No....he is risen. Like Jesus Christ with a tooth ache...Looking for morphine...
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Cities
The city of the past lies in a bed of clouds. Thick clouds, heavy clouds, clouds weighted down with
water, heavy with rain. A permanent fog rolls down the streets, obscuring the vision of each of its inhabitants, as the city perches on top of the Mesa. Only dwellings exist in the city. Towering skyscrapers house every citizen in a one room apartment. In each room there is only a bed. There are no shops, no restaurants, food is not needed, the thick fog enveloping the city provides basic nourishment, there is no government of any kind. No entertainment. No diversions. No parks. Just concrete, sidewalks, endless skyscrapers. There is a populous continuely living in the hapiness of nostalgia, of the past, of things been and gone. No uncertainty. Each inhabitant lives in a one room apartment furnished only with a bed. The paralyzing fog is piped into each room endlessly through a sophisticated filtration system. There are no days as such for each citizen. There is a never ending bombardment of the senses. The fog kills the parts of the brain responsible for forming new memories and overstiumlates the sections responsible for storing memories. The fog is euphoric. Visions of birthdays, parties, time with loved ones, conversations with praise, never ending repetition of love, love, love. The citizen is encased only in positive remembrances. All incidents of pain, rejection, depression, unhapiness are filtered and belched out into the air surrounding the City. They roll down the Mesa leaving a chemtrail of noxious gas.
No one ages in the city. The fog prolongs life indefinetely. Sickening stasis in the comforting fog. No one can observe the city, no one can enter. The citizens living here were chosen from a lottery which was overflowing with humans eager to live forever in happiness. The population is fixed. No sun rises here. No pain exists. Pain is related to uncertainty with is related to tomorrow and there is no tomorrow.
The city of the future is located on a barren ice field surrounded in a controled bubble. There is no warmth here. There are no homes. There is only one endless office where the citizens toil 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Clocks are everywhere. The lightning is provided by a blinding clincal glow of lightbulbs. The citizens are injected once a day, the only downtime. This injection contains the chemicals necessary to maintain their advanced human form for another 24 hours. It is a combination of extreme amphetamine, essential vitamins, and a blocking agent regulating basic human emotions. The citizens here have no genitals, there is no need for pro-creation. Their is no empathy for their fellow citizens, no love, no family, only a compulsive need for more. The eyes in this city are dolls eyes, empty. Citizens work in a blind feverish frenzy for tomorrow. For more. Checks are sent constantly, and each citizen continuely checks their bank accounts. Everything is put away, nothing is spent. The citizens are seized by a compulsive need to accumulate. There is never enough. But tomorrow there will be, and then the next day and the next on into infinity. The only emotion here is greed and lust for more. The work is neverending, nothing is ever finished and plans and projects are continuely updated and revisied. Nothing here can ever be completed. Everything is for the future, which is bridge stretching on into infinity. The city of the future is an empty clinical hive.
water, heavy with rain. A permanent fog rolls down the streets, obscuring the vision of each of its inhabitants, as the city perches on top of the Mesa. Only dwellings exist in the city. Towering skyscrapers house every citizen in a one room apartment. In each room there is only a bed. There are no shops, no restaurants, food is not needed, the thick fog enveloping the city provides basic nourishment, there is no government of any kind. No entertainment. No diversions. No parks. Just concrete, sidewalks, endless skyscrapers. There is a populous continuely living in the hapiness of nostalgia, of the past, of things been and gone. No uncertainty. Each inhabitant lives in a one room apartment furnished only with a bed. The paralyzing fog is piped into each room endlessly through a sophisticated filtration system. There are no days as such for each citizen. There is a never ending bombardment of the senses. The fog kills the parts of the brain responsible for forming new memories and overstiumlates the sections responsible for storing memories. The fog is euphoric. Visions of birthdays, parties, time with loved ones, conversations with praise, never ending repetition of love, love, love. The citizen is encased only in positive remembrances. All incidents of pain, rejection, depression, unhapiness are filtered and belched out into the air surrounding the City. They roll down the Mesa leaving a chemtrail of noxious gas.
No one ages in the city. The fog prolongs life indefinetely. Sickening stasis in the comforting fog. No one can observe the city, no one can enter. The citizens living here were chosen from a lottery which was overflowing with humans eager to live forever in happiness. The population is fixed. No sun rises here. No pain exists. Pain is related to uncertainty with is related to tomorrow and there is no tomorrow.
The city of the future is located on a barren ice field surrounded in a controled bubble. There is no warmth here. There are no homes. There is only one endless office where the citizens toil 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Clocks are everywhere. The lightning is provided by a blinding clincal glow of lightbulbs. The citizens are injected once a day, the only downtime. This injection contains the chemicals necessary to maintain their advanced human form for another 24 hours. It is a combination of extreme amphetamine, essential vitamins, and a blocking agent regulating basic human emotions. The citizens here have no genitals, there is no need for pro-creation. Their is no empathy for their fellow citizens, no love, no family, only a compulsive need for more. The eyes in this city are dolls eyes, empty. Citizens work in a blind feverish frenzy for tomorrow. For more. Checks are sent constantly, and each citizen continuely checks their bank accounts. Everything is put away, nothing is spent. The citizens are seized by a compulsive need to accumulate. There is never enough. But tomorrow there will be, and then the next day and the next on into infinity. The only emotion here is greed and lust for more. The work is neverending, nothing is ever finished and plans and projects are continuely updated and revisied. Nothing here can ever be completed. Everything is for the future, which is bridge stretching on into infinity. The city of the future is an empty clinical hive.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
FALL HERE
FALL HERE
crisp-clear-black-dark-night-starlight-wood smoke-chimmneys-blowing-billowing-sharp air-cuts-kinfe-clean-chill-twinkling-crackling leaves-trampled under foot-walking over concrete -headlights shuffling all in a row-anonymous drivers staring straight ahead-thinking-cold water-running over a street-day time- night descendes cool and light-cut wind- lightly whips face-breath shows faintly-roughly seperated-two sides of a coin-halves of a brain-cold air pushes down from the mountains-floods the warm air pushing it up and out and away-surrounds-cold hair in the morning-wet from shower-clings to the head-in the midwest it sometimes begins to freeze-long frozen bunched together-like brittle floppy bones growing through the head-pumpkin grinnin' in the window-faint flickering lights peering out-watch shadows move through window paines-above my head as i smoke outside-vague voices-shuffling-flushes the toilet-shadow disappears-turn head down-draw in cancerous smoke-thinking....thinking...thinking...watch sky-disintegrate into the dark-legs seperate from body-hands-fingers-arms float away-detached painlessly-and up in a row like piano keys grinnin' back at me as they fade away-head seperates-everything physical disintegrates-so long-bye-bye-still thinking-growing fuzzy-faintly-faintly-nerve throbbing lightly-lights out now honey-"dark out there -eh Jim?'
crisp-clear-black-dark-night-starlight-wood smoke-chimmneys-blowing-billowing-sharp air-cuts-kinfe-clean-chill-twinkling-crackling leaves-trampled under foot-walking over concrete -headlights shuffling all in a row-anonymous drivers staring straight ahead-thinking-cold water-running over a street-day time- night descendes cool and light-cut wind- lightly whips face-breath shows faintly-roughly seperated-two sides of a coin-halves of a brain-cold air pushes down from the mountains-floods the warm air pushing it up and out and away-surrounds-cold hair in the morning-wet from shower-clings to the head-in the midwest it sometimes begins to freeze-long frozen bunched together-like brittle floppy bones growing through the head-pumpkin grinnin' in the window-faint flickering lights peering out-watch shadows move through window paines-above my head as i smoke outside-vague voices-shuffling-flushes the toilet-shadow disappears-turn head down-draw in cancerous smoke-thinking....thinking...thinking...watch sky-disintegrate into the dark-legs seperate from body-hands-fingers-arms float away-detached painlessly-and up in a row like piano keys grinnin' back at me as they fade away-head seperates-everything physical disintegrates-so long-bye-bye-still thinking-growing fuzzy-faintly-faintly-nerve throbbing lightly-lights out now honey-"dark out there -eh Jim?'
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Gram Parsons - "Hot Burrito No. #1"
You may be sweet and niceBut that won't keep you warm at night
'Cause I'm the one who showed you how
To do the things you're doing now
He may feel all your charms
He may hold you in his arms
But I'm the one who let you in
I was right beside you then
Once upon a time
You let me feel you deep inside
And nobody knew, nobody saw
Do you remember the way you cried?
I'm your toy, I'm your old boy
But I don't want no one but you to love me
No, I wouldn't lie
You know I'm not that kind of guy
Once upon a time
You let me feel you deep inside
And nobody knew, nobody saw
Do you remember the way you cried?
I'm your toy, I'm your old boy
But I don't want no one but you to love me
No, I wouldn't lie
You know I'm not that kind of guy
Classic Girl
4:05; in my neighborhood,When shots go off, no one bothers
A "POP," and a reply"POP," and no reply...
Dinosaurs on the quilt I wore, with a girl
Such a classic girl...
Such a classic girl...Such a classic girl, gives her man a great idea
Hears you tell your friends,
"Hey man, why don't you listen to my great idea!
"It's true, yeah I am a villain when you fall ill, that's probably because men never can be
Not like a girl
Such a classic girl...
Such a classic girl...
They may say, "Those were the days...,"but in a way, you know for us these are the days
Yes, for us these are the days, and you know you're my girl!
Such a classic girl...
Such a classic girl...
You know for us these are the daysHey, hey!
Sorry
Sorry, but your regularly schedule programming has been ceased. We will
bring you all NEW STORIES OF FILTH AND ADDICTION STARTING DECEMBER 26TH!
Until then please enjoy the following. Te amo mi amor, Patrick McClure
bring you all NEW STORIES OF FILTH AND ADDICTION STARTING DECEMBER 26TH!
Until then please enjoy the following. Te amo mi amor, Patrick McClure
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Tijuana Journals Vol. 2
BRIEFING:
met an interesting man named Tom who gave me some info on the
pharmacies and how they operate.
Tom
American
38
has lived in TJ for three years
pharmacies are all corupt
choice of going to a farmacia and paying for what you need at street
price...or one can go get a prescription
then go to a pharmacy and they fill it at the pharmacy price.
tough choices...
"let the buyer beware"
-toughs on the street rip off customer blind
-don't trust them
-choose the guys in the bars and clubs and come away with
unknown substance subject to make you sick with no high
-drinks at the hotel caesar in the morning
-bar and meet? 1130-ish
-wait in the booth and he will saddle up to you
-you see him, nod curtly
I met Tom twice to discuss the intracacies of TJ pharmacies, street vendors, and
the workings of the policia. Tom came off as an unconciable drunk and a former
addict. He was marked by the look of H. However, he said, "Nope, morphine...strictly
pharmacy stuff. I don't go for that street shit. Don' know what yr. getting. It's
pricier but worth it."
"Same difference," I replied. "Junk is junk. Don't care where you get it."
"Ahhh, too true in that sense..." he said.
Tom was a valuable tool in navigating the TJ underworld. He had been in the Air Force in
Vietnam. Or so he said. How can one be 38 and served in 'Nam. He was a liar and I
took what he said with an ounce of salt. At that time I was a spring chicken in TJ. Didn't
know much. Much of what he told me came to be true. I found out.
Tom drank at the Hotel Caesar in the mornings. I would see him there whenever I stopped
in to shoot the shit with the waiters and waitresses, get a coke...rest my feet...shoot some
more of my stash deep into my veins right there in the first stall.
Tom was close with the bartender and he would often argue with him in spanish in
a good natured way. One fine July morning I stopped in at the Hotel Caesar. Bright, bold,
beautiful day. Crisp and clear. Smell of clean summer sunshine in the air. Maria was there,
as usual on fridays, and she seated me in my booth. Always the same. Not many people in the
Hotel Caesar in the mornings. Tourists don't start filtering in unitl later. Ususally when I got
up to leave around 12:30 or 1:00 the place would start filling up. That was Tom and I's cue to head on. We made good clean San Diegans, Midwesterners, and Mormons nervous. Tom drunk
harruanging the bartender. Me, on the nod, barely there, languidly sipping a Coke...cigaretee
ash down my shirt. Notebooks sprawled across the table. Chips and lunch barely touched. This
morning was different. After being seated and placing my order I made a dash to the bathroom
to do the rest of my stash. I felt uneasy. Didn't want it on me anymore. I entered the stall and locked it. Fished the tar from my ass. Cooked it down real good in my spoon, took off my belt,
sucked up the poison and shot it home. As I was fixing up the last half of the tar I heard shouting
coming from the restaurant. Tom and and the bartender at it. This time, though, there was
violence/malice in their voices. I heard glasses shattering and so I put down the spoon.
"Don't you try that shit on me Pedro..." Tom said.
And as "Pedro" was spit out of his mouth it hung in the air and was smacked. Sound of metal
caving in meat. The waiter hurried in the bathroom and said I needed to hurry up and go.
"Sorry Patrique...Keechen es closed twodayy."
I finished my tar and washed up. Disposed of evidence. Cleaned the restaurants spoon. I stepped
out into the dining area, mirror and bar along left wall and saw blood on the floor.
"Jesus! Maria, what happened??!"
"Uh, Meester Tom get so angry with Pedro. He threaten him. They argue. He was very drunk. He got a knife and break glasses. The cook sneak up on him and knock him down with this."
The fire extinguisher was standing up on the bar.
"You better leave Patrique...Policia come soon."
"Yeah I better leave. Where did Tom go?"
"They drag him out and he get in taxi to go to hospital"
"Jesus christ. Jesus christ. What the fuck Tom...."
I collected my things, grabbed the can of Coke Maria had left in my absence and left. I thrust
3 dollars into her hand.
"Thank you Patrique."
I walked out onto Revolucion...sun beating down. I put on my Wayfarers to block out the sun and hide my pin prick eyes reflecting all in their doped stupor.
I saw Tom two weeks later at the Caverns, a cafe two blocks down from the Hotel Casesar. His head was shaved in one tiny spot and you could see stiches. He was gesticulating wildly to the
bartender who seemed not to be listening to Tom as he cleaned some glasses with a wet rag on the bar. He saw me but only nodded in a way that told me I would never talk to him again.
He was embarssed. I never saw Tom again.
met an interesting man named Tom who gave me some info on the
pharmacies and how they operate.
Tom
American
38
has lived in TJ for three years
pharmacies are all corupt
choice of going to a farmacia and paying for what you need at street
price...or one can go get a prescription
then go to a pharmacy and they fill it at the pharmacy price.
tough choices...
"let the buyer beware"
-toughs on the street rip off customer blind
-don't trust them
-choose the guys in the bars and clubs and come away with
unknown substance subject to make you sick with no high
-drinks at the hotel caesar in the morning
-bar and meet? 1130-ish
-wait in the booth and he will saddle up to you
-you see him, nod curtly
I met Tom twice to discuss the intracacies of TJ pharmacies, street vendors, and
the workings of the policia. Tom came off as an unconciable drunk and a former
addict. He was marked by the look of H. However, he said, "Nope, morphine...strictly
pharmacy stuff. I don't go for that street shit. Don' know what yr. getting. It's
pricier but worth it."
"Same difference," I replied. "Junk is junk. Don't care where you get it."
"Ahhh, too true in that sense..." he said.
Tom was a valuable tool in navigating the TJ underworld. He had been in the Air Force in
Vietnam. Or so he said. How can one be 38 and served in 'Nam. He was a liar and I
took what he said with an ounce of salt. At that time I was a spring chicken in TJ. Didn't
know much. Much of what he told me came to be true. I found out.
Tom drank at the Hotel Caesar in the mornings. I would see him there whenever I stopped
in to shoot the shit with the waiters and waitresses, get a coke...rest my feet...shoot some
more of my stash deep into my veins right there in the first stall.
Tom was close with the bartender and he would often argue with him in spanish in
a good natured way. One fine July morning I stopped in at the Hotel Caesar. Bright, bold,
beautiful day. Crisp and clear. Smell of clean summer sunshine in the air. Maria was there,
as usual on fridays, and she seated me in my booth. Always the same. Not many people in the
Hotel Caesar in the mornings. Tourists don't start filtering in unitl later. Ususally when I got
up to leave around 12:30 or 1:00 the place would start filling up. That was Tom and I's cue to head on. We made good clean San Diegans, Midwesterners, and Mormons nervous. Tom drunk
harruanging the bartender. Me, on the nod, barely there, languidly sipping a Coke...cigaretee
ash down my shirt. Notebooks sprawled across the table. Chips and lunch barely touched. This
morning was different. After being seated and placing my order I made a dash to the bathroom
to do the rest of my stash. I felt uneasy. Didn't want it on me anymore. I entered the stall and locked it. Fished the tar from my ass. Cooked it down real good in my spoon, took off my belt,
sucked up the poison and shot it home. As I was fixing up the last half of the tar I heard shouting
coming from the restaurant. Tom and and the bartender at it. This time, though, there was
violence/malice in their voices. I heard glasses shattering and so I put down the spoon.
"Don't you try that shit on me Pedro..." Tom said.
And as "Pedro" was spit out of his mouth it hung in the air and was smacked. Sound of metal
caving in meat. The waiter hurried in the bathroom and said I needed to hurry up and go.
"Sorry Patrique...Keechen es closed twodayy."
I finished my tar and washed up. Disposed of evidence. Cleaned the restaurants spoon. I stepped
out into the dining area, mirror and bar along left wall and saw blood on the floor.
"Jesus! Maria, what happened??!"
"Uh, Meester Tom get so angry with Pedro. He threaten him. They argue. He was very drunk. He got a knife and break glasses. The cook sneak up on him and knock him down with this."
The fire extinguisher was standing up on the bar.
"You better leave Patrique...Policia come soon."
"Yeah I better leave. Where did Tom go?"
"They drag him out and he get in taxi to go to hospital"
"Jesus christ. Jesus christ. What the fuck Tom...."
I collected my things, grabbed the can of Coke Maria had left in my absence and left. I thrust
3 dollars into her hand.
"Thank you Patrique."
I walked out onto Revolucion...sun beating down. I put on my Wayfarers to block out the sun and hide my pin prick eyes reflecting all in their doped stupor.
I saw Tom two weeks later at the Caverns, a cafe two blocks down from the Hotel Casesar. His head was shaved in one tiny spot and you could see stiches. He was gesticulating wildly to the
bartender who seemed not to be listening to Tom as he cleaned some glasses with a wet rag on the bar. He saw me but only nodded in a way that told me I would never talk to him again.
He was embarssed. I never saw Tom again.
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