Filth

Hello 2012.

How the fuck did we get here already? I remember scrawling THE END IS NIGH onto my wifebeater before heading out to celebrate 2010.. now the end is upon us according to Mayans and various maniacs and mystics. I'm not sure what I believe. Growing up in a Seventh Day Adventist Church which was obsessed with the Rapture and located next to 25Cromwell Street may have played a part in my pessimism. Or maybe I just really really want the world to end just so SOMETHING happens this decade. Either way.

New Years was a treat. I rented out a shitty cheap hotel next to a dual carriageway in Gloucester and spread a henry's worth of bags out on the white sheets for the boy to prepare whilst I sang and fell over in the shower pod with the door open. Thrills, Pills & Bellyaches blasting out of the surround sound speakers like a low budget early 90s music video. Fuck yeah! The windows overlooked a pile of rubble behind the hotel, dotted with cranes. I twisted a white towel around my hair and sat on the windowsill, shot one of 8 preprepared needles into my wet forearm where a web of veins have recently appeared. The God of Junk has been kind lately. The gear was the dark orange stuff our guy last had before Christmas. Before the benzo-laced bunk which made me lose my mind.
I was already half-drunk on home-made stout and the gear came on like a heavy dream. Blood on the bleached sheets and wet skin covered in multi-coloured streams from party-poppers. We fucked like teenagers to early TV Personalities and chainsmoked hash until I got paranoid the smoke alarm would go off and covered it with plastic bags and sellotape.

I can't remember the last time I had fun on gear. It isn't a fun drug. The last lot turned up in the post, forming the 'H' of 'HAPPY XMAS' on a customized greeting card sent from a partner in crime in London. That lot was shot up guiltily in my childhood bedroom whilst I backed up against the door in case my mother came in. My mother works in psychiatric care. I slunk downstairs and inteliigently debated the merits of electroshock therapy on persistant substance abusers whilst tugging down my shirtsleeves and trying desperately not to nod off.

I am full of dichotomies. There's no grey, just black and white in direct opposition. I keep waiting for the middle ground to make itself known but it never does. I'm trying to hold the flood of London chaos back so I can have space to think here, just one place where I can pretend to be a functional adult. NYE was a one-off. But these cracks and leaks are appearing all over and it's only a matter of time before the dam comes down and the London filth and junk come crashing over my life here. I have to go back to the Smoke, just so I can preserve one last place where I haven't yet burnt my bridges.

I'm sure there will be more soon, boredom is self-limiting.

S xx