Fuckin' Greggers

     "Fuckin' Greg man... fuckin' dick piece of shit!" I freaked and started yelling cause I had just been woke up being pushed off the bed by Greg.
      "Get up dude lets go," Greg instructed me.
      "No... go away man."
      "Lets go I got Jorge's shit man! Lets go! Come on boy!"
      "Why? Where's Jorge?"
      "Hes asleep next door, fuckin' hurry," Greggers said a bit quieter this time as he pulled out Jorge's  bud. He had jacked Jorge's stash, "Lets go shit-terd."
      And like the shit-terd I was I obeyed.  I knew better than to let him tag along with me but I obviously have not made very wise decisions in my life so far so why start now I figured.  I knew he was quit capable of equally robbing me and the money I had stolen myself. Every time I would fall asleep I would wake up wondering immediately where Greggers was and if he had jacked me yet. It was a very uneasy cloud of paranoia that got thicker in Seattle after we took off on Jorge. I really had to go. I wasn't going to be the one to stick back and explain to Jorge that my friend had robbed him, and after all he had smoked with us I felt guilty but not for too long. I was a little thief myself at the time hanging around Greggers dumb ass. My conscience I believe was there in tact because of values instilled in me by my parents, so the best way I knew how to diminish it was to get drunk or high. Like night and day I had become to those who knew me before my divulgence with these mind numbing gifts of magic, or so I thought at that time.
        Greggos and I used to ride around in my '85 Toyota Celica (w a sunroof I might add) and look for lawnmowers left out on the sides of people's homes or in opened garages that would give us access to even more shit to steal like power tools and what not. He had that I.D. that we were using to purchase alcohol with on our trip and to get motel rooms with. This was a real I.D., not a fake, it was just somebody else's I.D. that  Greggers had, and I know he hadn't stolen it. So it was pretty shady when we used it to pawn stolen shit with. This guy gets his license renewed and thought Greggers was just going to use his old I.D. to purchase alcohol with it. This was the thing to do when you were 16, having our buddies give us their expired license when they turned 18 and renewed. So this guy was trying to do Greggers a free favor only winding up unfairly intertwined to our crimes and the myriad of stolen goods pawned using his name.  All this heat reigned down upon Greggers when he went back to TX, and him robbing a Subway Sandwich Shop with a shotgun didn't help his cause in staying out of prison that year either.
        At this point in our journey I had run that $1300 down to a couple of hundred dollars a few days after we had separated from Jorge. Greggers felt the tension too and I was sick of him bumming off of me and he knew this.  Throughout the duration of those few days we spent a lot of that money trying to cross the canadian border. The first time we tried to cross on this bus that was associated with Am-Track,  the ride was included with the tickets that I had already purchased in Dallas. We got shut down every time, and because we were identified as runaways in the state of Washington they couldnt do anything. The law required the cops to offer us help from the local C.P.S. office and if we refused they had to cut us free unless we had broken any other laws. The second time we took a cab that cost like a bill there and back, again we got shut down. I don't recall how we tried again or what but man did we try every possible avenue in getting there it just wasn't happening.  So now Greggers was heading back to TX with some money he'd recieved wired to him from his girlfriend, and I turned on the hobo in me.... hitchhiking south back down Interstate 5.

  

V. Vain Attempts at Understanding

Dawn broke the night's overcast gloom,

cars struggle thru the thick and thin,

and as we awake to regain our motivation,

should it all be for something,

or for someone,

someone specially suited,

who knows who the next leader will be?

or why or when he will be appointed?

feeding us propaganda to keep the population going strong,

a leader's future madness might bring you to your knees,

as the television glows and hums mesmerizing,

but seem to understand it vaguely,

the mission gone from fascinations,

scenes twice burned out in thought,

I have waited three crazed years for my sign,

with long intertwined crystal intoxication,

has it passed without my knowledge,

the days of senseless journey seem soon gone,

now doubt will be installed terminally,

the sun's glow sheds it's last conception,

and all of the windows and all of the doors everywhere lock,

no one can go out for a long while.

IV. Vain Attempts at Understanding

Now that those bastards have left,

Let's have a real discussion,

well.... like they say about our sun,

never do look directly at him,

well the sun won't let me be,

he is surely out to get me,

eventually the death of me,

man... the fuckin' death of us all.

III. Vain Attempts at Understanding

The old bum would only smoke Pall Malls,

"It's the best damn cigarette ever," he claimed,

as he always told the winos and junkies,

coursed thru every city,

Dallas, Phoenix, L.A., Seattle, Chicago, N.Y.,

or wherever else he so desired to make his place,

I think maybe Pall Mall had somehow...

God only knows how,

but had blackmailed the bum,

to incite the final phase of his demise.

This Monkey goes North for the Summer

        The train now chugs north bound up the West Coast.... traveling parallel to highway 5... but the journey was made  unique by this am-track train's trek thru the plethora of CA's various terrain.  John Steinbeck's stories coursed thru my imagination as I recalled how wonderfully genius he was in his description of this landscape.  Greggers and I were now part of the majority of the passengers aboard... no more smoking cart available... and this was 1998! These were the beginnings I believe of all their retarded anti-smoking laws. (I still have an unpaid ticket from when I did my East Coast wanderings a few years later. I was ticketed for smoking while waiting underground in the pits of those subway tunnels.... so I guess I have a warrant in one of the biggest cities on the planet.... lol... come and get me!)
         Greggers had gone to get some drinks for us and returned with a new friend, Jorge, a chicano from Fresno, who told us a wild story about how he just abandoned his car in the train station's parking lot.  He had a few ounces of that good CA chronic, and he told us he had his dealer front it and was bailing town on him with out paying him back. Sounded kinda of stupid for a little but of weed but we didn't care cause he smoked with us  generously and asked us a lot of crazy shit about cowboys and ranches like he had these particular queries on his mind for years. We just laughed at this stereotype shared by outsiders, never having been to TX.  I asked him if some racists questions that included mexican stereotypes, and with the continued laughter, and without a smoking cart available we began fogging out all the train bathrooms and  to every hidden spot we weren't allowed to be and we smoked and smoked. We just kept moving around every five minutes and found no trouble getting away with this formula. Jorge was headed for Seattle as well, and was a great new travel companion.

Santa Barbara Drizzle

         It probably took around a good 24 hrs to reach Santa Barbara, which was the first stop to get out and walk around in this new state. I vaguely remember we had stopped in AZ also... but 12 yrs. later I vividly remember the atmosphere and that cool rain drizzled June morning in Santa Barbara. It was my first time in CA, and seeing the palm trees shake gently in the breeze made me want to stay forever even though I would be surrounded by "fruits and nuts," as this are the two main types of people that inhabit the state of CA. Pretty funny... my friend from CA told me that last year.  (We went on a cool ass spiritual sobriety Broken Neck AA retreat last year in Mammoth, and I will just barely miss going this year because I fucked everything up.... again. Being a foolish dope monkey) We stayed longer at some stops than others and I didn't really get to enjoy CA until my journey back thru a couple of weeks later. I just remember how inviting and crisp the air was there.
  

II. Vain Attempts at Understanding

My canopy is usually above me,

continued protection from those heaving rains,

I adore my lush greenery,

tranquility is breeding in the forested landscape,

animals lie asleep,

and at times flourish in heat,

the whole scenario does give it to me,

that final feeling of much favored security,

but at the same hour a breeze,

a slightly different breeze,

will plainly throw the plans,

every and all plans-

even the master plan,

off its mounted pedestal,

now solely relying on reconstruction.

I. Vain Attempts at Understanding (poetry of my youth)

Old boys in banjo songs,

inwardly refer to sippin' whiskey as moonshine,

refreshingly odd,

nightfall's stir breathes equally.

I. The Sounds of Native Madness (poetry of my youth)

A piece of my sirloin shines sour,

his sandals littered now burned bare feet,

and grown men can't keep their tires worn free!

a good solid tread is a must....

Where the grass drew green hue grown to glow on the horizon,

for my last faraway 'till my putts dress sheik,

these times laughter turns on only the greek gambler,

and Tron fit for a summer treated to a round of ping-pong,

pray for the showers to rejuvenate our game,

so the pitter-patter-patterns to a beat soundly encoded in tounges,

and the gods are tellin' us straight  faced to get it on,

and my buddy thinks he has just been knighted by the queen!

sick and drug youths use recycled generations,

as that excuse to live in evil and lie obscene.

The Smoker's Cart

    The Smoker's Cart was the main place I hung out. It was the only place we could smoke on the train, that is until we hit CA, and then we had to wait to stop or sneak them in some hidden corridor or bathroom.     My boy Greg, or Greggers, as I called him had no money but came along for the ride as long as I did have some cash left. (As soon as i went broke in Seattle he had his girlfriend wire him a money for a bus ticket home).  Greg only smoked weed at this point in his life (he picked up smoking cigs in prison a couple of yrs later) and so he and I chiefed it up and used Greg's fake id for me to stay drunk constantly on the 5$ drinks they served.  No one seemed to bother us on the smoking cart, and we only had seats to sleep in anyways, we didn't have private rooms w beds.  I was always a voracious reader and besides the alcohol and marijuana the book On The Road inspired me to start my travels early.
         "I am going to grab some cigs Greggers," I informed him as we pulled into El Paso, TX.
          "K dude, just meet me in the restaurant area," He replied.
          "Yea order me some fuckin' nachos man w jalapenos."
          "Fuck u.... U dont need to be gassing me out for the next 12 hrs."
          "Ok whatever ill get em dick.... I guess u need some money." I handed him a ten.
          "Uh yea... Im going to roll up a j too so ill find u when im done."
        
   We along w the masses shuffled off the train... it was like 3am and was very refreshing to get out and stretch. I flicked half a smoked cig and watched a bum chase it in the wind to finish it off for me. Good I thought, it wont go to complete waste. Greggers laughed and called him a stupid beaner and headed inside. I let my imagination wonder how one gets to be that low in society.... now I realize it is very easy especially when people have not much family or friends. I know I would be way worse off if I didn't have a caring family.... they planted the seeds of my faith in God. I rebelled and remember how as a teenager I questioned the existence of God.... I thought I was real fuckin' sophisticated and intelligent.  It is classic case of being a know-it-all kid.... high on weed and already experienced a variety of other chemicals, acid mainly, the heroin didnt come till like a yr later, but I was destined to try it at one pt or another due to this newly found way of existence. I had to learn it all for myself. I am not the first and wont be the last stubborn youth of America.
       I purchased a carton of Marlboro Reds and dined on some nachos... like a little heathen I looked at everyone w contempt.... all adults could suck it cause they didn't know how to live their lives full and free in context w my own vision of how the American Dream should be defined. I jumped straight back onto the smoking cart and we waited for the one other person to finish her cig' and leave so we could light up that joint! As we left El Paso we went right by the shanty town on the Mexico side. Damn I remember feeling lucky and even in my young burned out brain could construct empathy, and this drained my thoughts and energy as I passed out on the smoker's cart. Bam.... bye bye smokin cart as we hit CA.... damnned hippie nazis out there in CA! LOL!

Dallas Dope Monkey: Summer of 1998

Dallas Dope Monkey: Summer of 1998: " I remember waking up and the phones were out of service, my car was not in my driveway, and my parents were on to me and my drugs......."

Summer of 1998

       I remember waking up and the phones were out of service, my car was not in my driveway, and my parents were on to me and my drugs.... they had taken the only thing I had and paid for myself.  That was how my little crazy 16 yr old brain justified stealing $1300 from my parents to flee the state. Somehow I called one of my friends to come get me... I cant remember exactly what was up w the phones being down that day except that it added to how strange this day un-flolded, un-planned.... by that night  another one of my friends and I were on an Am-track train west bound thru the southwest to Santa Barbara, and then north to Seattle.... and ultimately we tried crossing the border three times unsuccessfully to reach Vancouver, where I figured was a pot heads paradise.... North America's own little Amsterdam.

Summer of 1998

       I remember waking up and the phones were out of service, my car was not in my driveway, and my parents were on to me and my drugs.... they had taken the only thing I had and paid for myself.  That was how my little crazy 16 yr old brain justified stealing $1300 from my parents to flee the state. Somehow I called one of my friends to come get me... I cant remember exactly what was up w the phones being down that day except that it added to how strange this day un-flolded, un-planned.... by that night  another one of my friends and I were on an Am-track train west bound thru the southwest to Santa Barbara, and then north to Seattle.... and ultimately we tried crossing the border three times unsuccessfully to reach Vancouver, where I figured was a pot heads paradise.... North America's own little Amsterdam.

Chronicles of a Dallas Dope Monkey

       The purple tinted evening of the Dallas horizon is all I have when I am dope sick. In the midst of opiate withdrawals I can never seem to reach God, but all that I need is a grain of hope. I am thru w that shit, again, for the hundreth time! As I start to reach the last limb of the withdrawal train, my God given sense of purpose slowly derives from this clarity in measured time, and when I say , "measured time," it really means I have to acquire the virtue of patience... which doesnt develop easy for me.  I actually live in a suburb north of Ft. Worth, Keller, TX. I am 28,  and I am not only a junkie, but seem to have become the cliche of a junky. I have seen friends die, o.d., and go to prison. The world knows as I know how taboo heroin is and I wish I had never tried this sick magic of a simple injection. I have gone every route... methadone clinics and then the world discovered suboxone to give heroin addicts. I am going to chronicle some short stories that stem from my youth, when the devil had full grasp of me. I have been on felony heroin probation and completed five yrs.,   and failed two drug tests but they kept giving me more chances. I am like night and day. When I am sober and calm w no bitch excuse to bail on God and my family to go shoot a dark ass shot of that monkey water! When I am strung out I contradict everything that I am and believe in my sobriety.  Now, I string along as much sobriety until given an excuse, at least I have hope in using my past experiences to give me continued strength in my faith. These stories aren't about heroin solely but the route that led me to that.