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  • Just stumbled home, the afternoon bright hurting my eyes, my body weary from last night that became today too quickly.

    Sat down and emptied my pockets: a dusty bag of weed, a smaller bag of powder. I can’t remember if it’s coke or the remnants of the new synthetic capsules my dealer recommended enthusiastically and whose formula I forget.

    I notice that there are a bunch of ex addicts on Cowbird, who have put the booze and pills behind them. Heard less from the other side. The side I’m still at.

    Narcotics agree with me. They make sense of me, they make my world sparkle.. Beautifully expansive and honest, they amplify me, taking my mind and body to places it longs for, but cannot reach unaided.

    My drug intake is constant and varied. I like to imagine a tiny, impossible contraption inside me, bristling with miniature needles and knobs, intruded by pipes and wires, mechanical, analog, industrious.

    Dials whirr and shift to help fit me better wherever I am. Giving strength, solidifying sound, blurring color, boosting empathy. Sharpening the world till every move you make is sweet. Or taking the edge right off.

    Making it easier and more enjoyable to talk, laugh, run, drink, dance, fuck, sleep, watch films, play games, stare into space, switch off. Whatever you like doing, there is some drug that will get you to like it a little more. Up, down and sideways. Somewhere else, somebody else.

    Until I get that machine implanted, those dials and valves installed, these bags will have to do. 
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