The Propagation

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May 9, 2005

Like Never

My God, I just now came to the faultline of death. Had/have again that situation of resin comingling inseparably with a well over-used screen to the point that the two seem to release their toxins simultaneously, and if you’re stubborn enough—stubborn like me—you will push through the early metal sparkle pricks at the back of your throat to get to/enough of the good stuff, it’s that worth it or necessary. Earlier today/yesterday I did that and took it to the point of heaving, swallowing, holding, erupting in a fit of raging coughs. Same this time but exponentially worse. And more embarrassing, too, sharing a bedroom wall with an olderish couple and pounding out a succession of wild-eyed whole-saled bodily clearances. Would have been easier if I’d only valued that first good tasty hit a little less. Holding and coughing don’t mix. Meanwhile I stagger into S.’s room and cough into his comforter as a makeshit, tight-spot muffler, but something like a puke-cough combo happened like has never happened to me before and a roundof clear, clean bile issued forth (amazing considering I just polished off an order of “Brooklyn Fries” [cheese fries with gravy over] at the 24hr diner] along with chunks that I thought, and still think, eerily reminiscent of the dubs I been copping up. Either that or actually bits and pieces of my lung—and I do not exaggerate when I tell you that that latter thought was my first, and I leaned close to investigate, dispel my fears. But I continued to think that my next would be bloody, there being a quite peculiar yet familiar taste in my mouth. I did, yes, think I might be having a moment of self-recognition and cancer diagnosis. I did more rounds—coughing rounds—in the bathroom, spitting the chunks in the bowl to flush on exit. Illuminated morning rounding the bend as I’m looking at the wet spot that remains on shem’s down comforter after I’ve taken a couple folds of bathroom ass wipe to it, rubbed it over a couple times. I fear shem will soon return, before it has any chance to dry, and there’ll be no way around that one, and bad in so many ways. I have to remedy it some how. I begin my room scan procedure, thorough & contemplative mode and at about 9 degrees into the rotation land my peepers upon his iron. Plugged it, jammed up the heat, even gave it a lingering dose of steam for added cleaning (i.e. diluting) effect and then wait for the physics of evaporation to solve my problems. It did but I wasn’t as attentive as I might have been and witnessed the physics of heat on a flammable material. No, thank got it didn’t erupt in flames—that’s how it would’ve done in hollywood—but there left a little summer prep tanning. Noticeable if yer looking or happen to have let your gaze fall into a laze in that of all spots. Otherwise I’ll probably go undetected, unsuspected.

And then of all the goddamnedness conceivable if I didn’t learn my lesson and pulled it off—albeit in miniature—again. I branded my soft tissues with a sandstorm of glowing shooting star embers. I had puke heaves double me over for an instant or two but almost immediately reached for my rescue the vitamin water bottle and slam gulped it probably along with residual smoke in my mouth, I stand waiting and recovering, examening the pipe for I don’tknow what, just looking at it and then eventually noticing that smoke is steadily streaming out of my mouth without my making it do or knowing it do, it was unconsious or sub- and suddenly I got a little emotionally charged sick pit drop in the gut, like now the smoke has become part/extension of my body, integrated into the capacity and circuitry of my autonomic system. My original tight-grip on the short reins of mr. smoke now given over to an apparent free rein accord, a quit coup. put a scare in me.

Posted by peligrito at May 9, 2005 5:30 AM

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