Peering through the cracks of exactly what, we can't say, we find the life of R-, crazed with love:
Things came to a head over smoked buds and low-life literature - the slip from Post Office to Naked Lunch being, as is wont, subtle. Old habits were discarded in favor of new ones. Meanwhile, the addictions accumulated.
To combat the now-constant stupor, amphetamines were prescribed by benign doctors who realised that asleep was no way to be. Well, certainly not while obligations, debts, etc., menace.
For years he maintained a semblance of normalcy—of decency—working every day, sleeping every night. Or, at least, that's what people thought. The truth is that he worked at nothing, laying bricks, building nothing, never sleeping.
When his amphetamine supply ran dry, his diet of beer and gin finally caught up with him, leaving him a nervous, babbling mess. He wanders now, bereft of reason, seeing the after before the before, and passing through undetected.
I had a few ideas about the truly fantastic ways
Written on Monday, 26 April 2004