In exactly three, yes three (3) count them, days I will celebrate 33 years of clean and sober. Yep. One day at a time. I began using the day I was released from lock up as my day one. 12,045 days one at a time. Clean and sober. What started out as a teenage adventure as one of the hip people, smoking the dope and then eating the LSD then lots more of the LSD with a new ingredient to this fucked up mix ... cocaine. My life went to shit and down hill from that point on. Towards the end it was cocaine and heroin. Speed balling as it was referred to back in the day. Wasn't too long before I lost the house, wives, kids, possessions, family, and bang if'n the long arm of John Law didn't yank my strung out ass up off'n the streets and introduced me to detoxification jail house version. As a piece of head's up advise for anyone dancing with the devils of addiction, detox in jail, the way it was practiced back in the day was a blanket and the lock up nurse came by once a week to check and see IF I was still alive. I think I can remember being alive ... sort of ... and trust me on this point, it takes the better part of two months to actually detox while incarcerated. I actually was stupid enough to do that twice. The last time I was placed under the jurisdiction of one of the toughest judges in the entire State of Utah. My Judge did not play games and was definitely not amused by junkies. I saw my Judge send a kid to prison that was caught with a pound of smoke, directly to prison. The kid turned white as an old school sheet. Not the kind of sheet (singular) you got in tier block. Why my Judge did not sentence me to the death penalty is for the Judge to know and he never bothered to inform me. I was grateful and more than listening to every last word the Judge had to say. 3 plus years in lockdown, three more years in forensic therapy, and then after my last fine and restitution payment was made, the Judge allowed me my freedom back. However I'm a convicted felon (almost same as trumpf) and being a convicted felon the sacrosanct 2nd Amendment does NOT allow me to have or to hold a firearm of any sort. Which is fine by me ... I've no intention of shot, that's how trumpf uses the word, anyone and no plans in future. So god damn unnecessary. My birthday is on the horizon so January is for me one damn fine month and shall remain so until I'm cacked and toasted to fine ash dust. So leave us turn to the really important shit-to-ding and make with the Saturday machine art.
postmodern jiggy -
shorts -
clothier -
equate -
apotheosis -
bottle -
maggie -
thought -
one of the lowlights from living a junkie's life is the utter ugliness of all those addicted people. I wrote recovery poetry for a while and one of the verses I came up with was a dirge for a very good friend of mine that I'd known for just about my entire, then, life. Jack was dang fine folk and when I read that law enforcement had pulled his body from the Jordan River, a river running through the center of the Salt Lake Valley, and the autopsy read that fish had ate Jack's eyes, well, I wrote of the addicts rape which is exactly what addiction is. Rape of the human spirit. I'd known Jack from the earliest days of school and he didn't deserve to end up as fish food. my friend had overdosed on a way to heavy does of street heroin. insert a very heavy sigh at this point ... the sigh would be me ... 😐
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