![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Vespa Victorious!
Jul. 13th, 2013 02:14 amHopped up on the wasp venom again. The good shit. Uncut subterranean yellow-jacket kicks all mixed with diphenhydramine, caffeine and nicotine. Up all night seeing through the walls with my Vespula Vision. Seeing with five different eyes ten thousand visions unfold. Two pairs of wings itching to sprout from my spine and nowhere to go but up. Mandible grin. Wi-hive broadcasting direct through the antenna. A sting in the blood that tastes just like honey. A shiver under the skin and an ache in the place that gets the rest of me in trouble.
Which is what you get when you mainline wasp venom direct to the socket. Sort of shit only a hardcore 'hornet-head' would pull or a fool thinking they can go from zero to full-on fucking face-melt in one fix. Jesus Christ, why is it so cold in here?
Anyway, being neither addict nor amateur, but rather an accidental connoisseur of 'Vespa Juice' , I can report in all earnestness that I quite literally stumbled over my last dose. I was working up a sweat in the rain, burning through dead wood with a chainsaw and ankle deep in English Ivy, when it hit. Over the grind of the chainsaw I registered a buzz approaching my face bullet fast and thank the fucking fates I had enough common-sense to ensure my first reaction was releasing my finger off the trigger. Otherwise I'd be sporting a Leather Face shave at Grady.
What I got instead was a case of the Quasimodo Eye. A glaring frog-throat puff of skin that gave me the perpetual wink of a hillbilly mutant. That and a level of pain that will stand unique in the encyclopedia of wounds my mind has been writing with my body since the age of four. The pain brought to mind that aphorism about 'not wishing such a fate on my worst enemy.' Not me, the pain was exactly the sort of thing I've been trying for ages to wish upon my worst enemy but instead had settled for heated coat-hangers and German Industrial Oompa remixes.
It was enough to make me break for a cigarette.
Today though most of the damage has deflated into a semblance of ordinary. At first it seemed to me as if I was two-faced in the Bob Kane sense of the word. But instead I feel half-faced. For the other eye doesn't seem human to me. It seems to be the sort of eye a child might draw when drawing a cat. Or maybe the kind of eye a cat would draw when drawing a child. In the mirror this stranger at my narcissus party of one looks right back at me and for the life of me I can't figure out what he's thinking. If a stare was a voice this one would be in the monotone of the shell-shocked vet or over-the-edge vigilante.
Well since no amount of liquor, weed or internet fueled onanism can ground the wasp venom high, it's down to the word to ride the rest of this buzz out without landing me in either jail, the morgue or on somebody's shit list.
Even now I can feel the antenna withdrawing and the vision prism coalescing back into one steady tunnel filter. Tomorrow hopefully my face will be back to normal and I'll be left alone in my reflection. Hopefully I won't start going into withdrawals. That's all I need. Next thing I know I'll be crouched in the doorways at L5P, swollen limbs covered with rusted insects and nothing to my name but a hat sprinkled with spare change.
Well, there are worse kicks a man can suffer and even those are nothing compared to the kicks he gives to his own ass over a lifetime of not looking where he should.
So what's an occasional drop of hornet venom to numb the pain and flavor the damage along the way?
Life is short, seize the day, vespa victorious!
Which is what you get when you mainline wasp venom direct to the socket. Sort of shit only a hardcore 'hornet-head' would pull or a fool thinking they can go from zero to full-on fucking face-melt in one fix. Jesus Christ, why is it so cold in here?
Anyway, being neither addict nor amateur, but rather an accidental connoisseur of 'Vespa Juice' , I can report in all earnestness that I quite literally stumbled over my last dose. I was working up a sweat in the rain, burning through dead wood with a chainsaw and ankle deep in English Ivy, when it hit. Over the grind of the chainsaw I registered a buzz approaching my face bullet fast and thank the fucking fates I had enough common-sense to ensure my first reaction was releasing my finger off the trigger. Otherwise I'd be sporting a Leather Face shave at Grady.
What I got instead was a case of the Quasimodo Eye. A glaring frog-throat puff of skin that gave me the perpetual wink of a hillbilly mutant. That and a level of pain that will stand unique in the encyclopedia of wounds my mind has been writing with my body since the age of four. The pain brought to mind that aphorism about 'not wishing such a fate on my worst enemy.' Not me, the pain was exactly the sort of thing I've been trying for ages to wish upon my worst enemy but instead had settled for heated coat-hangers and German Industrial Oompa remixes.
It was enough to make me break for a cigarette.
Today though most of the damage has deflated into a semblance of ordinary. At first it seemed to me as if I was two-faced in the Bob Kane sense of the word. But instead I feel half-faced. For the other eye doesn't seem human to me. It seems to be the sort of eye a child might draw when drawing a cat. Or maybe the kind of eye a cat would draw when drawing a child. In the mirror this stranger at my narcissus party of one looks right back at me and for the life of me I can't figure out what he's thinking. If a stare was a voice this one would be in the monotone of the shell-shocked vet or over-the-edge vigilante.
Well since no amount of liquor, weed or internet fueled onanism can ground the wasp venom high, it's down to the word to ride the rest of this buzz out without landing me in either jail, the morgue or on somebody's shit list.
Even now I can feel the antenna withdrawing and the vision prism coalescing back into one steady tunnel filter. Tomorrow hopefully my face will be back to normal and I'll be left alone in my reflection. Hopefully I won't start going into withdrawals. That's all I need. Next thing I know I'll be crouched in the doorways at L5P, swollen limbs covered with rusted insects and nothing to my name but a hat sprinkled with spare change.
Well, there are worse kicks a man can suffer and even those are nothing compared to the kicks he gives to his own ass over a lifetime of not looking where he should.
So what's an occasional drop of hornet venom to numb the pain and flavor the damage along the way?
Life is short, seize the day, vespa victorious!
