Home, sweet home, Madison, WI and Lake Edge UCC. What a lovely reception for us both – you’d think I’d have a more uplifting poem today, but I felt compelled to put this entry in.
This is a cautionary tale… any teen who thinks Pharming is cool and that shoving substances up their nose is fun should think twice. I know; I’ve been there, and this entry is, sad to say, all too true, from many years ago when I was incredibly stupid (and, of course, immortal – weren’t we all?). Parents, talk to you kids. Cop to what you did and let your kids know what’s out there is King Kong compared to the spider monkey shit we did.
NIGHT SHIFT AT TONY’S
Silence of the grave.
The dissipated, pasty-faced coke dealer in his lair: A
hermetically sealed apartment.
No light, save lamps; no breeze, stale air.
No windows open, lest the cool breeze
of Venice Beach disturb piles of priceless product.
It’s all about balance, really.
Delicately spooning precious powder
from bag to scale, wordlessly persevering
during each transaction. Accuracy rules.
Tony’s in the zone.
His place stinks vaguely of chemicals and
days-old takeout – plus a trace of evil.
I mule for the whole crew back at work.
He accepts the cash, hands over the stash.
I smile; he grits his teeth and says take the back stairs.
Tucking the baggie in my bra, I make my way back to work
behind closed doors. Tamp the coke onto the mirror,
razor it into proper sections; every granule counts.
I obsessive-compulsively trustworthy,
entrusted to split the parcels.
Why do I make the run? Because I’m so disgustingly honest.
I fill, never spill, never nick off the till,
and emerge with portions of potion for
my anxious co-conspirators.
We scatter like roaches for hidden dark corners and
restroom stalls, emerge smiling,
frozen-gummed and destined to perform at peak
for at least an hour.
Once Tony cut the stash with laxative and we all
spent our high on the toilet, but we still went back for more.
We paid good money for this slavery and couldn’t make our way past it.
Not in those days, the blinding midnight sunrise of Colombia on Westwood.
Then there was Sam, shaking hands spilling his stash.
He ended up snorting it off the filthy men’s room floor.
I mean, really.
How low can you go?
Try cocaine and you’ll find out.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Debbie
Thank you , Amy, for writing about these kind of things. You do it so well, and I mean that. You don’t glorify it, but send a warning out for all. God bless you and your writing, your servants heart.
Sharp Little Pencil
Debbie, that’s really my calling. I would not be a decent pastor’s wife if I didn’t admit to these experiences, these mistakes. If God has taught me anything in life, it’s the power of redemption… and the power to share your journey with others, free of stigma. Same with manic depression and sexual abuse survival. We cannot let society dictate what’s OK to discuss. Jesus sure didn’t do that, so I’m following a good example, I hope!! Love to you, Amy
ladynimue
This was sad yet cautionary for sure .. the last lines are not a challenge but a warning .. liked the way you presented this ..
Sharp Little Pencil
The really bad part is that this was back in the 70s. Read my entry a few posts ago about the boys who died at a Pharming party. Back then, you could go on a bad trip. Now, your heart can explode or you can simply vanish due to one wrong move. It’s horrible… that’s why I told my daughter about my experiences. Told her what to avoid, how to avoid it… and then I pray…
RJ Clarken
Oh my gosh – what a nightmare! Definitely a cautionary tale.
On another note – it’s grand to have you back, Amy! We missed you! Hope you’ve settled in nicely and that things work out great for you there.
Sharp Little Pencil
RJ, I’m loving it here. Haven’t gotten out much because of unpacking and setting up the house, but the folks are great, the apt. is smaller and well-suited to Lex’s and my taste, and the computer and Net are working. So what’s not to like??
Cautionary tale, yes, indeed. I serve myself up as an example, NOT of “see, you can do all this crap and come out really creative,” but, “see all the time I wasted and all the mistakes I made? I am the same person now as I was then, only my ass could have been in jail.” But it was a night I will never, ever forget. Evil has a smell, and hell has a place right here in earth, compleat with scales, plastic bags, and unwashed dealers…
Sherry Blue Sky
This is so powerful, Amy. I wish it could be sent to high schools around the country. Well done!!!!
Sharp Little Pencil
Sherry, if you think it can help anyone, ANYONE, please pass it on. Just let them know I wrote it, because I’m very open about my former habits. I used to feel that road made me stronger, but if I could have done the same things without the waste of time, money, and talent (lost my voice for a time from smoking weed). I grew up in an addictive family, too, so it truly is a genetic thing. Add that to permission to think you’re immortal and free access, and it’s instant hell. Thanks, Sherry. Love, Amy
Kim Nelson
I am so glad you’re back!
I read this with keen interest, not as a user or one who ever was, but as a mother who nearly lost a child to addiction. Nefarious, addiction… and tricky, sneaky, who-will-she-snag-next. Glad mine escaped the grips. Glad you didn’t get snagged.
Sharp Little Pencil
Oh, Kim, I seem to remember you commented on the Pharming party poem as well a week or so back… and you know, I literally heard a voice (I think it was my grandma Blanche or God – same thing, really) say, “Get out of California and go home.” I called Mom, told her, “I think I’m gonna die if I stay here,” and she told me to pack my bags and hop a bus home. Detoxed on the Greyhound… oy. Thank God for quiet moments when one hears the voice of reason, the voice of an angel. It’s hideous stuff nowadays, ten times worse than what we encountered in the 70s. I’m glad you have your child and didn’t lose out to The Evil One, drugs. Love, Amy
Mosk
Hey blista sista……-
this was kick-ass good
next week’s 21 years sober (God willing) for lil ole me
Haven’t written a thing and nothing this perfect.
Love you love you love to love you baby love you
will write more soon
el mosk
Sharp Little Pencil
Mosko, mi amigo,
Love you too. Hey, that first line, are you referring to Frank Zappa (“and a couple of sisters who could raise a few blisters”)?!
I have been soberific for years, except for the occasional beer. This whole drug thing was microwaved into a two-year period in my 20s. Watched my mom sober up cold turkey at age 60 and decided to clean up my own act if I ever wanted to have children. And what a gift Riley is…
Sorry you are not writing, Mosk. Don’t worry, your brain was built. It will come!! I love you, brother, Ameleh
vivinfrance
Amy, I’m glad you’re back.
Your subject matter made my flesh creep, but the warning behind the oh-so-honest poem compelled me to read it.
Sharp Little Pencil
I was pretty dumb in my 20s. Can’t believe sometimes that I made it to 54. Undiagnosed bipolar folks make all sorts of self-medication mistakes young – all the while, feeling immortal and untouchable. Thanks, Viv. If it made your flesh creep, I know I got the point across. Love, Amy
Tilly Bud
This was honest; that takes courage.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks, Linda. True story, that one. Back then, it took stupidity. Only in hindsight does writing about it feel courageous! Amy
uponthewingsofnight
Brutally honest, a stark reflection of a path that was chosen for the wrong reasons. I agree that evil does have a smell though I don’t necessarily know what that is. While I was reading this poem, I was listening to some instrumental tracks from Nine Inch Nails. It made reading it all the more stark and naked in its honesty. I’m thankful every day I have never done drugs of any kind. Also, I’m glad you made it out the other end to be my friend today. Brett
Sharp Little Pencil
Wow, NIN for background music sounds perfect. Thank God you have not done drugs. I cannot say I regret those days, because they helped bring me down to where I realized I was self-medicating; otherwise, my bipolar might have kept swimming in chemicals not prescribed by a doctor… Thx! A