every time I do it harkens my mind back to the time of junk, scams, easy money and misery…life isn’t a bed of roses; I’m not a blind fool in that respect, but all that shit before now is no longer my reality. Being clean is, and I should have realized that years ago, time is one thing that you can never get back, but I don’t dwell, I’m moving forward. If anyone that’s trying to kick cold happens upon this journal, know that it can be done, it’s fucking not easy, but nothing worth getting done ever is. I was a junky for well over a decade, and it took a few times but I finally kicked with will-power…stick with it, a person I corresponded on here gave me some good advice once, which of course I didn’t follow. I was clean, I stumbled, and that person said, ‘just start over from the beginning’, but I continued spiking a vein, continued throwing my time down the proverbial garbage disposal…so, stick with it. Nuff said


One love




oh reggae
hello journal, sorry i haven't written, STILL CLEAN, no junk, no drugs whatsoever!!! can i really be doing this? kind of starting to see the guy beneath the trackmarks and filthy life...anyway, i'll update a long post this weekend, have been mad busy with work and have gone to summerfest every single day, my head spins with music

one love



we have moeny, but we don't care we get fucked with for what we wear

a few friends and i are for the most part trapped in my place; the entire eastside is flood cuz of the rain

you don't hear me cry'n

r and j are poetry


had a dream about my mother last night...i was walking down the street and a rain storm ensued...the skies blackened, thunderbolts crackled like shattered storefronts and there was an escalator in the middle of the block with a cloud  atop, she was up there waving...still clean from dope, trying to find a purpose and a point to this bullshit we call life....sometimes i wanna say fuck it and go with what i know, but i know the begining of that, the middle, and most of the end, so what's the point in reading the same book over and over again? girls, coffee, walks, shows, people watching, conversations, watching the lake, music, writing in my paper journal...these are the things that i'm doing, i guess i wish i was in a better mood, blah



i love you cuz we hate the same shit
locust street fest today! oh, and i'm getting some new ink

no junk


(no subject)
i'm still clean and not fucking around anymore but fuck HIDTA and fuck the dea if the summer keeps going the way it's going the narc's are gonna have more homicides under their belt than the hustlers...really, kill a guy that tells you he's going for his ID, fuck you task force

(no subject)

Wandering, wandering, wandering

Lost upon broken light,

Born broken-

Contemplating the new

Sorrows that are composed

Upon the keys of the unfrosted-

Vegetarian cooking and twilight

Strolls along frozen rivers,

Constructs of trust and labor-

Being a factotum is better

Than leading armies through

The acres of sand and rock-

Let us have peace before the


Let the bottles always be as

Full as her smile as we play

Spades into the night hours,

I steal her time and put it

In the pocket of my pants,

Hoping she won’t miss it much,

How can it be enough?

Conversations about art and philosophy

And justice and ultimately truth-

It’s enough for now,

Until it’s not

(no subject)

yeah, i know i said i'd post, but it's been hectic, so here is a couple of P's from before....

A whimper through a sick


In a sick bed,

Counting the days of mourning-

The beer bottles beside my bed

Standing guard-

Ska plays on the radio-

Willing a better time and she remains

lodged in my mind,

not like a flowers root beneath

the gritty soil-

nor cotton clouds suspended

in a blue summer sky-\

but as a wood splinter below the flesh,

unexpected, dreaded-




there’s a knock on the door

and I just star into space-

“hey, it’s us, open up.”


I open the door,


I open the fridge,


I wish I was alone

I count the spent butts in a

Makeshift ashtray-

Cars pass and people talk

And it seems that the notebook

And the bottle

And the needle are the only

Articles that I need-

My woman tries

I want her warm body

Her raven hair

Her dark skin

Her mind

Though as time is tallied

I just want to be along




in every car that passes I see her face starring back at me-

I fall in love at least a hundred times a day

And as the sun looms

Like the cherry of an angry drunks ciggerette

I care less by the moment,

Driving down center street at seventy just

To feel a rush,

Pushing on,

Waiting for the day when my thin fortress

Crashes down in a blazing heap of rubble-

I set fire to the idiosyncrisys of the masses

With every drink-

I burn the caring out of every heart I know-

Not out of hatred-

But a longing to observe the misery, the joy,

The lust of the world unbothered in my

Eastside nest,

Perched like a guntower-

Give me solitude-

I want the flesh without the fuss-


These games we play with each other;

I love you,

I hate you,

You drink too much,

You’re letting you’re beer get warm-

Help us wonder what’s behind her clothes

(no subject)


i'll update after work, still clean, for a crazy long ass time, but just wanted to convey....it is an extremely bad idea to mix methadone and subutex, i know this because a girl i know is in the county psycho ward because she did just that. from what i understand, she had been going to the methadone clinic for a year and some odd number of months, well, the other day she didn't have enough dough to cover her dose, so she just didn't take any, two days later she started getting sick (because methadone keeps you well longer than dope) and another friend of ours tossed her a subutex pill, which you're suppose to put under your tounge, but it's common knowledge that you can drop the pill into 150cc of warm water until it dissolves, and then inject it, i've done this before and you get a rush and what not, but appearently, if you're on methadone, it instantly snaps you into the worst full-on withdrawls you could ever fanthom...i mean, i guess this chick went banana's...flipped right the fuck out and nothing could take the hurt away..i guess she tried shooting dope, nothing, made it worse...took some methadone; nothing, made it worse, she tried drinking booze at the corner bar and it didn't help and i guess she started tearing the joint up; like flipping tables and tossing glasses and bottles about and the cops came and took her to the hospital, but they couldn't do anything for her so they packed her in a rubber room......DO NOT MIX SUBUTEX WITH METHADONE!!!!

off to work

laid up
three busted ribs, bruised up pretty good, alive, hurting, still clean, refusing pain meds, cause, well, i'm a fucking drug addict so i already know how that would end, pretty girl taking care of me though, that's nice, blah