SLAM junk

"This is the place where all the junkies go,
Where time goes fast and everything gets slow……."

'It has been a hard day, for strange faces swam by in my dreams tonight. Known, yet distorted faces, broken with some pain or another, weeping faces, angry faces — and faces with eyes that don't speak, dead-fish eyes. Eyes that are smacked out, eyes on heroin.
The light of a matchstick, and the coiled silver foil pipe — discoloured through use — turns into a tunnel of pleasure. Thoughts calmed, the body slacks down to take in this moment. Through the rolled blinds, I see a tiny girder of the morning light kiss the edges of the worn-out divan.
This morning, the weather looks better. Another day. These days that thought translates, straight away, into the number of hits, and more importantly, the money to buy them. Plans are hatched on the shitpot.
This morning, the weather looks better.'

(I wrote this in NOVEMBER 2004, just before hitting the Delhi convention. Almost a year down, I should stop bothering about the Freudian interpretations of a storyline about using, and let it be that: just a storyline.)
This reminds me: the shots of the dissolving scag inside the syringe in Requiem were very cool. Quite an editor.
{Boring aside}: I also visited the all-important 'work office' to offer a CV, after five days short of two months in my jobless stint. I was telling this to Sujoy the other day, but I've kinda developed a hatred of coporate offices. The smooth-talking types instantly begin to tick me off! There's not much I can do about it, though. Practising powelressness on a daily basis in real life is a fucking difficult job!