Irving Welsh, "Trainspotting"
I found I now have a friend that died from heroin use. (There may be one other, but I�m not sure � for this case, I know it was a cause-and-effect thing.)
He didn�t OD, but from what a friend told me, he got infected with something that ate away at his intestinal tract. He was sick for a little while, and the bruises on his chest told him something was wrong, but he didn�t do anything about it. Finally, apparently, the pain became too much and he checked himself into a hospital. Shortly thereafter he lapsed into a coma, only to die two days later. I always considered him a good friend, yet I didn�t know anything about his death. Apparently it happened over two months ago.
He would call me occasionally and when he did, I was always ready to hang out. He was a really smart guy and funny as hell, and I always had a great time being around him. We always talked about doing a band together, but I knew it would only be a while before he disappeared for a few months at a time, so I never took it very seriously.
When he did disappear, I just figured he had hooked up with his on again/off again girlfriend, and I was correct. What I didn�t know was that he and his girlfriend were both shooting smack. I�d like to think he stayed away from me during these times because he knew I wouldn�t approve, though I think he knew I wouldn�t lecture him about it. More likely, if he had been around me and I knew what he was doing, I would probably distance myself from him.
See, my parents somehow instilled this natural fear of drugs into me. If I knew how they did it, I could write a book and spend all the royalties on whisky and cigarettes. I think I�m pretty tolerant about the habits of others but I draw the line around heroin and speed freaks. I don�t like to see people killing themselves and wasting away, and that�s all I see from those people.
Anyway, it had been about a year since I had last heard from him. I spent five months in England, and we had moved suddenly out of my old apartment before that, so I�m not sure if he ever did try to get a hold of me before he died, or if he did, if he was unable to find me.
Still, even with my fear I understand the urge for people to experiment. I don�t, however, understand the urge to experiment with heroin. Everything I�ve seen, read or heard about it tells me to stay the fuck away from it. �The Man with the Golden Arm,� �The Basketball Diaries� (the book, not that piece of shit film version � that made me want to take heroin to erase the memory of that film � just kidding, mom.) �Traffic,� Billie Holiday, Lenny Bruce � I mean, sure they all mention how great the first time is, but they quickly degenerate into a heap of trouble. I mean, hell, I have absolutely no desire to even be near that shit, thank you very much.
So why the desire for others? I know they�ve all seen and heard the same things. I can�t remember ANYTHING extolling the long term virtues of heroin, and for that matter, I can�t remember anything that said something like, �oh yeah, I tried it once. It was great, but I never did it again. Yeesh. I just don�t get it.
And so here I am reading Trainspotting. Yes, I saw the film, and no, it sure as hell didn�t change my mind. If anything, it reaffirmed what I had been saying all along � No, thanks. The book is the same way. No, thanks. In fact, if somebody were stupid enough to offer me some, it would be more like, �no, fuck you.� Anyway...
This book was neat, and it was fun to see how you can make two totally different genres when you go from book to film and still have a good product on both sides. Sure there are parts that are incorporated; Debbie the 14 year-old is in it, although a much smaller part in the book than the film. And of course there�s the toilet scene, but carried out in a slightly different fashion. There�s also the death by cat shit, which reminds me that I need to clean out my cat box.
But Jesus, if I hadn�t gone to Belfast recently, I wouldn�t have been able to decipher half of this book. Like in �A Clockwork Orange,� Welsh has all the character speaking in their thick northern Ireland accents set in print, writing things like, �Ah go tae the bog and when ah finish ma pish ah ken ah cannae go back in thair tae face that shite.�
Remember the scene in the movie where they put subtitles at the bottom while they talk in the pub? I could have used that here.
And if the movie wasn�t disturbing enough there�s even more shit (shite?) that�s completely harrowing in this book as time passes and the characters� usage increases.
Again, no thanks.
As for my friend, I can only wonder why he didn�t feel the same way. Now it�s too late to ask him.
And that sucks.
