The Whitey

A story about drug taking and losing yourself to find yourself…

threestar

Read this story in full for 69p from Ether Books

First Page : From primitive tribes taking potent natural hallucinogens, to a fourteen-year-old vomiting up a cheap bottle of whiskey, we, as a collective people have always liked getting off our faces. Allen Ginsberg captured the essence of this in the first few lines of Howl. But he was talking about a very different generation, stalking poetical, transcending the Godhead through orgiastic forms of catharsis. The compulsion of the contemporary entity is far more banal: boredom, hopelessness, fear of sleep. There is no joy in discovering what has already been found, just something desperate and repetitive, surrender where victory was once sought.  Now, I could never claim to have been acquainted with the best minds of my generation. But if you’ve got, or ever had a taste for it, the chances are you’ve overdone it at some stage – the face flushed a whiter shade of dove feather, young lungs coughing up blood, legs buckling under no undue external strain. I’ve seen them all, experienced them all, over toilet seats, sick bowls, in dark alleyways or smoky Joe front rooms, from out of depth novices to the most iron-gutted stoners. What are they all looking for?

Read this story in full for 69p from Ether Books