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September 2008



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Sep. 30th, 2008

c'est la vie

This is the most depressing comic I've ever read. How true. How true.

Not that this softens my craving any... here I continue. Stuck out in VA, replaying all the shit that happened to me in the city. I got into it with my friend Molly. We had a friend downtown who bought us a bunch of bags for our period cramps and we thought it was great. We didn't know what it was, the guy told us it was some low grade pain killer. With in a month we were hooked bad and only then did we find out it was smack.
So Molly and I moved in together and everything was fine for awhile. We'd get up in the morning, walk across the street to pick up from the corner boys. We'd joke about it, we'd even glamorize it sometimes. Then Molly started smoking it and she changed pretty fast. She was pissed all the time and her and her boyfriend who also did it would get into these huge fights with dressers being thrown and money being taken. One day, Molly blamed me for stealing 300 dollars from her boyfriend. I knew she did it because I saw her buy a bunch of smack the day the money went missing after she was complaining how she didn't have a job.

Never the less... the boyfriend of course believed Molly and I moved out. A bunch of people I've known for a long time in the city are getting hooked, it's like an epidemic or something. This girl I knew from high school just started about a couple months ago and already she's got it bad. She wants to make a tv show called 'happy junkie.' The opening scene would be all of us eating lucky charms (you know how you get that sweet tooth) and we'd be sitting on the floor since there wasn't any furniture, and we'd be all in a line. Breakfast at three p.m. Because that's when junkies wake up.
My neighbors in a nice part of town (where i USED to live) got addicted to it too. I was really surprised to walk in there one day to find a bunch of upper class law students, slouched on the floor doped out of their mind.  Hits everywhere I guess... everywhere but virginia.

I don't like to see people glamorize it. I don't think it's that interesting to glamorize and I don't think it's worthy to spend that much of your time obsessing over the image. It's rough. Never the less... it's life. c'est la vie

Sep. 25th, 2008

Room Service

Room service please? I want a cute bell boy with a mustache and a few bags of powder for my .... tea. I will be French and speak in a heavy accent where I only pronounce the vowels. dAAAHrliiiiiiiing! I'd shriek and invite him to sit down for a minute. Not over there in that stuffy chair! In my bed, next to me with my giant white boa and black night gown.

I grew up with my Dad taking me to fancy hotels. My favorite thing to do was 'refrigerator work' which meant going into the little brass cabinet where all the liquor bottles were arranged so delicately. Little, tiny, glass, bottles that looked like cooking vanilla would be re-arranged constantly until they were perfectly alligned with the fengshui of the room. After refrigerator work, I would walk the luxurious hallways and ride the gold elevators until I had explored every inch of the building.

Someday, I'm going to live in a hotel in NYC. It doesn't have to be a hotel perse' just as long as I feel like it is. It will be a shabby place in the city walls painted light blue with gold vertical stripes going down. There will be two pieces of furniture, a bed and a gigantic vintage, purple, sofa with feet. A couple antique lamps will decorate the place where I can sit in bed and drink tea all day long. Then at night, I can put on my boas and my lipstick and catch a cab off to destiny. After champagne and ritz, I will retreat back to my hotel room and wait until morning where I can call room service.

Sep. 24th, 2008


looking for connections in the line of junk. dope. smack.