Yeah, it's been a month. I could have a million excuses, but I'll only use one:
Free. Er.
As in, Supervised Release is over with. As in, I stepped into a hearing last Monday, and came out with a ruling ending my coerced involvement with the federal government on Tuesday.
I'm still not free - none of us are. We're still the victims and the caged animals of a world demarcated by bastards that came way before us, and by those who currently hold either compliance or consent, or some combination of the two.
Now that I'm free: I don't regret a thing. I did nothing wrong. To those that got high-quality LSD from me: you're welcome. Glad to be of service. Won't do it again, because I don't have another 8 years of prison time and 14 months of supervised release time to spare. Sorry, other priorities, and being a foot soldier appeals just about as much as working the trenches in the legal field. Not my interest. I'd rather see about winning this damn drug war, and setting all of my people free.
So free. Er. And still I'm a slave to the job.
My other news: my stay here in NYC is over. I'm headed to San Francisco, to become a blood-sucking bottom feeder... er... lawyer. Well, not a practicing attorney, mind you, but the law degree should prove endlessly helpful in designing policy to put an end to the madness, to increase the overall freedom of the people, and to reign in some of this damn tyranny being sold as a good idea.
Or at least that's what my high horse wants. My sober horse just wants to make sure I do something to help free some more drug war prisoners.
So what does this sensation feel like? Can't really describe it, because none of it feels very real.
Anyways, this is my lackluster apology to my faithful 5, and my new 1 blog reader: I'm back. Sorry about the delays. But as a free(er) man(boy), I should prove to have some more interesting adventures on the way, at least until law school starts...
Especially when you consider that I'm about to pack up the parent's loaner car (since I never want to own an internal combustion engine again), and go across the country in 4 days and 7 breweries, with 1 brother, 1 cousin, 1 convict, 1 sweetheart, and 1 partner n' wife inbetween me and my final destination (not like the movie, damnit!).
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2 comments:
I was just tipsily listening to "I Shall Be Released" & reclaiming it as a tragic drug war song--"I remember ev'ry face/of ev'ry man who put me here..."
(Alcohol still sucks as a drug, upon reconsideration. No wonder I haven't done it for years before this.)
Truly sorry for what you went through. (OOOh, the fun maudlin part of being tipsy--forgot about that.) So far I've only been pulled into criminalization's clutches twice, and very loosely. Once for misdemeanor pros when I was a young ho and wasn't smart enough to believe it could happen to me and listen to my instincts & intellect that were screaming at me to get out of the room, and it was cont. w/o a finding. Once b/c they wanted me to talk about my ex-dealer boyfriend--good luck on that boys, I know the 5th. (They got mad at me for invoking that, and raised my bailed to $500. They were even more incensed when I raised it that night by calling another ex-bf.) I was literally arrested for a thought crime "knowingly being in the presence of heroin."
My brushes with the law did put me into another prison--forced methadone addiction, more addictive than any opiate, requiring me to jump through a thousand bureaucratic hoops while they hold the sword of Damocles over my head (yay mixed metaphors)while eroding my cognitive skills, decalcifying my bones, depressing and overly sedating me, and exposing me to MONTHS of physical withdrawal pain if my supply was ever threatened (compared to 7 days of heroin withdrawal, for example.) But I'm coming down mg by painful mg--hopefully I can jump ship to subutex soon (don't want no suboxone, no junkie punishment medicine naloxone in my shit.) I've already gone down to much less than 50% of my highest dose.
All this to say I know what you mean about only being so free. Every time I shoot up in the privacy of my own home, using harm reduction techniques, everytime I have to shove pills up my pussy to hide them, every time I perform an illegal act that fills my coffers and genuinely makes the people who see me feel better, every time I must fear the assholes in blue who are supposed to protect me from violence but whom I could never come to if I was raped or assaulted by a client...I'm not fucking free.
Sorry for the life story. See? Liquor sucks.
Oh, and now, b/c they can't bust me for anything, the police are talking shit about me to my ex- DA landlord b/c I'm involved in an activist group investigating an alleged case of police brutality.
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