CHAPTER 10

Junk Bonds

Some of history’s famous junkies, Freud, Jung, Richards, Holmes, Charles and Jack London, shared the common interest of a love for opiates. Clearly, these individuals lived, thought, created and measured their own worth outside of the existing methodologies of contemporary, more conservative thinkers like Galileo, Marx, or a more modern, Dr. King. Society is torn by the demand for it’s intoxicants and it is unable to deny the talents and contributions of these exceptional people. There are individuals whose stricture shrugging opiate use is on par with the above mentioned free thinkers, living outside the current conformist categories.  They are your neighbours, your mechanics, your lawyers and, it seems, they have committed no sins until their use becomes public. Junkies are explorers; beautiful, charismatic, driven to realize their dreams.  It is a courageous act to tempt fate. This may well help to explain their disdainful fascination with the drug.  Mountaineers, for example, are not seen as death-driven maniacs, but are, instead, glorified for their immense tenacity in achieving their goals and objectives.  There’s use and there’s abuse.  Abusing anything is dangerous to one’s health whether it’s sex, eating, stimulants, drinking or for that matter, crossing the street.  So obviously there is a line that can be crossed.  The image of the crack head whores prostituting their sanity for cash is the conclusion of any drug use immediately jumped-to by the masses. Many will defend the use of the functional junkie.  Friends root for their recovery but don’t really think success is a viable option.  If you fall off a cliff in any of your pursuits, sober or not, you offend.  Encouragement can still be found, however, in one’s constant struggle with free will.  Defining the boundaries in righteousness is heavily guarded by governments and laced with chemical corruption.  Just like the professional athlete, who holds fans in awe of his physical deftness, the average person wonders how in the hell the junky functions.  It takes focus.  Just like over training can ruin an athlete, putting too much in the spoon (a selfish gesture) does not necessarily improve the trip.  How can you be sure it’s the runner and not the coach?  You cannot categorize junkies.  They are inevitably varied in their disciplines, in their choices and in their demeanour. In fact, addicts more heterogeneous  than the corporate elitist who follows their everyday course along the deep-rutted road in their race for material gain.

‘I-got-fucked-up-my-ass-by-my-dad’ is no excuse for self-mutilation.  Doctors have patients of whom they know little and prescribe medications of which they know less.  Junkies self medicate.  There is something uplifting and curiously stimulating, even intellectually arousing and physically fortifying about being your own chemist.  No wonder the medicine man was a respected resource sought after by many whose own rituals left them unable to participate in a paper trailed, licensed system.  These apothecaries didn’t ask for money; their reward was the healing— and of course the provisions and fringe benefits provided by the farmer and his wife.  Certain potions and tinctures required a dozen eggs while others demanded a sacrifice of flesh (perhaps a rump or shoulder).  It could be argued that this is a more reasonable system than is the doctor’s, who is being paid by “URBAN PHARMA” the motto of which seems to be, ‘you make the pill, and we’ll make the disease.’ In fact less research is available to the schizophrenic who takes Risperdal to prevent hallucinations than on the opiates being dumped in the street. Go figure. Guilt begets conviction for some lost souls. The irony of the rich junkies’ obsession with aesthetics lasts only as long as the money at which point one either quits— making the decision to clean up their lives— or they fulfill the stereotype and become beggars.  Many do without the help of rehabilitation programs.  The never-ending adjustment to doing without the bang is physically debilitating, where one owes their life like the pledged first born to the leprechaun that helps you turn straw into gold. By this point it is already established that the sensory signals of addicts trick the cerebral cortex into thinking the chemical is necessary to stimulate and to get high.  Evidence from the syringe secretly woven with poisonous synthetic invaders is tracked on appendages and hard to conceal.

A real junkie knows it’s no game to shoot yourself with an unknown substance. The junkie understands this is no ordinary world and proudly declares themselves better than others, more powerful because of the ride they’ve taken. When you find out that the gospels are just a crude rendition of what was already discovered in civilizations past, it was a pointless alteration dressed in their 21st century trousers.

The Perception of a junkie is the ultimate judgement regimented by a sincere vapourous sensation that the blood spilled is to alarming to rally round. The addict who bangs hard drugs is the lowest form; an organism not to be trusted and moreover, heinous, disrespecting scoundrel minded and impure of sense of self or rationality. But the average person ignores the signs of their own wills just as they ignore the weather relationship over the injustices of existence. A Junket is a sequel which remains a self-mutilating outlaw that no matter whom you are, U R better off not knowing them. People are disconcertingly affected by instinctual intervals of disenchantment beyond their own control and understanding when coming face to face with this demonic user. Those choosing to inject themselves with drugs must go to meet the maker for immediate punishment as if some deal was being offered to the user and paid for by society in order to keep their milieu less corrupt and manageable. Seeing one’s face on hearing or seeing a junkie actually use – u might think they were pointing a gun to their own head. The disgust germinates in boundaries; it's cross cultural really; and if you have any guilt what so ever of your own addiction, you’ll fly off the coup. The idea that one wrong move and you’re dead seems to live at the core of common sense. Junkies who use any excuse for using, other than ‘because I want to and it feels good’ are lying in the eyes of common sense but not so in the Lazarus Doctrine. The medical community wants the citizen to choose an excuse to satisfy their gross intolerance. It is almost impossible to live in the vein of a junkie. Sure education is a reason for these negative perceptions, but in reality every evil is represented in the actions of a junkie just as the devil or if you prefer, Satan, offers the necessary packaging to cage extreme evil. Society dictates it’s wrong and it’s bad. It’s a killer. The general look of a drug addict is accepted by the populous as being unkempt, dirty, and unhealthy; in fact, the junkie is shunned from all civilized conversation and is reduced to some sort of disgruntled leper. It’s against the law and the mutilation is said to be its own chastisement. All drug addicts are criminals. Seeing as most laws are born of the Christian Judea doctrine, taking drugs is a direct sin against god. So, no matter what part of society you belong, you have all reason to dislike junkies; so what about allegations? People hate, eliminate, mistrust and despise things they do not understand. An extinct mammal gets more respect than drug addicts do. Once recognized as a junkie amongst friends and family, the die cast upon you is unexplainable. You are dehumanized and beyond even the most compassionate to tolerate. There are no second chances. You will never rebuild the trust. You’re stepped on; no remorse; …so what if you have a family… the judgement upon the junkie is so severe, privileges that come with being a human being are instantly revoked. You are in fact as good as dead. The air and eye of suspicion will forever stare over your shoulder. In fact, if you do choose to show some concern for this person and you share that knowledge with someone close to U, U R dead now too – u may as well welcome yourself, to salvation row – Lazarus congratulated us as we had earned a membership. She need not tell us. We knew, by all accounts, we had been lucky as hell.

Lazarus likened the junky to those who prattle too freely and effort holding their tongue. And that wasn't enough to change. Suppressed talking is still thinking. There is a mass of evidence from the study of deaf mutes – 'just ask Squeeze, he'll jot it down for you, she said – no words, no thinking.' Silence with conviction is a refined language, employing the vocab of sines and cosines, logarithms, roots and powers, but not letting falsities squeeze out of you rarely leads to an addiction. Illusionary and obsessive thinking which fill mad houses appear to be the most exaggerated of the thinking of those at large.

  “I have always hoped to produce from all of you; from your special knowledge,” said Lazarus, “in reducing some of the major vices of civilization.”

To Grace, civilization is in many of its manifestations a species of mild madness. A form of madness that can only be eliminated by more powerful and productive breeding chains of understanding the worth of things like blood lines and dynamics. Thus rapid alterations were performed on the junky mind state to prove the teachings of the LD. Lazarus once asked, without really questioning a very distinguishable group of people she was lecturing. 

  “How can anyone escape the conviction of another self at dream time when the spirit is led by its search into a supreme possibility, if not holy, then most adventurous existence?

For example, most of you thought you were at risk coming here, only to find that you have it within your reach to control your impulses and finally live out your lives, not only from the slow and lumpish flesh when you dream, but from where you actually stand.”

THE TELL-ALL

DRUG BOOK

Crazy Pants

A new Novel

   by Robert J. SAFFER