OC20s, OC40s, OC80s, percocets, lortabs, fentanyl lollipops for the kids, methadone, morphine, codeine, HEROIN. Yes, the nefarious scourge of constipating pain-relieving euphoric drugs in the opiate family knows no boundaries in the world of labels and drug slang... and certainly has an uncontained and spectacularly diverse fan base, from Rush Limbaugh to the CIA.
Hook me up with an Oscar, bro! If it's alright could I pop round to visit Harry, if he's in..? Can't wait till Sister Morphine comes back to town. Fuck you up like a Percocet, let's find us some panacea at a Mexican pharmacia! Yep... the nurse who loved me has apparently also loved ALL the other guys too.
Opium (which I have had the rare pleasure of encountering in its genuine, proper form, and _actually_ smoking - you red rockers can keep yer Dragon's Blood!) has loooong been with us, and is grown in vast quantities in India, and on the island of Tasmania by Tasmanian Alkaloids (who supply roughly 80% of the world's legal narcotics market)... not to mention by thousands of poor Afghani farmers in the 'Golden Triangle,' who are kept on leashes, fed small handfuls of ostrich meat twice weekly, and regularly forced to not only sell their daugthers to slavery but also regularly change Osama Bin Laden's dialysis equipment for him (the cave life can be a bitch if you got fucked up nephrons, ya know) - but that's all part of God's scheme to pay them back for supporting terrorism, right...
Most of this raw gooey wonderful opium gets turned into pharmaceutical painkillers, a lot of it acetylated in underground labs into the Bayer trademark heroin, and some of it just gets fuckin' toked along the way. It's all euphoric, it all gives you the itchies and the nod, it all fucks up your poop chute, but the main difference between the different forms of available opiates are basically how cool you look when you do them, how cool people think you are when you do them, and whether or not you got the government stamp in your molecular passport to allow the molecules to cross your blood-brain barrier legally (apparently the government presupposes to have a Customs outpost in your BRAIN).
But when you cut to the core, it's all just _dope_ and that's that, no matter what you tell yourself. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE dope, but not pretense. If the word 'junky' makes you feel bad, not proud, then it's time to build a bridge or stop nodding off, you fucking posers are giving us a bad name. There is an Australianism from the old days of the punk scene that seems to fit here - 'ghost boner' - it's possibly my favourite apart from strewth. To illustrate: "OMG, OxyContin users are, like, SOOO cool these days it's not funny girlfriend!" But would any of them get caught dead shooting #4 China White in the toilet? Like the T-shirt says, "Love the OC" - the perfect opiate for image-conscious junkies.
Even the most naive straightedge 14 year old has chewed 10mg of hydro in history class, or enjoyed the 'perks' from their wisdom teeth removal. Most people don't like the image of 'hardcore opiate use' but if they can circumvent that, they sure do love the high. I've even met people who drop 8 percocets to augment their phat blunt action who didn't even know that what they were taking was an opiate - they just thought it made the weed buzz better. And this same person used to tell me over and over again, "if you try heroin even just once, then <poof> that's it, it owns your life."
The high of opiates differs slightly between each form and administration method. My all-time favourite is the smoking of sweet velvet refined opium, which tastes like flowers - and trust me I done 'em all, railed oxy's, shot heroin, eaten mashed up MS Contin, done cold water codeine washes, the works, and NONE of it compares with inhaling the sweet papaver nectar slowly from an ornate pipe. It's not only oldschool, but there is just nothing in the world like proper opium - and for you 'Red Rock' smokers, please, hide your faces in shame, and stick to Robitussin and schwag, leave the real drugs for us REAL drug users.
The one time I ever shot #4 China White heroin was the first time I ever braved the IV frontier. We copped it on the streets of Nimbin (most dealers will say, "want any buds," this guy said "do you NEED _anything_?"), a quarter gram of white, white powder. Split between three people, I was the one to go first. I tied off my left arm with a belt and my mate took a 1ml insulin syringe and slid it into the crook of my elbow; REGISTER as the blood flows back signalling 'hit,' and the slam as the 30 units of liquid made its way to my brain and crossed the Maginot line with the impunity of a Nazi stormtrooper.
And... it wasn't very good shit (similar to snorting 30mg oxy, and NOTHING like the freight train I was expecting). From my limited experience, I don't think you get good shit when you just randomly cop off the street, knowing nothing about the culture you're vacationing in and its various underpinnings... you get good shit when you've been doing the stuff so long that you NEED good shit to keep from getting sick. There is a strange dog-eat-dog yet compassionate vibe in the heroin scene, which is in my opinion the most honest scene that revolves around opiates. It doesn't pretend it's pretty, and that's precisely where its beauty lies - there is not much room for pretense and posturing when you're shooting up out of nessessity, or even curiosity, an unsterile white powder you just copped from a relative stranger.
You can't fool yourself with pharmaceutical fantasies of taboo-free nods like 'Rush' Limbaugh, you can't brush it off as something cool to do at a party, you do it and you look out for others who do it and then one day you hopefully stop doing it. Until then, your hungry veins tend to start eating your wallet.
So, next time you're chopping up an OC40 on your Ikea bureau, putting on your designer clothes and spending the next 45 minutes sculpting your motherfucking hairgel, keep in mind you are only a minute difference in chemical structure and only a few mucous membranes away from the 'stigma' of properly banging some quality smack and riding God's nod with me, Kurt, and Layne Staley. Sweet dreams, blue jeans, see ya later. Me, I'll just be waiting for the man. And as for you fuckin' ghost boners, perhaps you should try to get on Idol instead and stop putting a dent in the supply.