day tree

its the day tree. it starts at the base....the roots. i wake up, and i feel like someone went at me with a baseball bat, and their hitting percentage is like . 695 with eight home runs. pretty good with a bat. and then my day branches out. my choices all have a haze on them. its summer remember, no big responsibilities.

so my first branch is nutrition right? wrong. i haven't been hungry for a while, so i first have to get this taste out of my mouth. orange juice, a cigarette.

second branch. i throw some headphones on, and i'm walking down the street. sunshine. the blood feels like its pooled in my feet and hands, and i'm looking like one of those heavy-breathing speed walkers trying to use the art of centrifuge and sloshing blood. i do have a funky step going with the music, arctic monkeys, have they ever been down with drugs like this?

third branch. water. thirsty. grab my guitar and spit out a spontaneous song i now will call, "she runs like horses". she runs, she dips, lots of hair on her hips......she juggles, the waves, she's livin, in caves.....shes my oyster of circumstance, she doesn't judge, she doesn't dance...... she's feelin the forces....she's runnin like horses. no, its not pretty, but neither am i.

fourth branch. okay, i lied. i am pretty. but i feel like shit. i'm lying in bed at this stage, feelin a little pitiful, feeling a little sorry for myself. lets see, if i take 8 pills today, i could take two tomorrow, and hope that the 8 today would carry some smile tomorrow. i could then add the fourth day divided by the 8th day, and then have three on sunday......you see, the pill junk is a master of mathematics. but no, just keep the status quo. just keep it slow with no glow, billy.

fifth branch. harry potter reading. hermione, quite whining. i am going to go finish off the last little harry potter pages, where little harry potter running to and fro saves all of us from magical bigots and witches made of whiny selfish fleshy masses that smell of sin and forgotten clotheslines.

sixth branch. i forgot to mention i didn't sleep well. you see i had nightmares and hallucinations and butter encrusted french pastry pilgrimages to the kitchen. oh, the horra. lots of prayers again. sometimes i sleep without my face inside out . i wrote this poem on a magazine corner.
sometimes i sleep without my face inside out .
and i am sure that you little white pillies
swam with me in waters dark and full of sleepy fishes
and i drank wine tonight with friends
now sleeping at their lonely houses with their faces inside out

notice the reference to pillies. yes, pillies are pill friends, who over time turn into pill enemies who carve into your soul a tattoo of lucifer and his girlfriend Crampedbowel.

i am going to go sleep now, its some time before evening, maybe even before noon, i dont know. but i love you guys, and hope you are well.

turtlecolor

kik it

alright yous. this is it. i am kikin it. i am in the middle of detoxification. you are comin with me. so get on your galoshes, smudge your sage crags, and hang on your chest some power encrusted talisman, cuz this human frame is subjecting itself to the hells of chemical science.

methadone. ive been chomping little cute pills for a year. i have a ruptured disc in my back, and pills saved my job. i'm a frickin school teacher for the love of God!!! but family doctor chem richardson assured me, "a diabetic takes insulin, a manic takes antidepressants, an englishman takes his tea at the noon hour, and you my friend, swallow methadone."

how did i get here? i had major rushes of nerve pain down my back, networking down the nerve tributaries of my legs, and making me feel as if i wanted to die. i take a couple little betties, and walla: dove coos and daisy chains, aaahhhhh, pain free, love and rainbow colored horses, yes. i don't remember feelin bad at all, do you? life is lovely, and i think i actually feel better than when i felt better. pills, good. pain, bad. can you hand me acouple more betties, i think i feel a spat of pain comin on?

i went from clean old reliable (rather attractive and stoic) billy jean turtlecolor (my name has been changed to protect the guilty), to pill-dependent hard working does-what-he-has-to getting through the day billy, to methadone addicted self-serving pill-popping bloated son of biotch.

now im going to go back to clean and sexy-like because 51% of my psyche voted it in. Oh yes, its fully democratic, and holy shit was that a historic day in the life of I. over half of meself was quite sure of going clean, and ive been beating off the other 49% with sticks and knives. the civil war of my mind might have been shrouded in some historic hue, some glorious warrior nobleisms, some chivalrous proclamation, perhaps even some fine maiden jumping in the story in chapter twelve, if it weren't for the constipating, cramping, sweating, vomiting, shaking, feverish worms of withdrawal!!

right now i can't sleep! i feel as if i am in a coffin, my legs have this anxiety driven madness to them.......a closterphobic incantation. ahhh! my fucking legs!!! oh, it hurts, i can't take it anymore...........

okay legs, stop that shit, your fine, your fine, its just that those betties did a number on you, and you miss them. well, actually you miss the quantity of them. my legs have no rational sense, they stare at me for a bit, and then go back to torturing me mind. "here mind, im sending up eight hundred and forty two pain sensations. the first three hundred would kill a small goat, and the next five hundred and forty will make you cry for your mommy's sweet little sympathies."

pills are great aren't they? i still am eating them, just smaller portions. hey billy, please take smaller portions, and don't forget to pray before your meal. ive never prayed so much in me life betty.........i have never called on all of gods as i have now, over and over, God, gods, spirits, the earl of sandwich, anybody with a helping hand or a fine condiment ridden slab of protein. and not one, but all came! and they all entered me body, and now the gods are all in my legs beating the shit out of each other. and the earl of sandwich is stuck halfway down my ass, and i know this because i haven't sheet in three days. oh , lord, what will become of me?

so, whose with me? together we shall triumph over the world of chemical. now that we know what part of us is chemical, we go deeper.

kikin it
turtlecolor