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I  knew this
cop in  Chicago sniff  coke used  to come  in form  of cry-
stals, blue  crystals. So  he go  nuts and  start screaming
the  Federals  is  after him  and run  down this  alley and
stick his head in the garbage  can. And  I said,  'What you
think you are doing?' and he  say, 'Get  away or  I shoot
you. I got myself hid good.'"
  We are  getting some  C on  RX at  this time.  Shoot it
in the mainline, son. You  can smell  it going  in, clean
and cold  in your  nose and  throat then  a rush  of pure
pleasure  right  through  the brain  lighting up  those C
connections. Your head shatters in white  explosions. Ten
minutes  later  you  want another  shot... you  will walk
across town for another shot. But if you can't  score for
C you eat, sleep and forget about it.
  This is a yen of the brain alone, a need  without feel-
ing  and  without  body,  earthbound  ghost  need, rancid
ectoplasm swept out by  an old  junky coughing  and spit-
ting in the sick morning.
  One  morning you  wake up  and take  a speed  ball, and
feel  bugs  under your  skin. 1890  cops with  black mus-
taches block the doors  and lean  in through  the windows
snarling  their  lips  back from  blue and  bold embossed
badges.  Junkies  march  through  the  room  singing  the
Moslem  Funeral  Song,  bear  the  body  of  Bill  Gains,
stigmata  of  his  needle  wounds glow  with a  soft blue
flame.  Purposeful schizophrenic  detectives sniff  at your
chamber pot.
  It's the coke horrors.... Sit back and play it cool and
shoot in plenty of that GI M.
  Day of the Dead:  I got  the chucks  and ate  my little
Willy's sugar skull. He  cried and  I had  to go  out for
another.  Walked  past  the  cocktail  lounge  where they
blasted the Jai Lai bookie.

  In  Cuernavaca  or  was  it  Taxco?  Jane meets  a pimp
trombone player and disappears in a  cloud of  tea smoke.
The pimp  is one  of these  vibration and  dietary artists
--  which  is  a  means  he  degrades  the  female  sex  by
forcing his chicks to swallow all this  shit. He  was con-
tinually enlarging his theories... he  would quiz  a chick
and threaten  to walk  out if  she hadn't  memorized every
nuance  of  his  latest  assault  on  logic and  the human
image.
  "Now, baby.  I got  it here  to give.  But if  you won't
receive it there's just nothing I can do."
  He was a ritual  tea smoker  and very  puritanical about
junk  the  way  some  teaheads  are.  He  claimed  tea put
him  in  touch  with supra  blue gravitational  fields. He
had  ideas  on  every  subject:  what  kind  of  underwear
was  healthy,  when  to  drink  water,  and  how  to  wipe
your  ass.
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