Evolution did what the maker was afraid of.

Day eight of methadone withdrawal.

WELCOME to day eight. A beauty sunrise that dissipated too quickly for me to find the camera and take a photo of in this cluttered space.

After no sleep all night and a lot of tossing and turning I had an awkward shower, changed out of a sweat stained t-shirt that smelt like some one else was in it, put on a record (Phoenix Foundation) and wrote GOOD MORNING. The result is not always perfect. Unlike old mate from Nirvarna Kurt Cobain who “Didn’t even have to try, the results are always perfect.” Listen to that every day in your mates car on the way to score. Brilliant.

Where do bad folks go when they die
They don’t go to heaven where the angels fly
Go to a lake of fire and fry
See them again ’till the Fourth of July

Loved that original Unplugged album (click here, no shit!). F C K N A.

A few years later playing  with that CD in the computer back in the days when you could put your own soundtrack to games! Good shit.

OKAY, so how was the night NZFiend?

It was utter shit thank you Oprah.

  • So, NZFiend, why do you think people get addicted to drugs?

Well Oprah, I only did it so that I didn’t have to use lab rats in dangerous games of withdrawal, cold turkey, spasm and death. I am very happy to announce that from this point on that is no longer a feasible scenario, You know Oprah, I feel as though I turned a corner.

  • How so NZFiend? Here, have a sip of water… My god, you are so pale…

You’re quite black Oprah. Thanks for the water (spills some down front, grins toothlesly at camera four whilst camera one goes in for a close up expecting something big) I don’t know Oprah, It’s hard to put a finger on it.

Remember me telling you about the other night?

  • Yes, odd. Spooky even. Not like that cyclist wearing yellow injecting crap all the time though…

Yes, I know.  I love cyclists too Oprah, I have one as a hood ornament. The other night, night three I think it was, but some bitch deleted all my writing from a stupid website in Auckland (click here) or (click here to email Wendy Cain, chef bitch, with abuse) without saving a copy, so I am unsure as it is all a bit blurry. Anyway, look. I was not sleeping, but I woke up. Know what I mean?

  • Look NZFiend, if this story goes on much longer I will know exactly what you mean.

Hey, fat bitch. Breathe. Relax. That’s better. So I woke up, although I wasn’t asleep. I had a crazy experience. I have had out of body experiences twice. I have died once for sure. Probably more. I have done a lot of drugs. But have never seen a UFO. Did you know Tesla may have been inventing and flying UFO’s Oprah?

  • You’re getting close to advert break dick head….

Oh, right. So I woke up and had an experience. I smelt like someone else. My smell was completely alien to me. I smelt exactly like I imagine you to smell if I ever met you. But it was funny. Or odd. There was someone else there too.

I tell them, I do, I tell them
HEY HANG ON A DOG-GONE MINUTE YOU BITCHES

You, Oprah like smelly chick, the chief offender, and whomever your little lesbian friend are, can get out of my body with your hanging out. I only just have enough energy to do my own hanging out thank-you-very-much. I AM NOT DOING YOUR HANGING OUT FOR YOU. Do it yourself you lazy shits.

This carried on for a good thirty seconds in that “not asleep, not awake half life” until I snapped out of it and left your lard ass in bed and went to the toilet. I came back to bed and couldn’t smell anything. I smelt the covers, my armpits, everything. No odd stale old crease sweat at all.

  • Wow, do you think some who has past to the other side whilst on drugs came to visit NZFiend?

You know Oprah, I don’t believe in that shit. But my dead sister had a good conversation with me the other day. She is happy now by the way.

  • E C T for NZ FIEND booked first thing tomorrow, but how was the, what? Eighth night?

No, I used last almost eight days ago. So only seventh night really Oprah. It was quite shit thanks. Better than others, but really annoying. No sleep at all. And getting a bit cranky and blurry. Am holding food inside me long enough to get the nutrients from though, so that is my body starting to come right. Perhaps. You know, you could do with a bit of hanging out yourself Oprah, here have a puff on this double uo globe pure white heroin from China cigarette….

It’s all downhill from here Oprah. Not the home stretch, but should not get any harder….

Although I do know a couple of neighbours who would happily sell me their smack just in case……..…….

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5 Comments

  1. HEY THERE. I am hopeless with this WordPress thing at the moment and have just realised that when I publish something people look at the published item and it never gets updated. Which ruins me, as I have been editing pages after publishing them for days. Some did not even make sense until the tenth edit.

    Reply

    1. good post – your writing is getting rather Burroughs-ish although unlike him i hope you get off drugs before turning 90

      Never having read any Burroughs I am not too sure. My writing changes with my mood. Which is unfortunate! Hah!

      Romancing Opiates by Theodore Dalrymple (pen name of some tosser with no distinction between side burns and beard) says William Burroughs, that walking, living, breathing compendium of psychopathology… Page 75… I think I may like this Burroughs dude after all.

      Reply

  2. OI – NZ FIEND you dick. You are supposed to be at a bloody N.A meeting in half in hour and you have no license and your car will get taken off you if you get caught driving. Hasn’t your stupid life taught you anything?
    More to the point. My head is a mush. Internal clock is last of its open programmes.

    Reply

    1. Hahahah. Yeah, it is hard working out what to do in the global web. With only being in New Zealand you can make all sorts of references to people that no one else would have ever heard of.

      My ultimate aim is, of course, to get Pepsi and Roche to sponsor and advertise on my blog.

      Reply

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