god

[tectak]

size=large]god[/size]
 A lot going down here, Dale...but if it seemed familar on a first read it was only the cliche calling. You would need god to be active whilst you wrote this...but as someone said "If you give a goat herder in the desert LSD, he would halucinate goats." So, how much is veracity...first or second hand? If first hand I cannot argue truth, if second hand I still can't...but I can argue translation. Here goes with nits in it.
I hold my breathe. typo breath
I twist my tongue inside my mouth, as No to "as". Old chestnut. Are we talking "as" as in synchronicity? No, I don't think you could use "whilst".. I think we are talking causality; in which case there is not enough information here. I know what you mean because tongue twisting and concentration are familiarly linked. It seems odd, though, to need to emphasise "...inside my mouth", as against the more  familiar "tongue out" concentration. Am I on to something here?  
I exert just the right amount of pressure on the syringe. So apropos of above, I think you could emphasise the "concentration" and link it to specifically what the "right" amount of pressure is...or is not
I push it down onto the cotton lying in the spoon. Slight disconnect due to technical issue. You exert pressure on the plunger not the syringe. You, of course, know that a "syringe" comprises of a plunger and a barrel. No need for "lying" in the spoon.
I slowly pull back on the plunger. If you had used plunger above, you could have simply "pulled back". More drama and less obviously an instruction manual. Pull gently back on the "plunger" (part A) until the "liquid" (part B) is visible in the "barrel" (part C). Hmmm.
 My breath goes out as the fluid
slowly steals its way up the hollow plastic shaft, No. I don't like this line. It is too descriptive in an over-inflated way. The "slowly steals its way..." is fine but BANG! " up the hollow glass-filled nylon diaphthalate thin-walled extruded transparent conduit..." .
a release that is almost orgasmic: Not sure what the release is but that is my lack of knowledge. You mean just sucking the stuff up in to a syringe is nearly (why not full-on) orgasmic? There are many who would argue that nearly an orgasm is worse than no orgasm
anticipation of what is to come. ...and though, OK, anticipation may be high, that is the thing with orgasmic tendencies, I just don't get the value of anticipation against realisation.  
I lay the needle carefully aside,
I don’t want to catch the point on anything and dull it. ...what? You don't want to dull anything? You mean " ...dull the point on anything it could catch." Pedantic pratt that I am. Punctuate that to clarity  
I take out one of my several bandannas. OOOOOO! Hark at you with you several bandannas! Who's a lucky boy? Which one will you wear tonight?
I quickly, but carefully, wrap it around my left arm. Hmmm. Quickly but carefully...mutually exclusive? Isn't quickly and carefully simply "expertly"? Just saying..."expertly" tells me more than you did.
I tie it in a slip knot that
I can release by pulling it with my teeth. Well, yes, but now we ARE getting very "instruction manual". I am not sure where this is heading now. God seems to be a lost metaphor. IKEA rules. OK
 
My breaths coming faster, Come seems appropriate here...there's a pun in there somewhere. Sorry. Disregard that....I mean the bit about the pun. "Come" is better for tense continuity.
short and controlled,
in the top of my lungs.
I open and close my left fist. The I, I, I, would normally become irksome by now BUT you are in a very introspective piece of prose here; I think it works.
I watch, fascinated, as  the vein rises above the skin. Though "...above the skin" is emotive imagery it is not best described on two levels. First, it is better to let the reader IMAGINE the vein rising, so "above" the skin is superfluous. Second, I am still in "I" mode and so feel that "my" vein and "my" skin keeps the faith. I don't know how to rewrite the line so I will not try.  
I rub my finger up and down the vein, See? Told you so. MY finger, not THE finger, but still THE vein.I admit, I am getting picky.
I caress it, as a lover would caress a nipple. Great line and probably the right time to third-party the vein. This is good stuff.
I pick up the paper square that encloses the alcohol swab. BANG! Way too technically angled. So, you picked up an alcohol swab pack and tore it open with your teeth...I get it. It was square, you say...and made of paper. That IS interesting....and it ENCLOSED an ALCOHOL (60% w/w) saturated swab made of a polyester and cotton mix. This isn't sarcasm...I feel the shifts in consistency.
I tear it open with my teeth. Removing the swab,
I run it up and down the vein.  Ritualistically,
I prepare the vessel to receive the holy sacrament. There is very nice chilled edginess in these last couple of lines. I may have to recant on the "my vein" thing...the third party vein is growing on me as a separate entity. Intentional? We will never know
 
I am a fastidious acolyte, not because
I am naturally so, but, at the moment, Comma overspill. The duplication of "moment" is a device upon which the sentence structure pivots. You may well have chosen to comma-in vernacularity (and if that ain't a word, it should be). Fine if you so did...otherwise semicolon after "acolyte" (pregnant pensive pause) then no comma after "but", no comma after "moment". It is still a...shall we say...interesting sentence structure.
I have the time, and at the moment,
I have the better vestments of my religion.
I have sterile saline to wet down the powder.
I have clean cotton through which to strain it and,
I have a sharp new syringe in which to put it. Nothing to add on this stanza except for the unrelated "it" at line end.
 
In the past,
I have used the water out of toilets to wet it down . Getting to be an itty-bitty god. Needs bringing back to glory.
I have used cotton out of the butt of a used cigarette.
I have used my own spit to wipe the dirt off my arm.
I have sharpened a dull, much used needle, on a book of matches, to get it sharp enough, to pierce my skin:
a mini-crucifixion,
A stigmata from and for my god. Good. Good. Good. The veracity shines. Always a winner with me.
 
I need no Romans, nor a Pilot, nor a Judas. Nor a navigator
I am a willing sacrifice,
I have sacrificed everything for my god.
I have been the lowly worshiper, begging for scraps, and
I have been the high priest. At those times, when
I have the powder…the other worshipers come to me.
They beg my blessing, willing to do whatever penance
I might set for them, so that they might receive
the holy sacrament.
Women give me their bodies in whatever way
I demand.
They would give me their first born, if
I required it. When
I have the powder,
I have the power of a god:
I can command anything, and my will, will be done. Awkward. Probably unnecessary cliche. Again, the character might well say this, so I cannot say I find it a criminal cliche...but you may be required to pay a small fine to the local pedant.  
The followers of my god are faithful, faithful unto death. No other religion demands, or receives, such devotion. ....but don't go all carte-blanche on your cliches. Leave some for others.
I watch as the sterile water snakes ...I once had a sterile water snake. Boy, were its eggs clean...
its way up through the golden liquid
in the hard, hollow, plastic tube of the syringe. No. Just no[
I love to watch it rise slowly up through the yellowish oil: Yellow oil transmuted from white powder, a transfiguration of the mundane into the ecstatic. Getting wordy...like all religious testimonials. This is not in character at all. I know that junkies are not all morons...I know some who are academics...I know some who are intuhlektuals...but I know none who are not what they are when they shoot up. Your boy seems to flicker about multiple personalities...oh damn, now you have an excuse
I take the needle, and gently, slowly,
I slide it into the vein.
I pull back on the plunger.
I see the blood spurt up into the pale yellow oil.
I pull the bandanna with my teeth,
releasing the pent-up pressure from my heart.
I push the plunger down, discharging the yellowish liquid into the red pulsing blood of my vein.
For a brief and fleeting moment,
as ether-vapor hits the back of my throat,
as a surging wave rolls through my skull,
I come face to face with my god.
We are joined in an ecstatic melding. Then,
I fall into the depressive after-glow of the union,
I am already anticipating the next time.  I gotta say it...this last stanza IS the poem starting from "I take the needle and gently, slowly....". I hope that is not to discouraging....wtf, what do I know. This is, though, my best shot and I enjoyed the read. Other people's poetry should make thinking obligatory....one's own stuff not so much so.
Best,
tectak                
 
erthona
 
©1996

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