Further Down The Spiral

dear nameless subjects,

when i was just a little freshman in a redneck school of four hundred kids i was dicking around in the library and spotted a fellow friend of mine on a website. at the top my eyes zoned in on the "green day" bannor. i couldnt resist. i asked him what the fuck he was doing, and he told me that he stumbled across a site called geekstinkbreath dot net. he claimed that it was better then green day's offical website. so, with a long bus ride home, i checked it out after finishing my math homework. and yes, it was better. and since there were only about four green day fans in our school, me being one of them, this site became my haven for a while to escape the jocks and the rednecks that pleagued us so vividly. therefor, i signed on as the alias "Thatscooliguess" and went to the forums to catch up on life, and educate myself in the cyber world. i went by my false identity, steven burnside, and everyone fell in sync with me, creating friendships, and smashing them just as quicky, all through html format across the world.

when i was a sophmore, my friend handed me an 8th of weed. he told me it was a gift, he had to get rid of it because he stole a pound. he didnt want anyone to track him down. when i smelled the bud, my eyes dialated. altering the mind? it never occured to me. my life was hell, i was unhappy, and now this new tool. . . this new device to recreate my imagination.

when i was a junior i had a steady job at kfc. i had tried mushrooms, and coke by this point, and became a huge pill popper. i couldnt remember much of this year. . . but i tried to write it all down in my journal with the hopes of "oh i can still quit whenever i want, im just enjoying it too much".

my senior year i was kicked out of my house. i lived on the streets for a while, holding down a steady job, (i was a maniger at this point) and still showing up to school everyday. again, i lived in a haze, getting worse. this was the year i got hooked on acid. hit after hit, my world became such a fucking blur, i couldnt put faces to names anymore. even my closest friends seemed so far away, the only ones i could remember were the dealers.

this year. i live two towns over. i had stopped for a while, but then someone broke my heart, and i felt so dead inside. i was a coward, and now i cant see straight. its so sad, watching myself piss my life away, and all the same i keep telling myself "this is it dude, you can stop now, youve gotten crazy enough". ive far surpassed all my old druggie friends, and now thats how they know me. . . that kid on acid. people dont look at me and smile and wave anymore, they look at me with frowns and dissapointment, as if i am that outcast in society. in the underworld, i am a legend. up and coming fuckups try to share their crazy stories with me, to compare them to the legendary stories i have told and then have been told by others from party to party. they all know my name very well, and i meet people i never met before, who wanted to meet me, hangout smoke a bowl or two, and drop some acid. because, after all, i am their puppet. their entertainment, and god damn if they will be entertained by me, as i show them what the world looks like through my eyes. but as far as i run from this reality, the closer and more gray it becomes. now i just take drugs to stay alive. if i dont get my fix, i get strange. my head slows down, every day activities become frustrating and hard to handle. my mind is locked on colors, motion, and everything that dosnt matter. ive melted myself into this horrable thing.

its only been five years. every night when i cant sleep because i dont have my release, i count my fingers. still ten. and then i count my toes. still ten. and then i spit and curse, it turns out that i am my own worst enemy. is it too late for me? id rather be a bit more optimistic then that, i write songs, i play music. its how i survive. there is always another song, there is always another idea. there is so much i dont know on the guitar, and so much i can learn, and i can play blues and jazz and pop and rock and whatever the fuck i want to play. who knows. . .

for now, one more ciggarette. and then ill strum this broken guitar. and wait for this spiral to unravel.

STEVEN BURNSIDE