Namless Nobody

A Keziah James Biography

I will leave a portion of this chapter —below—up for a while, but the remainder will await a publisher. It is too extreme for Substack, but I do have many stories to tell being on the road and surviving as an underground artist. If you are a publisher and are interested, please consider contacting me. Apparently, it’s only acceptable for the likes of bukowski to share any of that gonzo energy.

so, here is a very boring snippet, the rest you’ll need to find on amazon or at barnes and noble.

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I’ve used a tremendous amount of drugs in my life. Pretty much e v e r y t h i n g. I have probably smoked, snorted, swallowed, injected, and shoved up my ass as staggering number of organic stimulants and dangerous chemicals as most can possibly imagine. Even the entirely synthetic shite. I remember synthetic designer or analogue supplements that I took in Durham, NC that were actually pretty damn good. I didn’t get too high, and at the time it was exactly what my psychiatrist would have prescribed. Did I have a psychiatrist+? Hell non! I am an extremely private, reserved, and humble person. It makes me sad sometimes how hard it is for most people to care, appreciate, or understand or ‘uhat-hav-eu’ what I try to share, but my humility stops with trying to figure me out. I saw a psychologist once or twice not so recently—I cried, a lot . . . maybe that’s the point—but I don’t need to pay for tears, I am a romantic. And a stone-cold realist simultaneously. I love almost everyone I meet, so many of you inspire me right hier. Ozarklore is absolutely amazing to me, for example. However, I also really hate humanity simultaneously. It’s complicated. Maybe not. I immigrated to a country that has everything to look forward to in every fucking way in the palm of their hands, and they care more about transgendered athletes who swim for the purposes of their own self-actualization.

FUCKING MORONS! Statistically speaking . . .

It’s funny when someone ‘hearts’ my post but doesn’t even think to follow me. Am I really that uninteresting+? Seriously+? If you think so, you definitely do NOT want to meet me in person. I guess I am an acquired taste, like bourbon—another chapter.

So, what the fuck am I talking about+? Well, this guy džič – frankly, I don’t know this guy or even quite understand him, but that’s what I like about him – suggested at one time [ maybe I am misquoting, who the fuck knows, if so i apologize] that he was going to leave a lot of himself out on Substack. I thought about that: And. No hyperbole, more or less . . . it is often how we remember things, right+? . . . but, I have many things you might find interesting. AND! More importantly . . .

LIFE eventually becomes

ART.

PERFORMANCE ART.

. . . the best part of life . . . and the worst . . . maybe not . . . who knows . . .

I think many of you get that concept. It’s harder than you think to pull off . . . . I have sacrificed. If you don’t have to make major sacrifices, it’s privileged nonsense, not actual ART. That’s my opinion, take it or leave it, but subscribe anyway! Try walking around with face paint wherever you go before you judge me.

Anyways, at the risk of meandering too long, I will now share my love affair with GHB. I was a hardcore user. Habitual. Just on myself of course, but everyone I shared it with probably remembers their experience in e x t r e m e l y positive ways. If not, oops!

I miss it quite frankly. Please contact me if you have some for sale.

I would stuff the test tubes – it’s a liquid – into my boots. I wear big boots at times. Nobody ever thinks to look inside my boots. I am—afterall— a celebrity. I start with a couple, then manage. I am very very good at managing my drug intake. I am literally the Lionel Messi of managing my drug intake. NO! I am not proud of that. . . I would have preferred being the Lionel Messi of football quite honestly x1000000. But, that’s what the Lord stuck me with.

It’s BOGUS MANN!

So, one time after a DJ gig, I was at a pool party and slammed back another one of these test tubes, and after a brief period of time I vomited and last remembered passing out completely. Doink. I actually remember all that, the puke, the rollover, perhaps fallover is more appropriate, but that’s pretty much it.

BAMM!

Five minutes later I woke up. Sort of. As fucking happy as I think I have ever been in my life but ‘awake’ might be a stretch. Definitely very conscious and . . . . very very happy. VERY.very HAPPY. Except, it wasn’t 5 minutes later, it was 3 hours later!

To be continued . . .