•10:16 PM
Have you ever been disgusted by something, but you cannot look away? Because it fascinates you, or arouses your curiosity. Like a dead animal along the side of the road. Or some old fuzzy food in the fridge. This is how I feel about drug addiction. The stories of those who are substance addicted freak me out but I am always hungry for more.
When Caiden was two years old, he fell and broke the skin just above his eye, along the bone. Although it didn't bleed very much, it was split right open. And it looked gruesome, but I checked it out anyway. And, I kept looking at it until something would completely gross me out and then I would look away in horror, muttering, "No big deal, Bud." On a completely different note, if you have ever wondered how you will know if your child needs stitches, let me assure you that when the time comes, you'll know. Trust me. And don't be afraid, because they can use a glue sometimes. Actually, the Doctor told us that he decided to use the glue because, although he was pretty sure little Caiden could handle the stitches, he wasn't so sure his mother could. So, for the crazy momoholic-types out there, a special adhesive can be used in some circumstances. But I digress ...
Jesus' Son, by Denis Johnson, is shocking and disgusting at times but I just wanted to read more. It is the semi-autobiographical account of a wandering junkie and I was fascinated. At only 133 pages, the eleven short stories are a quick read. Actually, it could be a novel with eleven chapters, but there is no time line. So the nineth story could have happened before second story. I suspect Johnson doesn't even know the order in which the stories happened because that is how I imagine it is for an addict. Time and sequence have no meaning; it's just a block of time. But the last story is definitely the ending.
I wanted to learn more about Denis Johnson, suspecting the story had some truth to it. Because you cannot make this kind of stuff up. You just can't. I learned that he is a shy and reserved man, so it was difficult to find information on him. It seems he does not seek out the spotlight. But I did find a great article about him ... click here if you want to read it.
Jesus' Son gives us a glimpse into the world of an addict through the eyes of a man known only as Fuckhead.
"No wonder they call me Fuckhead."
"It's a name that's going to stick."
"I realize that."
"'Fuckhead' is gonna ride you to your grave."
"I just said so. I agreed with you in advance," I said.
Each story is like a television episode. The only recurring character is the narrator, and each time, we get to go along on his ride. Like when he just wanders around aimlessly in the middle of the night because he has no where else to go. Or, when he and a buddy think up a way to make some money. Or, when he and another buddy become involved with eight baby bunnies. The narrator often acknowledges that he is not sure whether one hour passed or one day. There is divorce, death by overdose, happy hours, abortion, rehab, stealing, shootings ... this book has it all. The words flow in tangled confusion sometimes, in the same way that I imagine a junkie would think them.
Jesus' Son reminds of The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll. I have not read the book, but I did see the movie. It was one of the most disturbing things I have ever watched. It is difficult for me to deal with the idea that people live like this. As I sit writing this, there are poor lost souls out there living the things I can only read. After I saw this movie, it remained with me for many, many days. Sneaking into my thoughts ... wondering how I would have saved him, if I'd been there. I do not mean to sound arrogant, implying that I could, in fact, save him. But I would want to try. I would want him to know that he does not have to live addicted ... waking up and not knowing where he is, sleeping on the street, wandering around aimlessly, without real relationships.
There has always been something about drug addiction that I have found equally as revolting as it is fascinating. I cannot look away. When I was a little girl, my family went on a camping trip all the way around Lake Superior. One afternoon we stopped at a Provincial Park for lunch, so all the kids could stretch their legs. While the mothers dug food out of the campers, the kids wandered around, running off the energy that had been accumulating. I spotted three people, two men and a woman, in the water with their clothes on. The three of them were goofing around near a waterfall the entire time we had our lunch break. I can still picture them now, thirty-some years later. They were acting bizarre ... like they could see things we could not. I stared in the same way that I might have watched a disabled person, trying to figure them out. I don't think any of the other kids even noticed them, but I watched them from afar, engrossed in their behaviour. Like watching wild animals interact behind bars at the zoo.I remember my Mom telling me not to stare, but I wanted to know what was wrong with them.
"Never mind," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And, stop staring."
Whatever it was, it must have been embarrassing because my Mom didn't want to talk about it and she told me twice not to stare at them. I think I was worried about them, especially the woman. Because to a seven year old little girl, it seemed as though they were sick. Or maybe crazy. And there was nobody around to help them. It was the seventies and all about freeing your mind, but I did not understand that at the time. Instead, it scared me.
As a young adult, I thought addicts were just losers who couldn't get themselves together. With some university education and a little maturity, I understand better now. I understand that addiction is an illness. But as a student of psychology, my interest lies in why the person wants to escape in the first place. Because I believe there is a reason for wanting to escape; at least, in the beginning. And then, it becomes a dependance. If you do not deal with whatever demon you are carrying around, you will turn to some sort of escape again and again. I think this is why I started to research Denis Johnson ... because I want to know what he was running from.
This book about addicts is addictive. If he wrote another collection of stories, I would definitely read it! Pick this one up, if you're into junkies.
And so, my quest moves forward. Five books read. According to my calculations, if I want to stay on course for one hundred books, I have fallen behind by one. I should have read six books by tonight. Fast Food Nation is up next ... already started ... you are what you eat.
When Caiden was two years old, he fell and broke the skin just above his eye, along the bone. Although it didn't bleed very much, it was split right open. And it looked gruesome, but I checked it out anyway. And, I kept looking at it until something would completely gross me out and then I would look away in horror, muttering, "No big deal, Bud." On a completely different note, if you have ever wondered how you will know if your child needs stitches, let me assure you that when the time comes, you'll know. Trust me. And don't be afraid, because they can use a glue sometimes. Actually, the Doctor told us that he decided to use the glue because, although he was pretty sure little Caiden could handle the stitches, he wasn't so sure his mother could. So, for the crazy momoholic-types out there, a special adhesive can be used in some circumstances. But I digress ...
Jesus' Son, by Denis Johnson, is shocking and disgusting at times but I just wanted to read more. It is the semi-autobiographical account of a wandering junkie and I was fascinated. At only 133 pages, the eleven short stories are a quick read. Actually, it could be a novel with eleven chapters, but there is no time line. So the nineth story could have happened before second story. I suspect Johnson doesn't even know the order in which the stories happened because that is how I imagine it is for an addict. Time and sequence have no meaning; it's just a block of time. But the last story is definitely the ending.
I wanted to learn more about Denis Johnson, suspecting the story had some truth to it. Because you cannot make this kind of stuff up. You just can't. I learned that he is a shy and reserved man, so it was difficult to find information on him. It seems he does not seek out the spotlight. But I did find a great article about him ... click here if you want to read it.
Jesus' Son gives us a glimpse into the world of an addict through the eyes of a man known only as Fuckhead.
"No wonder they call me Fuckhead."
"It's a name that's going to stick."
"I realize that."
"'Fuckhead' is gonna ride you to your grave."
"I just said so. I agreed with you in advance," I said.
Each story is like a television episode. The only recurring character is the narrator, and each time, we get to go along on his ride. Like when he just wanders around aimlessly in the middle of the night because he has no where else to go. Or, when he and a buddy think up a way to make some money. Or, when he and another buddy become involved with eight baby bunnies. The narrator often acknowledges that he is not sure whether one hour passed or one day. There is divorce, death by overdose, happy hours, abortion, rehab, stealing, shootings ... this book has it all. The words flow in tangled confusion sometimes, in the same way that I imagine a junkie would think them.
Jesus' Son reminds of The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll. I have not read the book, but I did see the movie. It was one of the most disturbing things I have ever watched. It is difficult for me to deal with the idea that people live like this. As I sit writing this, there are poor lost souls out there living the things I can only read. After I saw this movie, it remained with me for many, many days. Sneaking into my thoughts ... wondering how I would have saved him, if I'd been there. I do not mean to sound arrogant, implying that I could, in fact, save him. But I would want to try. I would want him to know that he does not have to live addicted ... waking up and not knowing where he is, sleeping on the street, wandering around aimlessly, without real relationships.
There has always been something about drug addiction that I have found equally as revolting as it is fascinating. I cannot look away. When I was a little girl, my family went on a camping trip all the way around Lake Superior. One afternoon we stopped at a Provincial Park for lunch, so all the kids could stretch their legs. While the mothers dug food out of the campers, the kids wandered around, running off the energy that had been accumulating. I spotted three people, two men and a woman, in the water with their clothes on. The three of them were goofing around near a waterfall the entire time we had our lunch break. I can still picture them now, thirty-some years later. They were acting bizarre ... like they could see things we could not. I stared in the same way that I might have watched a disabled person, trying to figure them out. I don't think any of the other kids even noticed them, but I watched them from afar, engrossed in their behaviour. Like watching wild animals interact behind bars at the zoo.I remember my Mom telling me not to stare, but I wanted to know what was wrong with them.
"Never mind," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "And, stop staring."
Whatever it was, it must have been embarrassing because my Mom didn't want to talk about it and she told me twice not to stare at them. I think I was worried about them, especially the woman. Because to a seven year old little girl, it seemed as though they were sick. Or maybe crazy. And there was nobody around to help them. It was the seventies and all about freeing your mind, but I did not understand that at the time. Instead, it scared me.
As a young adult, I thought addicts were just losers who couldn't get themselves together. With some university education and a little maturity, I understand better now. I understand that addiction is an illness. But as a student of psychology, my interest lies in why the person wants to escape in the first place. Because I believe there is a reason for wanting to escape; at least, in the beginning. And then, it becomes a dependance. If you do not deal with whatever demon you are carrying around, you will turn to some sort of escape again and again. I think this is why I started to research Denis Johnson ... because I want to know what he was running from.
This book about addicts is addictive. If he wrote another collection of stories, I would definitely read it! Pick this one up, if you're into junkies.
And so, my quest moves forward. Five books read. According to my calculations, if I want to stay on course for one hundred books, I have fallen behind by one. I should have read six books by tonight. Fast Food Nation is up next ... already started ... you are what you eat.
