The Propagation

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July 17, 2005

Feeds Off Nerves, Contents of Stomach, and Itself

feel like I’m going to puke

sweat is rolling off my body

…. [‘intermission’ in the theater/-re, ‘brb’ in the chat app] …

had to sit down for a while in the other room
(the one with all the water features)
line one above now dampened
think I’ll go back in a bit for another round
that should clear rest of nausea…
it just seems a little out of place considering
all i’ve eaten in last couple days has been 3 of the really small bags
of chips

Food Solids Ingested Monday - Friday Last Week:
8ate8
- lunch each day
- bagel a couple mornings
- two samosas one evening

I’ve felt fine (well…) with that, as in not hungry and not feeling that particular kind of listless energy shortage that foodlessness brings.

But I knew it was a behind the scenes player in probably a lot of problems. That, and/with the sleeplessness. The hallicinatory vision, for example, won’t come no matter how high I get if I’m not at the end of a bingey run. At the end of a bingey-binge, it’s there when I’m not even high, just maintaining, or between bags or whatever. But, so, anyway, I had that in mind, and I keep running up running up against lesser highs, shorter highs, no highs at all, and guessing I’d built a tolerance, but thinking at times it was really quite a fucking tolerance I had there, steep onset, and strong! …sometimes…so qualities were getting factored in [—a tricky practice with so many variables and unknowables and interdependencies to sliding degrees, etc. all weighted-in in a snappish 1.4 second judgement made under the influence of a hard hard drug.] and even my state of depletion—the completeness of my transformation into a Raggedy Andy doll—was considered. But never specifically the amount of food in my stomach. Maybe I should have.>
>>Because hanging out at P-girl’s Frynight night, somehow the subject of eating came up—I was far more than likely to have complained in almost mumbled dramatic resignation after she had a mild-mellow episode of the touchy-feelies (previously referred to as “the devil’s handjive” or some such nom de evility) and I asked her to teach me how to do that, that I never even get high anymore. That turned on the triage-to-treatment-tactics talk with the first examination question pertained to my food consumption. I confessed. (Almost went on to include the total lack of flossing, decreased brushing, increased smoking, and sticking the occasional booger on the least-accessible spot of the bed sheet within a leaning arm’s reach, but I checked myself in time.)>

>>Shaid:
“Oh, you gotta eat!” Her chin was lowered chin and swaying in a slow waggle. Her voice was a deep grave. “You GOTTA eat.” I don’t remember exactly how many times she told me that.

And then this shexplained:
“This stuff [raising dry-frosted tube] feeds on your nerves [pointing to head] and [fingers churning in circle above her fine fine ass abs] your stomach. If you don’t got nothing in here, it has to feed off itself.”

Further details were passed on, such as the need for the food to have grease, or be greasy,
“…you know, like skins.”

And then:
“Gotta eat,,gotta eat.”

I may not buy the process outlined in her theorum there, but the basic premise::
—>No fuel for the body, no fuel for the crack.

I’m a titchytoo disappointed that it the wise folk wisdom of the people doesn’t fit more neatly with the others like it, like:
—>Feed a cold, AND a crack binge, starve a fever.

Posted by peligrito at July 17, 2005 8:49 PM

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