something for the kids..

i was looking through some old stuff today and found this. this written on the wall of this tweaker motel i stayed at in Portland like 5 years ago when i was fully immersed in my drama. this is verbatim what was on the wall of that place and it stuck out so much that i wrote it down exactly in my notebook and its one of the things ive kept from that time period. well. let me first start off with a poem i wrote about that time. not to live in the past, because i dont, but this stuff is still incredibly interesting to me - the whole mindset of this kindof thing and lifestyle people actually live. man. i havent thought about that place in awhile. that's where i thought i saw my first "demon possessed" man - some old white guy with these crazy hollow eyes that made me think demon... heh. i dont even know where to begin and anyway i try, it's gonna be long winded probably... But i remember being scared to death. Me, this super naive white guy from suburban connecticut, living in a big city thats one of the crystal meth/homeless/heroin capitals of the country... yikes. i remember sitting there in my room and hearing this guy on drugs walk down my hallway, open the stairwell door, walk up the stairs, door close, walk down the hallway on the floor above me, door open, door close, walk past my door again... repeated again and again and again and again and again. while i sat in my $15 a night hostel with a roommate who read books constantly because, as his father had told him, "an idle mind is the devil's playground." I forget his name, but he was cool enough. He was running from something up in Seattle and worked landscaping or something. I was running from myself and worked at trying to stay alive another day. anyway, I can remember. "I can remember... Black lipstick kisses smooched on unwashed yellow stalls. and staring at the drug prose scrawled on cottage cheese texture walls. Looking out the window, and it's several story drop. Chuckling at the thought of giving someone a brand new chalk-outline convertible top." the poem kindof rambles on, and i dont think it ever found its final form, but thats the part i like best from it. ANyway, that was just to set some stage for the quotes i found in my notebook from whoever had stayed in the single room at the motel that i had before i started running out of money and moved into a hostel. directly quoted off the wall of a crack motel in Portland. it was all scribbled because the walls were textured and not flat........ definitely added some effect.. "How riduclas I have become Do Drugs, get tweak, get Parnoid and thereby cause attention. Why do I find this hard to believe when I am straight! _Addiction_ too many years - all I want to do is die! I [something smudged] I know there must be something to this why else would I travel 4000 miles. I will now wait for when you decide to come get me." and some other person wrote, in cursive: "John Braddock Jacobs" is the World's Richest Queer he keeps his money in the Devils Angels in his body & soul he is in Los Angeles, Calif." - isn't that crazy??? incredible drug stuff. but i wonder what people thought of down the line when they saw what i had written before i left that room... "Know in your heart as I know in my soul that this is the end of the beginning of the beginning of the end." ... but maybe we were all just spun out on something.