I had a chance to speak to the "Greek" today. It was a brief conversation with nothing really said....I’ll call you tomorrow. I heard through the grapevine that the "Greek" was back at his home...in recovery from the daily life that was threatening his very existence. I felt that it was imperative that I spoke to my friend, just to keep in touch with what goes on with the people that I deem as "significant" in my life.
Having revealed to his parents..his apparent weakness for the "evil", having a fall through with his girlfriend of 3 years, quitting the job that he detested so much, and still searching for the answers in life..... We, the "Slacker Generation", sort of lost, and always willing to admit so, are far from what our parents must have expected. Who else can understand the trials of young adulthood in the 90’s? We try to focus our attention on the immediate things...the long term is what always throws us for a loop.....but then again, who’s to say that the long run is the better alternative…for it was never suited to my temperamental build.
I never thought the day would come when Gentina and the "Greek" would no longer be an item. A "Ken and Barbie" of sorts, the beautiful SoCal couple. Everyone envied and at the same time detested their relationship. Purely, on physical qualities do we decide that they are "perfect". They were, once upon a time...... I guess the pressures of life had gotten to Gentina a little sooner, than it had hit the "Greek", which led to the end of a love so wrong. So what does a person do when all of your existing life has been crushed like a pea......you revert back to the womb. In some cases, it can be detrimental...in other cases, it can be the best soul searching and cleansing solution to a temporary problem. I feel pain when I hear the story...I can feel the pain in his voice. It is tough for him, but he is a trooper, if there ever was one. "The Greek" is the "man". Oh how I endear this guy...you can’t not like him...he’s so fricking nice. I travel to Juniper Street. He resides in a hotel turned apartment building. Very old style place...Victorian like. The old style elevators...close the doors...service elevator like...where the hell is the bellboy! His life is a zoo...literally. Animals of all sorts crawl out of the woodworks from all angles. He knows more about them...he’s practically a Ph.D. in zoology or certain reptiles and fish. There are no warm blooded creatures in this zoo. Strictly those who limit expression of emotion, only those who can manage their personal quirks can survive here. A very sterile environment for the warm blooded. Your worst paranoiac fears can be triggered...at any moment.
We relish about recent events over a few tokes of the "kind". Always the "kind" for us. We raised and nurtured our friendship with the "kind"...so it shall be. He tells me tales of months past, things that I am so in the dark about. Things that I still care about. His problems with the "evil"...the evil that destroys all that we are. His struggle was one that I could not imagine. Always so level-headed, never would I have thought that "my man" would succumb...fully...to the tantalizing mental torture of the "evil". In this case it is not just the "evil"..but a series of events that are perceptually skewed by the "evil" influence that led my friend to where he is today. Of all the friends, we thought E-man would be the first to fall...little did we know. Little did we think, and hardly coherent enough to absorb the fact that our nasal passages bled with each "toot", Nose hairs growing to the thickness of a hairy fly’s leg, and all the while thinking that your friends are worse off than you. Bowels of mud, and scabby skin accented by the scent of a thousand dirty asses that is expelled with each breath. Everyone is more bent on the "evil", in the tweaker’s mind, but in hindsight I must renege on the thought that there are other’s who are worse off than I. Gentina was the one to label it...EVIL...now the term and it’s associated feelings and emotions are marred by this negative context.
Sometimes the worst pain is the best pain for the moment...what I mean by this....I don’t know. You can’t pretend to know....no one really knows, and that is why we tend to cling to the things that we do know. I do know that this sad, and often disenchanting existence known as "life" is covered with pitfalls, old highs and new lows. The world is not as we perceive it from the womb.....that’s for sure! I remember the first time that I met Gentina......a family friend of a friend and then roommate of mine. ....Spiccoli. At first sight, you can not help but to notice her eyes of azure...the big green eyes....She was a perfect compliment to the Greek, as he was to her. It’s kind of like I said, The "Ken and Barbie" of the friends...except very ethnic. You knew it was going to happen...it was just a matter of time.
And then we were practically roommates for about a year...they for almost three years. It was a period in life that was sooo perfect, nothing could get you down, and the "evil " just made it that more intense. It was a huge gathering of the friends for the first 6 months or so. Just a bunch of people ready to party heavily, all night bingeing. It was a line here or there...just to keep that incredible buzz going. We partied all the time...
The clammy hands, the unhealed tongue sores being inflamed by the hot throat wrenching smoke of the "Meki" or worse, Saggies....always at the same time. The tolerance for other ingested substances increases exponentially. Too stoked, you can’t stop. You will be here for the remainder of the time that you will be awake. There is no stopping you until the sandman enters your thoughts, clouds your ability to maneuver your gamepad. Even the extra toke of the "Meki" won’t do the trick...another toot?....most likely.
So, what does it hurt..you can crash later tonight anyway. One more line, and then you can take bong hits for the rest of the day....by night you will be spent, and ready to crash. I can get about 8-10 hours of sleep, and then I’ll go to class!.....ugh.......yeah. You play till the ligaments in the thumb are so overworked that you can’t manipulate it like the normal person can....diagnosis, please. They called it on me...tendonitis. Am I just a 90’s cyberfreak....nah!....just another tweaker.
I guess that’s the thing that is hidden the most in your mind......that you...yes you,.....are a tweaker. You won’t admit it, because you don’t believe it. Even as I think about it now, I don’t think I was. Of course...others will tell you differently. Isn’t that what hurts the most, the truth...the god damn truth. "We need to know it so we can validate our feelings", we say. But we know that the pain is of the worst kind. Not only are you being dogged, but they are dogging you in the most honest way possible. No questions left unanswered...just bummed. You hear it all. Why do you need to know the truth? Of course, in my case I never wanted to know the truth. I was just unlucky enough to find someone who could help find me.
What is it abut the "evil" that draws the biggest crowd ever assembled. How is it that people of "normal middle class backgrounds" can be seduced by the chemical flavor of the year. What is it about the chemical sensation that enthralls the user to love that "drip"? What is it with the human mind that allows you to keep on seeing "tina" without ever tiring of her lust for the fast tracked life. What different ways she masks her appearance, what different ways you can accept her into your heart & mind, what different ways to poison your future…..none of these questions mattered….ever.
So, here we are E-man, Greek, Hahk...later Humphrey....later Jerry....the list just got progressively worse. These guys are the most insane, fucked up people you can know...just scumbags...all of us. That’s what you see. We see differently. Just a bunch of average, yet normal guys just doin their own thing. Cold Chillin’......and tweakin. That was the worst word...ever...yet most accurate of the slang terms used to identify the "evil". Of course, all of it seems even darker when you know what it’s like to tweak, or are under the control of the "evil". The mind truly starts to slip in the wee hours of your trip. You can feel the burnout, and your mind is not running at optimum levels...it’s just fucked. You are slow to react, your vision starts to go on you. Visual hallucinations, and of course... the ever dreadful PARANOIA.
It is the fear of things that aren’t physically happening, but in your mind it is. You harbor fears of impending doom at every blink of the eye. You look behind you, you "double-take" at every glance, you feel the eyes of those who know...... What you don’t know, or can’t comprehend, is that none of this stuff is really happening. Your train of thought becomes more skewed as the waning hours of consciousness descend upon you. Incoherent thoughts that to the "tweaker" are of deep, philosophical value. A thinker...so you think!
I awake in the morning, and I am not ready for the chores of the day....that’s the problem...everything is a chore. Even the normal, everyday things in life requires a laborious "Heave-Ho" to get going. So what do you do for the remainder of your day? You vegetate, you further inhibit your cognitive powers through the dissipation of THC through the sensitive cells of your lungs. Your physical life.....deteriorating...even more so, your mental state is dropped from a normal levels to the bowels of depression. What does it take to alleviate that dreary, dismal feeling of dismay that follows weeks of non-activity. It requires that you motivate yourself to do other things.
Even though I know all of the physiological and psychological implications of topical substance abuse, my mind travels no further than the desire to have more. It is not a desire to do more out of need, per say, but the accessibility, the sensation, and knowing the pervasiveness of heightened mental performance that we strive for.....at first. Feeling like you are on top of the world...literally on top of the world. It is insane how positive you can sound and appear, but the depression is just held in, like a boiling pot. Only you don’t realize that it’s boiling. They say that there is a threshold that you cross...the demarcation between heightened sense, and absolute disarray of the senses. Knowing that you can feel this way......is dangerous to the survival of the self.
Today as I sit and ponder the past...the archives are once again removed from their resting and solace...a friend of the near past has made herself a thought in my mind and occupies my spatial awareness. It also brings me back to another story of the "evil". I remember whence I came up to the Bay Area from "Diego" to attend a concert and visit a childhood friend at Stanford. It was an adventure and a half. Tweakin was the substance and mood of choice...sporting a goatee, and looking like the man of no sustenance, a face withdrawn, cheeks drawn...even my own mother was not impressed with my new look of choice. For good reason, as my friend at Cal said the same. She was an acquaintance of mine from the motherland...met her with the rest of the youngin’s looking to explore their cultural heritage. She remarked on how terribly sick I looked.....years pass and I remember what she said and even more so I remember the look on her face, as well as my mother’s. Instead of feeling emotionally hurt, I was emotionally sterile. No feelings, unable to discern or give recognition to anything.....left me feeling like I was nowhere, no one...I was nobody.
Even still, I am haunted by the fact that I fit nowhere. ..."evil" made this fact even more clear. Is it insecurity, or what? I haven’t been able to label this train of thought, as of yet, but the feelings are there. It was an idea that I never explored in my pre-formative years...now...the feelings are inherent and so coherent that I feel the racial tension, as I’m told to by the electromagnetic waves.
Knowing that the Greek is strong in heart, he will ride the comedown out like he always does...only nothing to bring you back to where you were. It would be nice to live with him again. Like I said, He is a nice guy, and a good friend. A tad flaky at times, just like the best of us. It would be nice to start all over again....even living with him wouldn’t be so bad. He has talked about moving up here soon. Even the J-girl is thinking about moving up to the Bay Area. We all want a change in scenery....sometimes the best scenery is right here on the Bay. Reverting back to the same personal environment, while the external environment changes can prove to be a new invigorating experience.
The same friends, with a new view. The people that you are comfortable with, people you can rely on...somewhat, and people that can nurture your desires, people who won’t put you down, or let you down...these are your friends...our friends. Of course, people talk of relapse, and the fact that this may not be a change for the best. Who knows?....you’ll never know until you try. At this point, I am willing to try anything. The comforts of a rat palace, bill-laden, steady job should empower me in the biggest way possible. I need to be more careful with my funds and the way that they are allocated. The "kind" is a number one priority that needs to take a $240 backseat to a lot of other things. I need to ....... Probably not a good thing. I always told myself it wouldn’t happen to me.
Yesterday, I was hit with a flash of the past when the infamous "E-man" made his presence known. It wasn’t a flashback, it wasn’t that something in the room a.k.a. stimulus primer, but it was a phone call. You know that voice, that eerie, squeaky, whine of "Mr. Meth", tweakin on all frequencies, now tweaking on yours. There is no dial to change the frequencies, there is no way to block out the frequency. "I love....my drug buddy. We have to laugh to look at each other, we have to laugh cuz we’re all alone." That buddy has now changed lifestyles, we’ve all changed. Yet somehow, I am choked up by the remembrances of lives dead and gone. All of us sprouting and swinging to a new tune...LIFE. Life ends and begins with the friends that I once had. The beginning will hopefully resurrect itself with another fragment of my past.
Up to this day, the only piece of the past I have attachments to is a satchel and my college companion, Bean. Bean was and still is the only constant in my life. I can look to her and all despair (if any) dissipates with the first glance at her smiling face. So much love she gives, and so much I attempt to give in return. When I think about the times that I was really "down & out", she pulled me from the clutches of my own self imposed demise.
Dedicated to the "Mercer Street Days"