Primate Watching (junky plaza)


from stamatis gr photo blog

 

Yesterday I had to go over to the post office on Ebay business. The local post office around here is at the Platia Dimarchios, city hall plaza. For some reason, local junkies and other permanently bewildered types have taken up a sort of residence there. There seems to be only minimal dealing going on, furtive ingestion, not much else except for a sort of Brownian motion and social interaction. I told Maria it was like going to the monkey house to watch our distant cousins. Big time voyeur action. I watched a strange menage a trois as one belle of the balle, her left eye blackened and swollen, squeezed into jeans and boots, decorated with chains flirted openly with another candidate as her bearded oblivious companion phased in and out of existence off to one side. He lifted her up from behind, stretching her back while beardo, resplendent in plaid shirt and baseball cap had image iteration and rendering problems. Then the police came by and no one altered their behavior in any way.

I guess the dope in this town must be of a very high potency because all the junkies are so zombied. They are like calf fetuses suspended in aspic as they dance their slow motion dance of perdition. I suppose they mix it up with rohypnol or some such. What always amazes me is that they often chop up and snort their painfully acquired cargo out of doors, where wind doth blow and rain doth dissolve. I can’t fathom this. Must be cheap too. Or they must be stupid.

I want to feel compassion for these poor dupes (and I do) and contempt for the hell spawn who sell them their ticket to limbo. I don’t mean the low level junkie peddlers who spin in the same blender, I mean the alien-sucking demons who build their economical and political power on their backs, who use chemical shackles to enslave an army of idiot thieves to prey upon society. It’s the old primate game, dad, purple-assed baboon politics.

If I were world emperor I would institute genuine rehabiliation for all, long slow detox assisted by as much of the chemical in question as required, self-analysis and therapy to try and restore the victims of this chemical spill to sanity, dissolution of clandestine pharmaceutical networks and conversion of their assets to fund health care and education initiatives for all.

Oh yeah. That’s all gonna happen. Just the other day I heard Newt Gingrich talking about it with Baron Sarkozy.

Author: Blaine L. Reininger

Blaine L. Reininger was born July 10, 1953 in Pueblo, Colorado. Then he lived a life. By and by, he founded Tuxedomoon with Steven Brown in 1977. He traipsed around America, tuxedomooning until 1980, when he began to traipse around Europe. As a direct result of all of this traipsing, many musical compositions were composed, most of which found their way to some sort of mechanical device capable of reproducing musical compositions. This was mostly for the good. He now lives in Athens, Greece, where he is content.

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