Saint Marks Junkie Journals ...OR--- Warning...If this had been an actual emergancy...

Oh God, and I thought I had the beast lurking just below my consciencesness under hold, lock and key, in a state of hypnagogic being -- that state between being asleep and just waking up where you will often jerk awake, falling into some mad understanding of where ,who and how you are..reality. Alas, I guess I was wrong , and FUCK that scares me. This is why:

I am on break from College until summer semester starts and waiting in an awful stressed out state of angsty buzzing undercurrents being held down by coffee, no sleep and bad midnight movie marathons for the "go ahead" from my rather racist African American professor. It is all so stressful, trying for the PC ass kissing crap, but trying for some downtime nonetheless. So, as usual, I go to get some coffee- a Triple Breve Cortado just for good measure and some much needed comfort.

We decided to forgo our regular spot and head over to the hippy eclectic hangout called St. Marks. I walked in and its quite the "colorful" deal. Paintings from local artist, tobacco hookahs, tattooed and pierced people everywhere and maybe one businessman on his new technological toy planner and his Armani suit talking to what sounded like a stock broker. People writing poetry, working Adobe art on their computers, playing some blusy guitar riff outside, a group playing GO in the back, etc. Ok this is cool , I think and I wonder where the Mochas and Vegan or Bran cherry muffins are?

I walked next to a shut door which was the unisex bathroom and waited in line for a friend to park the Vespa we had ridden to the shop on when....BAMMMMM.. it hit me. At first I thought to myself, "I know that scent. That smell is so familiar" (I thought the word scent, like I was smelling some fine man with a sexy Cologne on that I could not see yet but KNEW must be great) and than I said the words, " Chicago" in my mind and that went through my thoughts like a firebrand.

I could not quite put my finger on that smell but it reminded me of something warm, fuzzy, something comforting and familiar ..like home maybe ..like cookies baking on a cold snowy day when you are really hungry or an apple pie when your blood sugar is low from NOT eating any of Grandma's apple pie in ,well...forever!

I heard myself mutter, "where did they get good brown Chiva from in Denver" I said it as an after thought to what I was searching for and it came out before I realized I had thought it. Oh how complex the wiring of our fragile human brains really are! Its the Trickster God LOKI with a sick twist this remembering without REMEMBERING.

"Hum, Oh well" my mind offered up and I passed it off for a second.Oh the great gift of denial all we humans share. Tick..Tock..Tick..Tock..and BAMMM Part Duex--my mind hits speed of light thinking and reality slams me like a bull in a China store, "It's dope! Someone is cooking really good Mexican brown Heroin a few feet away behind the closed bathroom door in a little bent spoon or cooker cap!" (we used pop screw off lids with a few of the metal things bent outward to hold like a handle when it was over the flame) IT smells good and I am getting dizzy... afraid, too desperate and I feel torn and broken.THIS was suppose to be PAST, not NOW!

WHY? NO!! This can't be getting to me. It can't be happening. Not FAIR! I can even smell the flame lick against the bottom of the spoon, giving of a metallic smell with the dope, and my endorphins are firing like an after affect of some multiple orgasm. I'm rubbing my arm , pinching unknowingly at my used vein, ghost scars and a hauntingly empty prickling in my right arm where I used to fix long ago and biting my bottom lip until it is about to bleed (that's all I need now is to smell blood ALONG with that!) I stay stock still in line like a deer in the headlights, not really moving or even breathing-all senses on high alert and ready to rabbit it- and hear IT-Schhhhhniiick- a belt comes off in the bathroom and that whip and clank as it is taken off , the creaking of the leather tightening as it is wrapped around an arm as the unknown person ties off. I am shaking at this point but can't say a thing!

Sights, smells, and sounds, tactile and almost fresh as the illusions it brought flood my memory! I remember like a flash--I would often see male deamons and angels when really high. NO! AND THIS---NO! I CAN'T AGAIN. It took a jungle and a near death expereince half a world away the first time. NO!

I hear all this, as any other junky or recovering one would because it was RITUAL for us all for many times a day, for many years or decades for some. You become attuned, like a Big cat to prey at night, no moon, just instinct and senses and IN-tune to these sick telltale sounds, smells, , the NEED, because now I am really listening and using all my sense to replay it all.

I am in check..recall feelings and what could be on HIGH alert. Then the sound of the backs of fingers bring me around --slapping a vein in the arm.--thwack..thwack...thwack... and it sounds like a drum being beaten oh so L-O-U-D-L-Y and I am starting to get sick to my stomach as the smell seeps out of the bottom of the older wooden door and curls to my nose. Why does no one else smell it? I am panicked

I hiss under my breath and say to myself, "Stay calm damn it" Than think ,"It is almost over, Don't move" I was even almost sure I heard the liquid hit the cotton and get drawn up with a long shallow sucking noise of ssssssslllllllttt sound, and the long orgasmic sigh as the person dropped the belt as the RUSH and NOD hit, the metal buckle hitting the cheap tile floors with a telling sharp THUD and metal clunk, So loud in my ears and senses, which most people in line heard as nothing more than maybe someone's pants falling around the persons ankles because they were hurried, innocuous at best, if they heard it at all. Nothing but a normal sound to others but to me.................................

To me, they had missed the entire symphony that only I heard! I stood so still and quite, eyes wide and pupils dilated --- stomach about to retch. The door opened and a 20 something cute boy, still cute I should say, but with wear and tear from the smack, nonetheless, appeared with belt intact and wiping his wet hands on the worn denim pants. He stepped outside the door with a small sublet wobble in his step. So telling to some of us!

Even sober junkies can tell these things. His eyes were pinned and tiny and you could, well any other junkie could , see he was pretty high and I gritted my teeth as he could tell I knew and grinned a Cheshire-esque grin, all teeth and player like with a wink.

I watched him palm his crotch (ha-Oh yes! The post shot erection, serious wood that he had no intentions of hiding, and I was getting sicker, even desperate) as he walked over to the table, now carding his hand through his blond with blue streaked hair all falling in his eyes to cover his pinned pupils and sat down with a group of friends.

He fumbled at the chair a bit, the shot must have been an ear- ringer, and looked around before as he handed a case, rather like one you would put your glasses in, to a young girl with colorful tattoos and many piercings. Wait. I was thinking again in rapid staccato thoughts.. "Oh God NO! Stop! SHIT. They were sharing a kit and that was their works in the case" (needle, cotton, water, spoon or cooker lid, bleach if they were smart and usually some poppers.) The boy started to nod off and the tattooed girl got up and headed to the bathroom. I watched him nod and felt some pangs of jealousy.

WTF? JEALOUSY? It was becoming surreal and all had unfolded in only been a matter of minutes (or was it hours?)! My friend who was ahead of me in the line had ordered my drink as I guess he told me later, I had not answered so he ordered what he knew I liked and I said I mumbled, "We are out of here NOW!" Wow, it was like sensory overload and I truly thought I had it all under control. I still feel a little nausea sweeping over me but it will pass. We took off on Vespa as fast as the small cylinder engine would allow,drink dropped at the entrance like Old Scratch was after us himself!

I know now that even THAT monster I took care of almost 16 years ago still lives under the surface and can awaken even without my permission.In the famous words of the great Japanese Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, "I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve" and I was hoping this misfortune I had stumbled across had not done just that! I will be more on guard with THE MONSTER from now on! The 12 steps say you have no control but I must! I will! I will endure! It is MY choice...now!