December 23, 2014

December 23, 2014

It is nearly the end of the year, and I still haven’t shown anything of great worth.   I turned 60 this year, and I am flirting with the idea of taking heroin (nah) for the first time in my life.  If my information is correct, the number one country that produces heroin is Afghanistan, and number two is Mexico.  The United Nations estimated in 2005, that there are over 50 million people worldwide who uses heroin.  What I find interesting, is that heroin becomes the prominent factor in a person’s reputation - even though he or she is a great artist, if they’re a heroin user, that becomes more known than their art.   For instance, the first thing I think of when I hear the words “Charlie Parker, ” “Anita O’Day, ” “Tim Hardin, ” and “Chet Baker” is their heroin use, not their enormous talents as musicians.  “Johnny Thunders” also comes to mind when ever I hear his name.  The first thought is heroin.

So one loses their identity once they become a junkie.  Be that of the narcotic or the public’s love affair of those who morally fail their duty as an artist or a human being.  Cocaine has a strong image, but mostly in a group setting.  Heroin suggests alienation, remoteness, rejection, outlawness, and also a sense of “exoticness.” To become a junkie is to join a family.  I think most addictions are the source of being part of a group.  The worst thing that can become of a human being in our culture is to be separated from the group.  In other words the family.   Like everything else in the world, the family can bring great sense of comfort and joy, or entrapped those who can’t leave the family.

There is strength in numbers, and how many of us desire to join something that is much bigger than all of us. Everything from churches to gangs to even schools, brings us a sense of comfort.  I believe that there is obviously a need to become an addict, as well as a need to be a reformed addict.  Either way, you are still part of a group.  Heroin is interesting because it is basically an anti-social grouping.  I never smoke pot, but I have been in social settings where pot is offered and shared.  The same as for cocaine.  Drinking and heroin strike me as more of a solitude form of addiction.  For instance I like to drink, but I get immense pleasure by drinking alone.  It’s solitude, but with an edge.

My favorite musicians are junkies.  The question: Is it because they take heroin or is it my knowledge beforehand?   Perhaps I like the image of heroin in the context of music.  Oddly enough I never think of drugs when I hear the name “Brian Jones,” but on the other hand “Keith Richards” is all about heroin.  It does not represent a fair comparison of course, but the image speaks louder than the music at times.  To see someone rotting away is not a good thing, but for some reason if that person is an artist, we get off on it.  Why is that?

Heroin, it seems, is never a positive drug.  On the other hand, could William S. Burroughs or Alexander Trocchi exist without heroin?   Once you’re involved with heroin, you either become a junkie or an ex-junkie.  You’re still in the family.   Due to that experience, you are then seen as worth something to our culture - either as a cautionary tale, or a victim.   The world turns, but the love of misery, especially seeing someone else’s misery is a luxury in today’s culture.

July 30, 2014

July 30, 2014

Ah!, the summer of love.   I was 12 years old when I first went to London with my parents, and that trip for me was like traveling through Alice’s rabbit hole.  I have gone back to London numerous time, but like the first kiss, the first trip was the magical one.  For one, I met Alexander Trocchi with my parents at his flat somewhere in the capital.  At the time, I had the faint knowledge that he contributed a piece to my dad’s art/poetry/journal “Semina,” but that is about it.  I knew nothing else about him.  What impressed me the most, at the time, is when he began to shoot up heroin into his arm.  At that point and time (I was 12 remember) I never saw anything like that in my life.  I was intrigued because he kept the conversation he was having with my parents while he prepared his gear, and eventually shooting the dope into his arm.  At the time, it was shocking to me, because I never ever even seen a needle in that sense.  As a child I had to get numerous shots through school, and I always looked away when the needle went through my skin.  Having a shot in the arm did not bother me personally, but the worst part of the whole procedure is standing in line with other kids and their parents, and hearing the child in front of me scream their heads off.  As one got closer to the screened-off room in the gym, the worst the knots were in my stomach.   Here in London, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him and his arm.  I remember his arm also being scarred with scabs and other markings.   The odd thing, is that he didn’t excuse himself or asked if it was OK, he just did it in front of his guests.

It was obvious to me my parents were not happy to see this in front of their eyes, and I think were concerned that I was in the room as well.  But the official policy in a sense, was not to hide me from anything unpleasant.  Although oddly enough, the only thing I was’t allowed to watch or see was the Tod Browning film “Freaks.” Which of course made me want to see the film even more, but at the time of my youth, that film only existed as film stills in various Monster fan magazines that I used to devour each month.   I was intrigued by the thought of actually seeing real live side-show freaks, because to me, it was just an illusion and I wasn’t sure if they even existed.  It wasn’t till I was in my mid-twenties, when I actually saw the film.  I’m happy to say that the film was worth the long wait.  Around that time I went to a donut shop on Melrose Avenue, here in Los Angeles, to get some morning coffee.  To my surprise I stood behind a man who looked exactly like the Elephant Man. His face was deformed with huge tumors, and his mouth was misshapen as well as the rest of his head.  Even now, I feel it was a dream, but the truth is I did see this man.  It was a strange setting to see him in a donut shop, early in the morning.  I remember the girl behind the counter was sort of freaked out, and it was hard to understand what he was asking for, due that his voice was affected by the way his mouth was deformed.  It was sad, horrifying, and weird at the same moment.

My memory of Alex was that he was charming, but there was something terribly off about his behavior with respect to his heroin use.  I have met many junkies in my life, but never witnessed one shooting the works in their system.  Also besides me and my parents, he had a small child roaming the flat as well.  He or she must have been around 1 or 2 years old.  Nevertheless, as I got older I would run into Alex’s work in the most strangest places.  He was a writer who showed up in moments of critical incidents or times of world literature.  The Paris Review, the Situationists, the Beats… he just appears like a ghost, and then if you look again at his direction, he disappears.  Totally fascinating.