Welcome dear readers and, please, brace yourselves. The following narrative, made up of 15 small chapters, is a musical tribute to the power of narcotics on weak, fragile minds. It is not intended as a promotion or a condemnation of drug use… it merely is. ENJOY!
Chapter 1: Coffee and TV
Spike is bored of the same old routine. He gets home every evening from his dead-end job, where he is one of many zeros, and slouches down easily in front of the TV, whilst his Mother (yeah, he still lives with his Mum, ha!) brings him mug after mug of instant coffee. He’s 30 years old and his life is one long, monotonous blur. He wants more. He craves more. What he’d love to do most is go out, live it up, but social ability is hard enough for him without the mind-numbing effects of his chainstore lifestyle. Tonight however, midway through Eastenders and his third cup of ghastly coffee, he decides he is going to start over again. What the hell, it’s Friday night after all! So off he pops down the local boozer, stopping to buy some fags on the way. Just to be wild.
Chapter 2: Cigarettes and Alcohol
At the pub Spike enjoys his second helping of BritPop, a nostalgic, hard-hitting beverage that reminds him of the summers and sunshiiiiiiiyyyyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine of his youth, and then, feeling nicely typsy, he steps outside for a ciggy. There he meets some cool-looking student types who ask him if he is looking for some action. Spike says, “thanks but I’ve finally found what I’m looking for with cigarettes and alcohol”. “Nah man, there’s so much more out there” say the heavily haired young dudes, “you gotta make it happen”. Spike was feeling easily swayed at this point and, before he knew it, he’d been invited back to theirs for further smoking. What the hell, he thought, it’s only cigarettes… right?
Chapter 3: Hash-Pipe
Half an hour later and Spike is feeling rather apprehensive because, comfy though he is, curled up on a colourful beanbag, he’s nervous about the hash pipe in the shape of a naked lady that has just been sparked up and passed around. Spike politely declines, saying he can’t help his feelings and he’ll go out of his mind. But the stoner dudes insist, playfully pretending to be the voice of the naked lady pipe; “Oh, come on and kick me… I’ve got my ass wide”. Spike can’t help thinking these tricks are for kids but indulges a little anyway. What the hell, right? Unfortunately for Spike his very first toke results in him coughing and spluttering for a full 10 minutes, prompting the young hippy wannabes to nickname him the ‘Weezer’ dude.
Chapter 4: Hits from the Bong
Feeling totally baked from his first ever toke of hash Spike is in awe as some skunky, funky, smelly, green shit is produced, along with some plastic apparatus that kind of looks like a big dildo. “What’s that?” asks Spike, mightily confused. “We’re gonna take hits from the bong” says one layabout, putting his blunt down just for a second, “don’t get me wrong it’s not a new method”. Spike grapples with the beanbag as he struggles to sit up and snatches eagerly at the bong as it is passed to him. “There’s water inside don’t spill it, it smells like shit on the carpet!” raps one of the tenants of this house on Cypress Hill. So, carefully, Spike takes his finger off of that hole and inhales… “we just got an ounce in the mail” says one scraggly haired mofo. But Spike barely registers this, as he sinks back into the velvety embrace of his rainbow-coloured beanbag…
Chapter 5: Cocaine
Spike is still chilling on his beanbag, playing a bit of guitar hero with his new homies, when some bloke from Clapton called Eric turns up. Eric turns down the offer of guitar hero, he’d only cream them all anyway, and asks if they want to go to a rocking party. Spike, annoyed that some fag beat him, says “sure, I’m naff at this game anyway”. Eric pulls him in close and says, “Here’s some advice. If your thing is gone and you want to ride on… cocaine”. “Erm, ok, but…” Spike began before Eric interrupted him, pulling him in even closer to whisper hoarsely in his ear, “If you want to get down, down on the ground… cocaine”. Spike can’t help sniggering. This guy’s wasted, he thinks. But hey, what the hell! The next minute he’s ushered into the back of a car with Eric and some attractive blonde woman, who offers him lines of cocaine. “It’s good stuff” she says. Eric yanks Spike close a third time and, with wide eyes, stammers into his ear, “She don’t lie. She don’t lie. She don’t lie… cocaine.”
Chapter 6: Ebeneezer Goode
Eric takes Spike to a party in Camden Town, where Spike natters incessantly about himself to anyone within earshot before getting a nasty nosebleed and having to run to the loo. On his return he bumps into the main geezer the whole party seems to be revolving around, who glides into his mind with a sunny hello. “The name’s Eezer Goode. Ebeneezer Goode. A gentleman of leisure and I’m here for your pleasure. What can do for you my friend?” Spike realises Mr Goode must be quite the crowd pleaser, because the people around him are chanting “Eezer Goode! Eezer Goode!” whilst grinding their teeth and snapping their jaws about their faces. This guy is the life and soul, Spike thinks. “What the hell, I want to feel the love your followers are feeling” he said. Eezer gives a grin that gurns around the room from face to face. “Pop one of these my man!” he says, slipping Spike a small tablet with a Smurf on it. Half an hour later and Spike is a spinning sweat-fountain in the middle of the dancefloor, spraying all who come near, and has somehow gained a big pink day-glo headband and plastic sunglasses. As he frantically hurls himself into ever messier shapes he can be heard hollering “Eezer Goode!” as loud as his panting lungs permit…
Chapter 7: Sorted for E’s and Wizz
Its many hours later and the normal world seems very, very, very far away for Spike. He’s with twenty thousand people standing in a field and he can’t quite understand what this feeling is. But its ok because, as he roots around in his pocket, he finds he’s sorted for E’s and wizz. He can’t remember exactly where he is however, so he asks some girl called Lucy, who he seems to have befriended . She tells him he’s at a music festival and that he got his ticket from some fucked up bloke in Camden Town. Must have been Ebeneezer Goode, thinks Spike. After boogieing in the mud with Lucy for a short while a hollow feeling grows and grows and grows inside him. He feels sick. His head aches. It’s 6 o clock, he wants to go home. But he is ashamed. So he calls his mother and says, “Mother! I can never come home again. Why you ask? Because I seem to have left an important part of my brain… somewhere, somewhere, in a field in Hampshire”. As he hangs up, with his mother’s sobs resounding in his ears, it starts to rain. This makes Spike miserable. “It’s alright, just keep on moving” says Lucy, “Anyway, I have just the thing to sort out your poor, frazzled mind …”
Chapter 8: Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
… Lucy hands Spike a tiny square of cardboard, which he hastily devours, and then he follows her down to a bridge by a fountain where, much to his befuddlement, he sees rocking horse people eating marshmallow pies. Everything seems to have new life breathed into it now, he thinks. The whole world is so awash with colour! He’s finding it all so magical, watching newspaper taxis appear on the shore, but to his dismay he can’t find Lucy anywhere. He looks for the girl with the sun in her eyes but she’s gone. What the hell, he thinks, it doesn’t matter. I’m having a great time in my boat on this river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies. What Spike doesn’t realise is that he’s currently floating on an inflatable mattress down a brown river of poo because the rain has flooded the festival and caused the portaloos to fall over and spill crap everywhere. Is that the girl with kaleidoscope eyes? No Spike, it’s a steward come to rescue you, wearing a gas mask because you smell of farts.
Chapter 9: Lost in the K-Hole
Spike manages to swiftly and stinkily evade the steward, swerving his floating mattress down the river of poo, and eventually washes up outside a tent where people are doing lines of what looks like cocaine. “Can I have one?” asks Spike. The people are not very responsive, in fact they seem to have barely noticed his arrival, so he finds it easy enough to snatch the tray of lines off them. He makes short work of two lines and baulks at its crude harshness on his sensitive nostril tissue. Suddenly he finds himself tripping about inside the recesses of his own mind, where everything looks like the itunes visualiser. He is lost inside this hole for around 3 minutes and 51 seconds before abruptly snapping back out of it… just in time to see what the chemical brothers he’s sitting with are cooking up next…
Chapter 10: Golden Brown
The junkies scattered around him are totally sparked out now, having smacked some sort of substance into their arms, and Spike thinks, what the hell, I’ve come this far, and seizes the opportunity to smack himself up. He’s still a sticky shade of brown from his poo-river escapades but his whole existence takes on a golden brown hue now, as his rational mind is strangled from him good and proper. He can’t help basking in how wonderful the feeling is, as a texture like sun courses through him. In his semi-conscious state what he doesn’t realise is that the sun is actually coming up, fighting it’s way through the stormy clouds, to bathe him in the cold light of day…
Chapter 11. Heroin
When he comes round his brothers have abandoned him (maybe because of the horrible stench exuding from his crusting clothes, Spike guesses, but he just don’t know) yet, astonishingly, they’ve left their chemicals behind. The texture of the sun is beginning to pain him considerably now, as he squirms uncomfortably in the mud. His whole body badly aches with the strain of it all, so he reaches for the stash and has one more hit. But the experience just isn’t golden now, it’s too real. It scratches at him like harsh guitar feedback across the eardrums as it flows mercilessly about within him. The whole experience is decidedly unpleasant and, as he wriggles irregularly about on the ground, he thinks ‘what the hell?’ as he slides inevitably off the slippery slope of mud he’s been lying in, and down into a murky ditch under a bush.
Chapter 12: One More Cup of Coffee
Eager festival-goers trundle past in the mud as Spike lies forlorn in his ditch. The poor guy feels like death warmed up. Or rather death freezing cold, coated in crap, buried beneath a bush. Spike is regretful of his night of madness and starts to feel that his time is up. White stripes are taking over his vision and there is an awful drumming in his ears. He would give anything to go back to his cosy home, with its bland coffee and even blander TV. He can see the light of a new day dawning just above but its beyond him to climb back up the slope and onto the path. People amble past oblivious to Spike’s mournful wails beneath them, as he pleads in vain to get “one more cup of coffee for the road. One more cup of coffee before I go… to the valley below”.
Chapter 13: Fade to Black
Death comes heavy on Spike’s heart now, as the world slowly begins to fade to black. A metallic taste dominates his mouth as emptiness begins to fill him. He looks back on the drug-fuelled mayhem of the previous twelve hours and wonders at what point it would have been sensible to stop. Could he have called a halt to his escalating hankering for harder substances at any particular stage? Maybe before he ended up floating down a river of faeces? Or was it merely inevitable, once he had embarked on the slippery slope of drugs, that he would end up this way? What the hell, he thinks, I had a laugh, I was me but now he’s gone. It’s too late now anyway. Yesterday seems like it never existed but death greets me warm, so now I will just say goodbye…
Chapter 14: The Moral
And what’s the moral of the slippery slope kids? Well, the drugs don’t work I guess. They just make you worse… but I know I’ll see your face again Spike, in various guises; in every back alley, disco party, music festival, pub, club, or pavement curb I come across.
Chapter 15: Death of a Clown
But we can’t end on such a downer can we? Let’s not forget he did have a lot of fun along the way, that kinky customer Spike. Yeah he was foolish, childish, a bit of a clown, but let us at least salute his efforts, for he won’t be forgotten… so, all together, chink your glasses together and drink… to the death of a clown!
Thanks for reading folks!