|Not Suitable For Ages Ice To Dark.
||[24 Feb 2005|10:19pm]
My Pro-Drug Manifesto
Death To Dr. Hunter S. Thompson & Fight Club Elitist Fuckery.
I've never had an adult moment of my life spent in complete sobriety. Never. Not one day. And to be balls-out truthful, I hope it stays this way till my lights grow dim and dark. Why be sober? Some people can get loaded by the good graces of God Almighty. Others off that big bitch of an adrenaline rush after working the weights and speed walking a five mile stretch. It happens that my life likes to climax, hitting the peak when the foreign substances rip free flowing through blood stream and brain. My body is a house. It's a one-level squat. Fuck being a temple, I can go to Hsi Lai if I wanted to worship one of those.
So, no, I do not eat my Wheaties. There isn't a juicer or blender to whip up a fruit smoothie. I'd rather hit a Starbucks and suck down a 700 calorie Tazo Chai Creme Venti Frapuccino. Why not? Once, I did a parody involving 7-11 and the need to free ourselves from commercial corporate shackles. Secretly, IRL, I worship and devote many of my caffeinated, self-contained, and self-centered highs with "Planet Starbucks", mentioned with a note of disdain in wonderbooks like Fight Club. Yeah, Chuck, I believe in hitting rock bottom, but not before I suck down a latte or 3 from a place far from ground zero. To blow up the Starbucks of this world would only force us all to criminalize "Project Mayhem". Making way for us junky Gen Xer's to settle within that social niche letting heroin become about as rock bottom as a Jolt and a handful of Pop Rocks. Destroy "Planet Starbucks", Mr. Palahniuk, and people with habits like mine have an excuse to do the narcotics I do daily. Organized chaos and cheer leading for entropy is one mindset, the other could be to ignore the corporate Ikea nesters and focus on those shitbag motherfuckers you are bound to land on while falling from socio-economic grace. I guess being a true-to-term 'functional junky' makes me see the average riddle as a multiple choice Cosmopolitan sex quiz.
I know that Chuck P. meant for Fight Club to read as how to feel alive through living human, scarred by time and toil instead of living man and woman, surrounded by material convention and becoming monetarily mundane. But I see the Independent candidate running this race, too. What Palahniuk forgot was that Marla and Tyler hit bottom because they chose to. No monkeys itching and ripping the stretches and spine of their fringe-dwelling backs. None of that horrible need to satiate a lust much deeper then wrapping themselves in the purity of a fight club. Oh Nelly! Not ONE nod towards their nicotine habits and coffee morning crutches they walked around with. A soothing cold-filtered Bud Light or some such other after a fine job of mass deconstruction by the "Project." You see, he forgot that trainspotters have had the bottom bunk for ions. Since Asian triads and tyrants hit the opium pipe after every war and revolution had been declared victorious! Yes! Victory is for junkies! Wedding cake and champagne! A baby boy is born so have a cigar! Want a Coke (now without cocaine) with that popcorn? Come on, ... it's not a movie without sugar rushes and caffeine pushes!
See? Fight Club has it all wrong because Irvine Welsh showed us long ago how to truly level the playing field without blasting every TRW building to holy high hell. And great men like Hunter S. Thompson showed us that Tim Leary was a snake charmer, leaving Thompson the mongoose. A 'functional junky' is always at the bottom and the top. It thrives because it is being normal. Within it's body is a heart, kidney, liver and brain so immune to unknown substances that the body now reacts constantly and never rests or calms in order to regulate. These kind of Thompson junkies would have to be forced to die by lethal weapons for sheer intestinal fortitude promises a long and alert life. Bottomed out and flying high off anything. Planet Starbucks in the distance while upper and downer belts of extraterrestrial meteors rip through our intergalactic bodies and orbit our sunny souls.
Hunter S. Thompson had that revolver coming. "Fear & Loathing" are just terms to rope in the cynical, what he meant was "Balanced & Normal." Know why? He hit rock bottom with any and every drug known to those in the know from the beginning of his assignment until his mayhem motorcade ended somewhere after San Bernardino, the 10 freeway as it clovers and belt loops onto Hollywood's 101.
Tyler Durden never did what HE (notice the emphasis on 'he') said was hitting rock bottom. Marla had too much fun being an example of a poorer person. THAT is what Fight Club thought of rock bottom and soap. It's okay to live deprived lives as long as you are pretty and clean. Still, why NO alcoholics or junkies in Project Mayhem? They were all blue collar workers, weren't they? In Trainspotting, Welsh made Tommy an equal when he finally shot-up and stopped connecting to his girlfriend. All the major characters abused up to 20 or more drug-related substances, all except for one, Begbie. He was an alcoholic that beat down random strangers due to a bottom-feeder temper that drove him to thieve with the local smack addicts. Thompson made sure he remembered every drug and use with a clarity that suggested most of his highs were really middles or lows. Murmurs. They allowed him to float like shit at the bottom of the toilet tank so he could wait for the flush and resurface. Still there, yet still a chunk of shit. Now if Fight Club or that useless excuse for a movie Requiem For A Dream had actual junkies and bottom feeders to deal with (as a huge parenthetical aside, I LOATHE Requiem For A Dream. It's extremely inaccurate and deals with wealth, NOT the drug abuse itself in the frame of a middle class day-in-the-life manner), if other drug and dreg movies or "Vurt" wannabe books ("Vurt" by Jeff Noon is my highest of high regards when it comes to a good sit-down and read) would address the junk as important as is water and food to the daily routine, then you could possibly have a fucking clue about how fucking level my kind are. How fucking lucky we should feel. And how fucking normal our functional lives have become. Yesterday was just like today. I did crack/cocaine, Vicodin/Norco 10.0mgs @ 10 pills, methamphetamine (speed, crank, tweak, sketch, go) and a little Klonopin chaser. I also went to Rite-Aid to get slim fit tampons and a 2-litter of root beer. I've got my bills done and ready but have yet to vacuum because my junky Doctor never-use-my-PhD fiance (Paul) is supposed to do that as well as the dishes.
He and I are Functional Junkies but my health is always (and has always been) better. I was told by my shrink that because I've been a user since 10 yrs old, no major ailments of the brain have occurred (physical, such as aneurysm or stroke), the years of use being extremely consistent and documented, that I -- like George burns who did cocaine everyday of his life --that I am an "anomaly." Paul has already had several strokes and now has adult ADD like my mother. Functional Junkies (such as Thompson) come from a junky stock (ie: my entire family, thanks Mom!)and I can do drugs for life. However, I will never be normal without them. Never feel happy or sad. Fear, anger, despair. I am blank and unable to speak or say much when I am cleaner than normal. Hope for me comes on a prescription pad and all these words from a tweak pipe that tobacco shops hide in the back as "oil burners" so they can stay legal.
At the end of the day I still love me some Fight Club. Thompson's death seemed rather later than sooner. Jeff Noon's book "VURT" is a sure bet good once-over, and I am a junky 24/7, 365 days a year. I felt the need to emphasize the functional to my junky and how my Marla Singer themed icons mean in a 'True or False' Marla world, I would pick 'or'. Tyler Durden is an elite and upper class educated character that couldn't know how bad Jack's raging bile duct is until he withdraws from his credit leveling intoxication and went to work only thinking about how his tips would hopefully be enough to get his fix on his way home. If it wasn't enough, he could probably afford a Starbucks Latte and a pack of Camel 100's.
I should know. The fix is in for me tonight.
Thank you for sharing it with me.
(13 Psychotic Fucking Wrong Answers | OOH! UtenaSama, I Know The Answer!)