Greg Hernandez presents: “My Heart is Saying: New”
Archive for November, 2007
She pulled the comb through her hair dispassionately, the small kettle boiling on the table mere steps away from her bed and her reflection trapped in the mirror propped up against a bookcase.
Behind the face of the pale girl with the unruly auburn hair were countless treasures of literature, each one gathering dust beneath thumbed through textbooks and all the maps she had brought hastily in Heathrow airport half a year ago but had never quite managed to read.
For the second time in her life, she found herself living beneath the lights of Shinjuku and amongst the crowds of Shibuya. This time, the choice had been less impetuous; at least that was what she liked to tell herself.
There’s something to be said for that first cigarette after going without for so long. You realize the things that you usually take for granted: the feel between the fingers, how it sits between your lips, the smell of the initial burn, the long, slow inhale and soothing sensation as it rolls down the back of your throat and into your lungs, a cloud of softness comforting your nerves as it runs out your chest and through your arms and legs, spreading out and settling down.
For a moment, one blissful moment, it’s like meditating. The all encompassing ohm. It makes you wonder what all the fuss is about.
It only takes a shorter moment spent with a woman thrashing in your backseat, screaming as she claws at her arms to wretch out the poison that tears through her veins, that burns at her organs, the frothing of her mouth, the groan and snaps of her joints that spasm at unnatural angles, all in response to a voluntarily injected substance, to remind you that the same thing that drives her back to this point at least twice a month is the same thing that makes that cigarette seem so damn good.
Addiction is a hell of a way to live.