Mick Jagger used to sing about not getting any satisfaction. He tried, and he tried and he tried, but he didn't get no... Satisfaction. I draw satisfaction from watching 50 punks punch, swing and fight there way to a stage just to yell my own words right back into my face. One mans pain is anothers pleasure. I enjoyed the violence. Call me sick and twisted if you want, it's nothing more than a compliment to my red raw & ringing ears.
I find that the only people who don't draw satisfaction from the underground world are the ones who have been brainwashed by the radio coorperate take over. Which is about 96% of the popuation of America. It's a sad site. The fact that any dickhead with a Macbook can sample other peoples music that they had spent countless hours on, and become more successful than the man standing on the corner with a guitar just trying to play for a few spare dollars. It makes me fucking sick.
Playing gigs are all good and dandy, but they're an instance cure from being on a high, and i didn't like that. So i'd go backstage and do the same thing i did before i went on the stage. When you feel low, there always something to make you feel high. Wether it's the music you listen too, the air you breathe, or the jagged needle hanging out of your arm, we all get high off something.
I'm not sure what it was about everytime I took drugs or when im about too, but it must be an international symbol for 'Let's interrupt Cody's high time'. It wasn't just one of those, coinsidental things, it was every fucking time. Some people in this world must have a sixth sense that i'm totally unaware of. I give these people a show they ask for, and they can't give me 5 minutes to launch myself. Jesus fucking christ.
I didn't expect to see someone like her when i turned around and faced the door. A bottle of Vodka in her right hand, and a smoke in the other. Definitely one of the classier women around here. Her heavily shadowed eyes screamed innocence, her face gained atttraction but her body yelled hooker. Because lets face it, fish net stockings and a torn, ratty dress really makes for a fancy night on the town.
I'm not, wasn't and never will be a romantic person, and to tell you truth, I fucking hate it. All that supid flower buying, holidays, anniversaries, dinners with the in-laws is all bullshit to me. Personally I just want to be with someone who cooks me dinnner, cleans my shit and sleeps with me. I don't feel like i'm asking alot.
She walked in and shut the door. I was in for a thrill, or a kill, but either way it should be exciting. She stuck her hand down her dress and pulled out a clip-seal bag of white powder. She sat on my lap and asked 'was up for it?' I picked up the needle and told her 'Why don't we make things interesting?'
I don't remember what happened after I said that. All i know is I woke up with an empty bottle of scotch and a thumping headache. To top it all off; The clip-seal bag was empty, my needle was missing and I was butt naked next to a girl i had known not even 2 minutes. I didn't know where I was, but I didn't care. I was apart of this business for the thrill, and thrilled is what I was.
