in rudy's basement park fairfax

In between rehabs I was crashing in my childhood bedroom back in Alex. VA. Smoking weed on the DL and drinking beer when I could. Rudy Rodan would call me up and we'd smoke hash out of a meerschaum pipe and listen to Lee Scratch Perry. Rudy took Perry's lyrics literally unfortunately, and would proclaim to all and sundry that he was a "Black Jew". He was neither, he was however schizophrenic and spending more and more time in locked psych wards throughout Northern Virginia. In manic episodes he would try and walk to Richmond from DC and would be found incoherent on the side of the road. I remember his hands were clammy from the side effects of Haldol and the constant chain smoking of Marlboro reds.

We would ride around listening to GO GO and Old School Rap on KISS FM going to various spots to cop weed often without success. ( I believe I was supposed to be at 12 step meetings, forgive me Mom and Dad)If no cannabis could be found we would catch a buzz by scraping every used smoking device we could find until a pile of resin was produced and then smoked holding every nasty cloud of foul smoke deep in our lungs.
There are times when I miss that feeling of complete and utter aimlessness. I was just waiting to for the smoke to clear from my latest drug fueled disaster so I could go out and do it again. Rudy Rodan was waiting until he could stop taking his psych meds long enough to let his mind fly away again. We were brothers in this state, listening to Rastafarian chants hoping for a clue that would give us both meaning.
I'm not sure what happened to Rudy Rodan, last I saw him was on the porch of his Mom's new condo, smoking one cig after another, asking if he could come live with me in California. A tall white man with a strong southern accent, thick beard, shaved head, white oxford shirt, black jeans, doc martens, who would swear he was a member of the lost tribe of Israel. I'm sorry I lost touch brother, schizophrenia's just another word for nothing left to lose.