Ten Things Everyone Should Know About Heroin Nonfiction

A small pile of nonfiction short stories lie neglected in my office, each bound in photocopies of old magazine covers a bit frayed around the edges. Each time I feel the urge to pour through one, an act which should take no longer than 5-7.5 minutes, I get distracted or lose interest.

So it goes, I guess.

Seemingly composed under the influence of various unnamed substances, these pieces supposedly provide first-person accounts of the author's sexual exploits in somewhat morbid detail, along with the general malaise, ennui or depressive state that often follows the consumption of various unnamed substances.

Maybe I should take a look. Probably not today.

Being as it's 2017, these stories are now more than a decade old. That makes me feel old. Not only that, but they were written by someone I believe has ceased to be. That someone, an old acquaintance I can barely picture at this point, was fighting a constant battle with addiction to various unnamed substances.

I probably made the mistake of revealing that information earlier in the post. Accidental foreshadowing, I believe they call it.

They don't call it anything.

I have taken peeks here and there at the writing. Not much, but long enough to know the author had a good grasp for style and storytelling. I tell myself I'm going to thumb through one of them the next time I add more material to my novel, but that must be a lie, because as far as I can tell, I haven't done shit in that direction.

Goes it so, guess I.

I think about this small pile of nonfiction decorating my desk often. I don't really know why. Perhaps it's because I often wonder what the world would look like with a bit more glaze. My perspective is already skewed, but sometimes I think it doesn't have enough of a tint to it. I don't know. Perhaps a softening, brownish lens is needed to see things with a bit more honesty; a bit more yellow or brown melted over the scape...just enough to give reality that reservoir-ish hue. Things could stand to appear a bit murkier, darker, tinted, uninviting

It would better match the inside.

The Heroin Nonfiction on my desk requires some attention. It's not really asking for it. It never ASKS for it. But it murmurs a constant and frightening message that seems to know not gravity, nor to recognize boundaries of door and wall.

I thought about thumbing through it today. But I lost interest.

Maybe tomorrow. Probably not today.

re ipsa loquitor

BP

Next Time, I provide an enthralling account of life and times as a Commuter in Truck Country. You don't want to miss it.







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