Santa was a Skinhead

My stomach is full of chocolate, milk, and percocet. I feel like a science experiment got wrong. I got sick at dinner tonight. We were at a fancy steak house, with nosy waiters and polished silver. My head first began to hurt and immediately the nausea kicked in, I could barely form sentences because there was too much noise and too many sights and thinking was too hard between the pain and the overwhelming scene. My mom took me outside and as I sat on the bench, in my cream sweater and dress shoes, wondering what was happening to my body, I began to shiver, but feel better. All I need is cold air and a quiet spot and I'm better. I have no idea what's happening to my body and it's really starting to freak me out.

Right now I'm trying to calm my friend down who thinks her boyfriend might kill himself. I feel bad. I feel powerless in plucking the advice out of the air. Usually, I know exactly what to do or say, I know how to read people. I know how to calm down fights and fix relationships and deal with bosses. But this. This is where I fail. Because no one can know exactly how a, possibly, suicidal person is going to react. In my experience, none of my friends who were suicidal have killed themselves and all we usually ever did was tell them how much we cared about them and that we were there for them. Although we couldn't help them completely, as long as we could get them to calm down enough to talk to us and get down to a more level mental state I felt better about it for the time being.

I feel so bad. I also told M, this new guy I'm seeing, not to smoke opium again. I am a hypocrite. I guess, it's to be expected. I'm doing finals this week and then off for Christmas.

I had things to say, but they're lost in my gut of sugar and oxy. Fuck.

"Santa was a Skinhead" covered by Showcase Showdown

Blank Generation

So high. I haven't been this high in a long time. It feels heavier than usual. My head feels full of fishing weights, rolling around and pulling me down. I'm doing sudoku and watching trashy tv. My favorite things to do while high. I guess it's appropriate for my generation. Multi-tasking with reality TV and a game that does not involve any true knowledge.

Drunk When I Met You

My ass is covered in bruises. And when I say bruises, they are a dark, dark purple. There is one on the direct center of my right ass cheek, three large ones running down the back of my right thigh, and a smaller green one on my left hip. This is why I don't like hopping fences. My friends, correctly, decided that if we sat in the gated off part of Tompkins Square Park (meaning we'd have to hop a fence), we could easily escape the cops because we can hop fences faster than them. Although this makes a lot of sense--and luckily we didn't have to test our theory--I am shitty at climbing chain link fences especially in my heavy doc martens. So the first time our friend Izzy gave me a boost over, and then going back my friend Steven gave me a boost back over the fence. However, that time I got stuck on top of the fence with my legs and hands all facing back away from where I wanted to go. I had just finished a 40 and a half, and was feeling it. The fence began to shake, and I fell backwards over it. But before hitting the ground, I held on to the fence with my legs directly up in the air. Although it didn't seem like I feel that hard, falling from the top of the fence on to the rest of the fence fucked up my thigh. I had a giant welt afterwards. I sat on an ice pack after that.

Beyond that, some guy who was trying to fuck me by leading me on, I told to fuck off. So that kind of sucked. I hate when people think they're going to use me. It makes me very angry, understandably.

I have 6 poetry readings coming up between now and December 12th... and my plays performance on December 2nd. It's cool having lots of shows coming up, it's exciting and fun, but a little bit stressful. I need to work on some new material.

Anyway, I'm awake to early for class today, so I'm gonna go work on some homework and shower.

Check ya later,

- Luce...

Full Speed Ahead

So... I haven't posted in forever. I've been you know living the college life, with a suicidal roommate, a pension for smoking pot in the bathrooms late at night, and a few other tricks and treats up my sleeves (usually, literally). I just felt like documenting last night. I think its because my brain is slowly warming up again. I woke up this morning and new that the barbiturates had kicked in hard... it took me close to half an hour to roll over finally and get up. My suitemate was "grumpy" because her card wasn't working in the laundry room, which annoyed me because the aftermath of any time spent with speed is like I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU LEAVE ME ALONE NOW. But, I cooled off, tea helped.

Last night began with my friends inviting me to go to a party with them, that they had been invited to by a mutual friend. They said they were going to go over around 11, which was fine. After I got off work I was in a terrible mood, it wasn't even like a "Wow, I could really use some drugs right now," kind of mood, it was like "Just making everything stop right now is all I want." I don't know, I guess apathy is becoming contagious. Finally, though, I decided it would be fun to do some speed and then go to the party. I took two fair sized bumps in the bathroom out of one of those contact cases with the two circular divets. I didn't feel much at first, which was surprising to me, but I figured as long as I didn't feel the drip down my throat, it'd be all good because I wanted to sleep at some point. Finally, around 11:20 my friends text me, that oh, they're tired and aren't going to the party. My roommate was also blown off by her friends, so we decided to go outside for a cigarette break because I needed something with the speed kicking in. As we walked through the courtyard, I saw the acquaintance who had invited my friends to the party, and told her what was up. She, before I even mentioned the party, invited me and my roommate, and so we went up to her room to smoke out the window as she changed.

Anyway, we left in a bit, my roommate didn't want to go out, so it was just me and (the) A(cquaintance). This girl had been trying to get into my lesbian friend's pants for a long time, but it wasn't happening. We talked about the normal stuff boy/girl troubles, etc. etc.. By the time we were at the house, a good 15 block walk, she said to me: "This is the fastest I've ever walked to Avenue B," which made me chuckle a tiny bit on the inside. Anyway, the party was in classic NYU fashion. People were coked up, most of the guys were gay (I think besides about 3 to 4 out of like 30 people). There were very few girls, ALTHOUGH, I did see a girl I had taken a summer course with about 3 years ago. It was badass, and yet very odd. We talked for like 10 minutes until we both had run out of things to say, and she moved to the other side of the couch to talk to her friends. We wandered around onto the balcony and around the rooms, having weird conversations with people. I had about 3 glasses of this punch they were serving out of a big rubbermaid container, which was tasty, but I could barely feel it.... which makes sense. I had this one moment where I was like, "What if there are more barbiturates in my system than speed, and with the alcohol, I OD?" I then took my pulse and decided I would survive.

There were lots of moment, talking to drunken people, some who live in the same building as me, others from towns close to my hometown. I went home, ate some fries and drank a sprite. My suitemate couldn't sleep, it was too hot. As I told her to open the window and go back to sleep, because everything would be better in the morning, I wondered again what would happen if I ODed and she found me--just another shitty part of her shitty week.

At the moment I think the barbiturates are still in my system I feel like I'm about to pass out. Ugh, and I have to go to play practice. Yeah, I'm in a play. I'm a lesbian governess in a play. I hate everything right now, but I almost don't. I just feel so fucking apathetic. I want to care about something.

But I don't.

Anyway, sorry that I never post,

Hopefully I'll have a cheerier one in the future,

- Luce

She's got Wicked Wicked Wicked Wicked Gravity!

Dexy's Midnight Runners...

I'm feeling the speed rumble in my belly and up to my head. It's like an electric shock down my spine. I want to run and run and run until I collapse. God I love it. It feels like butterflies in my stomach and I want more. Damn, speed. I'm saving some for the city. One day, I'm going to take a lot. And travel around the city. Feel the sidewalk lift up under my feet. It'd be so perfect. Early fall, still warm out, with a bloodstream full of speed. I so rarely take it, but it's so good. Damn. Damn. I wish I had someone to share this with. But everyone I know is too skiddish or is trying to get off drugs. Well, I say fuck all of that. Well, I probably wouldn't. Today I watched my friend pass out and hit her head in Walmart. I heard that sharp crack, I couldn't catch her in time. She's alright. But I can't even fucking save my friend. I know I'm a shitty person. But now I don't care and speed doesn't either. Speed speed speed. It just sounds cool, haha. I feel bad for her though, I was so worried about her. Her eyes rolled back after she hit the floor. I was worried she was having a seizure, but she wasn't. She's fine now, her head just hurts. I almost went to the hospital with her but her mom arrived. I'm glad she's alright. I had to run and get the cigarettes out of her car so that her parents wouldn't see. That's kind of hilarious. I sprinted through the parking lot to get them and then sprinted back. My dad got more oxy today. Tomorrow perhaps I'll take some if I'm feeling down from the speed. I move into the city in a week. Fuck. I can't wait. Life is alright I guess, I'm just gonna ride this wave out until I fall asleep.

Drink Drank Punk

So... I couldn't sleep. Wow. Not really a surprise. Thought about taking some benzos to get me off to sleep, but I think it's all bad. I'm going to stay away from all of that shit for as long as I can, or unless this insomnia thing gets way out of hand. It's annoying as fuck.

Last night, I was puking my guts out on the pavement of Tompkins Square Park. I've been sick there once before, but that was 2 years ago. I was lying down, my other wasted friend Steven was flicking water on my face, keeping me awake, making sure I didn't pass out. Excessive alcohol consumption + caffeine + 110 degree weather = lots of puking. The first time I puked I was half laying down on the ground, the second time I was sitting up on a bench, and ended up puking on my boots. Nasty nasty stuff. My friend Milo was kind enough to get me to the subway and buy me a ride. I don't like drinking. Milo and I both have done a lot of drugs, I was (I'm pretty sure) yelling at him about how I hate alcohol and how I'd rather just get fucked up if I'm gonna be puking like this, etc. etc.. I think I was also harassing hipsters as we walked ot the subway. A water covered, vomit smelling, drunk punk kid being held up by her much larger, biker/GG Allin looking friend--we must have been some sight. Haha, but it was all in good fun. I've felt like shit all day, but i don't know I'm feeling a bit happier right now. I was down like an hour ago, but I think my mood has leveled off.

I got into Trash Bar this week to perform as well. It's this obscenely difficult to get into bar that hosts a lot of punk show, and being my 19 year old self, I was a tad concerned if I would REALLY get in. But my bf's band gave me stuff to carry, so that got me in the door. Once I was in the backroom where the stage was, it was super dark and I figured I was finally in the clear. Then some guy came up, one of the workers who checks ID. He asked us all to show him our IDs, and I was like: FUCK. I pretended to look for my wallet in my bag and calmly stated to my bf P that I must have left it at his house. The man then started shining hte light in my face, and asked me how old I am. It went down something like this:

Him (standing over me with a flashlight): How old are you?

(shines light on my face)

Me (bending over my bag, stand up): I'm 23.

(He continues to shine the light in my face)

Me (sticking out my tongue and opening my mouth wide): I feel like I'm at a Dr. appointment. How does my throat look?

He then laughed and stamped my hand. And history was made. In my mind.

Anyway, I'm going to try out this whole sleeping thing. Here's a poem I wrote tonight. It's terrible. Enjoy!

Another junky-child asleep on the asphalt

I could hear her shrill silent scream

It left the air empty

Like the dry heat of summer

I curled up in a ball beside her

The shallow moonlight lit the gray tracks of tears on the sheets

My loneliness played across the room

I tried to remember why Paris always seemed better at night

But then I let out another silent scream

For relief of this yearning

The deep-seated, empty belly syndrome

That left us on our knees every night

Praying at that empty altar

Waiting for a moment

Of pure silence

After the sermon had stopped

I found myself surrounded

By these thoughts

Too numerous to stop

The rambling of an amphetamine brain

But without the amphetamine

Tears seemed to fall slowly

Rolling down as if to savor the moment

That feeling of pure desire

The roll and ebb

Flowing up and down my spinal chord

Playing my body like a harp

And leaving my brain to reel

Now there is no scream

Just silence

An empty mind

Which now only simmers.