Posts Tagged ‘hospital’

methy

If I had a methy girlfriend

Crazy motherfuckers would always be coming over trying to recover drug debts

And we’d be up all night fucking while she was wizzing off her head

If I had a methy girlfriend

She’d keep the place really clean and I could act like a pig

But she might get abscesses from shooting up to much and end up in hospital

If I had a methy girlfriend

I’d encourage her to smoke it

Or to give it up

But she’d probably just run off with her drug dealer

Or start hocking her ass

And leave me all alone in a clean house

 

cure
One time in the nineties The Cure were coming to town
The Cure were so cool, probably best in the eighties but still a potent force for black trousers and dancing in the dark to dispel fears of normality
My mates and I decided to line up five days before tickets went on sale at the Entertainment Centre
There were amazing people there in the line, all dressed in black, icicle cool and groovy
Boys and girls with black eyeliner celebrating all that is dark
I played Cure and Nick Cave songs on my guitar and flirted with the gorgeous gothic women
I almost fell in love with one of them as she held my head in her lap
And every day there were people going up and down the line selling acid and pot
I dropped strawberry acid trips five days in a row and didn’t have one bad trip
Timothy Leary would be proud- set and setting were perfectly divine
Time was totally distorted, I blinked my eyes and hours passed, but a minute could be an extended eternity
In every precious moment sunlight was transforming the world into diamond speckled water-colour abstractions and tessellating patterns of colour were everywhere
I could see little pixie people, dressed in black running all over the place and the Akashic records of my every thought and impulse scrolling out before me
Then I could see a thousand time-lines of a thousand intertwined souls reverberating to the music of the spheres
A glimpse of eternity in every moment and at night the stars were mutating into oscillating fractals of mutant energy and light
I saw thousand foot high monsters with hundreds and hundreds of eyes but I wasn’t scared
The power cables that set the universe in motion became visible and formed intricate patterns in the air
But when I went home, and had the tickets I was overcome by a peculiar sensation
I suddenly thought I was Birthday Party era Nick Cave and covered my stack-hat with poignant desperate poetry
Then I put it on, refused take it off and started sprouting profound gibberish of black nights dancing to Sisters of Mercy, desperate death lurking at every corner and mad conspiracies of angelic gothic women whispering my name to bring down Moloch
I wasn’t making much sense so my parents took me to the hospital
They gave me some pills and I fell asleep, still wailing the military industrial complex and the police conspiracy to destroy fun in my twisted brain
When I woke up in the morning they said I had had a drug induced psychosis
I didn’t learn any lessons and when the time for the concert came I dropped acid again
It was tremendous I could see sound and hear the colours howling secret melodies of the night
But I did forget who the guy singing with the funny mop of hair was for a while

2013-11-01-image
In ward D4 cigarettes are chain-smoked till the air is fuzzy blue dynamite and new friendships are born of shared suffering:
We have no time for social skills or etiquette in ward d4- you are who you are, however crazy that may be.
Real emotions and real language is found among the sanity-impaired, we speak our twisted truth without impediment.
Someone’s just come back from shock treatment and she looks pretty dazed.
She looks like she has just seen God and he was not amused.
Her brain has been scrubbed clean of memories with medicinal electricity- bright and shiny new.

Playing my guitar in ward D4,
A contorted kind of celebrity accrues.
Play us another one so we can sing along,
To songs about CIA mind control tornados and arcane masonic conspiracies .

My mates bring me fragrant cones in ward d4
But I don’t get caught because everyone is on such vast quantities of drugs that one more doesn’t make much difference.
Secret ganga rituals in ward d4 – bucket bongs are delivered to the fence and inhaled:
The place is pretty amazing when you’re bent.

Sometimes there is romance in the ward D4,
This is a disco for the psychiatrically disturbed and dysfunctional.
New heavily medicated couples snatch moments of amour in the bathrooms,
They pledge eternal love in the face of psychiatric obstacles and the objections of the staff.

‘Medication Time! Medication Time!’
Such a multitude of multi-coloured pills.
Who gets what?
It’s like getting a big bag of lollies when you’re a kid.
The Benzodiazapines are usually the best- you’d have to be pretty lucky to get morphine.

Chain smoking with the beautiful nurses in ward D4 is fun,
Some of us find it a luxury to have a pretty girl listen to our problems and savour each moment.
So they listen to mixture of inspired and uninspired story,
And give harmless advice because they pretend to care in ward D4.
There may be no hope but there is always advice.

My roommate says that there are messages for him in Xpress, and on the TV, and on his Steely Dan records-
He is convinced of this. The messages are all similar and tell him to kill himself.
A strangely self-centred delusion in which everyone wants to talk to him – he is the apex of a vast conspiracy.
I can’t think why anyone would want to send him a real message-
It would only freak him out.
The CIA, the masons and God are very busy sending personalized coded messages in ward D4.
Next time, I’m going to complain if I don’t get one.
A message with the key to life composed of revelatory syllables of back-masked wisdom.