America, The Nation of Chafe.

TO BE ALIVE IS TO BE ADDICTED

People are such hypocrites. People who give drug addicts shit for being drug addicts. Why? BECAUSE TO BE HUMAN IS TO BE ADDICTED. As addicted to random molecules of oxygen and hydrogen as any addict who can’t go five minutes between fixes. And people just accept the set up. A MAN CANNOT survive MINUTES WITHOUT AIR. No air—boom—you die.
But does anybody talk about oxygen abuse? No water—boom—you die slower. No sun, nothing grows. Ditto. You starve or you freeze. No earth to stand on. No gravity. No tongue. (So are we addicted to having tongues?) Ditto ditto ditto. Man is a dependent being! By nature. But on speed you can defeat nature. You can go without drinking anything; you could even keep from breathing, chest constricted in one frozen and continual palpitation. Perfectly still. Heart thrumming. So awake your hair is questioning its ultimate purpose and your hands can’t stand the chatter. Your glands have gone bad. You only breathe when you remember and force yourself. Not dying, on speed, was a function of Newtonian physics. A man could jump off the Tower of Pisa and read the newspaper all the way down. All you needed was a jar of Valium or maybe some Oxycontins. In ‘98 oncologists began prescribing morphine lollipops for patients who couldn’t swallow. They come in cherry and lime and they both taste like gasoline and cough syrup. Suck three, the crash is no more than a speed bump before you float off the cliff.

POINT COUNTERPOINT

All addiction is a conspiracy against the self. Arthur Janov, father of The Primal Scream. Speed makes my piss important. Keith Moon, dead drummer. You can’t tell people they’re dead, they won’t believe you. You have to kill them. What I really wanted was to be a game show host.

JIMMY CRYSTAL

Were crystals not the foundation of life? You know the secret: God was made of crystal. And when you snorted, when you smoked, when you injected, you were taking little bits of Him and putting Him inside your mouth… So He became Thee. And—THE BODY OF CHRIST, A FUCKING CRACKER? WHAT KIND OF GOD WOULD MAKE HIS SON OUT OF CRACKERS. GOD HIMSELF. TRANSUSBSTANTIATION WAS SHOOTING UP AND SPOTTING YOUR UNDERPANTS WITH CUM–Unnnnggggh!

Nine years old, stick scissors in a socket to see what it feels like it. Jones for that jolt from then on.

When they took you in, when they found you wandering in Laguna Beach with your pants in a paper bag, you sounded so rational to yourself you were sure they’d understand. You were not suicidal, you were just tired of trying to make being alive work…

Nothing ever happens, It Just Keeps Happening. The Principle of Eternal Nothing. Which was not the same as a void. You had this revelation and needed to share it with the first person you saw, who in this case happened to be the night manager at Arby’s Roast Beef Palace. You may have grabbed some lapel after the burgundy-uniformed manager told you to leave. You just needed to share. The world was a populated void. Explaining. Not everybody was ready to hear The Truth.