man should be judged by his actions,
not intentions good or bad

pope

indeed/ glass of wine in hand, james brown on the stereo, i feel guurd!/ watch me!...

recovering from my first (and hopefully last) od/ tues. ngt was well, drinking with the woman and my sister/ i'd a lot to drink (5 btls wine, 1 can special brew and 2 cans stella) then decided to drink some methadone/ i downed 110mls, an amount which 1 month ago would've'd no effect, and the next thing i remember seemed as looking through a slide of a membrane, pulsing and awash with acid at the edges/ then snatches of wires and tubes and being moved around till a clear image of the recovery ward around noon/ apparently the ambulance crew when they first arrived thought i'd been sleeping outside my body was so cold/ they got my heart going and then it stopped again in the ambulance/ i have no reliable account of what happened other than i took a huge overdose/ this is the first time i've been out of bed in two days and i intend to stay off the fucking booze and leave the methadone alone, no matter how complicated i feel/ that said, and in spite of intentions, how can i possibly know?/...

doin' ow-kay/ listening to prince buster, hard man fe dead, a truly sublime skee-yah track/ no m. in four days, which is nice/ work la nuit d. was predictably easy tho' post-chaotic lifestyle some degree of regularity is certainly welcome/ but how many times's one heard in drugs/alcohol groups some imbecile claiming because they have a phone and are engaged in an amateur dramatics course life has gone from unbearable to supernal?...how they fool themselves and make relapse a dangerous, not pleasant, proposition)/ h'ver when regularity becomes inertia then chaos 'ere me come/ i suppose a functional member of society is one who can live comfortably 'twixt, tho' as plato said, what strange names are given to diseases/ bizat...

art from the 'artist'

when i
write it seems
pointless (trite)

'til recently i
harbored a
notion that
writing was
supernal

now i
realise there's no
point unless one is, e.g.
like a good
technician and has unconscious
drive

but with
that there is no
glamour

the fraud
assimilates aspects of, say
burroughs which are purely
incidental

tangiers was tangiers for
him; the same shitty
window framing limp
palm trees remains

'artists' are
reprehensible because they
moan and
bitch and dishonestly
assimilate

dh lawrence said it with
style in the first
lady chatterley

the focus of my
discontent changes
periodically but i'm
glad to be free

finally
of this childish love of 'the
arts'

plath would have
traded her sublime
verse for a
moments
peace

those who pray for the
converse are unconscionable
fools

far greater
art would
occur were it not for this
common and cozy
pretension

all mediocre/ just taken a bath (!), something my post-meth. body asks for/ the last time i gouched was friday night, spent saturday feeling horrific then slept sat night. (12 hrs), sun. after (7 hrs) then sun. night (12 hrs), many dreams of thwarted scoring and-set-er?-aaaah/ the dependency's broken but leaving a gap of three days seems not sufficient to ensure a decent high/ also it leaves one (me) trapped in a cycle of lethargy/ oh well, i'll get it licked/ a spliff of pollem to sensitize and i should get what i desire but the daemon cannabis psychosis sometimes gets thro' the door so that's a gamble/ oh death, where is thy sting?/ l8rz...

doin' bee-anne/ woke well enough, remnants of a meth. h'over deliciously weighing my veins to the mattress/ roused by cafe noo-are to the super-marcus-et for b'fast 4 the woe-man/ myself N-joyed zubr, a polski bier which has smoothed my muscles and allowed a temporary blanket of peace/ need to lay off the oh-pea-ates the next cpl days otherwise effect'll be none and pointless, suicide inspiring circularity'll to follow chill on the heels/ bliss, travellers...