Check it out… Drugs and guns actually don’t just jump into peoples hands.
I’m afraid the notion of “the(se) people”, the few lunatics lost in such a pretentiously polite society (unless you are one of “those people” with a tail, antlers, or some other not-so-sapien characteristic) is troublesome to say the least. You are actually no better no worse. A different childhood, a different education (or one at all), an opportunity from a friend/colleague for which you were aware enough to abide, a loving mentor, a passion found, a long look in a mirror, whatever it is, I’m happy for you. But let me explain that first sentence… (Cause really, the only Self-Made-Man I’ve seen lives in the Washington Rainforest, had a TV show documenting his self-making-IT, be it bows for fire sticks for shelter hides for shoes saps for wounds traps for coons or shale to slice)
Read: WE NEED EACH OTHER. Whoever said “The best thing for people is people” = Yes.
The only actual birthright of the European American: THIS IS OURS. The rest of our history is a sideshow. The sides with no dead turkey. Like the US Army paying the NFL for a recital of the National Anthem. Like Thanksgiving or Columbus Day. Bread and Circus. It was and is a mad grab. Sorry fellas but we’re gonna need more.. and more…and more… have some blankets… there’s gold in them their Black Hills.. how bout we add to our narrative of choice with some nice white faces carved on your most sacred of mountains. You gotta believe.. as Sam Cutler laughs he says, “No one drives around England in search of England!”.
What do you think we’re looking for? The truth?
Drugs and guns actually DON’T just jump into peoples hands. a culture of over-consumption, under-reflection, trauma (often downplayed=get over stepdads grabs already!), abuse (also aligned with just the way it is antics), and constant competition… Some aren’t built for and some never get their fill… add that to a value system in need of serious review. Call me crazy, plenty do, but i see life as infinitely inherently and intrinsically more valuable a resource than dirty green paper, or it’s present form as numbers on a screen. The life can be molded to most anything, the other, well.. it kinda isn’t real. Another waking dreamtime reality ..can you imagine what would happen to our economy if for one month everyone with 50 pairs of pants and 20 pairs of shoes, a well running car, or a daily Coke and Pepsi habit,… didn’t buy a new one(s)? Free Fallin. Or maybe Drumpf eggs on Young-n-Ill till another empire falls.. Read history much?
Newspapermen enjoy selling selling you “Crisis”, it’s practically an A1 guarantee, especially if theres blood leading.. The opiate crisis. School shooting crisis. Riot crisis. Peaceful protest crisis (usually reserved for those with more melanin). Homeless crisis. Hollywood rape crisis.
It’s easy to cover the crisis, to create the crisis, even to profit handsomely from the criss, on both ends. But to focus on the WHY of the crisis? Doesn’t seem as interesting. Too time consuming? Won’t make the front page? So we take matters into our own hands. No justice? No Peace means more pain. No work means more hunger. No shopping……Now you’re gonna get some attention.
I was around 10 when my grandfather, a progressive ready to judo drop anyone at the wrong comment (famous for letting the all lunch counters in the neighborhood know his black employees would be welcomed there whenever and seated wherever they wanted), a WWII infantryman, and very successful businessman drove me around the slums of our city. Intentionally. The worst of the worst. My family wasn’t rich, yet—actually that was when my castle was consumed by the sea—but we had a house. A comfortable one. What I saw sticks with me to this day. I’ve wanted little to do with this “game” since. ((Save for highly unpopular writing)) The high of a few stacks wears off quick, worry for the next comes in quick. As dads pockets grew he moved out, I was locked up, mom was drunk on the couch, I guess I didn’t see the improvements of the bigger house. Emptiness went unfilled. For a bitter old man with only short answers his funeral was standing room only, in a huge room. I can’t blame his bitterness. He didn’t get to pursue his passion of painting until his hand shook.
So now we’ve another Great American Opiate Crisis. It was arguably worse in terms of availability, bout 200 years ago. According to Harpers in the late 1800’s almost two tons of heroin was reaching this young and MUCH smaller nation annually. However, as this was Pre-“Drug War”, Narcotic Act, et al.. before Spice, Fentanyl, Carfentanyl, the Bath Salt, and the billionaire Pharma families prohibition has provided, overdose deaths were significantly lower. If you ask me, a bunch of about-to-be alcoholics found, through the mass dissemination of pain meds that hey.. these feel great. And no hangover… until there is… but you don’t get to find that part out till later. Maybe they were blooming shopaholics. Maybe workaholics…
It’s just so much easier to judge the individual than the entire Cosby Show.
It’s the high functioning ones that scare me most. The ones after something= but you won’t know what till it’s gone. Your heart, your kids, your money, your time, your harvest, your business, your CC#’s, your wife, your STORY!,… “But they weren’t an addict!” How could someone… in a culture of consumption… of constant competition (more like outright thievery hot blankets and rape). Everyone is somewhere on the addiction spectrum. Everyone.
At least when you bump into the street junkie you know their needs: A little heroin, a cold meal, and a lukewarm bed. Easy enough.. if WE if ANYONE really cared.. Let em fucking have it, in a safe site with doctors and outreach on hand, along with an absolutely necessary productive place in society. People bitch and bitch about needles on the street.. it’s a crisis! Well here’s your solution. I repeat myself….. (Do you have any idea how much work it is waking up broke, making $200, yet going to bed broke to do it again actually is??) A job cleaning the city sounds a thousand times better. As does the fact, no one dies at a safe injection site.
I question the motives of those at the Recovery Center CEO’s of America Convention at the Bellagio… SHAMSA. They want paychecks, not empty beds. I don’t see many/ any pushing for ibogaine. I’ve seen watermelon infused water though. That oughta kick the price up while ensuring a return visit.
Love thy neighbor/sister/father/cousin, especially, double when they just don’t have it in em to love themselves. Tough Love is Fake News.
One last word: IBOGAINE. (See my story in Psyche-Delis.)
Take care Fam.