I’m running for president blah.
IRL Seattle has a lot of Death
God am I tired. We went driving through Aurora at around 6:am the other day on my way to the dentist. My gums were bleeding. I found an old bottle of Promethazine when I was packing my stuff and shared it with the folks I met the night I got to Portland. The next morning I bit into a cookie and it felt like my teeth were going to shatter if I tried another bite. I few good brushings though and they got back to being usable. Though fragile.
I told John about how this was where Cobain spent his last days. “Really?” he said sounding impressed. “Yea man. He went out with style.” All the hotels were tagged and boarded up. It looked deserted for the most part. Places that use to have historical noise shows now looking like hide aways in a third world country.
I got to the dentist and they dropped me off. There’s a grayness about Seattle. A never ending shadow cast by the clouds. I like it. It suits me. I got in and signed myself in. Signed abunch of paper working stating I wouldn’t skip out on the bill. Sat down and read a decent article in Harper’s about the president not having control over the military. I thought of Eisenhower and Grant and sort of laughed at the writer for carrying on with such a naive representation of things.
A black guy came in after me but they were quick to tell him he couldn’t be seen. Something about him being in a meeting today. ”Oh I must have made a mistake.” he said trying not to be upset. They didn’t contest my seeing of the dentist at all though. I watched him walk out and felt glad that I wasn’t him. Pain makes you greedy.
I got in and did the best I could to get comfortable in the torture chair. When the dentist rolled over. “Hello, I’m doctor Manson.” He said it like he’d heard every Manson joke ever told and was just waiting for the next person to say one so he could punch them in the face. I just looked away. Not mentioning that my blog was the number one source on all the web in ‘how to write Charles Manson a letter’. Better to have him trying to be my friend.
He sprayed some cold shit on my teeth. once he hit the bad one I shook like I was being electricuted. “ok that’s normal.” he said. I growled.
We made an appointment for a later date for some basic cleaning and a re-filling. I agreed to be tortured again and then quikly made my escape. While I was waiting at the bus stop I couldn’t help but notice the inordinate amount of pawnshops all within viewing distance from each other. The longer I waited, the more people showed. A good looking woman in sweat pants and a jacket helped me figure out the schedule. Some bald thugs with their beat up girl friends showed up later. We all huttled in and I sat down in the only seat available. Everyone looked worried. I did my best not to feel or look lost. With each stop the bus got more and more full.They all looked dirty and desperate. There was a young girl in fron of me in her pajamas. With cow pattern slippers on her feet. The girl across from her looked rough. “I just trade shit for it mostly” she explained to the woman sitting behind her. “It’s The Methadone. I Dropped Like Forty Pounds. I Used To Be Like 140. Yea. Yea. It’s The Methadone.” Some woman said loudly from the back of the bus.
I got to downtown and called a friend. He was just getting up but invited me over since I was in the neighborhood. We had coffee and smoked some grass. I showed him a few of the songs. He picked up on them pretty quickly which was a relief. It lifted my spirits some. A little bit of progress. We watched an unreleased documentary on the MC5. It was a fun movie. He couldn’t tell me exactly why one of the band members refused it’s releasal. I guess the MC5 formed over a fist fight. Which only made sense.
He loaned me a couple bucks so I could make it the rest of the way home and I used it to get some get some lunch. The place I picked was god awful. completely empty except for the flies. But the meat looked good so I tried it anyways. “I want some Meat.” I declared as I walked in the place. “You don’t want no Rice, or Noodles.” the chinese lady said acting prepared to give me just a big plate full of meat. I rethought my order and got some noodles with it. I gobbled it down. But as soon as I finished I regretted my purchase. It sat like a weight in my stomach. greesy and rumbling. I went down and walked around Pike and first to check out the junkie scene some more. A chic begged me into going along with her the day before so she could comp without it being depressing. It’s a lively scene down there by the water. Everyone looks half out of their mind and ready to riot. I started to feel right at home. It was like San Francisco. But without pretending to be a city Not filled with Junk.
I bought some cheap tobacco and made my way to the bus stop to head home. When I got there Angelo was out front working on his truck.
"What you fixin on her?" I asked.
"Oh. hey what’s up man. Oh it’s where the radiator hose connects. It’s leaking a little bit." he explained. "Did you get your teeth fixed?"
"Naw I got to go back. Thanks for giving me a ride though. I would have had trouble finding that place on my own. But now that I know where it is, it’ll be no problem. Hey let me give you a couple bucks gas money." I said.
"OK." ang responded.
He’d asked for a few bucks when giving me the ride but I didn’t even have enough for bus fare to get back home. “How much do you need?” I’d said that morning, sounding worrisome. “If you don’t really have it that’s cool.” he said as he gave me a ride. “OK.” I responded happily putting my wallet away. “That’s what I like. Clear precise answers from people.” he said without much fret.
"Man. on the way back though."
"uh huh" he said still working on the engine.
"I’ve never seen so many Junkies in my Life!"
"Oh yea? Oh, I think there’s a methadone clinic down there."
"Yea. I knew I was in the heart of Something."
We both grinned a little.
I went up stairs and grabbed him the three bucks I had left over from the money I bummed off my friend in the city.
”here’s three bucks. hope that’s cool”
"That’s Perfect." he said putting the money in his pocket.
"Is Johnny home? I want to use the glass room." I asked.
"oh I’m not sure. you’ll have to go check."
I went down the drive. there he was. Dancing in his room to some kind of egyptian krautrock. Putting hair growth medicine on his head and cooking noodles. I asked him to lift up the front window of the glass room so I could throw a couple bottle. He agreed and went out back and set it up. He built a room. But it was more like a crawl space. Not connected to the inside of the house. Just an outside closet sort of. People in the house were bitching about him breaking bottles in the back yard because of the classic cars and the cats. So he turned the room into a glass bottle breaking room. He hung a pan from the ceiling as a target. I winded up and through a classic coke bottle side arm and it nailed the fucker. Shattering into a million pieces. I felt better. I went up stairs and listened to some Bach and went to sleep.
old hack and this is my condition at Justins birthday party. pretty noises.
"Yes I Can’t" - old hack