I can't sleep.
We're just about holding this godforsaken raft together.. that's how it feels. Like nobody taught us how to stay afloat.
I'm not just talking about gear but it does amaze me that we keep a £300 p/w habit going. (Not to mention our other medicinal vices.) I've had 2 months of steadily earning enough for both of us but I can feel my body falling to bits from the day to day abuse and it's getting harder to keep our shit together. We've been given notice again. The boy pawned his £800 tele for £90. It's lucky the rest of our possessions are just kitsch junk. I get up each morning, shoot for breakfast and only eat at night when the gear has gone. We're wasting away, becoming ephemeral.. he's a gaunt, stretched out child and I'm painted starvation. My soul is leaching into the needle.
We were in the graveyard with the dog, venting our helplessness to nobody, trying to make a plan.
"I can't stay in this FUCKING TOWN anymore CAS!! I'm going mad.. the only people I speak to are you, the dealer and my clients.. I want to fuck YOU.. It's all so fucked..!"
"I know.. I know.." His head was wilted, watery blue eyes glazed with misery. "I just want everything to stop.."
We walked in heavy silence.. This is so easily fixed but I'm not ready, I'm not..
"We should maybe think about cutting down.." I said for the sake of it. He didn't answer. I turned around to face him but he'd gone. I called out a few times then gave up. What the hell..?
40 minutes later as I was leaving, I saw his long body laid out on the wet grass a few hundred feet away, completely still. He'd been there the whole time. I could bearly see him above the grass but he was definately lying there, face down and lifeless. My heart stopped.
"Cas..?! For fuck's sake..?"
Shitshitshitshit.. as I ran towards him, my voice got weird and hysterical
"CAS!WHAT THE FUCK..?!"
He pulled himself up slowly and staggered to his feet, swaying like something re-animated.
"Cas..?"
"I just can't do it anymore" He mumbled, face streaked with grave dirt and tears, totally over-come.
We're just about holding this godforsaken raft together.. that's how it feels. Like nobody taught us how to stay afloat.
I'm not just talking about gear but it does amaze me that we keep a £300 p/w habit going. (Not to mention our other medicinal vices.) I've had 2 months of steadily earning enough for both of us but I can feel my body falling to bits from the day to day abuse and it's getting harder to keep our shit together. We've been given notice again. The boy pawned his £800 tele for £90. It's lucky the rest of our possessions are just kitsch junk. I get up each morning, shoot for breakfast and only eat at night when the gear has gone. We're wasting away, becoming ephemeral.. he's a gaunt, stretched out child and I'm painted starvation. My soul is leaching into the needle.
We were in the graveyard with the dog, venting our helplessness to nobody, trying to make a plan.
"I can't stay in this FUCKING TOWN anymore CAS!! I'm going mad.. the only people I speak to are you, the dealer and my clients.. I want to fuck YOU.. It's all so fucked..!"
"I know.. I know.." His head was wilted, watery blue eyes glazed with misery. "I just want everything to stop.."
We walked in heavy silence.. This is so easily fixed but I'm not ready, I'm not..
"We should maybe think about cutting down.." I said for the sake of it. He didn't answer. I turned around to face him but he'd gone. I called out a few times then gave up. What the hell..?
40 minutes later as I was leaving, I saw his long body laid out on the wet grass a few hundred feet away, completely still. He'd been there the whole time. I could bearly see him above the grass but he was definately lying there, face down and lifeless. My heart stopped.
"Cas..?! For fuck's sake..?"
Shitshitshitshit.. as I ran towards him, my voice got weird and hysterical
"CAS!WHAT THE FUCK..?!"
He pulled himself up slowly and staggered to his feet, swaying like something re-animated.
"Cas..?"
"I just can't do it anymore" He mumbled, face streaked with grave dirt and tears, totally over-come.
(What a beautiful picture. I tell myself I'll write it into a story. I tell myself I'll take him home, lay him out and lick the tears and dirt off, fuck him in the filth and the whole dirty fucking mess of it all. I'll buy his guitar back and throw away all the works in the house, make everything normal and sane again, no more fucking drama. But first I'll cook up for us.. Everything'll be fine..)
Hey Sailor,
ReplyDeleteJust read as far as here from the top: I loved this piece best so far. Oh, and the photo of (you?) shooting up. I wish I had one of me from the good old days now when I looked and felt younger, ha.
I bought this 1.5mx1m canvas to paint a full sized "woman shooting gear" in oils. But left the damn thing with all my pain(t)s and brushes behind when I left my old home. I was too lazy to get past sketching studies, so at least I didn't lose anything useful. Oh, except maybe my sanity?
I'm diggin' your blog sista hahaha,
Love&Inspiration,
Vee X