Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Another Excerpt....

Liam was so intense when he took a shot of dope. He pulled his kit out, as a serious look came over his face. He carefully opened the tattered eyeglass container, lifting the lid back to reveal its precious contents. He always pulled out the little pink cloth first, with the zig-zag cut edges, that was intended to be used to clean the lenses of a pair of glasses. The cloth was stained with soot on one side. Liam carefully laid the cloth of the table, soot side up. Then, he took out his spoon, bent slightly so that the cup would sit flat, never allowing any dope to fall out. He would take out the lighter, setting it next to the charred spoon on the cloth. He then would put his little orange cap full of water right next to the whole setup. He usually extracted a tiny little square folded piece of tin foil from his pocket, holding it up in the air, as if to watch it sparkle. Then, he carefully pulled it down. Slowly unfolding each side of the intricately folded square, careful not to spill a single granule. He always looked over, into the bag, inspecting its contents before dumping it into the spoon. Then he took his needle out of the eyeglass kit, pulling back on the plunger to make sure it slid easily. If it did not slide easily, he would take the white plunger out of the back end of the syringe, sticking it in his ear to lubricate the rubber. He would check it again, making sure the rubber glides easily against the plastic sheath. He slowly filled the syringe with water, careful not to put too much. Then, he would squirt it in the spoon, moving the tiny spray of water in small circles, so as to cover all of the dope. He would pull the plunger out of the syringe again, swirling the dope around in the water before he carefully lifted it up. Steadily, he reached for the lighter, watching intensely as the flame scarred the bottom of the spoon. Pulling it back just as it begins to bubble and smoke. He would set the lighter down, not looking at it as he focused on holding the spoon steady, so as not to spill any of the precious solution held within. Then, he carefully set the spoon down. He would take out a cigarette, extracting a tiny piece of the cotton filter, rolling it in his fingers to make it perfectly round. Dropping it into the solution, his eyes stared unwavering as it expanded with the sweet, brown liquid. Eyebrows furrowed, he lifted the syringe, carefully steadying it into the cotton, and slowly drawing back. Watching the brown dope fill the syringe, his eyes widened. When he heard the hissing of air through the tip of the needle, he stopped drawing back. He would hold the spike up to the light, tapping the bubbles out meticulously. He would then put the sheath syringe in his mouth, undoing his belt. He tightened the worn, leather belt against his bicep, pumping his hand a few times as his already bulging veins looked like they would burst with his life force. Then, he would switch the needle and the end of his belt in his teeth’s grips, and before I realized it he was holding the syringe in his hand and the belt, taut in his mouth. Holding the needle slightly in the air, he pushed at these throbbing big veins, until he found the perfect spot. Then, he carefully slid the needle in. Drawing slowly back, the blood would come bursting forth. His hair hung down over his eyes, as a smile of satisfaction spread across his face before he pushed…releasing the shot quickly into his veins. Then, he would sit back, staring up at the sky, slowly pulling the needle out, letting the belt slowly open up, clattering to the floor.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Just checking in...

I know I have not posted in a while...I am preparing a new blog to showcase my writing, set up my platform, and hopefully secure my career as a writer... and between the book, school, work, the magazine, and the baby...I have little time for much else. I, of course, will get the links to all this new work to all of you as soon as it is ready! There will be multi media projects with readings from the book, podcast readings, articles about drug abuse and such, short stories, poetry (only a small amount, SB...haha), excerpts from the novel, and any other writing project I may take on. Also, there will be a picture of me. And it will be all linked up with Facebook, Twitter, and all that social media marketing stuff!

Other than an ear infection that is killing me and giving me vertigo so badly I cannot even drive...I have been doing pretty well. Just wanted to check in with all y'all.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Sometimes, I look back...

Sometimes, I look back
And think.
About the blood red
About the swimming
And the drowning
Whole of me.
Sometimes, I look back,
And see.
The light reflecting and refracting
From underneath
The water.
Waves lolling around above my head
And it is obvious,
I am under.
Sometimes, I look back
And hear.
Like my head is in
A cloud,
And my ears are all
Ringing, and spinning, and...
The words have all slowed
To a crawl.
Quivering voice,
Cracking from the inside
Sometimes, I look back
And feel
The warm rush
Climbing up the back
Of my neck,
Flushing my face,
Red and hot, the heat fades up
Shading my eyes with
An optical illusion,
A cloudy film that covers my eyes
In dreamland.
Sometimes I look back,
And taste
The same old bittersweet
Lingering on the back of my tongue,
Mixing with the salty
Warm and metallic taste
Of my own blood.
Sometimes, I look back,
And smell
The sweet smoke
Rising in the distance,
Sweet, sweet poppy flower
Burning gentle against the shiny metal,
The smoke rises
From the bittersweet brown liquid
And spinning
Before the fire inevitably
Killing all that grows

Sometimes, I look back
With fond eyes
And reminiscent tears...
Burning once more
When I smell that smoke
Burning like dead flesh,
A million wasted lives,
Past in its wake.
Mothers and fathers,
Sisters and brothers...
All lost in the fucking fire.
Too many dead.
And even more wasted.

I look back,
On the burned wood,
Curled from the heat,
And buckling into ashes...
I am lucky I got out,
Smoke pouring from the building,
Nearly engulfing me, too
I think, sometimes...
I am still damaged from smoke inhalation.

I kiss the ground.
I kiss my baby.
And I kiss my fucking life.
I made it out of the fire.

We are not all so lucky.