tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16071361206871669302024-03-08T12:55:08.435-08:00How To Become A Crack AddictBenjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-85893751655535611682017-05-22T11:06:00.003-07:002019-01-19T11:43:46.536-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK, Episode 22<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hello, this is the final episode of <i>Blind Man On Crack</i>, also known as <i>How To Become A Crack Addict, </i>which you can also buy on Amazon if you<i> </i>really want to. After this last episode, there will be more musings, a couple of times a week, on the austere topics of appetite and addiction, if indeed they're not just two points on the same studded whip.</span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter
22</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Nice Man Cometh</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is where I say, ‘I never looked
back.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did though, a handful of times,
mostly out of boredom rather than the old-style compulsion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months in, when life had ground to one
of its halts, I sauntered down the road like Noel Coward in search of some fine
ground coffee, really because I couldn’t think of anything else to do with my
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I couldn’t get there fast
enough, but now it was like wading through Starbucks latté-syrup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Addiction had atrophied my life, but now
addiction itself was beginning to freeze up.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There I sat, in a vintage haunt, a
squat several floors above Superdrug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was nine in the morning, and my arrival was a thing of joy to those who’d money
and charm had dried up in the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
had to go up a fire-escape and clamber over the roof to get there, a forgotten
little space, comprising a kitchen-table, couple of chairs, strewn blankets and
a cat, archly monitoring proceedings from various vantage points.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A girl I’d met somewhere down the line lit me
up that first pipe, the one that lifts you to a place where all senses are sated,
and librarians can be letches for as long as the high allows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leaned back in the creaking wicker-chair, that
smelt of cat-sick, but felt almost as wretched as when I’d arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hurriedly had another, in case of any
trickery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even though the high had
disappointed, the aftermath was as bitter and tense as ever, and the weak,
groggy smudge of heroin I smoked did nothing to assuage it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may have been one of the few times I
left before the money ran out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I no doubt tried again a few weeks
later, but it was as if I’d arrived at a place of critical mass, where years of
rage and stasis could no longer be safely contained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I went on, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to
get back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know if my mental
health could take it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a man who’d
maxed out on every possible card, I could barely move for all the furniture I’d
ordered, and all I had to look forward to was a bevy of bailiffs banging
beardedly on my not-yet-kicked-in door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And there was I, slumped, quiet below the windowline, gradually
realising that the answer to damage was not more damage.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d stumbled on crack by
accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to graduate to
crystal meth, just to work my way towards another certificate, ten years down
the line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tentatively, I began hanging
onto money that months before I’d have squandered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, as if planted by elves, food began appearing
in the fridge, jeans and t-shirts in the wardrobe, and I wanted, I needed, to
keep going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life felt like a frozen
swamp I’d crawled from, but I had to know if I could stand, stagger, even walk,
on dry land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put my mind to working
out what life might mean in this new, yet distantly familiar, wilderness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For years, I’d been recoiling from the
physical pain caused by my sight-condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Crack alleviated some of this, albeit fleetingly, and heroin had its own
slippery take on analgesia, the more you took, the more you needed, until it
ended up taking you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The days in bed
between binges were spent mostly with eyes closed, minimising my need to look
at anything, apart from the TV glow in the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now, up and about, and doing stuff, I
found even a day’s worth of blinking could leave me jaded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was the emotional aspect to consider
also, the disconnection I felt from the world, through not seeing it, and not
feeling seen by it, and the relationships I knew this had cost me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Also, the crack seeped into the
fracture-lines caused by the abuse I experienced in my early teens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the anatomy of my relationship with
crack almost replicated that with my abuser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In both, I was tricked into believing I was being given something nice, good,
but secret, illicit - and there was I, confused as to the rules and legal
moves, riven with desire and fear, my own sexuality barely nascent, dammed
before it even began to flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
strange, stilted manoeuvres of that time were like playing chess in a minefield.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’d rather lose honourably than win
cynically, any day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My CV, when I tried to put one
together, looked like it had a page missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over the years, I’d frequently passed a local theatre, but never even
been to see a play there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sent an
email to the manager, saying I’d done a bit of comedy, and would like to
reconnect with a theatrical environment, deploying phrases like ‘keen interest’
and ‘reliable nature’, as recalled from days in the psychotherapy office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even know if the world still had
offices, but I thought some of the phrases might still apply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A reply came swiftly back, and I am, even
now, a bit player in the workings of this lovely, ancient establishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen a handful of productions, and even been
to a few opening-night parties…champagne all round, and the buzzy banter of
actorly folk, some with personalities as precarious as mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going there today, as it happens, and
it’s nice to have somewhere to go that doesn’t smell of cat-sick, or leave you
wanting to die.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In my virtuousness, I contacted a local
charity, volunteering to befriend an elderly blind person in Isleworth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having had a few near misses with the police,
I was relieved my CRB check came back free from arrests, cautions, and
reprimands, which would have rendered me ineligible for almost anything but more
crime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first, things seemed the wrong
way round, as Jimmy, retired abattoir-manager from Feltham, seemed to have a
better social life than me, but at least he didn’t slaughter me, and you
woudn’t believe the things you can do with a melted pig’s head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I even re-engaged with my main love,
writing music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Under the edgy guise of
Benjamin Lo-Fi, I began leaving CDs (already an anachronism) on walls and
hedges, at bus-stops, on the cistern in coffee-shop toilets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cunningly tweaked my Youtube tagwords, and
audience figures rose by anything up to three a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now have a small fan-base in Moldova.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As good things happen when you do good
things, one day I spotted a banner opposite the theatre, for comedy-improvisation
workshops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d dreamed, albeit with a
degree of terror, of doing this kind of thing since watching ‘Whose Line Is It
Anyway?’ back in the 90s, with Josie Lawrence, Paul Merton, and other
luminaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the best thing I’ve
done in years, after escaping the merry-go-round of death, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve even done a few bits of stand-up in local
comedy clubs, although my fourteen-year-old script has needed a bit of an
update.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baywatch was a pretty soft
target, even in 1998.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But life’s no quarantine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out and about, I still see some of the people
I used to drag around with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few have
even got clean, via NA, the drug service, rehab, or a niggling desire for a
life with some change in the pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Others have just become rumours, referred to whenever someone still
living wants to reminisce or backbite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jacob,
last I heard, was in hiding in Hayes, wanted for a sexual assault in Shepherd’s
Bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dennis was deported to Grenada,
according to someone whose sofa he lived on for a while.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Others lie underground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith died on Christmas Eve, 2011, according
to one of her neighbours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suzie, Spike’s
battered other half, went around the same time, as did Sam, their friend who
came to see me in hospital when I overdosed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Debbie of Droop Street, as already mentioned, died just before my return
to London, swiftly followed by her heavily sedated brother, Freddie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But what about Sandra, the spark that
provided the catalyst for this little story?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>According to a mutual acquaintance, she was apparently homeless in
Harlesden, probably sofa-hopping, plying her dying trade as and when, and with
whom, she could, between the odd kebab and microwaved fish-pie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What you hear about people is often false, or
at least imbued with some kind of grudge or vendetta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might find some of them on Facebook, but
then that’s just them lying rather than someone else.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even my little flat, once a symbol of
inertia and unshakeable memories, is a bit more shipshape now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found a factory-second Turkish rug on eBay,
which my feet now land on when I swivel out of bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A solar-powered wind-chime hangs from the
curtain-rail, which colour-shifts and gleams in the evening, if it’s been sunny
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are even a few plants
around, sucking in the toxins, looking leafy, adding life to a slightly barren
cube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even managed to get my books up
from my mum’s, which at least make me look a bit scholarly, and remind me of
being at college, when smoking a joint was pushing the boat out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The walls, now dotted with various bits of art,
are blueberry white in the living-room, and TARDIS blue in the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No more the smell of Lynx Singleman hanging in
the air, but the mellow smoke of a sandalwood joss-stick, curling in from the
windowsill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place is just beginning
to resemble the Marakesh grotto I envisaged, over a decade ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could be time for a housewarming. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But don’t you just love a hippy ending?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A year or two ago, still in the thick
of my drugs hell, a friend in a meeting handed me a cup of tea and asked, ‘How’s
things?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I was depressed, because
I’d used.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he asked, ‘How’s things
apart from that?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was no
‘apart from that’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was all there
was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been frozen out of my own life,
placed in some arctic ghost-world, with no landmarks, no relief, no Ray Mears,
where desire and remorse roamed, conjoined, despising each other, their footprints
a shrinking circle, icy itinerants, lost, longing for spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so, as the world warms up, I too, like an
intransigent glacier, must crack, creak, thaw, and flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go on, but I’m sure we both have things
to do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Or not do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Moving liquid, yes, you are just as water,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">You flow around all that comes in your way…’</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(Kate Bush, Moving)</span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Thanks so much for taking a look. Finally, here is a link to a collection of my songs on Youtube, written during and after this time: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MjBU15GeDk" target="_blank">Delete History</a></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TsXWxPgrAYE/XEN8xFJfZBI/AAAAAAAABBA/-DD2b_AevXg_WyLJhyfHuVhVS-iqSigFACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Autumn%2BMoon%2BOver%2BBath%2BRoad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1600" height="179" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TsXWxPgrAYE/XEN8xFJfZBI/AAAAAAAABBA/-DD2b_AevXg_WyLJhyfHuVhVS-iqSigFACPcBGAYYCw/s320/Autumn%2BMoon%2BOver%2BBath%2BRoad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> ?</span>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-86171171602516664222017-05-19T04:01:00.001-07:002019-01-14T02:56:15.284-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK, Episode 21<span style="font-size: large;">Here is the penultimate episode of <i>Blind Man On Crack</i>, otherwise known as <i>How To Become A Crack Addict. </i>I hope you enjoy it, or something in that ballpark...</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sYsf27hmm88/WR7NJZ6w6MI/AAAAAAAAA9E/wNzlxSIz46o9X3UoQEHmt9ZNO2qHGcr5ACEw/s1600/Impeach%2BMelba%2BFinal%2BPic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sYsf27hmm88/WR7NJZ6w6MI/AAAAAAAAA9E/wNzlxSIz46o9X3UoQEHmt9ZNO2qHGcr5ACEw/s320/Impeach%2BMelba%2BFinal%2BPic.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, after that gratuitous graffiti, here it is...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter
21</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mehab</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">More months of torpor crept by like a
deviant monk, and my counsellor, probably lost for ideas, mentioned an approach
to matters addictive called Intuitive Recovery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She said it was different from the twelve-step fellowships, and that, if
I would like, she’d refer me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the
drug service had run a loyalty-card scheme, this transaction would’ve been the
sun-lounger and parasol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon I would be
in the catalogue, tanned and sated in a recovery position, smoothie beside me
on responsibly sourced decking, implying a fun approach to responsible
living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, maybe it was worth one more
lunge at hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be a four-day course
to take place at one of the drug-hubs in the borough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It all sounded fairly inoffensive, and at
least it would get me out, show me new coffee-shops to sit in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after a few more weeks of stasis, up
came my number, and it was time to unfurl that parasol.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There we sat, 10am (dawn in
drug-world) on day one, me and six classmates, in various states of mental and
sartorial repair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before us, two tutors,
an impish Mancunian and a London lass, and, behind them on a whiteboard, a
diagram of a human brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They seemed
sparky, welcoming, but not overly, and my cult-radar went into standby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was tired of the twelve-step idea of the
‘disease’ of addiction, so opened what was left of my mind in the hope that, somehow,
something helpful might get jemmied in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was desperate for almost anything to refresh my senses, just make
sense to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d have almost pinned my
colours to a seminar taken by Keith Harris and Orville, with Emu on the basics
of relapse-prevention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a torrid
yet tired state - any clarity that did shape as a light-bulb above me, I’d
reach out and switch off to conserve resources, with only just enough energy to
do that, tired of light, tired of the causes of light.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thankfully, though, my credulity
wasn’t overstretched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No puppets were
deployed at all, nor any form of ventriloquism, another nice change from the
twelve steps, which seemed like one big act of mass-ventriloquism, especially
if you happened to stumble on a convention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No strings attached, but puppeteers everywhere.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our tutors were both ex-users, but
didn’t seem to be bringing with them an agenda, hidden or otherwise, or
presenting themselves as templates of what ‘recovery should be’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t want us to shout into cushions,
talk to empty chairs, or paint mugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was glad of this, because by now I was counselled out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As far as is possible in a world of drifting,
fought-over meanings, they seemed to offer facts rather than ideas, or even
ideals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not everyone was quite so
enamoured though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One guy behind me
asked to go to the toilet, and that was the last we saw of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, to a dwindling class, our tutors talked
about the brain’s relationship with pleasure, and showed how addiction can be
seen as a natural and normal state for the brain to adopt, once introduced to a
suitable catalyst - no more a disease than desire.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">To me, this brought back my concept of
addiction to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More clearly I saw my
problem as part of me, rather than a diffuse offshoot, a shadow-self, a mishmash
of disease and defects that other people were defining around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than the ‘disease’ of addiction, the
course spoke more about the ‘decisions’ of addiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than the ‘addict’ as something someone
is, the inflection was more on ‘addiction’ as something someone does, a string
of decisions that keeps alive the diminishing loop of relapse, remorse, and
repetition.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At first I was pleased to have a
platform, or gallows, from which to jeer at the twelve-step rabble, but even
this kneejerk rebellion dissolved into less rigid thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe one person’s disease was another’s bad
decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A twelve-stepper and a peddler
of more clinical ideas might use different terms, but in the end they’re both trying
to do the same thing, stop resorting to the quick fix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why sing from different hymn-sheets when
we’re all shouting into a whirlwind anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What’s in a name when it’s swept away in the hurricane?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can be booked for warzones.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d been lost in the noise of it, past
advice, current advice, and advice that it seemed I was doomed to hear for the
rest of my days, but never heed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riddled
with self-doubt, I still thought maybe the twelve steps would save me after
all, like open arms I could no longer afford to shun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I was, as one NA fundamentalist had
implied, in denial, not ready, not willing, or thought I was ‘special and
different’ (SAD).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beset by clichés, I sometimes
thought my only option was cling to one, in the hope it might take me somewhere
safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better live shallow than die deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe I was doomed to go round and round in
the proverbial revolving-door of treatment, one that, if you’re not careful,
spirals in the more you spin, ‘til you’re coiled around the spindle like a
barber’s sign, face, just discernible in scarlet diagonals.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But here, in my
informal-yet-lifesaving classroom setting, kettle’n’biscuits never far from
reach, I didn’t feel preached at, or challenged simply for having a mind, asking
questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt spoken to on the
level, factually, without recourse to the cobweb-clad identity of the ‘addict’,
which by now was beginning to remind me more of the idea of original sin, transubstantiated
into substance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t feel patronised
either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tutors, though ex-users, had
nothing of the sinner that repenteth about them, no do-as-I-do map leading from
rock-bottom to a precarious ledge halfway up a cliff.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was a shaky progress, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My demons and analysts were in full chorus
throughout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On day three, with just
three of us left, money went into my account, and I felt a compulsion to score
when I got home, but somehow resisted by getting stoned and staring at octopi
on Eden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even had a dealer’s number in
my phone, which I’d not quite deleted yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was touch’n’go – using would have scuppered the course, left me with
a diminishing set of options, and more weeks of fear and despondency to
negotiate before yet another hopeless push at hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their tentacles drifted balletic before me,
seeming to wave me through, to a place of fluid blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost as clever as dolphins, octopi, can
even do crosswords - well, could if they could write.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Day four had a motivational, end of
term feel to it, and everyone, that’s to say the three of us who’d stuck it out,
seemed enthusiastic, even enlightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
recapped, and looked at ways of keeping ahead of the addictive voice
within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after lunch, we completed,
having turned up and said enough to indicate we’d been mostly awake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were each given a certificate, a key-ring,
and our workbooks to refer to as and when, but more, much more than this, they
gave me what addiction, even rehab and twelve-step fellowships, hadn’t – a
sense of a self.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Back in my flat, I was relieved to
have made contact with people I found authentic, and sane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sad it was over, but they weren’t
selling a set of values, an identity, a lifestyle, so why would they keep us?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was no Saul-to-Paul thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t have trusted it if it had
been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no moment of clarity,
more of a continuation of the tearing away of the cobweb, rubbing away of the
condensation, and this experience consolidated what I was already coming to
realise, rather late, some might argue, that I was in the driving-seat of my life,
whether I liked it or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been
writhing in the boot, bound, like a Houdini tribute-act, bent on getting famous
for failing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now it seemed, though, that
the ropes had never been tied, boot, never locked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whodini?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But I still felt frozen by years of
inactivity, having lived in a flat for a decade that many couldn’t have stood for
a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like a museum to
motionlessness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was the gaoled and
the gaoler, bewailing my confinement with key in pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Socially, I felt translucently alone, like I
was slowly disappearing due to lack of human contact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People would pop in and out of my life, but
it was intermittent, and mostly drug-related, how to get them, how to avoid
them, what to do if you’ve used them and are feeling bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some old friends were gone, some were never
there, even fewer still around, and there’s only so far you can take your relationship
with your pharmacist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The world through my window seemed
like a dream seen through a prism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each
day felt like a piece of cold plasticine, its potential remote, something could
be made from it, with some patient, thumb-numbing moulding, even though there
were bits of hair and grit in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
tired of hurriedly morphing little men, only to fist them flat because they wouldn’t
do the high-jump when I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I
chose to adopt the attitude that genuine change is plasticine, not damascene.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For weeks, even the slightest threat
of normal living flummoxed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There wasn’t
a lot of food in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was money in the
bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was I meant to do with that
conundrum?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One evening, I found myself
milling through the rush-hour, pacing to the cashpoint, transmuting into that familiar
apparition of pure appetite, to emerge scowling, on the verge again, outside Sainsburys
Local, where I bought a pizza I couldn’t read the label of, and milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ate it watching Time Team, and cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was ham’n’pineapple.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">Thanks. As ever, here is a song for you, by me: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MjBU15GeDk" target="_blank">Delete History</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">See you in the next day or two I guess?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-65622538161655265632017-05-09T12:47:00.002-07:002019-01-14T02:55:16.138-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK, Episode 20Hello. Thank you for dropping by. Here is the 20th gaudy episode of Blind Man On Crack, or as it's also known, How To Become A Crack Addict. You can find it on amazon as an ebook, if you do that kind of thing, or just read it all here, where there are also other thoughts, pictures, songs, etc...<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter 20</span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Putting The ‘Cess’ Into ‘Success’</span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As the twenty
weeks drew to a close, my archive of trauma thoroughly rifled through, I was
still acting like a therapeutic puppet, showing the counsellors, as best I
could, how much better I was, and the peers who came after me that it was
possible to stick it out, to change, to get better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t mention my attempted relapse, just
perpetuated the performance, attempting in morning group to seem insightful,
funny, and honest, or at least something that could pass for honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shame we weren’t allowed on the pier – could
have made some pocket money spinning a beach-ball on the end of my nose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then it was time to matriculate,
graduate, vacate the premises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
Wuthering Heights Day, July 30, birthday of both Emily Brontë and Kate
Bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People who’d stayed the course
were seen off in a format akin to ‘This Is Your Life’, which took place in the morning
therapy group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d already been part of
half a dozen of these seeings-off, and now it was my turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twenty people had left early, for various
reasons, in the time I’d been there, whereas only a handful had completed,
although I think inertia played quite a big part in my doing so – and, of
course, leaving on Wuthering Heights Day would surely mark an upturn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t the Calendar know who I was?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So there we sat in the sun-flooded therapy-room,
blanched by years of support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
customary for the departing to give everyone a card, peers and therapists
alike, which I did, reading them out as I sat there next to my counsellor,
relieved and terrified to be leaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Cards read, everyone fed back at me, saying stuff that, frankly, if it
hadn’t gone in by now, wasn’t going to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My counsellor then recited a poem she’d chosen, as was also
routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She read, in her zigzag tones,
a simple string of stanzas by graveyard-poet and mental-patient, John Clare,
called ‘The Vision’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her nod to my
sight-condition, needless to say, moved me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, swivelling in dazzling beige, she handed me a gleaming
heart-shaped key-ring, and a pencil with the word ‘success’ etched into
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Abigail, who’d been a good
friend through my time there, presented me with a box of paints, a gift from
the peers - as I’d shown great promise in the draw-your-own-future workshop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">An hour later, in the slot between
morning therapy and lunch, I walked to the station, flanked by assorted peers,
old and new, who waved me off as my train pulled away, and began its journey back
to London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being me, I’d not arranged for
anyone to meet me at the other end, so, arriving solemnly at Paddington, I
dragged my bag across the concourse, and got a taxi back to Shepherd’s Bush in
a state of increasing trepidation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
various using landmarks passed me by I knew, unless I was about to have a
Damascene moment, that I was doomed to be stubbly for the foreseeable future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I opened the door to my flat, and it
was dim and musty within, traffic singing Siren-like beyond deep-green
curtains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled one back with a
dismal swish, switched on the hi-fi, which still had ‘You Are The Quarry’ by
Morrissey in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A box containing my
reading-screen, laptop, and various clothes, sat taped-up on the floor, but I
had no inclination to unpack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, after
carefully weighing up my life, the pros and cons of relapse, the pros and cons
of recovery, and the various permutations of grey in between, I picked up the
phone and rang Spike and Suzie, where I spent the entire night squandering what
little money I’d saved whilst away, crawling home the next morning, almost
suicidally depressed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I spent most of the next six weeks in
bed, not really washing or brushing my teeth, and eating whatever there was, or
wasn’t, in the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a money-day,
I’d manage to get up and blow it all on crack’n’heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not the functional and productive
member of society I’d been hoping to become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Occasionally, I’d open the curtains to indicate to neighbours I at least
had basic motor-skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days and nights
went by with the Discovery Channel repeatedly recounting the history of the
longbow, story of the musket, or how, according to the Mayans the world was due
to end in 2012, which helped a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
managed eventually to get to my doctor, and she put me back on antidepressants,
and, after a few weeks, things went from near-suicidal to just wishing I could
die in my sleep, without having to do anything, or at least before the next
showing of ‘Extreme Archaeology’.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d kept in touch with a few of my
ex-peers, including Abigail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was now
living in the town we’d rehabbed in, and invited me down to come and stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This felt like a validation, of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even sealed in my flat, things began to feel a
bit like life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d somehow not used for
a couple of months, which was progress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
liked Abi, and was determined to tell her so when I saw her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had Emo tendencies, and knew about things
like Pavlov’s dog, and that bloke’s cat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And there I was, on the train to the
coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slough, Reading, Bristol
Templemeads, and I was back in the backwater, the marshy heartland of the Druid
Marketing Board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A text-flurry in a
blackspot can be dangerous, but I deigned to tell Abigail I was looking forward
to seeing her, and that I’d missed her, and part of it might have rhymed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My provider’s name flashed on and off - then a
text from Abi read, ‘Don’t think so,’ which, naturally, I took as a stern
dampening-down of my headstrong advances, until I realised it was probably the
reply to one sent minutes before, ‘Do you want any milk?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then, on the platform, a vague
embrace, and a stroll to the Waterstones with a coffee-shop in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We even dropped in on the old rehab on our
way back to hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want, but had
a brief chat with my counsellor before leaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She said she’d been ‘very angry’ to hear of my relapse, and believed it
to be the work of my ‘rebellious child’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I vaguely appeased her pigeonholing, then threw a fish about self-parenting,
said she’d made some valuable points, and left.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Later, Abigail and I were sitting in
her room, Manic Street Preachers crooning in the corner, and I was determined I
should tell her how I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mouth was
dry as sand, and I felt like I was being throttled – but, somehow, as the Welsh
bards bawled, I managed to force up a jumble of words that just about got the
message across.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having deciphered my
gaspings, Abigail said she was flattered, but didn’t feel the same in that
regard, but valued me immensely as a friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt defeated, yet vindicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But my plan was foiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I’d
pinned too much on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I started
crying, copiously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to the
bathroom to regroup, returning apologetically to find Abi in tears, being
consoled by a housemate, but apparently it was nothing to do with what I’d
said, which, in my book, is a date.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The next day, I felt brittle and
self-piteous, plus feverish, as if the pent-up passion in me was trying to
sweat out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I announced my departure,
making out it was purely for medical reasons - Abi and I hugged a vague goodbye
on the platform, I hopped on board, and there was no need to worry about the Druid
blackspot anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seemed to
half-exist again, and felt Emma, back in the office of olde, endorsing my
ongoing quest for a basic level of affection, like a tick on a memo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Back in the Bush, I returned to the drug
service and continued regaling my counsellor with various views and grievances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was glad, though, that she shared my
opinion of my therapist-on-sea, and felt I seemed, in some ways, more damaged
by the experience than helped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
sad also that my plans to woo Abigail hadn’t come off, because she’d seen a
change in me in the weeks before my visit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But life felt empty, and there seemed
little to talk about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed a course,
some work, to flourish, see more people, but an empty life can seem so full you
can’t move, and I ended up resorting to using, as much out of boredom as
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still showing up at NA
meetings, sometimes even AA, because by now I felt so embarrassed to be seen in
NA - then I tried a spell in CA (Cocaine Anonymous), but in none of them found
a spiritual home, or even a gateway to one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It wasn’t long before Christmas was
upon us again, and my goodwill levels rose accordingly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night, I was sliding about on the ice at
two in the morning, on my way to the cashpoint, and then Faith’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t been there for a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would she even still live there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She might have been in treatment too, or
somehow got clean in the drug service ten doors down the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe she’s rung the changes, gone sienna in
the bathroom, Etruscan Sundown on the landing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Gerald, Faith’s lumpen ex, as if of wax, answered the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed semi-animated to see me, perhaps
because he sensed a pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stepped inside,
as if back in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith called out from
the kitchen, but was apparently entertaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then Jacob emerged from the bathroom, where he’d been having some
quality-time with a girl of his choosing, who now closed the door on
proceedings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granite, I shunned the sculptor’s chisel, in
favour of stasis, or maybe I just liked making phrases up about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jacob was cordial, and furnished me
with a pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt the need to tell me
how displeased he’d been to see me with Dennis the previous day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d spotted us, outside the bookie’s, ‘going
off, as if to score’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, he
saw Dennis asleep on a mattress at David’s, so crouched down, held a knife to
his throat, shook him awake, threatening to slice him if he dares interfere
with one of his associates again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was something engulfing about Jacob’s eyes as he delivered his lecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gloated that Dennis had begged him for
clemency, and that clemency was his to give.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We smoked away in the living-room, with occasional help from the girl
he’d been in the bathroom with, a stout Liverpudlian called Lesley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, once again, it was out into the icy wilds
to hunt some cash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just grabbing
the notes when Jacob decided we should relocate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith’s place was a dive, by all accounts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d have made quite a good estate agent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shackleton-like, we negotiated the
fluffy downpour whirling about us, and, before long, ended up with a girl maybe
had crack-psychosis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d chatter and
move about, take a pipe, offer something sexual, then apply two lit lighters to
her already stubbly hair, insisting there were bugs under her scalp, and could
we see them, could we hear them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A ghoul
on a crutch invited us away from her, upstairs to his place, which was equally peopled
with assorted psychiatric evacuees, one of which Jacob knew, a moustachioed
northerner called Carl, who told me he was a clairvoyant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t long before he was punched in the
face when smoking from a glass pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blood
poured and sprayed as he lunged around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
culprit raged into the hall, cursing, and out, smashing the door behind
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jacob fashioned the seer a towel-turban,
to staunch the wound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hadn’t seen that coming.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">By morning, I was back out on the ice,
looking for the nearest cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A guy
was begging opposite the BBC, a bobble-hatted figure I’d apparently met before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me if I wanted to get something,
introducing himself as Pav – maybe it was short for Pavement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I may as well stay with him, rather
than go back to Jacob and the psychic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pav asked me if I’d keep an eye on his pitch, skidding off to tell a
colleague he was moving on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remained,
lemonlike, shivering, white cane dangling like an icicle, pointing down to a slush-embedded
Addis tub.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seemed to be good for trade,
and when my friend returned, he said, ‘Hey, someone’s chucked a two-pound coin
in.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was glad to have been of help,
and now know how MPs must feel when they play homeless for an afternoon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pav scooped up the tub, and bad me
follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Round a corner, down some steps,
and we were in someone else’s flat, knee-deep in hoarded rubbish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sofa, covered in tired-looking blankets,
could be discerned, although getting to it involved wading through newspapers,
hubcaps, supermarket-baskets, bottles, cans, and god knows what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We crunched over and propped ourselves on an
edge, as our host languished like a Beckett character in his own detritus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name was Rod, and he told me he’d been an
environmentalist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seemed he took a lot
of his work home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Said he’d been an
extra in ‘Alfie’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had a memento,
somewhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then I smoked some heroin and was sick
in his indescribable toilet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">______________________________________________________</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Well, that's today's episode done and dusted. As ever, here is a song for your consideration, just click on this youtube link, if you want to: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHeeo5T4Mj0" target="_blank">Farewell To The Stairwell</a></i></span></div>
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-73816447560377105312017-05-05T06:27:00.003-07:002017-05-05T06:32:57.905-07:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 18<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hi, here is episode 18 of the unusual saga that is Blind Man On Crack, also known as How To Become A Crack Addict. Feel free to rummage through past posts, or even get the ebook on amazon, if you stoop that low. Meanwhile...</span></i><br />
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<i><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v1ezeZItrZw/WQx83KBhnKI/AAAAAAAAA8U/kqbvO-LFFBg9QKd6Vqegk5ATNIhn2BHWACLcB/s1600/Children%2BQueue.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v1ezeZItrZw/WQx83KBhnKI/AAAAAAAAA8U/kqbvO-LFFBg9QKd6Vqegk5ATNIhn2BHWACLcB/s320/Children%2BQueue.bmp" width="320" /></a></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Episode 18 </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Twelve Steps To Rehab</span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Months dragged on, me turning up at
the drug service, constantly reporting relapse, skin blotchy and spotty, fridge
and cupboard empty, and many calls being made to my mum requesting twenty quid,
or maybe an internet food order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two
phones were thrown at the wall, and leads pulled from handsets, with me raging
in my boxers in my cell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One afternoon, I
picked up my acoustic guitar by the neck, smashed it on the floor, repeatedly,
until it broke in two with a twang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
I took it out and chucked it in a wheelybin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Soon after, I was dragging my keyboard (on loan from a friend) down the
road to that shrine of iniquity and stolen goods, Cash Converters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was heavy and unwieldy, but somehow I
heaved and cajoled it onto the bus, over the road, and into the reinforced
doorway of the esteemed high-street name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It cost my friend £800.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got
£100 for it, and went straight round the corner to score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, I woke to see a void where
guitar and piano had been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dreamed-of
recording career was spiralling down, in freefall, blowing in the breeze with
other random crumbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was running out
of options.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sipping herbal tea at the drug service
one morning, someone sitting by me said they went to Narcotics Anonymous
meetings, and found them helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Born
of Alcoholics Anonymous, there are NA meetings in community centres and church
cellars all over the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
several in my neighbourhood, some of them unnervingly close to places I’d used.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one Monday evening, I slipped into a
meeting, untempted by the adjacent hostel, where I’d used only weeks before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All human life was there, street-geezers,
social-workers, teachers, builders, an auctioneer, and a person off the
telly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat round in a circle by
candlelight, with a tank of tropical fish tranquilly, though discreetly,
observing proceedings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a few readings, people began
talking, and I could identify with a lot of what I heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come the end, I felt encouraged, energised,
and almost hopeful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went home and
played ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’ by Morrissey, in a spirit of utter defiance
at my seemingly bottomless decline.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I rose the next morning with hope in
my heart, and money in the bank, which I blew in the afternoon after spiralling
back into disarray as the day dragged on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not the best start, but I returned to meetings, and tried to listen to
other people’s experiences, and readily dished up many theories and thoughts on
the nature of addiction, whilst doing precious little off the back of my observations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like an astronomer, seeing the
universe about me, coming to an understanding of it, able to convey with
enthusiasm how amazing and fabulous it was, but unable to reach out and touch
or tweak it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt lights years from
myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But the meetings were a lifeline,
human contact and support from people who were going through, or who’d been
through, something similar to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were a cup of tea or coffee, and biscuits too, which were a rarity
in my life at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night, I
loaded up my coat with malted milks, as my kitchen-cupboard contained one can
of chickpeas and a squeezy ketchup, which, even in my emaciated state, didn’t
throw up many recipe ideas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">One of the founding principles of NA
is that addiction is a ‘disease’, and that the sufferer is ‘powerless’ over it,
but following the twelve steps offers a path to ‘recovery’, a better life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first, I leapt at these words like a wolf who’d
suddenly found his pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, it was a
disease, and I was powerless over it, my record proved it, and now I’d found
people, and a framework, to put the drugs down and move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But sometimes I would hear people, months or
even years clean, talking about their disease, and how they were still
powerless over it, and meanings seemed to become so vague, and unpinned from
their origins, that I began to feel I was just swishing around in a huge
linguistic melting-pot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did it all
really mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I witnessed the word ‘disease’
suddenly developing a hyphen, to imply a state of ‘dis-ease’, rather than anything
medically observable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months in,
it seemed to me that all desire, if not life itself, was a form of disease,
which I didn’t buy, and this nebulousness could end up with someone blaming their
‘disease’ for wanting a new Mercedes, which really just meant they were an
overpaid twot.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t find it helpful to think of
addiction as a disease, with or without a hyphen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nor do I believe that anyone is powerless over
it – in fact, I feel it can be dangerous to use the word ‘powerless’, which can
undermine the notion of personal choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As for the promised recovery, well, how can one recover from a disease
that doesn’t exist?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The twelve steps offer a ‘spiritual
program’ of ‘complete abstinence from all drugs’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t much like the sound of complete
abstinence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much as I wanted to quit
crack, and the heroin that was now becoming its compulsory sidekick, I had no
desire to stop having the odd drink or spliff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As for the spiritual aspect, though no religion is promoted, sometimes I
feel the framework itself becomes a kind of religion - for example, if one
says, ‘I’ve put down the crack, but I still like the odd drink,’ the ethos of
complete abstinence has been transgressed, and fundamentalist brows may furrow,
as often I think they did when I spoke.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once I said I’d had a glass of wine at
a friend’s, but felt that was very different from smoking crack and crawling
home to isolation and hunger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone
after the meeting warned me that wine today would be crack tomorrow, laying out
before me the slippery slope to self-destruction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t find this helpful, because my
experience of alcohol has always been very different from my run-ins with crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, if there’s one thing an addict likes,
it’s an excuse to relapse, and this seemed to be setting up a self-fulfilling
prophesy I could use to rationalise further falls from grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But equally, another person said that if I
was able to drink, I shouldn’t feel compelled to emulate others, whose circumstances
may be different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be that one
size doesn’t fit all?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be that
everyone is different?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be that
fundamentalists are pests?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be
that twelve-step fellowships are <b><i>a</i></b> way, not <b><i>the</i></b>
way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t belong easily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if there were a club for outsiders, I
don’t think I’d join.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what would I
have done without this, sometimes troubling, human contact?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The osmosis of experience can be powerful,
keeping alive people who might otherwise not be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, someone would disappear from a
meeting, having been a regular for weeks, maybe because they were using again,
or gone to rehab, but often it was because they’d died, as addiction, however
you define it, can kill you with your own hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So far, I hadn’t assassinated myself, and had no desire to return to Morrissey’s
warehouse any time soon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
stuck around for months, and I think I was trying my best, even though my views
were mostly heresy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned up, spoke,
made friends, took numbers, got a sponsor (someone to help me through the
steps), answered the questions in the step-working guide, wrote a load of
claptrap to back up the claptrap I’d verbalised in meetings, but something
wasn’t taking, the shoe wasn’t fitting, and I was still going down, just
slightly slower than before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a
combination of apathy, intellectual differences, and embarrassment, meant that meetings
faded away, at least as a daily, or weekly, ritual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d show up occasionally, say I was fine, and
dash away before anyone, zealot or not, could collar me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only had a message of failure, humiliating
for me, and probably very boring for everyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it was back to the drug service, to my
still-smiling counsellor, with a resigned request to be sent to residential rehab,
but preferably not a twelve-step one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s only so long you can live on biscuits.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Thanks for popping by. I do hope you'll have a glimpse at the next episode, in a few days. Meanwhile, here is a small musical entertainment for you, one of my songs, so just click on this youtube link, and you will be regaled with song: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kziZwtBYIdk" target="_blank">Someone Get That Cripple Out Of The Music Room</a></i></span>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-69412051407113844002017-04-26T11:30:00.001-07:002019-01-14T02:57:21.207-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK, Episode 17Hello, and thank you for dropping by. Here is the 17th sordid episode of Blind Man On Crack, otherwise known as How To Become A Crack Addict. You can read it all, with other selected gems, here on this blog if you want, or you can buy the ebook/kindle of it on amazon, if your morals are sufficiently loose. It has four good reviews, so far, and another one would be much appreciated, if you have the time.<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter 17</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just A Little Prick</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I returned to Spike and Suzie’s the
next time the good taxpayers of Britain put money in my account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been experiencing experience-envy since
witnessing Faith inject crack’n’heroin a few months earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t see the exact detail of how she
did it, nor could I see enough to do it myself, but I could perhaps get someone
else to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vaguely knowledgeable by now, I
stopped off at a chemist to get new needles, and made my way to Spike and
Suzie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured they’d be more
willing than Faith, having only just met me, and turning up with clean works,
coupled with some knowing needle-talk, would surely be enough to get one of
them to do the honours, especially seeing that I’d be bankrolling proceedings.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Back past the BBC, pharmacist’s bag
swinging at my side, I disappeared down a White City side-street, finding Spike
and Suzie’s place with ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rang, and
moments later an upstairs window opened and Suzie called down, ‘Oh hi, Dan,
I’ll come down.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t mind being
called Dan, as long as I got what I wanted.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Upstairs, Spike was in his normal
chair, clutching a can and stubbly, and Poppet, the in-house puppy, began leaping
all over me, almost like it wanted to escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I made out I’d got the fresh needles for myself, and was just dropping
by on my way back from the chemist, but if they needed any, they were more than
welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked if we could get
something, and soon Suzie was ringing around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I gave her the money and off she went to meet the guy, somewhere near
KFC on Uxbridge Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She returned, and we all had an
inaugural pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, party started, I
gave them some more blather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I was
planning to go home and have a hit, but my flatmate wasn’t answering the phone,
so what on Earth was I going to do now?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then Suzie said those special words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘I can help with that, love.’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The doorbell went, and Spike was left
to organise three syringes’ worth of finest White City crack and heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a pipe as he went about his work with
needle, spoon and lighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me
how much heroin I usually had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told
him about a fiver’s worth, not really knowing what I was saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minutes later, he was placing each finished
article on the coffee-table before him, one for him, one for Suzie, and one for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Suzie returned with her
guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a couple they knew, she a
lumbering ogre of a woman, called Mo, and he a curly-haired scamp of a man, who
looked like he could do with a meal, or a lifestyle overhaul, called Sam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were users too, and delighted to find a
supply of fresh needles to cook up what they’d arrived with.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then it was time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spike explained which syringe was whose, and
Suzie took up the bayonet of destiny earmarked for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked me whereabouts I usually did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admitted to being early in my injecting
career, so I still had sufficiently prominent veins left in my arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rolled up my sleeve, using a donated belt
as a tourniquet on my upper arm, both to bring veins closer to the surface, and
to hold the chemicals in place until the moment of release when the tourniquet
was pulled away, and the ingredients could coarse through my whole being,
rendering me the monkish equivalent of Faith’s ‘nun kissing God’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was on the brink of revelation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poppet was locked in the hall, because he was
jumping around, getting in the way.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The tiny press of the needle was
painless, as I sat there on the sofa, peers around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like keyhole surgery with a kick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could feel something entering my
bloodstream, asking directions to my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘There you go,’ said Suzie, ‘you can pull the tourniquet away now.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let the belt fall and sat there, waiting to
see what it was I was going to feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Initially, I felt a bit blank, numbed, queasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Mo, troll-like on the floor before me, said,
‘Are you ok, Dan?’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The next thing I remember is waking up,
shirt torn open, with two paramedics above me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Can you hear me Dan?’ one of them asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon realised I’d overdosed, and began
apologising repeatedly, as I was helped to my feet, and down the stairs where
an ambulance and police car were waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My plan had gone awry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I
was relieved to be alive, even though my name was now apparently Dan.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was helped into the ambulance, and a
blanket put around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt quite
shaky, and the woman looking after me was so attractive that my sense of being
damaged goods felt heightened to a point of pivotal self-loathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, ‘I don’t usually do this kind of
thing, I’m sorry to waste your time, thank you so much for being there.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at her like one scowling from hell
at a soul in heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I requested a glass
of water, or maybe that was the closest I could get to asking her if she’d like
to go for a coffee some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wasn’t
allowed to give me water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Health and
safety, I guess – I mean, imagine what harm a glass of water could do compared
with crack, heroin, brick-dust, ant-poison and bleach coursing round your
bloodstream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blanketed, I was driven to
the hospital.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I arrived in the ward, where a nurse
wanted to put my possessions in a locker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I gave her my white cane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t have much else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after a
preliminary interview, in which I said sorry several more times, I sat on a
bed, curtains drawn around me, crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, when a doctor came in, I apologised some more, and continued
crying, and answered his questions as best I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was very calm and sympathetic, and gently
recommended I tried to exercise some harm reduction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he went away, I sat there some more, still
weeping, not sure what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, a
rustle of the curtain, and Sam appeared. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d seen fit to come and see if I was ok, and
offered to walk me home, which I found extraordinarily kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t such a long walk, so we asked for
my cane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman who’d dealt with me before
had gone, and the new nurse didn’t speak great English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to explain that my white stick had
been put in a locker, and she eventually returned with two walking-sticks,
which I kindly declined.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sam walked home with me, I got in,
called a friend, distraught, and went to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next day, I went back to Spike and Suzie’s to apologise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently I’d slumped over, and even though
they stretched me out on the floor and tried to slap me back to consciousness,
they ended up ringing the ambulance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was grateful they had, cos I’ve heard of people overdosing, dying, and their
bodies being left out with the rubbish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The police and paramedics had asked a few questions, but no accusations
were lodged, and I guess it was just put down as a regulation overdose, maybe
making a brief appearance a while later in a Town Hall spreadsheet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, apologies made, and accepted, and after I
promised not to inject again, we all three scored, and this time Poppet could
stay in the living-room.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t know when it came back to me,
but at some point I recalled something of what I experienced during my
overdose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I wasn’t so far gone, or
perhaps I was nearer to leaving than I knew, but when I was out on Spike and
Suzie’s floor I had the vaguest, quietest of dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was looking in on a darkened room, from the
side, as if in an empty warehouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
were people standing there, in profile, silent, as far as I could tell, as if
waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reader, one of them was
Morrissey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know not why.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";">_________________________________________________<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";">_</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So there you are. I hope you feel like tuning into to episode 18, in a few days. Meanwhile, just in case you need more entertaining, here is a song of mine, just in case you're not depressed enough already. It's a safe youtube link, just click here for entertainment<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif";">: </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eR8JiyXrg78" target="_blank">Mental Illness Is The New Rock'n'Roll</a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eR8JiyXrg78" target="_blank"><br /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thanks for now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-72411424777338428772016-03-30T07:44:00.001-07:002016-03-30T07:44:53.052-07:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 16<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hello, and thanks for dropping by. Here is the 16th tawdry episode of 'Blind Man On Crack', or 'How To Become A Crack Addict', if you prefer that title. White City is an area of London, where the BBC used to base their operations, at Television Centre, and where you will also find numerous soulless flats in which many less privileged souls reside, some steeped in virtue, others in lager, or whatever they can get their hands on, really.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-myBJ2ADf754/VvvllOZfKEI/AAAAAAAAA30/Ot64I4Pg4P412ojpxNwoGRWkHVmnOch8Q/s1600/Down%2BAt%2BThe%2BGreen.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-myBJ2ADf754/VvvllOZfKEI/AAAAAAAAA30/Ot64I4Pg4P412ojpxNwoGRWkHVmnOch8Q/s320/Down%2BAt%2BThe%2BGreen.bmp" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chapter
16<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">White
City<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I spent the next three days in bed,
brain flatter than a leaking battery, torn red t-shirt on the floor, and one of
the Discovery channels burbling away as I drifted in and out of sleep,
occasionally raiding the cupboard for whatever was left to eat, which was never
much at this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I rose, in a
bout of desperation, I wrote a handwritten letter to my doctor, asking to be
sent to rehab, or a psychiatric ward, or wherever there was a vacancy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A few days later, I made an emergency
appointment, and my doctor, almost impotent to help, referred me to my local
drug service, and I went for an assessment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was assigned a counsellor, who I saw for about six months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was very good, knowledgeable, honest, and
patient, but she couldn’t stop me using week after week, and coming in with
tales of increasing degradation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this
point, the compulsion to use crack, with a heroin chaser, felt like something
separate from what I considered to be myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was as if the decision was made in me, but not by me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It’s happened again,’ I’d say, time after
time, and she would say, ‘You mean you’ve used again.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seemingly, none of the complementary
therapies had helped, and nor had any of our circular conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just became a more literate addict, and
could talk at severe length, sometimes quite engagingly, about the same thing –
I’d used.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth is, at this time, I
wanted to use, but didn’t want the consequences, and heroin, sneaking up on the
rails, had only made the whole cycle seem slightly less unmanageable,
softening, as it did, the comedown from crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ear acupuncture, very nice, shiatsu,
interesting, reflexology, quite sensual, cupping, whatever that is,
hypnotherapy, and various relaxation CDs, all made a minimal indentation on my
pattern of use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even wrote a few
worthy articles for the drug service newsletter, all teacher’s pet stuff,
saying how wonderful the therapies were, and how I found the service so very
valuable as a community hub, but they were all just words, worthy, placatory,
hollow words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drug service
subscribed to a magazine called Black Poppy, a health and lifestyle journal
written by users and ex-users.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the
months, I wrote a few articles for it, even compiled a cryptic crossword, with
mostly drug-related answers, but even this, coupled with volunteering at the
magazine’s office, and the new friends it afforded me, made no difference to my
using.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So far, the most successful path I’d
found to getting a period free from crack was going to my parents’ by the sea,
which I did many times at this point, in various states of disrepair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I’d be spoken to frankly, in a spirit
of concern, and bewilderment, by both parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, having had another good think about my predicament, I’d return to
London and relapse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hypnotherapy,
dispensed by a chap in a shack in Ealing, and paid for by my parents, seemed to
work for a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hypnotised on a
Monday, I managed to abstain from crack, with money in my pocket, ‘til
Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, when I blew it, it was
back to scoring at every opportunity, regardless of time of day, or danger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By now, I was firm friends with Faith,
especially when I arrived at hers fresh from the cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was kind of unfortunate that she lived on
the same street as the drug service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact, it was probably possible to see the place from her window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often I’d have an appointment that I simply
wouldn’t show for, because I’d stumble into Faith’s literally yards from
safety, like a rugby-player with a knack for tackling himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One afternoon, I was marching to an
appointment, knowing full well I wouldn’t get there, because I’d already
decided to trip myself up at Faith’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Torn at her door, half hoping she was out, half wishing she’d hurry up
and answer, I was surprised when my old chum Dennis appeared before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Butler-like, he ushered me into the
living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d already scored, and
furnished me with a pipe, which led to a flurry of notes being pulled from my
pocket, accompanied by the request, ‘Can we get something?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was happy to oblige, and called down the
hall to Faith, to let her know he was popping out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came into the living-room, and was
equally delighted to see me, and the notes I was scrunching into Dennis’s
palm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She returned to whoever she was
entertaining out the back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dennis and I
were negotiating what we wanted, and who we should get it from, when another
figure appeared in the doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
Jacob, and he didn’t seem very happy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He said a cool hello, and reminded me
of a previous warning, given some days before, not to hang out with
Dennis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to Jacob, Dennis would
con me, keep drugs back, was a known criminal, in fact was everything Jacob was
himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he addressed Dennis
directly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ben is my associate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look after him.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘He just wants to score,’ Dennis said
lamely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ben, come with me,’ Jacob
instructed, ‘I’m taking you home.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t want to go home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to
score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I’m ok,’ I said, trying to
appease the now approaching figure of Jacob, ‘I’m happy to share whatever we
get.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You won’t be getting anything,’
he replied, ‘I’m taking you home.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t believe this for a minute – he just wanted me away from Dennis, so he
could take control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I don’t want to
have to slap you,’ he warned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His crazed
yet cold eyes were up against me, and I thought I’d better go along with
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I was being escorted down
the road, with Jacob saying, ‘Ben, I know if I let you go, you’ll find someone
to score through, so if you want to get something, tell me now.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So my protector and I set off on a journey to
this couple’s place in White City, just off Wood Lane, near the BBC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my comedy fumblings, I’d dreamed of
walking in there, checking in for rehearsals, having established myself as a
comedian of note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I couldn’t get past
fast enough, desperate to reach our destination to top up the pipe I’d had some
half an hour ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why doesn’t the good
draw you in like the bad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Couldn’t they
see who was going by?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We arrived in some dive, a flat that
even the ‘How Clean Is Your House’ team would have had to touch up before
filming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was inhabited by a guy who
looked like a cross between Wayne Slob and Mr Sneeze, haggard’n’gaunt, hair an
explosion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His partner, who it turned
out he beat (no doubt the bond that brought him and Jacob together), seemed
quite friendly and normal, even made me a cup of tea, and took an interest in
my various aborted dreams and aspirations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d had them too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere in the
undergrowth of their living-room, there was a puppy skulking, apparently acquired
from someone at the drug service we’d all been fruitlessly attending for
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Formalities over, Jacob popped
out with my clutch of twenties, and I took tea with my hosts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spike had been a postman, until he got sacked
for intercepting chequebooks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now he
allegedly gardened for a well-known singer from the 80s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hostess, Suzie, showed me pictures of her
children of whom she was very proud – they were scattered about the globe, and
seemingly quite happy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I faked conversation until Jacob’s return
with the crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unwrapping the bits, he
went first, of course, then me, then our hosts, on a variety of hastily
constructed pipes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Spike and Suzie
began discussing something discreetly, and it soon became clear they were
injectors, of which Jacob roundly disapproved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He would smoke crack, but not heroin, and he certain wouldn’t inject
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, however, hell bent on
experiencing all I could experience, made a mental note of where I was, and to
call back some time when Jacob wasn’t around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Spike and Suzie disappeared into the bedroom and bathroom, respectively,
to inject in peace, leaving me and Jacob smoking just the crack in the
living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they returned, Spike
moaning he couldn’t find a vein, and Suzie talking so fast it was hard to keep
up, Jacob popped out to the cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
managed to cajole a heroin spliff in his absence, which helped with the crack
cravings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after an agonising wait,
he returned, and we all four smoked away until the money went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heroin hadn’t really been enough to calm
me down, but, somehow, having said our goodbyes, we left, and Jacob and I
parted on the street with a handshake, as if having just sealed a small
business deal, and later, there I was in bed, sweating, and desperately trying
to get to sleep, cursing every second, wracked with regret that one, I’d ever
touched crack, and two, I couldn’t go on smoking forever, if necessary to
death, cos it seemed there was no way out of this slow nosedive my life had
become.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And here, as ever, is a song I wrote, on a safe link to youtube, just here: </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C57VV8OYqj4" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank You For Your Help In This Matter</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe see you tomorrow.</span><br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-63247063605078603462016-01-27T06:06:00.002-08:002016-01-27T06:06:17.726-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 15Hi, and thanks ever so for dropping by. I've been in and out of eye hospital lately, due to having had a few operations, but here, I hope, is today's riveting episode of the much-vaunted Blind Man On Crack. And thanks to Kenneth for helping me post things up.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--Wl7dDXt-Ag/VqjOoILcGnI/AAAAAAAAA3I/E98-eq6HPRw/s1600/Beef%2BIs%2BBack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--Wl7dDXt-Ag/VqjOoILcGnI/AAAAAAAAA3I/E98-eq6HPRw/s320/Beef%2BIs%2BBack.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter 15<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Crackhouse Rules<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was around this time that the
beauty of a chap called Dennis was unveiled to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t actually remember where I met
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just recall our paths crossing
frequently around this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I
couldn’t decipher his strong Grenadian accent too well at first, we soon found
that we were speaking the same language when phrases like ‘do you want to get
something’ or ‘where’s the nearest cashpoint’ were being employed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was quite a spectacle, in his loafing,
lugubrious way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t take me long
to notice that his teeth were smashed to shards, as if some kind of dental
iconoclast had wreaked havoc in his mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were nice and white, but that only helped to highlight their
plight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The front two had clearly been
knocked for six, but there were jagged bits of white poking from the gum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It looked like someone had taken a set of
pliers to the bottom row.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, coupled
with a thick mat of stubble, and a look of having just got up, meant the
shambling Dennis cut quite a caper around the Green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a friendly guy and, although he ripped
me off once or twice, was never threatening or violent, and didn’t hold back
the drugs, like Jacob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Dennis’s usual bolthole, having
scored, was a house not far from Faith’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For some weeks, it was my regular haunt, and most of my using would
occur or at least pass through there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
belonged to a guy called David, who had mental health issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently he was schizophrenic, but there
seemed to be more to it than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever
the time of day or night, there would always be some scallywag on that bed, in
that chair, asleep on that patch of floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In addition, there’d nearly always be another band of bit players, just
to add fluidity to proceedings, sleeping, sitting around, going from room to
room, looking for a smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stepping
through the net-curtained door into David’s, uninitiated, it was hard to know
whose place it actually was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">David himself seemed to spend much of
his time on his bed, encircled by a coterie of spongers, all waiting, like so
many sea-urchins, to see what bits of plankton were going to drop their way
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was an urchin, yet less
well-rooted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’d be a knock at the
door, a general tramping into the hall would ensue, to see who it was, what
they had, if a pipe could be charmed out of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe even David would emerge, to claim what
was rightfully his, a pipe for ‘the house’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Normally, if you visit someone, you might take a bottle of wine, a bunch
of flowers, box of chocolates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Abnormally, crack-etiquette dictates that you’re obliged to cough up a
smoke for the homeowner, if you can tell who it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The bathroom in a crackhouse is
perhaps the most sought-after room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Certainly this was the case at David’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Usually there were two or more people crammed in there, smoking, or
receiving or giving a blowjob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
were one of them, you wouldn’t remain undisturbed for long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There would always be someone wanting to have
a sneaky pipe in there, away from all the prying, greedy eyes elsewhere in the
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you wanted to get in there,
though, your chances were slim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either
it would be locked, or, if the lock was broken, the door would get shoved
backatcha with the urgency of a guy with a pipe in one hand and his cock in the
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you were one of those odd
people who actually wanted to use the loo, there might be a local paper on the
cistern, if you were lucky, an absence of loo-roll being a key feature of any
crackhouse worth the name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The kitchen, you’ll be unsurprised to
hear, was pretty light on food, and mostly used by people who couldn’t get into
the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though it was
overlooked from outside, there would often be half a dozen people clustering in
there, some smoking, some blagging, some just taking in the ambience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing in there one morning, around five I
think, I found myself in the privileged position of buying the stuff direct
from the dealer, and having it placed into my closing hand, rather than Jacob’s
or Dennis’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As with any product, the
more middlemen, the more you get ripped off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One or two girls who were hanging around were swift to offer to ‘help me
unwrap it’, because ‘that cling-film can be fiddly, can’t it hun?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">News of my elevated status spread, and
moments later some guy with ill-fitting dentures was standing by me, telling me
it was his birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He failed, but I
wished him many happy returns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
net-curtain hung vaguely in the window, which was one way of telling roughly
what time of day it was, and through it the next wave of visitors could be inspected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many came and went, until, morning now
underway in earnest, I realised I only had a tenner left, and I was determined
this should go on some heroin, to soften party’s end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There were about five of us left in
the flat, including David on his bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
went into the bedroom, putting feelers out regarding the purchase of some
heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one had, or knew anyone who
had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman sat on the bed said, ‘Oh
look, Prince Charles wants to get something.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Gauche in adversity, I’d obviously used a turn of phrase that set me
apart from my peers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A fairly calm guy
by the wardrobe offered me a cigarette, as if consoling a child who’d lost his
parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked David if he knew someone
I could ring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was too drunk, or
drugged, to answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a fidgety guy,
on his haunches on the carpet, said, ‘Oy, blind man, gimme that fag.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fended him off with a word or two, but my
approach was too soft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Come on, blind
man, gissa lug.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried again to
placate, but in the end he got so animated I thought I’d better give it
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a few drags, then threw it
on the carpet between us, half-smoked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It felt like time to make tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this was easier said than done, as the
tenner in my pocket, which I’d declared in my attempt to barter for heroin, was
a magnet for badness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slipped out into
the hall and into the bathroom, surprisingly unhindered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there, I would slip out into the
darkness, and away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, as I pulled
shut the front-door, it swung open with a violent tug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fag-thrower didn’t want me to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sight, plus the darkness, didn’t allow me to
run, and I didn’t especially want to argue or fight, so out came my elementary
diplomatic talents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Now, look here,’ I
began, ‘I’m not looking for any trouble, I just want to make my way, I’ve no
axe to grind.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did, however, and
pushed me against the wall and held what looked like two old knives to my
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Diplomacy had failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to gently ease his hands away, like
some amateurish dog-whisperer trying to get the creature to respond in a new
way to old dilemmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This too
failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Get off me, blind man,’ he
explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to assure him I meant
him no harm, perhaps as Jean Luc Picard might when presented with a volatile,
but essentially frightened alien.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
even the values of Next Generation Star Trek fell short of resolving
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Don’t touch me,’ he warned
again, and I could feel old metal on my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Gimme that tenner, blind man.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Either I was still hoping I’d stumble on some heroin, or I just didn’t
want to reward his force with gain, so the tenner stayed in my pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called help into the still flapping
front-door, but no one came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile,
my attacker was mauling me like a lion, with knives, and each time I tried to
fend him off he warned me not to touch him, and reacquainted my face with his
blades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to run, but couldn’t
see to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to fight, cos
violence breeds violence, innit?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
determined to diffuse the situation with decency, reason, and fair play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, having exhausted all diplomatic
channels, and concerned I might come away with my cheek slashed or throat cut,
I reached into my pocket and yielded up the tenner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took it like a pushy child might a
present, snatching it from my clutches almost before I’d extended my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, as if off to the sweetshop, he
scampered into the night, pocketing his blades, bounding up the stone steps
into the backwaters of Shepherd’s Bush.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I gave it a few minutes, made a mental
note of the dangerous people I was now meeting daily, brushed myself down, and
made my way home in squally rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Red
t-shirt ripped, and hanging from my shoulder, I trudged down Goldhawk Road on
the cusp of night and dawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter
16<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">White
City<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I spent the next three days in bed,
brain flatter than a leaking battery, torn red t-shirt on the floor, and one of
the Discovery channels burbling away as I drifted in and out of sleep,
occasionally raiding the cupboard for whatever was left to eat, which was never
much at this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I rose, in a
bout of desperation, I wrote a handwritten letter to my doctor, asking to be
sent to rehab, or a psychiatric ward, or wherever there was a vacancy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A few days later, I made an emergency
appointment, and my doctor, almost impotent to help, referred me to my local
drug service, and I went for an assessment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was assigned a counsellor, who I saw for about six months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was very good, knowledgeable, honest, and
patient, but she couldn’t stop me using week after week, and coming in with
tales of increasing degradation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this
point, the compulsion to use crack, with a heroin chaser, felt like something
separate from what I considered to be myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was as if the decision was made in me, but not by me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It’s happened again,’ I’d say, time after
time, and she would say, ‘You mean you’ve used again.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seemingly, none of the complementary
therapies had helped, and nor had any of our circular conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just became a more literate addict, and
could talk at severe length, sometimes quite engagingly, about the same thing –
I’d used.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth is, at this time, I
wanted to use, but didn’t want the consequences, and heroin, sneaking up on the
rails, had only made the whole cycle seem slightly less unmanageable,
softening, as it did, the comedown from crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ear acupuncture, very nice, shiatsu,
interesting, reflexology, quite sensual, cupping, whatever that is,
hypnotherapy, and various relaxation CDs, all made a minimal indentation on my
pattern of use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even wrote a few
worthy articles for the drug service newsletter, all teacher’s pet stuff,
saying how wonderful the therapies were, and how I found the service so very
valuable as a community hub, but they were all just words, worthy, placatory,
hollow words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drug service
subscribed to a magazine called Black Poppy, a health and lifestyle journal
written by users and ex-users.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the
months, I wrote a few articles for it, even compiled a cryptic crossword, with
mostly drug-related answers, but even this, coupled with volunteering at the
magazine’s office, and the new friends it afforded me, made no difference to my
using.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So far, the most successful path I’d
found to getting a period free from crack was going to my parents’ by the sea,
which I did many times at this point, in various states of disrepair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I’d be spoken to frankly, in a spirit
of concern, and bewilderment, by both parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, having had another good think about my predicament, I’d return to
London and relapse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hypnotherapy, dispensed
by a chap in a shack in Ealing, and paid for by my parents, seemed to work for
a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hypnotised on a Monday, I
managed to abstain from crack, with money in my pocket, ‘til Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then, when I blew it, it was back to
scoring at every opportunity, regardless of time of day, or danger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">By now, I was firm friends with Faith,
especially when I arrived at hers fresh from the cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was kind of unfortunate that she lived on
the same street as the drug service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact, it was probably possible to see the place from her window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often I’d have an appointment that I simply
wouldn’t show for, because I’d stumble into Faith’s literally yards from
safety, like a rugby-player with a knack for tackling himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One afternoon, I was marching to an
appointment, knowing full well I wouldn’t get there, because I’d already
decided to trip myself up at Faith’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Torn at her door, half hoping she was out, half wishing she’d hurry up
and answer, I was surprised when my old chum Dennis appeared before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Butler-like, he ushered me into the
living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d already scored, and
furnished me with a pipe, which led to a flurry of notes being pulled from my
pocket, accompanied by the request, ‘Can we get something?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was happy to oblige, and called down the
hall to Faith, to let her know he was popping out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came into the living-room, and was
equally delighted to see me, and the notes I was scrunching into Dennis’s
palm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She returned to whoever she was
entertaining out the back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dennis and I
were negotiating what we wanted, and who we should get it from, when another figure
appeared in the doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was Jacob,
and he didn’t seem very happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He said a cool hello, and reminded me
of a previous warning, given some days before, not to hang out with
Dennis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to Jacob, Dennis would
con me, keep drugs back, was a known criminal, in fact was everything Jacob was
himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he addressed Dennis
directly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ben is my associate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look after him.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘He just wants to score,’ Dennis said
lamely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ben, come with me,’ Jacob
instructed, ‘I’m taking you home.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t want to go home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to
score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I’m ok,’ I said, trying to
appease the now approaching figure of Jacob, ‘I’m happy to share whatever we
get.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You won’t be getting anything,’
he replied, ‘I’m taking you home.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t believe this for a minute – he just wanted me away from Dennis, so he
could take control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I don’t want to
have to slap you,’ he warned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His crazed
yet cold eyes were up against me, and I thought I’d better go along with
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I was being escorted down
the road, with Jacob saying, ‘Ben, I know if I let you go, you’ll find someone
to score through, so if you want to get something, tell me now.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So my protector and I set off on a journey to
this couple’s place in White City, just off Wood Lane, near the BBC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my comedy fumblings, I’d dreamed of
walking in there, checking in for rehearsals, having established myself as a
comedian of note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I couldn’t get
past fast enough, desperate to reach our destination to top up the pipe I’d had
some half an hour ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why doesn’t the
good draw you in like the bad?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Couldn’t
they see who was going by?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We arrived in some dive, a flat that
even the ‘How Clean Is Your House’ team would have had to touch up before
filming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was inhabited by a guy who
looked like a cross between Wayne Slob and Mr Sneeze, haggard’n’gaunt, hair an
explosion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His partner, who it turned
out he beat (no doubt the bond that brought him and Jacob together), seemed
quite friendly and normal, even made me a cup of tea, and took an interest in
my various aborted dreams and aspirations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d had them too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere in
the undergrowth of their living-room, there was a puppy skulking, apparently
acquired from someone at the drug service we’d all been fruitlessly attending
for months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Formalities over, Jacob popped
out with my clutch of twenties, and I took tea with my hosts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spike had been a postman, until he got sacked
for intercepting chequebooks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now he
allegedly gardened for a well-known singer from the 80s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hostess, Suzie, showed me pictures of her
children of whom she was very proud – they were scattered about the globe, and
seemingly quite happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I faked conversation until Jacob’s
return with the crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unwrapping the
bits, he went first, of course, then me, then our hosts, on a variety of
hastily constructed pipes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Spike
and Suzie began discussing something discreetly, and it soon became clear they
were injectors, of which Jacob roundly disapproved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would smoke crack, but not heroin, and he
certain wouldn’t inject anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I,
however, hell bent on experiencing all I could experience, made a mental note
of where I was, and to call back some time when Jacob wasn’t around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spike and Suzie disappeared into the bedroom
and bathroom, respectively, to inject in peace, leaving me and Jacob smoking
just the crack in the living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
they returned, Spike moaning he couldn’t find a vein, and Suzie talking so fast
it was hard to keep up, Jacob popped out to the cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I managed to cajole a heroin spliff in his
absence, which helped with the crack cravings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, after an agonising wait, he returned, and we all four smoked away
until the money went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heroin hadn’t
really been enough to calm me down, but, somehow, having said our goodbyes, we
left, and Jacob and I parted on the street with a handshake, as if having just
sealed a small business deal, and later, there I was in bed, sweating, and
desperately trying to get to sleep, cursing every second, wracked with regret
that one, I’d ever touched crack, and two, I couldn’t go on smoking forever, if
necessary to death, cos it seemed there was no way out of this slow nosedive my
life had become.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And, as ever, I offer up a song for your consideration: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xudlpPhAXI" target="_blank">Run Out Of Drugs Again</a></span><br />
<br />
Maybe tomorrow?<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-26763604107822773592016-01-14T10:14:00.002-08:002016-01-14T10:14:50.117-08:00THE BOAT ON THE CANAL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PqRpq3lepDo/VpflfkqiGWI/AAAAAAAAA2o/Oa_y7N9pQ44/s1600/europe_2007_1192391700_the-cobweb-in-the-cellar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PqRpq3lepDo/VpflfkqiGWI/AAAAAAAAA2o/Oa_y7N9pQ44/s320/europe_2007_1192391700_the-cobweb-in-the-cellar.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
Hello. In a land where it rarely got properly light, a boat was on the canal. It was almost as wide as the canal, and had one funnel, halfway along. when it went past the denser part of the town, where studies and bedrooms faced the water, it would emit a hissing geyser of vapour from its funnel. this steam would rise in puffs, and slow coils, upward, into the barely lit sky, blurring one's view of the lit rooms on the other bank. If you had your windows shut, you were alright, as hardly any vapour would enter your room. However, if the day had been warm, sultry, and solitary, you might have forgotten to clamp down the sash, and this is when some fumes would slither, serpent-like, under the glass. One day, a philosophy student had been reading for most of the afternoon, when his head lolled forward just before tea, and she fell into a shallow slumber. As she nodded, the boat came by, its signature hiss signifying imminence. The funnel produced its vertical vapours, as an amenable breeze blew some through her chintz. In her dream, which semi-featured the boat, and its droning and foaming, she found herself craving abnegation, abdication from life's responsibilities - her body slumped, she jolted back, upright, awake, unaware, book and lamp before her. And she could hear the passing sound of the boat, and she made for the window, calling out through the gap, 'Come back, come back.'<br />
<br />
But one thing you can't do on a canal is turn around.<br />
<br />
And here is a song wot I wrote: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkxstwOpbeQ" target="_blank">Snow Queen</a><br />
<br />
Tomorrow?<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-78562542887104938652016-01-07T13:30:00.002-08:002016-01-07T13:30:24.375-08:00REMOTE CONTROLHello, today I'd like to tell you about a text I received.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yM-hIj8axs8/Vo7TgyFZzSI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/eqI8rAubsVI/s1600/Goldhawk.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yM-hIj8axs8/Vo7TgyFZzSI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/eqI8rAubsVI/s320/Goldhawk.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Initially, around lunchtime, as I negotiated the froth atop my latte, my telephone began jangling. I took it out my pocket, and looked at the screen, the text huge to suit my current vision. It was a familiar number, from Trinity Infinity, the female half of a couple I know in Hammersmith. I placed it back in my pocket, and let it ring on.<br />
<br />
I was already allowing my mind to wander too close to the edge of the precipice, and this just opened up a panorama of ways to rationalise getting in touch. But I didn't.<br />
<br />
Just now, early evening, I got a text. It read something like, 'Hi Benjamin, I hope you're ok and happy new year. I didn't want to keep calling in case you were staying away from certain people, places, and things. Please do get in touch when you get this message, it's urgent xx.'<br />
<br />
Now, if someone didn't want to 'keep ringing', would they then text you later, making out its urgent? It doesn't piece together. What's more, if it was urgent, why did I have to ring up to find out why? And what's even more, well, I've had these kind of texts before from Trinity. In the past, I've rung back like a lapdog, and not once was it any more pressing than she wanted money or drugs - but on each occasion I'd ended up at her door. I was tempted to today, but haven't. If it was urgent, then I'm just going to have to go down as an inverted friend, not ringing when it was, but ringing every time when it wasn't.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I've made up some horrendous stories to cover my using. I once told someone I'd been attacked, my phone had been stolen, and could they put maybe fifty quid in my bank? If I were a betting person, my guess would be today's text was no more important than all the others. The method of giving half a story, dangling suspense like fish-bait above the addict reptile on the riverbed, is old...give 'em a hint, they'll be hooked.<br />
<br />
And that's all for today, I think. Need to go to sleep...it's urgent xx.<br />
<br />
P.S. A song for you: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aB7ww7Ne30E" target="_blank">All I Want For Christmas Is A Personality Disorder</a><br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-42389600098039365052016-01-05T07:55:00.005-08:002016-01-05T07:55:35.218-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 14Hello, happy 2016, and thanks for dropping by. Here below is Episode 14 of the salacious saga that is 'Blind Man On Crack', or, if you prefer its old title, 'How To Become A Crack Addict;. When it's published in book form, just imagine what reflected glory you'll be able to attain, being one of the first discerning readers to peruse it. Also below is a link to my youtube music channel, with many a song by yours truly on it.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This Charming Madman<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Having located likeminded suicidals in
my own area, I now had no excuse not to be scoring at every opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I honoured this obligation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith’s was a popular haunt for anyone who
needed a place to smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’d scored
at the Shepherd’s Bush end of Uxbridge Road, as so many did, it was no more
than a short stroll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if Faith was
out, or entertaining in the bathroom, there’d always be someone to let you in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One night I turned up about one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith was in the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On hearing activity in the hallway, she poked
a gummy head round the door, but my arrival failed to excite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised at this, until I realised she
had company in there, a bloke, who obviously had what she needed, i.e. enough
crack to keep their dalliance alive for, what, half an hour?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was probably a classic crack-cock
alliance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was crack-high, in
sex-fiend mode, and wanted to know that Caesar-like power of having a woman
kneel before him, sexually supplicate herself in the classic style, her gaping
mouth plugged, both open and shut, like a silent gasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Analysis of such encounters always
throws up a grimly pared-down example of the eternal tussle between supply and
demand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each has what the other
wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wants his cock sucked, and is
offering crack as an enticement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
wants crack, and her words imply she’ll do anything for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he won’t cough up until he’s got what he
wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She won’t give him what he wants
until he’s coughed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Come on, gissa
blowjob,’ implores the emperor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I
will,’ she promises, ‘but gissa pipe first…then I’ll be nice’n’horny for
you.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stalemate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just a case of who breaks first, like a
mini Cuban missile crisis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re left
hoping that somehow, in the end, it just blows over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The guy who opened the door to me
seemed quite calm and sane, even cordial and charming, in a slightly balking
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We chatted in the hall for a while,
then he led me into the bedroom, where the withered Gerald languished like an
aborted experiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jacob, that being
the name of my new guardian, offered me a pipe, which I eagerly and greedily
sucked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was now the arrogant yet impotent letch
that the hapless me was apparently so keen to become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could hear female voices in the
front-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crack had kick-started
the usual lasciviousness, but Jacob, employing his inimitable brand of
gutter-suave, assured me there’d be plenty of time for that later, and plied me
with another pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had it, appreciated
it, and was now his plaything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘So what
was it you were looking for, friend?’ he enquired with consummate
self-interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I was just looking to
get, what, forty?’ I said, throwing out a multiple of ten, hoping to sound
seasoned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was drug-hungry and gullible,
scoring through go-betweens who’d dish it out like fish at the feeding of the
five thousand, i.e. messianically, in small pieces, and hardly ever to the poor
sap that’s bankrolling the do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jacob was
far from illiterate – he could see the word ‘sucker’ etched into my cheek like
a fencing-scar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So off we went to score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deed done, it was decided we should go to
Jacob’s place, not back to Faith’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was too much of a liability, apparently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Besides, that place was hot, could get raided any minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That I believed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the few times I’d been there, day or
night, people would often be ringing, knocking on the window, or in some way
clamouring for access.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, Faith
would have a crafty look through the net-curtain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she thought they had something, or would
want to get something, they’d be granted an audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If not, they’d be turned away…nastily, if
necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s more, the man in the
flat above had aroused general suspicion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>More than once, it was suggested he was a police-plant, staking out the
place until it was time to pounce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
were even paranoid whispers of boreholes in the ceiling through which they were
being observed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Jacob assured me that his place was
safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was flat-sitting for a bloke in
prison, with his girlfriend, that’s to say Jacob, knowing the guy was away, had
broken in and made the place his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was in some anonymous tower-block round the back of Loftus Road, the usual
porn-strewn shell, portable on chair, clothes everywhere, kitchen with a kettle
in but clearly no food, and stretched out on a mattress, Gushka, Jacob’s
Latvian girlfriend, gawping at the telly, skinnily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The drugs were dispensed…Jacob first,
naturally, then me, then his brittle, sticklike lover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We introduced what was left of
ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’d met in Superdrug, been
together seven years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She worked in a
beautician’s in Acton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But pretty
quickly, Jacob eased me to one side, saying, ‘Gimme five minutes with my woman,
friend.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I presumed his motives were
sexual, and panicked in case he wanted me to leave the room, and so the
drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no, the drugs were leaving me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jacob got up and went into the hallway,
adding, ‘Gushka, come.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meekly, she rose
to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, I heard the
bathroom door close, and tried to kill time by flicking through some well-worn
porn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone leaving the room with drugs
was someone I didn’t want to see leaving, but I sensed Jacob was not the kind
of man I should question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most bullies, he had a knack
for sniffing out the ones who wouldn’t fight back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t long before I heard a whimpering
down the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered if they were
having sex, or something resembling it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was another noise, this time palpably anguished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounded like he was torturing her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in my cracked-up state, I still had
access to at least the bare bones of a moral code, and wondered if I should
intervene, even knock politely on the door and ask, ‘Is everything ok?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it struck me that any intervention could
end in disaster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know to what psychotic
lengths Jacob would go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reminded me
of the patient in the mental ward who befriends you, tries to convince you he’s
sane, asks you to have a word with the authorities on his behalf, and then,
when you’re about to leave, rugby-tackles and pins you to the floor, crying,
‘Don’t forget to tell them I’m sane!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No, to interrupt Jacob’s brutality might have led to him dispensing me a
dose, then Gushka getting another helping just for having provoked things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I just sat there, bitter I had no crack,
Ceefax in one ear, domestic abuse in the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">After a while, appetite sated, Jacob
came back into the living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Sorry
about that,’ he said, in a tone that sounded genuinely sincere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought for a moment he was apologising for
his own actions, but how foolish I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘She doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “respect”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you see the way she was?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but,
because he had the drugs, I thought I’d better keep him sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yeah,’ I said, vaguely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I introduce her to someone new, and she
behaves like that.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still wasn’t sure
what she was meant to have done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You
mean like her being kind of indifferent?’ I guessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I ask her to put the kettle on, cos I want a
coffee, and she just lies there, and that’s in front of someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does that make me look?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ I said, selling
my soul with every syllable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Then she
starts making all that noise,’ he continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘There’s a Muslim couple downstairs, with young daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s going to end up embarrassing not just
herself, but me as well.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now knew that
I was in the presence of a skewed mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And quite why Muslims were any more susceptible to the sounds of
domestic violence than anyone else, I had no clue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Doesn’t she realise that making those kind
of noises could end up reflecting back on me?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then he sat back down and loaded up a pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That done, he picked up one of the tattered
magazines that lay around, turning to a page with a girl with breasts like
balloons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Bet she had tits when she was
twelve,’ he said, handing me the page.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then Gushka returned, seemingly
intact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You’ve got to learn some
respect, Gush,’ he said, ‘Ben’s a guest, and you don’t disrespect me in front
of guests.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ok, Jacob,’ she said, as if
she’d heard it many times before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘You’ve got to realise, you’d be nothing without me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People would rob you, rape you, screw you
into the ground if it wasn’t for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
do realise that, don’t you Gush?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes,
Jacob.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was very confident of the
moral low-ground he monopolised, and his free-thinking credentials were again
flagged up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘What do you think, Ben?’ he
asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Do you think I should put her on
the game?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled in such a way that
he would feel endorsed, but she wouldn’t see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My soul was now completely in flames.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Could I have a pipe, please?’ I asked, not wishing to dwell on the
twelve-year-old me, twitching like a phoenix in a stone-cold hearth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There was a hole in a floorboard, and
Jacob said he’d lost a bit of crack down there a few weeks before, on his
birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself foraging about
in the dust, like James Herriot feeling around inside an empty cow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, Ceefax turned to weather, to
breakfast telly, to utter despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then,
no more crack, the money gone, and not even any heroin to come down with, I
eventually made my way home, midmorning, bitter, beaten, and broke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The pattern of my using was beginning
to take shape, and it wasn’t pretty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
web of associates was growing, so when the government slung a couple of hundred
quid in my account, I’d be down the road like a shot. Wednesdays were the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might go to bed on Tuesday night, but I’d
be counting the minutes until two, when the money appeared in my account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d leave my flat at quarter-to, to give me
time to get down the road and unearth, or be unearthed by, a suitable person to
score through, which rarely took more than half an hour, if I walked at the
right pace, along the right stretch of road, in the right style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, another nocturnal whirlwind blown out,
I’d crawl home to an empty fridge and a daybed, where I’d remain for anything
from two to four days, eeking out a half-life by foraging in the cupboard for
instant noodles or cereal, which I’d almost certainly have with water, due to
having lost the ability to shop some weeks ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The last vestiges of my social life
had also gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No more pub quiz on a
Tuesday night with old schoolmates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
more spots in bottom-of-the-ladder comedy-clubs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I was either not answering the phone, or
broke, or both, and getting very cagey about making arrangements with anyone,
because I probably wouldn’t honour them anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No more a social butterfly, I was now an antisocial moth, chaotically
spiralling round an invisible, yet voracious, flame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And here is a link to my music channel, should you wish to dance in your desk-chair for a minute or two: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/benmungovin">Benjamin Lo-Fi's Music Channel</a></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">See you in a day or two...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></i>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-76657696792119931702016-01-01T13:58:00.003-08:002016-01-01T13:58:34.535-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 13Hello, here is the unlucky episode 13 of Blind Man On Crack, for your entertainment...<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7oxLq0fx9lE/Vob2Yma5l3I/AAAAAAAAA14/8C0QGsPO41o/s1600/chtitle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7oxLq0fx9lE/Vob2Yma5l3I/AAAAAAAAA14/8C0QGsPO41o/s400/chtitle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter 13<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Walkabout<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">For the next few months, I relied on
Westbourne Park to fuel my iniquity, and Layla and I became if not friends,
acquaintances, if not acquaintances, associates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when the drugs had gone, she’d get surly
and start mumbling insults.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d just sit
there, regretting, occasionally trying to fashion a roll-up from the charred
remnants of six other joints, which in turn were the remnants of thirty-six
previous ones, and she’d condemn my ashen fumblings as unseemly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a Rubicon had been if not crossed, waded
into.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack with a heroin chaser was now
the order of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ah, those comforting
heroin-spliffs, that allowed me to smoke crack with seeming impunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was like an acrobat using a bed of nails as
a safety-net, but then I had no plans to let go of the trapeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">If I called on Layla to find her out,
I’d fall back on the nearly-always-in Mr Bingo, who’d faithfully summon up
Sandra for me, for the usual fee of fags and fiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Sandra wouldn’t let me score heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t do that shit, and because she was
the middleman between me and the dealer, there was no point asking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, the promise of ‘crack soon’ overrode
the possibility of ‘heroin later’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
I was thrusting those scrunched-up notes into her waiting mitt, I was in the
business of making sure she came back just as soon as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that was with just white, so be it…I
wouldn’t care about brown once I’d got that first bit of crack down my
neck…well, not until it was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No,
the white was Sandra’s thing, and she’d sneer at those who even touched the
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heroin, even if just smoked in a
spliff, or on foil, was the preserve of scumbags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for people who injected, they were
dropouts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d do the Lady of the Manor
turning-up-of-the-nose at those losers, leer down like a mangy Margot Ledbetter
at the needle-crew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Some nights I’d get a cab to
Westbourne Park, arriving outside the 24-hour shop where a loose collection of
brethren would already be clustered in its light, hoping for a break in the
context of ongoing despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them
seemed so shady that even I, in my gullible rapacity, found myself not engaging
and wandering away, trying to look to poor to mug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were usually male, but sometimes a
female would fall among them, and they’d gather about like dung-beetles under a
jackal, a strange cross between scavenger and serenader, asking who’s she with,
where’s she going, does she want to ‘come for a smoke’, but most offers were
hollow, and the lady would shake ‘em awf like dandruff, flouncing into the
night, leaving the beetles twitching their feelers in dismay at the thought of
her smoking with someone further up the food-chain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One night, alone in my cubicle, as I
lay there lamenting the slope on my mattress, formed by only ever having one
person on it, I was on the brink of booking my passage to Westbourne Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was two in the morning, and money had just
gone into my account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it occurred
to me it might be worth trying to score closer to home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My encounter with the reptilian pimp, only a
few months before, was proof that drugs existed in Shepherd’s Bush as well as
Westbourne Park, and the Bronx.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
now my mission to find them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I had
to do was wander down the right street, let myself be spotted by the right
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might not be able to see them,
but they may spot, then assail, me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Shepherd’s Bush has 24-hour shops too,’ I mused, and felt myself
becoming more London-savvy with every thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like a pig foraging for truffles, this time I’d root out the desired
delicacy, even if it meant snuffling in the undergrowth half the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I got up, dressed, discreetly excited,
discreetly exited, and made my way down to the Green, which lives up to its
name inasmuch as parts of it are green.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It’s odd being a partially sighted
spy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You go out in search of your
quarry, knowing that contact won’t depend on you spotting it, but it spotting
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s more a putting-yourself-out-there
exercise, a blurred reconnaissance, a fact-finding mission, but one where the
facts find you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ten minutes later, I was trawling the
broad pavements outside the Walkabout pub, the haunt of sexually active
Australians, just by the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, where I’d seen Suzanne Vega,
Cowboy Junkies, Richard Thompson, Divine Comedy, and a range of luminaries
(during my crack sabbatical).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most
trawlers, my net went wide and deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
pity the dolphins, those ever-smiling intellectuals in brine, getting all
tangled up in dredge-nets, because Josh the geography student can’t think of
anything but tuna to put in his bap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even though I was the one doing the trawling, I felt like I’d been
caught myself, some four years before, by Sandra, the professional fishwife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her net was so holey you’d think even krill
would get through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you’re looking
to get hooked, it’s possible to become enmeshed in a threadbare net that’s
barely there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was fish turned
fisherman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I spied activity, portside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A drifting silhouette put out a mild distress
call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wanted a cigarette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her sail was surely battered, and her hull
well-punctured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even though I
couldn’t get a clear look at the spook, my cracked and fuzzy telescope told me
this was contact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dropped anchor, and
she hailed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What are you doing out
this time of night?' she asked, probably prompted by the white cane I was
hanging out like a fishing-rod before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Less cagey in my old age, I replied, 'I was just looking to get
something.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She leapt at this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What is it you want?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could almost hear her adrenal gland kick
in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I was thinking of getting a
smoke.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What, white?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The strange game of reveal was over, and
she'd declared first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now we were on the
same wavelength, talking the same language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No fear among plague-ships. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There was a cashpoint nearby, although
it was the kind I couldn’t read so well, pale, with spindly blue
lettering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for the addict,
delay-intolerant, a cashpoint, whether it be embedded in the wall of a bank, a
shopping-mall, or jammed in a nook of a Budgens, is a thing of hope, a facilitator
of dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When those notes are poured
into that little metal tray, it’s as if the establishment itself wants you to
get wrecked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes,’ gleams the oracle,
‘you go and score, seize the day, or night...mind you, if you incur any charges
while you’re at it, we’ll punish you, of course.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So there we stood, at the oracle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would have knelt, but for the gum and spit
on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My co-worshipper read
aloud with reverence the sacred text, the blessèd buttons pressed at my
behest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We petitioned it for eighty
pounds, which it granted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the
conduit, the tunnel to a new universe that we would never actually arrive in,
but we didn’t care, for transfigurèd we were, sore fucking transfigurèd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I stuffed the notes in my pocket and
turned to my new associate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Who shall
we try?' I asked, wanting her to think I knew a few dealers, which I thought
might dilute her compulsion to fleece me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘This way,’ she said, and led me round the corner onto Uxbridge
Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having established that neither of
us had a mobile, she said she’d use a callbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d just given her some change, when a skinny figure came scuttling
across the road towards us, and Martha, my associate, called out to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Is Billy around?’ she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ring Colonel,’ the stranger delicately crowed,
‘he’s just on Loftus.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Martha made the
call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The phantom, now standing before
me, introduced herself as Faith, and warned me to be careful of Martha (or Mel,
as she knew her).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was bad news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the world of crack is a backbiting one –
when someone tells you someone’s a thief, they’re usually thinking about
robbing you themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, I told you
I was London-savvy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Martha emerged with
urgent instructions for us to get to the corner of Loftus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mid-flight, I transplanted the notes into
Faith’s waiting grasp, who’d by now convinced me that she was the one I could
trust, and we could go back to hers just as soon as the crack was ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Discovering I’d entrusted Faith with the
money put Martha’s nose out of joint, or back in, I couldn’t tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, by now, all we could both do was hope
that Faith, having disappeared down Loftus Road, would return with the relevant
drugs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As we stood there on the corner, me
feeling like we were sure to get arrested, another of Martha's nocturnal
playmates turned up, a girl called Belinda whose tits were on obvious show, for
obvious reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly they were all
coming out of the woodwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd no idea
I was living in such a hotbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Faith returned, all four of us went back to her place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had the ground-floor flat of a house no
more than a few minutes away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
couldn’t have been easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The living-room, for want of a better
name, was dingy and cluttered, and felt like years of dust and grease had caked
into every surface, apart from, of course, the shiny bathroom tile onto which
Faith spat the saliva-clad parcels, just acquired from the elusive
Colonel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Opening a tiny cling-film
package that's covered in phlegm is a pretty slippery business, but I
eventually managed to do it, and off we went again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all becoming dangerously easy, and
dangerously close to home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Martha seemed to have a lighter-fuel
habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a canister lodged in the
inside-pocket of her crabby denim-jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every so often, she’d bite down on the nozzle, releasing a blast of butane
into her mouth, which she'd suck down into eager, perhaps bleeding lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Belinda just sat there, wafting a
really tangy BO.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It smelt like someone
had lifted the lid of a saucepan with three-day-old stew in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t say much, but whenever someone put
crack on a pipe she’d be sitting there drooling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a while, though, she began to get
paranoid, and started accusing Faith of hiding drugs in parts of the room she
hadn’t even been, under the bed, on the windowsill, on top of the curtain-rail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith didn’t like this, and started getting
nasty, threatening to take a knife to her if she carried on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Belinda gave as good as she got, Faith
called out for backup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Gerald,’ she
bellowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, a bearded
mental guy lumbered in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t look
like he could follow even the simplest instruction, but she ordered him about
like a dog, all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Get that
out,’ she sneered, as if pointing at a ready-meal gone mouldy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Belinda, though, jittery by now, and clearly
not quite the ticket, was already making tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gerald swivelled slowly as if to grab, but he
was too late, and she was out the door before his pincer-like arms met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Belinda gone, Faith was satisfied, and she
sent Gerald back into his lair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
wasn’t long before Martha left, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Don’t know why…maybe Faith convinced her the drugs had all gone,
threatened her with Gerald, or perhaps she ran out of butane, went to the shop
and got serenaded by a local dung-beetle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It allowed Faith and I to have a
little get-to-know-each-other session, to bond in the dinginess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To me, she didn’t seem like a typical
crack-smoker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was about fifty-five,
and spoke like an old-fashioned school-ma’am, clipped and oversure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a take on everyone and everything,
and none of her opinions was good, like so many scalding school-reports from an
establishment where corporal punishment was not a last resort, but a relished
ritual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something sadistic
about her, and it wasn’t long before stories of childhood maltreatment came
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She played the ‘it never did me any
harm’ card to the hilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently she
was grateful that her mother, a dissolute of sorts, had locked her in the
cupboard under the stairs for hours on end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was equally thankful that one of her mother’s fleeting boyfriends
had taken a far keener interest in her, aged nine, than he ever seemed to take
in her mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These things had made her
stronger, taught her about the foibles of human interaction, how to get ahead
of the game, and on it, as soon as she left home, when fourteen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, when it was light, and the
white, along with all my money, had gone, it was time to resort to that
arch-comforter, the brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d been out
a few times during the night, but I’d been bashful of asking for heroin, for
fear of Sandra-style admonishments, but Faith had broached the subject early
on, declaring herself to be a keen injector of both, with many a sunken vein
and abscess to show for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We’d been talking about my
sight-condition when it was time for her to cook up (i.e. prepare the heroin
for injection).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave her the usual
spiel about getting ill when I was nine, that affecting my sight, but one
adapts, especially when one’s a child, how things had been up and down over the
years, but quite stable for about the last ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a story I’d grown tired of telling, and mostly lazy spin and
omissions, anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Faith, having
gained an impression of what I could and couldn’t see, found it useful, and
decided it would be alright to inject in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I usually go into the bathroom to do this,’
she explained, ‘but if you can’t see me anyway, well, what’s the point?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t really care what she did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Fine,’ I replied, with my usual passivity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I tried not to fixate on the ritual
unfolding before me, even though my curiosity was growing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I couldn’t see exactly what cooking
up involved, this was maybe no bad thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a spoon with a bit of liquid in it, then a flame under the spoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you’d draw the stuff up from the spoon
into the barrel of the syringe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it
was like watching an alchemist turn lead into gold through frosted glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got the gist, but not the know-how.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’d forgotten to buy tobacco and
papers to make those, by now, very necessary post-crack heroin-spliffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith, having drawn the elixir into the
syringe, placed it down for a moment to help me in my hour of need, suggesting
I tried snorting the heroin instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
endorsed this method because it meant I wasn’t wasting any, whereas putting it in
a spliff meant that most of it went, quite literally, up in smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Drugs are expensive,’ she pointed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You’ve got to make the most of them when
you’ve got them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t let people
fuck you around, like that Belinda bitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People will take the piss if you let them.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a moving motivational speech, and left
me in no doubt that I was in the presence of an old, and somewhat withered,
hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was kind enough to chop me out
a little brown line, then fashion a tube for me to snort it through, from a
leaflet that fell from a nearby TV guide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Positioning myself above the platter, being careful not to exhale and so
blow it in every direction, I sucked up the bitter powder into a nostril,
sniffing with gusto a few times more to knock it back into the recesses of my
sinuses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, it was Faith’s go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picking her way through clutter, she settled
on a big square cushion in the corner, as if a cat preparing to give
birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could still see her, but not in
detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Down went her jeans, revealing
skinny limbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her lamentations regarding
the state of her legs brought to mind claylike flesh, flecked with scars and
scratches, scabs and cysts, and the odd ripe boil on a rank, necrotic stretch
of shin, all testimony to her decades-long dalliance with decay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then began telling me how her legs were
in such a bad way that she’d thought of offering herself up to schools to give
talks to the children about the perils of drugs, using her legs as a visual
prop to drive the point home…an ambition that seemed both worthy and macabre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A fleeting question entered my mind as
to what I might do if she had an overdose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew virtually no first aid, and wasn’t even sure if it applied in
this setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like a toddler thrown
in the deep end, except I hadn’t been thrown, I’d leapt in of my own accord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I realised that I didn’t even know what
an overdose looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just a
word I’d heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did the patient keel
over and flop into a kind of coma?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did
they quiver on their back, their limbs all fidgety like a dying fly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I call an ambulance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would I tell them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Oh, we were just having some crack, then she
injected some heroin, and now she won’t say anything.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would my fate be in such an
entanglement?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would the police be
involved?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I, the semi-innocent
bystander, be drawn into the fray?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I
doomed to be grilled by the local Jessica Fletcher?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">By the light of a precariously
positioned lamp, and a few shreds of daylight seeping in from the street, Faith
braced for revelation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Legs awkwardly
akimbo, she twisted the snake-neck of the anglepoise to illuminate the relevant
crater, to be located in the region of the groin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I suppose you get a different kind of rush
doing it that way,’ I surmised, hoping my interest would prompt her to do one
for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But instead she said, peering at
my forearms, ‘You haven’t got the veins for it.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered was this her way of teasing my
curiosity, provoking me to find a vein she could inspect, inject, and then say,
‘Ah well, if you insist,’ to exonerate herself from any accusations of
enticement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe this scenario was
being played out solely within the confines of my own needy, and possibly seedy
mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She shushed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Eagle had landed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sigh passed her lips, the kind you’d maybe
get from pressing a freshly dead corpse in the ribcage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still in the business of trying to
seduce her into seducing me into having a hit, but she just wouldn’t be
coaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half of me was glad of this, but
the crack-addled half, still striving for a yet higher high, was resentful, and
quietly vowed to make it happen, somehow, at some point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, for now, all I could do was watch her
swoon, a dirty kind of envy swilling in my gut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Jeans up, she picked her way back to
the sofa, sinking into the upholstery as if pulled by a sense of relief as irresistible
as gravity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Nice?’ I asked, colluding
with the confidence-trick being played on us both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Like a nun kissing God,’ she replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ghoulish though the interlude had been, my
monkish aspirations to attain the serenity she had found, remained untarnished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">And here is a song for you: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkxstwOpbeQ">Snow Queen</a></span><br />
<br />
See you soon.<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-41577737967992378382015-12-23T00:27:00.001-08:002015-12-23T00:27:22.066-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 13Well hello, here, as a special treat, is episode 13 of Blind Man On Crack. You might also like to read How To Become A Crack Addict, which is the first 22 posts of this blog (Jan to April 2013), or you can buy it for a tiny fee on amazon, if you do that kind of thing. Meanwhile, here is episode 13, just for you...<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tmGzdx_f8Wg/Vnpaw9SsLHI/AAAAAAAAA1o/gBKsz4bT59E/s1600/Christmas%2BCard%2B4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tmGzdx_f8Wg/Vnpaw9SsLHI/AAAAAAAAA1o/gBKsz4bT59E/s400/Christmas%2BCard%2B4.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Walkabout<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">For the next few months, I relied on
Westbourne Park to fuel my iniquity, and Layla and I became if not friends,
acquaintances, if not acquaintances, associates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when the drugs had gone, she’d get surly
and start mumbling insults.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d just sit
there, regretting, occasionally trying to fashion a roll-up from the charred
remnants of six other joints, which in turn were the remnants of thirty-six
previous ones, and she’d condemn my ashen fumblings as unseemly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a Rubicon had been if not crossed, waded
into.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack with a heroin chaser was now
the order of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ah, those
comforting heroin-spliffs, that allowed me to smoke crack with seeming
impunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was like an acrobat using a
bed of nails as a safety-net, but then I had no plans to let go of the trapeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">If I called on Layla to find her out,
I’d fall back on the nearly-always-in Mr Bingo, who’d faithfully summon up
Sandra for me, for the usual fee of fags and fiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Sandra wouldn’t let me score heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t do that shit, and because she was
the middleman between me and the dealer, there was no point asking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, the promise of ‘crack soon’ overrode
the possibility of ‘heroin later’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
I was thrusting those scrunched-up notes into her waiting mitt, I was in the
business of making sure she came back just as soon as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that was with just white, so be it…I
wouldn’t care about brown once I’d got that first bit of crack down my
neck…well, not until it was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No,
the white was Sandra’s thing, and she’d sneer at those who even touched the
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heroin, even if just smoked in a
spliff, or on foil, was the preserve of scumbags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for people who injected, they were
dropouts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d do the Lady of the Manor
turning-up-of-the-nose at those losers, leer down like a mangy Margot Ledbetter
at the needle-crew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Some nights I’d get a cab to
Westbourne Park, arriving outside the 24-hour shop where a loose collection of
brethren would already be clustered in its light, hoping for a break in the
context of ongoing despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them
seemed so shady that even I, in my gullible rapacity, found myself not engaging
and wandering away, trying to look to poor to mug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were usually male, but sometimes a
female would fall among them, and they’d gather about like dung-beetles under a
jackal, a strange cross between scavenger and serenader, asking who’s she with,
where’s she going, does she want to ‘come for a smoke’, but most offers were
hollow, and the lady would shake ‘em awf like dandruff, flouncing into the
night, leaving the beetles twitching their feelers in dismay at the thought of
her smoking with someone further up the food-chain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One night, alone in my cubicle, as I
lay there lamenting the slope on my mattress, formed by only ever having one
person on it, I was on the brink of booking my passage to Westbourne Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was two in the morning, and money had just
gone into my account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it occurred
to me it might be worth trying to score closer to home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My encounter with the reptilian pimp, only a
few months before, was proof that drugs existed in Shepherd’s Bush as well as
Westbourne Park, and the Bronx.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
now my mission to find them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I had
to do was wander down the right street, let myself be spotted by the right
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might not be able to see them,
but they may spot, then assail, me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Shepherd’s Bush has 24-hour shops too,’ I mused, and felt myself
becoming more London-savvy with every thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like a pig foraging for truffles, this time I’d root out the desired
delicacy, even if it meant snuffling in the undergrowth half the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I got up, dressed, discreetly excited,
discreetly exited, and made my way down to the Green, which lives up to its
name inasmuch as parts of it are green.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It’s odd being a partially sighted
spy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You go out in search of your
quarry, knowing that contact won’t depend on you spotting it, but it spotting
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s more a
putting-yourself-out-there exercise, a blurred reconnaissance, a fact-finding
mission, but one where the facts find you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Ten minutes later, I was trawling the
broad pavements outside the Walkabout pub, the haunt of sexually active
Australians, just by the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, where I’d seen Suzanne Vega,
Cowboy Junkies, Richard Thompson, Divine Comedy, and a range of luminaries
(during my crack sabbatical). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most
trawlers, my net went wide and deep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
pity the dolphins, those ever-smiling intellectuals in brine, getting all
tangled up in dredge-nets, because Josh the geography student can’t think of
anything but tuna to put in his bap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even though I was the one doing the trawling, I felt like I’d been
caught myself, some four years before, by Sandra, the professional
fishwife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her net was so holey you’d
think even krill would get through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
if you’re looking to get hooked, it’s possible to become enmeshed in a
threadbare net that’s barely there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was fish turned fisherman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I spied activity, portside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A drifting silhouette put out a mild distress
call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wanted a cigarette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her sail was surely battered, and her hull
well-punctured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even though I
couldn’t get a clear look at the spook, my cracked and fuzzy telescope told me
this was contact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dropped anchor, and
she hailed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What are you doing out
this time of night?' she asked, probably prompted by the white cane I was
hanging out like a fishing-rod before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Less cagey in my old age, I replied, 'I was just looking to get
something.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She leapt at this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What is it you want?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could almost hear her adrenal gland kick
in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I was thinking of getting a
smoke.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What, white?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The strange game of reveal was over, and
she'd declared first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now we were on the
same wavelength, talking the same language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No fear among plague-ships. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There was a cashpoint nearby, although
it was the kind I couldn’t read so well, pale, with spindly blue
lettering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for the addict,
delay-intolerant, a cashpoint, whether it be embedded in the wall of a bank, a
shopping-mall, or jammed in a nook of a Budgens, is a thing of hope, a
facilitator of dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When those notes
are poured into that little metal tray, it’s as if the establishment itself
wants you to get wrecked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes,’ gleams
the oracle, ‘you go and score, seize the day, or night...mind you, if you incur
any charges while you’re at it, we’ll punish you, of course.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So there we stood, at the oracle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would have knelt, but for the gum and spit
on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My co-worshipper read
aloud with reverence the sacred text, the blessèd buttons pressed at my behest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We petitioned it for eighty pounds, which it
granted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the conduit, the tunnel
to a new universe that we would never actually arrive in, but we didn’t care,
for transfigurèd we were, sore fucking transfigurèd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I stuffed the notes in my pocket and
turned to my new associate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Who shall
we try?' I asked, wanting her to think I knew a few dealers, which I thought
might dilute her compulsion to fleece me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘This way,’ she said, and led me round the corner onto Uxbridge
Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having established that neither of
us had a mobile, she said she’d use a callbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d just given her some change, when a skinny figure came scuttling
across the road towards us, and Martha, my associate, called out to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Is Billy around?’ she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ring Colonel,’ the stranger delicately
crowed, ‘he’s just on Loftus.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Martha
made the call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The phantom, now standing
before me, introduced herself as Faith, and warned me to be careful of Martha
(or Mel, as she knew her).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was bad
news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the world of crack is a
backbiting one – when someone tells you someone’s a thief, they’re usually
thinking about robbing you themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>See, I told you I was London-savvy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Martha emerged with urgent instructions for us to get to the corner of
Loftus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mid-flight, I transplanted the
notes into Faith’s waiting grasp, who’d by now convinced me that she was the
one I could trust, and we could go back to hers just as soon as the crack was
ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Discovering I’d entrusted Faith
with the money put Martha’s nose out of joint, or back in, I couldn’t tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, by now, all we could both do was hope
that Faith, having disappeared down Loftus Road, would return with the relevant
drugs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As we stood there on the corner, me
feeling like we were sure to get arrested, another of Martha's nocturnal
playmates turned up, a girl called Belinda whose tits were on obvious show, for
obvious reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly they were all
coming out of the woodwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd no idea
I was living in such a hotbed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Faith returned, all four of us went back to her place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had the ground-floor flat of a house no
more than a few minutes away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It couldn’t
have been easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The living-room, for want of a better
name, was dingy and cluttered, and felt like years of dust and grease had caked
into every surface, apart from, of course, the shiny bathroom tile onto which
Faith spat the saliva-clad parcels, just acquired from the elusive
Colonel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Opening a tiny cling-film
package that's covered in phlegm is a pretty slippery business, but I
eventually managed to do it, and off we went again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all becoming dangerously easy, and
dangerously close to home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Martha seemed to have a lighter-fuel
habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a canister lodged in the
inside-pocket of her crabby denim-jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every so often, she’d bite down on the nozzle, releasing a blast of
butane into her mouth, which she'd suck down into eager, perhaps bleeding
lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Belinda just sat there, wafting a
really tangy BO.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It smelt like someone
had lifted the lid of a saucepan with three-day-old stew in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t say much, but whenever someone put
crack on a pipe she’d be sitting there drooling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a while, though, she began to get
paranoid, and started accusing Faith of hiding drugs in parts of the room she
hadn’t even been, under the bed, on the windowsill, on top of the
curtain-rail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith didn’t like this,
and started getting nasty, threatening to take a knife to her if she carried
on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Belinda gave as good as she
got, Faith called out for backup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Gerald,’ she bellowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments
later, a bearded mental guy lumbered in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He didn’t look like he could follow even the simplest instruction, but
she ordered him about like a dog, all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Get that out,’ she sneered, as if pointing at a ready-meal gone
mouldy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Belinda, though, jittery by now,
and clearly not quite the ticket, was already making tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gerald swivelled slowly as if to grab, but he
was too late, and she was out the door before his pincer-like arms met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Belinda gone, Faith was satisfied, and she
sent Gerald back into his lair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
wasn’t long before Martha left, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Don’t know why…maybe Faith convinced her the drugs had all gone,
threatened her with Gerald, or perhaps she ran out of butane, went to the shop
and got serenaded by a local dung-beetle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It allowed Faith and I to have a
little get-to-know-each-other session, to bond in the dinginess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To me, she didn’t seem like a typical
crack-smoker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was about fifty-five,
and spoke like an old-fashioned school-ma’am, clipped and oversure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a take on everyone and everything,
and none of her opinions was good, like so many scalding school-reports from an
establishment where corporal punishment was not a last resort, but a relished
ritual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something sadistic
about her, and it wasn’t long before stories of childhood maltreatment came up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She played the ‘it never did me any harm’
card to the hilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently she was
grateful that her mother, a dissolute of sorts, had locked her in the cupboard
under the stairs for hours on end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was equally thankful that one of her mother’s fleeting boyfriends had taken a
far keener interest in her, aged nine, than he ever seemed to take in her
mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These things had made her
stronger, taught her about the foibles of human interaction, how to get ahead
of the game, and on it, as soon as she left home, when fourteen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, when it was light, and the
white, along with all my money, had gone, it was time to resort to that
arch-comforter, the brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d been out
a few times during the night, but I’d been bashful of asking for heroin, for
fear of Sandra-style admonishments, but Faith had broached the subject early
on, declaring herself to be a keen injector of both, with many a sunken vein
and abscess to show for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We’d been talking about my
sight-condition when it was time for her to cook up (i.e. prepare the heroin
for injection).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave her the usual
spiel about getting ill when I was nine, that affecting my sight, but one
adapts, especially when one’s a child, how things had been up and down over the
years, but quite stable for about the last ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a story I’d grown tired of telling, and mostly lazy spin and
omissions, anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Faith, having
gained an impression of what I could and couldn’t see, found it useful, and
decided it would be alright to inject in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I usually go into the bathroom to do this,’
she explained, ‘but if you can’t see me anyway, well, what’s the point?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t really care what she did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Fine,’ I replied, with my usual passivity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I tried not to fixate on the ritual
unfolding before me, even though my curiosity was growing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I couldn’t see exactly what cooking
up involved, this was maybe no bad thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a spoon with a bit of liquid in it, then a flame under the
spoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you’d draw the stuff up from
the spoon into the barrel of the syringe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it was like watching an alchemist turn lead into gold through
frosted glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got the gist, but not
the know-how.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’d forgotten to buy tobacco and
papers to make those, by now, very necessary post-crack heroin-spliffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith, having drawn the elixir into the
syringe, placed it down for a moment to help me in my hour of need, suggesting
I tried snorting the heroin instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
endorsed this method because it meant I wasn’t wasting any, whereas putting it
in a spliff meant that most of it went, quite literally, up in smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Drugs are expensive,’ she pointed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You’ve got to make the most of them when
you’ve got them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t let people
fuck you around, like that Belinda bitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People will take the piss if you let them.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a moving motivational speech, and left
me in no doubt that I was in the presence of an old, and somewhat withered,
hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was kind enough to chop me out
a little brown line, then fashion a tube for me to snort it through, from a
leaflet that fell from a nearby TV guide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Positioning myself above the platter, being careful not to exhale and so
blow it in every direction, I sucked up the bitter powder into a nostril,
sniffing with gusto a few times more to knock it back into the recesses of my
sinuses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, it was Faith’s go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picking her way through clutter, she settled
on a big square cushion in the corner, as if a cat preparing to give
birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could still see her, but not in
detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Down went her jeans, revealing
skinny limbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her lamentations regarding
the state of her legs brought to mind claylike flesh, flecked with scars and
scratches, scabs and cysts, and the odd ripe boil on a rank, necrotic stretch
of shin, all testimony to her decades-long dalliance with decay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then began telling me how her legs were
in such a bad way that she’d thought of offering herself up to schools to give
talks to the children about the perils of drugs, using her legs as a visual
prop to drive the point home…an ambition that seemed both worthy and macabre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A fleeting question entered my mind as
to what I might do if she had an overdose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew virtually no first aid, and wasn’t even sure if it applied in
this setting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like a toddler
thrown in the deep end, except I hadn’t been thrown, I’d leapt in of my own
accord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I realised that I didn’t
even know what an overdose looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was just a word I’d heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did
the patient keel over and flop into a kind of coma?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did they quiver on their back, their limbs
all fidgety like a dying fly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I
call an ambulance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would I tell
them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Oh, we were just having some crack,
then she injected some heroin, and now she won’t say anything.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would my fate be in such an
entanglement?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would the police be
involved?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I, the semi-innocent
bystander, be drawn into the fray?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I
doomed to be grilled by the local Jessica Fletcher?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">By the light of a precariously
positioned lamp, and a few shreds of daylight seeping in from the street, Faith
braced for revelation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Legs awkwardly
akimbo, she twisted the snake-neck of the anglepoise to illuminate the relevant
crater, to be located in the region of the groin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I suppose you get a different kind of rush
doing it that way,’ I surmised, hoping my interest would prompt her to do one
for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But instead she said, peering at
my forearms, ‘You haven’t got the veins for it.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered was this her way of teasing my
curiosity, provoking me to find a vein she could inspect, inject, and then say,
‘Ah well, if you insist,’ to exonerate herself from any accusations of
enticement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe this scenario was
being played out solely within the confines of my own needy, and possibly seedy
mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She shushed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Eagle had landed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sigh passed her lips, the kind you’d maybe
get from pressing a freshly dead corpse in the ribcage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still in the business of trying to
seduce her into seducing me into having a hit, but she just wouldn’t be
coaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half of me was glad of this, but
the crack-addled half, still striving for a yet higher high, was resentful, and
quietly vowed to make it happen, somehow, at some point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, for now, all I could do was watch her
swoon, a dirty kind of envy swilling in my gut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Jeans up, she picked her way back to
the sofa, sinking into the upholstery as if pulled by a sense of relief as
irresistible as gravity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Nice?’ I
asked, colluding with the confidence-trick being played on us both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Like a nun kissing God,’ she replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ghoulish though the interlude had been, my
monkish aspirations to attain the serenity she had found, remained untarnished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that, friends, is that, apart from a little song for you, as ever: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aB7ww7Ne30E">All I Want For Christmas Is A Personality Disorder</a></span><br />
<br />
See you after Christmas I hope.<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span></i>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-83166032972109341262015-12-22T07:26:00.002-08:002015-12-22T07:26:52.907-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 12Hello, and happy Christmas, if you do that kind of thing. Below is episode 12 of the grinding saga known as 'Blind Man On Crack'. I hope you enjoy it. See you after Christmas.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z4_p_QepMEg/VnlrMJxrmvI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/p8CgzFuSL94/s1600/Ghosts%2BBy%2BJon.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z4_p_QepMEg/VnlrMJxrmvI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/p8CgzFuSL94/s400/Ghosts%2BBy%2BJon.bmp" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Opium Is The Religion Of The Massive<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I now felt, perhaps with a degree of
trepidation, but also excitement, that I was back in the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, bank-account recovered, courtesy of the
ever-giving nipple of state, I was ready for another go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was always exciting finding, then
refinding a new hideaway, and it couldn't have been more than a week before I
was sniffing around Westbourne Park again, like a dog, looking for where it
last pissed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I popped into the 24-hour
shop to get some fags for Mr Bingo, then over the road to the cash-machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was never a scout, but crack had taught me
to always be well prepared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reversing
the map in my mind, to affect a speedy return to that pillar-box red door, I
soon found the right turnoff, and within moments was pressing the buzzer for my
wheezing, antique go-between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would he
be in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes he would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Ah Ben, how are you?' came his tinny tones
over the intercom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Up in the gloom of his hallway, we
shook hands like old friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I handed
him twenty B&H and a fiver, which he received with thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him if he could call Sandra for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He obligingly tried, but to no
avail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'It's gone straight to her
answer-phone,' he told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Can I try
one of my other friends for you?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
cited another member of his little coterie as a potential introduction, crooning,
'I can ring Layla.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a nice
girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likes a smoke.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He flicked through a ragged book of contacts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Would you like to meet her?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask a silly question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Call over, he told me she wouldn't be long,
and we went into the living-room to wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He sat there smoking and watching Channel 4 Racing, whilst I sat
wondering what Layla would be like, what new avenues of pleasure this meeting
might open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It wasn't long before the buzzer
went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, Layla was standing
in a long red coat in the half-light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
chatted for a while, then Layla asked me if I wanted to go back to hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lived opposite the 24-hour shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So off we went, me revving myself up for
another dopamine-drenched stroll around the shrubbery of sensory delight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Layla was quiet and quite
reserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She seemed more normal than
Sandra, less likely to fly off the handle, be sneaky, or chastise me quite as
freely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rang the dealer from a
callbox, and we hung around by a cemetery until some kid on a chopper showed up
across the churchyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked a
sinuous path through the headstones to get to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skirting the skeletons could have put another
half a minute on our wait, and that's a long time when you're virtually
shitting yourself with desire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God rest
their souls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She lived in a tall, mostly empty
townhouse, tucked away in a block of buildings that someone had optimistically
called a mews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was mostly empty
because she had two kids who'd moved out, leaving her in an echoing shell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made our way up the rickety and ramshackle
staircase, which spiralled up three floors, where a skylight threw down light
onto unvarnished banisters and bare wooden floorboards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where she spent most of her time,
like a shorthaired Rapunzel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We sat in the bedroom, perched at the
top of the house, and hurriedly unwrapped our little white parcels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She'd also got some heroin, or 'brown' if you
want to be really street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This came in
blue plastic as opposed to white, for punter-convenience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having cajoled one open with the aid of sharpened
fingernails and a razorblade, she sprinkled what looked like brick-dust into a
roll-up she'd prepared earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
feigned a purely intellectual interest, asking something like, 'What does that
actually do for you?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'It helps with the
comedown,’ she replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Richard Branson
couldn’t have pitched it better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
there was one thing I wanted a cure for in the field of crack, it was the
comedown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The product seemed both
enticing, and deeply worrying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ignored
the deeply worrying part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Do you wanna
drag?' she asked, half-passing me the long, glowing spliff, which was giving
off a thick, sickly smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'You won't
get hooked.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think she meant it
wouldn’t grab me almost instantly like crack had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Admittedly, her language could have done with
some clarification regarding my long-term chances, but then she’d just had some
crack, which doesn't exactly lend itself to measured, considered speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, I knew, as everyone surely knows,
that 'heroin' is one of those words like murder, cancer, or rom-com…best
avoided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Whilst it's true to say that crack and
heroin are both 'addictive', it's also desperately inadequate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Addiction's just another word for liking
stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack's more like an infatuation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You try it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attraction is
instant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can spend ages hating the
fact you want it so much, but you keep running back into that beguiling,
betraying embrace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heroin, however, is
more like a long-term relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
might be unsure at first, but then, after a few weeks, months even, you find
you miss it when you don't have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Other relationships still seem appealing, but disentwining from this one
seems pretty tricky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You're as good as
married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And divorce can be a messy and
protracted business.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So there I was, on the brink of yet another
choice that could mark a further dip in my fortunes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could hear the cast of Grange Hill
screaming in my ear the title of their early 80s hit, 'Just Say No’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ghost of Zammo hovered before me, in his
hand a shred of foil, his haggard chops bulldog-like and baleful, a warning in
his sallow eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Friend, don't do
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look what happened to me.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As far as I could recall, he keeled over in a
toilet-cubicle, but was ok in the end, having come to realise that drugs
betray, and leave you looking drawn in your teens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the memory was foggy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cast of Grange Hill had done what they
could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of my real-world schools had
done anything regarding warning me against the perils of drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Further back, when I was about eight,
discussing John Lennon with my mum, I was informed that heroin was a bad
thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think the gist was that using
it could kill you, and so could coming off it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, twenty-two years later, I delved into this extensive archive,
weighed up the pros and cons, and accepted the spliff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My initial drag on it was cautious, by way of
a nod to Zammo’s plight, and the wisdom of my mum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But I noticed very little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just seemed like a sickly-sweet
roll-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I handed it back and we carried
on chatting, having the odd pipe, and probably thinking we were both quite
lucky…me, by having found a new way of getting crack…her, by having found a new
way of getting crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the perfect
reciprocal arrangement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat there in
the twilight of her bedroom as rain splashed down on the skylight in the
hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She'd not taken the plastic
covering off the mattress, which I found slightly odd, because it made the bed
creak like a crisp-packet whenever you moved about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it was as if everything had to
remain as pristine as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever
she had a pipe, a ten or twenty minute bout of domesticity would ensue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One minute she’d be pulling stuff out of the
wardrobe, laying it on the floor, putting different clothes on different
hangers, then shoving it all back on the rail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Next she’d be filling a bucket with water and mopping the
bathroom-floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, a pair of
rubber-gloves were donned and various cluttered surfaces cleared and
polished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just sat there, rustling on
the bed, feeling unsettled by all the commotion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But in the midst of this madness,
something new was happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having been
handed the spliff a handful of times, it occurred to me that I wasn't gagging
for crack in quite the usual way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally,
especially in new or unsettling company, I'd be doing one every ten minutes or
so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now a new ingredient had been thrown
into the mix, that was softening the comedown I’d come to loathe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A little while later, the room by now
a fog of Mr Sheen and bucket-steam, Layla took a break from her duties, rolled
us both a spliff, and switched the telly on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Apparently it was time for ‘Murder, She Wrote’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coked-up, I’d look for sex in anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there on the edge of her crinkly bed
gawking at the screen, waiting for a woman worth lusting over to appear, but
suitable candidates were thin on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I even began imagining myself in various scenarios with senior sleuth
Jessica Fletcher herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, crack can
take you to some dark places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But even though I was in a state of
never-dissipated lust, there was a new glassy tranquillity about things, and I
sat there quietly mesmerised by this faux realm of high-falutin’ felony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t need me to tell you, anything that
makes ‘Murder, She Wrote’ seem tolerable is an arch-deceiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all that mattered to me was how I felt,
not why I felt it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the desert of my
affairs, I wasn’t one for trudging about looking under stones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who could tell which one was hiding a
scorpion, waiting to spring, and, if necessary, sting?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Crack’s swift elevation was like
jumping from a cliff wearing a jetpack with low batteries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d shoot up twenty feet, hover for a
moment, then go plummeting into the ravine below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heroin seemed to offer a safe descent, kick
in like an emergency parachute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
didn’t land you in the river that ran through the gorge, or even on its dusty
bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a bouncy castle down
there, and heroin placed you gently upon it, as a caring parent might a child.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was a world within a world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it could protect me from the ravages of
crack, it could shield me from anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was like being sat before a gladdening fire on a rainy afternoon,
with a cup of tea and blackberry jam on toast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No prospect of trouble from anyone or anything…mellow music, joss-stick
on the windowsill, probably sandalwood, and problems, still real, seemed
distant, copeable with, putoffable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was a goldfish-bowl I was content to dream and drift in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world outside went on in its usual,
concave way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let it, I could now
say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anything that took the edge of
coming down from crack was worth looking into.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve since learned that a lot of
people get a heroin habit off the back of their crack use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like me, they began with the crack, couldn’t
take the comedown, so turned to a comforter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like me, they’d probably been at least paying lip-service to the idea of
quitting crack, when they suddenly discovered that heroin could help put off
that decision for months, years, a lifetime even.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The brown, so often sold from the very same
pocket as the white, always seemed to be around, and was usually half the price
of its flighty white cousin, so why not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The successful drug-user knows which drugs to combine for best
effect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still not comfortable?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take a Valium, some alcohol, whatever you can
find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any beta-blockers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sling ‘em in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, the successful drug-user is a veritable amateur apothecary, knowing
not only what to administer, but how, how much, and when.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This also describes the unsuccessful
drug-user.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It wasn’t long before our languishings
were curtailed by the sound of a slamming door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Layla began tidying again, but this time it was all the paraphernalia
that had to go, not clothes or bottles of lotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Who’s that?’ I asked, worried there might be
some unfriendly male on the prowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘My
son,’ she said, half-closing the bedroom-door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The crack, and a few other bits and pieces, were lying on an open TV
guide, which she folded shut and shoved in a drawer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pipes, made in the traditional way,
plastic bottles with broken biros jutting out, were too bulky to follow, so
were placed in the now perfectly ordered wardrobe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spliffs remained in ashtrays - these could
parade as normal roll-ups if required.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She called out, and her son, about sixteen, replied as he climbed the
lighthouse-like staircase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually he
arrived on the landing, but didn’t come in, making a beeline for the
bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt kind of odd, being a
grown-up hiding drugs from a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
thought it was meant to be the other way round.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But at least he had a clean toilet to use.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And here is today's Christmas song, just for you: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYX3hbOjzHc">I Control The Snow</a></span><br />
<br />
See you soon.<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-87706450528608907492015-12-14T10:54:00.002-08:002015-12-14T10:54:49.475-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 11Hello, thanks for parachuting in. Here is the eleventh cliffhanger in the tawdry saga of the 'Blind Man On Crack'. In this episode, he sits at dawn in a stranger's flat, coming down from crack, with Ceefax on the telly...<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Bingo<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As the days passed, and my spirits
slowly rallied, I was on my way to visit a friend over in my old
stomping-ground of Westbourne Park when another chance encounter occurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a risky place to be, admittedly,
considering my history there, and this time the throw of the dice went against
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd just crossed Harrow Road when I
was spotted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Hi,' came a gravelly
female voice from behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'It can't
be,' I thought, 'Debbie died.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned
around, but the figure was surrounded by the glare of a low sun, and I still
couldn't make them out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Do you remember
me?' she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'It's Sandra.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since my attempt to rekindle things with
Debbie, I'd visited Westbourne Park a few times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's a tricky business, walking the streets
you used to use on, especially when you're desire to stay away from things is,
at best, sporadic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as the phrase
goes, if you keep going to the barber's, you're eventually going to get a
haircut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I was about to get the
short-back-and-sides of a lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'How
are you?' she asked, indulging in a little preliminary small-talk, that we both
knew would last a maximum of a minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>'Oh, not so bad,' I replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew what was coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Do you still
smoke?' she asked, a little more coyly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>'Oh yeah,' I said, casual as you like, phoenix-eye gleaming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Minutes later, we were in this ancient
Jamaican guy's flat, Mr Bingo, a keen chainsmoker and wrinkled as a fig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandra said he wouldn't mind us smoking
there, as long as I made a suitable contribution, a tenner or the equivalent in
fags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave him a note, and he
disappeared into the bedroom with twenty B&H and an ashtray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandra and I went into the living-room and
made ourselves at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rummaged in
her bag for her pipe, rummaged somewhere else for the stone, and within a
matter of seconds was solemnly sucking on the carcass of a broken Bic biro,
jammed into the side of a small plastic baths-salts bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knelt in silence beside her, leaning
forward, transparently keen, like a hungry child waiting for cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something sadly seminal about my relationship
with Sandra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the relationship
that the impatient invalid had been waiting for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woman offering herself was really something
to someone who thought he was worthy of no one, and drugs too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like the perfect cocktail of nurse and
narcotic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd tried in my early teens to
get hooked on something, so as I'd always have something to lean on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tipex, drink, cigarettes, had all been
auditioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then sex, masturbation,
pornography, prostitutes, strange midnight walks to places where I thought I
might meet ‘someone’, someone who'd either never been part of the mainstream,
or who'd been thrown out of it like wot I had, a partner in exile, a bird,
similarly feathered, albeit caked in ash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nursey gave me a pipe, and I exhaled
the smoke like an angry Ivor the Engine, bracing myself for a one-track journey
through the peaks and troughs of an increasingly polluted landscape, first stop
Cashpoint Central, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can't say
either of us had changed much in the three-odd years since our last encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The afternoon turned into evening, with the
usual vague sexual shenanigans, the moaning and squabbling, the trips to the
cash-machine, or to the shop for fags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once or twice, one of Mr Bingo's other transient tenants would drop by,
have a smoke, then go back out to grind another tenner out of humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One guy turned up with a pile of change and
wanted to buy a pipe's worth from Sandra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She wouldn't have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gave
him the usual blather about, 'I'd give you one, but I only have a pipe or two
left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I would if I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you'd come earlier…'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had plenty on her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was concealing stuff from me, let alone
from this hapless traveller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'No, I
understand,' he said, no doubt smouldering with resentment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, he started trying to butter me
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Mate, I don't suppose there's any
chance of a pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't like to ask,
but…'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I took a leaf out of Sandra's
book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Honestly,' I began (always good
to get the lie out the way first), ‘what I have is my last, I would if I could,
but…'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of acquiescing there, and
resigning himself to the fact that he just wasn’t going to get a pipe, he then
offered me his phone, proposing, 'I mean, what if I give you this for a couple
of pipes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's not flashy, but it's got
a fiver's credit.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was no way
he was going to prize a pipe out of me, and I clung to my little chunk of bliss
like a feral dog a bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can't smoke
a phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Crack is not a noble drug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's not like cannabis can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There's no passing the peace-pipe in this
wigwam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His plight meant nothing to
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether he was after his first pipe
of the day, or had just come from a smoke and was now gagging for a pick-me-up,
I didn't care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now I knew he had his
peepers on my stuff, I took extra care to keep an eye on things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's crack for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might be quite a generous person under
normal circumstances, but get a pipe down your neck and you'll be the slyest,
greediest, and most manipulative creature under the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly was, and more often than not so
were the people I hung out with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I’ve been in his shoes many times, and my god they chafe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But today, I was the big chief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, I could lord it over allcomers…give,
deny, toy with…I was, at least for the time, a miniature crack-baron, weighing
up the petitions of the less well-off, and deciding, by using entirely selfish
criteria, whether or not I would be gracious and give out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It's an ugly game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it had been a girl asking, I'd most likely
have given her something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The invalid
within was a sucker for a lady's lament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The seedy, coked-up fiend would probably have revelled in the power of
it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though crack could fuel all
sorts of lechery in me, it nearly always remained mental, and when things did
become sexual, it was always fairly vague and noncommittal, and trumped within
minutes by the need for a pick-me-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a part of me that wanted to go further, wanted to know that
control, to tease her with drugs 'til she did my bidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a nagging morality, that couldn't be
shaken, wouldn't have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many's the
time I've been smoking, felt like getting sexual, but then, after another foray
down that very predictable cul-de-sac, thought, 'Mmm, this is all very well, but
drugs are my muse now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It wasn't until about three in the
morning that I ran out of money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandra
had sent me out to get more cash, with an additional order for a can of Fanta
and a microwaved pie, to be obtained from the 24-hour shop on Harrow Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That place was like the Broadmoor tuck-shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even buying a Mars bar there felt somehow
illicit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were always at least two
pairs of eyes on you, whether you were standing at the counter or skulking in
the back trying to stuff a pastie down your trousers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Proprietor-customer trust levels were
low.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At any given time, especially in
the depths of the night, there would always be about six people seeming to work
there, two behind the counter, two flanking the counter, and two on general
duty, like floating sentries, keeping an eye on the constant flow of weirdoes
who wandered through, wanting out-of-hours drink, ten cheap fags, or a can of
Fanta and a microwaved pie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You had to
ask if you wanted something microwaved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You couldn't just go and shove it in yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the privilege of using it put an extra
ten pence on the bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything got a
minute, from a sausage-roll to a ready-meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You could end up with a samosa hotter than the sun, or a chicken tikka
as tepid as baby-sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things might be
different now, but at the time I think it was still working towards its first
Michelin star.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The cashpoint was just across the
road, and not a safe place to have your back turned on the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stubbly bevy who loitered in the doorway
had a good view of anyone foolhardy enough to get money out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there I stood, hunched and anxious, only
to have my card spat out and the words 'cash available to withdraw = nil' flash
up on the screen in green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may as
well have read 'game over’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew then
that I was in for a truly miserable few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was the bust after the boom, the casino doorman turfing you out
when you've run out of chips, the end of the 80s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So I went back to the flat and 'fessed
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandra was in the bathroom, doing
her usual smoking in private routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
then realised, probably a little late, that she'd only sent me out so she could
have the place to herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went into
the living-room, feeling desolate and dreading the comedown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I had to reluctantly and
resentfully acknowledge it was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
I knew that anything Sandra might have hidden away wouldn't be going towards my
party funds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">She came through into the living-room
and I told her the bad news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Oh Ben,
why do you always do this?' she complained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought the choice of the word 'always' was unusual, considering the
last time we'd met was about three years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She started getting her things together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The coalition was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then
there's about as much honour in a crack-alliance as there was between Hitler
and Stalin when they divvied up Poland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She began jemmying herself into her jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dared to ask where she was going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much as I found her company traumatic, the
thought of being left alone, with just cravings for company, had no
appeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Where do you think I'm going?'
she spat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lit a cigarette and shoved it in her
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It jigged around as she scalded
me some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't dare ask for one,
even though I'd bought them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'I'm going
to suck a fucking punter's dick, aren't I?' she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'How else do you think I'm going to get
money?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Short of flagging up
welfare-to-work initiatives, a viable answer evaded me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I just sat there feeling wretched and
mournful, ruing the well into which I'd, once again, hurled myself
headlong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She swept out the room in a
slow kind of tantrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'I'll be back in
an hour,' she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wasn't.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I sat there, head in hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably prompted by the commotion, it wasn't
long before Mr Bingo shuffled in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat
himself down in front of the electric fire, put the telly on, and stared at
pages from Ceefax, all the while dragging and wheezing himself into the grave
he'd managed, so far, not to fall in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
really chainsmoked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He'd light the next
before the last was out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he
dragged, he really dragged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There seemed
to be a love verging on desperation in every pull he took on those poisonous
packeted fags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, having expelled a
slow cone of thick, grey tumescence, a croak of satisfaction would emanate from
that dry-as-straw throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pictured a
wicker larynx inside that wizened neck, drowning in treacle, gurgling into
action whenever words were called for, which wasn’t often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there we sat, at dawn, me feeling dismal,
waiting for the trains to start, and Mr Bingo, gleefully guzzling on his
beloved B&H's, occasionally saying something I couldn't make out, to which
I'd respond with vague politeness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So, a couple of hours later, I said
goodbye, he croaked a response, and I left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Outside, I observed the colour of the door, pillar-box red, and logged
the fact the place was fronted by a low white fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn't make out the number of the house
because it was small, and high on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I had all I needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's
amazing how the disabled adapt in a world not tailored to their needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked down the street, I noted my exact
location, pre-satnav.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would be coming
back here, so I had to be absolutely certain I had the place circled in my
mental A to Z.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandra and I had parted
without exchanging numbers, and I hadn't thought to ask Mr Bingo for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often, when I'd crawl out from under the
stone, I'd be vowing never to make the same mistake again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By not asking for the number, I was
playacting at having learned my lesson, making out that a future of serene
abstinence lay ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I knew I’d be
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How torn the mind of the soul
that's hooked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could almost see the
fracture-line.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">And here is the song that was playing on Ceefax: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xudlpPhAXI">Run Out Of Drugs Again</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Tomorrow?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></span>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-22589389227226929582015-12-09T16:30:00.003-08:002019-01-14T02:59:05.425-08:00DUELHello, and thank you for tuning in. The next episode of the 'story' will be posted up soon. Meanwhile, here is a little story of 100 words, which you may or may not like...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-83f4kbNS2g0/VmjHc4T8gyI/AAAAAAAAA0M/oqzqv9C8waY/s1600/Alphabet%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-83f4kbNS2g0/VmjHc4T8gyI/AAAAAAAAA0M/oqzqv9C8waY/s1600/Alphabet%2B2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">DUEL<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Back
to back, we parted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only on the judge’s
word should we turn, and fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with
each step, the silent chasm behind me grew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Where was the call?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Over
field, mountain, even across oceans I forged as straight a path as I could, leaving
many horizons behind, saw whales rising from heaving seas, children begging on
beaches, derelict cities, as Earth curved beneath me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then,
after years of walking, I saw a figure on the skyline, approaching, my once adversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, on the other side of the world,
differences forgotten, we met as friends, face to face.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, apart from this song, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_yxlgYHLFQ">Shooting Stardust</a>, that's it for today...</span>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-50828974654339343082015-12-08T17:54:00.001-08:002015-12-08T17:54:08.985-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Missing Episode There was a missing episode from the parchments of 'Blind Man On Crack', which we show below. It's believed Suggs, from Madness, and Donald Trump, from America, saw this episode unfold from the sidewalk...<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FQw-6iG6lOI/VmeF3m5cpfI/AAAAAAAAAz8/mXNh3lfw36Y/s1600/Jon%2BBehorned.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FQw-6iG6lOI/VmeF3m5cpfI/AAAAAAAAAz8/mXNh3lfw36Y/s320/Jon%2BBehorned.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Donald Trump called round on Suggs, the singer from 80s band Madness, and as they sat there, with smokes and chocolate, Donald said to Suggs, 'I like your net-curtains, are they voile?' 'No,' said Suggs, 'muslin.'<br />
Donald didn't call again.<br />
Suggs, sucking on a humbug (British mint), thought 'I wonder why they did call him Snow Queen at Business Camp...'<br />
Then this song was heard in the air, in the local neighbourhood: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkxstwOpbeQ">Snow Queen</a><br />
<br />
That was the missing episode.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow?<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-40306960555790393592015-12-04T14:11:00.003-08:002015-12-04T14:11:54.578-08:00REHAB STORYHi, and thank you for stumbling on the roadside debris that is 'How To Become A Crack Addict'. You can read my book of that title in the first 22 posts of this blog, if you want, or you can even buy it on amazon, if your morals allow it. If you do, please leave a comment, or review. Anyway, today's story is a dream I had in rehab, in the coastal town they forgot to close down. I hope you kinda like it:<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jXn1IxrXfAk/VmIPgkEXaDI/AAAAAAAAAzs/G3VwbU-727g/s1600/Duchess%2BIn%2BDrizzle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jXn1IxrXfAk/VmIPgkEXaDI/AAAAAAAAAzs/G3VwbU-727g/s320/Duchess%2BIn%2BDrizzle.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">HOTEL OF INJURY<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 9pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">In a twilight land, there’s a hotel where broken
children are sent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 9pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">One day, the boy who was nothing more than a head
came searching for his sweetheart, manoeuvring around in an adapted
shopping-trolley, orally steered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
on the mezzanine, overlooking reception, with the boy who turned to stone when
anxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both had a crush on the
receptionist, but neither knew of their unstated rivalry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally, she’d sit behind the desk, filing
her nails, making calls, receiving broken children from parents, guardians,
teachers and priests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this
afternoon, she was nowhere to be seen, and the boy who was just a head felt
he’d wasted his effort, coming all the way down in the lift, along the
corridor, to the brink of the mezzanine, to miss out on her willowy, feline
outline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stoneboy, too, was disappointed,
sensing fingers and toes threatening to petrify.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 9pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Kat, the object of their love, was in the kitchen,
helping prepare the evening meal (although even lunch was an evening meal in
this dim domain).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was cherry-pretty,
but had a condition whereby tears would forge gorges in her cheeks, to the
point that she’d still be called gorgeous, but for all the wrong reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She managed her moods accordingly, never
allowing herself to love, in case it didn’t last, and brine came flowing
disastrously down those rose-white cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Prawns cocktailed, melons balled, and dinner ready,
she reappeared at reception with lithe efficiency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trolleyboy spied her first, through the bars
of his vehicle, and ventured a shy hello.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She looked up with catlike neutrality, but Stoneboy thought she was
looking at him, got tongue-tied and flustered, and felt his limbs seizing
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trolleyboy could contain himself no
longer, but his desire was deadly and, with overeager mouth, he steered himself
to mezzanine’s edge, and over, clattering and cartwheeling down the stairs into
the foyer, until, wheels still spinning, his pasty cheek was pierced by mangled
metal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 9pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Kat hurtled to his side, stooping down, revealing
knee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Oh, what's become of him?' she
wailed, calling up to Stoneboy for succour, but though he wanted to at least
feign help, and win her that way, he found he was almost rigid, a granite
child, statuesque in trauma, moving like one wading through setting concrete,
until, two steps down, he froze entirely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Kat, bewildered, and desperate to see such destruction, bit her lip,
began to whimper, tried to rein things in, but her will was wilting, and sour
droplets came rolling down from glacé eyes, trickling like acid with ravaging
intent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within moments, her face was a
mass of gashes, visible veins, and torn, sore tissue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 9pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Gazing up, by way of a mute farewell, Trolleyboy
mused, ‘Well, at least she chose me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">A porter cleared up, although Stoneboy was left on
his step, as a warning to future guests not to stray too far into love’s fatal minefield.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 9pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Dinner was quiet that night, and, out of respect, many
guests forwent dessert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, there we are, a story about a hotel in a twilight realm. Maybe tomorrow? Oh, and as ever, here is one of my songs: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqAYiT9DqHE">Over You</a></span><br />
<br />
For your ears only...<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-80678533614901749592015-12-01T15:46:00.000-08:002015-12-01T15:46:04.722-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 10Hi, thanks for dropping in. Below is the tenth instalment of the ludicrous history that is Blind Man On Crack.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w0tsjA6_Qsw/Vl4wD4s_5VI/AAAAAAAAAzc/uHnRCX8E4Gk/s1600/Do%2BHave%2BA%2BBiscuit%2BFeaturing%2BKing%2527s%2BRansom.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w0tsjA6_Qsw/Vl4wD4s_5VI/AAAAAAAAAzc/uHnRCX8E4Gk/s320/Do%2BHave%2BA%2BBiscuit%2BFeaturing%2BKing%2527s%2BRansom.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Hepatitis Court<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So began eighteen months of grinding
emptiness, without the help of crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was September, 1999.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a notion I
would write a collection of breathtaking songs before Christmas, send them out
to a record label or two, be signed, and get famous, or at least make a living
making music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did write some songs,
partly spurred on by a few new bits of equipment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I’d sit, cross-legged on the floor,
playing my keyboard, also on the floor, with a microphone jutting from the edge
of the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christmas approached, and
I’d written quite a little collection, all whilst stoned, naturally, but I was
quite pleased with some of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even
got round to sending a few out to record labels, but gave up pretty quickly
once it was clear a contract was not about to drop on my doormat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t they know who I was?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe they knew I didn’t have a doormat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So, not yet a pop-star, I spent
Christmas at my parents, and this was probably 'ok'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, because I couldn't stand being there for
too long, I contrived to leave as soon after Boxing Day as trains allowed,
saying a friend had invited me to bring in the new millennium with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they had, I didn’t go, but at least it
meant my parents wouldn’t be concerned I had nothing to do on such an allegedly
momentous day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, on New Year’s Eve night, as the
dread hour loomed, it seemed the best thing to do was seek solace under the
duvet, which I did around half-past ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was nothing good on the telly – even Newsnight had gone mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hoping to be sleeping deeply by midnight,
and to wake up on a fresh, clear, New Year's Day, transfigured of course – but
a steady intensification of fireworks crackling in a festive sky put pay to
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help recoiling in
cultural disgust at the hype attached to all this enforced jollity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Desperately tuning the radio from station to
station, it was hard to avoid tracks like Millennium by Robbie Williams
(torture on any day of the year) and phrases like ‘tonight I’m gonna party like
it’s 1999’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered why no one had
ever written a song called ‘Tonight I’m Gonna Bed Early, So Please Keep The
Fireworks To A Minimum’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside, it was
all bang bang, cheer cheer, pretend pretend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In a state of living rigger mortis, I gawped at the ceiling…another
flurry of aerial explosions, more whoops and cheers…and the year 2000 was born
– one more blank canvas to scrawl on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">No doubt I was one of many to troop
off to their GP in early January asking for antidepressants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I sat in the surgery, for the third
time in so many years, requesting something to lift the spirits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My lovely doctor said he’d try me on a new
medication psychiatrists were using.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Well, if psychiatrists use it, it must be good,’ I vaguely thought,
picturing Frasier, and a few of the Hampstead set I’d met at the psychotherapy
council.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So home I went, clutching my
prescription like a child with a bag of Randoms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I took my first capsule at
lunchtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By about four, I can remember
feeling slightly edgy, then, by about eight, having to tell myself, ‘Don’t
worry, don’t panic, you’ll be ok,’ although I wasn’t sure why I was having to
do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come midnight, I thought I’d go
to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to the radio, as
usual, then slowly drifted off, yet somehow I wasn’t feeling right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I was about to fall asleep, I suddenly
sat up, in a state of utter panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
heart was racing, and I could barely catch my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I could think of to do was make myself
sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to get to the loo, but my
knees buckled in the hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought
I was going to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My vision was
glassy, and my limbs felt feeble, like a rained-on rag-doll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided it might be a good time to pray,
seeing I was already on my knees anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I did one of those prayers when you say, ‘Dear God, please, keep me
alive just this once, and we’ll settle up later?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled to the loo and shoved my fingers
down my throat, kept retching, but nothing would come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crawled back into the living-room and
phoned an ambulance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained what
was happening as best I could and awaited the arrival of my saviours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Minutes later, my buzzer went, and I
made my way outside, hoping the house-manager wasn’t peering out of her window,
which overlooked the main entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
friendly paramedics took me into the ambulance, checked my pulse, noted it was
speeding, but also that it was beginning to slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t feel like that to me, but I trusted
their judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I was given some
oxygen to help me get my breath back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They thought I was having quite a bad panic-attack, as opposed to
actually dying, but they said they'd take me to the hospital if I really
wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So off we went to A&E.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A little later, I was being asked to
take a seat in the dazzlingly depressing waiting area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a few other customers in
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One sitting in crumpled silence,
another twitching in the corner, occasionally grunting, and a third that just
plain stank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself a few seats
along from him, but didn’t move away in case I hurt his feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was asked through to see the nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked me what was up, and I told her
about my run-in with an antidepressant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the name of honesty, I let her know I'd also smoked a couple of
joints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think this information
prompted her to tick a box marked 'stoned, put to back of queue'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the next three hours back in the
waiting room, being ignored, just me and my fragrant friend, who I think was
just there to get out of the cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
come about four, after several enquiries as to the likelihood of getting seen,
all to no avail, I asked the woman at the desk to order me a taxi, and half an
hour later I was being driven home by a pleasant man who seemed much more
interested in my welfare than anyone in the hospital had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt a little better by now, and when I got
home I went to bed and drifted into an unquiet sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I woke up at lunchtime, still feeling
edgy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no way I was going to
take another of those satanic capsules, so I went back to the doctor and told
him what had happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He listened
sympathetically, probably hoping I wasn’t going to sue him, then wrote me out a
prescription for something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few
days later, I experienced a panic attack that came close to the intensity of
the first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagine this was because
the original medicine was still festering in my system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, this one passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By now, I’d been constipated for several
days, and remained so for over a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Oh, you poor man,’ said the chemist, with what sounded like sympathy
born of experience, and gave me some little caplets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within about eight hours, the floodgates opened,
and all was well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The moral of this
tawdry parable?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beware drugs, licensed
or otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My life still resembled how things had
been on the coast, except now I had the churning of traffic to accompany my
thoughts…rise at noon, roll a joint, watch House Invaders, think about that
day’s creative venture, not do it, see if there was anyone on a shopping
channel with nice tits, roll a joint, stare at Countdown, then at six, watch
the Simpsons, ruined again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The evening
would inevitably involve raiding the fridge, getting more stoned, maybe writing
some music, porn, Newsnight, and bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Did I mention I was stoned?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I saw no one for most of the next
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Empty day followed empty day,
stoned week followed stoned week, drunk month followed drunk month. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d see the odd friend from time to time, but
other than that it was solitary confinement, in which I was both prisoner and
warder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside, the seasons did their
thing, but my poetic link with them had died years ago – now they were just a
taunt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I, concealed behind greying
net-curtains, fixated on porn, acquired from various outlets in the King’s
Cross area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not having access to crack,
I resorted to my original addiction, sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This I'd accompany with whatever drugs I had to hand - red wine, dope,
poppers, over-the-counter painkillers, whatever numbed the soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even found myself taking Nytol
recreationally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night, having just
acquired some porn from a bloke in a toupee in a King’s Cross alcove, I bought
what I thought was a gram of coke from a guy that shuffled up to me as I
left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naturally, when I got home, it
wasn't coke, but a scrunched-up Iceland receipt wrapped in cling-film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many nights I'd sit there in my room,
squinting at porn on my scrawny little portable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm surprised I didn't kill myself on
poppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I was, inhaling the
chemical fumes from a little bottle with a name like 'Crazy Horse' or 'Jungle
Jive’, as some erotic vignette would come to its denouement before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poppers make the heart pound and push the
blood to the extremities of the body, so you can see why people use them
sexually, and why they give you a pounding headache.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike crack, they make it happen, as opposed
to stop it happening, but it's a pretty desperate game whichever way you look
at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, emission accomplished, a
bottle of red wine emptied, four or five joint-butts in the ashtray, and lid
back on the poppers, I'd eject the video, shove it in a drawer where the
cleaner wasn't likely to look…joint, Newsnight, yada yada yada.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Another spring sprung, and little
crocus-heads poked from friable, frost-clad soil, which I'd heartlessly trample
as I made my way to see a prostitute, picked out from the classified pages of
the Hammersmith Gazette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many an
afternoon was punctuated this way…pop to the post-office for milk and local
paper, then dash home to see what ‘personal services’ were on offer that
week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There they'd be, tucked away
between 'paving' and 'pet supplies'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
anatomy of addiction seems to be the same whatever the drug, or activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, that midbrain spark, igniting the
notion that it's time for action, to set off on a pilgrimage to that healing
well whose waters are always too deep to reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But these diversions were no substitute for a life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more I stayed in my flat, the more it
felt like a dungeon, and the more I felt like a prisoner within it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the prospect of doing anything new, like
starting a course, getting a job, performing comedy, forming that band, or
finding a relationship, seemed out of reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Aspirations, never turning into anything real, end up turning on you,
wagging their fingers and chiding you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>'Why haven't you honoured us, made us real?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They're like children, conceived, but held in
the womb so long they actually grow up in there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a while, you're so pregnant, you can
barely move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I went back to my GP and asked if I
could see a counsellor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put me in
touch with a local centre, and I was asked in for an assessment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few weeks later, I was sitting before
another well-meaning trainee in a windowless room with a box of tissues on a
table between us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we developed a
good rapport and, after a few sessions, I managed to decide to perform some
comedy again, even though it would inevitably be at the bottom of the
light-entertainment ladder, again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I rang the place in Islington I’d
performed in a year or two before, and booked myself in for a spot on open-mic
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt it was important for me to
go on my own, deliver the wares, and try to be something resembling
professional about it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I felt
that comedy was something I could do well, I should get used to turning up
alone, performing, and going home alone, without always seeing it as some kind
of dare to which friends should be invited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Butchers sell meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They get up
in the morning, pop to the abattoir, take a few carcasses back to the shop, don
an apron, hang a few choice cadavers in the window, and the working day's
begun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don't get their mates round
to sprinkle the floor with sawdust, squirt bone-meal in sausage-casings, or
stick rosettes on shoulders of beef.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
needed to take a leaf out of the manual of good butchery, to be self-contained,
self-confident, and begin to develop a professional self.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I worked on some new material until,
script internalised, I was in the bath on the day of the performance, a
joss-stick in the basin wafting sandalwood, and the radio on in the
kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I was, simmering in
too-hot water, both apprehensive and underwhelmed at the prospect of performing
again, when the woman on the radio said, 'We've just received a report that a
plane has crashed into one of the Twin Towers in New York,' to which I thought,
'Oh shit.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can remember hoping some
disaffected redneck was to blame, like Timothy McVee, who blew up that building
in Oklahoma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea of it being an
angry Arab, or similar George Bush bogeyman, was a frightening prospect,
because that would lead, as it did, to him and his friends unleashing their
unique brand of muscular Christianity on places they probably couldn’t even
point to on a map.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later,
another plane’s hurtling into the second tower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It all seemed like too much of a coincidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrapped in a towel, I dripped into the
living-room and put the telly on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
certainly made for compelling viewing, like Thunderbirds, but without the
puppets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can remember thinking,
'Blimey, this is Biblical,' or something profound like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I thought, 'I wonder if they'll cancel
the comedy.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little later, I rang to
find out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Yes, tonight is comedy,’ said
the girl who answered, although I’m not sure she’d heard the news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I arrived about eight, and the place
was, unsurprisingly, pretty quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was Percy, the compere, eyes circled with a weariness born of overexposure to
bad comedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He recognised me and asked
how I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt ashamed for not having
moved up the comedy ladder since our previous encounters, and gave him some
blather about having been working out of London, then turned the questions on
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the first to arrive, as was
my practice, which meant I could choose where I'd come in the running
order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As ever, I picked first up in the
second half, then went and propped myself up on a stool by the bar and waited
for the revels to begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about
half an hour, the place began to fill up a bit, peaking at about twenty people,
half of whom were acts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Once the entertainment got underway,
it was clear the Twin Towers were fair game for the amateurish stylings of most
of the acts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no one had anything
incisive or clever to say, and the whole place had the ambience of a
mortuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when Paddy tried to
resuscitate the audience after the interval, I went up and did my bit, making
no reference at all to the main event of the day, although avoiding felt more
contrived than mentioning it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
however pleased I'd been with my new material that morning, the backdrop of
three thousand people lying dead under rubble seemed to put a dampener on
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, job done, I returned to my
pint of unpalatable cider, as the rest of the evening withered away into
nothingness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a bit of nice
interaction with the Polish girl who worked behind the bar, chatted to one or
two of the other acts, then went home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had at least done what I said I would do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Things were threatening to get
marginally better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably wouldn’t have
got back to comedy without the encouragement of my counsellor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd also bought a new little drum'n'bass box,
into which I could program rhythm-tracks and bass-lines for new songs, of which
I wrote quite a number at this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
also discovered that I could play the guitar a bit, having for years thought,
because I wasn't a virtuoso, that I should leave it languishing in the corner,
daily reminding me that I was an underachieving misfit – but it's amazing what
you can get away with when you've got a bit of imagination and a guitar-effects
box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I began turning up at other comedy
venues, and sitting at the back like a Time Out critic or a talent-scout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to check out the acts, but was
mainly there to see if I could do a quick five minutes some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One such place was in the basement-bar of a
local hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there in the shadows
and saw a few acts come and go, and then, during the interval, collared the
compere and cajoled him into giving me a slot the following week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he admired my get-up-and-go attitude,
and seemed fairly happy to give me a chance, which did my confidence no harm at
all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Come the night, I met up with a friend
of a friend, who lived just round the corner from the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>wasn't at all nervous before going on, which I think meant that I was in
a strangely de-energised state when I got up on the stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was feeling pretty out of sorts, with quite
a lot of eye-pain going on, which was something of a distraction, only adding
to my feelings of self-consciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was obvious to the audience that I was not comfortable, and so neither were
they.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opened badly, and couldn't
redeem things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got increasingly
panicky, and started talking too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This meant the audience had no spaces in which to laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so, with no laughter, I panicked even
more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I stopped even looking at
them, choosing instead to gaze off to the left and right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I realised I'd blown it, I wrapped up,
got off, and went and sat back with my friend, which gave me no pleasure at
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within moments, one of the other
acts came over and said, 'Don't worry mate, you've got some good material
there, but you didn't really get it across.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt that was fair, and appreciated his kindness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I still felt humiliated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the compere came over, saying that he
liked one particular line very much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was like waking up in the gutter with paramedics above me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You're only as funny as your last gig, or
gag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn't sit there assuring
everyone that I had been funny the previous week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I just put it behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn't really haunt me that badly, because
everyone dies at least once in their life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jack Dee said that one rule of comedy is 'never embarrass the audience'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Embarrassment spread through the bar that
night like Legionnaire's Disease through air-conditioning, and I was patient
zero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come the end of the evening, I
said goodbye to my friend, still wanting to assure her that I was capable of
being funny, and we went our separate ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then, on Goldhawk Road, about ten
minutes from home, some bloke accosted me from the entrance to a block of
flats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Are you looking for anything,
bruvva?' he asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sensed illicitness,
and my shadow-self kicked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'What have
you got?' I enquired, not wishing to jump to any conclusions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn't beat around the bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'White,' he replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, having only been abstinent by default,
I was in there like a shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He must have
thought he'd hit the jackpot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe he
could spot a user, even if they'd not actually used for two years, as I
hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gestured I should follow him,
which I did like a dog on the promise of a bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he led me round the back of the block, it
struck me I might have misjudged things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>'I'm not looking for any trouble,' I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sensed my nervousness and sought to reassure
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'It's ok mate, my girl's
upstairs.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was good enough for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We reached the bottom of the steps
and began to climb, firm friends by the time we reached our first
stairwell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In better light, I got a
clearer view of him - gaunt as a broom, with spiv-like moustache, tired,
malnourished skin, mauve lips, and dagger-like teeth, all topped off with a
baseball-cap at a controversial angle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Next, we're sitting on the stairs a
couple of storeys up, smoking crack with 'his girl'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he was a bit of an amateur pimp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something reptilian about him,
nasty and sinuous like a tentacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was quiet, although her eyes had a look of slow exasperation about them, and
she acquiesced skilfully to whatever he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He nudged me as she was on the pipe, saying something vague about me
having her for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'She's mine,
bruv, she knows what's good for her, do you know what I mean?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pictured him beating her in a basement,
cajoling her into doing his mate a favour in the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be great to say that I found his
offer repugnant and rose above the moral swamp in which he clearly
writhed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But to me, love's guttersnipe,
it all seemed like an excellent adventure, with a bit of crack in my system,
doubly so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pre-crack, my demeanour around
'ladies of a certain profession' had always been passive and polite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Post-crack, the thoughts and fantasies I
found myself entertaining were, to be honest, not nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack's a pretty satanic catalyst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It digs into your deepest insecurities and turns
them inside-out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the shy are
strident, the inept, consummate, celibate, sexual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fleetingly, the victim becomes the
vanquisher, the virgin, the vampire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I accepted his seedy proposition, at
which point he said something to the girl, like, 'Yeah, you and him?'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She blew out the smoke, and vaguely
nodded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well you would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until you know who's going to be funding the
next few hours, it’s wise to keep your options open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only when you know where the power lies can
you decide where any favours should be directed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was decided we should make a
move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, there's only so long
you can sit in a stairwell before you start feeling self-conscious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took the lift back to the ground, made our
way to the nearest cab-office, via the cashpoint, and before long we were
climbing another stone staircase in another anonymous-looking tower-block, down
by the river in Hammersmith.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don't know who his friends were, but
their flat was the usual barren shell, the only vestige of orthodoxy being a
portable telly on a chair in the corner, probably cos it was too heavy to drag
to Cash Converters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slumped down into
what I realised on closer inspection was a car-seat, amid crumpled TV guides
and shards of porn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coffee-table
before me was a mess of ashtrays, foil, and ripped-up cans – but it’s not the
place you’re in, it’s the people in it, innit?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We stayed a couple of hours, until it
was time to replenish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got a cab back
to the cashpoint, drove around the corner and parked up near a bus-stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tentacles asked me for the money, then told
me to get out of the cab, saying the guy he was going to see was a bit
paranoid, and didn't like him turning up with strangers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, this was so much bullshit, and so
full of holes to be even half-convincing, but there was me, chump of the
moment, waiting on the pavement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'You
will be back, yeah?' I almost pleaded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>'Five minutes bruv,' he assured me, 'I'm just going round the corner.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cab pulled away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, that was the last I saw of
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Problem was, though, I didn't really
know where I’d been dumped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was at a
bus-stop, in the rain, at four in the morning, which is where crack always
leaves you, if not literally, metaphorically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But luckily the glow of an all-night shop caught my eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went in to see if I could get my bearings,
without seeming like an escapee from a local psychiatric unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned out I was on the salubrious Shepherd's
Bush stretch of the Uxbridge Road, closer to home than I thought, which made my
walk through the rain a little more bearable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Back in the flat, the only light being
thrown on the subject was dawn's infringement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>'What the hell was that about?' I wondered, languishing in the arms of
my long-lost friend, that nagging outstayer of welcomes, the comedown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were the fates conspiring against me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More likely I was conspiring against
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only I could carry the can for
stopping off when assailed by a stranger at midnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing had changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The aftermath was still the same tense,
angst-ridden nightmare I'd come to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I consoled myself with the fact that his dumping me at the bus-stop
had at least brought things to an early close, stopped them getting really out
of hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was still pining for a
pipe to lift me, however briefly, out of this pit of spitting vipers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept reminding myself that I'd get through
it, and eventually, after much clenching and gnashing of teeth, I managed to
sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I woke at lunchtime, depressed to
reflect on the night’s dark antics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes,
the hangover was just the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
searched my head for a grain of cheer, but found none.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All dopamine, and other agents of happiness,
had vanished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My head felt like a cold
and burnt-out fireplace, with no obvious sign of getting a fresh blaze
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the plaintive strains of an
antique acquaintance piped up from the blackness of the chimneystack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Please, no more, no more,' came a sorrowful,
soot-muffled cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Momentarily, a wave of
pity passed through me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, some
waif was wedged up there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'Don't forget
me, sir, please, don't forget me.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
had other things on my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Top-hatted
and cloaked, I was out the door like Jack the Ripper on arsenic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waif would have to wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He'd come unstuck eventually, when he’d got
skinny enough to come loose and drop into the hearth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And there I was, suddenly on the hunt
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my way down Goldhawk Road,
back to the foot of the block where the reptile had caught me on his prickly
tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was a madness in my
method.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I half-thought he might be back
there, ensnaring passers-by with whispers of white, or, if he wasn't, maybe
someone new could be found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My goal was
to hook up with someone, anyone that could facilitate a repeat of last night,
but there was no sign of him or the girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I walked up a few floors, just in case it was a regular haunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was no one around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The building felt designed to
cultivate suicidal thoughts, a way of sifting out the socially weak without
anyone really noticing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Built with only
cost in mind, this was a block that chose you, not the other way round.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Named after someone laudable on the national
curriculum, it was known by those in the know as Hepatitis Court.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was usually a puddle in the lift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the doors were fire-doors, and thick as a
fist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where the destroyed
middle-classes mingle with the feral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you can't hack it in your own clan, hack your way into another, move down a
rung or two, and hang out with a crowd who don't care what job you do, or did,
how big your house is, or was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There's
no pressure to impress here - see it as a kind of high-rise haven, concrete
retreat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But there was nothing there for this
hapless afternoon-hunter, no new friendships to forge, nor old ones to
fake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What could he do now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the old feelings were back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One go at the old game and I wanted to gamble
everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dice felt like the cure for
debt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I returned to my flat,
crestfallen, disconsolate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">From the barely settled ashes of
abstinence, so chancily put down, an ugly phoenix was threatening to
lumber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too long he’d languished in
grey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now his hunger for hunger was
heightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rose, yawned, and
stretched, like a darkside Yaffle, shook dust from stiffened wings, glass eye
gleaming, piercing, inscrutable, voracious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, there it is. I hope you'll tune into the next instalment. Meanwhile, here is a song you might like to hear: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c56UpvrBN0A">Jimmy, Where Did You Go?</a></span></div>
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Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-84477434438779797282015-11-30T07:06:00.001-08:002015-11-30T07:06:25.038-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 9Hello, and thank you for dropping by. Here is the ninth episode of Blind Man On Crack, the gaudily titled memoirs of someone I used to know, albeit slenderly. And, as I write, I wonder if all habits are addictions - I think they are not - but all addictions are habits, I think. And on that bombshell, here below is Episode 9:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GcRtybc7Jt8/Vlxkz4_GcCI/AAAAAAAAAzM/zwz9A3zT744/s1600/Carr%2BIn%2BDeepy%2BJungle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GcRtybc7Jt8/Vlxkz4_GcCI/AAAAAAAAAzM/zwz9A3zT744/s320/Carr%2BIn%2BDeepy%2BJungle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">New Flat, Old Self<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So there I sat, on the floor of my
brand-new London pad, amid boxes, bags, speakers, and various bits of equipment,
thinking how nice it would be to have a fresh start, for this move to mark a
new era in my hitherto indifferent existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In this spirit, I thought it would be a good idea to stop getting stoned
all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I felt bereft and
bored without dope, I was also aware that constant use of it did me no good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In exile, I'd got into the habit of getting
stoned all the time, rising midmorning and rolling a joint before doing
anything, which hadn't usually made for a very productive day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, much as I didn't like to admit it,
being constantly stoned did make me feel paranoid and shun society, which had
the effect of further fuelling my isolation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I couldn’t have been in the new flat more than two hours before I
was popping out to find the local shop, getting some Rizlas and tobacco, and skulking
back to roll an inaugural joint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What joy
it brought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find cannabis just accentuates
whatever emotion I’m already feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
this case, the end result was being even more daunted by the unpacking I had to
do, and less inclined to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
foraged away, assembled the hi-fi, put some music on, and set about positioning
things around the room as aesthetically as I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took particular pleasure setting up my
rickety little recording-studio, because this, although a source of ongoing
frustration in many ways, also represented pleasure and hope, and I had plans
to keep myself busy in this regard in the months ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Days and nights drifted by, with the
low growl of traffic my constant companion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes I would try to pretend the growling of buses and trucks was
the sea, ebbing and flowing, but the sea doesn’t have hooters, nor does it
sound quite so impatient in its rhythms as people with schedules and deadlines
to meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d learned a grain or two of
wisdom from my appointments with counsellor Nick, but I was no changed man, and
it couldn't have been more than a week before I was travelling the handful of
stops to Westbourne Park to rekindle things with Debbie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much for fresh starts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whilst I'd managed to say no to crack, with a
struggle, when there were a hundred miles between us, there were now barely
three miles keeping us apart, and they were easily traversed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was coming up to midnight, and
there I was, fifty quid in pocket, furtively making my way down Droop Street to
Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I climbed the mean stone
staircase, walked along the narrow walkway that led to her door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what was this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where once there’d been a wooden front-door,
with panes of glass and letterbox below, there was now just steel, a flat metal
sheet covering the whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knocked all
the same, thinking perhaps someone had kicked it in and she'd had to get an
emergency replacement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knocked again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There's little worse than one's countdown to crack being
interrupted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was all keyed up for a session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like a child who’d had his milkshake
snatched before he’d even put lip to straw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There were a few women chatting on the
pavement across the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I stood
there considering what to do, one of them called up to me, ‘Are you looking for
Debbie?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went downstairs and crossed
over, fully expecting to be told she was at the shops, or in so-and-so’s flat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then one of them said, ‘Debbie died a few
weeks ago.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn't been expecting that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood there, slightly numbed by the
news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'You know what she was like,' she
added. ‘What happened?’ I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of
them knew. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'The police sealed the door
when they took the body,' one of them said, 'in case it's a crime-scene.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pictured her brother, in a frenzy, pushing
her about, both of them drunk, then suddenly he shoves too hard, she falls,
bangs her head, never to rise again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
imagined her keeling over after a pipe, then, clutching her chest with one
hand, crawling into the hall to call a neighbour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my mournful speculation soon turned to
selfishness, and I began wondering if one of these nightjars was a user.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe one of them wants to score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can I drop a hint?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There has to be a way of putting feelers out,
without categorically stating I want crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wouldn't have to be too heavy-handed, because users know each other from
the smallest sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But doubt, or
decency, probably the former, caused me to keep my mouth shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked them for the news, and made my way
home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I can't say my thoughts were noble or
selfless as I lay there in bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I’d
got over my failure to score, my next feeling was one of unsentimental
relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Debbie's death had saved my
skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the only person I knew to
score through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, barring a chance
encounter with Sandra, the door to crack seemed barred and bolted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If, as I'd been hoping, I’d used that night,
it would have led to my being jettisoned from London a second time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shame of crawling back to my family would
have been crushing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, as things
turned out, this was the start of nearly two years without crack, albeit more
by chance than intention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
__________________________________</span></i><br />
<br />
And here, for your entertainment, is a short example of one of my songs: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTqMK3OdQWY">Tarantula</a><br />
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See you soon I hope.<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-16355542931097079942015-11-22T16:26:00.001-08:002015-11-22T16:26:14.991-08:00SNOW IN JORDANHi, and thanks for coming by. I wonder if they ever get snow in Jordan. Do you know? Here is a picture of snow:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vXX7pkAVjd8/VlJafyss5kI/AAAAAAAAAzA/vVCeNMG8Ftk/s1600/Christmas%2BCard%2B3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vXX7pkAVjd8/VlJafyss5kI/AAAAAAAAAzA/vVCeNMG8Ftk/s320/Christmas%2BCard%2B3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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And a short snow-related song: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYX3hbOjzHc">I Control The Snow</a><br />
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That's it.<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-65868606486363934432015-11-03T17:56:00.001-08:002015-11-03T17:59:19.172-08:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 8Hi, and thanks for dropping by. I'm having difficulty using my computer, due to a drop in vision, but here, with assistance from a friend, is the next instalment of Blind Man On Crack, plus a new song. You can buy the whole book on amazon, if you prefer, under the title 'How To Become A Crack Addict'. So anyway, here is today's episode.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-789JQyi8GgY/VjllsoGvHdI/AAAAAAAAAys/IglSTsCv7zs/s1600/Jon%2BFinds%2BLove.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-789JQyi8GgY/VjllsoGvHdI/AAAAAAAAAys/IglSTsCv7zs/s400/Jon%2BFinds%2BLove.bmp" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Come To Jesus, Junkie<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Monday loomed again, and I rattled down
the Central Line to another day of answering the telephone and sealing
envelopes, posting out pamphlets on general wellbeing, as mine sank into the quicksand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after work, I was back at Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The usual things went on, and I was there all
night, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this time, when it
got to about half-past eight in the morning, I just couldn’t be bothered to go to
work, so rang in with a vague excuse, and Debbie and I carried on scoring
through the morning, and everything was fine and dandy, but, because of all the
money I’d been spending, Debbie returned from the cashpoint with bad news,
saying, as she slammed the door behind her, ‘There’s no more money available.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was gutted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It felt like a landslide inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Within minutes, our fragile alliance was
disintegrating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Debbie said she needed
to sleep, I had no choice but to haul myself across London back to the flat,
where, on arrival, I gave a few polite words and disappeared into my
bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My effigy in the window looked
crooked, smug in its defeat, like I was jeering at my own downfall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Below, in the car-park, the secretary of the
Conservative Club was manoeuvring her blue jeep into the disabled spot, as was
her wont, due to it being near the door she took boxes of booze into for the
dulling of right-wing despondency in the neighbourhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her squat body had more width than height,
contrasting the narrowness of her mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d whinged once or twice about slightly late rent payments – think
she might have chucked me out if she’d known the reason why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then I’d rather be addicted to crack than
Thatcher, although they’re both quite similar in their callous short-termism, I
guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Wednesday morning, back to work, and assorted
needy people ringing in with requests for a local therapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Emma rings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I like to meet up on Friday?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, it was our week to be paid, so I’d
have money in the bank, although money now had the glint of a double-edged
sword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gauchely accepted her
invitation, quietly panicking within that it would only lead to another shy
retreat on my part, and that might mark the end of her attempt to bridge the
gap between us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Friday comes, I’ve recovered slightly
from my indulgences, so I leave work and go to meet Emma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was there with a group of friends, which
included her boyfriend, which was slightly disappointing, but again, Emma and I
seemed to talk away in our usual intimate fashion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But I was really messed up by this
point, and I kind of knew it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I can
recall is sitting there, chatting with Emma, and being very edgy and sombre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her about the crack again, and I think
she picked up that there was more of a problem than she first thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what could she say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What she did say was, ‘You’re my Ben.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’ll be ok.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when I left
early for no apparent reason, she followed me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my pathetic way, I was pleased to have peeled
her away from her boyfriend, who, I thought, would be sitting inside feeling jealous
I had such a pull on his girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Emma dragged me back inside, and we sat chatting at a separate table
from the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember what
we said, but I think it was more of the same, mixed in with me not being able
to tell her how I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was paralysed on
the verge of making another desperate proclamation of love that would sound more
like a confession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we couldn’t sit
apart all evening, so she asked me if I wanted to come back and join the
others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really couldn’t face that, so
said instead I’d go home, promising to be ok, and in touch within a day or
two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once free, I made a beeline for the
tube and went straight to Debbie’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Memories now become something of a
blur, a patchwork of frustrating days at work, and nights and days at Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Financially, I was spending far more than I
was receiving, so I tried to find new ways of getting money in the
short-term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can remember ringing my
parents from the office, and asking for five hundred quid, which was a lot to
ask for under any circumstances, making out I needed help with the rent, and
had to buy a suit, probably for a non-existent job-interview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as it appeared in my account, I was
off again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when I couldn’t justify
any more requests for money from my parents, I rang the bank and asked them for
an extension to my overdraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘No
problem, sir, you’re working, you’ve been a reliable customer, how much would
you like?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And off I’d go again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’d been lucky so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a couple of the days when I’d been absent
from work, Polly the manager had also been away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d come in the following morning and there
I’d be, perched at my desk, like I’d never been away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d say, ‘Was everything ok
yesterday?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d say, ‘Yeah, pretty
quiet.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But soon, I was spending as much
time at Debbie’s as I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A limit of
two hundred and fifty pounds a day on my bankcard meant that, if you timed it
right, it was quite easy to blow five hundred quid over the space of two days,
and then, money allowing, another two hundred and fifty on the third. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It became standard procedure, to borrow, blow,
salvage, then savage my bank-account in monthly cycles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if the Natwest mainframe noticed
my new spending patterns, but if it did, nobody rang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But within a couple of weeks, there came
a point where I simply couldn’t conceal the trouble I was in any longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After another daylong or two-daylong session
with Debbie, I was travelling back across London to the flat, and nearly
passing out on the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a
couple sitting opposite me, and I felt like they knew exactly what I’d been up
to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They felt like my parallel life,
travelling on the same train, but unobtainable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could barely keep my eyes open, and felt like a ghost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when I was walking down the high-street
to the flat, I just burst into tears, dived into the nearest phone-box, and
rang my sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could barely talk for
crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My whole world, such as it was,
was collapsing around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no
choice but to ask her to tell mum and dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t have the courage to tell them myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after a few minutes, and a little
calmer, I made my way down the high-street to the flat, and once again had to
pretend everything was fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried
making hot-chocolate in a large pint-glass, which inevitably smashed when I poured
in the boiling water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josie’s boyfriend
came into the kitchen and tidied up, lamenting the loss of one of his favourite
glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wandered off into my
room, feeling very, very sorry for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">News of my downfall having reached my
parents, it wasn’t more than a few days before I was being collected by my mum,
dad, and sister, and taken down to the family home on the south coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once there, I registered with a local GP,
explained my predicament, and got signed off work for a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone, probably not me, rang Polly to say
there was a sick-note in the post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
far as she was concerned, I was suffering with depression, which, considering I
worked in a ‘therapeutic environment’, was a bit like James Herriot catching
foot-and-mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I made out that I was using my time at
my parents constructively, having a serious think about my situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I had no idea as to the gravity of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A week or two later, I insisted I felt a lot
better and went back up to London on the train, and straight to Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two days later, I re-emerge, ring my parents,
say I’m in too much of a state to get down on the train, so they come up and
collect me again, this time at one in the morning, and we all drive down in the
darkness, with me either sulking in the back or swearing and cursing like someone
possessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, we were parked
in a service-station car-park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad
and sister had gone to get some food, leaving me and my mum in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d said that I didn’t want anything to eat
or drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they were gone, my mum
asked me if I wanted her to go and get me something, to which I very reasonably
replied, ‘Fuck off.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The character-shift
between my normal self and the person I became in the few days after using was horrific.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one was exempt from my rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the more I loved the person, the more
likely they were to get it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So I spend another smouldering
fortnight with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of
weeks pass, in which I’ve had another serious think about things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back on the train I get, with a warning from
my dad that I’m ‘entering a minefield’, and no doubt a concerned frown from my,
by now, distraught mum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two hours later,
whose door am I knocking on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think you
know the answer to that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But this time things got so bad that
even I had to acknowledge the game was up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It began at Debbie’s, but at some point Sandra turned up, and she and I
ended up disappearing off to another guesthouse for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t even remember how we got there, but I
do recall the odd look we got from the porter who gave us our keys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we went upstairs and embarked upon
another night’s smoking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As on our
previous overnighter, Sandra kept going back and forth to the bathroom to smoke
in private.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remained in the bedroom,
dreading that her indiscretion might get us into trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of hours later, I noticed I was running
out of my eye-drops, which were, and still are, my constant companion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without them, my eyes get very dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For about two hours, I was able to squeeze
another drop out, but there came a point when nothing came, however I tilted
the bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I should have
upped and left, gone home, somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
that would involve departing from my dearly beloved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I filled the bottle with water from the
tap, which stung, and as the night dragged on I could tell my eyes were
beginning to go red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Come nine in the morning, it was time
to move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, we’d burned a hole
in the pillowcase, and the bin was full of foil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As on our previous stopover, we were
convinced that any second the cleaner would be knocking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was an unfaceable prospect, so we
pre-empted it by scarpering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Downstairs,
there were two women behind the reception-desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I paid for the room with cash, hoping to make a dash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they asked me to sign my name as well,
which I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out that Sandra had
signed me in under a different name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
women seemed suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t blame
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The morning was sickeningly bright,
and already getting warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it was
April, about four months down the road since my first encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed very busy, and I soon realised that
we’d emerged on Portobello Road on market-day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sandra and I wandered about looking for the nearest cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plan was to get some more money out and
go back to Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had nowhere else
to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found a cashpoint and I tried
to get some money out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Amount available
to withdraw, nil,’ read the heartbreaking news on the screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wave of dismay and helplessness passed
through me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew there was no way I
could get any more, and I’d just used my last to pay for the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Sandra kept insisting I should ring the
bank and ask for an extension to my overdraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I told her there was no way this would happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if they said yes, I wouldn’t be able to
access the money until the next working day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Furthermore, it was Saturday, so the bank wouldn’t even be open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were fucked, and we stood there squabbling
by a callbox for a few minutes, until, buckling under the weight of Sandra’s
nagging, I found myself standing in the phone-box pretending to ring the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I was just mouthing stuff with the
dialling-tone in my ear, with Sandra scowling through the glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I re-emerged and told her they’d said
no, at which point she began cursing and spluttering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t take anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By now, my eyes were feeling really
sore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was torn between remorse at what
I’d done and a desperate desire to find a way to carry on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was no way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to get away from her, so I just started
walking away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came after me, yelling,
but the crowd was too thick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked as
fast as I could into the heaving mass, her anguished voice behind me, calling and
cursing my name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then some bloke decided
to join in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yo, Ben,’ he bellowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was too late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But I had no idea where I was
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was penniless, eye-dropless,
and even if I’d known the way to the nearest tube-station, I couldn’t have
bought myself a ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best thing I
could think of to do was ring my parents and reverse the charges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I eventually found a callbox, I rang the
operator and gave her the number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad
answered, and she asked him if he’d accept a reverse-charge call from
London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t imagine what
palpitations that caused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was about
sixty-eight at this point, had already had two heart-bypass operations, and
took medication for angina and diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was sweating beads by now, and can remember telling him I was
dehydrated and I didn’t know where I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know if there was something wrong with the phone, but after about
ten seconds, I could still hear my dad, but he couldn’t hear me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answered, telling him I was still
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he couldn’t hear me, so he
called my name again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answered again,
but it just wasn’t getting through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
all he knew, I’d collapsed, or just walked away in a stupor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pushed open the glass door and went looking
for another callbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself
walking along a long residential road, stopping every hundred yards to sling
more tap-water in my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I
arrived at a tube-station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recognised
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was Ladbroke Grove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a bunch of churchy people there,
some of them singing, some of them collaring agnostics and asking them if
they’d thought about letting Jesus into their life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I went straight to the payphone and
rang my parents again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, my mum
answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her my situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In desperation, she called the local police
and asked them to come and look after me, probably referring to her partially sighted
son having run out of his medication, rather than her crack-smoking son who’d
just been on a bender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What else could
she do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no money for the train, no
eye-drops, and was weak with hunger and thirst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I tried to ring Emma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was staying at her boyfriend’s at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whoever answered told me she was out, but they’d let her know I’d
called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, for want of anything
better to do, I slumped to the ground and waited for the police to turn up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">However, within a few minutes, a voice
from above was asking me if I was ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
looked up to see a reasonably elderly couple standing benevolently above
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Are you alright?’ asked the female
of the pair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember how I
replied to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Are you listening to
the music?’ she asked, referring to the choir-angelic standing a little way
off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Er, well…’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt they sensed something was up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People in the business of saving souls can
spot a lost one a mile off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought it
only polite to stand up as I spoke to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, within moments, my hands were being gently clasped, and they were
praying for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must have given them
the go-ahead, I suppose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t
seem the type to do it without at least asking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got the works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They began by beseeching
Jesus to come into my life, comfort my troubled heart, and so on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even broke into tongues, as a kind of finale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked them what all that meant, and they
said it was the holy spirit that made them do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they might be speaking Aramaic, the
mother-tongue Jesus, or it could be the language of angels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kind of went along with it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t think I had anything to lose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said amen, I said amen, they asked me
how I felt, and I replied, ‘A little better, thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then they moved on, as if there was a
quota for the hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were from a
charismatic, evangelical church in Notting Hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I now know it to be that kind of
church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years later, I would, in desperation,
attend a service there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met someone
quite nice there, and then went to another church with her, which was equally
as literal in its interpretations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Neither turned out to be a spiritual home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Next thing I know, there’s a policeman
and policewoman standing in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Are you Ben?’ asked the female of the pair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes, I’m Ben,’ I admitted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Your mother rang, saying you’re in a spot of
bother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you need taking to a
hospital?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could just get on a train, I’d be able
to get home, loosely referring to the flat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Christian woman obviously overheard me explaining I had no money,
and very kindly gave me a fiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
she also bought me a bottle of Lucozade in a nearby newsagent’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was, the police got me through the
ticket-barrier, and I knew from that point on I’d be able to get home without
having to show a ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked the
relevant people, and got the train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mum had obviously rung ahead,
because when I got to the flat Josie presented me with a large plate of
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there eating it on the floor
of my bedroom with her looking on concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought I owed her some kind of explanation, so I told her that I’d
been somewhere where people were taking cocaine, and even crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I fell short of saying I was one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then it was back to my family
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was decided that I’d hand my
notice in at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t keep
sending in sick-notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, one
afternoon, I sat there at my sister’s computer, writing a letter to Polly,
explaining I had a drug-problem, and that the drug in question was crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like a dirty word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack doesn’t get a very good press.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t deserve one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wished I was an alcoholic, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least that wouldn’t have implied the murky
world that crack did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone could fall
prey to alcohol, it’s everywhere, almost compulsory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try going out to the pub and having a
non-alcoholic drink without at least one person raising an eyebrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But crack, that was off the map.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You had to go looking for that, in dens,
dives, and dark, vice-ridden tenement-blocks, and that in itself implied a
certain desperation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Within a week or two, I was on my way
back to London, but this time with my dad, to collect my things from work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We parked near the office by virtue of
stuffing copious change into a parking-meter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then my father and I went to pick up my reading-screen, a camera-monitor
contraption that allowed me to read print, which had been standing unused on my
desk for the best part of two months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natalie,
Emma’s replacement, was vague and polite – she’d hardly met me anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anita, a little more inquisitive, drew a few
half-truths from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her that I
was depressed and had also been using cocaine, which seemed kind of true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I had to go and say goodbye to
Polly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d received my letter, and all
I can remember her saying, with reference to the crack, was that one really
should be careful with these things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
right she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Squirming with shame, I
faked an attitude of penitence, said we had to get back to the car, and that
was the end of my career in the counselling field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
Well, I wonder how all this will turn out. It's like a game of Cluedo, which coincidentally is the theme of today's song, which you can hear on youtube if you dare, by clicking here... <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kw_J86sJaZQ">Would You Like To Play Cluedo?</a><br />
<br />
Maybe see you tomorrow? Thanks for dropping by.Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-73422500165741221032015-10-18T16:10:00.003-07:002015-10-18T16:10:55.403-07:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 7Hello Moscow, and other towns in Russia, and what's left of the USSR...I hope you are enjoying your independence. I'm just off to get a cup of tea from the samovar, and I'll be back with the highest new entry in the Vladivostok Music Chart, sponsored by Uri Andropov...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vc2Tl4KOvLE/UUYe_QRFMcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/a8LiqmMWlg4/s1600/Goldhawk.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vc2Tl4KOvLE/UUYe_QRFMcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/a8LiqmMWlg4/s320/Goldhawk.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
The song is this: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3HH4jK2PjY" target="_blank">Warnography</a><br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter 7<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Come To Jesus, Junkie<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Monday loomed again, and I rattled down
the Central Line to another day of answering the telephone and sealing
envelopes, posting out pamphlets on general wellbeing, as mine sank into the quicksand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after work, I was back at Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The usual things went on, and I was there all
night, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this time, when it
got to about half-past eight in the morning, I just couldn’t be bothered to go to
work, so rang in with a vague excuse, and Debbie and I carried on scoring
through the morning, and everything was fine and dandy, but, because of all the
money I’d been spending, Debbie returned from the cashpoint with bad news,
saying, as she slammed the door behind her, ‘There’s no more money available.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was gutted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It felt like a landslide inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Within minutes, our fragile alliance was
disintegrating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Debbie said she needed
to sleep, I had no choice but to haul myself across London back to the flat,
where, on arrival, I gave a few polite words and disappeared into my
bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My effigy in the window looked
crooked, smug in its defeat, like I was jeering at my own downfall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Below, in the car-park, the secretary of the
Conservative Club was manoeuvring her blue jeep into the disabled spot, as was
her wont, due to it being near the door she took boxes of booze into for the
dulling of right-wing despondency in the neighbourhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her squat body had more width than height,
contrasting the narrowness of her mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d whinged once or twice about slightly late rent payments – think
she might have chucked me out if she’d known the reason why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then I’d rather be addicted to crack than
Thatcher, although they’re both quite similar in their callous short-termism, I
guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Wednesday morning, back to work, and assorted
needy people ringing in with requests for a local therapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Emma rings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I like to meet up on Friday?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, it was our week to be paid, so I’d
have money in the bank, although money now had the glint of a double-edged
sword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gauchely accepted her
invitation, quietly panicking within that it would only lead to another shy
retreat on my part, and that might mark the end of her attempt to bridge the
gap between us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Friday comes, I’ve recovered slightly
from my indulgences, so I leave work and go to meet Emma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was there with a group of friends, which
included her boyfriend, which was slightly disappointing, but again, Emma and I
seemed to talk away in our usual intimate fashion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But I was really messed up by this
point, and I kind of knew it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I can
recall is sitting there, chatting with Emma, and being very edgy and sombre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her about the crack again, and I think
she picked up that there was more of a problem than she first thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what could she say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What she did say was, ‘You’re my Ben.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’ll be ok.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when I left
early for no apparent reason, she followed me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my pathetic way, I was pleased to have peeled
her away from her boyfriend, who, I thought, would be sitting inside feeling jealous
I had such a pull on his girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Emma dragged me back inside, and we sat chatting at a separate table
from the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember what
we said, but I think it was more of the same, mixed in with me not being able
to tell her how I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was paralysed on
the verge of making another desperate proclamation of love that would sound more
like a confession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we couldn’t sit
apart all evening, so she asked me if I wanted to come back and join the
others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really couldn’t face that, so
said instead I’d go home, promising to be ok, and in touch within a day or
two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once free, I made a beeline for the
tube and went straight to Debbie’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Memories now become something of a
blur, a patchwork of frustrating days at work, and nights and days at Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Financially, I was spending far more than I
was receiving, so I tried to find new ways of getting money in the
short-term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can remember ringing my
parents from the office, and asking for five hundred quid, which was a lot to
ask for under any circumstances, making out I needed help with the rent, and
had to buy a suit, probably for a non-existent job-interview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as it appeared in my account, I was
off again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when I couldn’t justify
any more requests for money from my parents, I rang the bank and asked them for
an extension to my overdraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘No
problem, sir, you’re working, you’ve been a reliable customer, how much would
you like?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And off I’d go again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’d been lucky so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a couple of the days when I’d been absent
from work, Polly the manager had also been away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d come in the following morning and there
I’d be, perched at my desk, like I’d never been away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d say, ‘Was everything ok
yesterday?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d say, ‘Yeah, pretty
quiet.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But soon, I was spending as much
time at Debbie’s as I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A limit of
two hundred and fifty pounds a day on my bankcard meant that, if you timed it
right, it was quite easy to blow five hundred quid over the space of two days,
and then, money allowing, another two hundred and fifty on the third. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It became standard procedure, to borrow, blow,
salvage, then savage my bank-account in monthly cycles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if the Natwest mainframe noticed
my new spending patterns, but if it did, nobody rang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But within a couple of weeks, there came
a point where I simply couldn’t conceal the trouble I was in any longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After another daylong or two-daylong session
with Debbie, I was travelling back across London to the flat, and nearly
passing out on the train.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a
couple sitting opposite me, and I felt like they knew exactly what I’d been up
to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They felt like my parallel life,
travelling on the same train, but unobtainable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could barely keep my eyes open, and felt like a ghost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, when I was walking down the high-street
to the flat, I just burst into tears, dived into the nearest phone-box, and
rang my sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could barely talk for
crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My whole world, such as it was,
was collapsing around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no
choice but to ask her to tell mum and dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t have the courage to tell them myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after a few minutes, and a little
calmer, I made my way down the high-street to the flat, and once again had to
pretend everything was fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried
making hot-chocolate in a large pint-glass, which inevitably smashed when I poured
in the boiling water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josie’s boyfriend
came into the kitchen and tidied up, lamenting the loss of one of his favourite
glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wandered off into my
room, feeling very, very sorry for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">News of my downfall having reached my
parents, it wasn’t more than a few days before I was being collected by my mum,
dad, and sister, and taken down to the family home on the south coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once there, I registered with a local GP,
explained my predicament, and got signed off work for a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone, probably not me, rang Polly to say
there was a sick-note in the post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
far as she was concerned, I was suffering with depression, which, considering I
worked in a ‘therapeutic environment’, was a bit like James Herriot catching
foot-and-mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I made out that I was using my time at
my parents constructively, having a serious think about my situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I had no idea as to the gravity of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A week or two later, I insisted I felt a lot
better and went back up to London on the train, and straight to Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two days later, I re-emerge, ring my parents,
say I’m in too much of a state to get down on the train, so they come up and
collect me again, this time at one in the morning, and we all drive down in the
darkness, with me either sulking in the back or swearing and cursing like someone
possessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, we were parked
in a service-station car-park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad
and sister had gone to get some food, leaving me and my mum in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d said that I didn’t want anything to eat
or drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they were gone, my mum
asked me if I wanted her to go and get me something, to which I very reasonably
replied, ‘Fuck off.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The character-shift
between my normal self and the person I became in the few days after using was horrific.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one was exempt from my rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the more I loved the person, the more
likely they were to get it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So I spend another smouldering
fortnight with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of
weeks pass, in which I’ve had another serious think about things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back on the train I get, with a warning from
my dad that I’m ‘entering a minefield’, and no doubt a concerned frown from my,
by now, distraught mum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two hours later,
whose door am I knocking on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think you
know the answer to that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But this time things got so bad that
even I had to acknowledge the game was up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It began at Debbie’s, but at some point Sandra turned up, and she and I
ended up disappearing off to another guesthouse for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t even remember how we got there, but I
do recall the odd look we got from the porter who gave us our keys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we went upstairs and embarked upon
another night’s smoking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As on our
previous overnighter, Sandra kept going back and forth to the bathroom to smoke
in private.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remained in the bedroom,
dreading that her indiscretion might get us into trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of hours later, I noticed I was running
out of my eye-drops, which were, and still are, my constant companion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without them, my eyes get very dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For about two hours, I was able to squeeze
another drop out, but there came a point when nothing came, however I tilted
the bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I should have
upped and left, gone home, somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
that would involve departing from my dearly beloved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I filled the bottle with water from the
tap, which stung, and as the night dragged on I could tell my eyes were
beginning to go red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Come nine in the morning, it was time
to move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, we’d burned a hole
in the pillowcase, and the bin was full of foil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As on our previous stopover, we were
convinced that any second the cleaner would be knocking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was an unfaceable prospect, so we
pre-empted it by scarpering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Downstairs,
there were two women behind the reception-desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I paid for the room with cash, hoping to make a dash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they asked me to sign my name as well,
which I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out that Sandra had
signed me in under a different name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
women seemed suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t blame
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The morning was sickeningly bright,
and already getting warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it was
April, about four months down the road since my first encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed very busy, and I soon realised that
we’d emerged on Portobello Road on market-day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sandra and I wandered about looking for the nearest cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plan was to get some more money out and
go back to Debbie’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had nowhere else
to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found a cashpoint and I tried
to get some money out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Amount available
to withdraw, nil,’ read the heartbreaking news on the screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wave of dismay and helplessness passed
through me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew there was no way I
could get any more, and I’d just used my last to pay for the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Sandra kept insisting I should ring the
bank and ask for an extension to my overdraft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I told her there was no way this would happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if they said yes, I wouldn’t be able to
access the money until the next working day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Furthermore, it was Saturday, so the bank wouldn’t even be open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were fucked, and we stood there squabbling
by a callbox for a few minutes, until, buckling under the weight of Sandra’s
nagging, I found myself standing in the phone-box pretending to ring the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I was just mouthing stuff with the
dialling-tone in my ear, with Sandra scowling through the glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I re-emerged and told her they’d said
no, at which point she began cursing and spluttering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t take anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By now, my eyes were feeling really
sore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was torn between remorse at what
I’d done and a desperate desire to find a way to carry on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was no way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to get away from her, so I just started
walking away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came after me, yelling,
but the crowd was too thick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked as
fast as I could into the heaving mass, her anguished voice behind me, calling and
cursing my name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then some bloke decided
to join in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yo, Ben,’ he bellowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was too late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">But I had no idea where I was
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was penniless, eye-dropless,
and even if I’d known the way to the nearest tube-station, I couldn’t have
bought myself a ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best thing I
could think of to do was ring my parents and reverse the charges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I eventually found a callbox, I rang the
operator and gave her the number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad
answered, and she asked him if he’d accept a reverse-charge call from
London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t imagine what
palpitations that caused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was about
sixty-eight at this point, had already had two heart-bypass operations, and
took medication for angina and diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was sweating beads by now, and can remember telling him I was
dehydrated and I didn’t know where I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know if there was something wrong with the phone, but after about
ten seconds, I could still hear my dad, but he couldn’t hear me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answered, telling him I was still
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he couldn’t hear me, so he
called my name again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answered again,
but it just wasn’t getting through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
all he knew, I’d collapsed, or just walked away in a stupor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pushed open the glass door and went looking
for another callbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself
walking along a long residential road, stopping every hundred yards to sling
more tap-water in my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I
arrived at a tube-station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recognised
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was Ladbroke Grove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a bunch of churchy people there,
some of them singing, some of them collaring agnostics and asking them if
they’d thought about letting Jesus into their life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I went straight to the payphone and
rang my parents again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, my mum
answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her my situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In desperation, she called the local police
and asked them to come and look after me, probably referring to her partially sighted
son having run out of his medication, rather than her crack-smoking son who’d
just been on a bender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What else could
she do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no money for the train, no
eye-drops, and was weak with hunger and thirst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I tried to ring Emma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was staying at her boyfriend’s at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whoever answered told me she was out, but they’d let her know I’d
called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, for want of anything
better to do, I slumped to the ground and waited for the police to turn up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">However, within a few minutes, a voice
from above was asking me if I was ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
looked up to see a reasonably elderly couple standing benevolently above
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Are you alright?’ asked the female
of the pair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember how I
replied to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Are you listening to
the music?’ she asked, referring to the choir-angelic standing a little way
off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Er, well…’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt they sensed something was up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People in the business of saving souls can
spot a lost one a mile off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought it
only polite to stand up as I spoke to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, within moments, my hands were being gently clasped, and they were
praying for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must have given them
the go-ahead, I suppose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t
seem the type to do it without at least asking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got the works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They began by beseeching
Jesus to come into my life, comfort my troubled heart, and so on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even broke into tongues, as a kind of finale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked them what all that meant, and they
said it was the holy spirit that made them do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they might be speaking Aramaic, the
mother-tongue Jesus, or it could be the language of angels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kind of went along with it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t think I had anything to lose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said amen, I said amen, they asked me
how I felt, and I replied, ‘A little better, thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then they moved on, as if there was a
quota for the hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were from a
charismatic, evangelical church in Notting Hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I now know it to be that kind of
church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years later, I would, in desperation,
attend a service there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met someone
quite nice there, and then went to another church with her, which was equally
as literal in its interpretations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Neither turned out to be a spiritual home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Next thing I know, there’s a policeman
and policewoman standing in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Are you Ben?’ asked the female of the pair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes, I’m Ben,’ I admitted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Your mother rang, saying you’re in a spot of
bother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you need taking to a
hospital?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could just get on a train, I’d be able
to get home, loosely referring to the flat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Christian woman obviously overheard me explaining I had no money,
and very kindly gave me a fiver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
she also bought me a bottle of Lucozade in a nearby newsagent’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it was, the police got me through the
ticket-barrier, and I knew from that point on I’d be able to get home without
having to show a ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked the
relevant people, and got the train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My mum had obviously rung ahead,
because when I got to the flat Josie presented me with a large plate of
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there eating it on the floor
of my bedroom with her looking on concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought I owed her some kind of explanation, so I told her that I’d
been somewhere where people were taking cocaine, and even crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I fell short of saying I was one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then it was back to my family
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was decided that I’d hand my
notice in at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t keep
sending in sick-notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, one
afternoon, I sat there at my sister’s computer, writing a letter to Polly,
explaining I had a drug-problem, and that the drug in question was crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like a dirty word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack doesn’t get a very good press.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t deserve one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wished I was an alcoholic, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least that wouldn’t have implied the murky
world that crack did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone could fall
prey to alcohol, it’s everywhere, almost compulsory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try going out to the pub and having a
non-alcoholic drink without at least one person raising an eyebrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But crack, that was off the map.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You had to go looking for that, in dens,
dives, and dark, vice-ridden tenement-blocks, and that in itself implied a
certain desperation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Within a week or two, I was on my way
back to London, but this time with my dad, to collect my things from work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We parked near the office by virtue of
stuffing copious change into a parking-meter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then my father and I went to pick up my reading-screen, a camera-monitor
contraption that allowed me to read print, which had been standing unused on my
desk for the best part of two months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natalie,
Emma’s replacement, was vague and polite – she’d hardly met me anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anita, a little more inquisitive, drew a few
half-truths from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her that I
was depressed and had also been using cocaine, which seemed kind of true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I had to go and say goodbye to
Polly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d received my letter, and all
I can remember her saying, with reference to the crack, was that one really
should be careful with these things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
right she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Squirming with shame, I
faked an attitude of penitence, said we had to get back to the car, and that
was the end of my career in the counselling field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<br />
And here's a song: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3HH4jK2PjY">Warnography</a><br />
<br />
Well, that's it for today. Tomorrow is a new day.<br />
Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-47168260789259742782015-07-28T10:27:00.004-07:002015-07-28T10:29:25.966-07:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 6Welcome to the 6th gripping, or griping, instalment of...<br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">BLIND MAN ON CRACK</span></em></strong></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter 6<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In A Taxi With A Beautiful Woman<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At work, my depleted brain I nursed
with excessive coffee and as many easy tasks as I could find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt I paraded around trying to pass off
my calamitous state as a wry disposition, morose words in a light-hearted tone,
the clown who doesn’t get his own jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And then, as the day ground on, and five o’clock came, I left to meet
Emma, still believing the romance was redeemable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the gods of love would override my
reticence and parachute me into a scene that even I couldn’t fuck up in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t they know who I was?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We met in a heaving hellhole on
Portobello Road, known for its market, selling everything from watermelons to
wind-chimes, shimmering things and shards of assorted granite, billed as
healing minerals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Struggling through
Friday night crowds, I could already feel my double-life fraying at the
seams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hangover from crack is like
having your brain concreted over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
dig around for some happiness, any little nougat of cheerfulness will do, but
there’s none to be found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t
remember thoughts like, ‘I really should steer clear of crack,’ crossing my
mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I felt resentful that it
wasn’t possible to have one’s coke and smoke it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why shouldn’t I be able to smoke crack all
night, then just live out a normal day as if nothing’s happened?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Already, I was making allowances for crack
that I’d never made for any other substance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If I’d been drinking all the previous night, I’d expect to feel rough
the next day, and probably wouldn’t do it again, at least not for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s more, I could never drink much anyway,
I’d hit a threshold and that was it, sick-time or bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crack, though, doesn’t knock you out, it
keeps you up, and up, and up some more, until either the money’s gone, or
you’ve keeled over from the consequences of having your blood thickened to the
consistency of treacle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I stood outside the pub, hoping as
usual that this evening might mark a watershed in my forlorn and loveless existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emma, plus entourage, college friends, and
one or two from her new job, had already arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was spotted wandering around in search of
them, Emma called out, and soon I was sitting next to her, cheered up,
reassured, even comforted to be in good company, company that wanted me there,
whether or not I’d maxed out at the cashpoint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d looked in the mirror before leaving work, and seen a bloated ghost,
from the eyes of which seemed to gloat a gargoyle, satisfied to have dragged
the rest of me through the rubble, and spat me out, ill-equipped, at beauty’s
altar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There was no sign of the boyfriend,
and Emma and I began to chat, connect, and kind of shut out the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all quite confidant and confidante,
intimate and tactile, at least on her part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I planned to reciprocate, but never seemed to get round to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was nice to know, at least, that she
hadn’t changed much since my comedy debut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could catch up on the touches and imploring clasps of the hand later,
I assured myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know how the conversation got
round to it, but I ended up mentioning that I’d tried crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t go into the details of when and
where, or with whom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought that might
be pushing the limits of the friendship a bit far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I spent last night with a prostitute,’ is
not one of the strongest chat-up lines I’ve heard, and adding, ‘I wore one of
her dresses, and put on lipstick,’ seems to open the can of worms even
wider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Emma’s response to my crack
news surprised me, saying that she wanted to try everything at least once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew to warn her against it, and did so in
a solemn way, reflecting the trouble I knew I was already in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked me what it was like, and I think I
told her it was like having a line of cocaine but instant, and much more intense,
but reiterating the downside I seemed determined to overlook myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the subject of crack wasn’t dwelt on, and
we got back to quoting Reeves and Mortimer at one another, and making each
other laugh, like we did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We talked about relationships, and
things got quite honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I confided in
Emma why I felt I hadn’t been in a relationship for so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 28, and my relationship history was
sketchy at very best – in fact, it was virtually a blank canvas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her that because of my eye condition I
was in near-constant pain, and so it would be wrong to offer myself to someone
as a potential partner, because this pain would inevitably seep out into their
life, and why would I want that if I loved them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I don’t feel like you bring pain into my life,’
said Emma, which pretty much put pay to my seeping pain theory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nice to be endorsed, and the comment
felt like one more step up the spiral staircase to her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a lull in the conversation, but we
filled the gap simultaneously by saying to one another, ‘It’s good to see you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When closing-time came, I was
preparing myself for the long haul back across London when Emma asked me if I
wanted to stay at hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did, but I was
wondering where the first flirtatious gesture was going to come from on my
part, having been so physically reticent all evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d been quite touchy-feely, and I was
behind on points, and that old familiar paralysis was beginning to kick in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But out we went onto Portobello Road, hailed
a taxi and made our way to Kilburn, where Emma shared a flat with her sister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I sat in the back of the cab, inches
from her, thinking, ‘Am I meant to do something now?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was beginning to think I was running out of
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t done a thing, and if I made
a move at Emma’s place it would seem like a late lunge, ill-timed and
clumsy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent quite a lot of time in
the taxi talking about politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony
Blair had not long become Prime Minister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was still optimistic, whereas Emma was far from so, because she was,
rather surprisingly, a Conservative, due to family conditioning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to
be attracted to such a creature, but beggars can’t be choosers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We got to Emma’s, and I felt vaguely
normal standing there as she unlocked the door and the taxi pulled away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her sister was already in bed, so we crept
through the hall into the living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think we had a glass of wine each and she made a fried-egg sandwich, and I can
remember thinking how beautiful in a willowy way she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There was a sofa there I could have
slept on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was very prepared for that
eventuality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Emma pulled open a
double-futon thing, and my fear-gland started secreting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What, if anything, she said, I don’t recall,
but it was pretty apparent that we were both going to sleep on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No words like, ‘You can have the sofa,’ were
uttered by Emma, and I too, perhaps unusually, kept my trap shut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So Emma tucked herself up under the
quilt, and I sat on the floor next to her, struggling to undo the laces on my
Doctor Martens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I said something
like, ‘Just trying to get these heavy boots off,’ to which her response was,
‘That’s a relief.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I processed all
possible meanings of this as I lumbered about on the razor’s edge between
running and romance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So there we were, in one of those
maybe-moments, although I don’t think there was really much maybe about
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lay down awkwardly next to her,
said a few pointless things, that were presumably meant to be funny, but soon
found myself riddled with self-pity and fury at self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps she thought I didn’t fancy her
anymore, or that I was being careful, knowing that to presume on her affections
a second time would be an infringement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
we chatted for a bit, then fell asleep, except I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just lay there, slipping in and out of
half-dreams, waking occasionally to find I was grinding my teeth, no doubt cos
I was anxious, until we both woke up to the sound of Emma’s sister coming in
with a cry of, ‘Rise’n’shine, lazybones,’ to which Emma responded, half-yawning,
‘We didn’t get to sleep until three,’ to which her sister replied, ‘Well, I
didn’t know you two had copped off, did I?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This received no reply, at least not a verbal one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether Emma made some kind of visual signal
or not, I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, whatever
happened in the visual world, the silence felt a bit awkward from where I was
sitting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A couple of hours later, I was saying
goodbye to Emma on Kilburn High Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was concerned that my lack of physicality might have spoiled my chances, but
everything was perfectly friendly and affectionate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I managed to kiss her on the cheek, and,
hands loosely entwined, we said goodbye, with more than half a plan to meet up
later in the week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So back I went to the flat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josie and her boyfriend were away for the weekend,
which just left me and the vampire who didn’t like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the weekend avoiding him, doing my
best to recuperate in my bedroom, to the soundtrack of him in the living-room,
pliers clicking, as another loop was added to his ongoing chain-mail vest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And here, as usual, is one of my songs for your edutainment: </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03R93y9lcuQ" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paedophile In The Palace</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Don't worry, it's just a safe youtube song link.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Thanks for letting me share.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-24389482546186735842015-07-24T17:51:00.002-07:002015-07-24T17:53:30.192-07:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode ZeroEpisode Zero of...<br />
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<strong><u>BLIND MAN ON CRACK, AGAIN</u></strong></div>
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First of all, here is the song...</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/edit?o=U&video_id=C57VV8OYqj4" target="_blank">Song For A Sedated Nation</a></div>
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Now, a picture, of a loving cappunccino...</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--UMGls8bwXc/VbLNJWwhJiI/AAAAAAAAAxs/aNNrPA-3wO4/s1600/Cappuccino%2BIn%2BRomford%2BM%2526S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--UMGls8bwXc/VbLNJWwhJiI/AAAAAAAAAxs/aNNrPA-3wO4/s320/Cappuccino%2BIn%2BRomford%2BM%2526S.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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If the last thing you do at night isn't brush your teeth, you have a problem.</div>
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A man said, 'My life is like looking in a mirror showing a reflection of a mirror showing my life.'<br />
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My girlfriend says I'm a bad judge of character. I'll let her know when she gets back from the abattoir.<br />
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That'll do for today.<br />
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Next episode of Blind Man On Crack, 'The Charity Shop Files'...<br />
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See you then?<br />
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Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1607136120687166930.post-92048855659403376172015-07-23T09:06:00.002-07:002015-07-24T00:53:52.889-07:00BLIND MAN ON CRACK: Episode 5Here is the latest instalment of the blurred-world adventure, 'Blind Man On Crack', for your enjoyment and possible edification...<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E4wghNJBpEw/VbEP8Z5PC8I/AAAAAAAAAxY/oh7bi4JGKuo/s1600/Big%2BBen%2BAdapted%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E4wghNJBpEw/VbEP8Z5PC8I/AAAAAAAAAxY/oh7bi4JGKuo/s320/Big%2BBen%2BAdapted%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter
5<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Death
Of A Lab-Rat<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Thursday
afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, a black flame of resentment burning
inside, and it suddenly struck me I could visit Debbie and Sandra again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was about three o’clock, and the
realisation hit like a sledgehammer in the brain, shattering any normal
preoccupations that may otherwise have been forming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a flash, normality was bulldozed away like
so much rubble, and the ground was clear for a new edifice to be erected, part
cultish shrine to my new compulsion, part mausoleum, housing the shrivelled
remains of the first twenty-eight years of my life, and all those hopes and
dreams that I still thought I had a chance of fulfilling, if only I could just
make that leap of confidence, hack my way into a new mindset, stay there,
consolidate, and flourish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
now had a double-bolthole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As long as I
had money, I had access to that new combination-high of crack-cocaine and the
promise of sex – it was a heady mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What’s more, it was all so easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was due to see Emma the next day, and crack seemed the perfect solution
to the problem of anticipation, the crushing pressure of nerves, and the constant
battle to keep my self-esteem afloat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Crack offered itself up as a quick fix to the slow fracture of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A
countdown began in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d leave
work at five, be at Westbourne Park by half-past, at Debbie’s by
quarter-to-six.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Assuming one of them was
in, which was likely, we’d probably have scored by six.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I barely had three hours to wait before
that world-evading wave of euphoria would be swamping my brain with dopamine,
and rocketing me into that veiled world where only appetite and self
prevail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was no passing thought
that could be questioned, tempered, revised, gone back on, even.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The deal was sealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as the idea entered my head, there
was nothing that was going to stop me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This
all suited the way my life was going generally, at least when I looked at the
negative bits, which I assiduously did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The glass always seemed half-empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew, academically, intellectually, that it was always better to see
it as half-full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a good day, I
might.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the glass never seemed to be
getting any fuller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s the
problem with crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It fills the glass
like a torrent of soda in a Schweppes advert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over the rim it gushes, down the sides, fizzing and brimming,
ever-rising, ever-giving, the nearest to a cum-shot a drinks ad may ever be
allowed to get.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only problem is the
next time you look there’s only about an inch of stale poison left in the
bottom, and suddenly it’s last orders, raining outside, and there’s a queue at
the cab-rank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So
there I’d sit, day after day, nothing changing, mailing after mailing pouring
from the printer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I could
have applied for a new job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But apart
from not having the confidence to move on, I resented the fact that, having
done a day’s work, I’d then have to go home and spend time applying for another
job I didn’t want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, I wanted to
be getting paid for my comedy, my music, or some other creative venture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I had no real concept of doing the
groundwork, taking the knocks, climbing the rickety ladder to fulfilment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted it now, or at least soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that the Beatles had to work like
dogs to get where they did meant nothing to me - couldn’t they see who I was?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
had no relief from work at the flat, with its in-house band of minstrels and
barbarians, who, embedded in the past, had no future at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their Friday night violence in fibreglass
armour seemed an inadequate vent for the more high-pressure, nuclear rage that
I was incubating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The evenings would
drag, the weekends torture, and I just couldn’t get on with them, and the ones
I did get on with, I couldn’t get on with, because they got on with the ones I
couldn’t get on with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have very high
standards – don’t want to be tarnished by association.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Of
course, I can see now that I was really down in the dumps, to use a clinical
term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just couldn’t find the mental
wherewithal to get my act together, even semi-together, except now I see it
probably was semi-together all along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
at least had a job, a place to live, good friends, I’d done comedy, and maybe
had the possibility of Emma becoming an even more significant other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the spoiled child within wanted it
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A half-life wasn’t good enough for
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a particular and twisted
take on the phrase ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His motto was ‘if it ain’t perfect, break
it’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was on a low dose of
antidepressants, but whether or not they were really helping, I’d kind of
forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just took one each day and
carried on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had noticed a slight
mood-lift in the first few weeks, but they certainly hadn’t acted as a
springboard to better times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I was
on too low a dose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I was on the
right dose, but too weak to capitalise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">So
there I sat at my desk, seeming to work, but actually marking each minute as
one less to endure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could go into a
kind of dull trance, printing off lists, stuffing them in envelopes, answering
the phone, helping a schizophrenic in Ipswich, and before I knew it, it would
be time to bolt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
landscape of addiction is a rugged and inhospitable place, like the quarry the
TARDIS lands in when a barren moonscape is needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The path to that first distant pinnacle is
treacherous and slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minutes truncate,
like when you’re going into a black hole, time slows…you spaghettify.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miserably, you surf the crest of each
resented minute, carrying you closer to the longed-for summit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If ever you were determined to do anything,
you’re determined now, even predetermined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For a time, time doesn’t feel like time at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, when you do finally arrive, the leeside
of the mountaintop is steep, and hurls you down into murky, erratic
waters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I just wanted the view from
that summit – didn’t give a shit about erratic waters, murky or no.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Five-to-five,
and there I was, chomping at the bit – then, computer off, coat on, and I was
gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even then, on what was only my
third rush at crack, I shot from the office like a greyhound from a trap, or
maybe into one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within minutes, I was
knocking on Debbie’s door, just like on debut, ten days earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, Debbie was in, but Sandra wasn’t
about, and this suited us both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sandra’s
strange ways in a Paddington guesthouse had been hard going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was glad not to have to contend with her
bullying, blagging, and bucktoothed demands for kebab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Debbie,
seemingly the gentler of the two, was glad to have her flat, and me, to
herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t been there long before
she told me how ‘gutted’ she’d been at my impromptu departure with Sandra the
week before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this time she had me to
herself, and my bank-account, that ever-giving fountain of facilitation, braced
itself again for another nightlong ravishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I’d already stopped off at the cashpoint, no doubt withdrawn
forty quid or so, naively believing I’d spend just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after a few cursory niceties, I gave
her the money, she rang the guy, and off she went to the designated
meeting-point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there on her
partially collapsed sofa watching some porn she’d put on, and waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of drugs is waiting, or regretting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Then,
twenty minutes later, footsteps on the walkway, the rattle of keys in the door,
and in bustles Debbie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Mission
accomplished,’ she says, quickly throwing her coat down and spitting the wraps
into her palm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No sooner in hand than
unwrapped, no sooner unwrapped than on the foil, no sooner on the foil than
being keenly drawn into our desperate, hungry lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I think we got vaguely sexual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the problem with crack (one of a few) is
that you have to keep going back to it, so, five minutes down the line, any
intentions are supplanted by the need for another pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the whispering tyrant must be
heeded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may all seem a little
repetitive, but this is what crack’s like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It gets you like a lab-rat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
soon as that looming white-coated figure appears, make a dash for the
waterspout, because you know that when temptation rattles your cage, your next
drink’s gonna send you crazy, and you like that, don’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Climbing over cagemates, living and dead,
doesn’t really matter, likewise the electrified floor that gives you the
occasional jolt as you dangle on that nozzle, desperately suckling on that
metal mother of a spout, hoping against hope that, this time, it’ll carry you
to where you need to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guzzle away,
knock it back my furry friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I propose
a toast!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To absent friends, who lie
about, mostly toasted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My
initial outlay of forty quid ran out fast, so we unanimously agreed that
getting more would be a good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
time, Debbie would take my card to the cashpoint, and meet the guy on her way
back, and ‘we may as well get eighty or a hundred out, to save going back and
forth’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Green as broccoli, I thought
this was a spiffing idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, that’ll
take us up to about eleven o’clock, time enough for me to catch the train
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there I sat, slumped yet tense,
trying to fast-track Debbie’s return by means of willpower alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When this failed, I prayed, and
listened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was that person coughing on
the pavement her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, not gruff
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were they her footsteps on the
walkway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damn, they’ve gone by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that her key in the door?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, it’s just the breeze…every sound, a
taunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, she returned,
hurriedly unwrapped the stuff, slung a bit on a pipe, and there we sat, two
lost souls in the half-light, smoking away, drinking from cans, porn flickering
in the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every so often one of us
would embark on some sexual expedition, only to abort it five minutes later, as
the high gave way to desperation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In
a while, we were in the bedroom, and Debbie began rummaging in the wardrobe,
removed a dress, and suggested I should wear it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minutes later, there I was, perched like a
mannequin on the edge of the bed, in a nice floral number, wondering, amongst
other things, how I got there at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then she decided it was time to take the makeover up a notch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing above me, unscrewing a lipstick, she
then traced the uncertain curl of my lips with impeccable precision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably had stubble showing, but no one
has it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we resumed our sporadic
and slightly off-the-map liaison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Minutes later, there was a sudden and insistent pounding on the
front-door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Debbie went into the hall,
closing the door behind her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Who is
it?’ she called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘It’s Freddie,’ came
the muffled reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She unbuckled the
various locks and opened up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In he
clattered, they chatted in the hall, and she ushered him into the living-room,
much to my intense relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few moments
later, she came back into the bedroom and told me it was her brother, but
reassured me he was ‘safe’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She then
picked up the pipe and took it into the living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you’re a crack-smoker, most of your
visitors will be crack-smokers too, and Freddie was no exception – birds of a
feather, I guess, or moths to a flame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As long as there’s plenty left, offering a visitor a pipe is just like
putting the kettle on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Can’t
say I was looking forward to meeting Freddie, for a few reasons, the key one
being I felt a little overdressed, sitting there like a half-iced Christmas
cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But some people get fidgety on
crack, and soon Freddie was up and about, and I could hear his voice getting
closer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Who’ve you got in the bedroom?’
he bellowed at sis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Leave it, Freddie,’
yelled Debbie in the background, ‘come and smoke your top-up.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But her enticement wasn’t good enough to keep
him in check, and the bedroom-door swung open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a moment of quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
I could see was a blurred head against the darkness of the unlit hall, and all
I could hear was a cross between a chuckle and a jeer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt caged, a specimen in a world of
specimens, but all I was wishing was that Debbie would come and sort things out,
preferably with crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freddie and I
exchanged no words, and he returned for his top-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt ten years of awkwardness compressed
into a handful of seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was time
to remove my glad-rags, and I went into the bathroom to wipe away the lipstick,
catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I did so, looking like a vampire
who’d forgotten to use a napkin after a night of overindulgence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, back in the bedroom, Debbie came in and
apologised for having let Freddie off the leash, who was now settled back down
in the other room, content to sit there mumbling and gazing at porn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Debbie
and Freddie were originally from Manchester.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know how long they’d been in London, but somehow that’s where
they were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard enough knowing what
truth there is in people’s autobiographies at the best of times, let alone when
you’ve got something like crack fuelling and distorting the narrative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes she would tell me about her first
experience as a working-girl, aged twelve, in the back of some bloke’s car in a
Salford car-park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would also furnish
me with stories of having seen Myra Hindley and Ian Brady on the hunt in the
area she grew up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other little shards of
her upbringing would come to the surface from time to time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things like incest, drunk and violent male
relations, not to mention punters, would all feature occasionally in the dark
pantomime of her early years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether
she came to London on the promise of streets paved with gold, I don’t know, but
in Westbourne Park the only gold was the odd squashed Benson’n’Hedges packet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Debbie
spent the rest of the evening shuttling between me in the bedroom and Freddie
in the living-room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every half an hour
or so she’d take a loaded pipe in for him, then return to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised he didn’t keep coming in
demanding more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half an hour, for most
people, is far too long an interval between pipes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in future encounters with him I’d come to
the conclusion he was heavily sedated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whatever he was on, it seemed to go some way to overriding the desire to
keep returning to the pipe, for which I was suitably and selfishly grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A
couple of hours passed, another trip to the cash-point for Debbie, and it was
blatantly apparent I wouldn’t be getting the train back to Essex that
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when you’re on a bender,
you’re welcome to stay just as long as you’re able to pay your way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, I still had money in the bank, so
there were several nocturnal journeys for Debbie to make as the night
progressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t such a cad as to
never offer to go with her, but she would always say it would be quicker if she
went alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knew better than I what
dodgy characters she might encounter, and how to deal with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’d just sit there on the bed coming down
and counting down until she reappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The fact I had work in the morning meant nothing, nor did the fact I was
due to meet Emma that evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
future, in all its forms, was like a separate world, and for as long as I could
fend it off with crack, all was well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
jackboots of another night marched on, Debbie and I in the bedroom, Freddie in
the living-room, deep in the canyon of a chemically induced coma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, as the two birds left in Westbourne
Park began to chirp, the obligatory milk-float skimmed past, and buses stopped
being night-buses, it became clear that dawn was icily announcing the onset of
another working day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, somehow, the
day upon us, with immense reluctance, I faltered my way to the tube-station,
and trundled unwillingly to another eight hours of mind-numbing drudgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it wasn’t long before, once again, I was
picking my way through rat-cadavers to get a grip on that life-giving nozzle
that the white-coated lady kept sticking through the mesh of my cage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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And, at last, I've written a new 'song', which you are welcome to watch/listen to on this safe youtube link: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C57VV8OYqj4" target="_blank">Thank You For Your Help In This Matter</a></div>
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See you soon.</div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span></i>Benjamin Lo-Fihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13076367602207102313noreply@blogger.com0