100 Days Project

Ben: 100 Writings / 100 Opening Guitar Hooks

various, random creative expressions / writings, inspired partially by 100 popular songs (songs that somewhat begin with a leading hook of a guitar.)

Day 49:

“Heroin” (1967) by the Velvet Underground

“Heroin” (1967) by the Velvet Underground


Yes.

____ went first. I was watching him, trembling with curiosity and excitement. Eyes wide open. ______ was sitting over the edge of his bed, mixing something. A Butane torch was burning. I remember only bits of it. There was a kettle. A spoon. ____ began tapping his arm, looking for on his arm as if it were a map. Searching. There was a poster of Jet Li on the wall. ___ was standing … somewhere. He got some fresh needles from that Diary in Mt. _______. One each. We opened the wrappers of our needles, each in turn. Silence. Eagerness. A vein. Yes.

____ took a deep breath and soon after, just sat there, red eyes, watching as it was ___’s turn to go. I was looking at him, wondering and asking what it feels like. He said, “It’s good, bro. You’ll see.” He was there, alright. His tiny smirk however was concealing a gargantuan experience. ___ knelt down for the shoot and then stood up. The smile on his face was a mile wide. He was somewhere else, alright.

My turn. Of course, at first I didn’t feel anything at all. I asked them what was it supposed to feel like. “Just wait, bro.” I remember a train going by the house. Loud, thunderous – But it was quiet and very, very soft. My head began spinning. I began to understand how the nervous system, completely unexpected of it, was completely overwhelmed by it. My stomach began churning. But the boys were prepared for it. They opened the front door and I spewed. I heard everyone spews the first time. “Sorry, guys.” “Nah, it’s all good, bro, everyone spews the first time.”

As I walked back in, I felt the pumping of blood through my legs. Each step. It became thicker. Walking through some invisible mire. Sloshing through, up to my chest. Blood on the inside felt like water on the outside. Deeper. Deeper. Jet Li. ___ was standing by the bed. ______ used the torch to light up his cigarette. I just walked into the room by a distance of only one meter. And then I was swimming.

I was standing like a God. I sat down. I didn’t feel bad about spewing. “All good, bro?” “oh yeah!” Giggles crossed the room. Here was that gargantuan experience – and I was here, alright. In the air. Weightless. Tingling. I lit up a cigarette. Drowning. Smoking and drowning.

I felt safe too. I really didn’t care about the boys in this room or the trains outside, at all – This was a very, very safe place. Didn’t feel paranoid. There was no weight, no work. The other boys felt that too. They had no baggage either. That’s why they weren’t talking as well.

I remembering hearing the minute tobacco light up ferociously, like a large sacrificial bonfire. I remembering hearing my own lungs. I remember another train zapped by so loud, so thunderous, I only noticed it after it left. I could hear my heart beat. A joke passed. I just laughed for the hell of it. We were all somewhere else, sitting there in the same room. Euphoric. Blood flowing. The warmth in the room from the torch was very comforting. Must’ve been in that room for at least three hours. Wouldn’t know. Too busy swimming. ____ was admiring the floor.

Yeah.