Blogs

I had to share this simply amazing video I found on Youtube. Mesmerizing! Obviously mind-blowing while blasting-off or tripping, but just as beautiful straight and clear minded too! ;-)

[video]http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?v=suAUjBP59_A[/video]

If you like what you see and want more eye candy for your psychedelic experiences, I've gathered a plethora of videos on my Youtube channel. Also, there is TONS on information on DMT. Enough to keep you occupied for your entire 8 hours desk time at work ;-) Check it and let me know if you like!

Since we're on the subject of DMT visuals - here is a video I put together with some amazing artwork I found online with STS9 laying down the beats in the background. Hope you enjoy. Sorry to the artist that I didn't give credit too. It was difficult to find everyone's info! But I hope you don't mind me putting your work together in this montage. Enjoy your visit to the 4th dimension!! D_D

[video]https://youtu.be/KTTBKTzktZg[/video]

http://www.alternet.org/print/drugs/southern-states-outlaw-syringe-exchanges-used-prevent-disease

This literally makes me sick. I couldn't be happier to live in California, specifically Los Angeles, where the community is there to support IV drug users, fighting against the almost unanimous stigma of IV drug users being worthless. In fact, there are laws set up in Los Angeles protecting people coming to and from syringe exchange programs. Also, cops are prohibited to that stake out those areas in order to bust people coming to and from. In fact there are multiple instances of studies proving that Syringe Exchange Programs (SEP's) not only help reduce crime, but support the IV drug user community and help reduce addition and drug use by proving recovery programs at low or no cost.

“Needle exchange programs have been proven to reduce the transmission of blood-borne diseases. A number of studies conducted in the U.S. have shown needle exchange programs do not increase drug use. I understand that research has shown these programs, when implemented in the context of a comprehensive program that offers other services such as referral to counseling, health care, drug treatment, HIV/AIDS prevention, counseling and testing, are effective at connecting addicted users to drug treatment.“
—Gil Kerlikowske, Director of the White
House Office of National Drug Control
Policy and former Seattle Police Chief,
responding to a written question during his
confirmation process

It's times like this where I want to help, and make sure similar crimes against humanity cease to happen elsewhere, but I don't know where to begin.

http://www.alternet.org/print/drugs/southern-states-outlaw-syringe-exchanges-used-prevent-disease

I've recently starting volunteering for Erowid, and I'm a regular down at my local needle exchange where I utilize all services from procuring supplies and trading in used needles for new ones, to attending individual therapy with an actual psychologist and attending group support meetings, like a ladies group and a Drug and Alcohol Support Group, Safe Shooting Class, Overdose Prevention, including 2 free doses of Narcone with training how to administer it. They also provide, free of service to all IV drug users, Thai Chi, Zumba, Palettes, Acupuncture and Cranial Massages. As well as a whole department dedicated to safe sex, free condoms and educating sex workers and low income people.

I have filled out an application to start volunteering there myself. They have responded and hopefully I can go in and start helping out soon, after an orientation. They also always have active users on their volunteer staff and sometime regular staff. Which shows how much they believe in people and aren't blinded by the perception of what a drug addict it. Especially an IV drug user. It's one of the only places in LA that I feel completely comfortable and don't feel like I have to hind my arms or in away cover up who I am.

In a perfect world everyone would have the opportunity to frequent an establishment like this. One that has a dedicated staff of people who care and don't want to see a single person suffer another injury or contract another disease from IV drug use. The staff is mainly social workers, working for barely minimum wage, but they don't begrudge the system at all. They choice to be there. To do this job. Because they love it. I hope that I can have as positive an influence on my community as these people have had one me and my community - the Downtown Skid Row area. Although, I know there are others on the west side as well.

I was recently reading a Harm Reduction Journal, and it did a study on hundreds of heroin addicts in China. Some within close proximity of SEP's and some far from such programs, so it would not be reasonable to get there by walking or public transportation. Those addicts who were in a close radius to SEP's were 80% more likely to have not reused or shared needles. Hope governments world wide and good hearted, well intentioned social works will see the benefit in these dramatic results and take action. For a city as big as LA, we should have a dozen SEP's spread out amongst our sprawling cityscape.

I look forward this year to doing my part and hopefully help the world rid itself of its harmful and hurtful, unnecessary prejudices.

By the way - I started my Suboxone today. I'm trying once again to kick this habit. At least for a while. I made it over 24 hours! Yay! Please wish me luck. I desperately need it I spent two hours in the bathroom trying to shoot up at a friends yesterday. Terrible. I need this break. I'm happy to have the support of my boyfriend doing it with me at the same time too Love you SoCal_Fluffhead! xoxo

http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/...e-psychedelicized-genius-and-veritably-insane
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/632565-The-Big-amp-Dandy-6-APB-Thread-(Part-5)
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/611382-The-Big-amp-Dandy-5-MeO-DALT-Thread-(Part-2)
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/...-phenyl(piperidin-2-yl)acetate)-Megathread-V2
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/611375-The-Big-amp-Dandy-Nootropics-Thread-(Stack-2)
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/548570-The-Big-amp-Dandy-5-APB-Thread

the first time i watched the pilot episode of this show, i took my phone off the charger as it was playing, and turned it on, to find the number 317 (as time) and not a couple of seconds after, it turned to 3:18, where on the show the number 318 was significant. i had just enough time to think, "wouldnt it be cool if...", if it turned to 3:18, that it turned to 318.

the kid, "Jake", sees these numbers, and repeats them, or calls attention to them in a way that gets his father to notice them, and to effect certain changes, which the knowledge of these numbers helps to do.

it's an alright show. but it began this way for me, already being a show about numbers, and me as i sometimes am, with them, noticing, for instance, the number 405 repeat in a way that seems at the time uncanny, and with extremely small chances to pop up where they would, in short time. also, the number 23, as mentioned briefly, in my previous blog shows up. many other numbers have come, too. i wouldn't say mine are really like what goes on in that show. i don't chase them around. i observe. i have "chased them around" (but not like on show)... it was fun.

but, anyways. the most recent season ended with but didn't explain "the nest of 7", "the nest of seven", which, i had just seen 7 within 6, 8, and 9, or this is how i associated it, when i heard it. this is perhaps not anything of it, the way they- the writers, mean it. but 6 and 8 and 9, might resemble, or have in their forms similar form to eggs. and 0. of the numbers, they could, i guess. i have wondered about 7 and it's position in these numbers. 6, 8, and 9, and 0, all reflect the same simple circular motion, that is common, in planetary orbits, and bodies, stars, the motion around a singularity, the movement of our legs as they propel us... the ball joints in our arms, and legs, and feet... our eyes. the bulbous forms, fruiting bodies, many fruit, most everything even if sharp and jagged relies on some circular form to maintain stability. and these number sum to 23, again, and 77 from 100 is 23 but i'm not sure where i'd get the extra 7. maybe .. maybe they all hatch into 7s. every "egg". hmm. 689, or 6890? 67890
777777
777,777
7+7+7+7+7+7=42. Hmm.

i think it' s time to watch some tv, or play halo.

i may come back and play/think some more.

1234567890

most places, you will commonly find these numbers used, where you find numbers. when written, they may look different, but this is seemingly the common form.

they mostly appear the same as this.

circular forms are also common forms. eyeballs, blood vessels, cells in animals, orbits, planets, the circular motions in nature, can find mirror in what might be present in these numbers as numbers/numerals 0, 6, 8, 9.

6+8+9=23.

these are also numbers that mirror, unlike any others. 6 and 9 are mirrors. 8 can be seen as symmetrical, and balanced. 6 and 9 could be put together to form an 8-like form. They can all be blended into one, pretty easily, with very little alteration. the form to me seems the most "stable", visually. circles are the most stable forms, to easily form, that i know of.

i found this when i was looking at the keyboard, noticing that w- the 23rd letter of the modern latin alphabet, is directly below numbers 2 and 3. i think that's when i found it. i wanted to find- to group things according to common forms, and these were the only numbers i could decide on, without too much second guessing-- the numbers 6, 8, and 9. it doesn't hurt that they have within them forms that resemble zero, which is the base/beginning.

i did have issue with the fact that 2 can be written at least two different ways, and one involves a loop type form, but when writing a 2 that way, for one, it continues on through.. it doesn't simply reconnect in a nice curve into itself, like 6 and 9 ( and 8 ) do. as well, 2 in standard type-set does not have this loop. 4 as well was sort of confusing. but it isn't circular, for one.

marilyn marie duellman 7 syllables
alisha brooke finch 5 syllables
sara nicole sterling 6 syllables
kathryn brooke calhoon 5 syllables

23 syllables

didn't get dropped from the pain clinic this last week. "faked" my pill count as Kroger Melatonin pills look exactly like 10mg Oxymorphone IR pills, just with no stamp. i take 1/2 a pill, so i just broke pills into little slivers and passed the count. got bumped to 20mg of Oxymorphone IR a day too. and got my Soma back too.

the 19 year old girl and i are "on a break" and my friend who was leeching off me is in rehab. i have my meds all to myself. it's great. smoked a blunt roach i bought from the dishwasher for $5 at work last nite. i love week. got lit.

weight is around 155 with clothes on. doing push-ups, curls, and ab work daily now.

I AM GOING TO SELF-ACTUALIZE THIS YEAR!!!

"The Existential Pain of Being Young, White, and Affluent"

An article from the Atlantic that can be read here.

Abuse of prescription drugs is most common among those who enjoyed the most advantages in adolescence, causing some to rethink the consequences of privilege.

The article sparked a flurry of conversation here on BL. It was suggested that my comment be made a blog post. Here is the initial comment and replies that eventually led to mine....


Originally Posted by Laika:
"Lol, I don't know if it's been mentioned, I only read the first two pages of comments. But lol @ people who have internet capabilities at all, in a privileged manner- arguing and defending their social statuses."

Originally Posted by 3,4-dihydroxyphen:
"lol this.


Particularly those on the "I'm poor so I've struggled more than you, and your suffering doesn't matter as much as mine because your mommy and daddy have money and my mommy and daddy don't" end. Fucking ridiculous statements, and one's I have never in my life heard uttered by somebody who is truly poor, even by American standards (by American standards I mean either living in the inner-city or a project, as opposed to world standards, which means living in a makeshift hut of scrap metal and inhaling kerosene 24/7).

I'm going to venture that a lot of those claiming to have grown up poor come from lower-middle/higher end of upper-lower class blue collar communities, rather than inner cities."

Originally Posted by RobotRipping:
"i'd say i grew up low-middle class (while being surrounded by filthy rich kids) then my family made more money later on in my life but really i was on my own for those times and didn't have parents pay for my education unlike my friends, had to work hard, unlike my friends and in the real world, have difficulty finding decent work because i don't have their connections or rich daddies to hand me jobs. So in that sense i am bitter and have always had bitterness towards the people who had everything given to them. If i grew up like them i'd probably hate poor people, we are pitted against each other, you can see that in people who are from 'old money' do not accept people from 'new money' into their social circles. I could make billions but i'm not going to be one of them, ever.

i'm not really filled with hate for those capitalist offspring pieces of shit; i just find it funny that they have succumbed to the very problems their capitalist forefathers created ie. alienation. Now that their lives are complete (financially), they find they are not whole and turn to opiates to fill that void. Well good for them, i did the same, but i still have to laugh at their existential pain and how it's so fucking bad for them, we all feel that pain and a great deal of it was caused by the 'owners of the means of production', capitalism and the society their rich ancestors created. Things that the ruling class believe are virtues of their lives and now that they feel the pain that the less fortunate have, they end up the same way, but the poor have an advantage because we've been there already and know this shit inside and out.

if you came from 'new money' created by innovation and intelligence then fine but if you're one of those old money bitches, i have no sympathy for you when it comes to your existential pain, hope it hurts."

Originally Posted by 3,4-dihydroxyphen:
"Well, a lot of those kids are in the same boat as you. I grew up, at different times, both inner-city poor and what some people (not myself) would deem rich. A lot of the pain in the age group is due to the changing economic times, where kids who grew up in upper middle class homes look around them and do not see the same opportunities their parents had. If you aren't super rich in this world (like top 1% rich), then you are, at this point, getting poorer. This is tough on upper middle class kids with high expectations placed on them, particularly those within the 1984-1990 range, who grew up at a time when opportunity was available to them, only to have it snatched away basically as soon as they reached adulthood."


Originally Posted by greywoodfoxhall:
As part of this demographic, I know exactly what you speak of. People say we're 'Generation Y', as 'Y' comes after 'X' and our generation is often left asking "Why?" But, I find 'Generation Rx' is much more fitting. I was supposed to be a legacy at the Air Force Academy, but I tried pot, and realized I'd been lied to about drugs. But, before pot, I got promethazine after shattering my maxillary ridge (bone in between your nose and teeth that holds your teeth in place) and snorting it in the bathroom at the private christian "WASP-nest" private school i was forced to go to made me feel cool like the rappers I listened to at the time. The song "Oxycotton" came out, and my friend got a bunch after burning his legs severely. We ate what in retrospect where Percocets and an OC or two and went downtown. I turned to him and said, "You could walk into traffic right now, and get hit, and I'd run out saying, 'Don't worry, he'll be okay, everything is cool.' I don't want you to get hit by a car, and logically I know it would not be okay, but I FEEL like anything/everything is cool right now." He understood what I meant and concurred. We decided we'd take more of the small pills next time and two of the big ones (luckily, we never did, we didn't understand the big ones were weaker, not stronger than the small ones).

I suffer from horrible depression, and have since middle-school with a brief break in 8th grade and then my senior year... I broke my arm horribly at the skate park and got put on 3 Percocet 5s a day. I felt incredible. Allergic to SSRIs (deathly allergic), my meds had been constantly changed since I was 15 till just recently actually (I take Remeron and surprise, thanks to back pain and RLS, get oxymorphone IR)... but I had a respite on those Percocets that led me down a path of self-medicating for a long time, seeking that relief. I would just sit, talking to my mom, and enjoying it (I was a horribly moody teenager). I got a girlfriend, a really hot one too... head freshman cheerleader. Those Percocets and then the Loratabs I got all through the fall of my senior year in high-school gave me a will to live. I ended up attempting suicide the next fall though, 3 days before I was off to college on an academic scholarship with the goal of becoming a research pharmacist (so I had access to narcotics). I went to rehab at my ex-girlfriend and parents' urging where I learned I could do drugs every day and not just on the weekends without being injured and so I left thinking more like an addict than when I arrived. My parents admitted that it was the worst mistake they ever made a year or two back. So, I came home and went to self-medicating hard. Now, I'm done, thankful almost for the ailments that qualify me for my oxymorphone as it gives me a reason to want to live.

Yeah, I still dabble, but I'm on probation, and the pain clinic drug tests... so it's not worth it. I wish I had gone to school like I was supposed to, but then I realize... there are a lot of people my age who did the "right thing" and are living in their parents' basements, hoping for a shitty minimum wage job just like me. I grew up when the big tobacco lawsuits were occurring and lawyers fresh out of school made $100,000 a year without having to look for a job, they were just handed out almost (why I wanted to go to the AFA... get paid to go to school and become a JAG (military lawyer), do my 5 years in the Air Force behind a desk as a JAG, get out, get an awesome job, get a trophy-wife, trade her in for a new 20 year-old one after 15 years, and just be a f'ing WASP... I literally wrote all that in an English paper about my life goals as a sophomore; right before I smoked weed the first time). There are no big lawsuits anymore. Jobs aren't handed out. Only thing handed out are food-stamps. I'm lucky in that due to my experiences, I don't want money... I want to be able to afford my pills, feed myself, and have a place to stay; but I don't look at people and covet what they have. I imagine how horrific it must be if you do though. It must be so depressing... and so we all do drugs. Generation Rx...



Are we, high or low class, Generation Rx? What do y'all consider yourselves?

I'll be honest here, when I get to a certain level of intoxication regardless of the substance, I talk to myself. And some people would say it's just "thinking out loud" but I'm being honest, I have full on conversations with myself. The worst part about it is, I actually enjoy it.

I also tend to take nearly all of my drugs alone as well, mostly either in my car or at my house if I really think I won't be able to drive. This just exacerbates the issue though, as I wind up just voicing whatever comes into my head then thinking of a funny response to what I just said. Basically I just make fun of myself, but in a third person kind of way if that makes sense.

And I really do lay into some things without even thinking about it, then after I stop talking I realize the rant I just unloaded and laugh.

I guess the modern day word for it (although I detest this "word") would be hater, but it's not like I truly hate anything. I just feel that everyone has weaknesses, even the most confident people. And if you don't let them know that you know their weaknesses, they are more prone to try and take advantage of you.

Although now that I think about it, I really just had to do that growing up. My brother doesn't go a 24 hour period without spewing some form of bullshit out of his mouth. The degree of how much BS it is varies, but it's seriously always something.

He is the type of person that has to prop up the few things he does do with nonstop talk to cover up the things he can't, or doesn't do. If I never called him out on anything I don't even know how we would conversate (is that a word? seriously 50/50 on it butt fuck it).

Here's a typical conversation we have:

Bro: says something false
Me: corrects statement with "I think it's actually xxxxx"
Bro: "I don't know", followed by ridiculous reasoning for his opinion
Me: Usually at this point I either just drop it or find the most ridiculous part of his logic and attack that to try and get his cogs turning on his own
Bro: "ok well I'm gonna look it up" (smartphones are seriously going to be his downfall)
Me: at this point he either changes the subject upon realizing he is wrong or the even more annoying "yeah you were right BUT, what I was trying to say was..."

followed by more bullshit

so it's just like I can't even hold a conversation with him because its the same fucking formula every time.

A pretty innocuous example was one night we were watching the Lakers play the Sixers on TV and he was trying to tell me Kobe played a few seasons for them before Shaq got there, which is just absolutely false. I disagreed, he tried to pull the age card on me "dude you were only 4 years old when that happened I remember" and then he does the lookup, and

silence.....

and I'm just sitting there like, "well? any more BRAIN BUSTERS?"

you fucking chatty cathy

So yeah, I just keep to myself now, which leads me back to the original subject.

Is it crazy if what you are saying makes perfect sense? I seriously liken it to the "if a tree falls in a forest but no one hears it" adage but I really don't know if I'm just crazy.

You could say it's because of a lack of friends, which is true to a certain extent. I really didn't have a lot of "friends" in the traditional sense. I mean, I was cool with everyone, but could never really become especially close emotionally with anyone. Part of it was reasons of my own doing, and I certainly don't regret it because it opened my eyes to a lot of subtleties that most kids don't think about until college economics class, but at the same time it wasn't really what I should have been doing.

And you could say it's been drugs that made me do it, to which I would say you should see me not on drugs. I'm just another quiet, nondescript white male with no real special characteristics that someone would notice. Just another dude. If anything my drug use has made me more open.

But it's like why do I have to see the negative side of everything? Even if I tell myself to think positive and only say positive things to other people, I still am ripping them to shreds in my head.

Maybe it's just like a mind game I play with myself, I feel like if I'm not doing it to them they are doing it to me.

I don't know what I'm even trying to say anymore, and the I key on my keyboard is getting pretty worn out. I guess I am somewhat weird, but in my opinion, a lot of people are just fucking lame.

And I'd rather be weird than lame 10/10 times

Several years ago, I received an ampoule of IV midazolam solution. I was much less extreme and diverse in my drug-using habits then, sticking mostly to cannabis, psychedelics, benzos and the odd ecstasy piill, and after a short while of consideration, decided not to shoot it. I either plugged it or took it orally; all I noticed was that it was far less strong than I had expected.

The last year was the worst year of my life. I started it still in shatters after the abrupt and quite brutal, heart-wrenching and disrespectful end of a 2-year relationship. I was on benzos for at least 30% of the year, probably close to 50%, and my studies had grinded to a halt. I was perpetually broke, mostly very anti-social, and involuntarily celibate for several months. I had some of the worst agoraphobia, GAD, panic attacks, and actual depression for the first time in my life.

I had harbored a curiosity for IV administration before, but now when life was already giving me so much trouble, it felt like a less drastic measure - after all, one bit of bad to go with all the rest of the shit.

So one day I decided to try morphine intravenously₁. 10mg was a highly conservative starting dose, and I should have known with my natural insensitivity I'd need more, but I decided to play it safe, as intravenous opiate use is relatively risky among recreational drug use. I cannot say that I felt more than the mildest threshold effects.

Dissatisfied, the next time I put 40mg in the syringe, with no tolerance, and shot that up₂. This produced the strongest rush I'd ever experienced, beating the rush from smoking methamphetamine that had held the record untilt then. I felt no nausea, negligible side effects, and was no bothered in the least by slight itching. It was highly euphoric.

The next time I found myself using a syringe, I wanted to feel what IV cocaine felt like, as I had heart it was completely different to other methods of administration.₃. I cannot remember the starting dose, between 20-50mg, but the coke was relatively pure and I felt euphoric effects almost as strong as the morphine rush, though very different in nature. I soon shot up again, this time with a dose in the 70-100mg range₄. This took the top spot from the morphine; I had never felt such intensely euphoric physical stimulation and empowerment as this, despite the nausea and somewhat alarming physical reactions.

It was my fifth time injecting anything when I came closer to death than I have ever been. The cocaine was well over 80% pure and I shot up 200mg₅ .It was worse than the most terrifying panic attack in my life, as the physical symptoms seemed far more intense, and I was also convulsing wildly. Afterwards I was highly aloof, panicky, paranoid and agitated for a good while. I had never been so certain that I was dying. I decided never to inject cocaine again.

The sixth time I injected a drug, it happened to be heroin₆. The first injection, apparently of mid-quality heroin, was pleasurable but far from the euphoria of the morphine. The same happened the second₇ and third₈ times. The fourth time the purity and dose were finally adequate, and I felt the difference to morphine - a strong difference. This was the cleanest, most pure and forceful yet comfortable euphoria I had ever felt₉. I injected heroin twice more; the fifth was pleasurable₁₀, a well-estimated dose, and so was the next₁₁, but my friend overshot his dose slightly and his heart and breathing stopped. I revived him after god knows how many minutes of CPR, but have never been so afraid in my life. I decided never to inject heroin again.

A substance I initially thought would never feel the need to inject was oxycodone, yet somehow this ended up happening too. 50mg oxycodone₁₂ was euphoric but produced no memorable rush to speak of, and was equivalent to only slightly more oral oxycodone, which lasts slightly longer. Decided this was not worth shooting.

As I discovered pyrazolam was water-soluble, I had to try this too. 1mg₁₃ produced a mild rush, but not highly powerful or intense. However, this was the only way to get any recreational effects from pyrazolam.

My next three injections were morphine again, 40mg₁₄, 50mg₁₅, and 60mg₁₆, which were highly pleasant experiences as before.

One night I accidentally ingested way too much methamphetamine and decided I wanted to sleep instead of tweak for one more night, possibly two. I also wanted to get to sleep immediately as I felt horrible and the shadow people were assembling, so I injected 10mg levomepromazine/methotrimeprazine (Nozinan) ₁₇. The antipsychotic and sedative effects manifested themselves very quickly and I was soon sound asleep.

The next item I would administer intravenously would be midazolam. I attempted it once in normal tap water without doing enough research, and felt fuck all from 15mg Dormicum₁₈. I then lowered the water pH with vinegar, and shot up another 15mg₁₉. I could feel it, a slightly jolly, slow feeling similar to alcohol intoxication, but it was not very strong and short-lived.
Finally I filtered 45mg Dormicum₂₀ and finally experienced the euphoria of intravenous midazolam. The most euphoric benzo experience I have had.

The latest was an attempt to find out which side of the story held true for me - would shooting up (meth)amphetamine cause a euphoric rush? I weighed out 200mg of crank powder which had earlier been determined by oral and nasal adminsitration to be both relatively high-purity, and also relatively high in meth content. I injected the solution₂₁, and awaited a rush - none came. Within 20 seconds I simply felt like I was suddenly on a lot of amphetamines, with no trace of euphoria or a rushing sensation. Simply an immediate onset of peak effects. It made me feel slightly nauseous, but otherwise fine - it just seemed to make the onset even faster, that's all. Among the most disappointing IV experiments.

...

i turned 27 yesterday... May 11th. it was not a good first day of this year of my life. on the 10th, i drank some spoiled soy silk fruit beverage. i had a progressively worsening stomach ache the rest of the nite. i finally passed out after taking a total of 8 off-brand stomach relief chewable tablets. i felt like someone had stuck a knife in my stomach...

passing out was not good though... my new girlfriend had slipped into my parents' house and down into my room. she had DUI school at 8. i fell asleep in the other room. she failed to hear her alarm. she missed DUI school. i got caught for having her spend the nite.

life has been a struggle lately.

i'm too distracted to dwell on the details.

my weight is down to 150 pounds with clothes on and stuff in my pockets (no shoes though). i'm 6'2" (really like 2.5"). this is not healthy.

I have had Asthma since I was an infant, but its really been in the last six/seven years when I began to once again suffer life-threatening flare up's/Attacks. Luckily this time around things aren't as serious as they have been, but it has not been a pleasant 72+ hours, that is fo' sho'.

My first symptoms started on Sunday morning, and I'm fairly certain in regards to the culprit-the trigger, if you will, of my current ailments.. It's either Dust, or its...

On Saturday Night I went out to pick up a few bags of the usual dope I get for my girlfriend and myself-its a double sealed, stampless bag, which I've been getting for the last few months. Though the quality rises and drops a little here and there, its always basically the same product, and the same cut-which is important for my own peace of mind. However, on this particular night, my dealer did not have his usual bags, but rather the same shitty product he had been pushing for a few weeks earlier this summer. I wasn't pleased but I got it anyway, and walked briskly back to our appartment. We pulled out the works and shot each other up in the bathroom.

The next morning I woke up with a wheeze. While this is not unusual (our mattress is located right next to the windows-which were open, as well as the ventilator), the annoying whistling sound that becomes so fucking intolerable would not be pacified by the administration of my Symbicort pump (Budesonide/Formoterol) nor my Ventolin pump (Albuterol Sulfate). Over the course of the day, things got increasingly worse, to the point where a mere 10 foot walk to the bathroom would leave me doubled over clutching my chest. By Monday, I made up my mind to go to the hospital with the assistance of my girlfriend. By that point I was not in such bad shape, meaning, I could still breath in enough oxygen to feel moderately comfortable enough. However, I start getting phone calls from my mom and my methadone counselor who informed me that there was p no way he could let anyone, even a family member pick up my dose for that day, and that I also couldn't be guest medicated at a nearer clinic. That combined with my mothers usual neurosis sent me spiraling into a terrifying panic attack. I sat at the corner of the bed, tears streaming out from my eyes, pulling off my shirt as I was begining to sweat profusely. My girlfriend, having never seen anyone in the midst of an acute asthma attack started to panic, and asked 'What can I do!?'. We had one bag left of (the normal, "good") dope, and I knew that it would take too long for clonazepam to chill me out, so I yelled 'Fix me a Shot!!'

I know that for those reading this, the thought "Wow, real fucking SMART" might cross your mind, and I get it, I really do. BUT, if you have ever experienced an Asthma Attack before, than you know it is an incredibly terrifying experience, similar to having a heart attack while drowning. I manage to hurl my body into the bathroom as my poor girlfriend prepared the shot as quickly as possible, all the while feeling hotter, sicker, and dizzier. My breaths were no longer breaths but gasps. I didn't give a fuck whether or not the dope was good or bad in the long run. All I knew was that at that very moment it would allow me to calm down enough so that I could make it downstairs to get into the cab, which would take us to the hospital. My girlfriend helped me apply the tourniquet (my flannel sleeve-I have never used 'ties' until this year, now that I only have a few veins left, all of which are rather hard to hit. For those of you who are fortunate enough to still be able to rotate on your forearms, please do NOT use a tourniquet. You will thank me in the end.), and I pierced the vein quickly, drew back that crimson flower and sent the heroin flying through my veins, into my heart and then up into my brain. Within seconds my convulsing figure sort of slumped against the wall and then crumpled completely in reliefe...I could breath again.

Anyhow, the Emergency Room really didn't do much for me that I hadn't already been doing myself, except that they prescribed me more prednisone, which I was running out of. I was also a bit pissed off because initially when I told them that I was on methadone and had not been able to make it to my clinic that day, my assigned doctor refused to medicated me. However, upon leaving, and discharging me, I got up to get my coat (I had been reclining on a hospital bed), and I began to shake like crazy, and immediately began letting out violent, dry coughs. My girlfriend caught on to me as it looked as though I may have fallen, and a group of nurses, all of who'm were very sweet ushered me to get back into the bed. The head nurse asked if I was experiencing any withdrawal symptoms (which I was just begining to at that time, you know, that gritty, sweaty feeling on your skin, especially behind your knees and calfs..).

'Yes', I said.

'Well, you wait here. The problem is that your body's used to getting a consistent dose of methadone every day. If you don't get that, it's going to make it much harder to have the strength to cough up all that mucous that's stuck inside your airways'

She then found another doctor who seemed to agree with this idea, and tried to call up my clinic to confirm my dose. Of course by this time it was well past 5 PM, and the clinic closed at 3pm, which was brilliant, so the best the doctor could do was give me a useless 20mg dosage. It's really true, when your on methadone, especially under a blocking dose like I am, every fucking milligram counts. If I use methadone rectally or intravenously (WITH[ a Micron Filter of course..), than I can get the same effects and shave off 5-10mg (with IV, I can even feel pretty nice off of 30mg). However, when it comes to oral administration, unless you are given within 5mg of your usual dose (and once again, this applies primarily to those of us who are on lower dosages), you most certainly feel that deficit.

Anyway, the next morning my mother offered to rent a Zip Car and drive my girl friend and I into the city so that I could finally get my methadone, the FULL dose. I made it with only fifteen minutes to spare, and of course, before the nurses could medicate me, they made me go through some physical examination first, which resulted in me losing my spot in line. Eventually they gave me the green light to get my 'done, so I walked back to the line, or rather, I leaned against the wall to support my weight, and tried to push myself in the general direction of the medication hall, once again, clutching my heart, and wheezing so hard it sounded as though I was whistling some really shitty drone metal song. There was one mother fucker left on line, I NEVER, EVER, ask to go ahead of anyone on line, and in fact, I often offer others who look in bad shape to go ahead of me. However, on this day, I felt like it wasn't so much to ask if I could go get medicated first (after all, I had been on line way earlier, and I was the staff who had taken me out to examine me).

So I went up to this "Gentleman", who looked to be around 49 years old and in good shape, and asked "Excuse me sir....(WHEEEZ-cough-huuuuu)...would it be.. Possible..lf you..could let..me... Go ahead of you...? They took..l me off...of line because....I am having an asthma attack....and I am really, sick...I normally would...not.. Ask.."

And do you know what this stupid, worthless, SELF-CENTERED JUNKY MOTHER FUCKER SAID!??

"Sorry man, but no. I missed my dose yesterday, I'm feeling pretty nasty".

He then feigned a tummy ache by rubbing his belly and whining in pain.

"Whatever", I said, "I missed yesterday too."

****​

Well, it's now Wednesday Evening and I'm back at my appartment. My girlfriend is making some Cups of Noodles, and were going to try and find an entertaining film to watch on Netflix. We've been pretty much stuck to indoor activities due to my asthma, the two times we did go out and walk three blocks to cop really fucking did me in, though I'm pleased to say I am getting a bit of my endurance back.

Through all of this my girlfriend has been with me all the way, even practically carrying me at some points. I am so lucky to have such a wonderfully bright, funny and beautiful young woman for a mate. She's taken such fucking good care of me, and just fills me with this warmth inside that I thought another person was incable of giving me prior to meeting her. However, she's consistently broken down my nihilistic and jaded world view, and I am honestly just so greatful to have her in my life (I'm also greatful to YOU Bluelight, specifically to the bluelight blogs, as that is where babettehaze and I first started talking-and I first thought she was a boy lol).

After serving nearly 6 years of Active Duty in the IDF, I felt my military career would not be going anywhere having been detained and sentenced to military prison after attempting to smuggle hashish into Israel on a tank, an episode I may have written about in past entries. As a native Arabic speaker with an IQ of 147 I was fast tracked as a junior officer in AMAN, military intelligence.

I had begun my career as a Kravi, a combat soldier in a paratrooper battalion (50th Bn, NACHAL Brigade) but I was deemed too intelligent to serve as mere cannon fodder. Lucky me. Before induction they test us with a 4 part psych test (females only have 3 parts), one part being your IQ. The highest score you can get is a 90 which correlates to an IQ of 135. If you score a 90 you are later tested to find out exactly what your IQ is. I had a bit more thn 4 years as a Kravi, then was attached to Central District in Occupied Southern Lebanon as a liason with the SLA.

The SLA, Southern Lebanon Army, was our Lebanese puppet, commanded by Lebanese Maronite Christians but consisting of both Maronites and Shi'a Musllims (Shite) in the rank and file. The SLA had a prison, Khi'am Detention and Interrogation Centre, where Arab terrorists were handled and my assignment was to supervise the SLA interrogators and make sure they didn't go overboard when torturing.

I was still only a Command Sergeant, equivalent to perhaps a Lieutenant in the US Military vis a vis responsibilities while still being an NCO rank in the IDF. To be deployed in my role I was made a brevet Lieutenant which gave me the responsibilities and power of command of a junior officer without actually promoting me, as I was placed on a list fo the next Officers' Course.

Without getting into the shit I experienced at Khi'am, I was busted and after spending my few weeks in military prison was re-attached to my Kravi battalion, the 50th. I have never thought about it, but as I'm thinking now, it was during my time at Khi'am that my addiction got heavy. Heroin freebase, aka Heroin #2, was cheaper than cigarettes in Southern Lebanon at the time and my helpful mates slash subordinates in the SLA were happy to sell it, often giving it to me free as "baksheesh," which is usually translated from Arabic as "bribe" but is more akin to "gratuity." If I allowed a Shi'a soldier (only Shi'a sold drugs brecause all heroin, opium, hash and cannabis was growm in the Beka'a in Eastern Sector, near Syria and the people there were and remain almost entirely Shi'a) to have Friday- the Islamic Sabbath- off, boom, a gramme and/or a fat chunk of red hash.


After returning to Kravi I tried to smuggle hash into Israel inside the fender skirt of a Merkava II tank. To protect the treads the tank crews would bolt on armour plates that acted like skirts and parts of these skirts had internal pockets, spaces, which acted to strengthen the plate overall. Place what you want in a pocket, re-weld plating over the pocket and voila. Sadly, the IDF had gotten hip to this by 1987, the year I was caught.

By 1989 I realised that I had no future in the IDF and so I cashiered out and joined my squadmates in Thailand on walkabout. A couple of them had gone into Reserves in 1986 but others were cashiering out with me after 6 years. During our sourjourn in SE Asia the Intifadeh I, aka First Intifadeh, began in Israel. The word "Intifadeh" means "to throw off," or "castoff" in Arabic, and was used in the sense that "Palestinians" were trying to castoff the suppoded Israeli "Occupation."

I say supposed because under IHL/LOAC (Laws of Armed Conflict, a genre within International Humanitarian Law), n "Occupation" can only occur when one nation subverts the sovereignity of a second nation. The land in question has never held any other nation but Jewish States. Apart from that it has only existed as a neglected and forlorn corner of vast foreign empires.

Intifadeh I began after a Jewish man was stabbed at least 100 times while shopping in Gaza City. The next morning an Israeli lorry was backing down a narrow alley in Jabaliyah Camp in Gaza, not far from the murder scene. The lorry knicked a "Palestinian" taxi and it was off to the races.

We received our Reservist Call Up messages in Thailand, actually I and another mate were in Cambodia. We linked up with our mates in Bangkok and flew home, and instead of deploying to regular Reservist Brigades we were re-attached to the 50th Battalion and re-enlisted as Active Duty.

Fast forward to 1992 and (almost) another six years have passed. I was able to make it to Captain, and commanded a company within the 50th Battalion. An IDF company consists of 120 to 130 men including officers. After a couple of months of playing with my kids I bought a house in Bat Yam, a coastal city, and allowed my ex-wife to live there with the kids- as long as no man ever visited the house- until the kids reached 18. For myself, I moved to the US and initially lived with an aunt in the South Bronx, in New York City.

My uncle was a big coke dealer. In fact, when he was arrested and convicted he was labeled as the Cali Cartel's American manager. My uncle Harold's father (Harold Ackerman) had emigrated to Colombia during WWII, from Bessarabia where my mum was born. In the 1970s Harold and some of my other cousins emigrated to the US and settled in Dade County.

After my first month in the US, with few job prospects other than my family's businesses- which I tried to avoid because I stubbornly wanted to be a self-made man- I flew to West Palm Beach and visited various family members in the area, Palm Beach, Broward and Dade Counties. One afternoon at my Aunt Marla's condiminium in Fort Lauderdale Uncle Harold stopped by for dinnner. I had only met him twice since we were usually on different continents. I had heard a lot about him, he was supposedly doing well with his 3 dress shoppes in local malls but my younger cousins told me he was primarily making his living selling drugs.

Since coming to the US I had only been using opiates/opioids sporadically. In Florida I had an auntie who was married to a pharmacist who was part owner of his own pharmacy but I quickly used everything they had (except Paregoric, disgusting even when sick) and was trying to find a way to buy opiates/opioids in the street. This was at a point when Colombian heroin only began to find its way into the US and Southern Florida was much, much different than it is today. When Harold came over I went against my better judgement and asked him if he knew where to find heroin, after explaining how I had become addicted after being wounded twice in Lebanon.

To be continued...

Don't really see any reason not have a blog - so I thought it might be a good idea to test it out. Plus I kinda want that blog post thing below my name...tee-hee ;P

I wonder what it is about this time of year that just makes me want to tell the world to fuck off before putting a gun to my head. You'd think the imminence of summer and vacation and the sun finally coming out would make everything better but apparently not. Exams, house-hunting, job-hunting, internship-hunting and kicking my smack habit once and for all is all I've got to look forward to in these next few weeks and I just don't fucking want to deal with it. And because I'm a massive idiot and didn't plan my day right, I now find myself at the end of an oxy binge and a few months of non-stop opiate use, from codeine to heroin, with nothing for tonight. So on top of wanting to kill myself with my drugs around, I'm gonna have to deal with not having them tonight and starting withdrawals and it's just going to be hell. Am already freaking out just at the prospect and they haven't even kicked in yet.
I don't know how I'm going to get through this. Once I finish my exams and hopefully get all the other shit taken care of I'm just going to go back home and stay with my parents over the summer and get into fights with them every single night. It's not going to be any better. It never fucking is. So what's the point? I don't even know what I'm working towards or why I'm even bothering to go to uni. I don't want my life to go on like this but there's no way out. Except drugs. And now I have to stop that too. Feels so fucking unfair.

THE ADVENTURES OF MY FATHER'S WOOD
BY RLP

PART 2 (TWO)

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.

It's been a while since I have participated much at all with this account for various reasons (mainly lots of life turmoil and an ex who still stalks this account).

However, since I have my blog set to "friends only" viewing, I feel comfortable writing about this here. Since the age of 21, I have been dx'ed at various times of having:
*Seasonal Affective Disorder
*Bipolar Disorder
*ADHD
*Situational depression
*Insomnia

Most of these dx's came from psychiatrists. While I do love my current psychiatrist dearly (he's a really chill dude who tells me he's missed me every time I come in! :D), I'm just going to say it.
PSYCHIATRY IS QUACK MEDICINE.

**If you do have a condition (such as epilepsy or narcolepsy) which can be scientifically determined via a neurologist, disregard what I am about to say.

ANYONE can read the DSM IV (the gold standard current diagnosis manual of psychiatry), and read through a list of common symptoms for recognized conditions, and basically diagnose themself. I am not saying psychiatry is invalid, nor am I saying psychiatrists are quacks. What I am saying is psychiatry is basically educated guesswork, and all the labels listed above may or may not "define" me at any given time.

Recently, I've started to believe that I DO NOT have (anything but a mild form of) ADHD; rather I personally believe I have the mildest of Asperger's. Aspergers = the highest functioning (most "normal") form of autism, and can easily be hidden or overcome. I grew up in a household with four other children, so I learned to deal with my natural "oddballness" by being funny. Thus, while I am a natural shy introvert, I generally have the reputation of being odd, but funny and smart.

(Like most other shy introverts, sometimes my knack for "observing more than speaking" has garnished me a reputation of being either dumb or snobby. I'm fine with that. People are people. We all make snap judgements, whether we like to admit it or not, and true humanity= feeling empathy for those who lack empathy for us back.)

Anyway, I don't carry around ANY of the dx's which I listed above with either pride OR shame, because they are meaningless to me. I AM ME. I am a bit weird, and I have problems, but I also have many good qualities.

For years, I shamefully carried the "mental illness" weight on my shoulders while actively living in denial. Denial breeds insecurity. Please, for all that is good in the world, DO see a doctor, if you feel there is something wrong. DO NOT, however, believe my parents' generation's belief that doctors are gods.

Ironically, recenly I found out that I have a PHYSICAL condition, albeit minor, which treating has done WONDERS for the mental, emotional, spiritual, AND physical Jenah! I am hypogycemic. In layman's terms, it is the opposite of diabetes. I MUST eat or drink something every couple of hours or I will become faint, grouchy, and, yes, mood-swingy. I DO tell employers and coworkers about this condition, because it is essential for me to be able to bring a smoothie or two into work (SO MANY THINGS can go into smoothies, and they are not messy!).

Anyway, now that I no longer live in fear of my "labels," I've truly been able to live my life to the fullest. I truly enjoy most aspects of my life and don't waste time feeling sorry for myself. While I DO have a lot going on, I always believe Gxd wouldn't have given me this life if I couldn't handle it. (Yes, that's digging into religious territory, but you could replace the word Gxd with Fate, Mother Earth, karma, etc, and the meaning remains unchanged.)

In the words of Drake,
I've "started not to give a fuck and stopped fearing the consequences."

"People who are late are often happier than those who have to wait for them."



...


I can't even make this ish up!

:D

Happy Day of The Dead my friends! one and ALL.

I was just looking through my contributions past in SLR and came across this:

I've noticed that a majority of men in our society do not like to be bested by women.

The need to be superior is deeply ingrained into our psyche from a very early age. I also suppose that there is a strong genetic disposition toward this attitude.

I think women of intellect begin to know this when their success brings them into direct contact/competition with men.


"In a man's world...simian aptitudes are rated high, and so not too many women get in. To succeed as a lawyer, for example, a woman would have to throttle two of her chief attributes: her disdain for the petty accumulations of useless knowledge, and her sharp feeling for the truth. What men in their imbecility consistently mistake for a deficiency of intelligence in women is merely an incapacity for mastering small and trivial tricks." - H. L. Mencken


"You want a wife who's intelligent, but not too intelligent." - Richard Nixon

Click to expand...

Stay strong, but not resentful or regretful ladies. Your day is already upon you.

i am really terrible when it comes to packing. i have two duffel bags laying on the floor of my room and drawers open, tho nothing has made it into either bag.

i have a lot more i want to write. but feeling a bit of writer's block at the moment.

i am packed. two giant duffel bags and one rolling suitcase. hopefully none of it is over weight. and tomorrow i am going to have a grand time unpacking and dewrinkling all my clothing. other things that i couldn't fit into my luggage have been packed away and stored in giant plastic bins. they are being stored in the closet until i either come back to get them or pay to ship them to me. lastly, i itemized the rest of the stuff in the apartment and came up with a monetary value that i want for it all.

to an extent, i am looking forward to what the future brings. on the other hand, i feel... guilty? saddened? that we both found it so easy to walk away from things. i think about how we could have worked things out. changed various things about ourselves to make our relationship work. and how we decided it was better (easier?) to go this route. but i don't know why i should care about trying to do what is normal. i keep saying we've always done things our weird way and this is no different.

My earliest memories of Brendan are of him walking up Town and Country blvd, with his hood up. I can see him laughing his obnoxious guffaws and reveling in the irritation he caused in everyone around him. Feeling so intellectually superior, so right in all his arguments. He was one of the first people who ever truly challenged me.

We wandered all over that neighborhood. I got to know about his mom, who disappeared for days, rented out her car, and pawned all of their tapes to make rent. I learned how Brendan could detect the smell of burning crack rock from two flights of stairs and three shut doors, how it used to cut him up inside.

We grew weed behind Wal-Mart. He was able to sell it and drink beers in the lifeguard stand. We asked strangers to buy us 40's of Steel Reserve. He crip-walked for the police after we got pulled over in Catonsville.

Then I remember that trailer in Edgewater. Taking out an inflatable raft on the Gunpowder in December--unable to feel our fingers carrying it back through the woods. Spending Christmas in tears with barely enough Suboxone to stay well... tossing and turning on the carpet and trying unsuccessfully to get drunk on something ice-brewed. By then we were scoring crack with his mom and her new boyfriend.

When I decided to move down to Florida I had Brendan's blessing but the real heartbreak came when he came down and then broke his arm, wound up unable to work and had to move back up north. I thought that he was doing alright but it turned out later he had been smoking weed and drinking beers.

He told me about one time, when he tried to buy booze at the U-Gas on Yamato and Federal; it was after five AM or something and they weren't supposed to sell beer to anyone. The guy behind the counter though, he showed Brendan a digital camera with pictures on it of guys bent over spreading their ass cheeks, and said "if you want beer, you know what you have to do."

Brendan is one of the most gifted people I've ever met. He could do whatever he wanted, like really. When he got up to Maryland again he wanted to keep getting drunk, keep getting sent to psych wards, and he wanted to get some girl pregnant. Which is what he did. It is gut wrenching to imagine the hole he has to climb out of: I managed to pull my life together but by comparison at this point I did a lot less damage.

So it was his birthday on the 30th. He's got himself a job now. I think he said he's been sober something like thirty days. Emily and I got him a Target gift card. He is trying to position himself to win custody of his daughter... his baby's mom moved to York, PA and Brendan cannot leave the state of Maryland. She is apparently no prize herself.

When people ask me about Brendan, I'm often surprised at how worried they are about him. I don't know why, but I don't really fear for him. I think I know for some reason that he will be okay.

There are a handful of people that I have really connected with. Brendan and I went through so so much together. He's the type of friend who you can go years without seeing--but when you're back together it's like you didn't spend any time apart. I think our souls are bonded... but I suspect he has that effect on many people who meet him.

I have so many stories about the guy... he's such a loveable nutcase. I want only the best for him and his daughter, but for some reason despite all the things I know about him, despite the depth and scope of his demons... I really think things will be alright with him. I hope so... he has so much to offer the world.

If there is a benefit in describing magnolia subjective effects(as a chronic poppy seed tea drinker) here I go:

First effect was definitely the strongest and sedative,the bark quality was very uniquely dense and beverage gray.
One major difference to benzos is I really love appetite increase this was different! Less groggy, as its said to be counterable with caffiene(not using)
I later could not sleep for the life of me! Distracted by the sound of film playing in the next room. I felt contemplative about mostly nothing except stillness, "how I imagined ketamine as a young person?" but it's very different.

I then chased this effect with a lot of more local looking magnolias, these were very shaded, red and thin bark that with the best effect of mostly a pleasant taste.

Later with Magnolia (officinalis definitely) bark pills, Petrolic in taste. The effect was noticeable, much happier in their effect than the dark sedative tea.
First it seemed uniquely quick acting in contrast to valerian, tolerance like this happens usually over a day not within a couple hours. Its obviously potent than valerian. Doses after the first seemed to only make me feel more sober but I retained a very good sense of calm.

Im going to sumarize it all up in this blog.
IF ANYONE KNOWS pharmacognostic DATA OF Central american MAGNOLIA SNUFF/SHAMANISM like in the psychedelic salon podcast -Ott: "A Drug Enhancer Called Chocolate" please pm or post here or my blog





I bought magnolia bark pills, they came as a very light while powder. At the time I was using monstrous amounts of tulsi oil,had been clean from a couple days of etizolam, and just on a daily opiate fix.
Who's to say about the effects surmounting to all of this with etizolam, but really cortisol was at the time affected by the tulsi oil.The first dose 1.4 was intoxicating... elative in a joyous sense!

Very potent compared to valerian but fleeting. It seemed as if more doses made me less intoxicated.
I dont remember craving more or less poppies, but had the night before used ~150% my dose just because of the etiz insomnia.
Doses and doses of both went by, I remember lots of very smooth somatic calm with spatiotemporal emphasis, an only worry was the nature of magnolia as an angiogenic agent, combined with the oil of tulsi as an oxidative agent in such high doses was on my mind and I perhaps was correct in my assumption of this.
I went to a crowded concert and the general effect was feeling very very warm I would expect from the tulsi, and asking a bunch of humbling dumb question, shaking alot of hands.
Later without compulsion for more opiates while in coitious I was experiencing irritation like as a cold feels, centrally in previously damaged sinus tissue area also been exposed to carcinogens etc. The next day I began my stopping of poppies, due to the nature of using etizolam and the rest, successfully switching to subutex within a few days. Magnolia never came to mind, but it maybe was the the nature of the substance.

more of a short story, moving to words

Can't figure out how to delete this. Just wanted to save a draft but then I thought everyone could see it....ahh.