"...these fears that fell to my lot out of every day stirred a hundred other fears,
and they stood up in me against me and agreed among themselves, and I couldn't get
beyond them. In striving to form them, I came to work creatively on them ; instead
of making them into things of my will, I only gave them a life of their own which
they turned against me..."
- Rainer Maria Rilke

I got by for years with the simple mantra
"Zen mind, empty mind
Zen mind, no mind"

But finally it all caught up.
Starting with Crank in San Francisco 1982
in a cheap hotel on Polk St, Maltese Falcon territory
That year all the street boys dressed in cowboy gear
Bath houses were booming.
I didnt see inside any bathhouses,
but I did share an outfit for coke at some
flash party at a hairdresser opening.
That was a close call as HIV was just then booming.
Crank being a Hells Angel product.

Next time for Meth would have been around 1988
Shabu in Mabini. The trick is to hook up with older women.
Girls dont share.
I flew in from Palawan on the Thursday that Marcos died.
I recall looking at a bed, thinking
'Sleep: people deliberately go unconscious
for hours, why would they do that?"

Entering the "Hula Hut" in the morning, with Leila
the young girls laugh at us
as we sort our multivitamins

Eventually dream-deprivation caught up,
As I walked down the street, at 5am,
that delicious hour when diesel fumes
havent yet roared across the lightening sky
Each time I closed my eyes, dreams would hastily start.
Sunday afternoon, 70 hours, no riots, finally slept.

[Sometinme after the great brick-up of all the bars by Mayor Lim in 1991
the Hula Hut became the LA Cafe, which remains today the only free bar
in Ermita, no bar fines, live bands, big screen rugby on TV,
young girls, no medical inspections..
Scene in LA Cafe. He sits down by the band..
after ten minutes
a gorgeous woman sits down next to him,
says "OK lets go now to your place,
can I bring by friend, she has nice breasts?"
than which, in English, there can be no finer sentence]


a 60's report on speed,
including the contempt for food and sleep
White-Collar Pill Party

As the years wore on, the come down finally began to hurt,
especially as the smell of hashish became too worrying.

Thoughts began to tangle, spin in vortices,
each perturbation leading to a cascade, downwards,
local neural inhibitions released, each idea begets hordes
of nasty otherss, waves of loathing wash over the helpless mind.

Eventually he realises that no verbal mantra will help.
Any set of words aimed to help, such as "dont worry"
or "Zen Mind, Empty Mind"
just spark of whorls of dark associations.

Finally he decides a non-verbal image is the only solution.
So the "Yellow Flag" is out in the mind.
If each thought is imagined as a car on a racing track,
then yellow flag means "No Overtaking"
- each thought must be considered on its own,
with no connection with the subsequent thought.
This image is the only thing to calm his churning mind.

But then an unexpected twist,
Love trips him up. Similar mentation,
the incessant return, cant think of any thing else,
another vortex, everything is subordinate to the beloved
Exactly where is she now, can he risk another glance at her?
Dare he withhold a glance.
However long his life, this lack of courage will haunt
every remaining dark dawn hour.
Scarcely to be believed her circling approach.
How to mark this evening?