JUNKe Life

A biggie $100 smack bust at TO airport…
July 29, 2009, 10:11 pm
Filed under: heroin, Stuff

heroin traffic

A lot of dope was confiscated in Toronto in several busts which followed a three week investigation into heroin importing that was sparked off by an observant border guard at the Pearson International Airport. All in all some 117 keys of heroin were seized, and three people arrested. On July 28 policy held a press conference and outlined some of the details: see article.

It’s a seizure that points to a rapidly developing heroin market in Canada…

“There has been a real cultural shift that we’ve seen here in Canada over the last 4 or 5 years,” [RCMP officer] said. “We have seen a huge increase in the amount of opium products coming into Canada, not just in the form of heroin but certainly in the form of opium as well.”

… doesn’t yet know if the stash was all for use in the Canadian drug market because the investigation is ongoing. But [officer] said Toronto is becoming a trading post city for heroin importers and exporters. “We’re becoming a shipping country for heroin.

Junk Mail ain’t spam…
July 27, 2009, 11:55 pm
Filed under: Drug Politics, Good Stuff, JUNKe life

You definitely want to consume this.

Junk Mail is the national magazine of the Australian Injection and Illicit Drug Users League. AIVL has produced 13 issues of this excellent journal – “made by users for users” – this century.


You will find all 13 issues of Junk Mail staring you in the face at AIVL’s site, waiting for you to download in .pdf format. As the saying goes, “Just Do It”.

And while at the AIVL site, look around. Its really packed with info. Observe how users are organized in Australia. “AIVL is a peer-based organization, which means that it is run by and for people who use or have used illicit drugs” consisting of several Member Organizations from cities and regions all over the country, with a national office that represents all of the locals as well as issues of national significance for people who use or have used illicit drugs.

A hit to die for…
July 16, 2009, 2:21 pm
Filed under: JUNKe life

Round about a decade ago things were pretty rough for us for awhile.   One Spring I was evicted from my bachelor pad by the Sheriff because I hadn’t paid rent for some time.  You can imagine where every penny had been going.  I remember being on welfare and my cash was direct deposited into my bank account.  I’d be at the bank just after midnight on the day the funds were released, and I’d withdraw the entire amount the instant my account updated from $0 to around $600.  With cash in hand, I’d head straight over over the purveyers of my dope of choice at the time, and within a couple hours of the new month starting I’d be totally broke again.

But I would have enough dope to stay good and high for a few days at least.  And then when it ran out, the junkie grind would start again.  But at least I had a holiday from hustling and stealing for a couple days at the start of each month.  Back then I had a reasonable down habit, and I was also doing two or three good whacks of speed everyday.  And I’d been going like that for half a year or so.

We were living in a tent in a city park along side the river.  The only other people living in the park were other crazies like ourselves.  That was kind of a double edged thing because it made for some semblance of community, however you really had to watch that you didn’t get ripped off big time more-or-less everytime you left your camping area.  And some folks also had a bad habit of really attracting the heat, which meant we’d also get rousted from time to time, since the cops weren’t going to waste the opportunity to bug us too since they’d made the treck out of their way down to the park and they might not be bothered getting there any time soon again.

Well, along came sweetie’s birthday.  I’d been visiting one morphine dealer every day for months, dropping around $100 on every visit, so in my speed twisted head I figured that dealer might want to acknowledge her birthday with a gift of sorts, i.e. a minor front so we could just take the day off and not have to get out and scramble our butts off on her special day.  Mind you, he was the sort of dealer who previously had said such shit as “see me when you get 3 more dollars” when he knew I’d have to go out shoplifting again in a big hurry, rather than carry over that 3 bucks owed until tomorrow.   And believe me, he knew I saw him every tomorrow.

Anyhow, I figured he’d want to make things nice for her birthday.  So I headed off on foot the three mile hike to his place.  He wasn’t home.  I tried his old lady (who I knew was holding) and she said some shit about how he’d told her to give no fronts.  I talked her into calling him (he had our old cell phone, btw, which we’d traded for a couple pills previously when we were a bit desperate).  He of course said “no can do” regarding a birthday front, despite my humiliating pleas.

Now I started getting pissed.  I’d done so much extra shit for that dealer over the years, helped him out, etc. etc. and I was getting fed up to the max with his petty power tripping.  He knew (absolutely knew) I was good for any front.  So when he wouldn’t even help us out on her birthday, I reached the end of my rope.  I can take a lot of shit because that’s part and parcel with being the lowly junky on the dope hierarchy.  As Burroughs’ put it in Junky:

The pyramid of junk, one level eating the level below (it is no accident that junk higher-ups are always fat and the addict in the street is always thin) right up to the top or tops since there are many junk pyramids feeding on peoples of the world and all built on basic principles of monopoly:

  1. Never give anything away for nothing.
  2. Never give more than you have to give (always catch the buyer hungry and always make him wait).
  3. Always take everything back if you possibly can.

The Pusher always gets it all back. The addict needs more and more junk to maintain a human form…

But I’d truly had enough of his b.s. My remaining spark of humanity felt overwhelmed with humiliation at having done the dance so much without the merest acknowledgment of appreciation. Feeling very angry, I put my fist around the all-purpose knife tool in my pocket, and turned around and headed back towards that bastard’s place. I knew the fucker would have to come home sometime.
I was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building when I saw a city bus pull up at a stop just down the hill and out stepped the dealer. He had a jaunty step and a cocky way about him that I detested at the best of times, but seeing it now I surely hated it. I yelled, and started moving towards him with bee-line purpose. I could see him going “whoa!” when he perceived that I was not my usual docile please-sir-can-i-have-some-more lackey. But I doubt he really understood that he was a dead man if he did the wrong thing.