It always interested me how humanity rebuilds societies, from the smallest scale to the largest. Post-apocalyptic settings are full of these scenarios, the backbone of novels and games galore. What becomes currency, what economic issues are encountered, what kind of groups emerge from the survivors...
And jail was no different. Pouches of mackerels were a dollar each since they cost $1.05 at commissary (our Walmart). Macks and stamps were the most common form of currency. A billionaire secretly employs a quarter of the unit, a hustler starts his own underground, after-hours K-Mart, a gambling kingpin sends out his henchmen to collect debts.
But you don't have to be a billionaire to be lazy in jail. If you have five macks to spare a week, you can get your cube cleaned and your laundry done and folded. All the inmates that are not fortunate enough to have people on the outside able or willing to send them funds work for their keep.
And because of this side job of theirs, two Jamaicans got the shit beat out of them, one of their eye popping out of the socket. All over laundry.
Six Mexicans took over the laundry room one Sunday, since they were doing a couple dozen loads. The two Jamaicans were on their day off and wanted to wash their own clothes. From what I heard, they waited for quite a while.
Sick of endlessly waiting for their turn, they took out whatever clothes were in the washer and started their own laundry load. Whether they were justified or not in doing so is up for debate, I can understand both sides.
The Mexicans weren't so understanding. They proceeded to crack them in the head with one of those really old, heavy (iron?) mop buckets, kicked off a broom handle, and stabbed the Jamaicans with the splintered end. Supposedly one of the Jamaican's eye popped out of its socket.
All of them were detained, and sent to solitary or the hospital as necessary. FBI got involved and our unit was shut down and isolated for a couple days because they thought it might have been gang related.
We never saw any of those inmates again. They all got their security level raised and were most likely going to a medium-level security prison. And the Jamaicans were most likely hospitalized for a while.
What irks me about this whole story though is, I made it a point to not get involved with all the jail politics and bullshit drama, but it still affected me regardless. One of those Mexicans was the guy I paid to do my shit!
Lol I say that in jest however. Not really that big of a deal. But jumping someone over laundry? Really? What happened to using our words? =P
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Eleven Guys and a Lesbian
The house I crashed at back in 2001, Sung's house, almost always had ten to fifteen people there at any given time. This one particular day, most of my friends had to go on some type of run: drug run, food run, money run, etc.
We were left with five people. Jimmy (who had a broken hand in a soft cast, needles, the whole nine), Jen, Angelina (aka Gellie), and Sung. Sung and Gellie were in his room talking, Jen, Jimmy and I were in Sung's mom's room playing Chinese Poker. His mom was away on a business trip in Korea, she was gone for a month.
Wait hold on, I have to backtrack a little. A few days prior, almost the same group was here (replace Gellie with my friend Mary, add Steve my future co-defendant), most of us were high, but still bored. Steve suggests we play strip Chinese Poker, but considering there were two girls and four guys, I was positive they were going to decline.
Mary and Jen looked at each other, whispered something then surprisingly agreed. They lost the first four hands. But as soon as anything revealing was going to come off, they wrapped themselves in thick comforters. It obviously defeated the purpose, especially considering that the shirt/top they were wearing before was more revealing than a freaking comforter!
But whatever. I wasn't going to force them to strip lol. We kept on playing. Doorbell rang, turned out to be this guy Nick, who was friends with Mary's boyfriend. He was able to discern that she was in fact naked underneath the blanket, but he ended up leaving without saying much. I forgot what it was that he wanted to begin with. Probably drugs.
Okay so enough of that flashback. I'm sitting on Sung's mom's bed, playing cards, binging on coke, sleepless for days, foodless for over 20ish hours, when I see a couple guys walk past the mom's room into the guest room.
Thinking they were friends of a friend, I got up to greet them. They came back into the doorway, accompanied by another two guys.
"Hey," one of them said.
"What's good?" I replied.
"We got a question, you know who the two guys are that played strip poker with Mary?"
I turned to look at Jimmy who just stared right back at me. My eyes glanced at his broken hand. I turned back around and saw Sung (who's not a small fella) standing behind the four guys.
Okay, four on three, even though Jimmy's hand is broken, how bad can it be?
"Yeah," I finally answered.
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"Us."
I swear the guy flashed a quick smile. He turned around and shouted towards the kitchen.
"Yo! We found them!"
About a dozen people materialized out of nowhere, surrounding me.
Ah, fuck.
I tried to talk my way out of it.
"Look, this has nothing to do with us. For one, this is between Mary and her boyfriend. For two, there was no harm done, she was wrapped in a blanket the whole time."
"It's a question of principle dude, that shit's fucked up."
I continued trying to convince them, and mid-sentence, one of them said:
"I'm sick of hearing you talk."
And punched me square in the face.
I fell to the bed and bounced right back up. I only felt the first punch, everything else was numbed by all the coke. From the corner of my eye I saw Jimmy attempt to do something but the guy next to him simply slapped his hand and I saw him fold over in pain. I didn't expect him to be able to do anything, I could barely even imagine the excruciating pain he must have been in.
As soon as I got back to my feet, four of them wailed on me. I kept bouncing back from the bed, impervious to the pain, but I didn't stand a chance.
Jimmy finally jumped on me and held my head down.
"Stay down Alex, stay down."
"Fuck that shit."
I struggled against him. If I get my ass handed to me, fine. But no way in hell I'm going to just lay here and take it like a bitch. Or so I thought.
"They pulled out a razor."
I calmed down almost immediately. These fuckers meant to cut me. I don't mind getting beat, but disfigured? Nah chills lol.
So I just laid there, curled up in a ball, pounded over and over. They tried to take my wallet, which I desperately gripped until my knuckles were drained of blood. That earned another dozen punches.
But that wasn't the worst. I felt one of their boots accidentally rest right by my crotch. I could feel the cool outside air wafting off of the suede, I could imagine the hardened boot blasting my balls to Kingdom No-More-Cum, and I prayed.
God, I know that you know that I don't believe in you, but if you're there, please, please don't let him kick.
You would think I'd be a fervent Christian crusader by now. My heart slowed its pulse when I felt the boot withdraw from the danger zone.
"Do you have any pills?"
I was just fronted fifty pills and they were in my left pocket, that I was laying on. But if I lost those pills, I would have been in some shit. I would have had to figure out a way to come up with $500 to pay it back. I had nowhere near $500.
I shook my head no, expecting they would kick my ass some more, unhappy with my answer. But instead one of them said to let me be, and they left.
I almost immediately got up. The puddle of blood on the bed was quite impressive actually. Close to two feet in diameter. I went straight to the bathroom to check my nose. Like I said, the coke numbed all the pain, and I thought they broke my nose.
Washing all the blood off my face, I fidget with my nose, and feel nothing. No, not nothing as in, numbness. I felt no pain, no brokeness, nothing. I didn't even have a black eye. I had a slightly fat lip, a couple bruises on my back, and that's it. Only conclusion? They punch like bitches.
As soon as I'm done, I snapped at Sung.
"How the fuck do you let twelve guys walk into your house like that?"
"My friend just left, I thought it was him coming back because he forgot something so I didn't check before I opened the door."
Sung talked ridiculously fast. To the point you can't understand him. I'll spare you all the "what?" and "huh?" for brevity's sake.
"And what, you can't close the door after you realized it wasn't him?"
"Well, they shoved their foot in the door and said if I didn't let them in, they'd kick the door down."
I just shook my head.
"You're a fucking idiot. Close the fucking door. If they kick that shit down, call the cops. And worse comes to worst, if they do somehow make it in, don't just let them wander around your house freely! Come tell me so I can get ready! They're obviously not here to party with us!"
I was pissed. I couldn't believe someone could be that stupid.
"And on top of that, you didn't do shit!"
"What was I supposed to do? There were so many of them!"
Now his tone became defensive.
I sighed and shook my head.
"Look, I thought we were boys. And what that means to me is, I rather get my ass whooped with you than watch you get your ass handed to you by yourself. Jimmy has a broken hand and he tried to do something. The fuck..."
The conversation ended there. Mary eventually came over, pissed as hell, apologizing, and she eventually broke up w/ the guy. Apparently he claims to have had nothing to do with it, his story goes like this. He was home, and his boys came through saying they were going to go cop some pills. He agreed, hopped in the car, and they went to Sung's house. What they meant by copping pills was, jumping my ass and robbing me.
For the rest of the night, I kept thinking I got jumped by twelve guys, until Jen said, "It was only eleven guys. The other one is a dyke." (no offense to readers, she was bisexual at the time, I'm just transliterating or whatever that word is)
Great, so I got jumped by eleven guys and a lesbian.
We were left with five people. Jimmy (who had a broken hand in a soft cast, needles, the whole nine), Jen, Angelina (aka Gellie), and Sung. Sung and Gellie were in his room talking, Jen, Jimmy and I were in Sung's mom's room playing Chinese Poker. His mom was away on a business trip in Korea, she was gone for a month.
Wait hold on, I have to backtrack a little. A few days prior, almost the same group was here (replace Gellie with my friend Mary, add Steve my future co-defendant), most of us were high, but still bored. Steve suggests we play strip Chinese Poker, but considering there were two girls and four guys, I was positive they were going to decline.
Mary and Jen looked at each other, whispered something then surprisingly agreed. They lost the first four hands. But as soon as anything revealing was going to come off, they wrapped themselves in thick comforters. It obviously defeated the purpose, especially considering that the shirt/top they were wearing before was more revealing than a freaking comforter!
But whatever. I wasn't going to force them to strip lol. We kept on playing. Doorbell rang, turned out to be this guy Nick, who was friends with Mary's boyfriend. He was able to discern that she was in fact naked underneath the blanket, but he ended up leaving without saying much. I forgot what it was that he wanted to begin with. Probably drugs.
Okay so enough of that flashback. I'm sitting on Sung's mom's bed, playing cards, binging on coke, sleepless for days, foodless for over 20ish hours, when I see a couple guys walk past the mom's room into the guest room.
Thinking they were friends of a friend, I got up to greet them. They came back into the doorway, accompanied by another two guys.
"Hey," one of them said.
"What's good?" I replied.
"We got a question, you know who the two guys are that played strip poker with Mary?"
I turned to look at Jimmy who just stared right back at me. My eyes glanced at his broken hand. I turned back around and saw Sung (who's not a small fella) standing behind the four guys.
Okay, four on three, even though Jimmy's hand is broken, how bad can it be?
"Yeah," I finally answered.
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"Us."
I swear the guy flashed a quick smile. He turned around and shouted towards the kitchen.
"Yo! We found them!"
About a dozen people materialized out of nowhere, surrounding me.
Ah, fuck.
I tried to talk my way out of it.
"Look, this has nothing to do with us. For one, this is between Mary and her boyfriend. For two, there was no harm done, she was wrapped in a blanket the whole time."
"It's a question of principle dude, that shit's fucked up."
I continued trying to convince them, and mid-sentence, one of them said:
"I'm sick of hearing you talk."
And punched me square in the face.
I fell to the bed and bounced right back up. I only felt the first punch, everything else was numbed by all the coke. From the corner of my eye I saw Jimmy attempt to do something but the guy next to him simply slapped his hand and I saw him fold over in pain. I didn't expect him to be able to do anything, I could barely even imagine the excruciating pain he must have been in.
As soon as I got back to my feet, four of them wailed on me. I kept bouncing back from the bed, impervious to the pain, but I didn't stand a chance.
Jimmy finally jumped on me and held my head down.
"Stay down Alex, stay down."
"Fuck that shit."
I struggled against him. If I get my ass handed to me, fine. But no way in hell I'm going to just lay here and take it like a bitch. Or so I thought.
"They pulled out a razor."
I calmed down almost immediately. These fuckers meant to cut me. I don't mind getting beat, but disfigured? Nah chills lol.
So I just laid there, curled up in a ball, pounded over and over. They tried to take my wallet, which I desperately gripped until my knuckles were drained of blood. That earned another dozen punches.
But that wasn't the worst. I felt one of their boots accidentally rest right by my crotch. I could feel the cool outside air wafting off of the suede, I could imagine the hardened boot blasting my balls to Kingdom No-More-Cum, and I prayed.
God, I know that you know that I don't believe in you, but if you're there, please, please don't let him kick.
You would think I'd be a fervent Christian crusader by now. My heart slowed its pulse when I felt the boot withdraw from the danger zone.
"Do you have any pills?"
I was just fronted fifty pills and they were in my left pocket, that I was laying on. But if I lost those pills, I would have been in some shit. I would have had to figure out a way to come up with $500 to pay it back. I had nowhere near $500.
I shook my head no, expecting they would kick my ass some more, unhappy with my answer. But instead one of them said to let me be, and they left.
I almost immediately got up. The puddle of blood on the bed was quite impressive actually. Close to two feet in diameter. I went straight to the bathroom to check my nose. Like I said, the coke numbed all the pain, and I thought they broke my nose.
Washing all the blood off my face, I fidget with my nose, and feel nothing. No, not nothing as in, numbness. I felt no pain, no brokeness, nothing. I didn't even have a black eye. I had a slightly fat lip, a couple bruises on my back, and that's it. Only conclusion? They punch like bitches.
As soon as I'm done, I snapped at Sung.
"How the fuck do you let twelve guys walk into your house like that?"
"My friend just left, I thought it was him coming back because he forgot something so I didn't check before I opened the door."
Sung talked ridiculously fast. To the point you can't understand him. I'll spare you all the "what?" and "huh?" for brevity's sake.
"And what, you can't close the door after you realized it wasn't him?"
"Well, they shoved their foot in the door and said if I didn't let them in, they'd kick the door down."
I just shook my head.
"You're a fucking idiot. Close the fucking door. If they kick that shit down, call the cops. And worse comes to worst, if they do somehow make it in, don't just let them wander around your house freely! Come tell me so I can get ready! They're obviously not here to party with us!"
I was pissed. I couldn't believe someone could be that stupid.
"And on top of that, you didn't do shit!"
"What was I supposed to do? There were so many of them!"
Now his tone became defensive.
I sighed and shook my head.
"Look, I thought we were boys. And what that means to me is, I rather get my ass whooped with you than watch you get your ass handed to you by yourself. Jimmy has a broken hand and he tried to do something. The fuck..."
The conversation ended there. Mary eventually came over, pissed as hell, apologizing, and she eventually broke up w/ the guy. Apparently he claims to have had nothing to do with it, his story goes like this. He was home, and his boys came through saying they were going to go cop some pills. He agreed, hopped in the car, and they went to Sung's house. What they meant by copping pills was, jumping my ass and robbing me.
For the rest of the night, I kept thinking I got jumped by twelve guys, until Jen said, "It was only eleven guys. The other one is a dyke." (no offense to readers, she was bisexual at the time, I'm just transliterating or whatever that word is)
Great, so I got jumped by eleven guys and a lesbian.
An Unexpected End
So one day during the hazy summer of 2001, right after I dropped out of college, I was hanging out with my friend Sung in Flushing. We were completely tapped out, with only $40 between the two of us, but yearning for that next high just as much anyway.
I spent most of that day calling various people trying to get four ecstasy pills but as life often throws a curveball at us while snickering from the sidelines, everyone I knew was dry as well. We finally get a hold of this one guy Will, from Forest Hills and he tells me he doesn't have any pills but he has some Special K (no, not the cereal, ketamine, it's an animal tranquilizer used by vets).
Beggars can't be choosers (K was never my preferred drug), Sung and I, now joined by two other friends, Arturo and another Alex, trooped out to Forest Hills.
They waited at a corner while I was in the car. He gave me a jar of K for $40, then asked me if I wanted a second one.
"That's all the money I have."
And like any respectable drug dealer he replies, "Don't worry about it, I'll front you that, I know you're good for it."
Even knowing that he was doing me no favors, I was still happier than a pig in shit on a sweltering fly infested summer jungle day.
I told the others the good news and decided to go back to Main St., when Arturo realizes he has no more money on his Metrocard. As we're trying to solve this dilemma, he says, "Go on ahead I'll catch up with you guys."
"What? The bus goes on the highway. No way you'll get there anytime soon," I replied skeptically.
He insisted.
"Okay look, I'll give you ten minutes after we get there before we leave."
He agreed. Mind you, Arturo is in no way fit. A little on the chubbier side and not too physically active, he was one of the last people I'd to expect to pull this off.
We got back to Main St. and waited. Five minutes. Six. Then at either seven or eight minutes, my jaw almost dropped when I saw his out of shape ass panting down the street.
"I have to give it to you," I laughed, "you've earned your high."
We decided to go up to the LIRR platform nearby. It had those sheltered areas and was rather empty at that time.
We somehow had a CD case with us at the time (sadly, I'm pretty sure it wasn't carried around for the music), and I poured myself a line.
Ketamine in it's original form is a liquid, but when heated, it crystallizes. In the States, snorting it is the most common practice, as far as I know.
But my eyes were bigger than my stomach (or more accurately bigger than my nostrils) since I had been looking forward to this moment all day long. I was a little heavy handed and poured myself about a four inch line. Special K isn't like cocaine in terms of how much you take at a time or anything for that matter.
Sung was next. He was also heavy handed but instead of doing it all he left some for the next person. For some reason however, neither of them were willing to snort his "leftovers." They insisted that they wanted their own lines, as if it made a difference. Thinking it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard (sheesh, have I ever been right when thinking that?), I finished the excess powder, even before the first had kicked in.
What ensued wasn't quite a K-Hole, which is the equivalent of a bad trip but usually involves a sensation of falling into spiraling holes. But it was a bad trip alright.
I have a tendency to become very confused and lost on K. It's a dissociative drug which I've taken to mean that it disconnects you from reality.
I suddenly had no idea where I was. I kept asking my friends over and over.
"Where are we?"
"Flushing."
"No but like where are we?"
"Uh. Queens, New York City?"
"No but, WHERE are...l
You get the point. This extrapolated to the size of the universe before long. The next segment wasn't so innocent.
My brain decided it'd be interesting to pretend that I was a junkie since birth and that I had been living on the streets my entire life. Nineteen years straight of constant drugs and homelessness is some depressing shit.
In between these bouts of total helplessness and utter despair, I overheard Sung and Arturo saying, " Oh man, Alex thinks he's going to die."
They said it enough times to convince my dysfunctional mind that they thought, that I thought I was going to die. My legs felt like jello. No, I lied, I couldn't feel my legs. I was short of breath. The walls of my mind were collapsing on me, crushing me, head spinning, where am I? Who am I?
I started thinking I was going to die. I retched a little and gagged. I tried to stand only to find that my legs were completely useless. Numb. Limp. I sat there feeling worse than I had ever felt in my entire life, drained of any positive thought. I later found out that they were talking about the other Alex. FML.
I slowly sobered up, after... honestly, I have no idea how much time had passed. But my body was still weak. The stairs down from the LIRR station were long. Real long. And not just because I just came back from a bad trip. Go see for yourself, them fuckers are LONG!
I wobbled my way down. I would have bet a grand that I was going to face-plant just by walking. Luckily made it down safely, sat down on a bench, and called a friend of mine I was hanging out with a lot at the time.
"Hey Mary, where are you?"
"Dinner in Flushing with some friends, what's up?"
I filled her in on what happened. Concerned, she came by to make sure I was okay, and I eventually went back to Sung's house.
The other Alex went home, so it was just the three of us. Sung made me some food that I barely ate although it was pretty damn good. I tried to sleep. After a few seconds of having my eyes closed, my body suddenly cramped up. My entire body. And it hurt. I moved a little and it went away. Shrugging it off, I tried to go back to sleep. And again, every muscle fiber in my body locked up and extreme, indescribable pain shot through me until I would move my body.
Then it would all go away.
"What the fuck..."
It's mind over matter I told myself. There's no way my entire body is cramping, it's unheard of. So I closed my eyes again, determined to not give in to the pain. The cramping came. I winced but didn't move. My body, more tense than the seconds before OJ's verdict, screamed at me.
Fucking idiot, move your fucking ass, NOW!
I resisted. And resisted. It wouldn't fucking go away. I waited until I couldn't take it anymore, then waited some more. I struggled uselessly. I caved and moved, then the relief of being pain-free washed over me in a breath of fresh air.
How the hell was I going to sleep? I had no idea. This night couldn't get any worse. But my body was probably abused to the point it was on the brink of exhaustion, and I slipped into sleep without even realizing it.
The next morning my phone woke me up. It said "Home." Still groggy, I answered, expecting to hear my mom. It was my step father.
"Alex, where are you?"
I was taken aback by the sudden question. During this phase of my life, home rarely called. And if they did call, it was always my mom.
"Queens."
"You just wake up?"
I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this was going. Since I had recently dropped out of college, and I was supposed to be out looking for work instead of partying like a rockstar.
"Yeah," I answered, resigned.
And what I thought to be the most unexpected thing he could say:
"Good, stay there."
Boy, I've never been more wrong about anything since. Before my mind could even formulate my short, one word question (What...?), he continues, "They blew up the World Trade."
My mind was done playing catch up, and uttered that one word. The wrong one came out.
"Who?"
Dumbest question of the century for sure.
"Uhh... Terrorists." (lol thinking back, he must have thought I was retarded)
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach as reality bitch slapped the shit out of me. I staggered out of the bedroom, still on the phone, the TV was on, Sung and Arturo in front, and I literally thought it was a movie, until my eyes saw "CNN" in the bottom right.
"Holy shit..." I said under my breath. Then frantically, "Are you okay? What about mom and Ethan?"
Ethan's my little half brother, he was four at the time. My family lives in Tribeca, so we were a matter of blocks away from Ground Zero. My stepdad worked in the World Financial building, right next to the twin towers. My little brother went to school a few blocks away.
And know that I'm not religious, but at times like these, I sometimes wonder if I really don't have a guardian angel watching over me. My family was untouched and safe.
In the end, I couldn't go home for a couple weeks, not like I was planning to anyway. On my way back, they asked me to buy some face masks because of the asbestos, and when I got back to Tribeca, I had a glimpse of what third world countries must experience, seeing military vehicles driving down the street, everyone panicky, the fear and confusion so thick you suffocate in it.
I walked in through the door of my apartment, and at the sight of me, my mom burst into tears. We hugged fiercely and I cried too. This hit too close to home. Literally. The gravity and immediacy of the situation was overwhelming, I was barely able to comprehend how lucky I was, but we all knew just how close we came to losing what we loved most.
My stepdad's friends lived in Battery Park, and their apartment was destroyed. They had to flee, one shoe on, ashy and disheveled all the way to my mom's place. They crashed in my room. I stayed until nightfall, but the transition from one extreme to the other, from artificial highs to such a depressing low was jarring. I couldn't take it.
I called up some friends and left; I went to drown out reality with drug-induced fantasies and emotions.
I spent most of that day calling various people trying to get four ecstasy pills but as life often throws a curveball at us while snickering from the sidelines, everyone I knew was dry as well. We finally get a hold of this one guy Will, from Forest Hills and he tells me he doesn't have any pills but he has some Special K (no, not the cereal, ketamine, it's an animal tranquilizer used by vets).
Beggars can't be choosers (K was never my preferred drug), Sung and I, now joined by two other friends, Arturo and another Alex, trooped out to Forest Hills.
They waited at a corner while I was in the car. He gave me a jar of K for $40, then asked me if I wanted a second one.
"That's all the money I have."
And like any respectable drug dealer he replies, "Don't worry about it, I'll front you that, I know you're good for it."
Even knowing that he was doing me no favors, I was still happier than a pig in shit on a sweltering fly infested summer jungle day.
I told the others the good news and decided to go back to Main St., when Arturo realizes he has no more money on his Metrocard. As we're trying to solve this dilemma, he says, "Go on ahead I'll catch up with you guys."
"What? The bus goes on the highway. No way you'll get there anytime soon," I replied skeptically.
He insisted.
"Okay look, I'll give you ten minutes after we get there before we leave."
He agreed. Mind you, Arturo is in no way fit. A little on the chubbier side and not too physically active, he was one of the last people I'd to expect to pull this off.
We got back to Main St. and waited. Five minutes. Six. Then at either seven or eight minutes, my jaw almost dropped when I saw his out of shape ass panting down the street.
"I have to give it to you," I laughed, "you've earned your high."
We decided to go up to the LIRR platform nearby. It had those sheltered areas and was rather empty at that time.
We somehow had a CD case with us at the time (sadly, I'm pretty sure it wasn't carried around for the music), and I poured myself a line.
Ketamine in it's original form is a liquid, but when heated, it crystallizes. In the States, snorting it is the most common practice, as far as I know.
But my eyes were bigger than my stomach (or more accurately bigger than my nostrils) since I had been looking forward to this moment all day long. I was a little heavy handed and poured myself about a four inch line. Special K isn't like cocaine in terms of how much you take at a time or anything for that matter.
Sung was next. He was also heavy handed but instead of doing it all he left some for the next person. For some reason however, neither of them were willing to snort his "leftovers." They insisted that they wanted their own lines, as if it made a difference. Thinking it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard (sheesh, have I ever been right when thinking that?), I finished the excess powder, even before the first had kicked in.
What ensued wasn't quite a K-Hole, which is the equivalent of a bad trip but usually involves a sensation of falling into spiraling holes. But it was a bad trip alright.
I have a tendency to become very confused and lost on K. It's a dissociative drug which I've taken to mean that it disconnects you from reality.
I suddenly had no idea where I was. I kept asking my friends over and over.
"Where are we?"
"Flushing."
"No but like where are we?"
"Uh. Queens, New York City?"
"No but, WHERE are...l
You get the point. This extrapolated to the size of the universe before long. The next segment wasn't so innocent.
My brain decided it'd be interesting to pretend that I was a junkie since birth and that I had been living on the streets my entire life. Nineteen years straight of constant drugs and homelessness is some depressing shit.
In between these bouts of total helplessness and utter despair, I overheard Sung and Arturo saying, " Oh man, Alex thinks he's going to die."
They said it enough times to convince my dysfunctional mind that they thought, that I thought I was going to die. My legs felt like jello. No, I lied, I couldn't feel my legs. I was short of breath. The walls of my mind were collapsing on me, crushing me, head spinning, where am I? Who am I?
I started thinking I was going to die. I retched a little and gagged. I tried to stand only to find that my legs were completely useless. Numb. Limp. I sat there feeling worse than I had ever felt in my entire life, drained of any positive thought. I later found out that they were talking about the other Alex. FML.
I slowly sobered up, after... honestly, I have no idea how much time had passed. But my body was still weak. The stairs down from the LIRR station were long. Real long. And not just because I just came back from a bad trip. Go see for yourself, them fuckers are LONG!
I wobbled my way down. I would have bet a grand that I was going to face-plant just by walking. Luckily made it down safely, sat down on a bench, and called a friend of mine I was hanging out with a lot at the time.
"Hey Mary, where are you?"
"Dinner in Flushing with some friends, what's up?"
I filled her in on what happened. Concerned, she came by to make sure I was okay, and I eventually went back to Sung's house.
The other Alex went home, so it was just the three of us. Sung made me some food that I barely ate although it was pretty damn good. I tried to sleep. After a few seconds of having my eyes closed, my body suddenly cramped up. My entire body. And it hurt. I moved a little and it went away. Shrugging it off, I tried to go back to sleep. And again, every muscle fiber in my body locked up and extreme, indescribable pain shot through me until I would move my body.
Then it would all go away.
"What the fuck..."
It's mind over matter I told myself. There's no way my entire body is cramping, it's unheard of. So I closed my eyes again, determined to not give in to the pain. The cramping came. I winced but didn't move. My body, more tense than the seconds before OJ's verdict, screamed at me.
Fucking idiot, move your fucking ass, NOW!
I resisted. And resisted. It wouldn't fucking go away. I waited until I couldn't take it anymore, then waited some more. I struggled uselessly. I caved and moved, then the relief of being pain-free washed over me in a breath of fresh air.
How the hell was I going to sleep? I had no idea. This night couldn't get any worse. But my body was probably abused to the point it was on the brink of exhaustion, and I slipped into sleep without even realizing it.
The next morning my phone woke me up. It said "Home." Still groggy, I answered, expecting to hear my mom. It was my step father.
"Alex, where are you?"
I was taken aback by the sudden question. During this phase of my life, home rarely called. And if they did call, it was always my mom.
"Queens."
"You just wake up?"
I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this was going. Since I had recently dropped out of college, and I was supposed to be out looking for work instead of partying like a rockstar.
"Yeah," I answered, resigned.
And what I thought to be the most unexpected thing he could say:
"Good, stay there."
Boy, I've never been more wrong about anything since. Before my mind could even formulate my short, one word question (What...?), he continues, "They blew up the World Trade."
My mind was done playing catch up, and uttered that one word. The wrong one came out.
"Who?"
Dumbest question of the century for sure.
"Uhh... Terrorists." (lol thinking back, he must have thought I was retarded)
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach as reality bitch slapped the shit out of me. I staggered out of the bedroom, still on the phone, the TV was on, Sung and Arturo in front, and I literally thought it was a movie, until my eyes saw "CNN" in the bottom right.
"Holy shit..." I said under my breath. Then frantically, "Are you okay? What about mom and Ethan?"
Ethan's my little half brother, he was four at the time. My family lives in Tribeca, so we were a matter of blocks away from Ground Zero. My stepdad worked in the World Financial building, right next to the twin towers. My little brother went to school a few blocks away.
And know that I'm not religious, but at times like these, I sometimes wonder if I really don't have a guardian angel watching over me. My family was untouched and safe.
In the end, I couldn't go home for a couple weeks, not like I was planning to anyway. On my way back, they asked me to buy some face masks because of the asbestos, and when I got back to Tribeca, I had a glimpse of what third world countries must experience, seeing military vehicles driving down the street, everyone panicky, the fear and confusion so thick you suffocate in it.
I walked in through the door of my apartment, and at the sight of me, my mom burst into tears. We hugged fiercely and I cried too. This hit too close to home. Literally. The gravity and immediacy of the situation was overwhelming, I was barely able to comprehend how lucky I was, but we all knew just how close we came to losing what we loved most.
My stepdad's friends lived in Battery Park, and their apartment was destroyed. They had to flee, one shoe on, ashy and disheveled all the way to my mom's place. They crashed in my room. I stayed until nightfall, but the transition from one extreme to the other, from artificial highs to such a depressing low was jarring. I couldn't take it.
I called up some friends and left; I went to drown out reality with drug-induced fantasies and emotions.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A different kind of love letter
A letter my mom sent me in jail.
"In general, there are two kinds of love, one that rocks your world, and the kind that soothes your heart. When we are young, we tend to believe the first to being the real deal, because we want drama (not to mention the greatest loves in literature, films and music of all times are of the first kind), because we long to feel the flutters in our hearts, because we envision the height it'll take us, and we can't wait to take that plunge... then we grow up. But still there are those who still pine for it despite their age, until the end of time. They, we call them the old fools.
The other kind is more complicated. It isn't so much the falls and the heartbreaks but the everyday aches that hurt. I think you truly love somebody when it pains you to see him/her smile. The love pain - almost a strum in your heart, it's so sweet that it hurts and brings tears of gratitude - thankful to having this person to love. When it breaks you to see him/her in a stage of struggle, so much that you'll step in and take over that fight of hardship to stop that pain - that pain of your own heart breaking and when you'd rather trade places with him/her than to see him/her hurt and suffer, because somehow it is easier to take the pain in your body than in your heart.
It is an adventure, almost a drug, to love someone... and a blessing to be loved... Unlike what most believe, the power lies in the one who loves and not in the beloved. The beloved is merely chosen - for in some small way he/she calls to his/her lover, the beneficiary so to speak, and the lover, the donor, who decides all... Because ultimately it ends when the lover decidedly stops loving...
In the end it doesn't matter how great the love, once gone, it will fade over time and will be replaced by another eventually. For all the obvious reasons but mainly it is our instinct to survive that moves us forward. I cannot fathom a love so great that the loss of which will leave a person so incomplete, that it mars him/her forever... except when that love is but a vision, her/his very own, for then no one can replace that..."
"In general, there are two kinds of love, one that rocks your world, and the kind that soothes your heart. When we are young, we tend to believe the first to being the real deal, because we want drama (not to mention the greatest loves in literature, films and music of all times are of the first kind), because we long to feel the flutters in our hearts, because we envision the height it'll take us, and we can't wait to take that plunge... then we grow up. But still there are those who still pine for it despite their age, until the end of time. They, we call them the old fools.
The other kind is more complicated. It isn't so much the falls and the heartbreaks but the everyday aches that hurt. I think you truly love somebody when it pains you to see him/her smile. The love pain - almost a strum in your heart, it's so sweet that it hurts and brings tears of gratitude - thankful to having this person to love. When it breaks you to see him/her in a stage of struggle, so much that you'll step in and take over that fight of hardship to stop that pain - that pain of your own heart breaking and when you'd rather trade places with him/her than to see him/her hurt and suffer, because somehow it is easier to take the pain in your body than in your heart.
It is an adventure, almost a drug, to love someone... and a blessing to be loved... Unlike what most believe, the power lies in the one who loves and not in the beloved. The beloved is merely chosen - for in some small way he/she calls to his/her lover, the beneficiary so to speak, and the lover, the donor, who decides all... Because ultimately it ends when the lover decidedly stops loving...
In the end it doesn't matter how great the love, once gone, it will fade over time and will be replaced by another eventually. For all the obvious reasons but mainly it is our instinct to survive that moves us forward. I cannot fathom a love so great that the loss of which will leave a person so incomplete, that it mars him/her forever... except when that love is but a vision, her/his very own, for then no one can replace that..."
Some things never change
Some background on this post is needed. I don't know my biological father. My parents divorced when I was young, and at the age of seven I went to live in France with my grandmother and her husband who became my guardian dad.
My father had been trying to find both my mom and me for 20+ years. My mom never thought it was the right time for me to reconnect with my father until 2007, so for 20 or so years, everytime my father found her number, she recognized his voice and said it was the wrong number.
So when I finally spoke to my father for the first time that I remember, things went smoothly, and we gathered that he was doing rather well for himself in China. As time went on though, he made false promises, was very disrepectful towards my mom, and found it very hard to believe that we were actually leading happy lives despite his absence.
In the end, there were multiple silences which lasted months, I sent an email saying some things never change, to which he replied that he was in an accident. He offered to send pictures of his injuries as proof, but instead he sent a black and white webcam pic, very low resolution, meanwhile his vacation pictures he sent in the same batch were all taken from a real digital camera and were clear.
He spoke to my mom one last time and indicated that he didn't understand my previous email when I politely told him to fuck off.
Here's the second and last email.
* * * * * * * *
"first, i would like to express my condolences for the deaths in your family. i do hope ur doing well
so i heard u had a few questions about the whole situation and regarding my last letter, so instead of leaving u to hear it from a third party, i rather have closure with people directly as to avoid misunderstandings
so lets start with the last email sent. i was doing my best to remain neutral and cordial, and above all to be respectful, but since it wasnt understood (although i thought it was painfully clear), i'll repeat myself in laymans terms
yes, i did say for u to find another son, because i have found a father who has raised me with respectable and good values, to whom i owe a defining portion of who i am today. he also taught me about the honor of being a man, abiding by my word. sure, we've all told lies before, i'm not claiming otherwise, but when a person is even thinking about lying and making empty promises to his son he hasn't seen in 20ish years, i think i can safely say thats in a league of its own
and ur reaction to mom when she asked for the money back? deplorable. if u cant even own up to a commitment of $3,000 (which, in ur own words, isnt $3,000,000!!), how can i expect u to commit to me as ur son? if i recall correctly, it was your idea, to pay my ex off for her furniture, it was your screen name that was asking for a loan from mom. and now u wont pay it back? i didnt need to buy the furniture to begin with. as much as i hate doing it, i can still break up my own relationships without paying the girl off. and that was ur solution? next thing i know, ur trying to pay me off too...
... or were u, with false promises of cars and six star resorts, inheritance and a lavish lifestyle...
on that same note, u couldnt even manage to visit? lol, what good is all that money u claim to have if u dont put it to use? i apologize, i should have realized! a quick weekend flight (especially if finances arent a concern) to visit ur long lost son is impossibly unbearable. i rest my case.
next. u mentioned that u want to talk about the past, because without the past, what else do u have to talk to me about? look, i thought i was doing u a favor by not holding u to the past, but hey, if u insist, sure i'll talk about it
for starters, why'd u kick me in the chest? or push me with ur foot, whatever u want to call it. in the end all it did was leave me with the memory that it was a kick, and ultimately from my perspective since i've lived all these years with that memory, doesnt that make it the truth to me? funny how the truth can be relative sometimes
and, where are my puzzles from the xmas when i was, 6, i think? or my nintendo that i left in taiwan? see, do u really want to talk about the past with me? thats my past of u. i was willing to give u a clean slate, but i guess ur an emotional masochist
(by the way, i dont actually expect answers to the above questions, i'd rather skip the bs)
ok, now what? since u got me started, i might as well finish. oh yeah. ur condescending tone to mom? the fact that u cant believe that we're happy with the lives we have? c'mon. what did u think, that we couldnt have possibly survived without u? that u would swoop down to rescue us and be our knight in shining armor? lol. no comment
also, just out of curiosity, of all the pictures u sent, why is the pic of ur scar the only one taken from a webcam? and in black & white? meanwhile every other one was a high resolution color pic? ur gonna say they were from a friends digital camera or something along those lines... with a mercedes amg 55 u dont own a real camera? lol
and give us some goddamn respect. dont talk to us or try to play mind games with us like we're fucking idiots. u do NOT know me, dont assume u do. and if ur going to lie to me, at least come up with something new, put some thought into it so its not so obvious. i just wanted to give u the benefit of the doubt
bottom line is, u screwed up. i gave u a year (ok, ok, 11 months) to back up ur words. ur failure to do so, well, thats on u. but, mom was right in saying i would see u if u showed up in nyc. its rather childish not to. but dont come here expecting a 7 year old boy. it'll just be annoying
so does this sum things up? most of this email is rhetorical, i dont need an answer. ur words, tone, attitude and lack of action so far have spoken enough for themselves."
My father had been trying to find both my mom and me for 20+ years. My mom never thought it was the right time for me to reconnect with my father until 2007, so for 20 or so years, everytime my father found her number, she recognized his voice and said it was the wrong number.
So when I finally spoke to my father for the first time that I remember, things went smoothly, and we gathered that he was doing rather well for himself in China. As time went on though, he made false promises, was very disrepectful towards my mom, and found it very hard to believe that we were actually leading happy lives despite his absence.
In the end, there were multiple silences which lasted months, I sent an email saying some things never change, to which he replied that he was in an accident. He offered to send pictures of his injuries as proof, but instead he sent a black and white webcam pic, very low resolution, meanwhile his vacation pictures he sent in the same batch were all taken from a real digital camera and were clear.
He spoke to my mom one last time and indicated that he didn't understand my previous email when I politely told him to fuck off.
Here's the second and last email.
* * * * * * * *
"first, i would like to express my condolences for the deaths in your family. i do hope ur doing well
so i heard u had a few questions about the whole situation and regarding my last letter, so instead of leaving u to hear it from a third party, i rather have closure with people directly as to avoid misunderstandings
so lets start with the last email sent. i was doing my best to remain neutral and cordial, and above all to be respectful, but since it wasnt understood (although i thought it was painfully clear), i'll repeat myself in laymans terms
yes, i did say for u to find another son, because i have found a father who has raised me with respectable and good values, to whom i owe a defining portion of who i am today. he also taught me about the honor of being a man, abiding by my word. sure, we've all told lies before, i'm not claiming otherwise, but when a person is even thinking about lying and making empty promises to his son he hasn't seen in 20ish years, i think i can safely say thats in a league of its own
and ur reaction to mom when she asked for the money back? deplorable. if u cant even own up to a commitment of $3,000 (which, in ur own words, isnt $3,000,000!!), how can i expect u to commit to me as ur son? if i recall correctly, it was your idea, to pay my ex off for her furniture, it was your screen name that was asking for a loan from mom. and now u wont pay it back? i didnt need to buy the furniture to begin with. as much as i hate doing it, i can still break up my own relationships without paying the girl off. and that was ur solution? next thing i know, ur trying to pay me off too...
... or were u, with false promises of cars and six star resorts, inheritance and a lavish lifestyle...
on that same note, u couldnt even manage to visit? lol, what good is all that money u claim to have if u dont put it to use? i apologize, i should have realized! a quick weekend flight (especially if finances arent a concern) to visit ur long lost son is impossibly unbearable. i rest my case.
next. u mentioned that u want to talk about the past, because without the past, what else do u have to talk to me about? look, i thought i was doing u a favor by not holding u to the past, but hey, if u insist, sure i'll talk about it
for starters, why'd u kick me in the chest? or push me with ur foot, whatever u want to call it. in the end all it did was leave me with the memory that it was a kick, and ultimately from my perspective since i've lived all these years with that memory, doesnt that make it the truth to me? funny how the truth can be relative sometimes
and, where are my puzzles from the xmas when i was, 6, i think? or my nintendo that i left in taiwan? see, do u really want to talk about the past with me? thats my past of u. i was willing to give u a clean slate, but i guess ur an emotional masochist
(by the way, i dont actually expect answers to the above questions, i'd rather skip the bs)
ok, now what? since u got me started, i might as well finish. oh yeah. ur condescending tone to mom? the fact that u cant believe that we're happy with the lives we have? c'mon. what did u think, that we couldnt have possibly survived without u? that u would swoop down to rescue us and be our knight in shining armor? lol. no comment
also, just out of curiosity, of all the pictures u sent, why is the pic of ur scar the only one taken from a webcam? and in black & white? meanwhile every other one was a high resolution color pic? ur gonna say they were from a friends digital camera or something along those lines... with a mercedes amg 55 u dont own a real camera? lol
and give us some goddamn respect. dont talk to us or try to play mind games with us like we're fucking idiots. u do NOT know me, dont assume u do. and if ur going to lie to me, at least come up with something new, put some thought into it so its not so obvious. i just wanted to give u the benefit of the doubt
bottom line is, u screwed up. i gave u a year (ok, ok, 11 months) to back up ur words. ur failure to do so, well, thats on u. but, mom was right in saying i would see u if u showed up in nyc. its rather childish not to. but dont come here expecting a 7 year old boy. it'll just be annoying
so does this sum things up? most of this email is rhetorical, i dont need an answer. ur words, tone, attitude and lack of action so far have spoken enough for themselves."
A bootylicious babe
I met Lisa on 11/07/01. I had just gotten arrested nine days prior, released on bail after four days, and needless to say, I was broke as hell. So what do you do, at 19 years old, with less than ten dollars to your name, and on your way to jail?
Go online lol. I used to go on AOL (still do occasionally), and there used to be this chat room called "nyc asians." Self explanatory enough. So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, looking through girls' profiles, and this one girl, "bo0tilishuzbabe" said in her profile that she promoted for this club, Exit.
Right before my arrest, I used to deal at that club, and from that one common ground, we started a conversation. She mentioned how she just started shooting pool and asked if I would be willing to teach her. I obviously agreed.
This all happened around 5:00am, and we met later that day around 10:00pm. We met at Sambuca's, this cafe in Chinatown, not too far from my mom's place. I'm waiting on Canal St. and Mulberry St., and across the street I see this tiny lil thing walk to the corner.
"Lisa?!" I shouted tentatively across the street.
I saw her head look around in search of the source of her name, and she finally saw me. The usual introduction ensues, we go inside Sambuca's, and since she had just finished a promoter's meeting, she was with around eight people.
We sat at a table off to the side, alone, and got to know each other. We eventually went to karaoke, and that's when I found out that this guy Johnny who was there, had been trying to hook up with Lisa for months.
Now, I'm not a big dude. I'm actually short and pretty small. So when I say Johnny was little, I mean it literally and without exaggeration.
Lisa stood at five foot nothing without heels. He was shorter than she was with heels on. Enough said.
Anyhow, sipping on my beer in the karaoke room, Lisa and I are flirting, whispering into each others ear, lips barely brushing, interrupted a couple of times by cock-blockers, then she leans over the low table to reach something on the other side.
And I had to remind myself to breathe. For a tiny lil asian girl, she had one hell of an ass!
After karaoke, most people left and it was just Johnny, Lisa and me. Johnny asks her what she feels like doing (mind you, I had just met Lisa hours earlier), and she turns to me and asks what we're going to do. Caught off-guard since I was expecting her to make plans then ask if I wanted to join if anything, I replied, "Well I'm kinda broke so yeah..."
Johnny suggests that we go shoot pool at Broadway Billiards, and again I reiterate that I have no money on me. We somehow ended up cabbing it there anyway.
Now, either Lisa was a very quick learner, or she was lying to me lol, because for someone who had only shot pool three times, I didn't have much to teach her. We spent a couple hours there, then cabbed it back to Chinatown.
Driving down Broadway, once we made it to Chinatown, the unavoidable question surfaced. Where is Lisa going? So, after Johnny pays for a cab to the pool hall, then pays for the table time at the pool hall, and again pays for the cab back from the pool hall (all this for three people), Lisa says:
"I'm gonna go to Alex's."
I'm pretty sure I must have smirked.
Now, dear reader, you must be thinking, what kind of girl is she, going back to your place less than 24 hours after meeting you online! Yeah, that crossed my mind too. You'd be surprised to know that we were together for 18 months before I was sent to jail. And you'd be even more surprised to find out that this relationship only truly ended two months ago. Also, I was her first (wtf, right?)
We went through thick and thin. It was us against the world. And against each other. The type of relationship you can only dream of, because you can only have it when you're young and naive. Or just very lucky. The passion, loyalty, blind devotion, trust... most of which have very little room in reality.
She was the morning sunshine after a nightmare; she was my confidante; she was my everything. In retrospect, where did things go wrong? Probably right from the start. How could we have prevented our recent break up? Probably couldn't. Do I regret having ever met her? Never.
Lisa will most likely always have a part of my heart, not her as a person, but the memory of her that has crystallized in my mind's eye, only reinforced by months and months of incarceration.
Obviously we had our problems. And I can't deny the pain and disappointment that I felt over the years. But despite all of it, I kept on trying. Despite all of it, I kept on loving. What's the point of having a heart, if you don't use it because you're afraid it'll be broken?
Despite it all, I will always move on.
Go online lol. I used to go on AOL (still do occasionally), and there used to be this chat room called "nyc asians." Self explanatory enough. So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, looking through girls' profiles, and this one girl, "bo0tilishuzbabe" said in her profile that she promoted for this club, Exit.
Right before my arrest, I used to deal at that club, and from that one common ground, we started a conversation. She mentioned how she just started shooting pool and asked if I would be willing to teach her. I obviously agreed.
This all happened around 5:00am, and we met later that day around 10:00pm. We met at Sambuca's, this cafe in Chinatown, not too far from my mom's place. I'm waiting on Canal St. and Mulberry St., and across the street I see this tiny lil thing walk to the corner.
"Lisa?!" I shouted tentatively across the street.
I saw her head look around in search of the source of her name, and she finally saw me. The usual introduction ensues, we go inside Sambuca's, and since she had just finished a promoter's meeting, she was with around eight people.
We sat at a table off to the side, alone, and got to know each other. We eventually went to karaoke, and that's when I found out that this guy Johnny who was there, had been trying to hook up with Lisa for months.
Now, I'm not a big dude. I'm actually short and pretty small. So when I say Johnny was little, I mean it literally and without exaggeration.
Lisa stood at five foot nothing without heels. He was shorter than she was with heels on. Enough said.
Anyhow, sipping on my beer in the karaoke room, Lisa and I are flirting, whispering into each others ear, lips barely brushing, interrupted a couple of times by cock-blockers, then she leans over the low table to reach something on the other side.
And I had to remind myself to breathe. For a tiny lil asian girl, she had one hell of an ass!
After karaoke, most people left and it was just Johnny, Lisa and me. Johnny asks her what she feels like doing (mind you, I had just met Lisa hours earlier), and she turns to me and asks what we're going to do. Caught off-guard since I was expecting her to make plans then ask if I wanted to join if anything, I replied, "Well I'm kinda broke so yeah..."
Johnny suggests that we go shoot pool at Broadway Billiards, and again I reiterate that I have no money on me. We somehow ended up cabbing it there anyway.
Now, either Lisa was a very quick learner, or she was lying to me lol, because for someone who had only shot pool three times, I didn't have much to teach her. We spent a couple hours there, then cabbed it back to Chinatown.
Driving down Broadway, once we made it to Chinatown, the unavoidable question surfaced. Where is Lisa going? So, after Johnny pays for a cab to the pool hall, then pays for the table time at the pool hall, and again pays for the cab back from the pool hall (all this for three people), Lisa says:
"I'm gonna go to Alex's."
I'm pretty sure I must have smirked.
Now, dear reader, you must be thinking, what kind of girl is she, going back to your place less than 24 hours after meeting you online! Yeah, that crossed my mind too. You'd be surprised to know that we were together for 18 months before I was sent to jail. And you'd be even more surprised to find out that this relationship only truly ended two months ago. Also, I was her first (wtf, right?)
We went through thick and thin. It was us against the world. And against each other. The type of relationship you can only dream of, because you can only have it when you're young and naive. Or just very lucky. The passion, loyalty, blind devotion, trust... most of which have very little room in reality.
She was the morning sunshine after a nightmare; she was my confidante; she was my everything. In retrospect, where did things go wrong? Probably right from the start. How could we have prevented our recent break up? Probably couldn't. Do I regret having ever met her? Never.
Lisa will most likely always have a part of my heart, not her as a person, but the memory of her that has crystallized in my mind's eye, only reinforced by months and months of incarceration.
Obviously we had our problems. And I can't deny the pain and disappointment that I felt over the years. But despite all of it, I kept on trying. Despite all of it, I kept on loving. What's the point of having a heart, if you don't use it because you're afraid it'll be broken?
Despite it all, I will always move on.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
I Bleed
a rhyme I wrote, there's a youtube link to the beat
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIfDZ_ww0CY&feature=channel
im only playing with the hand that was dealt to me
in the care of lady luck, im a living prophecy
tryna make the best from a petty life of greed
escaping from the grasp of my realities
my addictions to the underground never ceased
temptations never setting me fully free
i battled with the beast within for eternity
please let me be, the last of a dying breed
this eternal hell and pain isnt meant to be
witnessed by the faculties of mentality
caged soul bound by the shackles of treachery
cold as ice as my eyes witness this tragedy
lies from the lips you love on a path of misery
hips and thighs mesmerize got you acting differently
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
* * * * * * * *
i shoulda asked for some proof of paternity
but they dont gauge another man's veracity
you have to see for yourself past hypocrisy
picking up empty promises to the third degree
everything nowadays happens for a reason see
destiny runs its course even with disbelief
im a learned cynic tagged with a felony
never led astray by the off key melodies
i cant help but pity the parody
of a man reaching desperately for his family
he's not worth any more mention lyrically
he's as good as dead to me, mentally, physically
i repent for a life of immoral deeds
got me wondering if im nothing but an evil seed
quicksand drowning in the doubts of self deceit
never giving up at the cruel hands of defeat
breathe for another day, better times painlessly
there will be time for redemption thankfully
lessons from a fallen soldier on the battlefield
is it true when they say that every wound heals
new york to cali i give you a rhapsody
classical portrait of a broken family
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
* * * * * * * *
i do have to say i chose my path selfishly
fear the cold wrath of a man waiting patiently
surrounded by deceptive masks of heresy
how can a single man overthrow fallacies
conformity with the masses is policy
contract killings are the norm, no compliancy
so rest in peace or agree with the Agency
learn to shut your mouth and not speak blatantly
eyes shifty coz the world is your enemy
if you can't beat em, join em coz you're outta strategies
nothing ever is what it first seems to be
number one lesson learned in a conspiracy
in a cube 9 by 9 dying with a cellie
sharing 9 square feet coz i used to sell ecstasy
23 and 1, going crazy in solitary
serving us trash and green expired meat
consequences of the past finally catching up to me
its time to pay the piper he wasnt sworn to secrecy
progression of the world at the cost of purity
corruption is the bane of a lost humanity
intricate patterns of behavior like a tapestry
and every word i say, know i say it factually
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
* * * * * * * *
tragic memories from a child lost at sea
passed down in my genes from my ancestry
its a never ending circle in a cycle viciously
thats the burden of the curse of my family
bound by the chains of time, can we break free?
can we see the light of day, smiling happily?
maybe many days, far from now eventually
but it will likely never be a probability
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIfDZ_ww0CY&feature=channel
im only playing with the hand that was dealt to me
in the care of lady luck, im a living prophecy
tryna make the best from a petty life of greed
escaping from the grasp of my realities
my addictions to the underground never ceased
temptations never setting me fully free
i battled with the beast within for eternity
please let me be, the last of a dying breed
this eternal hell and pain isnt meant to be
witnessed by the faculties of mentality
caged soul bound by the shackles of treachery
cold as ice as my eyes witness this tragedy
lies from the lips you love on a path of misery
hips and thighs mesmerize got you acting differently
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
* * * * * * * *
i shoulda asked for some proof of paternity
but they dont gauge another man's veracity
you have to see for yourself past hypocrisy
picking up empty promises to the third degree
everything nowadays happens for a reason see
destiny runs its course even with disbelief
im a learned cynic tagged with a felony
never led astray by the off key melodies
i cant help but pity the parody
of a man reaching desperately for his family
he's not worth any more mention lyrically
he's as good as dead to me, mentally, physically
i repent for a life of immoral deeds
got me wondering if im nothing but an evil seed
quicksand drowning in the doubts of self deceit
never giving up at the cruel hands of defeat
breathe for another day, better times painlessly
there will be time for redemption thankfully
lessons from a fallen soldier on the battlefield
is it true when they say that every wound heals
new york to cali i give you a rhapsody
classical portrait of a broken family
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
* * * * * * * *
i do have to say i chose my path selfishly
fear the cold wrath of a man waiting patiently
surrounded by deceptive masks of heresy
how can a single man overthrow fallacies
conformity with the masses is policy
contract killings are the norm, no compliancy
so rest in peace or agree with the Agency
learn to shut your mouth and not speak blatantly
eyes shifty coz the world is your enemy
if you can't beat em, join em coz you're outta strategies
nothing ever is what it first seems to be
number one lesson learned in a conspiracy
in a cube 9 by 9 dying with a cellie
sharing 9 square feet coz i used to sell ecstasy
23 and 1, going crazy in solitary
serving us trash and green expired meat
consequences of the past finally catching up to me
its time to pay the piper he wasnt sworn to secrecy
progression of the world at the cost of purity
corruption is the bane of a lost humanity
intricate patterns of behavior like a tapestry
and every word i say, know i say it factually
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
* * * * * * * *
tragic memories from a child lost at sea
passed down in my genes from my ancestry
its a never ending circle in a cycle viciously
thats the burden of the curse of my family
bound by the chains of time, can we break free?
can we see the light of day, smiling happily?
maybe many days, far from now eventually
but it will likely never be a probability
so i bleed so i bleed so i bleed
Thursday, October 1, 2009
"Who the hell are you," you wonder?
A little introduction is in order so that all the other posts are at least somewhat coherent.
To sum it up neatly, I was born in Cali, came from a temporarily prospering family which ended as a fragmented one, raised in France, kicked out and sent back to NYC (I moved around a lot prior to moving to France, and lived in NYC for a couple years), went to a boarding school upstate NY, then an irresponsible lifestyle led to my dropping out of college and being arrested for selling ecstasy.
Sentenced to 2.5 years of prison, after 1.5 years of pretrial and 3 years of probation, I dealt with the feds for 7 years of my life. Right now (at 27), that's a little more than a quarter of my entire life. All this for 1,500 pills, a profit margin of no more than $5,000 lol. Pitiful, but my motivation for selling drugs wasn't to make a profit, but rather to get free drugs and maintain the lifestyle I was accustomed to. I didn't really abide by the rule "Don't get high off your own supply," but with all the drugs in my system, I'm pretty confident my brain wasn't functioning properly.
This should, in essence, put into perspective the rest of the memories and stories posted here. Some have somewhat of a moral, or a lesson learned upon reflection. Some are just funny or crazy. Some might be rhymes, short fictional stories, or just memories. Oh great, the ramblings of an ex-junkie...
To sum it up neatly, I was born in Cali, came from a temporarily prospering family which ended as a fragmented one, raised in France, kicked out and sent back to NYC (I moved around a lot prior to moving to France, and lived in NYC for a couple years), went to a boarding school upstate NY, then an irresponsible lifestyle led to my dropping out of college and being arrested for selling ecstasy.
Sentenced to 2.5 years of prison, after 1.5 years of pretrial and 3 years of probation, I dealt with the feds for 7 years of my life. Right now (at 27), that's a little more than a quarter of my entire life. All this for 1,500 pills, a profit margin of no more than $5,000 lol. Pitiful, but my motivation for selling drugs wasn't to make a profit, but rather to get free drugs and maintain the lifestyle I was accustomed to. I didn't really abide by the rule "Don't get high off your own supply," but with all the drugs in my system, I'm pretty confident my brain wasn't functioning properly.
This should, in essence, put into perspective the rest of the memories and stories posted here. Some have somewhat of a moral, or a lesson learned upon reflection. Some are just funny or crazy. Some might be rhymes, short fictional stories, or just memories. Oh great, the ramblings of an ex-junkie...
Basically you get a free peak into my soul and a sideline seat to my battle with my inner beast(s), which, up until recently, I thought was going to be a never-ending fight.
Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I will writing it. Then again, if you don't, this is about MY life, not yours ;P
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
