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Saturday, 13 January 2007

Sleepy Saturday — Acid Dreams

I WOKE UP about an hour ago after having slept for SEVEN HOURS — that’s 7 hrs on top of the 8 hrs or so I slept last night. In fact I know I slept well last night as I woke at 10:30 which is really late for me. Usually I’m up at 5:30… Hang on, what’s “usual” about my sleep? It goes round in cog-like circles. You never know which little cycle it’s going to pass on to. I know I’m often awake at 5:30 because that’s when BBC World Service passes over to Radio 4 on the analogue transmitters and shortly after handover a programme called Farming Today comes on, all about prime steaks and winegrowing and cheeses— not so much “boring” as yummeee!!

    Yes I did meet a person of doubtful provenance on a mountain bike at about 11:30 this morning and this may explain part of my drowsiness. But today’s big sleep came on too late (at about 2pm and it doesn’t take me THAT long to get a vein) and lasted too long. The drowsing effect of heroin does indeed last the 4-hrs specified in certain textbooks. (How do you think I know the little bits and pieces I scatter throughout this blog? I used to own a mini drugs books collection…)

    I’m not getting depressed though I’m not getting depressed I’m not — my mantra. Breathe deep, relax. Getting down is just a fact of life. I’ve seriously tried to “cure” my downs with positive thinking: with only mixed results.

    There’s not a huge lot to say today. Maybe I ought to mention the nightmares I keep getting. Also (more infrequently) some ultra-farout acid dreams. Brainfrazzlingly weird ones that I couldn’t describe in any meaningful detail. You know (if you’ve taken it) when everything goes like a computer game. And then the game gives way to the abstract codes behind it? Well some of that. Plus imagine you’ve been at a rave all night. It is now late… too late for you, you’d rather be in bed but it’s midday, the party shows no sign of stopping, daylight is burning in your head: and,more to the point your brains are frying so bad you’re like the experimental spider in the 1960s that stopped spinning beautiful orb-webs on acid and just span a dirty great blob of stickiness as the microgram-count eventually got too high. I often bear that spider in mind when I think of hard acid. I think the tale is true, but it’s also a damn good metaphor for what’s happened to me and a great many others…

    On that note I’m saying goodbye, folks. In the words of Mr Springer: Take care of yourselves. And each other.


Posted by gledextra at 7:31 PM EST

Serial Killer

WE HAVE A SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE. In Eastern England this man (it almost definitely is a male) has been picking up young prostitutes, none of whom has been seen alive again. Five bodies recovered over two months; two of these were found in a stream last weekend.

    What the BBC are calling “Sex workers” and the tabloid label “vice girls” or “hookers”, let’s be clear, are heroin and/or crack addicts driven to the streets to fund their own (and frequently their parasitic boyfriends’)drug habits.

    Some heartbreaking stories appeared in the newspapers this morning. Young women, bright-eyed, their whole lives laid out full of opportunities ahead . Along come hard drugs and — wham!— all dreams are shattered. Life reduces to a treadmill, working, scoring, using, sleeping, working, scoring… and so on…

    Confronted by (probably paying) journalists, the girls say mostly what they know is expected. But some have admitted the uneasy truth: while their every intuition warns them: keep off the streets, the pull of drug-money becomes stronger even than the instinct to preserve life.

    Police say their warnings have been heeded. I really don’t think so. When sex workers know their clients have been all scared off, why bother coming out? Maybe the girls can make a bit of money talking to journalists if they find the right ones. Otherwise I’d suspect the majority are relying on their families (if they have families) to support them, or else are robbing the local high street… all the time waiting patiently for the situation to die down.

    What motivates a man to such depravity? The police have conceded he knows enough about forensic techniques to strip the corpses and dump them in a stream (where two were round very close together). The culprit is, apparently, “well organized” and (this is where it gets truly frightening) dangerous even as serial killers go…

    Experts, of course, disagree on the details.

    To Radio 4, he is a charming man the street girls feel they can trust; to the Sun newspaper he’s inept and full of rage. He targets street girls because they’re the easiest women to get hold of and he’s angry, one expert theorizes, because he’s (sexually) inept and resent the (sexual) power such women wield over him.

    A supposed “fund” has been set up to cover these ladies’ living expenses: but to be blatantly frank I cannot conceive how on earth such a scheme could operate without being abused.

    Are they going to hand out £50 a day to anyone who says she’s a prostitute? If the girls say they need it, will they give them more?

   There are no answers to this nightmare situation. The sooner the monster(s) responsible are caught, the sooner (relative) peace and harmony can be restored…

 

Pete Doherty, notorious rocker fiancé of Kate Moss has been fined yet again for possession of crack cocaine and heroin.

    The judge or magistrate in the case went leniently because Mr Doherty is doing so well at his treatment programme.

    Doesn’t this judge read the newspapers? fumes Jane Moore, columnist in the Sun.

    Well excuse me, Ms Moore, but aren’t judges supposed to disregard hearsay (which, let’s face it, is what the papers are full of) and focus only on the facts presented in court. Isn’t that why justice is blind? If the tabloid press were granted the power over the law courts of the land they desire, imagine just how OTT the outcomes would be…

    For information, BTW, I hear Mr Doherty is fitted with a heroin-busting naltrexone implant. For about £3000, a private clinic will fit one of these internal patches that blockades the effects of heroin and all other opiates completely for up to three months.

    If Pete Doherty’s really fitted up with one of these, I’d point out that merely getting such a drastic device installed under one’s skin says more than a whole folder of “drugs progress reports” ever could…

    …Being in the public eye with a raging habit cannot be easy.

    So I say: hats off to Mr Doherty, for making the effort.

   


Posted by gledextra at 7:29 PM EST

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