Drug Winters
A 'Long Strange' Trip Down Madness Lane
Journal Entry: Autumn 1988
Flash of Memory: The black sling I wore, ten years ago, to cradle my arm and mangled wrist.
Odd, the things one recalls when autumn winds begin to blow.
The 10-year echo still sounds within the ever-present ache of my left hand… the corpse-grey tingling in my palm and fingers, even as I type this. The answering echo in my back as I squirm and try to find a way to sit that doesn’t hurt.
That was the true beginning of the Drug Winters in my life.
There hung a hollowness in the air then. A lonesome, hollow sky reverberating with the vibrations of the hollow people stomping around in circles below it…
I remember them so well, can reach through the mists of time and grab a handful of those Drug Winter skies. Painfully clear they were then, each line of the grey clouds etched by the pink-green colors of acid.
